Blood. You see it- or rather you saw it- on the floor. It was there, dripping from his belly. But then the damnable frog... you didn't even get to enjoy the sight of the crimson fluid staining the dirt below. To make matters worse, pretty boy starts laughing at you. For all your flailing, you never manage to make contact with the rubbery skin of the Pokemon. Yet somehow, despite the fact that his fat ass fell right down onto the dirt, pretty boy is laughing at you!? You can't believe and it makes your blood boil with rage that you cannot quantify. You join his stupid herd despite your better judgment, he mocks you in front of glass-horn and her lesbian lover and now he's laughing at you!? In this very moment your only goal is to end pretty boy's life and save him from his miserable existence. It might take you a while, but you'll make it happen.

On your side, your bruise aches and throbs. You wish the pain was as fleeting as the bubble attack had been, but you're not so lucky. With every step you take in chase of pretty boy a new wave of pain ebbs and flows. The pain must be too much of a distraction for before you can tear into pretty boy's skin he dances away from you. For once in your life you curse your massive frame. If only you were skinnier, faster... this hallucination is the strangest thing. Everything about your setting from the flickering light overhead, to the Pokemon trainer who has scuttled off somewhere, to the belt of Pokeballs that are jingling around your waist is a far cry from reality. Why is it, then, that you could not be leaner, swifter or more forceful in your attacks? Perhaps it is your subconscious trying to tell you something. Before the thought can sink too far into your head, you let it go. Now is not the time to be pondering the great mysteries of life. Pretty boy is on the move.

As your head lifts after the failed attempt to use your horns, you cannot help but catch sight of your opponent. He's rearing and you're moving far too fast. You attempt to skid to a stop or to turn and evade him but your massive weight cannot stop on a dime. Your hooves find purchase on the hard dirt of the arena but no amount of traction can slow you down enough. As his hooves come down, you throw your head to the left in a fit of desperation. They hit your neck and grip at the skin as they fall down. His last two attacks left only bruises and despite the constant flashes of pain there is no blood externally. This time, there is. Your skin rips and you scream out in frustration as the crimson fluid trickles down. Blood, pain and hatred blind you and you lash out even as pretty boy is rearing again.

You lunge forward, causing Arlo's bites to miss you entirely, while reaching your neck up in an attempt to latch onto his hood. It's flashes of memories of your fight with bone-nose that drive your actions. He grabbed onto your coconut bra and then... you can't remember what happened then but it doesn't matter. That's the past. This is the present. You can't tell if you've got the hood in your mouth, the foaming saliva that is billowing from the corners of your mouth makes it impossible to feel; regardless, you pull the hood backwards in an attempt to throw pretty boy off balance just as his hooves come down on your excessively large ass. The battering of hooves leave bruises anew and you grit your teeth against the pain even as you're wincing. One of his hits even manages to shatter a Pokeball you're wearing. The sharp edges of plastic fragments dig into your skin. They'll have to be removed after this is all over, so as not to cause infection.

Releasing your hold on his hood, if you ever had it, you hope that the stallion was unbalanced enough to give you the time you need. You lower your head and throw it up again, trying to rake it against his right rib cage. You want blood, more blood than the meager trickles you saw before, and you want it now. You are not gentle with your horns, thrashing and flailing your head about in throws of passion. You will have your way. You demand it. This is your hallucination, you will have some control. Breathing heavily when your flailing is complete, you try to back away from pretty boy, arching your neck and bunching your muscles, preparing yourself for the retaliation you're sure will come.

WC| 799
Post| 3/3
@[Arlo]