The fact that he would wind up facing Striker again one day hadn't escaped Blitzø's thoughts since he'd last beaten the other imp to protect Fizz. It was pretty fucking clear that Striker was carrying a grudge now and after the number of times Blitzø had handed the other hitman his tail, he could hardly blame him.
He would just have preferred it to be at a time that suited him more than this. But alone and without any clear advantage was probably exactly what Striker was after, and exactly what Blitzø had been trying to avoid. He remembered just as well as Striker likely did that during the tournament where they'd first competed, Striker had been stronger overall. In a one-on-one fight, Blitzø didn't imagine he'd come out as well as he had in the past.
So this? Both of them facing off in Wrath, all red dirt and fucking open space and nowhere for him to get easy cover or anything for him to use to his advantage? Fucking sucks.
"The fuck are you waiting for, asshole? I know you've been begging for a chance to get at me, so fucking make a move already!"
The bad taste left in his mouth by their latest encounter was as tart as vinegar and the mouthful of defeat he had to swallow went down as smooth as broken glass. Even now, standing on a terrain that is both advantageous and preferable, he feels the subtle simmering of his rage threating to boil over just beneath the surface. Everything in him is pulled taut, like a rubber band on the very of snapping.
Ever the consummate professional, however, he manages to leash it long enough for a telltale smirk to bloom across his mouth.
Time waits for no man, if he is going to settle the score once and for all then this is the battlefield to do it on. Backup won't be coming to assist him today, he made certain of that. At the question he tips his hat low over his eyes, one hand sliding down to his waist so he can idly drum his fingers against the rope at his hip. The whole stage is set like something straight out of an old spaghetti western—without the tumbleweeds.
"What's your rush, Blitz? No one got your back today? Real shame, that, just means we've got all the time in the world. I'm gonna enjoy this."
Blitzø is well aware that this is exactly like some stupid fucking cowboy schtick, and therefore exactly Striker's scene, because apparently he can't even have a fucking horse riding lesson now without needing to keep his guard up. He was only grateful that apparently they both understood that involving the horses themselves was Too Far and this had ended up somewhere else.
The downside of that was that there was sweet fuck all for him beyond a lot of sand, which yeah he could use that a bit but there's only so much throwing shit in someone's face will get you. So that left the backup plan, which was also usually the only plan: irritate the shit out of Striker and hope that he fucked up enough for him to get an opening.
"Christ on a stick you're a needy fucker. Are you still mad that I didn't take your deal and fuck you like you wanted back at the Harvest Moon Festival?"
His gaze flicks over Striker and, without warning, Blitzø throws himself towards the other imp. "Come to daddy, bitch!"
Why in the hell is it always a sex thing with these guys? There's a moment where his expression briefly shifts into something reminiscent of here we go again before he slips back into character and cracks his neck, gesturing for Blitzø to make the first move. One of them isn't going to be walking away from this particular encounter and he's confidant the victory will be his.
"Dust on the wind, deal's old news."
When he lunges, he is there to meet him, tilting his face down to sneer into his. A quick sidestep keeps him from getting barreled into as he grabs a fistful of his coat and throws his weight into an attempt to pin Blitzø to the ground. He hasn't even gone for his own weapons yet, grinning like the cat that got the canary. Oh, he's got a plan this time and he'll enact his retribution viciously.
"No, I'm keen on livin' and the word 'round here? Says you bring Death with you. Hell of a thing to do to the ones who care about you, ain't it?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Striker {savors}
He would just have preferred it to be at a time that suited him more than this. But alone and without any clear advantage was probably exactly what Striker was after, and exactly what Blitzø had been trying to avoid. He remembered just as well as Striker likely did that during the tournament where they'd first competed, Striker had been stronger overall. In a one-on-one fight, Blitzø didn't imagine he'd come out as well as he had in the past.
So this? Both of them facing off in Wrath, all red dirt and fucking open space and nowhere for him to get easy cover or anything for him to use to his advantage? Fucking sucks.
"The fuck are you waiting for, asshole? I know you've been begging for a chance to get at me, so fucking make a move already!"
oh you gon savor something
Ever the consummate professional, however, he manages to leash it long enough for a telltale smirk to bloom across his mouth.
Time waits for no man, if he is going to settle the score once and for all then this is the battlefield to do it on. Backup won't be coming to assist him today, he made certain of that. At the question he tips his hat low over his eyes, one hand sliding down to his waist so he can idly drum his fingers against the rope at his hip. The whole stage is set like something straight out of an old spaghetti western—without the tumbleweeds.
"What's your rush, Blitz? No one got your back today? Real shame, that, just means we've got all the time in the world. I'm gonna enjoy this."
no subject
The downside of that was that there was sweet fuck all for him beyond a lot of sand, which yeah he could use that a bit but there's only so much throwing shit in someone's face will get you. So that left the backup plan, which was also usually the only plan: irritate the shit out of Striker and hope that he fucked up enough for him to get an opening.
"Christ on a stick you're a needy fucker. Are you still mad that I didn't take your deal and fuck you like you wanted back at the Harvest Moon Festival?"
His gaze flicks over Striker and, without warning, Blitzø throws himself towards the other imp. "Come to daddy, bitch!"
no subject
"Dust on the wind, deal's old news."
When he lunges, he is there to meet him, tilting his face down to sneer into his. A quick sidestep keeps him from getting barreled into as he grabs a fistful of his coat and throws his weight into an attempt to pin Blitzø to the ground. He hasn't even gone for his own weapons yet, grinning like the cat that got the canary. Oh, he's got a plan this time and he'll enact his retribution viciously.
"No, I'm keen on livin' and the word 'round here? Says you bring Death with you. Hell of a thing to do to the ones who care about you, ain't it?"