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01-21-2015, 12:10 PM
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I was pacing back and forth by the time someone showed up in answer to my call; my muscles had been jumping and thumping and I had to do something or I swore I was gonna explode. I looked up, my eyes sharp as I took in this fool’s appearance: flaxen hair, spots, rough-cut like a boulder. Bet this bro thought he was flossin’ as he came up on me, like he was sexy or some shit; I caught the glitter of dragon scales adorning his neck as something shot into the air, bronze and brilliant and flashing in the sun. Damn--I’d never fought against a dragon before. Guess it was only matter of time, right? Right. Whatever. All this happened in seconds, because I wasn’t keen on wasting any more time. The tightness inside of me wasn’t letting up, continuing to cramp everything so firmly it was beginning to hurt. The only way to stretch this cramp was to go to blows—it had to be the only way, with how strong this bullshit was. My thoughts wanted to race so badly and it as taking all of my willpower to keep them trained on this spotty bro and his dragon cohort. My head wanted to think about Ma and ignore her all at the same time, equally painful no matter what it decided to do; it wanted to wallow on the murders and the darkness that shrouded the stupid, broken magic trick that Pa lent me to no end; it wanted to keen and cry and rip its hair out over the mystery of it all, to face it full frontal without a qualm or find a hiding place somewhere beneath a bush and cry it all out; it wanted to try saying that “Ros,” I said, too forcefully, “Square up, motherfucker.” I hadn’t even stopped my pacing and obviously the intro I gave was sub-par at best, assholeish at worst, but there was no time-- no time-- to worry about it. Besides, a fight wasn't the place to finetune your social skills, because this was about hitting a bastard instead of shaking his hand and it was supposed to be liberating, dammit. It was supposed to set you free. (It was a foal, once--) He was moving, and my eyes were following him, and I was moving too--but I didn’t break the distance, not yet. The air around me burned and crackled and a flash of blue-white-blinding sparked from my horn. There was a C R A C K in the air as lightning burst from my horn, brilliant and oh-so satisfying, aimed in the direction where I thought he would be trotting towards. I was throwing lightning at the bastard seconds after I met him--too many seconds too late in my personal opinion. I was trying something else, too. I had been thinking about strategy and what that meant and how I could use it. Which was its own awful thing in itself, because my head was already buzzing too much with shit ( there were burns all over her body, her body, her body) to try and keep track of imagined scenarios with imagined assholes throwing imagined attacks at me. But I had tried my damndest and this was a scenario that had come up once or twice in my musings; I threw lightning at him, and on the heels of the crackling current my hooves were digging and gripping the dirt and the pansies beneath me and I was breaking for the poor bastard, charging for him, horn pointed at that thick-ass neck of his even as the sparkbolt flashed its way toward him. [WC:[689/800] ATTACKS: [1/3] ] |
