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09-01-2013, 10:21 PM
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CIRCE It wasn’t long before Circe’s challenge was answered—and boy, was it an answer. A shrill voice reached the shadowmere’s perception, a dandy, sweetish type that could’ve been a treat to listen to if it wasn’t so laced with strained aggression. Turning her head, horn held high and regally, Circe surveyed the speckled dancer with the rather adorable wrinkle to her nose as she came closer. Indeed, the affect was almost comical as Phaedra approached with evident venom in her tone, seemingly under the delusion that it would humble the Executioner, and the sorceress was hard-pressed to take her seriously at first. It was true; Circe’s irritation didn’t evaporate as the spy came closer—in fact, it positively mounted as the tinny voice demanded explanations for all sorts of things that were out of the shadowmere’s control. Yes, Circe had been absent from the fight; yes, Circe was just as confused and agitated as Phaedra seemed to be, an agitation that was only chafed by the fact that this spindly-legged harlot had been called to action in the shadowmere’s place. Suppose the enemy would be too dazzled by kaleidoscopic ass cheeks to properly engage in combat? Whatever the case, the point was moot, seeing as the allied forces had been defeated. Did this dancing spy win blood for the Grey? Not quite. It was no matter. Circe wasn’t about to unleash her pent-up frustration on this hollow-boned sass of a Shadow; she was much too fragile, and the shadowmere wasn’t one for injuring her fellows. Let her take out her spleen on the shadowmere, Circe didn’t care; she would wait until the spy emptied her lungs of air, then Circe would turn her heel, lash her tail, and take her leave to find someone with a little more hardy constitution to pummel into the mud. The dark mare was just on the brink of doing such a thing, her head beginning to turn away from the insolent words. And then Phaedra called her a pet. The effect was instantaneous. “A pet?” Circe whispered, her rumbling voice a cold, jagged dagger of ice instead of the warm purr it usually was, her eyes hard and blazing as she slowly turned to face the speckled Shadow once more. “A pet you call me?” It was as though her tail were being electrified, twitching and jerking and flailing in the air as it was with the sudden upsurge of rage the shadowmere suddenly felt. “You, call me, a pet?” Her voice refused to raise, yet with every word it seemed the sorceress strove to freeze the very air around them, icy as her tone was. She turned her whole body square to face Phaedra, and started her march. It was an unconscious reaction on the part of the shadowmere, for her head to drop into a neutral stance, her horn held in front of her as a knight might hold its lance; both a weapon and a shield from attack. Neck arched, steps high and rigid in her wrath, Circe took one more step, than another, approaching the spy head-on with every movement stiff with the anger that poured from her sides. “You call me pet for man,” she said, still in that fanged, icy whisper, “When you--“, she threw her right hoof before her, pawing the air and hoping to clip the spy in the front of her chest, “—are princess” she threw her other hoof, “—for fairy?!” and threw her right hoof once more, trying to punish this insolent fool of a mare by pounding her into the ground with every step she made. ~.~.~.~.~ [W/C: 650 1/3 PC, 0/1 PC 0/1 MC Stomps toward Phaedra and throws her forehooves three times, attempting to bash Phaedra square in the chest.] |
