Logs:Killer
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| RL Date: 19 November, 2013 |
| Who: G'laer, Teisyth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Teisyth's first kill in the feeding grounds triggers G'laer's memory of his own. |
| Where: Feeding Grounds, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 23, Month 4, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Graphic violence, adult themes, drama. Please don't read if you think you might be bothered. Backdated. Inspired by everyone's awesome first hunt RP and vignettes. I don't think this particular memory will come out (or at least not this way) in RP, so I wanted to explore it. |
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| It tasted like nails, he remembered. The warm blood splashed haphazardly into his mouth as his fist held tight to the slippery rock. It came when the rock made contact with Jeffers' face. He hadn't expected it. Hadn't expected it to get in his mouth, to taste like metal or to be warm. Hadn't expected it to squirt out through the now useless sockets that once housed his bunkmate's eyes. It surprised Gallagher enough for him to wonder for a split second as he brought the rock down again, how had they gotten here? "Everyone knows Gal's the prettiest," It had started innocently enough with Jeffers, Donner, and Kaylan laughing and giving him shit, yet again for his nickname, yet again for spending his time with books instead of with battles of brawn, yet again for being too smart to be dumb. It was the same old song; they hadn't even bothered with new lyrics, but something was different today anyway. Gal had been showing them up since the field exercise began. Since he arrived at Crom four turns before, his grandmother had taken to commandeering his free time to help her with her herb gathering and salve making. He had enough wit and precision to do well enough with the work, and there was something satisfying about learning the formulas, measuring the ingredients, and processing them in just the right way to be effective. What all of this meant, of course, was that when it came to living off the land, Gallagher was practically an expert, and the others? The others had rumbling bellies because they couldn't sort which mushrooms were safe and which were deadly. They weren't allowed to give each other help. Nearing the end of their training, the strengths of the individual were being assessed. Still, Gal snuck them tips when he could. But it wasn't enough. And hunger makes a man mean. Different wasn't always bad, though, he knew, so Gal ignored his gut. These three had been his-- well, 'friends' was probably a stretch. He didn't really have any friends among his peers. Hagart said that just meant he was a leader. Leaders didn't keep friends, the old guard had told him once. It muddies the waters of loyalty and command. But Jeffers, Donner, and Kaylan had started their training with him. They were the only four remaining from their class. There were others, of course, who'd started a few months before or a few months after, but out of the twenty boys that started their training, they were the only four that remained. It gave them a bond, he thought. He thought. "If only he were stronger," Jeffers shoved him. This wasn't wholly out of the ordinary. Boys shoved and roughhoused. But this, too, felt different somehow. "Or quicker." Donner, this time, and it sent Gal stumbling forward into Kaylan, who laughed. "Or graceful." "Then he'd be a proper gal." Jeffers didn't miss a beat, laughing along with Kaylan. "Hey, Don, do you think he fucks like a gal?" Gallagher's protests were there, but he might as well have kept his piece. They were playing out a farce, following the script; too bad no one gave Gallagher a chance to read his lines. Things might've played out differently. "One way to find out." Donner sneered as he shoved Gallagher again. This time, the shove send him sprawling thanks to a well placed leg by Kaylan. The mud by the riverbank was soft, but it didn't feel so as Gallagher's face met it hard enough to crack his nose. His hands had come up soon enough to save him from worse. He knew he didn't have time to be in shock. But that's how they trained. So training kicked in. He rolled before Donner could pin him, leaving the boy pouncing earth with a grunt. He had two advantages. The first is that they underestimated him. They thought his time with the history books and learning from the older guards about tactics made him weaker than they who spent their afternoons in the training room getting in extra fight time. But Gal had put in his share there too, enough, not too much. It strengthened him rather than break him down like the other boys. The second was that he was smarter. "So it takes three guys to take on one Gal?" He demanded as he slipped an attempt from a stooping Kaylan to grab him, rolling again, this time onto his knees and then up to his feet, his back to the swift-running river. Donner started to step forward, but Jeffers' arm held him back, his look smug. "You know what, Don? He's right. It'll only take one of us." Punching the other teen's shoulder, Jeffers' lips twisted into an ugly look of overconfidence, "You can have my sloppy seconds." And without another word, the muscled man came at him. Gallagher readied for the attack, but in that brief moment before contact, he silently thanked Faranth that at least the other two were hanging back now. Jeffers had done him a favor with his bravado; the united front was gone. If there had been sound more musical than the rushing sound of water from the river, it