[She studies the way it falls for just a moment, taking stock of the odd way it moves--
--and then her hand snaps; moving inhumanly fast, her whip lashes out, the blunt tip tearing through the tissue neatly. With another sharp movement she pulls it back to her and catches it in the palm of her hand. There's a small, tight smile on her face, something intense and joyous all at once.
Now that it's still, the tip of the whip is easier to identify: a spindle, now adorned with the remains of a tissue.]
no subject
--and then her hand snaps; moving inhumanly fast, her whip lashes out, the blunt tip tearing through the tissue neatly. With another sharp movement she pulls it back to her and catches it in the palm of her hand. There's a small, tight smile on her face, something intense and joyous all at once.
Now that it's still, the tip of the whip is easier to identify: a spindle, now adorned with the remains of a tissue.]
I assume you won't want it back.