"I'm sorry?" Touka turned, a tourist? Not the best of time to be asked for directions but she would help anyway. "Wait," She gestured to the man that he should wait as she lugged her sister onto the bench placing her bag on top of her and picking up the other, heavier bag. "Okay, here, here." She beckoned for him to follow, trying to speak in the simplest of language for this new person. "She's sick. Stay away." She turned down the mouth of the alley and turned back to face the man once they were close enough inside. "You need help?" She offered. He was Russian, that was the least she managed to glean during the past minute. And he seemed to be a werewolf, from his scent. Not the best of signs.<br/><br/>******<br/><br/>The Artisan raised her head, the light from the street lamp gleaming off the dome of her scratched mask. The mask itself was a feat, it lacked polish yet beneath the carelessly applied paint layer and the unpolished surface, the foam bits underneath allowed for a firm fit to her face. The mask clung to her tightly, the foam cushions pressing onto her skin such that she could feel distinct sections in the mask, all of this created as slight metallic tapping sound as she laughed.<br/><br/>The man who still stood before her was undoubtedly a werewolf. Supposedly dangerous. However, he seemed to have a liking for theatrics speaking all classy and shit, perhaps to get under her skin? Her head cocked to the side ever so slightly.<br/><br/>But when he bowed, exposing the nape of his neck, she propelled herself forward with her spikes, launching herself in a direct trajectory towards the man. Her spikes shifted in front of her, shielding her centreline to deflect all incoming attacks away from her body.<br/><br/>Once she was close enough, a spike drove itself into the pavement, forcing an alteration in her momentum. Now she hooked towards him, her hips twisting as she charged up for an explosive hit enough to break some ribs.<br/><br/>The attack was delivered fast and hard, her boot lashing out in a circular strike for the ribcage. Her spikes gave way for her foot, another planting itself into the ground to support her attack. Once the action was complete, the force propelled her in a circle, landing behind her spikes which she immediately raised and pointed the narrow-tipped appendages at her opponent menacingly.