Ow, what the fuck indeed.

Jerk.

He kinda shifted away from me, turning his ass safely away from my horn’s sharp point, which was right of him to do, since I was far from done from being pissed. Was I satisfied by the feeling of skin and flesh ‘n shit ripping underneath my horn’s tip, damn-near tearing this poor fool’s asshole out in the process? Well, yeah, a little. I mean, at the very least, he now knew that I wasn’t someone he could screw around with; I didn’t know him like that.

So logic says that I should’ve stopped my assault on him—and part of me tried to do just that, digging my hooves into the slushy mud—but I didn’t quite stop where I wanted to and I scrambled a bit and in all honesty I was still pretty pissed so there was that. And it didn’t help that the bastard wouldn’t stop talking; “I was just playing!” he said, “Cut me some slack!” he was telling me. Or…something like that. I think that was the gist but I wasn’t listening very hard. All it really served to do was cause my blood to boil a little more because dammit I’m not a joke. I ain’t a thing to play with. Not for fools like him, at least.

So mid-scramble I angled my body toward him, towards that stupid white thing he was wearing on his face (I really didn’t like this guy), and I scrambled some more, getting my hooves just right so that I could lunge at his face or his neck or somewhere and bite the shit out of him. But it didn’t happen like that; turns out he had a horn too. Well, lots of horns, actually, a whole shit-ton of them springing out of the stupid thing, horns that I hadn’t seen in the red haze of my anger. I ran face-first into them as they slashed in front of me, this way and that.

By all rights I shoulda had an eye poked out at least; the miracle is that they only scraped the skin and bone, down the length of my nose from forehead to bridge, and it stung but I wasn’t dead, so. I guess I shoulda been thankful. But instead of thanks, all I was feeling was infinitely angrier than I had been feeling. It was a different sort of anger, because before I had simply been annoyed. Now, though, the idiot upped the ante by attacking me— I kinda scream-growled my frustration, my teeth bared because fists were swung and now it was a brawl and I was coming for that ass.

Literally, though, I was coming for that ass—because he backed away from me and I had shot at him and he had swung his horns at me and they had scratched the crap out of me, and none of that changed the fact that the ground was slippery as hell and there was no way to stop myself on such short notice. So instead of trying to stop, I kept charging for him, angling my head to the left slightly to try and avoid the horns, my right shoulder jutting out so that I could ram him in the chest or throat or somewhere. If I got close enough I’d try and resort to my original plan: biting the ever-living shit out of him, anywhere along his neck or shoulder or wherever I could reach the jerk.

I was hot.



[

[586/800]

ATTACKS: [2/3]

Recap: Tries to slow her charge as Morir angles away from her; slides in the mud. Charges for his front but is slashed by his horns; gets a vertical scratch on her face. Keeps charging and turns her head away, trying to ram him in the chest or the neck with her right shoulder. Also attempts to bite the right side of his neck if she is allowed contact.
]




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