[ Erik has to take a couple of solid shots to the gut before he’s driven to wise up. He edges back, haggard, turns a wrist down in time to deflect the next punch and promptly catches Cassandra’s opposite fist with his liver.
He hunches, splutters, successfully stifles the impulse to rear back and plow her skull off her spine with a haymaker, not that he would succeed.
He sinks to a knee instead, casually indignant. It doesn’t hurt that much. He’s just tired. Lost a contact lens, checking the mat for trip hazards, etc. ]
no subject
He hunches, splutters, successfully stifles the impulse to rear back and plow her skull off her spine with a haymaker, not that he would succeed.
He sinks to a knee instead, casually indignant. It doesn’t hurt that much. He’s just tired. Lost a contact lens, checking the mat for trip hazards, etc. ]