Pride is a funny thing.
In the end, it is nothing but a word- a word that people would fight for, bleed for, die for. A silly concept, a heat in your chest, a thrum in your blood.
Two men, whose entire beings were ruled by this word, sat in an alley on opposite walls, winded and beaten but far from surrender. The heat from their fight was dying off and both were coming to realize their foolishness, their knuckles aching and their blood running red.
The shorter man looked at the Dutchman with a certain ferocity in his eyes, crimson liquid dripping down his unruly hair onto his forehead as he panted, catching his breath. “Disappointed again?”
“I don’t feel like doing math today, I have a party to attend in the evening,” Fer claimed, when he met Ben after school.
It was the next Friday and none of them has mentioned their little adventure so far.
“Great, you didn’t have to wait for me then.”
“It was polite to tell you,” he shrugged.
“So you decided to go with politeness now?” Ben frowned sarcastically and unlocked his locker to put his textbooks in.
“You should be glad, right? You always complain about me lacking manners.”
“One ‘kindness’ won’t amaze me. And I’m capable enough to deduce you have a different program.”
The brunet leaned on the other locker with his shoulder. He looked around to assure himself there’s no one else than a few first years left.
“Ever been to a party, Andersen?”
Benjamin didn’t even have to reply, his expression showed all.
Fernando started to laugh. “Thought so.”
Não me consigo decidir se o pirralho é Lusicaraças ou Gallacoiso, por isso por agora fica-me na cabeça que não é nem um nem outro, mas sim a zona de Portus Cale que tanto vai chatear os de Sul como os de Norte. Tudo isto porque a Lusitânia não abrangia essa região, que pertencia à Gallaecia, e que mais tarde se tornou no condado Portucalense, e mais tarde ainda o Reino de Portugal, reconquistando mais tarde para si os territórios lusitanos.