“Hey!” Tattletale spoke, “Pay attention!”
Night drew a knife from a hip sheath. She bent down over me.
Ah, dammit, are we doing the hostage thing? We’re doing the hostage thing aren’t we.
I dropped her cloak and struggled to reach behind my back for my own knife, but she was faster. The blade pressed against my throat. My hand caught her wrist, stopping her from going any further.
By the way? I like that Tattletale is completely open about the fact that she was looking for a way to “fuck with” the pair, even though that immediately reduces her credibility and can cause hostage taking of the “okay I’m listening but if I think you’re fucking with me, she dies” kind.
I was pretty sure my costume could take a cut from a knife, but if she found the gap where my mask was separate from the body portion of my costume that extended around the lower part of my neck, she could slide the blade through with no difficulty.
Ah, right, the one spot where this suit allows skin access.
“Damn you!” Tattletale shouted. I was only aware of Night’s unwavering, unblinking gaze, the feel of her wrist in my grip. Then the gunshots.
Grue?
Night didn’t even scream. She dropped partway on top of me, falling onto her side, her weight on my legs.
Rest in pepperonis.
Fog isn’t gonna like this, is he.
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