[1x1] Hot Guns and Rosy Hair (West x Mot)

[Bittiface]

Mot still needed to train. Much more training. His next battle with Hel would come sooner than later, and he did not want to lose as terribly as he had with her last time.

So, like a creepy creep, Mot waited in the gym, leaning against a wall, opening and closing the barrel of one of his guns.

The clicking echo'd off the walls as he waited for a willing opponent.  

[Smerdle]

West wanted to fight. Kind of. He wasn't desperate enough today to bring the sign, but he was taking the long way back to his dorm after going to pick up a snack. The very long way.

It only took him a couple of steps into the building to hear the clicking. He stopped, listening to the foreign sound with a curious expression. No, the gym didn't usually make noises like that. He crumpled his bag of piggle rinds shut and began moving forward again, turning the corner into the gym with the slightest twinge of apprehension.

"Oh. It's Prince... Mot," he said with a grin. That was the boil's name, right? West had never really fought anyone one-on-one who used... a gun. It was just the sort of practice he needed. Unless the boil was looming around the gym for no reason at all. "Here t'fight?"  

[Bittiface]

Say what?

Mot blinked, ceasing his clicking and turned his head to regard the Wrath demon. Ah yes, he knew of West. He'd seen him at Prom, and here and there. The Prince comment didn't bother him all that much. It was a fun memory,one he liked to torment Levi with.

"Well howdy, partner." Mot replied with a nod. "Yes, I am. Interested?" He pushed himself off of the wall, stepping a few paces away from his perch.  

[Smerdle]

Excellent. West set his snack down by the door and took off his jacket, resting it on top of the bag. Behind him, his wings appeared, unfurling and fluffing out with only the slightest audible accompaniment. "S'long as y'don't mind these," he said, his grin upgrading from 'smarmy' to 's**t-eating'. He hadn't felt the urge to show off like this since he had fought Mandy.

But one question remained.

How the hell was he supposed to dodge a gun?  

[Smerdle]

He came to the conclusion that having an advantage might help. Before retreating, West rushed forward and struck Mot, not paying attention to where his punch had landed before flapping once, twice, the momentum carrying him backward across the floor. He could already tell this fight was going to take a lot out of him, but the experience promised to be worth it.

HP: 40
Damage: 4  

[Bittiface]

Wings. He had wings. Mot grinned. "Perfect." This would be perfect to train himself with. Hel had wings, which had put him at a disadvantage in their last battle.

He recoiled backward at the hit from West, belatedly bringing up his arms to defend from it. He watched intently where West had fled back to, aiming both revolvers at his figure.

With an audible loading sound, he fired.

HP: 36
Damage: MISS  

[Smerdle]

Holy crap. West's hands jerked toward his chest at the sound of the shots, feeling for a pair of puncture wounds that weren't there. He hadn't even seen where the bullets had gone.

With a burst of recklessness he sprinted forward again, aided by his wings, and hit Mot for the second time. After this punch he didn't stay on the ground, instead taking to the air more slowly than he had backed away previously. He probably shouldn't have flapped so hard. At this rate, he would be running around on the ground soon.

HP: 40
Damage: 4  

[Bittiface]

Again, Mot wasn't able to dodge, taking on another hit and watching as the demon took to the air.

Mot huffed, taking better care to aim just one of his revolvers at the demon and firing a shot, aiming for the wings.

HP: 32
Damage: 2  

[Smerdle]

Another shot rang out, but this time West was better prepared for the sound. Too bad he was not any more adept at seeing where in the hell the bullet had gone. He dipped slightly in the air, noticing the sting that now accompanied every flap of his left wing. Son of a b***h.

He climbed higher in the air, unwilling to be shot at again until he could figure out how to properly counter.

HP: 38
Damage: MISS  

[Bittiface]

HP: 32
Damage: 7

Hm. H was flying higher. Annoying, but not impossible to shoot. mot moved forward, eyeing the boil carefully.

He aimed both pistols high in the air, and fired several times at the boil's wing again.  

[Smerdle]

He tried to dodge but ended up flying right into Mot's hail of bullets instead. West hissed with surprise and beat his wings, but he was most certainly not accustomed to using them while they were riddled with holes. He began to fall, and had almost managed to recover when he caught the air wrong and fell to the ground, hard.

West pushed himself to his feet, his wings disappearing to wherever they went when he wasn't using them to fly. He spun to face Mot, a murderous look on his face, and as he walked forward and raised his fist, it began to glow a churning red. Why had he thought this fight was a good idea again?

"Drop th' guns an' stop fightin' like a pansy!" he shouted, pulling back his arm to punch the boil. He began to swing right before he reached Mot, the glow brightening until it was nearly blinding, and then...

It stopped. The glow popped out of existence as suddenly as West's wings had and a pained look crossed the demon's face as he lowered his fist. Ow.

HP: 26
Damage: Y1 Gambler's Chance miss: 0 to Mot, 5 to West  

[Bittiface]

HP: 32
Damage: 3

Mot watched with with an awed expression as West went plummeting to the ground. Wow! So it worked? Hit their wings enough and--

---and they'll come storming over to punch in your face. "AAH!" Mot yelped, bring his arms up to shield himself. However, West seemed to deflate all of the sudden. The reaper's heart was pounding in fear of the wrath demon, but took no chance in waiting to see what had gone wrong.

"Not happening!" Mot replied to his earlier shouting, and made a run for it. The thin as a stick reaper was nothing without his weapons.

Mot fired a couple rounds back at West as he tried to gain some distance again.  

[Smerdle]

West stood his ground, the shots stinging as they pinged off of his legs. How was he going to proceed? It seemed a waste to go running around after Mot, but if he couldn't get the boil to stop shooting, he was going to lose this fight. He had never wanted anything more than he wanted a gun right now. Surely he could petition someone to let demons have them.

HP: 23
Damage: MISS  

[Bittiface]

HP: 32
Damage: 3

Excellent! West hadn't followed him for now. Rather than worry why or why not, Mot turned on his heel and took another couple of shots.  

[Smerdle]

Another smattering of bullets hit West, this time grazing his arms and torso. Not cool. He raised his hand as he had moments before, but this time the other joined it before they both began to glow. When the glow dissipated, West didn't look pained, he looked predatory.

HP: 20
Damage: 0
Effect: West subtracts -4 instead of -6 to determine damage for the next 3 rounds.