Description: Brett Neuer begins to fall prey to the influence of the Time Sphere of Stasis in the dead market of frozen Bangkok, tormented by its whispers - and is happened upon by Strolheim's young madman, the weaponmaster Makari Maksimilian. With whispers of despair all around them, Makari has a simple charge for Brett: Resist the hopelessness with your own strength, or have your burden relieved.
Sometimes, the truth doesn't set you free.
Sometimes, it just cages you up. It's been a while since that encounter on that nameless island, and a difficult trip back to Bangkok. No wonder, considering the incidents that cme about. The truck driver who suddenly lost all faith in his own driving ability. The motherly old lady who became overwhelmed with loneliness just barely after managing to give him directions toward the city. It's a small miracle that he hasn't left a trail of suicides in his wake.
And curled up in that half-abandoned market, one Brett Neuer rests, head on his arms, arms on his knees, looking dirtier and more ragged than he'd ever been before. Ignoring the growling of his stomach, he simply looked to his side, his companion for the last week: a glassy, mist-filled sphere, wrapped in the remains of his hockey padding to where only little peeks could be seen from the sides of the makeshift pouch: the very reason for all these weird occurances, and not just the fact that a mild-mannered Minnesotan good kid like Brett was acting like he listened to too much Emo. Not just the sadness and despair left in his wake. But the entire gulf as well, being frozen over, like it was stopped in time. Perhaps because it very well could've been, Brett honestly doesn't know. He hasn't found anyone who could tell him much about it, or that he trusted to tell about it...and for all he knows, destroying it would be an even worse result.
So as much as he wants to destroy it, he came here in hopes of finding someone who could tell him whether it was ok to or not, lest the situation here got worse...but the effects?...well, it was almost enough to make him fall asleep and not wake up again at all. It was only that inkling of courage, that small bit of fire telling him that he needed to see this through that kept him from just giving in to the despair radiating off this sphere....but GOD, is it tiring....
Time escapes from us all. An hour can become a day as quick as a breath, a week, a month faster than anyone can see. Even the robust fighting man is not immune to losing himself.
Makari Maksimilian of the House of Strolheim, last son of the House of Maksimilian, wanted to learn more of the world outside of fighting to see what strength he could draw from it. He took a job in a warehouse in a small American town, settled into a rhythm of hard work, bawdy friends, and pretty girls, and when he looked up he realized years had passed.
He vanished the next day.
The world then began to end.
Makari never stops to wonder where he is going when he travels - he goes where it feels right and always ends up where he wants to be. Snow crunches on the roofs above, heavy steps approaching the crushing hopelessness the man recognizes and does not understand.
Prolonged exposure may change that, but for now, Makari is simply too much of a madman in his way to feel the icy grip upon his heart. Disturbed snow falls near Brett's curled form.
Up, up, and up. An enormous man, a grinning head emerging from a grey fur cloak. "Ah! Why so down, man?"
Makari leaps easily from the roof onto a frozen canal, weapons and armor clanking under his cloak. The ice cracks under his boots. The Russian stands and turns, sniffing the air. "It is strange, da? So quiet where there should be such noise, such life." He stomps on the ice. "The change is hard on everyone, I am thinking. Not everyone has the strength for it. Still, bracing! You have the look of a fighter, man. I am Makari Maksimilian of the House of Strolheim, and I believe you are the one I am here to see. But I did not expect a man so, eh, down through his dumps!"
His head twitches to the side, insidious whispers in his ear that he can't quite make out. His hand slides from the recesses of his great cloak to brush it away, revealing a glimpse of his breastplate and weaponry, red and black in the grey.
It's rare to find someone quite as tall as Brett in these parts, at least in common life around here. The Muay Thai halls were filled with quite a few, mind, but in the day to day life (if you could call the current situation 'life' at this rate), Brett was a big guy, so it says something when he looks up and finds someone quite a bit taller than him looking down at him.. Not that the surprise is enough to do much more than get him to lift his head, his frame still leaning against the abandoned stall, arms still folded upon his knees, and his face looking like someone who just came from a funeral.
