[ Peter lets out a low sigh. Part of him knows that he ought to just leave it alone. It’s not a big deal, after all. It’s just a coat. He can just get another one.
He grits his teeth, taking a rallying breath to shore up his fraying patience. He thinks of what he can say that wouldn’t involve this conversation coming to blows, but then he sees the smallest flicker of white out of the corner of his eye. It takes a great deal of willpower not to turn toward her, to see what Yan is doing, but he has to figure she’s trying to make her escape. Which is smart. If these are some of the men coming after her, then it stands to reason that she should be very, very far away from them.
It's why he straightens a little, forces himself to slap on his biggest, most infuriating grin. ]
Didn’t realize you and your friend had such a strong death wish.
[ Which is a bluff, of course. An attempt to keep their eyes on him. Peter doesn’t actually want to kill them, but—
Apparently that choice is taken out of his hands, because instead of darting away, Yan leaps out of the brush, and Peter jerks to attention. Peter is in the middle of shouting, No, don’t— except she’s already clamped her teeth around the hunter’s ankle. He falls to the ground in pain, and Peter reacts, then, turning to the other hunter, who’s fumbling with his quiver to nock an arrow.
So Peter flings the dead rabbit at the guy’s face
The archer yelps, batting the game away. The guy recovers after a few moments and redirects his attention, but Peter has already drawn his sword, slashing at the man. The first swing severs a portion of the bow’s top limb, rendering it useless, and the hunter scrambles back, drawing his dagger. Apparently this man wasn’t built for close-quarters combat, however, and Peter quickly dispatches of him, driving his sword through the man’s gut.
He plants his boot against the man’s stomach and shoves him away, freeing his sword, and he turns toward the other hunter. ]
no subject
He grits his teeth, taking a rallying breath to shore up his fraying patience. He thinks of what he can say that wouldn’t involve this conversation coming to blows, but then he sees the smallest flicker of white out of the corner of his eye. It takes a great deal of willpower not to turn toward her, to see what Yan is doing, but he has to figure she’s trying to make her escape. Which is smart. If these are some of the men coming after her, then it stands to reason that she should be very, very far away from them.
It's why he straightens a little, forces himself to slap on his biggest, most infuriating grin. ]
Didn’t realize you and your friend had such a strong death wish.
[ Which is a bluff, of course. An attempt to keep their eyes on him. Peter doesn’t actually want to kill them, but—
Apparently that choice is taken out of his hands, because instead of darting away, Yan leaps out of the brush, and Peter jerks to attention. Peter is in the middle of shouting, No, don’t— except she’s already clamped her teeth around the hunter’s ankle. He falls to the ground in pain, and Peter reacts, then, turning to the other hunter, who’s fumbling with his quiver to nock an arrow.
So Peter flings the dead rabbit at the guy’s face
The archer yelps, batting the game away. The guy recovers after a few moments and redirects his attention, but Peter has already drawn his sword, slashing at the man. The first swing severs a portion of the bow’s top limb, rendering it useless, and the hunter scrambles back, drawing his dagger. Apparently this man wasn’t built for close-quarters combat, however, and Peter quickly dispatches of him, driving his sword through the man’s gut.
He plants his boot against the man’s stomach and shoves him away, freeing his sword, and he turns toward the other hunter. ]