TKO [Pierce/Niko]

In the three or so days that he’d known the truth about his parentage, his history, really, Gaspard had been a wreck. He’d seen muggle movies about some random guy going through some crisis of discovery, but now that he was that guy, it was severely less interesting. Sleep was hard to come by, and he hadn’t felt like morphing, almost blaming his element for everything that had been happening lately. He still ate, though it was out of necessity more than for enjoyment, because even in the midst of his own small breakdown, he still had responsibilities to keep, and doing so while putting on a front sapped what little energy he had left.

If he was being honest, he’d thought about drinking himself into the bottom of multiple bottles, or getting in touch with the right people, muggle or wizard, to get his hands on heavier more illicit antidotes. But in the end, he’d decided that neither option was a real solution, and that they would only make keeping up a mask harder, especially as he got more and more worn down by the weight of the knowledge now on his shoulders, so instead he kept everything bottled up, where it kept the secret safe, but ate away at him like an acid. The resulting Gaspard, when alone with his own thoughts, was moodier than usual, sullen, and angrier at the world than he’d ever been before. He was mad, furious, with Niko, too, and had been avoiding the Icin elemental since they’d left their little ‘meeting’. At the root of his anger was, of course, hurt and betrayal, but the Zealot refused to acknowledge his feelings, subconsciously afraid of just how much that would hurt.

Gaspard had still not been able to wrap his head around all the details, all the minutia that seemed to pile up only adding further insult to injury. He’d made the mistake of walking past the Demin temple once, and had had to force himself to keep walking, even though he’d felt the strong urge to find, and to see his birthplace, however twisted the whole thing felt. He hadn’t had any reason to interact with the council elders, who he had an equally strong urge to strangle, if he was putting it mildly. He was livid with them, still unable to comprehend their logic, their roles, how nobody had said or done anything to stop all of this from happening. And the knowledge that he had played a hand in similar things made his stomach twist into knots. But it was all too much to try and process all at once, and so he was left to deal with the most basic of his emotions, and the first wave of realizations.

Like Niko, he’d been avoiding Rozenn too, although he didn’t think he was mad at her, his mother. He had yet to say the word aloud, and it still felt incredibly foreign, even inside his own head. But what did someone say to their mother who they had just found out about after forty some years of unwitting separation, who had been, and still was his teacher? He didn’t know. And, it made him feel strangely small, like he was seven years old again, and left to fend for himself once more. In a way the blonde felt shy, in some perverse way, curious but wanting to keep his distance. Curious to know about Magnus, despite the fact that his curiosity made him feel juvenile.

He’d had his foster parents, too, although Gaspard hadn’t had any real contact with them since he was a teenager, not wanting to put up with the awkward attempts to act like the council had been the right place for him. He did wonder if they knew, though, who he had been all along, and if that were the case, he’d decided to never speak to them again despite the fact that he bore their last name, a name that didn’t feel like his own despite the fact that it had been the only one he’d ever known. His confusion only served to make his angst worse, but being as stubborn as he was, the man refused to admit that he was feeling any of it, out of an attempt to self-preserve.

The end result was that Gaspard’s patience and temper were waning, and he’d had to use the last bit of self-control he’d had that day on getting through lessons with his students, really he’d just wanted to finish the lessons and go home, back to Paris. He hadn’t gone back to his quarters at the Council since the night Niko had told them the truth, unable to look at the familiar four walls just yet. So instead, he’d settled for waiting to meet with Simon before he headed home in one of the main corridors, knowing that he was less likely to be bothered by passersby if he was amid the hustle and bustle, no matter how much he didn’t want to be there. He stood against one of the cavernous walls and watched various elementals walk by, some silent in contemplation, others chattering away in small groups, and then his eyes landed on Pierce Lachapelle.

Not only did he find the Typh elemental obnoxious on his own, never mind that they were rather similar. But he’d seen the few stray looks that had passed between he and Zoe. He couldn’t be sure, but he was suspicious that something was going on between the pair. Normally, that small suspicion wouldn’t have irked the Garth at all, it was against Council rules, but he wasn’t going to bust anyone for it as long as they were smart about it. Or, that would have been what he would have done in the past, before learning about his own existence. Now, it gave him much more trouble than he would have liked. Though that’s not why he found himself watching the other elemental intently, no. He was jealous, whether he realized it completely or not, that Pierce was with Zoe.

