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randomwriteronline · 5 months

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A Water Agori's scales were more often than not a source of pride for them. They might have been made fun of for being harder to clean than feathers or constantly changing mucus, yet you would not have found a single self-respecting Agori with even the hint of speck of dirt between them, each and every one seeming to seamlessly connect to one another in a long velvety fabric: even Berix, as scrappy as he was, took care to keep at least a dull sheen to his upper skin. That was the mark of a proper Gaquri.

So he was less than keen on jumping out of it when a cold foreign texture wrapped around his shoulder and turned him around.

His mouth was babbling excuses and explanations already, syllables making a mess - no he had not stolen this sword, it was his, he had found it, collected it, it belonged to him, it was all fair, no harm done here, he was just...

The being stared hard at him with their alien face, perfectly silent.

Oh. Oh, this was one of those two, right? The organic things, the ones from the wreckage... The not-Toa-looking Toa. What were their names? Which one could this one have been? They were the Toa of, of, of... He had it on the tip of his tongue--

The hold on his shoulder squeezed a bit, sending a chill rippling through him to get his attention back on the situation at hand.

Ice. This was definitely the Toa of Ice.

Berix felt himself dwarfed under his scowl.

"Hello," he peeped.

Ice Toa (goodness, what was his name?) did not reply - right, because they would not speak, because their throats hurt, right, right. His strange organic eyes fell on the small blade in the Agori's hands and stared at it intently.

"It's mine," the young would-be warrior sputtered out. "It's mine, it's - I found it and repaired it and it's mine, it's, that's, it's - mine. In, in case you were - because I didn't steal it, see? It's... Mine. It's mine."

Ice Toa gave him a strange, confused look.

His free hand pointed at Berix's shield.

"That's also mine. I, er, I won, that, actually. Against a - against a Skrall. I beat it. On my own. I won and I, I gave it away and now it's--"

There were many things he had expected: a mocking gaze, a huff, a roll of the eyes, a nod or shake of the head to denote disbelief, an angry furrowing of the brows, a punch to the head or a hand shutting him up, even.

He had not expected for the being's hands to be so... soft.

They were clasped around one of his own, the one holding the sword, and despite not being warm he almost felt as though he was sinking in them.

They lifted his fist in a manner that he could only describe as inquisitive; then one moved to his shield, grasping it carefully and lifting it as well. Ice Toa set his eyes back on him, not at all hostile but still somewhat stern, and stared a bit more.

Berix stared back for a second. Wow. Those were really, really dark eyes. Very humid. Very beautiful, too...

He startled himself back to reality before he could lose track of his thoughts and stumbled over his words: "Oh, uh, you - you like? These?" he asked.

Ice Toa nodded. He looked around as if searching for something, all while shifting the weapons up and down.

"You... Are looking? For, for weapons? For yourself?"

He nodded again.

"What for?"

At that, Ice Toa stepped back and mimicked meeting the fist in which the Agori held the blade with a similarly set one, as though he too was fully armed. Before Berix could even jolt back, the being pulled the limb back and bent forward in a curt bow.

The spit image of a proper warrior...

"You want to... You want to duel?" that must have been what he'd meant, right? Before he could agree or deny, Berix had begun rambling again: "I mean, I do know a place where there's - I don't know if I'm allowed in there, but, but technically they don't know me, so maybe - but I- I don't know if they'd, if you should, if I - I'm not, er, I'm not a good, a good fighter, I've- I've just started, really, so maybe not - a real duel, I can't do that, but sparring I'd like, I'd, I'd be glad to spar - or maybe it'd be better if I can look for someone else like Gresh or Kiina or maybe even Ackar since they're probably more--"

Cold palms on his shoulders shut him up once more. Ice Toa nodded slowly, maybe a little overwhelmed by the river of words.

What was he agreeing to? "So, should... Should I go call...?"

The other shook his head.

"Ah. So you... It'd be alright, if I... If we sparred?"

A nod.

