Shady

"It was lovely, thank you," Pratik answered. "Did you rest well?" He was grateful for the time to compose himself. To be as calm and put together as he always ...

Pratik eventually crawled into bed but he didn’t sleep for a long while. Instead he hugged one of the pillows close to his chest and forced himself to breathe deeply ...

(I think morning would be good? I’m interested to see how this plays out. But I’d also be good to skip back to the other place if you prefer!)

(Works for me!)

Pratik ended up changing those first few lines almost entirely, but the message was the same. How to cripple a mercenary: read some poetry. It was so pathetic. He was ...

(night!) Pratik pressed his palms against his eyes for several long moments, listening to the key in the lock, and then the tap of Ash's cane receding. He took several ...

Pratik rubbed his face. Of course, he'd fucking gotten through all of them. As if the early ones of processing life without family weren't humiliating enough, now he'd gotten to ...

He wanted to do a whole hell of a lot more than threaten him. "Oh, yeah, the poet mercenary. I bet that'd go over real fucking well." Pratik spat, throwing ...

Pratik ripped the notebook out of his hands when Ash held it out to him, then held it down by his side. Maybe once he calmed down the compliments would ...

Pratik glowered at him, brow drawn and dark eyes fixing him in a murderous glare. He couldn't seem to stop his hands from curling back into fists, but he forced ...

Pratik stood stiffly, every muscle in his body tense. He clenched his jaw, and held his fists out in front of himself, slowly, painfully, forcing them to uncurl so he ...

"No stabbing," Pratik agreed, taking a step back from the door. Did he have the notebook with him now? What a smug bastard. Flaunting it. If Ash didn't return the ...

Pratik ground his teeth together. He hadn't thought he could get more pissed off than he'd already been, and then, Ash spoke. And it somehow made him that much angrier. ...

Pratik had managed to keep his rage enough under control that he was no longer pounding on the door -- couldn't scare any other children -- but it was festering. ...

Goddamn it. Pratik pulled his hair again, trying to get his rage under control. He had to be able to temper it. To be calm enough that he could convince ...