This user is not visible to guests.
ew, bengts making a forum game? bah! hopefully this will pan out well, and if there's already a thread like this let me know!
title should be self explanatory.. the character above wants to fight your OC, do they give in and throw some punches? run away? maybe try to make it up to the other OC? you decide, of course!
Need an example?;
Character1: (first post)
Character2, who is a coward: "What? No! Can't we sort this out somehow..?"
Character3, who is absolutely shredded: "BRING IT ON, TWIGGY."
And so forth.
Rules -
- Please wait 2 posts before posting again, unless more than 13 hours have passed.
- Put some effort in. I expect a 3 sentence minimum! I know you can do it!
- Please show that you've read something about the character above in your response.. in other words, don't type an incredibly bland interaction!
- This should be expected, but no NSFW responses. Violence is allowed, but if it gets too far (ei literal bloodshed) then spoiler it at least.
- With that being said, don't try and kill the character. Nothing in this thread should be fatal!
- Follow ups are encouraged, but not mandatory! Don't worry if nothing comes to mind.
- It's recommended you claim beforehand so you don't get ninja'd. Nobody likes getting ninja'd.
first poster gets a free claim, if no one responds ill try and step in.. if this even takes off, of course.
Smithson immediately stood up to address the other party, grunting with narrowed eyes, “Let me guess… You’re drunk again?” He bit back a flurry of harsher insults that he had in mind, at least before shaking his head and taking a step back. “I thought my wife made it clear that she doesn’t want alcohol in the home- I mean… My wife and I do have wine and champagne, as well as the occasional bottle of rum, but… No wolvesmilk. Least of all wolvesmilk. That’s a drink of thieves and hooligans anyhow-” And then, rather suddenly, he cut himself off for a few seconds.
“This isn’t because of the hug from last time… Right?”
His metaphorical hackles immediately started to raise as he huffed, “I told you last time, and I can say it again. There’s no way in any of the skies that I’d be an impostor of myself. Just because I offer you one friendly gesture doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly replaced by a doppelganger-” Again, he broke off, probably succumbing to the realization that maybe trying to reason with a drunkard wasn’t the best idea… Maybe? Smithson scanned the older man’s features more carefully before sighing and taking a step back.
With another heavy sigh, the middle-aged man muttered, “- But whatever. You and your son have been staying in my wife’s home - oh, and my home as well - for a while. It’s only inevitable for you to run into my acquaintance eventually, regardless of whether we actually get along well or not. I’m just surprised that it hasn’t really, well, collapsed under its own weight at this point. The tension, I mean- Wait-” He broke off to motion at the container of hair tonic that he had taken from the elder a while back.
“You want this back, by the way?” Smithson asked while lifting the container and giving it a shake, “I kind of realized in hindsight that this is making my hair rather oily. My wife doesn’t like that either, you know.” What?
At least he was self-aware enough to realize that this argument was admittedly kind of stupid, as he stood there and eventually sighed, “But seriously… Maybe you should take a rest, sir. My wife won’t be very happy if she finds out what you’re up to…” And yet Smithson found himself reaching his free hand towards his pocket, like a fucking coward. Great. He still found himself glancing sideways every so often just to see if the chaos of a potential battle was going to alert a servant or poor Walker, but for now…
“... You get along well with her now, right?” the aristocrat asked almost pleadingly, “Then… Do that. Take a rest. She’s a common ally of ours, in a way…” He chewed on his lip and glanced off to the side. “Maybe we should call a truce for our sakes now… Mm? Maybe?”
Smithson has morals and can't beat the shit out of a child....... Fitzgerald WISHES he got that type of treatment.
FOLLOW-UP TIME.
It's okay. Smithson probably forgot what he was saying as well.
That was probably why he just stood there rather awkwardly and listlessly when the last few words had finished flowing out of his mouth. He just stood there in shock, his mouth hanging open while his widened eyes attempted to scan the puppy's eyes for any reaction from her. Disgusting.
Did it even matter though? She was just a child and-
Wait one fucking second.