"....Brett Neuer. Nice to meet you..." he manages to get out just above a whisper, his usual cordiality buried underneath the obvious bleakness in his voice. "The change is hard....finding why it changed is harder..." he says, looking to his side again at the pouch before looking back up to Makari. "And you wouldn't believe me if I told you why I'm....nevermind...." he says, dropping his head back down onto his arms, paying precious little mind to the breastplate and arms the taller Russian has. Something twinges in the back of his mind, but the prolonged exposure to the sphere hasn't done him any favors whatsoever.
Makari grins widely, putting out a hand when Brett gives his name. We can assume given his current state that Brett doesn't feel up to the task of the handshake, and Makari's DeeJayian expression ticks downward in intensity as he pulls his hand back into his cloak.
"Hmmmmmmm..." his head ticks left and right. "You are thinking too hard, man. What is it for you and I to care why the world is changing? We are men of action! Or supposed to be." There is a sound of leather creaking from within the cloak, an unreadable motion ruffling the fur. "I see your strength needs to be, eh... kicked awake."
Makari turns and begins walking away, giving Brett some more distance, enough to clearly see him coming if he were to turn and charge. He wonders, briefly, if it's even worth it to take his step into the Gaia Tournament. The man has a point - the change seems to be moving forward, and the efforts of no one man seem able to effect it.
Makari shakes his head, stretching his neck with a series of pops. So what? One must only be strong enough to /survive/ it, to see what happens on the other end! The man pivots on his heel, cape flapping out, and two one-handed battle axes come spinning across the intervening space, burying themselves in the wall to either side of Brett as the weaponmaster comes charging in. A sabre of ultra-rare Damascus steel comes ringing from its sheath, the point leading for Brett's chest.
"Come now! Show your strength! Look alive or die!" There's no malice in Makari's voice - it's not a threat. It's just a statement.
COMBATSYS: Makari has started a fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ <
Makari 0/-------/-------|
COMBATSYS: Brett has joined the fight here.
[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Brett 0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0 Makari
COMBATSYS: Makari successfully hits Brett with Weapon Jab.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////////////////////]
Brett 0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0 Makari
The rumbling in his head continues to cloud Brett's thoughts, as he finds himself unable to muster much more of a response to Makari as he's already done. Brow furrowing, his his arms clutch at his knees even more, as if huddling under the words of a silent judge. The words aren't even intelligible, not that they ever were, but the tone of them was enough to drive Brett further and further into his shell.
At least until Makari takes some distance and unleashes his battle axes from his cloak. The sound of the weapons coming alive seems to poke something in Brett's head, but that silent voice in his head just seems to echo the same sentiments it's been telling him before: 'Why bother'? It's that mental tug of war that dulls his movements, and keeps him from mustering a proper guard, the axes burying themselves at each side of his head and pinning him in. That warning shot jars Brett a bit more, but still not enough to overcome that dull condemnation in his head.
The point of that sword? THAT wakes him up. It's a shallow poke, sure, but the stinging pain and the drawing of blood seems to wake the hockey kid up finally. "You don't understand what's going on..." he manages to get out lowly, this time more in aggression than depression. SNapping up the length of pipe he'd been carrying in lieu of his stick broken on the island way back, he goes tit for tat, trying for a similar pointed charge toward Makari.
COMBATSYS: Brett successfully hits Makari with Weapon Jab.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////////// ]
Brett 0/-------/------=|=------\-------\0 Makari
Makari's hands are lightning-quick - after the jab, the blade is already within the cloak, a sharp hiss indicating the weapon is back in its sheath. The leather grips of his axes are already creaking against his hands by the time Brett is up and striking, the blow clanging resoundingly against his armor and driving him back, the weapons reclaimed.
Makari rolls a shoulder at Brett, stepping gingerly back. "You are right. I do not." (hopeless worthless thoughtless) "But I imagine it involves that, yes?" A small, roughly-made dagger flicks from inside the cloak, point burying itself in the ground near the Sphere. "I think I hear a bit about this when I come back to the circuit. Not too much, though, ha ha ha!"
He darts forward again, his right hand in a gauntlet now, left hand holding another dagger. The gauntlet moves to control the pipe so that Makari can press in, pommel striking down at Brett's weapon elbow. "Is it a bit much for you, then? Too much of the, eh, responsibility?"
