Red and Gold Create Sexual Tension

Fight

Annika only groaned at herself. How could she do it? How could she possibly do it? What motivation would there be, was there any reason to believe in success? The possibility of success were slim to none, as they always were, and since the red-head never found a forte in mathematics, plain guessing and phrasing was all she had.

Well, that and the pair of nun chucks she held numbly in her gloved hands.

But should could do it, right? She just had to. She may have not been what she was now for long, but there were other battles that could vouch for her success. Impending? No. Hopeful? Perhaps. Defeat? Most definitely.

See, now she was starting to sound a little pessimistic.

But could you blame her? I suppose you could, because when you think about it, what would stop her from being a little hopeless? Being hopeless meant lying on the ground with a bad leg, trying to win a fight with a ten-legged woman who proclaimed herself 'Cephalomom", her and her little minion children running around with their sharp sticks and murder freshly imprinted on their minds. Being hopeless meant the hunger that sets deep into the stomach, and feeling it with your mini fairy partner, even as they desperately try to hold on for their holder's sake, weakening both your aspects when all you needed now was strength. Hopelessness means feeling your suit about to expire, your kwami about to snooze, and octobitch over there not letting up her attack for one goddamn piece of jewelry.

So really, who could you blame?

"Come on, Anni, get yourself together. Rimmi, hold on a little bit longer. I swear, if we get out of this, you're getting that week of endless sugar cubes you've been wanting, I promise." Encouragement was only going to do so much, even this self/friend/fairy-encouragement that she always relied on. The only thing that kept her going was her little red partner doing the best he could to aid her in her battle, despite the pain he was experiencing just keeping her suit on. It was nearly enough to bring the red-head to tears, but now was not a time for crying. Now was a time for action.

Even when the last couple of hours was nothing but a time for action.

Ailurus, the Red Panda Miraculous holder, slowly propped herself up and hopped onto her good leg. She stood crooked, hunched, limping like the injured animal she portrayed. Really there was no sadder sight. And there was nothing she wanted more than to fall back down and let her mind slip into slumber. Being one of her secret abilities, she could heal herself with isolation, and ideally, sleep, but that would take time that she didn't have. And right now, time was limited.

To her right she heard the whistle of wood through air, and there was no harder feat than for her to lean backwards, hop to safety and watch as the little wooden spear of a courageous minion whiz just inches from her masked face. The minion charged at her as the spear disappeared into the already-broken window of a Parisian apartment, and Ailurus cursed at both herself (and shamefully at the child minion too) as her effort to hop out of his range seared pain through her bad leg. The child's sheer brute child force knocked him off his own feet, missing his target, landing him to the floor. Ailurus almost offer help, against her better judgement, when the brat sat up with tears pricking his dark eyes. However she knew she had no time nor no reason to do so.

She turned to face Cephalomom looming in the distance, her ten-legged form silhouetted with the horizon against the glow of the setting sun. If only she had her camera with her, Annika would have snapped herself a photo. After all, what was a near-death experience without a little keepsake to remember it with?

Cephalomom was coming her way. Ailurus cursed again, feeling the strain on her good leg as she hopped backwards in rhythm with the akumatized woman's screeches of anger. Her dark eyes scanned the battle on the streets and the rooftops she occupied. Sure enough, the minion children were in full-blown war with her fellow miraculous holders. And being the good Samaritans that they were (If their masks, people-saving tendencies and Paris-protecting actions weren't convincing enough) they wouldn't let themselves harm the innocent children. The youth didn't know better, not with Cephalomom forcing their small, addled brains into suicidal slavery. Therefor they did not deserve punishment. However they still served their problem.