Did he just say a bunch of shit to a child? Did he really lose his temper that much? Smithson swore that he'd never partake in that type of behavior again after the Fitzgerald debacle, but... Now he just felt guilty, as he stood himself up to his full height and rubbed his temples. This continued especially as the canine started to flail her arms and stomp her little paws. Was that her way of telling him she was pissed? He wouldn't blame her by any means, but... Damn...
Now he just felt bad-
Never mind. He could hear her faintly muttering, "Dance, dance," under her breath - thereby causing Smithson to breathe out a huuuuuuuuuge sigh of relief. Thank all the skies for that! He was going to have a real existential crisis if she ended up getting pushed off the edge and turned into yet another edgelord because of him. He already had to deal with a handful in his life... Imagine the emotional cost of a puppy edgelord!
Just the thought was enough to make Smithson shudder for a second, before he breathed out, "Well... That wasn't at all what I originally intended, but..." The aristocrat trailed off so that he could whisk some dust off his cloak and make himself look more dignified. He really wasn't a dancer, was he? The subtle pops in his joints were more than enough to prove his point while he stretched his limbs and could hear those noises each time he moved a slightly unfamiliar area. Ugh. Imagine being past your thirties.
"... If you want," he told the puppy as she started to dance even more, to the point of moving erratically and making sounds that were supposed to resemble notes, "But I'll be honest when I tell you that I'm not that great at this whole dancing thing beyond ballroom dances... So don't be surprised if you get something like that... Okay?"
Summer stared at Smithson like a deer in the headlights. He mentioned something about fighting, right? That's a question that would never cross her mind, nor should it ever. Summer was too nice, and certainly too young, to fight anyone.
So, there Summer stood, continuing to stare at the elder party. After the long pause was finally put to an end, Summer abruptly began to flail her arms and stomp around. What the puppy was actually doing was...actually very unclear. That is, until her speech began to grow slightly more decipherable in volume:
"Dance, dance, dance...ha-cha-cha..."
There was Smithson's answer. Did he even insinuate that this was a dance competition? Did he even tell her what kind of fight they were doing and why? Summer did not know, and she absolutely did not care. Now, her speech had devolved into a blend of boomboxing and the word "dance", and her dancing had grown even more animated, if not, erratic. She was far too in on her dance session, and she certainly is not going to stop for a while.
------------
I forgot to add, but be gentle, Summer is four years old
"Ha! So you wish to fight me, do you?" Archaeus said with a radiant smile. Putting his hands on his hips, he thrust his head back and let out a hearty laugh. "My reputation has attracted you, has it? Destroyer of Worlds, they call me! I've been able to obliterate an entire planet with one (1) punch! Why, at one point I even fought everything ON that very planet before demolishing it! Do not look so aghast, however!" he said to the masked man. "That planet was filled with the most monstrous beings! They TOO were destroyer of worlds! Well! No more, I said! I would not let them harm our world, so I went down to fight them myself!"
Rubbing his chin, Archaeus tilted his head lightly at Tor. "You look to be quite the worthy opponent. However, seeing my reputation, I will do my utmost to go easy on you! I would not want to accidentally win too easily, after all!"
Poor Archaeus would die with just a slap.
Archaeus blinked and felt himself deflate slightly as his challenge was rejected. Rejected! Him?! Rejected?! Those were alien when used together!! Why... Oh... Yes... Yes, of course! That had to be it! He smirked to himself and folded his arms. He could only laugh. After all, this young man, this Takumi fellow, was afraid! He was far too scared to battle someone as powerful as Archaeus. Such fear was only natural and understandable.
He did, however, wince slightly when his shoulder was tapped. A-Ah! He... He was not expecting that! So... he had his defenses too low-- Yes, that's it! Clearing his throat, Archaeus attempted to do the same. It was clear they were not the same power level.
"I do not fault you for this retreat," he told the young man. "Sometimes running is the best option. I understand and bear no ill will to your intelligent decision."
Oh God, did his shoulder throb with pain.
(Thank you!)
"You want to fight me." He says, and it's less of a question, and more of a reflection— not a lot of people wanted to really fight Takumi. Not if they didn't have to. And the same could be said for Takumi himself: he didn't find joy in needless violence, not in the same way some of his peers did.
