The storm of razorblades gives a sulky little hiss at Marcus, but it doesn't answer back, and buzzes off towards the warped reflection of the mirror. The storm intensifies though, a thrumming buzz as the blades dance around like a tornado, glowering.
The Spirit got Marcus' point, but it clearly chose the option of 'not liking it'.
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The Cahalith's eyes narrow further as she pulls the sleeve of her jacket back over her shoulder. "Oh, I'm 'forgiven', am I?" Fiona says softly in a low growling tone, mostly to herself, but not particularly caring if Storm-of-Pain heard or understood.
She was gauging the wisdom of giving her prospective pack's locus guard a verbal bollocking, when Victor threatened to shoot it instead, which brought a grim smile to her face.
Looks like he's sick o' its shite an all.
Sadly, Marcus doesn't grant permission, but at least gives the pain-spirit a much-deserved scolding. Which it responds to rather unhappily, making the Bone Shadow's hackles rise as she tries to gauge how upset - or dangerous - the unfamiliar spirit is.
Fiona mutters something about being sick of this city and leaves.
The Baines' Brothers follow suit, abandoning the Pack.
Fiona and the Brothers leave the scene and Sacramento.
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