On the sixth day of Andromeda

My true love gave to me:

Six chances taken!

There was a loud yell of pain as the large creature slammed it's paw into it's prey, knocking it aside and pinning it to the ground. There were many bystanders, but none of them were brave enough to stop this. They knew what was happening.

They knew the routine. This one would be made an example of. None could resist.

The rider slid down from his mount. If you looked at him and his creature, you might be scared, but the prey, pinned with the beast's claws drawing spots of blood on his chest, had eyes and world only for the knife and the cruel gaze of his suppressor. If he had to choose any way to describe these wretches, it would be that gaze and that knife.

With those two things the only articles of existence in the world, the imposing figure stooped.

"Do you resist, Angara?" he purred sweetly.

"I resist." the prey confirmed, not unlocking his gaze from his attacker's. The attacker smiled, and the knife moved. The prey sucked in a breath as the blade sank into the flesh of his neck ridge.

"Do you still resist?" Hunter leaned in closer to victim.

"Yes, I still resist." His voice was tight with pain. He didn't care. The knife slipped deeper in, and cut downwards. Predator leaning closer still.

"Do you still resist, Angara?" a cruel hiss this time. If the knife moved down another inch or so, or pushed another centimeter deeper, it would hit and sever the life-pumping major artery running along the base of his neck.

He did not care.

"To my last breath." he defied. A cruel glint in his captor's eye, these wretched animals that called themselves sentient. The knife moved only a fraction before the cry split the air.

"Please, no!" For a brief moment he allowed the woman at the edge of the crowd, with the young child at her feet, enter his world to join the cruel eyes and the wicked knife. Her eyes were desperate, the child scared. She stepped forwards.

"Don't resist! Please, I beg you!" she pleaded. To the credit of the monster, it listened to her instead of ending him. "We can pay the tribute, double! J-just please...my love... don't resist. Wha-what would we do without you? We need you, here! With us!"

Something new entered her gaze, a silent order, rather than a plea, but then it was gone. The predator looked down at him, eyes still cruel, knife still sharp and embedded in his neck ridge. The prey closed his eyes. So be it, then.

"I... do not resist." he relented, the words foul and traitorous in his mouth.

"What do you do instead?" the predator purred, knowing, languishing in the fact he had won.

"I... bow always... to the might of your and yours... and I will pay my tribute." His voice tasted like mud, the words like grit in the substance.

The beast backed off of him. The knife was ripped from his neck violently, and he was yanked to his feet, before being thrown down again in the direction of the woman and child.

"Be sure that you do." The predator snarled. The prey did not look up as he left, but stay crouched on the ground with one hand over his neck wound. The horrible mark would scar, but he wouldn't be the first one to gain such grisly features. In fact, if anything he was lucky that it was just a short wound, and not a long, winding, burned one like his neighbor's wife had, the flesh knotted and grotesque.

An arm gripped his, helping him to his feet. The woman. She led him away, one arm draped tenderly over his shoulder, to a nearby shack, the child traveling close by his feet with her warm, small hand gripping one of his own. The claw marks on his chest left blots of blood on his clothes. A pity as well; they were new.

The door closed behind them. There were only five others in here; four men and another woman. He broke away from them, one hand still clutched over the knife mark. The other woman was cleaning a table, but stopped when they entered. Two of the men were sitting at the bar, but they stopped drinking and looked over when they entered, as did the bartender. The last man sat in a corner, feet kicked up on the table, face hidden by his hood, but he, too, stopped what he was doing(sharpening his knife; where did he get a knife?), and looked up as they entered.

The prey escaped from death looked at them all with suspicion, the woman and child most of all. The child heaved herself up to sit on a table, her legs swinging innocently, freely.

"Who are you? Why stop me?" he asked. His voice rasped slightly with pain.

"Concerned citizens. And because what I said is true; we need you." the woman said. "There's no point in dying for freedom if you don't die free."

"And what if I don't care?" he snapped. His family flashed briefly through his mind. His life spent trying either to live up to the name, or trying to forge separate expectation, to the point where he just felt like giving up. And after all that influence that came with that name... he got stranded out here, alone.

"Everyone cares." she countered. "From the ones who try to become martyrs, like you, to the smallest child who just wants to know what life would be like without the Kett."

She spat the word like it was poison in her mouth.

"Even if you are part of the resistance-and I know there is a very low chance you actually managed to reach this far-why should I take the chance? There are six of you, and only one of me." He glowered at them all. He didn't recognize any of them, and he'd met many of the cells. "How can I be sure you aren't puppets for the Kett? That's six chances I'm taking that I can trust any of you."

"Hey!" the child protested with a huff. "I'm number seven! Don't I count?"

"It's six chances that you should be willing to take." the woman waved the child's comment off. "And you can at least rule me out; if I were a Kett lapdog, I would've let you die."

"Lapdog?" now there was a term he'd never heard before. Perhaps it was some kind of resistance thing?

"Just a word I've been hearing lately." she explained off-offhandedly. "And I was hoping to turn six into seven. Will you help me do that? I... have heard rumors about your family name."

"Eight!" the child pressed as he looked down at his blood-covered hand, thinking. He shut his eyes. Again, with his family. It couldn't hurt more either way.

"I guess whatever I choose, I'll be dead soon, won't I, if you are spys." he relented. He looked up at them tiredly. "Just... tell me where to meet you, for more information, or whatever it is you want."

"We can supply you with the tribute you need tomorrow. I'll bring it to you in the square." She told him. He muttered a thanks and made fore the door. As he opened it, however, he was stopped.

"Wait." he froze. "I entirely forgot to ask your name."

"It's Jaal."

He left. And, still sitting in the back, Evfra nodded silently to himself in satisfaction.

Just my little take on how our new fan-favorite got his scar. Not as epic as taking a missile to the face, but this is how I imagine it going down. And it has been confirmed that the Angara resistance is fighting the Kett, a IGN thingy revealed a loud of stuff about Jaal yesterday; just in time for this post!

And honestly, I think I'm going to explode. Andromeda's coming, and the new DEstiny update has me frothing at the mouth, and they both come out within a week of each other. GNNNN!

Look up to tomorrow; Tali is going to('inadvertently') teach Legion bad manners!

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