Strongjaw & The Dish

12

Grog sat cross-legged on the sand as the faded figures of the mansion's servants bustled around him cleaning the fighting pit of every bit of wood. He knew it didn't matter. Nothing he did to the mansion mattered really. Next time, it would be made just the same as always, nothing broken, nothing out of place. It was the principal of the thing. You had to clean up your messes.

He'd been sure that Percy was drunker than he was when he'd said 'Old Chestnut, you're in love'. Being in love was all about going goo-goo eyed and writing poems and plucking at flower petals and that was not how he felt at all.

Maybe, he had to admit to himself, when he first started getting letters from Trisha he might have felt a little tiny bit more excited to get her letters than anything else in the world and he might have, accidentally, called other women by her name when he was feeling especially happy but... that didn't mean anything. It wasn't how he felt now. Now he just hurt.

That, Percy had said, proved it.

"I know because I was just like you. I met a woman who was so very far above where I had any business aiming that I spent every moment reminding myself that she was too good for me. I had done things so unforgivable..." he slid his glasses off, his slender fingers rubbing at his nose as he bowed his head. "Then of course, my stupidity got her killed. She was dead and I was to blame. There was nothing anyone could have done to me that was worse than what I did to myself. I cursed the day I met her because if she'd never met me, she never would have been in that place.

"Every day, though I did all I could not to show it, I felt like someone was twisting my heart, crushing it like the earth crushes stone into diamond. I thought if I just waited, my heart would turn so hard that I wouldn't feel anything anymore. I loved her so much it was killing me, but then again I deserved to die, so ... I thought that was fair.

"However, that was, in a long line of stupid things I have done, one of the most bone-headed. You see, I was selfish. I was thinking only of myself. I pretended, of course, that it was all some grand heroic sacrifice. Sparing poor Vex'ahlia the attentions of an unworthy, wicked, corrupted monster." He chuckled softly under his breath as he slid his glasses back into place. "Thankfully my wife is a woman who knows how to get what she wants and doesn't take no for an answer."

Idly, Grog drug his finger through the sand in front of him as he let Percy's words sink in a bit more each time they echoed in his head. How it had taken dying for Percy to realize that it wasn't just his heart that was hurting. That it didn't matter if he was worthy or deserving, Vex loved him. He was a coward and a killer and crazy and broken and ... Vex loved him. That fighting the love was what made the pain happen.

Grog looked up from the little swishies he'd drawn and noticed the place was spotless and the servants had vanished. There was not a splinter in the sand, no sign of Woody, the sword back on the wall, clean and polished. Looking around, he rocked up onto one butt cheek and pulled out the only thing they hadn't gotten their hands on.

Curling up into a ball he hugged Trisha's blood-stained shirt to his chest, Percy's words still bouncing around his head. Only difference between he and Percy though was that Trisha didn't love him back. He inhaled deeply, able to smell her on the cloth as he shut his eyes and let sleep take him. Maybe it would make more sense in the morning.

He knew he was dreaming but it was still nice. He and Trisha were at Dalen's Closet. He was chasing her along the beach. She was running and laughing and her hair was in pretty braids that had little white shells and green glass beads that matched her eyes. She was wearing a dress that was thin and white and wet, sticking to every part of her like icing on a hot sweet bun. He knew he could catch her easy, but he was enjoying watching her run.