The dark-hued woman was stepping out of Salsola for the first time since her dethronement on the advice of Draugr. She was, in a way, feeling somewhat better. Her belly no longer felt sour, her head no longer ached. She did not feel as she had once felt, but Eris could hardly remember how she was. How many months had it been since Larkspur's death? Had she ever even had a mate?
Her only joy in life anymore were her children. And, perhaps, if she were to grow introspective, she might realize that chief among them was Pandemic. Her son, who so resembled his father, had been nothing but loyal and faithful to his family. Though he was brother to a traitorous viper, Pandemic was good-hearted and loved Eris truly. He would not betray his mother as Salvia had.
As the borders of her home dwindled, the hybrid daydreamed. Horse charted her own course, plodding through the marshlands. Eris did not have a particular destination, but Draugr had suggested she leave the pack for at least a day, to help clear her head. The dark-hued woman was still suspicious of the wolfdog and her mother, but they had at least attempted to prove themselves loyal subjects, as they purported to be.
At least some still say I should be a queen, Eris thought. Though -- perhaps if she had given over a moment to introspection, she would have realized her own unfit state. Alas, Eris was not the sort of creature to ponder (and therefore see) her own shortcomings. Instead, she sought to drown her sorrows in blood and liquor and anything else she might get her hands on. The faint edge of the mushrooms still danced in her eyes, but even they brought only visions of horror and sorrow.
[html] Since youth he'd sought solace in chemicals, to deny his own weakness. Whether natural or not, he was a coward to the end, and he hid behind inebriation. He had done many things that he may not have otherwise had the gall to. His father, and his origin, were nothing more than distant memories now. He thought little of those days. It had been years and years and years since he'd heard the names of his father, or his mothers. [/html]
[html] He had lived many lives since then. Today, however, and in the past few weeks, he was stone cold sober. It was painful, really, and the world around him felt like a dream. Nothing was real anymore. The sun was too bright, and the insects too loud as they buzzed in his ears. He could feel the mud gathering in his fur, and the feeling disconcerted him. He watched her, on her horse, and half-contemplated charging, simply to startle the beast and send her crashing to the ground. He waited, in plain sight, but fatigue held him firmly in place. [/html]
Eris, for her part, had never known a half-sibling. She knew her father only in word and deed, and brilliant green eyes in the murky depths of the half-dreams brought on by her substances. As her eyes lazily swept over the flat marshland, a clump of grass stuck out in her vision, drawing her eyes back. The dark woman stared at it for a moment, uncertain, and pulled her mount to a stop. She regarded the skinny form, roving over the scars and the apparent lack of an eye. Her lip began to curl in disdain, but he looked about how she'd felt the last few weeks.
She urged Horse forward a step or two. The hybrid remembered herself in the same instant, and looked at the creature with a cool gaze. They had taken her crown, but they'd left her as the Crone. She still had some power, and a duty to protect Salsola, as well. Why do you lurk so near unfriendly places, dog? she asked. He did not look to be a dog, but she did not intend it strictly in the sense of his species. He looked to be a dog, slinking in the mud with all his scars.
[html] Inwardly, he coiled like a snake, preparing to strike. But he did nothing. He felt his lips pulling back over his teeth, but he forced his rage back at her words. Dog. No woman could deride him in this manner, but her horse could stamp him into the mud in an instant. Her poise suggested pride unwarranted of a loner such as himself, and Chael didn't want an entire pack swarming down on him. It wasn't worth it. Whore, he mentally spat, though he refrained from saying this aloud. “Why unfriendly?” he said, instead. “I have done nothing wrong.” And for the time being, he hadn't. [/html]
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Eris is by Kiri!
You needn't do wrong, she chided, albeit gently. Some places are just unfriendly. Do you think they'd take a scarred, skinny thing like yourself, when they don't even respect my beauty? Perhaps she ought not talk like this about Salsola, but she did not particularly mind badmouthing them, and especially not to one they were unlikely to believe. It was just as likely the scarred wolf before her would be driven off with fangs or even killed. They might try to kill you on principle alone. Or make a slave of you, she said, shrugging. They have one like you. No tongue and no foot instead of no eye, though. Darijus was a wretch worse off than this one, yet he was allowed to remain alive and relatively well -- though he had a tongue and his foot hadn't been mangled when he first joined Salsola. Oops, she thought. The slave had earned his punishment, in any case -- but what had she done to deserve hers?
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He hadn't been raised wrong. He hadn't been abused or tortured or rendered helpless in his youth. His mother had loved him, and he'd known this. But he hadn't been able to deal with his own fallacies. His own ego had devoured him, and like a child, he had rebelled in the worst possible way. He'd thrown stones and kicked and screamed. He had harmed others, without sympathy. He had wanted to become a wicked beast like his father, feared and reviled—for what boy does not wish to emulate his own sire?
In the end, like the coward he was, he'd run away rather than facing the things that he'd done. He'd wandered, chasing away anyone and everything that dared touch him. But for a brief time—so brief now, in restrospect—he had found something akin to love and belonging. Calypso had been his first. He had grown unreasonably fond of the boy—fonder than he could ever become of a woman. And afterward he had found another. He'd writhed inwardly, knowing. He'd hated himself, and he still did to this day, though the passion had slipped into apathy over the years.
He would never be the type of son that his mother had wanted. He was merely a fucked up worm of a man, crawling in the mud on his hands and knees. He stared back in defiance as the woman spoke, attempting to pretend that he had some pride, and even an ounce of self-respect. “Perhaps I'd enjoy it,” he said, his words riddled with derision. He hated this woman on principle alone, and for nothing more than her tone of voice. He wasn't seeking acceptance anywhere. He wasn't looking for a home here, or anywhere else.
He already knew that he belonged nowhere.
He didn't need her to remind him.
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Eris is by Savannah!
The words intrigued her, and she tilted her head at him. Eris pondered him. They had taken bigger slaves than this -- the massive, monstrous-tall wolf they'd traded in Freetown, for example. Was he a fighter, as the TaeKyung slave? If he fought, she did not think he stood much of a chance against the ebony-furred machine belonging to Salvia. She was studying his single lime eye with bright yellow-green ones of her own. That eye was startling, and she found she could not bear its gaze for long, though she looked away from him with a faint sniffing sound, as if trying to pretend it was his haggard look and scars which caused her discomfort. It's not a matter of enjoying, she said. Though -- a slave who chooses and enjoys slavery is so much better than one who fights or flees.
Slaves listen and know their place. You're all scarred up. Scars, I've noticed, tend to make a bolder slave than they'd like.
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