#support: shinon and morion

[fletching-scar]

B-boy? The nerve, the stones on this man to say some shit like that. Shinon's blood is up now.

He scowls the best he can--there's a sliver of a drunken smirk in it--and hisses.

"Too--you listen, y'big--!"

He stutters out. Can't keep lookin' at that face, those hard sanguine angles. The low-burning braziers in his eyes, like he really cares whether Shinon gets home safe.

Cheeks scalding, Shinon drags his eyes down.

But that's worse. The man's chest is like the broad side of a warship, and his--!

His--!!

"S-say," blurts Shinon, absolutely unable to look at anything other than the breadth of this man's knuckles.

"D'you reckon your hands'll fit around my waist?"

It takes a hot second to realize that this was most likely the wrong thing to say. This wine is somethin' else. If the gentry serves shit like this at all their splashy parties, it's no wonder they've got so many bastard brats runnin' around.

🎄

Look. That wine was fuckin' strong. Shinon can barely damn see straight--you can't expect him not to run into a guy as wide as this. Huge man, doesn't even flinch when Shinon's whole weight blunders against him like a bag of hammers.

And it gets worse. Shinon stumbles back, and--and the man's got a face like the side of a mountain.

Shinon doesn't let it remind him of Greil. But he does enjoy the view, just for a second.

"Uh…"

it isn't the holidays without a little ale in the tank. it never is! anyone from brodia could tell you as much, morion most of all!

after a day out of warrior kisses and various other activities ( as well as a healthy break to Do The Work He's Employed For ), morion celebrates the end of a fun-tastic day with a massive mug of ale. there's some other folks here that he enjoys talking to about this-or-that, so he doesn't realize how much time has passed ( and still doesn't, even now. who cares? ).

he's in the middle of setting his latest mug down when someone practically falls into him. this is not unusual for a man of his... width, so to speak, so he hardly moves from the impact. no ale sloshes from his mug, and morion's able to put it down in lieu of helping out whoever just rammed into him.

morion gets a good look at the guy and is immediately tipped off to his state---to put it bluntly, this man is hammered. pink face, general imbalance, and probably not even realizing how hard he's staring at morion's face. it's a little endearing, honestly. " what? " he asks, smirking. " there somethin' on my face, boy? "

he straightens his back and, in doing so, brushes his head against some mistletoe hanging from the bar ceiling. morion flicks a look over, then looks back at the wine-haired gentleman, then back to the mistletoe once more.

" hate to disappoint, but you ain't old enough for me, " he gruffs, though his voice carries humor. " i'd be happy to help ya home, though---you don't look like you can walk worth a damn. "

[fletching-scar]

Yeah. Yeah, holy shit, there was issue. Issue like--fuck, what a nice dog, and then--and then....

Oh, he'll never sleep again. He'll close his eyes and feel the hound's weight shifting in his lap, watch the body coalesce like smoke into new shapes, leaving just the sweet, beseeching beguiling eyes.

And the beast-man won't relent, even as Shinon props his body in the corner like a warped old board, even as his chest heaves with receding panic. Even as every eye in the room flickers mirthfully toward him--even then, the siren offers up a kiss.

The worst part is that Shinon thinks about it. He's been so thoroughly jarred from his pride, he thinks yeah, gimme a consolation prize for that. His eyes flutter. His heart mutinies.

But Shinon doesn't take consolation prizes. Not unless they're whiskey, and certainly not from--

Not from this guy. Fuck, it isn't enough for him that he's humiliated Shinon, set him yelping like a kicked pup in a room full of people who are s'posed to respect him--he's gotta make it complete.

Shinon scrubs the dumbstruck expression off his face. Shoves the beast-man aside, bursts from the corner like a shot. Keeps going in a dire straight line, out onto the nearest gaudy balcony.

Not enough to scare the daylights out of Shinon. Had to make him look like a-- like a pathetic-- like he'd ever once look at a beast.

Press F to Pet the Dog

@fletching-scar (continued from here!)

[fletching-scar]

Hands-on attitude...

Shinon thinks that's a joke. And he thinks it's not a funny joke, and he thinks he isn't gonna fucking laugh. Not with this stiff a spine, not with his father's name scratching a hole through his skull.

Despite himself--despite everything--Shinon laughs. It's dull and rusty as an old knife, but there's some faded stain of humor in it.

"Y'fuckin' got me there," he grumbles. Half-smiles--but it still isn't lost on him, that Morion's uneasy. Doesn't quite know how to talk to Shinon.

Nobody does, really. Shinon is edgy and blunt at the same time, somehow, and he fouls every clear sweet well he comes upon.

