A/N: Written for the Afterlife February OC Writing Challenge, hosted by Aeternix. I'll be working with a character from the collaborative fic "Galactic Life, and Reapers". This particular character started as a bit of a joke, and ended up a protege to Tiberius. Elcor speech is delivered with preambles.
Dark, damp, dangerous.
Flickering aerogel displays lit the office with their wan, sickly cast. Ornate plants and abstract paintings adorned the walls, the only nod to aesthetics.
A large, real baffa wood desk separates the boss from the rest of the world. Near the bottom of the desk, a scuffed red button, hidden in the scrolling beckons. A stubby digit presses it, and a robusto cigar tumbles from a wooden dispenser.
A female ambled from the corner, cutting the cigar, then placed it in the left mouth opening. A hot metal element raises to the edge of the cigar, igniting the paper and the herbs within.
Unhurried puffs start a bright, lively cherry. Harsh, acrid clouds of smoke emerge from his mouth, drifting at a torpid pace towards the high ceiling. Each outward breath livens the glowing cherry, illuminating the female.
Sipping from a vat of hek'nuun liquor, the shadowed and cloaked boss releases a long sigh of contentment. Turning his massive head, he plants a slobbery kiss on the female lumbering back to her post.
Badassfully: How far I have come.
None can hope to oppose the might and glory of the Big Dekuuna Kahunas.
My brocors will roll over you like a raging tsunami.
With arrogant abandon: Hell yeah.
The first memories Caxon could dredge up from the dark recesses of his mind were of the lush elcor homeworld.
He remembered little of the world itself, except for it was the only time his body felt at home. He could breathe and speak as intended for an elcor. Dekuuna's atmosphere contained the correct air mix, and the scents! Oh, the beautiful daffa blooms, the ranse covering the ground as a soft fur, its fragrance wafting upward with every step.
Dekuuna was love, Dekuuna was life.
The Citadel first left him almost adrift, his organs swirling within his gutsack, a terrible sensation of vertigo and helplessness overtaking him, clawing at his breath and confusing his muscles.
He recalled the unnatural blood rush, his drooping eyeballs jerking much too quick, his speech cracking, his body language corrupted.
Caxon's massive fingers twitched at the memory, anxiety re-emerging at the prospect of reliving the experience.
The CItadel had become his home. Its unforgiving metal and unyielding alloys helped forge him, transforming a scared elcree into a hard, salty gangster.
Removing his idle mind from reverie, he turned towards an immediate, pressing matter. One that had been an issue for several days.
"With concern: have we utterly crushed the mrzyn yet?"
The 'mrzyn' in question were an uppity group of turian youth who had begun to encroach on their territory.
"Regretful and flirty: They have not yet been crushed under your heel."
"With rage: Dispatch two heavies. Remove their runners and send them ... into the protein vats. They will sleep with the Fishdog Food Factory waste."
"Giddy and flirty: Jaznol and Griyt will pound their bareface fringes into the pavement. Then you can pound me."
Huffing into his cigar, agitated at the slowness of removing the issue, Caxon tapped the orders into his log.
Annoyed: The Kahunas should not be taking this long to protect our turf.
"Menacing: When the qyds are destroyed, I will lead a team to rough up some shops to fill our coffers."
Contented for the moment, Caxon returned to the Genitelcor video he had been watching.
The femcor in the video serviced three males, twitches and mouth flaps showing how into the act she fell.
"Appreciative: Why don't you do that?"
"Flirtatious: You don't pay enough."
"Determined: Then I will take the team out now and see about changing that."
Caxon and three of his henchmen wandered through the row of storefronts, gazing at the gaudy, glowing signs. Soft lights put shoppers at ease, and neutral smells filtered through the air vents. They needed a front just closing, a shopkeeper just leaving.
Selecting a shop, the elcors would surround an owner and demand their money, looming above most of the squishy races.
Most would rather hand over the chump change in their pockets than incur the Kahuna's anger, and they had very few troubles with C-Sec that way.
Petty theft stayed low on their priorities.
Today's target: a knife and jewelry store, tucked along the line of boutiques, sweet stores, and clothing outlets.
