Field project again. Last time Kuraru came out to do his class's field project, he was attacked by a pack of canine. This is why he hates coming outside, especially field project tasks, someone oughta gets hurt. Although this time he was pretty well-prepared, or at least it seem so.

But even though he prepared well and able to avoid all those wild dogs, conflicts and fights would happen anyway. This time project task is demon hunting, right? Sometime Kuraru questions what his school is up to. He didn't even signed up for hunter department and yet here he is, hunting demon alone all by himself. Not that he mind, though, School is school. Just get it over with.

After hours of search, he finally found someone. Finding demon in just a day...that was awfully easy. Though he found his target, Kuraru didn't jump into the action right away. Instead, he just stand there in a distance and watches the other, analyzing her first. Even when she spotten him and called out to him, he still didn't make a move.
"...Is this really necessary...?" He thought to hinself, once again doubting his school's working system. "She seem like a nice person...does she really deserve this..?"

With one heavy sigh, he finally decided to make a move. He summoned thick mist covering the field while also keeping track on Ace. Swify, he advances toward the other and try to get behind her. With the speed he went, with mere eyes much like teleportation, he uses the momentum he picked up into a punching blow. But Ace could dodge that and countered him...in the mist field. As if she was able to sense where he is. Kuraru tried again, only to failed once more, he need to think of a better strategy.

He took a deep breath, using his telekinesis to levitate what ever was around and throw it at Ace. It did worked, however, she quickly regenerated. Kuraru panted then spoke under his breath quietly "...tough..."
He was already tired and he didn't even do anything much, was it when she countered his punch? How ever it happened, he made up his mind. "You don't want to fight ne, do you...?" He steps back, the mist started to fade away "Then, you deserved to live on, I suppose." Kuraru then leaves Ace and went to find other demon instead, how nice.

With a careful laugh, Dolores nudged the ingredients in the teenager's direction before asking, "This is fine now, is it? I think... We should have enough for the both of us..." She allowed her words to trail off before she took a step back to eye the aforementioned ingredients she had collected for the sake of this little "duel" between them: milk, sugar, flour. a bottle of vanilla extract, chocolate chips, butter... There was actually so many that the older woman almost started to get overwhelmed, before looking back at the younger party and giving him a soft smile.

"I'm sure the barista and the cats will be impressed if you can bake a lot of cookies in an hour or so," the elder encouraged him with a giggle, "I mean... That's going to be a lot of cookies for the customers, right?" Well... That was probably why she had suggested the idea of a competition in the first place, huh? She had heard of the cat café he visited every so often, and she wanted to help... If only because it reminded her of the little animal sanctuary she had dreamt of running every so often-

Not that it was a realistic daydream, of course. The elderly woman had to remind herself, This is about baking for the cats, not for you, just to get back on track.

Though besides the occasional pause, Dolores didn't seem to be too bothered, as she hummed, "Okay, then! We should get started then, if we want to deal with this in a timely manner, mm?", before stepping off to her side of the countertop. "I'll tell you when we start, okay? I want to make this fair for the both of us-" she proposed before quickly cutting herself off with an apology, "Oh, I didn't mean that I have complete control over that, by the way! I was going to wait for you to, well, get ready... But if you are, then-" Dolores gestured at the ingredients set up both of them.

"Let's get started, shall we?"

While waiting for the other's response, though, the older woman peered over her shoulder to see her dog poking her head through the door. Whatever smile she had before was quick to fade as she stared at that muzzle with an increasing sense of dread. Cats and dogs didn't exactly get along well now... Did they? Chewing on her lip, she gave the teenager a glance before taking a step in the terrier's direction and whisking a hand in her direction to get her back into her room, but to no avail. The dog's nose remained loosely wedged between door and doorframe, and... It was going to keep twitching as long as anything remotely interesting happened outside, huh.

Dolores sighed before muttering, "Poffin, please...", while trying to be a bit more overt with the dog without disrupting the competition, but... Alas alas. Hopefully no chocolate chips would be spilled during the actual bake-off. Hopefully.

old woman bake-off let's fucking go. follow-up time.

Did somebody say "bake-off"? Because... Lacie wasn't as good at baking as she hoped.

