Dragon Dreams
“Whelp.”
Everything hurt.
“You seem to have been a busy little beast.”
The contempt on the Raen's tongue, as he referred to the obvious bruising at her neck and hips, was something she claimed to have grown used to – but it was people like this that made the fire burn brighter.
“And so what if I have?” Panted breaths, as she tried to close. They hurt in the same places as the night before, “Jealous?” Her strike missed, the far taller Au Ra side-stepping it almost lazily; she was worse than normal. Muscles hurt in places she hadn't known they could.
Nobody's fault but my own.
There were times she thought she could still smell him on her – and she was trying to focus.
“I don't fuck beasts. Looks like you do, though.”
It was as though he knew her next move – their difference in height only some small advantage to dodging, though an active hindrance to offensive maneuvers. She had to improve. And having wolf on the brain didn't help. Nor did her tutor's condescending tone.
“Only beasts know the purity of this world. The strong thrive -” That's when he cut her off – she'd done it again, and let her frustrations get the better of her – grabbing her arm, whipping her around, and knocking her legs out from under her; the momentum sending her skidding across the floor. More scrapes and bruises to add to her collection.
“And the weak are fodder for their betters. You, little beast, are still weak. The Khagan sees you as a pet – as a lucky charm to bring him fortune in a new land. You are nothing more - do not let his brief interest give you false hope in a future that is not yours. Be content on your knees, where you will thrive.”
“How could I respect you? What have you done to earn my respect?”
Her body screamed, but that was pain she could understand. It was almost too much, almost – but what was it, to move your limbs? They were hers. Her body. It, at least, would do what it was told. No amount of physical pain could dampen that survival instinct – indeed, that beast. It was always ready to stand and fight, even when her limbs shook, even when they threatened to betray her. It was the words that slowed her down. She hated words. Her teacher knew what he was doing – yeah, he was a racist lizard like the rest – but he knew the depths of her anger. He laughed at the flames that consumed her from within. She was so, so very sick of being laughed at. Ketsuchi's words stuck like a burr, too. No, she wasn't a dragon yet. She wasn't quite there. No one laughs at a dragon – no one tosses a dragon across a room like a broken toy, as Hattori just had.
When he closed on her slumped form, was when the time for self-pity came to an end. His arm reached, a hand extended for her hair. No one touched her head -
Someone certainly did no more than twenty-four hours ago.
Her grip was vicious, nails biting into his forearm, pulling him forward with his momentum; her own head whipping up, to try and catch him under the chin (gods, but she hated headbutts); and the heel of her opposing palm shot for the soft spot at the base of his sternum.
She was not a street-cat any longer. She was not a stray animal, to be condescended to. J'kesri was no beggar, but yes, she was a beast. Small, enraged, wounded – and when they pressed those wounded pieces of her, it was difficult to see, for the fury that held her in its grasp.
It wasn't a bad plan, all things considered – taking her frustration at both men out on this one – but things never, truly, go according to plan. His free hand jabbed fingers into the hollow of her throat about the time he turned his head, gouging her temple with a horn, making her vision blur, and flicker. Though, the tiny hand aiming for his sternum lands its blow – the most important of the hits, perhaps, and a satisfying groan of pain split the Raen's lips.
This, is when he squeezes her neck, and those bruises that are so excruciating of their own accord – squeezing, grip unrelenting, until she wheezes for each hard-won breath. “Beg, beast. You are beaten. Admit it. Cry for mercy.” The towering, horned terror staggers, reaching for a wall to lean his weight on; her feet don't reach the floor, and she knows she'll pass out before she utters the word 'mercy.'
“Nothing much to say now, Little Robin?”
She feigns, for a beat, clawing at his arm – poor, little beast – and jams her fingers (claws included) into the meat of his arm, just past the elbow. Pressure points. She needed weak spots, when she was overpowered. Not rage.
But he knows those as well as she does, and she dropps to the floor gasping in time with the taller man ripping his arm out of her grasp. And in this moment, she was, quite simply, glad there were no other witnesses to the ignominy of her situation. The wheezed whines, the pained groans, and grasping at the soft spot at the base of her throat that she'd been so cruelly jabbed in – breath hard to catch, as the choking sensation went on...blood trickling past her eye, where her temple had been torn open. Dizzily, she clung to consciousness.
She'd take a draw on a day she'd already had a beating. Both to pride, and body.
“Pack your bags, Beast. We're going east to show off the Khagan's newest pet. You are expected in two hours' time.” His laughter at her expense was strained, however. That was the fuel she subsisted on – giving as good as she got.
At least she didn't have to face Ketsuchi in the coming week – weeks? However long their personal shit took. She looked, quite frankly, as if she'd been trampled by a Roe – and he'd have never let her hear the end of it. It, likewise, gave her time to think on matters as she healed.
No, I'm not a dragon. Not yet. (( @ketsuchikotetsu , tormenting Jak even when he’s not around.))