You know what's neat? Interrogator playing psychological games, yes. But with stoic, charismatic Leader figure as a Whumpee acting like an equal?
"You chose your priorities, Whumper. I chose mine. There's nothing more I have to say to you"
"Go on, do what you planned to do. You can kick me or chain me to a floor if it will make you feel a little bigger than you are"
"Blackmailing won't really work, Whumper. I'm ready for sacrifices. Try bargaining. We can make a deal. Information for a favour"
"Hmm... This? No, I'm not telling you this one. But I can tell you about [X] instead. Are you interested?"
"Is your pride hurting, Whumper? Do I ruin your statistics?"
"Lower your voice down and let me finish the f##ing sentence. Why do you even ask the questions if you don't let me answer?"
"According to the [X]th sub-clause of the Criminal Law Act, I have the right to remain silent on a case which, if resolved without the presence of a lawyer, could be detrimental to me or my relatives" repeated over and over and over and over again. As the interrogation goes, this sentence becomes messier and shorter. "Law act... Cri... Criminal law... I- have th- I have right to..."
(W) "Do you really hope for anyone to get you out of here?" (L) "No... No, I don't. I just believe in what I'm doing. Do you?"
------------------------
And what if Whumper is as charismatic and confident as Leader is? Interrogation session might turn to be a big philosophical dispute while having a knife pressed against the throat.
"Was it worth it, Whumpee?" Whumper asked, lifting Whumpee's chin with the edge of their sword.
"Was what worth it?" Whumpee questioned in a hoarse whisper, eyes burning with the last energy they had for hatred.
"Letting a hundred of your men die for you, when you know I always get what I want." Whumper mocked, an amused chuckle tapering off the edges of their cocky smirk.
"Your Majesty is a joke... And a murderer."
"I'm not!" They spat, jerking away from the blade without fear and turning away from Whumper's pinning, scrutinizing stare.
"You knew I wouldn't stop until I had you and yet, you still hid behind them."
"I-I thought we'd defeat you- I-I was sure of it!"
"I told you once before, I'd slaughter an army to take back what's rightfully mine."
"You're a monster!" Whumpee snapped, breaking into trembling sobs.
The former assassin was shoved into a large cage in the back of a cart. They flashed an awkward, sad smile. It was a failed attempt at their usual cocky grin.
“C’mon Kae’ I’ve gotten out of worse!” She called back, trying to hide how terribly they were shaking.
Kaemon shook off the guards who were trying to drag her to the cage, and she ran up to the bars.
“I’m going to get you out of here.” She looked around widely, desperately.
“Kaemon.” Rehks grabbed her hand from outside the bars, looking into her eyes, “I’m going to get out of here. I’m not going down that easily, trust me.”
“I’ll try.” She replied before bolting from the scene, running in the direction the rest of the rebels had already fled.
Then she was gone, and Rehks was alone again.
“Well,” they thought, “Time to keep that promise.”
They let themselves be whisked away by the rickety cart, but as it stumbled across the road she got to work. She finagled a small pocket dagger from her back pocket and marched to the metal door. It was chained shut.
“Easy.” She murmured as she absentmindedly looked around to assure herself that she wasn’t being watched.
They quickly fidgeted with the lock, suddenly succeeding, forcing the cage open. She tumbled out onto the dusty wooden road, cursing at the clumsiness. The cage slammed.
Dammit. They’d know now.
Sure enough, the cart slowed. Rehks watched in anxious anticipation as she attempted to get up from the ground that they had fallen so heavily upon. It felt like their ankle was sprained or something.
“You rebel bastards don’t know how to just stay put do ya?” The guard’s hood had fallen from their head in frustration.
They marched towards the struggling icari, infuriated and steaming. The soldier was short, strong, and their scraggly beard accentuated their apparent constant anger. The guard threw themselves atop Rehks, pressing a dagger to their neck.
“Now, are you gonna cooperate with me, or are you gonna make me do this the hard way?” They growled.
Rehks smiled, the cockiness began to show, they had a plan, “Aren’t you on strict orders to bring me in alive?”
“Yes, but they said nothing about how alive you needed to be-!”
They were quickly cut off by Rehks’ spitting into their face, some getting into their mouth. The soldier sputtered, enraged, but it gave Rehks enough time to stab into the thigh of the guard, hopefully immobilizing them. As they cried out, Rehks weaseled away from their grasp, kicking as they went.
Unfortunately, they hadn’t had their wing-extenders on her, so they had no choice but to limp away a s fast as they could. Luckily, although they were out of practice, they were still a grade a (former) assassin. She could get out of tough scrapes.
As she jogged away, the best she could given her injury, they remarked to herself how oddly much more nerve racking this capture was. Usually it was no big deal. They had truly been in worse predicaments, she had stared death in the eyes and challenged them to take their best shot. This was an easy win, yet why was her heart pounding so fast? Why were they so shaky?
