Flaws Exploited

[Forsaken]

A Guardian whose eyes seemed a continuous war between light and shadow (and whose pigment in general echoed the same theme, from silver-tipped deep blue hair to elegant robes of flattering fit, fabric of such a deep blue that the color only appeared in it's high-lights and it's overall effect was black being the outer layer. A robe of white , with sapphire blue embroidery at it's cuffs, color, and hem, provided accents where it outreached the outer robe.) lounged, seemingly relaxed, in an indulgently upholstered chair that sat facing the largest of the three awe-inspiring fountains. Though he stared into the glimmering haze of artificial rain with an expression of what looked like thoughtful appreciation, he was not seeing the incredible fountain at all. In fact, it is very likely that he would have gazed upon a nest of sewer rats with precisely the same expression. It was a mask, not a reaction. Such was generally the case with his race.

Nearby, almost at his side but a few steps back to avoid interrupting his field of vision, was a Forsaken with cat-like features. She had yet to perfect a neutral mask, and though the majority of her facial features betrayed nothing, her eyes betrayed her by expressing in their dark expression the shadows of unease that were flitting across her mind.

Because Somriad was thinking about what she had done at the interrogation earlier today (or, what she had almost done. But did and nearly did were the same thing to him.) and what he was going to do about it. And she knew it.

Asila had challenged her master's strength when her control had snapped and she'd lunged for the Guardian interrogator who'd begun to shred through the memories from the mind of the prosecuted rebel when he refused to surrender any information regarding the rebellions next plan of attack. She just couldn't stand the screaming. She's lurched forward with a snarl before she'd even known she meant to attack. Somriad, however, had felt the static emptiness in her mind that signaled a lapse in control, his as well as the girl's, and had sent her crashing into one of the brooding stone walls of the cell with a flex of his will and a lash of his power.

It had taken her long enough to recover from the injuries to allow them to continue with the extraction without concern for further interruption, but it was too late for his wounded reputation. The Guardians had already begun to whisper that Somriad, their so-called leader, still couldn't rein in a Forsaken of three years influence, a feat that all but the weakest of their race could manage.

He had gone through every precaution before bringing the servant into that room. He had given her explicit, detailed, and carefully phrased instructions not to interfere in the proceedings, but the Forsaken was proving itself to be dangerously unpredictable. Of course, successful attempts at disobeying a direct order were rare, and had yet to amount to anything (he attended her thoughts to vigilantly to allow such a thing to occur), such proof that these lapses in control occurred at all still made him weak in the eyes of his most powerful rivals. This Forsaken was a liability. The power that had made it such a tempting weapon also made it impossible to achieve flawless control. And a flaw could be exploited.

Somriad inclined his head slightly, disturbed by that idea...and sensing a flicker of valuable possibility in the phrasing.

Asila, who was paying greater attention to her surroundings rather than fall prey to speculation concerning what her Master was thinking, was the first to notice the approach of a delicate Guardian woman with long, pale gold hair and an elaborate dress done in tones of jade green, an elaborate collar of sparkling diamonds colored to match, and a golden tiara whose point was dripping a similar stone of tear-drop cut down the center of her forehead. Asila wrapped black-sleeved arms around around her bare abdomen and looked away. Evangeline had a knack for making the dysfunctional feel disgraceful, her sugared words disguising sharply-honed blades that sliced into you only after you've been tricked into swallowing them. She couldn't face that. Not when it wasn't in her power to be anything other than what she was now.

Somriad was alerted to the approach of the one he favored by his Forsaken's reaction. Standing out of his sight did not save her from his notice. He did not need to see here to be aware of her every move.

Evangeline floated gracefully to a seat on a graceful love-seat that was near enough to him as to allow her to reach out and lay a hand on his should she desire to. She smiled warmly at him, her eyes merrily sparking brilliant light. "Pleasant evening, Somriad."

Somriad inclined his head to her, a slight smile flickering across his expression. "Evangeline" He purred in acknowledgment. Only to look away during the next moment. It was a subtle dismissal, but Evangeline was not one to be so easily discouraged when she had a purpose.

