At this point the small woman wants to remove the head of everyone in the general vicinity, and is making this desire known at high volume. Her muddy shoes dig into his shirt as she tries to get upright. One hand reaches out and scrabbles at the alley wall as they duck by, letting her yank off a flat shard of loose brick when they turn the curner.

Flat. Hard. Heavier than usual. Cussingly close enough. The Queen rears back and lets fly with the slice of brick like she's about to skip a tone across teh pond and when it collides with the beast's head there's the sound of shattering porcelain to compliment its roar of rage.