[ A foot goes out, reaching to hook ankle to ankle, and tug.
For now, concealment is merely instinct; the details of her thoughts are the pure white focus of combat, still strange in their sharpness, logical, pristine. Where Anderson gets her strikes in, each time Caprica is off-balanced, mental correction snaps into place and is made manifest in physical follow through. She is snakeishly evasive in her defense, handsy in her offense, prone to grabs and releases, schoolyard shoves that are still tactically sound.
And then an opening: a twist of her foot, balance thrown, an overzealous punch thrown off course by a block of Anderson's arm. A body strike will send Caprica crashing for the padded mats. ]
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For now, concealment is merely instinct; the details of her thoughts are the pure white focus of combat, still strange in their sharpness, logical, pristine. Where Anderson gets her strikes in, each time Caprica is off-balanced, mental correction snaps into place and is made manifest in physical follow through. She is snakeishly evasive in her defense, handsy in her offense, prone to grabs and releases, schoolyard shoves that are still tactically sound.
And then an opening: a twist of her foot, balance thrown, an overzealous punch thrown off course by a block of Anderson's arm. A body strike will send Caprica crashing for the padded mats. ]