[ heine is pretty sure this has to be the worst fucking way to die: taken out by a vampire wearing a pair of devil horns, while he himself is dressed as some stupid combination of mummy and werewolf, the furry ears long since abandoned to the ghosts of the second-floor hallway and the bandages starting to unravel from his torso. there's an already-healing scratch on his forearm, cutting from wrist nearly to elbow in the shape of one of midnight's fangs; his hip aches from where he ran into a doorknob earlier, and he's fairly sure one of his knuckles is broken.
all this, when heine didn't even mean to be here. it's enough to piss a guy off, and on top of that heine's pretty sure if he dies tonight badou will resurrect him early just to kill him again.
so he fights, although not with everything he has. heine's still not clear on exactly what midnight means when he says durable, and he doesn't want tonight to be the night he finds out. but he fights, twisting the strap of his overalls free of midnight's grasping hand and then flinging himself through the space between midnight's legs, along the floor until he pops up on the other side in search of a weapon of some kind. something like a club—a chair leg, maybe, something he could use to knock midnight out without doing lethal damage.
in his head, the dog: you always try so fucking hard not to use the strength you were given. live a little, won't you? master. ]
cannonballs into your inbox and makes you write a fight scene
all this, when heine didn't even mean to be here. it's enough to piss a guy off, and on top of that heine's pretty sure if he dies tonight badou will resurrect him early just to kill him again.
so he fights, although not with everything he has. heine's still not clear on exactly what midnight means when he says durable, and he doesn't want tonight to be the night he finds out. but he fights, twisting the strap of his overalls free of midnight's grasping hand and then flinging himself through the space between midnight's legs, along the floor until he pops up on the other side in search of a weapon of some kind. something like a club—a chair leg, maybe, something he could use to knock midnight out without doing lethal damage.
in his head, the dog: you always try so fucking hard not to use the strength you were given. live a little, won't you? master. ]
Fuck off fuck off fuck—off.