"I think those bastards picked my pockets, I'm clean out." Mabel's pretty damn cheery considering the gashes on her arms and face. There are a few of those odd pebble remains of the birds - she'd be damned if she picked them up - but they got their far share. She had twisted strips of her jacket around her hands to keep her grip on the bat. Another piece of clothing down the drain.

There's a muffled banging noise from the back. "Stay in there!" she shouts, and it stops. She checks herself over quickly - quite a few wounds were superficial, about three of them would need stitches as far as she could tell - and dismisses any hint of self-concern with a grin. "Next time around, I'm going for the sword. Thanks, big guy."