She stared blankly down at her pan of chocolate chip cookies next to that of the older woman's, which she also glanced over to. Sure, Lacie had made more cookies, but were thirty hard, crunchy, slightly-overbaked ones any better than what Dolores had made? For the briefest second, the Yene woman was pissed off. Mostly at herself. She couldn't really find it in her to want to pummel one of her elders -- especially when she was the one who proposed the contest in the first place.

What was the point of this, anyway? She doubted she would eat so many cookies, and she doubted her husband would have an ounce of interest in what went down in the kitchen. She studied the two pans again, scratching at her head doubtfully for a moment, before finally speaking.

"I... shouldn't have made such a bet, hm?" she chuckled, "Oh, don't pump me full of praise, now, miss. I know I can do better than this, even if I rarely ever bake." Her chuckle then turned into a full-on bark of a laugh. "Usually the servants busy themselves with that sort of nonsense... I'm sure I shouldn't even call it nonsense, right? Still..."

She took a step back from the counter, biting her bottom lip and placing both hands on her hips. Maybe she could give a few of them to her nephew? Then again, he didn't seem to care for sweets, as compared to just cheese. There weren't even that many children on the estate, so...

The woman let out a sigh, and leaned back on the table behind her. "Well, I'll be happy to just leave all of this to you, miss." she told the other, "That won't be too many cookies you don't think, right? I'm sure we could find a tin to put all this junk in, and if you have any young relatives and the like, maybe they'd like a couple." She paused to tap her foot against the stone floor, before hopping onto and propping herself up on the table. Please don't pose. "Then again, you do live alone on that mountain, do you? Oh, goodness, that sounds like there won't be many children, but-- you know, you'll have a number of visitors, anyway. People like hiking. They like nearly dying while hiking, too."

"But, better this than anything more physical, right?" she remarked, "I'm sure I'd have you beat in an archery contest... Which, speaking of, my husband did find me a fancy new crossbow, if you'd like to watch me shoot it, at least."

lacie wants to eat the chess pieces.

With a pout, Johnson edged one of his black pawns forward before grunting, “You know, miss… For someone who’s reasonably adept in politics, you sure are a bit… Lackluster in chess.” He chuckled and gave her white bishop a gentle nudge with his black pawn, as if to try irritating her further; obviously, he couldn’t make such a move, but he did consider just knocking it down out of spite- Or, well… To flex. Because of course he did.

Why else would he ask her to “fight” against him with chess - instead of something more up her alley like drawing the other as fast as possible, or folding as many origami cranes within a set time interval?

“It’s not bad chess, of course,” admitted the middle-aged man with a chuckle, “but you can tell who’s really passionate about politics based off how they play chess. You use strategy for both - so you might as well make conjunctions from there now… Yes? With that asides, it’s good to know that those who view politics with passion will therefore play chess with ease, and those who just see politics as means to an end will inevitably play chess adequately but never with much flair or excitement.” Explain why your son lost to her grand-niece then, asshole.

“Besides, only the most pitiful and incompetent of politicians are terrible at chess. It’s a popular misconception that it’s the other way around - that only the most intelligent and shrewd of statesmen can play chess,” Johnson rambled further while moving his knight forward when it was his turn, “Similar principles can be applied to both, as mentioned before. Still, at least you’ve taken somewhat of an interest in this whole chess business… Or maybe it’s because of the banana bread I offered you later on, mm?” The chuckle that escaped from his lips soon afterwards seemed more genuinely teasing than - well - one intentionally made to be rude, but…

Don’t tell him that. It’d make the edgy old man even edgier.

Still, Johnson shrugged and huffed, “If you want some banana bread now, though, then we can stop. Chess takes a lot of brainpower anyway.” Which was basically his way of saying that he had a big brain, but- Holy shit, old man. Take it back a bit. “It gets exhausting in time, especially for old folks like us now, huh!” He laughed and leaned back against his seat while folding his hands together. “Brains don’t work well or rationally when exhausted. Trust me.”

He thus glanced over his shoulder to beckon a servant over, his focus placed on them while… Ignoring the other party. Great. Maybe now was the best time to kick his ass and teach him a lesson? Wait- Not maybe. Definitely. Do it. There’s a chance right there.

I can't believe I'm encouraging Nathaniel, but.... kick Johnson's ass, you edgy fish. it's what he deserves.

FOLLOW-UP TIME. cw for mentions of cannibalism and graphic(?) violence!!

