[M] - those who live are those who fight

Sicarus de Ericeto · 01-21-2010, 11:20 PM

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Word Count: 405

In Character

Sicarus was sore. There was a fresh wound across his chest, dangerously close to the pallid fur over his neck. The tawny-furred man was pissed off—Inferni had not only committed an offense against his leader, one of their own had escaped his claws. He'd had her; her blood had bubbled up over his claws and her flesh had crumpled beneath his fists. The man should have had her; he should have exterminated her than and there on the borders. Her head should have been sitting on a pike back at Dahlia de Mai—that would certainly show those coyote scum. If the rest of them were the size and strength of that puny little girl, the clan was finished—finished—when Sicarus de Ericeto got there.

As usual, Sicarus was in his optime form—the wounds restricted his motion just a tad much in his four-legged forms, not that he liked to use them much anyway. Today he was in his full attire, the burgundy cloak pulled tightly around his form. With the neck-strings knotted, the man's still painful wound was hardly even visible. Today was different, though—Sicarus had found in the bowels of their new dwelling a rather interesting implement. It seemed to have been made entirely for the purpose of beating things. There was a handle down near the bottom, covered with rotting and corroded tape of some sort, and it thickened into a rather nice, blunt structure. It was quite long, and Sicarus carried it over his shoulder, the dull wheat-colored wood of the thing obscenely obvious against the deep reddish purple of his robes.

The werewolf carried along after his friend, headed in the direction of the enemy's borders once again. Sicarus was not scared; he was angry. He did not know fear. The man was ready to smash some skulls, and the other canine's question brought a snort from him, sending a sliver of pain through the man's body. "I hope so. I'd like to smash her head to pulp," Sicarus replied. "Little bitch," he added as an afterthought. "I had her, Kai-man. I had her and that big fucker showed up," the werewolf growled, again annoyed at his failure to destroy at least a part of the clan. The gleaming white of the clan's perimeter bibelots came into view up ahead. They were worthless, meaningless! Sicarus growled at the mere sight of them, his arms itching to smash them to little pieces.

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