COMBATSYS: Brett blocks Makari's Random Strike.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > /////////////////////////// ]
Brett 0/-------/-----==|=------\-------\0 Makari
Driving his pipe forward, he feels the strike clang off the armor, a desperate look in Brett's eyes as she pulls his chosen weapon back. As he does so, the internal rumblings continue to echo in his head, wordless but full of (de)meaning.
"You don't want to know what that is," he insists, his own thoughts telling him that even HE really doesn't know what it is yet, nudged on to wonder if he's truly bright enough to figure it out. As he tries to shake the thought off, he manages to lift up the pipe enough to redirect the dagger despite Makari's grip on it, a light slice on his shoulder rather than a full stab in. Gritting his teeth, adrenaline starts to arise in him, another growl escaping as he snapped off a sharp kick toward Makari's shins while their weapons are entangled. The shot might have a bit more weight ot it thanks to his skates, but it's still more of a shove than anything to get some distance.
COMBATSYS: Makari blocks Brett's Light Kick.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////////////////// ]
Brett 0/-------/----===|==-----\-------\0 Makari
The dagger's pommel xomes down on Brett's shoulder and Makari turns it into more of a throw once he sees where it's going, spiking the unadorned knob of metal off of the hockey player (hockist?) rather than remained burdened with the disposable weapon. You call yourself a weaponmaster? Amateur. If you were better, your father would have
Makari growls, keeping his incredibly close proximity to Brett, lifting one foot to take the kick on a hard leather facing rather than vulnerable bone. "Only strength can determine that, I think. You should know how we of Strolheim decide these matters." The incredible despair of the area is having trouble finding a grip on Makari. The man is not what one generally thinks of when you consider psychopaths, but he is... incomplete. Damaged. In many ways, Makari will always be a child.
It's that exact insanity that lets him keep pushing forward, and what happens next is abrupt indeed - Makari's body surges forward, shoving Brett back, and his hands go to the hilt of the zweihander on his back. He pulls and pivots his entire body in the same motion, the blade describing a massive arc through the air as he brings the weapon down at Brett, crashing onto his own back in the process. Snow and powdered ice erupt away from them in a small circle.
COMBATSYS: Makari successfully hits Brett with The Bird Falls.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////////// ]
Brett 0/-------/-======|==-----\-------\0 Makari
The crushing pressure Brett feels is only partially from Makari's continued locking of his pipe. THe blocked shin kick doesn't do as much as he had hoped (not that 'hope' is a terribly good word for it at this point). And the shove back sets Brett off balance enough that the crashing Zweihander comes in harder than he could expect, the blade smashing down on his back before he could muster a guard.
For a while it seems like he might not get back up, flattened as he is. Fingers twitch along his pipe as he those thoughts become clearer and clearer in his head: 'You don't deserve this burden.' 'What can you do, with such a mundane dream?' 'What would your family think of you now?'. Eyes squeeze shut as the despair oozing off the sphere seems to make him shudder for a bit.
At least until he shoves hismelf back up. "I AM STRONG ENOUGH!" he shouts, slicing upward with that pipe across Makari's armor, the entire weapon taking on a brief cool blue glow, especially across the hooked end, as he strikes out at the Strolheim Weaponsmaster.
COMBATSYS: Makari interrupts Red Sabre from Brett with Isaak's Step.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////////////// ]
Brett 1/------=/=======|====---\-------\0 Makari
"There it is!" Makari cries, Brett's own resolve awakening his in turn. His face lights up like a boy at play. "Prove it to me, Brett Neuer!" He pushes forward, blade forward and down, held low to scrape across the ice.
The pipe hammers into his chest, rattling hard, the energy burning his skin beneath. His cloak is thrown back now, a cape along his shoulders, freeing his hand for the complicated motions of zweihander fencing.
As the pipe nears Makari's square jaw, his sword is between Brett's ankles. He glides away from the strike, feet sliding along the ice with the confidence of a man born in a snowy land, and he yanks the weapon like a lever, using the flat of the blade to strike the front of one ankle and the back of the other at the same time, twisting Brett right off his feet. He keeps moving, pulling the blade with him, gauntleted hand sliding from the grip to the blade itself to hold it by the ricasso. He crouches down, using the weapon more like a shield.
