Welcome to Gaia! ::

One of his favorite features of the late half of the year was that it was the season for Highland games. September kicked off most seasons, conjoined occasionally with renaissance fairs, and for the most southern of states would run into the late November. Nearby to Destiny city by a few hours drive was the Tenbrook Highland Games. This was its 10th year running, not that he'd been competing there so long. It was his first time, in fact. SIgn ups to compete were early, and events were held all weekend. Parking was free and the Gates opened at 8am.

At 18 years old now he was officially able to enter to gain points towards ranking as a professional, so he had. It was going to be a first, for many things. For one, his first real competition since becoming a part of the Negaverse. He worried if or how it would affect his standing- woudl it be better? Worse? Nothing at all? He hadn't been able to get a hold of Colin, but then, the dancer was busy as well. But it woudl mean a lot to have someone there that knew him. That was willing to cheer for him. It made a difference to have someone to impress outside of oneself, in a simple, masculine way. He wasn't afraid to admit to himself that he liked performing for an audience. Especially personal ones that were there especially for him.

It had taken a lot of working up to it, but he had done it- Titan waited until the bloodied, brutal end of a training session with his lord and had approached on knee to invite Obsidian to the Games as a patron. Whether the general knew his identity before his joining or not, he wasn't sure, but he had given his name, the days and times of the events he'd be competing in, and had left it at that. No need for Obsidian to say yes or no directly.

But as he looked out from a line of waiting competitors for the caber toss, the bright lines of plaid kilts shading all their thighs, he wondered is his lord would come. And how would he know which was Obsidian? There was all the magic business in the way. Björn adjusted the pinning of a number on his shirt, threw his braid back over his shoulder and kept scanning the crowd idly for anyone he knew- Hillworth graduates like himself, anyone from the play, Negaverse agents in uniform looking badly out of place and lacking plaid.

He would be up soon- the competitor in front of him advanced to the judge and line and waiting cabers.

Björn spooked initially, having not been looking the right direction and hearing a familiar voice- Mr. Collins? His Gym teacher! From Hillworth! He hadn't seen the man all summer, given that he'd graduated, and their hours at the city gym were probably at odds.

"What are you doing here? Mr. Collins, welcome. Are you competing? Taking in the celtic festival?" He didn't think 'Collins' sounded particularly scottish, irish or brythonic, but then, his impression of how one told a name was any of the above was a prefix of Mc, Mac, or O'. Not so deep as a well, his knowledge on that front. Still, he lifted a big palm in welcome, and offered it out to shake politely.

At the odd crunching noise, he couldn't help but wonder if his old teacher had stopped by the very tempting food vendors before spotting him or his brain out of the competitors. Drew was tall enough to be able to see over a bunch of heads, so that wasn't out of the reckoning. But there weren't and bags on his wrist or food service napkins or wrappings about him at all. The sound and motion was overall terribly familiar, the way that dreams intense in the morning seemed vague in recollection by evening.

He knew what dial tone sounded like- a memory from his early life and houses or apartments where his mother had insisted they have a land-line phone. It had been at least eight years since he'd heard one, since the widespread popularity of cellphones and the noxious bane that were telemarketers made the land-line obsolete.

That distinctive drone, however, seemed to have replaced all sound and brainwave after the words 'invited by one of my favorite students'

He stared at Mr. Collin's mouth, then eyes, then mouth again, hand-clasping-his. The callouses on that pale hand came in painful focus- sword callouses. Rough-worn skin at knuckles and on the skin between forefinger and thumb where the hand guard rested at ease. The strongman hadn't blinked, couldn't. His mouth worked the syllables, unvoiced, but the motion was clear-

Obsidian

Mr. Collins was his ex-gym teacher.
Mr. Collins was General Obsidian.
The attack on school grounds, how the general had always known just where to find him, why the general had even known he'd existed all suddenly made sense. The predatory undertones to both, the crawling, vorpal rictus that the two faces shared finally connected.

And he'd come. His Lord had come to his competition. Björn let the grip go, straightening, wonderment plain. "No....."
"Not...so much, Mr.....Collins. "

The name felt wrong now on his lips, too common and too plain. Trying to use Andrew or Drew just was weird, even if he was graduated. In spite of other connotations of the past year, a smile genuine broke across his features, "You really came. "

How exactly did one resolve the conundrum of the hot gym teacher being one's equally hot, but fairly unsettling lord? He didn't expect he'd make heads or tails of it at a minute, so he gave it up for later. Obsidian-mr.-collins was here, at his competition. Oh-

and it was his turn.
Björn gave a ducked nod of apology to his lord, hearing his name called by the judge. "One moment...if you'll stay to watch this at least? I will do my best."

He came. My absolute best.

He dashed the very few strides of his long legs to the judge and teh waiting cabers. At 19 feet 6 inches tall and weighs 175 pounds, they were something to get to not only revolve, but also to land straight. He should be worried, but it just didn't rise form his gut at all. He didn't hazard a look over his shoulder, that was too immature. If Obsidian was going to watch, he'd watch. Björn would make it worth while- he needed full revolutions, and the whole length straight like noon on a clock. The basic techniques weren't hard. It was the finesse, brute strength and endurance- none a problem with the sheer amount of adrenaline he had suddenly pumping through his veins.

