( He glances down at the dagger. It feels surprisingly okay in his hand, definitely light enough which should make it easy to control. His thumb idly grazes along the carvings on its hilt. It's pretty cool shit, Johnny thinks.

His mouth turns up in a smile a she mentions his speediness, eyes looking back at her. )

Oh yeah, that's no problem. There's years and years of fleeing the scene of the crime under my belt. ... but I guess the gracefulness could use a bit of work, yeah.

( Understatement of the year, coming from the kid who regularly trips over his own feet during the most menial tasks. )

Am I just supposed to, like... come at you, or what?