[FIN] Still here? (Nemanja & Mittere)

[Uta]

What was an advantage to Mittere, was her small size and Nemanja's wide girth. It was difficult not to find some part of him in her claws, and she was able to pounce upon his back with ease.

The large lion found this . . . unusual. . . . There was now pain in his back, and though his mane protected his neck from getting snapped, she still had paws and claws, and all sorts of pointy bits.

At least she had let go of his tail.

Deciding that he needed to do something with the lioness, he first gave himself a large shake. He was certain her claws would dig in to his back, into his wing muscles, especially if she wished to hang on. But it was a start. . . and something he was planning to have happen. Just how nimble was Mittere, just how long could she hold on to a god?

 

[mouselet]

As predicted, Mittere dug her claws in a bit deeper in order to remain on the god's back through all the shaking. He seemed to be trying to throw her off, or at least offbalance. A sardonic smile crossed the pink lioness' lips - she'd been through worse. Not to mention this was a fairly normal reaction to having someone hanging onto one's back by their claws.

She was a bit leery of his head and neck, not knowing where else the horns were buried beneath his mane, but if you didn't take chances you couldn't win. The Warrior angled her neck downward, jaws opening wide to take a much stronger grip on the god's neck than her claws had in his back.  

[Uta]

So she intended to stay.

There would be no shaking her, there would be no removing her in such a pleasant manner. Well fine. So be it.

For a moment the lion considered flight, as it was more of a power and less of a need for wings. Any god could actually fly, but the question remained on whether or not he desired to take the lioness for a spin. Or if he could at all.

Still . . . Though she had a mouthful of grimy mane and the back of his neck, the pain was the most he had felt in a long time. It was unpleasant, he would be sore and hurting, but it was nice to remember that this was what happened when one lived, when one chose to interract.

It might very well have happened if he had ignored her. But . . . that didn't matter. The point now was to get her off.

So it was, the lion did what he was extra ordinarily good at. Flopping. Except while she was busy clawing in to him, too interested in her fangs and claws, he was going to flop to his side, and roll. Right on to his back. There was something always so appealing about a collapse. . . mostly because it usually meant he had nothing to think about, care about, or do.
 

[mouselet]

Mittere gasped, spitting out a mouth of hair and gods only knew what. She also fought the urge to giggle - supposedly one god at least knew what was in this mane. But the gasp was more important, as the air was being driven from her body by the weight of the male on top of her, who was rolling over, as if in a sandbath.

He may have given her a good reason to let go of his neck, but damnit, she was not giving up her hold on his back so easily! Even though she could taste his blood, could almost feel the satisfaction of it telling her she'd done enough for one day, the pink lioness refused to give in. Not until she was good and ready!  

[Uta]

And so, the large god stayed flopped. He honestly had no real intention of getting up, and though her claws and fangs dug deep in to him, he could wait it out. Wait her out. He had moved enough, and while it was far from an epic battle, it had been . . . the hint of something.

She'd ease off eventually, and then he'd roll back to his paws.

Maybe.

Maybe he'd just squish her until she turned to dust. Maybe he'd let her rot beneath him, before he intended to move. It didn't matter, really. She could fight, she could kick, she could rip his back to shreds. At the end of the day, he still weighted more, and she had very little place to go or wiggle room.

This was the life, after all. . . . He was existing.
 

[mouselet]

Long seconds passed. Then minutes. Slowly, Mittere began to realize that the god had every intention of staying in this position until it suited him to move otherwise. The way he'd been flopped in the same spot for days on end.

A rumbling growl built deep in the pink lioness' chest. She would not let it end this way!

After struggling for a few minutes, the Warrior concluded that she could not force the god upwards. However, a winged lion's back is not the flattest of places. She did, in fact, have some room to wriggle around, and she intended to utilize that to its fullest.  

[Uta]

When he felt the lioness begin to squirm, begin to push and fight her way out, he . . . . allowed her such a thing. Let her squirm out beneath him. Let her resolve fight her way out. He wouldn't stop her. Though it meant his stomach might be vulnerable, though it meant she might win, what did he care?

This entire experience meant nothing to him. He was humoring her. He hadn't snarled, hadn't uttered a single complaint. If she wished to fight, to battle, she had picked the wrong target.

He had fought her.

Sort of.

In his . . . own way.
 