Not suuuper graphic but, Nathaniel talks about gutting a fish. :'). Also sorry Rusty for throwing this fish at you these past 2 days. 

--

Here's my follow up! Go get his ass Kuzma!!

Nathaniel took a swing of his darkened ale. The bitter rye-based beer had a strong aftertaste that lingered in his mouth for a long time. The leidsman, as people of his position were called, was surrounded by his men. Gangmembers. Smugglers and cutthroats: the untrusty types. The ones that got on Nathaniel’s nerves rather quickly.
Nathaniel rubbed his arm over his mouth, dapping some of the beer away. Not all of it though. His beard was sticked with alcohol. Oh what a lovely man he was.

It didn’t take a spark to ignite this barfight. One of his men, just looked sheepishly into Nathaniel’s direction. Enough to piss this scaly man off.
Things escalated rather quickly from there. At some point, Nathaniel had smashed his pint-glass on the poor soul’s skull (ouch!) and his beast-like eyes caught the sight of Kuzma.
One thing Nathaniel hated more than his sheepish-men giving him languid looks where bystanders. Foreign bystanders. Especially the type that started to taunt him. The audacity of this alien fellow!?
‘Look here!’ the other had called out to him.
Nathaniel’s lip curled into a snarl.  Oh he was surly looking. Like a hawk the Easterling watched as the other approached him. His snarl grew even more, when Kuzma grabbed his torso. His torso! And pulled him back
“Get off of him!?” He barked and repeated. Giving a firm tug. “You got some nerves telling me to get off someone,” Nathaniel said snarling. His blood soaked (some of the glass shards had scorned his skin) hands clawed at theirs.
He snarled, growled and flailed. Trying to break free, or at least, trying to break some fingers. Hoping for both.
Somehow the Easterling managed to free himself. Giving the other a firm push back at the table they came from.
“Come get it punk,” Nathaniel barked back. His words were slurred by alcohol. “You’re going to regret even setting a foot in this place!”
Ah.. Typical Drakenburg’s hospitality. 

warning for swearing, fighting, alcohol

Beatrice hadn't even consumed a single drop of rum or spirit since arriving at the bar with her wife, but did it stop her from acting like an idiot? Apparently not, as Rochester would put it. Rochester, even then, found the ongoing debacle so amusing that she stayed off to the side while Beatrice stamped up to the stage and pointed a hand at the singer currently performing.

"You," she grunted with a huff, "You think you really are all that when it comes to music, huh? Being able to sing some serenade about pretty people or whatever..." She glanced over at her wife, then adjusted the brim of her hat. "... Pretty women, in my case, but I don't think it matters. I think this bar deserves to be shaken up every so often, and I don't mean through a drunken fight." And I sure hope Rochester isn't starting one in the background... Biting down on her lip to prevent a grimace from forming, Beatrice then sucked in a breath before finally (fucking finally) setting down the question:

"... So... How about it? A singing contest? Then you can either be totally humiliated, or get to know that your musical skills are fine. How about that? I think it could be fun anyways."

Which she was pretty sure would be a one-sided affair, because... It then dawned upon poor Beatrice that she kind of sucked in this singing business. Unfortunate! She could swing a fist and knock someone out, even with herself being in her sixties, but when it came to belting it out during a karaoke session and not being asked to get off the stage? Yeeeeaaaaa, that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. Or ever, now that she thought about it.

Still, the journalist wasn't the type of person to back down from a challenge, let alone one that she suggested herself, so she gestured at the microphone and huffed, "And since I'm the one proposing this entire thing, I'll sing first." Mostly so I can get this over with, too... Beatrice let out a nearly inaudible sigh, then peered over at sweet Rochester once more, who seemed perfectly oblivious to the ongoing duel. Maybe? Beatrice sort of hoped that it wasn't the case; impressing her, even with her shitty singing, was more than enough to compensate for the humiliation, but... She was also getting humiliated, so was it really worth it? Maybe it would've been best for Rochester to ignore what was going to happen next, assuming that the microphone was actually given to her:

"Wheeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrre have all the good men goooooooooooooooooooooooone, and wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere are all the Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooods?"

