Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
26.Aug.12, 01:37 AM
Three days it has been. Three since his noon-time lashing and humiliation out in the public eye to behold. Sand had just been slopped up with numbweed again so he was not currently in pain. Right now, his main irritation was feeling so weak. It wasn't just frustrating not being able to do what he once could, but it scared him too. Thinking of all the things that people could now do to him without him being able to fight them off, was highly worrisome. His mind raged against the idea of being helpless. Even when he had been strong he hadn't been able to keep himself from harm. He tried though. Faranth knew he did. But he wasn't strong enough. He had been too weak to stop what had come. First his capture and then the lashing. He had been powerless. Would he ever be strong enough to keep himself from harm? He wanted to be.
His only recourse for so long had been to put up an aggressive front. Some thought he was a bull-headed idiot. Some felt he was unpredictably dangerous. Some were even out-right scared of him. He did not want people to be scared of him. He wanted people to just leave him alone. Many times his anger had made a threatening person back off. Many times though it just made things worse. He hated being angry. It was tiring. Yes, Sanderon was so very tire of raging at everything and everyone. Especially now when he was so physically tired. He just didn't have it in him to rage right now.
With his slashed back gooped up and the worst areas bandaged. Some of the other not-so-major slashes that had not been covered could still be seen for he wore no shirt. He had no shoes on either. The healers still had them in their possession for fear he would try to 'run' without being completely healed. Both wrists were still bandaged for he had tore them pretty good by struggling against the ropes that had bound him to the whipping posts. Though his skin wasn't nearly as pale as it had been from the blood loss, it still wasn't back up to where it normally would be if he were healthy.
Standing with his back to the door, he looked out the window and glared at life going on without a thought for him. Did no one care a breathe about him? Evidently not. Jada had been by the other day, he recalled. Despite his rage landing him in a drugged state for a while, having visited with her was actually, not that bad. D'ren. Yes, he remembered the weyrleader himself saving him from that last whip stroke. He had also said a nice thing or two. Sand frowned a little when those memories came up. He still didn't know what to make of it all. Lymsleia, she had the best intentions it would seem. She was a thoughtful soul despite her stupid moments.
Did he dare even think that maybe these people cared? Even a little? He didn't know if that would be a good thing or not frankly. He chose to firmly deny the fact that anyone would even want to like him. Why should they? He hadn't been the most approachable person here. Frowning with furrowed brows, his eyes grew weary and his soul very tired.
Hearing footsteps coming closer, his old mask slammed neatly into place. It was his security blanket. It was a strong barrier no one could break through. His mind tried to remind him that Jada had, but he shoved that thought aside. He had let her see a sneak of his inner turmoil. She hadn't broken through on her own. It was the only strength he could claim. His mind. It was still his own.
Not wanting to face anyone he kept his back to the door and kept his gaze focused out the window. But his senses were highly in tune to the room behind him. He heard when the door opened and when the soft footsteps entered. He heard when something fell to the floor. He listened as the female gasped with fear. Then he heard her frantic apology. There were those hated words again. 'I am sorry.' But this time, they did not turn him angry. They caused him to shut his eyes and sigh tiredly.
Lowering the barrier of aggression, his eyes softened and his lips frowned slightly with disapproval. He did not want to hear someone non-threatening have such panic in their movements and voice.
Turning slowly, due in part from his desire not to startle and in part from his great weakness, he looked upon the person that was backed up against the wall trying to collect the flowers she had dropped. His face did not show what he was thinking as he kept that carefully guarded. But it did not scream out 'leave me alone' like it usually did either.
Not being able to help himself, the kindness he had always managed to hold onto, leaked.
"The flowers are pretty. Thank you."
His only recourse for so long had been to put up an aggressive front. Some thought he was a bull-headed idiot. Some felt he was unpredictably dangerous. Some were even out-right scared of him. He did not want people to be scared of him. He wanted people to just leave him alone. Many times his anger had made a threatening person back off. Many times though it just made things worse. He hated being angry. It was tiring. Yes, Sanderon was so very tire of raging at everything and everyone. Especially now when he was so physically tired. He just didn't have it in him to rage right now.
With his slashed back gooped up and the worst areas bandaged. Some of the other not-so-major slashes that had not been covered could still be seen for he wore no shirt. He had no shoes on either. The healers still had them in their possession for fear he would try to 'run' without being completely healed. Both wrists were still bandaged for he had tore them pretty good by struggling against the ropes that had bound him to the whipping posts. Though his skin wasn't nearly as pale as it had been from the blood loss, it still wasn't back up to where it normally would be if he were healthy.
Standing with his back to the door, he looked out the window and glared at life going on without a thought for him. Did no one care a breathe about him? Evidently not. Jada had been by the other day, he recalled. Despite his rage landing him in a drugged state for a while, having visited with her was actually, not that bad. D'ren. Yes, he remembered the weyrleader himself saving him from that last whip stroke. He had also said a nice thing or two. Sand frowned a little when those memories came up. He still didn't know what to make of it all. Lymsleia, she had the best intentions it would seem. She was a thoughtful soul despite her stupid moments.
Did he dare even think that maybe these people cared? Even a little? He didn't know if that would be a good thing or not frankly. He chose to firmly deny the fact that anyone would even want to like him. Why should they? He hadn't been the most approachable person here. Frowning with furrowed brows, his eyes grew weary and his soul very tired.
Hearing footsteps coming closer, his old mask slammed neatly into place. It was his security blanket. It was a strong barrier no one could break through. His mind tried to remind him that Jada had, but he shoved that thought aside. He had let her see a sneak of his inner turmoil. She hadn't broken through on her own. It was the only strength he could claim. His mind. It was still his own.
Not wanting to face anyone he kept his back to the door and kept his gaze focused out the window. But his senses were highly in tune to the room behind him. He heard when the door opened and when the soft footsteps entered. He heard when something fell to the floor. He listened as the female gasped with fear. Then he heard her frantic apology. There were those hated words again. 'I am sorry.' But this time, they did not turn him angry. They caused him to shut his eyes and sigh tiredly.
Lowering the barrier of aggression, his eyes softened and his lips frowned slightly with disapproval. He did not want to hear someone non-threatening have such panic in their movements and voice.
Turning slowly, due in part from his desire not to startle and in part from his great weakness, he looked upon the person that was backed up against the wall trying to collect the flowers she had dropped. His face did not show what he was thinking as he kept that carefully guarded. But it did not scream out 'leave me alone' like it usually did either.
Not being able to help himself, the kindness he had always managed to hold onto, leaked.
"The flowers are pretty. Thank you."
