[ Of all the things he could have said, he picked the one thing that would effectively make Mammon careen over the deep end. While his little leg trick does earn him some distance, it comes at the cost of his wing. The further he pushes away from him, the greater the threat to him losing the wing becomes. He has a choice here, maintain their current proximity and suffer under his former master's gaze or tear away from him and lose another precious limb.
The pain from losing one before surely isn't creeping into the back of his mind right now. He is allowed roughly thirty seconds to absorb the information given to him and in those thirty seconds, only two emotions cross his face: shock and rage. The latter is an expression Fizz knows all too well, he was treated to it when Mammon lost his shit and transformed.
But it's different here. There's no crowd clamoring for Fizz's attention, no seats to be filled with bodies and no one to stop him from paying it forward right here and now. With that said, one of his arms snap forward to grab ahold of one of the legs against his chest and pull sharply, like pulling the wings off of a fly. ]
You stupid little [ HONK ]!
Didn't think it through, did ya, mate? Oz isn't here to fix you up if you breakβ [ to prove his point, he twists at the leg again, using a third arm to grab the other one. ] I made you, I gave you the stage! Where else would ya be, Fizzie? Rotting away at that shithole circus as a limbless clown? You never would've met him, yeah? [ He might notice that Mammon is starting to get larger, though nothing like the creature at the pageant. ]
You don't need me?
[ There's a shift in his expression, a cruelty he's never shown him before. It's at this point that he decides to collect a parting gift from his former protege, call it his cut after their final curtain call. Without assistance, he is about to lose one of his wings, as his voice booms out: ]
no subject
The pain from losing one before surely isn't creeping into the back of his mind right now. He is allowed roughly thirty seconds to absorb the information given to him and in those thirty seconds, only two emotions cross his face: shock and rage. The latter is an expression Fizz knows all too well, he was treated to it when Mammon lost his shit and transformed.
But it's different here. There's no crowd clamoring for Fizz's attention, no seats to be filled with bodies and no one to stop him from paying it forward right here and now. With that said, one of his arms snap forward to grab ahold of one of the legs against his chest and pull sharply, like pulling the wings off of a fly. ]
You stupid little [ HONK ]!
Didn't think it through, did ya, mate? Oz isn't here to fix you up if you breakβ [ to prove his point, he twists at the leg again, using a third arm to grab the other one. ] I made you, I gave you the stage! Where else would ya be, Fizzie? Rotting away at that shithole circus as a limbless clown? You never would've met him, yeah? [ He might notice that Mammon is starting to get larger, though nothing like the creature at the pageant. ]
You don't need me?
[ There's a shift in his expression, a cruelty he's never shown him before. It's at this point that he decides to collect a parting gift from his former protege, call it his cut after their final curtain call. Without assistance, he is about to lose one of his wings, as his voice booms out: ]
No one walks away from me, you little shit!