OOCThey should have a AWOL badge to warn other RPers that there's people like me who thread, disappear, thread, disappear. I'm sorry for leaving you hanging.
“What are you going to do about it, Dhani?”
Baelin jerked back as if slapped, his nostrils flaring and his breath catching. His rage wavered at the implied accusation that he was one of them and he felt his cheeks flush with instinctual shame. The large man unconsciously tilted his head to better let his hair fall before snake pupiled eyes.
And then she took the name Dhani, threw it to the dirt, and ground her foot into it.
She was laughing at him. Trying to manipulate him into thinking that she wasn’t bad. Tying his heritage with some snake she met. Comparing that with her connection with other undead. Twisting his thoughts to make him see her like he sees himself.
Anger grew in him again. But it was not a tidal wave of rage. No, it was a cold fury. One that steeled his spine and had him clenching his fingers into tight fists. It was the calculated anger of a man who knew he was being played.
“Oh, they fell. I better just walk away. Death is death.”
Baelin sucked in a harsh, angry breath. Of course he wouldn’t just walk away. He could still see the boy clearly in his thoughts. How he laughed and ran with the others. The Eiyon felt like he could see what kind of man the boy would have become so clearly. Engaging. Outgoing. Confident in who he was and where he came from.
The Dira-granted memory seemed to be more vivid than any of his own memories. If Baelin took the time to look at it, he could probably count the number of eyelashes that lined the boy’s lifeless eyes.
Of course he wouldn’t just walk away.
She’s baiting you, he reminded himself, Don’t let her win. He clenched his fists even tighter and could feel a trickle of blood leak from the creased skin.
“Honestly, I think that makes me more humane than you. You’d murder and eat children while shrugging, saying ‘that’s life for you!’”
The blood mixed with the spilt beer as he slammed his hand down on the table and bellowed, “NO!!” He was on his feet now and leaned over her, veins raised on his scalp as his pulse raced through them in visible jolts.
Her smile instantly quieted him, a quiet reminder that she had been baiting him. And that he was a damned fool who got riled up too easily.
Baelin hissed though his teeth in anger and forced himself to unclench his fingers, splaying them across the battered table surface. He didn’t glance around the tavern. He didn’t want to seem weak. But he could feel eyes on him.
Control, Baelin, he reminded himself, Have some control.
He was so far playing into her hand. Everything she said, he rose to it like a dog. He was letting her twist him about her little finger. He needed to get this conversation under his control, not hers.
The half-Dhani licked his lips as he thought. He wished he was smarter. So many people he knew could probably think of something smart to do right now. He was sure his uncle or aunt or cousin or Fredrick or Ros or Mala or Rob could all twist this conversation back into their control. Hell, his father would be a better Eiyon than him right now. The thought was far from comforting.
What was something he could do? The Eiyon was pretty sure that everything he wanted to say, the Nuit already was ready for it.
So say something unexpected.
Chimes went by as he struggled to think of anything intelligent and unexpected.
And he came up with jack shyke.
Needing to say something, Baelin licked his lips and spoke softly to the table, “My mother died when I wass young. I don’t really remember her. But I remember my father clearly.” He looked anywhere but at the Nuit. This was a stupid idea. This was the kind of story he didn’t tell anyone, never mind a godless corpse. But he really couldn’t think of anything better.
“He hated me. I tried sso hard to be good, but nothing I did ever changed that.” He could still see his father clearly whenever he thought of him. He could vividly remember his words, his voice, and his expression as it curled in disgust. And that was hardly fair, because he couldn’t remember what his mother even looked like. Blonde hair. That was all his memory cared to store.
“When sshe died, I didn’t…I couldn’t undersstand why. I needed her. Sshe had been the only good thing. I sstarted sspending all my time at the Chapel. Dira’ss Chapel. And Vessta made me ssee.” Baelin licked his lips again, not sure what to say next. Not even sure if he should be saying any of this at all.
“I…My mother got ssick. There wass no higher plan to it. But it happened. Liffe went on. The people in Black Rock continued to live what’ss lefft of their livess without her. And sso did I.” In fact, going to live with his uncle was probably the best thing that ever happened to him. As cruel as her loss had been, life did indeed continue without his mother in it.
“Sshe didn’t…sshe died young. Too young. But once her heart sstopped beating, then that wass the end of Elia Holt. Her sspirit…it never died. It goess back in the cycle. Sshe’ss alive again, ssomewhere in Mizahar. Maybe with a sson who will get to grow up with her. It’ss not a thing to fight.”
He sucked in a harsh breath, still positive that this was a very lousy idea. The best he could come up with, sure. But this was the kind of story she could twist back onto him. He was telling her too much. It was too personal. She was a monster. This kind of ‘appeal to humanity’ likely wasn’t going to do anything other than dig him his own grave.
But he had come so far already. Best to see it through. He raised his gaze to meet hers and studied the unnaturally dry orbs. “Don’t you ever get tired?” he whispered.
