[closed]
Who: reddenedrage & unorthodoxies
When: Shortly after this.
Where: The rooftop of the Outlander Community Block, to start!
Format: Prose.
What: Some good old fashioned ass kickin'.
Warnings: Violence and language that will surely be accompanied by vast amounts of immaturity.
Clack, clack, clack.
Seconds passed, and Benten drove the stiletto point of one too high heel into the roof on repeat, laying into the shingles in the very same manner in which a crow might have taken to pecking at a pane of glass.
What a shitty fucking day. After a botched attempt at fratricide, a 'gallant' rescue by a halfwit motorbike pervert, and a time out administered by the worst goddamn cop in the universe, Benten thought karma couldn't possibly stick its metal plated boot up his ass any farther. But, naturally, he was proven wrong. Just when he thought he'd found the perfect, scrawny, snot nosed little boy-toy to pummel the life out of, the kid turned out to be all bark and no bite. Wonderful. Fan-freaking-tastic.
Don't keep me waitin', Benten had said, and what was he doing now? Exactly that, with his arms crossed, his golden hair flowing, caught in the wind, and sunglasses perched high atop the bridge of his nose. Seriously, where had he gone wrong? Maybe, he should've picked a fight with someone who seemed more reliable and less like a trash talking virgin. Or maybe, he should've kept to himself, and pursued that pack of Marlboro Reds to soothe his nerves instead.
But, oh, how the prospect of a fight had struck him in just the right way. He could redeem himself, and take pleasure in doing it, all while driving someone else's face into the dirt. What a pretty thought. Benten grinned, tugging Murakumo's blazer closer to his body in an attempt to fend off the chill of the autumn air.
'Course, he could always try being patient. Maybe that'd work, too.
When: Shortly after this.
Where: The rooftop of the Outlander Community Block, to start!
Format: Prose.
What: Some good old fashioned ass kickin'.
Warnings: Violence and language that will surely be accompanied by vast amounts of immaturity.
Clack, clack, clack.
Seconds passed, and Benten drove the stiletto point of one too high heel into the roof on repeat, laying into the shingles in the very same manner in which a crow might have taken to pecking at a pane of glass.
What a shitty fucking day. After a botched attempt at fratricide, a 'gallant' rescue by a halfwit motorbike pervert, and a time out administered by the worst goddamn cop in the universe, Benten thought karma couldn't possibly stick its metal plated boot up his ass any farther. But, naturally, he was proven wrong. Just when he thought he'd found the perfect, scrawny, snot nosed little boy-toy to pummel the life out of, the kid turned out to be all bark and no bite. Wonderful. Fan-freaking-tastic.
Don't keep me waitin', Benten had said, and what was he doing now? Exactly that, with his arms crossed, his golden hair flowing, caught in the wind, and sunglasses perched high atop the bridge of his nose. Seriously, where had he gone wrong? Maybe, he should've picked a fight with someone who seemed more reliable and less like a trash talking virgin. Or maybe, he should've kept to himself, and pursued that pack of Marlboro Reds to soothe his nerves instead.
But, oh, how the prospect of a fight had struck him in just the right way. He could redeem himself, and take pleasure in doing it, all while driving someone else's face into the dirt. What a pretty thought. Benten grinned, tugging Murakumo's blazer closer to his body in an attempt to fend off the chill of the autumn air.
'Course, he could always try being patient. Maybe that'd work, too.