I drew my knife and gripped the handle. Then I drove it at my throat.
What?
Or at Mannequin’s leg, which was folded around my throat. Same idea.
There’s… a bit of a difference there. :p
I aimed at the ball joint, striking a mere two or so inches from my own face. Once, twice, three times.
I was swinging for a fourth hit when he shifted positions. I couldn’t be sure if he had hoped to gradually strangle me, to leave me dangling until I started begging or if he’d been poised for something else, but he’d apparently changed his mind.
That did seem to be what he was doing. Did he get sick of the stabby stabby?
He turned over, his leg unfolding from my throat at the same instant one large hand closed over my face.
“Hey, don’t stab yourself in the face while you’re up there. Here, let me cover it up for you.”
“Mmmfffmfmf!”
He whipped me around himself in one tight circle, then let his arm go free from the socket, the whirring sound of chain feeding out swiftly becoming distant as I hurtled across the room.
Well, this is gonna hurt.
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