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 Posted: Mon Oct 26, 2009 12:58 am
"Seven days it is," Khaldun repeated quietly, still slumped even as he stood, staring at the ground as though expecting to see a bird's-eye view of the depths of hell underneath his sneakers. He tried to focus on what Nealite had said. If he kept his mouth shut and looked busy, he'd be the one calling the shots one day. Yeah. Just keep pushing that boulder up the hill, Sisyphus. Won't be too much longer till you make it. Only another forever from now.
Another drag of the cigarette. If he was going to die in seven days (and he was becoming more sure of it, eager as he was for another chance at Tisiphone's star seed), he could afford to be a little defiant around Killingworth, just this once. After all, if Tisiphone was as powerful as Killingworth said, Khaldun was going to end up resembling swiss cheese and too dead for the General-King to have a chance to finish him off for failing. Ask now, or ask never.
"If I'm such an embarassing little pissant to you," Khaldun asked flatly, his grip on the cigarette tightening like a vice to keep himself level. It was difficult enough even asking the question, he didn't want to show any aggression if he could help it. He might not be waiting a whole week to die if he did. "Why'd you do it? I mean, why'd you really do any of what you did a year ago? Did my parents really leave a lasting impression on you? Did you owe them for something? I just want to know, in case I end up being a '******** failure' one more time."
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Posted: Mon Oct 26, 2009 1:14 am
The cigarette was dropped from Charonite's grip. He immediately grabbed Khaldun's shoulders and motored him towards the nearest wall, which he was pushed up against painfully: the General-King had gone from "mellow" to "psychotic" and beat the land-speed record for it, pushing his sunglasses up, grey eyes burning and a vein throbbing in his temple as he treated Khaldun once more to Flecks Of Spittle.
"YOU DON'T ******** GET TO ASK THAT," he shouted. "You don't ******** get to ask about your parents, you ******** little piece of s**t, you little bubble of -- you -- you don't ******** get to ask that, not ******** now and not ******** ever! I am not talking to you about your <******** PARENTS!"
He reached back and backhanded Khaldun. "You owe them everything!"
Another backhand. "You owe ME everything!"
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Posted: Mon Oct 26, 2009 5:52 am
Ah, yes, this really was like a coffee break in a tiger pit. There had been a chance, this whole time, of hitting a nerve and setting the General-King off - though what he had done was apparently less hitting a nerve than beating it senseless with a lead pipe. And there had always been a reason why Khaldun never seemed to bring the subject up with Charonite, and why it had taken the very close threat of death to call it up again. This... was it.
The force with which his shoulders were slammed into the wall would have hurt anyone. Khaldun's left shoulder had already been hit hard by a senshi attack earlier in the week and a fall to the ground earlier that evening. So it REALLY HURT. And Charonite probably knew that, though when Khaldun looked over at him and those horrible grey eyes, it seemed Charonite wasn't even thinking at all. Khaldun winced, but wasn't given time to say so much as 'Sorry' or 'Parents? Did you think I said parents? I meant to say parrots'. There were simply words, lots of words, coming at Khaldun like gunfire, shutting him down entirely. His cigarette had been lost in transit, he was weaponless, and he was human. Leftover adrenaline from his fight with Tisiphone was competing against his common sense, which resulted in a reaction easily explained as just don't ******** move. His expression took on an empty, stoic quality to mask his fear. Flecks of Spittle. Bad. Very bad.
"You owe them everything!"
There was a disorienting movement of his own head, and now he was looking out past Killingworth's shoulder into the smoke and night. He almost didn't feel the contact of the hand to his face, he'd been so focused on deciphering the words. The teen was stunned. Killingworth's shouting was still ringing in his ears, though the last four cut deeply. Burning with anger and humiliation, his thoughts were scattering like ripples in a pond no matter which he tried to grasp. Of course he owed his parents! He wouldn't be alive otherwise, though all else seemed to be a toss-up. He just wanted to know why-
"You owe ME everything!"
Another slap, snapping him in the other direction this time. Khaldun's face continued to burn an odd shade of red while his expression stayed tight-lipped and unreadable. It was only his eyes that gave him away, too wide open maybe, too surprised, too agitated. It was 2am and he was up against a wall effectively being pimp-slapped by the leader of the Negaverse. He had a right to be confused. And grudgingly, he had to admit he did owe Charonite his life, and everything else. But he shrugged the revelation off - it was part of the pledge when joining the Negaverse. He'd probably said it at some point or another. Or did he mean Khaldun's civilian life? That was a major gray area, and the teen skirted around it mentally before he could get caught in the quagmire.
Any other lieutenant would probably be dead and buried by now if they'd ever dared to be as contrary and openly unmotivated as Khaldun was, or ever as deliberately vocal about it as he had been a year ago to the General-King. There had been near-infinite patience (or the equivalent on Charonite's unique scale, because there was still plenty of yelling and insulting involved) with Khaldun for the past year, who dragged his feet and showed no inclination for Negaverse work even though he was perfectly capable of it. Khaldun had never thought about; he'd had little to compare his situation to until recently with the advent of more lieutenants who weren't obedient Obsidian and love-struck Nealite. That was when it began to look odd even to himself. That was when he began to wonder why Charonite put up with him, kicked him and berated him but did not simply kill him directly if he was so much trouble. That was part of why he'd worked up the courage to ask tonight.
He would never find out. 'Not ******** ever', if Charonite had any say. And Charonite had all the say in this. As usual.
Dark eyes returned to Charonite's again, defeated - for now. He used to have a lot of fight in him, but with every clash like this Khaldun had with the General-King, it became more and more internalized. Even now, he felt hopeless without even bothering to say a single biting word. He was still pinned to the wall like some kind of spindly dreadlocked insect, and his back and arms hurt from the impact. His voice was gravelly, quiet, meek. It was nearly inaudible in comparison with the yelling he'd been treated to. "Yes, sir."
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Posted: Mon Oct 26, 2009 7:24 pm
The General-King stood back, and for a moment Khaldun thought he'd say something else -- but he stormed off into the night without another word on the subject, leaving Khaldun with a lot of confusion, a peck of exhaustion and mysteries. He was defeated. Charonite always won. Charonite always made sure he won. Charonite was -- a drain, to say the least.
The night was pretty cold, edging fully into autumn chill. And Khaldun was left alone.
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