[ The scent of blood is one she recognizes in her very soul, the coppery tang of it on her tongue screaming as loud to her enhanced senses as those rasping breaths. But everything in her is warning caution, an innate distrust of this place combining with the pain radiating up her leg to send her instincts into a spiral of self-preserving urges. Run, get out, fight. But it's not like she has anywhere to go.
So while Wanda moves to help whoever or whatever might be under that plastic, Buffy scans the room, taking in her options before grabbing a hammer from the assortment of tools available — or the closest thing to it. Just having a weapon in her hand makes her feel infinitely more prepared for whatever might come next. ]
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So while Wanda moves to help whoever or whatever might be under that plastic, Buffy scans the room, taking in her options before grabbing a hammer from the assortment of tools available — or the closest thing to it. Just having a weapon in her hand makes her feel infinitely more prepared for whatever might come next. ]