Strongjaw & The Dish

14

Grog had heard the phrase 'chilled the blood' before, but now he was living it. It had been so warm when it was spurting and spraying all over him but it had almost instantly begun to thicken and grow icy. His clothing stiffened where it soaked in, the slushy crimson squishing in every joint of his fingers as he finished the task before him.

The rage had sparked when he'd been left to deal with Vedmyer was just now fading completely. He had enjoyed the last few minutes very much but now, he was feeling a touch chilly (which was saying something for one of goliath lineage). He noticed other things now. The light was still lit and he wasn't alone.

Pike remained, her face looked like she had in times before when there'd been a lot of death to bad people. She didn't look guilty, but she did look sorry. It made him feel that maybe he ought not be smiling, so he stopped and gave another glance toward the mushy pile of meat and broken bone that had been Goren Vedmyer.

He'd enjoyed it. Once Trisha walked away he had looked down at Vedmyer who showed blatantly his fear behind the thin veneer of defiance and hatred he attempted to mask it with. Grog let the words he'd said about Trisha bounce around in his head, his imagination wasn't strong as his muscles but he could picture what he'd done to her enough that it fed his rage like oil fed a fire. His fists collided, the knuckles glowing faintly as he towered over the prone enemy.

With a desperate futility, Vedmyer had pushed to his feet and swung. Easily, Grog caught his arm and with hardly any effort, closed his stone-clad fist. The bone beneath flesh turning to a crunchy mess as Vedmyer screamed. Jerking him up off of his feet, he caught the other as it swung as a reflex, attempting to pull his captured arm free. That forearm too was squished like overripe fruit.

He touched her Like a shark in a blood-red tide that thought swam round and round in his rage-addled brain. He will never touch her again.

He dropped the arm and snapped his grip against the upper part, the pressure slowly increased until he felt the bones snap and snap again. He dropped him and with a booted foot, made equally mushy messes of both his legs, the shards of shattered skeleton rending through skin and cloth and soaking into the ground.

He leaned down, his earthen grip snapping down on both shoulders. "Do you remember..." His voice like iron drug over stone. "What the other one said? 'You lack a spine'." He wrenched and with all the effort a normal man might take in tearing a thick loaf of bread in two, he tore Vedmyer from neck to nuts, pulling out the backbone, cracking it away from the ribcage, the head lolling as he stood up. "Now you do." He grinned at his own joke, but it was then he'd seen Pike and sobered, shoving the head and floppy vertebrae into his bag of holding for now.

The light dropped, plunging them into utter darkness. He could hear her beside him, his own steps shortened and slowed, feeling the blood cold and drying on his hands as he flexed his fingers. Now that it was done, he felt a bit disappointed. It hadn't been a real fight and the only consolation was that it was done with and, maybe, things could get back to like they were.

"That was ... interesting." Pike said quietly. "Not the..." She gestured back toward the remnants of the former New Noble. "... No, that was terrible, but what Trisha said." A half-smile given toward him.

He stopped a moment. He had been so angry he barely remembered anything after he was given permission to render judgement on Vedmyer. His forehead wrinkled as he concentrated hard to put himself back there. She was walking away and she said she was ... cold. Yeah. She was cold and when he was done ... he grinned and it took everything to keep from running ahead and leaving his best friend behind. He'd have scooped her up and carried her, but he was a mess so he just minced a bit to keep from outpacing her, his anticipation overwhelming.