"Oh no, you don't!" Cheetor dodged her at a velocity of sixty miles an hour, skidding to a halt and stepping lightly from foot to foot, making sure he was out of arm's reach. "First hit's yours, but now I'm done being nice."

Oh, he wished he had his sabers with him; he'd make mince meat of her with those. As it stood, he had one other option at his disposal. Moving at speeds otherwise banned in the base, he got to the counter and grabbed a knife from the block it was in. It was horrible for combat, but with no other options, he grabbed the handle and tried to envision how he'd adapt his combat style, still moving cautiously.