"So tell me. Did my display of magical prowess at least impress you all? Its not very easy I'll have you know." Reaver spoke in what sounded to be practical, but Ricky hadn't caught any sign of it. His mind boiled and brewed like water in a heated pot, bubbling with thoughts that felt far from his original ones. 'The only thing ye have impressed is me dignity, which I can't say the same for ye since ya ain't got none.' The words rang clear throughtout his head, they traveled to every corner of his mind until finally he was nearly about to speak. Automatically of course, as he was nearly lost within his anger. Why this would be the case was unknown, he just knew one thing. He hated everything at the moment. He was now finally letting go of his denial, and devolving into the next phase of grief. Until... "Ricky, I truly hate to rip you away from your meal, but would you join me outside for a moment. Just a fraction of a second, I promise you." Valo had suggested which had snapped Ricky back into the present moment, and had brought to light the issue Ricky had. 'Good God's, I truly have lost it. I gotta correct this...' He thought to himself as he felt Valo's green eyes gaze upon him. "Sure, why not." He replied in a attempt to sound warm, but perhaps may have sounded too warm. Maybe a little hot headed, he was not sure however as he scoot the chair back and stood up. Valo was next to follow, as they both would head just outside the entrance to speak. Before they did though Ricky worked to surpress what he could, the anger and hate that started to develope was already causing him to lose control. Three words came to mind before he finally manage to make it out. Head. Table. Bang. As humerous as it felt it was a sort of violence the man was not accustomed to, Ricky never involved himself in such acts and always, always, used it as a last resort. Why he felt such reactions come to life was an answer he would soon face. They were outside now and Valo seemed to look serious, if not very concerned, to Ricky. The fisherman waited for the artist to speak, and worked to compose himself once more to hopefully contain his anger. |