So I'm playing the Sims, and I have a vampire and a werewolf who just had a baby. And I've just realized that in trying to make a child who will unite both races, I've created a child who both races automatically hate and is scared of both the moon AND the sun.
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While looking for the ch'r'ai in the wake of the doctor's maybe-treachery, Rakha and the others find their way into what appears to be Creche Y'llek's training hall.
A crowd of some six or eight githyanki students stand on the edges of the combat floor; a young dark-haired man is crouched on the floor at the center of the room, with an older man standing over him and battering him with vicious kicks and even more vicious rebukes.
The boy cries out with pain at each blow, and the sound draws Rakha like a moth to a flame; the ghustil's death has in no way sated the beast in her head.
"K'chakhi!" the older man is bellowing disdainfully as Rakha approaches. "We are training to fight ghaik! You think they will hesitate?"
"They won't need to if we keep killing each other for them!" the boy cries resentfully. "It's-- it's stupid! Orph--"
He's cut off from whatever he as about to say as the older man gives him a brutal cuff across the head. "Silence!" he snaps, then looks over his shoulder to glare balefully at Rakha. "It seems your childish prattling is attracting an audience."
For a moment, he and Rakha simply stare at each other, sizing each other up.
Sa'varsh, the boy called him. Rakha knows the word; Lae'zel has used it before. Instructor. This is military training. The sharpness of the man's gaze reflects it; he is as unimpressed with Rakha as he is with his students.
Rakha looks back at him steadily, her expression giving nothing away. Inwardly, she is still raging. The smell of the ghustil's blood is still in her nostrils and the beast still hungry for further death. Perhaps Lae'zel is right and the doctor acted alone in betraying us. But I doubt it, so I advise you not to push me, sa'varsh.
It's hard to say if the sa'varsh understands the unspoken threat, but he looks away without speaking to her and focuses back again on the boy instead. "You fight again," he says crisply. "This time, daggers only. And to the death, as instructed." His voice lifts to address the other students in the room. "Who wants to challenge this sniveling is'tarki?!"
Rakha's head snaps around and the beast perks up eagerly at these words. To the death. Yes...
"We have no time for this, t'rac'shka," Lae'zel mutters under her breath. "We must find the ch'r'ai--"
Rakha ignores her, unable to turn away now from the drama playing out. Her pulse quickens and her eyes dilate as the beast struggles to take over.
Stand back and relish the blood-show.
One of the other students - a sly-looking woman in leather armor - speaks up from the corner, her eyes narrowed with excitement. "I've been practicing every night, Sa'varsh! Let me have a go!"
The instructor nods. Rakha sees the boy turn visibly paler as he looks at his new opponent.
"I-- I refuse!" he stammers out, raising both hands placatingly. "There has to be a better way--"
His words cut off into a high, choked whine as the woman's knife sinks to the hilt into his abdomen. His eyes widen and he staggers, falling to his knees, then collapses and lies still on the stone floor.
Rakha feels a deep shudder work its way through her whole body as she watches a puddle of blood begin to ooze slowly outward from the boy's fallen form.
Yes... good... whispers the beast with deep satisfaction. The ghustil's death was good, sated your rage, but this boy died in cold blood, pleading for his life, innocent. That is better.
-----
"That boy did not have to die," Wyll mutters with a frown.
"Jhe'quith dvenzir," Lae'zel says. "The termination of the frail. A necessity, lest the creche be weakened by its feeblest unit. He would have been a liability."
"You killed many, this way?" Rakha asks in a low voice.
"I did - lest I be killed in my turn." Lae'zel shrugs. "It is Vlaakith's will."
So was the zaith'isk, Rakha thinks, but she doesn't say this aloud.
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"Khm. So." the clown shows up with a huge bouquet in hand. "I've heard congratulations are in order, so here. Take this. Happily ever after with Kidd or whatever." He feigns hurt but there's a little wicked grin creeping up to painted face. Clearly, he's just here to mess with him. (from piratekingbuggy, because he was lowkey jealous while I was on the floor laughing)
“Buggy,” he whines. “It was a joke." His eyes are large and sad, but he edges closer and closer with each step and the sad look shifts into something mischievous. He takes the flowers from his friend's gloved hands and drops it to the side without so much as a glance.
He looks thoughtful for a moment.
“If I didn't know any better I'd say you sound jealous.” Shanks said with a subtle taunt, eyes drifting away, and gives a quick shake of his head. “Now I'm sure that's not true. You're an Emperor now, after all. And what reason does a might Emperor have to be jealous of some rookie.”
His hand tangles in the other man's coat and he uses it to pull the pair closer together. Shanks' smile shifts into something more playful as he hand gently strokes Buggy's cheek.
“You're smarter than him, clearly. Better looking. Your make-up's better, too.”
[ unprompted / @piratekingbuggy + @ferromagnetiic ]
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