And in his current state, the emotion was like a red hot nerve, fueled by his anger at everyone and everything all at once. He hadn’t planned on doing anything, but they happened to make eye contact, and Gaspard found himself spitting derisively on the ground near his feet, just barely being able to restrain himself from saying something to accompany it. But he was certain his message was clear, he wasn’t in the mood. 

@Pierce Lachapelle & @Nikodim Balaur

Things weren’t great, but they weren’t terrible either.

Pierce was finally starting to feel alright at Inverness again. His lessons were conistent, he’d started to make new friends, he’d started to feel like he could do this. It was a far cry from the way he’d felt a few weeks ago during his first lesson, when it seemed like all he knew how to do was make mistakes. He was leaning against a tall column, talking to a few other elementals as the day wound down, when he felt an icy stare raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

Gaspard Archambault had never liked Pierce, and to be honest he didn’t know why. The man was a bit of a legend, at least in Pierce’s mind, being exceptionally strong and intelligent and handsome. At some point, though, they’d bickered. Pierce was mouthy, Gaspard wouldn’t have it, and ever since they’d been opponents in a frosty, ceaseless stalemate. And now, after all these years, he finally saw him again. Just as distant, just as handsome, just as icy. Just as unwelcome as before.

They all glanced at him, saw him spit on the ground like an outlaw. Pierce raised a brow. That seemed very unlike him. Something wasn’t right. The small group near him noticed it too and was quick to say their goodbyes. Pierce nodded, suddenly alone, suddenly angry. Here he was, a glorified popsicle, drifting in like the winter chill and freezing everybody out. Pierce was annoyed. He had no business being here, startling people, spitting like a camel. And all at once, the Typh was sucked right back into the searing, bitter anger that was festering between them.

“How charming,” he said with a grim expression, looking down at the saliva on the ground. He shot Gaspard what could only be described as a look of pity before taking a few steps towards him. “I bet that’s how you land all the girls, hmm?” he teased with a coy smirk. “Is it like your mating ritual? You spit on the heels of the prettiest maiden and wait for her to go ooh, yes, take me now,” he taunted as he sauntered towards him. He could feel it in the air, the thick tension, like static electricity tugging at the hairs on his arms, the fibers of his clothes. It fueled him but he couldn’t explain why.

“I’m flattered, really,” he said, moving ever closer. Too close. Too personal. “But I’m afraid I’m taken,” he said, knowingly, his eyes darting up to meet Gaspard's. He was flirting with danger, he saw that in the man's eyes. But what was he going to do about it? Nothing, like always. “Now if you’ll excuse me…” he purred, smirking victoriously at him. The last thing he wanted to do was waste another minute with him.

Pierce’s “How charming,” made Gaspard raise his head and jut his chin out defiantly as he snorted, clearly not impressed with the attempted jab. What did get under his skin though, was the way that the young Typh looked at him, that pity struck him right in his core, and he felt his temper begin to simmer in response. Who did this little shit think he was? Clearly judging him when he had absolutely no idea what he was dealing with. He knew that his reaction should have been anything but anger, but he could feel himself wanting a fight, wanting some form of confrontation. And, clearly Pierce was willing to deliver.

He continued leaning against the craggy stone, eyes never leaving Pierce, his hands still tucked into the pockets of his sweatshirt, although they’d formed into fists already. He flicked his gaze up and down the other elemental’s figure sizing him up, just in case things progressed beyond words, a cold, dangerous, smirk worked its way over his lips “Like you would know anything about being with a woman.” He said, his tone matching his expression. He waited a beat, watching the brunette get closer still, his own brand of taunt lacing his next words “you’re still wet behind the ears, a little pup.” He wasn’t interested in bickering about who could woo women better than the other, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Pierce insinuate that he was more skilled than him.

Then Pierce was getting close to being inside his personal space, and Gaspard felt his jaw clench, and his nostrils flare. The young Typh was really looking to push the envelope today it seemed. On any other given day, it might have impressed the Garth, but today it irked him like no other. Brown eyes narrowed at the youngster’s next jab. Zoe. So they were together, this confirmed it, and Gaspard felt his stomach lurch in some strange moment of disappointment, like he was a teenager finding out that his secret crush had eyes for someone else, and not a grown man. Another part of him took offense to the fact that Pierce was treating Zoe like a prize. She was a person, his friend, who he might have had some extra feelings for, and he was already irritated that it only served to drive Pierce father under his skin like a splinter “Don’t..” He began, before silencing himself, not wanting to give the man that kind of satisfaction, not more than he just had.

