See you on the Malibu beach

Dread had gone down in the end, everything going dark and fuzzy. Something about a conveniently placed rock that he managed to come down on, but to have Deluge best him three times in a row? That felt bad. What felt even worse was fading back into consciousness and finding... what the hell was going on here? Her words, something about living out of someone's shadow... fuck. Their little meeting had been tracked, and Dread's stomach churned. He stumbled back to his feet, trying to push towards the combat before him. Beneath him, the ground seemed to shift. He's still dizzy. It won't stop him.

"Don't hurt her," the young man rushed forward, still trying to find his footing. The words are snarled at his father, teeth gleaming in the afternoon sun. His hackles were up, head low. Rushing to close the gap, moving to her side, expression shifting between hurt and confusion, anger, nausea. "Don't fucking hurt her!" Dread's voice cracked as he tried to position himself between Deluge and the Warlord. His pulse raced. This was the first time he'd stand up against his father, and to him, the reasoning was more than fair. His jaw clenched. It was the closest to menacing that the yearling had ever been. Adrenaline coursed hotly in his system. His sides and stomach both hurt, and there was a ringing in his ears.

"speech"