Still, he eyes Archaeus curiously. Well, then. For what it was worth, he could tell Archaeus wasn't hesitating— he did indeed communicate to Takumi through the sheer confidence he exuded that was what he wanted.
"Are you unarmed?" As he reaches for his katana, sheathed at his side, his hand stops at its hilt. "You are. No, then, I'm afraid I'll have to decline."
Moving his hand from his sword to a firm spot on Archaeus' shoulder, he pats him there, once, though with a considerable amount of force: he'd made it clear that was all the fighting energy he was going to put into their encounter. "From the bottom of my heart, I hope you aren't going around asking everyone to fight you." Well, he didn't have the bruises to show for any previous scuffles— maybe he was all he was selling himself up to be. "There are all sorts of unruly souls around here, you know. Approach them armed, if you're going to approach them at all."
With that, Takumi lets his hand fall to his side, silently (and rather abruptly, really) walking away from Archaeus.
(OOC but I love Archaeus, reading his profile made me grin LOL what a fun concept! also oh my god when I tell you your follow-up had me nearly crying with laughter)
(Thank you! Yún is super neat, too: I don't know a ton about Genshin Impact, but a lot of my friends are into it so I'm viewing her lovingly.. follow-up under the spoiler, it isn't super long but my post is already kinda long as is.. so.. courtesy spoiler!)
So he'd accepted her proposition. Good. He was out of practice fighting with actual people, these days, that the ability for a light-hearted spar seemed more a luxury than it used to be.
The moment ice spreads around the ground around them, Takumi, for perhaps one of the first times in a very long time, is surprised: he loses his footing, for just a moment, sliding back a bit before finally steadying himself. "You fight with the elements, then? Fascinating." Well, at least he was somewhat in his element: he'd spent enough years toiling in snowy wastelands to know how to keep himself sturdy from hereon out.
But still.. well, how lucky was he to meet someone with magical mastery; maybe he'd be able to pick her brain after their spar. He supposed, though, as he quickly unsheathed his sword, that if it were as easy as that, he would have met more people able to wield it.
And, as she speaks, a faint smile crosses Takumi's lips— it's gone as quickly as it was there. This wasn't needless violence, a thankless, miserable fight to the death. No: this was a test of skill, nothing more, and an opportunity Takumi hadn't had in quite some time.
So maybe he'd enjoy it like he used to so long ago, this art of swordsfighting, no matter how their spar ended.
"I can only make that promise if you'll do the same."
"A spar?" The performer tilted her head slightly at the odd fellow's suggestion after one of her usual performances. Though her usual methods display very eye-catching and elaborate movements throughout the fight, needless to say she's already had a handful of actual warriors criticize and mock her wasted movements.
The scarred man, however, broke that usual tendency and had actually asked her to spar.
It doesn't take a genius to see the tells of a seasoned warrior. As someone trained from a young age, Yún knows the man before her is someone of at least Childe's level. Besides, for him to actually ask her to spar meant that he knows that all those supposed 'wasted' movements and exaggerated combat style was simply but a show for the common folk.
He knows she's hiding her true strength.
She leads him onto a clearing, ironically the very same one that she and Childe had first fought on when the Fatui recruits were hazed into fighting against her.
"Here we are. I would assume you have your own weapons?" There was a slight tremble in her voice before it hits her that she's awfully excited to fight a strong opponent. It had been weeks since Childe had returned from whatever Fatui mission he was on and the Traveler is somewhere back in Mondstadt with her brother...
So she was perhaps a tad bit bored.
She wasted no time in summoning her spear before launching herself at her opponent. He blocks her attack, of course, but Yún was already counting on that. As the spear slides down from the block, ice began seeping through, causing the area around them to freeze in seconds. The man jumps back and avoids the frozen ground, now looking at her warily.
The Watcher smiles, her eyes opened to a slit and showing them faintly glowing.
"Try and make it a worthwhile show."
Somewhere in the back of her head, she swears that Childe is rubbing off of her a bit too much.
