01-01-2020, 12:47 AM
[align=center][div style="width:70%; text-align: justify; padding: 1px; font-family: helvetica;"]Lemy sneered up at Phoenix upon seeing his attack ring true. Swoop down you stupid fuckin' bird, he thought, tail lashing. Then he could—his smugness evaporated at Phoenix's screech and the sheer speed the bird had dove down at. He hadn't expected such a quick retaliation. He cursed his lack of foresight as he scrambled to unsheathe his dagger and with a quick motion—
Lemy bit his tongue to avoid releasing the yelp that bubbled in his throat as talons dug into his back. Icy hot flashes of pain numbed his back as he tried to collect himself. "You're ruinin' my cloak, jackass." Lemy spat weakly at the bird, desperately clinging to his dagger. Don't drop it, don't drop it, he chanted to himself as he pulled through the haze of pain. He tried to struggle in the avian's grip, choking in pain at the sensation of the talons in his flesh wiggling with his movement.
Then he dropped his dagger.
He watched with a mixture of contempt and pain-ridden apathy as the weapon landed harmlessly on the snow. It grew smaller as he was lifted higher into the air.
Was he seriously about to die?
Lemy was screwed—if he attacked Phoenix or struggled and fell, he might end up with broken bones and another concussion. He'd be easy pickings—bleeding from the back, disoriented and who-knew-what-else. He felt his ears grow hot with emotions he wasn't willing to pick apart at the moment, claws unsheathing and resheathing in an unstable tempo. Fine. Fine.
With some difficulty, Lemy reached out with his possession, aiming to take control of Phoenix's body. The roar of the background static faded away as he did so.
This was his last attempt in his series of failures. If it didn't work then that was that. He would rather die than be humiliated by any failed attempts to save himself. He would let Phoenix win; Lemy didn't lose. Álmos never lost.
attacking: phoenix
health: 42%
Lemy bit his tongue to avoid releasing the yelp that bubbled in his throat as talons dug into his back. Icy hot flashes of pain numbed his back as he tried to collect himself. "You're ruinin' my cloak, jackass." Lemy spat weakly at the bird, desperately clinging to his dagger. Don't drop it, don't drop it, he chanted to himself as he pulled through the haze of pain. He tried to struggle in the avian's grip, choking in pain at the sensation of the talons in his flesh wiggling with his movement.
Then he dropped his dagger.
He watched with a mixture of contempt and pain-ridden apathy as the weapon landed harmlessly on the snow. It grew smaller as he was lifted higher into the air.
Was he seriously about to die?
Lemy was screwed—if he attacked Phoenix or struggled and fell, he might end up with broken bones and another concussion. He'd be easy pickings—bleeding from the back, disoriented and who-knew-what-else. He felt his ears grow hot with emotions he wasn't willing to pick apart at the moment, claws unsheathing and resheathing in an unstable tempo. Fine. Fine.
With some difficulty, Lemy reached out with his possession, aiming to take control of Phoenix's body. The roar of the background static faded away as he did so.
This was his last attempt in his series of failures. If it didn't work then that was that. He would rather die than be humiliated by any failed attempts to save himself. He would let Phoenix win; Lemy didn't lose. Álmos never lost.
attacking: phoenix
health: 42%