"Archie if you do not sit down and keep pressure on that wound I will pistol whip you myself and tie you to the oven." The barest edge of grim humor as she offers him a glance. A glare. Then one moves forward- a twitch, a shift, a sneeze- it didn't matter.

What mattered was that they moved forward rather than back, and she'd told them. It's a quick motion fluid from practice, the knife spins out of her free hand and lands somewhere amongst the fleshy bits of the crowd.