[ Bruises upon bruises, favoring his right ankle over the left, the remnants of a chain wrapped slack around one wrist - scraps of flesh clinging to the spaces between a trio of links ( someone's ear? part of their cheek? ), the imprint of teeth upon his knuckles. Blood dripping down his nose, into the creases between his leering, sharp teeth and over his chin. Mamoru cannot see him, but scarlet-haired Set is a equally a scarlet mess.
What he has been visiting upon the hissing crowd and their handful of favored champions has been humiliation and degredation, his laughter shrill and mocking as he's clawed and bitten and cheated his way through a handful of fights. He'd even flung someone who'd tried to snag him with a catch-pole into the stands and demanded they take him seriously -- and it was then that the mood truly began to sour. Someone decried something about his being a madman, another pair of souls uttering words of concern -- He's going to die in there, if they don't stop him? / Honey, I think that's what he wants.
And finally, another opponent enters the ring. They throw him more meat, more bone, more pain to use to rip away at his thoughts and give in to the violence, the chaos of breaking an arm over his knee and sneering into the screaming face of an opponent who was less a combatant and more of a cleaner. Unrestrained, unhinged. And beautiful, in his ferality. Red hair flows, blood heavy and tacky at the ends, sticking the length of it together as he wheels on his toes towards the new voice, the new aggressor he may set himself upon.
Who needs wild animals, when the originator of bloodsport is in the ring? ]
That depends. Are you capable of entertaining me?
[ His voice is a nasty little hiss, the echoes of discord and disorder reverberating.
He takes a single step forward, and falls upon Mamoru in a flash. ]
no subject
What he has been visiting upon the hissing crowd and their handful of favored champions has been humiliation and degredation, his laughter shrill and mocking as he's clawed and bitten and cheated his way through a handful of fights. He'd even flung someone who'd tried to snag him with a catch-pole into the stands and demanded they take him seriously -- and it was then that the mood truly began to sour. Someone decried something about his being a madman, another pair of souls uttering words of concern -- He's going to die in there, if they don't stop him? / Honey, I think that's what he wants.
And finally, another opponent enters the ring. They throw him more meat, more bone, more pain to use to rip away at his thoughts and give in to the violence, the chaos of breaking an arm over his knee and sneering into the screaming face of an opponent who was less a combatant and more of a cleaner. Unrestrained, unhinged. And beautiful, in his ferality. Red hair flows, blood heavy and tacky at the ends, sticking the length of it together as he wheels on his toes towards the new voice, the new aggressor he may set himself upon.
Who needs wild animals, when the originator of bloodsport is in the ring? ]
That depends. Are you capable of entertaining me?
[ His voice is a nasty little hiss, the echoes of discord and disorder reverberating.
He takes a single step forward, and falls upon Mamoru in a flash. ]