Out on the wall.

[beliefovermisery]

He didn't want to talk to Katara and he doubted she even wanted to look at him at this point. He couldn't talk to Mel or Zuko - not about marriage, not about what Katara wanted to do. He wasn't going to search out Paige when he was the last one to speak. He said his piece and she knew what he wanted. He would wait for her.

She was worth waiting.

So he's out from the apartments now, up on the wall, boomerang and club at his back, knife at his belt. He's not surveying, though, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He's just looking up at the sky, the dark, thick clouds.

This isn't the Southern Tribe, with its stars and its icy, clean winds, the flurry of snowfall. But somehow... it could be home.

Comments

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

There is eventually someone on the wall, sitting next to him.

"Are the women in your tribe rutting nuts?"

Just asking. Harth lives for doing this shit.

[notanoptimist.livejournal.com]

WHAM!

That is the sound of a solid bone and stone club meeting Harth's chest.

More specifically, that is the sound of a Jesus-blessed weapon meeting the fesh of the undead.

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

He was going to catch it. Really. He put his hands up-- but--

--but--

--OW.

Hands go up, club is caught, but it keeps going and Harth has this look of wide-eyed shock that must be priceless for Sokka he feels that impact and goes right off the wall.

Sadly, not on the spiked side; backwards into the courtyard, where he rolls to his feet and looks just a little stunned.

"You got the Son's pump, huh? Rut, that's a ten on the pain scale." He looks down at his chest; his shirt is seared, his flesh is blackenen, and so are his hands.

Ow?

Ow, a lot?

"So, telling you I didn't rut her when she really wanted to be rutted isn't going to score me points, is it?"

[notanoptimist.livejournal.com]

He's up on his feet immediately, eyes wide, club gripped tight in skilled hands, looking down at Harth.

"Get out of there. Go back to whatever hole you've been living in."

He won't even talk about Katara.

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

"Oh, you're a whiny sack," Harth says. "I did you and her little boytoy a favor." There is a spring, and he's back on the wall, but now at a safer distance.

"And I gave you things you'd need. Something she needed, too."

[notanoptimist.livejournal.com]

"Bull," he snaps, taking a step back as he lifts the club to a ready position. "You gave us what you decided we should have-- which means we probably don't need it. It's at least not worth getting from you.

"And don't talk about my sister. You really think I'll believe anything you say about her?"

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

"No. More the fool you," Harth says quietly, his eyes flickering over Sokka. "When I speak, you should listen closely. I don't lie half as often as I speak the truth."

And then there was movement-- he twisted, backfliped up, over, like a cat, to his palms on the other side of Sokka, and spun his legs in a twisting, vicious kick.

[notanoptimist.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, ri--"

His eyes widen, but he was waiting for something like this. He twists and slides back, dropping to a crouch five feet back, his club out and swinging--

The club is slow. The movement is not.

"Like when you told me you bedded and killed her, right? Truths like that?"

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

CRACK--

That was solid.

Too solid-- and Harth goes off the wall again. FUCK OW.

"...you know, two can play the weapon game."

[notanoptimist.livejournal.com]

"Then get one."

He stands again, peers over the wall with the club in his hands, glaring. "What did you think? I wouldn't fight back? I'd sit and chat?

"You want to play the weapon game, then play."

This is one fight he is ready for.

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

Oh, he will. There are blades slipped out of his belt; strange, blackish--

Curved.

Claws on bone handles.

"You won't win. Do you really want to die?"

[notanoptimist.livejournal.com]

He's still down there, though - maybe he won't notice how hard Sokka swallows.

"No. I don't. But there's no way you came here thinking I'd want to hear anything you had to say-- especially not when you start off talking about my sister.

"You came to me - I'm not Katara. I'm not going to hesitate just because I probably won't win."

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

Your fear is perfumed stink, Sokka.

"You'll die like a warrior," Harth says, and he starts the dance-- it is fast; now with an emphasis on moving in and out, not letting that club have a chance to react. Scytheclaw blades on femur-handles extend his reach that much more.

