Strife!
jckerskindâ:
Youâre laughing, you donât want to aknowledge why but youâre motherfucking cackling. You try and succeed in not thinking about the sick part of you that missed this, that misses the familiarity of locking yourself up in your hive, of dealing with seadwellers every week. Back when things made sense, back when things were simple.Â
Youâre facing her while still keeping up the same position from before. Your horns poke at the floor while she struggles to get it back. Thereâs something so very hilarious about seeing a fuschia thrash and slip on slime like all the royaltyâs been taken from her.
âSUREâ
You let go of the trident, your palms hit the floor and you manage not to fall. You flip onto your feet again, kicking her on the side of the head while you go through the motions.
Your clubs are in your hands again. Your laughterâs dying down, becoming low, barely audible cackles.
His heel cuffs you on the head just as you get your foothold, and you stumble back into a lamp as your head spins, your grip still tight around your trident; thereâs a faint print there now, and definitely bruising.
The guy laughs like the happiest joker in the comedy club. You didnât know what to make of it before, but you thinkâno, youâre pretty sure heâs having fun. Even though heâs bleeding like hell, heâs still up and howling like a gigglebeast. Nice strifers, man. Real thematic and shit.
What planet is he from, again? You need to go there. Hell, maybe you belong thereâbecause even though youâre bleeding from your temple and your clothes are stained, youâre grinning like a piranha in a fishery.Â
âwhatchu laughin for, suckah?â You fix your stance and your grasp on your trident. âyou aint won nothin yet.â
You sweep your trident back, catch it on scatterings of empty bottles, pans and fallen horns, and fling it all forward at him. That wonât do much damage, if anyâbut you mean to, when you bound forward after them and take another long swing at him in their wake.
















