[Backing down from a fight goes against every instinct in his body and he's well past the point of being able to, even if he wanted. Rico has options, too. He could trigger the shock collar, thatβd shake the fucker right up and teach him a lesson about reaching in when heβs not allowed to. His thumb hovers over the control switch, this close to doing it, but what stops him is watching the blood cascade from Criusβ face as he sinks his grip deeper into him, like he doesn't know or care it's happening.
Electricity isnβt a subtle tool - itβd drop him in an instant, but he can't risk making the damage worse to whatever neurons are firing off, make his soulmate more of an actual brain dead fucking idiot than he already is. Crius is hurting himself right now cracking Rico open, a thought fueled by agitation and uneasiness with every fresh wave of blood that he sees pouring out, and it makes him think of blood vessels and brain bleeds from dead and dying things with the jarring impact from his boot caving in their skulls. He needs to stop, they both need to stop. Rico can't, and the solution that comes to mind distracts him for a second, and thatβs all Crius needs to pry him open the rest of the way. And the recent memory he finds there, the reason for all this:
Cold drink in hand, pleasantly buzzed with his crew until somebody makes a joke and it's not so pleasant anymore - "...first time I've seen a soulmate being made to stick around", "..you're a real catch, Captain...", "...taking bets for when that thing comes off? I'll start with ten seconds, and that's if soldier boy stops to grab his things on the way out-". He laughs along, ha ha ha, fury and embarrassment mounting, still pressing on his thoughts long after the topic changes, turning into something about how Crius is counting down the seconds, laughing at him in secret as if this fucked-up thing could ever lead to more, angered into impulsive action, fueled by insecurity-
In reality, Ricoβs fists uncurl. He wraps his right hand around his index finger of his left hand.
He can't risk hurting Crius physically. But what he can do is make him feel it. This has gone on long enough.
There's a perfectly calm, crystal clear moment in his mind as he braces himself, and that's the only warning Crius gets before he wrenches it back as far as it can go. There's a sharp crack, and he howls out loud. White-hot pain radiates from the break, and Rico gags in pain as he squeezes down tighter on it and grinds the edges of the broken bones against each other. Humiliation, resentment, violation-
[Out he does indeed get, Crius' hold on Rico's thoughts and the connection both snapping like a brittle branch. And even with him completely separated from the other, the finger on Crius' corresponding hand throbs red hot in sympathy with Rico's own injury. As it fades, his own woes start becoming apparent and the nausea he was experiencing comes back full force.
He stumbles to his feet and to the bathroom, only just making it in time not to evacuate his stomach all over the floor. He finishes with a groan and flushes, then leans his head back against the bulkhead. With his system cleared out he feels more sober than he was before, but not so clear that the hungover aftereffect of overexerting himself doesn't mix with the queasiness of the liqour.
Why did he do this again?
Right, Rico. He sighs and pounds- more knocks, really- his fist against the floor.]
Morus.
[Foolish. Idiot. And he includes himself in that statement as much as he does one Captain Rico Dredd. They just went head to head- quite literally- over Rico's insecurity. And as much as he wants to place all the blame on Rico, he could have figured a way out of the room and dealt with consequences later, or he could have been patient and waited for Dredd to come to him. Instead he chose to be just as childish and pick a fight.]
We really were made for each other, weren't we?
[The words are accompanied with a short laugh, and after a minute he gets up. He can still feel the nosebleed going but he does nothing to stem it or clean it up, instead opting to find his communicator. He could simply reinstate the bond, but with his pounding head he isn't sure it's a good idea. Instead, he finds where Rico is on his very limited contact list and sends out another message.]
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judgementcrime) wrote2000-08-20 11:21 am
ηΏ militi ηΏ
[Backing down from a fight goes against every instinct in his body and he's well past the point of being able to, even if he wanted. Rico has options, too. He could trigger the shock collar, thatβd shake the fucker right up and teach him a lesson about reaching in when heβs not allowed to. His thumb hovers over the control switch, this close to doing it, but what stops him is watching the blood cascade from Criusβ face as he sinks his grip deeper into him, like he doesn't know or care it's happening.
Electricity isnβt a subtle tool - itβd drop him in an instant, but he can't risk making the damage worse to whatever neurons are firing off, make his soulmate more of an actual brain dead fucking idiot than he already is. Crius is hurting himself right now cracking Rico open, a thought fueled by agitation and uneasiness with every fresh wave of blood that he sees pouring out, and it makes him think of blood vessels and brain bleeds from dead and dying things with the jarring impact from his boot caving in their skulls. He needs to stop, they both need to stop. Rico can't, and the solution that comes to mind distracts him for a second, and thatβs all Crius needs to pry him open the rest of the way. And the recent memory he finds there, the reason for all this:
Cold drink in hand, pleasantly buzzed with his crew until somebody makes a joke and it's not so pleasant anymore - "...first time I've seen a soulmate being made to stick around", "..you're a real catch, Captain...", "...taking bets for when that thing comes off? I'll start with ten seconds, and that's if soldier boy stops to grab his things on the way out-". He laughs along, ha ha ha, fury and embarrassment mounting, still pressing on his thoughts long after the topic changes, turning into something about how Crius is counting down the seconds, laughing at him in secret as if this fucked-up thing could ever lead to more, angered into impulsive action, fueled by insecurity-
In reality, Ricoβs fists uncurl. He wraps his right hand around his index finger of his left hand.
He can't risk hurting Crius physically. But what he can do is make him feel it. This has gone on long enough.
There's a perfectly calm, crystal clear moment in his mind as he braces himself, and that's the only warning Crius gets before he wrenches it back as far as it can go. There's a sharp crack, and he howls out loud. White-hot pain radiates from the break, and Rico gags in pain as he squeezes down tighter on it and grinds the edges of the broken bones against each other. Humiliation, resentment, violation-
GET. OUT. NOW.]
no subject
[Out he does indeed get, Crius' hold on Rico's thoughts and the connection both snapping like a brittle branch. And even with him completely separated from the other, the finger on Crius' corresponding hand throbs red hot in sympathy with Rico's own injury. As it fades, his own woes start becoming apparent and the nausea he was experiencing comes back full force.
He stumbles to his feet and to the bathroom, only just making it in time not to evacuate his stomach all over the floor. He finishes with a groan and flushes, then leans his head back against the bulkhead. With his system cleared out he feels more sober than he was before, but not so clear that the hungover aftereffect of overexerting himself doesn't mix with the queasiness of the liqour.
Why did he do this again?
Right, Rico. He sighs and pounds- more knocks, really- his fist against the floor.]
Morus.
[Foolish. Idiot. And he includes himself in that statement as much as he does one Captain Rico Dredd. They just went head to head- quite literally- over Rico's insecurity. And as much as he wants to place all the blame on Rico, he could have figured a way out of the room and dealt with consequences later, or he could have been patient and waited for Dredd to come to him. Instead he chose to be just as childish and pick a fight.]
We really were made for each other, weren't we?
[The words are accompanied with a short laugh, and after a minute he gets up. He can still feel the nosebleed going but he does nothing to stem it or clean it up, instead opting to find his communicator. He could simply reinstate the bond, but with his pounding head he isn't sure it's a good idea. Instead, he finds where Rico is on his very limited contact list and sends out another message.]
Get your finger fixed.
[Then, a minute later.]
I would not simply leave like that.