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 Posted: Fri Feb 27, 2015 4:29 am
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Posted: Fri Feb 27, 2015 6:02 am
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The dry desert air while stifling was quickly becoming something less bothersome and more like a way of life. Stryke had left the library after returning a few book titles at their appropriate due date time and had tucked away the new checkouts in his rucksack.
After what had happened a few weeks ago, his lusus was less inclined to dog his ward around. There was no massive lizard in tow with his yellowblood, the lusii was back at their hive resting as he recovered from his injuries. For Stryke the sudden increase in freedom was a blessing in disguise. Sure he'd never been an overtly overbearing, but it felt good to be allowed to come and go as he pleased. He honestly felt as if the trust and independence from SkinkDad was well deserved. While still small, he wasn't a wiggler anymore and even if he had some growing left to do Stryke was fast leaving his childhood behind.
Lost in thought, Stryke’s mind turned over various details as he wandered through the marketplace. There wasn't much consideration for what he wanted to do for the rest of the night. He'd recovered after nearly sleeping for an entire day and night away, and while still in low spirits he'd let the gruesome occurrence roll past him, deciding it was best to move forward for now.
Passing by a few fruit vendor stalls; he took a right heading by one particular building not far from the usual hustle and bustle of the main-street. This particular struck was an open faced stall like many of those littered across the city. It was more for advertisement for their warehouse, and made it easy for the average troll to come and go. Hesitating for a moment, Stryke ducked inside however it specifically was one that dealt in a variety of arms of all sizes, types and prices depending on any given trolls needs.
Considering having his daggers sharpened, he peeked inside the open stall having to get up on his tip toes to inspect a few things he could actually get a good look at. The yellowblood didn't do much in the way of inspecting those few bodies who were milling about, busy instead with minding his own business for the moment.
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Posted: Fri Mar 13, 2015 4:27 am
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Chittentown.
Honestly, Kursha could not seem to get away from this garbage dump of an excuse for civilisation. He had left almost immediately after Errade had been executed and Byakko had revealed the location of the mother grub, but not two weeks later he found himself once more weaving through the back roads of the run-down city to his disgust.
If he had a choice, he would have avoided the desert region altogether. He hated the heat, the dry air, the flat landscape, the over-crowding. However Chittentown was the best place to check out the latest technology aside from Civisect City and there was no way he was up to dealing with a bunch of uppity highbloods giving him the stink-eye. So the lowblood town was really his only available option. Besides, he was far less likely to get ripped off.
He prowled outside the shops, looking for all the world like a stalking roarbeast in search of prey. He was after all at least one foot above most of the city's inhabitants. While he was unlikely to receive any kind of special treatment with his middling blood, nor would anyone cross him. Finding a good deal was just a matter of finding someone with a more expansive definition of what crossing him meant. In the arms business though, that was a rarity. As a gruff orangeblooded merchant made eye contact with him and sneered, Kursha quickly moved on. No such luck there.
As he wandered down the street, he saw an increase of outdoor tents and stalls; temporary booths for vendors who could not afford their own property or changed locations frequently. One in particular caught his eye. Knives lay spread out under glass counter tops, and more dangled from the racks that made up the walls of the booth. A tight-lipped female yellowblood manned the front counter, and she glared at him, expression wary. Kursha sent her a disarming smile then returned his gaze to the weaponry. She had an impressive collection: jackknives, switchblades, throwing knives, deer horn knives, tiger claws, even bayonets.
Kursha leaned in closer to inspect one. Once upon a time he might have scoffed at such a thing, but he had since learned the value of having a melee weapon at hand. He could not count on being able to finish his enemy from a distance. Morbidly, he wondered if Ganyma's regeneration would still apply if he lost his head.
“So, you do these yourself?” he asked as he browsed, making small talk with the merchant.
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Posted: Fri Mar 13, 2015 6:57 am
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"Actually yes, in fact I do. I hand make the blades and handles. The accouterments are as well. What are you interested in? I have a few things behind the counter too." The yellowblood narrowed her eyes slightly at the midblood troll not recognizing him from around town. However, they had an eye for the blade-smiths craftsmanship which she could appreciate. Plus, making a few beetles was reason enough not to chase him away. Gesturing to a few of the arms in question, there was a flicker of interest in the other as she regarded him.
