[center][h1][color=D3D3D3][b]Dominika Kovač Pignatelli[/b][/color][/h1][/center]
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Small mercies, Dom thought as darkness enveloped the ballroom. Like a battery run for too long she had felt herself drained of all energy. Talking. Politely nodding. Laughing at the right moment. Perhaps such things came naturally to others, certainly she suspected to Maya or the Marchioness Lucienne, but they did not to her. The gunfire and screaming that followed spoiled the welcome feeling of relief she had felt for a fleeting moment. Showered by glass, Dom found herself crouching low on the floor. Fear ran through her, filtering into shock. Cold surprise that left her jaw clinched tightly together. Scrambling across the floor, she regretted agreeing to wear a dress again. Her left hand gripped tightly around the handle of the the fancy purse Catalina had handed her as she helped her change into an evening gown.

Dominika flinched as a chair came hurtling past her, splintering into a cloud of far less elegant and symmetrical pieces. Strong hands grabbed her and raised her to her feet. The quick thanks she was about to mutter died on her lips when she realized she was staring into a masked face. A design she did not know. A person she did not recognize. Her hands moved thoughtlessly, batting the armored hands away from her, and she shoved the figure as she stumble backwards. The unyielding firmness of a wall touched her bare shoulder blades and Dom pulled the revolver from her purse in a panicked motion.

[color=D3D3D3]"Don't, stay back,"[/color] she managed, the snub nosed gun heavy, so heavy, in her shaking hands.

[color=tomato]"You don't want to hurt us, put the gun down,"[/color] the masked figure said, unbothered by the gun barrel pointed at her chest, a manablade in her right hand resting lazily against her leg.

Eyes full of unwelcome dampness, Dom nodded and lowered the barrel of the gun, setting it down gently on a nearby table.

[color=tomato]"Good, let's  do this the easy way,"[/color] the woman wearing the mask sweetly beckoned, holding out her hand and motioning for Dom to come closer.

Dom shook her head. She knew better. She reached out with her magic. She felt the materials all around her. Metal armor crumbled, crushed as if by the great depths of the ocean, imploding in a sudden pop as the bones of her assailants wrist and hand were pulverized. Dom stood frozen with fear, fear at violence she had inflected, listening to the mad screaming of the woman as she fell to the floor. Over the calamity and horror of the ballroom, Dom heard her name shouted. Ionna called to her. Rousing her from her terror and summoning her spirit.

[color=D3D3D3]"Ionna! I'm here-[/color] Dominika shouted back, her joyous reply fading into a pained exhale as a baton thumped unceremoniously into her shoulder and sent her clattering across another table. She hadn't seen the pair circling her, stepping unhesitatingly over their fallen friend. 

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[@Mcmolly]