Oh, Machi-Zhaojun is [i]offended[/i]. 

Her eyes narrow into slits and her legs shift catlike to be ready for a deadly pounce. Her face loses any hint of a smile. How [i]dare[/i] you? Of all the insults you could have presented, you offer this, the mortal one? You offer her [i]disinterest[/i]? You, Witch, stand before a waiting avatar of the Maiden amongst Maidens and you [b]dare[/b] to offer her a standoffish greeting and a [i]respectful nod[/i]? 

No. This will not be borne. Whatever intentions she had laid they were irrelevant now. She was furious. There was now only the wroth of a scorned heart. What kind of witch was so perilously unlearned to dare a spirit so?

Her eye burns as blue as the Heaven hidden behind the eternal stormclouds. Her eye burns blue behind her Mask that is Machi and the earth yearns [i]not[/i]. 

And in the flash of feline power she is moving, unbound by gravity's call. In liquid motion she is moving. It is said the Shadowed Dragon invented the first cat out of the darkness that pooled in the Unbroken King's pronouncement of self; each one an echo of divine kingship. Behold, [i]mortals[/i]! If all cats are divine, I am chief amongst them! If all girls are beautiful, I am chief amongst them! 

Like a hurricane her pounce carries her into the midst of witches, and with instincts both as natural as her heart and and stolen as her face she is one with violence. A snapping whirl of fabric that seems fur, dragged along the brutal channels of a N'yari at work. With her left she sends Giriel away, shoved to the edge of the path, at risk of tumbling from the side towards the river below. With her right she snatches up Peregrine and tosses her over one shoulder in the traditional way the N'yari steal flower girls. The moment of your distraction by the sorceress is more than enough time for a feline as driven as Machi-Zhaojun to cross that distance.

"Shut up," she said, "nerds."

[Fight: 11!
Taking [b]Peregrine[/b] from my opponent
Inflicting a Condition on Giriel.]