Roxie slides the brass ring onto her finger, again, and from out of the depths of her jacket glints an ivory-and-silver circlet that she pulls onto her head.
The sound. A pipe? No. Too sharp-edged. Something thin, but blunted by use. An axe, maybe. Poorly-maintained, overly abused.
Her hand goes to her neck.
If Roxie had a different mindset, she might have just gone up one of the walls. But that's not how she thinks. She expects a fight. She expects to get hurt and cause hurt.
She dashes forward, as her circlet gleams—and then is hidden, as a sudden surging tide of darkness fills the alleyway just ahead of her.
no subject
Familiar.
Roxie slides the brass ring onto her finger, again, and from out of the depths of her jacket glints an ivory-and-silver circlet that she pulls onto her head.
The sound. A pipe? No. Too sharp-edged. Something thin, but blunted by use. An axe, maybe. Poorly-maintained, overly abused.
Her hand goes to her neck.
If Roxie had a different mindset, she might have just gone up one of the walls. But that's not how she thinks. She expects a fight. She expects to get hurt and cause hurt.
She dashes forward, as her circlet gleams—and then is hidden, as a sudden surging tide of darkness fills the alleyway just ahead of her.