"Isaak Steps Between the Islands," Makari intones before continuing with, "Perhaps if I can knock you down, I will relieve you of that burden. I can feel that it is something best suited to the strong."
The roaring response Brett gave Makari is quickly stifled by the skilled trip, barely getting in any edge of his attack before the giant blade is levered between his ankles and sends the hockey kid crashing to the floor painfully, flat on his face again. The pipe remains gripped within his hand, but the grip slackens the longer he remains on the ground.
'Face down, that's appropriate, just like your real fights', the thought comes. The most disturbing thing about that thought is how it comes in his own voice. 'Look how often you lost, no matter how hard you tried. You think you can really fight? That checking some goon into the boards and actually standing tall as a fighter are the same thing?' Amidst the wordless whispers of despair, those echo the loudest...and not even the sphere can be blamed on this one completely.
Despite it, his hand closes tighter around the stick again, Brett trying to push himself back up to his feet. "No......I am strong....I can't....no...." he grumbles, more to himself than in response to Makari. Pushing himself up on his stick back up to his feet, he immediately drops down again...rather, he somersaults forward, using that stick as a vault as he tries to flip over and drive his skated wheels down across Makari's with that heavy heel drop.
COMBATSYS: Brett successfully hits Makari with Falling Star EX.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Brett 1/----===/=======|======-\-------\0 Makari
"Don't tell yourself that," Makari says grimly, face turning serious as he waits in Schrankhut guard. "/Show/ yourself." It's not about exerting his own strength, not for Makari - a true student of Strolheim, he understands that it is about making the /world/ stronger. Strong enough to survive this end. Strong enough to withstand the change.
He waits calmly for Brett to come in and tries to move at the last moment, surging up to rebuff him with the flat of the zweihander, but Brett moves too sharply for him and he lands cleanly on Makari, driving him down and onto the ice. "Pfungh!"
The fur cloak keeps Makari from sliding very far. He handles the great blade easily as a lever to push himself back up, shifting his shoulders and resettling himself. "Yes, yes." He spits some blood to the side and grins through reddened teeth. "Like that, man." He appears to fall still again for a heartbeat longer than one would expect.
He snaps forward then, spinning the blade in his right hand, sliding up past the parrying hooks and bringing his left hand onto the unsharpened ricasso. He pushes through a cracked rib to aim a ringing Mordhau - a strike with the pommel, like a mace - at Brett's head, continuing to spin the weapon after and resume a normal grip. The whispers of hopelessness wrap around Makari's heart and spine like icy fingers, but this is what he /does/, what he is meant for. He heaves a great breath, straining to defy the Sphere's will with his own.
COMBATSYS: Brett blocks Makari's Power Strike.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////////// ]
Brett 1/--=====/=======|======-\-------\0 Makari
Coming back to his feet and finding his pipe again, Brett has to settle himself a bit, footing even less steady with the constant snow and ice around, and him in his rollerblades rather than proper ice skates. Still, that strike seemed to get the adrenaline flowing enough to bear back the choking whispers of despair and hopelessness that continues to permeate around the two fighters. It's even to the point where Brett ends up banging the stick off his own head to keep him focused on everything BUT those dark thoughts, the cracked remains of his hockey helmet finally shattering for good after that knock.
Waiting for Makari to get up again, he prepares for the riposte, and as the pommel strike comes, his pipe comes up as well, catching the man's wrists and letting his own cushion the blow, jarring impact sending shudders down his forearms and making them burn for a bit before he shoves away.
Not about to let Makari get comfortable with his space, Brett rolls in and drops low, pipe extended as he spins about like a top. The makeshift weapon sweeps the snowy ground, throwing up ice and powder before Brett rises up, trying to smack Makari several times on the go.
COMBATSYS: Makari blocks Brett's Wild Spiral.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ < > ////////////// ]
Brett 1/--=====/=======|=======\-------\0 Makari
Back in Schrankhut, Makari gets his sword in between each spinning blow, pipe and blade meeting with several sharp reports, shocks travelling up his arm. He's waiting for the last strike... where is it... /there./
As Brett's attack ends Makari spins with the momentum of the last strike, shifting the zweihander back into its harness, letting his cloak fall back in front of him. Wordless now, lost in the dance, grinning widely. He steps around Brett, feet light, hand grasping the hilt of Maksimillian beneath his cloak, drawing in a breath.
