Logs:Fuck You
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| RL Date: 3 June, 2011 |
| Who: Azzarion, Tomaeran |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Tom takes offence at Azzarion's lack of knowledge. Violence ensues. |
| Where: Settlement, Western Island |
| When: Day 5, Month 12, Turn 25 (Interval 10) |
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| Another wet and wild day at the island. Azzarion is just making his way into the settlement after a great many weeks away and he's not coming empty handed either. On a line he has a fine string of green skinned eel he's managed to catch during his 'vacation'. The catch is delivered to the cooks fussing over getting the meal prepped and he moves across the settlement, peering here and there at the changes that have happened in his time away, or perhaps he's looking for someone in particular. The settlement is a hive of activity, this afternoon, with many of the residents at work reinforcing walls and blocking up holes. Winter is nearly here, after all, and while there are few visible signs of the storm of nearly two months ago, that doesn't mean it doesn't still loom large in collective memory. Amidst the action, Tomaeran is an island of peace: he's sitting in the entranceway to the hut he now shares with his parents, where - to all appearances - he's hard at work, salting fish to store for the winter. It's more work than his usual; he doesn't look terribly pleased about it, either. The storm damage is viewed with sadness as Azzarion moves around to see what people are working on but in the end his path leads him back to Tomaeran where he's salting the fish. It should be noted that the silent young man wears an expression partly of surprise and partly of amusement to find the older hard at work. "So, how did your hut fair in the storm?" Has it really been /that/ long since he's been in the settlement? Likely so, and from the roughness of his voice, perhaps about that long since he tried making conversation with anyone other than the crabs. Given the amount of time the younger man has been gone, he can probably be forgiven for what he doesn't know-- not that it makes any difference for Tom, who glances up in surprise, and then narrows his expression in disgust. "My /hut/," he says, in clipped, biting tones, "faired just fine. Pity about my /sister/." He throws down the fish he's been working on in disgust, wiping his hands on his threadbare pants, though it does little to really clean them. The blank blink back at Azzarion should indicate that he is clueless of anyone getting hurt, or perishing in the storm, or it could just look downright rude. "Really?" Moistening his lips, he tries to be tactful, or at least offers some social interest. "What happened?" Someone might clue him in that this isn't the best time to try to be a buddy. Tomaeran is quite a bit taller than Azzarion, and as muscular as one really gets on the kind of diet the islanders get; when he stands up, angry, it's possible that he could look at least a little menacing. On the other hand, he doesn't really have a reputation for violence. "She died, you asshole," he says, barely restraining his emotions. "She drowned. Kima and one of her friends. Maybe you should have, too." Welcome home, Azzarion! Everyone is so glad to see you. Azzarion is just a scrawny little string-bean, but he's not backed down from a fight yet, so when Tomaeran stands up to confront him, there's a return posturing, chin going out, eyes narrowing a little. The challenger is sized up as Az squares his shoulders, perhaps a fight is just what the settlement needs--break a few more things. "Lots of people die. Never saw you sniveling about it before." Heartless and cold but colder still, "Maybe their loss will keep others from making the same mistake." Tomaeran's fists go up, but - as yet - he doesn't seem ready to actually throw a punch. "You bastard," he says, through gritted teeth. "She was my sister. My fucking /sister/." He's getting louder, now, and more than one person has stopped their work to stare at the pair. "It came out of nowhere. They didn't have a chance, and you're saying we should learn from them? Fuck you." /Now/ he's going for the punch, though whether it connects or not-- well, that remains to be seen. Ah, the fight! A glint of a savage grin at Tomaeran, "Better a live bastard than a -dead- one." Oh, why not just make the blood boil a little more. Never having seen the other man lose his temper, Azzarion can't help but goad him a bit more. Having been on one or another side of the fist more than a few times, he's watching for the strike and when it comes, he dodges away from the impact. A small whistle for the