Running at a man is a good idea. It’s surprising, and usually, they think you will just jump into their arms. However, in Elsa’s case, she is just here to bite you like a crazy rabid birdie. Her white chest collides with his dark, right shoulder. He stumbles sideways, but Elsa is reaching nonetheless. Her teeth clack down, the rough, meaty part of his skin breaking at her loving kiss. A tinge of metallic taints the taste of manly hair, and she just smiles, teeth, flesh and all. He begins to shake, and quake. The skin begins to slide away from the vices of her ivories before finally falling free. A quick assessment of her work reminds Elsa that she is indeed, showing him just how strong women are. Her senses were only heightened at the sound of his squealing pain. He would learn to love her touches. Or not, depends on what type he is.

However, poor Elsa is not quick enough to pull away! The darling dove can only look from the corner of her eye before she notices dark, dingy teeth heading her way. The only thought that crossed her mind was that of horror; how could he kiss his mother with those teeth?! Elsa frantically tosses her head into the air, trying to use her height to stand above his stubby shortness. However, her mane, for once in her life, is more of a hindrance than help. Rosti’s teeth manage to pull a few hairs. The only problem is, the damn healthy locks won’t let go. His strength manages to pull her neck to the left with it, awkwardly tweaking and causing a brief, stinging pain down her neck, before the hairs finally pull free. The pain was dull, and lasted at the base of her neck. No doubt, an uncomfortable feeling would fill her with each little twitch of her head. He managed to get a good chunk of hair. The multi-colored snow strands, pulling a small, identifiable chunk away from her body. Thank the gods that the place where her mane is located feels nearly no pain.

Damn, I mean, she seriously was looking a little “ratchet” now. The missing space in her mane provided an awkward draft under her neck. The place there was usually warm, insulated by a thick, silky, warm mane. The cool wind biting at her neck was a terrifying parallel to the drastic spiral her life was headed down, and she was too pig-headed to realize. So thus, Elsa continues her little charade, parading about for men, so desperate for love. Is this really the path of a queen? Is a queen only as good as the size of her kingdom?

The snow begins to fall, dancing around her porcelain body like she was meant for a snow globe. In this moment, she was perfection, her globe would not shatter, and her world would not be broken. Trench coat-man begins to move but she didn’t want him to leave quite yet.

If there was one thing Elsa learned from her spar with Gingersnap, was that a bite on the ear hurt like the dickens. But… it could also be quite enticing, right? Didn’t men love that sort of thing? Elsa tried to follow him with her body, trying to keep near to his right side. Then, when she thought the timing was right, she reached out her maw. Her teeth clacked down, and the girl hoped to bite down on his right ear. She wanted him to feel the “little” love bite, and if she drew blood, that was just a bonus.

Did he really think he could avoid her easily? Elsa was a tracker, a professional stalker in some cases. Whenever she reverted to this, silly, overly hormonal woman, she was an unstoppable force. Never mess with a woman who wants some.

"Talking"
@[Rostislav] || 644 Words || [2/3 attacks]

Elsa