As she remembered the distress on Kaemon’s face, they realized what it was. It’s a lot easier to have no fear towards death when you don’t have anyone to live for but yourself. Now that Rehks had others who cared about their well-being, and she cared about theirs, it wasn’t as easy to look death in the eyes.
“Tell us a story that’s by candlelight, waging a war and losing the fight.” - Green Day, Song of the Century.
Something at their back of their mind wonders if their throat’s always been this dry. If their lips have always been this cracked.
Can’t be true, can it? They hear the tales nearly every evening; tales of a time when the Spillway (as it’s still called, for some stupid reason) was just that, surging with what seemed like a neverending crystalline current.
Luckily enough, getting up to where it lies empty is practically kids’ stuff. Just a matter of clambering up the crags and ridges and kicking aside the trailing strips of faded yellow and black tape. Below, shadows lengthen in a slow crawl across withering grass.
Jaime prods its long, arid skeleton with a toe. The Spillway. Ha. Maybe in another world, some distant universe - one where spilling anything isn’t something verging on sacrilege. But not here, not now. Not for them. Especially on days where those precious rations get swiftly sapped by cooking and washing and - whatever other hoops that have to be jumped through just to live semi-normally, leaving strength to die on sandpaper tongues.
They don’t remember, of course, but the way their grandma tells it, everything was one big fairy story once. Water didn’t come tangled up with a billion restrictions and clauses. Grass sprang up thick and green. The Headwaters ran free, wide...not tainted with blood, in other words.
It’s something that Jaime’s always struggled to picture, no matter how fervently Grandma throws herself into her reminiscence. Yet (as she likes to remind them) times change.
They just don’t see why change can’t come by again and cut them all loose of the ropes pinning them in place.
~
“How was your walk, Jay?” their dad asks, in that deliberately casual voice. Jaime has to dimly wonder what the point is when his unspoken where’ve you been, what were you doing is about as subtle as a rock to the face.
They shove a hand into their pocket out of reflex. “It was,” is their response, watching with an avid eye as he splits what little is left of the ewer between four chipped cups, draining it down to the very last drop.
Leila, predictably, has to be swiftly headed off from gulping down the contents of her cup in one go. Either the memory banks in her little head reset every few hours or she really thinks she’s obligated to go into a sulk every single time.
Jaime doesn’t bother with an eye roll anymore; it’ll only aggravate the dull swimming ache that’s made a nice cosy home for itself in the side of their head. She’s just a kid who knows nothing about anything. She’ll learn sooner or later.
Their own sip is just enough to unstick their tongue from the roof of their mouth. As usual, an insistent prickle scratches at their throat, demanding more. And as usual, they force themselves to slacken their grip and make it last.
Grandma takes this as her cue to embark on another story. Icy-cool water lining shop shelves by the bottle, tourists flocking to snap photos of a brimming Spillway...at least the words don’t feel like too much of a gut punch anymore. Jaime rests their neck on the chair’s stiff back and turn their attention upwards, occupying themselves with watching the random flickers of the sallow light, like some old filmreel.
Change.
~
Sometimes, Jaime almost fools themselves into thinking they can see the Headwaters from their bedroom window. Where all the ‘actual’ fighting is. Because of course, of course what Jaime and their sister and dad and grandmother and god knows how many others are doing day in, day out doesn’t count as fighting.
(They’re so thirsty.)
They slam the window shut so hard that its pane rattles in reproach. Fact is, the damn place is too far away to glimpse anything of the sort.
Doesn’t mean too far to travel to, though.
Jaime stares down at their packed bag (the old gun parts stashed away in a secret pocket their dad probably never meant for them to use for it) and the money they’ve scraped up - and wishes they could feel worse about it.
(Sorry I’m late yesterday was homecoming so I was mega busy.)
Kaemon and Rehks had been gone for over a week now, all that was left in the house was Suehm and the baby. It was normally pretty quiet when it was just Kaemon, but she had gotten used to the energy that Rehks had brought. She missed it.
Suehm spent her days now sweeping the floors, sewing, and tending the garden. Sure, everything felt less anxious with less icaranians in the house (and less children to harbor from soldiers), but it also felt less exciting.
Suehmleu had no desire to witness the horrors of the battlefront, but she always felt as though that was selfish. The rebellion was a righteous cause, and she knew it and she wanted to help in any way she could. She offered her house as a sanctuary to the rebellion, fed everyone who needed it, and did everything she could… from the comfort of her own home.
“Hm.” She sighed.
She found that she was incredibly unhappy with the placement of the flora in the vase that she had been adjusting for over five minutes. She moved a flower, frowned, and moved it back. She growled under her breath, annoyed, and left it be.
Hopefully both Kaemon and Rehks would be back soon. They had estimated that their mission would only take about a week, Suehm didn’t like it when they were out longer than estimated, though it happened often. Maybe she would write a letter.
“Yes.” She thought, “That’ll keep my worries at bay.”
Perhaps she thought this in an attempt to convince herself of that fact.
She typically wrote with a charcoal pencil she had crafted herself, though on occasions she would use ink. Given that in this case Kaemon nor Rehkslayask would ever read the letter, charcoal seemed like the best medium.
