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Post by Shooku on Apr 22, 2011 10:39:47 GMT -8
((Sorry for being slow orz))
At the feel of Ben's hands prying at his mouth, the serpent angrily clamped his beak down even harder on the others frame, the serrated iron struggling to bite into the copper of his enemy's artificial bones. Twisting his body around and spreading his legs for balance, Serration brought his tail up toward Benjamin, claws ready to-
The machine flinched when the large blade suddenly sliced into his neck, cutting open his burlap skin. His jaws involuntarily pulled away from Benjamin and gaped to release a screech of pain, shock, and fury. The wounded guard shook his head, trying to rid his neck of the sting the knife had caused, when the realization that he'd dropped his quarry worked itself into his mind. Hissing in irritation with himself, he plunged his clawed tail down at the likely position of the doll, hoping to grab him before he hit the ground.
He couldn't let down his ally, after all.
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Post by ‹ kˆ†eworth › on Apr 25, 2011 10:56:03 GMT -8
< 226 Benjamin - to persecute us >
Ohhh, how he wanted to wipe that expression off of Don's face and scrape his feet in it! The tall doll huffed painfully and kept his optics on the doll approaching them, feeling that unfamiliar rush of panic rise up again at his predicament. The only visual indication of this was given in the twitch of one optic, unfairly ruining his infuriated glare. He opened his mouth to give Don a retort--
--"AGH!" He'd tried, he'd tried so hard to hold onto his dignity and endure the machine's teeth in silence but THAT SPARKING HURT-- he yanked his copper hand out of the once-existing space between his shoulder and Serration's jaws, a few of the frailly-attached finger joints breaking off to stay in the thing's mouth.
It hadn't really been immediately required, though - for as soon as he got his hand free, the machine reacted to his knife as it worried in its neck. The sudden lack of sharp and pointy teeth dug into his fabric was a relief only temporarily - the ground was the next opponent, and it ran into him with painful force (cursed long legs, only helpful when falling from a distance not too long and not too short!). Not only that, but his fall had only been partially interrupted by the machine's claws; one had managed to catch him in the thigh and even now it scraped against the frame there.
What bad luck that it was his head to have struck the ground. He lay there, dazed, for what must have been many seconds, before his head snapped itself back on; he knew Don would be coming; he could almost laugh - how funny it was, that a battle could turn tides so often and in such a short amount of time!
The tall ragdoll flew into motion, restricted as he was by Serration's claw, and reached over his head for his knife, which had been dropped when he fell and luckily lay within arm's reach. With smooth movement practiced for years, he flipped the knife over himself and swiped it forcefully in Don's direction, at about the level his legs would be - and even assuming he had come close enough.
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Post by ♫ e s h e ♪ on Apr 29, 2011 12:53:56 GMT -8
The moment Benjamin hit the ground, a sinister grin snaked itself onto Don's face. His enemy, having been so strong and intimidating when first they met, was now more resembling of a sack of ripped fabric; an exuding fountain of oil. Raising his blade, Don sauntered toward Benjamin's dazed form, figuring he might as well finish off the pathetic executioner. Was he feeling it now? The fear that every one of his enemies should feel before they were silenced beneath his blade? Don could only hope.
"You thought you stood a chance, didn't you?" Don sneered as he drew closer, words dripping with relish. "Well this is what happens to those who make themselves my enemy. You came alone, and now you will die alone. I don't see anyone rushing in to rescue you." He laughed. "I doubt anyone will miss you, when you're gone."
Don stood above Benjamin now, convinced and oh so locked on the frailness of Benjamin's appearance that he didn't expect any sort of retaliation. He raised his blade, cocking it in the air for a moment. Then Benjamin's body moved, not in sluggish defeat, but in nimble desperation. Don could only emit a cracked, broken curse before the steak knife collided with his legs. He hadn't had any time to retreat, so the impact was jarring, as was his sudden reunion with the ground.
His senses were all but drowned out for a moment when the agony of his legs made itself present in his mind. He bit his lower lip, trying to smother the pained groan that oozed from his voice box as he attempted to move himself away from Benjamin. Something had been either broken or bent. Don couldn't tell which it was. Optics focusing blearily up at Serration's reared form, Don extended an arm up toward the machine. Instead of an order, a curt whimper escaped his voicebox. ". . . help."
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