NSFW
Part I:
RAKKA
continued
He lays awake on the bunk, hands behind his smooth crests as he contemplates what has just happened…Miranda has left to deal with whatever needs done on the Ni S'pri…and the ship is all he hears with its clicks and constant air circulation through the vents, the engine core at work in its ever-thrum, the memories in his head of Miranda and him having sex on the bunk, not once, but three times before he finally grew tired of doing it with someone other than Braith…He smiles wistfully as he reminds himself he could never tire of making love to that woman, missing from his life.
With a sigh through his nose, he rolls over from the mattress onto his side and looks at the sheets and clothes on the floor, Miranda's no longer among these…His boots rest by the doorway still, one upright, the other on its side where he left it in his rush to unclothe himself. With an easy strength, he heaves off his side and swings his legs out of the bed, setting his feet down and standing. He scuffs his head on the ceiling and hisses with a wince as he rubs the injury, glancing at the low support bar cutting off the bunk area from the rest of the cabin space and wondering why it runs through there…Internal support structures have a way of imposing on the least assuming places of comfort and medial luxury. He bends and reaches for his clothes, throwing the covers behind him and grimacing at the stains left behind from several explosions…Fucking celibacy, he thinks acrimoniously in his head and bundles the rest of the sheets into a pile he stuffs on the other side of the bed.
His body is spent of its held-in seed, having obeyed Miranda's command not to release in her, which he was fine with…It felt wrong to be wasting it on someone he was not in love with…Not head over feet in love with. Casnar pauses as he dresses, and looks morosely at nothing in particular but his thoughts…
Was it overdue? Yes, of course it was…He frowns…Was it fulfilling?
Hardly…He lied and told Miranda that it had been great, but honesty went only so far as politeness. How did Braith do it with Ylyssus so long, he wonders, …Did she start this way, too, with him? He looks down in thought as he winds his silk in place around his waist, …She had feelings for Ylyssus, I could tell, she carried his ring with her…A ring made of wood…His eyeridges bend with his unhappy scowl as he remembers his own piece he made for her, to propose to her by in his penthouse…My ring I made out of Blue Durriya and gems from my treasury…She didn't have that with her, but likely Konis or some other thief would have stolen that, while she was a captive or slave…Casnar rubs his tebris and feels the smooth skinfolds of his throat, looking around that isolating cabin that smells of sex, his venom, and Miranda's sweet scent…The sex had been good, he allows a small grin that quickly vanishes as he drops his hand from his neck, …No doubt about it, but it lacked…it lacked…it lacked Braith, you fool!
He knocks his fist into the side of his naked thigh, and continues to dress himself.
Damn…At least I came three times, not bad…Miranda seemed pleased, but it's not the same as when I'm with Braith…She really is the one for me…
He strokes his cock after a twitch, brought about by a fast, vivid memory of coupling with Braith in his Craig offices, the blush of her cheeks and her freckles as she stares up at him, in love and relief, being together after so long away…Casnar rubs his patak with his other hand and drops his cock from his grip.
Kala, I miss you…Now I'm about to find you, Thane has uncovered the true story…Miranda knows, who else…Fuck…Everything's been exposed by Konis now, and to the people I need…Fuck…He raises his face to the ceiling and closes his eyes…Well, what will be shall be…There's no changing it, only walking the path and maybe…just maybe some delay…He assembles his ba'tran and sets everything into place, tying and cinching the holding details, then he adds on his soft boots, pulling these over his toes to his calves halfway and enveloping the silk around his legs in the boots' high necks.
Moving to the door, he hits the keypad's opening button to release wide the iris sheaths.
Kasumi is cleaning out a few of the growing 'crew's' weapon stock in the armory, and glances over her shoulder at Miranda tending a rifle at her end of the worktable. Both women meet eyes briefly before looking back down at their hands' objects, the light of the table whitening their faces in its glow upward…A moment passes before Kasumi glances over again. "Was it good at least?" she asks.
Miranda's hands pause, "…What do you mean was it good at least," she is now staring back at Kasumi, her blue eyes lighter with the table's flourescence, and the women face-off in those joined stares.
Kasumi is the first to drop her eyes, however, and turn her face downward to the knife in her hands, "…Don't act dumb, Miranda. It's insulting…to you." She picks at a smidge of dirt hiding in the hilt of the foot-long menjaga, and Miranda has not stopped staring at the other woman.
