A/N: At the end of this chapter, I've included a Bonus Section that contains part of my response to ArtistofLight's impassioned review of Chapter 11. It's so gratifying when a reader expresses strong reactions to something I've written – it means I've struck a cord.
If you care to read what I shared with her, it contains a portion of Ztar's psychological profile, which you may find interesting, and a bit of my thought-process behind why Ztar felt he could compare himself to Warren.
First, though, we have C12. In this chapter, time is passing more quickly now as we move deeper into the story.
Chapter 12
Ztar was furious at the communication from General Gtar-Cro. What, by the gods, was the Commonwealth up to? The unrest and bombings of imperial installation in the Mygra System were now indisputably linked to Commonwealth agents. What game were they playing? The Mygra System had not joined the Empire willingly, but its people had rarely caused any trouble until a few months ago. Now it appeared that the uprising was orchestrated to serve some as yet unknown purpose.
Mygra wasn't strategically important or unusually resource rich. Its two inhabited planets should not hold any particular interest for the Commonwealth. Yet the Commonwealth was there meddling and stirring some of its people to rebellion. The intelligence reports answered the who, but not the why…that puzzling question remained infuriatingly unanswered.
###
While Ztar wrestled with too much goings on, Warren wrestled with too little. He was bored. Bored, lonely, and claustrophobic. Language lessons only went so far. He couldn't focus only on that for hours a day, every day. And while Sukja did provide some company, it was the company of the enemy, not someone with whom he could freely converse. The loss of everyone he knew – of simple friendship – was beginning to weigh heavily. He was totally alone in the enemy's camp.
Confinement was also taking a toll. It'd been how many days since Trapia – 19, 20? 'Couldn't they stop for even a few hours?' The need for flight and exercise gnawed at him constantly. His dreams were of flying; the subconscious trying to provide what reality did not. Warren hated to ask anything of Ztar, but he may need to soon or he'd go crazy. 'Is that part of Ztar's need to control? To make me come begging?' he wondered.
But it was the boredom and monotony that picked away at his sanity most. With little to occupy his mind, he tended to focus on his plight and that only led to despair. There had to be something more than what he was current doing to fill his days, but what? What had the previous occupants of his chambers done to fight the tedium? He decided to tackle that issue first, flight time later.
Querying the computer, he found that the Mi-Lartui offered several ways for her crew to pass their off-time. The crew lounge provided light food, drinks, and game tables. He learned there was a workout room located on deck three. Another option the computer mentioned was called the Vartis court. Warren asked for an explanation of the term and found that the game resembled a complex form of racquetball. None of those pastimes appealed. He didn't feel like mingling with the crew, so that automatically eliminated most areas of the ship. He was back to square one.
He may have to ask for ideas. Perhaps Officer de'Letnoir would have some suggestions. Warren needed more zante and a few others items from stores anyway, so he headed down to de'Letnoir's domain.
"Greetings, Archangel! I was wondering if I'd be seeing you today. Been what, two days since you restocked your shelves?" the officer teased with a warm smile.
"Hello to you, too!" Warren shot back in feigned offense, but then parted with one of his rare smiles. He would not make the effort for anyone else, but de'Letnoir had been nothing but friendly and helpful. "The zantes are running low as are a few other basics, but I came looking for information, as well. Ideas, to be precise."
The officer approached the service counter. "What can I help with?" The alien seemed genuinely eager to be of assistance as he looked up inquisitively at Warren.
"To be honest, I'm bored and looking for suggestions on how to keep busy."
de'Letnoir smirked mischievously. "Boredom is something we simply can't have on the Emperor's personal cruiser. We'd get a bad reputation! For starters, there's the lounge. After day shift, the place really picks up. It's where most of us gather."
The conversation was heading toward the awkward. "I was thinking more about daytime activities. Things I can do in my quarters or from deck two."
de'Letnoir's smile dissolved and he looked more intently at Warren. The officer appeared as if he wanted to say one thing, but then rethought and decided on another response. "I understand. You've been instructed on how to use the computer?"
