[She doesn't yield. She should, certainly, and indeed, there's a part of her screaming not to be so damned foolish, not to raise this right back into a fight.]

[But there's also a part of her - the part, perhaps, that spat in Eldred Jonas' face - that balks at the idea of stepping away, least of all when he's speaking to her of surrender. Accusing her of surrender. Never, in all her life, has she felt more furiously opposed to the idea of backing up even half a step. Her lip curls back from her teeth, and not in a smile. Her tone, to her own surprise, is even.]

Do 'ee see me weep, pendejo? Are there tears in my eyes?

[Some on her cheeks, maybe, from wheezing when he crushed her ribs, and there's a suspicious, puffy redness to her lids that might suggest she's been crying before, but for now, her eyes are dry. She's making damned sure of that. All else he might have from her, but she's not going to give him the satisfaction of tears, no matter how they might burn and ache in her throat.]

I won't beseech them for shit. I ain't fool enough to crawl on the ground asking for what anyone with eyes can see they'll not give. I'm not the one thinkin' if I only cause enough hue and cry, they'll come along in a moment to open the door.