[The Ironworks] Little Blue Boy Lost (Baelin)

by **Aren** on February 15th, 2015, 7:44 am

Heeding his brother's advice, Seros took another step back as soon as Aren made the suggestion to run. The darker Other was still hesitant to take this option, but soon events progresses to the point where even he realized that he had no choice.

At first, when the young man had looked away from him, Seros had thought that his diplomatic entreaties were making progress, but that illusion soon shattered like the frail surface of a strained mirror. In a mad rush, the black haired smith came at the Akalak like an enraged glassbeak. There didn't seem to be too much thought or logic behind the attack, but the sheer suddenness still managed to take the experienced warrior by some measure of surprise.

His hands came up in defense instinctively, but all that Seros could manage to do was grab hold of his assailant's meaty forearms. The considerable inertia of the bulk he was trying to stop caused him to backpedal backwards at an alarming rate, until finally there was no more ground to tread and the two large men burst open the doors of the Ironworks with the weight of their bodies. The unexpected crash making him lose his balance, the Akalak fell backwards with just enough presence of mind to bring his legs up and pull his arms back as he did so. Maybe if he was lucky, the smith's momentum, coupled with Seros' own counter force, would be enough to fling him clear over the person beneath him. If he wasn't so lucky, he really hoped that his brother would change his mind about letting him fight before his pretty face became unrecognizably disfigured.

Aren, for his part, was honestly hoping that he'd suffered a few smacks. Maybe that would teach his irresponsible dark side that actions had consequences, and so did words chosen carelessly or without consideration for their potential ramifications. Pain was an excellent teacher, he knew, and if this whole escapade is what it took to make Seros consider the responsibility of being able to speak at will, so be it.

Aren's brother had spent too long cooped up inside the Akalak's head. He had never learned to filter his thoughts because he had never needed to. Unfortunately, freedom came with its own set of chains, and Seros had to come to terms with the fact that people tended to have issues and topics that were sometimes better not to bring up. Not every stray thought that came to his head should be voiced, especially not if it made him snicker with childish amusement, as this was usually a bad sign.

by **Baelin Holt** on February 24th, 2015, 6:30 am

Anger was something Baelin was quite familiar with. It was an ever present whisper in the back of his mind, always urging him to embrace cruelty and mangle those who dared to even look at him the wrong way.

It horrified him. The idea that the snake in his blood had infected more than just his eyes and skin was not something he could accept. Baelin couldn’t be one of them. The half-Dhani clung fiercely to his humanity and coveted it; his uncle serving as his anchor. Even now, with half of a season’s travel between them, Baelin still relied on the memory of his uncle to soak through him and act as a leash on the monster he carried inside.

But it was getting harder to rely on his fading memories.

In the corner of his mind, Baelin realized he was completely out of line. He was risking his job. Jeopardizing Fredrick’s and Ros’s trust in him. Potentially setting himself up for an unfortunate stay in the Tank. He tried to pull up a memory of his uncle bent over a Fargholian’s hoof.

But Baelin was hard pressed to make it out over the flood of anger raging through him.

The Akalak had his hands up in time to grab Baelin’s forearms. The half-Dhani snarled in frustration at the taller man and continued to charge forward. He would connect with the harrier.

While it wasn’t his desired effect, the man was being pushed back. Baelin’s lip curled in vicious pleasure. He tipped his shoulders forward in the hopes of driving him into something. Perhaps he’d get lucky and impale him on some weaponry.

But Baelin’s focus had honed in on the Akalak a bit too much and had neglected to notice where they were actually heading. With a dismayed grunt Baelin felt a cold swell encompass him as the pair crashed through the doors and into Winthrop Alley. The tips of his left fingers throbbed painfully, causing Baelin to instinctively snatch his hand back as the two large men landed outside.

The man under him, with again a frustratingly evident understanding of how to fight, had brought his legs up and pulled his arms back. Baelin grunted in pain as the Akalak’s knees collided with his gut.

The half-Dhani reflexively arched his back, bending away from the blow, while he felt his right arm yanked well above his head. Baelin let go of the Akalak’s arm when he felt it his shoulder stretch painfully and landed heavily, his torso colliding onto the cold ground and his legs dragging behind him over the blue man. He felt his chin scrape painfully over the ground and his jaw had clamped down on the edge of his tongue. He tasted blood.