@NP: For combat 'fighting', this tab should explain more about her abilities as a Watcher (but NP can also choose any other form of battle such as performances/instruments)
(LMAO BROWN LAYING IT ON MY GIRL HELL YEAH!!!)
It would be a lie to say that Yún wasn't stunned at the older lady's sermon of her... rather questionable decision. She was running out of time (and options) and that Archon's forsakened Primordial had been coercing her to show it something--
So she had to compromise and force herself to, well, do things with her own hands.
For example, picking a fight with a lady out of nowhere akin to Childe jumping in random bouts with Treasure Hoarders...
'Perhaps I am missing him more than I realize...' She thinks before a throb of jolting pain stabbed her heart, where her Vision lays. She resisted the urge to curl up and clutch the accursed thing, to avoid showing any form of weakness to a fight she had admittedly started.
"You are, perhaps, the first ever person to tell me that my Vision does not make me stronger..." She laughs bitterly, a tinge of self-depreciation and guilt present in them. "For all my time after actually being able to finally use it, there was always a look of doubt or jealously, that I did not earn this... That I stole this from my brother."
Not being able to take the throbbing sensation anymore, Yún gives in, opening her eyes and letting the Primordial see the rather interesting scenario about to unfold.
"I take pride in my skills, and for acknowledging it in your own way... I thank you. And I must apologize." The glow in her eyes shone brighter, giving the Watcher a rather eerie look. It is rather befitting of someone currently hosting the Primordial's sight at the moment.
She clutches her polearm, the very same one that had faithfully stood by her throughout her second chance at life before sighing in defeat. She could no longer prolong the inevitable battle.
Liyue's Watcher reaches in and began Stacking her Gaze.
Once. Twice.
Thrice.
"Death is a far kinder sentence."
She launches her polearm as the battle begins.
Letting out a harsh guffaw, Brown made sure her teeth clicked together each time her mouth closed, if only to make herself look like more of a menace than she already was. And in all honesty... Brown already looked the part, at least somewhat! Though she wore the typical garb of an aristocrat, there was no denying the fact that something was more ferocious about her. Maybe it was the rough skin, pockmarked with calluses and miniature scratches and scars, from years of physical work and recreational fighting. Maybe it was the muscles, which were usually subtle but still prominent enough to be rather noticeable in the appropriate context.
Maybe it was just her unrestrained, unfiltered belligerence. Most aristocrats, after all, tended to be cowards and relied on the creatures in tow with them to protect themselves... Brown was different. Brown wasn't like other girls, at least in the sense that she was ready to fight and accept challenges on a whim...
This was no exception, as the middle-aged woman stalked up to the other party and snarled, "You have no idea what the fuck you are getting into now, are you? Missy? Lassie?" Condescension dripped from every honeyed word in her raucous voice, as she gave the other party a toothy grin. "I don't blame you," the older aristocrat added with a scoff, "Young people like you engage in reckless, shitty decisions all the fucking time. I would not be surprised if you were considered fodder just because you were ripped fresh from childhood. I can't blame you. That shit sucks." Was she really being sympathetic now? Probably not, as Brown clicked her teeth and popped her neck joints ever so slightly.
"Besides," Brown sniffed while carefully tracing her hand along the outline of her pocket, "I know that young folks like yourself think you are invincible when dealing with folks older than them. Anyone past the age of thirty-five might as well be fucking dead, in your eyes. This isn't plague times, though. This is now, where a cure for anything can be made on a whim! Except for puerperal fever, but that's a different issue for a different day. Magic is also a plague-time phenomenon, if you ask me..."
And that was when she sneered and drew out a dagger. Oh shit. Oh fuck.
By now, Brown had stopped prowling and instead opted to stand just below a lantern so that the swinging lamp could cast a shadow on her entire face; it was a convenient prop as she huffed, "By the way... I know that 'Cryo' magic of yours and that bullshit. Do you really need magic to make yourself powerful?" Brown threw her head back while barking in wolfish laughter. "I mean..." she reasoned in between guffaws, "For fuck's sake... I saw that fucking polearm of yours once. It looked like it could stab a bitch. I could ask you where you got it from, but I think it might be impractical in the sense that it is far more difficult to conceal than, say, a dagger." Brown flicked said dagger at the younger woman before rolling her shoulders in a shrug.