Instead, she feigned ignorance of the implied message and said in a soft voice meant to be overheard only by those involved, "Gossip spreads nearly as quickly as the action that inspired it, Somriad." Though his expression remained pleasant, Somriad's eyes became colder, angrier. Evangeline continued in the same concerned tone of voice she'd first begun in. "Something must be done. I can not allow them cause enough to belittle you." Because anything that jeopardizes your power threatens mine. The unspoken statement that both of them recognized. "The kitten was an exciting toy, but the novelty has faded and she must be discarded."

[Seven]

Not too far from where Somriad and Evangeline sat gracefully on the loveseat, Thrasymachus was passing through, cold, hardened, blank look on his fine face. He was dark, literally dark, a smudge in comparison to all those light and shimmering beings who he desired to be like. A dark blue garment, which was more of a long coat than the traditional flowing robes of the Guardians, fluttered closely behind him. But this was to be expected. After all, robes did not make ideal fighting wear, and he was just returning from his nightly post with the Nightwatch. And if deep down, he wore a perpetual snarl behind his motionless, emotionless mask of a face, you couldn't blame him. The fact that he was treated in such a manner, disgraced in such a manner....let's just say, he knew perfectly well what the Guardians thought of him. If Forsaken are people, humans who have endured metamorphosis and transformed into a creature they were not, then Thrasymachus was a Forsaken in the form of a Guardian. Not even a servant, a tool.

But perhaps some twisted, masochistic part would have preferred to be treated like an ordinary Forsaken. At least that would be honest. At least then he would have good enough reason to despise those he emulated, worshipped, could have fought, clawed his way up with no regard for those beautiful people. But they didn't, of course. They treated him all the kindness of a gentle, slow, murder. It wasn't good enough to just be an outcast. He also had to be reminded constantly what a dog he was; spoken down to, like a child--worse--like a human. As if he couldn't see through their facade, as if he didn't know their game just as well they did! The impudence of it all...he couldn't stand it; it was infuriating! And if he prowled a little more than he should of, forgetting to move as gracefully and flowingly, as if on air, like the rest of the Guardians, could you blame him? Fighting nightly is a sure way to ensure hardness, but slowly destroying a man's pride was a whole other story. It was a miracle in itself he could hold his mask so well, that he didn't scowl and hiss at all those beings he passed, those beings he loved and loathed all at once.

But he endured. He would continue to endure. And one day, he would show them all. Through his power and sheer determination, he would show them that he was more than a tool. They would come to recognize him as their own, and he will reach the top. And Thrasymachus was not about to let anybody stand in his way.

[Forsaken]

Asila tensed when she heard Evangeline's words, her eyes narrowing and her jaw clenching. Yet she had sense enough not to stare directly at Somriad. Doing so would be taken, at best, as an uppity belief in her own equality and, at worst, a direct challenge to her master's authority. Instead, she kept her gaze locked on a point directly in front of her and studied him as best she could out of the corner of her eye. She could see that he had descended into a brooding silence but had no hope of guessing at the sentiment behind that silence when she couldn't look directly upon his expression.

So focused was she on what her master was thinking that she didn't immediately see the outcast Guardian enter.

Unfortunately, perhaps, for Thrasymachus, Somriad was more vigilant. This time, when he smiled, it reached his eyes. "An enlightening idea, Evangeline." He began in a much more animated voice than had been previously used, meeting her eyes. "And all the more clever since your proposal has the virtue of accomplishing two means through the solution of one problem. By discarding one nuisance" here he turned away from his fellow Guardian and set a calculating gaze on the outcast that was stalking closer to the small gathering on his path through the Cavyrn "I can moniter another."

Evangeline, quick to catch on, returned Somriad's smile with her endearingly warm one. "I believe you have just polished my course idea into a gleaming gem, my beloved."

Asila's brow furrowed as she tried to puzzle out what her master was planning.

Somriad inclined his head in acknowledgment of Evangeline's praise as he waved Thrasymachus over. "A word, if I may, Thrasymachus." It was phrased politely, but the stern tone distinguished this demand from the request it would have been if directed toward a true Guardian.

Asila was staring out-right at Thrasymachus, now, as though she would find her master's plan printed across his forehead if she only looked hard enough. This is an offense that would be immediately and severely reprimanded if it were directed against a true-blooded Guardian, but Thrasymachus did not merit such a gesture of respect in Somriad's eyes. Though he was fully aware of his Forsaken's breech in conduct, he ignored her oversight.

