[ the statue suddenly slams into place and the vines loosen due to the particular angle at which he's twisted himself. the vines eject from the barrel of the gun and instead waver and twist anew as he fires again, this time... for the statue. for the man he knows— ]
Sylas!
[ he roars, twists the vines and the gun again and yanks so the statue's head wrenches off one. two. three. pull. the rage swarms, and as it does, so do the shadows. the shadows around him shriek, an ear-piercing noise that ricochets throughout the vaulted ceilings overhead. the watercolored stained glass shudders, but doesn't break, a bastion as faithful as its lone follower.
percy kicks forward and will toss the beautiful green gun aside as it starts to twist its vines angrily around the beheaded sylas briarwood.
instead, he whips out the paintball gun, firing not once, but terrifyingly twice into the air. in a flash, a pair of twin pistols manifest in the air and tumble downwards into percy’s hands. the first in a brilliant teal color with a teal feather dangling off of the shaft of the gun. there are scales decorating down the top of it and a (cute, little) bear paw on the shaft. across the barrel in brilliant cursive:
THE GRAND MISTRESS
the other is black, matte, with a stripe of deep, rich violet down the center to the barrel. dangling off of it, a black feather and a series of multiple colored glass beads. a dagger emblazoned on the side along with:
DUSKMEADOW
and he lets loose on the sylas statue with the teal gone, the other pointing straight ahead at vax and letting loose three fast shots, blindingly sharp.
duskmeadow? is silent as it fires off and zips through the air. you would almost think it backfired (but percy's been reading a lot about guns, and his mind is reaching towards every single design he could possibly ever want to create. every single thing that could quench this rage—the fire, the fire, the fire of the forge, of a hot barrel, of his heart with every kick of it.
but he's open like this. reckless. wild.
the smoke plumes upwards and into a strange shape. hm. probably fine. ]
no subject
Sylas!
[ he roars, twists the vines and the gun again and yanks so the statue's head wrenches off one. two. three. pull. the rage swarms, and as it does, so do the shadows. the shadows around him shriek, an ear-piercing noise that ricochets throughout the vaulted ceilings overhead. the watercolored stained glass shudders, but doesn't break, a bastion as faithful as its lone follower.
percy kicks forward and will toss the beautiful green gun aside as it starts to twist its vines angrily around the beheaded sylas briarwood.
instead, he whips out the paintball gun, firing not once, but terrifyingly twice into the air. in a flash, a pair of twin pistols manifest in the air and tumble downwards into percy’s hands. the first in a brilliant teal color with a teal feather dangling off of the shaft of the gun. there are scales decorating down the top of it and a (cute, little) bear paw on the shaft. across the barrel in brilliant cursive:
THE GRAND MISTRESS
the other is black, matte, with a stripe of deep, rich violet down the center to the barrel. dangling off of it, a black feather and a series of multiple colored glass beads. a dagger emblazoned on the side along with:
DUSKMEADOW
and he lets loose on the sylas statue with the teal gone, the other pointing straight ahead at vax and letting loose three fast shots, blindingly sharp.
duskmeadow? is silent as it fires off and zips through the air. you would almost think it backfired (but percy's been reading a lot about guns, and his mind is reaching towards every single design he could possibly ever want to create. every single thing that could quench this rage—the fire, the fire, the fire of the forge, of a hot barrel, of his heart with every kick of it.
but he's open like this. reckless. wild.
the smoke plumes upwards and into a strange shape. hm. probably fine. ]