Logs:Dichotomous Oppression
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| RL Date: 31 July, 2015 |
| Who: Ka'ge, Zymadiath, Iashun |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Two paths, no easy way out. |
| Where: Resident Quarters, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 1, Month 6, Turn 38 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Dee/Mentions, Celestra/Mentions, X'vin/Mentions, Euphemia/Mentions, Y'tob/Mentions, Droazu/Mentions |
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| The darkness is only truly oppressive when he fights against it. Tonight is one of those times. The pitch of night is so all-encompassing that it becomes suffocating, so heavy around his consciousness that it's stiflingly, so ever-burdening as it weighs on his soul, it's increasingly and terrifyingly claustrophobic. Ka'ge sat physically in front of a human judge, mentally in front of a draconic one. Iashun, his master's assistant and long-time exile supporter, sits across from him over a small wooden table, both of them regarding each other with carefully constructed poker-faces, though the older man draws his into a condescending turn of expression glaring down at the boy with all the knowing of a spy that could end a person with a simple slip of word to the right ear. "You haven't come to see me much lately." Iashun is an ugly man, his peppered grey hair combed over intermittent splotches of large balding regions, and reappearing in wayward growing patches creating inappropriately long, curled eyebrows and sideburns. His skin bares the pocketmarks of wrinkles and scars, criss-crossing each other in ways that make him unsightly, maybe even grotesque enough to make others want to look away, especially given his partially toothless grin and not particularly award-winning breath. "Weyrlinghood has-" "Did I ask you for excuses, boy?" The question made Ka'ge's jaw set, "No, s-" "Did I ask you to talk?" The man's amusement turns from growingly giddy to irrationally harsh in the blink of an eye, his ugliness increasing exponentially as the gleam of his stare changes to something outright dangerous. Prior to Impression, Iashun had taken his master's place in continuing his training in secret in his small resident's dorm, giving a hint at the ragged old man's skill. His skill was far more than as a blade, however, as Ka'ge was just barely starting to get a grasp of. He had eyes everywhere, and even more ears than that, seeming to be imbedded in the very walls themselves of the Weyr. Ka'ge reserves himself like a reprimanded child, sitting back into his seat, stilled into silence even if the glare in his eyes remain aflame. "Should we tick off your misconducts?" And by that, he clearly means gross mistakes, raising a hand to lift a finger with each. "Your fraternizing with that little girl- it's a good thing she's become useful, for your sake." It starts out light, but then begins to escalate with each word, the weight pouring over him as each point is counted, "Your consultation with a harper." Another finger lifts, then a third with, "Your hand in petty thefts that have absolutely nothing to do with your orders," And two more, "Threatening a life without taking it. And- Faranth help me- failing in the face of a figure of authority to keep up even the basics of a believable story. Droazu would be disgusted." It doesn't matter that Ka'ge knows in theory how vast Iashun's resources are. The hints of his seemingly omnipotent knowledge when he'd been so cautious in hiding his tracks, his personal if deleterious underlying schemes, makes him almost lose his composure for the sake of a stunned awe. But even if it's with sheer defiant resolve, he doesn't let such a thing show. The man smirks, the hand at once used for counting off his errors now waving briefly in dismissal. "And your little rendezvous with the heir?" A question this time, an invitation to dig his grave deeper. "Nothing so different than the current mission." Ka'ge says slowly, "To get close to the weyrling goldrider." "A task at which you're failing miserably, just like the rest of everything you've done. The number of informants that have reported you bickering with her has been mind-numbing. Are you so tactless, so naive, boy, that you are unable to even woo a single girl?" A swarm of thoughts are bit back as an answer to that. Tactless? My master didn't raise me to create romantic fairy tales. « You want a target. » Zymadiath pulls from his rider's mind, the statement neither prying nor criticizing. Only the bitter, raw truth that comes from the deepest, blackest region of the night that they both share. It's so easy. Ka'ge's eyes glaze as he lets Zymadiath's sense-deadening darkness take him the rest of the way. Iashun knows better than to strike him these days, even as he slips away into his shared mind and makes the old man wait to continue their meeting; such a transgression would have been unspeakable four months ago. But now? He wouldn't dare sacrifice everything for sake of re-instituting the obedience that is unquestionably still there. I want to be given a target. Just a name, that's all I need. To plan it, fulfill it. Deal out retribution without having to question. I want to be what they made me to be. « You want to go back. » There's no hiding in the dark, not for the two that belong there. Here, it's all politics. It's not simple. It's not linear. Everything's becoming more intertwined and convoluted the longer I stay. And everything they want, in the way they want me to do it, is based on chance. This power that they demand I take and retain is all based on chance. I don't deal in chances. The faster, more decisive means he can solve things, the better. « You will never have the power you desire while under their command. » Don't start with me. Ka'ge's mental snap is physical in his expression, not yet experienced enough nor quick enough to hide it. Iashun's fingers begin to tap rhythmically in the table. Tap, taptap, tap.. « Make your targets our targets. Make your vengeance our vengeance. Grow up, Ka'ge. Do you really need other people feeding you orders like an infant is spoon-fed breakfast? To suckle off the breast of a bunch of powerless, misled fools? Re-allocate your loyalties-» Enough! Ka'ge starts, the rage clear on his face in a flush of color, but Iashun's tapping ceases and he brings the boy's focus back to the present with nothing any less degrading. "Did you break your shiny new toy?" His master's assistant sneers, his laughter a throaty thing about as disgusting as the rest of him. It's clear he doesn't actually care since he continues without accepting an answer, "Remember, child. You are a tool meant to fight and fuck. You listen, you obey, you don't question. Jump when he says jump, die if he doesn't have a use for you anymore. You've barely been skidding by so far, barely staying under their notice. It's embarrassing. Amateur's work at best. You're nothing worthy of calling Draozu your master." He feels so small under the scrutiny of both his judges, being flayed open at his core by his dragon while being dragged naked and willing through all his orders and mistakes by the men who control him. Those mistakes had been too many, their consequences more, "What do you want me to do?" It sounded weak. He felt weaker. « Better.» "Better." The voices are dizzyingly in unison. « Do better. » "Do better." |
Comments
Aleudre (20:48, 31 July 2015 (PDT)) said...
Whoa, that man sounds DISGUSTINGLY frightening to look at. And I'm sorry, but this just broke my heart for poor Ka'ge!
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