<strong>Name:</strong>Octavia Lavinia<br/><strong>Match No:</strong>1<br/><strong>HP:</strong>35<br/><strong>Current armor:</strong>0<br/><strong>Stunts in play:</strong>None<br/><strong>Flaws in play:</strong>None<br/><strong>Dodge roll:</strong>At 2019-12-05 18:50:26, Octavia Lavinia (uid: 58954) rolls: 1d6 Result: 4 (https://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=141977)<br/><strong>Directing damage at:</strong>Mark 4 leg<br/><strong>Damage roll:</strong>At 2019-12-06 11:15:03, Octavia Lavinia (uid: 58954) rolls: 1d6 Result: 3 (https://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=141982)<br/><hr/><br/>Confidence. Poise. Octavia had found these to be the fastest ways to the hearts of the crowd, which is why she had already turned to accept their praise the moment she heard her bullet make contact, not caring to gauge the damage. She had hit again. Another small victory on the road to the larger.<br/><br/>Their cheers were the perfect external validation. For a split second, she didn’t mind the dangerous effects of the pink cloud. The tingling, the warmth, the faint hints of sweat, the stirring in her body – none of that was so offensive now that she was the one turning herself on. What better object could there be for her victorious lust.<br/><br/>She had the distance and the thing’s laser weapon would give plenty of warning when it warmed up, just like last time, so why not (and wouldn’t the crowd just eat this up) show a little more confidence by keeping her back to the thing and basking in the . . .<br/><br/>But that last sound they made wasn’t a cheer; it was a collective gasp. And the sound behind her? Too mechanical to be the laser.<br/><br/>The claw was almost at her ankle when she thought quickly, side-stepping, surprised that she managed to save her skin. She tossed her hair and gave a relieved laugh. But, of course, the claw hadn’t truly missed. This was all part of the calculation. The claw had only shot past her and clattered to establish a loop of cable on the ground around her feet. As the cable retracted, the loop contracted. She fell on her back and found herself being dragged toward the machine.<br/><br/>Trying to keep her calm, she aimed her sights at the leg she was being pulled toward. There was still a chance to get out of this. She had to shoot one handed, the other hand desperately trying to keep her top from riding up as she slid along the floor.<br/><br/>She shot, but the speed of her approached something louder than the shot itself: a decidedly non-confident, upoised, and decidedly undignified wail of panic.