The fighting girl was not shaken from Tarlaz's roar, nor did she flinch. She showed the fearlessness of a warrior. It was too bad that Tarlaz had to knock her around, though she looked forward to stretching her muscles.
"Ahahah! I like you." Tarlaz laughed at the girl's joke as she set into her own defensive position, knees bent and slightly crouching, hands held forwards, open and hovering at shoulder height. The girl's joke cooled her head somewhat. Even though her upper half was covered in slowly drying beer, she no longer wanted to just tackle the fighter to the ground and beat the snot out of her.
"Sorry for face." The words left her lips as she one-two stepped forwards, closing the distance with her long stride. As her left foot came down, her left hand shot forwards, and Tarlaz rotated her body into the jab, utilizing her longer reach to gain a hopefully unopposed strike. While many fighters would feint, try to play their opponents into showing their strengths and weaknesses, Tarlaz had no patience for such subtleties. The jab was committed, or at least as committed as a swift piston strike to the face could be, for that's what it would feel like if it connected, an iron fist to the face.