[Seven]

Thrasymachus paused in his walking when Somriad called, secretly not so much because he had heard his name called, but rather as some invisible protest, the hesitance that knew verily that his being summoned could only be a bad thing. And more so, all he longed after a long night of fighting was to rest, though he would never admit to such a feeble weakness as weariness. But all the same, he altered his course of direction from his most desirable room to his superiors. This time, he was a little more conscious about how he moved, shifting the slight prowl to the more graceful strut of the Guardians, and changed his blank monotone to a gentle smile, as if radiating inner peace and sagely wisdom. Though of course, he knew how false the latter two were, for surely if he were wise he wouldn't be in his current unfavorable situation, and he certainly didn't have inner peace. Nonetheless, that was the image he wished to reflect now...

...though for a split second, his eyes might have tossed like tanzanite seas with tumultuous anger for this constant disrespect. Even the damn Forsaken dare to look down upon him! And worse, no one said a word of it, as though it were perfectly acceptable action on her part. Damn her, but more so, damn Somriad for placing her value above his by condoning it, and damn himself for quietly suffering through it!

Upon reaching the two worthy Guardians and the one unworthy slave, Thrasymachus smoothly crossed his right hand over his chest, and closing his eyes, he gave a small, but solemn bow of respect. As he raised himself up again, the small smile never moved from his face, even in his momentary glance at Asila, to silently remind her that she was staring. "Of course, Amplus Magister, it is always my pleasure. Please, do continue, for I am eager to know that which you wish to disclose with me." Thrasymachus well-spoken tone was as soft and gentle as the manner he had adopted, but if in his mind, he said those words in a slightly sarcastic manner, who would ever have to know?

[Forsaken]

Somriad notices the flicker of annoyance in the lesser Guardian's eyes and felt tempted to smirk. It was a pleasure to see that the flaws of this Forsaken inconvenience another. He now felt even more pleased with the small scheme he was about to launch.

Of course, he didn't smirk. He was not in the habit of betraying his thoughts by expressing his emotions directly. Instead, his pleasure was reflected in the warmth of his voice and his congenial expression, tools he wouldn't have been able to maintain if he had been irritated.

Somriad watched the boy bow to him without a change in expression. He expected such gestures of respect as his due and therefor felt no need to acknowledge them. "Is seems that the rebels have begun to evolve into an exceptional nuisance," He began when Thrasymachus had finished speaking, "and I have reason to believe that those misguided children will become a threat within the upcoming weeks." Of course, he knew nothing of the sort, but the exaggeration posed no threat to him. Should anyone ever confront him on it, he would merely explain that the rebels lack of success was a direct result of his interference. "You could very well find that you are not able to handle them on your own. As a means to prevent any disaster that may befall you, I have made the decision to lend you my most powerful Forsaken." He turned his head slightly in Asila's direction, an indicative movement not a practical one, before turning back to Thrasymachus to await his response. Which he expected to be an expression of gratitude.

****

Asila had hastily looked away when she caught Thrasymachus' pointed glance, angry with herself for the oversight. She had forgotten herself. She shouldn't have. But his eyes were such a pretty color that she had failed to remember to look away once she met them. She had just continued to stare as she tried to understand what Somriad was planning.

But she found out soon enough, and not only did she now regret her error with such severity that her remorse immediately turned to dread, but she was filled with shame. She had failed her master so severely that he had chosen to rid himself of her. What use was she to anyone? Why didn't he just destroy her as the Guardian's did any Forsaken that had outlived it's use? It would have been better than this. Her master was the one who had made her what she was. Without him, she was nothing.

...but those were his words...weren't they? She must have been more than this, once. But it was so hard to remember. And there just wasn't any reason to, anymore. Not when the one person who could be relied on in her life had deemed her too much of a burden to keep near him any longer.

Her hands tightened into fists, the claws tracing quickly healing red lines across her sides before piercing her palms. Her expression had frozen into an unreadable mask and her eyes were unfocused, but still she waited for the inevitable words. The outcast Guardian couldn't turn down her master.