Subtly, she pretends the commentary never existed and resumes her tinkering with the rifle piece. Kasumi says nothing more…Until the door irises open, and Kasumi looks to her right shoulder, and her face lights up with a smile as Miranda looks up, too…She witnesses Tetonbaum come from behind Kasumi, as his wife turns to him, and hands him the mean-looking bluish-silver knife..A knife he covers with his big red hand, Kasumi's smaller hand disappearing in his grip as he lowers it aside and leans to her, bringing his serious and passionate expression close to her smile…As they connect in a kiss, Miranda forcefully exhales with her frustration announced, and does not resume her modifications so the married couple gets the hint to control themselves.
"Ooh, Teton," Kasumi giggles as he picks her up lightly and sets onto the resin-top of the table, on her back with her legs in a V around his waist, and he is careful not to allow her to come into contact with anything sharp, or dangerous, to this precious love of his…His hand rests palm-down on the white resin as he ghosts smoky kisses over Kasumi's neck and hair, then moves to her lips again, and whispers.
"If only I could give you a child, right here…"
Kasumi sighs aloud.
Miranda drops her part loudly on the table and spins on her heel, departing the armory lab. Kasumi and Tetonbaum look from each other's eyes to observe the woman leave through the secondary iris and turn left down the next passage.
They begin to chuckle quietly as they gaze back at one another with conspiratorial grins…Their expressions grow serious as they move back together and kiss in blissful carelessness.
Husband picks up his wife from the table and turns with her to leave to their cabin…and he grabs hold of the knife from the table to take it with them.
Miranda leans on the bulkhead, the iris closing off to her right and down the tube as she crosses arms under breasts and looks down with an aggravated expression.
She closes her eyes and breathes out through her mouth, …Damn them…
Garrus's blue eyes look from left, to the right, slowly in his recessed sockets of chitinous skull, as he watches for the burrells to be fixated on what he is about to do with his hands and the disassembled Widowmaker under his palms…He carefully turns his head on his neck to see that Grunt, standing above and to his left, arm held up and elbow bent with the krogan's omni-tool at the ready, "…You give the word, Grunt. I'll best my last record doing this..."
Grunt's body shifts as he grins, his own blue eyes fixed on the omni-tool, "Ready…" He rumbles clearly for the rest in the bay, all sitting as a ring of children aside the mass of di'leans that are sleeping in their end—after grazing outside, and bored in the confines of the ship, "…Set…" A few of the burrells lean forward on their bottoms, over their crossed ankles, to see better as Garrus looks down at his rifle, spread in pieces as a puzzle across the rectangle of tarp in front of him, he on the floor and leaning forward in anticipation of Grunt's word, "…Go!" Grunt raises his voice and Garrus's hands and arms fly into motion…
The burrells watch, spellbound, their mouths dropping open in anxiety he will not best the last effort's time, and respect as the turian rapidly assembles the mixed-up pieces into a forming weapon, his head twitching barely as he reaches for the pieces and snaps, twists, clicks and locks everything together…When he is done, he sets the rifle on its butt, holds it upright as a tower and installs the heat sink and ammo, then aims it at the burrell in front of them, "…Time," Garrus says smoothly, his mandibles calmly held against his jaw as the burrells have teetered back on their rumps and gasped loudly as one…Garrus lifts his eye from the sight and looks up at Grunt as the burrells all clap and make rousing calls of approval, esteeming the turian.
"You beat it," Grunt lowers his gaze from the time read-out on his omni-tool. "Not bad for a geriatric turian."
As round him the burrells chatter in Rakhïken about the performance, Garrus leans to the side, offended, staring at the grinning Grunt. "Geriatric…" Garrus repeats, his voice in appall, "…You know what that word means, too, you overgrown zygote," he lowers the rifle down to lay on the tarp, his stare continues, "…I'd like to see you do better, you pretentious juvenile."
Grunt laughs harshly, lowering his arm. "My hands are too big for that puny ambulatory aid you call a gun…You've modified that thing at least a thousand times to accommodate your handicaps."
Garrus narrows his mandibles tight to his face, and remarks with only the sincerest of dry humors, "…From geriatric to mobility aids and handicap mods," he shakes his head with disbelief, "…No respect…How about you go bring that Claymore of yours over here. You want it fair, I can time you on your own juvenile mods…By the way, I'm curious—Does it have magnetic attachments to accommodate your lack of dexterity with those hands of yours, you know…" Garrus gives an undauntable lean forward over his thigh, and a hard stare of blue eyes to the krogan's own, "…to help you put it all together easy-like?..."
