|
|
Post by chelsey on Sept 18, 2012 21:45:46 GMT -6
"Are you fucking kidding me?" the feline jast spat as she was shoved to her knees. The man that was holding her arms had obviously never been taught how to properly touch a woman, as his grip was firm and hurting in all of the wrong places. His mits were firmly securely clamped on the wrong part of her shoulders, she could easily wiggle to freedom; if it were not for the fact that the man in front of her had the barrel of a shotgun pressed to her massive chest. He made sure to make it as demeaning as possible by shoving it in between her breasts. She let out a loud hiss when she felt the chilled metal slide between her cleavage. "A bastard as well as a perv, how exciting." she added coolly as she tried to fiddle with the locks on her wrists. Where were all of these fuckers getting these power inhibiting cuffs these days? Did they give them away to every dipshit who asked for one? She shoved one of her claws into the lock, attempting to fiddle around with the tumble. She continued to make snide comments towards the man with the shotgun, who introduced himself only as "Viper", which in itself, was a little more than ironic for a jast hunter. Chels could tell that the man was beginning to lose his patience with her as his tone became more violent and his shotgun move from in between her boobs to her forehead.
"Scared yet, kitty?" the hunter mused as his friends joined him for a good, maniacal laugh. Chelsey rolled her eyes. "Not particularly, halfbreed." she replied with a bemused expression on her face. Quite frankly, she was more than tired with the current situation. She wanted to go home, back to the ship she had been calling home for several years now. She was gonna curl up in her own private quarters and sleep for as long as she fucking wanted. Now, all she had to do was deal with these bozos and be on her merry way. Though from the look of things, they weren't terribly keen on letting the frigid paperjast go. The man with the shotgun seemed to be particularly wounded by the fact she had outed his secret as only a halfbreed. The man's other two men exchanged looks, before looking at their leader. The shotgun man sneered and whacked her in the face with the side of the barrel. Her head whipped around with the shotgun and blood flecked all over the ground and on the shotgun man's pantleg. The halfbreed hunter snarled in irritation over his pants and hit her again, her head swinging in the opposite direction before it hung low. Her ears folded back and her hair hung in front of her face. The shotgun man smirked, crouching down in front of her, grabbing her face with one of his hands, the other preoccupied with the shotgun that was pressed up to her temple. After a long awaited rebuttal, the shotgun man squeezed her face together as he said coldly. "Yeah, well, y'should be. Yer gonna be somebody's rug soon enough, got it, Fluffy?"
Now having been a pirate for so long, there wasn't much that scared Chelsey anymore. Not only was she a pirate, but she was the second mate on a crew that pretty much, every officer in the Navy was after. Schiller and the Pride were well-known and feared by many and respected by a few who understood how difficult the trade truly was. Having faced off against some of the Navy and pirate captain's toughest, Chelsey Trager wasn't exactly terrified by some half-baked jast hunters. Her golden eyes were deadpan in the shotgun man's eyes, as she felt the cuffs fall off her wrists. The cuffs hit the ground, the sound of clanking metal hitting the hard pavement rang like a bell. She smiled faintly, some of her sharp canines peeking out from under her lips. Chelsey suddenly felt a rush of adrenaline that had been muddled by the cuffs draining abilities, her once clouded senses were now just as potent as ever. Not only could she smell her assailants even better now, but she could smell how they felt again, which was something that she had particularly missed. The hunter that had been holding her arms back suddenly was elbowed painfully in the crotch before being headbutted in the face by the back of her head. He man reared backwards and doubled over in pain, one hand covering his crotch and the other his nose, which was most likely broken and bleeding.
Chelsey snickered and rushed forward, her claws visible and full of her potent poison. She tackled the third guy, who, while hadn't done much during the whole ordeal, was going to suffer the worst fate. She sat on his waist, a devious smirk spread across her face as her claws sank into the man's chest. The man shrieked at the sight of seeing claws go into his chest, before letting out a bloodcurdling scream seconds later due to the quick acting poison. Casually, the feline jast hopped off of of the man's chest, kicking his leg for good measure. She would have to finish off the shotgun man quickly, as very soon, her vision was about to disappear for awhile. She whirled around, just in time to see the shotgun man a step ahead of her. He cocked the gun and shoved it in her mouth. Her smirk disappeared entirely, her sight beginning to falter as her body's natural drawback was beginning to take effect. A low growl emerged from her throat as she felt the hunter with the busted up nose grab her arms more tightly this time, constricting almost any movement in her upper body. Doing so, she had been lifted almost an entire foot off the ground when the man stood at his full height. The shotgun man chuckled softly. "Shoulda just come with us, pussy." he said coldly as the other man twisted her arm in an unnatural pose, breaking one of her arms in the process. Chelsey groaned quietly, muttering something along the lines of kicking his ass in hell.
As the world went dark around her, the only thing the feline paperjast could think of regretting was not banging more dudes in her free time. Other than that and a few other things not worth mentioning, she had no regrets, if this was her end. The cuffs had been put back on her wrists, her vision gone, an arm broken and two guys who were rather eager to kill her. If there was gonna be a miracle or one of those religious experiences, it might better get a move on, or that grand gesture may just have well been wasted. "Well. Lets get this over with, shall we?"
words: 1149
notes: Bl holy fuck. muse esploded.
|
|
|
|
Post by tyrin on Sept 18, 2012 23:14:07 GMT -6
 Tyrin was under no illusions about the general state of pirate crews in the world at the moment. Most of them were full of the worst kind of monsters, rapists and rampant murderers who only joined up with pirate crews for the scant protection they offered from the Navy. After all, it was easier to pick up a guy causing havoc by himself than one that was surrounded by scores of others just like him. Others just wanted the chance to fight and kill more often and on a larger scale.
