Sh1TsTicKs
I'm not going to make ya'll (Prospective role-players) dig. I'll throw examples below here. glances around. HELP!
Sh1TsTicKs
Cross doesn't jump when the guardian of negativity appears beside him out of thin air, but he's willing to acknowledge the way his soul lurches in his chest in it's surprise.
There's immediately an obvious tension in his shoulders, his steps faltering for a moment before adjusting to Nightmare's speed.
"My King." Was his polite greeting, dipping his head even as they walked.
He doesn't make himself smaller, even as the guardians aura demands he shrink and hide. It's.. difficult. But he thinks it's more respectful than cowering like a dog in the face of your ruler.
If his shoulders drop an inch at the dismissal of his efforts, well. Nightmare definitely notices. But he hopes he doesn't bring it up.
"I.. apologise. Sir. If you have any suggestions I'll be sure to include them in tomorrow's training, should it please you." He offered, fighting the urge to look to the ground as he kept his gaze on the boss.
He does jump when he feels the sensation of a tentacle pressing against his throat, however.
It's weird. But it's Nightmare. So he doesn't comment on it. (He could, if he wanted his throat ripped out.)
His mind races a hundred miles a minute. Was Nightmare killing him? Was it with Error's permission? Did Nightmare care about the wrath of the destroyer? Or did he merely see the rented soldier as another toy to play war with?
It slips away before he can settle on a conclusion, and he watches it fall back into its resting state with a slight frown tugging at his teeth.
"... Can I help you, my king?" He eventually asks, hopefully taking the hint. He didn't know *why* Nightmare had sought him out. But if he was lucky it would merely be a surprise mission, and not some disastrous torture for the crime of.. not working out enough. Perhaps offering his services would lessen any distaste the god held for him. Or maybe he was overthinking things, and Nightmare simply liked bothering a part of the team as much as Killer did.
Sh1TsTicKs
this message may be
offensive
Cross isn't freaking out on the inside at all. He's not worried that he's going to die over some stupid deal that he got f#cked over with. And he's not definitely not pissed off at the way his opponent tilts his head, like he's a curious little cat figuring out how he ticks.
Killer reacts frustratingly fast. When Cross throws his fist he completely misses his mark, hitting the other's arms in what would likely leave a nasty bruise at most.
He doesn't know why he's off his game. Why he let his guard down, even a little bit. But he's paying the price for it now.
His follow-up punch is thrown with his entire weight behind it, aimed for the shoulder (knock it out. Watch it dust. Hope Killer's not ambidextrous.).
Instead his momentum is used against him and he's grabbed by his coat and swung.
(Sometimes it wasn't good to be made of bone, when you were so easily thrown around. There was only so much weight that layers of clothes could add on.)
His body hits the ground, and although he turns it into more of a roll than a collision, he's acutely aware that he's so fucking dead if he doesn't up his game.
He's not too prideful to admit when he's unfit for a situation, and frankly he doesn't know how to behave around other skeletons.
"Piss off!" He barks, frustration in his tone. He wants to grab his gun and shoot, it's the easiest way to end things, but he's too close to the other, and on the fucking ground. He was at a disadvantage.
Well. He could even the playing fields, he supposed.
It's easy to lunge for the other. It's less easy to yank him to the ground, but he tries his damned hardest.
He's forgotten he can teleport in the heat of the moment.
