Jordan Wadcock is an Enlgish honey badger (badgering) wrote in thenow, @ 2010-05-09 22:09:00 |
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Holidays were always the worst for Jason Brennan. The fact the Magpies were playing the Harpies tomorrow was something that would have made this holiday, one all about family, cheer and good will toward men, a great deal more bearable. Of course now that was taken away from him, all bets were off. Without limits and dealing with the wrong side of mania, nothing good would come of this. He knew that when he started out tonight, on some level at least, but he didn't care.
Brennan needed the adrenaline rush, the feel of flesh on flesh until he was bleeding and bruised. He needed to cause a fight, break a some tables, a few chairs and possible a rib or two before he could settle again. And if he had to come down from it in a holding cell, well, that was fine too. Yeah, Tyler might have something to say about it later, but the fucking Prophet didn't have time to deal with delinquent quidditch players where the world was ending. And if they did because that was what the people needed, well, who was he to deny them?
It was the season of giving.
The lip he gave the guard on duty meant sitting in a cold cell, feeling all the pain jet through his body as the adrenaline burned off. He supposed he would have cared if it wasn't for the fact that for the past couple of days this was the most he felt connected to his own body. Even grappling with a man unknown of who would win (even if he was fighting to lose) was the first time he felt in control of his life and he needed that control. Without it the Ken Harringtons of the world came in and ripped him apart, physically and mentally until nothing was left. He was just doing enough to push them out. Sighing he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. Merry fucking Christmas, he thought bitterly.