Hate me for everything I'm saying

Artorias was almost as aggravated by Grimshaw's lack of response, his total apathy to everything, as he would have been to the boy simply admitting that he didn't care for him or his adoptive family. At least with the latter he'd have an excuse to feel the anger he did towards Grim. Instead he was given nothing, just a blank, emotionless canvas staring back at him through silver eyes. Artorias was just begging, begging for Grim to say or do something to provoke him, to give him a reason and an excuse to carve that passive look right off his stupid fucking face. But Grimshaw didn't give him a thing. He sat there and took everything the Carpathius boy spat his way, all the vitriol and venom like it was rain rolling off his back. It frustrated, infuriated, and bewildered Artorias. This was not the reaction he had been expecting from Grim.

Once he was done and a long enough pause had passed between them, Grimshaw chided him for losing his composure as the heir to the Hallows. Artorias' lips curled back in a small snarl; what the hell did this vagabond know about decorum and optics? He'd been the one to runaway like an ungrateful wretch when his family was at their lowest point; he was one to talk about looking good to others. But Artorias was still left wanting by his response, and it seemed the only way to progress was to follow Grimshaw into his den. Artorias didn't like this idea. The den would be close quarters, familiar to his opponent and wholly unknown to him. If Grimshaw decided to get violent, he'd have an advantage. But it was also the only way for Artorias to get the answers he demanded.

So, with cautious trepidation, Artorias followed behind Grimshaw into his den. The place was unsurprisingly sparse, with just the essentials for living. Even when he'd lived in the Hallows, Grimshaw had been a very minimal wolf. It appeared that was just a manifestation of his personality: utilitarian, empty, function over form. In the privacy of the den, Artorias moved to position himself near the entrance to give himself a chance to bolt if he had to make a quick escape, but far enough in that they could speak without fear of eavesdroppers. "Okay, we're inside. What do you need to explain?" he asked, voice terse and to the point, a clear reflection of the pain Artorias felt from Grim's disrespect and abandonment. He peered over at the young man, Artorias' form half illuminated by the bright setting sun spilling into the den, casting warm light and hard shadows across him while he watched the stranger he had once called brother.


"Artorias" | Thoughts | "Corbin"