Lt. JG Natasha Cole - Danger Up Clos
Natasha Schell
Cole: Good counter.
Silveira: I know.
Cole: My turn.
No more measuring. No more waiting to see what lesson he intended. If he wanted pressure, she would make him earn every inch of it.
Then Natasha closed. Not recklessly, but with intent, stepping inside his reach, crowding his angles, forcing the exchange into forearms, shoulders, hips, and short, punishing contact where clean punches had less room to matter.
Silveira: Good swing. Now let's get serious.
Cole: Good. I was getting tired of being polite.
Vitor fought like someone who had spent years refining pressure until it looked effortless. Natasha’s style had been built differently out of discipline, adaptation, and all the times someone had assumed she would fold before she did.
Silveira: Back to my turn.
Cole: You say that like I’m taking turns.
Then the distance collapsed again.
Vitor came forward with brute certainty behind the technique, and for a few violent seconds it stopped feeling like a sparring evaluation and started feeling like collision. Natasha drove into it anyway. He caught the shots she aimed higher, but the ones she buried into his torso landed hard enough to matter. She wasn’t trying to look clean anymore. She was trying to make every inch expensive.
Silveira: I… can… keep… this… all day…
Everything hurt for a second; ribs, shoulder, hip, pride, but pain was just information unless you let it become permission.
Cole: ::breathless:: Then stop… announcing it and… prove it.
Natasha surged forward before the last word had fully left her mouth, not giving him the courtesy of distance. She angled off-center instead of straight in, shoulder leading, one forearm rising to jam his guard while the other drove short and hard toward his ribs.
Silveira: Response
Natasha planted a hand, pushed herself back up, and reset her stance with less wasted motion than before.
Cole: I don’t need room to be dangerous, sir.
To prove the point, Natasha stepped inside his next angle and stayed there, forcing the fight into elbows, forearms, and shoulder pressure. Every movement after that was designed to deny him clean extension.
Silveira: Response
The corner of her mouth twitched, not into a smile this time, but something fiercer.
Cole: Come on, Commander. You wanted better. Here I am.
Then she moved. Fast enough to steal the breath between his thoughts. One hand feinted high just to draw his attention while the real attack came lower and closer — a driving step into his base, forearm across his center, trying to force him backward on her terms for once.
Silveira: Response
Tags/TBC
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Lt. JG Natasha Cole
Security Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205NC4