Re: The Pink Room.mirror_brightlySeptember 16 2009, 00:17:18 UTC
At this, Nero released a sharp, automatic breath. A single, soundless laugh and another twisted free from him. His lungs burned sharply and his chest rattled as his laughter accelerated to a machine-gun staccato. The walls resounded with the sound, amused and cruel, eccentric and hysterical it bounced back at him. It sounded like blades of glass.
The Narada did not find it funny, its hissing grates fell silent and still as Ayel at his back. Narada's judgment was sobering, it stole his joy, his breath, and left him silent and bone tired as he regarded the human. His tiredness was replaced as sorrow fluxed into him, the full circuit of his latent emotions, and his expression screwed up, twisting hard as he withdrew his knife. He slid it into Ayel's container-the coolant thinner, and the black blade glistened as he moved alongside George's table.
He leaned over craning his head so that he was almost touching the restrained Hevam, hovering a hand's width from the man. The light didn't reach his eyes here and, almost conversationally,
( ... )
Re: The Pink Room.kirk_georgeSeptember 16 2009, 00:34:19 UTC
George was wishing he'd had time for the refreshment courses in Romulan with Uhura, but still, he caught the gist of what they were saying, and it was intriguing. Before Nero's blade slices into him, he remarks on what he'd observed. "Hwi ssuy efvi llaihr."
George clenched his teeth as the blade sliced him and he groaned lowly. "Thought if you were gonna kill me you'd tell me why first." It would buy him time, time to retreat to his secret place, to curl down within himself like he had learned at the Academy. Would only take a minute and he would be safe.
Re: The Pink Room.mirror_brightlySeptember 16 2009, 02:46:20 UTC
Nero heard his words. George's taunt wound around the knife still sliding across his flesh. Nero watched the sounds twine around his blade, flashing with the painful groan it dragged from the human. His free hand ghosted across the edge of the table and he leaned in, relishing in the soft cries the compound drew, unbidden, from the Hevam lips. He sounded red. His knife dipped down again, tracing the length of a bound arm, drawing a hairline of burning flesh.
He watched it.
Watched as the skin welted and flushed around the wound like paper curling under flame.
He was watching still as he spoke again.
“Nohtho draesa aefvadh d'latta,” Nero replied evenly as he lifted the knife again and followed the outline of the human's bicep-his measurements were off, though, because the blade dipped into muscle with startling ease. “We cannot die, fool Starfleet. Mnhei'sahe.“Tell me the console code, please,” Nero requested again, flat and humorless even as he watched the line of blood blossom across the human's chest. “If you do not, I will
( ... )
Re: The Pink Room.loyalty_everSeptember 16 2009, 02:53:36 UTC
He stands very still. He knows most of Nero's gestures, a good number of his tells. Ayel knows--intimately he knows, like his own breath--that slow, exact precision, the shining path of the knife. How quickly it can become a downward plunge to rend and spatter.
Sudden movement would be dangerous now. So he stands still.
Slowly, he inclines his head to the man on the table. They're all the same. Always so quick to discount him. Leaping to pick the long way, the slow way, shrieking and weeping and vomiting blood when he could have stopped it with a single strong twist of his hand.
"Veruul," he murmurs, pitching it gentle, caressing and soft. He knows the 'Fleets teach each other this word in bars and brothel doorways, the same as the hated pa'taq or, years from now, worlds from here, bjavt. He knows the man can hear.
For how long has he been stepping between, keeping hands and faces and bodies on the other side of his captain? Trying to deal with them more directly himself
( ... )
Re: The Pink Room.kirk_georgeSeptember 16 2009, 03:02:15 UTC
"Reh s'tivh yy'a joaie, reh llhnae," George answered, fey look returning as George dug deeper into his hole, knowing he must stay strong, must keep their attention, unable to stop a mostly choked back cry of pain.
((Reh s'tivh yy'a joaie, reh llhnae I have died willingly once, I returned.))
Re: The Pink Room.mirror_brightlySeptember 16 2009, 03:42:59 UTC
Nero's knife paused and clarity dragged him back to the present with a sickening jolt. Ayel's bed aoi soft and weary slipped across his neck and Nero stiffened. Reality crashed and broke on him like a wave, washing away the haze of hatred with a hiss of deep air and twisting light. He gripped the table with his knife hand and his free fingers snapped to George's throat, wrapping tight.
“What did you say?” his voice was even, his eyes lucid, and his tone sharper. He was no longer amused, no longer angry, and, unfortunately, no longer rational-at least insofar as he had been. “Repeat. In standard.” His fingers tensed, digging against the human's neck, avoiding his windpipe. His knife blade pressed flat against the human's stomach, the meager film of coolant hissing against the flesh.
The Narada did not find it funny, its hissing grates fell silent and still as Ayel at his back. Narada's judgment was sobering, it stole his joy, his breath, and left him silent and bone tired as he regarded the human. His tiredness was replaced as sorrow fluxed into him, the full circuit of his latent emotions, and his expression screwed up, twisting hard as he withdrew his knife. He slid it into Ayel's container-the coolant thinner, and the black blade glistened as he moved alongside George's table.
He leaned over craning his head so that he was almost touching the restrained Hevam, hovering a hand's width from the man. The light didn't reach his eyes here and, almost conversationally, ( ... )
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George clenched his teeth as the blade sliced him and he groaned lowly. "Thought if you were gonna kill me you'd tell me why first." It would buy him time, time to retreat to his secret place, to curl down within himself like he had learned at the Academy. Would only take a minute and he would be safe.
(Hwi ssuy efvi llaihr You still fear death)
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He watched it.
Watched as the skin welted and flushed around the wound like paper curling under flame.
He was watching still as he spoke again.
“Nohtho draesa aefvadh d'latta,” Nero replied evenly as he lifted the knife again and followed the outline of the human's bicep-his measurements were off, though, because the blade dipped into muscle with startling ease. “We cannot die, fool Starfleet. Mnhei'sahe.“Tell me the console code, please,” Nero requested again, flat and humorless even as he watched the line of blood blossom across the human's chest. “If you do not, I will ( ... )
Reply
Sudden movement would be dangerous now. So he stands still.
Slowly, he inclines his head to the man on the table. They're all the same. Always so quick to discount him. Leaping to pick the long way, the slow way, shrieking and weeping and vomiting blood when he could have stopped it with a single strong twist of his hand.
"Veruul," he murmurs, pitching it gentle, caressing and soft. He knows the 'Fleets teach each other this word in bars and brothel doorways, the same as the hated pa'taq or, years from now, worlds from here, bjavt. He knows the man can hear.
For how long has he been stepping between, keeping hands and faces and bodies on the other side of his captain? Trying to deal with them more directly himself ( ... )
Reply
((Reh s'tivh yy'a joaie, reh llhnae I have died willingly once, I returned.))
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“What did you say?” his voice was even, his eyes lucid, and his tone sharper. He was no longer amused, no longer angry, and, unfortunately, no longer rational-at least insofar as he had been. “Repeat. In standard.” His fingers tensed, digging against the human's neck, avoiding his windpipe. His knife blade pressed flat against the human's stomach, the meager film of coolant hissing against the flesh.
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