Warren nodded. "I figured it out, but you can only sit in front of that so long."
"Indeed." de'Letnoir paused in contemplation, long fingers spinning a small, rectangular object on the countertop that Warren didn't recognize. "Deck two is limited. Haven't been up there myself, but I know there's nothing as far as recreational opportunities. I keep coming back to the computer as your only option from that level."
Again, de'Letnoir looked like he wanted to ask a question, but was hesitant. Likely, it had to do with the restriction to deck two, Warren guessed. That self-imposed limitation Warren did not see himself lifting anytime soon. He grew uncomfortable even thinking about mingling with the crew. As cowardly as it may be, Warren wasn't going to put himself through any additional stress that wasn't absolutely necessary.
The procurement officer sighed. "Other than what you can do on the computer, I'm afraid I've failed you." He actually seemed saddened. "But you can always come down here and keep me company. I play a mean game of sonji-mir." The officer continued at Warren's raised eyebrows. "It's a table game. I've got it in the back. I could teach you!" de'Letnoir perked up at the idea.
Warren contemplated the invitation. It would be a good distraction and he did like de'Letnoir. 'Perhaps I should allow myself this one connection – just until I'm rescued,' he considered. "Is it a good idea? You're on duty…"
"My ultimate duty is to the Emperor and what he desires. I don't think my superior officer could find fault in my helping his companion avoid boredom. It would please Emperor Ztar, I'm sure of it, as long as I don't neglect my duties."
There was that word again – companion. The word had taken on a pejorative meaning that was humiliating each time Warren heard it. But Officer de'Letnoir said it without any intent to insult or demean, as if it were just another title, like ensign. Maybe Warren's role was nothing of consequence or unusual to Mi-Lartui's crew, but they weren't the ones forced into the Emperor's bed.
Warren swallowed back his thoughts and rising emotions. He didn't want de'Letnoir to know how much what he'd said had stung. "I'd like to learn then."
"Alright! Today, though, got a full docket. Let's plan on tomorrow for your first sonji-mir lesson. Say 12.0?"
"I'll be here," Warren agreed. At last, something to look forward to.
"In the meantime, you can read about the game on the computer and perhaps learn the basic rules," the officer suggested and Warren nodded. He'd do exactly that.
Zante and other supplies in hand, Warren made his way back to his chambers feeling good about the decision. He needed another challenge and was glad he spoke to de'Letnoir. Yet another tool in his arsenal to survive until his teammates came.
Putting away the food supplies, Warren suddenly realized he couldn't quite remember how many days had passed since he was taken from Earth. Was it 28, 29, 30? He could check easy enough, but really, what did it matter? However long it was, it felt like eternity in hell.
Checking in on himself, Warren also recognized that the anger that lead him to rip his chambers apart and punch out Ztar had eased. It was still there, but no longer white hot. 'Burned itself out? So soon?' he wondered with worry. He had liked the anger, but now it felt like too much effort. Where had it gotten him?
'Time to get off wild rollercoaster of emotions?' he asked himself. Warren didn't know. Even making a decision to step off the emotional thrill ride didn't mean he could actually do it. What he felt, he felt. Suppression doesn't stop the emotions, only pushes them aside.
The goal was to survive somewhat intact until rescue came, but with each passing day, the ship likely traveled farther and farther from Earth, making rescue more difficult. 'Don't give up. The X-men will find a way – they always do.'
Yet it was becoming harder each day to hold to that belief.
###
His fortieth ship-day found Warren watching the star streaks from the imperial observation lounge. The passage of time remained dull and protracted. As his grasp of the Turzent language grew, he no longer spent hours on lessons. Playing sonji-mir with Officer de'Letnoir was another way to idle away an hour or two, but that still left many hours unfilled. It was very possible that what Ztar's nightly attentions failed to do, boredom would – drive Warren crazy. The lack of mental stimulation added to the confinement was actually physically painful.
