the joke makes her wish she'd never had the misfortune of running into derek allen. her grip is tightened for a moment, fingers twisting white as she considers her second option.
"have you ever thrown an axe?" as the words are leaving her mouth she realizes she doesn't care, passing the handle over so that he can show her how it's done. it's not the first time she's dealt with bravado— her strategy has always been to let it run its course. "good luck."
"Like it's hard," he scoffs with a grin. Come on… Don't play with him! The knife clicks back in place, replaced by the wooden handle of the axe. The weight of it bobs up and down in his grip, getting the feeling down. This is what he's talking about. The air gets swung into a few times, the eye-line connecting the dots between a blade and the forehead of the thing that's staggering closer to them. Bullseye.
"Who needs luck when you've got one of these bad boys?"
SWING
The dotted line--so deliberately calculated--makes a curling knot in the air, forcefully flying, upward, forward, downward. It wallops the ground, handle standing straight up, ready to be plucked. King Arthur awaiting. The straggler declines, walking past it.
A beat. Derek turns on a dime against his heels, a swift breeze through his hair with palms up in a proven shrug.
"See?"
