uilechumhachtach:
Moira exhales, maintaining her composure as the blade cuts into her flesh. The pain is minimal, comparatively- besides, she’s not about to let this woman intimidate her. Anyone who uses nicknames like that hardly deserves the time of day… She does, however, groan slightly as her arm is twisted behind her, visibly irked.
“I could ask you the same question,” she says, a casual sort of condescension behind her voice. She half shrugs, looking around for an escape route. “Though I have a feeling you’ll have as many answers for me as I for you.”
Moira glances back again, but the woman is just out of view- lest she turn her head properly and end up with her neck split open. She swallows against the knife, half wondering if Gabriel is picking any of this up from outside the building. Unlikely, of course- another mess she has to clean up alone. One again risking her life over… what, exactly? Information on Talon?
She sighs.
The plan is laid out in her head- it’s a risk, but one she feels is necessary. It either ends one of two ways… she does hope that the odds are in her favor. Moira squeezes the hand pinned behind her back, clicking her machinery to life. At once, a misty tendril shoots out, puncturing the woman in the stomach.
“Release me.”
A pained gasp escapes her as the tendril stabs Marguerite through the stomach and all at once the air around her feels thick and heavy, making the act of breathing feel like an incredible feat.
Rather than pulling back to double over in pain, Marguerite doubles down, pushing herself flush against the other woman and inching the knife across pale flesh; not enough to do real damage, but enough to coax a thin stream of crimson from the incision.
“A pity to see a beautiful woman who does not value her own life.” She hisses in the taller woman’s ear, as her nails dig into the arm in her grasp. The irritation with the encounter is growing evident and, more than anything, Marguerite would rather this be over with. “I will ask you again: who sent you?”