"Or maybe you would just fucking stab or freeze me by then," taunted the aristocrat, "which... By the way, I don't fucking care if you go after me right now. Just know that I will squirm like a fish out of water until I die." She then let out a slow hum while continuing to twirl the dagger around. "... So... If you want to get the job done, just use the polearm, or something like that. I heard that hypothermia is kind of a painful way to die anyhow. I may be nihilistic, but like... Not that fucking inclined for such a demise, you know?" Huh. That casual lilt sure as fuck wasn't helping her case. Ouch.
GEUFVHVJBFJV FERRET..... NO..... YOU DON'T DESERVE BROWN BEING EDGY ON MAIN..... BEAT HER ASS.
mom said it's my turn for a follow-up. maaaaaajor cw for (near) animal death/cruelty, as well as gore and graphic violence!! also possible cw for death ideation at the end, because Brown is the definition of an edgy teen stuck in a rich old woman's body.
It was one thing to be confronted by an animal, given that Brown wasn’t exactly subtle when it came to her misanthropy.
It was entirely another to be confronted by one who thought he was the most adorable thing on the planet, with the apparent arrogance to make his trills sound like obnoxious drabble instead of endearing symphony. Brown, in other words, was fine with animals; hell, she loved them! There just wasn’t much excuse for her to not stand up for herself after that apparent slight against her dignity.
“I prefer reptiles and birds,” she drawled in response to his sudden arrival before carefully stepping over to the mustelid, “Just saying.” Thanks. Brown could only regard the… Thing with a slit-eyed glare while she cocked her head at him as he monologued about being “the Ferret,” or some shit like that. She stared at him and merely thought that he was an elongated rat, like an uncultured edgelord.
Imagine having an obscene amount of knowledge about a niche subject (paleobiology) and not being able to distinguish between a mustelid and a rodent.
That on its own deserved divine intervention. Speaking of which…
The aristocrat grunted, “You were adorable at first, but then you started talking. At that moment, I changed my mind and wanted to turn you into a roasted rat.” What the fuck? Brown did mean it though, as she probably lost whatever sympathy she had in the first place due to - well - this vermin being sapient. Now he was floating near her, and Brown tensed her arms accordingly. “I heard that rats taste a bit delicate, if sourced properly,” she mused as a warning, “If they don’t eat shit, which is exceedingly rare, you can get street chicken - for what’s essentially free - without any of the nasty side effects, like the fucking plague.” She now shot an eye at the ferret before hissing, “Would you agree? Can you attest to that?”
Then she silenced herself, as she suddenly grabbed at the mustelid and dug her nails into his pelt- His skin, even? Brown didn’t seem fazed as she stared at the creature in the eyes, then merely gripped harder. No amount of wriggling and struggling from his side could dispel the haze that had, for a moment, taken over her mind as she then drew out a dagger from her pocket and started to stab.
It almost reminded her of the day that her husband died, in fact! If only the creature she were mutilating was a pigeon…
A few seconds passed before Brown, now panting like a dog, lost interest. She, of course, wiped flecks of blood and flesh from her hands, but she barely kept her eyes on the other while she allowed him to drop to the ground like a discarded washcloth. That part, of course, disappointed her. She expected at least, well, more viscera. More struggle. Brown had blood on her, yet it wasn’t hers.
It almost felt too easy, in a way.
So, with minimal reflection, Brown wiped the blood off the blade before putting it back into her pocket, then letting out a slow sigh before walking away… Which was fine by her. No street chicken today, apparently-
“You want me to finish the damn job?” the virago asked with a hiss before turning to face the creature, now standing up on his paws, “I can do that. I might as well wring your neck like a goose’s if that were the case.” So, the clicking of her heels came to a stop while she folded her hands together and watched him approach her and speak. Nihilism was, indeed, a bitch. Unfortunate.
“If you say so,” she merely grunted in response to his comment, “but all you will do is waste your time, really. Death is not necessarily something I oppose these days, you know.”
spoiler for.. mention of animal abuse. nothing happens though, i promise! he's just a scary guy. (sorry for the short response, i initially had a longer one but my internet got cut and now it's all down the drain.. sob.)
