The expression of utter, unadulterated shock splashed upon Spencer's face was almost comical, though what he had to be so surprised about (aside from the fact that this business meeting seemed to be going sour at an alarming rate) was a complete fucking mystery. During their last encounter she had informed him that they would see one another again, had she not? And here she was, the fury with which he had left her simmering unabashed against the dark brown of her eyes. More comical even than his expression of dumbfounded awe was the burst of- had her eyes deceived her?- hope that sparked there ever so slightly. It is this, the naivety of his hope, that prompts the kiss she sends fluttering into the distance that separates them. He was a fool to believe that she might have offered him more, that she might have been willing to do anything aside from witness him beaten to within an inch of his life and delight in the poetic justice of his comeuppance. Though, if she was being entirely honest with herself, she would have still hate-fucked the smug right off of his face.

You fucking bitch.

There,that was more like it. How easily surprise, hope even, could melt into rage. She could smell it on him, blooming from every pore, a base note to the warm metallic cologne of his blood. There was more emotion dripping from those three little words than ever she had seen from him in all of the time that they had known one another; he spat them at her as a viper would its venom. Good. For a few long moments she simply leans against the frame of the door, entirely unmoved by the state of the man laying upon the grit-caked floor and looking so much less than ever he had before. When her eyes meet his it is hard to rightly say what flickers there amidst the sparks of disdain and the embers of a score unsettled; whatever it is, though, causes Askaree to straigthen, seemingling unwilling to entertain her removal from the festivities a moment longer. Her footfalls are nearly silent as she approaches the outer ranks of the horde. It is a long moment before the epiphany of her arrival dawns upon the faces of the minions as she slithers effortlessly through their ranks, though the gentleman she can only presume is the posse's leader does not register her approach until she causes him to pause, his leg pulled back for yet another blow, with the exotic lilt of her tongue.
"I think he may have been talking to me," Askaree cooes innocently, a smile teasing at the brims of her pouty lips as the hulking brute cranes his neck towards her. "Who the fuck are you," he growls, painfully thin lips pitching in a snarl. The Egyptian woman allows herself the moment afforded by an exasperated sigh before offering him her reply. "Someone you're probably really going to regret meeting." Honesty was, after all, the best policy. He snorts in apparent amusement, turning only to lean towards Spencer's prone form to whisper something about keeping his bitch on a leash. He turns to her then, gracing her with the full weight of his attention. The backhanded swing comes as (admittedly) somewhat of a surprise to the olive-skinned woman, her head snapping to the side, a deep throbbing warmth blossoming across her face and lower lip heralding the distinctive metallic taste of blood upon her tongue. It is her turn to snort her derision, her head slowly righting itself before she abruptly sends a mist of bloodied siliva cascading over her assailant's face.

Wiping quickly at the crimson stippling, he reacts just as Askaree knew he would- his retaliation swift as a single hand, rough with callouses, coils about her neck and forces her lithe frame into the wall at her back. Her chest heaves with the laughter that whispers past his clenching fist, the falcetto of which sets the brute's teeth on edge, his face a matter of inches from her own. All the better to hear the challenge she offers to him. "Come on," she nearly whispers. "Do it like you mean it."

And he does.

As her feet leave the ground Askaree does not severe the stare that passes between them, a demonstration of defiance that serves only to further infuriate her aggressor, his hand tightening as a vice about her neck. Men were so fucking easy. By merit of the intimate physical contact it takes but a few moments for her brand-new party trick to rear its proverbial head. She can feel skittering up her spine much like the chill of slipping into a hot bath, pulling her body taut in an overtly erotic manner. The effect that it has on her counterpart, however, is far less comely. A thin rivulet of blood etches a smooth path down his upper lip, followed swiftly by a horrendous gurgling from deep within his throat. The would-be gangster's grip slackens upon his Egyptian query so much that her feet rediscover the floor, though his now red-rimmed eyes remain steadfastedly fixated upon her. He makes as if to question her, though whatever words he intends are lost upon the gurgling wave of blood and saliva as it cascades from between his lips to dribble languidly from his chin. "I'm sorry, what was that?" Askaree merely toys with him now as his hand falls away from her completely and he shuffles messily away from her. She is acutely aware of the agitated shifting of his posse though her eyes do not leave him as he doubles over, now consumed wholly by the throes of a relentless fit of coughing.

Finally she moves but only just, sidestepping to place herself in the empty space between Spencer and his remaining "clientele". It is but a few more moments before the gentleman who had only minutes before been issuing Spencer some (probably well-deserved) street justice stills in his convulsions... and moves no longer. A pair of his compatriots bend to inspect him though it is notable that neither man dares to touch their leader. "What the fuck did you DO?!" Dark eyes drift to the fellow in the back who had somehow come upon his voice, though her interest in him is marked by its brevity because in the moments that follow what remains of his clan begin to melt into their respective garments; emerging from the piles of wilted fabric are the spotted pelts of several... hyenas. A truly demonic smile spreads as oil across the Egyptian woman's face then, her arms working deftly to slough off the leather jacket she wears to throw it in Spencer's direction- seemingly unwilling to forfeit this particular article of clothing. The rest of her outfit would have to be sacrified to the thrilling scenario that was to come.

Fabric quickly shreds to ribbons as Askaree kneels, already feeling her skin constrict and tighten into impenetrable bony plates, scales erupting as gooseflesh upon her arms as she lowers herself to the floor. Nearly seventeen feet of armored muscle unfurls upon the floor as some devilish blossom, the solid block of Askaree's tail conveniently sheidling Spencer from the pack of cackling hyenas padding nervously before the pair. Her jaws part then, offering a remarkable view of her weaponry as a growl, deep and foreboding, gurgles from within her throat.

Askaree