"Living and dying isn't the real issue. If you cling to being alive, you become frightened and your eyes get clouded. If you don't have that desire to begin with, you can fight on, right to the end of the world."
táifēng --> typhoon
“… Hmph.” That was practically a straightforward offer to start a fight. In all honesty, he wouldn’t mind knocking this woman flat on her ass, just to take her smug attitude down a few pegs. He had done it countless times to other nameless assholes already, and each time ended with a small bit of satisfaction. Despite that, though…
“No thanks. Not in the mood to scrap just to prove a point.” Of course, if she started attacking him, he’d obviously do what it would take to hold her off. But he had gained some better self-control over the past few months.
|| /̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿—;; “No?”
That seemed to agitate her all the further; one of her Beretta pistols were withdrawn from their holster, waved around moreso for emphasis than an actual threat. Her body language, however, was becoming increasingly threatening and aggressive in nature.
“People like you really piss me off, Whitey, y'know that? You get all worked up, then calm right back on down just to be the bigger man. Doesn’t earn you any brownie points in this shithole of a town – just earns you some bulletholes. Look, if you’re scared of me, I’ll make it even easier on ya.”
It was with admitted reluctance that she slid the beloved weapon back within its holster, setting it adjacent to their positions and hanging it on a rotting beam; it was as corrosive as Roanapur itself.
“No weapons. Don’t even have to knock me on my ass. Knock my cigarette outta my mouth, and I’ll be happy – my tight little ass’ll go on its merry fuckin’ way. I need a good fight, and if you’re so goddamn capable, back up the shit you were spewin’.”
