#thank yeeeewwwwwww for this thread what a turnout huh

[peerlessscowl]

There was never any escaping. Of course there wasn't - one door in, one door out. He had known that going in, and he had taken the chance anyway.

For what? It had felt good for a while, getting his licks in on an opponent he knew to be fearsome, but it wasn't a job, it wasn't some intimidation or deterrent with a clear end, or a clear beginning for where his next job was. It was the thing he had dreamt of for years, but cheapened by its lack of finality, by the lack of closure.

He let the knights take him, the heat and the pain beginning to wear on him finally, sagging in the grip as they dragged him into the night air.

The whelp couldn't even see his face, would never have known it was he. Raven bit back the wave of nausea that hit him, though whether it was from pain, or the shock of the cold night air after their time in the hot sauna, or the disgust that curdled in him at his own impatience, he could not tell.

The knights dragged him for a cursory glance at the infirmary, and then to a separate hall for discipline. It was here that his status as student, his expired pedigree, did him a service - detention. Merely pulling weeds, and hauling supplies for the kitchen, and mucking the stables. Things he did on the daily regardless.

Cursorily, over the following weeks, he saw the whelp doing these tasks if not alongside him, then with clear similar motivation. The purpling bruises brought an animal thrill, but it was a hollow satisfaction.

Next time he would not hide, he thought. Next time he would finish it.

- fin.

It was over before he’d even the chance to properly cede, the doors thrown wide with a bluster of cool night air gusting into the room.

Whatever energy Hector might have had left vanished, faded with the sharp intake of breath from his shock at the sudden change of temperature - and alongside it, naturally, featured a new wave of nauseating pain. Loud voices sent stars across his vision, searing flashes of white and black staggering him with as much force as a physical blow. The mist slowly, so slowly dissipated, and the marquess cast about in his own haze, a faint curiosity driving him - who had his opponent been…? Where…?

“What in the world?” The monk seemed ill-impressed with Hector’s state, seeing him up close. Good timing, Hector supposed - he could really use a shoulder to lean on right now- “Ugh! You’ll get blood on my cloak— I just bought this—”

“Found the other one!” came a second voice, a knight clanking along in the humidity. “Skulking away, huh? Not on our watch, heh.”

“What were you boys thinking…?”

The disapproval cut thick enough to carve air, but Hector didn’t care. He still couldn’t see his opponent. Except he was no longer sure if it was the steam, or just that his eyes were starting to swell shut from all the bruising.

“Well. Infirmary first, and then detention for the both of you. I swear…”

Hector chuckled.

Whatever. Worth it.

And then he passed out.

(When next he’d wake, he’d be in a state to reconsider whether it had really been worth it, in the end. Was it just him, or had his opponent actually been kind of… How to put it…

… Vicious?

Going all out was one thing but...

Something about this didn't sit right -

and not strictly because he had been thoroughly and utterly defeated.)