The Initiate Fraysong ♑ (Young GHB) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
carnagecarnival) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-02-23 02:54 am
carnagecarnival) wrote in thearena2015-02-23 02:54 am
Entry tags:
Tried to come up with an artistic way to say, they don't know you, and neither do I
Who| Initiate, Psii, and Sam
What| Post-amputation drinking and leftover valentine food. Making smores.
Where| Just outside an ice-cave, nearby to the lake and forests.
When| a little bit after the amputation.
WARNINGS| language, drinking
He wakes to stinging, prickling cold on one side, and intense heat upon the other. Neither sensation is quite strong enough to overpower the pain in his leg. It makes him sputter, shudder, and cringe. But, he realises, he's free. He can see stars above. Was it a few minutes, hours, days? He's not proper sure. Morphling and injury like such had disoriented him in the past, though not to the degree of their combination.
It has him all unsure, when he looks over, if what he's seeing is really real. Not only is Sam sitting by, still there-- when he had no reason to be-- but the Psiioniic's there too. The Psiioniic who had even less reason. He blinks and squints like he can cast away the illusion, but it's all truth up before him. Motherfucker's is still being there. There's a grip on his heart and a nervous churn in his guts.
You stayed.
The words get caught up on his teeth and fall back inside.
He turns his head from them, to the backpack laying close. First comes hauling himself up to sitting. He feels the lack up of his other foot, but he tries not to focus on it. Instead, he reaches for that pack to dig up inside it, not saying a word. At least not until he's hauled out the leftovers of his capitol gifted date-meal from days ago, and two bottles of vodka. Two more than he ever wanted. He rolls one over to Sam, and the other to the Psiioniic.
"Ain't need them," He says. "IF YOU GOT FANCY UP FOR IT, THEY'S YOURS. Got some food bits herelike too."
Not 'Evening', or 'Sorry', or 'Thanks'. Simply, 'Do you want food?'
What| Post-amputation drinking and leftover valentine food. Making smores.
Where| Just outside an ice-cave, nearby to the lake and forests.
When| a little bit after the amputation.
WARNINGS| language, drinking
He wakes to stinging, prickling cold on one side, and intense heat upon the other. Neither sensation is quite strong enough to overpower the pain in his leg. It makes him sputter, shudder, and cringe. But, he realises, he's free. He can see stars above. Was it a few minutes, hours, days? He's not proper sure. Morphling and injury like such had disoriented him in the past, though not to the degree of their combination.
It has him all unsure, when he looks over, if what he's seeing is really real. Not only is Sam sitting by, still there-- when he had no reason to be-- but the Psiioniic's there too. The Psiioniic who had even less reason. He blinks and squints like he can cast away the illusion, but it's all truth up before him. Motherfucker's is still being there. There's a grip on his heart and a nervous churn in his guts.
You stayed.
The words get caught up on his teeth and fall back inside.
He turns his head from them, to the backpack laying close. First comes hauling himself up to sitting. He feels the lack up of his other foot, but he tries not to focus on it. Instead, he reaches for that pack to dig up inside it, not saying a word. At least not until he's hauled out the leftovers of his capitol gifted date-meal from days ago, and two bottles of vodka. Two more than he ever wanted. He rolls one over to Sam, and the other to the Psiioniic.
"Ain't need them," He says. "IF YOU GOT FANCY UP FOR IT, THEY'S YOURS. Got some food bits herelike too."
Not 'Evening', or 'Sorry', or 'Thanks'. Simply, 'Do you want food?'
no subject
It'd been a nice moment. Kind of like this is.
He raises his brows at Sam. "HOPE YOU AIN'T CALLING DARE OF ME. Would warn not to dare, brother. I'LL MOTHERFUCKING DO IT. All sapped up will you be and I'll be the warmest highblood as ever fucking was." By all right and logic, it probably ain't a wise choice right now.
"HATE TO PREACH IT. Your homie Riley wouldn't stand no chance against me, yo. VICTORIES AIN'T TO BE DENIED WHAT'S MINE," He teases.
no subject
All things that Sam had done as a kid - and honestly, well into his teenage years and even more recently.
Despite everything, Sam's eyebrows raise right on up back at Kurloz when he tells him not to dare him. "Yeah? You can try, Makara, if you're actually thinking you got a shot. I promise not to gloat too much over your disappointment."
This is probably a terrible idea, but Sam goads him on anyway. It's what he's used to - he and Riley'd always done it to each other, it's so damn nice to fall back onto it.
no subject
But then Sam says what he up and says and he's already reaching his hands under snow to get them even colder than their corpse-cold normalcy. He's one shot away from a seadweller. Ice ain't hardly melt in his hands. Sam is a motherfucking dead human.
The dare is on. The Initiate grins wickedly, made all the worst by his rows of fangs. He spins into a position that will better allow movement and dives for Sam, grasping on to drag him close.