If his temper had been simmering before, it was nearing its breaking point now, and Gaspard knew that if Pierce said another word he’d be likely to lose his grip on the last shred of self-control he was clutching at desperately. But then Pierce was standing so near him that they were practically standing eye to eye, and he fixed him with that stupidly smug look, before turning to walk away – no before sauntering – away, and he felt himself lose that last bit of control. He felt himself push off of the wall behind him in one powerful stride, while his right hand left the pocket of his sweatshirt and grabbed for the hood of Pierce’s sweatshirt.

When he had a good grip, the blonde tugged him backwards with a soft grunt of effort, satisfied when the younger elemental was sent sprawling back onto his butt. Pierce had wanted to push the envelope, and now he was going to pay the price. With Pierce down, Gaspard followed him to the ground, quick to not give Pierce a chance to get up, effectively pinning him underneath him, and for a moment he considered using his powers, but the last bit of any logical thought in his head reminded him that using his powers would be grounds for serious consequences, whereas using his fists would be far more satisfying, and ultimately less to get in trouble for.   

Under normal circumstances, Gaspard would have let the other elemental up, given him a chance to really defend himself, but in his anger, he didn’t care. He’d already at least not attacked him from behind, that would have to be enough. It was then that his fist connected with flesh, followed by one and another before he’d pulled Pierce up by the front of his jacket making to pin him against the wall, his face expressionless save for the anger in his eyes. Gaspard relished the feeling, and felt no remorse, having no reason to fight someone with his hands in a very long time, and the fact that Pierce might not deserve it never crossed his mind, he was too caught up in the catharsis it offered him. He wasn’t sure if he’d said anything up until that point, but as he walked them back toward the wall he couldn’t resist smirking at him, like a fox that knew he’d caught a mouse “cat got your tongue, pup?” He taunted mercilessly before throwing the younger man backwards into the wall, toying with him in his rage. They were far from done here. 

Pierce ignored him, satisfied with the repartee. He wanted to get home, get away from him. Get away from the bad vibes. And as he walked away he almost felt proud of himself — proud that he hadn’t let him get under his skin too badly, proud that he’d stood up for himself. Then he felt someone tugging hard on the hood of his sweatshirt.

It happened very fast, shockingly fast, and for someone like Pierce who was used to going a mile a minute it was very disorienting to feel behind. The fabric of his hoodie was digging into his throat, choking him, hurting even more because it was so unexpected. He fell back, falling hard onto the ground, glancing up with wide blue eyes to see him — Gaspard — looking down at him like a mad man. Suddenly he knew he’d done something terrible. He’d only meant to tease him.

“Gaspard!” he said urgently, scooting back along the ground in an urgent attempt to create space between them. But Gaspard wasn’t listening, he wasn’t even there. Someone else was in his place, a beast filled with anger who was chilling in every sense of the word. Pierce let out a yelp as the man was upon him, pinning him to the ground, and he couldn’t believe it was happening. It felt surreal, like an odd dream, and he was waiting at any minute to wake up in a cold sweat.

“Please — stop!” Pierce beckoned before the pain silenced him. One punch, powerful and searing as knuckles collided with his eye socket. It sent a jolt through his whole body, one Gaspard could surely feel as he held him to the ground. Dazed, more knuckles collided, this time with his cheekbone. He heard no cracking, nothing too extreme, which provided some hope. At this point he’d gone limp, his body filled with a paralyzing dose of self-preservation.

“Gas — ” he tried, his voice weak, before a third punch split his lip, his jaw aching as he saw stars. This wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare, and it was very, very real. The wind was knocked out of him as Gaspard continued, pulling him upright like a ragdoll and smashing him into the wall behind. Every fiber of his being ached, but slowly the adrenaline was following in its wake. He was upright, Gaspard teasing him and allowing him to catch his breath. His body was building, preparing for battle. He looked back into Gaspard’s wild eyes, listened to his taunting words.

And as far as Pierce knew, his life could be at stake.

All at once he spit, marring the man’s face with bloody saliva and using the distraction to bring his knee up hard between his legs. It was below the belt, literally and figuratively, but Pierce and Gaspard weren’t sparring in good faith. He’d been assaulted, pulled from behind and mauled. He should run, he knew that, but his legs wouldn’t let him. He was shaking, his limbs unsure and unsteady. He was wired, electric, and on the brink of short-circuiting.

