Leering at Mario without even a shred of remorse in his eye, the mercenary’s grin widened. He could sense the sheer malice for him fall out of them and onto his visage as the venomous words of the hero further revealed all of his hate. It wasn’t rare that Nack made others so visceral and ready to indulge themselves in cathartic violence, and he would do everything– anything– to make sure that this wasn’t the last.
“He was a LOSER,” spat Fang the Sniper, his voice laden with an arrogant, smug sense of superiority while the barrel of Chamomile stared Mario down like a hawk did its prey. “I can’t even BELIEVE ya let a no-gut wimp like THAT be anythin’ close to a brother! I feel SORRY for ya, really: I can’t even IMAGINE what it must be like carryin’ all that dead weight on ya shoulders. Does it HURT knowin’ he can’t defend himself? Does it KILL ya that ya just ALWAYS have to fight his own battles? Does it make ya so ANGRY at’cha ‘self that ya have an UTTER disappointment for a brother that got popped by a guy of my caliber?”
Shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders, the vile jeroba-wolf propped his hat back into place before wagging a finger at his enemy.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk! Y’know, maybe this is REALLY just all YOUR fault. If ya had been there, do y’think I would’a got such a clean shot on him? Or maybe if ya made him ACTUALLY have a backbone, then who knows? MAYBE I wouldn’t have walked away with that cute ol’ coin pouch he had! I’unno WHO made it, but I have t’say: it MIGHT just be more valuable than anythin’ else in th’ dang thing!”
Regardless, it didn’t matter. Both of them couldn’t leave now. Mario had the ability to chase Nack down like a predator, and Nack had the ability to snipe Mario like a duck in his cross-hairs. Some might have claimed that this ensuing battle was fate, but the outlaw would have disagreed. This was but another hurdle he needed to vault over if he wanted to see his dreams realized; nothing more, nothing less, and absolutely nothing personal.
He just wanted to get under his skin, is all. Doing so was merely for a strategic advantage: to pick apart at any weaknesses if it meant ensuring the survival of his filthy life.
“Why ain’t’cha just comin’ at me, eh?” A click coming from his gun as his thumb released the safety on it, its owner cooed. “Don’t worry, Cappy-boy! I DON’T bite. Instead, I just SHOOT.”
Silence. Complete, utter silence. For as much as Nack flapped his jaw, insulting both the hero and his dear little brother, the hero didn’t say a single thing in response. All he did was stare down the barrel of the loaded gun, his gaze alone threatening to slice the barrel down the middle as though it weren’t worth the metal it was made of. And at the last word of the sniper, as if at the drop of a pen, Mario reared up and went speeding towards Nack, tattered cape flapping wildly in the wind of his wake--
--Only to race right past him and disappear. Where could he have gone in such a short window of time? One could argue he ran into and stowed himself away in the darkness, but with only streetlights lining the streets of this otherwise relatively empty part of town, there wasn’t a single place the plumber could hide that would have benefited him with a steady, reliable means of cover. So, without a place to hide... where did he go? Did he uncharacteristically toss the battle and hightail it out of town?
Such an assumption would soon be debunked with the sudden high-pitched war cry of a certain red-capped man as with flaming fists of fury, he came closing in on Nack at great speed from above. Such an unexpected attack in the eyes of those that didn’t understand the magic charms of the signature yellow cape tied tightly around his neck - a clean running start put just enough wind under the sail to take off like a bird into the sky. And like a burning comet, Mario speared right for the outlaw, sheer speed a clear indication that he would not stop or slow; the trails of fire from his fists and the deadly glint in his eyes told the jerboa wolf that he’d made a grave mistake, and that this would be the end of the line for him lest he not make like a Yoshi that’d just ingested a Dash Pepper and run.
jbbartram-illu
origamiaround
romaincrisis
2087
dededos
