There's a guard outside the door, and Tasha has been sitting in here for nearly an hour. Her armor and weapons were taken to be 'cleaned' and she hasn't had any contact with Shojo, Fringe, Lily or Axe since being taken here. It's not quite a cell, but there's a feeling that a cell is still an option.
Tasha bides her time in thought and reflection, hands together infront of her as she sits on her bed and stares at the floor. When she pushed the Lancers off the ship in order to confront Blackwings, she knew there'd be hell to pay both ways. And so, here it is, staring her in the face just as she thought it might. Blackwings is dead by her own hand -- someone she looked up to and loved no matter how foolish her reasons nor how vile the pirate -- and that hurts enough. For Tasha, it feels like something is gone inside. Missing, perhaps broken. And to compound things she sacrificed a Lancer mission to see it done. She still served the 'greater good,' she didn't allow Blackwings to leave, but it was rough and selfish -- and she doesn't even give a damn.
It had to be done. For her. For Blackwings.
Tasha shakes her head. It's all easy to piece out in hindsight. But that's not all there is: The Captain has made things a great deal worse. The hybrid doesn't like her at all, and knew it the first time she saw her, and this has only worsed the situation for them both. Both; Tasha isn't any happier with her and her casual dismissal of her after returning, nor her seizure her things. She thought the woman looked petty, and hasn't been disappointed. A part of her wants to end another captain today, or at least put one on the deck.
Bt even that's not the whole of it -- Lord Yama has given her a terrible burden, one she was set to shoulder but still weight lingers. It rests heavier, with all that's happened. In the end, Tasha decides she's glad for the not-cell; She'd be fine with a real one. It's giving her isolation, and time to think. Something she needs right now. Time to mourn, too.
The door opens, and there's light. It comes from a glowing rock, held by a small hand. When the door closes again Tasha isn't alone. A small figure wearing a Templar uniform has joined her. The light stone is placed on the small table, and does little to illuminate the features of the new arrival. "I'm going to come right out with it," Captain Ink says in her squeaky voice. "Were you under orders to kill Blackwings so that she wouldn't betray her buyer?"
This, Tasha didn't forsee. "What?" She asks in a flat, almost dead voice as she looks up. She doesn't even try to hide the hint of confusion that tinges her answer.
"Your companions are being questioned too, and I can usually tell when I'm being lied to," the Skeek claims. "You were a last-minute guest on this ship. You aren't a Templar, but went with the boarding party. You're the last person to see Blackwings alive. You heard me say that I wanted her captured. Someone hired her. Someone was going to take delivery of those children. Someone is going to pay for wiping out two villages and skinning three Savanites alive. Do you understand my question now?"
"I do now." The news should be shocking, Tasha knows it should. But in the end, it just feels hollow, cold. Bitterly cold, both to hear it and to know what her choice has cost the world. But even so, it all feels distant. She hated Blackwings, but she knows now a part of her still loved her. And now, she's gone. It's something Lord Yama and all the others told her: The value of the people close to you. That's where meaning is, she thinks. And so she had meaning in Blackwings, and came to finish things, give a little back in the end once she realized she could. And yet now, the world is telling her she's wrong. Back and forth, she thinks, sacrifice people or sacrfice the mission; There's always a cost. "I wasn't aware of the rest." A pause, and then, "I won't ask for forgiveness or say it wasn't intentional. I had my reasons. But they had nothing to do with that."
"You knew her personally?" the captain asks, no surprise in her voice. "Who did she take from you?"
Tasha looks up, but her face is expressionless, distant. "No one," is her answer.
"The others aren't responsible. This was all my decision. It has nothing to do with them. Let them go, and I'll sit in a cell quietly," Tasha then answers.
"I don't need you to be quiet," the captain says. "I need you to talk. I want to know everything. Who you knew of her crew. Who she did business with. I want names. I want to know who I can squeeze a lead out of among her surviving crew."
The hybrid woman considers for a moment, then nods slowly. "I only know some of them, and distantly. I don't want to see them again, but, I will if it will help you."
"If it will help me, I'd have you torture them personally," the Skeek notes, her teeth the only visible feature in the dim mage-light. "First off, when did you last see Blackwings?"
"I won't do it. You'd have better luck torturing me. But it shouldn't be needed, either way. I won't die here though." Tasha pauses to draw in a deep breath, leaning back and resting her hands behind her head as she stares at the ceiling. She isn't as relaxed as she looks; She isn't relaxed at all. Her mind is alive with choices and outcomes, and all of them look grim right now. "About two years ago, as I was leaving her ship when it was docked at Darkside, Rephidim."
