Kirsten kept her crossbow level and aimed at the centre-chest of the biggest man present. She could feel sweat soaking into the rim of her hat and felt strangely grateful that the floppy garment. As much for it's ability to conceal her nervous sweating as for the property that kept sweat from dripping into her eyes and spoiling her vision. She made sure to stand near the light, allowing the thugs a good, unobstructed view of her blood drenched clothing.
She forced a cocky smile and allowed her index finger to tap impatiently against the wood of her crossbows stock, close enough to the metal lever that it would require little more than a slight twitch to unleash a thumb-thick bolt of steel-tipped wood into the mans body.