Trailing behind her mentor, Jaele repeated to herself the necessity of what she was about to do, over and over in her mind like a mantra to soothe her tightly wound nerves. She could appreciate the manner in which the male she'd been labouring under for weeks now had reacted to her audacious insistence he take her to speak with the clan leader. It hadn't seemed he would acquiesce to her demand at first - he'd simply gone on with what he'd been doing when she'd entered the armory, ignoring her following an initial look of skepticism. She was growing so much more adept at reading Yautja expressions and body language, minute as they might prove at times, and had been becoming doubtful her plan would work when he'd suddenly growled in perturbance and gestured for her to follow him.
Instead of leading her to the bridge, however, as she'd expected, they'd travelled to a level of the cruiser she'd not visited before. Once off the lift, it only took a short walk down a wide corridor devoid of any other Yautja to arrive outside a sealed door. Her mentor passed his hand before a sensor and waited. It took such a long time for the door to open, she was convinced her stomach had turned itself inside out in apprehension. With a final glance down at her which spoke to his patent disapproval, he turned and retraced their route to the lift, leaving her alone.
She almost couldn't bring herself to peer inside. The interior of the room was consumed by shadow, the dim red glow from the hall in which she stood being positively bright by comparison. Carefully, she stepped into the doorway and waited for her eyes to adjust as best they could. A column nearly her height was positioned in the centre of the floor and she recognized it as being similar to those she'd seen on the bridge, displaying Yautjan symbols and maps of the galaxy, though this one was not in use currently. Beyond the column were several stands supporting individual sets of armor, six in total, all unique in design. The crimson sheen of the lights from the hall was reflected back in their deeply burnished surfaces, but in none more so than the rich golden set, which blazed as though illuminated from within.
Jaele was so mesmerized by the lethal elegance of the masterfully crafted armor that she only noted movement from one of the darker recesses of the room at the last moment as Vechaath emerged from the shadows, descending the two steps to this lowest portion of the chamber. All across the massive expanse of his chest, dozens of scored symbols wept vibrant green blood which rolled down his torso and thighs in rivulets, leaving distinct footprints on the decking where he tread. As he closed in on her, the acrid smell of singed flesh wafted with him, and she realized some caustic substance had been applied to the symbols etched into his hide which had clearly burned the slit edges - to make them stand out more once the wounds had healed, she presumed. It seemed to be a primitive and painful form of tattooing she'd never witnessed before, though her focus wrenched up sharply to his face when he released a chilling rumble.
"I came to trade with you," she blurted in response, fearing she'd made a terrible miscalculation. She could now see another Yautja standing in the gloom where Vechaath had just come from, this one adorned in what appeared to be necklaces of teeth and bones with dreads which were tied back from his skull. He was much slighter in build than most Hunters and possessed wickedly long and curved talons. She'd known Vechaath would likely be irritated by her request, but she hadn't intended to disrupt some kind of ritualized practice.
The slow patter of blood dripping down his form was the only sound to break the silence following her pronouncement for a few agonizingly long moments. Then, without so much as turning his head to the other, Vechaath raised a hand which seemed to signal the Yautja to leave.
Forced to proceed further into the dark confines of what her brain was slowly registering as Vechaath's personal quarters in order to move out of the more slender Yautja's path, Jaele then waited pensively while the clan leader approached one of the armor sets and donned first the wrist device and then the biomask. He turned back to her then, claws raking across the deck plates. "You challenge my tolerance, little female."
"I didn't realize you were…" She waved to his chest, unsure how to appropriately describe what she'd interrupted. "What do they mean? The symbols."
Perhaps having not expected such a forward question, he inclined his head, considering her. "They chronicle my forebearers," he answered finally, though wasted no time bringing the subject of her visit back to the forefront. "What is it you seek from me?"
Exhaling softly, she marshalled her thoughts. "Pheist told me there was a human doctor on the station you found them on and that she was brought back here by your Hunt Brother?"
"This is so."
"I think she might be able to help Zihrait, to heal his eyes maybe. She was treating him on the station already and I just thought - if there's a chance she can help him to be able to see even a little better-"
"Her fate is Ah'kiat's to decide," he interrupted her, sounding disinterested in the whole thing.
Jaele's heart lurched at this information. By Pheist's account, Vechaath's Hunt Brother was a Yautja to avoid crossing paths with if at all possible.
"You waste my time. Go, I lose patience with your foolish antics."
"Where do I find Ah'kiat?" she forced herself to inquire, needing to at least attempt to bargain with the Hunter. Zihrait had come to the armory the previous cycle, catching her off guard when she'd happened to look up from her work station. He'd acquired new armor and weapons and had revealed to her later that evening when she'd arrived in his quarters that in order to regain his status among the rest of the clan, he would be expected to attack a human ship. A large ship, as he'd described it. How he was meant to do that with almost no sight, she had no notion. He was becoming more mobile and perceptive of his environment daily, but how could he hope to navigate an unfamiliar ship and fight numerous enemies he couldn't see? If the doctor - Hwynn, Pheist had called her - could improve his vision even fractionally, it would be better than nothing.
Snarling, Vechaath advanced towards her. "'Ooman, do you wish to perish?"
"No, I want to help Zihrait." Despite her best efforts to maintain her courage, she did retreat into the doorway as he prowled closer. "Please, you were his mentor - he isn't dishonourable. He helped Riot because he wanted Pheist to train me." She didn't know that Vechaath even had a sense of compassion with which to appeal to, but she tried. He had tutored Zihrait for years, perhaps decades. He must know Zihrait wasn't ignoble.
