& it is with such phrase that the weapon lowered prior is lifted, the brief surprise that constricted her chest breaking with the utter fury that ensnares her heart, & although it is hardly a vital limb, she cares not for the pain she’ll feel with the bullet shot in her foot. Maybe it’ll wipe that damn smirk off her face.
She grunts, curses being hissed out from gritted ivories as the adjacent hand laid upon her thigh and had nails dug into sensitive to distract any of the pain to there; or at least, built an equilibrium for it. Her stance is now hunched over, lithe fingers of the opposite hand taking hold of the treasured memento and unsheathing it, it’s edged tip being pointed at the person who is clearly her enemy now.