Something Berix could not exactly know, not having been there, was that the healers had been very clear on keeping the not-Toa-looking Toa in a state of rest until they were both perfectly healthy, fully aware of how clothes worked, able to speak, and with a vague idea of what to do about their current situation.

Something else he could not exactly know as a consequence was that the not-Toa-looking Toa had currently snuck out into New Atero to busy themselves and not go insane where they had laid barely moving for a couple days now, and that Gresh had been notified of as much and was currently scampering across the city looking to wrangle them like unruly goats and haul them right back to their cots kicking and whining (because they could not quite scream) if he had to.

He also could not exactly know that Pohatu was currently half-limping his way to the small still not fully constructed arena with said Glatorian in hot pursuit in order to distract him from Kopaka's attempt at finding both something and someone to fight with, and that he had recently just discovered the joys and horrors of parkouring with a body that is not nearly fast enough nor impervious to caving into itself when you slam your stomach against the ledge of a roof. Though to be fair, Kopaka didn't know that either - because if he did, he would instantly give up on his own desire for a healthy battle, join Gresh in his chase, and tie his brother to the bed himself.

All that Berix was currently aware of was that a seasoned warrior with the most beautiful dark eyes he'd ever seen wanted to spar with him, and honestly, that was never going to happen again.

So he shrieked: "Sure!! Sure thing!" and dragged the organic being along to the arena so fast he almost ripped his arm off.

The portion of the building currently accessible was small enough for very few people to actually be there, but that did not stop it from being abuzz with a tiny crowd of mostly fairly young Glatorian anxious to prove their prowess against their peers. An armory of sorts had been set up too, blacksmiths and welders fixing up weapons before leaving them in a nook to simply wait for someone to pick them up - blades and shields of almost every shape and size, each less familiar than the last.

Kopaka let his fingers meander over the metal, slowly taking in the textures as he looked something his speed. It felt cold, smooth - completely foreign.

Something alien and external to his body.

His thoughts wandered to his tool, lost to the Star, as he attempted to replace that extension of himself with something infinitely lesser.

He shook his head.

A smith glared at him as his fingers settled on grasping a double edged sword, as plain as could be (no curves, no spikes, no embellishments, just a handle and a straight blade) and raised it to evaluate it in silence.

"Whatcha lookin' fer, piece o' meat?" they barked at him, drawing a few other people's attention to the strange creature with no armor: "Tryin' t' bore yer opponent t' death with that piece o' scrap? None o' me other works good 'nuff fer ye? Leave th' weapons t' felks wh' know what t' do with 'em, ye soft-skinned freak, they need 'em more than th' likes o' ye ever will."

Kopaka held the plain sword out in front of himself.

He swung once, twice, the natural swiftness with which he did so turning the solid shape into a gray blur. He twirled the handle in his palm with ease in a motion so smooth and fluid that his wrist seemed made out of water: the blade whistled threateningly as he brought it down, only stopping inches from the ground.

As different as it was, his body remembered well. Good. Something less to worry about.

Nobody made any additional comments when he moved on to checking over the various shields with furrowed brows and a methodical look. He tested their weight, how they felt around his arm and hand - frowning at the discomfort against his skin, against his bones, against his everything - until he found one that felt familiar enough.

He turned to Berix, scaring a few onlookers as his hard focused eyes passed over them for a second - sending them rushing back to minding their business, though the buzz of their murmuring seemed a little more hushed. The scrappy Agori simply stood, half entranced by his display: he jolted back to life when the Toa nodded towards the open portion of the arena, as if just reminded of the spar he'd been promised, and scampered off to follow him.

"Hey, hold- uh, I was wondering, actually, avout- about-" he began, stumbling all over his own tongue as he tried to word himself.

It was a little hard to focus while Kopaka kept trying out his sword, handle twirled between his careful fingers almost absentmindedly, swinging and pulling back against a mellow imaginary foe or testing out his grip on the shield as he shifted left and right - his thin skin grew taught at every motion, and the apparent softness of the body hardened with each shift of the muscles as they tensed, relaxed, tensed, relaxed.

