He did not even notice me removing it. And then I pushed my way forward. Slipping the dagger in my sleeve, none could see it. They were all amused a... I pushed my way to the front. Amused I could walk maybe, or amused that I wanted to see such a sacrilegious event. When I stood over the man heaving above her, I kicked him soundly in the head. He rolled off of Tilda clutching at his skull. There was a bloody imprint of my boot on the side of his skull. I smiled in self satisfaction. He stood. The cut was bone-deep from just above his left eye to the center of his forehead, five or six centimeters in length, he guessed, causing the eyebrow to shift downward, leaving a gaping wound.Some (sane?) part of his mind kept telling him that he couldn't have blood floating everywhere. He popped a can of antiseptic spray out of its recess, closed his eye and sprayed the wound. A sting followed by a blessed numbness touched his face; the pain eased off.After choosing a bandage from the kit, he. More

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