[He's experienced and knows how to see through a bluff. The fact is noted with a mild tinge of irritation; he's already been prodding at her verbally, and taking that inconsequential, easy to heal graze on his cheek would no doubt only feed whatever that fuelled his whimsy in making him ask her if they've met before, of all things. He'll be trouble, in more sense than one. She has a sense for that sort of stuff, and she can't say she's pleased by her own ability.
She doesn't blame him, naturally; she struck first, and whatever he gained from that is only the consequence of her own action.
The air crackles with warning at his approach. He's fast, and she can't immediately tell if she can be faster. Dropping the whip to cut down on every split second she could afford herself, she shifts into a defensive stance as one practised in martial arts would, in preparation to parry a blow she can tell from sight alone is not something anyone sane would accept heads-on.
--And then, it doesn't come.
One man's hesitation, another's opportunity. Diverting his winding arm aside and grabbing it at the wrist with her own right hand, her left fist darts forth without mercy at his shoulder joint with inhuman strength, an attempt to dislocate the limb with... uncertain results. She can control her strength, but she still doesn't know enough about him to tell exactly how much she should put behind her own punches. It was at least enough to potentially snap the bone of a Dead Apostle in her world, but there's no telling how this man would compare in terms of endurance. Did it come across as too strong? Or too weak? Both would lead to undesirable and inconvenient outcomes, she can only hope he could at least feel something crack a little. An air bubble would be fine too, really.
--Actually, a broken bone would be preferable to the alternative. Judging from his non-delirious personality so far, him being smug would be FAR worse than him being injured. Thus she attempts within the next blink to pivot off the momentum while she's still got a hold on his arm, to throw him against the nearest wall before he has a chance to recover. But if he manages to react first, then...]
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She doesn't blame him, naturally; she struck first, and whatever he gained from that is only the consequence of her own action.
The air crackles with warning at his approach. He's fast, and she can't immediately tell if she can be faster. Dropping the whip to cut down on every split second she could afford herself, she shifts into a defensive stance as one practised in martial arts would, in preparation to parry a blow she can tell from sight alone is not something anyone sane would accept heads-on.
--And then, it doesn't come.
One man's hesitation, another's opportunity. Diverting his winding arm aside and grabbing it at the wrist with her own right hand, her left fist darts forth without mercy at his shoulder joint with inhuman strength, an attempt to dislocate the limb with... uncertain results. She can control her strength, but she still doesn't know enough about him to tell exactly how much she should put behind her own punches. It was at least enough to potentially snap the bone of a Dead Apostle in her world, but there's no telling how this man would compare in terms of endurance. Did it come across as too strong? Or too weak? Both would lead to undesirable and inconvenient outcomes, she can only hope he could at least feel something crack a little. An air bubble would be fine too, really.
--Actually, a broken bone would be preferable to the alternative. Judging from his non-delirious personality so far, him being smug would be FAR worse than him being injured. Thus she attempts within the next blink to pivot off the momentum while she's still got a hold on his arm, to throw him against the nearest wall before he has a chance to recover. But if he manages to react first, then...]