[Beau grits her teeth as she surges forward, the cut burning sharp splinters of pain away from it into her chest, a hurt that urges her forward. It's just a hit, like many many others. Who can count the amount of times she's been stabbed, beaten, cut open by those who claim to love her? She's a weapon. A useful gathering of knowledge, a pawn. This is the only way she can have any control, a lion leashed, kept in spiral until the coliseum gates open.
The projectile is foreign, some sort of magic or force she doesn't recognize, but right now she sees blinding red. She could dodge it, sure, but that's not where her focus is. Instead, she grabs her staff off her back and simply strikes it when she meets it in her path, aiming to either knock it off course or go straight through. And once she's within range, she'll take another sharp swing right down upon the Drifter in the corner, a slam from over her shoulders aimed at their head.]
no subject
The projectile is foreign, some sort of magic or force she doesn't recognize, but right now she sees blinding red. She could dodge it, sure, but that's not where her focus is. Instead, she grabs her staff off her back and simply strikes it when she meets it in her path, aiming to either knock it off course or go straight through. And once she's within range, she'll take another sharp swing right down upon the Drifter in the corner, a slam from over her shoulders aimed at their head.]