The strain accompanying the growing intensity of the action made his limbs tremble a little, probably due to a recent lack of exercise. Aside from that, however, everything about the Ice Toa screamed that he was quite the incredible opponent to be up against.

Berix swallowed to get past the dryness of his mouth: "About, about-" he tried again, but completely missed the start of the sentence and had to clear his throat: "I was -- I wanted to ask if you, if - are, are you sure you don't want to, uh, you know... Ahem! Are you sure you want to fight like, like that?"

The warrior nodded, tapping the ground with the tip of his sword.

"You're certain?" the Agori insisted.

His answer was a gentle clang as the blade hit the shield: an open invite, even somewhat impatient.

The younger being gripped his own weapons harder. Alright. Alright. It was just a spar. He'd handle it just fine! He just had to be careful about this. Just had to be careful.

The not-Toa-looking Toa stared and waited.

Berix raised his arm, aiming for the center of the shield before him: he looked to his own feet as he stepped forward somewhat clumsily, which almost made him slam his teeth against the hard steel surface as the barrier was raised - clearly expecting a blow meant to land much higher.

He was shoved back gently as he tried to mumble apologies. His sparring partner hit the shield with his own sword again, this time resting the blade on the top of it.

"I - I know, yeah, I know," Berix nodded, "I need to hit the- I know, that--"

A hand forcibly raised his head from under the chin to stop him from looking down: dark humid eyes held his gaze steady and forced him to hold it back, actively fighting his attempts at checking that his armored boots would not end up stepping on and crushing the frail bare feet he was pitted up against. The Toa drew a line with his fingers between his head and the Agori's with a stern curve to the shape his mouth.

"I know!" the younger being repeated with a more vehement nod, feeling awfully embarrassed. He'd had this sort of conversation so many times before, with Glatorian and Agori alike, and every single time it was because he'd made a fool of himself: "I know, I need to keep -- I just, I'm worried I'll - I mean, you're, I don't want to--"

A pat on his cheek stopped his rambling. The Ice Toa held his own chin out in a strange way, as if to say it didn't matter, he didn't have to worry; he took a step back, gestured at him to remind him to look straight at his face, and jerked his shield towards himself to invite him forward.

Berix's second swing aimed closer to the head and hit only a little above the center of the shield.

Kopaka threw him back again, nodding. His sword clanged harder against his only protection, twice, encouragingly: good, good! You've got that part down, now put in your strength. I'll hold steady, you just need to hit, hard.

The third swing pushed him back ever so slightly, and his arm seized in a comfortable familiar way and his hand gripped tighter, and he swung back, and as he hit without hurting a chill rippled through his spine, and it felt good. It felt right and natural and normal, and suddenly the flesh felt less cumbersome and his joints felt more fluid and his body moved like a well-oiled machine and his tools were a part of him and he was Kopaka Mata Nuva, Toa of Ice, protector of Mata Nui, of Ko-Koro, of Ko-Metru, of Karda Nui.

He was himself.

He was fully himself.

He needed more of this.

His movements were careful, calculated, because Berix was only starting to thread the path he'd been born on and could not have kept up with him otherwise, but it did not bother him. So long as they kept sparring, he was more than fine with the slower pace, the lessened tension. Correcting him was good practice too, a healthy way to remind himself of proper form - he'd never had to think about it before, but it was good to become conscious of it; it also meant that the other grew more steadfast, more sure, more confident with each silent instruction, hitting harder, faster, in a gentle yet constant crescendo that the Toa couldn't help but find slowly exhilarating.

Excitement got the best of him for a moment: with a lightning-fast flick of his elbow he parried the Agori's blade before it could even land a hit and sent it sliding across the ground.

Somebody above him clapped enthusiastically.

Both sparring partners looked up, startled: right in front of the finished portion of the arena's seats, dirty bandaged legs giddily dangling from the ledge and clothing covered in stains of dirt and sand, Pohatu treated them to a radiant smile and a wide wave of his hand.

