-Clink-

The sound of the sharp tip of sword hitting against a metal ball in the bottom of Priscilla's throat was not a loud noise among the reggae music she had playing from her trailer. She had practiced the trick 14 times that day, and was pretty sure that it could be performed tonight without any hesitation. Pulling the sword out, she quickly coughed the small golden ball up and into her hands. [i]"Nice."[/i] she praised herself taking the ball and placing it into the sterile mixture she had set up on the small kitchenette counter. She then placed the sword she was using (one of the many) onto her small futon to be be replaced in her hand with a pack of smokes. Taking one she placed it between her lips and dug into the pocket of her jeans for a lighter. Lighting it, she stepped outside, her petite body leaning against the cold metal as she took a long drag.