"What was your relationship with her, and how much did you know of her business?" the captain asks next.
But Tasha doesn't answer. It hurts enough to remember, saying it is worse -- and somehow ti feels like a betrayal. She risked a lot to give Blackwings an end, held her as she died. And now, life demands she pick apart her life and hold it and her own for scrutiny. She never thought she'd be annoyed with a tragedy, but today has been a new day for a lot of self discoveries.
"Do I need to go first then?" Ink asks, a bit harshly. "Blackwings killed my husband and son, and laughed while she did it, because she didn't believe a pair of Skeeks would be the captain and first mate of a noble's yacht. She cut them down and then demanded that the real captain come forward. Nothing you say is going to be a betrayal, because there is no honor to protect. Whatever image you had of that woman, it was undoubtedly better than the real thing was."
Deep down, Tasha knows that should have broken her loyalty -- how ever twisted -- to Blackwings, but it doesn't. In the end, she had always suspected Blackwings was as horrible as the rumors said. The news changes little, save that it has put a real face on all the tragedy the woman had caused.
And that, more than anything, stirs Tasha enough to admit, "I loved her. I held her as she died. She was my hero, a long time ago. I hated her. She used me. But I remembered in the end, so I let her die with dignity." She lowers her gaze to meet the Skreek's gaze, eye to eye, her own far away and hollow eyes meeting the captain's own hate.
"She didn't deserve it," Ink says, her tone still neutral. "Pirates aren't afraid to die. They all want to go out in a blaze of glory, taking their ship with them. It's so romantic that way. Makes the others remember you. The only thing they really fear is being caught, broken and humiliated. That's failure for them. It's the only deterrent to others following them. Someone else will take Blackwing's place now. More villages will fall. Hell, we don't even know where all of them are, because they hide. Only the slavers know. So help me. Help me hunt down the one who is making it profitable for them. Who was Blackwing's second in command?"
"Its been a while. She changes them now and then, eitehr because they challenge her, or they die some other way. It's how she works. The best way to find out would be to throw me in there with them. Tell them I tried to help Blackwings escape. They know me. I'll try to start a mutiny, get answers. You'll let it seem to work. Then, stop it. Or follow us," Tasha suggests. It's the best idea she has, and an honest best. Part of her doesn't regret what she did, but the rest is slowly turning. And she knows, in the end, she stood up and killed Blackwings in order to prevent further tragedies.
"Who was a long-term member then?" Ink presses. "The cook? Bosun? Ptera wrangler? I don't have time to press all of them. There had to be someone the old bird trusted!"
"Only Blackwings would know that, and she's dead. She wasn't the sort of person to trust anyone unless she absolutely had to. In the end, Blackwings only trusted herself. That's why we have to get them to tell us. The one who knows will be panicking now -- they know what happens to slavers and pirates. The second will take charge. If you have more information, I can try to feed it to them to get them to open up to me," the young woman explains, her voice a dead monotone.
"I'm not about to trust someone who lets their personal feelings override everything else," Ink says. "I don't have time for this. You brought back her blood. You were close to her. That's enough for the Spirit Mage to work with. I'll let one or two of the pirates watch, even, so they can tell the rest."
Tasha glances down again, brows raising. "I'd help you if I could, but all I was to them was entertainment, and it has been years." She then tilts her head and asks, "Or do you want my blood too? You shouldn't let them call my spirit. But I can't stop you, and you'll do what you want."
"You'll be the medium," Ink says. "Raithe will fill you in on the role. It'll probably take a day to get the ritual ready anyway, so I'll be 'talking' to the captives in the meantime. Get some rest while you can." She knocks on the door, which cracks open enough for the guard to see who it is.. and then Tasha is alone again, except now she has a glowing rock for light.
Tasha sits up long enough to watch the Captain go, then turns and lays herself down, rolling on to her side atop her bed. She thinks about everything that's happened, but can't make sense of it. Even when she feels like she made the rigth decision it turns out to be wrong. Or, there was no 'right' decision, just choices and outcomes. Favor people close to you and the mission suffers, favor the mission and people close to you suffers. She thinks that maybe the answer is in the numbers, or in some nebulous morality she eitehr doesn't have or has lost. She wonders what the 'hero-pilot' she once was would do, but doesn't know anymore. All she does know is that she's tired of thinking about it and tired of being awake. And so she reaches over and places a pillow atop the glowing rock, and contents herself with the darkness and with sleep.
