[ he has words to say. he has a lot of words to say, actually. throughout his battles through takame's palace, he's come to understand some things about the pale-scaled man; things that settled in his bones in a way that left him feeling like he knew why this twisted version of the man came to exist.
his leg aches as he pushes backward after that sword clanged against the armored plate at the bottom of his shoe. the blade had hit it hard, denting the hardened alloy in a way that was going to bother his foot for a while. He couldn't rely on that as a means to block too many more times, he knows; but that doesn't mean he's going to coward out. his own bullet had hit, but the clang of metal told him it wasn't a strike that would do any lasting damage. shit.
He'd fought a man with a katana before, and while this shadowy Takame is nothing like Raidei, he at least knows what to expect. He flips his gun around in his hand as those flurries of blows come in, one after the other, and he does his best to use the hardy gun to parry some of the blows, many of them glancing off the old but sturdy firearm--but just as many passing right through.
he's expert at dodging things. it was one of his most prideful skills: being shot at or having people try to strike him only for him to slip just out of range. but there's something wrong with his body. he feels slower than he has any right to, and every time he adjusts his form to avoid that blade, narrowly, somehow it hits. every time, nearly. leaving dozens of small, but painful cuts in places where his normally bulletproof coat would protect him. His outfit here was doing him no favors, and soon the plain white shirt he was wearing had several red blooming patterns flowing out onto it.
like red geraniums. how fitting.
he can't get another shot in like this, not when he's focusing all his energy in parrying, in dodging. Desperately trying to activate his angel feathers again, those scales just shift along his face, nothing more. ]
Ta--
Takame, listen to me!
[ he's going to risk it--a swing of his pistol in the direction of the shadow's face. ]
no subject
his leg aches as he pushes backward after that sword clanged against the armored plate at the bottom of his shoe. the blade had hit it hard, denting the hardened alloy in a way that was going to bother his foot for a while.
He couldn't rely on that as a means to block too many more times, he knows; but that doesn't mean he's going to coward out. his own bullet had hit, but the clang of metal told him it wasn't a strike that would do any lasting damage. shit.
He'd fought a man with a katana before, and while this shadowy Takame is nothing like Raidei, he at least knows what to expect.
He flips his gun around in his hand as those flurries of blows come in, one after the other, and he does his best to use the hardy gun to parry some of the blows, many of them glancing off the old but sturdy firearm--but just as many passing right through.
he's expert at dodging things. it was one of his most prideful skills: being shot at or having people try to strike him only for him to slip just out of range.
but there's something wrong with his body. he feels slower than he has any right to, and every time he adjusts his form to avoid that blade, narrowly, somehow it hits. every time, nearly.
leaving dozens of small, but painful cuts in places where his normally bulletproof coat would protect him.
His outfit here was doing him no favors, and soon the plain white shirt he was wearing had several red blooming patterns flowing out onto it.
like red geraniums. how fitting.he can't get another shot in like this, not when he's focusing all his energy in parrying, in dodging. Desperately trying to activate his angel feathers again, those scales just shift along his face, nothing more. ]
Ta--
Takame, listen to me!
[ he's going to risk it--a swing of his pistol in the direction of the shadow's face. ]