He felt his breathing coming in short, hyperventilated bursts. Preying on paranoia was a dangerous game, and far too easy to turn against someone as inexperienced at it as Lucky. She was pulling reality out from underneath him, and it was all too easy to stop him from regaining his mental footing now the more she spoke.
"No, no, no," he continued to mumble under his breath, a faraway look in his eyes as they darted in all directions, only very occasionally refocusing on the crown that should not have been. Mimsy's insinuations sparked an unspoken conversation Lucky wasn't bothering to hide in his desperation. It was exactly the kind of distraction his opponent needed.
Svensyl struck with enough force to make him drop the weapon, withdrawing his hands. His shield shattered; he was defeated. It should have been over then, with him disarmed and confused and finally freed of the responsibility of standing there like a training dummy. But it didn't feel over. Not when Mimsy continued to loom over him, despite all that she was saying.
His eyes finally met hers again. He had no chance to protest her offer of assistance, or anything else. "Mimsy--"
Hilt met skull, and he crumpled.
Nothing Yet
