Both women smiled at the revelation of Rainee’s code name; it may have been a small matter of trust, but every bit helped when facing opponents who obviously knew each other rather well. If Sin wished to modify their contract, perhaps a nickname of their own would come in handy. It didn’t take much deliberation between the sisters before Shanaë spoke again.
“Well, Lightening, ‘The Gambit’ will not let you down.”
Something caught Tanaë’s eye after Rainee fired her warning shot – the final placement was clearly not a miss judging from the catgirl’s reaction to the arrowhead’s landing. The “something” that had her attention was a dull, growing ball forming around one of their opponents’ hands. So the Gol’Bron had neither tact nor a sense of honor. Typical. He fired.
“Hit the dirt” was the first thing that crossed the twins’ shared consciousness, but it wasn’t exactly what happened. They managed to bend their knees and start moving, but the shot was far too fast. Strangely enough, the ball’s trajectory was also too low. It could have been a magical misfire, but it could also have been a trap. The dirt hit them for a change. Tanaë dropped her impromptu game of string at the revelation of a dust screen and both girls pulled at the exceptionally wide obi wrapped around their waists, slipping the extravagant magenta knot out of existence in precious seconds before the six-meter-long belts fell to the ground. While Shanaë threw her fancy kimono forward into the cloud of dust, Tanaë held onto the collar of hers and waited facing left, her back toward Rainee.
Slick leather covered only the girls’ beasts and hips, exposing the rest of their succulent tanned flesh to the night air. It was while mostly unclothed that the only visible difference emerged between the girls. Discounting the red heart on Shanaë’s right shoulder and the black club tattooed on her sister’s left, the barely-younger woman had slightly smaller curves up top. Inside the dust cloud, however, visibility was low enough that the point in differentiating between them was as useful as asking a whore how many men she’s slept with.
Shanaë had forty-seven, Tanaë was working at thirty-three.
A lance plowed into the cloud from the side; the same man who caused the storm in the first place was the one to instigate first blood, or at least he wanted to. Shanaë had long since drawn one of her three ninja-to, held inverted in her left hand, and as soon as Tanaë threw her garment toward the offending kid to block his view, the elder sister attacked using her sister’s eyes for positioning. She lunged forward toward his back to make a swipe at his exposed side on the way through while Tanaë drew her bastard sword and swung a preventative slash in front of him, the blade crossing her body from her right. If he charged through the garment, he would be contending with a heavy blade. Stepping back would mean fighting a smaller, faster weapon that could out-maneuver his lance.