#tray writes

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Lost in the Rain

Rain. A gift from the gods. It didn’t matter if you were a farmer in a field or a king on a throne, when the rain fell everyone was equally blessed.  Rain watered crops, washed things clean, and helped ensure life continued when it was consumed. Yet, for all the good it did it could also eroded beautiful works, muted vibrant paints into grey messes, and destroy outright in the form of a flood. The falling rains were like emotions.  And right now Tray was drowning in his.

He sat on a bench in the Lavender Beds. His face was upturned towards the the grey sky so he could feel the rain on his skin and let the water wash away the tears that were leaking from his closed eyes.  A bottle of whiskey was clutched in one hand while he held his revolver in the other.  His thumb idly caressed the hammer of his firearm as if he was stroking the cheek of a loved one. The rain continued to fall.  Streams of water ran past Tray’s feet.  Yet no amount of running water was going to carry away the pain he was feeling inside his chest.  The fire of emotion that had been sparked earlier was blazing out of control and it hurt him.  It was agonizing.  The masochist realized he had found a pain at long last he didn’t want to feel, a cruel sensation he wanted as far from him as possible.  He hated Kublai.  The man had manipulated him for his own ends and thrown him to the very literal wolf in the form of Kets and his smug, snide sneers. Tray’s hand shook as he reflected on that miqo’te’s gloating face as the smuggler relished the idea of ripping Ket’s throat out with his fangs.  But he hated himself even more because he’d seen Jak’s hatred for him and how he had let her down again.  Her words to him still echoed in his head, each recollection of her voice causing him to feel even further agony inside his chest.  Why wouldn’t the pain stop?  Why wouldn't moko and booze make this stop?!  Why had he ever let himself fall for her!  Neither of them was stable enough for this!  Yet, it was too late. He was trapped, chained to her by links of his own creation.  He stifled a chocked gasp in his throat and took several long breaths to try and gain -some- measure of self-control over his emotions and mind.  It felt like trying to control Bahamut itself.  He dropped his bottle, long since empty, and hunched over.  His right hand clutched at his heart as another wave of emotional pain seized him.  Mismatched eyes opened and they stared at the revolver. How many failures had he had in his life?  He had come into this world being called a mistake by his mother and his legendary curse of being a living disaster had followed him ever since.  How many mistakes? How many failures?  When would it be enough?  What foul star had he been born under to have the audacity to continue, to press forward, when all he seemed to bring was chaos?  Everything had been in hand.  He had been atop the world as his mechanizations had come together.  Moon Shine was poised to succeed and he had been so proud.  But then...this. His fingers tightened around the firearm and he watched his calloused thumb caress the hammer.  He knew he could take the pain away, punch out before it got worst, succeed where no one else had.  But is that what he’d do? Wasn’t that him being a hypocrite?  Him who said “I want to feel it all, both the good and the bad?  I want to feel alive because what do I feel when I die?”  He closed his eyes and hung his head. “Not that death is actually an escape for meh anymore.” he rasped with a weary chuckle.  Now that it had been revealed to him what would happen to him upon his death, the bitter reality of his cursed existence settled in.  There was no escaping this pain, no freedom from this torment.  He was a damned soul, fated to suffer forever it seemed. He dropped his revolver onto the ground and clutched his head in his hands and as he tried to let everything get lost in the rain and let his emotions become a muted grey until he felt nothing. (Mentions of @miqojak and @ketsuchikotetsu here.  Thank you both for ruining by boy’s initially very happy and successful weekend. LOL.  XD))