might've looked as pretty and planned as a performance dance at a Harper recital. So many of the moves flowed smoothly into one another. Attack and counter. Attack and dodge. The dance took them from their feet to the ground where they rolled and tussled. It was an even match, except that Gal had something to lose. Gallagher was desperate. In desperation, you're slower than your opponent. Your mind is muddied by feelings that don't help you fight better. The only advantage desperation grants is a willingness to throw the rules of engagement to the wind; survival becomes the rule. That's how the rock got in his hand. Jeffers wasn't desperate. He never knew the stakes were so high. The first blow of the rock and the sickening crack of his skull assured that he never would. Donner and Kaylan might've moved sooner to pull him off the lifeless and now mutilated Jeffers, but they were too stunned. Maybe they thought this was all some kind of game boys play, giving each other shit and teaching each other lessons when one got too high and mighty. Obviously, it wasn't anymore, if it ever was. Gallagher's fist, face, and shirt bore the evidence. He didn't even register that it was the two of them who'd forced him up and away even as he strained against their strong grips on his arms. Gal's chest was heaving, and anger had taken him; he'd lost any semblance of control. If they didn't have him each by an arm, he'd surely have tried for one of them next. The cornered beast is often the most dangerous. Once Gallagher stilled between them, six eyes were on the gruesome lack-of-face of the body that was still identifiable as Jeffers. They were all silent, all still. "Fuck." It was Kaylan that broke the silence. "Fuck." Donner agreed. They tore their eyes from the corpse and looked to Gallagher. He was still now, and without needing to exchange a nod, they released his arms. Gallagher swallowed back bile. Kaylan didn't really need to ask it out loud because they were all thinking it, but it forced the question to be addressed: "What now?" There was silence. Kaylan was really asking him. But Gallagher was still staring at Jeffers. At what he had done. At what death looked like. What it felt like. To kill. He was a killer. He couldn't take that back. But did he want to? Did he even feel remorse? Hadn't he been defending himself? Could that justify it? If he told their trainer back at camp, would he be acquitted? Or sent to the mines? The possibility of a lifetime in the mines wasn't one he was willing to entertain, so it was time to act before the others came to an answer on their own. "We put him in the river. Say he slipped and fell in. We'll pull him out downstream after some of the rapids." His blue eyes were cold as he looked first to Donner then Kaylan. "Do I need to tell you what will happen to you both if we go back with his body and tell them what really happened?" Gal had no way to know what thoughts were going through his fellows' minds, but he was convincing in his confidence, in his unflappable decisiveness, that much he knew. And a hard swallow from Kaylan and their mute headshakes made Gallagher feel a little more sure about their silence. They might get off on being accomplices to murder, but they'd be out of the guard for sure for watching Jeffers die and doing nothing. They'd be marked forever by this. They all already were, but at least this way, only the three of them knew it. In training, they had to lift dead-weight. Even bodies. But the bodies were always living, breathing people just feigning injury or death for the exercise. Somehow, Jeffers felt heavier as the three boys hefted him and pitching him into the river when they were thigh deep in the chill waters didn't lift any of the weight. "Gal, your shirt." Donner nodded as they watched the current carry the carcass that was once their friend away. Gallagher wasted no time stripping the garment off and soaking it. He scrubbed at it briefly then used it to rub across his face and neck before wringing it out and tossing it back on. He was clean enough now that they'd believe any blood was just from when they pulled Jeffers out. They had to move quickly down the banks to beat the body. As they moved, Gallagher could still taste Jeffers' blood in his mouth. He could taste it now, too as Teisyth ripped into her first kill. The taste lingered. Different enough, but so much the same that the memory came unbidden. Jeffers was his first kill, but not his last. Teisyth enjoyed the hunt as much as he did, not that he often planned to kill his prey as she forever would. But the instinct to go for the kill without hesitation was something they shared. In this, she might be silly as she always was, and maybe she enjoyed it more visibly than G'laer would ever let be known of himself, but they were the same. He explained as she fed. She knew, already, of course, but they'd never discussed it in so many words. G'laer had worried that Teisyth, being so good a dragon, that she wouldn't understand. Or that she would judge him. Much as he didn't like to admit it even to himself, he couldn't help caring what she felt about him. But for the first time since Impression, everything about their pairing felt right, if only for the space of a breath. It was a moment of perfect unity.
But when she started shaping her burps into other sounds... well, that did it. |
Comments
Edyis (Edyis (talk)) left a comment on Sun, 08 Dec 2013 07:19:38 GMT.
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Aww. Poor G'laer, Teisyth really is his perfect match though.
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