The chambers of the Spirit Mage look more like a doctor's office. There aren't any magic circles or dribbly candles or skulls.. just a chair and a lounger. There is a table covered in odd paraphernalia though, and several glass-fronted airship cabinets full of bottles and jars of unknown contents. Raithe herself is a tall white Kattha with an Olympian accent. She wears a Templar medic's uniform, however. "Please, have a seat on the recliner," she says to Tasha when she's brought in the next day.
"Alright," goes Tasha, who looks around as she enters the room. She doesn't look much better from the day before, but at least she's rested and ther far off gaze is a little closer now.
After having a look as walks, she seats herself on the recliner and turns to watch the mage expectantly.
The feline sits in the other chair, and nods to the guard, who leaves them. "Tell me, have you ever been hypnotized or experienced an altered state of consciousness.. even had lucid dreams before?" she asks Tasha.
"All of those," Tasha answers, the young woman turning to look around again. Inanimate objects don't shift her from her thoughts as much. "I'm familiar with some of how Dream Magic works, I've had visions, and I've touched alternate universes."
"Well, this should not be too traumatic then," Raithe says. "First off, you should know that while I have a gift for Spirit Magic, I am not a formally trained mage. This is common within the Templars. Those with magical talent are generally self-taught. So my techniques may seem unfamiliar if you have experience with 'proper' magic. What I am going to attempt here is not necromancy: I won't be conjuring up a spirit. Instead, I will be trying to elicit specific memories from the departed's spirit, through a medium. That would be you, since you have shared intimate moments with Blackwings, I am told?"
Tasha just snorts derisively at the response. Other than the moment at the end of her life, Tasha isn't sure Blackwings was ever close to anyone.
"Ah.. from that I take it you were not exactly close then.. but you did have a bond?" Raithe asks.
"Maybe," the young woman mutters as she peers at a bottle. "Blackwings wasn't much for bonding. But I guess I'm your best choice. She seemed to care at the end. I don't know anymore."
"Well, if this works, you will know for certain, hopefully," the Templar says. "Here's how it works. I'm going to give you a magic potion made from Blackwing's blood. It's not enough by itself to do much, but that's where your memories come in. I'm going to lead you through them, and by reliving them you should summon up an internal version of Blackwing's ghost. As you relive things, that ghost will become more defined, until you can start getting information and memories from it. Can you handle that?"
"I guess I can always strangle her ghost. What's one more dead person I care about? Maybe I should kill my mom while I'm ther-" Tasha snaps her jaw shut, then lifts her hand and gives herself a solid smack on the side of the muzzle -- hard enough it's easily heard. After rubbing her face a moment, she says in a clearer, more professional tone, "Yes. I can."
Raithe gives her a measuring look. "Now.. do you have any allergies or bad reactions to narcotics?" she asks.
Tasha's grin is lopsided and wry. "Alcohol makes me drunk. Otherwise my doctor has told me I don't."
"Good, because I am going to be giving you something that you really only want to take once in your life," Raithe says. She gets up and goes to one of the cabinets, where she rummages a bit. Eventually she finds a vial of clear liquid, which she brings to the table. Using a glass dropper she carefully measures out a few drops into a teacup. A brown liquid from one of the beakers on the table is poured in next. "This is usually reserved for someone who is dying and in great pain," she notes.
"And I've been trying to drink less, too. I don't do anything lightly, do I?" Tasha shakes her head as she accepts the cup, staring in to it. After a few seconds she just shrugs, saying, "Harrowers catch me if I fall!" before throwing it all back.
It seems natural to just lie down after that. There's a warm glow.. and Tasha really does think she can see the glow as it spreads through her. Eventually she feels disconnected from her body, even if she's still in it, and time seems to drift a bit sideways. Like Harrower Time, maybe. The world becomes an artistic blur.
The blurriness is welcome relief to a troubled mind. Tasha's thoughts swim, becomig as hazy as the world, which somehow seems seperate and inside her all at the same time. Had she the presence of mind to realize it, she might compare itmore to other space-times, and to her dream experiences. As it is, she can only hold on for the ride.
Raithe's voice is very clear and real, at least. "Let go of the now, Tasha. Let the blood guide you. Remember. Remember the first time.." And the room goes away. There's stone instead, arching high overhead. The Underside docks jut out from the central inverse-mountain that dominates the bottom of Rephidim. Torches and lanterns bring definition to the shadows, fighting the glare of the sky below. Rigging creaks, sail and envelope billow and ripple in the wind. And people are shouting.. cheering. There must be fifty or sixty, all taller than Tasha. She has to kick and poke to get through. Then she sees the spectacle: a beautiful Vartan woman, stripped to the waist, facing off against a big Jupani, also bare-chested. Both of them wield sabers, which flash like lightning when they strike one another.