Sitting on the window bench, knees tucked under him, and facing the stars, he let the emptiness of space seep into him. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine flying through space, around the stars and planets, the universe stretching endlessly before him. Riding the solar winds in his mind, he rushed past moons and asteroids and comets in silent flight. Wings unconsciously spread wider in response to imagined currents.
He opened his eyes and stared out at the white star trails, placing a hand on the window. If only he could fly through the stars. Aching need grew stronger and more insistent every day and imagination only went so far. Nearly a month without so much as a few strong wing beats, and desperate need had taken hold. He was ready to scream. So closed in! Warren needed to get into the air; it was not an option.
Strike that – he needed so much more. He needed freedom. Freedom from all the memories of the past – God, how long? – five weeks? He needed freedom from the long hours each night with Ztar and the dispassionate handling of him by Sukja. Freedom from everything he had yet to endure. Freedom from the crushing shame of what he'd degraded to.
Resting his forehead against the window, he allowed himself slip into despair. It was the quiet times when the price he was paying was too much for a burden forced upon him by others who looked at him as a bargaining chip or a prize to be won. A pretty body to be bartered away. Who cared about one mutant…one Human. A planet saved at such a small price. Sweet deal!
Sweet deal for everyone else – hell for him.
Memories drifted to home, friends, Worthington Industries, his charitable foundation – so many things he missed. Even the endless mundane business meetings were appealing after being taken away. 'What I wouldn't give to be in one of those right now instead of here!' He sighed. 'The old saying is so true – you don't really appreciate what you have until it's gone.'
A wave of loss swept over him as he desperately tried to keep belief in rescue alive. But he lost the battle against the painful yearning for home and freedom. Tears came against his will only to infuriate. What good did they do? Nothing was changed by them. They didn't wash away the pain. Meaningless! They didn't help him cope. He wiped at them in disgust, but they continued to flow.
Ztar was responsible for the misery. Ztar – the man who coveted Warren only for his body. Ztar, the alien who didn't give one iota about the person within that body. Ztar. The hated tormentor and enslaver that Warren couldn't touch without risking everything he missed so fiercely. The inner conflict tore at Warren – painfully, ever hour of every day and every night as he let Ztar have his body.
Suddenly, the weight he carried for Earth's safety was too great and Warren struggled to draw breath. More tears. He shuddered. 'Pull it together, flyboy. All you have to do is cope a while longer. Long enough for them to figure out how to get you out of this nightmare. Just a while longer…'
He blinked at the tears he didn't bother wiping away, looked out into the vast blackness of space, and grabbed onto the one coping mechanism that worked best. Detachment.
A little disconcerting how often he was using it. Would it eventually lead to a permanent break from himself? He'd heard of that happening…something called depersonalization disorder. A defensive technique the mind used to escape from things it couldn't cope with. He'd have to be watchful; use it only when necessary. Like in bed.
It was a particularly odd sensation when Warren detached while Ztar did with his body as he pleased. Like observing from the outside, but not wholly. The Emperor's mental monitoring wouldn't let Warren escape completely during sex – Ztar insisted he remain responsive. Complete disassociation did not serve Ztar's pleasure.
But detachment was submissive and Warren was angry at himself for using it. Yet it seemed the least painful alternative, physically and mentally. What he really wanted to do, what every fiber of his being wanted to do, was fight back and kill his tormentor. He wanted so desperately to bring the nightmare to an end. But Earth…
So he was back to detachment as the best option, maybe his only option, that would help him hold on to a shred of sanity. His breath caught and he felt the tears restart.
'Calm yourself!' he ordered.
Focusing on breathing, slowing it, steadying the rhythm, he reached down to a calmness somewhere deep within his psyche. Tears halted and pain-filled mental ramblings were buried. His skill at repressing the worst of the feelings and memories was reaching expert level. Avoidance and distraction worked on what was left.
Rising from the window bench, he decided he'd swallow what little was left of his pride and ask for another side trip. He needed some flight time – his other link to sanity. As soon as he returned to his chambers, he checked the bathroom. 'Damn it, that Dorraj slipped in again!' The room was spotless. Knowing the housekeeper watched him was a thorn in the side.