Hear that off-key, definitely cacophonic note that would've been enough to shatter several glasses on its own? That was Beatrice's voice resonating through the bar at that point, in literally the worst way possible. Rochester would've been proud or ashamed of her wife throwing herself into this business, but... More importantly was whether the journalist was going to lose her shit after being utterly humiliated in the singing department; however, for now, the answer seemed to be "no" as she glanced over at the musician and offered them the microphone, perhaps so they could start singing their own rounds. After all, why do a singing contest if a duet (made up of one musician and one "musician") could be made as well?

FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT. congrats, Roswell; you just pissed off two grandmas, as a treat (/lh). time for a follow-up.

Roswell's lips pricked themselves in a smile.
"It was only a matter of toime," he explained to the journalist. He had still his riding-boots on that were peppered with snow and mud. Leaving a trail of a mixture of both in the home.
Roswell made a loosely gesture at Salvador that sat on the side. The poor youth's head was dipped and the apprentice fidgeted with his thumbs.
"Yer can 'ide him all yer want, but de Jakes sooner or later will get wind of him," Roswell continued.
"By dumb luck. Or his own incompetence," Roswell added. Nice. He can hear you Roswell!
His eye darted at his aspirant. Then he guffawed as his gaze dipped back at Beatrice.
"Yer two were just lucky oi was 'ere in toime. Oi know how to deal with de city guard," Roswell continued. He set a step closer to Beatrice. "If oi was a wee second later, they would have dragged him off to de gallows. Sure dey dit not foind dat precious watch dey got informed about. But they didn't 'ave to find it in de first place," Roswell continued. As he nearly stood toe to toe with the (clearly) stronger woman. "His poor background is enough to string him loike a gosling."

Then the old thief shrugged. Stepped back and pricked a cigarette between his smiling lips.
"He's better off with me anyway. Without pretending to be some kind off, middle-class," Roswell said. He wrinkled his nose.
"Yer can put him in de finest clothes, press all kinds of material in his hands. But he's still poor. His mum is still a class traitor."
Roswell eyed the man in question.
"Dat's why he's commin' back 'ome with me."
Uh-oh.
Salvador muttered a protest but got silenced by Roswell's glare. When his leidsman asked him to grab his coat, Salvador got up. Then nodded.
When Roswell saw Beatrice make a move, his hand immediately dropped to his hip. He pulled his revolver. Unsheeting it oh-so-slightly to bare its barrel.

"Dis is no suggestion," Roswell said. As he tightened his fingers around its wooden handle.
"Salvador made a deal with me. A soul link. Oi can track him down even if yer hid him in de highlands. As long as he didn't fulfill his end of our bargain, he belongs to me. Until then, Oi," Roswell paused to emphasize the 'oi'. "Make de decisions about him. His loife. His dead," he hissed between his teeth.
The crook fully unsheeted his gun. Pointing it's (empty thank Void) barrel at Beatrice.
"If oi 'ave to shoot yer to get me Half back. I would." Roswell said. Baring his teeth in a snarl-grin.

"Don't pretend loike yer know me," he loosely waved his gun. "Oi've shot people for less," he lied. But there was no shift in tone or mimic to betray his lying. Roswell's eye darted at the paling Salvador and he nodded with his head to the front door he'd entered in.
"We're goin'," he told the youth. The krō then lowered his gun.
"Say yer precious nanny goodbye."
"Bye," muttered Salvador under his breath. Before Roswell's hand found his shoulder and dragged him away, after him.
--

Roswell seeing a bug: 😫😤😡🤢

(sorry if this is like? formatted weirdly? im very tired and i'm sure there's.. plenty of mistakes. but.. bugs)

Machete raised an eyebrow at Roswell; .. a jar in one hand and .. a bug in the other. A centipede, if I'd be exact .. !
".. Are you okay?" A 52 year old man afraid of bugs is most decently not a regular sight, such a sight in fact made Machete lower his voice towards him and almost speak to the man like a child. But, he was still persistant on asking Roswell about his little yard centipede -- as one would be, of course!

"Are you scared of this little bug? This kind bites, but it doesn't hurt." Machete mulled on nonchalantly, as if saying that would make this situation any better. "But, I've never really had this one before," he fidgeted with the top of the jar and scoffed a bit, ".. this kind only shows up here. In your region. I felt obligated, really." The bassist shot a glance up at the opposing man, dear god -- how long had he been rambling for? Roswell is fucking gone.
"Shit." He mumbled under his breath and put his hand in his back pocket, which, honestly it felt like something was gone. 

