[ The footsteps are enough of a warning. He shifts on the bench as a gun is pulled in a rustle of fabric. Heedless of his own self preservation, he's twisted around, revolver up and aimed at his opponent.
Or, more accurately, aimed at his fellow Sanzo priest.
He hadn't wanted to see her here. He doesn't dare say a word, glaring steadily up at her. He can't risk that she doesn't recall, and that this was just something that happens sometimes. ]
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Or, more accurately, aimed at his fellow Sanzo priest.
He hadn't wanted to see her here. He doesn't dare say a word, glaring steadily up at her. He can't risk that she doesn't recall, and that this was just something that happens sometimes. ]