###
Sukja was heading back to his chambers when he caught sight of Archangel in the observation room through its open door. He came to a halt. The Human sat facing out and was very still. What was going through his mind? Sukja had felt the last several days were not good ones for the man. Malaise emanated from lonely figure that Sukja could feel even without being an empath.
As he watched quietly, Archangel's wings stretched outward as if catching the wind. A few moments later, he saw the hand on the window and Archangel's head come to rest against the clear barrier. He suspected what Archangel was thinking and it tore at Sukja's heart.
'This being of flight does not belong on a star ship. He belongs in the open sky.' Sukja realized with new clarity that confinement would be the biggest hurdle in keeping Archangel intact emotionally. Perhaps if they could fill that need, everything else would be less difficult. The Mi-Lartui needed to stop more often than either he or Ztar had originally believed. He would talk with Ztar about the situation Sukja decided as he continued down the hall.
###
Later that day, Warren asked where Mi-Lartui was going next. Sukja explained they were bound for one of the outer systems. A voluntary addition to the Empire a few years back that Ztar felt required a personal visit.
"Normally, this isn't something Ztar does. He has representatives to handle feel-good visits, but Ztar is concerned about something, though he hasn't said what that is. And so we're off to the edge of imperial space."
Warren's curiosity was mildly piqued, but he didn't care enough to pursue the topic. Instead, he asked about a side trip. Sukja promised he'd take the request to the Emperor, but also told Warren that he needed to do likewise – it wasn't Sukja's job. Future requests would need to come from Warren alone.
###
Ztar knew something was up in the Raisil System, he just didn't know what it was. Not only had military intelligence recently found evidence of Commonwealth ties to some in the Raisil government, but there was the matter of the advancement in FTL propulsion Raisilian scientists were perfecting – thereason Ztar had acquired the system a few years ago when the research was in its infancy, but showed great promise.
Yes, a personal visit was in order. Nothing like some subtle telepathic probing to learn the truth. Very few outside his inner circle knew the true extent of his abilities. Even if the Raisilian's attempted to shield their people or keep those with sensitive information away from Ztar, he would find a way.
One tactic was to bring certain individuals aboard the Mi-Lartui. While the ship's psychic dampeners would block any possible Raisilian telepaths, the dampeners were designed not to block Ztar's specific telepathic signature. He was free to probe without interference.
'This jaunt could prove enlightening indeed.'
###
Ztar looked down at his Archangel. Another fulfilling interlude with the heavenly being. Even after 40-plus days, he still couldn't believe he possessed something so magnificent. Wondrous beauty, determined spirit, durable body, keen intellect – all in a single package. Ztar had never been more fulfilled in bed – all his fantasies could be realized at long last.
He had induced sleep in the Human once the sex was over while his body performed its healing magic. Ztar had not been gentle. The tensions concerning the Raisilian System and other imperial issues had built up and spilled over into the bedchamber. 'But I didn't lose control,' Ztar congratulated himself. He hadn't lost control since Trapia.
Archangel had been surprisingly outspoken. He had begun to worry about the despair Archangel seemed to be falling into, but the show of assertiveness bordering on defiance alleviated some of Ztar's concerns. In hindsight, it impressed and pleased the Emperor that Archangel still had fight in him; though while it was happening, Ztar had grown perturbed at the verbal protests. Most bedmates would have been quite submission after several weeks, if they had survived that long, allowing Ztar to do with them as he pleased without resistance or objection. But Archangel had a spirit that wouldn't be beaten down – it was one of things so appealing about the man.
That night, Archangel's approach had been slightly different. Not so much resistance, but an attempt to deflect Ztar from what was obviously most physically uncomfortable. However, after several unsuccessful attempts to redirect Ztar's more aggressive moves, Archangel had spoken up between clenched teeth.
"Stop it," Archangel had demanded in a voice laced with anger and pain, pushing at Ztar's arm when he had once again clutched a wing.
