• “­You b***h!!”

    I howled as my flesh was once again caught by another crack from a whip on my arm, I slapped my opposite hand over the cut as a reflex. At the time I was wearing a -ruined- white T-shirt and a long black leather jacket that had lacerations from the middle age style whip, which had thick leather notches that decorated the length of the damn weapon. I had small cuts all over my body from where I had barely evaded the whip and bruises from where I’d fallen when I had poorly managed to dodge the aggravating weapon.

    “I swear I will rip your head off your shoulders if you don’t stay down!!”

    I howled in so much more of an animalistic style than before. I took a step back and regained my original, far calmer, fighting stance. I had my very out of place looking sword griped firmly in both hands, held down by his waist with my feet spread far apart for balance. I had been fighting a women who appeared to be in her early 40’s for over an hour now, she was wearing a customized 1930’s style dress that had been made a little more seductive and much more revealing than any item of clothing that should have from that era, very high combat boots with a floral/tribal pattern running up the side and thin extra length heels. Her hair was done up in two large swirling bunches that left the ends of her curls dangling elegantly from on her eerily skinny shoulder. She stood very ‘correctly’ with her left foot at a perfect 90 degree angle from her right. The ground she stood on was a bed of dry dead earth while she herself was covered in bruises with an extremely tired but smug look on her face.
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    I already regret starting my first chapter this way, I feel like it’s somewhat low brow but I’m hoping it caught your attention and I’m guessing it did considering you’re still reading.

    Not a heartbeat earlier the then my embarrassingly pathetic outburst I had made (what seemed like) my hundredth attempt at her throat with my, if I do say so myself, impressive 3ft 6 inch… broad sword. I was holding the sword so the tip of the blade was pointing to the sunset and the sharp edge was pointing to the floor. The leather hilt was covered in tiny, almost invisible, marks and symbols. The blade it’s self was sweat stained silver with three large perfect circles running down the center of it. Almost touching the slender border that ran about 2 inches away from where the steal started to curve to the sharp tip, the outer part of the sword was a darker shade of the silver than the center of the sword.

    “I’d stay down if you were quick enough to hit me hard enough.' She snickered through her black leather gloves which she was holding up to her mouth to conceal her giggling. The gloves also had white frilly lace and the end and three white lines running down the center of them.
    “So you think you’re clever trying to aggravate me like a child I see. Pretty immature for someone in such… Late years?” I pronounced trying, and failing, to repress a proud smile. Practically spitting the words out after the deep breath I had taken to calm myself down. I’m not exactly known for my control over my temper, but I was getting better at not going over the top when I get mad.“I am not old!!”
    she began, noticing my (not so) slyly worded insult was in fact calling her old. Shocker I know!
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