Kyrie blinked, a white flash appearing before his eyes, a chipped and almost snapping-in-half Japanese sword in his hand, swinging the sword with his full body, the blade coming near his neck—
Until an object sealed in cloth stood in its path. Black feathers fell from the sky. "I guess I am not too late. I had to get dressed to the nines again, thanks to a filth hound." A condescending, obnoxious voice spoke to him, one wing going over his shoulder as if it were a friend's arm.
Kyrie felt a jolt of rage within his mind, but it was suppressed. "I don't care if you dressed to the nines or not. You should make haste next time." Kyrie cast a judgmental gaze at her. Heeled boots, black palazzo pants, a brown sweat with a short black jacket.