[mouselet]

It took a bit of effort and a chunk of time, but the lioness finally squirmed out from underneath the god. And he'd done nothing to stop her. Angrily, she stomped over to his head, ignoring the many bruises on her body, and the countless tiny cuts dripping blood.

"What," she snarled at the god, "was that supposed to be?" Had he been fighting or not? Yes, he'd reacted, but there'd been little heart or intent in any of his motions. As if the whole interaction had meant as little to him as lying flopped in Kitwana'antara territory.  

[Uta]

The large lion readjusted himself a bit as Mittere finally managed to crawl out from underneath him. Surprisingly, she did not continue the fight, did not continue to press her attack. She stomped over and began to snarl at him, began to complain. . . .

She really was very high strun. ". . . what did you wish it be? You asked for a fight. I obliged. . . sort of." It was the truth. He had fought. She never specified how long she wished the battle to rage.

 

[mouselet]

Mittere continued glaring at the lion. "That was not a fight. That was you moving in ways you supposed to be useful in some way. A fight is about commitment!" She barely refrained from continuing on about how the god clearly had no commitment. It might be true, but for some reason, insulting the male seemed much more offensive than simply attacking him.

"And why would you want to oblige me? What do my opinions matter to you, Mr. I'm-Just-Existing-Here?" The pink lioness tried to keep her voice under control, but she was hissing on her esses, just slightly. Something she hadn't done since she was a lisping little cub.  

[Uta]

The god considered the pink lioness, watching her numbly, without care. He continued to lay sprawled upon his back, not at all concerned that his vulnerable stomach was exposed. He wasn't worried around about Mittere or the fact that she was apparently all sorts of worked up. The fact that he had obliged her at all was a miracle. . . just a short-lived one.

His tail gave a flop and he slowly, ever so slowly, rolled to his side. It was far from graceful, really, but at least this way he was actually facing the lioness and needn't crane his neck to see her. ". . . I committed for a moment. Then I ended it, as you can clearly see." It was true. They weren't fighting anymore, squishing her head seemingly stopped her attack. "If you wish for true battle, I would suggest finding the God of Battle or War. They might be more to your taste." If fighting was a commitment to her, than keeping with his domain was a commitment to him. He was Apathy. He was keeping to his domain quite well.

". . your opinion doesn't matter. Be honored I took the time to even indulge in your desire, lioness." He wasn't trying to be condescending, he was merely speaking truth. There were very few he felt the inclination to humor. She didn't matter anymore than he did. He didn't care if she grew angered, livid, or chewed upon him. She could do what he pleased, just as he would do what he wished. No more, no less.
 

[mouselet]

It was probably a good thing that lions had a thick coating of fur over their bodies, else Mittere's face would be red as the blood streaking both her and the god. How...how dare he! Just because he didn't give a s**t didn't mean he should give some sort of half-hearted fight! The Master Warrior lived for combat and to end up like this to some god that just wouldn't commit...!

Needless to say, it rankled.

"So you're saying I should feel honored that you're sitting here, accomplishing nothing but the death of small vermin, defying the traditions of this pride and just generally getting in my way? I don't think so!" The pink lioness advanced again, until by the last four words she was nearly forehead-to-forehead with the lion, practically shouting in his face.  

[Uta]

Nemanja'jana watched as the lioness stalked forward, snarling and spitting and generally getting all sorts of upset over. . . what? His lack of commitment? What did it matter to her that he did not fight her? If she wished blood there were others that would likely humor her.

"You are the one seeking me. If I am in your way, than you may gladly step around or over me, to continue onward." He purposefully chose to take her words literally, knowing very well that was not what she meant. Heaving a breath, he flopped his head back down on the ground, resuming his earlier flop that she had found him in.

Let her grow upset, let her exhaust such energy. He really didn't care.
 

[mouselet]

Mittere could feel the blood rushing through her veins, her vision clouding with red. The lioness spluttered, rage overcoming her control to the point where she couldn't form words. In this mood, there was only one thing she could do, and that was ripping enemies to shreds. This force of anger was what made her such an exceptional warrior in the past. This was what had allowed her to survive long enough to make it to the Kitwana'antara.

But even with the wave of rage washing over her, she could not bring herself to attack a god. The black and white lion was not an enemy, he was just obnoxious.

She snarled, whirled and ran, looking for the first enemy or preybeast to take her anger out on.