[ Ange leaned to the side sharply, the fork missing her face but tearing out a few strands of her gold hair. Her movement was jerky, not as smooth or as far out of the way as she would have gotten if she were standing, but it did its job of avoiding tines to the face. With a practiced and slightly more elegant gesture, she pulled the hunting knife from its place at her hip and raised it in front of her. Batting dinner instruments away was much better than having to nearly dive out of their way. ]
no subject
Bitch.
[ Tch. She'd misjudged this one, after all. ]