The bugs were starting to take the place of fog in obscuring her vision. Where was she, in the middle of the swamp? She'd seen it, in the backwoods of Mississippi, where the gnats flew thick as a cloud and buzzed and bit. These bugs were almost as bad, though there seemed to be just as many of them.
Swatting, distracted for a moment by the insects, Rogue was impacted by a flailing man. Where the hell had he come from? In her current mental state it was hard for her to tell what was malicious in intent and what was bumbling idiocy - so, the man who'd slammed into her talking about bug repellent and telling her to watch where she was walking was met with a hard shove of gloved hands.
"How about watchin' y'self?" She asked with knitted brows and a sassy, southern inflected tone. She was stepping backward, arms bending in a defensive posture. She didn't know who the hell this guy was, but if he made any move toward her she'd knock him into next Thursday.