That had to be his quietest entrance yet, Kopaka mused as he straightened his back. Quite the achievement, really.

The not-Toa-looking Toa clapped again, much faster, hands lowered to point at the discarded weapon. His brother quickly made his way to it: grasping the blade very carefully he picked it up and handed it back to the somewhat stunned Agori, who grabbed the handle with a start.

"You're fast," he only babbled a bit breathless.

Kopaka nodded deeply, in thanks.

Berix took a deep breath to push his chest out, lowered his stance to steady his footing, and fixed his grip. The satisfied look he got back just for properly preparing himself for the coming fight made a proud wobbly smile bloom on his face: perhaps he let it get to his head a little bit, smacking his sword against his own shield in an invite mirroring the warrior's, but he couldn't help the thrill coursing through him when his sparring partner smirked gingerly.

The swing coming a him hit true with a loud clang, making him stumble back, but he managed to respond. They exchanged blows - not evenly matched at all, but exchanged they were, in a manner close enough to a dance, and Pohatu looked closely with limbs shaking from adrenaline.

Metal against metal covered every other sound. Bang, clang, clink, sdeng, like a clumsy iron beast hopping in place on unsteady legs, leaning and crashing against the iron bars of the cage in which it was stuck, biting them and kicking them and pushing them and scratching them and slamming its head against them, louder, softer, faster, slower, quicker, subtler, harsher, gentler, resolute, steady, unclear, stumbling, howling, snarling, rhythmic, wild, complete, shapeless, precise, senseless, in a maddened melody without words, just bang, bang, bang, bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! A shout.

His eyes turned upwards. Gresh was running breathlessly towards Pohatu looking like he was going to bite his ass off. His shield slipped off. A blade too fast was coming. His armor would do.

He raised an arm.

There was a tinkering sound of iron against iron, and a strangled scream.

He parried the sword to the side, shoving it off.

It clattered to the ground.

"I'm sorry!" Berix shouted. His hands were trembling, caught between clutching at his mouth and reaching out towards him, to try and help, his weapons dropped, his face pale beneath his helmet. "I'm sorry!"

Kopaka shook his head to reassure him. Something was dripping down his arm; he shook it as well, trying to get rid of the sensation.

But the Agori kept shouting, kept apologizing, not knowing what to do, and more voices began murmuring as well, someone cursed, someone asked him if he was alright, someone tried to reach out to him - he yanked himself back: too much attention. Too much noise. He turned back to Pohatu only to find him staring, color drained from him, clutching his arm. Gresh had forgotten all about him and was now shouting at the Toa of Ice as he rushed down the arena's seats.

The dripping persisted.

Kopaka shook his arm again, feeling strange. He looked down at it.

It was bleeding.

Oh.

Right.

No armor.

His breath suddenly seemed to be so much louder in his ears.

In an unsightly calm haze, not even certain whether he was acting on his own accord, he shifted the sword onto his injured hand, sank his fingers into the open wound (feeling the severed muscles spasm against his digits, the liquid trickle out of him, the frayed skin struggle to hold on), and peeled the flesh away, further, further, further, until his fingertips rested on something cold; until the almost rusted dull sheen of his bones met his eyes.

The world tilted back to make him stumble a few steps, and he leaned forward to keep his balance - his movements felt sluggish, his head suddenly light. A disgusting tingle passed through him and coiled around his intestines with a tight grip.

Something grabbed him from behind, keeping him steady while everything slid left and right like untethered chairs rocking on a ship caught up in a storm at sea.

He could not make out words, could not make out textures, he wasn't even sure he could see, but even despite the great tiredness that overcame him all at once he winced as every noise around him became far, far too loud; so Kopaka shut his eyes hard and decided to stop hearing.

He opened them again a second later, feeling heavy and numb.

Or like he'd been stampeded by a Kikanalo herd.

