Chrysocolla kept going -- she tossed the cup very quickly, because honestly, her life was a pretty good tradeoff for a fancy coffee. She was faster, true, but he wasn't wearing heels and he didn't have the disadvantage of five feet of hair -- and the heels still got in her way after all this time. One stray pebble and she almost skidded to her knees, getting to her feet barely in time to see Triumphalis leap the gap behind her.
Twenty seconds, that was all, or just about: if she could keep him a rooftop behind, she'd be able to drop him and henshin down if she got lucky. (But, of course, Chrysocolla never got too lucky. It was a symptom of her life.)
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