Young Tasha, around her fifteenth year, hunches under a man's drink carrying arm -- but it's worth it! "Oi, loo' at tha'! She's really givin' it to 'im!" Fights in Underside are nothing new; The hybrid girl has participated in a number of them herself. But this, this is something new. Shiny-new.
After elbowing the man in the ribs, the young woman manages to slip past for front row seats. Once she can see clearly she takes it all in: The man she thinks she's seen around, but the woman is new. New, and shiny -- and she thinks she might have a coin or two for those prett sabers. Something about her stirs more than greed, as well, but it's just ringside confusion vying for main event attention. Her eyes and her mind are elsewhere.
The Vartan woman is laughing, clearly enjoying herself. The blade flashes, and something flies off the Jupani to land at Tasha's feet: a brass belt buckle. A moment later and the wolf is having to hold his pants up with one hand, and it throws him off just enough. The Vartan's blade pierces his chest and comes out the back! She kicks the man away with her hoof, and he doesn't seem to realize he's dead until the blade is withdrawn. There's a lot of cheering and cussing, and money changing hands, and the woman holds up her saber and proclaims, "Blackwings demands her prize!" Another man approaches, looking angry, but holds out a very fancy and shiny captain's coat. It's likely Gallisian or a good fake. The woman slashes at the coat with her saber, making openings for her wings, then slings the prize around her shoulders. "Blackings! Blackwings!" the crowd cheers, as the winner makes her victory walk.
Lie a flash, Tasha snaps up the belt buckle and tucks it away in her chest. She can't believe her luck, as she knows the buckle is her ticket to some real money. And not just that, she got to watch what she thiks must be the best saber fighter on the whole of Rephidim! She didn't even know someone could do that, and she's glad she did. Once her prize is tucked away, she thinks of scurrying away with it, but the cheers call her back -- and something else. She stops walking off, then turns, then sneaks her way on back for the celebration.
I wun'er who this Blackwings is? She's just in time to see her prize: A Captain's coat. Tasha feels lucky, but compared to that coat, she just feels like a street rat snatching up a bit of a noble's leftovers. It's Blackwings who has the real prize, she sees. All she has is leftovers. the longing comes so strong she can almost taste it.
The Vartan saunters by, soaking the cheers, leers, hoots and whistles. She passes Tasha, then stops and turns, giving the girl another look. "What dis?" Blackwings asks. "A puppy-bird?" There's a glint in the woman's violet eyes.. the sort of look a Vartan gets when it spots something shiny. "C'mere, puppy-bird. Let Blackwings get a good look."
Tsha's ears immediately go back at the attention, eyes wide. When Blackwings calls to her, she points at herself to see if it's true. Seeing that it is, the young woman steps forward, the pointing finger shifting up a little so she can quickly push her prizefurther out of sight, fearing the newly made captain has caught on. Still, even anxious as she is, she can't quite manage to look away from Blackwings. Big, successful, victorious, a captain. For the hybrid, it's like staring at everything you want to be -- and having it stare back. And her eyes ...
Tasha blinks away the ditraction. Then she does it again. "Aye?" She manags to reply-bark after it all.
Blackwings swoops in. She has an arm around Tasha's lower back, a hand on her arm.. and the hybrid is dipped backwards, like in a fancy dance. The big beak plunges into her cleavage and roots around before coming back out with the buckle dangling from the Vartan's tongue. There are more hoots and laughs from the crowd.
"W-wha..?!" Goes a shocked, and even more so mortified, 'puppy-bird.' She immediately covers her chest, ears askew and tail tucked between her legs as she's held there. Her ears and face are flushed, as much as she can show it, looking like a mouse caught by the eagle.
Up close, Tasha can see that Blackwings even has gold rings pierced through her nipples, nearly hidden by the feathers. The Vartan laughs, and says, "Ooo, what other goodies you hiding, eh? You either very bold, or very stupid to snatch one o' my trophies, puppy-bird. Which be it?"
"Oi, um, ... both?" Tasha stammers out, still crling in on herself like she expects to get stabbed, or beaked, or possibly both. "E' din' need i' anymore an' it came t'me so ... so ... " Then with a sudden roll, she tries to break free and skury away!