Stryke was currently pursuing the shops wares in the small stall all the while until his eyes traveled to a whetstone. Thinking of his daggers and the fact he'd had to use them for the first time on something other than a food related item he sighed quietly. He had the beetles to spend, and figured he needed to learn how to properly maintain his own weapons. Not that he knew how, but that wasn't the point. Stryke figured he'd just check out a book later.
As he gathered up his selection, the kid came to a halt. It wasn't the stall owner that gave him pause; it was whom the yellowblooded troll was talking too. Licking his lips nervous, his gaze darted between the two trolls. Two weeks ago, he'd been angry with Kursha for repeatedly brushing him off and dodging him at every opportunity and turn that presented its self.
He had a few options as he saw it, he could set the stone down and flee into the night. Or, he could grow a pair and try and confront him. The nagging urge to try echoed in his thinkpan as he regarded the other coolly. Stryke realized with a small sigh he was tired of running from his problems, and decided now was as good a time as ever to make one last attempt. If things went poorly, he’d leave the greenblood alone. He knew when to call it quits, but his patience’s for the situation and the troll in question despite everything that had occurred compelled him to make those few small steps forward in order to bridge the divide between them. Although, he'd prefer they didn't have a heart to heart in a vendor stall. The idea of such was gross at best.
The shop keep briefly glanced down at the kid as he approached the counter, temporarily looking away from the greenblood to the smaller troll. “Were you looking to buy that?” She asked with a note of suspicion in her tone.
“yesss. let me get my wallet.” He replied calmly, setting the object on the counter as he fumbled for his money, handing over the beetles needed to make the purchase.
His eyes flickered from the stall owner, to staring pointedly at Kursha. There was a long moment of silence, in which he almost didn’t say anything. Until words were rolling out of his squawk gaper, even if they were hesitant ones. “um…hi..?” He began awkwardly, raising his hand in a small wave in greeting to him.
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Posted: Fri Mar 13, 2015 3:06 pm
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The conversation went back and forth a couple more times, with Kursha asking questions to help the yellowblood relax and lower her guard. At some point he turned his back, to continue browsing but still made the off-hand remark to keep the discussion going. As he was examining a jackknife, he heard the yellowblood ask if he was interested in buying.
“Not this exactly. I was—” He was cut off abruptly by another voice. He knew that voice. Time slowed to a crawl. Every beat of his blood pusher sounded like a drum in his throat. His head turned of its own accord. There was the familiar horns, the long ponytail, the golden hourglass... The only things missing were the bloodied lip and the deep bruises but Kursha's imagination supplied them for him.
Suddenly time had resumed, shifting to double time. There was a crash as Kursha slammed into rack. A second later he burst out of the stall, deaf to the shouts of the booth owner behind him. His mind was whirling. The events of Old Hemisect played once more behind his eyes; their meeting, their subsequent missions together, the time spent in the mall and later at the library, then... of course the rail station. As Kursha ran, he almost thought he saw yellow blood smeared over his fist. God, he was going insane.
Kursha pulled into an alley, slowing down to a jog. He made a few sharp turns, zigzagging through the back streets before he came to a dead end. Panting, he leaned against the sandstone wall. His chest heaved. As his breath returned to him, so did his thoughts. It was irrational, he knew. He was running from a kid for crying out loud, a kid he had thrashed before and could easily thrash again. But every time he saw him, it was like watching a ghost materialise. His tongue shrivelled up, and his limbs turned to jelly. Whatever bravado he had was stripped away in an instant.
What then? Was the only way to relieve himself of this spectre of the past to do so forcefully? The rifle on his back suddenly felt heavy. Kursha could kill him. He was certain of it. No one would raise a fuss, not in these deserted alleyways, where no one would see. He had the hemospectrum on his side anyway. One could almost say it was his duty.
Taut as a wire, Kursha stared into the gloom, hands clenched at his sides.
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Posted: Fri Mar 13, 2015 4:49 pm
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Stryke watched as Kursha’s expression went from his usual confident one to that of one that looked like he’d seen a ghost. He felt his pump biscuit squeezed, feeling like he’d throw up. His eyes traveled to the merchant who was yelling as Kursha had knocked over one of their display shelves. “sssorry…” he apologized for the other, quickly giving the rack a tug and righting it. Stryke didn’t have the time to worry about picking up all the fallen objects; he had a speeding freight train to catch up too.
