oh, but some part of her is a spoiled girl still, and this part of ishmira rankles when the man before her does not bend immediately to her will. she hesitates for a long and painful moment, ears flat against her skull at the prospect of killing the wretched thing. and then, in a burst of what she calls courage (but is more accurately spite), ishmira's teeth meet soft, chunky flesh at the back of the fish's neck. she drops it and steps back, jaws parted and tongue lolling as if to rid herself of the feeling.

"there. it's dead. happy now? eat your damn fish." there is irritation in the twitch of her shoulders, but amusement lingers still. his sopping beard and wide eyes are difficult to glare at.