Galina whirled on Souma, recovering her footing easily from the shove, grey skirts whirling about her legs and the kindjal still in her grip. She was furious: furious with herself for traipsing so easily into this deception designed just especial for her, furious with the humiliation and the hurt and her abject failure in most every possible way, from the moment she boarded the [i]Empress[/i]. Her teeth bared in a feral snarl, Galina's eyes narrowed with dangerous promise as she took up an oft-practiced stance, the kindjal held at the ready. Tendrils of long dark hair had fallen about her face, slipped from their confines in the brief struggle and only lending to the impression of a wild animal backed into a corner. 

Obviously the "cane" was far more than it seemed - and Souma was most assuredly neither lame nor crippled as she had once believed. Goemon closed the door behind him in his hasty departure and, assumedly, secured it as well. The "cane" - or whatever the hell it was - gave Souma the advantage in reach, even in these closed quarters - though Galina was loathe to admit as much. 

[i]'If he wanted you dead, you would already be... '[/i]

The young woman blinked, a lifetime of iron discipline suddenly animating her every move as she took a single, deep breath. Galina swallowed the rising nausea that threatened, born of the surge of adrenaline combined with the burgeoning seasickness she'd battled before she even entered the room. She found a small point of pride, that her hand barely shook at all when she stood to her full height from the fighting stance, and showed the kindjal almost ceremoniously to Souma. With just as little fanfare, she bent to sheath the long dagger back beneath her skirts. For a brief moment, Galina thought she might yet grab the pistol, but she did not like the odds on distance and the obviously expert way that Souma held the cane.

Instead, she simply stood once more and, turning her back to Souma, walked sedately toward the small table on the floor. Nimbly, she settled to the floor in a perfect circle of skirts that resembled nothing so much as the bloom of some somber grey foliage, her legs folded beneath her . 

"I will not run." Galina righted the upended jug that, she noted, still contained a good deal of whatever liquid it was meant to hold.

"But please do not allow your man to harm my traveling companion. She is truly no more than she seems, an old woman who can bring you no trouble. Klara does not know your face, much less imagine that you are here. She has only heard your name once, at dinner... "

She grimaced at the memory, her face flushing with embarrassment, knowing very well just how tempted she had been to see Goemon locate this wistful facade of Takahiro Souma she had so meticulously crafted in her head. Galina could not look at him for the moment, and so her nimble hands put the tray back to right, neatly reordering the small cups that had been so precisely laid out upon it. He and Goemon could have a grand laugh over her ridiculous, girlish naivete later if they wished - that was the least of Gaina's worries. It was far too late to pretend that her old nursemaid meant nothing to her, to give Klara the protection of feigned indifference, and she did not even bother with the attempt. 

"And she could not possibly make any connection to you." Her small task accomplished, the tray as symmetrically composed as she could make it, Galina's hands were folded neatly in her lap once more. "Please. Only do this, and I will give you no more trouble."