The grounds of this world and any other that might still exist are littered with reasons Makoto might argue and snap and gripe at Minegishi Gen. One could scarcely walk three steps without tripping over one. But as he turns to look at him, in the midst of clear and mortal danger both to themselves and to others, with such a look of disdain, a thrill of indignant anger spurs up from the pit of Makoto’s stomach and for a remarkably different reason than normal. It doesn’t stem from a place of wounded ego or perceived sleights but instead furious disbelief. Really? You really see fit to act like that now of all times? As far as Makoto is concerned, he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place: he’s not going to allow Gen’s foolishness to further endanger him, but he also can’t go inert where he could very well act because he wouldn’t want his conviction called into question.
Everyone assembled is spared the further shattering of the wreckage that was the two teenagers’ “teamwork” as Estinien launches into the air like a barbed missile, wings folding and clawed feet spreading with the predatory intent of a diving falcon. He targets Gen, and for a fleeting moment Makoto feels the remembered malignant fury of when the dragoon had left him behind to die on the stone floor of the Sovereign Shrine. He responds without thinking and in much the same way that he had back then, though this time he has the strength to similarly hurl himself into the air and at the back of his opponent, blade once more flashing in his hands. This time he uses the dirk like it’s intended to be used, attempting to drive its piercing point in-between the bands of protective scaling sweeping away from the man’s ridged spine. This time the blade pierces, but only a fraction as far as his knife had back then, stymied once more by the thick scales.
And once more, Makoto curses under his breath.
It’s not all he has at his disposal, though. Gen does what he can to hold back the clawed foot from sinking into his chest, but he couldn’t possibly hold it for long, and the dragoon’s wings beat to pull all of them into the air. So Makoto’s curl inward to grapple onto them, the talons hooking cruelly into whatever they can and as deep as they can, seeking to restrain, wound, and exacerbate whatever injuries might already exist, all roughly around the same time Gen swings his mace.
no subject
Everyone assembled is spared the further shattering of the wreckage that was the two teenagers’ “teamwork” as Estinien launches into the air like a barbed missile, wings folding and clawed feet spreading with the predatory intent of a diving falcon. He targets Gen, and for a fleeting moment Makoto feels the remembered malignant fury of when the dragoon had left him behind to die on the stone floor of the Sovereign Shrine. He responds without thinking and in much the same way that he had back then, though this time he has the strength to similarly hurl himself into the air and at the back of his opponent, blade once more flashing in his hands. This time he uses the dirk like it’s intended to be used, attempting to drive its piercing point in-between the bands of protective scaling sweeping away from the man’s ridged spine. This time the blade pierces, but only a fraction as far as his knife had back then, stymied once more by the thick scales.
And once more, Makoto curses under his breath.
It’s not all he has at his disposal, though. Gen does what he can to hold back the clawed foot from sinking into his chest, but he couldn’t possibly hold it for long, and the dragoon’s wings beat to pull all of them into the air. So Makoto’s curl inward to grapple onto them, the talons hooking cruelly into whatever they can and as deep as they can, seeking to restrain, wound, and exacerbate whatever injuries might already exist, all roughly around the same time Gen swings his mace.