power behind the punch before he adds, "You better watch it, you're going to hurt yourself." Or kill poor little Az. There's no time to pull the punch, even once it's obvious that it will miss, but that doesn't deter Tom: he aims for a second blow, and a third, using both hands now to try and get the result he wants. Poor Azzarion, but-- well. "I'm going to hurt /you/, more like it," he insists, though words are clearly not what he's really aiming for, right now. "Fuck you. I should drop you off the cliff and let /you/ drown, see how you like it. Bastard." Azzarion is good with ducking one hit and two isn't too bad but the third one does more than graze him. There's a grunt of disapointed pain when the fist connects to his jaw. Instead of doubling over or retreating a safe distance, there's a nasty growl and the little savage lunges for Tom's stomach, aiming a sharp punch at his gut as he tucks his chin down to avoid any additional head-shots. Tomaeran lets out a yell if triumph as that first finally connects, though it's cut short as the air is knocked out of him by Azzarion's punch. Not that it stops him from trying to keep up the punching from his end: his arms flail, though, rather than aim, more likely to connect by pure chance than anything else. There is /quite/ the audience, now, too - and even, from within Tom's hut, the anguished cry of a woman in tears who calls, "Tom, no, no, no." Azzarion takes whatever punches Tomaeran gets through to him, mostly because he's hammering punch after punch to the bigger lad's liver and kidney with sharp upward punches. Small and scrawny he might be, but he's no weakling and the pain only makes his fighting skills more savage. One of the older fishers comes out of the crowd of people, barking out: "Get off him....Az...let him go...." And the hulking older man pulls Azzarion off Tomaeran, the little guy still swinging punches and now adding some kicks since he's being hauled out of fist-range. By the time Azzarion gets hauled away, it's likely both of them are suffering pretty intensely: a good number of Tom's punches will have gotten through. On the ground, panting furiously, Tom casts a murderous glance at the younger man. "I'll kill you, next time," he says, through strained breaths. "I will. Stay away from me and my family. Stay away from here. Bastard." His mother has come out of the hut, now, and is cradling his head - almost as though he were dying, which, plainly, he is not. She's crying. Azzarion speaks through his teeth in an angry hiss, "I'll go where I like." As for the threat? "You just go right ahead and try it asshole. You going to start a fight with me and think it's -over-...." He struggles until the fisher sets him down but stays near him to shadow the little guy in case he decides to go through mommy to get at Tom. Though his jaw is swelling up nicely, he's not going to let the older lad see the other wounds, stalking back and forth a few strides under several watchful eyes. "Your mommy isn't always going to be around and neither is Bruttus." The big jerk who wrecked things when they were just getting good. Tomaeran struggles out of his mother's grasp, ignoring her despite the sobs; she's lost a child recently, give her some slack. "The same goes for you," he says, warningly, still struggling to catch his breath. He's probably broken a rib or two, from the sounds of it. "If I catch you alone--" His glower is meaningfully. "Fuck off. Entertainment's over." That seems to be as much for the other onlookers as it is for Azzarion himself, though Tom's gaze never leaves his face. He's-- smirking. Go figure. Azzarion offers a flurish of several choice hand signals that the fish-type-folks use as insults for Tomaeran and even the non-fisher that he is, should be able to understand the 'jack-off' motion of several of them, "Whatever momma's boy. You know where to find me when you can get it up." Casting a look up and down the Tom he waits to see if that's going to get him back into the fight he's itching for. For better or for worse, however, Tomaeran doesn't make a move to continue the fight. Instead, he raises his eyebrows and gives Azzarion a lofty, smirking glance. "Is that supposed to provoke me?" he wonders - and this time, it sounds like he's suppressing a laugh. "Goodness gracious. How far the supposedly mighty have fallen." He dusts himself off, moving gingerly, but making a good show of not being too badly hurt. Azzarion isn't one for talking anyway, so the roll of his shoulder will just have to do for his answer as his wordless insults were. Turning, he pushes past Brutus and stalks out of the settlement and into the weather. |
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