Logs:Fisticuffs
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| RL Date: 3 February, 2015 |
| Who: Drex, Rh'mis |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A random encounter turned violent. |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 12, Turn 36 (Interval 10) |
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| Rhey wasn't much impacted by the new arrivals, this afternoon, probably because he wasn't in-Weyr at the time (much to Rosvelth's belated dismay). Now, as night settles in, the young man's taken up a place just outside the doors to the Snowasis, lightly rugged against the snow, with both hands wrapped around his mug. With his head cocked just so, it would be easy enough to assume he's listening out to those coming in and coming out, and the chilly evening means few spare him much more than a glance. Why should they? While most of the sailors rescued in the storm nearly a Turn ago have long since departed, there's a handful that still remaining, waiting out the arrival of their new ship. Drex and an older man are sharing a table, covered in empty glasses and an empty pitcher of beer. There's some sort of commotion between them that ends with Drex glowering and stamping off to the bar for the next round. He's certainly not one to pay attention to a rider, though his unsteady sway means he not so much brushes past as into where Rh'mis is standing, though easy enough to avoid for anyone spotting him coming. By rights, it ought to be second nature for Rhey to step out of the way of teetering sailors... but it's not. Perhaps it's that there's a handful of riders coming in the other direction; perhaps he's just not on top of his game. In either case, as Drex brushes into him, the brownrider brushes - or, more accurately, shoves - back, aiming to push him aside with probably more force than is actually required. "Fuck you!" he bleats, drawing himself up and out of the shadows, fists up. It's clearly been that kind of a day. It's more surprise than anything that Drex hits something soft, and is pushed back, eyes blearily focusing on Rh'mis. "Fuck--," a pause, broken up by an impressive burp, "--you, too!" And then he takes in Rh'mis' measure -- scrawny-looking, shorter than him, and fists up -- and grins. "What, afraid I'm actually gonna try and fuck you or something? I aint a rider." "Fuck me? Fuck you." Rhey's dropped his mug somewhere along the line - the shoving and the fists were clearly much more important - and now he lunges forward, one foot lifting in an obvious attempt to get a good, solid kick in. It really must have been that kind of day. Clearly, the sailor wasn't expecting that; the kick hits solidly in his middle, Drex stumbling backwards and knocking over a table, the occupants scattering quickly out of the way. "That fucking hurt," he growls, like he's genuinely offended. He takes a moment to get his breath, and then he's lunging back at Rh'mis, leading with a fist aimed for the rider's face. Barfights do happen here, if not all that often; it's rare enough to still be a spectacle worth watching, even if people are inclined to move out of the way. Not that Rhey seems to notice them, or indeed much of anything except Drex-- and though he's quick, he's not quite quick enough to dodge that fist entirely. "What, you think I should just let you be? You started it." Out in the bowl, Rosvelth lets out a bellow; his rider ignores it, aiming his own punch for the other boy's nose. "How the fuck did I start it? You were the one leering at me in the shadows." Or something, Drex isn't really clear on that point, and making stuff up after the fact is totally his territory. He opens his mouth again, but then that fist is coming towards his nose, and he grunts at the impact, shaking his head dazedly, unaware of the blood that starts spilling down, but aware of the pain enough to want to give as good as he gets. He closes the distance between them, now, aiming for the other boy's kidney, grabbing for his shirt with his other hand. The accusation of leering does not help Rhey's temper any, and nor does the fact that he's not quite steady enough on his feet to avoid both kidney-punch and shirt-grabbing... or, in the end, either of them at all. He aims his knee for Drex's balls, instead, though it's a haphazard affair owing to the fact that he's grunting with pain at the same time, breathing heavily. "I don't want your ass. I don't want you. Why can't you just leave me alone?" Slam. Drex spots that one incoming, this time, and manages to shift his body so that it's not a direct hit, glancing off his hip with a pained grunt. Now it's not so much a back-and-forward as an unsteady, shoving attempt to get an angle to punch or kick, the sailor's fist twisting into Rh'mis' shirt to prevent either one getting too much distance for force. It is, admittedly, much more difficult when one's shirt is grabbed like that. What Rhey does, as a result, is attempts to throw his whole body into a blow against the younger man, even if it takes him down in the process. Granted, there's ice on the ground, and his feet aren't all that steady even in boots; granted, too, he's not all that big. Drex, as inebriated as he is, doesn't have the best balance, and with the ice underfoot, even that shift of weight is enough to make him crash to the ground, though he's still holding onto that shirt, intent on taking Rh'mis down with him. It's when they hit the ground that it seems the onlookers feel compelled to step in, reaching for each of them and attempting to pull them apart. Down, down, down they go. At least Rhey ends up on top, even if that does mean he gets the worst of the hands trying to pull them apart. Despite railing against them, legs kicking, he's too scrawny to put up much of a fight. "You stay the fuck away from me," he warns, as he's pulled back up to his feet, fists already raising again. "You stay the fuck away." Drex, too, is kicking as Rh'mis is pulled free, grunting as a few of the brownrider's stray kicks hit a mark, if not their intended mark. Pulled upright, his face is a glowering mask, "Fuckin' crazy," he's yelling, trying to shake off the hands on him, putting a hand to his bloodied nose. Again, Rosvelth bellows, though there's something in it that - at least to another rider - might suggest he's enjoying the spectacle more than finding it upsetting... at least until his rider, shaking one arm free, grabs a knife from his belt. "I'll cut you!" he warns, just a little shrill, as more arms try to restrain him all over again. "Just fucking try," Drex growls, surging forward again, reaching towards his belt. Habit makes him reach for his left side and the empty loop, the momentary surprise visible before hands reach out to restrain him again, as well. Rhey does not get far with the knife; he doesn't get far with much of anything, really, after that. Strong arms more or less lift him off the ground in an attempt to frog-march him away; his knife - so newly returned after the last time he used it - ends up clattering to the ground, sinking into the snow. Restrained, Rhey is not repentant: "You just wait! You just wait." "Sure, asshole," Drex is growling, watching Rh'mis with narrowed eyes. Once he's out of sight, he shakes off the hands holding him, ignoring the suggestions of going to the infirmary. Instead, he's limping over to where the rider dropped that knife in the snow, staring down at it a moment. A beat, and then he bends down to pick it up, tucking it into his belt with a satisfied grin, like it's the spoils of war. |
Comments
Azaylia (03:37, 4 February 2015 (EST)) said...
...boy, that escalated quickly. o.q Was fun to read, though! >:D
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