[ Post a Response | Wind Gale Pack ]
Posted by Anarchy on January 22, 2008, 1:34 am, in reply to "±Sinister±"
58.163.129.133
Not today.
Anarchy has a name,
You fool –
It’s
DEATH.
Blessings. The brute hadn't many, a mere fire ability which he hadn't thought on alot, of course he had wondered if it was worth training in a sense, working on it to pick up strength and maybe one day finally be able to find some use for it. Hell, until then Anarchy couldn't care less for his own abilities, his mind was already set on ripping up the alpha and winning the position, then maybe even finding his sister. Damn femine, why did she have to get away. Ignoring his thoughts, the brute's mind once more fell numb and his chaotic gaze rose, resting upon the flying wolf.
'So you fear me enough to run, brute? Your own strength isn't enough to take me down?'
Opticles narrowed and bells flattened back upon his skull like twin peaks, a snarl rolled across his maw as the onyx and red wolf snapped at the air, saliva now running down past his pearls, mixing with the blood that had collected around his kissers. Paws worked, crossing each other as he, too cricled the brute that was above, ground being just as steady to him as air may be the the alpha. In Anarchy's view, the alpha was a fool for having to use blessings to best him.
Banner now was held above his spine, curled over in his own show of pride. A foolish young brute he was, but strength was something the fool did have. Having a lust for blood and darkness in this wolf's view wasn't bad, it was a natural thing, and he'll be damned if he actually cared what others thought. Jaws once more rose to the air, snapping as more saliva would be thrown, his bells still pressed against his head. That was one thing he had learnt, keep you ears out of reach, they're soft and easy to rip. Right now, however, all these thoughts of his previous fights now came back to him; whatever this brute thought up, there was no doubt he could counter.
Finally, his pace slowed some, pads still falling upon the ground at a steady state, his opticles never leaving the air. A yawn rolled from his maw, taunting the brute above. Of course, he could swoop down and do whatever it was that he was planning, blessings were strong if used right, but Anarchy was pure strength and will. What he started, he needed to finish. Hind pillars pressed down, his rump lowered before flicking him forwards, his pace once more fast yet steady. Anarchy's battle dance was one well used.
Put your arms down,
Lower your voice,
There is no choice
This world is mayhem,
Your screams are
Ordinary.
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