Not The Bad Guy



Date: 2010.11.03
Location: Max's Stall
Synopsis: After his meeting with Randi, Max returns to his stall, the stress and frustrations of the day boiling over.
Rating: PG13
Logger: Max

It was just as well Ahnika had been unable to slip away from the barracks, despite the fact that she was probably exactly what he needed right now. By the time the beast manager got back to the beast caverns from apprising Randi of the situations at hand, the darkness he’d been keeping at bay since leaving Telgar and arriving back in the Weyr early that morning, broke like a thunderstorm about him. With an impotent roar of frustration he hurled the carrysack across his stall where it hit the opposite wall with a harmless thud.

First the goldrider had accused him of lying to her because he’d dared to keep the confidence of those whose lives were in his and Indira’s hands. Never mind that it had been two of those very people who had without hesitation jumped to her aid when the Hatching Sands had been breached. Or when a stalker had almost forced himself upon Ahnika and Faranth knows what other women if he’d not been able to hunt him down. Yes, because those had been situations of his creation! Another frustrated curse got flung out onto the empty night air.

And then to top it off, she’d suggested that the recent troubles in the Weyr were of his doing and that any further troubles were likely to be laid firmly at his door too. What the fuck!? He hadn’t asked for any of this! Had only ever done what was necessary to help out people who’d gotten into something deeper than they could get out of by themselves. He’d been keeping his head down, laying low and out of trouble ever since. And then those stupid bastards had to have a go at Renegade and…well, the rest was now the black mark of history against his name apparently as he wasn’t about to put Jaya on the sacrificial altar.

Anger and frustration roiled within his chest as he paced back and forth fists clenching and unclenching, replaying the meeting with Kelarad. What could he have done differently? Had there been another way to keep the northern renegades attention off of the South? He didn’t know. Perhaps. But at the time laying claim to the Southern continent had made sense, had looked like a way for them to at least be able to control what went on rather than falling victim to it and standing by helplessly watching as Faranth forbid, another woman or clutch fell to horrific violations.

Max stopped, hands planted to hips, staring hard at the ground, chest still heaving with pent up emotion. Fine. The northern renegades wanted a face to place to Southern? He’d given them his own, thereby exposing himself directly to their attention. Randi, W’red and anyone else this sat ill with wanted a fucking whipping boy to point a finger at when it all went wrong? Then that’s what he’d be!

And inside somewhere, a small part of him turned to stone and he began to understand what it was that his father had meant by there being no rest for the 'wicked'.

Sleep wasn’t his to claim that night either.

Closing Credit Music: Seether - No Jesus Christ

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