Blacktail Deer Plateau disasterpiece

anticipation oozes through the merc's veins with vengeance. muscle cording tight beneath unkempt, cow-licked fur; this'd better be a fight worthy of his fucking time. V doesn't cower or flinch, though his maw wrinkles in disgust at the scent of death that flows from those jaws. burning eyes of hazel meeting pools of brown, he scoffs. "fuck, old man. you talk too much." he taunts with a sharp-toothed, tight-lipped smile.

he doesn't waste anymore time. tucking his chin against his neck to protect his throat, he rushes forward, slamming his shoulder into the taller' mercenary's throat. hoping it'd knock the wind out of his lungs just long enough for his teeth to sink in and lock. when Croft stumbles, V's jaws part, snapping just short of that blood-stained muzzle. spittle flying, lips pulled into a sneer.

a battle of wits, a battle of mercs.