Her horn and hooves made gentle contact with ebonite flesh, a chiming set of thuds to ignite her spirit more completely than even the wobbling, small man upon the shoulders of the devil's hound had (quite a stirring, indeed). Even more delightful still was the sound of laughter in the clearing, the warrior's own sing-song giggles filling in after Crowley's retort to her musings upon their attire, the lady with the golden lock feeling more like a child than she had in what felt like eons; so much so that she even felt slightly saddened by having ripped the Weaver's brilliant and silky top, no matter how silly it made the already (in Illynx's opinion) wildly marked male appear. In a brief glimmer of thought that could be spared to items other than the fray at hand, Illynx wondered what sort of deranged creature the hat's brim decoration had been taken from - perhaps it was merely an invention of the Weaver for the occasion. Either way, she was unsure if anything that bodacious should be paired with as vibrant a tone as purple.

Her pondering was short lived, however, her focus needed to avoid the charge that the bi-horned pimp was now launching in her direction. Eyes wide from the brim of her sarong-like bandanna, the Gilded Blade clanged and chimed hard to the left, her hind-hooves squarely set into the luscious grass as her front half spun about her center of gravity and (narrowly) out of the way of the curved and incoming horns. The top of the insane hat bumped roughly along the curvature of her misty golden shoulder, the Weaver's eloquent crown severing one of the long ends of the head band she wore clean from it's whole with a tinkling tear, the bells flopping about wildly on the sash as the flimsy fabric tore free and daintily settled the bright grass, a dollop of indigo and gold in the morning light.

She found that, for once, she was not perturbed by one of her possessions being destroyed, but rather invigorated by the sound of the metallic chimes settling against the spongy turf.

Her momentum from the dodge had narrowly saved her fore-limb from the gnashing teeth of Talbot, who would have been ferocious but for his daft costume; his teeth clicked shut on empty air all but a quarter of an inch from her flesh. The sensation of having narrowly avoided a warm body and sure pain brought a golden eye about to peer at the assailant, her mouth immediately blooming into a delighted grin. Snorting humorously in an attempt to swallow a stream of laughter at the sight of the little man flopping about hopelessly on the attacking hound's back, the Lady (hard as it was) tore her gaze free from the entertaining sight and bore forward another few paces, and, tucking herself as low to the earth as a mare of her stature might be able to, she swung her ass around hard in a clockwise motion, hoping to dust Talbot's face with her bell rimmed taffeta skirts and her sleek black tail in a disorienting maneuver while her crown snaked about to aim a reposed bite towards the Weaver's face, neck, or already bruised left shoulder, depending on where his failed charge had landed his striped frame.

She'd hoped to distract Talbot long enough for the bite to find purchase, sending a composed and controlled buck out behind her and slightly to left, hopefully to send the false battle mount of a hellhound skittering across the grass a few feet and safely out of biting range for at least a small moment without truly hurting the miniature "war steed." Her heart thudded pleasantly in her chest, her breaths smooth and heavy. "You'll have to make me bleed, first!" she playfully taunted, amusement written in abundance upon her features as the swirling sheets of her skirts settled back towards earth after her hooves with the brilliant sound of bells and the subtle swish of cloth.

[ 2/3 : 678 words ; omg Talbot. I lolled just thinking about him in attack mode with a wee human flopping about. xD ]