More Than a Few Choice Words (Lorki)

[Maxodis]

Late on a cloudless spring morning, a tiny beetle poked its antennae cautiously from its burrow. It was a beautifully warm day, the faintest scent of the ocean carrying through the forest on the breeze, blending with the aromatic fragrance of Western Mossflower's various spring flora. The small insect had overslept, having been plagued by nightmares previous and overcome by a heavy sense of foreboding upon coming abruptly from his sleep. Better to stay in the safety, better to hide in the dark. But as nothing moved to snatch him from his hole, he grew more confident, slowly easing out into the warm daylight. It truly was a peaceful day. Even birdsong almost felt joyous to the little fellow, whose Aunt and Uncle had been swallowed up by avians not two days ago. With an insect's sigh of relief, he closed his eyes and drank in the serene tranquility.

When the weight of the weasel's footpaw forcefully displaced the beetle's tender organs outside its shell, it never knew what happened.

The beauty of that spring day was lost upon Redin Outmir. In fact, much was lost upon Redin Outmir, such as the small pop beneath his footpaw and the odd sticky goo that clung to it for the next ten steps. He was far too preoccupied with tracking. Or trying. Having never had any experience in the skill, nor having ever been taught, the most he could really manage was to occasionally point out and recognize her boot marks in the undergrowth and the odd broken stick here or there. It had to be her. It was probably her. Maybe. If not, it didn't matter, someone was making these tracks, and when he caught up to them, he would have someone to punch for a bit. Maybe they'd even have food.

Vaulting over a log with one paw on it to balance himself and the other holding the weighted polearm, the weasel wondered to himself why he never bothered to carry a pack. Or even just carry some food. Granted... he was still accustomed to warlord life, and having weak idiots bringing food to him regularly... but that had ended abruptly a year ago. He'd have to start planning these things ahead of time, there wouldn't always be biscuit-laden travelers that he could kill when he needed them.

The dense foliage opened up somewhat into a tiny clearing. Coming to a stop, he stabbed the halberd end of his weapon into the soft earth and dropped to a crouch. The young grass had been patted down in a long shape, as if somebeast had been sleeping there. There were other signs, all of which were apparent enough for even the dense weasel to know they were present but not be able to readily define them. Whoever he was following had set up a quick camp here. His stomach growled fiercely as he rose, jerking the polearm from the ground as he spotted the tracks heading out from the encampment. Hopefully he was close.

The tracks went rather conveniently even and clear for a mile or so away from the makeshift camp before they stopped at the base of a tall, young elm. He leaned back as he stared up into the dark canopy. The ferret assassin was a climber, and he wouldn't have been surprised if she had been up there. But then again if she was, she would have thrown a knife by now. Or something.

Standing at the base of the tree, scratching behind his ear and frowning up into its depths, his amber eyes caught sight of an unusual lump. Frowning, he twirled the polearm in a slow spin before hooking it to the leather strap on his back. Redin was not an excellent climber, the bulk of his young muscles did not allow for much flexible movement, so his progress up the tree was met with much grunting, growling, and cursing. Unsurprisingly he didn't notice that some of the branches were not as strong as they rightfully should have been, not the small pops and cracks of splitting wood when he put his weight on them. A mere foot from the strange object, he reached out to grab it, shifting his weight to his other foot to balance himself. His paw closing tightly on the bag of rocks, his momentary feeling of accomplishment was snuffed by a ominously loud snap. His eyes went wide as he glanced down at the branch he stood on, and at the long splinters only inches away from his footpaws. "Awwww fu-" was as much as he managed to get out before the whole branch gave, crashing down and breaking all the other knife-weakened branches beneath it. Still clinging desperately to the bag, the weasel fell with the rest, his shouted curses lost in the cacophony.