Grunt looks away, uncomfortable, "…No," he says, avoiding eye contact with the turian.
Tetonbaum and Kasumi lean together by the far bulkhead, the th'ane's arms over his chest, his shoulder pressed against Kasumi's while her fingers braid the end of her hair as they observe.
Their quick union in the cabin over, they have come to check on Casnar's burrells at Tetonbaum's suggestion, as he wants to ensure their comfort since the ryncol experience. They laugh softly at the krogan and turian spending time with the burrells, attending to their curiosity about aliens, flying vessels, guns, new experiences.
Tetonbaum tilts towards Kasumi and whispers in her ear, his finger tenderly caressing the long tail higher—fondly recalling the first instance in which he ever saw her braid the beautiful black mane in Chiata Sanctuary, "…One must be careful what to reveal to a drell. It is unwise to show a drell how to construct weapons of such advanced technology."
"A drell remembers," Kasumi replies, "…He'll want to try it himself…Teton, are you telling me Garrus and Grunt don't know what they're doing," she smiles at his pleased sapphires.
"Little wife, what I think is that they are giving a child a weapon. These are burrells," he nods to the group sitting expectantly around Garrus and Grunt, admiring and learning from the entertainment, "…They are trained from birth to fight…It is the duty they learn per their tierrea," he moves his eyes to the connector, and with one more glance at the bay's group, they turn and leave.
Down the connector, Casnar intersects their path, "…Tetonbaum, Goto..." Casnar stops and greets, before he starts to move on toward the bay they have left.
"Soterios," Kasumi corrects him.
Casnar pulls up, "…Kasumi," he says then continues by.
Casnar steps out of the connector to the bay floor, and looks immediately over his burrells. Where is Ylyssus, he thinks, eyeridges falling lower as he scans over their heads. Damn, he's not in here. He turns and heads in reverse, through the connector—to the fore of the ship—as the burrells watch Grunt tip a bottle of ryncol, Garrus on the floor, disassembling the rifle.
The iris to Navigation opens and Thane turns to see Casnar come through. The hiriwa pauses in his advance when they meet eyes. "Krios…I should kill you…but I've more important Drells on my mind…" He comes around the consoles and stands closer as Thane looks at him from his seat. "Where is Ylyssus."
Ylyssus stands at the water's edge, looking at it with a strangeness that tells him this is now sacred ground, the site of his adopted child's alleged drowning. Part of his mind expects to see somewhere there a part of her, whether drifting in the bottom or caught on a branch, or snared among the river's boulders glossy with rushing water.
He looks about, unsure if he should cross and touch the water…
That would seem wrong to do.
( "Behe is this way," ) he hears, and feels a shadow move over him.
A Behedin on the asthur approaching, its menacing body shading him from the early afternoon sun.
The black shapes at first are unreadable until the asthur passes with rider under the bright circles in the sky, Ylyssus shielding his eyes with his hand at his brow scales. He lowers it when he identifies the rider—it is Cuerikhl and he gazes from the shade of his hood at Ylyssus's face, then to the river.
Ylyssus turns back to the water.
( "Little Behe, did she not…fall in there," ) he states for the elder Behedin to hear. The asthur gives one of its eerie rattles from its tebris, and Ylyssus hears Cuerikhl speak after the waning vibration clears.
( "Farther up, Tan'nanshul…The small one was desired by the river and it kept her…We never found her…Her spirit…only her spirit remains." )
Ylyssus recalls how superstitious the Behedins are when he hears this. He looks left and right along the water winding with the serpentine route of the river, ( "…If you have never found her body," ) he says with a wistfulness.
Cuerikhl steers the asthur through the shallows, reaching down to the him. Ylyssus turns to the passing black skin and limbs—and grasps the Behedin's offer, one father to another even if the other only adopted his child. Cuerikhl lifts him as Ylyssus places his boots against the firm scarred hide of the animal, and walks-climbs-crawls to sit on the width of its lazily seesawing back.
Cuerikhl gazes ahead, seeing Ylyssus has settled himself.
From behind, the Behedin appears to Ylyssus a dark furry mound that reminds him of the outfit Braith wore when she returned from the hunt to Mohouni. Those days were new, he recalls, …She was changing…More free, but only so far as a hunting pet may fly from its master…
Were Aspah in his hands instead of Casnar's…but from what Ylyssus had heard done to the papir'aia, he could have done no better himself than the hiriwa's rage had…
( "Did the Behedins struggle to find new employment after Mohouni was sacked?" ) He lets the unspoken of Aspah's demise go assumed…The Behedins, after all, were under contract with him.
