Lucien rolls his neck carefully, wincing hard at the grind of a rib that definitely shouldn't move like that, and tells himself that it's time to change strategy entirely.
A standard sales approach clearly isn't landing with this particular client, not when the client in question can turn him into a projectile with nothing more than a flick of the wrist. He's been thrown, bitten at, nearly disemboweled, and licked more times than he can currently count on his own aching fingers, and none of it, not one bit of it, has slowed her down for more than a few seconds at a time.
Fear isn't working on her.
Flattery barely even registers.
Time to get direct, then, and see what that accomplishes.
He surveys the full damage from up on his branch. Torn earth stretching in every direction, splintered trunks scattered like matchsticks, a crater roughly his own body's shape sitting fifty yards off from where he first landed.
