She can take down a few, she's pretty fucking sure of that, but numbers will overwhelm in the end. It's not like this'll be the first time she's taken a proper beating, but that doesn't mean she's looking forward to it. And it's not like she has any illusion it'll end any other way. Even if this shithole is crammed full of people, none of them are about to get involved in a fight that has nothing to do with them.
It's not like she blames them, she'd be the same way. Hell is a fucking nightmare, why put yourself on the line for some shitty stranger who probably wants to fuck you over too? So she squares her shoulders, snarls loudly, and prepares to fight. Alone. Like she always has, like she always will, when...
...what...
It takes a couple of frozen moments for her to work out that the newcomer to the fight not only isn't joining in on ganging up on her, but that it's the little imp who adopted her earlier. Here. He's here and he's got a broken bottle, standing in front of her like he's actually going to try and defend her?!
Why does she suddenly feel like someone is stood on her chest?]
What the fuck are you doing here?
[It's easier to focus on that, on if he followed her, than the unfamiliar feeling of gratitude for someone coming to her aid.
The group of hounds look just as surprised, but hardly intimidated. It's still seven against two, and this is just a little fucking imp, not exactly a threat. One of them, a huge rottweiler looking hound, takes a step forward.]
Back the fuck up before you get hurt, imp. We're just talking with her, it's none of your business.
Oh, you know, just— [ he starts before he's interrupted. his nonchalant smile vanishes quicker than a blink, and he whirls his attention toward the rottweiler, yellow eyes as sharp as the broken bottle gripped tight in his hand. ] It's all my fuckin' business, asshole!
[ he drags the vowel, aaall, brandishing the bottle and kind of waving it in the hellhound's face, almost like a taunt. blitzø loves a good fight; the chance to stretch and flex his muscles, test his reflexes, definitely wouldn't go unappreciated. whatever he has to do to keep loona safe.
speaking of loona - blitzø casts her a quick glance over his shoulder, his back still facing toward her, and it's like a switch being flipped when he talks to her compared to how he'd addressed their potential opponents. ]
There's pizza at home, if you're hungry. Extra pepperoni. I wasn't sure what you like so I kinda guessed.
[ is he insane? this probably isn't the time for casual conversation, but he just seems so... relaxed in the face of their current circumstance. or as relaxed as one can appear with a broken bottle in their hands, but still.
blitzø turns, and again, it's like he's a totally different person, snapping at the group surrounding them. either he has a death wish, or he's very confident in his ability to fight. possibly a little bit of both. ]
Here's the deal. If anyone's gonna back the fuck up, it ain't gonna be me. You wanna "talk" to my daughter? You gotta talk to me first, and I fuckin' hate small talk, so back up - [ his stance shifts, one of his feet sliding back, center of gravity lowering like he's getting ready to take a tackle or spring forward. his eyes narrow, and he smiles, but it's halfway feral. ] - or bring it, bitch.
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She can take down a few, she's pretty fucking sure of that, but numbers will overwhelm in the end. It's not like this'll be the first time she's taken a proper beating, but that doesn't mean she's looking forward to it. And it's not like she has any illusion it'll end any other way. Even if this shithole is crammed full of people, none of them are about to get involved in a fight that has nothing to do with them.
It's not like she blames them, she'd be the same way. Hell is a fucking nightmare, why put yourself on the line for some shitty stranger who probably wants to fuck you over too? So she squares her shoulders, snarls loudly, and prepares to fight. Alone. Like she always has, like she always will, when...
...what...
It takes a couple of frozen moments for her to work out that the newcomer to the fight not only isn't joining in on ganging up on her, but that it's the little imp who adopted her earlier. Here. He's here and he's got a broken bottle, standing in front of her like he's actually going to try and defend her?!
Why does she suddenly feel like someone is stood on her chest?]
What the fuck are you doing here?
[It's easier to focus on that, on if he followed her, than the unfamiliar feeling of gratitude for someone coming to her aid.
The group of hounds look just as surprised, but hardly intimidated. It's still seven against two, and this is just a little fucking imp, not exactly a threat. One of them, a huge rottweiler looking hound, takes a step forward.]
Back the fuck up before you get hurt, imp. We're just talking with her, it's none of your business.
no subject
[ he drags the vowel, aaall, brandishing the bottle and kind of waving it in the hellhound's face, almost like a taunt. blitzø loves a good fight; the chance to stretch and flex his muscles, test his reflexes, definitely wouldn't go unappreciated. whatever he has to do to keep loona safe.
speaking of loona - blitzø casts her a quick glance over his shoulder, his back still facing toward her, and it's like a switch being flipped when he talks to her compared to how he'd addressed their potential opponents. ]
There's pizza at home, if you're hungry. Extra pepperoni. I wasn't sure what you like so I kinda guessed.
[ is he insane? this probably isn't the time for casual conversation, but he just seems so... relaxed in the face of their current circumstance. or as relaxed as one can appear with a broken bottle in their hands, but still.
blitzø turns, and again, it's like he's a totally different person, snapping at the group surrounding them. either he has a death wish, or he's very confident in his ability to fight. possibly a little bit of both. ]
Here's the deal. If anyone's gonna back the fuck up, it ain't gonna be me. You wanna "talk" to my daughter? You gotta talk to me first, and I fuckin' hate small talk, so back up - [ his stance shifts, one of his feet sliding back, center of gravity lowering like he's getting ready to take a tackle or spring forward. his eyes narrow, and he smiles, but it's halfway feral. ] - or bring it, bitch.