( "We found new buyers, made new relations," ) the Behedin replies, his shoulders slowly rocking with the asthur's passage through the river that comes up to its black flanks, skimming just underneath their boots' soles.
He does not elaborate and Ylyssus pries more, ( "…Who did you find?" ) Moving his head to the side to see around the hood but unsuccessfully, ( "…Behedins must have an employer…Who did you go to?" )
( "Whomever buys." )
( "Someone close to Mohouni," ) Ylyssus assumes, his voice harder, knowing that was where they found Dolatrafas, ( "…Do you serve to the Soterios since they took over…?" ) He still needs to ask where the Soterios barra for the city went, and he is bordering that question, now he realizes where his curiosity has landed him...The Behedin nods, allowing this to be his confirmation of Ylyssus's guess. His body stiffens, ( "…Which one." )
( "The high brother, the one with the limp." ) Cuerikhl's hood shifts and Ylyssus sees the subtle movement is to the figure of Dolatrafas appearing—still dressed in his leisure silks—on the opposite shore, helping the Behedins already crossed to remove packs from the asthurs, and to lead the beasts away while camp is set, …We're breaking here, he realizes. Ylyssus turns from his steady stare at the young Behedin—to look now at the sky behind them…
Hovering like a giant bird the doubtless presence of the Ni S'pri follows.
He turns back, his eyes to his mind and not the water as he contemplates the possible danger Casnar may find—if he lands for whatever reason. ( "What do you think of the elder brother," ) he ventures, and looks to Cuerikhl's black hood. For a time Cuerikhl says nothing, then:
( "I know little of the Tyrannus of the north," ) and whether true or not, Ylyssus must decide for himself. ( "I wonder though, why that one would limp, if not to deflect from a hidden strength…" )
( "You've met him…in person…You're saying you do not trust him," ) Ylyssus deduces, ( "…yet you have bartered…" ) He pauses wonderingly, ( "…How have you seen him?…Have the Behedins traveled that far north?" ) Or is he somehow in two places at once? The errant thought darts into his mind, and he shakes his head. Impossible…
( "We had met him long ago." ) Cuerikhl extinguishes Ylyssus's suspicion, for a drell's memory is long-lasting. ( "Ships come to the east shores, where we make the deliveries now from Rakka…The way is easier for many Drells have come to settle there." )
( "East shore…At the end of the Kir, you mean." )
( "The mouth of the Kir opens to the Beirchardt, northeast of the freed lands. We go there with our bounty, and ships take it from us to go where they will distribute the game." )
( "The mouth of the Kir is in Thorolf." ) Ylyssus recalls from his scouting as a young th'ane. ( "That area is off-limits to easy life…It is country to wuliton that have migrated to the hills, and to Bor'hala," ) he remarks of the clandestine groups that survive in the wild, and often have connections with the Kerhasla sisterhood.
( "Fighting has occurred there," ) the Behedin says as the asthur starts to ascend from the water. ( "It is difficult for beasts to hide and hunt, and for Bor'hala to harass the growing numbers of fighters." )
( "Fighters!" ) Ylyssus's eyes widen. ( "Is there an army gathering?" )
( "There has been…for some time." )
The asthur rises onto the rocky shoreline, crossing into dry dirt and grass that grows under the arching, sun-hogging canopy.
Ylyssus catches the sleeve of the Behedin as he slides off the asthur's back, and Cuerikhl turns his eyes now upwards, hood falling to expose his face.
( "Whose army," ) Ylyssus demands, ( "…Cartira's?" )
He frees the sleeve's shoulder, feeling as if he has insulted the Behedin by touching the fur, but Cuerikhl does not gaze back at him with any offense taken.
( "The armies of every Drell patriarch and matriarch on the eastern shore," ) Cuerikhl replies, holding Ylyssus's apologetic stare. ( "They will seek Bangal'roux when they are ready." )
Ylyssus's blood pressure increases and he can feel a pulse in his temple for the very fact he has learned of this now. ( "You serve Cartira Soterios…And Behedins—you are all protected by Behe too…Whose side are you on," ) his anger starts to come through, as his hand recoils into a loose fist, his opposite supporting himself against the thick hide of the asthur waiting patiently for its master's direction.
( "Behedins choose no sides." )
Bromthas's voice—indicating he has been nearby, listening to their conversation from the concealment of asthurs blocking them of his view, until he walks round the front of Cuerikhl's beast, a gloved hand sliding over the trembling deep frills of tebrals on the asthur's chest.
