Kintla Flatlands The Judge

The less the pale stranger knew, the better. Amekaze's attachments would hold no merit here. None of it related to it, or them, or any of it. Just her, selfishly. If she could engage this female properly, it would give her plenty to know the other by. Not all could be approached this way, and not all could know what to do with it.

She stepped into this ingrained role with ease. Just a little antagonistic, cocky, but smooth in a steadying blend of defense with offensive preparedness. Experience lent her a certain comfortable sort of self-assured glimmer in her eyes. She's measured up on worse, she believes, and maybe she's keen to have it sting a little. Her teeth still feel dry from the situation with the thrall, the violence riled just oh-so-close choked back down isn't satisfying. She'll be glad to see it go, even if just in part.

Amekaze arced in closer, light on her feet, and aimed to circle the stoic stranger for her first good, long look at her. She's oddly pleased by the silence even now. When she rounded around to the front of her and squared her shoulders just right, she made a head-on lunge, seeking to meet teeth-to-teeth.