04 . Spam for pre-arranged threads

[godsays]

[ He settles into his own mind with a jarring sense of wrongness, from thoughts that fell in orderly lines to a jumble, mismatched and unsettling. With the ebb of the flood, he has changed, from sanity to the lack of same, and he feels the difference all the more starkly now that he knows for certain what both of them mean.

Heel of his hand rubs at the lump over his breastbone.

He would be sane, if not for the voice. Is that what this meant? Or was it the weakness in his heart that stopped him from being as dangerous as he otherwise would have been? Was the Admiral's goal to take away his teeth, to make him meek? Or was this truly a lesson he should take to heart?

He tries to herd his thoughts, settles into stillness in the corner. Utter stillness, not moving a muscle for hours.

In the meantime: his door is closed. ]

Comments

[godsays]

Why?

[ A tilt of his head. The pain that Cassel's in - feels good, to him. His frustration working its way out.

He pauses, savors, considers his next move. ]

[patheticvillain]

Because if I'm going to let you do this, you're going to cover your hands, asshole.

[There's not much heat to it. This is decently relaxing for him, too. Reminds him of home.]

Or hit me somewhere else.

[godsays]

[ Strikes Cassel in the ribs, and picks him up and slams him back against the wall, his forearm across Cassel's collarbones.

Considers choking him. Bare-handed. Drags him down to impact his knee with the pit of Cassel's stomach, instead. And steps away, leaving him to fall.

That's good enough. He can breathe easier, now. ]

[patheticvillain]

[He weathers it without much noise, beyond a couple of grunts. In the end he falls on the floor, one arm covering his stomach protectively, one holding him up.]

[His grin's ghastly through the pain and the blood drying on his lips, when he catches his breath enough to shake the hair out of his face and look at Zane.]

Thanks.

[For not touching his face anymore, and for the pain.]