Even worse is when he tries to fix it. To fish out whatever rotten thing he's dropped in there. But he has to, and he will, here and now, because Morion's better than that. Better'n him.

Heavily, Shinon sighs.

"I'm... Y'ain't a shit teacher," he grits. "I can tell."

spitshine

[fletching-scar]

And there it is, as sure as the chill creeps into the evening, as sure as Shinon's arrows hit their mark. There it is, the swift and brutal souring of the milk.

By the time Shinon's opened his eyes, the big man has already condemned him to the floor. Again, he must hold his own weight.

I don't do that, Morion says, and... really, it's to be expected. Nobody does.

Greil didn't.

Shinon was adamant that he wouldn't be reminded. That it wouldn't get to him, a sharp blow to the gut. That everything that happened--everything that didn't happen back in Tellius is just bullshit from the past.

But when Morion held Shinon's waist, the ghost of Greil held Shinon's throat.

Shinon feels quite sober now, and small, and very cold. He scoffs. It's the only thing he really knows to do.

"Learn to...." he mutters, slinging the words weakly at Morion's back, "learn to take a joke."

And then he turns and skulks away.

🎄

Look. That wine was fuckin' strong. Shinon can barely damn see straight--you can't expect him not to run into a guy as wide as this. Huge man, doesn't even flinch when Shinon's whole weight blunders against him like a bag of hammers.

And it gets worse. Shinon stumbles back, and--and the man's got a face like the side of a mountain.

Shinon doesn't let it remind him of Greil. But he does enjoy the view, just for a second.

"Uh…"

it isn't the holidays without a little ale in the tank. it never is! anyone from brodia could tell you as much, morion most of all!

after a day out of warrior kisses and various other activities ( as well as a healthy break to Do The Work He's Employed For ), morion celebrates the end of a fun-tastic day with a massive mug of ale. there's some other folks here that he enjoys talking to about this-or-that, so he doesn't realize how much time has passed ( and still doesn't, even now. who cares? ).

he's in the middle of setting his latest mug down when someone practically falls into him. this is not unusual for a man of his... width, so to speak, so he hardly moves from the impact. no ale sloshes from his mug, and morion's able to put it down in lieu of helping out whoever just rammed into him.

morion gets a good look at the guy and is immediately tipped off to his state---to put it bluntly, this man is hammered. pink face, general imbalance, and probably not even realizing how hard he's staring at morion's face. it's a little endearing, honestly. " what? " he asks, smirking. " there somethin' on my face, boy? "

he straightens his back and, in doing so, brushes his head against some mistletoe hanging from the bar ceiling. morion flicks a look over, then looks back at the wine-haired gentleman, then back to the mistletoe once more.

" hate to disappoint, but you ain't old enough for me, " he gruffs, though his voice carries humor. " i'd be happy to help ya home, though---you don't look like you can walk worth a damn. "

[fletching-scar]

The big man tells Shinon his name. Shinon is sure of it.

But if you took the heaviest bow you could find, and aimed it directly between Shinon's dreamy wet eyes, he could not tell you what it was.

Because--because this mountainside is touching him, hands broad and warm and thrumming with joie de vivre.

His fingers fit real nice into the curve of Shinon's waist--and fuck, he lifts him up so easy. Shakes him around a bit, presents him like a trophy.

It's like nothing he's ever felt before. He doesn't even have to hold his own weight.

Shinon wracks, every little piece of him wobbling out of place. He can't breathe, can't speak; cannot think anything other than I am too drunk for this.

Because he won't remember, right? Or he'll... he'll spoil it, somehow, if he can't watch his tongue; he'll sour the milk like he does with everything else.

It hits him like a falling star: he's got to make this count. He's here now, pinioned by the hands of this fucking demigod, and he is never gonna get this far again.

His eyes flutter upward. Damn, he's close to the ceiling. It's disorienting--but there's something up here. A sprig of that stupid-ass kissing plant.

A second star: he spears his hand out, makes a fist in the hair at the nape of Morion's neck. Jerks him closer.

And Shinon goes wide of the mark when he kisses him, lips plastered to the corner of the mountainside's mouth.

🎄

Look. That wine was fuckin' strong. Shinon can barely damn see straight--you can't expect him not to run into a guy as wide as this. Huge man, doesn't even flinch when Shinon's whole weight blunders against him like a bag of hammers.

And it gets worse. Shinon stumbles back, and--and the man's got a face like the side of a mountain.

Shinon doesn't let it remind him of Greil. But he does enjoy the view, just for a second.

