Logs:Day After Yesterday
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| RL Date: 24 January, 2013 |
| Who: Barnabas, H'vier |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Barnabas provokes an already battered H'vier |
| Where: Nighthearth, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 11, Turn 30 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Azaylia/Mentions, Z'ian/Mentions |
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| With its entrance located between the kitchen and the living cavern, this tiny bubble cavern is cozy, always kept warm and is filled with comfortable chairs and a small round table. At the far end, there's a hearth, outlined in ruddy, aging bricks, where a pot of stew simmers in the evening hours. Generally quiet, the nighthearth is the haunt of insomniacs and those seeking quiet from the bustle of daily Weyr life. It's the day after yesterday. It usually is. Yesterday was pretty intense, though, and some might wonder if H'vier would rather be hiding in his weyr away from everything and everyone. But he's not. He's sitting in the small, cozy cavern with the big hearth, a drink balanced on his thigh and his gaze fixed distantly on the fire crackling away. His face looks even worse than it did after Barnabas broke his nose, one eye practically swollen shut and scrapes marring what was kind of handsome when he first arrived at the Weyr. There's a roughness to the world around the edges of Bones' vision. It's out of focus, blurry even. So much so that he slumps and uses the wall for support as he enters the nighthearth. He's not expecting to find anyone, but the battered face of a familiar bronzerider greets him almost immediately around the bend. "Oh wow." It's his first instinctive reaction, entirely unfiltered. "I didn't beat you that bad, did I? Heh." Normal hearty laugh is tapered off into something softer this time. Bones looks a little pale. Paler than usual. The bronzerider's attention doesn't shift very quickly. There's not much snap to his perception right now. H'vier knows he looks pretty awful. But even with whatever he's drinking in him and looking kind of exhausted, he says, "You should see the other guy." No smile, though, and then he asks, "What do you want?" Stunned to stillness for a moment just at the sight of H'vier, Bones eventually takes his few reluctant steps into the nighthearth. "Was just lookin' for a moment to clear my head. That whole flight thing is crazy." He puts his hands in his pockets. "Hey, I'm real sorry 'bout that whole Snowasis scene man. You were right, weren't none of my business. H'vier eyes Barnabas for another moment then his slow gaze is moving back to the fire. Not too worried about the other man right now, evidently. He doesn't have a response about the flight. That or he just doesn't care about anything enough to say something. The rest earns, "I don't need an apology." Which also kind of sounds like he's not going to accept it. And that he needs other things that he doesn't elaborate on just now. An awkward silence fills the nighthearth for several long seconds, convict and rider both without their usual fire it seems. It's only as his eyes slowly scan up from the floor and to H'vier's face that there's a spark in him. An idea, one that brightens up his tired face and has him taking a few steps hurriedly towards H'vier. "Beat the shit out of me." There's an eerie open-mouthed smile coupled with the request. "Oh, I plan to," says H'vier. And that has a brief flicker of a smile appearing on his battered face. But he only reaches for his drink, unconsciously, when Barnabas approaches him. "But I'll do it on my terms." Even with plans to do as the gardener asks, though, it begs the obvious question of, "Why? Hoping to get me kicked back to Ista? Might happen yet." "Oh cmon. You're a bronzerider and I'm the damn gardener. We're alone. You could put a knife in my back and call it self-defense later." He might not have had the best grasp of Weyr politics, but he speaks as if he's an authority. There's definitely new vigor in him now though as he approaches H'vier, standing right in front. Striking distance for certain. "It's simpler on a boat. When one man's outta line the others just... y'know." His fist is smacked into his palm to illustrate the finer points of maritime justice. "Y'aint got no politics out there. It's simple. Just like this." A hand quickly darts out to slap at H'vier's drink, not meant to send it clean from his hands, but definitely enough to spill. To annoy. "Screw your terms. Now. Mess me up, wuss." With his drink splattered on him, H'vier rises to his feet with a speed that defies how slow he's been up to this point. He looks angry but that could just be the way his face is right now. He steps in closer to Barnabas, the hand not holding his glass moving out give the gardener a rough shove against his chest. "Fuck you. Useless--" Whatever he was going to say is caught off by what he brings up instead. "You're finding somewhere else to stay. Not with Azaylia." Not that he has the authority to say things like that. But he clearly thinks he can make it happen anyway. He doesn't wait for a response to his slightly random change of subject, though. H'vier just turns to leave. The few steps back that Bones takes back are genuine, still enough strength in the tired bronzerider to push him away a few feet whether he wanted it or not. "Yeah, that's what I'm talkin' bout!" A healthy slap is given to his own chest as he takes quick steps towards the entrance of the nightheart, preventing H'vier from leaving. He was feeding on the