The girl was slippery. Much more agile than him, he found it hard to really pin her down and do the damage he wanted. His teeth buried into the flesh of her neck is the most he seemed capable of holding onto, but the fight had to end sooner or later and the adrenaline that fear had fueled her with gives her the chance to escape. She clawed down his leg, tearing the skin and drawing blood that dripped down the limb thickly.

He managed to force her forward, bringing her head to knock against his chest, but then she wrenches backwards, breaking his grip on her neck by simply tearing away from his still-clamped jaws, surely doing a lot of damage but also freeing him from his grasp. They fall apart and she successfully gets away. A low growl rumbled in the beast's chest, not ready to give up his prey so easily even though the fight was clearly over, with the slippery female being the winner.

He lunges forward, slowly and awkwardly, his injured leg causing him to limp more than lunge. The awkward movements gave her plenty of time to move out of the way. Blood tinted the fur around his mouth, giving his twisted snarl a more feral appearance as he made it clear that he would continue to be violent if she did not run, regardless of who had won this fight. He was done with her bullshit.

@Olive

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stubborn and headstrong, and it serves to her detriment. the throes of battle, a tool by which she showcases her tenacity, the fuel to persist derived from an overwhelming will to survive. but even adrenaline may dwindle, accentuating the pain of her injuries as it pours from severed veins to wet the flesh, to split her focus between self-preservation and retribution. and it is within her final act of defiance that olive at last attains victory, a muffled yelp of pain her pitiful declaration of triumph as she rips free of his grasp.

the torn flesh of her nape stings against the lick of autumn winds, and her eyes widen as she stumbles from her adversary’s violent embrace. her posture does not yet slacken, but braces in preparation, her chest at a rapid rise-and-fall as excitement wanes and reality sets in. a deadly quiet encumbers her as blood pools from the wounds she’d sustained, trickling still against the red of her irises to compromise her vision. but @Adalwolf relents despite the odds that favor him – despite the gravity of her injuries in comparison to his own – and olive merely winces as he feints towards her on a limp leg. no; today, she wins, and today (and, likely, for the rest of eternity), she will gloat until she is blue in the face.

“well, that wasn’t very friend-like of you,” she seethes, mischief an undying flicker within the gaze she fixes upon this mire doggie, this loser. a smirk lifts her bloodied lips with devious intent, stagnant despite the distressed groan that gurgles in her throat as her weight shifts in preparation to depart. “let’s hear that reason, then,” she reminds him, unyielding even with the threat he poses. olive were keen to learn his secrets, and keen upon ensuring his word is kept. she had won, after all – even if the blood that shrouds them is more hers than his.

A low growl rumbled in his throat when she did not run, but instead remained where she stood in her defiance, refusing to back down. She had managed to do away with the jarl that was so good at twisted words to his benefit, smooth talking his way through situations and using his intelligence to gain the upper hand. Now before her stood the jarl who had been raised in violence and hatred. Blood stained the teeth he showed with a feral smile as she ignored his feinting lunge towards her. Violence sparked in his eyes, more than even when they had been entangled together in their bloody dance.

"Come here, Mädchen," he snarled at her, taking a step closer towards her with all of the ill intent of a Rike man getting ready to punish an errant woman of the clan. "I'll show you just how friendly I can be." There was no hint of humor or even annoyance at her antics. He wanted one thing and one thing only: her blood on his lips.

"I vill tell you why I need Alaric," he growled to her. "Zee Rike are here to destroy the heathens of this place," he promised, both her and the world around them. "As vee gather vee need allies. He is a good one." He took yet another step closer, making it clear that he would go for her again, regardless of how this fight had gone, if she gave him the opportunity. "And vhen zis is all over you vill lay bleeding and broken before me," he chuckled darkly, licking at the blood on his teeth slowly. She was on his list now. There would be no escape.

@Olive

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where mischief gleams amongst the bloodied red of her irises, depravity flickers to set his ember aflame, curling his lips in a wicked grin that further accentuates a dark descent. and as his practiced apathy withers in the aftermath of altercation – favoring a more violent and volatile nature – olive begins to understand: he were never just a mire hound, but a rabid dog on a short leash. ever the instigator that she were, it is of no surprise, then, that the pixie continues to taunt the poor creature – from a safe distance, that is.

she does not heed his demand, but does not cower as he staggers forth with an implicit promise of retribution. rather, the smirk is stagnant upon her marred features as she watches in awe, unwilling to miss even a moment of this trainwreck as it derails before her own eyes. the secret of the rike, however, does serve to sober her with a pinch of disappointment, and his proceeding threat earns a frown and impatient sigh. “you’re kind of a bad friend,” she decides, judgment harsh, however flippant. “and we’ll have to work on that temper, hm?” the infantile cant of her skull conveys of a deep concern, but the hint of a smirk conveys that it is all just bullshit, much like the entirety of this encounter.

an idle hum prefaces her leave, but it is cut short by a dramatic wincing as pain once more radiates from her injuries. she shoots @Adalwolf a very knowing look, shaking her head as if to say ‘oh, you!’ with a quiet giggle. “guess a healer should look at these bad boys,” she gestures to her wounds before pivoting, slinking back towards the plains. “see you later, ‘mad-chen,’” is the departing sentiment made over her shoulder. that's their nickname for each other, right?

-- exeunt olive

This younger woman was entirely infuriating. How Alaric had ever put up with such bullshit from anyone, let alone a woman, he would never truly understand. How anyone might be able to put up with this particular lioness he couldn't even begin to fathom.

Every comment she made only stoked the fire that burned through his veins, but nothing he said seemed to work. Even digging into her with his teeth had failed to get her to shut up and go away, though he watched as she winced in pain from the injury to her neck. At least it was having some effect on her, though he dearly wished to inflict more. To feel her life fade away beneath his jaws would be like indulging in a sweet nectar. But that was too far away to reach for now.

Finally, she turned to leave, even though he wanted to reach for her and do more to teach her a lesson - to break her spirit so thoroughly that she would never be able to smile again. Adalwolf watched in silence, seething, as she retreated, attempting to call him with the word he had used in his language (and butchering it entirely). With a low growl and a violent lash of his tail, the Rike jarl turned on his heels and stalked away in the opposite direction.

Likely he would need to find someone or something to serve as an outlet for the violence that still simmered beneath the surface.

/Exit Adalwolf

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