Clarissa & Malachi | Hallways
"Oh yeah?" he scoffed, looking entirely affronted that Clary would even think to mention his absence after he'd just saved her life. "Maybe if you hadn't missed when I went through from the ground takedowns, I wouldn't have had to stop Mr Mostly Headless over there from stepping on your pretty little face." Despite the carnage going on around them, the banter came easily between the two. It was also helping the fact that any mention of Clary and bringing people to the ground inspired all kinds of creative images in Malachi's head. Now was definitely not the place.
He watched with interest as she tugged on her skirt, feeling that prickle of heat despite the situation when she finally decided to simply slice along the side. Malachi had never been put off by battle, which helped explain why he could still feel such normal things in the thick of it. Clary's indication of the ruined skirt made him roll his eyes, though the appearance of another attacker Malachi had sensed in his periphery had him holding up a finger to her in a sign that he'd be just one moment. In the blink of an eye, Malachi had dodged a shot from the man's rather inelegant handgun, then used one of his swords to sever the offending hand (and its weapon) from the man's body. Screams were the last thing their attacker managed before Malachi shoved the sword straight through his heart. No muss, no fuss.
"If you didn't wear such impractical clothing, you wouldn't have to worry about them getting ruined," he said as he wiped his blade on the tattered remains of the skirt in question. Smiling as she looked at him expectantly, he gestured for her to lead the way. "We shall."