"BONEPICKER," Darcy snarls in condemnation, fangs bared like some vibrantly venomous serpent, "PARASITE," the scent of salt water and death is putrid this close, a proximity they haven't had together in a long while, "SALOPE."

Darcy's first hits do truly resemble an animal attack more than anything else, scrabbling to dig blunt and jagged nails into any accessible span of skin, snapping fangs in her face as close as can be reached.

"YOU'D BETTER FUCKING HOPE THAT SHIP KILLS ME BEFORE I GET AT YOUR PATHETIC FUCKING CRONIES."