The Vartan releases her, but twirls the buckle on the tip of a talon. "Oh ho.. tell you what, you bold enough.. I give you this shiny, eh?" Blackwings offers slyly. "You just gots to come get it. I be at the ol' Dome, in the baths. You decide if you more bold than stupid." The woman swings about, so that her prize-coat flares, and gestures for the crowd to part (which it does) so she can saunter through the gap, heading towards what used to be Faraon's Dome.
Tasha hits the ground running, but only makes it about seven feet before she hears the challenge. She slows, coming to a stop and looking back. The glint of the buckle catches her eye just so, and something more than that. Possibility. A chance. An offer. And idly she rubs her arm, more than a little bothered, in more ways than she knows -- and all the answers are waiting for her in the Dome. Maybe even a way out.
The young woman turns fully, watching Blackwings go. It'sa few minutes later before she starts walking after her.
Tasha had never been to the dome before. The place was legendary, and after the fall of the Friend it was quickly divvied up by whomever could hold onto their section. The baths were places of fantasy. Olympian ruins, fanciful airships, glass bottoms that looked down at the world below. Blackwings chose a grotto, one that had supposedly been Faraon's favorite. It was dark, steamy and lit with colored lights. A Skreek stopped Tasha from entering though, giving her a thorough pat-down and removing all of her weapons before allowing her to proceed.
A belt knife, a wooden hook and a whip are all taken away, leavign Tasha with just her fists -- something that'd always been enough before. But as she walks in, taking in all the immense grandeur of this place she though she'd never see, finds herself increasingly inadequate. She'd seen the duels before, but none had the mastery of Blackwings skill. It was the first time she really understood how different the people above her live, how much she wanted that life. People like Blackwings were on a different level, far above her. And so she seeks out that shiny, higher being; Maybe, just maybe if she's lucky, she'll let join her world.
There's an alcove where a Savanite slave-girl is playing a harp (the laws of Rephidim regarding slavery didn't apply down here, any more than any of their other laws). There as a big chaise lounge, currently occupied by another slave girl. A third was helping Blackwings disrobe next to the large steaming pool, fed by hot waterfalls (and hidden plumbing and boilers as well). "So, you came," the Vartan says upon seeing Tasha. "I pleasantly surprised. What your name, puppy-bird?"
"C-captain! I-I mean, Tasha, Captain! Captain Blackwings," stammers Tasha in the face of her better. She's still wide-eyed, impressed and overwhelmed by everything. Overwhelmed by Blackwings too, once she sees her. This causes her ears to shoot up, and she quickly looks away and hopes the woman didn't take it as an insult. Instead, she stares at a wall and through the slave-harpist.
"Shy, Tasha?" Blackwings asks, before stepping over to the hybrid. The woman isn't built like any Vartan Tasha's seen before - more like a dancer than a dockworker. It doesn't help her composure any when the Captain starts to undress Tasha.
"No!" Barks Tasha, who maanges a moment of canted ear defiance as the older woman walks up to her. Then she's on her, and she can only freeze in place, biting her lip. It begins to occur to her just what the Captain might want in exchange for the shiny, maybe even for more. She'd only ever kissed a few other girls, and a few, a little further. Clumsy, not like the men who always knew what they were about, if not any less clumsy. But like everything else between them, the young woman senses Blackwings is different -- and no clumsy girl, but a woman. She doesn't know what she could offer to impres her, but at least she knows what she seems to want, and so doesn't struggle even if she does tense up. She knows what's coming; She think she does anyway. It's just never happened like this.
"You all Vartan below," Blackwings laughs. Despite her looks, there's no getting around the cold, scaly texture of her hands. "C'mon, you need to relax. I break you in. Bath first though.. you smell like pteras.."
Tasha sucks in a breath when Blackwings touches her, tensing all the more, but slowly she relaxes as the woman guides her further in to the bath. Now she knows what she wants, but she tells herself it's all the same, after all. Everyone wants the same thing from her, so, she think this shouldn't be any different -- should it? She's isn't sure what being 'broken in,' entails, she can only think it must be the usual brag. Bu' she doesn' seem li' the type to brag if'in she can'n't back i', the hybrid realizes, suddenly like she may be over her head this time.
Blackwings does take her time, making sure Tasha is relaxed.. and making her squirm a bit several times. When the time comes to earn back the buckle, the Vartan notes, "I got this out with my tongue, so you gots to do it too if you wants it!" Of course, the buckle wasn't just between Blackwings breasts, since that wouldn't be a challenge at all..
