[Vander had never wanted things between them to go down this violent road over and over again. There had always been regret hanging in his heart for that moment that had first turned two brothers against one another, even with how necessary a strike it had seemed in the moment. But Silco being Silco, could never let it go, no matter how Vander felt about it.
And it didn’t help that Vander sealed the deal on their opposition the moment he took that first swing in Highstorm.
There was the bittersweet satisfaction as his first swing here slammed into his opponent—he tried to make a grab for Silco in that short moment of proximity, but the man was quick and knew better than to stay within his reach for long. Knew even more that he should seize any opportunity to lash out when it presented itself, and that knife of his once more bit into Vander’s flesh, quick and neat along the back of his hand. It drew another pained grunt from him as he withdrew it to his side as he took a step back of his own.
But that other hand of Vander’s was busy too, groping blindly onto the table behind him until it found purchase on one of his old gauntlets—the one with metal now blacked and warped, as if by a great source of heat. He grabbed a sturdy hold on it and swung it forward, letting the thing go and allowing the momentum to carry it through the air toward Silco.
The throw is haphazard—whether it hit him or not mattered less than further driving some distance between the two of them. They couldn’t keep doing this dance every time they crossed paths. It needed to end.
(He knew better than to think it possible, but still—)
no subject
And it didn’t help that Vander sealed the deal on their opposition the moment he took that first swing in Highstorm.
There was the bittersweet satisfaction as his first swing here slammed into his opponent—he tried to make a grab for Silco in that short moment of proximity, but the man was quick and knew better than to stay within his reach for long. Knew even more that he should seize any opportunity to lash out when it presented itself, and that knife of his once more bit into Vander’s flesh, quick and neat along the back of his hand. It drew another pained grunt from him as he withdrew it to his side as he took a step back of his own.
But that other hand of Vander’s was busy too, groping blindly onto the table behind him until it found purchase on one of his old gauntlets—the one with metal now blacked and warped, as if by a great source of heat. He grabbed a sturdy hold on it and swung it forward, letting the thing go and allowing the momentum to carry it through the air toward Silco.
The throw is haphazard—whether it hit him or not mattered less than further driving some distance between the two of them. They couldn’t keep doing this dance every time they crossed paths. It needed to end.
(He knew better than to think it possible, but still—)
Pained and angry:]
Stop this, Silco!