- rfvjervhjvrvrfe tbf.... he has a point..... their team dynamic isn't that bad even if Roswell fucking slacks. but yea, mans doesn't deserve that much credit. imagine wanting to get punched and gently held by your lover's strong arms at the same time- 😔
Without context, it would've been very, very difficult to tell that these two assholes were even considered a couple, as Brown stood on top of Roswell with one foot and her hands on her hips. His kram laid strewn a few meters away from him, and Brown could only stare at it while clicking her tongue against her palate in disapproval. Keeping the blade pointed towards the leidsman, she adjusted the position of her weapon - and saying that she was still somehow disappointed was perhaps the greatest understatement of the century.
"How the fuck did you even end up on the floor?" she asked him with a scowl, "You're either too clumsy or too sly for your own damn good. Now get the hell up. I am not going to deal with your whining like last time." Well, the aristocrat probably knocked him over... Or he just happened to trip himself and end up on the floor. Who knows? Brown didn't approve either way.
She stepped off of Roswell and sheathed her kram before running her fingers through her hair. In hindsight, why did she even go through with these training sessions in the first place? Roswell was practically asking for his ass to get kicked by her, and... Well... Salvador just wasn't a fighter. At least Leika gave a shit about violence, but the two didn't really get along, so it didn't really count...
With a roll of her eyes, Brown extended a hand for Roswell to grab in case he needed help getting his ass off the ground, before growling further, "Listen, I understand if you are too much of a pacifist or coward to fight, but you need to at least take this shit seriously. It's almost like every time I ask you for these sessions, you agree, but you keep getting worse and worse with your so-called skills." The middle-aged woman placed her hand on his collar before giving it a sharp tug, pulling his face a bit closer towards hers.
"The fuck is up with that?" Oh, honey...
"You're not going to make yourself too much of a failure now, are you?" crooned the aristocrat- Oh. Was she actually teasing for once? "Though to be fair, it seems that fighting and fossil digging are just two fields you are shit at." Brown laughed before relaxing her grip on the Krö's collar, then reaching out a hand to gently flick at a slightly greyed strand of hair just behind his ear. "You seem rather adept at more than just two, hm? A bit too... Flexible, if you get my gist?"
"Not that it's a bad thing, of course," she sniffed after giving him a peck on the nose, "I rather appreciate it in actuality, otterface. But unlike you, I'm not too verbose and blabbering." She rested a hand on the leidsman's cheek with the slightest hint of a smirk. "It's time for a break from that and fighting anyway, wouldn't you agree?"
Brown, right when Otto tells her that she shouldn't be having a knife.
(long af) follow-up time. sometimes the murder woman can be passive-aggressive. as a treat. maaaaajor cw for graphic (animal) gore/violence (though it's kind of just Brown butchering a rabbit like an edgelord, so take that how you wish), as well as slight threatened violence because brute force is her main strength apparently... no pun intended.
With a dismissive snort, the middle-aged aristocrat took to wiping the blood and flecks of skin and fur off her butcher’s knife, only occasionally giving the other party - and her quarry - an acknowledging glance. A mangled rabbit laid butchered on the table in front of her, though it still looked decidedly grisly; its eyes were still flung wide open, and the air smelled distinctly of bile - a result of her accidentally puncturing the gallbladder during the butchering process. Brown’s nose crinkled as the magnitude of this error became all the more clear to her. So much of that meat was going to have to be cleaned thoroughly to even be considered edible, thanks to that noxious green liquid’s influence...
“You’re a coward if you’re not going up close and personal with the enemy,” she growled to the noble while giving the iron blade a sniff. Recoiling from disgust, Brown then set the knife down before turning to face the other with a scowl. She didn’t even wash her hands beforehand! Gross! So now she was going to smell like blood, bile, and perhaps decaying flesh when she got home, and that was - indeed - the slightest bit concerning. With a slow flutter of her eyes, she added, “And anyway, there is a difference between just killing one person, and killing a whole bunch of them. A murder committed out of passion, or for more personal reasons, is nothing like a tactical war movement.” She sighed in mock disappointment.
