[She isn't thinking about it when her gun tilts more passively sideways, turning upwards as she starts to close the distance with a somewhat open expression—
And then stops. Bristles.
Azúcar? Mija? Who exactly does this patrullero think he is? The SMG comes up again, pressed against the dead center of his chest— more bark than bite. Her crew isn't here to back her up, after all: she needs to make sure he understands she isn't here to be messed with.]
no subject
And then stops. Bristles.
Azúcar? Mija? Who exactly does this patrullero think he is? The SMG comes up again, pressed against the dead center of his chest— more bark than bite. Her crew isn't here to back her up, after all: she needs to make sure he understands she isn't here to be messed with.]
Back off.