12-25-2016, 03:55 AM
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He doesn't have to prod much for the young child to spill the beans, so to speak. Her mother did not bother to teach her anything. Harmonia always held her cards close to her chest, always played the long game, and everything with her came with a price. Love, attention - everything. Ajatar was too new and too fresh to know this of her mother or learn it herself. Sure, she suspected her mother wasn't the most loving of creatures, but it wasn't as though she was exposed to great relationships far and wide. Pangea was a cesspool for the malformed, she realized - though it never occurred to her that there was much else in this world. Everyone in her world was dark and feral, with great strange horns and wings and maniac grins and devious plans. Her mother was the most innocent looking of all - petite, small - but she packed the hardest punch.
Rodrik, with his large stature and large eyes, seemed no more dangerous than a colorful cobra.
"Are other lands prettier? What do they look like?" She turns a gaze to the horizon where, if she focused enough, she could see a tall mountain...and a taller one just beyond that. The walk, though, seemed treacherous - and mother was not about walking.
She considers these questions about her grandfather and mother and furrows her brow and screws up her face. How did she word this? She remembered what her mother said when she introduced her to Pollock - I have something of interest. She recalls the conversation vividly, the way her mother cornered her. Quick coils of hot rage flair up under her skin and, without realizing it, she calls upon the pestilence. It manifests many ways, and without a way to control it...well, it was weak and nonspecific, but dangerous. Fledgling in its infancy. It could be boils, it could be the cough you hadn't quite shaken, it could be any aspect of illness crawling slowly into your lungs or up your legs.
And Ajatar - she is not unmarked. She bears a small token of what she hath wrought. It's painted on the healed, scabbed over sores from the boils she brought up on her grandfather and mother. She does this now without realizing at the sheer memory of her mother pushing her, hard, trying to get her to show off her talents.
She snaps back when she feels the start of it crawling up her own spine.
Her eyes are wide, apologetic, flustered. "Oh no!" she says, taking a step back. Her rage was so all consuming she was left breathless, weakened a bit. "I just...sometimes I get angry and..." She is at a loss for words, gaping and confused.
Rodrik, with his large stature and large eyes, seemed no more dangerous than a colorful cobra.
"Are other lands prettier? What do they look like?" She turns a gaze to the horizon where, if she focused enough, she could see a tall mountain...and a taller one just beyond that. The walk, though, seemed treacherous - and mother was not about walking.
She considers these questions about her grandfather and mother and furrows her brow and screws up her face. How did she word this? She remembered what her mother said when she introduced her to Pollock - I have something of interest. She recalls the conversation vividly, the way her mother cornered her. Quick coils of hot rage flair up under her skin and, without realizing it, she calls upon the pestilence. It manifests many ways, and without a way to control it...well, it was weak and nonspecific, but dangerous. Fledgling in its infancy. It could be boils, it could be the cough you hadn't quite shaken, it could be any aspect of illness crawling slowly into your lungs or up your legs.
And Ajatar - she is not unmarked. She bears a small token of what she hath wrought. It's painted on the healed, scabbed over sores from the boils she brought up on her grandfather and mother. She does this now without realizing at the sheer memory of her mother pushing her, hard, trying to get her to show off her talents.
She snaps back when she feels the start of it crawling up her own spine.
Her eyes are wide, apologetic, flustered. "Oh no!" she says, taking a step back. Her rage was so all consuming she was left breathless, weakened a bit. "I just...sometimes I get angry and..." She is at a loss for words, gaping and confused.