[ They're still spitting insults behind them as she walks away - that she's a bitch, that she'll pay for this, probably something equally as foul in Russian. Loud and hissed at her back and she lets it roll off her like water. Gone from vicious to taking a polite stroll with him at her side as easily as that, any ire that she might still possess shoved deeply enough as to appear as if nothing had bothered her to begin with except for the shift of her fingers in the readiness to have to pull a weapon. ]
You are better with a knife than a sword.
[ She ventures as they walk, stiffly for her. Still unsure that she wants to speak with him at all outside of the dictates of necessity. ]
no subject
You are better with a knife than a sword.
[ She ventures as they walk, stiffly for her. Still unsure that she wants to speak with him at all outside of the dictates of necessity. ]