...could he?

[Seven]

No, he couldn't. Though surely, after even half a moment's consideration, that is what he would have desired.

But for that first half a moment, Thrasymachus' eyes widened slightly. At first glance, such an offer would seem to be a good omen. That he had earned Somriad's trust and respect, and that he was at last deemed worthy to at least be given a chance with a Forsaken. After all, being half, he was denied the Guardians' right to change some fiend into his servant. So perhaps, being loaned Somriad's Forsaken, he could prove himself worthy and his alliances true, and finish with the respect he felt he deserved. When Somriad gestured to the Forsaken behind him, Thrasymachus' eyes followed the invisible line Somriad had drawn with the slight tilt of his head till his gaze landed on the young girl that would be his. For that moment he might have had the smallest, guileless glee, like the child, who on Christmas, at last receives that gift he'd been praying for all year.

But that moment's merriment ended the second his rational mind reminded him that Guardians always have an ulterior motive, and for a man as sharp as he, it did not take long to realize the true scheme of things. Asila, as he knew her name because of her infamous status, was the most troublesome of Forsaken. As of the late, he had heard more and more stories of Asila's disobedience and resistance, making her more trouble than she was worth. Even Somriad seemed to have trouble dealing with her, from time to time. He had not been given a gift, he had been gifted a downfall. And more so, more disturbing yet, in her eyes, he could feel Somriad staring out, watching him and his every moment. Asila was not a pact of trust and comradery, she was the camera, the ever watchful Big Brother of a Communist Regime.

He understood now. If anything, Somriad was creating a way to both elevate himself and destroy Thrasymachus. No matter what Thrasymachus might do, it would end poorly for him. If he were unable to handle Asila, Somriad would 'reveal' that this had been naught but a test of Thrasymachus' aptitude, and failing it would establish and ingrain the fact that Thrasymachus was and would forever be unworthy. It would be his destruction, the means to finally have a technicality to be done with him once and for all. And even if he fared well, with Somriad forever monitoring him, he would never have the chance, the privacy he so needed, to free himself of the lowly rank he had been chained to. Asila served as the way to keep him down. And all the while Somriad would only have to sit back and laugh at the poor man's struggle, no longer burdened by the weight of his unusually defiant Forsaken. He could continue his life in leisure while Thrasymachus fought through more near impossible endeavors, and should Somriad ever need Asila's power, he could always control her indirectly through ordering Thrasymachus. And should Thrasymachus make even an ounce of progress with the Forsaken, she would just be taken from him again, leaving him where he started, only more tired.

Still with that slight gleeful look on his face from the originating moment, Thrasymachus insides smoldered with rage so strong he worried that if he opened his mouth to speak bubbling blood would spill from his lips like a covered pot boiling over. How he hated them all! How he despised being used! And how dare Somriad imply that he was too weak and feeble to handle a mess of disorganized humans by himself! If he had not been so careful to control his every action before a superior, his fingers would have twitched with magic, threatening to combust the chair that despicable pair lounged on. How he would have loved the opportunity to challenge Somriad's superiority, to see for himself how powerful a man like Somriad is. Thrasymachus couldn't help but think that if he faced down the man, perhaps any Guardian, one on one, he could vanquish them. After all, they hadn't trained incessantly, trying to earn their way into Caveryn. They hadn't had to spend every night like a war, fighting alongside beasts against more beasts. Hell, they hardly spent even a single night doing such a thing, if any at all. And if that made Thrasymachus question how powerful an individual Guardian must be, could he help it? Doesn't the lack of training make one soft and weak, and didn't most every Guardian leisurely sit by, commanding others to fulfill their every whim? Just as they were doing now to him? Yet physical power did not amount to very much here in Caveryn, as Thrasymachus had seen. Power had only established the Guardians' right to rule over humans. Amongst one another, only politicking was used to gain the advantage.

Thrasymachus found himself hating himself for allowing even for that mere moment to get excited about the proposition. He felt he should have recognized it for the scheme it was the second the words fell from Somriad's lips. And yet, perhaps it was a good thing that he allowed himself to smile a little wider, as if secretly thrilled by the arrangement. Let Somriad think that he was falling happily into his hands, let Somriad think him a fool for now. It would be to his advantage to leave such the impression of unsuspecting innocence to his superior. It would mean they would not see him rising out of the darkness when the time came. They would still be thinking him nothing more than a mutt until that day came, usurping those like Somriad.

