[color=Aquamarine]"Fuck!"[/color] Misty shouted, clapping her hands over her ears against the thundering report of the gun. It rang tinnily in her ears as it echoed around the excellent acoustics of her dance studio. The demon thing appeared to have hocked a gobbet of acid onto the hunter, which was both badass and disgusting in approximately equal terms. She then realized that Kendra, who to Misty's knowledge had never fired a gun before, was point a shotgun in the general direction of a man standing right next to her. It didn't take a genius to realize that if she didn't get the holy blue fuck out of here the best she could hope for was an ass full of buckshot.

[color=Aquamarine]"Telos!"[/color] she shouted and vanished in a puff of chalk dust, reappearing in the reception area with a thunderous sneeze. She shoved her hand into the pocket of a jacket hanging on the door and pulled out her glock. It had been a gift from a pimp who had tried to add Misty to his stable after word got around about that oh so hilarious solicitation charge. Well if by gift you meant took it out of his bag after she had creatively rewired his memories in such a way that inspired him to find a new line of work. The words [color=orange]'I cast fireball'[/color] had been scratched into the slide in clumsy block letters and then filled in with red nail polish during a subsequent arts and craft hour. She flicked off the safety and whirled back to what was fast becoming the murder on the dance floor, or at any rate a Tchaikovsky cover of it.


[hider=Eeep!]
Misty spends 1 hold to teleport to her gun and out of the line of fire.
2 Holds remaining. 
[/hider]