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Rain

What was it about the rain that made mortals so introspective?  Tray had always wondered that.  Whether tempest or drizzle, there seemed to be an unavoidable enchantment conjured by falling water.  Even here, just inside the small tea shop, the red-haired man was helpless to resist the summon to introspection he was being called too.  With mismatched eyes, he watched as ripples danced in the growing puddles of the flooding street.  Memories of an immoral past threatened to drown him.  How many actions filled his cup?  How overflowing with foul deeds had his cup come to run over?  Tray could see them all; the faces of those he had betrayed, killed, cheated, and hurt.  A mound of broken souls and hopes, bodies and limbs had formed the foundation of his throne. And a throne built atop such a shaky foundation was doomed to topple. And so it had. Crushing Tray’s son beneath. Thunder roared, low and distant as Tray reflected on his deceased child and he felt his heart hurt. Numb it. Tray’s mind said, and the miqo’te obeyed, raising his moko pipe to his lips and silencing his agony.  Bury it deep.  Don’t  reflect. The rain called him to reflect. After his son’s death, it had all come down.  Tray had finally realized his son was the one nugget of good gold he had used to justify his life of crime and greed.  If it benefited his son, no dark deed was too foul.  But without that good to balance his scale, it had tipped. Frandrin, his once dear employer and friend, had told him pride went before a fall.  Tray had mocked the idea when he had killed him but the truth of Frandrin’s words could not be avoided. Tray’s fall was inevitable. With Yimir’s death, Tray’s need for vengeance was immeasurable.  Even as Tray’s pursuit for revenge caused his illicit empire of crime to collapse around him, he rushed on, eager to kill. And eager to escape the guilt that followed at his heels, guilt formed by the knowledge Tray’s own actions had lead to Yimir’s demise, even if Tray had not wished it. But revenge cools upon accomplishment and once Yimir’s killer was dead and broken at Tray’s feet, the weight of his sins struck him like a hammer. And then came the karma. His warehouses empty, his goods seized, his allies turned enemies, and his last remaining ship was sunk beneath his feet by pirates. Tray thought death would claim him. But the sea was too cruel for that and it spit him upon the shores of a small isle. There, for moons, Tray survived alone, forced to finally confront his past, his deeds, his sins, and himself with no substance to numb the pain or help him escape. It had been terrible at first.  Tray,  a man who had spent his life running from his demons instead of facing them no longer had a choice but to stand.  His mind and soul broke until there was nothing but the tiny, smallest part of himself that still loved himself enough to cling to life. And it was that love of self that let him rebuild.  Piece by piece, he picked the parts of himself he prized and reworked his mind and soul into a new version of himself. A wiser one.  Knowledge and wisdom, folly and fun, the complexity of his existence allowed him to rework his mind until one day he looked at his own reflection and smiled. He had done wrong. He had done right.  But he now knew who he was, what he wanted, and what he stood for.  And it seemed to be the universe said: “Good, now you can come home.” Two days after, he had been seen and saved by a passing ship. Ten moons had passed. He returned, almost like a ghost, moving through cities he had once dared to dream he could own, where his bounty posters had lined the streets.  But now, he was just another forgotten part of the city’s legacy, another stone in the walls.  Tray found he preferred it that way. Simple. Peaceful. He tried to avoid his old haunts, the old places. Save one.  His son’s room. He had returned to it only once. He had gazed around the dust covered room and discovered one of his son’s tarot decks.  Taking it, Tray departed and left to wander the world.  To see. To learn.  To simply be. Once, his motto had been: “Seize life by the horns and break it’s will.” Now it was simply: “Do not fight the wave, ride it.” More thunder and Tray blinked.  He took a sip of tea and finished off the cup.  Reaching into a pocket he placed a few coins on the table and stood up. “You going out in that mess?” came the shop keeper as Tray went to the open doorway and paused, taking another inhale from his pipe and blowing a smoke ring into the falling rain. “Why not?” Tray asked, glancing over his shoulder. “You’ll catch your death out there.” “Ah dunno ‘bout that. Perhaps.” Tray chuckled, “Or maybe Ah’ll catch meh newest fortune instead.” Tray then turned and stepped into the rain.  He felt it on his face as he turned his eyes to the grey sky. Life was change.  Things were always moving from one state of existence to another.  It was unavoidable.  Tray had too after all of all these years. In so many ways. One consistent though: Rain made him introspective. And he enjoyed the rain.

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Bloodlust

((Was chatting with a few new acquaintances in a LS awhile back and they said they couldn’t see Tray ever being violent.  I realized he hasn’t actually done anything violent in several months now...like I just realized it’s been over three!   He’s been going through a lot of personal growth though during that time, which has been awesome! But yeah the LS prompted me to write something so here it is.  As always is the case for violent or gory writing on this Tumblr, writing below cut for any not wishing to read that content.))

