Piotr's voice is a hoarse snarl as he counters every strike, though not always cleanly -- a narrowly parried swing of her knife draws blood from his arm, a little trickle that runs down to his wrist. He barely seems to notice. He's no less angry, but now some of it is directed at her, for being so flippant, so presumptuous -- he has never minded Lakshmi's presumption before, but this -- this is out of line. He moves to strike back, empty-handed but moving to disarm her in another throw.
"Do you want me to cut you? To beat you into the ground? What do you want from me?"
no subject
Piotr's voice is a hoarse snarl as he counters every strike, though not always cleanly -- a narrowly parried swing of her knife draws blood from his arm, a little trickle that runs down to his wrist. He barely seems to notice. He's no less angry, but now some of it is directed at her, for being so flippant, so presumptuous -- he has never minded Lakshmi's presumption before, but this -- this is out of line. He moves to strike back, empty-handed but moving to disarm her in another throw.
"Do you want me to cut you? To beat you into the ground? What do you want from me?"