Don't catch the kilt hem up in the grip, back straight, knees bend, LIFT-
He had the balance immediately, and the short run and plant. The end flipped as gracefully over end as one could hope for a giant rafter of wood. The landing wasn't bad either - 11:50.

Not perfect, but very, very close. Better then his usual 10-11 o'clocks, or the occasional no-turn at all. All the training was having a good effect- in and out of uniform. Björn carefully checked any desire to give a celebratory exclamation, and turned neatly on his heel, looking for his lord.

Seeing that his lord has stayed, had watched, Björn trotted the distance back with a wide smile. Falling in next to the smaller man, he appreciatively patted his own bicep to indicate the subject- "It is thanks to you I've gotten better."

He approved! He had done honorably by his lord.
Today. Is. Glorious.

"Competitors have tents over there, if you'd like to come. Its more secluded, and my next event isn't for twenty minutes while they finished this one. "

"There's chairs and drink." Not alcoholic, but the organization had provided water, tea, juice, Ribena from a sponsoring import foods vendor. There were strange UK 'biscuits' as well, but as far as the strongman could tell that just meant cookie. He started for the tent, inviting with a hand motion again that Drew should feel welcome.

The simple phrases were more than enough recognition of his effort, of his striving, to give Björn as much a endorphin high as someone else being given a box of Godiva chocolates. He was doing well! Obsidian was pleased!

That much was apparent by the slinking tone, which normally alarmed Titan a little when he detected it's presence in his lord's voice. It always meant either pain was coming, or something tricky. Four Months into his training had given him plenty of food-for-thought regarding the state of affairs in his chosen lord's headcase, but he was oathed, and he would stay by that. He would find a way to help Obsidian. Maybe. Maybe that was ambitious. But he was young, he had compliments for his drive and effort, the sun on their faces, the light fall breeze in the tents, the sweat on their limbs, and all was as he could hope for even minutes. It was enough.

"A reward?" He pulled over one of the provided tent chairs for his lord, and pulled one of the flaps down to shade half the inner space with privacy. He knelt on one knee by the chairs side, looking up at Mr. Collins face-

I can see it now where I couldn't moments before. It is still strange. The regular clothes look foreign on him now the way this required to compete kilt feels foreign on me. I should be worried, maybe, but he does what he must to make me stronger. A 'reward' is new.

He had harvested starseeds. He had don to others what he had at one time in near history been worried would happen to himself. He wasn't proud of the act itself, nor comfortable with it- it was dark lore, to draw the souls of people unwitting and unwilling, and give them to unnamed stocks and use of the commanders and their whims. It was uncomfortable, but he told himslef time and again there was a reason. A good reason.

It disturbed him, in a backburner way, that he was very aware that starseeds were what his lord was always crunching. Crunching them in his teeth like Bazzite no doubt would like to be doing. How much then, was the difference left between the Youma and Obsidian.

But Obsidian was his lord. Obsidian called it a reward. Eating the soul of another being? How was that a reward, let alone a special one? It didn't seem like a good idea at all. I swore. I swore I would follow his lead, would take reward from his hand as I would give my honor and service to him. He wouldn't do this without good reason. He has a reason himself for doing it, and a reason for offering it.

There must be something important to know and learn about it that maybe...I wasn't ready for before. It's awful, but I can do it. I can weather trials with work and tests with loyalty. Björn lifted his hand to take the offered seed- a small thing shining in massive fingers. He looked at Mr. Collin's lips first, then eyes as he stayed motionless, knelt like a statue for a count of breaths.

Obey.
Björn put the thing past his lips like a candy, holding it there on his tongue. It tingled uniquely- separate from pop rocks and soda, from too much caffeine. Then carefully he transferred it between his molars and bit down, splitting it in teeth with a familiar crunching break. And his jaw locked, and he grabbed the arm of the chair hard with a hand, making the wood groan.
He panted, eye's locked through the first throes on the familiar, predatory eyes above him.

It was hard to stay still. Hard not to tear the chair apart and catch up Obsidian, or more likely just attempt to do such a thing. He could only process it as the colour red and like some stopper had been pulled in a dam. "I-is it always so?"

That much energy, coursing through every muscle like a hundred-weight adrenaline was already more than he'd imagined. It took so much to keep still with every fibre screaming to move. At the sound of his Lord's laugh, Björn shivered.

He could see every striation of colour in Mr. Collin's eyes.
" It only gets better..." he whispered it absently, distracted for a moment. "There has to be a start, then."

A start for things to get better from. Better what? What was this even? Like doping? That would make it a 'high'. Unless Mr. Collin's was talking about something else. Björn was never quite certain about that-no, no he was pretty certain there was a subtext. Obsidian never said anything without it probably meaning at least one other thing, and good luck parsing which. Except through experiential learning.

He was already feeling the need to move, to act. To dare anything. It was impossible to think enough to consider the detraction. The hold on his chin was light, and it was only inches, so Björn shifted forward swiftly to try to kiss-