The doors to the ‘Coffer and Coffin’ crashed open as a man came tumbling though them.  The Seeker bounty hunter bounced across the deck and then down the front steps to slam hard onto the dirt and gravel of the Thanalan road.  The stars gleamed in their cold, fey light overhead as they watched the figure slowly pick himself up off the ground, blood leaking from his nose and mouth as he pulled a knife from his belt and spun back to face the open door. He swallowed as he heard a terrified scream suddenly replaced with a sinister ripping noise which in turn was replaced by at  a wet gurgling.  The bounty hunter felt his hand tremble as his eyes beheld the red-headed miqo’te tearing the throat out of his victim with his fangs.  Tray dropped the thrashing body in his hands to the floor and turned to look at the remaining bounty hunter, ignoring the man at his feet as they clutched at the gaping hole in their esophagus.  They were already dead, they just hadn’t realized it yet.  The bounty hunter watched as Tray slowly approached him, the smuggler’s jack-boots thundering on the wooden planks of the floor.  Tray slowly chewed the pulpy mound of muscle and meat in his mouth before swallowing the red mess.  Crimson coated his face and dripped from his chin as he gifted the bounty hunter with a sadistic smile that exposed his fangs once more. “Ye shoulda left like I told ye too when ye had teh chance. Ready to eat yer words, meow?” Tray purred, his head canted to the side as his lone, blue eye blazed with a feral hunger. “Go fuck yourself!”  The bounty hunter exclaimed, forcing himself to sound bolder than he felt.  Tray could see the Seeker’s knife-hand shaking.  “What, ye can talk shit when ye have two friends at yer side, but meow dat it’s just meh an’ ye, ye lose yer nerve?  What happened to ye swearin’ ye was gonna collect on meh bounty, eh?”  Tray licked his lips.  He continued to advance, the boards of the steps creaking under his weight as he descended them.  With each step forward Tray took, the bounty hunter took one step back. “Ye just like ever other fuckin’ Seeker male I’ve had teh displeasure of fuckin’ interactin’ with of late.” Tray snorted as his wicked-looking bone knife flashed from his belt and spun through his fingers.  The bounty hunter could see the years of dried blood coating the hooked blade’s surface.  “All talk an’ zero bite.” “Screw you!” the bounty hunter drew back and hurled the knife in his hand.  He turned to flee.  He had seen Tray butcher two of his comrades that night and didn’t fancy his chances alone against the ghastly apparition of feral bloodlust. The bounty hunter’s world was suddenly fire and agonizing pain as something bit into his legs and his Achilles’ tendon severed.  The muscle snapped up the inside of his leg like a bow-string as the suddenly useless limb wobbled underneath him and then gave out.  The bounty hunt went sprawling face-first across the Thanalan road for the second time that night and cried out in agony as he looked back to see Tray’s knife of bone sticking from his leg. Tray was right behind him, clutching at his side where the Seeker’s own knife had found a new home.  The seeker seized a rock, rolled over, and hurled it at Tray’s head in a desperate Hail-Mary attack.  Tray caught the rock in his free hand before he hefted his boot and brought it crashing down on the man’s knee.  There was a horrible shattering sound as the bone gave to the impact and the leg bent backwards at an unnatural angle.  The seeker screamed again and tried to do anything to help himself but another kick found his gut and took the air from him as he rolled over onto his belly.  A blow to the side of his skull dazed him and his head began to swim.  Pain, fear, and now confusion rattled around in his jarred brain as he felt a finger dipping itself into the head-wound as if it was an quill dabbing up ink. A few moments later, the Seeker felt his head jerked up violently by his hair.  His blurred vision was greeted with the sight of the rock he had thrown painted with the words:  “Failed Father.”  in Tray’s handwriting. “Told ye I was gonna make ye eat yer own words.”  Tray sneered as he recalled how the Seeker had used the insult not once but twice earlier, before the bloodbath had started.  The memory heated Tray’s blood further and he  crammed the rock into the other male’s mouth, heedless of any damage done to jaw or teeth.  Tray let the Seeker’s head fall to the ground before he stood up, lifted his boot up on high one last time, and then drove it down to merge skull, brains, and stone into one messy mix. The stars overhead watched as Tray turned from the twitching ruin at his feet and began to return towards the ‘Coffer and Coffin, pausing a few times to drag his boot in the earth to clean away the bits of bone and mush.  He came to the front door and met the horrified looks of the owner and the few remaining patrons.  He reached into his coat to pull out a rag and wipe away some of the mess on his face.  “Meh apologies for teh incident.” Tray said sincerely to the wide-eyed people.  He reached into his coat and tossed a large bag of gil over to the bar tender, who let the bag fall behind the counter and spill on the floor.  “Reparations for teh cleanin’.” Tray nodded as he turned and quickly made tracks away from the building and bodies before the Blade’s showed up.  Once he was a good distance form the bar, he gave a small whistle and then began to sing softly: ‘What do ye do with teh drunken whaler...”

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Supply and Demand: Part 4

Ash. Nothing but fields of charred ash. A fortune in moko reduced to ash in the span of one freak thunderstorm. Least that’s how the story went. A cool morning wind was blowing down from the mountains, sending occasional clouds of dust into the air that would burn the eyes of the small gang of armed warriors gathered among the now blackened fields. One figure, taller and more powerfully built than the rest, stood dressed in long, brown robes with a black scarf wrapped around her mouth.  The twin tails of the scarf played on the wind as the tendrils of her onyx-black hair played danced between them.  Her eyes were hidden behind goggles and a massive sword rested on her back.  She twisted her boot heel into the earth in agitation. The Highlander woman turned and looked around. “Still no sign of Eastwood?”  she inquired about the owner of this once lush farm, her voice sounding like a hammers blow upon an anvil even muffled as it was. “No, ma’am.” came one of her soldiers.  “His maids said that he was around the day after the fire trying to salvage what he could but then vanished that night.” The highlander woman grunted. “I want him found and want to hear what happened from his lips.”  “Ma’am,” the soldier said.  “We know what happened from the-” the man started. “I don’t for one second believe that this freak accident is one at all!” the woman snapped.  Eastwood farms had been one of her organization’s main cash crops.  The forecast yield of the now burned moko had been in the millions of gil.  Because of that anticipated margin, it had been a major part of the next year’s budgets for her gang.  The crop had become especially important after Ursulin Urslousx had decided to cancel his contract with the Sin Twins and turned to the upstart organization Moon Shine to move and sell his moko for him.  Ursulin Urslousx’s moko might be the best in all of Eorzea but his production had always been focused on quality over quantity, so that loss had been manageable despite the insane value market value of his crop.  But now, with Eastwood’s farm up in smoke,  the loss of Ursulin Urslousx was a problem.  Even with the very large number of farms still producing moko for the Sin Twins to move and sell this season, they would be hard pressed to turn an appreciable profit this year with the loss of their two premium strands. That line of thinking made the highlander woman scowl behind her scarf.  The timing of this was certainly suspect now wasn't it.  Moon Shine comes in and manages to snatch away one grower and then, when Eastwood wouldn’t agree to switch to Moon Shine, his plants suddenly get charred in a freak lightning storm. 

