[self] destruction :: OPEN

[Forte!]

It had been so long since he'd been here. Been a while since he'd been anywhere that wasn't unpleasant. Actually, he wished that he hadn't readjusted his definition of 'unpleasant'. In America it was something totally different. Back home, it wouldn't have been unpleasant until he was literally lying in the fetal position and bleeding or unable to stand with the muscles in his leg so cramped that he felt as if he might die. It was spring. It was warm. He hadn't siezed up in a long time, and nobody was going to string him up and beat him here. There were rights here. Standards. Folkways. You didn't trip a cripple. You helped them across the street, which he found awkward. But he could have fallen, he realized... and ended up like that kid that Ivan had hit. Kid? He was older than Dmitri, but not near so beat upon and long-bruised. Not many people were. And it made Dmitri callous, a bit petty, perhaps, especially when he felt like giving up. Which was right about then. Ivan was being held until his trial, which would seem like a good thing. It was two-sided. It left Dmitri in care of four horses, only one of whom he trusted not to trample him.

He had been held for a day, too. Just in case. And they had taken photgraphs of his bruises where Ivan had hit him. His right eye spotted a gigantic purple bruise, and he could barely open the lid. He looked almost freakish, one eye swelled shut, the other staring out lethargically, and half of his face discolored. It hurt, but not so badly as other things had hurt. He also had a bruise on his hip where he'd been kicked, but that wasn't near so bad. Except when he sat, but that was alright. His face and his leg distracted him most of the time. He would have to testify in court in a few weeks, maybe a month depending on what sort of lawyer Ivan got. Not that there was much dispute. Lots of witnesses. And they knew who had been driving, too, that was good. He was out of jail, that was even better. If his leg had been a nuisance in daily life, it had been two nuisances in jail. Not fun. But he hardly expected fun.

Now he was staring at the steam rising from his cup in a way that suggested that he wasn't really going to drink it. He didn't look so hot. Where the bruise wasn't, his face was pale and a little sweaty. Probably the stress. He probably needed to go to the doctor. But he could hardly afford that. And, besides, any doctor would want to fix his leg, too. He knew it could be done, but, again, he didn't have the money. He needed a new job, but who else would hire a cripple with half a black face? Besides, he needed to take care of the horses. He wasn't sure that he was strong enough to do it at this point. The stress and worry made it harder and harder to walk, and he found himself struggling to keep his balance when he ventured to go faster than a slow, painful hobble. People kept looking at him funny. A lot of them were doing so right now. Oh well, he was used to that. Besides, he was too miserable to care. Today, well, this year, really, had not been his best. And his only friend in the world had dropped off the face of the Earth. You don't realize what you have until you lose it.

[Spitz]

Soft brown eyes looked around the street, he had heard the news that someone had got hit by a car "serves 'im right, should've looked" he said. His brown hair was scruffy where he had been running his hair through it all morning doing the finances. A fifteen year old boy running a ranch was not the best thing in the world. He walked along the pavement, looking down at his feet and it wasn't a suprise when he bashed into a old lady. "Sorry, ma'am" he said quickly "you look where you're going boy, where is your mother anyway?" she said and he walked quickly past her and mumbled "dead". He then noticed the coffee shop and looked in the window to see only a few people so he walked in. He sat at a table which was next to a guys, they looked pretty messed up really. He had bruises on his face and looked like he had just walked into a lampost. He ordered a coffee and then when the waitress had walked away he turned his head back toward the guy.

He noticed that his leg, even sitting down, was obviously in pain and then thought of what the guy told him. 'A guy with a weird leg and bruised face was in the car with the guy who ran him over, apparently named Dmitri'. So this must be him, the guy Dmitri. Ace forced a smile, not one that looked like a laugh but a worried one. He looked around the coffee shop before turning back "you that Dmitri bloke? I'm Ace" he said and then looked at the waitress as she came over and placed the coffee in front of him. He then saw a mother and young girl come into the restaurant, she was so happy and he smiled. She was lucky to have her parent their, his had died on a ride. He was with them, only thirteen years old and riding Destany. His mother had fallen so his father helped him. He went for a gallop and their horses followed. One stepped on his mothers face, she died in hospital, and his father had killed himself. He had always blamed his mothers death on himself. He sighed and took another sip of his coffee.