Ohhh, the wallet. The one thing Machete carried on him is gone. And Roswell is also gone. irony.

At this point, the poor centipede and the jar were just .. completely forgotten and dropped on the ground. Machete was charging after a man three times his age just for a measly wallet, and honestly; would you blame him?
Alas, the bastard finally found the other bastard. Or, caught up with him, per say. 

Machete didn't even bother speaking at first, he flipped out this chintzy little pocket knife (you know, the kind you use to open boxes? And boxes only?), aiming it at Roswell in order to look even a bit threatening.
"I won't bother you about bugs anymore, but .. there's like, three coins in there I needed to buy some gum with. I'd rather have those than you." Ah, yes.

Skinner stared at the centipede in the younger man’s hand before cocking his head and teasing, “Oh, that one looks like a bit of a fighter now, is it! Bosco is its name, isn’t it?”, with a sharp yet still joyful laugh. Why the fuck he was feeling this way in the first place was a bit of a mystery, especially since there was a good chance that the aristocrat’s infinitely larger bugs would decimate the poor centipede in an instant, but… Hey. Maybe it was the bug version of a Chihuahua, at least in the sense that it could compensate for its measly size through its aggression.

Maybe.

He reclined back in his seat and tossed a capsule in his hand while humming, “Though you did tell me that you’re a bit of a musician now, right? Not the typical trumpeter or violinist, of course, but a musician nonetheless. So it’s no surprise that you sort of, well, caught my interest when you said that you had bugs with you, mm?” Yea, it was definitely the bugs. Skinner even leaned forwards to eye the centipede more carefully, almost reaching a hand out to grab it-

And that would’ve been funny as fuck to see, because the centipede would’ve probably bitten him. The aristocrat would’ve imploded on the inside for the world to see - yada yada yada yada…

“But yes,” hummed the older man with his usual beaming grin, “I’ll be the first person to admit that I do train bugs for a living! Big bugs, you know! I can show you right now if you want, mm?” Please don’t. And that was when Skinner, a bit too proud of himself considering how stupid this was going to turn out in a few seconds or so, opened the capsule he had been tossing in his hand… Which ended up releasing a huge ass hermit crab with a rock slab for its shell. Yes, said crustacean dwarfed the centipede. But what it had in size wasn’t exactly mirrored in aggression, as the creature let out a slow clicking noise and stared at Skinner like he had made the worst dad joke on the planet. Good.

“I have to admit that this crab right here,” the aristocrat confessed while giving the crab’s shell a light knock, “isn’t the most belligerent individual out there, but it could be interesting, eh!” The crab clicked but made little noise otherwise. It probably disagreed with what he said, though. Skinner leaned towards the crustacean and gave it another, gentler knock on the shell. Then he looked back up at the youth with a grin, as he attempted to egg the other on, “So, how about it? Just two arthropods, duking it out… For bragging rights. What do centipedes eat anyhow? If they overlap with a crab’s diet, it could be interesting as to how interspecific competition can be demonstrated, as well as provide reinforcement for the behaviors!"

No. In all honesty, a singing contest would’ve been infinitely better, and not only because Skinner would’ve lost miserably. He just wouldn’t realize it before it was too late.

@ NP: Skinner is pretty much a pacifist, so your character would probably be able to beat his ass in a physical fight with ease. have fun!!

but that asides, if you want to make it more even, you're more than welcome to use his Pokémon team, or a nonviolent alternative (ex: bake-off, singing competition)!!

I'll also try my best to do a follow-up for NP if I have the time....

Skinner had hurt gabes friend, accident or not gabe was pissed angry muffled sounds were heard from under his gas mask he turned on the flame thrower, his blond bun messing up 

He wafted the flames at Skinners direction,  luckily Skinner avoided it in time in a fear because this pyro is going more crazy than before. Angry muffled yelling was heard again

" please don't hurt me, what do you want from me?? " Skinner begged. Gabe just tilted his head and proceeded to shoot flames with no mercy

kafkaesque claimed!

Marclyn  gabe backed off and took off his mask " i-im sorry " he began crying,  poor guy didn't like to hurt people but the instinct kinda took over.  

kafkaesque & Whyme123 (hope ya'll don't mind for connection. huehue.)

