10-12-2015, 09:06 PM
"Fucking shit, man..."
It had been way too long since he'd been shot with...well, y'know...actual bullets. And it hurt. It had only been a graze, and luckily hadn't struck bone or left a souvenir hanging around lodged in his flesh, but that didn't stop it from tearing a hole through his hoodie and letting blood flow freely. It was a miracle he'd managed to even graze mean green revolver man, with the steadily-throbbing ache in his shoulder messing with his aim.
And now he was being mocked by some fuck who looked like he just crawled out of the snow. It was more than irritating. It was downright infuriating.
"Real fuckin' neato, there, mean green bean," he shouted in return, keeping his aim steady on the barricade Ballad had ducked behind. "You're still breathin', yeah, but shit, so am I. And guess what, Paul Bunyan? I'm two for four here. You're one for four." He couldn't help the mocking tone that crept into his words as he continued. "So I guess we BOTH suck with our weapons, huh?"
He slowly floated out from behind cover, keeping his aim steady, and hovered forward, several inches above the ground. He was moving along at a fairly rapid pace, hoping to get an edge in his mostly soundless form of movement and get in closer to ensure his aim wouldn't fuck up from distance again.
"So lemme ask you a thing here, shooty mcstraybullet," he called out, dropping his steadying hand from his rifle holding it palm outward at the barricade. His aim wavered, and wasn't quite so steady anymore...but he was fairly confident he could still make the shot if Mean Green popped his scarf-wearing ass out of cover to take another shot. "You're over there badmouthin' MY aim and everything. But what about you? You're the one who had the bright idea to bring a sidearm as your main weapon, Jolly Green, so whassat say about you? Nothing good, y'know..."
He trailed off from his insults and bent his mind to focusing. He flexed his fingers into a loose fist, as if grabbing something tightly. The air just above and behind the barricade, relative to Adam's viewpoint, started to rapidly grow warmer, and there is a faint, almost sub-audible whine as the natural reaction struggles to assert itself over Adam's controlling influence.
Having clued in to something being up by Adam's sudden silence, Ballad poked his head around the corner out of cover again. A swift laser bolt arcing past his face sent him back into cover. He had already caught on to Adam being up to something, with the strange look of focus on the kid's face. He didn't know what, but it couldn't be good. He had only two shots left, so he needed to make them count...
He took a deep breath and then turned and darted the other way, springing out of cover on the opposite side of the barricade. His revolver came up, there was the crack of a gunshot, and then he was literally blasted off his feet as the air above him exploded.
Adam meanwhile let out a resounding "FUCK!" and was soundly relieved of his rifle, the hand wielding it suffering a direct hit and his jerk of pain sending the weapon flying out of his grasp, end over end and well out of reach. He hit the ground with a thud, his focus on maintaining his airborne status wrecked by the IMMENSE FUCKING PAIN in his hand. He opted to half-crawl and scramble toward the nearest cover, hoping against hope that mean green was too busy being on fire or dazed or something to put a bullet in his back as he did so.
It had been way too long since he'd been shot with...well, y'know...actual bullets. And it hurt. It had only been a graze, and luckily hadn't struck bone or left a souvenir hanging around lodged in his flesh, but that didn't stop it from tearing a hole through his hoodie and letting blood flow freely. It was a miracle he'd managed to even graze mean green revolver man, with the steadily-throbbing ache in his shoulder messing with his aim.
And now he was being mocked by some fuck who looked like he just crawled out of the snow. It was more than irritating. It was downright infuriating.
"Real fuckin' neato, there, mean green bean," he shouted in return, keeping his aim steady on the barricade Ballad had ducked behind. "You're still breathin', yeah, but shit, so am I. And guess what, Paul Bunyan? I'm two for four here. You're one for four." He couldn't help the mocking tone that crept into his words as he continued. "So I guess we BOTH suck with our weapons, huh?"
He slowly floated out from behind cover, keeping his aim steady, and hovered forward, several inches above the ground. He was moving along at a fairly rapid pace, hoping to get an edge in his mostly soundless form of movement and get in closer to ensure his aim wouldn't fuck up from distance again.
"So lemme ask you a thing here, shooty mcstraybullet," he called out, dropping his steadying hand from his rifle holding it palm outward at the barricade. His aim wavered, and wasn't quite so steady anymore...but he was fairly confident he could still make the shot if Mean Green popped his scarf-wearing ass out of cover to take another shot. "You're over there badmouthin' MY aim and everything. But what about you? You're the one who had the bright idea to bring a sidearm as your main weapon, Jolly Green, so whassat say about you? Nothing good, y'know..."
He trailed off from his insults and bent his mind to focusing. He flexed his fingers into a loose fist, as if grabbing something tightly. The air just above and behind the barricade, relative to Adam's viewpoint, started to rapidly grow warmer, and there is a faint, almost sub-audible whine as the natural reaction struggles to assert itself over Adam's controlling influence.
Having clued in to something being up by Adam's sudden silence, Ballad poked his head around the corner out of cover again. A swift laser bolt arcing past his face sent him back into cover. He had already caught on to Adam being up to something, with the strange look of focus on the kid's face. He didn't know what, but it couldn't be good. He had only two shots left, so he needed to make them count...
He took a deep breath and then turned and darted the other way, springing out of cover on the opposite side of the barricade. His revolver came up, there was the crack of a gunshot, and then he was literally blasted off his feet as the air above him exploded.
Adam meanwhile let out a resounding "FUCK!" and was soundly relieved of his rifle, the hand wielding it suffering a direct hit and his jerk of pain sending the weapon flying out of his grasp, end over end and well out of reach. He hit the ground with a thud, his focus on maintaining his airborne status wrecked by the IMMENSE FUCKING PAIN in his hand. He opted to half-crawl and scramble toward the nearest cover, hoping against hope that mean green was too busy being on fire or dazed or something to put a bullet in his back as he did so.
![[Image: kUpgBYg.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/kUpgBYg.gif)