Brown
* Brown * my muse is hurt and discouraged
Of all the people who could find him like this, Noa was probably one of the few he didn’t mind. It was a little pathetic; bloody nose, swollen, purple cheek just getting darker and uglier and he didn’t even want to see the rest of his body. Rye was a great fighter, a spectacular one, and Quino was a very stubborn man who loved testing his limits and trying to best them during sparing sessions.
Needless to say, he rarely won. And when he did, he cheated.
That’s how he found himself sitting in the kitchen late one evening, most of the Erebus particularly quiet which might mean trouble but he didn’t care at all. He sat there, an ice pack pressed to his rapidly swelling nose and cheek and sighed when Noa walked in. “I don’t get it,” he sighed, leaning heavily on his seat. “That motherfucker’s too good. I know they fought for a living but come on, we’ve been working together for God knows how long. I should’ve learnt by now.” It was annoying, and most days he was a good match for Rye but today they seemed to be filled with renewed energy.
Or perhaps they were still pissed at what happened with Dante. Who knows?
He got up with a groan, his whole body protesting the movement and walked back towards the end of the kitchen, lighting up a smoke and sitting down near the vents. He might be one giant bruise tomorrow, but he could still move enough to have a smoke in peace. “Come on in, dear. Want one? Don’t let my complaining ruin your meal, please. Though if you’re looking for ice, I suggest you try again later. You don’t want to know where I put the last bit.”
