little more bond
Nov. 7th, 2008 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI need to stop posting this a page at a time. But, lately I've been so bloody lazy -__- I really think vacation will help. I'm just too burned out to be worth shit, anymore. Or I could just be making excuses. Hmmm.
James smirked at the memory, and continued to eat.
A few minutes later, he began to feel unaccountably sleepy. He might have attributed it to his still needing a bit of recovery…except he had suffered far worse, and recovered fast, and he knew how it felt to be drugged.
Then the sleepiness went from bad to worse, and he glared as best he could at his host, who sat watching him, expression unreadable. "You drugged me," James said, feeling extremely insulted. "You speak of honor like something out of a novel, then drug me?"
"For your safety," Ardeth said, and moved slowly—so slowly, or likely that was the drugs now—to James' side of the table.
He fell back as the drugs won out, preferring to avoid falling over in his food, and felt a hand catch his head before it struck. Then black.
When he woke some time later, it was to a mild throbbing, the kind just strong enough to be irritating but not bad enough it was worth taking anything for it.
Though, when he recalled the reason for the headache, it immediately doubled. An urge to strangle someone always gave him a headache, usually because he knew he couldn't actually strange said aggravation.
It was night, and cold. They had at least seen he was adequately bundled when they dumped him back into his bed.
His safety, was it? James was many things, but a fool was not one of them. Not anymore. Not for a long time. Ardeth had lied about his wounds, no matter how prissy he got about his honor. Then there was the drugging.
So much for vacation.
A good or smart man might stay where he was obviously intended. James had never suffered over much from either affliction. Throwing back his blankets, he moved to the tent entrance and looked out.
Though it was obviously hard to tell in the dark, his impression was that the camp was largely deserted. Where did a group of men go in the middle of the night, in a desert? The obvious answer was to find trouble, or stop it, but what manner of trouble necessitated drugging him?
Well, if they thought he was some hapless, danger seeking idiot who didn't know how to control a plane…which, was half correct, at that…anyway, that was justification to drug him for his own good. However, Ardeth was not that stupid. He was obviously a leader, and a higher ranking one at that. No leader sat in the tent of a rescued man to watch over him. Such work was given to a soldier of slightly more minor rank.
If Ardeth had watched him, it was because he suspected James too dangerous to be handled by anyone else. Or he thought James pretty, but somehow James didn't think that was the reason.
Scowling, realizing belatedly this whole affair would be rather awkward without proper shoes, he stifled a sigh and abandoned his tent. If his host was going to insist upon seeing to his safety, James would at least do him the courtesy of suggesting he up the dosage.
James smirked at the memory, and continued to eat.
A few minutes later, he began to feel unaccountably sleepy. He might have attributed it to his still needing a bit of recovery…except he had suffered far worse, and recovered fast, and he knew how it felt to be drugged.
Then the sleepiness went from bad to worse, and he glared as best he could at his host, who sat watching him, expression unreadable. "You drugged me," James said, feeling extremely insulted. "You speak of honor like something out of a novel, then drug me?"
"For your safety," Ardeth said, and moved slowly—so slowly, or likely that was the drugs now—to James' side of the table.
He fell back as the drugs won out, preferring to avoid falling over in his food, and felt a hand catch his head before it struck. Then black.
When he woke some time later, it was to a mild throbbing, the kind just strong enough to be irritating but not bad enough it was worth taking anything for it.
Though, when he recalled the reason for the headache, it immediately doubled. An urge to strangle someone always gave him a headache, usually because he knew he couldn't actually strange said aggravation.
It was night, and cold. They had at least seen he was adequately bundled when they dumped him back into his bed.
His safety, was it? James was many things, but a fool was not one of them. Not anymore. Not for a long time. Ardeth had lied about his wounds, no matter how prissy he got about his honor. Then there was the drugging.
So much for vacation.
A good or smart man might stay where he was obviously intended. James had never suffered over much from either affliction. Throwing back his blankets, he moved to the tent entrance and looked out.
Though it was obviously hard to tell in the dark, his impression was that the camp was largely deserted. Where did a group of men go in the middle of the night, in a desert? The obvious answer was to find trouble, or stop it, but what manner of trouble necessitated drugging him?
Well, if they thought he was some hapless, danger seeking idiot who didn't know how to control a plane…which, was half correct, at that…anyway, that was justification to drug him for his own good. However, Ardeth was not that stupid. He was obviously a leader, and a higher ranking one at that. No leader sat in the tent of a rescued man to watch over him. Such work was given to a soldier of slightly more minor rank.
If Ardeth had watched him, it was because he suspected James too dangerous to be handled by anyone else. Or he thought James pretty, but somehow James didn't think that was the reason.
Scowling, realizing belatedly this whole affair would be rather awkward without proper shoes, he stifled a sigh and abandoned his tent. If his host was going to insist upon seeing to his safety, James would at least do him the courtesy of suggesting he up the dosage.
