[PRP] Monsters in the Open (Phryana + Grumioll)

[Tsunake]

She had seen him around the Weyr like a ghost. Not quite a Candidate, but always nearby, watching them with sharp, predatory eyes. Phryana took notice of him, then ignored him to go about her daily chores. Whoever he was, he was important enough to have caught the eye of G’r’del, but not important enough to matter now. So when the same young man joined the recent flood of Candidates that had surged in as a result of two queen dragons rising, Phryana immediately honed her gaze on him. At first glance, he didn’t seem like much--a pale, weak-chinned thing with plush lips and dark eyes. He would have made a good brothel worker, she noted absently, at least on looks alone.

Careful observation during chores showed her that he was competent at tasks assigned to him. While he never seemed to go above and beyond what was required of him, there was no question that he finished whatever chore he was given.

That in itself was interesting.

They were currently in the kitchens, helping to knead the dough that would be used for several foods--including meatrolls. Phryana worked silently, but didn’t bother to hide her long, cursory looks towards the young man she was working with. Dangerous, the whispers said. Unstable. Yes, and yes, Phryana thought to herself… but also interesting. There was something in his eyes that spoke of a life much rougher than most of these people would ever know. To devote one’s self to fighting thread was daunting, yes… but thread was a mindless killer, uncaring of who or what it devoured.

Human cruelty was a much more potent weapon.

Her dark eyes lingered on his countenance for another moment before they dropped back to the dough under her hands. She had no qualms about kneading it with aggression, pounding it into submission. After all, it was merely just a tool to be used. As were they all.

Teiha

 

[Teiha]

The dough was soft. It easily yielded to his scarred hands, deforming and shaping itself without resistance. It seemed like such a fragile substance, so easily molded, and yet it could be stretched to twice the span of his arms without breaking. Strength could express itself in many forms. The ability to reach, to bend, to extend oneself beyond one’s limits, was one such form. Adaptability had proved time and time again to be an invaluable, even mandatory skill. So there was Grumioll, his fists almost delicately kneading and reshaping the dough—quite the departure from their long-accustomed use in reshaping faces.

A face nearby had clearly gone through similar reshaping. Scars were such a common sight to Gru that he wouldn’t have noted hers had he not felt her gaze upon him. She stared, not unlike a lot of other people who’d come and gone from his life. People had often stood around him and stared, shouting and waving their claim receipts, or laughing at him and poking him through the bars of a cage. They treated him like what he was... or had become.

A beast in a cage, hating their eyes.

Her eyes. That dark woman continued to stare for several long seconds before she began pounding away at her own ball of dough with an unusual degree of violence. She seemed to be trying to make a point with that pounding. He might have laughed, if he’d had a sense of humor. Was she challenging him? Surely not. He was easily capable of snapping her slender neck before she even saw it coming.

But he wouldn’t. This wasn’t a fighting ring in some basement in the filth-ridden armpit of Nabol. This was someplace else entirely. Most likely she was just gawking because he was different, and meant no harm. That’s how Iria would have explained it. He supposed it made sense. He’d stared down his enemies often enough, trying to learn everything about them that he could before taking them on.

Again, he shifted his thoughts. She was no enemy. She was a “fellow” in this “candidacy” he was participating in. She didn’t look very much like Iria, but she also had that certain softness to her that most females seemed to have. He’d detected that strange trait before, and wondered why it seemed so distinct. He had a lot of time these days to wonder about a lot of things.

Such as... what, exactly, does she want? It was his turn to stare.

Tsunake

 

[Tsunake]

"You aren't like them."Her words were soft in the silence, soft because she made them to be. She had no need to raise her voice, and would not be provoked into doing so. In fact, her words might have been merely thoughts spoken aloud, not intended for him at all. But they were, and though she was focused on kneading the dough, every other sense was trained on him. "You haven't been pampered. Spoiled. You know the real world."

A harsh, uncompromising world that devoured the weak and spared the strong. A world that had little time or mercy for weaklings, save for those who would prolong their lives through meaningless acts of mercy and kindness.

"Are you here because you have nothing left?" Again she spoke aloud, pounding the dough a little more before she forced herself to yield. Too long, the cook had said, and the dough would become tough. She ached to rend it to pieces under her fingers, but wasn't stupid enough to indulge in such foolish impulses.

Phryana forced herself to take a slow breath, letting the tension ease from her body. She was no fighter and never would be. Her talents were best served elsewhere.

Teiha

 

[Teiha]

The woman spoke, her voice lowered almost to a whisper. It wasn’t a comforting sound, as Iria’s voice often had been, meant to inspire peace and calm. It was a mask. What it covered, he couldn’t yet identify.

