Vengeance

*Kusugra* · 01-20-2014, 03:45 PM

Hatred continued to course through iron veins as the stranger approached the wall, the faint glimpse of a smirk lingering upon ivory lips. Pupils would dilate so that the feline could better inspect the mutt and his current surroundings, pools of light blue almost masked over by ebony saucers. He smelt more pungently of Glaciem now, which only encouraged Kusugra to murder this male if Isardis had anything to do with it. Hopefully the pooch wouldn't scream loud enough to draw attention, though usually most dying animals did. Ebony lips would lift and curl among sharpened fangs, salmon dyed tongue freeing his lips of any saliva that could have slipped forth during his thunderous roar. "Hello there, dark one. You are indeed a sight...what is one so noble as you doing way out here, hm?" The culprit would greet him, and Kusugra would hear his words as taunts, as if the man were begging to be sent back to hell . For a moment the feline king would remain where he was, ears pinned, lips curled, tongue angrily rolling, muscles tensing, and a low yet audible growl bubbling deep within his broad chest.

Without warning he would leap down from the towering wall, hefty paws kissing the earth mutely as the monarch continued to stride forward, aiming to close the distance between them as quickly as possible. He wished to leave no room for escape, the only way out being through death, or persuasion- though persuading a hell bent jaguar would be no easy feat. "To rip you limb from limb." Venomous words would drip from exposed fangs as the feline's eyes narrowed to daggers, right paw coming forth as he took another persistent step forward, leaving only a few seconds pause between movements. Kusugra aimed to ram his broad chest directly into either the mutts chest or face(depending how tall sin is), desiring to push him backward or cause him to back peddle, a show of supremacy and outrage. If he were to succeed and their flesh were to meet he would not recoil, but instead he would look down upon the pooch, his low growl escalating into a boisterous snarl, saliva splattering in all directions and likely onto the mutt. He wished to stand there, chest to chest with the brute (or face to chest) while they conversed on this fine evening. Body would tense as the jungle cats defenses flawlessly fell into place, and he would wait for a reaction, because surly a murderer would not lay down and accept his own death. No, he expected this man to retaliate just as he assumed Ilija had before she was murdered.

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