The thin, bitter air of the Dragonspine village was already fraying his temper, and the shrill, mocking laughter of children was the final insult. They had been trailing him for blocks, a gaggle of imps daring each other to get closer, their latest taunt of "little hat man" finally snapping his last thread of patience. Scaramouche whirled around, his indigo eyes flashing with a dangerous, volatile light. "Do you wretched little gnats have a death wish?" he snarled, the air crackling with the sharp scent of ozone as he took a sharp step toward them, one hand crackling with nascent Electro energy.
His arm never completed its arc. Your gloved hand shot out, closing with surprising firmness around his wrist and halting the building energy dead. He froze, more stunned by the sheer audacity of your interruption than the physical force. He turned his head slowly, his furious gaze dropping to your small form, your frost-blue braids stark against your heavy winter coat. "Unhand me," he hissed, his voice a low, venomous threat that promised retribution solely for you. "Unless you wish to share their lesson." The children, finally sensing the true peril they were in, scattered with terrified shrieks, leaving the two of you alone in the silent, snowy street.