Tasha really wants that buckle. A bronze buckle is nearly a year's worth of pay, a fortne for her. She could get anything she wanted. And if she were memorable, maybe she could get even more. She's done more for less, it's just different this time. Even so, she can't help but feel the pain of egrdation, but it's an old pain, and one she's had a lot of experience with since she was born. A bit more pain, a little more sacrifice won't hurt anymore, she tells herself. If it will get her farter. If she can be liked, then maybe ... Maybe she can leave her old life behind.
And so Tasha gets on her knees, looking uncertain. She knows what it's like, but she's never done it all before. Her muzzle parts, and her tongue runs along her teeth and lips. Won' be so bad, she insists, cou' be fun. But she knows it's already doing something to her; Part pain, part pleasure. And so hesitantly she leans ... Pain and pleasure. That's how it would be.
Things seem to blur a bit after that. "Do you still have the buckle?" a distant voice asks. Raithe?
"Mum took it. Slapped me 'ard. Tol' me I stole i', then slapped me 'gain," Tasha mumbles in a haze, still ready to do what she must. Still longing for what was taken. Did she do good? Should she have been better? Would that have made the difference. "Gone now, li' everythin' else. Goin' be gone soon too."
"You went back to see her though, even after your mother punished you?" the voice asks. Tasha remembers other times. Being let onto the Dagh's Chibix. Shown off at the bars the Captains went to. And sometimes.. being made to do things with others for Blackwings' amusement. None of them seemed to involve much about how to be a captain though. Blackwings only had use for people that gave her some sort of gratification or loyalty. The rest might as well have been.. garbage.
For dock trash like Tasha -- an abandoned mixed from a father that didn't even love her enooguh to come see her -- being cast aside was worse than being degraded. At least when they were using her, she felt important to someone who was important. Valuable. After all, if someone as influential as Blackwings wanted her around, then she must be somebody. Someone important. Someone with a future. And if it cost her something else, she'd pay it. As much necessary, to stay wanted. To stay close to the light, where everyone mattered. "I di'. An' she punished me 'gain. An' I still went. Then Blackwings came by, an' the punishimen' stopped. Jus' 'ad to try 'arder, do more s'all. Then I coul' leave. Was jus' temp'rary, aye? Jus' ad to prove me'self an' it'd be done ... jus' ... jus' one more time ... an' another .... an' ... "
And Blackwings filled Tasha's head with thoughts of glory.. without ever sharing anything with her. Not how to get to where she was, certainly. Nothing that could be used against her, or to challenge her. She would come into port, live high, and ship off to do.. something. There were always the rumors. Tales that Blackwings was a pirate. That she made her money through kidnapping and ransom. But even that was just a way of 'sticking it to the nobles', wasn't it? Nobody got hurt from it, that Tasha could see. Even Blackwings claimed she 'brought adventure into people's lives' and would laugh about it. And then while she was gone, Tasha met a shiny (and somewhat homicidal) bunny princess, and everything changed.. right up until the last meeting.
"You gonna stop me?" Blackwings asks her, up in the rigging. Grinning that cocky grin. Not even reaching for a weapon. Why bother?
It had all been falling apart towards the end, when she met that bunny. As the degradation increased to keep up with Blackwing's need for novelty, especially given Tasha had gone from the 'new shiny' to a quickly dulling one, the same old lines wore ever thinner. Admiration turned to suspicion, then slowly, hatred. Tasha distanced herself from Blackwings, tried not to be around when she was in port. Made excuses. But she still obeyed, when she was caught. There'd be new stories with the old, and it wasn't as if her life ws going anywhere. Not until it did.
And again, at the end of it all.
Tasha thrusts her halitool forward with the weight of her body without a word, knowing Blackwings expected her to crumble like she always had. To break. To beg her for attention, just a little more. She'd do anything. Except that woman vanished, ceased to be in an old relic, in a machine that showed her the universe and who she might become. The thrust carries the weight of conclussion; She knew she'd never get another one. It had to end. She had to end. There could be no more Savanites captured in the night, but at least she could end it. Save her from the fate all pirates fear ... give back a little more ... a little more ... for attention? For love? Vindication? Or maturity?
The blade goes in, and Blackwings doesn't collapse. "You think you can end me?" the pirate asks. "You? The little girl with stars in her eyes. Always so afraid. Even now, aren't you? There are people much scarier than I am. Scary enough to know I was the one to call on." As she talks, Blackwings gets uglier. Her true self shining through her pretty mask. "You're still serving me, Tasha. I'll be remembered. Immortalized in legend and song. You won't even be a verse, a line, in any of that. Maybe in a dirty limerick. You just wanted to try and take some of what I was with you, didn't you?"