He doesn't aim to kill-- just to play--

Cutting, dance out, dance in, cut again, little slices, teas the flesh with pain, never give it the final blow-- ignore that it's right there, where anyone could see--

[notanoptimist.livejournal.com]

Right there, anyone could see-- and Sokka isn't that easy to beat anymore.

Fear, yes, he's absolutely terrified, but his eyes stay narrowed and clear, club at the ready, knife slipped from his belt, used to block and cut right back, Son-blessed.

His clothes are cut and there is blood-- but Harth isn't pristine either.

"Why are you here? With me?" He watches him carefully, dancing back at the next slash. "I don't mean a damn thing to you aside from Mel and Katara - you think I don't know that?"

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

Harth doesn't bleed; his flesh smokes and his strength flags, just a little.

Neither does he speak.

The handle of one claw reaches to hook around club, to yank, to disarm-- come on, he smirks.

"I want to see for myself-- why it was you."

[notanoptimist.livejournal.com]

It slips - his grip closes more tightly, but it's weak, down near the end of the handle.

Easily torn away if he tries.

But Sokka swings with his other hand, twisting, and the knife he holds is aimed towards the wrist that blocks his club.

"Why what was?"

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

"I wanted to know--"

And he takes that stab, twisting in, till they're close, where only the short knife is useful, though it's burning into his bicep, giving the stink of burning, undead flesh,

"I wanted to know why she replaced me with you. It's because we were both weak -- and she thought she could take care of both of us. But-- you got stronger then me."

And he pushes, hard--

to get space back.

[notanoptimist.livejournal.com]

He comes in, knife sinking in, burning flesh in his nose, but his eyes are on Harth's - blue on blue.

When he pushes, Sokka stumbles, sliding back as his knife comes free, reaching back to get the boomerang-- but he's too close to use it.

It's slid back in place, plenty of space between them, and Sokka just looks at Harth.

"...Then why are you here now? You already knew all that - you knew it when you attacked me on the blacktop."

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

"You looked lonely," he said, as he stood his ground-- they didn't come forward or go back. "Paige not working out for you?"

Yeah, he went there.

[notanoptimist.livejournal.com]

You know, somewhere along the way, Harth should have popped into his head when he worried about what to do with Paige.

He freezes, eyes widening, but doesn't drop from the ready position. But Sokka is definitely stunned and he watches Harth with cold eyes.

"...What is she to you?"

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

"Diddly," Harth says as he moves. "From all reports you two are deliriously happy-- even if there are just places the two of you don't go. Don't want to end up like big sis, huh?" Harth flips one handle up onto his shoulder.

"Does it matter? Do you think she's a target now? Does it make you afraid? Isn't that what I live for, after all? The stink of your fear, Katara's new piece of meat pissing himself just seeing me?"

[notanoptimist.livejournal.com]

He frowns at that first part - How the hell does he know that? - but Sokka doesn't answer on Mel.

"You live-- if you want to call it that - for Mel, for Katara. Me and Jim... we don't mean shit to you outside of that."

And if Paige doesn't either, much the better.

"I get why you'd go after Jim - that must kill you, huh?" He fixes his grip on his club, finds surer footing just in case, but doesn't move to lunge. "She's not yours anymore. Not the way you want her."

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

"Funny, that was an entirely different from what her legs told me yesterday," Harth says with a smirk.

[notanoptimist.livejournal.com]

"Like they did months ago, right?" Sokka snaps back, but there's a growl in his tone, grip tighter on his weapons. "What'd you say? They affirmed life, right? Just like her throat did when you tore it out?

"You can't rattle me, Harth. You've never told me anything but lies."

[harth-fray.livejournal.com]

"Guess she didn't tell her I told her no," Harth says, voice getting colder, "That I kissed her and I held her and she told me she was rutting that boy and I still told her no and let her keep her--"

I let her stay golden.

He is... actually well and truly angry now, Sokka, the beast on his face, enraged. He let her stay golden, and he should have crushed it and --

And this idiot doesn't listen!

The claws are a blur; playtime is over--

-- Harth means business now.