fatespoken | ∞ [ action post ]

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!ooc,
action

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✏ LOGGING: This is your thread for logging, whether spontaneous or plot-related, silly or serious. His normal haunts include shifts at the Blue Light, various city bars, cafes, random encounters, etc. Prose preferred, [] are fine too.

✉ TO SET UP: Just drop me a line at aeloriax[at]gmail.com or Y!M/AIM (listed in the post below) to give me a heads-up. I'm open to anything as long as it fits ICly.

TRACKING:
March;
Peter & Amory [ Blue Light ] ✯ this is a song lyric [ in progress ]

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There it is. The sharp edge to his tongue that hints at something else disguised in lamb's clothing. Not that Amory could be considered the proverbial wolf; the wording could have used some work but he's right in saying he has no motive to hurt anyone if his Garbo-esque mantra of wanting to be left alone is to believed. He spits out enough hostility but it's meant as a shield, not a weapon. There's a saying for it back home: 'all mouth and no trousers.' Amory has the sheer bad luck of being able to get himself in trouble with mouth alone and that slip of his tongue just now - I had - is enough to give Chase questions of his own.

If Peter was the one to feel guilt for then it would be Peter here with his fists balled in Amory's collar. It might be a simplistic view, but in medicine it's practiced often enough that what isn't known won't hurt. Peter doesn't know what he's lost. Caspian is all loss and fury, quite terrifying in it, and anyone should feel guilty for turning his benign days here on their head. He'll see enough of that.

Chase's instincts still tell him to keep his distance. Responsibility and the feeling that this isn't going to end right on either part see him levelling his shoulder somewhere near Amory's, his hand going to brace Caspian's arm. "Yeah, you're helping," he tells one and, to the other, "You can get your answers without choking him. One step back."

Don't be a...

What?

Split seconds pass to fill the space of silence that defines Caspian's complete surprise at Amory even suggesting it. He should expect it from this man's mouth, finds it not exactly out of character for Amory Felix, but to hear it leveled at him is another kind of experience entirely. More than this is a single word making all the difference.

Had.

If he had his sword, blood would have been drawn already. Because he doesn't and because his hands are already close to Amory's face, Caspian chooses to disregard Chase's interjection. Well, not completely. The arm he braces stays where it is, bending only to bring Amory closer against the table. His other hand curls into a fist whose knuckles cover the short distance to Amory's face. Caspian aims to hit him hard, not just once, not just twice, but repeatedly. It is brutish, it is far from noble, and he doesn't care. Amory is flippant and callous with his words, his mouth pays the price.

Don't be a fool.

The Telmarine thinks to himself he was a fool for giving Amory Felix his time, his friendship, and the benefit of the doubt.

This is hardly the first time Amory's had close contact with a fist. Would you expect less from someone with a mouth like his? He hasn't always been a bastard, but sarcasm and candor have always sat comfortable in his words, and he's definitely gotten equal due for it. Including one or two fists.

There are two options in this situation. Either he takes it like a man or finds some way to slither out of it. The latter would require some magic elbow grease, or in other words, perhaps some quick teleportation. However, last Sunday's encounter with Peter had taken enough out of him in terms of stamina and lashback, and he's not eager to add on an additional charge unless it's absolutely necessary. A deck, or two decks in the face won't kill him. Then, there's the option of evasion, which would actually make sense in this case. Whether he can dodge the blow in time is an uncertainty, but there's no time to think in a pas

Well, see.

There was no time to think as the fist of an angry Telmarine comes barreling into his eye. Stars and stripes of the non-patriotic kind explode on the right side of the canvas, and yet the strike has managed to set his reflexes on edge. Only thanks to said reflexes does the subsequent one-sixteenth of a second involve Amory's head snapping away to dodge.

Whether he's fast enough is the question.

Answered with a sickening thud, the clicking of knuckles, teeth and bone. Amory was quick enough, just, and it's Chase's jaw that takes the brunt, his own blood he can hear pounding in his ears as, balance and grip gone, he crashes elbow first against the table. Finally other people stand as glasses shatter and beer pools into new stains on the already tarnished carpet. Chase has gone down with the table, a staggered two part descent. He'll be more pissed off later, more that the knock took him by surprise and took him down than at Caspian's missed target.

Never been knocked out by an eighteen year old. Still not quite. Am I--

He is bleeding, the hand cupped around his jaw confirms. His own teeth have split his lip, but as he gingerly presses his tongue against his teeth none prove loose, just slick with copper and salt. He hisses, fingertips pressing over the connecting points of his jawbone. Dizziness and pain make his head swim, hard to focus on which of the two to glare at as he looks back up.

Amory's reaction doesn't still his fist. His flippant manner earlier had only stirred Caspian to action and his evasive manner now encourages him to give chase. One probably doesn't expect that to be quite literal in any sense but it very well is when his fist cracks against the blond man's jaw. This does stop the youngest of the three, it stops him immediately followed by a step back. What grip he had on Amory is released in a style similar to discarding that which shouldn't be touched in favor of hands falling open to his own sides, while he stares at the doctor who went down in disbelief. What is Caspian X, the King of Narnia, doing? The altercation has caught enough attention to render the Coliseum a little less loud than it was before he came in. Whether the talking and muttering going on from other patrons relates to how they might eject a troublemaker or how they ought to bet on a fight between two seemingly lightweight combatants is unknown to Caspian, but it doesn't matter to him either way.

Note he hasn't forgotten Amory's place in this, he is just remembering himself. Something Peter Pevensie can't do right now. He turns to Amory again.

"I wanted to believe you," he says to the other man, tone losing its sharpness, its edge, "do something if you ever cared at all." The Telmarine points at Amory before sending a glimpse of anger now mixed with hurt and question at Chase for the briefest moment: What else can I do? If it makes Chase feel any better, Caspian shakes his hand out, knuckles sore from impact.

It's a graceless fall to the floor, knees collapsing in contact with the ground, palms slapped against soiled carpet as Amory tries to balance himself. How pathetic to be prostrated before the Telmarine, and so it's in a second that he forces his legs beneath him, a jerky shift to a kneel. It's all too much movement for a head that's already swimming, thudding, shattering as though those brights have reversed themselves and now bore into his skull. But despite the haze, Amory knows what, who must have played cushion for that second impact by the sudden collapse and clatter of sound that follows. However, Amory doesn't feel bad for Chase. He doesn't hear the chorus of the jury around him. There's nothing to nothing to feel besides the resounding shudder of a throbbing eye and pounding head, along with the sickness sliding up his chest as he folds his head into his palms. Another pathetic position, Amory realizes, but at this very moment, regardless of the minutes before, he doesn't give a damn.

He knows he deserved it.

He deserved it and more because Amory is not blind to the way he is acting or to the anger belying Caspian's pain. One needs to be perceptive to be able to pull together facets of a character so as to ground a farce in reality, but even fine-tuned perception isn't necessary to sense something shadowing Caspian's rage. An emotion of a softer shade, inlaid in a voice losing its sharper edge. In a man who would raise his fists on behalf of another. On behalf of Peter Pevensie.

Amory's thoughts meet contradiction in silence, contradiction in the hollow of his chest, and the words of the King fall like dead weights.

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keep it all from sympathy / your day today your dignity

keep it all from sympathy / your day today your dignity

keep it all from sympathy / your day today your dignity

keep it all from sympathy / your day today your dignity

keep it all from sympathy / your day today your dignity

keep it all from sympathy / your day today your dignity