[Mal lets go the first time, and Slevin straightens himself abruptly, lighter on his feet than his size would suggest; it's only the natural instinct to survive that lets him fight back at all, and even that is minimal. He's counter balancing, preparing a punch that he would have stopped himself from swinging except she strikes him and knocks him back again.
She's almost an entire foot shorter than he is, but he can't stop the force of the blow, fetching up shoulderblades first against the wall. Every muscle in his torso tenses, and by the time she's pinning him there, he really is considering hitting her. But he sees Chris first, and he stops himself.
Is it for her? Or was it for Slevin? His eyes meet Chris's over her head - he's surprised, a little, to see his warden; to see him acting decisively, possessively - and, for a brief moment, he catches himself feeling sorry.
Then he glares down at Mal, wheezing in a breath, cheeks flushed and breathing labored.]
spam
She's almost an entire foot shorter than he is, but he can't stop the force of the blow, fetching up shoulderblades first against the wall. Every muscle in his torso tenses, and by the time she's pinning him there, he really is considering hitting her. But he sees Chris first, and he stops himself.
Is it for her? Or was it for Slevin? His eyes meet Chris's over her head - he's surprised, a little, to see his warden; to see him acting decisively, possessively - and, for a brief moment, he catches himself feeling sorry.
Then he glares down at Mal, wheezing in a breath, cheeks flushed and breathing labored.]
I'm not armed.