Sibyl
Great, just great. As she assessed the full and total damage assailing her body overall with the stinking waft of a corpulent plague, she noticed that her posterior quarters of her trousers were caked in a thick crust of some organic matter, that no doubt in another time and setting, would make for a great WMD. Probably the end of all civilizations, she dryly noted, considering how horrid it felt just being cushioned by such a black grime thickness. It felt as disgusting as it smelled, but that was not what was on her mind, oh no, it was that trespasser who had ravaged her body like a fell hound of yore. Her body, that same body she would not allow anyone to touch! Unless her mistress asks, and wants to indulge on it, but that’s another matter entirely, and she would not be sidetracked with such… thoughts more befitting a Toreador than a Tremere.
The only solace the she-vampire had out of the entire situation was the sounding of her smack implanting a raw, angry imprint of her hand on his cheek, which upon impact, cracked like the swatting of the whip, which was to say her proudest work, as she gazed into the perfect imitation of her palm stencilled all across the man’s face, well, cheek. Nonetheless, there were more important matters to exact, such as appropriating further retribution against a man who doesn’t even have the decency to apologize for practically molesting her with his lazy, good for nothing, carefree face!
Standing up, she would approach him, step by step by step, drawing distance close and killing any space between them with her ever drawing proximity. Her feet stomps on the ground before Gintoki’s crotch, inches away from his precious jewels, as she lurched forward with a scowl, overlooking the man as he still remained vertically challenged, wider with frown and less inclined towards any displays of forgiveness. She urged herself to calm down, she was not a stinking Gangrel or a Brujah who would frenzy over things like these, but the temptation to indulge in her baser side WAS quite alluring.
“Yet you don’t even apologize despite the accident being YOUR fault? PEH, all because of you, now my clothes are beyond salvation. Just how exactly do you intend to take responsibility for your mistakes, and fix the mess in the first place, permy?!” She would ask, notably closer with all accompanying smell that her brief residence within the confines of a dumpster had imparted unto her, with all the wonderful qualities of decay, rot, and corpulent matter caking her back.