mapofstars | (no subject)

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[mature]

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They had failed. Massively fucked up even, and in ways that not even she could have seen. The worst she had seen, had they failed was death, trident holes through her torso and a broken sword in Dave's. She hadn't predicted being brushed aside so easily, as if they truly were ants to her, only to be dragged away battered and bruised, Rose tasting blood on her lips even as she screamed for her brother. She had fought as best she could but in the end they are merely humans and trolls have proven time and time again that they are physically stronger than them.

Now Rose lives in solitude, filled with dark stares and threatening thoughts. She's passed down, a trophy for the Empress' highest followers, looked upon with disgust and mocking. Finally she finds herself being settled in one place, possession of a troll with the title Orphaner, the name Dualscar whispered in mutters. Rose doesn't speak in response, the mix of English and Alternian harsh to her ears. Even if she fully understood it she wouldn't care to reply. Her captors deserved no voice from her and inside Rose seethed, wishing half for the mercy of death or the chance to try again.

In truth she is a little surprised at the finery she's placed in, a rich purple and gold array of silks, having expected to be left in the rags of her old clothes. But in turn it makes sense to her, she is in fact a trophy of sorts, a reminder that rebellions could be so easily crushed, and those who incited them would wish they had found death. Thin wrists twist in her golden shackles, Rose half starved as punishment and idly she reaches for her throat, presses her fingers to the golden collar wrapped around it. There's some sort of symbol set in there, she can feel the pattern of gems inlayed in the metal, but the lack of mirror means she cannot make it out. Sharp points, running in what she assumes is parallel, and she drops her hands and stares dead at the wall.

And in the darkness, Rose waits.

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The human rebellion had been something of a running joke to most trolls. Her Imperiousness held such power, even her own kind could hardly stand a chance against her. It wasn't as if being turned against by their own ruler was a new concept to them, so she was to be indulged whenever possible. As such, trolls had begun to populate earth, bringing in their reign and their rule.

Naturally, such a privilege was only afforded to those truly worthy. Higher blood castes of respectable occupations would be trusted to build the pillars of a new society. Of course, with Her Imperiousness distracted by more important things, other indulgences could be afforded to.

What had begun as a slave trade took a far more pleasurable turn for trolls. Humans deemed passable for attractive populated the secret trading rings, though few would live past their masters tempers long. Dualscar hardly needs to consort in his own trading, everything is organised for him with barely more than a raise of a finger and a few requests. He had been expecting his guest, but he won't do her the kindness of arriving to his hive on time.

A door in the distance will shut with a faint click and his boots tap against the floor as he approaches. He lets out a low hum as he enters the room, his yellow eyes more visible than any other part of him. "Well, well well.." His words are infuriatingly slow as he approaches, his fangs more noticeable as he bears them in a grin. "What do we have here?"

She knows his coming, senses well tuned enough to hear the tap of his boots, the click of a door shutting even if she can't find herself with the strength to look in a way that does not use her eyes. It's fine though, he'll be here soon enough she takes it, footsteps getting louder and louder by the second. And really she's in no hurry to meet him either, Rose knowing enough of the human slave trade and her new supposed 'owner' to make a few opions. One being that at the first chance she gets she's going to do what she did to the High Chancellor.

There's no need to straighten up when he enters, Rose's posture already perfect. Were it not for the shackles around her wrist, the collar around her throat she'd look like someone of equal footing to he, a dignitary of sorts. Captivity hasn't broken her yet, at least not in way she'll let an enemy so easily glimpse and even though she doesn't look at him, her gaze still on the wall before her she knows he's there.

She lets him wait a few more minutes before she acknowledges him, violet eyes sliding over to meet his cooly, even as he towers over her petite frame. "We were once working on a theory that your race had some sort of vision problem. After all it would explain the garish fashion choices you all seem to make." There's no fear in her words, Rose almost sounding bored as she speaks. After all, what's the worst he can do? She's sure she's already lived through it, and there is no one left to use against her. "Unless of course that was a rhetorical query and you're not actually a half blind moron but merely just a moron."

Her teeth may be blunt, but she flashes them all the same, gleaming white. And then she waits, half braced for a blow.

Edited 2014-01-23 21:40 (UTC)

Dualscar had been forewarned of the mouth on this one, yet he'd still made his desire to see her clear. Perhaps it's because he feels he ought to set her straight, but it's more likely that he fares better in bed under the influence of a woman with far too much to say.

In surprisingly high spirits, probably from the consumption of spirits, he lets out a low, dangerous chuckle and doesn't deign himself to respond as he approaches. It isn't until he's close enough to grab her chin and tug her closer, with a hum of appreciation.

"Likewise, we had similar theories amongst ourselves. As to whether humans were capable of understandin' the very basic concept of a rhetoric question." He crinkles his nose at her. "I'm sure it's the least of your worries, with a tongue like that. Other trolls would not hesitate to lash you for it, I feel I may have to consider removin' the source of your callous words and leave it at that." He gives her cheeks a pointed squeeze before dropping his hands and moving to pour himself a drink, acting like she's of no particular importance to her.

It was the only weapon she had left these days. Her needles had been stripped from her on the day of their failure, and her access to certain other powers pulled away more slowly. After all it was hard to See, harder to pull in power from other sources and spit it back out when you're half starved and dehydrated. But her tongue has been known to make grown men cry, and while she doesn't expect that from a troll, she'll use it all the same.

