( Okay, so definitely not human. She can't be. That's the forward feral stalk of a creature that isn't afraid to die of bullets — either because they don't know the bullets in this gun have silver in them, or because they're a thing that only dies by beheading, salting, burning, a coin in the mouth, something, anything other than a projectile.
Shit. Alright.
He makes a call.
When he pulls the trigger, it's not to unload center-mass like he normally would. He quickly lines up his shot, and he squeezes. The bullet sails straight for her grip on the meat tenderizer. Either it'll take a couple of her fingers off or it'll just knock the damn thing out of her hand, he hopes — either one's a win if it means that thing stays far, far away from his skull.
Dimly, distantly, he registers the sound of shouting behind them. People are scattering, ducking for cover, running the hell away from the scene the moment gunfire fills the air. )
no subject
Shit. Alright.
He makes a call.
When he pulls the trigger, it's not to unload center-mass like he normally would. He quickly lines up his shot, and he squeezes. The bullet sails straight for her grip on the meat tenderizer. Either it'll take a couple of her fingers off or it'll just knock the damn thing out of her hand, he hopes — either one's a win if it means that thing stays far, far away from his skull.
Dimly, distantly, he registers the sound of shouting behind them. People are scattering, ducking for cover, running the hell away from the scene the moment gunfire fills the air. )