Elani jumped when she heard the bang. The shot was poetry in motion, even though she could tell the dwarf would be a bitch to embalm. All that was keeping some of his skull from shattering and flying off was the grey matter holding it all together like a softboiled egg. Lesser people would be frightened in such company, especially the man in breeches in front currently reeling from the sudden dissapearance of his aggressor. Elani ran forewards, dropping the wad of papers and bringing up her other hand. It held a Lancet, a double edged scalpel whose silver tip caught the light in bew and interesting ways. Even in the elf's thin brown fingers, it looked small.

Elani grabbed onto her captain's collar and yanked him backwards, hard, just as another shot picked somebody else and turned them into another fleshpuppet. Throughout the gang, weapons were being unholstered. Swords and pistols unbucling and stances changed. Someone in the back was yelling, a sound too primal for such things as consonant or vowel. Everything about that situation made her frightened, and she put the human between them and her, ready to absorb bullets and stabs. Flintlocks didn't have any power to them anyway, a normal musket round could be stopped by a leather waistcoat.