He stared at the ceiling for a while before remembering the arena didn't have one.

His other senses sizzled to life slowly, taking their sweet time before they allowed him to get a proper idea of his sorroundings: the rough cloth of the cot was familiar enough against his limbs, his legs held a little aloft on what probably were some hardened cushions, and the fabric of the clothes provided to him was bunched up in multiple places from the sort of curled up position he was laying in; indistinguishable voices were muttering to themselves, probably coming from another room based on how muffled they sounded - he wasn't in the mood to try and comprehend speech at the moment, so he simply allowed their buzz to fill the space with white noise.

Something thin, like a wire, a thread of sorts, was in his arm. He could feel its hold on him, on his individual cells, as it pulled his flesh taught together to close his wound while it still pulsed beneath, above and around it.

If he'd been more conscious, he would have ripped it out of himself in a panicked hurry; thankfully he was barely tethered to the material world at the moment, so the horror didn't hit so hard.

His back laid against something soft and warm; so not the bed. Whatever it was held him in place with equally soft straps of sorts, two curled around his waist and one wrapped tight around his chest in a loving and fearful manner, while another part of it was buried in his hair and one hand held his, at once careful not to grip too tight yet keeping his palm captive in an invincible grasp. His comfortable cage whined quietly, with a certain rhythm, and he could feel the breath come in worried huffs through its nose.

He squeezed the hand in reassurance. Pohatu stopped whimpering to gently tighten his embrace around him and dug the lower half of his face further into his hair.

Oh, one of the voices from the other room seemed to say, Is he conscious?

His brother simply rocked him in place.

An orange visage came into view as Kopaka's neck was craned by the other Toa's hold - a Tapyri, a somewhat old one, it seemed. Next to them stood another one, probably from the water tribe and much shorter, wringing their hands together with a worried, sheepish expression. They looked familiar, but in his state and without their helmet on Kopaka wasn't quite certain he could recognize them right now.

The tall Fire Agori (Glatorian?)'s mouth moved: Hey there, said his voice from another room: Are you with us?

The not-Toa-looking Toa blinked slowly without answering. One of his thumbs raised affirmatively.

"Good to know. You were out for quite a bit, I've been told," the being replied. Then, looking him up and down again to properly take in his near catatonic state: "And if I have to be honest you still don't look that fine to me."

"What would you expect from someone who got his arm almost cleaved in half?" Gresh's voice intervened angrily, though Gresh himself appeared to be invisible - oh, nope, there he was, walking into his line of sight. The room wasn't limited to Kopaka's motionless eyes, after all.

The Gaquri turned to him sharply at that: "I didn't mean to!" he cried out with a shrill voice that revealed him to be Berix, sounding as though he'd been repeating that same sentence twenty times a minute.

The older Glatorian waved a hand to stop their argument before it could start again.

"But it's true!" Berix insisted: "I didn't mean to, I was in the middle of a swing and I didn't manage to stop it! I didn't--"

"But you did!"

"Gresh, calm down."

"But it was an accident, I swear! We were both so focused and then you yelled," (and he pointed an accusatory finger at the Jungle Glatorian) "And he got distracted and dropped his shield and didn't have time to think of going for a parry probably and I was in the middle of the swing, I couldn't stop the momentum in time, and then he raised his arm and I--"

His rambling was interrupted by a clack of teeth against teeth as soon when his hand began wandering too close to the cot.

The poor thing retreated with a yelp as Pohatu all but snarled at him with the pulled back lip of a Muaka whose territory has been carelessly breached by foolish outsiders, his hands closed tight into fists around Kopaka's clothing, hardened in the manner of claws, willing to protect him at all costs. His brother could not see him from how his head was angled, but he could imagine him, and it was frankly such an unnatural sight in his mind's eye that he was glad he couldn't witness it directly.

But the Agori was right: it hadn't been his fault. If the not-Toa-looking Toa had never separated in order to make the healers lose their tracks, Pohatu would have never ended up chased by Gresh, who would have never shouted at him in the arena, thus not distracting Kopaka while Berix was about to swing. His injury had been a group effort of sorts.