He brought a fist up, colliding it firmly with Gaspard’s jaw. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” he shouted, his other arm swinging and colliding with his nose. He pushed then, two hands on his collarbones, content with the blows he’d landed and wanting nothing more than to put space between them. The wind kicked up around them and Pierce wanted it to stop, but that was useless. His magic had always been volatile, untrained, especially now that he’d been away from the council all this time. On the grand scale, he was still a baby — a fledgling. A child.

“I can’t help it,” he said sternly, a panic behind his words. Clouds were rolling overhead and the last thing he wanted was for Gaspard to take that as a sign that magic had a place in this fight. As prideful as Pierce was, he was certain that if Gaspard began spell casting one or both of them would end up lifeless. And so he waited, hesitating, sure that his actions would anger the elemental but also hoping they’d be enough to put an end to this. There was something in Gaspard’s eyes, though, that made him truly fearful.

He took his focus off of Pierce for just a split second to wipe the bloodied spittle from his cheek and found himself paying for it dearly as Pierce’s knee connected with his manhood and sent him to his knees with a groan. Mixed with his sudden pain was more anger, anger that Pierce had been able to surprise him like that, and anger than he’d taken such a cheap shot. But before he could do more than instinctually drop a hand between his legs in agony, he felt – and heard – Pierce’s fist connect with his nose and he heard the sickening crunch of his nose breaking. It had been a good punch, part of him noted detachedly, but not hard enough to break his nose on its own. The combination of his falling to his knees, and the angle of Pierce’s punch must’ve been the perfect combination.

Still smarting, but starting to feel like he might be able to stand up again, the blonde swiped at his freely bleeding nose with his arm, not caring that it was staining his sweatshirt, before climbing back up to his feet and spitting out a large clot of blood. He stood still for a moment, trying to let the remaining pain dissipate, knowing that it would be a bad idea, even against someone inexperienced like Pierce to go rushing in, and Gaspard wanted to make the Typh pay for his cheap shot, too, but he wouldn’t stoop so low as to return the favor, no matter how angry he was. Having chosen his next target, Gaspard began moving to his left, intent on attacking Pierce’s kidneys. At his outburst Gaspard laughed, a strange sound with a broken nose, “Me? I’m fairly certain you started this by running your mouth. Someone had to teach you a lesson.” He used their brief dialogue as his own distraction, getting close enough to look the other man in the eye before driving his left fist home and into his abdomen.

Had he been in any other frame of mind, Gaspard would have tried to remind the younger elemental to breathe, to focus on drawing the energy back to himself, but at the moment, he didn’t give that, or using his own magic a second thought, things were already complicated enough, and he was too caught up in the moment to really take notice. Following up his last body shot with another Gaspard hoped to force Pierce into a corner, literal or otherwise, or to get into a good position to take him back down to the ground. Gaspard didn’t have much experience fighting like this, not since he’d been a teenager, but the few things he’d picked up from his friends had apparently stuck. He didn’t bat an eye as he waited for Pierce to make his next move, his focus still unbroken. He was so intent that he didn’t notice the winds continue to pick up around them. 

Pierce saw the pain he’d inflicted on the man and all at once was wracked with guilt. It was never supposed to be like this, two grown men fighting like children. Gaspard stood and it was all wrong — his nose was crooked, his smile stained with crimson. Blood poured from his nose and distorted his handsome, pale features. He looked like a monster, he looked like anyone but himself. Pierce still couldn’t believe this, believe him. He’d had enough. He wanted this to stop. He didn’t want to become a monster, too.

But then Gaspard was speaking, hissing at him. Even his voice was different now with his nose awry. Pierce realized he may have broken it, though he didn’t think he’d hit him that hard. “It was a joke, for Merlin’s sake!” he defended, affronted by the accusation. As if Pierce had started this, as if Pierce had been the one to throw the first blow. “You jumped me, you mauled me like a goddamn wild animal!” he shouted, anger filling him once more as a new wave of adrenaline fueled his veins.

His skin was hot, the hairs on his arms standing upright as Gaspard lunged at him, colliding a powerful blow with his stomach and knocking the breath from his lungs. Everything felt slower then, quieter, the air rushing out of him. The sky overhead darkened, thundering, and it was alarming. Warning bells, a looming toll. He wanted to speak, to plead, but there was no oxygen. No words. Only pain. Gaspard was relentless, slamming into him once more and knocking him back against the wall, cornering him.

This was starting to have a chilling sense of finality to it.

