The largest of the Ghosts, after pressing his guest to take at least a meat pie, turns. Tenten's in the gym, but doesn't even seem to notice that she's being observed. Which might be why she's going at these robots even harder than she usually does, darting through their grasping reaches and tearing into them with a fury that she doesn't allow others to see for the most part. The Ghost gestures and time slows, allowing some of her blurred movements to be seen with crystalline clarity.
Her knuckles are split and bleeding freely and she's not exactly managing to dodge all of those hits, but now that her motions can be processed it's easy to see that she... Actually, no. She's fast. And she's hitting hard. But while her form is obviously well practiced, possibly even cleaner than Armstrong's, her execution is. Well. Terrible. Her kicks are often off, either slamming her shins into the robots or simply scuffing their surface with the bottom of her feet. She can't seem to block consistently. Almost all of her upper body movements are stiff, pained.
For all that she's clearly, finally, not holding back, this is honestly the worst display she's put on since arriving on the Rig.
"What a waste," the Ghost sighs. "She should be out with friends, but no. This." He clucks his tongue. "But it's not like her present back home is very promising, either." He raises his arm, gesturing to the shadows. Another scene appears within them, of a desert and thousands-no, tens of thousands, nearly a hundred thousand- people in identical uniforms stand in formation. A zoom in on Tenten, looking a little confused, among the ranks. "Going to war at home, and carrying on like this here... We're not going to see much better. without going back a few weeks, and that would be my dearest colleague's domain. But perhaps if Jorgmund hadn't robbed her future..."
PRESENT
Her knuckles are split and bleeding freely and she's not exactly managing to dodge all of those hits, but now that her motions can be processed it's easy to see that she... Actually, no. She's fast. And she's hitting hard. But while her form is obviously well practiced, possibly even cleaner than Armstrong's, her execution is. Well. Terrible. Her kicks are often off, either slamming her shins into the robots or simply scuffing their surface with the bottom of her feet. She can't seem to block consistently. Almost all of her upper body movements are stiff, pained.
For all that she's clearly, finally, not holding back, this is honestly the worst display she's put on since arriving on the Rig.
"What a waste," the Ghost sighs. "She should be out with friends, but no. This." He clucks his tongue. "But it's not like her present back home is very promising, either." He raises his arm, gesturing to the shadows. Another scene appears within them, of a desert and thousands-no, tens of thousands, nearly a hundred thousand- people in identical uniforms stand in formation. A zoom in on Tenten, looking a little confused, among the ranks. "Going to war at home, and carrying on like this here... We're not going to see much better. without going back a few weeks, and that would be my dearest colleague's domain. But perhaps if Jorgmund hadn't robbed her future..."