The brass knuckles are out. Dany’s body was the one that made that call, slipping them over her hands and curling into fists, forming a boxing stance. Strong footing, hands up, ready to block or snap out, catch any opening. This isn’t an exhausted, bloodied girl flailing on a rooftop; this is Redana Claudius, strong contender for the Gold.

“Stand down,” she says. Her pulse pounds through her fists. “You are a prisoner of the Princess Redana Claudius of Tellus.” Her body is a spring. It would feel so good to let the tension loose. To catch that perfect nose square on. “Your Master is dead… or worse… and I did it. I and Bella, of your Orders.” Which one was Bella? They’re all an inchoate mass of deadly tricks in her head.

The situation is… bad. Not because she doesn’t think she can go toe-to-toe with this huntress (she can, at least long enough for the battle to be noticed, probably) but because she’s… distracted. The way that the assassin moves. The flexibility, the inhuman grace, the precision. It’s not the same as what Dany can do, all raw power and stamina, but game recognizes game, training recognizes training. The blonde locks spilling down her back, the insouciant little smirk as she drinks Dany in, the long legs, the delicate power… no wonder Bella had it bad for her. Don’t think about being chased, Dany. Square up, hold your ground, show her your mettle.

“…and I only opened up your [i]box[/i] because I needed to know if she was inside,” Redana lies, trying to shore up the moral high ground. “Help me find her, and I’ll let you keep sleeping before you run rampant.” There? See? Nobody needs to get punched in the face, and if somebody does, then they clearly deserved it for rejecting such a sensible offer, so there.