( she barely manages to hear the apology being said her way before there's is a whirr and a mechanical little thing that forces (whom she assumes is her assailant) towards her. wanda straightens, hands moving about comically, blood from her nose dripping down to her lips and chin, coating her hands partially, and all she can do to stop the dark figure from walking right into her is press her hands to his chest, onto his shirt—
her feet tangle unto one another, so without hesitation she grabs onto his shirt to avoid falling backwards.
no subject
her feet tangle unto one another, so without hesitation she grabs onto his shirt to avoid falling backwards.
the poor shirt really going through it. )