"Uh…"

it isn't the holidays without a little ale in the tank. it never is! anyone from brodia could tell you as much, morion most of all!

after a day out of warrior kisses and various other activities ( as well as a healthy break to Do The Work He's Employed For ), morion celebrates the end of a fun-tastic day with a massive mug of ale. there's some other folks here that he enjoys talking to about this-or-that, so he doesn't realize how much time has passed ( and still doesn't, even now. who cares? ).

he's in the middle of setting his latest mug down when someone practically falls into him. this is not unusual for a man of his... width, so to speak, so he hardly moves from the impact. no ale sloshes from his mug, and morion's able to put it down in lieu of helping out whoever just rammed into him.

morion gets a good look at the guy and is immediately tipped off to his state---to put it bluntly, this man is hammered. pink face, general imbalance, and probably not even realizing how hard he's staring at morion's face. it's a little endearing, honestly. " what? " he asks, smirking. " there somethin' on my face, boy? "

he straightens his back and, in doing so, brushes his head against some mistletoe hanging from the bar ceiling. morion flicks a look over, then looks back at the wine-haired gentleman, then back to the mistletoe once more.

" hate to disappoint, but you ain't old enough for me, " he gruffs, though his voice carries humor. " i'd be happy to help ya home, though---you don't look like you can walk worth a damn. "

[fletching-scar]

Shinon blinks hard. The big man's laughter resounds, ringing from the vaulted walls and juddering the tangled thing that lives in Shinon's chest.

Look at him like this. Shinon hasn't even got the words for how amiable this guy is, glorying in weapons-grade good cheer.

It's heady stuff, hits Shinon like the butt of an axe. Right in the belly--and doubly so, when the big man starts saying shit like how easy he can toss grown men around.

Like rag dolls. Shinon coughs.

"You... y'talk a lot of fight," he shoots back, voice languid with wine, "but can y'prove it?"

It's not a far-fetched claim--look at the size of his hands!--but there is one thing the big man's wrong about.

Shinon's whole entire shit is being trouble.

🎄

Look. That wine was fuckin' strong. Shinon can barely damn see straight--you can't expect him not to run into a guy as wide as this. Huge man, doesn't even flinch when Shinon's whole weight blunders against him like a bag of hammers.

And it gets worse. Shinon stumbles back, and--and the man's got a face like the side of a mountain.

Shinon doesn't let it remind him of Greil. But he does enjoy the view, just for a second.

"Uh…"

it isn't the holidays without a little ale in the tank. it never is! anyone from brodia could tell you as much, morion most of all!

after a day out of warrior kisses and various other activities ( as well as a healthy break to Do The Work He's Employed For ), morion celebrates the end of a fun-tastic day with a massive mug of ale. there's some other folks here that he enjoys talking to about this-or-that, so he doesn't realize how much time has passed ( and still doesn't, even now. who cares? ).

he's in the middle of setting his latest mug down when someone practically falls into him. this is not unusual for a man of his... width, so to speak, so he hardly moves from the impact. no ale sloshes from his mug, and morion's able to put it down in lieu of helping out whoever just rammed into him.

morion gets a good look at the guy and is immediately tipped off to his state---to put it bluntly, this man is hammered. pink face, general imbalance, and probably not even realizing how hard he's staring at morion's face. it's a little endearing, honestly. " what? " he asks, smirking. " there somethin' on my face, boy? "

he straightens his back and, in doing so, brushes his head against some mistletoe hanging from the bar ceiling. morion flicks a look over, then looks back at the wine-haired gentleman, then back to the mistletoe once more.

" hate to disappoint, but you ain't old enough for me, " he gruffs, though his voice carries humor. " i'd be happy to help ya home, though---you don't look like you can walk worth a damn. "

[fletching-scar]

Shinon's body flickers as he watches Morion test the blade, as he inspects the blood beading on his thumb-pad. It's a microcosm, he supposes, of the man's great reckless valor.

Flickers, and then again with the praise. He shrugs it away. He's got no business making it a feather in his cap, not after what he pulled.

(And archery is only a noble vocation if you're shooting in the right direction. Morion had been all agreeable and sanguine when Shinon mentioned making do with what you've got... but would he feel the same way if he knew whose woods Shinon was stalking as a kid?)

He demurs. "Anything worth doing..." he recites, and then trails off. If anyone knows the back half of that little chestnut, it's Morion.

Shinon shakes his head. Something else is eating him, gnawing with thousands of little pin-teeth. He can't shake it away.

"You... taught your boy to shoot, huh? Funny. My da--my father taught me, too."

