Under control. Funny how much truer that feels with a hostage in hand. Her heart slams against her ribs,
( A lie in the rhythm, song gone off as rotten meat. It worms beneath every word he speaks: The echo of an echo. How could she let this happen? )
Simon's hands splay unarmed, and the calculus of this encounter tips momentarily in her favour. It won't last, but tbe shock of the reversal might buy her time before they realize she'll blind the mage anyway.
The boy's sprawled; if she can get closer to the door, she can shove Vedici's body at Ashlock, try to tangle his reflexes.
"Then get back," Wren swallows hard against the rising bile in her throat, the terrified certainty: that this isn't how it ends, that this is only the beginning.
( Scarlet glints in all the crystal spaces behind his teeth. Nobody's getting hurt tonight -- so when did she let this happen? )
"Against the wall."
Clear a path and she's one step closer to the door. One step closer to control. She lets up on Atticus' windpipe just enough to press him forward, ignoring the trickle of blood from his brow. The knife keeps uncertain pace, never veering quite close enough to maim.
Her sword remains untouched, her attentions divided between blunt fear and a distant time. This isn't the most cunning plan, and she's left unusual openings. If words fail, she's poorly prepared for a rush.
no subject
( A lie in the rhythm, song gone off as rotten meat. It worms beneath every word he speaks: The echo of an echo. How could she let this happen? )
Simon's hands splay unarmed, and the calculus of this encounter tips momentarily in her favour. It won't last, but tbe shock of the reversal might buy her time before they realize she'll blind the mage anyway.
The boy's sprawled; if she can get closer to the door, she can shove Vedici's body at Ashlock, try to tangle his reflexes.
"Then get back," Wren swallows hard against the rising bile in her throat, the terrified certainty: that this isn't how it ends, that this is only the beginning.
( Scarlet glints in all the crystal spaces behind his teeth. Nobody's getting hurt tonight -- so when did she let this happen? )
"Against the wall."
Clear a path and she's one step closer to the door. One step closer to control. She lets up on Atticus' windpipe just enough to press him forward, ignoring the trickle of blood from his brow. The knife keeps uncertain pace, never veering quite close enough to maim.
Her sword remains untouched, her attentions divided between blunt fear and a distant time. This isn't the most cunning plan, and she's left unusual openings. If words fail, she's poorly prepared for a rush.