[for a moment he thinks she actually stabbed him. There's no overt pain but the world is spinning. It makes the nausea come back full force. His head is pounding when he hits the bar, the few still standing bottles and glasses rattling, his free hand scrambling at the polished wood to steady himself.
He doesn't lose his pick at least, but it's a close thing.
It's embarrassing how easily she moves around him- he feels like a fumbling child. Like this is the first time he's held a knife. All he's doing is cutting off his own fingertips at this rate.
He can't even hear what it's saying. It's all blood in his ears. He comes at it again. Not just one attack but many stabs and slashes that do not fit his chosen tool. If nothing else he is very motivated]
no subject
He doesn't lose his pick at least, but it's a close thing.
It's embarrassing how easily she moves around him- he feels like a fumbling child. Like this is the first time he's held a knife. All he's doing is cutting off his own fingertips at this rate.
He can't even hear what it's saying. It's all blood in his ears. He comes at it again. Not just one attack but many stabs and slashes that do not fit his chosen tool. If nothing else he is very motivated]