Ciscera's gaze held as the fox approached, her icy fury refusing to melt under her strange calm. Many a beast had fallen to her blade; the confidence of her victims had held no effect on their fate. Her growl continued in tone as the scum touched the pure surface of her blade, her muscles tensing as the vixen directed it away from her body. It would be easy to end it now... A flick of her wrist could remove the intruding appendage with ease, a more directed movement could spill crimson blood like paint on a pristine canvas. 

But despite the beauty of her innermost thoughts, she let the vixen speak. Though it would be more pleasurable to simply kill her, the hefty sum they had paid to be left in solace would be forfeit if she ruined their property. Well, without reason, that is. 

Thus, the tigress held her ground and her bloodlust, at least for the moment. However, it was not a comfortable stance. Not only had the whore dared to touch her blade, but she had moved quite close to the tigress, close enough to smell the perfume she and her companions wore, undoubtedly to help woo their clients... The thought made the warrior flinch as she suddenly realized the fruitless quest the whore was taking. Was this the only mindset a creature like this had, having been slaving away at such an unsavory occupation so long? Or was this a mere trick, designed to make one weaker than herself fault under the perceived gentleness?

Regardless, the current situation was spiraling far from Ciscera's comfort zone. The fox was too close now, her revolting "invitation" making it near impossible to do any real damage with the blade in her right hand, while her knife was too far to grab in even a moderately subtle manner. But the creature was small and lithe: features that made her appealing to customers...but also far outmatched to the will of a soldier. 

As the fox took a final step closer, Ciscera's free arm lept out, striking the canine on the neck with the palm of her hand as her fingers closed around her throat. The tigress lifted the whore up, smiling, her claws finding purchase in her soft fur and catching on silken skin. 

"Petty emotion is wasted on the weak," The tigress said matter-of-factly, to the vixen suspended within her grasp. "The same weakness that condemned you to your current position. Do not speak of strength, wench, when you are no more than property yourself. "