[lorki]

She had been made aware a few days ago that he was following after her. The ex warlord was not known for his ability to surprise or sneak up on a victim, no, not at all. Sleet knew him as more of a brute, certainly he was out to kill her, however the past few times they had had such an encounter he had been without his idiot goons to help him. As far as Sleet knew he was no longer Scythe the Warlord, but Scythe the wandering baboon with some continual need to run her down and bash her up a bit. Sure, Sleet had occasionally attacked him, but most often it was a spontaneous sort of thing. She never went looking for him, well... not exactly. She often happened upon his horde, it was a fair size and hard to miss for a keen beast, and this happening lead to knife throwing, lead to sword wielding, lead to near executions and swift kicks to the groin. Yes, she held a long and surprisingly uncomplicated relationship with the weasel. They'd developed a sort of disturbing game with one another, eventually the winner would be the only one alive.

However, for the time being Sleet had other deaths on her mind. While he was tracking her she was tracking a patrol of hares, a much more inciting target than a failed warlord with an insulting vocabulary that eclipsed any other she had heard. But there he was... and it was just too damn tempting.

The blundering warlord should learn, she thought idly as she watched him from her perch in the trees, to walk around the forest rather than march. A horde had no reasons to hide, the size of it kept the beasts within safe, but a lone weasel... he would have to learn. Still his mistakes were for her benefit. She'd set the trap and all there was to do now was watch.

"Awwww fu-"

The gray ferret sitting in the treetops giggled. She sat, appearing almost relaxed, with her legs dangling over the branch and her ears perked forwards. Her eyes followed his downward fall, allowing small noises of amusement to escape her as the weasel thrashed about against the unforgiving wood of the tree. Finally seeing him, the bag o' rocks, and quite a few branches come to a crashing contact with the forest floor, Sleet slid off the branch and climbed carefully down to the lower branches.

She stood on a hefty limb, one paw supporting her balance against the trunk of the tree while her tail flicked from side to side behind her. The ferret appeared as a small armory unto herself. Belted around her waist was a row of knives with one dagger hanging on either side of her hips. Her short swords were strapped over her back in an X pattern, the front of the straps were lined in throwing needles, as were her forearms and ankles. She was without her cloak, but only because the weather was so exceptional. Allowing a look of smugness to fall over her face, she smiled down at the weasel, "wrong tree."

[Maxodis]

"Wrong tree."

For several long moments there was no movement from the fallen tangle of branches but the vivid green leaves that were still slowly drifting down to land atop it. The pile shifted once, twice, and then jerked violently as a muscular arm burst out, a fist-sized rock with bite marks clenched tightly in the accompanying paw. "Yew bitch. Yew arrogant, self-centered, tree-climbin', scum suckin', wet-behind-th'-ears, scrawny little midget! Yew, BITCH!" Redin's voice carried clearly through the dense layer of tree atop him, which shook and jerked as he fought his way through it.

He erupted from the top of it, his clothing torn, leaves sticking from his fur in places, blood trickling from splintered cuts in others. And still despite his appearance the enraged weasel still managed to look threatening, his features black as his amber eyes whipped around to seek out the source of the voice and of his ire, narrowing when they caught sight of her. His lips pulled back in a vicious snarl as he rose, the blood running from a cut along the side of his face glistening off his bared fangs, one of which appeared to be recently chipped. His knuckles turned white beneath the fine fur covering his paw as he squeezed the rock within it. "Rocks. Yew lead me up a bloody tree... fer a bag of rocks?" Positively shaking with rage, he hurled the rock at her, missing her leg by an inch and striking the branch she perched on. He reached down, hauling the weighted bag full of similarly shaped rocks from the debris and began pitching them at her as he yelled "Rocks!? 'Ere, take yer bloody rocks back, I decided I don't wan't em! Rocks!". At first one at a time, Redin quickly began to throw them with both paws as he got louder, finally grabbing the now half empty bag by its straps and hurling it at her with a shout of rage.

[lorki]

"Yew bitch. Yew arrogant, self-centered, tree-climbin', scum suckin', wet-behind-th'-ears, scrawny little midget! Yew, BITCH!"

"Ooh, language..." The ferret scowled down at the weasel, shaking her head at him as if she were a parent and he, a misbehaving child. She propped one paw up on her hip, holding it close by her collection of knives.

"Rocks. Yew lead me up a bloody tree... fer a bag of rocks?"

