“Who died and made you Sheriff, blondie?” the ringleader sneered. His wingman (or crony, or toadie, or whatever title suited him best) started to flank Justice, and it was fairly clear they were somewhat used to getting into trouble - just maybe not with women, so much.
“Ain’t tall enough to be Sheriff!” one of the guys near Lucy sneered. All of them chuckled, as though their obvious observations were the height of comedy. Drunk, they probably were, which did call into question their wit sober.
“Fuck off,” Ringleader said, angling his jaw and making a shooing motion, “This ain’t your business.”
The Wingman had a hand in his pocket, and the two men by Lucy were now watching as well, tense. Even though they all wholeheartedly expected the cougar to back down, there was still a tangible energy in the air - something was going to happen.
Justice kept her hands in her own pockets, eyes flicking between the various points of possible contact. They were functional enough to follow some loose plan, or habit maybe, but as far as diabolical went? Not exactly. Which mean there would be consequences if she put bullets through their faces. That made things complicated, but not enough to reconsider.
“I made it my fuckin’ business,” she started, flicking a look to the two furthest away, mapping out where they were and how long it’d take for them to get to her. But despite the tension, she didn’t want to make a move while they were still pawing Lou. “Y’know, two’a you ain’t enough for me. How’out I let you take the first swing, and see if all four’a you can get me to break a sweat?”