And exactly as they had once before, when he was trapped in a flooding temple with Erika Trickett, Pierce’s innermost abilities came to serve him. The air around them became thick, disproportionately filled with oxygen as he inhaled a deep and desperate breath. It recharged him, filling his lungs and sending waves of strength through his limbs. He nudged his shoulder hard into the man’s chest, shoving him off, as the clouds opened and drenched them both in rain. There was no hiding this now — everyone in the area would sense that something was drastically, powerfully misaligned. A bolt of lightning light up the sky like a beacon beckoning for help.

He was feral then, lunging at the man who’d nearly just knocked him unconscious and repaying it all tenfold. “You want a fight, Archambault?!” he shouted, pushing him hard onto the stone ground beneath and pinning him in a perfect reversal of his earlier misfortune. “I’ll give you a fight, you son of a bitch,” he grunted through gritted teeth as his hands found their way around Gaspard’s neck. He was losing all sense of control now, rogue magic seeping from his pores and running amuck throughout the atmosphere. He was consumed by it, fueled only by rage and a desire to make all of it stop — no matter what it took.

Niko could feel unconstrained energy seeping through his door. The air crackled with it and before he realized he had stopped meditating, he was on his feet and out his door, racing past a terrified-looking initiate who was on his way to summon him. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to get to the center of the ruckus as soon as he could, but once he neared the ring of onlooking elementals he knew immediately what had drawn him. Gaspard.

The Garth boy was tussling with another elemental, fighting with fists and knees like juveniles. Which was bad enough, but the other boy, a Typh Niko saw rarely in passing, was quickly loosing control over his element. It was unsurprising. The other elemental was maybe twenty at the most, and in a heated situation like this, even Niko would have been hard pressed to keep a lid on his powers.

It was raining, which did not improve Niko's mood. The bolt of lightning sent most gawkers rushing for cover, but the burly Russian waded into the fray. He wrapped a large hand around the back of each boy's neck and bodily hauled them apart, lifting them into the air. Their feet dangled a few feet off the ground as Niko shook both of them like misbehaving pups.

"Enough." Nikodim's voice was full of quiet menace as he let the lid slip from his power. The air around them was filled with a fierce and stiffling heat, so much so that it would be hard to breathe. Suddenly super-heated air slammed up and out, the noise like being on top of a thuderclap, driving the clouds away and vaporizing the rain. He reigned in his heat, but let his aura continue to pump out into the air around him. It was a powerful thing, at almost 100 years old, Niko was one of the oldest incin on Council grounds. He was powerful too, powerful enough that his name was being tossed around as Lario's replacement when the older man returned to the flame for good, besided the sheer strength needed to survive the life of a rogue-hunting Zealot. To the other two younger elementals, it would feel like standing too close to a wildfire, or a sun.

Niko shook his head, keeping both men aloft easily. "I am ashamed of both of you. Brawling like schoolboys. And letting your element slip? Here, where others could have been hurt by your lack of control? What do you have to say for yourselves?" He gave both of them another shake as he gave them hard looks. "SPEAK!" he barked, his temper flaring.

It was very wrong, what was happening, and yet in a twisted way it felt right. Right to be on top of him, having the upper hand, commanding the situation. Right to let go of control, to the let the energies inside him run wild and crackle through the air. He didn’t feel like himself, he felt like a whole new being — someone powerful and strong and commanding. But it all came at a cost, a horrifying cost. His grip was tight around Gaspard’s neck and with each passing second the man’s face was getting redder and redder. He should stop, he knew he should stop, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to let go of this feeling.

So thankfully, someone took it from him. All at once he was yanked by the collar, again, dragged into the air and yelping like a puppy. The stark, aggressive hold jolted him back to reality, all of his magic snapping back into his limbs like a broken rubber band. A boom sounded, echoing, louder than any storm as the clouds and rain were vaporized. Effortlessly, things were back to normal, as though nothing had even changed. A calm day, a drifting sunset. The only thing that was still alarmingly wrong was the man holding him aloft. He was as hot as a raging fire.

It was Nikodim, Pierce knew that much, but his senses weren’t sharp yet. The man was yelling, barking at them, but it only sounded like a mess of syllables to the Typh. Now that his magic wasn’t crackling on his skin he was feeling all of it — his swelling eye socket, his split lip, the aching in his limbs. Everything hurt, and being suspended in the air like this was not making it any better. Wriggling angrily the lithe blonde slipped out of his sweatshirt, falling to the ground beneath with a grunt. “Get away from me,” he barked back, glaring up at the Incin. It was instantly regrettable.