“We’re leaving.”  the woman said, spinning on her heel and marching towards her tethered chocobo. “What about the farm?”  the soldier said as her armed entourage fell into step behind her.  “It’s ours now.” the woman said.  “Get the fieldhands back out and growing.  We might be able to get a late harvest in the fall if we get started now.  We need to salvage some measure of profit from his fiasco.” “Aye ma’am.  Shall I inform S’Sinri?” “Aye, let my brother know so he can take possession of the deeds and send some more hands here.”  she mounted her steed as she took the reins in her hands. “And what of you Lady Sinrah?” The highlander looked down at her steward. “I’m going to go have a little chat with the people at Moon Shine.”   She dug her spurs into the side of her chocobo as she and her now mounted warriors speed off into the woods of the Shroud. ((Results of plot event earlier this weekend. IT went STUPID well for Tray’s ninja operative as well as the distraction team part during the meeting. LOL.  Was a good time!  Too bad rest of Tray’s weekend wasn’t as hot. LOL)

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

A Fashion Disaster

Tray awoke and stretched, the sheets rolling over his naked body and made him purr.  The sun was beaming in through the window, the birds outside were singing, and his room smelled of maple moko. It was going to be a GREAT day! As he got out of bed and walked his naked ass across the room, his many tattoos and body piercings on display, he noticed a dozen bags hanging from hangers in his closest.  “Dat’s odd.” Tray said aloud, wondering if Jak had put them there as he opened his dresser drawer to pull out his ratty, old coat he wore almost everywhere.  He paused and suddenly realized that this coat wasn’t there.  He turned and looked inside the drawer.  In fact ALL of his clothes were missing from the drawer. “Was I real drunk last night?”  Tray paused, but realized he’d only had a single beer the night prior so there was no way. He began to check the other drawers, only to find to his horror that they were all empty!  His entire collection of hobo-chic attire was missing!  Tray frantically began tearing the room apart but found not a single fiber of his old wardrobe. Starting to stress, Tray went to his moko drawer to have a smoke to calm himself and think.  But as he opened the drawer, a shocked yell left his lips as he saw that that his moko drawer was empty too save for a little note saying: Less drugs, more you finally acting like your an officer here. -Jak Tray hurled the note as he cursed violently! “Ye unbelievable! Tiny! Infueratin’ murderous little! Worst Boss!” Tray paused, standing totally still as he looked over at the closet full of hanging, black bags. There was a note on the open closet door and Tray suspected who wrote it as he stormed over and ripped it from the door and the tack that had held it there.  It was also written in Jak’s terrible chick-scratch. No more trash clothes.  Time to look your rank. - Jak Tray curled his fingers around the note slowly, his blue eye a dangerous slit of fuming anger as he eyed the bags.  He knew what sort of clothes were inside these sort of bags.  The most vile of attires.  The worst and most cruel things ever made.  Nice clothes that required ties.  As he opened the first bag’s zipper a black suit, clearly very expensive in its material and perfect in it’s measurements for his body, greeted him. “JAK!” Tray howled, storming out of his room and down the hall, still as naked as the day he was born.  He shoved terrified house staff out of his way as he bellowed Jak’s name. “Jak when I find ye I’m gonna!” Tray promised vengefully as he walked through Bluesky’s lobby and then threw the doors open to the yard when he saw no one was there. As he stepped out onto the lawn, he saw the third most horrific site of his life:  the sight of his clothes and all his moko on fire in the middle of the yard. Tray wailed and beat his breasts with his fists in loss as he collapsed onto his knees before the inferno. This display of loss and violent grieving went on for some time. Really it wasn't until the fire was dead and the embers started to cool that he finally admitted defeat and ran his hands through his hair as he looked up at the sky. “I knew ye said ye was gonna be hard to like Jak,” Tray sighed, slowly taking deep yoga breathes to slow his raging heart.  “But I never knew it was gonna be dis hard.” 

