His flexibility is still impressive and when he kicks her, getting her in the tender part of her gut, she flies back, regaining balance with a soft shuffle of feet and a focus on her balance. She flows side to side, bobbing and weaving...constantly moving.
It's a controlled chaos, a calculated swipe of possible outcomes. Sarge is watching her warily and she's watching him right back. Teagan doesn't take his eyes off of him, even when there's a boisterous cheer of children running past shrieking with sparklers. She's already in the zone. Nothing else exists but him. It's a beautiful thing, this. Not even drink can drown out the outside world like a fight can...even if it's not completely true but the restraint she needs to practice probably is even more distracting than a full on, fist boil.
The jab she counters with is followed with a cross strike and then a hook, taking tiny steps to close the distance between them while she battles. A knee flies up when the gap is closed she goes for a push kick to get him away from her.