The man towered overhead like a Greek god, Zeus himself, and the heat radiating from his aura was palpably uncomfortable. He rose slowly, shaking, taking a few steps back. The realization of all that had just happened was washing over him in thick, guilt-ridden waves. He looked down at his hands, trembling, his knuckles raw and red. It was like he didn’t know himself, didn’t know what had come over him. He didn’t recognize the being he’d become only moments before and now he was asked to defend it?

“It was him,” Pierce said menacingly, glaring darkly at the man held aloft. “He attacked me, he tried to kill me,” he accused without a second thought. “And I wasn’t going to let that happen,” he said just as intently to the tall, imposing man. He swallowed hard, his resolve fading. Panic was setting in with the pain and he knew he had to get out of here, he had to get away from this. It was only a matter of time.

Pierce was strong, Gaspard had to give him that, despite the fact that his hands were wrapped tightly around his neck, and showed no signs of releasing him soon. Gaspard offered him a bloody smile, although it looked more like a grimace, oblivious to the rain he was strangely pleased that the other elemental was finally fighting back. Though, just before Gaspard could do anything to help himself, someone was separating them, or more aptly, Nikodim was separating them. And, even with his own blood rushing in his ears, and a lust for more violence still clouding his thoughts, a small part of Gaspard already knew that he was in trouble.

The first of Niko’s shakes and the thunderous sound of the storm being cleared away served to clear Gaspard’s head enough that the Icin’s words registered with crystal clear, and dreaded accuracy. As he came back to his senses, the blonde couldn’t help but feel like he was all of five years old again as he squirmed instinctually in reaction to the intense heat. He knew better, particularly concerning the turn of events that had lead him to this point, than to fight him. Knowing that Niko would never hurt him, but very aware of the fact that his patience was already wearing incredibly thin, the Zealot liked his chances better without drawing more attention to himself.

As Niko continued to scold them, and rightly so, Gaspard couldn’t bring himself to look his friend – his mentor – in the eye, electing to study the suddenly fascinating details of the ground beneath him. Now that his adrenaline was continuing to dissipate Gaspard felt ashamed of his own actions, to some degree, anyway. He regretted letting someone like Pierce get under his skin like that, not so much the loss of his temper, or what he had done, not now anyway. He still felt that the young Typh had gotten what he’d asked for. That didn’t stop him from flinching visibly when Niko barked at them, shaking them at the same time, knowing then for certain that they were in fairly serious trouble.   

Even still, Gaspard had been prepared to let Pierce speak his piece first, accepting the fact that it would largely place the blame on his shoulders, where it belonged. But when Pierce dropped to the ground, and took a tone with Niko that he objected to, his temper was momentarily sparked again, making him speak before he could stop himself, brown eyes narrowing as he spoke “you might be mad at me, but I suggest you re-evaluate your tone concerning Niko now.” In a way, he was glad that Niko had him suspended off the ground, not entirely trusting himself to control his own actions just yet.

He didn’t argue with Pierce at first either, still committed to letting him speak the truth. But found himself speaking again, though this time it was without much of the vitriol that had colored his words moments ago, instead filled with a strange mixture of amusement and sarcasm, his own body starting to feel the impact of their fight “That’s pretty rich coming from the guy who taunted me first, got up in my face, and ended up with his hands wrapped around my throat. But, did I physically start the fight? You bet your arse I did. Finished it, too. But let’s get one thing clear, if I had wanted to kill you, I wouldn’t have used my hands, nor would you still be breathing.”

He was surprised by the sound of his own voice, having yet to start feeling the throbbing of his nose. Swiping at his nose again, the flow of blood just starting to ebb, Gaspard still avoided Niko’s gaze, and instead focused on Pierce once more “What happened? That’s called a fight, and you happened to get your ass kicked" he paused to spit out another clot of blood, using it as rude gesture at the same time "try not to let your ego blow it out of proportion.” The Garth could feel his temper rising again, and forced himself to shut his mouth, squirming again in reaction to the stifling heat.

If Niko had been in a mood to be amused, the vastly different reactions of Gaspard and Pierce to his sudden appearance and intervention would have done it. Pierce snarled and thrashed himself free while Gaspard hung limp, trying to avoid catching Niko's attention again. The Russian had known the Garth almost his entire life, being there for much of the younger man's important events, treating him like a son. In contrast, the burly incin had only interacted with Pierce a few times, just to instruct him in the basics of his element like he did with most of the young ones who came through Inverness.