"I will do as I please!" Ztar had answered with heavy breaths, looking down into the blue eyes that reflected the discomfort he was inflicting not intentionally, but as a by-product of satisfying sexual need. He wanted Archangel roughly and did not want to be distracted. Rough sex was one of the two encounters Ztar had decided upon after Sukja said he needed to be more limited and predictable.
"Just…not so much like this!" Archangel implored, wrapping his hand around the Emperor's upper arm to push it away from the wing.
"Let go of me," Ztar warned in an ominous voice. He backed it up with a mental jab. He had not been in the mood to be refused.
Archangel jerked and released the arm. "Bullies are all the same – you're at your finest when the victim can't fight back!" Archangel nearly spat at Ztar, his eyes blazing.
/ Bullies… / Ztar pulled the meaning from Archangel's mind. / That I am, Archangel. This bully you will endure for the sake of your planet. Now let me do what I desire without protest, / Ztar commanded telepathically, and he once again explored the delicate wings. He loved their feel, their scent; the tremors his touch sent through Archangel's body.
"Damn it, Ztar, back off! You're hurting me and I'm tired of it!" Archangel knocked Ztar's hand away with force.
Ztar's irritation level had risen sharply at that. Not only had Archangel struck him, but he was disrupting what had been delicious enjoyment. "You will do as I wish. You have no rights here, no power from which to negotiate terms of treatment. I own you – your body, your mind, your very existence. Tired of it or not, you will do as I command," he knew the words were cutting, but he'd hoped it would end the rebellion quickly.
"No," Archangel had rebutted in a near whisper. "You can't own me – it's not legal…or moral!"
Ztar looked inquisitively at the Human. "It most assuredly is legal as the Accord attests and it is also moral. Owning you is my right as Emperor. That is a right and tradition nearly as old as my people. I chose you and you are mine. Your sole purpose is to offer yourself to me in any manner I desire." He narrowed his eyes at the man. "I don't need to remind you of the price of defiance."
Ztar stared into Archangel's face as the Human closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and seemed to physically shrink at the summation. The empathic connection filled with anguish and hate. Then the blue eyes shot open for one final declaration.
"It's still wrong – I don't care how you try to justify it."
Ztar was equally firm in his belief. "You're not on Earth anymore, Archangel. You're part of my Empire now and will live by our laws and our morality. Your ideas of right and wrong are meaningless here and need to adjust accordingly," Ztar said with a sigh. Why was he having to explain himself, especially to a bedmate, he'd wondered. Not only was Ztar not in the mood to expound to Archangel his legal status, but it was something Sukja should have dealt with long ago. "Enough talk. Submit as required by the Accord."
Archangel gave up, the empathic link echoing defeat. 'Good!' Ztar didn't want arguing; he wanted submission…no talking, mild resistance at best – that was his expectation of Archangel for that encounter. In return, Ztar had told himself he would do everything he could to avoid losing control. And so when Ztar found himself on the verge of doing so, he dipped into that peaceful place in Archangel's mind just enough to take the edge off. His restraint had an unexpected benefit. Ztar had found he liked the sensation of being on the verge – it was dangerous and exciting.
Ztar continued to gaze at the sleeping Human in contemplation. Earlier in the evening, Archangel had asked for another flying opportunity, but Ztar hadn't answered at the time. Now, though, having quenched sexual thirst, he felt generous. Immediately after the Raisil visit, they would go directly to the nearest Earth-like planet, and he'd watch his beautiful possession enjoy its transient freedom.
Then the Turzent gently kissed his sleeping companion and left.
###
When Warren woke, it was still nighttime on the Mi-Lartui. All physical injury from Ztar's visit had long passed, but the emotional pain was still raw. The alien's words had cut deep, but he didn't want to think about it in the wee morning hours. And he hadn't the energy to get up, so decided to try to get more sleep, not bothering to move to the window seat as he would typically do.
