Martine McCutcheon Shoulder Rolls
Carly came down the stairs, one limb still loose and dragging behind her, making tiny poofs of sound as the hanging arm clacked off every stair (the teeny tiny bumps of high quality carpeting, especially important on stairwells and hallways). She seemed a little vague, but that was Carly for you.
"That man...why didn't he just use a gun? That kind of retro is quite the thing I'm sure but, as an assassin it's faintly embarassing. I actually felt physically sick for a while back then..."
She looked down at her trailing arm, as if noticing it for the first time. With an irritated shrud she twisted her hips and the limb, clinging by a single tendon (maybe two) spun off over the bannister. Carly did some Martin McCutcheon shoulder rolls to keep the blood flowing in the right direction and looked directly at Paul.
Paul had rubbing of his own to do. Even since the attack, he'd male patterned the back of his head with worry. "Carly, I don't want you to take this the wrong way but-"
Carly had heard this kind of thing before and she wasn't about to let it happen again. To Paul, the uppercut would seem like it came from nowhere, a rip in timespace, a sudden surge of coagulated adrenaline from the Outer Places but, for Carly, the blow had been better planned than Christmas.