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Supply and Demand: Part 3

“So, Chows, are we gonna be ready to start makin’ our first couple runs in teh next few weeks?”  Tray asked as he and his one-time-time-valet-now-turned-business-partner walked slowly down a weedy, overgrown road between the wild collection of overgrown, Gridanian foliage. “On my end, we will be.” the older miqo’te commented, glancing at his younger companion.  “Once you sign off on the driver I’ve hired that is.  Otherwise, the documents for ‘Moon Shine Deliveries’ are complete, and the wagon and birds will be ready.” Tray flicked his pierced tail and grunted.  “Look, Chows, ain’t dat I don’t trust yer judgment on shit, just, I dunno.  Was a sixteen-year-old kid really teh only driver ye could find?” Tray glanced over at his grey-haired companion and the cane he used to help him along. “From what I’ve seen of his racing skills, and from our conversations, he seems to be exactly what we need:  eager, adventurous, knowledgeable on chocobos, and cheap, like our current budget.” Tray sniffed and wiggled his nose. “I know. I still need to speak with teh Khan an’ Jak ‘bout dis venture but wanted all teh cogs in place ‘fore I did.  I’m hopin’ dey’ll direct some of dem Bluesky coffers towards dis once I explain it and maybe get a solid delivery done so dey can see our profit margin.” “Well considering you implied some of the Bluesky would be acting as security for these deliveries, let’s hope you are right.”  Chows and Tray rounded a bend and could see a collections of buildings in the distance. “Speaking of your yakuza family, how did the Gothic-themed party go the other night?” Chows inquired. “Ugh.” Tray grumbled, running an hand through his dyed-black hair. 

“That well, hmmm?” Chows lightly laughed. “Yeah, dat well’.” Tray started. “I sense a ‘but’ coming on.” Chows mused. “Aye.” Tray nodded as he stepped over a fallen branch.  “Dis lass named Eiai I am acquainted with got drunk and wild.  Was a party after all, nothin’ new.  But she went steppin’ up at one of meh Bluesky family an’ things got tense. An’ I may have threatened to cut off her hand if she ever threatened on of meh people again.” “Fiery disposition.” Chows mused.  “But was to save face.” “Yeah, well based on a chat last night, sounds like I pissed some folks off.” “You? Making enemies? Noooo.”  Chows snorted, almost sarcastically as he chuckled.  “They gonna be a problem?” “The messenger I got last night implied I had burned bridges an’ if I stepped wrong, they would be one.  So meh plan is to just avoid ‘em.  Dey wanna get mad cause of drunken words an’ straight up foolishness, dat’s their waste of energy not mine.” “That’s one of the most mature and level-headed reactions I think I’ve ever heard from you, Tray.” Chows commented with mild, pleased surprise.  “Two years ago, you would have been on a war path.” “Well, I’ve done some growin’.” Tray admitted.  “An’ I got someone dat expects better out of meh den dat.” “Well, I have expected better for years.” Chows smirked. The pair of miqo’te reached the small collection of buildings and headed for a small set of stables that sat on the outside of the village.  The smell of chocobo’s hung heavy in the air as the entered.  A single wagon sat in the middle of the stables.  There were four stalls, one in each corner of the building.  Three of the stalls held a dozing chocobo.  The fourth stall was open and full of reigns, saddles, tools, and a young, red-haired miqo’te youth currently attaching a set of spurs to his boots. “Vren.” Chows greeted the young male warmly and the young miqo’te turned and fixed Tray and Chows with a sheepish grin as he quickly rose to his feet.  “Chows, I, good morning!  And you must be Mr. Estinoch.” Vren said, clearly both nervous and excited as he stood there, holding the boot in his hands.  His nervousness grew as Tray’s one, blue eye squinted at the younger man.  He could feel Tray’s gaze scanning every inch of him. Vren gave a nervous chuckle and licked his lips as Tray turned to whisper softly to Chows: “Where ye find dis kid?” Tray said, in a hushed tone. “He comes from Vesper Bay.” “Uh huh.  An’ ye clearly have noticed who he looks like...” Tray commented, glancing back at Vren. “Part of why I hired him.” “Any chance there’s a connection?”  Tray flicked his tail. “You tell me.” Chows commented casually and Tray gave him a dirty look. “I see yer game, don’t think I dont, Chows.”  Tray grows softly before turning towards Vren and took a sniff. “So, Vren.  Chows says yer a chocobo racer.” “I am, sir.”  Vren stammered, twisting the boot nervously. “Ye driven many wagons?” “Often, sir.” Vren nodded several times. “Ever been in a fight?”  Tray asked.  Vren seemed a little surprised. “A few, sir.” “Ever killed a man?” Tray cocked his head. “What, no!” Vren blinked in surprise. “Been arrested for any crime?”  Tray’s eye grew more intense. Vren shook his head.  Tray grimaced and looked at Chows.  He was about to speak but Vren interjected. “Sir, look I know that you’re a mostly legitimate business that’s planning on using it to move moko down south.  Chows told me.  I understand I’m not your ideal candidate, but I can make any run faster then any other driver and can tend to the birds better then anyone else.” Tray paused, looked back at the youth with his mismatched eyes and red hair and then winced as he looked away. “Chows, he can tend to the birds. Pay him for that. But I’m not putting a child on these drives when he could get hurt an’-” “Sir, I am not  a child!”  Vren exclaimed.  “Sir, please.  I have no where else to go and need this!  Chows said he’d sponsor my racing in exchange for making these runs.  I’m not even making gil off of this work.  Please, let me do this!”  Tray refused to look at the boy as he looked towards Chows. “He can do this.” Chows said, having clearly taken a liking to the boy.  “He can make our runs -and- help us launder like we planned with his races.” “He’s a child. One who is potentially in harms way in the driver’s seat.” Tray warned. “And you weren’t when you where harpooning whales at his age?” Chows reminded Tray of his own youth.  “I won’t risk another Yimir situation.” Tray hissed.  “Then see too it he has guards on his deliveries.”  Chows replied sternly.  “You hired me to run things here while you do your duties to Bluesky, and I hired this man to do a job and -will- use him.  So you want to see him protected?  Do your part.” Tray paused.  It wasn’t often Chows’ got stern and put his foot down. He was normally willing to let Tray run about freely.  But when Chows did bring out his old, military bearing, Tray knew there was no changing the older man’s mind. “Anything happens to him, dis is on ye.” Tray clicked his tongue as he looked back at Vren, who was still holding his boot, both defiant and nervous. “Alright, kid.”  Tray ran his tongue over his teeth, studying Vren’s features one last time.  “Ye get -one- trial run.  Ye fuck it up, ye come off teh wagon and stay here tendin’ to teh birds.  Understood?” Vren nodded his head too fast to speak and Chows tried not to laugh at how comical it was.  Tray grunted and exited the stables to give Chows and Vren time to talk. Once outside, Tray went for his moko pipe but paused.  He looked down at the pipe in his hand, and then put it away.  He needed to think, not blur.  He had to talk to Jak,and get some guards on the delivery.  It was no longer an options.  He wasn’t about to have the blood of another kid on his hands. Especially one that looked like Vren did.