As Gabe was busy shooting flames at Skinner Rylex shouted from across the room! Getting Gabe's attention. "AYE! Ain't yo mama taught chu not to play wid fire?" The young soldier takes out his assault rifle and cranks it once; safety off. "Oh I know you best not be hurt'n my boy Skinner now! Or Rylex 'bout to whoop yo ass up in up in hea! Dats right pretty boy. Imma smack yo precious face so hard, dat mask gone come off! And both yo eyes gone turnt the same color. And dat pretty bun of yos.. It gone just fall right off!" Rylex laughs obnoxiously. Then a huge grin on his face slowly come out, showing off them pearlie whites, slightly nodding his head. That soldier sure was confident. A little TOO confident. Gabe and his powerful weapon may prove to be deadly. But Rylex was going to defend his buddy Skinner!

Ryelx then looks to Skinner. Giant smile on his face and all. Then winks to him, with that signature white teeth showing. "Don't chu worry gramps. Yo gone see Mrs Brown tonight! You let Rylex take care of dis one!" Bold overzealous words... 

"Dis just a little fun. Ain't no harm in it. Friendly competition yo! Just tell'n you to amp up yo game. Not my problem if yo can't keep yo gurl on yo arms.... Hahah!" Covering his scratch marks on his cheeks. Rubbing them. "But I ain't 'bout to be fight'n no magic fairies! Learnt 'nough 'bout dem from my Captain." As Rylex slowly starts to step away from Mary.  Slightly afraid of her mysterious magic abilities!

"So. I see how it is," Mary gave off her usual fake smile. "All that stuff you've went through with my uh-- significant other. I've seen it happen. I've seen it all. I'm not mad, I'm just.... Disappointed." Her hand twitched. Out of a fit of rage, she had summoned a purple streak of a mystical dust flew past Rylex, slightly scraping his cheek. 

"Would you like to continue this somewhere else...?" She barely whispered. But before Rylex could even answer, she had summoned another streak of dust that hit Rylex's other cheek. 

"Actually, I think we can we just settle this here." And so the rivalry begins.

“You overestimate your own abilities,” Titania warned the human, “You have power, I’ll give you that, but your reliance on it makes you weak.” She held up her holy sword and said, “Let me show you what I mean, “before plunging it into the ground, and a shining rune appeared around the two opponents. The fairy queen watched as Mary swung her hand, only for nothing to happen. She explained, “Your magic won’t help you. Not on this consecrated ground.” Her own magic was suppressed as well, so her other weapons were out of reach. But this didn’t bother Titania. Cracking her knuckles, she said, “I wonder how well you do in hand-to-hand combat.”

NP: Titania is OP. She's strong, durable and has multiple powerful magic weapons. If you want to make it more fair, either steal her Excalibur and use it against her, or pick something non-violent.

Confronted by the wolf-goat, Titania decided to try out a fancy new weapon, a replica of Kusanagi, the grass cutting sword. She answered, “Bold claim, but you’re more likely to hurt yourself.” As Andrea charged, the fairy queen just barely moved her sword, and a magical gust of wind slammed into her attacker. Not having learned her lesson, Andrea attacked again, biting into the queen’s arm but failing to break the skin. With another movement of Kusanagi, a gust of wind threw off Andrea and smashed her to the ground. When her assailant surrendered, Titania put her sword away and bowed down to pet the hybrid’s head. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t hurt someone as cute as you.”

Andrea looked at the fairy, showing her teeth, and also her scarlet gums. "You want to fight me fairy, I can defeat you in a instant." Andrea bragged, her orange pupils scanned Titania. The wolf hybrid ran to the fairy, her hooves galloping, dust seemed to follow Andrea. Then suddenly, she was struck by a magical move, Andrea fell to the ground, laying a paw on her injury. She stood up, trying again her move, leaping onto Titania, she bit the fairy's arm, and Andrea was struck again, but this time the severity increased. Andrea was on the point that she's giving up, she crawled to Titania's feet and said, "I surrender, please don't cause further harm to me." She cried. The hybrid learned that she can be overpowered by unsuspecting people.

FOR NP: When you anger Andrea, she can harm you. From bites to horn jabs, she can put you in jeopardy. But, you can beat Andrea if you make a quick move.