[ He's never going to live this down. Already, he can hear the mocking tones, the comments about whether or not Royal is fit to do this or that, about whether or not his judgment is lacking in what he's doing, whether or not he'll come back to the field. All of these suppositions that he really, truly doesn't want to begin dealing with and yet will have to because he isn't a coward and isn't willing to let Damen deal with it longer than he has to.
His private life is just that, private, as much as it can be. Admittedly, this choice of...career doesn't really lend itself to that, but it isn't a career so much as a means to an end. When he finds out who was responsible, he will -- he'll-- he doesn't know. Mostly, he's not sure if he'll survive that long, but he fully intends to try.
Grudgingly, he admits that it is going to be easier with Gladiator beside him, and oh, that bites at him, leaves his stomach twisted in knots at the idea of relying on someone. Even with Auguste, he hadn't relied on him so much as it was a partnership; there was the open door whenever he needed to talk, he knew Auguste just as well as he knew himself.
After his passing, he didn't...have that. His relationship with Damen is only slowly starting to shift and grow into something past mutual dislike for each other and Damen is proving himself to be less the Akielon beast and brute and more a genuinely thoughtful man. It's frustrating.
Almost as frustrating as looking at the variety of pills he's supposed to take - antibiotics, and sleeping pills and who knew what else. Grudgingly, he starts divvying them up by day and sets them neatly into the little day by day container that was sent home with him in a cheerful blue plastic bag. It's ridiculous, but he isn't about to balk at the idea of getting better, not when the alternative is ending up in bed longer with the barbarian looming over him. ]
Probably. [ The word is sour as he reaches into the fridge and brings out a sparkling bottle of water, only to find that he can't uncap it. Nonchalantly, it's set on the counter and Laurent leans more of his weight on it, unwilling to show any sign of weakness as they stand there. ] That must chafe.
[ Another attempt, forcing his weak fingers to curl, to tighten, to twist and a few moments later it breaks free with a soft hiss and he's left relieved he didn't have to mention any sort of help. ]
He was likely only interested in taking down those he perceived as a threat. [ It's delivered lightly enough, like it's not a back-handed insult, like it's nothing but a nonchalant observance of a man who had nearly killed him by touching him, no battle, no fight, just a touch in the middle of everything going on. And then: ] He was an idiot. It certainly didn't serve him well.
[ Considering he was caught and very likely dead, now. No great loss.
Idly, he glances at Damen to see if he was quick enough to catch the insinuation that perhaps Damen wasn't entirely useless. He might not. Laurent doesn't hold his breath. ]
no subject
His private life is just that, private, as much as it can be. Admittedly, this choice of...career doesn't really lend itself to that, but it isn't a career so much as a means to an end. When he finds out who was responsible, he will -- he'll-- he doesn't know. Mostly, he's not sure if he'll survive that long, but he fully intends to try.
Grudgingly, he admits that it is going to be easier with Gladiator beside him, and oh, that bites at him, leaves his stomach twisted in knots at the idea of relying on someone. Even with Auguste, he hadn't relied on him so much as it was a partnership; there was the open door whenever he needed to talk, he knew Auguste just as well as he knew himself.
After his passing, he didn't...have that. His relationship with Damen is only slowly starting to shift and grow into something past mutual dislike for each other and Damen is proving himself to be less the Akielon beast and brute and more a genuinely thoughtful man. It's frustrating.
Almost as frustrating as looking at the variety of pills he's supposed to take - antibiotics, and sleeping pills and who knew what else. Grudgingly, he starts divvying them up by day and sets them neatly into the little day by day container that was sent home with him in a cheerful blue plastic bag. It's ridiculous, but he isn't about to balk at the idea of getting better, not when the alternative is ending up in bed longer with the barbarian looming over him. ]
Probably. [ The word is sour as he reaches into the fridge and brings out a sparkling bottle of water, only to find that he can't uncap it. Nonchalantly, it's set on the counter and Laurent leans more of his weight on it, unwilling to show any sign of weakness as they stand there. ] That must chafe.
[ Another attempt, forcing his weak fingers to curl, to tighten, to twist and a few moments later it breaks free with a soft hiss and he's left relieved he didn't have to mention any sort of help. ]
He was likely only interested in taking down those he perceived as a threat. [ It's delivered lightly enough, like it's not a back-handed insult, like it's nothing but a nonchalant observance of a man who had nearly killed him by touching him, no battle, no fight, just a touch in the middle of everything going on. And then: ] He was an idiot. It certainly didn't serve him well.
[ Considering he was caught and very likely dead, now. No great loss.
Idly, he glances at Damen to see if he was quick enough to catch the insinuation that perhaps Damen wasn't entirely useless. He might not. Laurent doesn't hold his breath. ]