<strong>-- Delilah Etienne (http://img838.imageshack.us/img838/9682/boxingwoman.jpg) - Simon’s Bull - Cold.  --</strong><br/><hr/><br/>Delilah's grip on Abigail's shoulder tightened.  It wasn't meant to be painful, like some warning of an impending blow.  It was controlling, as though the pressure of her fingers was a collar that the woman had spent many long years honing into vice.  Though her breath stank unpleasantly of alcohol and cigarette smoke, in this she did not waver an inch.<br/><br/>"Now, I don't believe it's within yer right to bring another man his salvation," she said, her voice low and dangerous like a lick of fire just waiting for an excuse to lash out.  "Call it whatever ya will, but the only thing a man kin bring to his fellow man is sufferin' 'n death.  Now, I ain't spoken with<em>God</em>in quite some time, but I'm thinkin' he might have better plans fer ya than kickin' the ever lovin' shit out of someone who already spends his nights in the gutter."<br/><br/>She didn't budge, and she sure as hell didn't allow Abigail to budge one more inch in the direction of the beat up old man on the ground that was doing his damnedest to crawl out of range.  When something wasn't right, it didn't matter whether it was your business or not.  Sometimes one just had to<em>make</em>it their business, or feel more like a slug than a human being.