Sleet raised her brow as the rock thudded against the branch below her, "I lead you nowhere, you loutish idiot. You followed, for a bag of rocks, no less." She sneered down at him as his rage seemed to grow.

"Rocks!? 'Ere, take yer bloody rocks back, I decided I don't wan't em! Rocks!"

As he shouted and pelted the stones at her, Sleet kept her still stance, occasionally moving just slightly to give a particularly well aimed rock a bit extra room. Sleet was not the calmest of beasts, but her most outrageous reactions were not brought fourth by this weasel. She knew him to well for that. Reckless, angry fighting with the warlord always lead her to acquire more wounds than him, and had very nearly killed her in the past. No, she'd learned to take pleasure in calmly antagonizing this foe.

Finally Redin took up the entire bag of rocks and swung it her direction. A scurry of movement found her balancing on a lower branch, behind the tree, while the bag crashed through the forest beyond. She peaked back around the trunk of the tree, "don't want the rocks, Scythe?" he'd told her that he'd abandoned his warlord name, but she hoped to use it as a sort of insult, after all whatever annoyed the Damned weasel was a tool for her use. "What'd you come here for, then? Just a stroll in the woods? Taking a day at the shore? Miss me too much?" Her claws tapped against the handle of her knife, waiting.

[Maxodis]

"Don't want the rocks, Scythe? What'd you come here for, then? Just a stroll in the woods? Taking a day at the shore? Miss me too much?"

As he stood amid the debris, fur bristling, clothing torn, his twisted sense of humor abruptly began to kick in. At once his expression flipped from loathing to one of a less than sane amusement. His lips pulled back in a wicked grin, exposing more of his faintly red-stained teeth. "Miss ye? Aye, y'got me. Been more'n a few months since someone's kicked me in th' crotch, an' I was 'opin' yew'd oblige."

He tilted his head to the side to divert the slow trickle of blood from running in his eye as he stepped free of the mess at his footpaws, gingerly picking his way out of the pile to firmer ground. His eyes never left hers as he casually strolled to the base of her tree, unlatching the short polearm from his back as he went. As always, the former warlord experienced a rather mystifying sense of deja vu. It was always the same scene: Sleetfang up in a tree somewhere with Redin standing on the ground below him generally attempting to devise a way to get her within strangling distance. No wonder she always wore pants.

Chuckling dryly at these private thoughts, he reached forward and lightly tapped the side of the trunk with the flat of his weapon's halberd head. "C'mon now, don't tell me y'missed tha'."

[lorki]

"Miss ye? Aye, y'got me. Been more'n a few months since someone's kicked me in th' crotch, an' I was 'opin' yew'd oblige."

Sleets ears flicked back just slightly as she relaxed for a moment to give a small barking laugh. The sharp sound subsided into a murmured chuckle, and her full attention returned to Redin while he circles around the tree, her eyes lit with amusement.

"C'mon now, don't tell me y'missed tha'."

She narrowed her eyes at him, responding dryly, "can't say I miss you the same you seem to miss me, Scythe. I, unfortunately, have more... pressing things to deal with than an ex-warlord with an awfully excessive grudge." She paused and stepped out a bit farther on the branch, his brandishing of his weapon had ignited a bit of a spark in her chest. Watching him, recalling their past battles, the small heat expanded outwards. Her hate for Redin was minimal when compared with her hate for the beasts she hunted, but they were still lost to her, probably miles away, and he was here. Her insatiable fury, her vendetta against the better part of the world around her, welcomed the weasel as a sort of vicious plaything. An enemy to pass time with.

"But," she shrugged her shoulders and as she did flipped a knife from her belt to her paw, "here you are." And with that she darted out on the branch, attempting to gain some distance from the weasel, and leaped away from the tree, twisting her body in the air so that she would land facing him. Immediately upon hitting the ground and rising up the stand, she flicked the knife in his direction, without particular aim for a specific body part. It was to act as a distraction, after all, while she reached back to draw her twin blades, "heh, maybe I did miss you."

[Maxodis]

"Can't say I miss you the same you seem to miss me, Scythe. I, unfortunately, have more... pressing things to deal with than an ex-warlord with an awfully excessive grudge."

