The static dragons broke apart the instant Ampere drew up Gaucho's side, their energy and control fizzling away into stray pops. His dragons would find no foe, although might chase those scraps long enough to similarly extinguish. Ampere needed all of the focus she could muster for her attack; a cumulative effort of her tact and strength.

It wasn't enough.

For all her effort she barely tapped him, nearly doing more damage to herself as his collar all but tore a chunk out of her, a handy accessory that she should have been more than aware of given her daily studying of his pectorals.

Frustration set in the edge of her jaw, teeth clenching tight against the taste of failure. This entire fight had been nothing more than a game, one which she wasn't sure she was winning (depending on which rules were regarded she was in fact, winning). She should have taken their playful scuffle as just that, but she felt this insurmountable sensation that he wouldn't take her seriously, that none of them would. That she couldn't even bloody him when she tried was another exhausting example of her insufficiency, or so she felt.

Given her partner she should have been happy with her accomplishments, but Ampere didn't consider his might as a pardon for their titty slapping. This was because Ampere was inclined to blame herself, but it was especially because if Gaucho was the pinnacle of her fighting career, then she wanted to perch on its summit. Ampere's ambition and competitive drive told her she could get there, so when she couldn't, even with the weight of all her resolve behind it, it was deflating.

It was like Oxy taking that egg from her all over again.

At most all she'd done was confuse Gaucho, his outcry ringing in her ears given their close proximity, a distance maintained as his wings corralled her head and beat her senses. Her own dark set of wings flapped to regain the air, but Gaucho had the upper wing, the wind, and the size to position her as he saw fit. In a different scenario she would have reveled in this, but in the moment she was disgusted with herself and furious with him. He wasn't Gaucho any more, he was just a challenge she was facing, and struggling against.

Was that all he had always been? Was Gaucho nothing more than her ultimate test, the perfect trifecta of her life's main avenues - the fighting ring, the bedroom, and the strength of will? Had the magnetism that drew her to him time and time again been nothing other than a need to conquer him, and in so, herself?

An indignant squeal rose from her at his touch. Resisting it and his control she jerked up into him, causing his teeth to snap against the folds of her flesh as they set down. Hair and hide tore away, while his knee jabbed in-between her ribs, forcing a bruise and shoving out some breath; another casualty of her recklessness. Amid the fray of their ensnared dance, her wing jabbed and stuck against something. Most likely she'd tangled it among his wing, which she hoped hurt him just as much. Hastily, almost hysterical, she tore it back down. A ligament within her right wing seemed to catch on fire when she did that, reigniting with each upstroke.

"Damnit!" she cursed. With her wrath she was becoming more foolish and unlikely to arise victorious, but she didn't see that. Instead she struck out, a last ditch effort as she bit towards his left foreleg, careless of her head in doing so.

Wind hissed between her teeth as she grit against the pain, steadily dropping and winding back towards the ground in a rightward spin, her bad wing guarded. Dark smoke poured from her tail and ignited into a dragon as she went, the sound of shattering gemstone lost in the breeze. Her spark amulet activated, fueled by the conviction coursing through her, and turned Gaucho's magic against him. The inferno dragon sped towards Gaucho's left side to try and snarl against his flesh before snuffing out.

Ampere laughed as she descended. It allowed her to release her rage, accepting failure as the heat of the moment burned away. In its wake she was raw and sensitive, her emotions prickling like numbness reviving. She hadn't expected to defeat him the first time, though... it would have been nice.

There's always the bedroom, she thought devilishly, certain she could be victor there. As she fell she remembered his touch; a new moment heating up.

Was their relationship as cold cut as she had considered, or was it stronger, deeper, warmer?

Did she love him?
Could she love him?