"The way we act," spoke the fiery redhead, whose foe had been bested. The boy leapt to his feet, harmed, yet resolute in his stare. Was that stone or iron in his eyes? "is our regard for those lives lost! What is our battle, if not a celebration to the dead?" He was black haired, with a silky mane that reached his waist, tied up in a neat silver bun, eyes narrow, and brows that were like a form of art.
Valiant were their words in the shade of danger. The retinue that had come with the Empress were none other than her own bodyguards, those hand-picked chosen. War paints scarred their hauberks and masks, brilliant plumes of seven-colored feathers. One of them was a known face to us, but why not introduce her again? I speak of Iko, the Silver Sword, whose iajutsu was like a blur. No person had ever stopped her strikes. Alone, her green jade armor made her seem bulkier than she was, her near-innocent visage hidden beneath a menacing war-mask. Her presence alone seemed to hush the martial artists here gathered, like a gust will silence a fire.
She spoke no words, and needed none. The severe straits of these youthful gangster was evident. Some cowered, but not these two stars, that rose bravely before Lucille. "This... passivity of yours, o' queen, is the root of all these issues! Lead us into battle anew! We breathe not to be farmers and tillers! Our blood demands combat!"
"And battle we have provided," said one of the masters behind, silver and black wings unfolded. A black eyepatch covered an amber eye. His smile would be disarming to any woman, but alas, Lucille was not any woman. "can you blame us? What had to happen, happened."