"Scythe!" The weasel's expression of inane amusement once more flashed to disgust as he grimaced and spat the distasteful word from his tongue. "Scythe Scythe Scythe. I told ye once, I told ye twice, I alre'dy told ye enough bloody times. I ain't goin' by Scythe no more. Ain't my damn problem if'n ye got tha' name tattooed to yer ass."

"But, here you are... Heh, maybe I did miss you."

Redin watched, unimpressed, at the assassin's flashy display. It was not the first time he had bore witness to the spectacle, nor did he have any belief it would be the last. These always seemed to happen the same way. She would dash away a short distance with a speed that was not particularly fair for a creature with such short, weak-looking legs(Although from what damage those legs had done to him previously, the weasel decided he really ought not to be surprised), leap from a high perch, twist herself mid-flight so that she would land on her footpaws, more often than not in a fashion that allowed her travel cloak to billow out behind her as well, and upon landing, throw something sharp at the audience of one. It was a routine that intimidated and perhaps often frightened lesser, weaker creatures. Redin simply did not care. His objective was to get her within throttling distance. Having accomplished that, all else was obsolete.

It was equally unsurprising when he started forward with resolute steps, taking the imprecisely thrown dagger in the shoulder as he came. His eyes were fixed on the twin blades being drawn from their sheaths as he flexed his arm holding the polearm. Unseeingly, he reached up with the other to wrench the thin knife free, cutting his pawpads somewhat in the process. Once more his lips curled back in a snarl as he cast the knife aside, firmly set both paws on the weapon's shaft and abruptly lunged forward, halberd-first.

[lorki]

Thinking, in the few fractions of seconds she had, Sleet mindfully browsed through the lessons dear Redin had taught her. Her mind was full of them; dodges mostly, considering his strength would always beat hers and his heavy weapon had an awful lot more blunt force behind it then her light blades. However, pure avoidance aside, she held one lesson from Redin in mind- he was not as dangerous as he appeared. Her eyes flicked from where the dagger had been embedded in his shoulder, to his paws gripped the shaft of his weapon. He'd taught, her whist bleeding profusely, that a beasts actions do not always reflect the state of their body- especially a beast like him. Something had been sliced through in his shoulder, some inner working of his body had been tampered with- muscle, bone, ligament, tendon, Sleet didn't care. She knew that no amount of crazed rage would make that wound untrue, she simply needed to know how useful it could be. So instead of returning the weasels outrage, she prepared to conduct an experiment.

As he came dangerously close with the head of the halberd poised to create a Sleet-kabob, she jutted away from him, leaping towards his injured side. She moved one of her short blades in front of her defensibly, and pulled the other upwards in a wide arc that was intended to end somewhere near the weasels head. The intent was to force him to lift his injured arm to block her, hit her, whatever. If something wasn't able to work right, she would know. Any weakness was a good weakness when fighting with Redin.... and he had asked for a kick in the crotch, she'd have to consider that one too.

[Maxodis]

A dodge, Redin expected. Rarely did he manage to land a solid hit on the elusive assassin without wrestling her to the ground first. Even then that required catching her.

The swift counterattack, Redin expected. He was well aware that his wrathful fighting often left him open to further unnecessary injury, and that Sleetfang knew how to exploit these wide openings. He welcomed the pain.

His arm disobeying when he attempted to reach out and crush her throat when it was so tantalizingly close... Redin did not expect. His arm jerked up halfway before coming to a halt, well short of where it was supposed to be. His eyes going wide as they locked with hers, he dug his footpaws into the dirt and hauled himself back, fighting desperately against his powerful forward momentum. He barely cleared the blade, its sharpened edge tearing a thin line through his cheek.

He recoiled almost instantly, bringing the halberd around in an arc almost immediately behind her slashing blade. He shifted with this new momentum, turning away from her as the weapon came around, his half-useless arm clutched tightly to himself. He could tell mid-swing that he had been too overzealous with his move, wielding the heavy weapon so wildly was difficult enough with full use of both arms, managing it with one would prove to be a harrowing experience. But at the same time, her reaction had caught him off guard, taken him by surprise.

