26.Aug.12, 09:16 PM
Despite his attempt at a fake smile, and his try at being amiable, Sanderon's mind was shattering. Piece by piece the control he had set solidly in place after his capture was dangerously close to breaking. It had been cracking ever since his public lashing. His goal at this very moment wasn't to make friends with Lymsleia. It was to coax her into getting the things he needed to make his way out of this tortured building.
Perhaps he picked the wrong person to 'befriend' because with her rambling on about the weyr being sick and not being able to go anywhere was driving him crazy. Maybe even literally. That was a scary thought.
Yes! His mind hollered in silence when she agreed to get him what he needed. Why did she mention pants though? He was already wearing pants. Just shut up and hurry. He silently begged in desperation as he tried his hardest to look calm and friendly. His eyes kept shifting in and out of focus though as his mind demanded his full attention.
No. No. No! Lymsleia did NOT just ask him about his trade, did she? Did nobody here know that it was a taboo subject one should never bring up to him? He tried. He really did. But the moment she started talking about healers, respect and wounds and how absolutely amazing Talian was and wasn't she so clever for being respected too, he lost it.
His carefully guarded expression broke completely and the mask of rage wasn't a mask anymore. Weak or not, He came out of his chair and tried to pick her up and slam her against the wall. In her face he would be with haunted eyes full of rage and anguish. His very quiet, calm rage had come. He did not scream in her face, he spoke methodically and almost without feeling. "Shut your mouth and just get my sharding boots. I can't do this anymore. I can't live like this. You know what? Forget it. I'll get them myself."
He might have given her another hard shove that would probably leave bruises on her arms, before he turned and stumbled towards the door as his throat keened with agony and his mind finally shattered. He had to get away!
Perhaps he picked the wrong person to 'befriend' because with her rambling on about the weyr being sick and not being able to go anywhere was driving him crazy. Maybe even literally. That was a scary thought.
Yes! His mind hollered in silence when she agreed to get him what he needed. Why did she mention pants though? He was already wearing pants. Just shut up and hurry. He silently begged in desperation as he tried his hardest to look calm and friendly. His eyes kept shifting in and out of focus though as his mind demanded his full attention.
No. No. No! Lymsleia did NOT just ask him about his trade, did she? Did nobody here know that it was a taboo subject one should never bring up to him? He tried. He really did. But the moment she started talking about healers, respect and wounds and how absolutely amazing Talian was and wasn't she so clever for being respected too, he lost it.
His carefully guarded expression broke completely and the mask of rage wasn't a mask anymore. Weak or not, He came out of his chair and tried to pick her up and slam her against the wall. In her face he would be with haunted eyes full of rage and anguish. His very quiet, calm rage had come. He did not scream in her face, he spoke methodically and almost without feeling. "Shut your mouth and just get my sharding boots. I can't do this anymore. I can't live like this. You know what? Forget it. I'll get them myself."
He might have given her another hard shove that would probably leave bruises on her arms, before he turned and stumbled towards the door as his throat keened with agony and his mind finally shattered. He had to get away!