She mirrors the pose. Fuck you, two can play at this game.

Darcy's still fuming, of course, even more now that her sword, the extension of herself, is physically trapped in him. Her body still surges with adrenaline, and she wants to beat him senseless. But she knows she can't, that it won't work right, especially now she has evidence of this, and the only thing she hates more than him in this moment is the idea of doing something for no outcome. Talking is... working, getting some sort of reaction out of him.

"You have bad taste, then. People are boring. They're cowardly and evil more often than not. There's nothing to be fond of."