As the unwanted bachelor writhed like a corpse worm in the oily bowl of a hollowing eye in Ares' grasp, the pink chiffon Akuma regarded him at first with a healthy dose of cemetary reverence in her widened, wild eyes before the drunken gait thrilled a step forward, just one. And tongue trapped between her teeth, a captive limb in the slamming shut of a pearly white window, the actual window pane grinned.
Mo.
"Never better, 'sarg." the yuki-no-onna said to the deus belli, as she crept backward slowly, knuckles throbbing still with pain, but the voice was rousing her out of whatever frantic agitation had sprung her into the realm of no-thinking violence and no-consequence. The soft voice of her friend. She hadn't had his name plunged into her memory because in their prior interaction, he'd never speared her with it. Nick names seemed appropriate.
"Are we straight?" could she go? By now, her shoulder had taken up residence next to the wary neighborhood of both Adam and Dria. Never once taking her eyes off of either the restrained man or Sarg.