Gru looked around at the other candidates who were working throughout the kitchen. Yes. He wasn’t like them. They talked comfortably with each other, smiles on their faces, never concerned with how many exits there were in the room, or how exposed their unguarded backs were. He’d been “free” for turns, but he still could not relax. When his eyes weren’t actually looking over his shoulder, a sixth sense was always cast out against any approaching presence.

“I never had anything to begin with,” he said.

That was his firm belief. Once, perhaps, there might have been something worth having. But it was lost to the man’s memory, replaced by a dark fire that burned his fingers whenever he ventured to touch its murky edges.

Tsunake

 

[Tsunake]

So. Not even enough to have gained and lost. Empty, then, and perhaps seeking to fill the void--unless he had simply been herded along without resistance. Phryana considered that carefully, moving the dough she had finished with aside to prepare it for baking. "And if you gain something here?"

A life. A purpose. Perhaps a dragon.


Phryana drew herself up to consider him now, her expression impassive. "My name is Phryana." And for him, it would be a gift. She did not know just what secrets this boy hid, but she'd grown up learning to trust her instincts. And her instincts said that he might become very useful in the future, should she need someone who really knew life outside of this comfortable Weyr.

Teiha

 

[Teiha]

At her question, Grumioll found himself pressed up against a mental wall. How was he to answer that? It was impossible to imagine what he might gain. His experiences were… limited. He understood the satisfaction of working to earn the right to food whenever he felt the need for it, the ability to sleep without fear of surprise attack, freedom to go wherever he wanted, to a degree… but something more? What reason was there to pursue such things? He had no understanding of the concept of vanity, ambition, pride, or even revenge. Though he might have killed his former captor during those turns before, it would have only been in order to stop the pain of a severe "correction." But the man had never allowed him the opportunity to strike back.

The not knowing while being expected to give an answer grated at him, and he ground his teeth as he worked the dough. He’d learned to sit quietly in Gr’del’s classes, even when the lessons went right over his head, but there was no need to suffer that elsewhere unless the inquirer bore a ranking knot. His look was a bit sharp when the woman gave her name, but inwardly he was relieved that the subject had been changed.

“I’m Gru,” he said. “Nice to meet you.” The pleasantries, recited at the behest of Iria’s quiet voice in his mind, felt foreign in his mouth.

Tsunake

 

[Tsunake]

That was enough to make her lips twist, and she held his eye for a moment. Is it? After a moment, she relented, softening her features to make her smile more genuine. She doubted he really meant it, but it was clear that he was attempting to make an effort. Besides, the sharpness of that look suggested she should tread lightly, and Phry had little interest in gathering new scars this day. "It's nice to meet you too, Gru. Are you excited for the future Hatchings?"

Phryana was indifferent, and part of her felt as though this young man would be as well. Still, better to keep things light and simple for now. That was a mask she could easily don. "I think it should be lovely. I've heard that young dragons can be quite aggressive though... We'll have to be careful and stay on our toes."

A Queen, she reflected, might not take it too well if one of her newly hatched offspring was attacked, even in self defense. "Are you worried at all?" She asked, her eyes widening as though the thought had just occurred to her.

Teiha

 

[Teiha]

The socially-acceptable answer would have been a simple “yes,” but something told him that Phryana wasn’t really looking for a dutiful response. He’d been honest with Gr’del and wasn’t punished, so what harm would it do to tell the truth to this girl? “I want to know why everyone else is so excited.” That was the extent of it, really. He had yet to attend a Touching or Hatching as a candidate, and the things the others talked about after the events meant little to him. Perhaps he’d be excited after seeing the eggs up close, too. Well… he still wasn’t quite sure what “excited” felt like, but it appeared to be an enjoyable experience.

Gru was not impressed in the least with Phryana’s concerns of aggressive dragon hatchlings. There’d been dozens of times he was nearly gutted by felines, young whers and other humans, and he had the scars to prove it. What he’d seen of the dragonets from the stands was no more frightening or dangerous than any one of those encounters had been.

He could see nothing to be worried about, so he responded with an efficient “No.” After a moment’s thought, however, he added: “But I think you are. Were you hurt by a dragon?” His eyes traced the scar that had been torn across her face.

Tsunake

 

[Tsunake]

An acceptable answer. It was becoming readily apparent to her that this Gru wasn't just good at hiding his emotions--it was almost as if he didn't have them. She'd seen a few cases like his before. Some of the younger girls had been traumatized, and their inability to put on a smile whenever it was called for had been more than enough reason for the Madame to dismiss them from her institution. She offered quality in her products--not just any warm body. "It shouldn't be much longer now. That's what everyone is saying." Phryana's shoulders lifted in a shrug.