She'd wounded him, and he could almost see the sanguine droplets of blood flying from the fresh cut as he spun with her.

It was thrilling.

Sleet had been the only creature ever to have excited him so and lived to repeat the encounter. There were no others who could think nor act fast enough. She'd never disappointed him.

Their dance had begun.

[lorki]

Sleet stared at Redin, her eyes trying to take in all of him -face, body, weapon, paws- while he was only inches from her. For a searing moment fear flooded her, what if she had miscalculated? What if she had underestimated him? But just as quickly as it had some the concern faded and was replaced with a triumphant smirk as Sleet witnessed Redin's disability in action. As she caught his eyes in hers and witnessed him wide with surprise the smirk transformed into a fanged grin, a sharp and excited bark of laughter.

Her celebration, however, was cut short. She witnessed the change in his movement, momentum, and understood what was coming next. She was standing so close to him she could easily reach out and touch him... if she was interested in having her body chopped in half. His Halberd was already swinging around in what appeared to be an only partially controlled manner when she started to move. She shoved herself away from him, her short swords raised to protect herself, should she fall short of a full escape.

While her quick steps propelled her body away from the weasel, they did not have the same success with his long weapon. The Halberd crashed into Sleets first sword, and she gave little effort to fight it. The strength behind Redin's infamous weapon was something she could never hope to match, all she could do was try to get away from it. So instead of fight it, she pushed against it, hoping to gain a few more inches of space between them.

Her plan worked... sort of. Rather than being sliced neatly into two pieces, Redins blade bounced from her short sword to skim across her abdomen, creating a thin rip in her shirt along the left side of her ribs and abdomen. Quickly the ripped section of shirt darkened with blood Sleet recoiled further and glanced down at the damage. She raised her eyes to glower at Redin. "This is one of my favorite shirts," she hissed, her ears pinned back while one of paws hovered above the knives on her belt.

[Maxodis]

"This is one of my favorite shirts,"

Redin appraised his opponent with a fiendish sneer, the polearm flashing behind him as he twirled it slowly with one paw. The fact that he'd scored a hit on her surprised him more than her, although he was careful not to show it. Certainly, the assassin had seen and survived some of the worst that Redin was capable of. She knew better than to be anything less than cautious with him. Why then, had his wild strike connected?

Both combatants were evenly matched. They knew each other with a disturbing sense of familiarity, almost comfortingly so. Redin could read the slight changes in her smooth evasive motions, just as he knew she read the abrupt, violent shifts in his stance. She could outmaneuver him easily if she so wished, she was smaller and remarkably light on her feet. It would take almost no effort for her to evade the long reach of his polearm and dart in closer. That was where her advantage ended, however. The weasel was far too strong, and moved with an agility that belied his size. She was well aware that the moment she got within reach of his paws they would be on her, and that would be the end of their little game.

So if she knew, why had she gotten so close?

Understanding flashed in his amber eyes as it dawned upon him. Her sharp laugh of triumph had confirmed it: She was experimenting. They both knew that they were far too evenly matched to be able to bring a decisive end to the other. It was part of the ferret's nature to be curious. She was trying out new ideas to gain an edge over him, throw something at him that he didn't suspect. He clenched his empty paw, blood from his shoulder wound dripping from his claws. He certainly hadn't expected his arm to stop working like that, and to some extent, neither had she. The full results of her testing was as much a surprise to her as it was to him.

He tightened his grip on the polearm, bringing its slow spinning to a stop, the scytheblade arching behind his shoulders. She wanted to try new things? Fine, let her do her worst. His fanged grin widened slightly. If she wanted to see how his body reacted, who was he to deny her? He let his injured arm go slack, his empty paw hanging uselessly by his thigh. "Yore shirt?" He growled, beginning to slowly circle around her. "Yew ruined m'fav'rite arm. Wot's next, gonna take m'leg too?"

[lorki]

"Yore shirt?" He growled, beginning to slowly circle around her. "Yew ruined m'fav'rite arm. Wot's next, gonna take m'leg too?"