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Pieces

Numb the pain away.  Don’t feel. “I will feel it all!” Why bother, you broken wretch? “Don’t call me a wretch!” Tray threw his bottle against the wall, the bottle exploding as it struck.  He snarled in a drunk anger as his fists clenched. “How could she betray me like this!“ Tray hissed, his lone eye narrowed as he shook.  “After everything we’ve been through!” He turned, huffing, before he drew back his fists and began to pummel a nearby tree, each blow cracking bark.  Blood began to flow freely as his knuckles were dashed upon the bark but he embraced the pain, using it to help focus his mind and numb the sense of betrayal in his guts. After nearly a cycle apart, Tray had finally encountered Haname at long last.  And the reunion was bitter-sweet.  His relief and excitement of her finding him, and the flood of old emotions that had washed over him as he had held her, had turned to ash in his mouth as she berated him for crawling back into the belly of the underworld, and swore that she’d take him down if she had too because she would not compromise her new mantra of a vigilante. She had said she was trying to make amends for her her sins. Sins, she had reminded him, that she had committed on his behalf.  She wouldn’t follow him down again, even though her affections were still strong for him. Least so she said. “But if that’s true, why teh hells won’t ye love meh as I am?” Tray hissed, his arms falling to his side, blood covering his fingers, his knuckles raw and shredded.  He panted as he felt hot tears running down his face. Who can love a beast?

Tray closed his eyes and felt the war in his mind.  One side, the optimist and former pacifist, raged against the dark, power-hungry shade that had driven him to rise.  And then to fall.  Neither could overcome, but one must. No soul could feed two dogs.  And Tray had to make a choice eventually:  follow Haname down a path of redemption, or continue his plunge into the darkness he seemed addicted too. His teeth pulled back and his teeth flashed as he recalled his conversation with Frandrin the day his had killed his former mentor and friend:

