GAUCHO

While Gaucho couldn't discern whether or not the drugs had been burned in his fiery-attack, what he could discern was the smell of burning hair. And it made him gag. As the fibers of Oxy's tail and leg hair fused together and burned away, the WildFire stuck his tongue out, as if literally trying to force the molecules out of his mouth. His bone-pierced nose wrinkled in disgust as his head rose, trying to rise above the wafting stench of burning ass-hair. Already outstretched wings fanned slightly, trying to blow the cloud of yuck towards Oxy's spinning form. If he had to deal with the smell, his bestest buddy would have to as well.

Gaucho tried to drop his left shoulder, as his hindquarters swung around, attempting to follow Oxy's turn back around to him. This wasn't too hard (especially now that the drugs had almost fully worn off, and his blood pressure was back to normal): Oxy, for all his poise and charm, had the tendency to be a little noisy while flailing about. Had he ever considered putting pillows under his hooves? That would probably do the trick nicely, and hey! If it was done right, all those feathers might even cover them up. Very stealth. So wow. Much fashion. Just as he was about to suggest what would surely be the latest and greatest trend in battle-wear, he saw the very hooves in question begin to lift off the ground. Rearing as well (though on a slight angle, placing his right side closer), Gaucho flailed his own hooves towards The Addict as well. Flailed, in the most technical sense of course. With his head raised and tilted back, to avoid Oxy's horns, Gaucho appeared like some small child, flailing their hands blindly at their opponent trying to hit any part that they could. Likely his buddy's chest would be the recipient, should any of his wayward attacks be successful, though hopefully none would hit his precious bag, damaging the even more precious cargo.

Gaucho's positioning placed his right side closer (his left wing joint throbbed painfully in appreciation), and as Oxy's hooves battered down his right flank, the WildFire had a moment of clarity before pain flared brightly outward: duh. Pillows no hurt. Riiiiight. Okay. How sad. He really thought he had something there. Now all he had, was a bleeding wing joint, and what felt like a crater on his right side. He couldn't actually feel the spot Oxy's hooves had struck him, as if the nerves there had just decided it was 5 o'clock somewhere, and pulled the quittin' whistle early. To pick up the slack, the area around began to bruise almost instantly, screaming out in all directions, to let the WildFire know they were still working. Great.

A squeal left the WildFire's lips as Oxy's hooves hit the ground. He tried to rotate fully around, to face his buddy head-on, but the pain from his right side seemed to cause a mental roadblock. Although his head tried to lower somewhat to discourage the attack he saw coming, it was slow and jerky. He felt Oxy's teeth bite hard against his wither. Mara, who was not stunned by pain, and already positioned in Gaucho's antlers, took the opportunity to try and bite Oxy. Although she was fairly certain his blood would probably make her high, given how many narcotics he regularly consumed, she went for it anyways. As Gaucho's head turned inwards, to try and prevent Oxy's bite, Mara struck: she aimed for the right side of Oxy's neck, holding on to Gaucho's antlers for support.

As she pulled back, the dun tried to as well. His hooves back peddled, trying not to slam himself into a tree as Oxy had earlier. His flanks heaved with the effort, causing bursts of sharp, bright pain from his right side. With a snarl, Gaucho lowered his antlers slightly, as smoke trailed out of them. Igniting almost as soon as it left his horns, two large bear-shapes touched down upon the ground. Composed entirely of fire, they roared hello briefly to Oxy, before charging in his direction. One bear tried to leap towards Oxy's right shoulder, while the other rose up onto its hindlegs, trying to swipe at The Addict's face.

"Mohawk" Gaucho whispered, as if to encourage the standing bear where it should attack. The pillow-trend had died early, but Gaucho still had hopes for matching mohawks.

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WC: 740
Attack:3/4