( "…We are neutral." )
Ylyssus leans upwards, straightening from having to listen over the river and the asthur's combination of noise, ( "…And do you never choose one or the other," ) his tone one of accusation, for cheat and infidelity, especially by these Behedin, who had to rely on Braith to keep them from being attacked by Morthwyls. ( "When the armies march on Bangal'roux, who will the Behedin side with then…When Drell pays you and Behe gives you access to your income's resource, I assume it is safe to say…" )
Bromthas gazes back at him, the older Behedin leader's face impassive.
Ylyssus feels suddenly too bold, he a guest there among them, riding one of the beautiful asthurs.
( "I am sorry. Forgive me," ) he slides off the back of the asthur to meet them on the ground and stand eye to eye with them. ( "I am here because I wish to reunite with her." )
( "Behe knows," ) Bromthas says, no more than placidity to his tone as he offers a small nod. His face turns—so, too, does Cuerikhl's—and brought about by their focus, Ylyssus rotates his torso to see what it is that distracts them.
The silver grasses spread and ripple stunningly as the Ni S'pri lands.
It drops its bay ramp next, to the ground.
Ylyssus looks back at Bromthas, the Behedins, who are all watching the ship's turn-out of its hold: Di'leans with their crests risen, side-eyeballing the asthurs, all bright feathers and fur, golden eyes—in contrast to the black skin and red ones. The burrells descend with them, held in restraint by reins, their blue-silver armor flashing as the sun glances off Blue Durriya and brightens their white, gold, and green silk along arms and legs, capes of gold hung over shoulders and greaves. And among them a figure moves purposefully from the top of the ramp, down to the flattened grasses crushed by the lowered door of the bay.
In his own regal ba'tran and cape—Casnar Soterios. His hands in fists as his arms move in synchrony with his opposite strides across the grass towards the river's edge.
He identifies Ylyssus standing in the gray uniform from the Ni S'pri's stocks, between an asthur which gives him some pause, though he does not slow or hitch his stride, and two large Behedins.
His golden patak tenses. "There you are," his lips move subtly as this whispers out under the noise of ship and river.
Seeing the hiriwa coming to the water's edge and stopping on the opposite bank, Ylyssus looks at Bromthas. ( "Tell me…Are you under obligation to capture that one." ) He tilts his crests slightly to the hiriwa.
( "…Casnar Soterios," ) Cuerikhl hisses quietly, ( "…That one, yes." )
Bromthas does not look at either of them, Behedin hunter eyes fixed on the hiriwa across the water.
The perfect kill, clear of all obstacle that could exist between a quirena bolt and his heart, as if stepping out under a bright hunter's moon, Bromthas reflects thoughtfully, …Either fearless, or foolhardy. ( "Yes," ) he confirms Cuerikhl's answer. Ylyssus turns his stare back to Casnar as he listens to the Behedin leader add, ( "…but we will not take him." ) Cuerikhl suddenly looks to Bromthas, about to speak—but he holds his tongue at the other Behedin's warning gaze.
Ylyssus has observed the death of the fetal protest. Bromthas turns his eyes back to Casnar's figure across from them, ( "…He has nothing to fear from us…Signal to your master it is safe to join this bank…And I will speak to him…This is what I wish—in exchange for his not being captured." ) Bromthas decides it is time to move things into order…His next command to the rest of the Behedins waiting, observing the burrells and aliens coming down from the vessel beyond in the idyllic fields of silver grasses, ( "…Return to your camp setup...Mounts will rest. Tend to your duties. We were unable to stop in Mohouni as planned," ) he raises his voice, ( "…No arguments," ) this to Ylyssus, who makes a motion to protest at being held-up from their progress towards Rakka. ( "You will be respectful to my Behedins." ) As a concession, ( "…You may inquire of Dolatrafas, about Little Behe's death here in this river…for you were her father and retain that privilege…" )
And to relieve Cuerikhl's hidden dismay—for Bromthas understands the Behedin's concern of contentious rivalry between the former lover of Braith Shepard and Dolatrafas, who once raped her and, too, abided the loss of Little Behe, ( "…There will be no weapons outside their containers for anything beside checks and cleaning or repairs…Any Drell who raises a weapon against another in this camp shall find himself added to the Kir before he knows he is dead." ) He looks to Ylyssus, ( "…You will pass that message across the river before any set foot on this bank." )