everything you want is on the other side of fear
There's a sharpness in the air, a cold fracturing of the moment in which it could take a number of directions. But none of the possibilities are the ones the man expects. As Sera grabs his hand his grin turns quickly into a snarl, a grimace of pain flashing over his face as predator becomes prey. His hand squirms, trying to retract from the Artificer's iron grip, and when she finally releases it he is quick to recoil back into his chest, a murderous glare in his eyes. Amalia watches all of this with a mix of awe and shame, her face flushing a deeper red as she sits there, frozen, unable to help. She's used to being strong, to being untouched, but with her emotions as wild as they are? The Angel feels small, and weak.
She's turning back to Sera as the man walks away, her vice-like grip on the other woman's hand relaxing by measures as the tension fades- that is, until keen hearing catches a snippet of conversation between the trio of men. "Heard she was soft," the man grumbles furiously, "Coulda fucked a demigod, if it weren't for that damn slut. Someone oughta teach her a lesson, show 'er how t'take a man--"
Before he's able to say anything more there's a hand upon his collar, holding him up with undeniable strength. Amalia moves faster than any mortal, leaving her corner and grabbing the man in scarcely the blink of an eye. The bar goes silent; the only sound is the man's strangled "What tha---" followed by heavy, fearful breaths. In that moment Amalia is something new: avenging angel, furious and cold, her dark eyes like iron as she stares at this stranger, a crown of thorns upon her head.
"Apologize," the Archangel of Vi says softly, a world of danger in her alto voice.
She's turning back to Sera as the man walks away, her vice-like grip on the other woman's hand relaxing by measures as the tension fades- that is, until keen hearing catches a snippet of conversation between the trio of men. "Heard she was soft," the man grumbles furiously, "Coulda fucked a demigod, if it weren't for that damn slut. Someone oughta teach her a lesson, show 'er how t'take a man--"
Before he's able to say anything more there's a hand upon his collar, holding him up with undeniable strength. Amalia moves faster than any mortal, leaving her corner and grabbing the man in scarcely the blink of an eye. The bar goes silent; the only sound is the man's strangled "What tha---" followed by heavy, fearful breaths. In that moment Amalia is something new: avenging angel, furious and cold, her dark eyes like iron as she stares at this stranger, a crown of thorns upon her head.
"Apologize," the Archangel of Vi says softly, a world of danger in her alto voice.
Amalia
