phxse-lock
Moxxi’s is unusually packed at the seems, and Freya quickly finds herself among awkward company. Acute attention turned to her ginger ale, her ears lower, the crowd’s voices the sound of rushing water muffled.
Muzzle rested upon her entwined hands, thoughts deepened to the possible whereabouts of her children.
“Oi!!! Beast!! I’m talking ta you!”
Freya’s ears flick high, and sound pours in, a vase to an overly abundant amount of water. They flick to to her skull, eyes sharpened when she turns to the offensive speaker, a sneer twisting a yong woman’s face. The knight nearly scoffs.
-- “May I be of assistance?”
There is no kindness left within the mother, anxiety taught against her bones like a vice, and her mind slowly darkens.
The woman’s sneer reveals a row of crooked teeth. “Yeah! I wanna fight ya! I seen the way ya move tha’ lance o’ yours, and I wanna challenge!” She points a scarred thumb to herself. The resisted scoff tumbles from Freya’s lip, and she turns back to the bar, muzzle upon the glass.
“Entertain your bloodlust with another. I’ve business to tend to.” The glass put aside, she begins to stand to her hind feet, until a metallic barrel jabs into the center of her shoulder blades.
“I wasn’t askin’, bitch. Fight me or I’ll shoot ya.”