Tasha stares at the ugly thing that was her hero, her abuser, the dead end. Her expression is somewhere between fear and pity, but not for the reason Blackwings might think. "It doesn't matter anymore," Tasha says ina distant, absent monotone as her eyes widen. "Sinai is a tiny world. A backwater forgotten by the Galactics. A colony unremembered, save for where it came to rest. But you, you mattered. Because I cared about you once. I loved you, for all the wrong reasons. You had die. But I wanted to save you. So we could all have what we wanted. So i could have my end. Before it's over. Before I'm gone. The stars are calling. My ship is calling. The universe is opening, and I need to go now. To find them. Sinai is home, but Sinai is just a little world. Sifran world. The heart of the end. The dockside I left. I could own the whole world if I wanted. Ruin cities. Burn it all. But it's meaningless now. I walk with the gods. What you could give, is nothing. I already exceed you. And my mission is calling.
An end ... home is at an end ... and I wanted to say good-bye."
A decaying hand latches on to Tasha's shoulder. Parts of the Vartan are beginning to slough off, revealing someone else underneath. "You're a fool," the changing voice says. "This is the most important world in the universe." Bloody golden fur is revealed as Blackwing's mask falls away. A Khatta. A lynx-Khatta at that, with one pale, blind eye, and a scar across that side of his face. There's nothing left of Blackwings now, just the old, vicious looking lynx. "Nothing out there matters. They're just waiting to die." The grin is sickening. "But by all means, fly away. Fly away, little Bird of Hermes.." And then Tasha is back in the office on the Sword of Golgotha, and feeling violently ill.
Tasha sucks in a breath as she shoots upright, clutching the arms. The gasp is immediately broken by a sudden convulsuion as she pitches forward, vomitting her breakfast on to the floor in series of ragged and cough-strewn heaves.
"Aagh, I knew I forgot something," Raithe sighs. She pours a glass of water from a pitcher, and waits for Tasha to sit back up again before offering it to her.
The retching gives way to dry heaves, but even while Tasha fights it she tries to pull herself up. Frantically, she searches for the Khatta she was, that gruesome and ominous figure. Even disoriented she knows that she has to find him, that he's dangerous, and that he matters somehow. "Where ... where is he?!?" She finally manages to ask.
The glass of water is offered, and Raithe asks, "Where is who? Please, describe in as much detail as you can remember. Especially if you have a name."
"What?" Tasha wheezes as she accept the water. She drinks it down while looking around, conciousness fully returning to her and with that her awareness of whating going on. "I just, I ... I saw someone. But I don't think he's who you're looing for. I think I should be looking for him. For him ... Whoever he is." Who are you, old man? How did you sneak in to my mind? The nodes? Magic? But a Khatta ... And he knew. Who is he? "He was an old Khatta, a 'lynx-Khatta.' Vicious looking. Scarred, with one blind eye, milky white. I've never seen him before, so ... why ..?"
Raithe writes down the description. "It was likely someone Blackwings knew. Hopefully the one who was going to buy the Savanites," she says.
"I don't know," Tasha says, sounding very uncertain. She's had this happen before, but it wasn't relevant to the situation -- it was an intrusion from without. Not unless Blackwings did know him? 'The most important world in the universe,' he said ... He must be here. Somewhere. But who is he? And how could he know?" Then, tasha looks up and asks, "The Emirate buys salves, don't they?"
"They have a slave market, but supposedly they can only deal in existing slaves - the Emir doesn't allow new ones to be imported, for the obvious reason that Xenea is a sovereign state now," Raithe notes. "Where there's a market, however, there's a black market. Children could be snuck in, and claimed as children of existing slaves."
"Maybe that's a lead for you. For us. I don't know. I think our session may have been intercepted, invaded. It's happened before, but I don't this man. But he seems to know me." Tsha continues looking around, as if the man might be hinding anywhere nearby. She clutches her water cup in anxiety; A new worry to add to the pile.
"It could just be a psychosomatic reaction," Raithe says. "Two way communication is unlikely, since the only memories you were exposed to were your own and Blackwings'. We do keep a lot of files on known or suspected criminals, especially old slavers who are now shut out of their profession. We'll find a match somewhere. If nothing else, the description points to a Himaatian Khatta."
"It was what he said. Things he shouldn't know about me. Blackwings wouldn't know. Things that only happened after we were apart. He mocked me. he knows my plans. How could a memory know these things?" Tasha inquires, finally turning to watch the 'doctor.'
"You knew these things," Raithe points out. "They could be your own inner voice echoing back to you."
