Private Finished Family? What family?

Daenmor finished his match, his clothes in tatters and his body sporting several fresh wounds. He spit blood onto the arena floor as he exited to head towards the showers. He hurt all over, but he was already starting to heal up and he had regenerated the worst of his wounds so he could walk rather than limp out. It wouldn't do for the crowd to see him struggling.

He tore away the remnants of his shirt as he stepped through the doorway, tossing the ruined clothes in the trash and making a beeline for the showers. He didn't want to stink of blood for too long.

@Kait

The smell of blood was something Daenmor was used to at this point. His nose was basically desensitized to it unless he wanted. So when he rounded the corner to the showers he could smell the faded, familiar reek of a Rukt'in. Not family. They'd made that abundantly clear during the first half of his life.

He barely recognized Fweiu when he locked eyes with her. Not that he had really spent any time with her before he had gotten exiled anyway. But after a few seconds it did click with him and he groaned audibly as he realized what this meant. That kid he'd spoken with before had said she was the new clan leader.

"Oh boy," he said with a sarcastic kind of upbeat cheer. "What does the all wise and powerful chieftain of the Rukt'ins want with worthless ol' me?"

Daenmor couldn't believe it. His shoulders slackened a bit and he crossed his arms in a kind of measured defiance. She was coming here to apologize: un-fuckin-believable.

A growl rose up in his throat, threatening to snap into a roar until he forced it down. "No. You don't get to do this. For half my goddamn life I got ignored and treated like I was nothing to you fuckers."

He unfolded his arms and closed the gap between himself and Fweiu, eyes narrowed and his pupils narrowing into reptilian slits. "Now that Eehol isn't in charge. Now that you don't have to look at him or deal with his tantrums. Now that it's convenient. Now you apologize. Try to mend fences."

Now he was in her face. He was a good half a foot shorter than her, but that didn't matter to him. He had a lot he wanted to say but he didn't want to shout and get kicked out. "Any one of you fuckers could have stood up and said 'no. We won't sct like this anymore.' But no."

"You came here to apologize, Fweiu? Oh please. Blow me."

Oh the indignation and the anger. It was practically palpable coming off of Fweiu and Daen wasn't sure if he wanted to smirk or snarl. After a second, he chose the former because her response actually amused him.

Leaning in closer so she could smell the still fresh blood on his breath, Daenmor's grin grew sharper as his teeth changed into serrated fangs. "You think I don't know how you were raised, Princess? My mother, she always used to tell me 'don't be mad at your siblings. it's just the way things are.' What horseshit those fuckers fed her."

But his smirk fell as his pupils narrowed into reptilian slits. A deep, angry rumble started to build in the back of his throat. It took a lot of effort not to shout at Fwieu right then and there.

"Your father is fucking trash. And you were all simpering cowards who didn't want to incur his wrath. You don't get a pat on the back for trying to fix a bridge now that the one who burned it isn't in charge. You don't even know why it was burned in the first place."

At this point he'd already kicked off his shoes and started unbuckling his pants despite still being in the hallway. Nodding his head past Fweiu to the shower room door, he added, "Unless you plan on following me in there, I think we're fucking done."

Daenmor did not, in face stop when Fweiu tried to get in the way of him walking into the shower. When her arm came out to block him and she started to partially shift, he glared up at her with his sharpened teeth bared.

He shifted himself, becoming just as tall, just as bulky, and covered in thick white scales and fur. And then there were his tusks. Each six inches long, wicked sharp and serrated hanging down from his upper lip. His clothes ripped as he grew; he hadn't inherited the convenience of having his clothes change with him. Not that he really cared.

He didn't switch languages as he stepped right up into Fweou's face. If someone heard him, he'd let them hear.

"Speak fucking plainly. Didn't you all come to this island not to hide anymore? So quit hiding. So if you're going to threaten me, fucking threaten me then. But if you want to apologize, you've got to fucking earn it. You say you see my wounds, but you're fucking ignoring them and trying to cover them up with an apology that isn't just yours to give. Your words mean shit when your community still thinks like he does. When they call me trash for daring to exist."