#redbonded

    he’d been banking on keith being unconscious when he showed up -- by all accounts he should’ve been: head trauma, fractured ribs, more minor bruises and cuts, strained muscles, ligaments. if griffin had been in the same condition he’d almost wish he was unconscious, ask to be put under, to make it easier to deal with being useless, bedridden for days, weeks.

       ❛ Y’know, I wasn’t expecting you to catch up with me this quick. ❜ Sure, there’s a hint of petulance in his words, sparked up by winning by such a close margin, but the grin at his lips is flush with the exuberance of a race well run -- toothy and just biting back an affection laugh as Keith kills the engine of his bike beside him. ❛ Those are some impressive moves. ❜ 

It’s been weeks and weeks, long enough for the feeling of urgency to slowly fade from Krolia. First from her muscles; one morning (or whatever this can be called when night and day change with unpredictable irregularity) she wakes without her body pulled taut like a spring, ready to jump at anything and everything. It takes a few more days for her mind to settle a little, too, to finally allow herself to sink into actual sleep rather than blurry half-consciousness punctuated by gray, muddy fog and internittent tatters of nightmares.

It’s light out when she comes to, and it’s pouring… something. It doesn’t seem to be more than a hot rain; a watery substance that creates small puffs of steam at every drop that reaches the ground – but it still reminds Krolia of the acid rains of her home planet, and as she sits, she’s almost surprised to feel a dull ache spread in her chest, filling out all the hollows left behind by the faded-out adrenaline and exhaustion.

Keith sits at the mouth of the cave, with the wolf curled up next to him, looking outside. Expression softening momentarily, Krolia pulls her legs under herself, and scoots a little closer to the fire, using one of her military knives to dig out the pockets she’d buried under the embers, small sacks of hide tied up to hide a few edible roots. “Are you hungry?” she calls out.

    “IS THAT--?” Nose scrunched, brows pinched, entire face crinkled; one would think Lance just witnessed something well and truly disturbing... And not just a mere bottle of dish soap. 

He looks incredulously over to Keith, waggling it.

     “Do NOT tell me you’re using this for body lotion.”

hey can i borrow one while we’re on the subject space gets cold sometimes

american god starters // accepting

Watching Keith approach him was one thing. For him to hold out the blade that didn’t belong to him out to Antok, it had surprised the larger man quite a bit. Had his mask been off, Keith would have seen his eyes widen, his ears perk. However, he only squared his shoulders and looked down at Keith — at the hand that was clasped around the hilt of the luxite blade that Antok had seen on his person what seemed like ages ago.

What was the Red Paladin’s reasoning? A peace offering? It was true that Antok would have preferred to take the blade from the boy and send him off with his companion, yet he’d been stubborn... and Kolivan allowed him to take the blade into their trials.

He’d earned something that recruits could only hope to earn in their years of training under the blade. Antok remembered his own — it took him several to earn the trust of the leader, his dedication, his energy, practically his life was poured into the Blade of Marmora and its cause. That an alien halfling came sauntering into the base with a blade that didn’t belong to him, only for him to take the trials spontaneously... it angered Antok more than anyone could possibly imagine, even Keith.

He didn’t earn it out of honor or years of training. It was purely dumb luck that he’d gotten it in the first place, and that it had awakened for him.

Antok eyes him quietly, wondering just exactly what he was trying to gain out of this exchange. Perhaps it was a peace offering. It wasn’t subtle that Antok hated Keith, so perhaps he wanted to end that. Or, he was simply discarding it, as he had his bayard instead. The latter option angered Antok, yet he kept silent.

“This does not belong to you.” He reiterates as he reaches out to take the blade away from Keith, albeit much less forceful than their first encounter. “Understand this, boy. This is something sacred, something earned by those that dedicate their lives to our cause. That someone had the gall to give it to you in the first place is inane. They practically threw away their life, and may as well be dead now.” 

me, finding one of shiro’s shussy