Someone once told me, "pride and peace can't fit on the same plate. You have to choose which you want more." It sometimes gets a little depressing to watch people yelling at each other so harshly instead of just talking it out. And yet, they do it over and over, without pause. You think one will eventually grow tired of this and give in first, but they don't. They just get their strength back and do it again. Pride is a stupid thing, but when it's all you really have left...who knows what you'll do to hold on to it.
A/N: my LJ account has been revived (again, as zeffncompany). Any thoughts or forewords on the writing that aren't here will go there.
Before they left, neither said a word to the other. Neither expected any word, either.
One left. One stayed.
Both had a battle to fight, and both fought their battle.
One returned. One waited.
When they were reunited, they did not even pause for a break.
Right away, they were yelling at each other.
It had been so very, very sudden that the rest of their company did not see it coming until it had hit its full scale. Perhaps it had been just a harsh whisper, or a soft jibe. Perhaps not even that – all it could have taken was a single body gesture, even just one finger. No one saw any of this until the two responsible let them see it.
And now they yelled at each other, and all anyone else could do was duck and run.
They had a silent agreement with the rest of the world that only the silence would be disturbed – they threw nothing but insults and harsh language. They strove to break nothing but the other's resolve. If anything was to be damaged at the end of the day, neither would allow it to be anything material.
It was all words, all anger through loud harsh voices.
They shouted and cursed. They mocked and taunted. They made as many oaths as slanders. They accused the other as much as they defended themselves.
There was nothing the suddenly hushed little town – their world – could do but listen in silence.
No one stopped them. They needed this.
They needed to sort this one out amongst themselves, no matter how many times they had to do this.
They eventually lost their volume… eventually they grew quiet… Shouting their selves hoarse long before reaching any resolution to whatever they were arguing about.
Neither would look at the other. Neither said a word to the other.
Neither expected any word, either.
If they could, they would say so much more than what had been uttered in anger…
They would ask why the other was so rash, to do something so stupid or risky. They would demand to know why the other would risk losing their life as they did.
They would ask why the other did not trust them to fight their own battles, to do things right their way. They would demand to know why the other would even think that they were the weaker one that needed constant protection.
They would admit that they had been worried sick.
They would have apologized.
But no words were said – even if their voices could carry any more, their pride would not let them.
They would not even look at each other, choosing to remain angry and misunderstood.
They nearly lost everything in their previous battle, and now the other showed them they had lost respect and trust.
All they had was their stupid, stupid pride. This useless dignity…
It was all that was left…
Neither man could let go.
Just like that, neither said a word to each other. Neither expected any word, either.
One left. One stayed.
They would reunite eventually, and they would do it all over again.
Their stubborn pride – and their equally stubborn need to see the other was alright – would make sure of that.