Giriko didn't quite know how he'd gone from being worried Henry's head had been cut off, to standing outside the church where he now lived, waiting for Henry's brother to come over and get his ass handed to him
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Travis' attitude was nothing short of cocky-bastard-esque. He approached the church with a look lying somewhere between disgust and pity, but behind his eyes was anger. Pure, unadulterated murderous rage.
But his hands were casually shoved in his jacket pockets, beam katanas (all four of them) hooked to his belts. He stopped a fair distance away.
Giriko's eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth with a bit more of a growl. What was with this cocky fuckhead? He was almost as annoying as Justin.
"I don't got any reason to run away," he said. "Though I don't get why you're so fuckin' pissed at me." He was conveniently forgetting the insults he'd hurled at Travis for basically no reason. "You that pissed that your brother's gettin' laid and you ain't?"
"I'm getting laid by a lot hotter than you," he sneered. "So that's the last thing you have to fucking worry about."
Travis took a step closer. "I'm more fucking pissed that Henry's laying some shit head that isn't worth a fucking dime. Even if I hate the motherfucker, I have to have some pride as a brother.
"And even I know he can fucking do better than you."
Travis finally grasps the Tsubaki MK-III, casually pulling it from its designated place on his belt.
Giriko's eyes flashed with a rage that rivaled Travis' - likely exceeded it.
All right. Now Travis was dead.
"You fucking asshole," he snarled. Chains popped out of his skin as he clenched his fists, running in an 'X' over his chest, wrapping around his fists, and around his boots. "You don't know shit about me!"
His motor was already running, stoked by the anger. Using the chains like wheels, he zoomed closer at breakneck speed, one arm coming up to block the likely swing of the katana, and the other drawing back to punch and tear at flesh.
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But his hands were casually shoved in his jacket pockets, beam katanas (all four of them) hooked to his belts. He stopped a fair distance away.
"Impressive, fuckhead. You're actually here."
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"I don't got any reason to run away," he said. "Though I don't get why you're so fuckin' pissed at me." He was conveniently forgetting the insults he'd hurled at Travis for basically no reason. "You that pissed that your brother's gettin' laid and you ain't?"
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Travis took a step closer. "I'm more fucking pissed that Henry's laying some shit head that isn't worth a fucking dime. Even if I hate the motherfucker, I have to have some pride as a brother.
"And even I know he can fucking do better than you."
Travis finally grasps the Tsubaki MK-III, casually pulling it from its designated place on his belt.
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All right. Now Travis was dead.
"You fucking asshole," he snarled. Chains popped out of his skin as he clenched his fists, running in an 'X' over his chest, wrapping around his fists, and around his boots. "You don't know shit about me!"
His motor was already running, stoked by the anger. Using the chains like wheels, he zoomed closer at breakneck speed, one arm coming up to block the likely swing of the katana, and the other drawing back to punch and tear at flesh.
Reply
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aMzgVshG6CI
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