Snakes. Slithering. Hissing. Slipping between the cracks of her focus, into the forefront of her mind, and into her magic. Ophelia snarled, as the foreign magic encroached upon her own, and forced it back... down. No woman forced her to move -- neither physically nor metaphysically. ~[i]Empress...[/i]~ Lucius opened dialog, however, he didn't press, as he knew Ophelia's temper was raised beyond honeyed words of calming.

Instead, he got himself prepared for her. Ophelia's left hand curled around a handful of flour, while her right slid into her bra, and curled around a playing card. Her eyes narrowed, as she pinpointed the hisses, and settled on the green-haired girl. In a singular instance, she whipped her flour-filled hand at Mitsugi -- polluting the air around her head -- and crushed Lucius's card.

Forward, she flung herself, as a mammoth iron shield in the style of an Roman scutum formed; destined to slam into the girl.

[@The Irish Tree]