Post by Mifupa on Dec 8, 2020 21:36:48 GMT
“Y’all shouldn’t be here you know.”
For a guy who smelled like the tomb, Mif’s ability to be sneaky when he wanted to was shocking. Mostly the trick was knowing which way the wind was blowing. Having then chosen to give himself away by speaking, he took a step out from the overhang. Mifupa’s face was cast in stark shadows as he looked down. His eyes sockets in particular were nearly black thanks to the lighting, appropriately making the undertaker’s face appropriately more skull-like. He stopped moving after a single step, nearly falling back into the background of the rock wall he was up on.
Mif knew his race got a reputation for being stupid, which was of course utter bull. He’d stayed downwind and had the higher ground, if things went south. And being smaller and not having to lean back on brute force, he was clever about getting out of trouble. Though Mif had nothing to gain from attacking, and his body language was clearly nonaggressive. He did have some genuine concern: an inattentive lion was begging to get destroyed by hungry predators. Pride (heh) and overconfidence in the face of other carnivores got plenty of lions killed before. He’d seen it happen… and prepared their bodies.
“Wrong neighborhood n’ junk,“ he continued, taking a few steps.
Moving further into the full starlight, the stark shadows dissipated, better revealing his features. In particular, the gentle chilled out wide smile on his face. Mif was the farthest thing from hostile, but wasn’t overly friendly— his demeanor was overwhelmingly casual. He appeared to focus on a specific spot on the rock ledge and then laid down on it. A paw papped on one of the larger stones in a pile near him, as he privately took bets on whether or not these two would be speciesist buttheads to him.
For a guy who smelled like the tomb, Mif’s ability to be sneaky when he wanted to was shocking. Mostly the trick was knowing which way the wind was blowing. Having then chosen to give himself away by speaking, he took a step out from the overhang. Mifupa’s face was cast in stark shadows as he looked down. His eyes sockets in particular were nearly black thanks to the lighting, appropriately making the undertaker’s face appropriately more skull-like. He stopped moving after a single step, nearly falling back into the background of the rock wall he was up on.
Mif knew his race got a reputation for being stupid, which was of course utter bull. He’d stayed downwind and had the higher ground, if things went south. And being smaller and not having to lean back on brute force, he was clever about getting out of trouble. Though Mif had nothing to gain from attacking, and his body language was clearly nonaggressive. He did have some genuine concern: an inattentive lion was begging to get destroyed by hungry predators. Pride (heh) and overconfidence in the face of other carnivores got plenty of lions killed before. He’d seen it happen… and prepared their bodies.
“Wrong neighborhood n’ junk,“ he continued, taking a few steps.
Moving further into the full starlight, the stark shadows dissipated, better revealing his features. In particular, the gentle chilled out wide smile on his face. Mif was the farthest thing from hostile, but wasn’t overly friendly— his demeanor was overwhelmingly casual. He appeared to focus on a specific spot on the rock ledge and then laid down on it. A paw papped on one of the larger stones in a pile near him, as he privately took bets on whether or not these two would be speciesist buttheads to him.