Welcome to Gaia! ::

Ataya scowled.

Before him, the ocean stretched, endless: calm and flat with barely enough swell to create a ripple on the shoreline. Above him, the sky was clear, a brilliant summer blue and beautiful without a cloud in sight, the perfect swath of color interrupted only by the occasional flight path of a passing bird. Inside him, he felt too much to name. Sick. Furious. Confused. Conflicted.

Bitter.

The other emotions were not new, of course. Quite the opposite, each of them seemed to have layered themselves within him over the years, like coats of paint that built up steadily: every time someone spat at the street he and his sister walked, looked offended when they accompanied their parents to purchase anything, made crude gestures or otherwise.

The bitterness, though, that was newer, and while he was well aware some would allege he was too young, yet, to know true bitterness, he felt assured in his self assessment. Once upon a time, he had wanted to somehow ‘fix’ himself. To ‘prove’ his normalness, his worth, to the general populous. He had thought, if only he studied hard enough, argued convincingly enough, became powerful enough, then eventually, the world would see he was not flawed. He would gain acceptance and respect. Even friends.

Now, after watching his own kind — other hybrids of all stripes — thrown into a pit and fighting each other like animals in a show where purebloods paid admission to watch…

He wanted no such friendship. Needed no such approval or ‘proof’ of worth.

He hated them.

Any who smiled and cheered while watching not only those of his kind, but those of his age being skewered and broken on the tusks of beasts five times their size did not have anything he wanted. One day, if he had his way, he would collapse the entire structure into the ground within which it was built — preferably crushing the bones and permanently stealing the breath of every pureblooded spectator in the process.

Ataya turned on his heel, aiming to head back into his uncle’s house, but he paused, eyes catching on a small bird as it took roost on the edge of the deck. It hopped three times, ruffling its wings before cocking its head towards him, as though assessing his relative level of threat. After, apparently, concluding he was not dangerous enough to warrant flying off, it hopped again along the planks and then stilled, beginning a soft, chirruping melody.

Ataya pursed his lips and uncoiled his fingers, palm up, mentally gathering a swell of dark energy. Then, with a murmured spellword and a single sharp crush inwards of his fingers into a fist, the bird’s heart sputtered and stopped, it’s tiny body collapsing to the deck. Ataya proceeded up the steps, and into the house.

“Uncle? Uncle Casseth,” he called out. “I wish to speak with you…”

Ataya frowned as he eyed his uncle, day-weary and clearly having just woken from a nap — or, at the very least, an attempt at one — as he made a poor effort to hide a yawn. In this setting, the man looked innocuous. Blameless. Positively normal. It was hard to imagine him in the pit, pitted against his fellows and accepting the language thrown at him, responding to it, even, and tearing apart other hybrids as he had seen some do there. Yet, he knew that he must have. So, after a moment’s hesitation, he pursued his intended line of questioning.

“Why did you do it?” Before his uncle could ask, he continued. “When my sister and I were younger you told stories, said you and father used to fight in Vienrith stadium. You were part of that place…how could you do it? And why.”

Ataya listened, observing his uncle critically as he spoke and frowning, posture stiffening, when the man admitted to missing it.

“What could you be trying to prove to them,” he objected, shoulders bristled. “Or to anyone, for that matter — by slaughtering others of your own kind? How did it not make you furious…? To be spat on and play entertainment for those who know nothing of what it’s like. I saw what it was like, how they react, what they say so casually. You could prove your strength in any number of ways, but there they cheer when you kill others like us — when you do the job they’d do given half the chance for them so they can watch and be gleeful…”

Ataya opened his mouth again, intending to continue, but shut it for a pause as he thought.

“I’d rather die a thousand deaths of any sort other than to be their paid-for amusement,” he murmured at length. “How could you miss that…”

Ataya scowled, opening his mouth to say that if his uncle had wanted creature battles then that is what he ought to have signed up for, not gone in knowing he would be up against their own, limited mixed bloodtypes. By the time Casseth finished, though, his expression was less harsh around the edges — no less upset, but less angry and more tentatively hurt.

“You are not a…‘stupid’ teenager any longer,” he said, moving a hand up to catch at his elbow as his gaze turned to the floor, focussing his frustration on one pinpoint of floorboard. “Haven’t you been angry…? How did you—how can you…” He hesitated, again, biting at his lip almost hard enough to break skin before snapping out. “Everything this world does seems to make me hurt and angry — everyone but you and Mother and my sister — and I—” He drew a breath. “You mated a pureblood. You met one and befriended him and you love one another, but no one else is like that. All I see is how hateful they are, how they spit and sneer and judge, they don’t blink before they judge! It’s useless and they don’t deserve to be given chances to…to…” Letting his hand drop, Ataya squeezed his fingers in on instinct, the floorboards beneath his feet prickling with frost unbeknownst to him. At length, he spoke again, but the words were soft. “How do you manage to trust anyone…how do you manage not to be angry all the time…”

Ataya frowned, less from anger and more a quiet, tumultuous state of contemplation. At length, he pursed his lips, letting out a single, sharp breath, chilled white with the remnants of his upset. “I have no intention of allowing my anger to rule me, or to prevent me from living my life as I see fit…but I do not think it is right, either, to let go of it. There is real reason to be angry and I will not ignore it. How that shapes things…” He rolled his shoulders in a dismissive shrug, “…we shall see, I suppose. But yes…I am happy to have my family, and in them at least some to whom I can bare my frustrations.”

After a long moment, his eyes flitting up his uncle in silent assessment, he dipped his gaze again.

“I…thank you for speaking with me,” he murmured. “I appreciate your insight, and I will make it my goal to consider how much I allow my anger to guide my actions…but I refuse to dance for them. If any person who is ‘different’ wishes for my trust, they will earn it. I have been given too many reasons already to withhold mine for me to see a wise reason not to without cause.”