SHE FEELS THE flat of a blade collide with her foot, feeling the metal even through the slight heels of her leather boots. briefly she is wide-eyed by the suddenness of it all, but her BODY reverts to a perfect mold of an assassin. gilding through mid-air, like a dance of aerodynamicsāsmooth like a lineāshe lands on her feet, knees bent. her gloved hands already curling into fists, back bent at a slight angle ( the perfect posture for a FIGHT ). she feel the battle coming on into her bones, she knows the chill at the end of her spine and she smiles at the shivers of it. he wonāt be easy, that she knows.
Ā Ā Ā Ā she does a double take of the contours of his face despite having his headshot burnt into her memory. he doesnāt look so impressive in real lifeāhe didnāt in picture eitherā but sakura does note how SCARIER to face in real life. ahā¦ itās the aura emitting from him, overpowering andfear-striking. itās like waiting for the other shoe to drop. she pulls on the glove on her right hand tighter, her fingers flexing ( DESPITE OF THE FIREARM AT HER THIGH ). they told her to kill him, not to make it neat. she rushes to him, air bristling her air and everything, her worn shoes hitting the cobblestones with deadly silence. she aims a kick to his right side.
APATHETIC VIOLENCE! THE SCREAMS OF WEAPONS, OF KICKS AND SWEARS, OF GRUNTS. lady, this aināt a dance ( what the fuck is grace when punches are exchanged ? ), this is the tale of survival, of wanting to lie another day, it pumping adrenaline into their blood. death aināt a poem, itās goddamn metal music, shouting, bleeding, and pounding mercilessly.
crooked grin, teeth yellow and broken up. canāt even be called a smile, more of a feral snarl. maddened insanity with blood-lust, heās the big bad wolf, and he aināt afraid to swallow down girls like you. rip āem up, chew them down, itās all the same. he takes in the hit, not bothering to move out of the way, since she relies on her speed and the number of hits she can get at him. heās not slower, but sheās smaller built, obviously focusing her style on lashing out on weak points.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā ā gHhh . . ā
he grunts, his free hand grabbing onto her ankle, to try and flip her over. hopefully itāll frazzle the girl, scare her off, or maybe sheād continue the death match. nicolas doubts sheād suffer a concussion, probably would be able to land in some way to soften the blow. after all, these pursuits for his head have stopped scaring him off, more or less, become a hindrance for him to perform daily chores. his bleak, graveyard gaze leaves the pink haired girlās for a second ( he wonders briefly, perhaps half a second, how can anyone afford the luxury of dye ? ), trying to decide if heād prefer to move their fight to the roofs.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā yeah, itād be better.
gummygunk
kianamaiart