Perhaps Somriad first. Now that he thought of it, there was one potential benefit to this whole, dirty mess. Gossip had already spread through the Caveryn of Somriad's potential flaws for not being able to handle a Forsaken. But if Thrasymachus could break Asila, it wouldn't matter whether or not Somriad took her from him or not. Words fly quickly, and in such a tightly knit community, the soft murmurs of Thrasymachus' triumph in Somriad's failing would spread. To think, a mutt doing what their leader could not! And even if with their pompous attitudes, they dismissed Thrasymachus victory as a fluke, the act would have already disgraced Somriad in such a fashion that he would fall out of power--and that alone would be a pleasure enough for Thrasymachus to willingly partake in this scheme. And more so, it would serve as the first step away from his foundation on the ladder upwards. After all, there was no doubt that Somriad would never worry of such a scenario occurring--there was no doubt that Somriad doubted Thrasymachus' ability to do such a thing...and that be his folly. His underestimation of Thrasymachus' all consuming drive. No one would stand in his way. No one.

Pleased with his secret political ploy, Thrasymachus flashed a true smile, a flawless extension of the one that had formed from him excitement. To Somriad, it would seem that Thrasymachus was unsuspectingly thrilled by the proposition, so grateful as he made another bow before him. After all, without the power of mind-reading, he couldn't tell that Thrasymachus was more likely having a cartoonish daydream on how best to dismember his dearest Amplus Magister.

"Thank you, Amplus Magister, for both your endless kindness and wisdom, and I gladly accept," he said in a slightly enthused voice. He had to fight the insane urge to laugh.

Thrasymachus' eyes went to Asila's for a moment, though his tone was observational, forgetting for all but a moment that she is a living creature and not just the means of Somriad's downfall. He didn't allow himself the chance to question her drive, to see if her defiance would be stronger than his. He couldn't allow himself such a worry; it would be self-destroying. He had to emerge victorious, and if he had to ruthlessly destroy her along the way, it would only be a small sacrifice...

The thoughts dissipated, as he turned his gaze back to Somriad. "Because you have so compassionately chosen to lend me this Forsaken, would it be permitable to forge a temporary mental link with her? It certainly would be more efficient, especially if you are concerned with an uprising with that faction that have become deviants to the human race." For a brief moment, Thrasymachus wondered why they didn't just call them by their rightful name, 'Rebels.' Of course, he quickly chastised himself for the silly thought, knowing fully that giving an entity a name gives them respect...power. Power that the Guardians would not let them have. Though that cynical part of his mind tauntingly mused, 'I wonder why it is they call you by your name then, Thrasymachus, rather than just slave?' He continued. "And certainly, if I were ever to give her a command that required her to temporarily distance herself from my person, it would be impossible to tell if she would be making the correct actions once she leaves my eyes. " He had to convince Somriad to allow him a link to Asila's mind. Without a doubt, controlling the wild Forsaken, much less usurping Somriad with it, would be impossible without a more full control. And surely, Somriad would not deny him such an essential request if he was doing this out of the 'compassion of his heart,' as he so claimed.

***

Apart from this, Somriad would be picking up through his mental connection with Reece that the little Aye-Aye Forsaken had found himself two Rebels, and would need back up in order to dispatch them.




((*ehem* Sorry, I think I got too excited with T., but his mindset is contagious.))

[Forsaken]

((This is going to suck, but I am so tired.))

Somriad responded to Thrasymachus' thanks with a more genuine smile. The lesser Guardian had taken the offer just as well as he could have hoped. The youth did not understand his gift was more a curse than a blessing. He would find out soon enough, and in the meantime he would slip up often enough to make Somriad look good. If another failed miserably while trying to control the difficult Forsaken, his small lapses in control over the impossible servant would seem negligible. Truly, this was a wonderful idea. Every facet posed a benefit, and he could not see a flaw.

