I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
"I would let her go, mate." Jack's voice sounded distant even to him, though that was probably the vestiges of the migraine still lingering. (It would explain, too, why his vision was a little blurred). His smile was savage, and just a bit impressed, as Eloise's leg kicked out and connected with the thug's jaw. Leaning down, Jack wrapped an arm about her waist with the intention of hauling her back and away from the dying man.
The two goons behind him were hindered by the fact that their lump of a leader was literally blocking the way, and Jack waved the small stiletto blade at them in his free hand. "Sorry lads. This one already owes me far too much to be makin' petty deals with you. Off you go." A lie, of course, but something had to be said to explain his presence. "You can keep that useless bauble for the trouble."
The two goons behind him were hindered by the fact that their lump of a leader was literally blocking the way, and Jack waved the small stiletto blade at them in his free hand. "Sorry lads. This one already owes me far too much to be makin' petty deals with you. Off you go." A lie, of course, but something had to be said to explain his presence. "You can keep that useless bauble for the trouble."
