Even now as she danced with the other woman, incurring further ire by forcing her pistols away with practiced swings of the blade her eyebrows only tilted down in a bit of concentration yet there remained an ounce of uncaring. It truly was a beautiful sight as the hidden musician caught a glance from betwixt a few crates. The lack of wasted movements was poetry in motion for him that briefly the gentleman considered coming out into the open….but he’d let her have her “fun” – even if she called it work. After being cooped up for the past little while she surely enjoyed the exercise. ’Hmm?’
Something clattered over the boxes, landing before him and with a grin the man connected the dots between the pistol and the sharp cry of pain from the low-class broad operating this joint.
”Ya bitch!” the woman shrieked, already enraged on being unable to either chase this woman down or get away for a clear and more certain shot. Worse were the petals that sometimes floated past her vision or seemed to slip beneath her heels and try to force a foot out from under her. Ready to blast with both hands in a trigger-happy manner the white-haired woman had the audacity to strike her, slashing at both wrist and pistol that forced her to fling it away. She’d missed – whether on purpose or accident it was hard to say at this point – but the burning sting from the gash in her forearm remained a searing reminder of how close the call was. Before she could even recover the other woman bull rushed her, shoving her back and swinging the sword again as she flew backwards. Another sting of pain struck the top of a thigh, though hitting her head on the ground caused more of the resounding word.
”Give up or don’t: I have no qualms turning you into sliced meat.”