02-24-2019, 12:58 AM
[align=center]action — "speech" — thoughts
[div style="background: linear-gradient(to right, #464C5A, #757f96, #464C5A); width: 500px; height: 2px;"]Crow could not say it smelled pleasant. Quite the opposite, really — when was the last time those filthy Pittshits had a bath? But the stench from the long-gone assassin was perhaps a minority in the assemblage of odours that revealed themselves the closer the feline came to the scene. It was metallic and raw, a scent that caused his snout to crinkle with distaste and the hairs along his spine to raise. This was no accident. This was real, an act of spite and malice, and it played out right underneath his nose.
The body was quite hard to recognise from the angle of approach the feline took. Blood, guts, fur, absolutely everywhere; it was a mess. His paws stained as they reached to touch the crumbled ground, his face contorting to a wince at how fragile it was. It was baffling how this was even lethal... What wasn't wet turned into dust upon contact with his toes. The clean-up was going to be harrowing.
Crow bit his lip. "H-hey... Kiira—" he would mumble, turning his body toward her vulnerable form as if opening himself up for a hug should she want one. "You're not a failure. Remember that."
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