Skye Starrfyre
"Hate to burst your bubble," Myrkviðr answer him, like a parent absently explaining something to an inquisitive child. "But I was born here."
Clearly, it was his balls controlling his through process, however. Myrkviðr's gaze shot to the fist. Oh, s**t.
"I think I'll be going." Myrkviðr took a practice step in just enough time to get a full face full of cards. Again. She was backpedaling faster, but this time it just wasn't fast enough.
The lieutenant caught her round the middle and the pair of them went down. "s**t, are you crazy?" the brunette howled out as her shoulders hit the dirt. There wasn't enough padding to keep them from scuffing, and the sting made her hiss a breath.
The most important lesson that Myrkviðr had learned is that struggling usually involved your captor becoming more severe with the way they bound you. The trick was to let them think you'd given up, and then run like hell.
So, her body went mostly limp, and she tried not to think about how much her head hurt, as she blinked up at the man now on top of her. "Please don't hit my face, at least."