Sleet allowed a slight smile to the weasel's joke, however the grin was tinged with danger, "I could do that, Scythe, easy," she growled while the back of her paw pressed lightly to the darkened spot on her side. She glanced down at the blood pressed onto her fur, it stung, but the bleeding was hardly significant. She raised her eyes back to Redin, the pain was forgotten as he began to step in a circle around her.

Her eyes followed him, she was determined not to play his stupid little games, she refused to turn with him, refused to act as if she was on the defensive. "If you're lookin' for me t'be worried, weasel, you ought make a real move. You'll look a real fool if all y'do before I put an end to you you is bait and jest with me." Still, her stance was rigid. Her legs were tense, her arms ready. She would whirl with as much speed and power as her body could if Redin made to attack her. Still, she wasn't much of a charger, she played a waiting game. Redin was unpredictable, so she was best off reacting to him... for now.

[Maxodis]

"If you're lookin' for me t'be worried, weasel, you ought make a real move. You'll look a real fool if all y'do before I put an end to you you is bait and jest with me."

He came to an abrupt stop, staring at her with mock incredulity. "Lookin' fer yew t'be worried? Me?" He burst out in raucous laughter, his face-bells jingling as he the threw his head back. His laughter rang out clearly in the empty forest, dominating all other sound. He thrust the halberd-head of the weapon deep into the ground, holding onto the shaft of the weapon for support as he doubled over with laughter. "Worried! Haha! Worried! You? That'd be the bloody day!"

He slowly got himself under control, his sharp eyes finding hers as he straightened again. Mirth still danced in his eyes as he regarded her slowly. Sporadic and unpredictable shifts in behavior were not unfamiliar to the Weasel. They'd always been somewhat present, and had steadily gotten worse as he'd aged. Redin thought nothing of them, rather he embraced them. Most creatures were unnerved by his unusual displays. Sleet, as usual, was not.

"'T'wouldn't be no fun if'n yew were worried... 't'wouldn't do at all." His grin slowly widened as he straightened, the blood seeping from the wound in his shoulder weaving a sanguine trail through his fur, finally dripping from his claws. "We've been at each other fer too long fer that, an' yew know it, don'tcha? I ain't got nothin' t'fear from yew, nor d'yew got anythin' t'fear from me. I c'n see tha' yew unnerstand, I see it in yer eyes." He took a few hesitant steps toward her, his expression softening as his eyes never left hers. "I 'eard th' stories... ain't never been no one you ain't been able t'kill. 'Fore yew met me. We both know yew could get 'way from me if'n ye wanted, yer fightin' me 'cos ye want to. It ain't fer pride, ain't fer principle." He took another slow step towards her, just outside the range of her lunge. His voice dropped to a low murmur. "Y'know wot I think? Yer a loner. Yew ain't got no one in this life... jes' like me. We ain't so different. Ye don't make lastin' friends," He chuckled darkly tilting his head to the side as he leered at her. "An' yer enemies don't last too long either. We matched blades fer too long, spilt each other's blood too much t'deny it. I c'n read you jes' as well as I c'n read 'ow you move... an' yer jes' like me, ain'tcha? Yew keep fightin' wit' me 'cause yew know... even if all else goes to 'ell, I'm still gonna be alive fer yew to kick 'round." He chuckled softly, taking a step within her striking distance. "Its comfertin' ain't it? Knowin' tha' somethin' in this livin' 'ell of a life we lead is never gonna change. Ye keep fightin' 'cause it 'ow we make sure tha' it ain't ever gonna change. We keep fightin' t'prove that the other ain't ever gonna die."

He spread his arms, his injured arm coming up somewhat short in comparison to his other. His expression hardened as he looked down upon her, his muscular frame dwarfing her smaller figure. "Yew know I ain't gonna die no matter wot ye do, not wit' a body like... this!" He tensed, the definition of his muscles standing out starkly through his fur for a brief moment before relaxing. Making tight fists with his paws, he alternatively tensed his pectorals, left then right, making them 'dance'.

[lorki]

"Worried! Haha! Worried! You? That'd be the bloody day!"

