Sara watches Oliver's fast movement at the side of her vision, even as she's flipping up one of the other two in her hand, and throwing it. His not even lodged into the wall, when she's taken in its trajectory, and she throws hers to land an inch or so above his. She's going to owe someone a wall, but then, this time won't exist, again, soon either.

Remorse for repair isn't something Sara has.

Especially when it's a viscerally rewarding sound to hear them both hit home.


She flips the third up in her hand, head barely tilting, eyes narrowed as she's deciding where for it.
Nothing about that changes in the slightest, even as she says, "You can ask."