Even if he could anticipate this next move of hers, he's simply too close to pull back before the top of her skull smashes into his face -- pain explodes in his nose, his eyes tear up, and he hisses something in Eliatrope (some words just don't need translating.) If not for the fact that she had to strike upwards slightly awkwardly, the damned woman might've actually knocked him out. Not that a steadily-bleeding nose isn't bad enough as it is. He recoils, putting some space back between him and her.
Gingerly he brings his hand to his face, palm already glowing blue with wakfu. Stemming the flow of blood is as simple as a slight redirection of energy to the bleeding area -- but although the life force can reknit bone and cartilage and stop any further swelling, it can't numb the pain or stop the his own blood from dripping down onto and staining his usually-pristine white clothes. The way he works the magic, calmly and without hesitation, sort of makes it seem as if this isn't the first (or even fifth) time he's provoked someone to the point of them hitting him in the face.
"Millennia of experience," he insists once more after a stunned silence, even managing an arrogant little smirk beneath his hand now that he's out of headbutting distance. "I've been around long enough to know that when people like you resort to violence, it means I've hit upon the truth."
A fight isn't what he wants. Not like this, not now -- so he's all ready to leave having gotten the last word in... If not for the sudden reveal of a very large spectator. Qilby freezes, palm still held up to his face, glancing at Deathwing only momentarily before shooting Apollo a wary look.
it's the peanut gallery
Gingerly he brings his hand to his face, palm already glowing blue with wakfu. Stemming the flow of blood is as simple as a slight redirection of energy to the bleeding area -- but although the life force can reknit bone and cartilage and stop any further swelling, it can't numb the pain or stop the his own blood from dripping down onto and staining his usually-pristine white clothes. The way he works the magic, calmly and without hesitation, sort of makes it seem as if this isn't the first (or even fifth) time he's provoked someone to the point of them hitting him in the face.
"Millennia of experience," he insists once more after a stunned silence, even managing an arrogant little smirk beneath his hand now that he's out of headbutting distance. "I've been around long enough to know that when people like you resort to violence, it means I've hit upon the truth."
A fight isn't what he wants. Not like this, not now -- so he's all ready to leave having gotten the last word in... If not for the sudden reveal of a very large spectator. Qilby freezes, palm still held up to his face, glancing at Deathwing only momentarily before shooting Apollo a wary look.
She wouldn't. Would she?