“Dearests.” She started, “I hope and pray that you are doing well and that you are safe.”
She wouldn’t have had to worry if she had simply joined them.
What else was there to say?
Frustrated and at an utter loss with herself Suehm ripped the page and shoved it into the hearth. She decided that she would feed the baby and go to bed early, all the stress and worry was getting to her head. She could feel her stomach churn with the headache.
“Pathetic.” She mourned to herself, “Look what you did, you went and made yourself sick.”
She shook her head in shame.
………..
Suehmleu suddenly bolted upright. There was a sound, she swore that there had been a horrible sound. It sounded like a wagon full of soldiers grinding along the road and it sounded like swords.
She immediately rushed to the cradle to make sure the baby was alright. They were, but was she? Suehm quickly tip-toed to the hearth and grabbed the fire stick, just in case there was danger lurking at the door. Then, she backed slowly into her room again with the poking stick.
Another sound.
It was glass shattering on the ground, tiny pieces of it littering the floor.
Suehmleu let out a quick yelp of strangled fear. She could hear her shaky breathing, the glass still twinkled on the floor, and ever so slowly, she could hear the beginning of a cry for the baby.
“I’ve killed us all.” She thought in a blurry panic, “They’ve heard all of it. They’ll knock down the door any minute now.”
Tears streamed down her face, and she was plastered to the ground. She couldn’t move, she had too many things that she needed to do. The baby still wailed, so her panic had to scream louder to get through. Glass pieces dug into her bare feet, and the metal of the fire stick grew warm under her ever-tightening grip.
Everything was happening at once, nothing would stop for her. Her stomach felt achy and she was dizzy with fear. The baby continued to sob from their room.
Suddenly the door burst open and Suehm held her ground, refusing to budge, either from fear or forced bravery she did not know.
“Careful dumbass! Not so loud!” A voice hissed under their breath.
“Sorry!” Another voice replied in a hushed voice, “It was jammed.”
There was blood on the floor, her feet hurt, but she did not move.
Suddenly the cloaked figures emerged.
“Suehm?”
It was Kaemon. Rehks stood behind her, fiddling with the door in an attempt to keep it from jamming up again, but she stopped for a moment when she saw what was going on.
“Did we wake you?” Rehks couldn’t see the glass or the poking stick.
Kaemon walked forward, hurriedly, quickly blubbering out a sting of questions “Are you alright? What’s wrong? Why’s the baby crying? Are they alright? What’s going on?”
Rehks cursed violently, “-——Did we scare you? Dammit, I knew I was being too loud.”
Kaemon got closer, but Suehm backed up further, nearly slipping on the glass.
“Hey,” Kaemon murmured, “Hey, it’s just us. You’re safe.”
Kaemon shot Rehks a worried glance.
“I’ll take care of the baby.” They mouthed in return.
Kaemon nodded, and Rehks left without a sound.
“Just breathe, Suehm.” She touched her cheek, hesitantly, “Everything’s ok.”
The baby began to calm down, they could hear traces of Rehks’ voice humming a lullaby.
“We hadn’t meant to scare you.”
“I- know.” She choked between sobs.
“You’re safe.” Kaemon held her face in her hands, “We’re home, we’re safe. Just breathe. Everything will be alright.”
“I- … I- bro- broke the…. Broke the v- vase. It woke- … woke up- the baby. Th- thought we were-… Thought I had-.” She explained between gasps.
“No. None of this was your fault.” Kaemon explained seriously, “You are one of the bravest icari I have ever met.”
“No- no I’m not.” She protested.
“Yes, yes you are.” She insisted, “You have persevered through heartache and death. You have conquered your fears time and again. You harbor the most wanted criminals in your own home because you know it is right. Just now you were prepared to defend our baby with whatever it took.”
“I- I’m too afraid to fight.”
“But you already are! You’re fighting with us everyday. Haven’t you been listening?”
Kaemon finally looked down at the glass.
“By the spirits, Suehm have you been standing in broken glass this entire time? You’re bleeding!”
She quickly scooped her up in her arms and brought her to the couch.
“Here.” She set her down, “Stay here. I’m gonna go clean all this up.”
Suehmleu watched as her fiancé rounded the corner into the other room, presumably conversed with Rehks, and came back with a broom. Now that the adrenaline had stopped coursing violently through her, she felt the pain in her feet and cringed. Everything hurt.
She was still scared, and she still felt sick, but she was left unbroken.
Johnny stares ahead, gripping his knees tightly, to the point his claws dug into the fabric of his jeans.
“…I remember hearin’ Piper yelling at me to get down. Bunch of gunfire, some pain in my chest, something hittin’ me in the side of the head. Then…then I woke up down here.”
Johnny grits his teeth, bringing a hand up to brush the side of his head. The blonde hair is soft, but he knows there’s an ugly scar beneath, angry and red. If he pressed hard enough, he can feel the mangled flesh hidden beneath his hair.