Sleet's paws tightened around her short swords. Redin didn't come off as the most flattering of beasts, but she took the compliment more as a threat. Nothing out of that weasels ugly maw was ever innocent. She lowered her head just slightly, she was ready to strike and her eyes locked on his told him so. He danced around making a move, giggling and joking with her, but when he did she would be ready.

She weighed his words as he spoke them, repeated them in her mind and responded only mentally. Her fangs clenched together as she stood silently, listening to his little speech. She was willing to agree with him, for the most part, though she liked to think he was overestimating himself and did indeed have something to fear from her. Perhaps he didn't know there were moments when he actually scared her, moments when she moved too late, moments when his claws had closed around her throat. All for the better, though, she certainly didn't fear that her death would come at the paws of a lowly, thoughtless, warlord.

Still, she could argue their similarities. They had both had ample enough opportunity to off each other, but here they stood, quite alive. She'd never really asked herself the question of if she actually wanted to kill the weasel... the inability to answer such a question was the precise reason not to ask it.

"Its comfertin' ain't it? Knowin' tha' somethin' in this livin' 'ell of a life we lead is never gonna change. Ye keep fightin' 'cause it 'ow we make sure tha' it ain't ever gonna change. We keep fightin' t'prove that the other ain't ever gonna die."

True enough, Sleet's mind echoed the thought, but she still didn't want to be choked into a coma. However, the weasels words hinted at those things that Sleet did not welcome in her life. They hinted at her feelings of self-loathing, loneliness, painful longing, desire for stability. Her face stayed set, emotionless and tense, but her eye's had lost some of the determined hatred and gained something new. Damn weasel. He could laugh at it, but it wasn't right for her. She wasn't suppose to be like him.

"Yew know I ain't gonna die no matter wot ye do, not wit' a body like... this!"

Sleet's head tilted a bit, confused for a moment at the shift in Redin's stance and the change in the one-sided conversation. Her eye's widened as he began his pec-dance. Immediately her rational mind screamed NO, but it was too late. Her body tried to keep it down, to the point that she inhaled too sharply and began choking on her own laughter. She coughed, lost the battle, and began cackling uncontrollably. She laughed until she could not breathe and she doubled over as her abdomen seized in pain. She struck one short sword into the ground in order to keep herself from all together tumbling over and she laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

[Maxodis]

The weasel was careful to watch Sleet's expression as he spoke. Whenever she wasn't scowling or smirking imperiously, the assassin wore a blank mask. Sure enough, as his words hit home, there was no change in her neutral expression, but a quality in her eyes faded. He snickered inwardly; his words had definitely struck a nerve. The void in her eyes quickly filled with something else. A special kind of hate. Her cool demeanor was unraveling, she no longer held control of the situation, and she knew it. She hated it. He loved it.

He knew he had her when her eyes went wide. Mentally, he congratulated himself. With hardly any effort at all, he'd not only managed to bring her guard down and get close enough to reach out and touch her, but also he'd rendered her helpless with laughter. And how? With a few true words and an idiotic display of physique? It was too easy.

His shadow cast across her figure as he towered over her, a few droplets of his blood dripping from his chin to fall just before her face. Almost casually, he seized the fur at the back of her neck with his good arm and hauled her up off her feet. In the same fluid motion, he drew one of the badger-tail knives that she so treasured from one of her many sheaths, settling its tip against the shallow cut he had granted her. Already a solid foot taller than her, he held her higher still, her footpaws dangling no less than two feet from the ground. She never saw it coming. How could she? She'd thought to try an experiment on him. How could she possibly know he had the capacity to do the same to her, when she thought him to be such a dim-witted brute? Brutish or not, Redin was still, by nature, a weasel. Her mistake would cost her.

But not today.

He still wore a lazy grin as he held her suspended off the ground. She remained motionless as her glowered back at him, that intense hate in her eyes only amplified. She was well aware that his reactions were as quick as hers, and that any move on her part would result in her own knife burying itself in her stomach. Still, she would find a way out of her current situation. She never failed to disappoint him. All she needed was time to think.

His head tilted to the side slowly, as hers had before. Holding her vengeful gaze, he murmured softly, "Yew e'er 'ad anyone tell yew yer beautiful when yer murderous?"