[closed]

[unorthodoxies]

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.

Comments

[unorthodoxies]

Benten would flounce as much as he damn well pleased.

And with his legendary (notorious?) impatience getting the best of him, it was a small wonder that he hadn't yet managed to drill a hole straight through the rooftop with that single, stiletto heel. What, he'd been waiting for... five minutes, at least! Tch. Punctuality was a foreign thing in Anatole, it seemed. Just like anyone with a decent set of manners.

"You're the one who's surprised?" A snort. Benten didn't bother to meet the kid's gaze, and for the moment, was terribly engrossed in examining the shockingly blue lacquer that coated his fingernails. But, he was still acutely aware of those eyes that were narrowed to gleaming slits, and just maybe, he enjoyed the weight of that gaze. "I always keep my word, little boy."

The sound of wind catching feathers. Ah. What more preamble did Benten need? No sooner than he cast Murakumo's coat aside, three pairs of wings unfurled from that gently sloping, inked back.

"That fishnet top is totally gross, by the way."

Maybe, he'd stolen a glance, after all.

[reddenedrage]

The little grated. More than even he wanted to admit. He was prompted to snarl out a reply when a familiar sound touched his ears. Michael's eyes only widened at the sight. No way... There was no possible way-- Six wings?! The other's next retort was nearly unheard in the aftermath of shock. How did-- Was this bitch another experiment in the end? Why hadn't he heard of it?!

"What the fuck are you?!" The possibility of fighting against someone powered by six wings throbbed through him once and vanished. It wasn't fear that crept there, but something close to exhilaration. Nah, she wasn't reading angel, not really. But she definitely wasn't human. Demon... Maybe. Fuck. There was nothing normal about this bitch. His hand moved up to the hilt of his sword, swinging it over his shoulder in a smooth motion. "You think those are gonna help you? I've been bored for awhile. You're gonna help me with that."

The fire elemental gave a thin smile, an unhealthy gleam in his eyes. "If you can last long enough." Six wings or not, he wasn't getting his ass kicked by a fucking whore.

/years later ;;

[unorthodoxies]

A sword, huh? How positively stone-age. How ridiculously archaic. And how seriously fitting for a brat who possessed a vocabulary that was grandiosely limited to bitch, bitch, bitch, whore. So the kid was one of "those" types. Kiyoami's type. Whose primary brain patterns revolved around charging headlong into fights, bloodying something up, and sleeping with-

Oh, wait.

Midget teenage boys with no balls to speak of didn't get any. Ever. Benten snorted, eyeing the kid up, studying the ease with which he wielded that (outdated) hunk of metal. Really, though, he wasn't honing in on the twerp's weapon of choice, so much as discerning what wasn't so ostentatiously put on display. Wings, sword, and the scent of agni and ash. Yeah. That's what it was, without a goddamn doubt - flames, to complement that carrot top mop of hair.

Maybe, this had the potential to get interesting.

"Who the fuck am I?" With cold hauteur, he laughed, raising a hand to his mouth in a subtle mockery of playing coy. "I'm the Angel of the Four Generals..."

Summoned with a flourish, from thin air alone, Benten produced the true weapon which every man in present day should have totally been carrying: a hauchiwa. An ornate fan, constructed from feathers, perfectly lightweight and so terribly convenient. Convenient for dicing opponents to shreds, that is.

"Who can last for multiple rounds, of course."

[reddenedrage]

Those movements and that kind of motions. Fuck. If this bitch was male, she'd remind him of that bastard Rosiel. Especially when she started talking and what was she even saying? An Angel? Michael took a step forward in something like disbelief, stopping when a fan appeared in her hand. The confidence was annoying, was his style just the same, still he scoffed, shaking his head. "Tch. Multiple rounds with something frilly like that? We'll see."

If this one was a guy, there'd be some tension here. Instead underneath the anger was only amusement. Still, if she could fight....

But what had she fucking meant by that? He slashed the space in front of him, heat thickening the air as his wings arched up, feet spreading apart for balance. "I've never heard of an Angel like you."