“What are you going to do about it, Dhani?”
Baelin jerked back as if slapped, his nostrils flaring and his breath catching. His rage wavered at the implied accusation that he was one of them and he felt his cheeks flush with instinctual shame. The large man unconsciously tilted his head to better let his hair fall before snake pupiled eyes.
And then she took the name Dhani, threw it to the dirt, and ground her foot into it.
She was laughing at him. Trying to manipulate him into thinking that she wasn’t bad. Tying his heritage with some snake she met. Comparing that with her connection with other undead. Twisting his thoughts to make him see her like he sees himself.
Anger grew in him again. But it was not a tidal wave of rage. No, it was a cold fury. One that steeled his spine and had him clenching his fingers into tight fists. It was the calculated anger of a man who knew he was being played.
“Oh, they fell. I better just walk away. Death is death.”
Baelin sucked in a harsh, angry breath. Of course he wouldn’t just walk away. He could still see the boy clearly in his thoughts. How he laughed and ran with the others. The Eiyon felt like he could see what kind of man the boy would have become so clearly. Engaging. Outgoing. Confident in who he was and where he came from.
The Dira-granted memory seemed to be more vivid than any of his own memories. If Baelin took the time to look at it, he could probably count the number of eyelashes that lined the boy’s lifeless eyes.
Of course he wouldn’t just walk away.
She’s baiting you, he reminded himself, Don’t let her win. He clenched his fists even tighter and could feel a trickle of blood leak from the creased skin.
“Honestly, I think that makes me more humane than you. You’d murder and eat children while shrugging, saying ‘that’s life for you!’”
The blood mixed with the spilt beer as he slammed his hand down on the table and bellowed, “NO!!” He was on his feet now and leaned over her, veins raised on his scalp as his pulse raced through them in visible jolts.
Her smile instantly quieted him, a quiet reminder that she had been baiting him. And that he was a damned fool who got riled up too easily.
Baelin hissed though his teeth in anger and forced himself to unclench his fingers, splaying them across the battered table surface. He didn’t glance around the tavern. He didn’t want to seem weak. But he could feel eyes on him.
Control, Baelin, he reminded himself, Have some control.
He was so far playing into her hand. Everything she said, he rose to it like a dog. He was letting her twist him about her little finger. He needed to get this conversation under his control, not hers.
The half-Dhani licked his lips as he thought. He wished he was smarter. So many people he knew could probably think of something smart to do right now. He was sure his uncle or aunt or cousin or Fredrick or Ros or Mala or Rob could all twist this conversation back into their control. Hell, his father would be a better Eiyon than him right now. The thought was far from comforting.
What was something he could do? The Eiyon was pretty sure that everything he wanted to say, the Nuit already was ready for it.
So say something unexpected.
Chimes went by as he struggled to think of anything intelligent and unexpected.
And he came up with jack shyke.
Needing to say something, Baelin licked his lips and spoke softly to the table, “My mother died when I wass young. I don’t really remember her. But I remember my father clearly.” He looked anywhere but at the Nuit. This was a stupid idea. This was the kind of story he didn’t tell anyone, never mind a godless corpse. But he really couldn’t think of anything better.
“He hated me. I tried sso hard to be good, but nothing I did ever changed that.” He could still see his father clearly whenever he thought of him. He could vividly remember his words, his voice, and his expression as it curled in disgust. And that was hardly fair, because he couldn’t remember what his mother even looked like. Blonde hair. That was all his memory cared to store.
“When sshe died, I didn’t…I couldn’t undersstand why. I needed her. Sshe had been the only good thing. I sstarted sspending all my time at the Chapel. Dira’ss Chapel. And Vessta made me ssee.” Baelin licked his lips again, not sure what to say next. Not even sure if he should be saying any of this at all.
“I…My mother got ssick. There wass no higher plan to it. But it happened. Liffe went on. The people in Black Rock continued to live what’ss lefft of their livess without her. And sso did I.” In fact, going to live with his uncle was probably the best thing that ever happened to him. As cruel as her loss had been, life did indeed continue without his mother in it.
“Sshe didn’t…sshe died young. Too young. But once her heart sstopped beating, then that wass the end of Elia Holt. Her sspirit…it never died. It goess back in the cycle. Sshe’ss alive again, ssomewhere in Mizahar. Maybe with a sson who will get to grow up with her. It’ss not a thing to fight.”
He sucked in a harsh breath, still positive that this was a very lousy idea. The best he could come up with, sure. But this was the kind of story she could twist back onto him. He was telling her too much. It was too personal. She was a monster. This kind of ‘appeal to humanity’ likely wasn’t going to do anything other than dig him his own grave.
But he had come so far already. Best to see it through. He raised his gaze to meet hers and studied the unnaturally dry orbs. “Don’t you ever get tired?” he whispered.