"You speak of matters of which you have no knowledge. Weakness and selfish intent run rampant amongst your kind, but Yautja do not abide such traits nor those who possess them." Pausing, he grunted. "You allow him to rut you even while you gestate. To what end? Are you capable of conceiving multiple offspring at once?"
"What?" She could feel her skin flush at the abrupt change in topic. "No."
"You are frail not only in body, but in will," he growled, talons flexing at his sides. "I was mistaken in my estimation of you."
It occurred to Jaele as she blinked speechlessly up at him that this was the most agitated she had ever seen Vechaath become. His demeanor in any of their previous interactions had rarely wavered from cold and indifferent. She swallowed, only too aware aggravating the clan leader was not in her best interest. "Where can I find Ah'kiat?"
Towering above her, he leaned forward, gleaming red eye slits daring her to continue flirting with the very real danger his tolerance would run out. "There is nothing you could offer Ah'kiat he would consider of value apart from your life, and that he would end if you were ever truly witless enough to seek him out. He left with the healer you speak of. Do not expect her to return. He intends for her to suffer greatly."
The inadvertent chill which crept down her spine was no doubt her cue to leave. Instead she steeled herself. "I still want to trade."
The warped reflection in the domed surface of the mask both was and was not her. Jaele stared down at the polished alloy, uncertain about the vague impression of herself looking back. Her hand drifted up to the springy curls haphazardly framing her face, the novelty having not yet worn off. She felt lighter - much lighter without the weight of the familiar braids. Strange. But not a bad kind of strange.
It still baffled her that Vechaath had accepted the ridiculous barter. He'd shown a glimmer of interest in her hair during their first encounter and on a complete whim and out of sheer desperation she'd offered him the braids in return for a favour - a kindness - all the while aware she was pushing his patience to its absolute limits. And for whatever reason, he'd obliged her.
Grip tightening on the smooth biomask resting in her lap, she willed it to offer Zihrait even a tiny advantage in the challenge he was about to embark upon. Vechaath hadn't assured her it would enhance or improve his former student's vision anymore than the mask Zihrait currently possessed, but he'd selected the piece of armor from one of the six sets displayed in his quarters, so she fervently hoped that meant it was of better quality at the very least. A guarded sliver of her heart believed despite his hostility, Vechaath knew Zihrait was honourable and was not as biased or indeed indifferent towards his once-student as he presented himself to be. There was no other explanation for why he would have agreed to part with what had obviously been a piece of his own equipment in exchange for a fistful of worthless human hair.
Seated in the middle of the furs in his cabin, she waited impatiently for Zihrait to return from wherever he'd ventured. It was earlier than she usually brought their meals, she reasoned with herself. He wouldn't have expected her and he was preparing for the trial which lay ahead. He could be doing anything. It was good he was regaining his independence and confidence in traversing the cruiser alone.
In spite of these assertions, she bolted from the bed the moment the door slid apart to permit his entrance. "I'm here," she indicated even as she noted his chest expand in an investigative inhalation, establishing her presence as competently through his sense of smell as he might have previously with his sight. She forced herself to remain standing beside the bed and allowed him to approach, rumbling softly. The greeting was accompanied by a slightly cocked head and she knew he was curious about her unanticipated visit.
Instead of attempting to explain, she pushed the polished mask into his chest and waited for his hands to come up, talons scraping over the metal. The change in his posture as he recognized what it was she was offering to him was difficult to interpret. Mandibles flexing slowly, he released a burst of rolling clicks underscored by a low growl. He wasn't sure what to make of the gift.
No, that wasn't it. Belatedly - stupidly - Jaele realized he would scent his former mentor off the biomask. He'd no doubt immediately identified it as belonging to Vechaath.
Worried he would reject it out of male pride, she went to his new set of armor and quickly fetched the wrist device, carrying it back to him. "Please. Please try it," she implored, hopeful her tone would convince him not to react brashly. It was evident from how tensely he held himself that this was a big ask, that she'd not given the implications of presenting Zihrait with a piece of armor belonging to the mentor in whose eyes he'd disgraced himself nearly enough consideration.
When he made no further movements to indicate whether he would accept the mask or not, she carefully clasped the vambrace around the tautened muscle of his forearm and climbed onto the pelt covered bed. His features had hardened into a fierce expression born of anger and of pain - an anger and a pain she was responsible for, she now understood - head bowed and clouded eyes fixed on the piece of armor in his hands. If he hadn't wished to relinquish that which he held, she definitely wouldn't have been capable of removing the biomask from his grasp. But when her fingers slid over his, he permitted her to take the mask and remained still as she raised it to his face.
The wrist device sprang open, red symbols flashing in what she presumed to be some sort of prompt to connect to the new piece of equipment, which he calmly looked down to and accepted with a tap. As his head raised once more, the deep glow of the eye slits caused her heart to skip a beat. Before she could sign to test if the biomask offered any improvement to his vision or not one of his hands came up, seizing her shoulder firmly. Chest resonating in a low snarl, he touched her shorn hair.
"It's fine, it's just hair. It will grow back," she assured him automatically before the significance of his gesture fully registered. "You can see!"
The grip on her shoulder tightened in response to her elated revelation. "Yes."