thursday pic prompt

[basslines]

the picture prompt meme

i. COMMENT WITH CHARACTER
ii. OTHERS LEAVE A PICTURE (OR TWO OR THREE....)
iii. REPLY TO THEM WITH A SETTING BASED ON THE IMAGES.

THIS POST WILL BE IMAGE HEAVY.

link to an image: <a href="IMAGEURL">TEXT</a>

embed an image in your reply: <img src="IMAGEURL">

control width and height: <img src="IMAGEURL" width="INSERT"> OR <img src="IMAGEURL" height="INSERT">

Comments

[impegno]

[ Immediate Varia response reaction, a step-by-step tutorial:

1. breathe: you don't know when your lungs will get crushed, punctured, mauled or otherwise critically inconvenienced courtesy of the trademark Varia enthusiasm

2. calmly raise your hand to the side, two lifted fingers signalling your keen henchmen that, despite lapel-manhandling appearances, everything is well, under control, and by no means worth the blood bath that would arrive from defending The Boss

3. remember you are dealing with Jaws, and that this here poor destitute shark is such a clear victim of the lingering recession that its attacks are still bereft of a wonderful, but sadly copyright-saddled soundtrack

4. laugh: you also don't know when you'll still be boasting a full-pearl gallery, so might as well make use of it

5. slowly, as if disciplining a spooked horse, let your unengaged hand join your shark companion's fins on your lapels

6. briefly wonder whether the recent appreciation for shark cuisine has left many of your poor assailant's close kin on the brink of extinction

7. sympathise

8. reduce your sympathy, given brief recollection of points #1 and #4

9. lift your chin and look your Varia attacker dead in the eye, with every bit of the composure a mafia don or a stubborn toddler denied his pacifier can summon

10. laugh again, this time with every hint of falsetto you can muster, purely because it will annoy the hell out of him ]

You're. Selling. On. The cheap. Tell Xanxus that for me, won't you?

MY SIDES

[sharktrash]

[ It does annoy the hell out of him. So would most of those steps if he was aware of such an instruction existing. His fishy cousins deserved better than becoming some losers' soup, okay? ]

[ Squalo isn't concerned with Cavallone's lackeys, mostly because being Pride incarnate comes with being certain he'd trash them without breaking a sweat (you'd think losing to a baseball tween would've punched that overconfidence out of him, but nah). He is concerned about Dino mouthing off against the Varia, because it is, for better or worse, his baby and nobody savages it without answering to him. ]

[ He stares at Dino for a long moment, not moving but not letting go either, his grip on the other man relaxing slightly. ]

[ Then he's smashing their foreheads together in one hell of a headbutt. ]

YOUR CAPS.

[impegno]

[ Word to the street-smarts wise: hell hath no fury like a parietal bone scorned. It's not that Dino loathes headbutting in practice — if you're getting battered, you're getting battered, why dally in details — it's that the principle of it insults every last one of his accounting sensibilities. An offensive move that equally damages both parties, or risks the initiator more, is downright inefficient. If you're gonna take matters into your very literal fins-slash-hands, might at least be productive.

Most men would agree and avoid headbutting out of sheer practicality.

Unfortunately, Superbia Squalo is a shark that's sadly missed his cue to bank on the latest cinematographic tornado, its dazzling sequel, the unexpected triplet or the still-dragging hideous monstrosity to rule them all.

Squalo has not so far proven himself the leather-clad picture of solid life decisions.

All of this is to say, when an oversized, strategically fringe-shielded forehead collides into his own, Dino isn't exactly surprised, horrified, or overall capable of more than meeting his quota of hissing, groaning, moaning and muttering. His grasp on Squalo's hands weakens at first, then steels, and — the first haze of confused nausea dispelling — he takes a step back, then another to follow it. Distance, it turns out, doesn't quite produce revelation when you've just had the world's least worthwhile injury inflicted on you.

Dino's tongue clicks. Clacks. Makes an orchestra of slow-soft, useless sounds. Then, finally, he lets go of Squalo's hand just enough to vaguely touch his arm, then warmly pat his shoulder. Repeatedly. ]

Squalo...? That... hurt.

[ You know, in case the Varia needed another five-out-of-five-star review. ]

[sharktrash]

[ Correction: it theoretically damages both parties equally. When you have someone with as thick of a skull as Squalo, that assessment becomes questionable, not to mention that instead of putting him in a coma, years of continuous cranial trauma seemed to have made him durable enough to walk away from being put through a wall head first. Silver linings. ]

[ (Shut up, Dino. It was clearly solid life decisions to cut off his own dominant hand, pledge his life to a wife right hand beater, refuse to work for the Cavallone, and rely on the single sword style the teenager he fought to the death for a better job was using.) ]

[ Squalo wrings his hand away, staring down his nose at Dino as if he was some kind of a disgusting creature that had just crawled out of the guts of a dead cat. Then he smirks, just a little, teeth showing in one corner of his mouth. ]

It'd better. Are you done pissing me off, or should I castrate you right here?

[ He's strategically not using the word 'kill'. For all of his overconfidence, he knows Pipsqueak Dino has grown into quite a formidable fighter. It'd be trouble. A significant injury, though? He's pretty damn certain it's something he's capable of, and it therefore makes for a legit threat. ]

[ Even if it's the last fucking thing he does, it's not like Cavallone could really call his continued dickless existance "life", after all. ]