sweating bullets | TAKEOVER

[align=center][div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify;"]Was this guy for real, or was this a squishy person's idea of a joke? Pretty pathetic sense of humor, if that's what this was, but it was more likely that the stranger was serious, which made it all the more paltry. Was he expecting them to roll over? That was it, right? He must be a bit disconnected with reality, if he took a whole group on that kind of generalization. The mutated dragon's gaze searched for Winterwolf, if only because he figured his kindred spirit might find it amusing, though he couldn't find him just yet. There was Atbash, and a griffin giving the self-declared dictator shit, whereas someone else went to begging. What a range of demeanors. You know, it was almost funny, but in the end, Floris was still too unimpressed.

One of the "invaders" even made a little promise. No killing, huh? Bullshit.

"Is it your job to make an ass of yourself? They should give you a raise." Floris didn't falter as he cut through the hall toward Atbash, and, by extension, Stryker. His one good eye kept them both in full view, mandibles pulled tight against his jaws. "Surprised you're not on the ceiling. Hot air rises and you're full of it."