| Subject: ..sorry sorry.. |
Author:
Sixth Sense
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Date Posted: 04:37:00 12/02/02 Mon
In reply to:
Rose
's message, ".|. All Rose's Have Thorns .|." on 10:29:15 11/29/02 Fri
You wish for a fight? Then fight you shall. I am setting the rules. Three different rounds, two attacks each. Sounds fair? Good, I had hoped so. Unable to resist the throes of battle anymore than the pleasures of passion, she-beast leaps into motion, stilits grinding into the ceaseless movement of the two-beat rythm. Slowly stride elongates, converting to the three-rythmed form. The two are standing at a slight angle, though most of the opponent's face is viewed and intaken by glinting obsidian mirrors. Mirrors, to reflect what is seen not what is perceived. And now I see...Well, I am still trying to figure that out I guess. Lobes meld with skull, towers lost within the sea of moon-washed tresses that adorn sloping scalp. Fight, fight fight. The old school yard chant. I was the bully you know, always beating up the smaller kids. Plumage clenches to flanks. The two should be drawing earer now, closer, closer. The gap between two forms is dwindling, fading into nothingness, and soon they should collide. How to hurt you, how to hurt you. Inches, or hopefully inches, from where the other stands in what is most likely a defensive position, hauncges bulge, coiling, and hefting the slender torso of the carcass to touch the skies. Elegant cranial peice strikes the atmosphere. Fore-vipers curl at chest, unvenomous, yet ready to strike. Using the force of gravity and her own weight, feline falls back to the earth, knees locking, limbs outstretched for what should be the point just behind the tender lobes. If the impact should strike there, the other should be unable to move her head and neck for the pain inflicted. Her aim could, of course, be off, but it is not likely, for it rarely is. As soon as all appendages strike home once more, she-beast twists, cat-like movement turning hinds to face the opponent, and what should be the opponent's face. Unless I chose the wrong end. They say you can't tell one end of the horse from the other. There's an easy answer. One side kicks, one side bites. Hinds unhinge, flying outward in a glorious arc with full force. Aim is set for the jaw, and the full impact, if the impact should fully occur, could be enough to eventually kill her through starvation. Tucking crania, valkyrie dodges close to the other's shoulder, hoping to elude attacks of the fores or hinds. Now, do you still want to battle so quickly? You realize you are hurt, even if it is just a little bit.
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