01-29-2020, 12:05 PM
[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]He pushes himself up slowly, works hard to keep his balance steady - this isn't his first rodeo (ugh, rodeos, wasn't that reference a thorn in his side) and he's well aware that in this state, there isn't much he can do. Or make himself do, really, when his awareness of rules and consequence have dwindled in favor of immediate gratification. And right now, hell, he'd love to see a fight.
"C'mon, easy now." It's a lazy warning. Vathmos is already on edge and Snarl has no intentions of backing down, but he'll make an attempt to clear the air all the same. The tension is a palpable heaviness that makes the air suppressive, crackling with pent energy that bunches in Snarl's tensed limbs and Vathmos' gritted jaw. He feels it, too. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing stiff. It's only as the opposing hyena snaps her jaws in warning that Miller realizes there's more in the air than just bitter feelings.
He knows he's moving, but doesn't register the pawsteps - he's aiming for Snarl's side but it ends up as more of a lurch, driving his shoulder into her side to get her out of the way. He knows what's coming, teeth and blood and pain, but it isn't anything he hasn't felt before. At least, that was what he thought, head swimming - no, drowning - in a haze of ethanol.
He never realized that, somewhere between the flood of adrenaline and the crashing wave of pain that beats your body against the rocks, there is a moment in which you feel absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.
There's light. So much light. His vision goes stark white and Kazuhira sees nothing in the flash, only the flickers of harsh, angry static dancing in Vathmos' jaw as she clamps hard around his neck. He registers the rush of blood. The way his muscles twitch against his will, jerking away from her grip and scrabbling at the dirt. The electric shock, rushing through the conducive salt in his veins and forming a complete circuit where her teeth sink deep into his skin. He doesn't breathe. He's forgotten how.
He wonders, in that distant, out-of-body way, if she had full intent to kill Snarl with such a devastating blow. He thinks about what this would feel like if Vathmos really wanted somebody to die by her hand, if it could be any worse. He feels his body hit the ground, but isn't sure if she's still got him by the throat, the pain is so numbing; a scattered nervous system clamors to make sense of the mess, registering pain, sight, the scent of something burning. He rises back to the surface, back to consciousness. His heart gives a few stutters just to keep the blood moving through his veins and out of that fresh wound in his neck.
And he thinks about death.
"C'mon, easy now." It's a lazy warning. Vathmos is already on edge and Snarl has no intentions of backing down, but he'll make an attempt to clear the air all the same. The tension is a palpable heaviness that makes the air suppressive, crackling with pent energy that bunches in Snarl's tensed limbs and Vathmos' gritted jaw. He feels it, too. The hairs on the back of his neck are standing stiff. It's only as the opposing hyena snaps her jaws in warning that Miller realizes there's more in the air than just bitter feelings.
He knows he's moving, but doesn't register the pawsteps - he's aiming for Snarl's side but it ends up as more of a lurch, driving his shoulder into her side to get her out of the way. He knows what's coming, teeth and blood and pain, but it isn't anything he hasn't felt before. At least, that was what he thought, head swimming - no, drowning - in a haze of ethanol.
He never realized that, somewhere between the flood of adrenaline and the crashing wave of pain that beats your body against the rocks, there is a moment in which you feel absolutely nothing. Nothing at all.
There's light. So much light. His vision goes stark white and Kazuhira sees nothing in the flash, only the flickers of harsh, angry static dancing in Vathmos' jaw as she clamps hard around his neck. He registers the rush of blood. The way his muscles twitch against his will, jerking away from her grip and scrabbling at the dirt. The electric shock, rushing through the conducive salt in his veins and forming a complete circuit where her teeth sink deep into his skin. He doesn't breathe. He's forgotten how.
He wonders, in that distant, out-of-body way, if she had full intent to kill Snarl with such a devastating blow. He thinks about what this would feel like if Vathmos really wanted somebody to die by her hand, if it could be any worse. He feels his body hit the ground, but isn't sure if she's still got him by the throat, the pain is so numbing; a scattered nervous system clamors to make sense of the mess, registering pain, sight, the scent of something burning. He rises back to the surface, back to consciousness. His heart gives a few stutters just to keep the blood moving through his veins and out of that fresh wound in his neck.
And he thinks about death.
[align=center][div style="font-size:12pt;font-family:verdana;color:#4c5461;letter-spacing:-2pt;"][i][b]—-— I GET [color=#4c5461]MEAN WHEN I'M
NERVOUS, LIKE A BAD DOG
NERVOUS, LIKE A BAD DOG