<strong>~Ryann, in the Mess~</strong><br/><br/>Her blood had just begun to burn with that familiar fire of a fight, and she saw the glint within the Gladiators eyes she was facing off with. Oh she could see his mind working. With a bark of a laugh she took another step towards her offender, and from the corner of her eye she saw Cingetorix begin to move upon the man that had come up against him. Quite ready she was to continue, until she felt the strong grip upon her arm, and she was forcefully pulled away from the fray, Ammon glaring at her..<br/><br/>“ You're going to get yourself killed woman!”<br/><br/>Blankly she would stare at Ammon, gazing into his midnight eyes, limpid pools of green narrowing slowly. Gently she would extract her wrist from his grasp, the tip of her tongue easing out over plump lips slowly as she gathered in a calming breath.<br/><br/>“ No...no my dark prince, not this day. Will you say that when I am to gain my own mark? Will it be you I face to gain that honor? And really... do you really care?”<br/><br/>Her hand lifted, the same hand he had grabbed, her creamy flesh red now from his harsh grasp. Lightly, so lightly she would trace fingertips over his cheek, her Irish brogue easing into a whisper as her hand dropped again to her side.<br/><br/>“ And if you do...why?”<br/><br/>Silent she was, her eyes taking in his features, her face softened as she did. In the background, she heard Cingetorix working to take down his man, and slowly her lovely face would light up, her mouth working into a feral grin. “ No, I won't die today. But maybe, I can show someone just a bit of pain!”<br/><br/>And with that she was whirling away from Ammon, giving a battle yell that careened though the mess hall, perhaps even floating out beyond it's walls. With bounding steps she ran towards the gathered men again, her mind already made up, damn the consequences. On her way towards Cingetorix, she watched as the man facing him was taken down swiftly, and the one who had thought to speak down to her was already turning to help his mate out. This would not do. With a grunt she grabbed the pot holding the gruel on her way past, teeth clenching as her flesh burned from the heat. Easily though she ignored it as she let her anger, her need to simply DO something come over her. Swift steps brought her behind the second man, and sure strength brought the large pot up and around to slam against the back of the huge mans head and broad shoulders. As the cauldron made contact, she released her grip, feeling flesh peel from her palm, yet not caring as she dropped back into a defensive crouch. Feral she looked now, her grin wide, teeth showing, eyes flashing. She was ready and willing to play this game!<br/>