When Thrasymachus asked his permission to form a temporary link with the girl, he was immediately in favor with the idea. The primary reason being that greater influence over the Forsaken would only make his failure seem more concrete and without defense or legitimate excuse when it finally occurred. And while the proposed idea did inspire a few doubts, they were immediately dismissed. His own link with his Forsaken was irrevocable, since he had been the one who had cursed her. She would always be his to employ or dispose of as he saw fit. The only difference lending her to the worthless Guardian before him was that he would no longer be responsible for her failings.

Of course, the second link would place more stress on an already unstable mind, eroding the girl's mind with greater speed, but even under these circumstances Somriad estimated that she would have a year or two left in her yet. She was an unfortunately resilient monster.

Smile still in place, Somriad nodded his assent. "Of course you may, Thrasymachus." He said with such kindly surprise that it seemed he couldn't believe the poor boy had to ask. "I would hardly expect you to work with anything less under such difficult circumstances." That said, he turned to Asila and lifted a hand in her direction, slowly and elegantly curling the fingers in a beckoning gesture. Silently she answered his summons, walking directly to her master's side with her eyes respectfully downcast. "You now belong to the young Thrasymachus." She heard him say in that voice that was faintly disdainful in it's utter indifference. And then, in that Voice that echoed in her head and could not be denied, "Act like it."

Asila stiffened, managing to hold perfectly still while her shock and disbelief held her frozen. Yet she didn't even have time to think "This can't be happening," before her body turned of it's own free will and prowled with edgy tension to stand at the side of her new master; a large step back and to his left.

((I want to give Thrasymachus a chance to respond before I have Somriad receive Reece's message and boss him around. It would just flow better that way. ))

[Seven]

((No! It didn't suck! Actually, I got a line out of it that I suppose I had been looking for. The "voice that was faintly disdainful in it's utter indifference" bit. I have a number of characters that do that, but I've never thought of a way to convey it in words, since I tend to think or my characters in pictures and sounds. So I really have to thank you for that one, I didn't know an even adequate way to express that sort of tone before this post.))

((Now I'm afraid this post of mine is going to suck, but I can't think of much for him to do.))

Thrasymachus' gaze left Somriad for a moment to watch as Asila approached him. For what felt like so long, he had thought of what he might do with a Forsaken. Granted, this wasn't his Forsaken, but he couldn't suppress the feeling of a few of those earlier, bubbly emotions in his chest--even if she had been given to him for the main purpose to remove Somriad's exploitable flaw while ridiculing Thrasymachus' person. Yet now that he adopted the darkly optimistic mindset, he could only think of her as useful. Surely she would be a struggle to control at first, but he wouldn't have that deter him. Hard work...hard work, the one human virtue Thrasymachus not only favored, but defined himself on, would be the difference. He imagined that in the mentality of a pure Guardian, hard work is not virtuous, but a flaw. The truly powerful and sophisticated don't have to work hard after all--hard work is what peasants do. And surely the Guardians laughed at him for working so hard as they spent their days more or less in pleasant leisure. Though he loathed to admit to his humanity, in this one case, he made a small exception. Those who shunned a hard worker were foolishly narrow-minded. After all, had humanity not once conquered the world through sheer determination and slow, but continuous work, despite the fact that they had neither speed nor claws nor strength like the other creatures?

If Somriad failed with Asila, there had to be a reason behind it. And fortunately for Thrasymachus, though he was constantly kept on his feet playing the role of ever faithful servant to the Guardians, because of his lack of rank, he felt he would still have enough time and energy to devout to finding the trigger to taming this one.

"Thank you, Amplus Magister," he responded once Asila was firmly placed at his side. "You have been too kind." He felt like he was repeating himself like a record at this point, but right now he didn't particularly care that he didn't come off as much as a wordsmith as other Guardians. Other Guardians didn't have to fight all night. "And though I am always most enthused at the prospect of being in your noble company, if that is all, I shall be taking my leave for tonight." He was about to bid his good nights, but he knew he had to wait for an appropriate dismissal first. I really am a slave--I can't even rest without their permission! But he hushed this forever crude and cynical voice, sure that they would give him his due leave. He doubted they actually enjoyed his presence, after all.

[Forsaken]

((I'm glad you liked that line. It took me a few attempts to try and figure out what I was getting at. Putting impressions into words really is difficult.

