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05-12-2016, 07:10 PM
The small noise of protest catches his ears, lays them back in sudden uncertainty, but then it's too late.
Hitting her is like the wind breaking on the mountains. He feels the shudder of it through his bones and for a moment thinks he might have shattered himself. The pale stallion has fought before. He has fought for love. He has fought for dominance. He has fought for pleasure.
He's never encountered something like this.
Eyes flashing white all around, no longer hooded and lazy, his momentum carries him past her. The soft ground grabs at his hooves, not the way soft sand does and yet without the friction of the hard flat lands he's used to. And it really isn't flat, he finds, though the grasses hide the uneven footing. Though the impact checked his momentum some, his speed forces him into a wide arc to bring him back around to face her and by the time he does there's something else there.
It's not the little bronze one that catches his attention. It's the transluscent one coming at his face and he almost notices it too late. He plants his hooves in the soft grass, the sharpness of the motion radiating up his legs. His forelegs rise from the ground to challenge the new spector lashing out foreward and meeting- something?
Then he's drowning.
His hooves cut through it almost like it isn't there, but the force of it hits his chest hard enough to knock some of the wind from him. It splashes into his face. It's in his nose and in his throat and in his eyes. His forelimbs come down hard and he throws his head back, trying to clear it from his eyes. The white stallion head flails in brief panic. He coughs and snorts the water from his nose. Sweet air rushed in and he realizes it was water.
Just water.
He can still feel the bruise forming on his chest with every breath. His head flips up and there's suddenly laughter on his lips. He prancs sideways, bucks, and rushes her again. He has no clever magic to call, only what was given to him by blood and the desert. It's not a full charge this time but a more controlled rush to cover the distance between them. He doesn't want to stay close to her- she's heavier than he is. Broader of body. Still, he can't stay away.
He doesn't try to run at her head-on, angling instead for where he thinks the left side of her should be. There's still an element of play in his movement, a caution to hold back. He doesn't strike at her with teeth but instead swings his head like a weight, hoping to catch her's in the side as he passes.
OOC:
WC: 469
Attack: 2/3
Summary: Water to the chest and face, tries to rush her again, time swing his head to clobber her up the side. Though I'm not sure who's more hard headed.
This is awesome! I'm not sure I handled the magic right, but I hope it's okay!
Hitting her is like the wind breaking on the mountains. He feels the shudder of it through his bones and for a moment thinks he might have shattered himself. The pale stallion has fought before. He has fought for love. He has fought for dominance. He has fought for pleasure.
He's never encountered something like this.
Eyes flashing white all around, no longer hooded and lazy, his momentum carries him past her. The soft ground grabs at his hooves, not the way soft sand does and yet without the friction of the hard flat lands he's used to. And it really isn't flat, he finds, though the grasses hide the uneven footing. Though the impact checked his momentum some, his speed forces him into a wide arc to bring him back around to face her and by the time he does there's something else there.
It's not the little bronze one that catches his attention. It's the transluscent one coming at his face and he almost notices it too late. He plants his hooves in the soft grass, the sharpness of the motion radiating up his legs. His forelegs rise from the ground to challenge the new spector lashing out foreward and meeting- something?
Then he's drowning.
His hooves cut through it almost like it isn't there, but the force of it hits his chest hard enough to knock some of the wind from him. It splashes into his face. It's in his nose and in his throat and in his eyes. His forelimbs come down hard and he throws his head back, trying to clear it from his eyes. The white stallion head flails in brief panic. He coughs and snorts the water from his nose. Sweet air rushed in and he realizes it was water.
Just water.
He can still feel the bruise forming on his chest with every breath. His head flips up and there's suddenly laughter on his lips. He prancs sideways, bucks, and rushes her again. He has no clever magic to call, only what was given to him by blood and the desert. It's not a full charge this time but a more controlled rush to cover the distance between them. He doesn't want to stay close to her- she's heavier than he is. Broader of body. Still, he can't stay away.
He doesn't try to run at her head-on, angling instead for where he thinks the left side of her should be. There's still an element of play in his movement, a caution to hold back. He doesn't strike at her with teeth but instead swings his head like a weight, hoping to catch her's in the side as he passes.
OOC:
WC: 469
Attack: 2/3
Summary: Water to the chest and face, tries to rush her again, time swing his head to clobber her up the side. Though I'm not sure who's more hard headed.
This is awesome! I'm not sure I handled the magic right, but I hope it's okay!
All interactions are go, short of death and permanent crippling.