Almost immediately, thoughts got tangled up with Ztar. A feeble attempt to think of more pleasurable things, such as lovemaking with old flames – with his cherished and lost first lover, Candy – failed. Too mentally depleted to fight, he let thinking go where it desired.
His attempt that night to distract and deflect Ztar away from brutality failed. So far nothing worked – not resistance, deflection, or distraction. Then he'd tried the direct approach and protested Ztar's treatment of him and challenged the Emperor's morals. Again, failure. Why had he wasted his breath? Ztar's twisted version of right and wrong would not change. It served him well and justified everything he was doing to Warren. Once it was clear that neither distraction nor challenge would dissuade the alien, Warren had no choice to give up.
Ztar had been aggressive and the bruising was intense when the alien didn't check his strength. Warren's body healed quickly, but that did not stop the pain. He had tried hard to repress any sound, as vocalizations seemed to encourage more of the same, but wasn't always successful. Lying quiet and still while someone brutalizes you is nearly impossible, but he vowed to make the attempt if it minimized the aggression. And when Ztar entered him, it was always without preparation – the rapist couldn't be bothered with such trivialities – and the pain was piercing. It was the worst part and he dreaded it every time.
But there was one positive change, if you could call it that. Warren saw a more consistent pattern to Ztar's bedtime demands. Of late, there was aggressive Ztar and gentler Ztar; gentler being relative, of course. He was learning quickly that aggressive Ztar was not tolerant. He simply wanted Warren to submit and let him do what he wanted. Little was required of Warren during those nights – a little feigned resistance if the alien was in the mood, but other times Warren could almost just lie there and Ztar wouldn't complain. That was good, because detachment was easy and Ztar didn't object.
On the other hand, gentler Ztar wanted more participation. Those nights, Ztar held himself in check and restrained his strength to a certain extent, though never completely. Things were more leisurely and focused on sensuality, if you could ever call a rape sensual. At times, Ztar even attempted to create some pleasurable sensations in Warren, but he did expect Warren to be more actively involved. Detachment was harder, but still possible. Warren knew he could learn to go on autopilot to get through those evenings.
With a heavy sigh of resignation, he sat up. Sleep was not going to return. Stretching wings wide, he gave them a quick ruffle to settle disheveled feathers back into proper position and then let them drop lazily to the bed.
'At least Ztar is more predictable and less chaotic in what he wants,' Warren thought, taking what little good he could find in the situation. Predictability didn't make his situation less painful or easier, but at least Warren knew what was expected of him. That alone lessened the stress.
'Speaking of stress,' Warren rose and looked down at the bed. He had lost a couple more contour feathers over night. He didn't think they pulled out during sex, being quite certain he would have felt that unique sensation. While he wasn't due for a molt for several months, intense stress could trigger it prematurely.
'God, if I have to deal with that, too, right now I am going to go off the deep end!'
###
Before reaching the Raisil System, Ztar, Sukja, Commander Polzjen, and her aide had finalized the invitation list for a diplomatic reception to be held on the Mi-Lartui. Among the planned guests were two individuals with possible ties to the Commonwealth according to military intelligence. For those guests, attendance would not be optional – his staff would ensure that.
The reception would take place in the imperial observation lounge. Sukja was charged with logistics inside the room – food, beverage, décor, room layout, etc. It kept him busy. Despite a full schedule, Sukja continued to have breakfast with Archangel every other day for a couple reasons. First, to keep tabs on his charge, and second, he enjoyed the man's company. The Human was intelligent, curious (almost maddeningly so at times), and he liked many of the same foods as Sukja and was always willing to partake in culinary adventures.
However, on the morning of the event, Sukja had another reason for breakfasting with the Human.
"You said a while back that something about the Raisil System had piqued Ztar's interest. Ever find out what?" The winged man queried between bites of zante, one of the man's favorite breakfast foods.
"The Emperor holds much information to himself," Sukja offered. He didn't share with Archangel that military intelligence was involved in the reception more than usual; therefore, the interest likely had to do with imperial security.
"This system joined the Empire willingly?"