Hurray for Unity and all.

The older Glatorian glared sternly at the four younger beings in the room: "All of you, calm down!" he ordered.

The mechanically enhanced boys hushed, one clearly aggrieved, one trying to disappear in his own shoulders; the not-Toa-looking Toa moved from a wordless roar to a low growl.

The Glatorian gave him a certain look - one reminiscent of the kind that often accompanied Onewa's reprimands: "I said, calm down."

Kopaka managed to pat his elbow clumsily to make his stone-stubborn peer desist.

His brother pouted and retreated in his hair, quiet.

"There," the older warrior sighed: "Was it so hard?"

A few indistinct grumbles replied; he elected to ignore them in order to focus on the frazzled being still recovering from his fainting bout.

Despite the half-lidden eyes and mildly vacant gaze, he did not seem to be too disoriented or puzzled; his movements weren't exactly graceful but his coordination was not bad, only about on par with someone who has just woken up from a deep sleep, and would have certainly improved once he properly got over the bloodloss-induced dizziness that still had a hold on him. He wouldn't be surprised if he was processing something else as well - from what he'd understood between accounts from Gresh, Berix and doctors alike the wound went all the way down to the bone, and this skilled, clearly veteran warrior had had the bright idea of personally checking just how deep his injury happened to be by manually peeling the muscle apart. He had seen even worse things than exposed bone of course (the Core Wars were filled with plenty of material for the worst of night terrors to sample from), but a being that hadn't even had skin up until not too long ago would have reasonably been a bit more than startled before such a sight.

They certainly had peculiar eyes. All that white around the iris...

The not-Toa-looking Toa blinked slowly.

"My name is Ackar," the Glatorian began, realizing he hadn't exactly introduced himself to either of the beings on the cot. He gestured at Berix and Gresh vaguely: "These two are under my supervision. You are... Kopaka, isn't it?"

The other nodded - as best as he could with his head bent somewhat awkwardly from within his peer's embrace.

"How are you feeling?"

He raised a hand limply, waving it a bit: more or less alright.

Better than nothing, Ackar thought to himself: "The healers are pretty furious with you two for running off like that, you know. Your friend took his own dose of yelling already."

Said friend - Pohatu, if he remembered correctly - looked perfectly remorseless.

"I'd be willing to mellow them out when they inevitably come to lecture you," (which if I had to be fair you wholly deserve, he did not add, because only an idiot parries with his arm, even when he's a master swordsman, which you clearly are and only adds to my dismay), "If you'd be up to explaining what happened in the arena."

"But I already--!" the other two Spherus Magna natives protested.

Ackar raised a hand, stopping them in their tracks: "I know what both of you said," he replied, "But he's the one who got injured, and I want to hear what he has to say about it."

"But he can't!" Berix insisted.

"Physically!" Gresh added quickly, before the Agori could make it seem as though they were hiding something. Ackar gave him a strange look, and he repeated: "Physically. He can't - they don't speak. They don't really know how. Because, well, mouths and all - they just didn't have them before, so they don't really know what to do with all of that."

"Yes, that's - that's what I meant. I meant that. Not that he- that we-" the Jungle Glatorian shot Berix a glare, and the Agori's voice turned tiny and shrill: "I'll shut up."

His peer grunted in approval: "And also they feel their vocal chords and it bothers them."

The Fire Glatorian blinked.

"They what?"

"The doctors said that's the problem, likely."

"Alright. But they feel their what?"

"Their... Their vocal chords. They can probably feel the air going through them and it bothers them. Because they did try, but they always stopped halfway through and held their throats."

Ackar turned back to the organic beings.

Kopaka showed no reaction whatsoever, still partially dazed. Pohatu, instead, had furrowed his brows in concern and raised a hand to his brother's neck, fingers almost grazing it as though he could have shielded it; when he met the older warrior's eyes he simply nodded in confirmation.