It didn't surprise her that he didn't seem worried. He didn't seem the sort to worry about much. "I am." She confirmed, but in truth, she wasn't. She intended to stay near the back and out of the way. No dragon would come looking for her, and this way she'd neatly be out of the danger zone when the young hatchlings came looking for their partners. The corners of her lips quirked at the mention of her scar, and she responded back with a simple, "No."

Phryana allowed her fingers to momentarily trace the raised flesh across her throat, reflecting. "It was a man." If a dragon were to maul someone, it was due to their youth. They didn't know better. People, though... people hardly needed a reason for cruelty.

Teiha

 

[Teiha]

Gru hated small talk, this skimming of the surface, this wasting of words, because it was "polite." Scars, though they meant nothing to him, were often considered a sensitive subject by others. This woman did want something from him, or else she would have ended the conversation then and there. His black eyes went back to her neck, narrowing as they analysed the ridges, the colors of the distressed flesh, and the direction in which the mark flowed. He had several scars of the same quality, and had given enough similar wounds himself to recognize well its origins.

"A short blade. Badly aimed, swung wide. He was blind or drunk. You were surprised, or else you'd've dodged it. Easily."

He met her gaze again, watching to see how she would respond. Whether she was utterly offended or took his evaluation as an ambiguous sort of compliment would tell him exactly how earnest Phryana's interest in him really was.

Tsunake

 

[Tsunake]

Tension again, so taut that she could have snipped it with a pair of scissors... but who knew what would result, if she did. Phryana met his gaze coolly, wondering if he thought to shame her. Perhaps he did. "Drunk." She confirmed, reflecting for a moment. For him to deduce such a thing from her scars alone spoke volumes, and her fingers stroked her throat thoughtfully. "I had no reason to expect a blade. An expensive whore rarely does."

Her distant look faded as she focused sharply on those dark eyes, but she offered nothing else.

Easily, he said. She didn't know. Somehow, she doubted the raking claws of a hatchling would be quite so easy to duck away from.

Teiha

 

[Teiha]

A whore. Those were never in short supply in the darkness of the gambling dens, hanging on the arms of the customers or twisting like tunnelsnakes to the beat of music for the audience between fights. Some were confident, as Phryana was, and some were clearly just as terrified as the small boy who'd been brought in to replace Grumioll when he'd outgrown his usefulness.

There was one such girl he'd seen up close. She'd been thrown at him in his cage after a particularly rough match, the door slammed and locked soundly behind. She'd immediately shrunk into a corner, staring at him with round, frightened eyes. He recalled looking back at his captor with disbelief, still bloody and heaving from the battle. How would his slaughtering this helpless waif be at all entertaining, especially after that performance? He'd refused to move at all until the man eventually became enraged and removed her from the cage. He'd caught the word "reward" among the man's muttered curses, but that never made any sense. He didn't kill for fun.

Only very rarely did he hear the word "whore" at the Silver Gate, where the speaker was swiftly corrected. Iria was a lady, and was to be treated as such, Felixa always said. When they were alone, Iria would teach him things, like colors and numbers. A whore-lady, in his experience, was not only a dancer, but also a teacher. But Gr'del, though he taught things, was not a whore, or a lady. He was a Candidatemaster. So if Iria was a lady...

"...Then you're a lady," he said, almost purely in response to his own thoughts. "Can you read and write?"

Tsunake

 

[Tsunake]

His words struck her to sudden stillness. Years of experience kept her face composed, but she hesitated for a fraction of a second too long. A lady. Yes. That was what the Madame had always referred to them as, and she hadn't expected a young man like Gru to know something like that. Another heartbeat passed, and Phryana knew she needed to speak.

"Yes," She answered his question, not needing to feign her unease. "I was taught when I was a little girl." Madame Millarca had stressed time and time again that anyone could be pretty; those who were educated were a step above the rest. It was not always revealed just how educated her children were, and more often than not, Phryana had been instructed to read through private letters in order to relay the information back word for word.

After a moment more of reflection, she tilted her head. "Do you know how to read and write?" She doubted it. But for the role she had currently assumed, it would be silly not to ask.

Teiha

 

[Teiha]

It was baffling, what could offend some people. He’d already purposefully ventured into the things he knew could upset, and yet it was a compliment that did it. In what world did that make sense? Everything had to be so complicated. “Only a little.” He gaze sharpened again, but this time it was with purpose instead of annoyance. “I want help to write a letter.” Certain others had helped often enough, but he wanted Iria to hear of his progress in his own words, not a story written by someone else, with unnecessarily flowery words and perfect sentence structure. “Can you do that?”

Tsunake