His vision comes to a razor focus, Makari banishing every thought in his mind to acheive the stillness necessary for the last thing his father ever taught him. The cloak blows briefly up, his hand twitches, and a bird of prey's call cuts through the air - a sound caused by the sword slicing the air as it flashes out and back into its sheath faster than most eyes can follow, a dozen cuts in between. Makari's hand shakes as he pulls it back from the sword.
The thoughts crash in, including the hopelessness of the Sphere, and Makari abruptly staggers. "Hnf..." Nothing compared to your father, who could skin a man down to the bone in that instant. Can you live up to him? Will you ever be anything but Krauser's trophy of Efim's futile ambition?
COMBATSYS: Makari successfully hits Brett with Maksimilian Falcon.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > ///////////// ]
Brett 2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|=======\=------\1 Makari
The spiraling strike hits Makari's guard several times, each failure to hit home bringing those little voices back to the forefront again after Brett comes to a stop. A desperation crosses his face again, hearing the chorus of despair grow louder again, louder and louder while he sees the Strolheim fighter's vision seemingly grow crisper toward him. Eyes looking almost haunted now, Brett finds himself gripping his pipe harder, waiting until Makari slashes in.
The barrage of slashes come far faster than he could see, much less hope to stop with a mere guard, the cuts almost freezing still in this weather as they bleed out and the young Mr. Neuer staggers to a stall, nearly crashing into it and sending it tumbling into the nigh-abandoned pathways behind it.
'THen again, it's always like this, isn't it? You always fail when it counts. Hockey was the only thing you were ever good at, and even then....' Come the thoughts, louder and louder and louder still now, and the adrenaline fading makes it only louder, barely mitigated by the pain that returns to his body. Gasping and shuddering, Brett squeezes his eyes shut, gripping on his pipe hard enough that it might crack. A wordless shout escapes him as he tries to force out everything from his head, a blank slate as he slashes his stick upward from the ground, the ensuing arc sending a huge 7 ft. crest of blue chi straight toward Makari, trying to send him back and maybe...just maybe....renew Brett's flagging fortunes.
COMBATSYS: Makari overcomes Blue Line Special from Brett with Red Storm.
[ \\\\\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Brett 1/-------/<<<<<<<|-------\-------\0 Makari
Makari growls, stomping one foot and then the other against the obtrusive pathos. "Yesterday's trials are irrelevant," he growls, something which works both for his own struggle and Brett's. "Ignore the past, it has nothing for you." The blue energy starts collecting in Brett's pipe and Makari sets his feet, shaking out his hands, pulling in the razor focus again.
"True strength is spitting in the face of today! Do not let history weigh down the future!" He's shouting to himself, but... well, fate loves a coincidence.
The wave of chi comes on and Makari starts throwing knives at it. The first few tumble weakly out the other side, twisted hunks of molten metal, but they keep coming on and on, building up within the wave. Each knife is handmade by Makari, each one an extension of his own will, a raw sort of physicality separate from the manifestation of nature and soul.
The stream of daggers abruptly breaks through the wave and start driving back at Brett, dozens of little trailing blue flames. Sweat stands out on Makari's face despite the cold.
"Don't let that beat you," he growls under his breath, teeth bared in an expression more like a rictus than a grin.
COMBATSYS: Makari successfully hits Brett with Red Storm.
[ \\\\\\\\ < > //////////// ]
Brett 1/------</<<<<<<<|-------\-------\0 Makari
Brett tried to blank out everything, if only to get rid of all those dark doubting thoughts the miasma of that sphere kept inducing inside of him, and it seemed like the huge blue chi crest should've been key to it. Instead, those doubts creep back in quick as the storm of knives manages to abet the wave, stopping, then disappating it, while the stream of daggers keep coming, sailing into him and stabbing into him. Even if the knives were redirected to do only small cuts as they pass by, the pscyhological effect is more than enough.
