[Kurt's impulsive - far more than he'd ever like to admit, considering it usually gets him into trouble that he has to fight his way out of. In this case, when the coordinates are given, he's waited long enough and gathered plenty of information about these slavers that he can't ignore the fact they'd captured Moirans-- people that he knew in this case.
He uses the smoke of the fire to his advantage, teleporting between the rolling smog and licking flames, intentions deadly, if the weapon at his side is any indication.
It's crude, but it will get the job done.]
❧ starting right now, i'll be strong (heads will roll)
[Darting, twisting, bending, lunging-- it's all things that he's been taught before; his time during the circus had been well spent and not only with cute little tricks, but with real, purposeful fighting skills. He's lethal with the sword, swinging it in upward motions to lop off arms, dropping to all fours at some point so he can sweep the blade in an easy circle and take off legs, watching bodies crumple around him. Sometimes, he even goes for the occasional head, watching it tumble away like a weed in the wind. They're the lucky ones.
Most people might let the others suffer, but Kurt is more humane in all sense of the word. He never wastes time lording his victory over them, preferring to stab or slice into a vital part of the body and let them be ended quickly and once they have perished from exsanguination, he moves on to others without fail.
There might be a chance where he does stop, although it's simply to help out anyone he might recognize during the fight.]
❧ i've still got a lot of fight left in me (captured)
[And it only takes one time for him to slip up before he's caught.
It's not a large group, but they're enough to overpower him, knocking the weapon from his hand and grabbing him from behind. He struggles any way that he can, kicking out with his strong legs and even going as far as snapping at them with his teeth if they get close enough. Imagine the man's surprise when he clamps down on his throat, applies enough pressure to tear flesh off, screeching and spitting like a wild animal with a thirst for blood.
There's an agonized cry, a spiteful shout of 'you little shit!' and Kurt can't fight the smirk that lifts his lips. That is, until something loops around his neck, effectively cutting off oxygen fast enough that he begins to see stars.
'Not so tough when you can't breathe, are you?'
Ruby-red irises dilate, the effort it takes to fight becoming two-fold, considering the slavers have taken advantage of that long appendage by wrapping it around the blue boy's neck. How screwed up can someone be to use the kid's tail against him like that?
He struggles for breath, feet stretching for the ground in an attempt to slacken the makeshift noose around his neck. They're taller than he is and things are starting to get dark and muddled, a sign the air loss is beginning to set in, no matter how much he fights it. He's able to break an arm free, reaching up to clutch at the trunk of muscle and pull, but to no avail.
The man that he'd bitten grabs up the sword, shouting something that makes the other two hold him tighter, forcing his fingers against his neck to keep that hand in place as well. His eyes somehow widen even more as the tip of the blade is pressed against his abdomen and slowly forced forward, sinking easily past the skin, heading toward muscle, intent on running him through, although it won't include anything vital. They want him to hurt, but he has to stay alive for profit.
He doesn't have to see their faces to know they're smiling.
It can't end this way!]
❧ wildcard
[ooc: if none of the other options tickle your fancy 8')]
kurt wagner [nightcrawler] ❧ ota ❧ cw: nasty slaver stuff
[Kurt's impulsive - far more than he'd ever like to admit, considering it usually gets him into trouble that he has to fight his way out of. In this case, when the coordinates are given, he's waited long enough and gathered plenty of information about these slavers that he can't ignore the fact they'd captured Moirans-- people that he knew in this case.
He uses the smoke of the fire to his advantage, teleporting between the rolling smog and licking flames, intentions deadly, if the weapon at his side is any indication.
It's crude, but it will get the job done.]
❧ starting right now, i'll be strong (heads will roll)
[Darting, twisting, bending, lunging-- it's all things that he's been taught before; his time during the circus had been well spent and not only with cute little tricks, but with real, purposeful fighting skills. He's lethal with the sword, swinging it in upward motions to lop off arms, dropping to all fours at some point so he can sweep the blade in an easy circle and take off legs, watching bodies crumple around him. Sometimes, he even goes for the occasional head, watching it tumble away like a weed in the wind. They're the lucky ones.
Most people might let the others suffer, but Kurt is more humane in all sense of the word. He never wastes time lording his victory over them, preferring to stab or slice into a vital part of the body and let them be ended quickly and once they have perished from exsanguination, he moves on to others without fail.
There might be a chance where he does stop, although it's simply to help out anyone he might recognize during the fight.]
❧ i've still got a lot of fight left in me (captured)
[And it only takes one time for him to slip up before he's caught.
It's not a large group, but they're enough to overpower him, knocking the weapon from his hand and grabbing him from behind. He struggles any way that he can, kicking out with his strong legs and even going as far as snapping at them with his teeth if they get close enough. Imagine the man's surprise when he clamps down on his throat, applies enough pressure to tear flesh off, screeching and spitting like a wild animal with a thirst for blood.
There's an agonized cry, a spiteful shout of 'you little shit!' and Kurt can't fight the smirk that lifts his lips. That is, until something loops around his neck, effectively cutting off oxygen fast enough that he begins to see stars.
'Not so tough when you can't breathe, are you?'
Ruby-red irises dilate, the effort it takes to fight becoming two-fold, considering the slavers have taken advantage of that long appendage by wrapping it around the blue boy's neck. How screwed up can someone be to use the kid's tail against him like that?
He struggles for breath, feet stretching for the ground in an attempt to slacken the makeshift noose around his neck. They're taller than he is and things are starting to get dark and muddled, a sign the air loss is beginning to set in, no matter how much he fights it. He's able to break an arm free, reaching up to clutch at the trunk of muscle and pull, but to no avail.
The man that he'd bitten grabs up the sword, shouting something that makes the other two hold him tighter, forcing his fingers against his neck to keep that hand in place as well. His eyes somehow widen even more as the tip of the blade is pressed against his abdomen and slowly forced forward, sinking easily past the skin, heading toward muscle, intent on running him through, although it won't include anything vital. They want him to hurt, but he has to stay alive for profit.
He doesn't have to see their faces to know they're smiling.
It can't end this way!]
❧ wildcard
[ooc: if none of the other options tickle your fancy 8')]