09-26-2020, 12:08 PM
This teasing feels personal, and Wherewolf is lost somewhere in between a flare of rage and wanting to be too cool to be affected by it. His lip twitches into a sneer that reveals white teeth, but he remains prone, desperately clinging to his resolution to lay on the sharp gravel until the world ends in fire and oblivion. Then, maybe, he will be allowed to have some peace, but apparently not today. No, not today, today he can feel the anger boiling over and his intentions being plucked out from his grip like grass from the thin soil.
"Nobody ever asked you to add anything!" The boy erupts, suddenly, twisting his legs beneath his body to lunge clumsily forward at the gold-striped bother buzzing at his ears like a mosquito. His teeth snap together in the air with a sharp sound lost against the backdrop of the ocean's waves lapping at the shore. The rocks dig into his knees as he struggles to find his feet but the little cuts are nothing, they heal almost as fast as the stones can cut him, and he ignores the blush of pain that only adds fuel to the fire of his callow indignation. At last, he admits defeat, his blind anger hamstrings his attempts to stand on the snow-slick gravel and he fixes a white-rimmed grey-green eye on Nashua.
"Get him."
His voice is a whisper. It isn't necessary, either, because his duplicate always knows what he is thinking. It's a blur of tobacco and gold and tarnished silver, charging Nashua broadside from the left as he looks down on his prone half-brother. Pompous ass. Wherewolf lets the duplicate crash recklessly into the chestnut stallion while he finally gains his footing, neither trying to cause, nor caring prevent any real injury to either fighter. The colt rolls his head slowly atop his bristle-maned neck and scowls.
"Maybe it'll be me writing your epitaph."
"Nobody ever asked you to add anything!" The boy erupts, suddenly, twisting his legs beneath his body to lunge clumsily forward at the gold-striped bother buzzing at his ears like a mosquito. His teeth snap together in the air with a sharp sound lost against the backdrop of the ocean's waves lapping at the shore. The rocks dig into his knees as he struggles to find his feet but the little cuts are nothing, they heal almost as fast as the stones can cut him, and he ignores the blush of pain that only adds fuel to the fire of his callow indignation. At last, he admits defeat, his blind anger hamstrings his attempts to stand on the snow-slick gravel and he fixes a white-rimmed grey-green eye on Nashua.
"Get him."
His voice is a whisper. It isn't necessary, either, because his duplicate always knows what he is thinking. It's a blur of tobacco and gold and tarnished silver, charging Nashua broadside from the left as he looks down on his prone half-brother. Pompous ass. Wherewolf lets the duplicate crash recklessly into the chestnut stallion while he finally gains his footing, neither trying to cause, nor caring prevent any real injury to either fighter. The colt rolls his head slowly atop his bristle-maned neck and scowls.
"Maybe it'll be me writing your epitaph."
@[Nashua]