The Glatorian's shoulders rose and fell gently with a sigh: "Well, something's got to be done about that," he just noted. "You really cannot say anything? Not even vocalize?"

The not-Toa-looking Toa shook his head.

"Is it that painful?"

Again, shake of a head.

"It doesn't hurt? So it's a matter of discomfort?"

A nod.

"We can at least work with it then. That's a relief."

A wordless whine. Evidently the being had connected the dots and wasn't keen on enacting Ackar's plan in the slightest.

The veteran huffed through his nose, half amused: "Don't act so difficult, kid. Either you start getting used to the feeling or we'll have to play charades to communicate with the two of you for the rest of your lives - and I can assure you, no matter how uncomfortable that feels, it can't be any worse than trying to bathe a Spikit."

Pohatu shot him a very eloquent glare: I don't know what that is, it replied bitterly, so I'll assume you're wrong.

Ah, yes.

Typical.

Ackar smirked in a way that could have almost been interpreted as fond. This sort of behavior reminded him of Kiina.

"Just open your mouth and say 'A'. That should be simple enough."

It did sound simple enough, Kopaka had to admit. Certainly, if all he had to do was part his lips and let the air out of his chest loudly, he would have managed that. It would have even been a quick matter, and he would have barely felt a thing. His voice probably would have cracked due to disuse, which would have been awfully embarrassing, but he could have just spoken softly enough and nobody would have even noticed.

He separated his jaws in the way one does when yawning, and proceded to let out a blood curling scream.

When he was done, he coughed.

His throat hurt a little bit.

The room remained quiet for a moment. Understandably.

Then Pohatu spat out a laugh - only a couple of syllables, completely devoid of myrth.

And then he laughed again, and again, and he kept laughing, laughing, laughing, increasingly histerically so, until he was all but hyperventilating into his brother's hair as his chest compressed and expanded like a crazed accordion.

He wasn't really sure what part of this ordeal was the worst - the lightheadedness that was squeezing the world into itself like some kind of funhouse mirror, the feeling of his larinx spasming erratically with every exhale, the deafening sound of his own heaving breaths, the sudden complete inability to percieve anything through his other senses, the fact he had no idea why he was reacting like this, the fact that even if he had the time to try he could not stop?

A cold hand landed heavy on his head. His brother patted him slowly, less gently than he would have if he'd been a little less out of it: it took what felt like hours, but the repetitive comfort managed to stabilize his breathing into silence again.

A head peeked into the room.

"Another patient almost went into cardiac arrest from whatever the hell that was," the healer said, at once flatly and with genuine concern: "Are you people alright?"

Pohatu held onto his brother with eyes blown wide without saying a single thing; said brother replied to the question by silently raising his free thumb, still petting the other's head to keep the fit of insanity from taking over his mouth a second time.

Gresh stared at the two not-Toa-looking Toa like they were some unsightly multiheaded Vorox-Skrall-Rock Steed hybrid of sorts.

Berix was too busy hiding behind him to speak or look.

Ackar sighed.

"It's a start," he decided to say, encouragingly.

#bionicle #kopaka #berix #pohatu #gresh #ackar #blood tw #injury tw #panic attack tw #gore tw #random writing #organic au again. now with. Berix Not Very Heterosexual Moments. Gresh torture. sparring. various degrees of pain. Dad. and yelling #not sure if its graphic but kopaka DOES put his fingers in a wound and reach down to the bone so watch out for that #pohatu is just having a nervous breakdown in the second half i think. somebody please help him #kopaka is like CAN YOU TELL ME WHERE THE SWORDS ARE and berix is like woa..... pretty eyes....#gresh has decided hes keeping watch on these two. unfortunately they have decided they can do what the want #and then they try to speak but they do a ghastly job at it scaring the kiddos and making ackar very tired and very concerned #not too satisfied with the second half but oh well. enjoy kopaka being a cool swordsman and also a complete idiot

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