“You know… For a politician, I expected you to know better. But you failed me like how you failed to keep Tabby and that girl in check, huh?”
She did, however, raise her brows when the nobleman mentioned push-daggers. Great. Now Brown, the literal accused murderess, was going to have a fucking weapons collection. Silently, she nodded to the offer; words would’ve been superfluous to showing how enthusiastic she was about getting such an impressive set.
Yikes.
Brown ignored his sunny visage and focused on his words, as she went back to butchering the rabbit and remedying the bile mistake before it became too late. Flies had already started to flutter to the carcass in droves, and she had to wave a hand just to get rid of them. Then, with mechanical precision, she got to cutting the rabbit into manageable pieces. Legs, Neck... A head, still agape… She listened to him speak, and as she dealt with the quarry, she imagined for a moment that it was him she was disposing of- Oh shit! Oh fuck!
Leering at the other party, the aristocrat spat, “Well, that is your region that you are bringing into this conversation, and by extension your analysis of me. Unova is an entirely different specimen from Yenereth altogether.” She knew it was a lie. They were more similar than she expected or wanted, and yet… Here was Brown, drifting into his orbit every time she visited. It pissed her off. “Besides,” she continued droning while chopping off the feet with an unexpected ferocity, swinging the blade down so hard that flecks of bone and marrow actually flew all over the place. Some, of course, landed on her clothes, which she wiped off flatly. “You would not be saying anything particularly revolutionary by saying that women like myself shouldn’t fight or dig. It is bourgeois at best, and utterly lower-class at best. I am aware.” Then why did she do it anyway?
Brown continued to muse, at least while she shuffled the feet - still neatly trimmed with fur - off to the side. She wiped some sweat off her brow and frowned; however, the frown in question seemed softer, more vulnerable than what either probably expected. And Brown sure didn’t want it either, as she went back to thinking that the rabbit was her enemy in question, and started to claw at the carcass while breaking apart the ribcage with an undignified crack.
Flicking bits of flesh off her nails, she growled, “It’s because they never had the time or subtlety to even try getting into my head. It is more manipulative than you might think. My bastard of a husband tried doing that, and look what happened to him.” Oh? She shook her hair before sighing, then sorting the pieces based on relative palatability. The legs were certainly a choice cut, but she wasn’t as sure about the bones and abdomen, as they lingered in a pile off to the side.
“Rough hands?” she now asked as she turned to face the other with an ominous grin, as if to complement his sunny one, “You realize why I have them, right? They are a monument to work, and I rather appreciate that. At least I made something of myself in that department, you know?” And with that, she waved her hand - flinging bits of blood and flesh in the process. Ew! At least wash them before doing that! With a harsh laugh, Brown picked up the knife, fluttering her eyes at the other as if she considered making him her next pick. “That is not how it works, sir,” the aristocrat dismissed with a roll of her eyes, “I apply ointment every so often, but it is not strong enough to dissolve these years’ worth of calluses and corns. And I don’t know how the fuck prayer would factor into this either…” She continued flashing her teeth before guffawing, then shaking her head.
“You’re trying to flatter me,” taunted Brown, “but that’s not working out in your favor now, is it?” She set the knife down for a moment just to admire the work she had given to that measly little creature, now in an infinitesimal amount of pieces and barely resembling a rabbit. Well, unless you put the pieces together, but… “I enjoy gardening, of course, but as you say, it is too cliche. And I doubt anyone would relish in my horticultural achievements anyhow, especially because I never let any fucker get into there, hm?” She gave the man another glare, her sugary façade finally coming down in favor of her usual steely exterior.
“Least of all you, but who knows? Maybe if you let down that pretentious veil of yours and actually consider all of this as a merit, I may reconsider.”
