"Laws." She spoke. She advanced, she waved her hands about and mentioned their bargain which he hadn't forgotten, but for which life had gotten in the way of as it so often did, and then, she invoked laws; oh, first she invoked Marshall Emory and that was something, yes, for she was something and she understood and everyone knew that. Granted, everyone tended to think she understood what they understood, but that was a real Myrken thing too. Then, though, it was laws.
And she'd been doing so well too. He was a creature of physicality and that was a real Myrken thing, just as much as anything else. There was an urge to strike at her, to push her back into a state of fear, to quiet her, to shut her up. More than that, though, there was a need to do something. She thought that she was driving him back with words. She misread his restraint as weakness, or even worse, chose to see it as an invitation. It would not do. He drove forward, at her, but ultimately around her, leaping up until he stood upon the precarious fence she had been leaning upon. There should not have been enough surface area to hold him properly, but there he was, crouched slightly but still above her, glaring down.
"Laws can't stop me. Laws can't protect you. Laws can't deal with her. It's quaint," the word harsh, strong. Elliot Brown knew words too, not many, enough sometimes, "that you think so, though."