PISTOLS AT DAWN // DOUBLE-JOINING

[TYDEUS]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9.5pt; line-height: 1.4;letter-spacing:.1px"]To say that he agreed with Bones on anything would feel like exactly what Tydeus avoided in every encounter with him. Some kind of punishment. A mini version of hell. But for this, at least, he did agree. Survival was some deep-rooted instinct, something you only thought about when there were no other options. It only ever crossed his mind when he was backed into a corner — at the end of the day, what was worse? Dying at Bonesaw's feet, or shutting his mouth? It had only been bad at first. The lion quickly learned that if he behaved, he'd be alright. So, for survival, he'd behaved. There were a few moments where his pride still got the best of him and he snapped out something sarcastic (maybe just to prove that he wasn't fully broken? probably), but for the most part, Bones hadn't had a reason to hurt him. That was... an agreement, sort of. One nobody else really liked, and some part of him knew that everyone else wanted a show out of it. They'd wanted him bloody and weak but still trying, just for the laughter. Or maybe — maybe that's him looking back now and saying that they must have. Really, he'll never know for certain. They're dead now, left for vultures and the dirt.

In some sick, uncomfortable way, Tydeus is grateful for that. There were a thousand different options when people started muttering about weakness. Give them what they'd wanted in the first place, leave him gingerly treating his own injuries whenever he could. Or Bones could have killed him, made his point and started the process over with someone new. Instead, the larger lion had taken it out on everyone else, and he can still remember how messy everything had been. How his heart had seized and then fled from his chest when it was Bones left standing. If he'd died, that meant freedom, but — well, not for long. He imagined he'd have made a pretty entertaining party favor for a group of monsters like that. He's certain he wouldn't have made it out of that alive.

So he's grateful instead of upset, scared and grateful and feeling sick because of the implications of either of those feelings. He shouldn't be grateful, he knows that. So Tydeus bites out something smart after a long silence, even though the part of him that has been molded and trained is already prepared to ask for forgiveness. But Bones is the same stone wall about it, though the danger doesn't skate over him. He grinds his teeth and looks away, though a harsh try it is burning on his tongue.

"Sorry," he forces out, and that's that.