Post by Lotty on Oct 9, 2009 19:09:05 GMT -5
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Swoop.
The ball cracked against the rim and bounced back to the clay dirt of the little court until it was grabbed again. Caught firmly between the fingertips of the everyone's favorite senior weyrlingrider. It had been his first moments free from the watchful eyes that had been governing him since he decided in a very un-K'sel-like moment to wage war with his fists instead of slicing up his opponents with his razor sharp tongue. No, something irked him at a more basic level, something caused his hands to curl up and pound L'ka square in the face, and he didn't want to admit it, but it was fully and completely over Nephele.
Apparently he didn't learn anything about controlling his rages either, because even days later he was still fuming and running off all his extra energy with childhood sports. After another few angry dribbles with the wherhide ball, he shot again, this time the ball falling through the hoop on the pole and again bouncing and rolling back in his direction. Time and time again he gave into the repetitive motions, racking up points from the free-throw line in a game against himself. Eyesore perched on the top of the backboard, occasionally tipping the ball in his bonded's favor when it decided to teeter on the edge. Pettahth lounged off to the side to keep the weyrbrats from interrupting his "alone time".
He had gotten off pretty easily. After all the morning of the incident was when he had been released from the infirmary after that nasty illness. He was able to claim that confusion in the vestiges of the plague led him to do it. His mind was just fogged up and all - why would he try and pick a fight when it took all of his strength just to get around? See, he was an innocent. As a result, he had very little in the way of extra chores, if anything he was led away back to his bed, a nice little result of being barely functional at the time. But now, now he was better, and he was sure that the true consequences had yet to rear it's head.
After another shot the ball rolled back one last time before he took out the last of his agressions and kicked the ball off the court; hanging his head and rubbing the back of his neck as the ball bounded off into the surrounding grasses.
Feeling better yet?
Swoop.
The ball cracked against the rim and bounced back to the clay dirt of the little court until it was grabbed again. Caught firmly between the fingertips of the everyone's favorite senior weyrlingrider. It had been his first moments free from the watchful eyes that had been governing him since he decided in a very un-K'sel-like moment to wage war with his fists instead of slicing up his opponents with his razor sharp tongue. No, something irked him at a more basic level, something caused his hands to curl up and pound L'ka square in the face, and he didn't want to admit it, but it was fully and completely over Nephele.
Apparently he didn't learn anything about controlling his rages either, because even days later he was still fuming and running off all his extra energy with childhood sports. After another few angry dribbles with the wherhide ball, he shot again, this time the ball falling through the hoop on the pole and again bouncing and rolling back in his direction. Time and time again he gave into the repetitive motions, racking up points from the free-throw line in a game against himself. Eyesore perched on the top of the backboard, occasionally tipping the ball in his bonded's favor when it decided to teeter on the edge. Pettahth lounged off to the side to keep the weyrbrats from interrupting his "alone time".
He had gotten off pretty easily. After all the morning of the incident was when he had been released from the infirmary after that nasty illness. He was able to claim that confusion in the vestiges of the plague led him to do it. His mind was just fogged up and all - why would he try and pick a fight when it took all of his strength just to get around? See, he was an innocent. As a result, he had very little in the way of extra chores, if anything he was led away back to his bed, a nice little result of being barely functional at the time. But now, now he was better, and he was sure that the true consequences had yet to rear it's head.
After another shot the ball rolled back one last time before he took out the last of his agressions and kicked the ball off the court; hanging his head and rubbing the back of his neck as the ball bounded off into the surrounding grasses.
Feeling better yet?