06-03-2018, 09:18 PM
[div style="width: 45%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]Ugh. Two things he hated: storms and that fucking bird Pincher had. At least one of them was missing...for now.
Iosef was slow to lumber out from his dwelling at the sound of a ringing conch call accompanied by frantic pawsteps outside, slamming the door shut behind him with one muscular hind paw as he followed them to the Deep Sea Dome. The rumble of thunder forced himself to flatten his round ears upon his white cranium in sheer annoyance, and he picked up the pace so to evade the dance of lightning. He was never one to enjoy storms or lighting or anything of the sort—and yet he took the time to master his electric elementals. He was, in simplest form, a walking contradiction, which was why he usually preferred to engage in hand-to-hand combat. His capabilities, however, were great for sinister, very painful and often effective torture methods or getting him out of the corners he was often forced into.
Sitting next to the familiar figure of a winged wolf, the Siberian tiger's icy gaze rested upon the Doberman Pinscher as the vital announcements of the Typhoon were addressed. Huh. New body for the Cap. As the dominant canine droned on and on—hrmph, Russian comrade—Iosef was quick to realize the alarming change in Pincher's demeanor. He was so much slower; depressed, even. Blood trickled from his corpse, and there was little electricity in his electric blue hues. What the hell happened when Iosef was gone? Who the fuck died? And why would Pincher even care? Jesus Christ, they ought to get the guy a doc. He was in awful shape.
Iosef nodded at the end of the tiring speech that listed off the promotions and introductions of a bunch of people he didn't meet or care about. "Yeah, noted and congratulations to those promoted. Look, капитан, I'm with Argus on this one. With all respect and no offense intended, you look like you've died and crawled out of your own fucking grave. For God's sake, check with a damn doctor," the tiger drawled, his voice deadly firm and almost demanding of the captain. He really wasn't intending to sound rude or bitter or anything of the sort. If anything, he was voicing his genuine concern on the matter, especially now that Argus brought it up.
Iosef was slow to lumber out from his dwelling at the sound of a ringing conch call accompanied by frantic pawsteps outside, slamming the door shut behind him with one muscular hind paw as he followed them to the Deep Sea Dome. The rumble of thunder forced himself to flatten his round ears upon his white cranium in sheer annoyance, and he picked up the pace so to evade the dance of lightning. He was never one to enjoy storms or lighting or anything of the sort—and yet he took the time to master his electric elementals. He was, in simplest form, a walking contradiction, which was why he usually preferred to engage in hand-to-hand combat. His capabilities, however, were great for sinister, very painful and often effective torture methods or getting him out of the corners he was often forced into.
Sitting next to the familiar figure of a winged wolf, the Siberian tiger's icy gaze rested upon the Doberman Pinscher as the vital announcements of the Typhoon were addressed. Huh. New body for the Cap. As the dominant canine droned on and on—hrmph, Russian comrade—Iosef was quick to realize the alarming change in Pincher's demeanor. He was so much slower; depressed, even. Blood trickled from his corpse, and there was little electricity in his electric blue hues. What the hell happened when Iosef was gone? Who the fuck died? And why would Pincher even care? Jesus Christ, they ought to get the guy a doc. He was in awful shape.
Iosef nodded at the end of the tiring speech that listed off the promotions and introductions of a bunch of people he didn't meet or care about. "Yeah, noted and congratulations to those promoted. Look, капитан, I'm with Argus on this one. With all respect and no offense intended, you look like you've died and crawled out of your own fucking grave. For God's sake, check with a damn doctor," the tiger drawled, his voice deadly firm and almost demanding of the captain. He really wasn't intending to sound rude or bitter or anything of the sort. If anything, he was voicing his genuine concern on the matter, especially now that Argus brought it up.
[glow=#0097a3,2,300]LOSERS WEEPERS[/glow] — ❆
haha rip these goofs