don't you know, i'm quite something

MELITA

So much for those intentions.

It was a bedlam swing of movement and motion, gilded eyes taking in the action nearby, some other man careening from the backdrop, amongst the cacophony of noise and movement. She only had half a moment to react, and it was wrong, trying to swerve to the left to avoid any careening individuals, the menace of a swinging punch –

And was careened into regardless, and despite striving to stand her ground, two much larger men barreling into her made the notion superfluous, any affect she was going for lost in the haze of stumbling, fumbling to the ground. On a feral, savage hiss, her hip and knees hit stone, arms flailing onto the surface, weapons still remaining on her back and along her belt, despite the hard impact. Fangorn was a rattled mess, protective and ferocious but tiny and little in the turbulence nonetheless, torn between wanting to cling to her side and seeking to gnaw one of the stranger’s ankles.

In the end, they were both feral things. Melita shifted upwards, attempting to gather herself while muttering vague, Korofian expletives, wiping away the blood that had collected on her lip (maybe in the fall she’d bitten through it?). The girl didn’t even really hear what the drunken fiend tried to say, busy dusting herself off, tempted to grab the dagger furtively tucked away; just a formidable glare poised on both of them. “Piss off,” snarled and seethed from her lips, gathering the bag that had toppled on the ground with her, placing it back along her shoulder, eager to leave and vacate the scene even more now.

help tonight to split its seams
Give the bruises out like gifts