Hi, my name is....blunt. (Nishaa)

[Malachai]

As he slammed the laptop shut, he ran a hand through his dark locks, mussing them slightly while muttering, "What the **** kind of ******** is that? Forging is more important? I wonder if that woman knows her *** from a hole in the ground?"

"I'm going out to kill ****," he called to his wife before grabbing his favorite gun and heading out the door and straight to the caverns. Once in the caverns, he focused on killing everything he came across. Not that he really needed to focus since killing had become second nature to him over the last three and a half years. Aim, fire, slice. The motions smooth and fluid as he worked his way up and down the passages, moving down mine shafts when he cleared one floor of its denizens. Occasionally he stopped when one of the stones that littered the rough floor caught his eye, stooping down to examine it with a critical eye before pocketing it or tossing it aside. Sapphire's were his preference.

At last he finally stopped to clean his weapons, taking a cloth from the knapsack he carried he ran it almost lovingly along the blade of his sword, the blood and tissue coming away with each stroke down the blade. As he worked, he kept his senses tuned in on what was going on around him, his back to one of the stone walls so that no one could sneak up on him. Given the turn things had taken on Crownet, it was just good sense to keep something at his back. Once he was satisfied with the blade, he slid it into the scabbard before turning his attention to his handgun. He loved the small firearm. It was powerful, accurate and of a high quality, but what made him like it so much was that he'd designed it himself. Hours and hours he'd worked, scrapping several attempts before finally assembling one he liked. It was easy to clean, easy to break down, and quick to reassemble.

The work was cathartic, helping the last of his irritation drain away. Content that his weapons were clean and ready to go, he took the time to refill the clips for his gun before sliding it into the custom shoulder holster, fully loaded ready to draw with no notice. With that taken care of, he got to his feet and began to work his way through the corridors again, now working on specific training as he moved, alone with his thoughts, he began to feel something akin to sorry for what he'd said on Crownet. Well, maybe not sorry but some kind of remorse for being so....blunt. But too, it simply wasn't in his nature to sugar coat ****. He'd seen what that could do, and all too often it lead to misunderstandings. Better to be a dickhead and get his point across the first time, then go have his wife help him yank his foot out of his mouth. "Shoe leather really needs to come in cherry flavor," he muttered as he moved.

[Nishaa]

She threw her diary to the ground. She had written how she wanted to crush Malachai’s dick with something extremely heavy and then laugh at him as she cries over it. Nishaa was an extremely angry woman when she was worked up, and now she was worked up. She had been busy at the forge, she didn’t check the Crownet as often as she used to, she had a task to do for Tytonidae. She needed to make them those blades. So they could slice and dice those dickheads a little bit easy. She could even make them dress up as slices of cheese. The woman snickered in thought.

Onyx hues looked at the book that lay on the floor, open to an entry that was written last year. She huffed and kicked it under the bed. Grabbing a freshly forged blade from the holder she pushed it into its holder then she grabbed her Christmas present from Micah and placed that in its holster against her back and tomed to the Eyrie. She didn’t say anything to anyone as she walked, she was just far too angry. If the woman could have steam coming out of her ears there would have been. She made her way to the third floor and stepped through the fadeportal, the one that would take her to the caverns. She needed to vent, and stabbing, and shooting was the best release for her – that or sex, and there were no women around for her to **** right now.

So that was what Nishaa did, she made her way through the caverns and shot anything that even took a step close to her, when they sagged to their knees she cut their throats clean and watched the life leave their eyes. It made her feel a little bit better each time she did it; the anger would slowly evaporate from her chunk by chunk. There was still a lot of hate within her.

That was when she saw him, wiping down his blade. Malachai. A twisted smile etched across her face as she made her way over to him and placed a blade to his back, the silver tip pushed against the spine before she removed it.. “Anymore witty retorts to say to me, dickhead?” She asked casually as she spun around to look at him, her lips were set in a straight line, her dark hair was in an untidy bun and she wore a little pony tee shirt, with some ripped black jeans, her cheeks were dirty from the ash, and heat of the forge. Her eyes were like daggers. An abyss that was trying to pull Malachai within them.

[Malachai]

He smirked at her as he leaned against a wall and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, taking the time to light one and draw the smoke deep into his lungs before he replied, "I've been called worse by better than you. As for witty retorts, you really don't know me very well, do you? One reason I stopped talking was because Velveteen stepped in. Otherwise, I could have gone on and on about what a shitty, interim leader you are. I also could have gone back and forth with your....valiant protector, shall we call her? The other reason I got quiet is simply this, you and Rion, got boring and predictable."


Those eyes of her, the look she was giving him, drew a chuckle from Mal. She obviously didn't know his wife was a redhead and that Echo was the only woman capable of giving him a murderous look that would be effective, "If that look is supposed to be intimidating, it needs some work. Maybe go practice it on your sire some more before you try it on anyone else." Mal took one last drag from his cigarette, the tip flaring orange before he dropped it to the floor and ground it beneath the heel of his boot, while he doubted it would start a fire, it wasn't a risk he was willing to take.

Mal regarded her for a long moment, chocolate hues assessing her, as if tallying her strengths and weaknesses before he spoke again, "Nishaa, in all seriousness, you dropped the ball. For whatever reason, you made the decision that forging weapons took precedence over keeping an eye on **** while Micah and Velveteen were away. **** happens, but don't expect me to sugar coat things to spare your feelings, because that's definitely not the kind of guy I am. If that makes me a dickhead in your eyes, so be it. If you don't like being called out, then next time, do your ******* job better. No, you don't need to hold anyone's hand, but it should have been you putting together that hunt, not Every. And before you get your panties in a wad, I'm not lecturing you. I'm telling you like it is, no drama, no ********, just straight up fact."

Dear god, he sounded like a ******* school teacher or worse, he sounded like Micah used to when Mal had been a newly turned vampire! A irritated mutter escaped from him as he reached for another cigarette, "Well ****, someone's influence and preaching must have rubbed off on me after all."

He heaved a heavy sigh, one hand running through the dark locks that graced his head before he lit the smoke that sat between his fingers and began puffing away on it while he waited to see what her next move would be, glad as hell Micah wasn't here to hear him either to chew him out or give him **** for what he'd just said.