She looks away when he laughs, still seeming bored though she watches him from the corner of one eye. Let him think that she's uncaring of him and all he threatens, let him think her not concerned. Let his ego grow if it will and when the time comes she'll strike true. It's thoughts of revenge that she lets occupy her mind, slowly editing plans together and it's that she lets her mind turn back to as he approaches.

Not that he allows her such a courtesy, his grip on her chin tight and Rose is reminded how likely it is that he could crush her jaw in one hand. But the fear never comes, eyes half lidded as she meets his forced gaze. "I'm sure you thought to sting me with those harsh words to my own and my people's range of intelligence. An argument that's weak, one that truly is scraping the barrel, and to resort to it so quickly..." She scoffs, glancing away even as the grip on her jaw grows tighter, keeping her silent for a moment before he drops his hold. "Take it, if you please. I will delight in smearing my so called heretical shade of blood across your belongings. I'll make an art of it indeed."

She can play that game and Rose turns in silence, stepping away with measured movements, each step hobbled by the golden chain that twists between her ankle. Perhaps she's exploring. Or perhaps she's just testing the boundaries here, doing her best to provoke him into one of those fits of highblood rage she's heard about.

"Fortunately, I'm not hear under the guise of interest in a debate." His tone is just as bored. He's dealt with women of her sort before, playing himself off as disinterested while letting his own annoyance flare with in him removes all possible satisfaction from their words. He's sure she thinks big of herself, it's not as if she's much else to please herself with. When a situation is weighed so heavily in his favor, it's easier not to stoop to petty levels.

He swills his drink around, watching the colours move in the glass as if they're all the more interesting than her before he takes a swig. "I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time I've had my possessions sullied by inferior blood." He lifts his shoulders into a small shrug and simply holds out an arm in front of her chest to prevent her from stepping further. "Leaving so soon?"

"Why. Lacking the mental capabilities to produce a decent argument?" It's easy to be curt, easy to push and push and a large part of her wishes he would snap. Better to be dead than a slave. At least in death there is some measure of dignity, at least in death she may have some chance of reuniting with her loved ones. Not that she's ever been a large believer in the concept of heaven verses hell but. Death would be a kinder fate.

She supposes that's why she's still alive in the first place.

"Then I shall have to ensure it is a masterpiece. Make sure you remember it." The arm he throws out does stop her, Rose stopping just millimetres away and slowly she turns her head to look up at him. And stares, studying his face, from the twinscars across his face, to the delicate fins where his ears should be, the the faint slit of gills she can see. If she had a needle she could drive it in there, know it would leave him in agony. But she doesn't, so she just blinks with disinterest. "Well it's not as if there's much here to hold my interest, is there?"

"Lacking the interest to play along, rather." It's a wonder he hasn't lashed out at this point. The secret may be that this isn't his first drink tonight, but it's also greatly because he has less interest in killing her and more in having his way with her. There's no secret there, as long as she knows that, she knows she has a little something over the situation, but it's miniscule at best.

"I'm certain there are better ways to remember you by." He just barely rolls his eyes, gritting his fangs as she stares up at him for far too long. He moves from her, sidling over to a chair and all but collapsing into it dramatically. He raises his drink at her along with a brow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "You could always make yourself useful. I wouldn't say no to a dance." And of course by dance he means strip.

Rose hums, the sound low and keeps staring. Half expecting a blow and unsure if it came whether her reflexes could keep up. These monsters are horridly fast at time, and he's one of the stronger castes she knows that. A wiser woman would be more demure, play along, but she has no interest in that game. If he kills her she'll consider it a win.

Just like she considers it a win when he pulls away first, Rose finally blinking and looking away herself as he acts the drama king as he sits. "I don't dance." she says, her voice like ice, his meaning not missed on her and Rose stays where she is. Stays were she is and remains unamused, though the look isn't as severe without her trademark dark lipstick and eyeliner, the bags under her eyes more intense and her cheekbones more prominent these days. But she still has her pride, and she'll hold onto that. If he wants anything from her he'll have to take it himself and she with fight, tooth and nail.

Still, she snorts softly, raising her hands still caged in gold manacles. "Besides, even if I did I find myself quite hindered."

“You don’t dance, you don’t shut up. Just what good are you, then?” He drawls, not looking impressed but not sounding particularly bothered. Perhaps on a worse day he would have struck her for her defiance, but he likes to play with his food and it shows. It’s funny how someone part fish can look entirely like a cat, his legs are folded over one another and his face is as smug as can be. He won’t give her the satisfaction his short temper seems to give women of her sort; he wants to be sure the control is entirely in his hands at all time.

“The hindrance is all part of the entertainment.” He points out, a helpful air in his tone as he lifts his shoulders into a shrug. “If you’re no good standin’, you can keep my lap warm instead.” The fact that it’s an order and not a request is obvious, he even shifts his legs to make room for her. He’s heard plenty of favourable things about human body heat, he can’t imagine it would feel better anywhere but his lap.

"I've been told I'm quite skilled with a needle," she shoots back, blunt teeth bared like fangs in an animalistic smirk. She almost wants to laugh, wants to tear into him for thinking she was someone so delicate, so scared of him that she would bow to his every whim and fancy. Clearly he didn't do his research. "You could always ask the High Chancellor what he thinks of my skilled."

She does laugh at that, a dark little chuckle and Rose moves forward, skirts sweeping over the floor. With him sitting she almost feels taller than him, but she is still a small woman, and he a beast of a troll and even sitting there is no true difference. She hears the order and his tone and she almost seems to obey, stopping millimetres away, half between his legs and her tone drops, eyes half lidded as she studies him. "Though I suppose he may find it difficult to talk after that fantastic demonstration I gave him. What do you think?"

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