You Hit Him, I Hurt You

[psychoticracer]

Characters: Erol and Damas [closed]
Location: Forest
Date: Right freakin' now
Rating: R for Erol D:

Whenever someone attacked Razer, they would find an Erol on their heels. This predictable pattern may become a tactical weakness if someone figured it out, but Erol wasn't known for doing things the safe (or sane) way.

Let me lead an assault on

Comments

[survivorking]

Damas had earned himself a nice bruise or two in the fight, specifically a handsome one on his jaw and another on his throat that were now fading to a nice black, as opposed to blotchy red-and-purple.

He visited the forest often, when he was idle, or when he needed to think. His room was close to Jak's, there were times when he would rather put some distance between him and his son. Oftentimes, this because that was precisely who he was thinking about.

The forest reminded him of Mar, definitely. There was no denying it, that's why it was the stream in particular that he went to. He was close to Mar, and far from Jak. Some part of his mind had not placed those two as the exact same person, some part of him was cautious to accept that.

[psychoticracer]

Erol heard someone. Shifting his weight minutely, he peeked over the edge of the leaves. He was glad for the lack of birds and insects - they'd surely have given him away otherwise. But here, the silence was expected, instead of a certain sign of frightened wildlife.

Not that Erol had any genuine woodcraft to speak of. Just deductive reasoning, training, and natural predatory instincts.

Ah. Finally. Anyone who knew him would have been surprised to see Erol wait so patiently for, well, anything. But with the right motivation, Erol could focus on one task for a very long time. It was all a matter of how badly he wanted something.

He counted heartbeats, letting the man drift off into thought or whatever the hell it was people did here. Then he stepped out from behind the tree, no longer bothering with stealth as he leaned back against the trunk and crossed his arms lazily.

"You're late."

a wastelander king is never late, he arrives precisely when he means to

[survivorking]

Damas visibly tensed, hands curling into fists. He turned to the source of the voice, and put his hands behind his back, eyes narrowing.

"I wasn't aware I was on some kind of schedule." His tone was particularly acerbic.

He hadn't met Erol before, but there was something about the greeting he didn't like. He didn't really want to be disturbed by anyone, anyhow.

I will have you know that Erol is taller than a hobbit B|

[psychoticracer]

Erol adored negative attention, and he loved to put on a show. Damas was affording both.

"Oh no, not for being here." He waved a careless hand to dismiss the idea, then paused, eyes flicking down to the king with a smug, arrogant smirk. (Erol was good at those.)

"I mean to protect him. Your son.

"Jak."