She whipped in a circle and raised the... scythe, sickle thing... that she had in her hand. Her eyes wide in a near panic and she completely forgot about the bandanna over her mouth.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(250, 197, 28)"> "Wha... where the hell did you come from? How do I... I mean I don't know. I got sucked into this light colored swirly thing from a photo shoot." </span><br/><br/>She shrugged and reached up to pull down the bandanna so she could breath a little easier and scratched her head. She looked up and then around again because she was worried she might have to do something violent and she didn't want too. She sucked at violent. Best she knew how to do was slam someone in the face with a tennis racket when they got uppity on her at the court. Though; that had tended to work. At least the first few times.<br/><br/>She got herself together a bit and straightened up with a cough. Looking at him. He looked, harmless? She was only five foot seven but she thought she might be able to snap the guy over her knee if she tried hard enough. He didn't exactly scream robust athlete. Though he had a pitchfork. That was weird.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:rgb(250, 197, 28)">"Why do you have a pitchfork?... Oh, and I'm Jenny."</span>