08-31-2020, 03:02 AM
BURN
BRIGHT
BRIGHT
“I am doing nothing,” Ninazu says, eyes closed. She hates dealing with Caesar. The fire on her tail burns brighter, and she attempts to slap him across the shoulders with it. Her aim is poor; her eyes are still closed, but she smells Caesar’s stink well enough to strike.
Her rage bubbles and boils again, clouding the tranquility of nothingness from her mind. She is a powderkeg ready to explode, more weapon than person. The lioness’s golden eyes open, brows already narrowed, the heat rolling off her mane in waves. The gold in her irises glint.
“Long-term results are difficult to quantify, aren’t they?” she growls, eyes scanning for Caesar. She doesn’t find him, until she remembers how short he is, and she looks down. “But I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that. You’re more of an ass-on-fire improvisor than a strategist, aren’t you?”
The lioness exhales. As satisfying as chewing out Caesar is, releasing the anger only feeds the underlying frustration. She cannot lash out at anyone responsible for their group’s current plight. Ninazu prefers punching her way out of bad situations; this served her well in the Pitt, but nowhere else. She grits her jaw against further violence, verbal or physical, against Caesar.
She grins at Stryker, a lopsided smirk with too much fangs. But the heat fades from her fire. “Thanks for defending me,” she says, almost sarcastically.
Ninazu stands, flexing her shoulders and sinking her claws into the burned husk of a tree. After a quick stretch, spine popping all the way down, she steps off the burned bark and turns back to them. “Well, my meditation’s been interrupted. I suppose I should do something other than nothing.” She paws at her satchel and levels a nasty grin at Caesar, “If you have any wounds, perhaps I should throw moonshine on them?”
Her rage bubbles and boils again, clouding the tranquility of nothingness from her mind. She is a powderkeg ready to explode, more weapon than person. The lioness’s golden eyes open, brows already narrowed, the heat rolling off her mane in waves. The gold in her irises glint.
“Long-term results are difficult to quantify, aren’t they?” she growls, eyes scanning for Caesar. She doesn’t find him, until she remembers how short he is, and she looks down. “But I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that. You’re more of an ass-on-fire improvisor than a strategist, aren’t you?”
The lioness exhales. As satisfying as chewing out Caesar is, releasing the anger only feeds the underlying frustration. She cannot lash out at anyone responsible for their group’s current plight. Ninazu prefers punching her way out of bad situations; this served her well in the Pitt, but nowhere else. She grits her jaw against further violence, verbal or physical, against Caesar.
She grins at Stryker, a lopsided smirk with too much fangs. But the heat fades from her fire. “Thanks for defending me,” she says, almost sarcastically.
Ninazu stands, flexing her shoulders and sinking her claws into the burned husk of a tree. After a quick stretch, spine popping all the way down, she steps off the burned bark and turns back to them. “Well, my meditation’s been interrupted. I suppose I should do something other than nothing.” She paws at her satchel and levels a nasty grin at Caesar, “If you have any wounds, perhaps I should throw moonshine on them?”
© MADI