meadowlarklogs | OPEN / SOME CLOSED PROMPTS

[Fenris has no interest in fighting in the ring like a caged animal. It's not something he needs to do to survive anymore, that life he has long since left behind. But this is a place he used to frequent, according to Wade, and so it is in his best interest to at least come by and see if anything can trigger a memory. Perhaps an actual fight may, but that is not something he's considering until be becomes truly desperate.

He hovers just outside the crowd cheering and jeering the current fight, trying to get a feel for the place, but since he had apparently met Wade at the bar he figures that's as good a place to start as any.

Maybe he looks a little strange, slowly and cautiously walking alongside the bar, a hand trailing over the top as he tries to remember anything. His toes flex against the floor as he feels the rumble of the crowds beneath him, the aggressive energy, familiar but not in the way that he's hoping.

He's more or less all over the place, uncaring how he looks to an outsider, though at least most are occupied with the fights to pay him any mind.]

[ He came here to blow off some steam.

On its own that wouldn't be an egregious thing, save for the fact that Nate's increasing acceptance of the circumstances keeps making him angrier. Angrier, and tired. He's in the pit for the decent money, for the desire to keep from getting rusty at this, for frustration that has no acceptable outlet beyond cracking his fist into someone's jaw.

His opponent stumbles, reaching for his face a leaving a massive opening he would be stupid not to take advantage of. The man spits a blood-soaked insult and Nate feels that furious satisfaction seize in his chest while the throbbing sound around him swells to a roar and the metal cage around them shakes with the force of the throng, bending with the pressure.

All it takes is that one derisive "fucker" and Nate snaps, darting in for a quick spring, a height advantage, and clocks the guy in the temple at the same time a shred of chain link fence not five feet away rips open and peels inward, spilling in a few members of the crowd as the other fighter drops like a sack of bricks. In the corner of his HUD he sees credits pouring in and in the confusion he steps back, panting, taking the gate out and not bothering to wait for the regulars who offer to buy him a drink.

His adrenaline settles too slowly, still vibrating under his skin when he slips between people and ignores their baffled congratulations, angling for a stiff drink before he gets the Hell out of Dodge.

Which is when he sees- ]

Fenris?

[Fenris' attention is caught by the commotion happening around the ring yet again — but not just from the fight. There's a frantic and violent energy from the chanting, the sound of metal bending and groaning, the smell of blood being spilled...he scoffs.

The man knocks out his opponent tears the gate from the cage and Fenris lightly shakes his head as he turns back towards the bar, feeling disgust creeping forward but not just from the display in the cage but from old feelings welling up inside of him. Disgusting. If he could meet his past self and strike him for involving himself in this place after everything he had been through he would—

"Fenris?"

He spins around in his stool with an immediately suspicious glare — surprised to see that it is the aggressive fighter from the ring addressing him, though perhaps he shouldn't be surprised considering he used to frequent this place.]

Yes?

[Trying to be as discreet as he is able under such a disadvantage, he responds gruffly, but there's no trace of familiarity in his harsh stare or that single word.]

[Simon crouches near the ground, panting miserably. He needs to change the bandages around his left hand, bloody for the umpteenth time, which is currently clutching his chest. The safehouse has dredged up some delightfully unpleasant old memories, particularly involving the fear of betrayal, but also it has reminded him that for the first time in ages, he is alone.

Sure, he has made a few allies here and there, some wonderful, some he would even refer to as friends-]

Huh? When did I get so outta breath?

[But there is no one who feels like home to him.

And without an anchor, Simon is lost at sea.]

Uuugh, I can't remember the last time I-

[His nose presses closer to the ground as his eyelids begin to droop.]

Ate...

[As far as Fenris is concerned, the safehouse is not an option. He may show up there every now and again but he certainly isn't going to sleep there. So he sticks to the streets — definitely risky, but he lived in the wilderness before, and surviving in the open city is easier to navigate than a cramped space with angry prisoners.

Coming out of an alley he spots a familiar blond doubling over in what he assumes to be pain. He's tempted to turn heel and disappear where he came from (he may have climbed down a drainpipe — which was no easy feat considering the state of the building), but he doesn't. Sighing and rolling his eyes, he makes his way over and stares down at the prone figure.]

You. [He doesn't look injured.] Where does it hurt?

[Hurt?

Simon feels his vision getting foggier. His kneejerk response is to react angrily, and he wants nothing more than to wave off the other's concern. He can't seem to muster to the strength to utter a full sentence in response, so after running a pair of dusty hands over his face, all Fenris will hear is-]

Mraggh margh.

[Yes. Unintelligible complaining noises.]

[Great.

It looks like the fool has went and expended all his energy no doubt without getting something in his stomach. He can barely even speak. Again, Fenris rolls his eyes and kneels down.]

I'm going to carry you now.

[Just so Simon isn't caught off guard and swing at him again, though it looks as if he can barely lift a finger much less hit him. Still, he's trying to be considerate. At any rate, warning given, Fenris scoops Simon up with a grunt (they're the same height but Fenris is so very used to carrying the injured or unconscious).]

Hnnnh...

[Simon lets out a grunt that fades into a soft whine. He grits his teeth but otherwise does nothing to resist Fen's gesture, eyes finally closing as his arms and legs go slack against the other's body. If he were conscious, Simon would be doing everything in his power to show that he was Fine and Perfectly capable of soldiering on, but as everything gradually starts to fade to black, he slumps against the elf without so much as a thought.

Right before he drifts off into the land of weary nothingness, Simon's hairy jaw presses against an unconcealed patch of skin. The sudden physical contact results in a brief exchange of sensations, and the last thing that registers to Simon prior to his blacking out is a soft wash of comfort- The notion that despite everything cruel and strange about this new world, he will be taken care of.]

[He just wanted to make one stop. One quick stop. Just to get something to eat. And yet it's not long after he's scanning a shelf before he notices someone watching him from the corner of his eyes, whispering something to the person they're with. He makes the mistake of looking up — making eye contact — and before he knows it they're prodding, asking inane questions about his ears.

How do they look so real? They couldn't help but noticed they moved? Did those 'tats' hurt when he got them? They're blocking his way in the very small and cramped store, and while Fenris has been trying very hard to behave for the sake of blending in, his patience is running impossibly thin. He's about ready to snap.]

OPEN / SOME CLOSED PROMPTS

For Nate

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Backdated ; closer to when the newbies were released

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For Wade