Ebris hadn’t planned on getting caught up in a rodeo with an ejection seat, but rath, you couldn’t say he didn’t know how to adapt.
With the initial jerk, the entire plan had been set into motion, shoddy math and all. Whatever kind of system that kept the chair from free falling just wasn’t up to the task of denying the bounty scum his prize. His grappling hook’s tether certainly whined more than the fairy Jimbo he’d pummeled in the last tournament due to the stress, but he knew it’d hold. Ebris had always seen to that his gear met the specs he desired, as a point of failure during his day-to-day activity of smashing and bagging Jimbos could take a nasty turn.
Chuckling harshly, Ebris started to give himself a mental pat on the back while glancing up at the plummeting Jimbo, when he noticed something off. In particular, that his shoddy, grodpacked math had been a bit more off than he had realized.
”SUMBITCH,” was the particular surprised exclamation of choice, and Ebris, now fully cognizant of what was happening, realized that the chair was going to come crashing down on top of his pretty head. Moreover, he was able to suss out that the device was moving a bit too fast for it to just be from his own efforts. So fast, that with some more of his exemplar mathematical skills, he had about 5.7 seconds before he got cratered. That earned an even larger SUMBITCH, and Ebris began to twist back around, looking to disengage the grapple from the chair and either dodge or try to out-impact the thing.
Single-minded as he was, Ebris leaned towards the latter, but something else decided to throw a wrench into his plans. He blinked as he felt something light yet considerably forceful plant itself upon his hunched back, just as the seat was reaching its nadir. He barely had enough time to glance up and witness some stringy, chicken-a** leg snap out and kick the rathin’ seat out of the sky, sending it off into the distance to Throne knew where. This sudden reprieve allowed the bounty hunter to disengage his hook from the chair with another odd hand gesture - he didn’t want to get ragdolled along with the chair Jimbo as he took his magical journey elsewhere - and began to pull back to his left, righting his frame all the while.
Then, like some sort of gymnast who had decided anadrol was the primary part of her diet, the Jimbette from earlier landed in front of him. She grinned like the cat had eaten the rathin’ canary, and Ebris had a hunch what was gonna happen next, open as he was.
WHUD
The girlie’s knee connected solidly, and she’d likely notice that the sensation was similar to striking a lead wall padded with meat. Still, Ebris’ entire body jerked with the motion - the left knee having struck the right side of the scum’s rising mug, forcing his attempt at rising into an even more violent movement. The force could have taken someone’s clean off their shoulders, and it forced the old man to take a step back to brace himself, left leg stamping down.
There was a pause, giving the Jimbette time to land and give herself her own mental pat on the back.
Then Ebris turned right around, slow but purposeful, and it’d be then that the Jimbette would begin to regret the life choices that led her to that very moment.
**”Ah rathin’ felt that, broad,”** Ebris stated with his own terrifying grin, bloodied up as it was, and then spat at her.
Flinching often came as a natural reaction to having something thrown in your face, especially if it came as a surprise. Aeons of instinct hammered that reaction into your rathin’ hindbrain. Bloody spit was decent enough, but when a giant molar, knocked loose as it were from the prior hit, was added to the mix? Well, flinching seemed like a mighty fine choice, as usually people don’t fancy impromptu projectiles finding their way into their eye.
A flinch. A simple muscle reaction. If it happened, it’d all Ebris would need.
THUD
Far, far faster than anything the size of that man had the right to be, Ebris moved. His right food stepped in, the impact causing cracks to spiderweb their way out across the asphalt around his boot. His whole body moved with the gesture, his left foot pivoting while the other side thundered forward, waist jerking counterclockwise with the motion. The clenched right fist that followed was retribution of the highest order, preparing to initiate the Jimbette into the sacred order of chumps who had all had the misfortune of deciding that it was a good idea to fight Ebris Dhifi. It was aimed right for the solar plexus, and carried enough force behind it to cause sympathy pains to erupt mysteriously through several jaded veterans of such encounters across the globe.
And if it hit?
Well, it certainly wouldn’t be all too pleasant.
Darkest Silver Wrote:
Trexasle Wrote:
