driftfleet | This is the reason why no one on the Red Fish should have hobbies outside of punching people...

[her making tea also gives him some time to slowly turn things backwards in his own head. he does such a good job at squashing down all of his "bad things" that the task is less like remembering and more like unpacking a loaded box.

but he thinks he's got it, by the time tea is put in front of him. tea and sugar. and artificial creamer. and those little "Floot Loop" flavored stir sticks they got from somewhere (why do they still have those?). he continues to sit, arms crossed, staring despondently at his cup rather than picking it up.

until she starts apologizing, of course. then his eyes are on her.

and he listens for the whole thing, completely still. when she looks up, well... the dead-eyed, vaguely disapproving expression is not any less poignant without his makeup. he lets a silence sit for several seconds longer than necessary.

and then he blinks again.]

No.

[his posture uncurls, and he finally reaches for his tea. that's all.]

[Well, that is. Such a huge weight off. He doesn't want her to leave. Which is.

Amazing.

The fretting melts off her, her shoulders relax a bit and she stops hunching so much over her cup.

And then she smiles. Like a slow spread of sunshine, even though she's extremely tired. She is purely happy that he doesn't hate her.]

Okay. Thank you.

[Tea is awful but she will still sip it with that smile on her face.]

[his only response is a quiet grunt of acknowledgement into his tea, but he is grateful. much of what she admitted is strange to him (as is her current happiness over his answer), but she spoke with understanding, and she accepted his answer at face value.

he got into an argument with another woman, once, a previous transfer to the Red Fish. she jumped to the conclusion that Zhas wanted her off the ship, when Zhas had only ever seen her as a mild annoyance. then again, she was always psychoanalyzing him--she assumed he had mysterious, tortured motives for everything that he said.

so this, instead... this is a nice change. no arguing, no misunderstanding. he meant what he said, even if he barely said anything. his reasons for preferring Syeira to stay might not have been kind ones, but he certainly doesn't want to give her the impression that he hates her over something so... obviously out of her own control.

...after a moment of silence, he looks distractedly down at nothing-in-particular in front of himself. maybe he wasn't done. he's got other things he feels like voicing.]

Tell me about it.

Edited 2015-06-30 02:53 (UTC)

[Well, if he was looking for a quick way to wipe the smile off her face, he found it. She sobers, turns the cup in her hands. But the idea of refusing doesn't even occur to her.]

I don't remember much of it. He... used powerful spells. Tore open my mind. I remember burning under my skin, being cut and sewn up. It's a jumble. "The pain will only be passing. You should survive the process."

[She shudders but goes on.]

I know at one point I tried to break the bars of my cage. Just threw myself at it over and over. He just watched until I wore out.

He said he wanted to unlock my true potential.

Edited 2015-06-30 04:12 (UTC)

[well, she had every right to be scared. with perhaps the exception of magic, Zhas can recall doing all of these things--and more--to vampires he'd strapped down to his operating table back home. it was all in the pursuit of their destruction, but he knows that's not going to make it sound any better.

it bothers him to hear it all the same, though. the idea of this person disgusts him--the sole reason that Zhas can live with himself is that he's sworn to never let his evil deeds and wicked life interfere with an innocent human. Syeira is human enough, in his mind, for that to apply.

'fighting and screaming and begging'. he remembers those words, specifically. did the boy beg when his mother held him down under the water?

he looks up, suddenly, like he heard something--or maybe like something's spooked him. he glances past her, and then slowly looks down the hall behind himself. he hunches up a little, against whatever it is.

...he hasn't had a thought like that in a long time.]

[His reaction is unexpected and odd, but she knows the look of someone who was just touched by something unpleasant. So to counter it and bring him back, she reaches out and places her hand over one of his.]

Zhas?

Edited (mother fucking phones) 2015-06-30 05:44 (UTC)

[the touch makes him flinch--just a little, mostly in his fingers--but he doesn't pull away. it gets him to bring his eyes back up to her, draws him back into the present. he's reminded, with a sinking feeling, that he's not wearing his face paint.

he doesn't like it. he takes his hand back, and reaches to instead put his mostly-untouched cup of tea on the table.]

We don't hurt humans.

[that's what he'd meant to say, before he got distracted, but... he's a believer in fate, and it's easy to feel like this isn't a coincidence. he continues, settling back into his chair, in rare, talkative form:]

I serve a master, the Red Queen. She is a vampire lord, but... She was turned against her will, a very long time ago. She had a son, and a husband. She fled to keep them safe.

[he sounds as dead as ever, though his expression never quite loses that discomfort. something in the way his brow is furrowed. he doesn't think he's ever told anyone this story--but then again, he only learned it from bits and pieces told to him over the years, filled in with passing dreams and nightmares that weren't even his.]

She... Was rescued by another lord... Hel, the Vagrant King. Years later, they were attacked by a band of hunters. One was her son, looking to avenge his mother. He didn't recognize her. She... didn't recognize him until after Hel tricked her into drowning him at the bottom of a river.

[here, his glowing eyes lift hesitantly to watch her face.]

She never hurt another human after that. Not even to eat. She is the enemy of all vampires, including herself. I am her huntsman and her knight, and if a monster like her does not harm humans, I have no right to do any less.

[does that make sense? he lowers his eyes again.]

We don't hurt humans. [like a mantra. his only rule. the one thing that keeps him sane, keeps him filled with purpose.]

[She knows a weighty confession when she hears one, so she listens, gives him her full attention. Because such things deserve that kind of respect. And she does respect Zhas, and she's come to understand that when he speaks, his words are valuable to him. So they're valuable to her.

By the time he's done, she wishes she was still touching him, that she might squeeze his hand, give him some kind of comfort that he seems to radiate a need for. But he had pulled away and again, she respects him. She won't invade his space again.

Well right now anyway. but what she can do is nod her understanding.]

I trust you, Zhas.

[A thing she knows is a game of chance. She'd trusted Yoshimo, even though she knew he'd been hiding something. But if she had the chance she'd do it again. Because bad choices don't make an evil heart. And she believes Zhas' heart is far from evil.]

[it seemed a fair thing to tell her. if she can speak about her "heritage" and her torture, he can speak of his master and his motives. it's never been a secret, it's just... not something he's ever felt necessary to explain to anyone, before now.

"trust" is an unexpectedly heavy word to hear out loud. he nods, just once.]

Your eyes changed.

[which is lacking some very important context--but seems to settle with the statement, becoming more of his usual, expressionless self.]

Don't actually like tea. [he eyes the counter, thinking.] Are you hungry.

[She nods again unacknowledgement about her eyes. She knows exactly the instance he means. She tilts her tea cup to stare at the liquid.]

I don't like it much either, but it helps when I can't sleep.

[And then about food.]

Yes. Very.

[She gives him a look that is half grateful, half begging. Feed her, for gods' sake.]

Mm.

[again, eloquent. outright talkative of him, really, all this noise.

he stands up, takes his tea with him. he drains it on the way to the sink, even though that... kind of defeats the purpose of having tea to begin with. it's forgotten as soon as he opens up their little refrigerator unit and starts quietly digging around for ingredients. cupboards next. it's odd to move about the kitchen again, like this--it was his territory, until they got a cook.

but now the cook is gone and now they're down some ingredients... but he thinks he can still pull together something. he might not even wake anyone up during the process. he reaches into a drawer, pulls out a folded black apron. Syeira at least gets the pleasure of watching him put it on in complete seriousness.

doesn't want to get his clothes dirty, man.

if he had anything else to say about her eyes, it sure doesn't seem like he's going to bring it up.]

[It doesn't even occur to her that him donning am apron might cost him cool points. Because cooks wear aprons. That's just sense.

For her part, she moves her chair closer to the actual workspace of the kitchen, without being underfoot. This way she's keeping him company while he works, and not just waiting to be served. That's rude.]

It only happens when I'm really afraid. The kind of fear when there's no hope. Or if I'm blindingly angry. Not mutually exclusive situations either.

The Taint wells up inside me. My eyes glow when it's close to the surface. It didn't happen until after I lost my soul. But my brother's eyes would do the same thing.

[She's silent for a moment, under the weight of what she's about to admit.]

I was afraid of him. The look on his face, in his eyes. Irenicus looked at me that way. And I was terrified. It tried to take advantage, but I stopped it.

Edited 2015-06-30 21:10 (UTC)

[he may or may not notice her presence more than usual; he's busy bringing out a pan, turning on the stove, moving with precise attention while doing everything as quietly as possible. he sets some rice cooking in the back. finds a couple of cans of vegetables.

or... probably vegetables. they may technically be a root. like a potato. botanically a vegetable. nutritionally a starch. he's not sure where he learned that.

but he keeps one ear on the explanation, taking in her explanation as he works. he thinks he follows. if it helps, he doesn't seem particularly phased by what she admits. he finishes opening things just in time to turn, lean on the counter, and cross his arms again.]

...You lost your soul.

[yeah, the other part was important, but...]

[She watches him, to any outside viewer, (rimshot) it might seem she's far more interested in watching him cook than taking about the horrible things that happened to her. She's used to this. Talking about it, like it doesn't hurt. Like she wasn't pried open and emptied out, then stitched back together.]

That's what Irenicus wanted me and Imoen for. He was an elf once, but he tried to steal godhood and destroy his people. They cursed him. He lost his immortality, and apparently everything else that makes a sane person.

He wanted my soul to stop the curse. So he could live forever and retry stealing the powers of a god. Him and his sister, Bodhi.

[When she says that name, there's clear hatred. She feared Irenicus, but Bodhi. Were she alive Syeira would gladly kill her again. Possibly slower this time.]

[curses and soul-stealing, godhood... this is far more Coil's world than his. he's read stories like this in his master's books, but the science of it mostly escapes him.

he narrows his eyes a little, gesturing as he thinks... one hand plucking an invisible something away from his curved palm. after a moment, he reverses the motion and puts the 'something' back. it's all... very vague.]

...You got your soul back.

[...yeah sorry he's still on this soul thing.]

[No, it's fine. She was totally digressing to a thing about how she hates vampires. His bringing her back to focus helps.]

Imoen's first. Here's was easy. Kill Bodhi and the soul goes back to its owner.

Irenicus held on tighter. Dragged me and my friends into Hell with him. He was even trying to harness the power that I'd only accessed by accident. But I beat him. We escaped and he's trapped there.

I have it back, but I'm not the same.

[when she says "into Hell", he sets his jaw with another string of questions... that he quickly decides he does not actually want to ask. he also decides that he should never tell Coil about any of this. if just this incident caused a bad attack, he doesn't want to know what would happen if Coil actually had reason to try to capture and study her.

(not that it doesn't occur to him, too, that a power like hers could be helpful to them--but he shoves the thought aside. this isn't the time, she isn't the person. not like this.)

so, then, what does he say to all of this? he looks up at the ceiling while rice simmers behind him, as if the answer might be written there. it's not. so...]

Fucked up.

[His response startles a laugh out of her. Because that is such a simple but exact way to put it.]

Yes. It really is. And that's just the end of the story.

[Her life is a mess.]

[he reaches behind himself to turn the heat down on the rice, and turns again to busy himself with pouring cans of things into the pan. the whole talk is momentarily put on hold as he moves to the protein machine (he thinks they have some real meat, but it's all frozen solid right now) and tries to decide which flavor is best.

they all taste... kind of the same, to him. teriyaki is his personal preference, because it tastes more like something than the rest of them. but... bacon and chicken are both meats. technically.

he... points to the machine. between those three flavors. which does she want? nevermind that two of them would probably taste atrocious in whatever it is he's cooking.]

[She gets what he's asking, which is saying that she's starting to understand Zhas speak. Which is as few words as possible, coupled with gestures and punching. She'll be fluent in no time.

And she just shakes her head.]

You pick. You're the cook. You know what you're doing.

[well... shit.

...chicken-flavored, meat-textured protein it is. the stuff gets dispensed and cut up into thin slices and fried in the pan as if they ever had a chance in hell of tasting anything like real food. he'll be done pretty soon, and no one's come to bother them yet...

he has little to say, in the meantime. he's starting to get tired again, and is focusing on keeping anything from burning.]

[She's pulled her knees up and hugs them, making herself look tiny on the chair. A petite girl with miles of hair, just watching him cook, feeling sleepy and yet restless.]

You think you'll sleep after this, or would you like to go beat each other up for a while?

[She is not going to sleep again tonight. She'd rather not be the only one awake on a quiet ship.]

[without looking, he frees up a hand to give his favorite so-so hand wobble gesture. does he not know if he's tired enough? or is he more on the fence about the fight? either way, he won't have a better answer until after he's turned off all of the burners, shoveled some food together, and put it all into a couple of bowls.

he takes the apron off, folds it up again, puts it back in the drawer. the dishes can wait. soon there's a bowl of fried vegetables (?) and chicken (??) and rice placed on the table next to Syeira, along with a fork.

Zhas continues standing with his own. completely lacking table manners and entirely too used to eating on the run, he shovels down half the bowl in under a minute--and that's him going slow.

when he finally pauses to, you know, breathe or something, he voices a thought:]

Scattered. [he tries to meet his head with his shoulder because he can't point to his temple with a bowl and fork in his hands; it looks more like an overly exaggerated shrug of some kind.] Head's not in it.

[Syeira takes her bowl and eats as voraciously as he does, holding it in one hand and almost shoveling with the fork in the other. She has table manners, but she doesn't need them at the moment. It's not like this is an estate dinner or anything. At least she doesn't talk with her mouth full.]

That's fair.

[Again, no argument. But after a few more mouthfuls of food, she adds a bit more.]

I'll listen, if you need an ear.

[so they're eating in good company, then. Zhas is actually pleased to see that she's got an appetite, since he'd noticed her looking thinner. between his partner's lacking a tongue and his sickly master's poor eating habits, he's always keeping an eye out for that kind of thing.

he'll probably never say anything about it, but he still makes a mental note to push food at her more often. she's already a hell of a lot easier to feed than Coil.

he falls so easily into this little project, mind finally setting to work on an easy, systematic task, that her last comment is a little jarring. if he needs an ear? to talk about his thoughts? he considers it, but only hits a long list of things he doesn't really want to put into words. they become real when they leave his body. he's still too unsure about... a lot of things.

he finishes his food silently. as soon as he sets it down, he wants to be doing something. mending or fixing or building. pensive, he tugs absently down on his shoulder.

...he has an idea, but it's stupid. it shows in his posture, though his eyes drift away too.]

This is the reason why no one on the Red Fish should have hobbies outside of punching people...

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