Baelin thrashed awkwardly to twist himself back into a sitting position, not liking the vulnerable position in the slightest. Momentum was still in his favor and he was able to swing his legs over the Akalak’s head. He kicked his heel behind him, hoping to get some kind of damage in with the motion. Still twisting his body around, Baelin swung his elbow up and tried to ram it down with every intention of breaking that blue nose.

by **Aren** on March 3rd, 2015, 12:27 am

The fall had ended up being better than he feared, although worse than he hoped. The smith had gone over him, but not completely, resulting in an awkward position on the floor with his legs still draped over the Akalak. Seros immediately looked up to inspect the situation, only to see a foot heading straight for his face, and though he managed to turn his head at the last moment, all this did was ameliorate the blow somewhat.

"You're going to get us killed!" He shouted, as a hand came up to cradle the now bleeding crown of his head.

His eyes promptly returned to his opponent, however, knowing he couldn't remove his gaze off the aggressive young man. Even now the angry, black haired youth was once again on the offensive, bringing down a blow on Seros' still prone form. It was all he could do to bring his forearms up for defense, but even his arms could not ignore the damage a rage fueled elbow could do. Unfortunately, prevented from retaliation as he was, all the Akalak could do was groan and try to get himself back to a position from where he could mount a more effective defense.

Pushing his aggressor's arm away with his own, Seros twisted his body about with the aid of a leg, and was soon eye to chest with his sitting foe. His arms promptly helped to push him off the ground, but the warrior only took a step back as he regained his full stature.

"If death is the price for teaching you a lesson in civility, then so be it." Aren briefly asserted control to voice his counterargument using his actual body. This, of course, was for the smith's benefit. He hoped the boy would understand that there was something else going on here, and ease up on the aggression. The noticeable difference in tone and pitch might be easy to ignore when your mind was focused on fighting, but perhaps words that contradicted themselves would be a more noticeable clue. He had no intention of actually getting beaten to death here, after all.

"If I hadn't seen that kick in time, we might have a broken jaw right now, and you're cracking jokes!?" Seros' deeper, coarser voice protested, realizing that he had no choice but to go along with his brother's unstated plan.

"You could always try apologizing." Aren retorted, aware that this back and forth conversation with himself probably smacked of insanity to the outside observer. Perhaps that would be viewed as an acceptable excuse in and of itself, however.

"Apologize for what?" The darker Other queried indignantly, still oblivious as to just what exactly had prompted the smith's "unprovoked" assault. He had said just a few sentences to the unruly boy, and none of them had been a threat or a disparaging remark about his parentage. He really was at a loss as to what could have triggered this madness, although the knowledge that both he and Aren shared suggested it was his serpentine-related comments. But why? His brother took it as plainly obvious that this had been the reason, though he didn't exactly know the why of it. So how could he be so sure? Was it cause and effect? Was it just that he understood people a whole lot better?

by **Baelin Holt** on April 6th, 2015, 9:35 pm

OOCI’m wicked sorry for the no-warning hiatus. Hopefully the pace will pick up now!

The man shouted something as Baelin brought his elbow down, but Baelin barely even heard the words as he twisted his torso to give his elbow some extra momentum. To the half-Dhani’s vicious delight, he felt his elbow impact something that didn’t feel like the ground. He hissed between his teeth in both pain and satisfaction as he reveled in the fact that he was actually lashing out at someone.

The “snake boy” had held his tongue and kept his head down for far too long in Syliras. The threat of the Tank and the overbearing presence of Knights everywhere had kept Baelin’s tongue in his mouth. Lashing out felt so...relieving.

The Akalak groaned and shifted about, pushing away Baelin’s arm. The half-Dhani snarled angrily, but the larger man was both quick and strong and managed to twist himself into a sitting position. Before Baelin was able to lunge forward into an ill-advised tackle, the blue man had pushed off of the ground and was once again a tall, muscular tower above him.

Baelin climbed to his feet as well, rage still pumping tumultuously like a swollen river, churning anything that may have been logic in his mind. He ground his teeth and studied the heckler, trying to think of something slightly more creative than “lunge at him.” He wasn’t coming up with anything.

Rolling his shoulders, Baelin put his right foot behind him to better launch himself forward when the Akalak’s words cut the air.

“If death is the price for teaching you a lesson in civility, then so be it.”

Baelin was momentarily shocked, enough so that he froze and his foot stayed awkwardly shifted behind him as the half-Dhani processed what the better built man had said.

He had never actually thought of killing the naturally born fighter. Sure, he wanted to bash his skull in and squeeze his windpipe to see just how blue that face could get, but Baelin had no intention of actually ending the man’s life. Baelin wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t kill someone. Not a real person, anyways.

But this man apparently would.

The half-Dhani sucked in his breath and was reminded that his life was no longer just about him anymore. He absentmindedly rubbed his right palm, fingers brushing against the scythe mark that has been with him for the past several days. He told Dira...Dira, the one he held second to none...that he was hers.

What was he doing now? Is this how he was going to represent her?