Clenching his fists, practically gritting his teeth he ran forward. Stryke didn’t know what he was thinking when he bolted after the greenblood, he wanted answers and a chance to actually speak to Kursha. While he could imagine the other harbored negative feelings given what exactly had happened the yellowblood wasn’t fine with just letting it turn to ash and dust. It was impossible to just simply forget this b*****d of a troll.
As much as he detested the desert climate, Stryke had done a fair amount of exploring within town. He wouldn’t have felt at peace if he didn’t learn the twists and turns of the different alleyways. It wasn’t that hard to follow Kursha’s trail, in his flurry of movement he’d knocked over a few things here and there. As he turned down one winding path he thought he caught a glimpse of him as he turned quickly down another alley. His breath was short, panting but not enough to give up. He wasn’t as lean and fit as the other troll, but he’d built up a tolerance for exercise as much as he hated to admit it.
Another turn and he was staring into a darkened alleyway, with a troll clenching his fists and looking ready to pounce like some mighty predator. Suddenly, Stryke couldn’t move...nor take a step forward. Leaning over his knees Stryke pressed his hands to his knees as he tried to catch his breath instead of approaching the other right away.
After a few moments, he looked up through his bangs staring at him pointedly. One more time. It was like looking at a Polaroid, except the other was taller than he used to be and easily stronger. He knew they could be in a situation that would leave him in pain and miserable for weeks to come. Or feel nothing at all.. “god dammit kursha. you’re making this imposssible to talk to you..” Stryke’s breathing had evened out as he let out a tired, drawn out sigh. He stood up straight looking from Kursha to the paved ground below frowning momentarily. Instead of patronizing him or lecturing, he made his intentions clear and to the point without any petty bullshit.
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Posted: Sat Mar 21, 2015 3:27 am
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Stryke stopped moving forward, he noted how the other stepped back. The sound of the crunching of the gravel was evidence he was not going to get much closer any time soon. Short of backing the other further into the alley way, which he had no intention of doing. The greenblood was as arrogant as ever, and his words proved as such. A master of his own destiny and fate, it was like talking to a brick wall at times.
"no, i'm well aware of myself and what happened. the pain was real enough, and wasss difficult to breathe for a while. but does it look like i've held what happened against you, or am asking for an apology? no." Stryke sighed softly following his initial retort.
"i considered you a friend before…things went downhill. i wanted to make amends, so excussse me for trying." He snapped back at him, narrowing his gaze on the other as he glowered. Lowering his arms to his side, he was surprisingly calm despite his being firm with the other.
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Posted: Sat Mar 21, 2015 4:02 am
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Kursha regarded the other carefully, noting the subtle changes in his features, voice and posture. If there was an attack coming he was ready for it. Stryke would not catch him with his guard down. Or so he thought. The yellowblood's words stung more than he likely had any intent for them to. There was no accusation or self-pity in his voice; it was just a straight-up recollection of the facts. Somehow that made it worse. Kursha struggled to keep a straight face. Fortunately he was saved by what Stryke said next.
Giving a sharp grin, he put his hands on his hips and leered down at the yellowblood. “Yeah, I betcha figured out real quick that wasn't the case. Friends ain't made in a day, you know.” He pulled back, smile hesitant. “Anyway... it's not like you ever needed to apologise and I obviously won't, so why don't we cut to the chase?
“Why are you really here?” The smile was still there but his eyes glittered dangerously. “You didn't honestly expect that I would believe some crap story of you coming here under the pretence of 'making amends', did you?” Nailed it. His grave was as good as dug, or it would be if there were such thing as graves.
Kursha's grin widened. After a pause he added, “I guess you could be some kinda scary stalker.”
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Posted: Sun Mar 22, 2015 12:27 am
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There was disbelief on the younger trolls face; did he think he was lying? The idea that the other still believed he had some kind of alternative motives was frustrating. His brows arched in consideration as the other demanded from him what the real reason for his being here was. "i didn't sssay that to talk out my a** kursha. when you ran...i don't know what i was thinking, i just went after you. and figured just maybe it would make a difference." For a long moment, there was only silence as he regarded Kursha in turn. Maybe he'd made a mistake, but Stryke didn't turn to run nor leave surprisingly as he held his ground a stubborn set to his jaw.