anger. "Cmon ugly, get mad. Think about whoever it was that just busted your face up the second time. Do to me what you wanna do to him eh? Anything short'a permanent damage is fair game!" Bones coils his middle finger, holding it back with a tightly gripping thumb, untill it's sent right into H'viers still-healing nose in a childish flicking motion. "Pay me back for rearranging the bones in your face eh? Cmon, HIT ME!" The words are mostly ignored. But the flicking in particular to his overly tender nose makes H'vier, who was so ready to just leave, round on the gardener. It's the hand holding his glass that aims for Barnabas' face, trying to shatter is against the side of his head without care for the shards of glass it's likely to create. "You don't poke the starving dog with a stick and then tell it not to tear your throat out." It's not a typical time for metaphors. H'vier must think of them in his down time between fights. "I want to fucking kill him," and there's a certain desperation in the strength that the bronzerider uses against the other man. It's probably a good thing he's already hurt and tired. The glass lands true against the side of his head, wetting it with whatever his alcoholic drink of choice the bronze had chosen to sip. Bones is quick to clutch where it impacted and bend over at the waist, taking a few exaggerated stomps with his feet at the pain of it. "Shard it that stings!" Still, he's only down for a second before popping right back to his feet, and right back in H'vier's face. "That all you got?!" There's already a few scratches along the side of his face from the glass, one of them trickling a bit of fresh crimson. Bones pushes hard at H'vier's chest, sending him back into the nighthearth. "C'mon, you ain't leavin' till I get what's mine." With Bones clutching at his face, H'vier wipes his hand off on his pants absently, leaving a streak of his own blood where glass cut into his skin. He doesn't seem to notice that, though, focused on the other man and the encouragement from him to continue. The bronzerider doesn't seem to care so much about the permanent damage thing but he's been in enough fights recently that he's not really at his best anyway. He plows forward into Barnabas, trying to tackle him to the ground where it will be so much easier to punch his face in. Instinct kicks in before conscious thought, and Bones' feet shuffle swiftly underneath him to step back as fast as he can, preventing H'vier from immediately slamming him to the ground. It's only after the first few steps that he accepts the tackle willingly, driven into the stone floor with a loud grunt as the air leaves his lungs at the impact. A repeat of the fight in snowasis, only with nobody there to slow H'vier's assault. It's brutal, the way that H'vier lays into Barnabas once he's down, battered face screwed up into a mask of blind rage as he tries to hold the other down with one hand and beat him with the other. If left to continue, at least he won't take very long to tire but it's more likely that the other presence in his head will demand he stop as well. Bones has unfortunate pleasure of staying entirely awake throughout the proceedings, instinct once again demanding that he make at least take at least a trivial attempt to defend the hail of punches. Forearms and fists are moved up to block as best he can, but through the onslaught of blows it's inevitible that more than a few slip through and pound well into his skull. He's left with a gash above his eye from a slicing knuckle, blood pouring from nostril and mouth, and discoloration that is likely only to worsen as the day progresses. And yet still, after H'vier tires, he's smiling through the pain. "Well now..." his voice is rough and wavering, perhaps seeing a few stars. "Don't you feel better?" H'vier is panting by the time he stops. He doesn't even move to get off of Bones right away, shutting his eyes and flexing his hand in and out of a fist. "Fuck you," is his response. He opens his eyes, glares at Bones' face, then finally moves to start pushing himself up and away, wiping the blood on his hand off on that same spot on his pants. He starts to turn out toward the caverns again, slow and more relaxed if a little dazed in the wake of his rage. Letting the bronzerider off of him is the easy part. The hard part is doing much of anything else. After quite some time just laying there and doing his best to breath with blood in his nose and mouth, he rolls over onto his elbows and knees to rest his stinging forehead to the cold floor. "What kinda braindead.." he mutters to himself, the rest of that question playing out in his head. What kind of braindead person would willingly take punches to the face like that? He would. He's unable to help but start laughing at his own insanity. "Hehehe. I need a beer." The quietly muffled giggling is followed with a morbid spit of his own crimson to the stone. "Klah will hafta do." |
Comments
Azaylia (Dragonshy) left a comment on Fri, 25 Jan 2013 02:57:09 GMT.
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...Bones, you are just blazing a trail of perversion and blood, aren't you? Actually, the same thing could be said for H'vier!
You're both bad boys! *wags newspaper at*
Zian (Zian) left a comment on Fri, 25 Jan 2013 03:01:07 GMT.
< I want to fucking kill him
See if you get your turnday present from me now! D:<
Lourna (Lourna) left a comment on Fri, 25 Jan 2013 21:35:30 GMT.
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Needs more rage, imo! Well, not really. Bones, you masochist...
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