#outofoxxygen

[crimetimefox]

A f(riend)ox in need!

@lackofoxxygen

Oh! He’s missed father’s day!

Gregg’s father was one of two sacks of garbage in the parental line. A shame. The fox sadly doesn’t have time to curse his parents out or he’d spend an hour doing so under his breath... or at the top of his lungs. Who’d stop him, really? Not a damn person, that’s who, he hardly know’s where he is! The forest bordering Xalphina, probably... he saw some flashy magical stuff earlier. That’s enough to convince him of his whereabouts for now, at least. He’s been searching the forests for dry leaves he can bundle up into sacks he totally got legally.

These past few days have gone well! He’s been ignoring the voice that sounds all too close to Angus for his liking. Chances are obtaining the lamp oil is going to be... twice as hard though. He doesn’t have the dust for it and that leads to only ONE suggestion.

Gregg is gonna fucking steal it obviously he still hasn’t gotten word back on whether or not the weed he took to the queen was good. He’s definitely not going to resort to just stabbing the hand this time, that wasn’t good enough for protection - it felt small and ineffective. Fire, though... fire is always painful. The question is from who? Where? Which kingdom could have the most? How much is eno--

A rustle of leaves. A few twigs snap.

A fucking knife directly in his back.

He knows the blade, sharp - but still dull... it’s fucking wooden! The pain forces Gregg to reflex and slam his elbow directly into his assailants face. He turns to see just who the fucker is when he comes face to face... with his face. Made of purple mist and not a lot of details, but it’s impossible to miss the fact that he just got stabbed by himself. He’s got the knife in his back still, and now’s a good time as any to fucking hoof it. Adrenaline pumping and confusion dawning on him, he’s not taking anymore time to question anything; the fox knows he’s gotta get a fucking move on. Xalphina may have an issue with his kingdom but he doesn’t have a choice in this moment, all he can do is run for the nearest bit of civilization and hope to god anyone can help.

Here’s hoping that leather he’s got on didn’t let the blade slip in too deeply. Bleeding is already one worry, he can’t spare the time to think about what else might happen. If this is a show of what’s to come, he’ll get the oil immediately after this has blown over -- if he survives.

[crimetimefox]

Fire works! He fucking knew fire would work and DAMN well it does! He found himself out in the open after the tree he was hiding behind simply flashed out of existence. Now he’s working with a X bandoleer full of molotovs, and a crate behind him with even MORE of them. On top of that, he even made smaller holders on his legs and such for unlit firebombs, how intuitive.

Issue with this spot is, with every small one taking a full fledged firebomb to the face, and coating the ground in oil... Gregg’s slowly getting surrounded by his own fire. The realization sets in on him, and he takes the time to focus on the one’s swooping in on him from above. Surely, for right now, none of the ground ones can run through this much fire.

Lamp oil burns bright, and hot. What a hell he’s making for himself in this leather. It’s fair to assume he didn’t hear Scriggins at all... 

@crimetimefox

Slicing and punching his way through a horde of cannon fodder, he does his best to stay in front of city guards and protect them, though they were much better off in terms of gear than he was. Doesn't matter, it's in his mind to protect the ones who are fighting with him. His sword skills are that of a rookie, but having been thrown into the chaos, he was improving rapidly. He was no samurai, no Viking warrior. No Sephiroth, no Travis Touchdown. What was he, you ask? A very, very angry young man with a very, very large, very very sharp sword. Cleaving the head off one large Cyclops monster, and running a wolf creature through to the hilt, he lets out a beastly roar, along with a blast of fire, hotter than a dozen blacksmith's forges. This power boost had boosted his fire breathing ability, letting him set fire to a sea of enemies in front of him.

Closing his jaws, he coughs a bit, before noticing one Greggory Lee, flinging Molotov cocktails everywhere and clutching his crossbow. "Get em, Gregg!"

[crimetimefox]

lackofoxxygen‌:

Sure, those angry monsters might not be able to power their way through the fire and flames, but those angry monsters were not Draken Steve Scriggins with the intentions of rescuing his pal from boiling alive. As he sprints through the fire, he yoinks Gregg by his bandoleer and sticks him on his back, skidding to a stop outside of the flames.

“You’re going nuts, dude, but you’re also gunna kill yourself if you’re not careful. Maybe you should just...cling to me and throw things at them from up there. Not that I don’t trust you, but...you almost burned yourself alive, Greggo.”

He turns, kicking a gremlin-like creature square in the teeth. They really did come in all sizes, didn’t they?

Gregg gives a fairly loud yelp as he’s lifted from the scene, unsure of who or what might’ve grabbed him. Until he realizes he’s being scolded by Scriggins himself, of course. Figures he’d do something like that, huh? “You RAN through the flames, what’re you talking about?! Alright, alright, fine! But you don’t have to carry me around everywhere, dude!”

As Gregg speaks and grabs another lit molotov off his body, he realizes something! The crate, all of his other firebombs, they’re still in the ring of fire-- oh fuck. That’d be the biggest waste of weaponry in his life, and he’d hate that... “SCRIGGINS, I’VE STILL GOT FIREBOMBS IN THE RING!” He shouts, as he instead loads his crossbow and fires at a leaping, stick-like enemy.

Seems like they did, yeah, there’s plenty of variety to these creeps.