Permanent though it may be, and oft a bad solution, one that would provide no real ending merely an empty void to what problem prior existed—though certainly a nothingness was better than a malignant endeavor. Problems did not simply disappear with inaction, nor were certain courses of action always available.
A hard truth, one learned in rendition amongst a steel heart, and a mind that did not linger upon such matters lest stoney facade crumble.
Certainly he did not trust the blond, nor was his opinion exactly high of the other—though that was hardly any difference between his normal views of those other inhabitants of the world. Lies, deceit— he expected these things before the truth, from all but the closest to him. As for the judgement laid silently upon others—more oft than not opinions had to be worked up from rock bottom.
“I agree that they were reckless, though you were within boundaries to do what you saw most fit. Ill-advised or not. So long as you don’t do so again.”
Chilled blue gaze would meet that of the blond, a piteous figure to be cut standing as he was. What emotions might be lingering upon the other—anger, remorse? Whatever the other might feel or what thoughts might lead to such weren’t his business. Work came first. The protection of civilians, of the town, of his country.
Strahta came before all else.
Single weapon left unsheathed would be stowed away now that the threat to his city was dealt with in finality. Though other matters were still left unresolved, as boots would click against the smooth tiles of the city grounds, the blond’s departure halted not by words but of a hand outstretched, fingers gripping with an unnecessary roughness against wounded limb.
“Since you’re obviously new to Yu Liberte, I’ll provide some advice: unless you’ve a permit for your—beast—anything above the size of a Chirpee is not allowed within city limits. And interfering with the business of a person of the military in a detrimental way is punishable by court marshal.”
Upon beginning his speech, the callous grip upon the other slacked, as did anger. Now that the thread upon his people was neutralized, he was far more lenient upon the actions of others. Though an eye was kept on the blond’s animal companion, as it seemed sudden movements or perceived threats upon the other were oft reacted upon from such loyal beast, upon ending his rote statement—not a threat, mind, merely information to be given—loosened grip would fall free of the others’ frame, fingers tinted faintly red with the others blood from such vice.
“Are you no longer in need of healing?”
Green eyes do not glance back. They stay forward in silence. Accepting the
brutish remarks, the harsh commentary. He is used to it by now. Listening
and taking it. The reminder of the prior thought quickly tried to be brushed
away. Comparison of one place to another would only harden his outward
expression, and that was not needed.
[ Or so you tell yourself ]
Again it is brushed away as a fly from an ear, it is swatted at until it leaves
one alone. Yet it is not so simple as that. Hands reach, calloused, beneath
gloves as they grip. Halting him as a silent gasp is breathed from betwixt pale
lips. Blood oozes, staining black cloth further as broken seams of clothing
reveal what was gripped. Sword-arm, gone, unable to be used in such a
condition was not needed to be rough to cause pain.
A low growl is heard. The beast he called him turning as Emil’s fingers tighten
into his main. A soft whimper in agreement.
“Please…”
A plea, quiet, begging for the grip to be loosened. Water swells in eyes, but
none comes out. He has had worse. He has had backhanded responses, had
been slapped in chains. There is a look, the water glistening green eyes as
they stare at the man before him. The question beneath the surface clear to
open lips, slowly working until finally they seem to leave.
“Orion just helped you … why are y-you
being rude to him, when people l-like us
do more damage? When humans o-or
humanoids will be the ones t-to deceive
you twice as fast?
Green eyes hold his own gaze, now fixing it towards him. He remembers,
words, a mantra, whispering in his head. Stand up for yourself, he is not a dog for others to walk all over. Ask questions when you want to. His gaze is not
one of triumph or defiance, yet a hurt elder, weary traveling, a knowledge far
beyond what is being shown him.
Both pain and pleasure.
“Why would I need a p-permit for a friend of mine? He is n-not property.”
Like this, he continues. Not in threats or violence, yet in queries which he
wishes to find answers. “Why are y-you frightened of him? If y-you’re capable of doing your job, as y-you’ve shown, why is he a problem? Why do you look at him l-like he will attack you with anything of a flinch? Do you n-not think monsters can’t u-understand your body language? The way you l-look at them? Can’t see how strong a person is?”
Blood dripped down his fingers, yet his questions continued in their mantra, curious words spilled lips. Wise eyes, a look of wanting to hear another answer. He’d heard several, known excuses, but what would you say?
“Yes … “
His questions finally stopped. Slow, as they were to.
“My arm is gone … I c-can move it, but … yes please …
I am still in n-need of healing.”