Sukja sighed silently. The Human's curiosity was in overdrive that morning and the questions hadn't stopped from the moment Sukja walked in. Today was not a day for leisurely dining served with interrogation. "That is correct, as is the case with many of our systems. Raisil's former governing body saw the wisdom in joining the Empire. The galaxy is a dangerous place. Our military strength offers a shield small, sovereign systems cannot hope to replicate. As further enticement, we offer those that enter voluntarily greater freedoms than would otherwise be the case. As long as they support the Empire and abide by our laws, those freedoms continue. Ztar is not unreasonable, but if you cross him, beware."
Archangel grumbled something under his breath, too low for the Sukja to understand, but certain it was a sarcastic retort. He let it go. Time was slipping away and much remained to be accomplished before the day's headline event. Standing, he indicated the questions and the meal were over. "One more item, Archangel. You will be attending the reception tonight."
Puzzlement crossed the handsome features. "Say that again…"
"The Emperor requires your presence at the Raisilian reception this evening, beginning at 26.0. I will have clothes sent up. We will meet beforehand to brief you as to your duties. Be dressed and ready no later than 25.5."
Anger and disbelief flared instantly in the blue eyes. "I will not- "
Sukja immediately cut the man off. "You have no choice in the matter, Archangel. Make yourself presentable and be ready when I come," he ordered sternly. Sukja had too much on his docket to spend time in meaningless debate and left before any further protests could be lodged. He'd known the man would be upset and intentionally said nothing until the day of the reception. Given too much time to think, Archangel may have reacted in ways that Sukja did not want. Just one day to fume limited the potential damages.
Ztar was clear about Archangel's role. The Raisilians were physically very much like Turzents. Certain external features and internal differences were present, but nothing dramatic. Raisilians had many of the same aesthetic tastes and sexual attraction preferences as the Emperor's species, as well. Ztar knew Archangel would make a perfect distraction, whether his guests were opposite gender or same gender attracted. When minds are distracted, they are easier prey. Archangel's only duty was to simply be his beautiful, sensual self.
Keeping the winged man's purpose firmly in mind, Sukja and Ztar's tailor had spent considerable time designing Archangel's attire for the reception. What Archangel likely wouldn't notice was the blue was an exact match to his eyes. "It will intensify their color," the tailor confirmed, "and be stunning in contrast to the white wings."
The triangular design of the top would emphasize the Human's lean contours. On Raisil, an inverted unilateral triangle carried several symbolic connotations, including sexuality and virility. Sukja was quite pleased on that note. Amazing what a little cultural research will reveal. Sukja allowed himself to anticipate seeing the companion in his custom-made reception attire. If the tailor's holo depiction was any indicator, the look would be quite effective.
###
To say he was livid at the announcement was an understatement. What was Ztar thinking? To what end was Warren to attend? A pretty embellishment for the evening? Ztar's date? Intolerable! Or was he to be there for other reasons? He didn't even want to venture where some thoughts led.
Warren attempted to divert thinking from the reception by going through a Turzent language lesson, but found it impossible to concentrate. He continued to fume, but as the day worn on, other feelings crept in that were unlike him. Imaginings of the reception began to cause queasiness. Under normal circumstances, a political reception would be a cakewalk, but the situation was far from normal. He was the Emperor's whore and believed everyone would know it.
The day was interminable.
Warren jumped at the early evening door chime. The outfit had arrived. Warren laid the garments out on the window seat. Not fancy, a tailored top with short sleeves that came to points just above the elbows. The pants were a simple slack that obviously would also fit close to the body. Most of the outfit was in a soft tan, but the front of the top had a blue triangular insert, the top leg running from shoulder to shoulder, and the third point ending at his waist. Blue also ran past the shoulders and down the front of half of the sleeves.
'Hate it!' Warren thought in disgust and turned his back on the garb.
He strode over to the wardrobe and opened it to examine himself in the full-length mirror attached to the inside of the door. Forty-five ship days and he looked like hell. His hair needed a cut for one. The face looking back at him was drawn and tired. Spreading the wings, he took in the damage. The feathers were a mess, splits everywhere and several smaller ones were broken. He'd have to do a thorough preening soon or flight would be hampered, assuming the ship would stop again so he could fly. A pang of need hit hard with the thought.