A well-dressed human walked out, groomed facial hair and a tuxedo. The elcors moved to surround him, hearts thudding at the prospect of acquiring high-denomination credits.
Caxon spoke up, ready to shake him down.
"Badassfully: You! Human fecal deposit! With naked menace: We are going to carve out your spleen and drink from it. Smugly: You cannot escape the wrath of the Big Dekuuna Kahunas."
This man, instead of freezing and throwing money, just grabbed onto Caxon's dembvot and ... mounted him as a beast of burden!
Groaning in surprise, he reared up on his hind legs, then crashed forward and kicked, attempting to throw the human.
That proved fruitless.
Allowing himself to fall sideways, Caxon hoped to pin the annoyance long enough for his associates to pound him and take his money.
He signalled for converging, but their quarry adjusted his standing on Caxon, avoiding being crushed by the fall or pinned by the onrushing elcor.
He hopped off and drew a large pistol, sleek with fresh gun oil and with a fresh ammunition block in the load well, hands steady and extended, eyes sharp and focused on sight picture.
The boss righted himself, but sparks of pain filled his vision as the heavy polymer and metal gun crashed into his skull. A sudden strike against a nerve cluster in his right foreleg dropped him.
Caxon submitted, humiliated in front of his gang, numb, and driven to the ground by a mere human.
"Resigned: I submit. I offer wenskut." The metallic, cold, and dirty taste of the flooring couldn't compare to the shame he felt.
"Very well, Seabiscuit. If you'd like to stay a free elcor, get up and lets have a chat."
"Confused: My name is Caxon, leader of the mighty Big Dekuuna Kahunas."
The man shook his head, pistol no longer pointed at Caxon, but not safed and collapsed either.
"You are Seabiscuit, I rode you like a racehorse. As for your friends here …" The man scanned each one, narrowed eyes promising danger, but ridiculously small mouth-slash quirked in mischief.
"You all may go now."
At Caxon's nod, the three elcor ambled off back to their base.
"Bye, Flag! Bye, Black Beauty! Bye, Budweiser!"
Dumbfounded: This human is very strange indeed.
"Now, as for our arrangement. I will let you go, provided two things: You tell me your dryx, then you sweep my store and polish my counters. That includes ten meters around the outside."
"Shocked: You know of elcor customs?" Caxon had never encountered an alien who knew of the dryx, much less had any interest in his.
The salesman stroked his hideous beard and gazed at Caxon. "I've just got a feeling that you might prove useful. And I need to know if that is true. So begin while you work."
Caxon plodded into the store, glancing at the many exotic blades hanging up, sorted in displays, or on service racks.
Guns, ammunition blocks, mod boxes stayed in a locked transparisteel case near the register. Jewelry hung on small metal racks, or displayed in soft velvet boxes. In the corner, a magazine rack of all Fornax subsidiaries stood innocuous.
Selecting a cornhusk broom, Caxon began to brush the off-blue floor, the dust of a hundred boots compiling.
"Respectfully: The dryx of Caxon, elcor of Dekuuna, is as follows …. "
Post Scriptum: How did Caxon rise to his position? How did he arrive from Dekuuna, and enter a life of petty crime? FInd out in the next installment!
Glossary of Low Deku'a words:
Baffa: a strong aromatic tree. Its wood is very difficult to cut, and is prized as a luxury material.
Hek'nuun: A deeply nitrogenated liquor, a blend of several elcor whiskies with a fruit blend that delays metabolization of the alcohol, prolonging the effect.
Ranse: Ground-covering plant, grows in fuzzy hairlike tufts.
Elcree: Young elcor
Mrzyn: Term of derision regarding fortitude (coward, yellowbelly, lily-liver)
Qyd: Scatological term of derision
Dembvot: Garment draped over the back of an elcor.
Wenskut: An unconditional elcor surrender. Allows the victor to decide the fate of the surrendering elcor.
Dryx: An elcor's life story, generally reserved for close friends, lovers, public office employers, and law enforcement. When recited, it is very detailed, and complete truth. Any elcor found to lie during a dryx is expunged from elcor society.