[egotistical moron. his laughter grates on his ears. thinking he's superior to him without knowing a damn thing. he could bring this entire resort around him to its knees if he wanted. poison and corrupt it even further than it already was until its very heart was left open to rip into. someone like this who glances behind because an ugly threat took residence beneath a set o innocents wouldn't allow something like that so easily. protection. defender. justice. concern. some stupid emotion spurs him on despite that flippant attitude. not because he thinks he should, but because his ego says he can. would he do so, all to ensure this one person he knows nothing about stopped laughing? ... the real questions is, why wouldn't he?
fingers curl in the air and a *fwshink!* of flashing darkness and light twisted around a metallic sound reveals a gear-themed blade appearing within his grip. despite his irritation over it, he already found out his keyblade lacks its biting edge. literally. he can't cut anyone, can't stab anyone, even hitting someone with it does little more damage than smacking them with a stupid toy. but that's all right. he can accept this place's abject fear of "weapon!" when it so foolishly seems not to care about the rest of his abilities. a few seem to be limited and contained within the scope of this place, needling him under a net of curbed power. guess this isn't a bad idea to test how far he can push what he has.]
I like it better when you're frustrated. [and smashes his blade down on the edge of the table, right between the other man's spread legs. if he catches his pants on the tip of his keyblade, so much the better. he hadn't been aiming for him in the first place. solid impact and strength crush the table's front legs beneath it and hike its backside upward with groan of wood. plastic chips and playing cards shower past his "partner's" head and shoulders as the entire table sweeps towards his back in attempt to flip atop him. simultaneously blurring out in front of those glassy blue eyes, he vanishes, only to reappear behind the rotating table mid-flip, body crouched, knees bent, both arms hauling back with his keyblade jacked up over his shoulder. WHAM!! his swing connects with the table's underside with every intent of sending table and man hurtling through the air towards the bar of fancy drinks they'd initially been aiming towards. what'll become if the bartender? who the hell cares. die, hopefully.
accompanied by a going-away present: a roaring trio of flaming orbs fired from the tip of his keyblade to drive his point home. of course it gets attention, people twisting in their seats, standing up in alarm, staff members perking from their stations. darkness builds up around his body and seeps outward in shadowy mist, movement bubbling and boiling inside the blackening air as no less than three monsters begin to form and crawl from his shadows.] Come on. I know that wasn't enough to dent you.
[lucky for this bastard, he has no intention of siccing the unversed on him. he wants every drop of his attention, wants to know how he feels while locked in combat as everything else around him begins to erupts in chaos. what kind of ego does he have? is he really concerned with other people, or is that a farce for show? easily ignoring the suffering of others? lost in the thrill of challenging a strong opponent? arrogance, distraction, frustration, anguish, he'll feast on those negative emotions brimming in his heart. show him what kind of "hero" you are, idiot. keep him entertained until he's had his fill!]
no subject
fingers curl in the air and a *fwshink!* of flashing darkness and light twisted around a metallic sound reveals a gear-themed blade appearing within his grip. despite his irritation over it, he already found out his keyblade lacks its biting edge. literally. he can't cut anyone, can't stab anyone, even hitting someone with it does little more damage than smacking them with a stupid toy. but that's all right. he can accept this place's abject fear of "weapon!" when it so foolishly seems not to care about the rest of his abilities. a few seem to be limited and contained within the scope of this place, needling him under a net of curbed power. guess this isn't a bad idea to test how far he can push what he has.]
I like it better when you're frustrated. [and smashes his blade down on the edge of the table, right between the other man's spread legs. if he catches his pants on the tip of his keyblade, so much the better. he hadn't been aiming for him in the first place. solid impact and strength crush the table's front legs beneath it and hike its backside upward with groan of wood. plastic chips and playing cards shower past his "partner's" head and shoulders as the entire table sweeps towards his back in attempt to flip atop him. simultaneously blurring out in front of those glassy blue eyes, he vanishes, only to reappear behind the rotating table mid-flip, body crouched, knees bent, both arms hauling back with his keyblade jacked up over his shoulder. WHAM!! his swing connects with the table's underside with every intent of sending table and man hurtling through the air towards the bar of fancy drinks they'd initially been aiming towards. what'll become if the bartender? who the hell cares. die, hopefully.
accompanied by a going-away present: a roaring trio of flaming orbs fired from the tip of his keyblade to drive his point home. of course it gets attention, people twisting in their seats, standing up in alarm, staff members perking from their stations. darkness builds up around his body and seeps outward in shadowy mist, movement bubbling and boiling inside the blackening air as no less than three monsters begin to form and crawl from his shadows.] Come on. I know that wasn't enough to dent you.
[lucky for this bastard, he has no intention of siccing the unversed on him. he wants every drop of his attention, wants to know how he feels while locked in combat as everything else around him begins to erupts in chaos. what kind of ego does he have? is he really concerned with other people, or is that a farce for show? easily ignoring the suffering of others? lost in the thrill of challenging a strong opponent? arrogance, distraction, frustration, anguish, he'll feast on those negative emotions brimming in his heart. show him what kind of "hero" you are, idiot. keep him entertained until he's had his fill!]