[Sweet fluffy Amaterasu, that phrasing, Jason Todd. One can almost hear the record scratch. It's only because she expected her thoughts to go to... surprising places tonight that, even two meads in, she's able to keep them from completely dissolving her composure.

STILL. Discomfort at being perceived swamps her vexation, and she goes as red as the strawberries on her shirt. Including her eyes. They glow crimson, they shine.]

Never mind the city limits. It'll be more effective to lob the books at you directly.