[She slashes at the string, too energized not to recognize it immediately as anything other than a weapon — it gets everywhere, suffice to say, and she seems undaunted by the idea of something being shot at her. She only staggers to stop when he yells at her, her claws raised high and ready to slash down at him. Her chest heaves with rabid breaths, teeth bared. In spanish, she growls back:]
Who are you?! What do you want?!
[Blood drips from her knuckles, plipping on the cold cement underfoot.]
no subject
Who are you?! What do you want?!
[Blood drips from her knuckles, plipping on the cold cement underfoot.]