"No ... No, no. Not this time. That's what people told me before, but that ghost haunting my mind nearly enslaved me. No, I'm treating this as if it were real. I will figure out who he is and get answers, if I can." Tasha turns her head and looks about for something, then asks, "If you bring me my bags, I brough paints to record our findings. I could paint his portrait. A quick bust, but it should be good enough. Quickly, while the memory lasts."
Raithe speaks to the guard outside, then returns. "The supplies are on their way," she notes, looking concerned.
"I won't be tricked again," Tasha promises as she slides out of the chair and stands. She's still a bit unsteady, so she braces her hand aganst the seat and takes a quick sip before she continues. "I'll see if I can remember any other faces. Captain Blackwings liked young women, so she may ahve wanted one or two for herself. Her own interests may lead you to her buyer."
"We know from the rescued children that she had the 'prettiest' young adults skinned alive," Raithe explains. "So she could line her coat with the fur, I believe."
Tasha recoils, nearly spilling her drink. "Skinned alive? That's ... that's ... " She just shakes her head; Blackwings was abuse and occassionally cruel, but she never saw any of what she's seen in the last few days. She wonders if this is new, or had always been going on. She could believe she'd kill Skreeks out of disbelief but skinning children? "It's hard to grasp. the rumors didn't go this far. She was abusive, often cruel. Violent. A pirate. But this seems like something new. I don't know. I never saw it. I ... " Looking down at her hands, she wonders at what she's done. She had no way to know how far Blackwings had gone. The Titanians are pirates as well, but they're not considered sadists. She's heard of other pirates too, but skinning people alive for coats? What is going on, she wonders.
There's a knock at the door, and the painting supplies have arrived. Raithe hands them over and asks if Tasha needs anything else. "Besides water. I have that."
"Just time. And please, tell me everything that happened. The Captain told me part of it, but not everything. Something about a village, people murdered and skinned. She thought I knew, but ... " Tasha shakes her head as she walks over and accepts the supplies. She carries them far away from the vomit coatd floor and sits down, unpacking her things. "You must all think I'm a monster now, for defending her."
"Or just one of her victims," Raithe says. People come and go while Tasha works, but it's all in the background. Someone cleans the floor, brings tea, and talks to Raithe. The light is good in here, at least.
The peaceful trance of painting is a welcome relief from everyting that's happened. She's never felt so unwelcome, nor so deserving of it before. She thought she was doing the right thing in the best compromise, but it was all wrong. Wrong in ways she couldn't have seen, made by decisions that were too last second to consult anyone on. A terrible mess, but worse, a mess that's just one more result of an even greater string of tragedies -- ended lives, broken dreams, and damaged children of which she was one.
At least in paint, there is serenity. Even painting the vicious figure, the style is soothig even if the subject is not. One face is completed, then another, and another. She adds notes of places Blackwings liked, and where she might have stayed. Notes about her preferences. But more than anything, she has that man's picture. Moments later she decides to copy it, for herself. She suspects she'll need it.
"That's him?" a squeaky voice asks from behind Tasha.
"I don't know. It could be unrelated. An attack on me. But we both need to see him, just to be sure," the hybrid woman answers. She turns and shows her the picture, adding, "And I'm truly sorry about what happened. I'm sorry for what she did to you, and I'm sorry for getting in the way of your hunt. I'll gladly accept a cell when you're done with me, until I leave the ship."
The captain's expression darkens as she looks at the portrait - which is something considering her face is already all black. "No, Blackwings wouldn't have given this up if we'd taken her alive. Not if she belonged to him," she says quietly. "You did well, Tasha." She turns to the crewmen next to her and says, "I want Limjow to meet me in the chart room. And find that Cobalt Lancer.. I want him too. Wake up Fax and have him prepare to send five shadowgrams." To the guard, she says, "Break out the armor and prepare the cannons. We're going to Harrison's Hold, and destroying it. The warlord of Kilmanjar has declared war on Xenea. We're going after Ibrahim Warloq, finally." She dismisses the guard, and turns to Tasha. "Get cleaned up, and bring your crew to the chart room as soon as possible. Along with all your paintings."
Tasha rises, leaving her supplies on the floor for the moment. "I will," she prmises, putting a hand over her heart. "But one more thing, Captain? Be very careful with this man. I think he may be more than he seems. More than a warlord. I have some suspicions, he spoke to me. He mentioned things. I don't know if it's me echoing in his voice, but if it's not, we have a even bigger problem."
At the door, Ink pauses and turns around. "Oh, I know what he is," she says. "He's the Devil. And we are the hammer of the heavens, coming to send him back to Hell."