“Look at you.  The perfect image of a barbarian.” “I am as ye made me.” Tray snorted, flicking his pierced tail. “You give me far too much credit.” Frandrin scoffed.  “This ‘beast’ was always inside of you.  I just never saw it.”  Frandrin gave Tray a stern look.  “I still recall the day I met you.  Sobbing and willing to spend the rest of your life in prison for your crime. There was something noble in you once, Tray.  Clearly you’ve killed it.” “I’m still noble.” Tray snarled, cocking his firearm. “Oh yes.” Frandrin snorted with a roll of his eyes.  “You sell drugs to the ignorant, get them hooked, and then feed off their need like a leech.  You butcher those that try to uphold the laws meant to protect the people against things like you.  You lie and betray those you call friend for your own gain.  So noble.  Tell me, how many innocent people have died for you to get where you are?” “I could ask the same of ye!” Tray snapped. “I only kill to protect this city and make it strong!” Frandrin spat. “You only kill for yourself.  Don’t even compare us.  You’re nothing but a wild animal snarling at the walls I put up to keep people away from dogs like you.” “Well, seems like this dog’s got atop your wall.”  Tray licked his pointed fangs. “Perhaps.” Frandrin pulled his swords from their scabbards slowly and began to spin them through his hands.  “Perhaps you’ll even kill me.  But my death changes nothing.  I beat you.” “Oh, and how’s that?” Tray raised an eyebrow. “Cause you’re going to die rent apart by the dogs you swarm with and one day, you’ll see I was always right about you.” Tray bellowed in rage as he heard the last line ringing in his head.  He hated that Frandrin had been proven so right about him over the moons since his death.  He despised the elderly lalafel that had nailed him, his ambitions and his bloodlust to a cross perfectly.  Every sin Tray had come to realize he was guilty of had long ago been hung before him by the Monetarist.  And now, Frandrin’s omen was coming true.  At the hands of the person he had come to trust and rely upon more than anyone else during his rise to power, he might meet his downfall.  She was the dog he’d swarmed with the most eagerly.  “I hate that ye could be right.” Tray hissed, seeing Frandrin’s face before him.  He had a choice.  Give this up or continue. “When is it going to be enough, Tray?” Haname had asked last night.  Tray had only looked at her and known in the back of his mind that he didn’t know.  He didn’t know how much gil had to flow, blood had to fall, and games he had to play to feed his beast.  And like Rhyme, Tray was suspecting his own beast would never be full. Tray looked past the tree at the rising sun over the ocean and the golden hue made him think of his son and how his own boy had died for his hubris and greed.  If losing his own son wasn’t enough to take him from this life, was the risk of losing Haname going to drag him from this shadowed world? Tears rolled down Tray’s cheeks.  Some were clear and pure, others were oily and tainted as they left his cursed eye; another scar from his choices.  As he crawled inside his own mind, the frustration of being caught between two worlds ripping him apart grew and another memory came to him: the first time he had met Frandrin all those years ago.

“Tray.” Frandrin repeated the name of the prisoner.  This crying miqo’te interested him.  “Why do you weep so heavily?” “Cause I killed another person.” Tray answered, clenching his fists as tears fell from his eyes.  “I…I couldn’t forgive him for killin’ my mate.  God’s I tried.  I swear I prayed for peace and to be a better man but I couldn’t!  I couldn’t find it in my heart to forgive him and I killed him.” Frandrin blinked, so surprised at this powerful display of emotion from this man.  He looked at Tray’s hands and then the tears.   “This man killed your mate?”  Frandrin asked softly.  Tray nodded. “Aye.  We took money out…a loan…to open an orphanage.  But…my farm wasn’t making enough gil, we defaulted.  They came to rough us up for the money and got so rough they broke…” Tray sobbed and pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them. “Y’Mara open this cell.”  Frandrin ordered.  The guard raised her eyebrows but did so.  Frandrin, dressed in rich robes, entered, and pulled out his handkerchief.  He offered it to Tray, who looked at Frandrin in surprise. “Why…why…” “Was this the first person you have ever killed?”  Frandrin asked.  Tray nodded slowly.  The lalafel placed the handkerchief into Tray’s bloody fingers and gave a small smile. “Never in my life have I seen someone so repentant for a crime many would say is justified.  Losing a loved one like that….and too have wanted to have forgiven them….I wish more of mortal kind was like you.  With a heart like yours.” Tray swallowed, confused.  He blinked his tear-filled eyes and Frandrin could see the miqo’te’s regret. “Guard, dress him, let him shower, and bring him by my office.” “Beg your-” Frandrin snapped his fingers and the guard shut her mouth.   “Sometimes all people need is a second chance.” The Monetarist gave Tray a small smile. Tray suddenly heard another voice, dark and twisted, cackling.  He realized it was his own voice. A second chance was given And that given faith was riven As yer beast deep within Came to love yer sin As ye finally realized Yer goodness died within. Tray slumped down on the tree, his eyes opening as the looked at the sun rising over the ocean.  “What am I?” Tray asked, and for the first time that day, no internal voice answered; because no one knew. ((Wheeeew! This got loong as hell.  Fallout after finally running into @repose-and-run ‘s char after a long time apart and past and present collided.  Scene had allt he feels and Tray’s reeling from it.  Was fun to get to mention Frandrin again.  Miss him.  Probably my favorite antagonist I’ve gotten to make for a plot))

[catnip-smuggler-radio]

