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xp_logs2004-03-05 03:31 am
x-cable.livejournal.com) wrote in xp_logs2004-03-05 03:31 am
Nathan in the hour of the wolf...
After this post. What, you didn't really think Nathan was a big grumpy teddy bear, did you? [Note: Slightly revised... this is why actually posting in the hour of the wolf is not such a good idea. ;)]
The glow of the laptop's screen was the only light in the room. Nathan stared at it blankly, no longer reading the text on the screen. The battle raging behind his eyes was claiming all but a fraction of his attention and he no longer had the self-control to engage in this relatively harmless textual spat.
He had held the rage in check for hours. Getting Moira to sleep had been far more important, but with that done, his control had started to steadily disintegrate. Channeling his anger into a non-destructive outlet, posting that carefully phrased warning on the journals, had seemed like a good idea. In retrospect, it hadn't been. He hadn't expected the girl's blustering.
Bravado, like I said to her. These kids didn't know who he was, what he was capable of doing if he actually lost it. To them he was Moira's strange friend, the new running joke in the mansion. The narcoleptic mercenary.
The roof above his head creaked ominously, and he closed his eyes, clenching his teeth as he fought to restrain his telekinesis. He could feel the fragility of the windows, too how easily they would explode outwards with only a touch more pressure. The walls would take only slightly more. But structural damage was to be avoided, he told himself savagely. Too many explanations.
But the controls on his telekinesis had triggers, and far too many of his buttons had been pushed tonight. Worse, the pack instinct installed by Mistra's empathic conditioning was flaring again, and it was deeply, deeply offended. He felt it often, usually around Dom and G.W. and the others. But only around Moira was it ever this... intense. It was screaming at him to protect, to remove the threat. To kill.
The roof creaked again in protest, and he breathed out on a sigh, willing his heartrate to slow. He could protect without killing, he told himself harshly. He was the one in control. Killing was simple, the easy way out. There were other measures that could be taken. Peripherally, he was aware of the furniture in the room levitating soundlessly, all but the bed and the chair he was sitting in gliding over to the door to form a barricade. He would have to return everything to its place in the morning, before she woke up, Nathan reflected dimly. Right now, though, it felt right for it to be there.
Moira slept on, curled up in the bed, and he reached out, deliberately this time, and telekinetically adjusted the blanket that covered her. She still whimpered occasionally in her sleep, her mind emanating flashes of images (Kevin, Joe, Rory, even him) and fragmentary thoughts stained with pain and guilt. It was more than enough to sustain the rage in him. He knew he was operating on a telepathic high, that her reactions had fed into his, feeding the rage, but he really didn't care.
"Kids will be kids," he murmured aloud, but it wasn't any more convincing this time. Maybe in the morning, he could be reasonable, see things from Sarah's point of view. But somehow, he doubted it. She was someone to be kept away from Moira, that much was clear.
Amanda, on the other hand--she hadn't responded. Perhaps she understood what she'd done, at least. He would give her the benefit of the doubt, he decided. For now.
And Shinobi. *I underestimated you, I think,* Nathan thought. He had given him that information in order to cause trouble for the elder Shaw (if there was one thing the years had taught him, it was that a bit of hands-off troublemaking was always in order) but he hadn't tried to see beneath the surface and he should have. Shinobi made a very good voice of reason, but there were depths there, a lot he hadn't seen in that first conversation. Dangerous complexities, maybe.
Nathan took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He ought to sleep, he knew, but it was his turn to watch this time. "La'hriar murnahai," he murmured, staring at Moira's sleeping form. "~I won't leave you.~" he repeated, still too locked in his struggle for control to notice that he'd spoken in the language of his visions.
The glow of the laptop's screen was the only light in the room. Nathan stared at it blankly, no longer reading the text on the screen. The battle raging behind his eyes was claiming all but a fraction of his attention and he no longer had the self-control to engage in this relatively harmless textual spat.
He had held the rage in check for hours. Getting Moira to sleep had been far more important, but with that done, his control had started to steadily disintegrate. Channeling his anger into a non-destructive outlet, posting that carefully phrased warning on the journals, had seemed like a good idea. In retrospect, it hadn't been. He hadn't expected the girl's blustering.
Bravado, like I said to her. These kids didn't know who he was, what he was capable of doing if he actually lost it. To them he was Moira's strange friend, the new running joke in the mansion. The narcoleptic mercenary.
The roof above his head creaked ominously, and he closed his eyes, clenching his teeth as he fought to restrain his telekinesis. He could feel the fragility of the windows, too how easily they would explode outwards with only a touch more pressure. The walls would take only slightly more. But structural damage was to be avoided, he told himself savagely. Too many explanations.
But the controls on his telekinesis had triggers, and far too many of his buttons had been pushed tonight. Worse, the pack instinct installed by Mistra's empathic conditioning was flaring again, and it was deeply, deeply offended. He felt it often, usually around Dom and G.W. and the others. But only around Moira was it ever this... intense. It was screaming at him to protect, to remove the threat. To kill.
The roof creaked again in protest, and he breathed out on a sigh, willing his heartrate to slow. He could protect without killing, he told himself harshly. He was the one in control. Killing was simple, the easy way out. There were other measures that could be taken. Peripherally, he was aware of the furniture in the room levitating soundlessly, all but the bed and the chair he was sitting in gliding over to the door to form a barricade. He would have to return everything to its place in the morning, before she woke up, Nathan reflected dimly. Right now, though, it felt right for it to be there.
Moira slept on, curled up in the bed, and he reached out, deliberately this time, and telekinetically adjusted the blanket that covered her. She still whimpered occasionally in her sleep, her mind emanating flashes of images (Kevin, Joe, Rory, even him) and fragmentary thoughts stained with pain and guilt. It was more than enough to sustain the rage in him. He knew he was operating on a telepathic high, that her reactions had fed into his, feeding the rage, but he really didn't care.
"Kids will be kids," he murmured aloud, but it wasn't any more convincing this time. Maybe in the morning, he could be reasonable, see things from Sarah's point of view. But somehow, he doubted it. She was someone to be kept away from Moira, that much was clear.
Amanda, on the other hand--she hadn't responded. Perhaps she understood what she'd done, at least. He would give her the benefit of the doubt, he decided. For now.
And Shinobi. *I underestimated you, I think,* Nathan thought. He had given him that information in order to cause trouble for the elder Shaw (if there was one thing the years had taught him, it was that a bit of hands-off troublemaking was always in order) but he hadn't tried to see beneath the surface and he should have. Shinobi made a very good voice of reason, but there were depths there, a lot he hadn't seen in that first conversation. Dangerous complexities, maybe.
Nathan took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He ought to sleep, he knew, but it was his turn to watch this time. "La'hriar murnahai," he murmured, staring at Moira's sleeping form. "~I won't leave you.~" he repeated, still too locked in his struggle for control to notice that he'd spoken in the language of his visions.