"You're joking? What the hell are you?" Gore sniffed and looked down at the ferret; honestly, he didn't even know what a ferret was.. he just saw a long, furry noodle laying down in front of him. That apparently was enough to make him laugh.
"And you wanna fight me? Just 'cause I didn't give you 'pets'? How do you even expect me to fight you? I'm not just gonna throw you against a fucking wall, though I could.." Gore picked up Ferret and wiggled him around a bit.
"You're durable enough," he tossed the animal back and forth between his hands like a fucking ping pong ball, "I bet you'd be able to survive that, eh? I just don't wanna get charged with anything. You look like a small motherfucker, I'm not sure if I'd get reported for that or not.." He cackled lightly and tossed Ferret back onto the floor. The fact he actually considered that should be concerning!
"Besides, you're probably a wild animal, you're used to this sort of façade. I can honestly just leave you out in the woods to fend for yourself and you'd probably be fine -- actually, how bout it? Instead of getting all worked up here, I'll just let you go. You don't seem like a normal son of a bitch anyhow." He shrugged and picked the animal back up once again; this time by the poor things tail. Does he care it's probably hurt? Hell no!
"Yeah. Be careful. Don't try and pick a fight with someone whos 20x fucking bigger than you next time, eh? I won't be as friendly to you next time -- I can fucking punt you like a football if I wanted to. You're lucky." Gore opened the sliding doors and dipped the ferret onto the ground..
"I hope you get mauled out there, anyway. Ungrateful bastard."
np.. this man is a cannibal.. BUT, he'll threaten people to scare them, but he likely won't do anything!
She'd just stand there for a moment, like. Why did this uh... whatever this dude is want to fight?? Anyways. She'd speak up, "Do you like,, not have a toothbrush. I think you need to like. Brush that blood off your teeth. Is that blood? yeah, probably is." Maggs looked around, "I mean, I'd rather not fight but like. If you really wanna. We could just get some drinks." She'd shrug, spotting the horns on his head suddenly. "Oh sweet! You got horns too? Awesome." At this point, she was obviously just stalling and trying to get their attention away from fighting.
"So yeah, wanna like- go to a dairy queen and order a shit ton of blizzards. That sounds good though. I'll pay." Maggs took out a torn up wallet, counting the cash in it. "I got like.. 20 dollars- Damn, we could get a lot." She'd put the wallet away, stuffing her hands into her jacket pocket. "So yeah, wanna come? I mean afterwards we could fight but I think getting a brain freeze from like 4 blizzards sounds good enough."
sorry i didnt write much lol kinda sad
Maggs probably didn't mean anything, but whatever she said, Macaroni was miffed. The cream-pelted bobtail stood in place, a hot dog sausage held in between her jaws. Macaroni happily ate the hot dog. However, upon stopping when she finished a quarter of her stolen meal, Macaroni whipped her head back up. She watched Maggs's fingers nearing down towards her hot dog.
While she watched the satyr get closer to her, Macaroni dropped the hot dog, made direct eye contact with the woman, and let out the loudest, unholiest screech. (Video's pretty loud, by the way.) Macaroni found this meal fair and square. She absolutely wasn't giving up her dog.
However, when Maggs wouldn't go away, Macaroni charged directly at her, trying to scratch at her while she continued to snarl. Congratulations, Maggs. Macaroni has accepted the brawl.
The mighty king cowered in fear upon hearing the inhumane and possibly demonic howl erupt from the furious cat. Having magic relating to animals, Hopper was even able to understand what Macaroni was saying, and... it was even more inhumane and possibly demonic. He wasn't sure what had brought along this sudden wrath, and if he had to guess he would say that she was an assassin sent to kill him. He wanted to cry, immensely intimidated by the feline. After the umpteenth hiss and swipe from her claws, Hopper spun with a yelp and ran for his life.
