Ahllasta shifts posture again, one hand falling to its respective side. This free hand poises itself as if it were ready to chop and jab at the drop of a hat. Her carnivorous eyes dance for less than three seconds this time around, dashing from the hallway and then back to Anora after deciding their time is better spent in a damaged living room. She's thinking, turning some despicable thought on its other side via firey metaphorical utensils. 

"How about this?-" Ahllasta, being more a woman of action than debate and bargaining, had made up her mind to follow a new, unspoken course of action. She lived from the hip and enacts all her decisions to reflect said truth. 

A small shimmering thread, only visible by its super-thin reflective surface, is withdrawn from Ahlassta's pocket. One small metallic sphere is held, dangling at the end of said string. Ahllasta twirls the sphere in circles until suddenly it glows a bright red alongside emitting a low hum. She eventually tosses the sphere through a nearby wall into the hallway where her partner is, a light *Crack* and spray of dust being the only indication that it's moved through two layers of plaster. 

*Crash!* Through the earlier mentioned plaster comes Ahllasta's alleged partner via a faint twitch of her wrist, dazed and completely wrapped in that thin threading. "Wha-?" He'd sputter amidst clouds of dust before a simple flick to his temple sends a sharp *Crack!* through the room, disabling the poor man as he slumps into being entirely supported by a faint twinkling twine. Not even a second later he is dropped, still bound, to the floor below. In Ahllasta's hand is a pair of jingling keys. 

"My rides faster." She'd say whilst mischief paints her features in prideful swathes. She lets go of the yarn in her hand and gently kicks at Darsby's shattered leg in such a way that he's pulled across the floor towards Ahllasta, underneath Anora's hellhound. Another seemingly gentle kick and Darsby is likely tossed over Ahllasta's shoulder should there be no interference. 

Throughout this entire affair which transpired as if it were some pre-ordained course of perfected action occurring in no more than seven seconds flat, Ahllasta never broke eye-contact with Anora. "You're coming with, dear." She'd casually remark with a sneer before turning towards the way out, intending to walk to the black 1974 Mustang she'd arrived in.

A cell-phone, somewhere on the floor in the hallway continues to emit faint sounds. "Hello...? Vince...? Respond now, or I'll assume the worst," would come a stern voice. 

----------------------------------------------------------

"So, I'm on Earth?" Darsby would mutter to himself inside a swirling vortex of jumbled conversations. His mind is still far from present circumstance.