ONCE YOU COMMITTED ME
Another self-proclaimed tough guy with a tendency for violence. Aegon had seen it before in many of his years and even challenged a few, but never wished to tussle with them, knowing their true identities underneath their rough, muscular physicalities. After all, as he stared at Jormungand during their rant, he could only continue to qualify them as a coward. A display of their proclaimed violence to prove their strength, something they had to be self-conscious of if they needed to, was truly unnecessary. The lion merely offered a huff. "If you wish to threaten me with baseless violence," he rumbled, "Then you are a coward with no wit."
As he stared out at the other with slitted eyes, he blindly reached out to attempt to grab Mick's daggered arm. Whether or not the knife slide from it's position (and if Mick's paw was grabbed), he would remain still and watch Jormungand's reaction carefully with interest. "Pick your answer carefully." Death did not hold back, as it was all mortal's fate, and would not hold back on some miscreant who decided to play rough to uphold
Shing!
By moving Mick's arm appropriately, the knife shot from it's sheath and out onto Aegon's forearm. The horseman did not pull away. Instead, he let the knife dig in further to his skin. Crimson started to don the knife's edge, some dripping down onto the jungle's greenery below. Without flinching, he used his free paw to unhinge the knife's tip from his flesh and gently pushed it back into Mick's sleeve, leaving the blood to rub against the leather.
His forearm entered his hindsight, finally looking away from Jormungand. Pastel hues watched as the blood dripped down onto his acorn-colored fur, offering a narrow gazed in response to the mortal liquid dropping to the floor. Unlike Jormungand, he knew his strengths and weaknesses, willing to test them before other's eyes. Aegon knew his power. He did not need to question it through threats of violence. His title dictated what he could do, even while wearing mortal flesh and bone.
Liquid continued to gush from the wound and Aegon raised his arm once again, flicking it in Jormungand's direction and attempting to cover the other's features in his blood. "Take what you desire, coward," he dully taunted.
As he stared out at the other with slitted eyes, he blindly reached out to attempt to grab Mick's daggered arm. Whether or not the knife slide from it's position (and if Mick's paw was grabbed), he would remain still and watch Jormungand's reaction carefully with interest. "Pick your answer carefully." Death did not hold back, as it was all mortal's fate, and would not hold back on some miscreant who decided to play rough to uphold
Shing!
By moving Mick's arm appropriately, the knife shot from it's sheath and out onto Aegon's forearm. The horseman did not pull away. Instead, he let the knife dig in further to his skin. Crimson started to don the knife's edge, some dripping down onto the jungle's greenery below. Without flinching, he used his free paw to unhinge the knife's tip from his flesh and gently pushed it back into Mick's sleeve, leaving the blood to rub against the leather.
His forearm entered his hindsight, finally looking away from Jormungand. Pastel hues watched as the blood dripped down onto his acorn-colored fur, offering a narrow gazed in response to the mortal liquid dropping to the floor. Unlike Jormungand, he knew his strengths and weaknesses, willing to test them before other's eyes. Aegon knew his power. He did not need to question it through threats of violence. His title dictated what he could do, even while wearing mortal flesh and bone.
Liquid continued to gush from the wound and Aegon raised his arm once again, flicking it in Jormungand's direction and attempting to cover the other's features in his blood. "Take what you desire, coward," he dully taunted.
NOW YOU'VE ACQUITTED ME