The words hang in the air like a confession, as though this in itself is a crime. Having been small. Having learned from someone else, as though he might have otherwise conjured the skill from thin air. Having ever relied upon his sire.

Shinon laughs bitterly, if only to shatter the silence. "Bastard. Shit teacher, too."

spitshine

[fletching-scar]

The air around this man is always heavy, as though gravity works overtime for him. But he clears it--or tries to--and Shinon...

Shinon appreciates that.

He hums in the affirmative, still polishing deftly. He's finding a rhythm with it, making the blade shine as brash and magnificent as its wielder.

It's perhaps too long before he remembers to speak. "Bows," he says.

And that's enough. Shinon has shown enough of his ass to this guy.

Nevertheless, he keeps talking. Can't shut him up, that's his problem.

It just feels easier, here.

"Some folk call me an artisan," he mumbles. "But it ain't... If y'can't afford shit, you make do, right?"

He almost smiles. "I've got the gold now. But if I want it done right, I've got to do it my damn self. Y'know?"

spitshine

[fletching-scar]

Shinon's mouth makes a tight pale line. He polishes the axe-blade, working tiny circles with a stiff wrist. And he listens.

The sincerity is overpowering. Shinon doesn't know how to parse it, how to fold up this... this earnest apology and fit it inside of himself. It simply isn't how shit gets done. If you can't resolve your bad blood with fists or steel or gold, you just leave it.

Why couldn't this guy just leave it?

Why is he always so... grand? What wellspring does he pull this from?

It makes Shinon feel a little sick. Sick and raw and small and skinless. The way Greil used to make him feel--because it always must come back to Greil.

Shinon shakes his head. Laughs bitterly. "You could've just punched me," he grouses. "Think I'd've preferred it."

He heaves a sigh. Keeps polishing. Maybe he's a little looser, now. Hackles fallen just a little bit.

"Don't apologize," he says. "You're not the one who did wrong. You were jus'... I dunno. Living."

Just living. Just doing what comes natural. Just being, naturally, somebody Shinon could never really hope to touch.

Like Greil.

spitshine

[fletching-scar]

Shinon's been cagey, looking out for that big guy. He scarcely even remembers the face, just the... Just the heft of the man, and the breadth of his hands...

Fuck. The memory rattles him, shot through with a revulsion that has no business next to a man so monumental.

But Shinon fucked it up! As ever.

So he's been cagey, the last couple days. Glaring a hole through every husky guy he sees, trying to remember if this is the one he's gotta avoid for the rest of his miserable life.

It's exhausting. And just when he gets some peace, just when he finds a moment to curl up and carve...

Just then, the voice hits him like a fucking landslide, dashes his guts against the bedrock below.

Shinon's knife hand slips. He nearly cuts himself.

The big man's looking his way. He's talking to Shinon. Waving him over like a village kid in a flowery meadow, as if nothing's wrong at all.

Shinon's nerves all crackle at once. He swallows the static.

He stands.

Really, there's no reason to. Really, the better thing to do is freeze, to pretend he's not listening, to pretend he's already dead. To hope the mountain goes away.

But... there's a gravity to this man. Something undeniable.

Shinon grits his teeth. He wobbles over, trying like hell to straighten his steps. He's not anxious. He's never anxious.

When he's close enough--shit, the big man smells the same. It almost kills him.

But it doesn't. Not quite.

Shinon forces words out of his mouth like a millstone forces flour from grain. "What d'you want?"

spitshine

[fletching-scar]

Cotton in his ears? Maybe. Maybe it's just that he still can't hear anything except the big man's laugh, or the coursing rush of blood in his own ears. Or the--the piercing, screeching ring of shame. That too.

Over all that, he can't hear what the man wants with him. To polish his axe-blade? Horseshit.

Shinon is a hunter; he's seen snares. This one is obvious, couched as it is in that inimitable smile.

Still... it's hard to believe that this--this unimpeachably sanguine man bears him any ill will. The way he pats the space beside him, the way he's asking Shinon's name...

It doesn't feel like a threat. A trap, certainly--but not a threat.

And the only way out is through.

Shinon edges closer. Sheathes his carving knife, drops it back into his bag. Draws out a soft polishing cloth--mostly just to twist it in his anxious hands.

He takes his seat next to the big man. Close enough to speak half-privately, but not so close he couldn't get away if he needed to.

"'M Shinon," he mumbles. "An'..."

He sighs.

"Y'don't have to lie to me. Don't have to sugarcoat it, either. Say... what you were gonna say."

Call me crooked. It'd be true.

spitshine