More moguls, now with ice. Before her fingers could catch a solid grip on the base of the hanging lantern, the sound of approaching conversation made her open her eyes. Over the Knight's shoulder, she sighted a pretty blonde with prominent eyes (she should borrow those!) and an accent so atrocious it made Maxwell's sound highborn, and...herself. She must have offended a burlesque dancer named Karma at some point this week.
Hoping to squeeze out additional seconds of advantage before James noticed, Marlowe pulled his lower lip with her teeth, fumbling above her head like the blind person she pretended to be. On pigeon toes and trying to make it look like a symptom of excitement, she heard the metal fastenings keeping the light secured to the tentpole squeak loose. Unaware that she'd been holding her breath, what started as the drag of a prematurely triumphant breath ended in hacking and coughing. Her eyes bugged, the back of her head and shoulders cracked into the tentpole. A reflexive yelp dwindled into a breathless gurgling. Her hands flew from the light fixture to claw at the fingers in a strangle hold around her neck. Adding insult, the lantern glanced off the side of her crown as it tumbled from its dislodged fixings. It clattered to the dirt, but did not go out.
Try as she might, she couldn't loosen his freakish python hands. Futile effort violently contorted her face. One white eye bulged, turned green. Her nose hooked like a crone's, her cheekbones lost asymmetry, then her hair went shock white, but only on one side. The nearness of the Knight's face and the deepening sinkholes of his eyes made her struggle more mightily.
Her eyes shot to the pair of women several paces beyond. Ignoring the Oracle, Marlowe dragged a hand from the vice around her neck to grab the air in the direction of the blonde, pleading help. She had to see that this man was completely psychotic. Anyone sane had to see that! This had just been a prank. No one responded to Ashton Kutcher with aggravated assault.
Realizing that she didn't have time to rely on anyone else's good judgement as Winter magic crawled up the Knight's arm and her head started to spin, Marlowe's contorting image blurred and lengthened, growing to occupy a great deal more space where she'd been pinned to the pole than the Oracle had. When her glamor congealed, James was strangling...James.
Betting on shock value buying her a splinter of advantage, she clenched a fist and swung for his right temple.