And your post was just fine. My post will probably be shorter, because I'm going to try and get us to the On Patrol thread as fast as possible.))

Somriad simply nodded in a dismissive fashion, his gaze distant and distracted. He had just gotten Reece's message and had quietly slipped into the Forsaken's thoughts so that he could better judge the situation. Through Reece's eyes, he saw the two rebels and the abandoned factory that they were just outside. The servant was correct in his judgement; if both individuals were to be barred escape, it would be prudent to have another on the scene.

Especially since he wanted both alive if possible, and one or both dead, if not.

With focus returning to his gaze, he looked upon Thrasymachus once more. "Before you do so, there is one last thing that should be taken care of. One of my Forsaken has just encountered two rebels outside an abandoned chair factory located in the West Side, and I must ask you to assist him in their capture. Or execution, if need be." He smiled apologetically, as though he regretted terribly this inconvenience but couldn't think of another way to resolve the situation. "I'm sure the errand will prove a short one and your night will not be much extended, but speed is of the essence. Reece is the weakest of my Forsaken, and though he is also the most loyal he will not be able to handle this on his own."

This last was a thinly disguised dismissal, and Somriad treated it as such. He turned away entirely from Thrasymachus, picking up a conversation with Evangeline as though none of the proceeding had occurred. "You are lovely tonight, Evangeline." He purred flirtaciously. "Green favors you over any other." And from Evangeline the bell-like chime of laughter and these words. "Green and every other color, according to you! I could have bathed in mud and you would have told me it did wonders for the warmth of my eyes!"

Their laughter and playful jests would follow the pair out of the Cavyrn and into the dark streets beyond.

((Asila will receive more attention in the next thread. I just have trouble jumping from one character to another in the same post without disrupting it, and I don't want to spend more time on this. We have places to go, people to see...))

[Seven]

That previous floating feeling dropped like rocks in Thrasymachus' gut, having to suddenly fight the urge to lash out at the pair again. True, on most occasions, he would do his work without complaint, but this night he was already tired, and he was already in a low mood for realizing how Somriad meant to use him in such a fashion that could have it destroyed the struggling Guardian had he not recognized it for the scheme it was. Of course that makes perfect sense! Since I'm apparently the 'weakest' because of my half-lineage, I suppose that somehow also makes me best suited for fighting endlessly! Because clearly humans don't ever sleep or require rest! But no, you would never think to go run your own errands would you? No, you wouldn't even bother to properly dismiss me for said errand, perhaps with a word of good will, before you opt to continue your damned flirting! Of course, this torrent of silent, sarcastic, scathing thoughts were exaggeration, but Thrasymachus was feeling incensed for having to go out again, and enraged that Somriad would start ignoring him so promptly now that he had achieved his ends mean. And more so, it couldn't just ignore him, he also had to be an ass about it by flirting and resuming leisurely activity, completely unperturbed while he essentially asked Thrasymachus to risk limb on his account. It was salt and lemon on a wound, and for a second, he wanted to outright deny his 'request.'

The fake smile waivering, Thrasymachus quickly bowed and turned from the pair before the facade fell completely. Of course, now that they had finished speaking with him, it would be most inappropriate to make even a single remark to interrupt their light hearted discourse. With feelings of anger sculpting his tone both cold and authoritative, he glanced over to Asila.

"Come," he said to her briefly, and promptly turned away, the Guardians' laughter taunting him all the way out.

[Forsaken]

Like Thrasymachus, Asila too had to fight to maintain a relatively neutral facade. She was devastated by Somriad's blithe dismissal, but still retained enough of who she was, or had once been, to be disgusted with herself for feeling devastated. She had known from the beginning that she was nothing more than an expendable tool. If she had forgotten halfway through that she could never be anything more, had begun to entertain twisted delusions of significance in her master's eyes, then it was her own fault that she felt crushed now.

With that thought, a ruthless darkness iced over the distant, glazed look in her eyes, bringing with it some clarity. She would live to fight another day. Her mind would perservere, functional if not entirely complete, to find the solution she was looking for if it could be found.

She followed Thrasymachus silently as he left, determined to remain strong even if she remained defeated.