I Know Who I Am stared down the buck across from them. Good Swamp, but he was a pretty one. It was going to be a shame to mess up such a lovely face. She flipped her hair out of her eyes, and grinned in a way that could only be described as fucked up.

"C'mon handsome," I Know practically purred. "Let's see what you've got."

Astraea wrote:

Spurred on by his belief that the motes of light that had gathered as of late were lost souls trapped between two places, Death had spent considerable time trying to coax these wayward lights towards the place they were meant to go. He had tried speaking aloud, praying, quietly lingering around them in a relaxed and open state...

Nothing. Nothing has happened. Not words to his ears, quiet or loud. No pulling feeling in the base of his being, nothing.

Death was never one to use force or violence, but a little exercise may help get his head back in a good space.

"A question if I may.." he said as he dove for the attack.

(116)

She hadn't had the chance to answer but Death didn't care. He dove forward with intent.

"Do you think that if you are killed, that you will become a mote?"

(30)

A miss. He was old and combat wasn't his fore, but something spurred him on. Something inside him welled.

"Or do you think that you will return to Motherfather?"

The feeling swelled within him higher. Her spindly legs, sticks really. It was amazing they held up her weight and not buckle.

Attack there. Something whispered. It'll be over in a second. Nice and swift, she'll never know what hit her. It might even be painless...

He got in her face and his visage distorted. A smile. A smile as twisted as hers, full of wickedness and a certain type of madness. His breath was hot, his mouth near her ear and he breathed softly;

"Do you disappear if Death himself kills you?"

(124)

Ok keeping the 1, 6, 6, 5

Roll 1 for full set

rolled one dice extra

Re-rolling since I rolled 1 extra dice

I ROLLED THE WRONG DICE AGAIN WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME

Rolled wrong dice, I am clearly too tired or too stupid for this

Death's Final Hand - 1,6,6,6,5 = 29

I Know let him ramble for a bit. Cursing when he made contact, but mostly just kind of giving him some seriously impressive side-eye. Scratch flirting off of the to-do list: This guy was a little nuts.

A lot of nuts.

I Know lowered their head and rammed him square in the chest. That was always the best part of being lower to the ground than most ... All their squishy bits were easier to reach.

(Keeping: 1, 1, 6, 1)

Maybe, and they were spit-balling here, maybe they needed to be less self-congratulatory and more focused on winning this fight. Because wow that attempt at a kick in the knees failed spectacularly. Not that they'd ever openly admit that.

"I meant to miss," they hissed under their breath. Maybe at Death? Unlikely, though, because I Know Who I Am really didn't know how to answer any of his questions.

Their next hit didn't land either as they stumbled past the kimeti buck in what should have been an excellent whirling kick from the left.

They twirled back around in a growl, huffing and puffing in frustration, and then just ... Just.

Sat down abruptly.

"I don't know," they said pretty squarely, "never really expected Death to breath so hotly in my face. And I don't mean it was hot like attractive hot. Just more, like, are you okay?? Do you have a fever maybe?"

(Final hand: 1, 1, 6, 1, 4 = 28)

It was a good thing he couldn't see his own face because the smile he had on was one that would frighten him.

He'd won.

But as this realization hit him, it was like a fog lifted. He saw the zikwa in front of him, plopped on his rump, sweating and breathing hard from their tussle. His mind gained clarity and he dearly wished it hadn't.

The fight played across his memory. His horror and embarrassment increased with every remembered action and every recalled word. His mouth moved like a fish gulping for air as he struggled to come up with some kind of explanation for what had just happened.

"I..I just..I..I..I don't...I don't.." His back legs buckled slightly. He too needed to sit down but he fought the feeling. What even what was that? What were those feelings? Why did he think like that. He shuttered; recollecting his last statement.

"Do you disappear if Death himself kills you?"

His stomach lurched so hard the breath was forced from his lungs. That was not him. Those words, those emotions were not him. What was wrong with himself?

The zikwa's words drifted into his ears.

"Y..yes I think..I think I am not feeling well." He had real intent at first, asking someone else what they thought about the motes. Something about the them, about the darkness, about all of this has caused absolute chaos in his soul. His legs began to shake, then his body. He needed to leave. Now.

"I'm sor..." he didn't finish the word, he couldn't. He just turned and tore into the darkness. He needed to get away from everyone, everything.

He was terrified of himself.

(279)