#;gunsandcrows

It was no surprise to anyone, really. There was always someone wanting to pick a fight and who were they to say no when there was already a fight being swung their way? Vax watched the gunslinger kick at one of the others, snorting at his comment. “Percival, please. We all know I’m your favourite.” 

He barely finished his sentence before ducking out of the way from a swing, barely paying attention to where it came from. Maybe he was a little drunk. The rogue made a displeased noise before jumping at the half-orc that had knocked Percy over, managing to knock him down as well easily enough despite the half-orc being at least three times his size.

Vax had never truly understood Grog’s rage until he threw that punch. The pain in his knuckles from the impact was exactly what he’d wanted. It rung and jolted throughout his entire arm in the most weirdly pleasant way. He wanted to scream until his throat was raw but words would never get through Percival’s thick, pompous skull. 

His sister, the only thing he has left, died because of him. It didn’t matter how anymore, none of it mattered. She was back and fine but gods was he going to pay a price cleaning up after Percy’s mess. It was a price the rogue would gladly pay day after day if it meant his sister was going to be just fine, but it was so pointless. She would’ve been fine if he’d maybe stopped and thought about what he was doing for one damn second. 

This was his fault and the fact that he simply accepted the punch made it so much worse. Vax wanted a fight, wanted to watch that self preservation kick in like it always did with assholes like him and yet it didn’t. He takes a breath, fists clenched at his sides but they shook. 

The urge to hit Percy again was slowly fading, falling back into the exhaustion he’d felt before. He was no barbarian, he wasn’t as strong as Grog.