Killing the Flame

The halls of Ul’dah. The halls of power where coins determined the fate of nations. and any life had a price. Just some were worth more than others. Tray stood in such a hallway now, gazing up at the arching ceilings that towered above him like the cathedrals of ancient gods.  His right hand was placed against a wall and he pressed against it.  The stone stood defiant to his efforts. He looked down and studied the space before him.  Bells prior, he and his ilk had been surrounded by armed brutes all clamoring for his head.  Tray recalled how they had snarled and snapped at him, all eager to shed blood over a misunderstanding on their end.  Even now he could see the glints of their drawn blades. And yet, Tray had stared them down. He had been as calm and cold as a clear winter’s day as he had scolded them for their naivety and foolishness for acting without temperance. Acting like- “Is savages the word you are looking for, Tray” Tray turned his head and spied his mental projection of Frandrin.  The image of the aged lalafel was staring back at him as he always was:  seemingly bored yet impossibly cold and calculating; the glint in his eyes as sharp as the cut of his suits. “Aye.” Tray mused, turning to talk to the apparition, even though he knew in the back of his head he was just talking to himself.  “I was.” “Funny.”  Frandrin mused.  “You always seemed to find the word so distasteful when I used it on you.” “Yes, I did.” Tray flicked his pierced tail.  “Do you see yourself at long last as how I saw you?”  Frandrin asked.  “Do you finally understand why I called you a howling beast that was a slave to their own impulses and not their mind?  “No.” Tray commented, crossing his arms.  “I see myself as havin’ surpassed ye.” “What?” Frandrin snorted.  “A fools’ concept. I-” “I once hated ye an’ everything ye stood for.”  Tray said slowly.  “Ye mocked and derided anythin’ dat wasn’t compliant to yer way of seein’ teh world.  Ye was powerful, arrogant, and claimed dat yer wealth was what gave ye worth and teh right to act cruelly towards yer fellows was cause if ye was rich, clearly ye was better.” Tray paused.  “An’ yet...I wanted to be like ye more den anythin’.  I wanted to be calm when I was hot-headed.  I wanted to be collected when the world was collapsing.  An’ I wanted to know what true power felt like.  To sit at the top an’ look down.” “But you acted like an animal.” “Back then, yes.  But now...” Tray gave a smug sneer.  “I’ve finally beat ye.” “Rubbish!” Frandrin waved his hand.  “Even though you killed me, I’ve forever beaten you!  I crushed you.  You’re an animal and nothing more, no matter how you dress or what you claim.  You could never become like me” “That’s just it ,Frandrin, you’re right.  I couldn’t become just like ye.  I could become better.”  Tray flashed teeth.  “I hated myself for so long cause I felt like there was teh beast an’ teh civilized at war in meh an’ I couldn’t know who I was because I wasn’t whole. I wore masks to hide the mess of my mind and soul.  Fake smiles and ‘fuckboy’ antics.  But slowly...I’ve been stitching meh parts together.  Becoming whole, a clever savage in a suit dat plays dis game better den ye.  A beast dat knows the line between animal and king is subjective at best.  An’ dat gil ain’t teh only thing dat makes a mortal right, or powerful.  Last night, I was colder den I had ever been.  An’ I walked away from death with meh head held high  an’ I did it in meh own way.  Ye may have taught me some lessons on statecraft, Frandrin but...it was meh silver tongue, not yers, dat saved meh, just like it’s always been meh.  An’ ye can’t take dat from meh.  I killed ye over a cycle ago.  But last night, I beat ye.  At last, I win.  I finally killed teh one thing holding meh back, teh think I should killed teh same day I killed ye.” “And what is that?” Frandrin scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Teh flame yer sparked in meh head.” “Don’t you...” Frandrin started, realizing what Tray meant. “I win. Frandrin.” Tray smirked.  “I snuffed it out. Meow get teh fuck outta meh head.” Tray waved his hand and the phantasm of his old mentor and enemy was gone.  After so long, the haunting insecurities Frandrin had made him feel for years, died.  He had finally proven to himself that he wasn’t a frothing mistake of a creature that had some been unworthy to live in Frandrin’s shadow and was dependent on the lalafel’s world-view for validation, but that he was a man just as, and in most ways more, capable.  Funny, that it was such a random event that had finally brought this to his mind, but perhaps it was because for the first time in a long time he wasn’t in a constant haze of moko.  He was thinking clearly.  Frandrin had long ago sparked a flame of truth inside Tray but flame had been the light of Frandrin’s truth, not his own.  That flame had burned bright, illuminating all of Tray’s parts and claiming that the ‘darkness’ it had dispelled was wrong.  But the ‘darkness’ had been where Tray had found his truth, his confidence, and himself.   And he finally had embraced that, wrapped himself in it, and felt whole. After years, and with the help of a certain woman’s push, Tray had slowly risen to this point where he could finally reach out...

                                                                            and kill the flame.

And he had. Tray reached up and adjusted his tie, glancing at a passing guard. “Looking good sir.”  the guard commented, probably having no idea who Tray was but just assuming he was important by the cut of his suit.  “Bitch, I know I do.” Tray flapped his ears while chuckling as he began to strut his way home, leaving the guard very confused.