“You now?” Johnson asked with a raised brow before spinning in his chair to face the king, “You, want to fight me?” He bit back a harsh, barking laughter before coolly pointing a finger at himself and offering a sneer (one that definitely deserved to be wiped off his stupid bitch face). Most of it was genuine, though the tips did twitch ever so slightly while being face-to-face with the monarch. Sure, monarchies were considered archaic concepts in Johnson’s region, but..
Who was to say that he didn’t have at least some political power under his sleeve?
The aristocrat nonetheless crossed his arms and grunted, “Well, I don’t know about you, but… You’re wasting your time, sir. Or is it Your Majesty? I was never a title person beyond the typical ‘sir,’ ‘madame,’ ‘miss,’ or ‘mademoiselle-’” He cut himself off before rolling his eyes and waving his hand about. “... Don’t even ask me why the women get so many titles. It’s so frivolous. I’d rather just call everyone ‘miss’ unless they’re somehow superior to me in rank… Which I really doubt is the case around here.” Johnson now leaned in towards the other and hissed through gritted teeth, “Wouldn’t you know much about that? Wouldn’t you?”
His neck still craned towards the king as before, Johnson then added with a hiss, “Besides, I haven’t heard much of you personally. I think my friend ran into you a few times when you were just a prince, and she said that you’re nothing but a snivelling coward. I can only hope that attribute has changed since ascending to the throne, and you don’t need that mask of yours, but…” He sniffed and leaned back in his seat, his hands held behind his head as if he were just… Relaxing. Wow. That’s one way to confront a potential threat to his life.
“... I wouldn’t blame you if you were still terrified of her. In fact, I think that’s the most rational way to feel about her. She’s nothing but a beast, and if you want to fight someone… Go for her. At least you’ll be doing us a favor around here-”
“Unless you’re bluffing, of course,” Johnson grunted with a raised brow, “I know from experience that those who are most eager to fight often have the weakest complexions and most delicate egos. Are you one of those people?” He paused. “Not that I expect an answer, of course.” And how did that make this confrontation any better? The middle-aged man himself left the question unanswered while he hummed coldly, “... I just expected more of you, as a king. Challenging people on a whim isn’t good for your reputation, you know…” Another pause.
It dawned upon Johnson that maybe the monarch was legitimately offended by something that Johnson did and wanted to right what he did wrong, but- Oh, of course not. Johnson was flawless. He had to be! There was no way that he, one of the most respected statesmen in the whole region, could fuck up that badly. So… Johnson leered at the monarch and scoffed as a conclusion to his claims. How mature.
I’m a simple person and always jump at the opportunity to clown on Johnson. follow-up time. :)c
Brown had told Johnson multiple times that he was a dumbass who should probably get a check on his ego, but… Alas, his ego was an asshole once more.
Good for him?
It’d at least explain a lot as Johnson found himself puffed out in front of someone who appeared younger than him, all while he looked like he was in his fifties or sixties… Ugh. He was probably convinced that his older age and greater experience therefore made him a superior combatant- Obviously! Never mind the fact that he had no magical powers or strength, just… “Wisdom” within those lanky limbs of his.
Ugh.
Not that he looked particularly wise at the moment, as Johnson found himself returning the contemptuous gaze of the other party while the latter scanned the aristocrat over that book of his. Johnson wanted to read the cover, but alas-
“And what do you have to gain by treating me like this?” sniffed Johnson while erecting his posture and batting his eyes in a clearly condescending manner, “Moreover, trust me - it’s probably for the best that you’re under that false impression. I may not look like a thug, but I can pack a punch if need be. I’m more than I seem, in other words.” And on cue, his hand hovered over his pocket while he narrowed his eyes at the other.
Great, way to escalate this confrontation from a simple “who the hell are you” to… This.
Not very wise at all there, Johnson!
Johnson watched the other party put down his book and focus his attention on him, just as he deserved… Apparently. Ugh again.
“Yes, of course,” he grunted while ignoring the fact that the cracking of the other party’s knuckles caused him to jump back juuuuust a bit, “I can give you the reasons like you desire, even if you strike first.” Uhhh… The fingers of his hand brushed against his pocket once more as he considered taking out a capsule to make the battle more even… Yet didn’t actually take anything out.
Ugh. Hubris really was a bitch. Hope his ass gets kicked.