Baelin dragged his foot forward to stand uncertainly in front of the Akalak. If the man lunged forward, so help him, he wouldn’t hesitate to take the opportunity to lash back. The half-Dhani relished the idea that the man would give him that kind of out, despite the mismatch between the pair.

But pressing the assault as he had been doing...he’s being a petching child. Dira surely expected better of him. Shame mixed with his rage and formed a heady concoction of self-loathing.

Baelin would have been perfectly willing to lose himself in that self-loathing, but the Akalak wasn’t done talking.

“...and you’re cracking jokes!?”

Thick eyebrows furrowed together as confusion pushed his self-loathing aside. Jokes? What on Mizahar was the blue man saying? Baelin couldn’t recall saying anything. And, even if he had, he was hard pressed to think of a time when something he said was considered joke worthy. His humor had always seemed bland when compared with his cousin’s vibrant stories.

“You could always try apologizing.”

Instinctive anger pounded in his ears again as he assumed the man was demanding an apology. The half-Dhani dug his soot encrusted nails into his palm and thought of the weaponsmith who had tried to elicit an apology from him earlier.

This is your customer, he had to forcibly remind himself, Of course you need to apologize.

He just didn’t like the nuisance himself demanding the apology.

But the stranger still wasn’t finished talking. Baelin’s slitted eyes shot up and bore into the Akalak’s strange, golden ones as realization hit him worse than any blow the man could have landed physically.

The stranger wasn’t talking to him. He was talking to himself.

The young man groaned and rubbed his eyes with the pads of his hands. He was fighting with a man who was, quite literally, crazy. That was unacceptable. What kind of man was he if he picked a fight with some poor, crazy sap?

For the first time since the Akalak had mocked his sibilance, Baelin regretted that he had lashed out. Stupid, he chastised, So stupid. Why wouldn’t you check that the man had his wits about him? Only a cruel man picked a fight with a man without his wits.

Baelin sucked in a breath and ran his hand through his thick hair. He released it with an angry hiss as he steeled his courage and forced himself to make eye contact with the man whom fate apparently hadn’t been kind to. “I’m...I didn’t realize...forgive me. I thought you meant to be maliciousss.”

by **Aren** on April 20th, 2015, 9:26 am

Aren noticed the young man's sudden reaction to the realization that the individual he was dealing with was more than he appeared. The effect that the knowledge had was a visible mark on his face, and the Akalak seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as he saw the smith come to the conclusion that continuing this fight was pointless.

"No need to apologize. You were in the right, but you should learn that sometimes people are more than they seem, lest you attack the wrong person like a madman." The Akalak's voice sounded a lot more genial than it had a moment ago, and its actual timbre and pitch were radically different from the harsh noise that had emanated from his throat just a few breaths earlier.

He was doing his best to be friendly, but he kept his guard up. Seros had admittedly provoked the smith, but the boy also seemed to have an uncommonly short fuse. That’s why Aren had decided to give him this piece of advice, as this was not generally a character trait overly conducive to survival. The warrior could have probably easily killed the him, had he been so inclined, and claimed self-defense should he need to. Another man might have actually done it without a moment’s hesitation; the world was not such a forgiving place that rash action often failed to illicit dire consequences, and was it really worth dying in the prime of one’s life over an insult? Over pride? Aren seriously hoped the young smith would heed his suggestion, but he couldn’t force the boy to.

At least the raven haired youth seemed to understand that he had misjudged the situation with the man who had seemingly insulted him. Perhaps he thought the blue giant was insane for talking to himself, which would not necessarily be an incorrect assessment, when viewed from a certain perspective. His “condition” would probably be considered a type of mental defect, by some, and likely a curse a by others. Either way, it certainly tended to put Aren in some unfortunate circumstances, like the one he currently found himself in. Luckily, it seemed that the situation was winding down thanks to a seeming unwillingness -on the part of his foe- to continue his aggression against someone he now likely perceived as underserving such aggression. The truth was a bit more complicated than that, of course, but the important thing was that the Akalak’s plan had worked, and the pair of combatants seemed to be disinclined to continue their bout.

"Not that you attacked the wrong person," Aren said, offering his erstwhile foe a mischievous grin that suggested there was certainly more to the story than he was letting on. He didn't seem inclined to elaborate, however, and the giant nonchalantly patted away the scuff marks the fight had created as if they had been made by nothing more egregious than an errant puff of dust.

by **Archailist** on July 11th, 2015, 12:04 pm

Aren :

Baelin :

Notes :

Was I a little too nuts in my grading?
If you've got concerns, just call me.

Closed [The Ironworks] Little Blue Boy Lost (Baelin)