'You need to ask again,' he reminded himself. 'Maybe then we'll stop. But it does no good if you don't take care of the feathers that allow you to fly.'
So before the reception, Warren preened for his own sake. Sitting cross-legged on the window seat, fingers worked feathers automatically after so many years of performing the task, allowing his mind to wander. 'Sometimes I hate you,' he told the wing splayed around to the front, bringing feathers into easy reach. 'Another fine mess you've gotten us into. If not for you, Ztar probably wouldn't have given me a second look.'
A quick yank on a broken contour feather and with a sharp zing that traced all the way to his spine, the quill released its grip on nerve and tissue. He hated pulling even the smaller feathers. The amount of resulting pain wasn't the issue; it was the nerve-zapping feel of it. From the shabby look of the wings, he'd be giving the hypersensitive nerves a lot to complain about that day. "Shit."
'Maybe you deserve this, my feathery limbs. Screwed up my life yet again!' he spat, jerking out another broken, slightly larger pinion. "Ow!" The wing shuddered as the feather was ripped from nerve ending. "Should pull all of you out – then the bastard would lose interest. Just an ugly, plucked bird he wouldn't even want to look at."
He could never do that; at least he didn't believe he could. Besides, it would take a while, but the feathers would come back in – Ztar could just wait it out. Warren spread the wing wider to get a better look at some of the areas. "I do hate you sometimes, you know that, right?" He reached to run fingers along the trailing edge of the appendage. "But I love you, too. Love what you give me." He chuckled. "Stereotypical love/hate relationship – that's what we've got here, my friends. More than love. Need to fly. Must fly." He tenderly brushed the feathers again. "You give me that and I love you for it."
Suddenly, he jerked. "Talking to yourself? Detaching a part of your anatomy as separate from the rest of you? God, Worthington, you are losing it!"
Shaking off the ruminations, he finished the preening chore and went on to dutifully make the rest of himself presentable for whatever humiliations were to come that night.
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A/N: Thoughts? Reactions? How did the preening scene come across? Quite curious on that one, since it's mostly new.
Thank you, again, AoL, and all my readers and reviewers, for your wonderful feedback and ongoing support!
BONUS:
Here is the Bonus Section I mentioned at the top of the chapter that gives you an insider's peek at some of Ztar's psychological profile as shared with ArtistofLight. Hope you find it interesting.
"Here's the reason I felt the scene was needed. Psychologically, a person simply cannot have empathy without feeling a connection to a person or to people in general – that is the very basis of empathy. Despite being an empath, Ztar lacks substantive empathy/compassion for a number of reasons and, as we all know, has been seeing Warren as an object and not a person. I felt it important to mark the point at which Ztar starts to identify with Warren even if his interpretation of that rising feeling is "warped." But it's a beginning and someone learning to empathize needs to start somewhere.
I felt that Ztar's odd opinion that he and Warren are similar would be in keeping with his character at this point in the story. As a self-professed 'selfish bastard,' to me it was logical that Ztar would first see reflections of himself in Warren. Maybe one way to look at it is that Ztar's psyche is grasping at straws to make some sort of connection/any connection, no matter how flimsy.
In my mind, Ztar suffers from a moderate form of Reactive Attachment Disorder, or RAD as the mental health community calls it. Objectifying people is exactly what RAD-affected individuals do – people are tools to an end. I have relatives who adopted a child suffering from severe RAD and used some of what I learned through them as the basis for Ztar. Sadly, that child was quite violent and is no longer with them after my relatives spent eight years trying to repair the damage. Other complications came into play, but in the end, the girl could not be "saved" – the RAD was too severe.
In Ztar's case, the basis of his RAD came from an abusive childhood and it was then exacerbated by the betrayal of the only people he'd ever trusted (the military) and the side affects of his augmentation."