Prompt: #35 Strong

Summary: Everyone has something to contribute to the group.

A/N: Companion piece to the Psychic Prompt. If you'll remember, I called Gladiolus, "Durus", within Adventum and Creperum. Now you know why. ;)

Durus is Latin for "hard, harsh, strong, rough, tough".

Durus

If you were to ask whether the common phrase, "Appearances can be deceiving", applied to him he'd deny it so fast you'd feel the whiplash. Not because it wasn't true. It's that he scoffed at the cliché. He was what he was and whether you were smart enough to see it or not, was your own misconception. What he thinks is even more moronic was that people thought he was stupid too. Where did it say that being tough was the same as being stupid? That muscles meant no brain? It wasn't in any scientific text he'd ever read and he's certainly checked. Wasn't the brain a muscle to begin with? If anything, he'd say that would make him smarter than the average twerp. Makes him scoff every time he ran into such an ignorant idiot. He has no idea where the prejudice came from, but he made sure people knew the score real quick. Those ones that thought he'd be easy to outsmart and slow on the uptake. He thinks it might have more to do with the long, jagged scar that ran down his eye. Almost strategic, but again, when did scars mean stupid either? The scar just made his already rigid features that much more sharp. He wasn't a pretty boy and wouldn't have come close even if he didn't have the scar either. He preferred not to even look close to one, hands down. There was never any doubt that he was all harsh male at first glance. He had that patented intimidating, death glare perfected to a tee. Didn't ever take much to make an enemy quiver in his boots with that. A little knuckle crunching went a long way too.

When his charming good looks weren't enough of a motivation (and he really hated it when that was all it took) he had his little old lady to do the talking for him. Affectionately called, Battle Axe, she's met many a foe with the sharpness of her blade. She was a thing of beauty. Long, curvy and sharp and when he shined her (which was frequently) the shiny glean of her metal was something to behold. The perfect companion. He and the guys considered this (the sharpening, cleaning, oiling and finishing of their weapons) their male bonding time. Even with all the fancy crap sold in shops for the upkeep of their personalized beauties, that guaranteed faster results with less effort, he had no use for them. He knew they felt the same. There was nothing like the feel of the blade sharpening under the musical glide of a smooth rock. That wasn't exchangeable in his opinion. Keeping his armory in tip top shape was a matter of pride for him and for his friends too.

Battle Axe, just like any old lady, seemed to know just what he needed when he needed it too. The over compensating morons, with the fancy armor were such overkill it makes him want to roll his eyes. Why the waste of iron melding to make such fancy monkey suits? They were useless. It didn't make sense when it took away your flexibility and your sight. Two things that were absolutely vital in a fight. It didn't even really shield you either. Especially against he and his crew, who all knew where the armor was weakest. All the same, every battle left a dent in his lady and that meant some hard pounding with a heavy mallet and a very hot broiler. But the heavy slamming was soothing too. He got to beat out his remaining adrenaline and anger while he went about removing the dent. Whatever those brainless minions were using in their suits, it was definitely resilient, but put enough force against anything and it'll eventually crack. Force was what he had in spades.

Looking at the other three that made up their little band, it was a no brainer what his role was in this outfit. The Brawn. The Muscle. The Brute. He was the tallest. He was the bulkiest. He was the most muscled. He had the ugliest mug. The kind only his mama could love. Which was more than okay with him anyway. His mother was a good woman and he liked to believe she had raised a good man. Regardless that he didn't look like a good man, that wasn't the point. He'd never been a bully, even though he'd used intimidation more than once, but only when the need arose. But he's never taken advantage and he only got violent with those that had it coming. Defending his country and his friends and the royalty were what he did, at all cost. It was what he wanted to do. Picking on the innocent and less fortunate was a no. Frak no. His mother had taught him better than that. What he did suited him just fine and there wasn't a thing he'd rather be doing instead. What guy didn't appreciate a gig that paid him to hang out with his friends and kick some bad guy ass? To be a hero? Otherwise, he'd probably be stuck as some pansy office worker, pushin' paper in a small cubby. (shudders) That would have been the only way he could make enough to support his mother and himself. So no, this life suited him. The perks weren't even what made it all worth it either. Just that sense of accomplishment was good enough and then getting paid for it to boot. Sure, mother would have preferred he do something a little less dangerous but these were dangerous times. One can't have it all, but he think he's pretty darn close.

He was a simple man and under the rough exterior, soft hearted and kind. He liked simple things. Not because he was too stupid for the more challenging, but because he left the hard decisions to Noct and Ignis. He preferred to leave that stuff to them. His role wasn't as The Thinker, afterall. They were the brains and if he had any opinions, he made sure to chime in. something that he always cherished and appreciated was how the others always put his thoughts into consideration too. They were the geniuses and they were smart enough to realize that if he bothered to say it, it should be noted.

Shy, was not a trait he was familiar with. His line of work was not for someone who was timid. Other times? Well, even in other times, bashful wouldn't be a word you'd think of when you saw him. Besides, he wasn't The Talker either. He was the steely looking fellow with his arms crossed, glaring at you while he waited for his instructions. But, to his secret embarrassment, he could be shy. Certainly not to other men and not exactly to every woman either. As big a brute as he was, sometimes a little old lady could have him blushing like a choir boy. That seemed to be one of his weaknesses. Those frail little grandmas with the constitutions of his beloved Battle Axe. They were part of the ones who had him tongue tied, blubbering and actually tip toeing his massive weight to get out of their way. All so that he could end up imitating a cherry when they patted his stomach (they could never reach any higher) and said he was a good boy.

Women weren't exactly a problem for him. They weren't necessarily a solution either. He stayed away from them mostly, because they fell into "complicated". No, it was more like a head scratching, clueless kind of confused complications. It wasn't too hard to pick on up for a night but trying to do something like having a deep, meaningful relationship had him quaking in his boots. Really. Literally, hands sweaty, beaded forehead and knobby knees kinda terrified. Darn well intimidating, relationships were. Horrific. He was not a smooth operator like Pro when it came to the ladies but he's always felt words were really a waste of time. Time which could instead be used for other things, not wasted trying to sound slick when they should know the game already. Attraction was there or not. Simple. Just like he preferred. Not that all women didn't deserve being wooed, but he didn't have the mind for something serious enough to try courting. He always made a point of treating any lady he was with well. It was just never a permanent thing. Which is why he stayed away from innocents. The nice, homey ones that you had to marry, buy a nice house for and have kids with. Maybe, eventually he'd settle for that, but not in the near future. That was for sure. If he ever had one, that is.

Given his profession, he's never expected to have a long life. But lately, the end seemed sooner than later. He's not afraid of dying and he's always wanted a hero's kind of death. So that was fine with him too. It's just that he can't shake the uneasy feeling that life was gonna throw him the mother of all curve balls. He didn't like the implications of something that complicated. He was a simple man afterall. He wasn't cut out for that self meditation, self awareness, new age bull. He left that up to Noct and Ignis. But it looks like he wouldn't be getting a choice this time.