MADE A GRAVEYARD FROM THE BONE-WHITE AFTERNOON.
Something unexpectedly holy might live in the way they look at each other: respectful, sated, wretched in anticipation. Bex’s blue eyes flicker in the feeble light. She rolls her narrow shoulders, shifts her weight across her feet. Blood thrums its preparatory drumbeat in her temples.
The whisper of the rain seems almost pious. Bexley lets herself feel religious for a brief, startlingly easy moment, and that unexpected rush of zeal is followed by an even more bizarre feeling of companionship when she locks eyes with the man across the Steppe. Bex has already decided he is not a stranger, because she recognizes him metaphysically. The anger, the bitterness, the omnipresent want of savagery. They are two sides of a very, very damaged coin.
Wriggling slightly in place, like a cat about to pounce, Bex ducks her head and flashes Aion a rapacious smile. Excitement flitters through her live-wire nerves as he speaks. You’re right about that, she shoots back, shaking a wave of hair away from her face, and the only thing that belies her confidence is the muted expression of surprise that overtakes her as she glances down, watching a sudden wave of frost crack the wet mud at her feet. Fully present now, she realizes for the first time just how much the temperature has dropped. Tiny shards of glittering ice collect on her eyelashes; a deep-seated shiver rips its way down her spine. Just my luck, mumbles Bexley, the humor in her voice almost defeatist, and then she raises her head again and watches, waiting.
She is not waiting long.
He rushes her, an black-and-white blur of unexpected, smash-mouth movement, and as the distance between them closes, Bexley realizes (what bad timing that is) how much taller than her he is. Then she realizes how much taller he seems to be growing as he comes nearer and nearer, closing whole strides in half-seconds. No time to think about any real kind of dodge - should have done it earlier. The only thing that saves her from taking the full brunt of the attack is that, in the meticulous watching of his movements, she catches that quick gait-change. Ah, smart boy.
As much effort as it takes, in the moment before they collide, she at least manages to unstick her front hooves from the mud and lean to the left in preparation. She knows it’s a weak move, one Acton might laugh at if he were watching (and Bex can almost hear his voice in her head, laughing I knew you weren’t made for fair fights) - but at least when the two collide, Bex is stubborn prepared and does not stumble completely off her feet. As it is, Aion’s ivory shoulder slams and scrapes against her ribs, but she keeps her balance with only a grunt of effort signifying the dull pain that blooms, pulsing, inconsistent, across her right side.
Before he can pass her completely, Bexley bares her teeth and lashes out, hoping to sink a bite into his still-close hip or, if her aim betrays her, the deepest part of his flank. Heat fills her bloodstream.
Unsure if it’s a prayer or premonition, she smells copper, hoarfrost, sweat.
The whisper of the rain seems almost pious. Bexley lets herself feel religious for a brief, startlingly easy moment, and that unexpected rush of zeal is followed by an even more bizarre feeling of companionship when she locks eyes with the man across the Steppe. Bex has already decided he is not a stranger, because she recognizes him metaphysically. The anger, the bitterness, the omnipresent want of savagery. They are two sides of a very, very damaged coin.
Wriggling slightly in place, like a cat about to pounce, Bex ducks her head and flashes Aion a rapacious smile. Excitement flitters through her live-wire nerves as he speaks. You’re right about that, she shoots back, shaking a wave of hair away from her face, and the only thing that belies her confidence is the muted expression of surprise that overtakes her as she glances down, watching a sudden wave of frost crack the wet mud at her feet. Fully present now, she realizes for the first time just how much the temperature has dropped. Tiny shards of glittering ice collect on her eyelashes; a deep-seated shiver rips its way down her spine. Just my luck, mumbles Bexley, the humor in her voice almost defeatist, and then she raises her head again and watches, waiting.
She is not waiting long.
He rushes her, an black-and-white blur of unexpected, smash-mouth movement, and as the distance between them closes, Bexley realizes (what bad timing that is) how much taller than her he is. Then she realizes how much taller he seems to be growing as he comes nearer and nearer, closing whole strides in half-seconds. No time to think about any real kind of dodge - should have done it earlier. The only thing that saves her from taking the full brunt of the attack is that, in the meticulous watching of his movements, she catches that quick gait-change. Ah, smart boy.
As much effort as it takes, in the moment before they collide, she at least manages to unstick her front hooves from the mud and lean to the left in preparation. She knows it’s a weak move, one Acton might laugh at if he were watching (and Bex can almost hear his voice in her head, laughing I knew you weren’t made for fair fights) - but at least when the two collide, Bex is stubborn prepared and does not stumble completely off her feet. As it is, Aion’s ivory shoulder slams and scrapes against her ribs, but she keeps her balance with only a grunt of effort signifying the dull pain that blooms, pulsing, inconsistent, across her right side.
Before he can pass her completely, Bexley bares her teeth and lashes out, hoping to sink a bite into his still-close hip or, if her aim betrays her, the deepest part of his flank. Heat fills her bloodstream.
Unsure if it’s a prayer or premonition, she smells copper, hoarfrost, sweat.
Summary: Bex leans away from his charge and manages not to lose her footing in the attack, but is still battered and unbalanced by Aion's shoulder as he rushes her. As he passes her, she whips around and tries to land a bite along his hip/flank.
Attack Used: 1
Attack(s) Left: 1
Block Used: 0
Block(s) Left: 1
Item(s) Used: N/A
Response Deadline: 6/21/18
Tags: @aion, @
