[ that is... definitely not the way that people usually respond to w or her notoriously problematic gunpowder residues at all. her brows lift like she's expecting a punchline, and she is, either in the literal or even more literal sense, eternally tuned into the frequency of her enemies' body language, always expecting that unexpected, underhanded blow. it'd make so much sense for lappland to try to lure her into a false sense of complacency so she can smack her down at the first opening.
that's her bad — she in no way intuits that the attack will come from lappland's tongue. she has enough time to reel back and rock herself off her heels and right on her ass, her hands lifting to break this shit up or snap lappland's throat if that doesn't work, and they do clasp around it, murderous tension thrumming in her fingers. she's too close, she's up to something, w didn't spend a lifetime scrapping with sarkaz ten times her size and twenty times her weight to chump out in front of some siracusan reject. she really doesn't need the reminder.
but even as her fingers squeeze, her tongue pushes back and twists and tangles and wrings the taste of herself off lappland's. and she digs in deeper, surging into her mouth for those faded echoes of copper and the steely tang of the originium so baked into her blood, into their blood. this dancing upon the precipice of life and death shouldn't feel so much like coming home, but the taste of it is heady and unmistakable. ]
no subject
that's her bad — she in no way intuits that the attack will come from lappland's tongue. she has enough time to reel back and rock herself off her heels and right on her ass, her hands lifting to break this shit up or snap lappland's throat if that doesn't work, and they do clasp around it, murderous tension thrumming in her fingers. she's too close, she's up to something, w didn't spend a lifetime scrapping with sarkaz ten times her size and twenty times her weight to chump out in front of some siracusan reject. she really doesn't need the reminder.
but even as her fingers squeeze, her tongue pushes back and twists and tangles and wrings the taste of herself off lappland's. and she digs in deeper, surging into her mouth for those faded echoes of copper and the steely tang of the originium so baked into her blood, into their blood. this dancing upon the precipice of life and death shouldn't feel so much like coming home, but the taste of it is heady and unmistakable. ]