02-23-2020, 11:57 AM
[align=center][div style="text-align:justify;width:55%;font-family:verdana;"]He did love a good show.
These little standoffs were, at best, a play of instinct. Puff out your chest and look imposing, make a threat of yourself until the other animal cowers and tucks its tail between its legs. You don't want to mess with me. Look at my teeth. Look at my claws. Look how many of us there are, and how few of you. If Leroy had given him the chance - the time, the manpower, the trust - this clan would be a smudge in the sand. He'd like to think himself a reasonable tactician when the situation called. It wouldn't be the first time he'd wrenched a scissor through the seams and pulled an operation into disorganized scraps; he'd have the support to do it. But Leroy was a careful man where Kazuhira was not - and thus they brought their offer to the table and left it without a fight, without charging, weapons blazing, into a desert fray.
He bares his teeth. Snarls like the best of them. Theatrics, like every other actor standing in the sand.
And Leroy speaks - that gravelly voice that delivered Snarl's punishment was now laying out the same conditions for the Pitt. Prove yourself worthy and you'll earn your place again. Don't test the limits, for there are few. The cheetah feels the hairs at the back of his neck prickle, his tail giving an involuntary lash. He hadn't told them he'd be letting the enemy into their home. It's an invitation to send their best spies and sabotage every plan they attempted henceforth, and, to those who cared with greater depth than Miller's tactical interests, a breach of their moral code. His expression breaks, then sets ablaze again as he jerks his head toward Leroy. Indignance flashes on his features. He hears Sam, in the distance, already retreating at the leader's words. He's well-prepared to agree with any dismay that might come from his clanmates; this was a terrible mistake in the making.
These little standoffs were, at best, a play of instinct. Puff out your chest and look imposing, make a threat of yourself until the other animal cowers and tucks its tail between its legs. You don't want to mess with me. Look at my teeth. Look at my claws. Look how many of us there are, and how few of you. If Leroy had given him the chance - the time, the manpower, the trust - this clan would be a smudge in the sand. He'd like to think himself a reasonable tactician when the situation called. It wouldn't be the first time he'd wrenched a scissor through the seams and pulled an operation into disorganized scraps; he'd have the support to do it. But Leroy was a careful man where Kazuhira was not - and thus they brought their offer to the table and left it without a fight, without charging, weapons blazing, into a desert fray.
He bares his teeth. Snarls like the best of them. Theatrics, like every other actor standing in the sand.
And Leroy speaks - that gravelly voice that delivered Snarl's punishment was now laying out the same conditions for the Pitt. Prove yourself worthy and you'll earn your place again. Don't test the limits, for there are few. The cheetah feels the hairs at the back of his neck prickle, his tail giving an involuntary lash. He hadn't told them he'd be letting the enemy into their home. It's an invitation to send their best spies and sabotage every plan they attempted henceforth, and, to those who cared with greater depth than Miller's tactical interests, a breach of their moral code. His expression breaks, then sets ablaze again as he jerks his head toward Leroy. Indignance flashes on his features. He hears Sam, in the distance, already retreating at the leader's words. He's well-prepared to agree with any dismay that might come from his clanmates; this was a terrible mistake in the making.