Either way, to Tsvetok it was very cool and alpha sigma, or whatever the kids these days say.
It roared in Worm's face,
Very threatening, indeed. The valkhound was even flapping its wings like it had some kind of authority on being a menace to nature.
Worm was briefly cowed by the display, flinching in a display of simpering beta-ism, or whatever it is these days. Because it was scary and it was flapping its wings, and that could have hit him! And that could have hurt!
Yet, after a beat, he remembered he was supposed to be standing up to this bully!
Worm hopped a few little steps, back arched as his wrinkled face screwed up into a hiss. In what is likely supposed to be his own threatening display, as much as 1 lb of kitten can be. As he hopped forward in a daring move, he opened his mouth, and several bubbles were formed and blown in the direction of the very-mean-stranger.
The bubbles are utterly harmless, but this playground fight was really heating up. So much so, Worm peered through the bubbles and jeered at the stranger.
They were but toddlers arguing in the playpen.
The valkhound emitted a low, hissing breath as it ran out of air to keep blowing onto Worm, its tongue lapping over its jaws. It did not seem to comprehend that Worm was saying a bad word, hence his lowered voice, so Tsvetok simply bellowed it back in his face.
Worm's face scrunched up as this loud stranger dried out his eyes. Why was it so stinky? Ew. Gross. He felt his skin warm, unaware that this stranger's spell had cursed him with a terrible condition: dry skin the next day. The kitten's stomach lurched at the smell, and he was forced to look away from the heat.
Then, audibly gasped as the valkhound yelled 'naughty shit,' his ears pinned back briefly as he looked over his shoulder. He watched the grass and the treelines for a moment, as if expecting Imp to appear and do the worst thing of all; look a little sad and gentle parent Worm into not saying bad words.
Yet there was one beat. Then two. And no adult appeared to tell either of them off. Emboldened by this realisation, Worm immediately turned to shout directly at Tsvesok's stinky face, trembling as the adrenaline kicked into high gear. It felt like a pack of dog suddenly straining against their chains, 'you get to fight now' they all barked.
Then reeled back to do the unthinkable; spray water directly into the valkhound. Not that a kitten has the force to make it a true attack; the pressure was more akin to someone hosing their dog down in the back garden than anything that would do real damage.
Well, that'd done it.
Apparently, the line was drawn at being called a stinky shit. Tsvetok's jaws parted and an enraged bellow came out from its throat. Oh, it'd kill him. It'd kill him and char the body and set the entire plains on fire-- and if Vargas had anything to say about it, it'd kill him and set him on fire, too.
Its head threw back and another wad of spitifre came choking up its neck. Its head thrashed back down and spat the globule into Worm's direction.
The contact of the fire this time hurt. Through the ringing in his ears, Worm could hear his flesh sizzle, and it made his stomach lurch in equal parts revulsion and pain. It took a handful of disorienting seconds to truly feel it and understand why he'd heard it so clearly. Instinct told him to shake his head, which he did, sending the molten spit flying in all directions.
Burns boiled and reddened around the top of his head, into the creases of his skin, in the creases around the top of his stone. It'd sizzled and peeled away some of the skin, leaving nasty, oozing spots. It almost looked like a very sore, red, blistering toupee.
Fight or flight had long ago kicked in and chosen fight. Pushing into the Valkhound's space, or at least trying to, Worm's maw opened to spew another fountain of water; he tried to put all his malice behind it. He wanted it to hurt. Some animalistic part of him wanted this stranger to feel as bad as it'd made him feel. There wasn't time to think about it. To consider why.
He wanted to hurt the stranger.
Which did nothing to actually bring those thoughts to fruition. The kitten stood, now close to the valkhound, with his mouth agape, just dribbling.
Yes.
YES.
It watched the kitten burn and felt powerful. It didn't matter that Worm was so much smaller than Tsvetok was: it was practically revelling in the damage that it'd done, and the fact that whatever the kit had tried to do in return, it'd failed.
MORE.
Its magic roared to life, its extremedies superheating. It could feel the scorching hot in its talons. The valkhound's forelimb snapped out, aiming to grab at Worm's torso and pin him down onto the grass while its scorching claw seared a mark into his skin.
Worm yowled as he was pushed down into the grass. So stunned by falling back, and his head hitting the floor he barely managed to register that it was hot. Burning, sizzling under the claws of the valkhound.
Worm was --unlike the valkhound-- not designed with fighting in mind. He wasn't difficult to topple and pin. He still wriggled and wormed, however, in a futile attempt to free himself from the claws.
Skin was beginning to peel away and blister before Worm managed to suck in air. Not a lot, but enough to fire a pretty convincing jet of water this time, aiming right for the valkhound's face.
Water blasted onto Tsvetok's face and it recoiled. It hurt a surprising amount, it found-- its face might have even latter blossomed into dark bruises. Its claw loosened in that moment enough for Worm to wriggle out and free himself, but Tsvetok wasn't done.
It reached out into its chest to bring out magic-- but this time, nothing happened at all. Tsvetok shook itself out and roared after Worm.
Wrenching himself free hadn't been the easy, injury-free experience he was hoping for. The delicate, freshly burned flesh ripped as he pulled himself free. Covered in blisters and pus and now bleeding, Worm was starting to look worse for wear.
Survival instincts that worked overtime only to fail him now. It would have been poetic if his head hadn't been thumping with adrenaline.
Only he was starting to feel dry again; he had one chance to recover some of that while... whatever it was doing. Being loud? Was taking up the valkhound's attention.
There wasn't much to take in from the environment. Not after all the grass had been burnt and the smoke made the air acrid. But, now wasn't the time to be fussy; he needed a source of water or risk running himself into the ground. So, he sucked all he could from the air, the opal on his head turning from a cloudy, milky colour to displaying its full display of colours in a crystalline clarity.