Now, Tyrin also wasn’t entertaining any delusions about the people his own crew sometimes attracted. However, since he’d sobered up and actually started paying a bit more attention to what kind of people he let onto his ship, he liked to think he’d weeded most of the complete monsters out. His crew was by no means one of those pansy Robin Hood type groups, out to stop injustice or whatever. No, the Pride was mostly made up of people who were just sick and tired of the world fucking them over every time they turned around. There was an abnormally large number of Jasts, humans, and half-breeds on Tyrin’s ship, especially considering the fairly small crew.
Case in point was his second mate, Chelsey Trager. She didn’t look much different than a lot of other feline Paperjasts: big boobs, pretty, all the sorts of things that people who paid for Jasts tended to like. Except apparently they’d forgotten the whole ‘docile’ thing where Chelsey was concerned; she wasn’t interested in letting anybody own her or push her around, and Tyrin had a lot of respect for that. After all, a similar frustration was what had drawn him to piracy in the first place.
He’d run into her when she was captive on a merchant ship, bound for god only knew where, that Tyrin had happened to raid. Luckily for Chelsey, Tyrin was neither the type to sell her for a profit, nor was he interested in her body (as plenty of pirates he knew would be). She’d convinced him pretty quickly that she had what it took to stay alive on a crew that was becoming increasingly more of a target as the Navy grew more and more desperate to bring him in, so he’d let her join up. She’d risen in his estimation pretty damn quickly, proving herself in battle multiple times, so when the previous second mate had been killed in one of the worst battles he’d seen in the past year, he promoted her to the position. And he hadn’t regretted it yet.
Tyrin strode down the street back towards the Leonine. They’d docked earlier that day to quickly restock on supplies before they kept moving; the Navy wasn’t far behind them and they needed to be off as soon as was safe. Even though Romygor was hardly a Navy-friendly town, his ship wasn’t flying her best at the moment due to battle damage and he suspected they would be more than willing to risk coming to Romygor for a chance to finally put him and his crew out permanently. He wasn’t interested in staying in one place long enough to give them that chance.
He’d promised Francis months ago that he wouldn’t go off into town by himself, since there were plenty of people around that wanted to see him with a nice rope necklace (for money or for “justice”, it didn’t much matter to him which). As much as it irked him to admit it, he could see the sensibility behind it. It was an unnecessary risk to go off by himself; he was a damn good fighter, but in the end he was still human. Somebody with the right powers could take him out more easily than he’d like to admit, and that would be the end of it. It wasn’t the kind of risk Tyrin could really justify taking anymore, regardless of how much it hurt his pride to admit it.
This time, he’d taken Chelsey with him to grab a couple of things from the market. Technically he could have delegated that particular responsibility, but as much as he loved his ship, Tyrin did feel the need to get off of her occasionally and stretch his legs. Besides, he didn’t want it seeming like he was afraid. He wasn’t, and he didn’t intend to let people start spreading rumors about Tyrin Schiller hiding on his Leonine like a coward.
But sometime in the last hour he’d lost track of Chelsey in the crowd. He wasn’t terribly worried about it; it wasn’t exactly in his nature to worry, and he was fairly confident she could take care of herself. She’d probably gotten tired of looking for him and started back without him. If he hadn’t seen her by the time he reached the ship, then perhaps he would start to think something was up.
However, he didn’t make it that far before discovering what had happened. His ears might only be human, but he paid more attention to his surroundings than most (by necessity), so he caught the nearby sounds of a scuffle. Tyrin paused, hearing a female voice that sounded more than a little familiar. After a moment, he moved closer to the source, listening carefully. He wasn’t about to go rushing into a fight that wasn’t his, but that voice sounded very familiar.
By the time Chelsey made her bid for escape, Tyrin had confirmed internally that it was her he was hearing, and headed for the fight. She might or might not be able to get out of it on her own, but either way, he didn’t have time to wait around. They both needed to get back to the ship and get off the ground as soon as possible.
He cut through an alleyway and stopped before emerging onto the next street. The voices were close now, and he could hear Chelsey challenging someone to get it over with. A quick poke of his head around the corner was enough to assess the situation and formulate a basic plan; neutralize the shotgun and wielder, then deal with the other. They were only a couple steps away, and both of the men had their attention focused on Chelsey. Easy.
Tyrin stepped out around the corner, grabbed the shotgun man by the back of the shirt, and yanked him viciously backwards, sweeping a leg under the man’s to knock him to the ground. Taken utterly by surprise, the man went down with a yell, the shotgun going off harmlessly into the air overhead. Tyrin didn’t bother to waste time with intimidation, simply summoned his sword. It appeared instantly in his hand with its customary combination of a clank and a whoosh of displaced air, and a moment later Tyrin had buried the tip in the man’s throat. A strangled gurgle later, the man’s eyes glazed over and he quit struggling.
”I can’t take you anywhere, Trager,” Tyrin said, pulling his sword free of the dead man’s neck. He flicked a bit of blood off the blade, then leveled it at the man still holding his second mate. ”Drop the Jast and the keys, and I’ll let you run for your life. If you so much as twitch the wrong way, I’ll kill you where you stand.”
Tagged: Chels~
Words: 1226!
[/blockquote] |
|
