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The dying youma had fallen into the fountain. Cavalier Kunzite stood on the fountain's lip and wrinkled her nose as it bled into the water, feeling absolutely no envy for Destiny City's public maintenance crews; given the choice between life-threatening danger and public maintenance work, she would have chosen life-threatening danger. By the time the danger got really disgusting you were either dead or done with it. Living youma were a nuisance, to be sure, but not half as repulsive as dead youma, with their blood. And slimy bits. And parts that came off. And, well, she'd really rather not think about it. It was over and dead now, yes? Yes. She had hand sanitizer somewhere.

Old Town Destiny City was mostly a tourist attraction, so it came as a half-surprise to her that youma were popping up there too. This one had made the mistake of attacking a trolley she'd been waiting for this evening. The fight had been quick. The bystanders had dispersed like fish in a school -- danger had lost its novelty in Destiny City. That was a depressing thought. She decided not to think about that either. She had plenty of other things on her mind.

Turning, she stepped off the lip of the fountain -- and landed on her injured foot, which complained almost immediately. She furrowed her brow; no mistaking it, she'd strained it again. A few scratches here and there, there was her own blood spattered on the white of her uniform: ah well, no matter. Headache, too. But when didn't she have a headache, was more the question.

She sat down painedly and glanced over her shoulder to check on the youma's progress off the mortal coil. Then she laid Mandate across her lap and started inspecting it for scratches -- and this, the tiredness and her lack of concern meant she didn't look up again for quite a few more moments.

She sat bolt upright and first widened then narrowed her eyes at the red-haired man -- the face was not recognizable, but the uniform was. It wasn't hard to tell one of Charonite's new lackeys when they came around; the peculiar outfit, undeserved cockiness and general lack of any useful skills were sure signs. (Kunzite was often quick to pronounce any person to have a "lack of any useful skills" if said person did not immediately demonstrate these skills within ten seconds of meeting her.) Even so, it wasn't exactly a happy sight.

Kunzite cleaned off Mandate with a flourish and then stood up, pulling it into a defensive ward out of force of habit. She stared. As usual this stare had an effect somewhere between intimidating and deer-in-headlights. "Did I kill your creature? I'd advise surrendering unless you'd like to join it."

Kunzite blinked. Her instincts were faster than her comprehension, at least. It didn't take long for her to hop back up onto the lip of the fountain with her sword brandished, the ready-made higher ground not escaping her notice. "I'm not sure what there is to tell. You know who I am. I don't care who you are. Put down your weapon; I have no interest in killing you in cold blood, but I have even less interest in letting you go."

Apart from that, though, she was staring at Obsidian. Didn't the Negaverse go in for mirrors and bunny rabbits? That was a sword; it was the first sword she'd seen in the hands of an enemy in a long, long time. An ugly, ungainly thing. Ungainly enough to take off her head with one good swing, she estimated with a frown.

"Did your general tell you about me?" Her foot was hurting again. She'd already teleported once today. Poor timing altogether. "I could've sworn he'd issued an order to stay out of my way. Put that down. This will only be bloody."

In response she sidestepped it entirely, which took no particular skill: he was slow and, from the looks of it, toying with her. Adrenaline had tightened her grip on Mandate's pommel a little, but for the most part she was still coolheaded -- she was backing now around the rim of the fountain, her sword still held out in front of her.

"Are you a Lieutenant?" she wondered aloud, not so much because she was curious but to keep him talking. "You're better outfitted."

There was a certain cold familiarity to fighting another swordsman, finally -- she recalled the Silver Millennium. She'd done this many times before. She'd done this many times before: a good six feet tall and thirty years old.

She stopped: she'd put the fountain itself between them, the cascading water and the now-motionless youma. His move.

She dodged and jumped past him, this time straight into the fountain, soaking herself from boots to thighs until she jumped out again -- he was quick to follow her with another splash. With any luck this much jumping, lunging, and turning without scoring any hits would be too much for a brute like him to handle, and he'd slip: not that the tiles were being kind on her no-traction footwear either. When he swung at her head she ducked and hopped backwards again, this time into the water and backed up against the youma.

It was hard on her foot, too. There was only so much floating like a butterfly she could take without stinging like a bee. When next he followed her again, swearing, and lunged, she sidestepped the thrust and closed within the range of the greatsword, bringing her sword around to slash at his unguarded side.

Kunzite labored to get in another swing at him before she was knocked off balance -- then her only reflex was to seize the front of his shirt and drag him with her as she tumbled backward into the water, his shoulder finding a painful target in some of Nova's old wounds. They hit the fountain with a loud splash and she tried to ram the pommel of her sword into his face, and then ram it again, before Mandate was knocked out of her hands.

They were struggling in the water now. She'd breathed in a little of it and was coughing; in the heat of it all she could only think to roll on top of him and drive one of her knees into his stomach while she struggled for a grip on his hair. She was weaker than him. In a brawl alone she'd lose. In a brawl alone she was losing. So she shoved his head underwater and concentrated all her strength on holding it there by his hair, gasping for breath herself.

She choked for breath and tried to suppress her survival reflex, which was to let him go and claw at the hands around her throat -- but that would be death, she knew, so she held on with determination while she wondered, far-off and as her vision swum with white, what in God's name she was going to tell people at school this time -- finally she let go of him and did claw at his fingers, bent them back in an attempt to break them as he surged above water. This did pry him loose for a moment, and she took the moment to knee him again and then punch him in the face: scramble for Mandate and try to hit him with the hilt --

-- this wasn't Mandate. This was much heavier. Undaunted, she made to hit him with the hilt of his sword, the weight of which was making her arms ache. "Murderer," she shouted, no, screamed at him a bit raggedly -- her vision was still swimming. The water was pink. "You belong to Captain Aries!"

Kunzite cursed involuntarily in pain and horror and flailed for a moment or two, uselessly, to pull her crazed opponent off of her; then her better judgment snapped back into place and she dropped Obsidian's sword again and drove both her thumbs into his eyes, hard. Like she was fending off a shark. She might as well have been fending off a shark at this point. It detached him long enough for her to fumble for Mandate -- she cut herself on the blade fumbling, but found the hilt soon enough and stumbled to her feet.

Her arms were aching. She was too dizzy to lunge again: her neck was cold with blood, too, and that was making her dizzier. Goddamn. But he was down and disarmed and she was armed, so she staggered a moment as her vision swam back into place, and cracked out in a strangled voice, "I never knew Sailor Sagittarius. I didn't have to, you sick son of a b***h."