Brigid pursed her lips in annoyance. She gestured at her cane.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to clean blood from the floor? You really are a caveman, aren't you?"
Well, he'd pushed the issue, and apparently did in fact believe he could kill the entire city guard single-handedly. And if she didn't let him try, she'd have to explain two dead bodies in the doorway of her shop. There was really only one other option.
"Fine, you win," she said. She raised her hands to show they were empty, and, leaving her cane propped up against the counter, she hobbled slowly backwards away from the safe. "Come take your prize, caveman. And whatever other shiny things your tribe values."
She limped her way back to the farthest corner of the shop and leaned on her workbench, making no sudden movements and keeping her hands in the air. Her facial expression was more irked than afraid, which irked her further; she recognized that appearing afraid could have significant benefits when facing an unpredictable man who only thought in power/submission paradigms. Afraid was submissive. Exasperated was not.
Fortunately, her indignation would be resolved in a few moments. Watching this so-called "black knight" run screaming down the main street of town after he'd made even incidental contact with the invisible monofilament blood threads criss-crossing the safe opening would be a perfect balm for her current ills.