Hisame's veins burn with hot adrenaline as her heart sprints in anticipation for the woman to strike; however, then the laughing lady circles bemusedly like a lioness does a deer. She keeps her front facing them with timely turns of frame, her tilted head apparently locked into its macabre position. When they strike, she is ready to curtail an intrusive projectile.

The knife sails, coveting a flirtatious taste of her tender throat. Hisame simply shuffles two steps to her right, rolling her head back and letting it fall left like a broken doll with a bony [i]crack[/i] as her eyes stick to them. There she waits, although not without a curious tingle tickling her sword arm. It pesters, begging she pay it mind, but she refuses; her fascination is the would-be butcheress and their scheme's fruition, whether it's capable of keeping promises or yet one more disappointment in delivering death.