With a huff, Mila pulled her shoulders away from one of the Barsoomians as she was pushed along. "Alright, alright, stop pushing, I get the idea!" she snipped, straightening her back and marching forward with her head high, trying to maintain a "little" dignity as a conscripted gladiator. Of course, with eight arms between two guards, brushing aside one shove didn't deter the other three that came her way. "I said I got it!"<br/><br/>As they reached the edge of the ring, a pair of two palmed shoves sent her both into the ring and down onto her knees. Mila glared over her shoulder at the guards, rising to her feet and brushing the sand off her skin. "Honestly, the nerve of them! Hmph, I hope they aren't expecting a legendary duel of the ages. It's not like they can find much out of me, I'm just a scholar. Where's the fun in that?" Mila didn't cut the most imposing figure, herself; hair down up in a high ponytail, build thin and contained in a burgundy two-piece with gold coloured trimmings, covered with a long, brown duster coat with many,<em>many</em>empty pockets. Mila couldn't even focus on the ensuing fight, she was so busy looking in frustration at her emptied pockets. "All my tools. This is going to cost me a fortune to get them all replaced..."<br/><br/>The first one in their corner rushing forward into the fray was enough to catch Mila's attention, in part because of just who it was. She leaned forward curiously, squinting her eyes. "Is that who I think it is? Hmm. I suppose I should get started, myself." At a more casual jog, Mila "rushed" to the scattered weapons. She picked up one of the swords without thinking, but had to stop and examine it with a disgusted scowl, shaking her head. "Ugh, this scrap of iron is almost beyond saving. How long has it been since someone gave this a proper repair--EEP!"<br/><br/>A green-skinned Barsoomian, equipped with a greatsword and full face-obscuring helm, had stomped up in front of her, menacingly patting the flat of his sword into one of his big, beefy hands. Gripping tightly to her sword, Mila shifted into a "ready" stance, one she had seen in depictions of heroes in old texts and paintings. Unfortunately for her, she didn't have the physique of a hero; when she swung her blade, it was easily parried, and even her attempt to spin herself around to strike at an exposed zone only ended up chipping his armour around his waist.<br/><br/>"Agh, if only I had a pistol, or a rifle of some sort," Mila cursed, before the grunt now turned to face her. Welp. She had his full attention, for better or worse. Likely worse...<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body">(2d20, 10, 3. 3 successes, one momentum converted into damage dice. Unfortunately, the opponent made his defensive rolls, and Mila's attack was a miss.</div></div>