'You just threw one of your biggest shots, the one you trained so hard to do before, and it became nothing in the face of him. Just face it, you don't deserve to win'. The doubt seems to permeate through him, his body shuddering both due to the cold permeating through his wounds and making his body temperature drop dangerously, as well as due to the sheer despair of failure staring him right in the face.
"No.....no.....no....." he whispers to himself like a mantra, stomach tightening. "I can't....not now..." he says, desperately lumbering forward and trying to drive a heady pipe shot straight to Makari's head.
COMBATSYS: Makari endures Brett's Power Strike.
[ \\\\\\\\\ < > /////// ]
Brett 1/-----==/=======|===----\-------\0 Makari
Makari steps forward, dragging in a deep breath, willing his arms to stop shaking from the exertion of the Red Storm. "You are falling apart," he admonishes through his teeth, rearing back and hurling his head into the pipe.
There is a sharp crack. Red blood begins to flow freely down Makari's face, staining his blonde hair. The big man's hands come out of his cloak, his axes in his hand. Nikita, the one engraved with the face of a snarling wolf, reaches to hook at the waist of Brett's clothing. Viktor, the bear, comes up under his striking armpit.
"Was that truly all you had? Can you look at yourself and feel as though you have done your best?! IS THIS WHERE YOU STOP?!?"
He lets out a shout and /lifts/, trying to use Nikita as a pivot to hurl Brett back down to the ground. Makari's vision blurs, and he closes his left eye as blood drips into it, obscuring half of his sight. "Up," he growls. "You hear the whispers as well, yes? Ignore them. They have no body. There is no will behind them." He glances at the sphere, contempt in his face. "They are /weak,/" he spits, ejecting another stream of blood at the Sphere's direction, more to reject the Sphere for himself than out of anything else.
COMBATSYS: Brett fails to interrupt Medium Throw from Makari with Hurricane Check EX.
[ \\\\\\\\ <
Makari 0/-------/----===|
COMBATSYS: Brett can no longer fight.
[ \\\\\\\\ <
Makari 0/-------/----===|
The strike across Makari's head managed to hit flush...but only because the man willed it, it seems, taking it to prove a point to Brett. And at his shout, Brett tries to muster up what was left of him as the attempted grab happened. His pipe raised up, trying to smash into Makari's face before he could be flipped over and slammed hard down onto the ground. But instead, he's hurled over, driven down before he could do a thing.
And despite all the attempts of Makari to tell him otherwise, the only thing Brett could think before he completely blacked out was: FAILURE.
He failed to prove himself worthy to carry the thing, to hold the burden, to even win a fight when it actually mattered....the despaire of failure.
The Russian sees the final strike coming, but what must be understood is that while Makari lives for the fight regardless of victory or defeat and wants nothing more than to make his opponents stronger... he also knows that it is a cruelty to hold back. He does not flinch as the pipe comes streaking in at his unprotected face and completes the pattern as Vongault, old master of axes, taught him.
The silence of the abandoned market creeps back in, and Makari stands, returning his axes to their straps, blood dripping onto the ice. He crouches down over the unconscious hockist and unceremoniously shoves him into a more comfortable lying position - the least he can do.
"It is not wrong to feel shame for this," he says to nobody awake, standing and pulling the Damascus steel sabre, Maksimillian, to dilligently wipe blood from its length. "Take it into you. Use the shame. Push yourself into being a man for whom that shame will mean nothing, one day." He reaches back and grasps the hood of his cloak, Maksimillian severing it from the rest of the garment effortlessly. "Victory is built upon many losses, yes? It is something my father said to me once."
Makari moves to the Sphere, scowling down at it. He does not touch it with bare skin - he holds the hood open with his left hand and shoves the sphere in roughly with his gauntleted right, pulling a leather thong off his weapon harness to cinch the makeshift bag shut.
"It is self-destructive to carry a burden that grows too heavy. I will bear this for a time. We will see if it grows too heavy for me, da? I will let you know how this works out."
Makari Maksimilian's legs pump, and he leaps back onto the roof he came in on, twisting a finger into his ear against the cruel words that now follow him. He stalks off, looking for some red meat and a nap.
Log created on 15:33:53 09/15/2014 by Makari, and last modified on 19:40:29 09/15/2014.