Arrail had been enjoying her time here, though, something stirred in the area, the cold, harsh, gearous sound of metal on metal as a Nemisis entered the bar, Arrail for a moment broke her emotional act and composure looking to the Necron lord for a staggering moment, before looking back to the Dark Eldar, as well as the Farseer that was in the direct vicinity. A Necron lord being here meant several key things which could not be ignored, the tension in this area, you could cut with a knife. The Ork she had admired for his strength as she had passed them seemed to be being taunted by the other to look at her with Ire, an act the Harlequin did not appreciate in the slightest, the human also seemed to be aiming his rifle at her compatriots, another act which she found in distaste, as the entire area seemed to be going to the dogs, Arrail could not help but act in this scenario. Taking out the mask of a thousand voices and placing it on her face under her raised hood discreetly, the soul-stones on her face began to whisper to her, the many, many voices within the mask came to pass, and as Arrail then<span style="font-style: italic">began to speak</span>but it was not with the voice of an Eldar that came from her mouth, but the voice of something else entirely.<br/><br/><span style="color: #408000"><span style="font-style: italic">"Oi, ya boyz wan 'da bess fight you had in allz ya lyfe!? Forget me! Dat dere metal boy thinkz e'z way 'arder dan all of us. E insulted all ov ya! Callin us filfy scum! I no orky speak! Les turn em to scrap!!!"</span></span><br/><br/>Gripping the baton, she had overheard the muttering of the word as the metallic monster had killed a patron of the bar who did not relieve his seat. Arrail looked to the Dark Eldar brothers which sat behind him, nodding in a means which would entail for each of them to support her in her attack. There was no way that she was going to allow this creature of the C'tan to walk free, ensuring that his dark-steel form would never again awaken to see the light of day. With a flick of her wrist, the baton extended to the full width of a spear, flinging the two wooden carved ends off as the Harlequin span to build momentum, moving out of her chair into a standing position and throwing the singing spear with all of her might for the slow moving Necron Lord, hard enough and fast enough to penetrate deep through his armour before rotating around and coming back to the Eldar woman. It was likely that the Orks did not remember the days when they fought the Necrons together as allies, both created by the great old ones to combat the metallic scourge. But Arrail remembered the stories, and within her blood boiled the hollow biologically ingrained hatred for their kind.<br/><br/>The toss of her singing spear was not totally on point, listing up more than she would have liked due to an early release it flew closer to the Necton lords' chest area rather than his spinal column where its stomach would be, vastly the weakest point in its composition.<br/><br/>Whether the blow landed or not, the spear would return hastily to its owner, who would catch it with a flashy spin, routing the momentum to a halt as she began to dance a dance of war. The Harlequin Solitaire looking to her opponent and activating her D-field. Diamond like light began to explode from her person as holographic imaging began to create fake trails and images of herself as she then ran at full speed for her opponent, vaulting a table and sliding under another before reaching the Lord with impeccable finesse with the intention of driving a fainting spinning blow for his midsection. The harlequin was young for her station, but she was still worthy of the Name Solitaire!