[FIN] A Wing and a Prayer [ First Strike / Swarm ]

[Jun D]

First Strike stumbled, just once, as she wandered aimless. First Strike never stumbled, she never wandered aimless. The face was still stone, impassive as always, the eyes perfectly reflective orbs that revealed nothing, but the emptiness without of that unwavering green stare today mirrored something of the emptiness within. The last few words of her darling girls replayed (First Strike never replayed conversations) in her head unending: I'm sorry, Mommy. I can't do it, Mommy. I'm sorry, Mommy. I'm sorry. She might always have guessed a day like this might come - the acid green against sleek black never did live up to the promise of its poison in the sac. But she had grown soft, wilfully put that thought out of mind - she had come to love her girls, and love is the bitterest poison of all. And now they were gone from her, her girls, or she was gone from them. What manner of creature were her nightshade and sundrop? What had they dreamt of that made them warmblooded so? Herself in the sac had dreamt of the show, the stillness, the strike. She had always known what she was - but her life had not shown it. She had not fooled what she was meant to fool, killed what she was meant to kill. She had been true to her nature, but nature, she considered, had not been true to her. What was she to do? Be content with a casual mate, with fumbling foals, children that did not strike like her? Do things the way a Kimeti did? She was not a Kimeti. If she were, tears might have tracked from her glassy eyes; they did not. Her pelt may be furred, but she had a chitinous heart. She was lost.  

[Ruriska]

The doe might have been lost now, but she would soon be found, and not by just anyone, but by the only other creature in the swamp who understood what it meant to have the heart of an insect and the body of a Kimeti.

Swarm’s first sight of the doe was enough for her curiosity to be piqued. There was something so familiar about the way she moved; different from the others of her kin that she had observed so far. They were warm, loose with their motions and wasteful in their actions. Then the doe stumbled and Swarm felt an emotion she eventually decided was disappointment. To find someone like herself would have left her much to think about.

She moved, breaking her perfect stillness, and traveled across the Kimeti’s path. Her destination was in that direction and she saw no reason to mask her presence any longer. Not when she had seen enough. Or had she? That pull was still there and she turned her head, impassive gaze settling on First Strike.  

[Jun D]

As soon as the shadow began to slant across the ground, she paused midstep, instinct enveloping her grief - she had always beeen true to her nature. She did not look, not yet, but the long, raptorial blades deep within her had drawn together in anticipation, easily sensing the thin, high whine that pressed from the presence just beyond her periphery: the edge of a wing, prey; the edge of a sting, fight. Independent of the alien emotions she had struggled with so, the rasp of barbed limb against limb as they raised in holy supplication wallowed only in silken pleasure. Prey or fight; she slowly swiveled up her empty eyes.  

[Ruriska]

Swarm stopped; instantaneous, her muscles simply locking in place. Her own instincts had sensed the change in the unknown doe, and she reacted without any need for thought. Danger, her new stance screeched soundlessly, attack and suffer the consequences. The other could try and one on one perhaps there would be blood on both sides, but Swarm was never alone. Reinforcements were never far away. Her head swung around and you could almost hear the deadly hum, the promise of retaliation, as she waited for their eyes to meet.

And somewhere within, she quietly realized that her first assumption had been correct. This one was different.  

[Jun D]

...It was a doe.

She had not expected a Kimeti.

She had expected a wasp.

She had expected a Giant Wasp: a lovely, jeweled, angry thing that would gnash and rake and sting but the mantis always strikes and prays and grasps the wasp between its legs and nibbles off its head.

The slow scrape of limb on limb had stopped, pressed together still, but uncertain. What was she to strike? It was not a wasp. But as she held that strange, gold eye unblinking with her blank, glass stare, the limbs inside vibrated with the surety, the increasing, undeniable surety, that it was.  

[Ruriska]

The vision formed as they stared at one another, and the warm-blooded Kimeti before her was swept away. She saw instead a long, elegant body and was mesmerized by its gentle sway; she admired long limbs held up in supplication, speaking little of how deadly they truly wear.

Swarm blinked and the image was gone, but the feeling remained and the wings inside beat rapidly in deadly warning. A mantis that hesitates does not catch its prey. The wasp would have the upper hand now.

Then they were there, in a furious drone, one on either side of Swarm. They hovered threateningly, ready to battle to the death if necessary.

 

[Jun D]

It was a wasp.

But not just any wasp. It was a Kimeti, but not just any Kimeti. The soldiers arrived, and then she knew for certain, her unmoving empty eye cataloguing the sight entire and coalescing it into that single pinpoint of black on brilliant gold on black. Catalogued, processed, relayed: the deadly limbs detangled, lowered, spread.

"I do not eat Queens," the voice, finally, asserted its presence - distinct from the body as always, but this time unusually solemn. She did not break the gaze, but inclined her head, just slightly.
 

[Ruriska]

The wasps hovered, like arrows waiting to be released, until Swarm shifted. It was almost imperceptible, just a slight easing of tensed muscles, but it was enough. They moved backwards through the air, still watching the unknown doe. The vibration of their wings no longer promised death, but they still held a hum of warning.

It seemed to Swarm that spoken words did not belong in the world that had been created by their meeting. They were unnecessary. Still, she had them, so she might as well use them to give voice to ideas much more complicated than simply predator and prey.

“Kimeti that are not Kimeti.” It was really only a statement. Affirmation for herself.  

[Jun D]

The closest she had ever had to a real, spontaneous smile spread slow and grimly across her lips. One limb stretched low into the ground, the other bent beneath: for the first time in her life, Strike bowed.  

[Ruriska]

She accepted the bow with a solemn nod. “Come…” Swarm turned away, expecting the First Strike to follow. They would have much to discuss. A wasp could learn a great many things from a mantis and a mantis could learn a great deal from the wasp. A case of mutual symbiosis.