It wasn't surprising to Niko that the air elemental might object to being handled, but he seemed cowed once he was on his own two feet. Gaspard growled at the younger man and Niko felt a brief surge of pride, that despite the recent revelations and tensions between them, his French protege would feel the need to defend him. "Gaspard..." he warned in a low voice, but the corner of his mouth tilted up in the tiniest of smiles that only Gaspard would be able to see. He lowered the still-airborn man to the ground, although he kept a hand on his shoulder, a silent warning that he was not getting away so quickly.

He listened to both men, posturing still despite the situation. He huffed quietly to himself. Boys, he thought silently. He waited until they had both fallen silent before speaking again. "So it seems events conspired thusly: Mr. Lachapelle provoked Mr. Archambault and the later was the first to escalate the encounter to a physical altercation." He looked at both young men, sighing loudly. "No one would expect you to willingly submit the beating I can guarantee Gaspard would have given you. But," he continued, fixing the young man with a stern look, "you did nothing to de-escalate the situation. When I arrived, you were quite clearly on the offensive. You should have disengaged as soon as you had the upper hand. And Mr. Archambault is quite correct. If he had intended to actually kill you, you would never have seen it coming. Zealots are not so clumsy as to give a target the chance to retaliate."

"Since this was simply an issue of fisticuffs between two excitable and energetic young men, I see no reason to bring the two of you before the council for an official hearing. Unless," he gave them both hard looks, "either of you care to give me reason to bring you up before the Harbingers on counts of assaulting a fellow elemental and use of elemental magic with intent to harm others?" He looked at both of the young men in turn, daring them to challenge him. As a final nail in the coffin, Niko turned up his power another notch, the water from the earlier shower causing steam to slowly rise into the air as he made the space round the three of them into a sauna.

If he was being honest, the blonde was rather surprised that Nikodim hadn’t reprimanded him more strongly for the extra lip he’d given to Pierce, but he wasn’t about to question it, either. Narrowed eyes darted in Niko’s direction not sure whether there would be more to follow his initial warning. Either way, he was rather glad to be back on solid ground, though he noted the hand that lingered on his shoulder, knowing that he was still as stuck as he was moments ago, despite the growing itch to shrug the hand off and go home. Now that his adrenaline had worn off, all Gaspard wanted to do was shut himself away from just about everyone and everything, having done enough damage to his reputation for the day. But he had a sneaking suspicion that Niko wouldn’t let that happen as easily as he wanted it to.

Putting the thought aside for a moment, listening to Niko speak, this time to both of them. Knowing, for once, when he should keep his mouth shut rather than running it, Gaspard stayed silent, having nothing to contribute or deny in what the Icin was saying. In fact, the Frenchman found himself nodding slightly in agreement with him, silently noting that he could have, and probably should have, stopped the situation from escalating on a number of occasions, but because Nikodim wasn’t grilling him, the Garth wasn’t about to draw unnecessary attention where it didn’t belong, not when he came out looking as good as he was at the moment. At his stern look, Gaspard finally brought himself to meet the older man’s gaze, staring blankly and unapologetically back at him, in spite of his surely gnarly face, broken nose, blood, bruises and all.

There was, in Gaspard’s view absolutely no reason for news of this scuffle to reach the ears of the council elders, that was far more trouble than either of them wanted, whether Pierce knew it or not. And he had intended to leave it at that, doing nothing that might make him reconsider his luck at the moment, but before he could stop himself, he felt one of his eyebrows creep up in a silent challenge, not of Niko’s logic, but in reaction to his hard look and the additional increase in heat. He might have been worse for wear, but it didn’t stop him from remembering that he’d been mad at Nikodim too, and while he wasn’t going to make it a public scene, he certainly wasn’t going to let everything go at the drop of a hat.

Particularly considering just how defiant he was feeling at the moment. Flicking his gaze between the two other men, Gaspard shrugged, doing his best to appear as unaffected as he could considering the circumstances “I have nothing to add, as this is encounter would clearly only service to waste the elder’s time…” he finished, this time attempting to distance himself from Niko due to the intense heat, and a general reticence to share such a close proximity to him so soon. His eyes never moved from Pierce, curious to see what the younger man would do, and wondering if they would come to blows again.     

