What more could I loose? // awsamponk

9 - Confrontation is not ponks favourite

Summary

Ponk can't suppress his emotions and ends up getting foolish caught in his mishaps.
-

"Let me get this straight,"  George gritted his teeth, his face showing nothing but grimace as he stared at ponk, who sat down at the other end of the table.

"You broke someone's fingers, got restrained and knocked out. And then got sent to counselling to which you beat up the counsellor to the point she passed out?" "Mhm!" Ponk said oddly cheerfully, smiling awkwardly at George, holding his mask tightly in his hand. Was else was he supposed to do? This was ponks natural reaction to the situation, after completely beating someone up he felt disgusted with himself. It was the heat of the moment, it was now almost like a knife of utter guilt digging into his ribs, it took everything not to completely break down.

"..." George sighed, looking down as he stood up. George was never one for empathy or anger towards these things, which seemed to work out in ponks favour. "you do know why we're here, yes?" George asked, glancing up at the blonde as he pushed his chair in. "I do, but I would like to have a little fun, you do remember the whole "do not get connections to creeper men and shark gods" that you gave me two months ago don't you? I'm basically listening to you." Ponk grinned, leaning back in his chair.

George rolled his eyes, "that didn't mean start beating people up," George retorted before groaning in frustration. Ponk was too difficult sometimes. He was confused why ponk of all people.

"..why are you here again?" "To pass a message, you are the message passer aren't you?" Ponk cocked an eyebrow, a tepid smile on his face as he leaned right back up in his chair, shoving his hand in his pocket, pulling out a black and gold computer-like chip, which shined in the sunlight. George's house consisted of windows, he'd be surprised if the place didn't have any lights. Computers weren't exactly a thing in this world, this chip to anyone but the two men would be a foreign object.

"You told me to start doing logs, so I am. I'm basically journaling," Ponk said with a smile, he placed it on the table. One of ponks coping methods he was given was journaling. While he understood he still had some anger issues, some issues in general, he stopped journaling about a year ago. Ever since he left his book behind, he'd been too stubborn to get a new one.

George stared at it for a moment before reaching his hand over, taking it and holding it tightly. If someone were to see this from 3rd person, they'd think the two were becoming drug dealers. Oh well. George closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them. He nodded as he stood up, the chair scraping against the tiled ground as he sighed, "consider it done...I guess," George said, mumbling the last bit before walking off into a different room.

——————————————-

It was still bright out, faint chirping of birds could be heard as the young male walked through the forest. It leads to his house, a small dirt and gravel path after the bridge. The trees were tall, yet light still pushed in, causing everything to shine, as it rained a day prior. He assumed someone would've been in his house. A common recurrence. Especially after he'd beaten a therapist, his friend. He swallowed around the little nervouscited lump that'd risen up in his throat when that thought entered his head as he continued to saunter down the calming pathway.

Ponk hummed a small tune, it was before long he was yet again back at his house. A common theme ponk had, was opening the door to people sitting on his couch. So when he hesitantly unlocked the door and opened it, peering around the corner to see none other than broken fingers, more commonly known as foolish. Ponk stared wide-eyed before slowly closing the door, stepping out of his own house as though he wasn't welcomed. Like a bear stepping into a hive, ponk was a bee and gladly about to go make a new hive house.