Hiruma's kicks are rarely signs of true animosity. People who have done wrong get a kick and a lecture. People who have done well get a kick to the butt with no explanation at all. The Devilbats had learned that quickly. But since this kick had been accompanied by a lecture, it was one of annoyance.
Who would remove the tines? Not their problem. Hiruma didn't care at all.
But then Trowa attacks and Hiruma can't help but let out a gasp of surprise. There's a fork poking his kidney, a face full of fangs in front of him and he's several feet off the ground being held by a paw-hand with claws as long as his index finger. You bet your ass he was scared. Inside, he was shaking. Inside, he was damn near pissing himself.
Outside, his face was set in a hard scowl, teeth bared. Trowa may also notice the cold metal barrel being held right to his heart; a sawed off shotgun with Hiruma's finger on the trigger. The only indication of his fear are the things he can't control; his heart rate, the fine beads of sweat on his forehead and his wildly dilating and constricting pupils (slit, round, slit, oval, round and filling the whole iris, right back down to a tiny slit). When he speaks, he makes sure his voice does not falter and he punctuates his sentence with jabs with the gun, "The fuck do you think you're doing, you crazy son of a bitch! Put me the fuck down, right now, before I fucking shoot you and make a really nice rug!" Good he thought. My voice didn't crack at all. You're getting better at this, Youichi.
WHAT A TEST!
Who would remove the tines? Not their problem. Hiruma didn't care at all.
But then Trowa attacks and Hiruma can't help but let out a gasp of surprise. There's a fork poking his kidney, a face full of fangs in front of him and he's several feet off the ground being held by a paw-hand with claws as long as his index finger. You bet your ass he was scared. Inside, he was shaking. Inside, he was damn near pissing himself.
Outside, his face was set in a hard scowl, teeth bared. Trowa may also notice the cold metal barrel being held right to his heart; a sawed off shotgun with Hiruma's finger on the trigger. The only indication of his fear are the things he can't control; his heart rate, the fine beads of sweat on his forehead and his wildly dilating and constricting pupils (slit, round, slit, oval, round and filling the whole iris, right back down to a tiny slit). When he speaks, he makes sure his voice does not falter and he punctuates his sentence with jabs with the gun, "The fuck do you think you're doing, you crazy son of a bitch! Put me the fuck down, right now, before I fucking shoot you and make a really nice rug!" Good he thought. My voice didn't crack at all. You're getting better at this, Youichi.