"i trusssted you, and still do for some strange reason despite everything that's happened between us. otherwise i wouldn't have followed you like this." He shrugged his shoulders.
Stryke might have added something else, but the tension was broken by the greenblood's flippant joke. For a moment he blinked at him, before actually snorting at the others remark. "a..stalker?" He looked flustered at the notion, his calm patient demeanor broken as he backed up. There was a slight stammer to his tone as he flailed just a bit, his expression mortified. After a moment to compose himself, there came soft laughter as he scowled at him for his wild accusation. "mhmm, i'm going around stalking you.. yeah. that soundsss exactly like what i'd do. i sincerely hope you don't actually believe that." Stryke gave him a deadpan stare clearly not in agreement with the other, rolling his eyes as he huffed at him.
"although i guesss it might seem that way." He added glancing around the alleyway with a disdainful wrinkle of his nose. "i just...didn't want to walk away without trying." Stryke concluded, falling silent.
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Posted: Wed Mar 25, 2015 4:59 am
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The sound of the cartridge being loaded, and namely at the district click of the safety left him feeling empty. A gnawing sensation at the bottom of his digestive cavity made him tense. He didn't turn to run, nor did he drop to his knees and beg. Strangely he remained calm, briefly glancing at the gun. Given their height difference it was pointed roughly at his knee level. The yellowblood listened closely to what the other had to say. He realized with a certain amount of detached fascination he wasn't bothered. Not that it wasn't upsetting it was the revelation he wasn't afraid. Even if logically he should have been.
"believe it or not, no. i ssstill do not feel otherwise." He looked into Kursha's eyes unflinching without any signs of remorse. Stryke did not make a habit of regretting things. He paid for the repercussions of his choices; be they for better or worse. Now would be no different. Stryke might have had his doubts, but they'd arrived at this point of no return. "if you're going to end my life, then that is beyond my control." He stated calmly, deciding for honesty in this situation. "even if s**t hits the fan, i've never felt ill will or regretted my decision to try and check on you. we were at war, and for all i knew something wasss wrong...given the world we live in."
He lowered his arms to his side tone unwavering as he finally glanced down at the ground. The symbol on his chest spoke of time. His belief that things mended with it still was something he wanted to hold onto. "you looked out for me where it counted, and I wanted to do the same. sure some bad s**t happened. but if one bad incident was enough reason to write some one off completely that doesn't exactly make a damn bit of sense. not to me anyway." Stryke gestured to him then the gun.
"call it what you will, but. i don't believe my faith is misguided in you." There was no smile, nor reason to monologue endlessly. He'd laid his thoughts out on the table. Prove me wrong. Or let this be goodbye. There was only the silence and distance between them in that instance when he looked up at Kursha.
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Posted: Thu Mar 26, 2015 7:34 pm
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Such arrogance. He had to be bluffing. Or joking. Whichever it was, Kursha did not care. There was no way Stryke was being honest with him. Tensing his finger against the trigger, Kursha prepared to fire. Stryke was still speaking though. He would wait until the kid was done before putting the ghost of Old Hemisect to rest. It was his last chance after all. Kursha was not about to rob him of that.
Enjoy your last ******** moments.
His mouth twisted bitterly. At last there was silence. Stryke had finished. Eyes narrowing, Kursha raised the muzzle of the rifle. His expression was tense and dark. Sometime during Stryke's speech, the mask had fallen away exposing the raw anger beneath. Kursha had not noticed. He was too present to see or feel anything beyond the rifle aimed at Stryke's head. His finger squeezed against the trigger.
A minute passed. Perhaps two minutes. Time had no relevance. Sweat beaded on Kursha's forehead. A single drop rolled down the side of his face and under his chin. He was perfectly still, even in his breathing. His eyes stared straight ahead, unmoving from their target. The gun was beginning to slip though. His hands had become slick with sweat. The trigger slipped against his finger. Gravity would do what he could not. With a slow, shaking exhale, Kursha adjusted his grip and then lowered the weapon. He turned away.
Suddenly there was a sharp crack. A smoking hole appeared in the brick side of the building, where the cartridge had buried itself. Kursha's arm hung at his side, rifle dangling from his fingers. Back to Stryke, he was quiet for a long moment. Then, finally...
“Just go away.”
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