Death Of An Assassin

*Morphine* · 06-07-2013, 02:02 PM

thank you shrap ♥

Metallic gaze would remain fixated upon her former Vecaan?s shades of cerulean, dismissing the traitor?s presence for the moment as her pupils desperately searched for any trace of realization towards the harsh reality that had befallen his adopted child or remorse towards it. Alas, her eyes? desire would go unfulfilled for Kaien?s surrogate father either utilized the apathetic fa?ade she had witnessed upon his countenance many times before, or he truly did not care for the deceased brute. Nnoitra?s piece, however, possessed undeniable emotion that the wench would relish in, fully aware that this was likely the first and last time the brute would reveal his internal feelings, casting aside his mask and granting her the opportunity to piece a few parts of the complex puzzle that was Tortuga?s king together ? if only for a moment. His words did not appeal to her leadership but he acknowledged her efforts and did not spit blind accusations upon her, unlike the traitor, and although she disagreed with the elder Vecaan, his speech would not be met with hostility. On the contrary, her hard gaze would soften and the snarl laden upon her features would dissipate sluggishly, hesitating as she pondered the proper method by which to respond. After a moment?s pause, all she could manage was a short nod that lacked the passion she had attained throughout the encounter. She morphed from the maleficent queen, hell-bent on extracting misplaced revenge upon the white male before her to something calm, almost sad, in a matter of seconds. Her vendetta resided with Desdemona and the traitor, not the male she had once dubbed king, and certainly not the pack she had grown so attached to over the years. Perhaps she and Tortuga had just been an unsuitable match and she had been too blind to realize it over the duration of her membership, for one desired bloodshed and the opportunity to conquer whilst the other wished to cling to neutrality, and it had consistently been as such. She had misjudged Tortuga for a pack that revolved around malice, alas, it had never been, and Nnoitra would be right to claim the white wraith as something the pack did not need, would never need ? at its head or in its midst.

But in an instant, Morphine would warp into the adamant and maleficent fiend she normally portrayed as the traitor?s defensive speech writhed through her pallid ears, insinuating a surge of irritation that coursed throughout her form as the monotonous drone met the air. Eyes threatened to roll in their sockets at the excuse offered but she would refrain from such an action, instead greeting the situation with that infamous, devious smirk of hers. Both females were too stubborn to allow such an argument to pass without the final word, and so they would clash and insults would continuously slice through the air, both women intent on disregarding Nnoitra?s urge for civil mannerisms and maturity. This would not end well and blood would splatter the battlefield once biting words would not suffice the desire to defeat the other; all that remained was for either to grow so impatient with the verbal argument that they would issue the demand for blood as an easier method to determine the victorious from the defeated, and that would first be the traitor?s command. She beckoned for the white witch, a dance to the death, and Morphine would react as any adamant creature would once they had been accused of being a coward: without reluctance. A wicked grin would chisel her visage and metallic eyes glazed with malice would lock upon her adversary to confirm her acceptance while Nnoitra flitted to escape the arena without protest for what was about to occur. One of his favorites would be abducted by death?s cruel and merciless grasp, and if that favorite happened to be his much younger, former queen, she would greet it with confidence that she had defended her honor against one so intent upon ripping it to shreds.

Silver slits were all that remained from her eyes as the wraith would narrow her gaze slightly to protect them from teeth or claw and her ears would swivel back, pinning themselves to her crown for similar reasons. Her skull found comfort in its position, oriented in alignment with her spinal cord to limit the possibility of a lethal grip to her neck and her chin would tuck strategically to the curve of her neck to buffer any attack to grasp her mandible while her tail would flag to act as a counterweight. Jaws would slacken and limbs would bend to enable swift movement as the woman would slither in the direction of the bitch, no intention to attack just yet noticeable in her motions, carried out with the purpose to limit Cyanide?s leeway in maneuvering from her position so close to the mud she had almost drowned in (since you did not mention her moving at all in your previous posts), pupils set upon Cyanide?s chest to detect any signs of movement, ready to follow her opponent so that her body would serve to block the girl from moving too far forward. ?As you wish, my dear,? the petite wraith would purr, tones entirely sultry, now within an uncomfortably close proximity a step or two away from the renegade.

And just like that, her slow and calculated momentum would shift in the slightest and she?d burst the short distance between she and her opponent, thrusting her left shoulder before the rest of her body with the intention to forcibly slam into the traitor?s chest, slightly off center and a hair to Cyanide?s left (Morphine?s POV), to both wind and shove her back into or nearer to the quicksand-esque mud where she belonged. Heels would root themselves firmly to the earth while performing the shoulder thrust to stop her from barreling too far forward in the case that Cyanide would manage to dodge her attack, all the while gaping jaws would snake forward to reach across her opponent?s chest, angled downwards in an attempt to tear through the upper portion of Cyanide?s right forelimb (Morphine?s POV), teeth seeking to puncture muscle and tendons to complicate movement in the limb. Whether or not her jaws received Cyanide?s flesh, they would clamp shut and then immediately unhitch again and she would angle them in towards Cyanide?s own jaws and would pull back, at the ready for another attack while she?d try to step backwards to grant herself enough room to assess her opponent?s movement as well as distance herself slightly from her. Morphine only assumed she?d need to utilize what she depicted as an advantage over her much older, presumably weaker and slower, opponent: agility. Therefore, she?d continuously strike like a cobra, then distance herself as far away from the traitor as possible before she had the chance to retaliate.

round number
I ? II ? III ? IV ? V

ATTACKS attempt to shove her left shoulder into cyanide's chest, slightly off center and to morphine's left. simultaneously, her jaws would snap downward to grasp the upper portion of cyanide's leg that is to morphine's right, attempting to clamp down and then immediately release.

DEFENSES eyes narrowed to slits, ears pinned to her skull, neck and skull in alignment with her spine, tail flagged for balance, chin tucked against the curve of her neck, opened jaws, and limbs bent for swift navigation. whether or not morphine's attacks hit, her jaws will immediately part again, pull back, and turn back in towards cyanide's front, and she'll try to step backward to distance herself from cyanide. she'll root her heels during the shoulder-shove to stop herself from pushing too far forward in the case that cyanide dodges it.

INJURIES none, first round.

OOC good luck, eve! also, i'll be going on vacation from early sunday to late wednesday so i won't be able to post during that time and perhaps even a little bit after, depending on if my family members flock to the computer. so i hope this situation won't make me default because i have no control of when i'll be able to reply :/

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