Arguing – Han and Qi'ra
"Han, you IDIOT!"
"Qi'ra, c'mon, it wasn't my fault!"
"Yes it was, it's ALWAYS your fault – you don't know how to follow simple directions!"
They'd lost the loot and gotten beaten for it. Beaten and locked in the sleeping chamber without food for a day. It sure wasn't the first time this had happened, but this time, Qi'ra was for some reason convinced that it was Han's fault. Why? Because it had been Han's idea to take that shortcut back to Proxima's lair? How was he supposed to know the thugs had reinforcements out to jump them? Was he supposed to read their minds?
She was sitting on her cot, her knees up to her chest, her arms hugging her legs, as if the beating had traumatized her, which Han didn't get. They'd both been beaten enough times to . . . well, not to be used to it, per se, but at least to not be traumatized by it.
"Qi'ra," Han said in a gentle voice, limping his way to her cot, squelching down the pain in his feet, chest, and head, "what's wrong? I mean, besides what just happened to us and how we ain't gonna get to eat for a whole day?"
Qi'ra took a deep breath. "Why you?"
"What?" Han tried to wrap his arm around her, but she flinched away. "What do you mean, 'why me'?"
"Why did my only friend here have to be one most prone to trouble?" She looked at him with a face cracked with dried blood. "Other scumrats actually obey their orders and don't enjoy challenging Proxima and getting themselves beaten up for it."
"What, you think I enjoy getting beaten up?"
"I don't know," said Qi'ra. "Sometimes I wonder if you're a masochist, to be honest. It's easy enough to anger Proxima without actively challenging her." She swallowed, as if trying to keep herself from crying. "Why are you my only friend here? If it were someone else, this wouldn't happen so much to me."
"Hey, I didn't know the thugs were . . ."
"You think this happened just because of the thugs?" Qi'ra snapped. "If it were just us losing the loot, we probably would have just been beaten and nothing more, but we're getting doubly punished because you talked back to her."
Han sighed. "What was I s'posed to do? She beat the crap outta you for somethin' that wasn't your fault!"
Qi'ra blinked at him. "Why don't you know when to keep your mouth shut?"
Han sat on the cot next to her, letting out a groan as the action aggravated several of his injuries. "If I shut my mouth, when do I open it again? Do I just keep it shut and become like the scumrats who've had their will beaten outta them?"
"What good is keeping your will if you die of starvation or get beaten to death?" Qi'ra glared at him. "Han, one of these days you'll go too far and Proxima will consider you no great loss."
"Then I guess we'll just have to get outta here before that happens."
"And if we can't get out of here?"
Han glanced down at his knees, bruised beneath the rips in his pants. "Qi'ra, you've seen what happens to some of the scumrats – the ones who barely talk and just follow all their orders without question. You look into their eyes and it's like lookin' into a pit." He looked back up at Qi'ra. "If gettin' beaten and starved is the price I gotta pay for not becomin' like that, then I'll take it. If I'm in pain, at least I'm feelin'."
Qi'ra didn't answer for several moments. She blinked at him, her eyes glistening in the dim light. "And what if you cause others to suffer with you?"
The spots where Proxima's goons had punched his chest suddenly throbbed with pain. "Qi'ra . . . I didn't mean to get you in trouble too."
"But you did!"
Han's head was spinning – maybe from the beating or maybe from guilt. "Yeah, I did. I'm a screwup and I don't know when to keep my mouth shut and I drag others into the pit with me." He gripped his head. "Mind if I lie down?"
"Lie down on your own cot," spat Qi'ra.
"Fine," said Han, wobbling as he rose to his feet and collapsed on his own cot. Part of him wanted to just go to sleep and sleep through the entire next day when he wouldn't be fed, but twinges of guilt prevented him from doing so. "Qi'ra . . ." he started, though he didn't know where he was going with that. Was he going to apologize for talking back to Proxima? No, that would mean apologizing for standing up for their rights, even though he knew that as scumrats, they didn't have any rights.
He pulled the blanket over himself, too tired and in too much pain to bother undressing, just wanting to sleep and hoping that when he woke up Qi'ra would be feeling better. "Night, Qi'ra," he mumbled.
Qi'ra didn't answer.
