The flying tackle carries them both into one of the room's support pillars, ripping free about half of the festive pine-and-ribbon swags and sending them to the floor in a shower of needles.
One of the blades in her hand scores up Wells's shoulder before they land, but it's not silver; the wound's already healing before he gets to his feet.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-12-17 04:37 am (UTC)One of the blades in her hand scores up Wells's shoulder before they land, but it's not silver; the wound's already healing before he gets to his feet.
(She doesn't.)