Jay - Snaps Flanz's hands

Their hands met. He threaded his fingers within hers and stared her in the eye. A romantic gesture of two soon-to-be newlyweds. At least that was how Flanz-le-Flore saw it, her head at a slight loll as her lips parted into a coy sigh.

Jay clenched both his hands and bent back her wrists.

Flanz-le-Flore must've thought he was harmless disarmed of his metal bat. She must've thought she had him in a corner. Even when he had his bat earlier, she hadn't been afraid of getting close to him, wrapping her arms around him. After all, wasn't it her who told him he was weak, too weak to survive this world without help?

"Don't underestimate me," he said.

Small hands. Small, brittle bones that splintered as he put all possible force into his grip. She screamed and her face became something awful, something pained and imploring and for a moment he wanted to stop but knew he couldn't, felt her thumbs—the only fingers he didn't have in his grip—try to strike against his wrists as though that'd somehow conjure the snap needed to render him inert again. He crumpled his hands into balled fists, her hands trapped inside, and through the pulsing of tendons felt her fingers snap.

The wolves rushed forward to rip him apart but he relinquished Flanz-le-Flore's ruined hands and wrapped his arms around her head and shouted: "Get back or I kill her, it'll only take a moment!" Of course he had no idea how to snap a neck like action heroes did in movies, if that was even possible or just Hollywood artifice, but the wolves bought it—for the time being. They backed up, crouching low, snarling.

***

[9] The Same Wrong Even More Ruthlessly