Pierce listened to Nikodim speak and was filled with a deep, burning annoyance. This day had been fine, his life had been fine. Gaspard was the one to come swooping in, descending on him at Inverness, grabbing him by the collar and trying to kill him. And still, Pierce stood before the elder, being reprimanded and scolded as his body ached. He narrowed his eyes at the man’s parlor trick, heating the air and sending steam billowing from the ground. This was hell already, they didn’t need special effects to sell that illusion.

Pierce clenched his fists, standing square, knuckles white as the heat rolled against his skin. He didn’t mind it, not at all. In a way it felt soothing to him, the warm air thickening around them all. It helped, a little, to know the heat would surely bother the icy Garth across from him. He wouldn’t mind seeing Nikodim turn the dial higher and higher just to watch the man melt away. He wasn’t speaking, only thinking, only taking in his surroundings and letting all of the vitriol inside of him fester deeper into his bloodstream. Anger was quick, burning and lashing. Hatred was deeper, slow and determined and bitter.

And hatred was all he felt. Hatred for this place, hatred for the Incin lecturing them, and most of all hatred for the antagonistic, ruthless man who’d wanted him dead.

He met Niko’s gaze as Gaspard answered his question, nodding curtly. He wanted to move forward now that Gaspard was free, to swing and claw and bite until he finally succeeded in stopping him for good. But now that it was all past he felt it — the sharp pain in his split lip, the aching of his ribs, the soreness in his shoulders. Everything hurt, his body was damaged, and whether he liked it or not he needed to mend. Even so, hell nor high water would give anyone the satisfaction of easing his pain. He’d settle this alone, on his own terms, as he was meant to be. What a fool he was, thinking he could belong here again. A fool to believe he was destined for anything but solidarity.

Rather than moving a muscle towards them, knowing surely that would seem offensive, he locked eyes with Gaspard’s unrelenting and obsessive gaze. “You heard Frosty,” he quipped, his tone chilling and uncomfortably detached. His eyes darted back to Niko. “We’re all good here,” he said bitingly, mocking this council and the very foundation on which it stood. That was how it worked around here — bury the negative, focus on the positive, unless it somehow suited the council’s needs. He wasn’t an idiot. They wanted this swept away and forgotten before anyone else got ideas.

Moving his hand to wipe some blood from his lip, an out-of-place scoff of laughter drifted from him. His eyes were back on Gaspard, taunting him, meeting him with pity rather than fear. Pierce would heal, he would survive. Gaspard would always be the villainous Garth who’d tried to murder a young Typh bystander. “I pity you,” Pierce said to him, his voice cool and breezy. His fists had wounded Gaspard’s form, but his words would wound his pride. "I really do." And all at once the boy took a few steps back, his body fading from view as he was enveloped by the winds — morphing into the breeze and being carried anywhere but here.

Niko fought down his rising temper and the urge to show the snotty little Typh what it felt like to have someone actually trying to kill you. The burly Incin was letting them both off the hook, for while Gaspard would be reprimanded heavily for attacking a younger elemental, it was Pierce who had lost control of his element like a child. Elementals who had no control over themselves were not well looked upon by the council. Niko had personally slain more than a few in his time as a Zealot.

He was glad to see the other boy puff off, but he still didn't let go of the Garth in his grip. Niko closed his eyes, taking a careful breath, then another. As suddenly as a light being switched off, the magic and heat was sucked back under Niko's skin. To the Incin, though, and Gaspard too since he was close enough, his aura roiled and bubbled. He was still far from under control. He turned back towards his hut, shooting warning glares at anyone silly enough to get in his way. Still, he held the other man firmly, guiding him and bringing him along.

"Come," he growled, voice low and controlled. "We are going someplace to talk about this." Niko had watched Gaspard carefully since he had dropped his bomb. He cared about him, thought of him as a son, and it killed him to see the other boy so torn. It was worse knowing he had a direct hand in his misery. It was Niko, after all, who had taken Gaspard from his mother seconds after his birth. It was Niko who had taken him to his foster family. And Niko who had kept this great and terrible knowledge from him as long as he'd known him. He could see the younger man flailing and falling and it was his turn to step in and catch him before he completely fell from grace. It was just what Niko would always do.

It wasn't too hard to steer Gaspard to his hut. He figured the Garth would rather get his scolding in private. Of course he probably wasn't entirely expecting Niko to throw a large handful of floo powder into the fireplace and drag them both into the hearth. "Dnezdo Drakona!" he said loudly and clearly. Then he and Gaspard were spinning off towards Niko's home in Switzerland.