V M Trophy [Flashback] [NPC]

Masahir N'air

[M] Dancing Queen
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Mesa Roja
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The piercing bleeps of the heart monitor filled the room. It came in a steady rhythm and beat against Ra’tima-Dro’s spirit like rough ocean waves on the shore. She’d been in this hospital before, she knew it’s rooms and had walked its floors while doing her damndest to prop up the ravaged city in Gilgamesh’s absence. The pure white walls had always made her feel so trapped and helpless.

She squeezed her upper arms with her fingers, as if it could possibly bring her any comfort. Nothing about this palace of death could ever even begin to soothe her.

The ceiling light flickered.

The hospital had always been the most well maintained of all the buildings in Nippur during the post-war time, and yet it still needed work.

She leaned her head down, small fuzzy hands moving up to massage her aching temples. Why did it seem like nothing was going to improve in her life? She used to be the queen of the world, controlling what went where and how much it cost. She used to be powerful, feared, respected. She was Lady Nocturnal’s incarnate, the chosen champion of all thieves!

And now she was powerless, holding onto the hope that the bruised body of her daughter would just... stir, react, do anything that showed she wasn’t going to be a brain dead vegetable.

Her sharp blue gaze lingered agonizingly on the blank face of Masahir- covered in flowery discoloration and a mouth full of the feeding and oxygen tubing- and for a moment she was looking at the dirty face of that skinny urchin girl she saved all those years ago.

She reached out to grasp her daughter’s hand, careful to not disturb the IV needle. “Please, tal, do not stop your rakna. You must... You must stay with your strength.” She squeezed her eyes shut and exhaled a shaky breath. A prayer was mumbled through clenched teeth.

A rapping knock came at the heavy yellow door. A delicate looking elf seemed to float into the room with such soft steps. “Ma’am?”

The khajiit woman didn't respond.

“Ma’am, visiting hours are going to be over, here shortly.”

“This one does not care,” came the low, hissing answer. The doctor pursed her lips and sighed. Loved ones were always so stubborn when it came to obeying the visitation times. The khajiit woman was the rule, not the exception in this case. Always had been.

The dark skinned she-elf moved across the room and crouched down next to the grieving mother.

“Ra’tima-Dro, listen to me, please. We've given Masahir the best care that we possibly can. I've pulled all strings and ropes in the background that I could. You know that we care about you here, but standing guard over her won't protect her or help her right now.” The merchant's ears flattened against her skull at the comment. “What would really help her is if you made sure to handle the legal side of this tragedy. Be her voice in this time of uncertainty and make sure the scum who did this is held responsible to the highest degree.”

The doctor's gaze softened a bit. “You have access to the ears of our King. You are a saint in the eyes of our people. You can make that change we need into a reality.”

The doctor stood and left, leaving the feline to digest her statements. The concept came to the mom slowly and visibly. Her eyes widened and her posture seemed to perk up as each realization dawned on her foggy mind.




She was gonna kill him, one way or another.

~ * * * ~

The golden feline glared at the dusty floor of the jail cell. His tongue dipped in and out of his mouth with each pant. The Nippurian dungeon was underground, but even that did little to combat the searing heat of the midday sun.

He rubbed his neck in a vain attempt to soothe his aches. It’d been two days already, why had no one from the guard spoke to him yet? He had gone from pacing to standing, then leaning before sinking to the ground against the far wall.

A sudden shrill metallic clatter made him start, flinching from the sharpness of the noise and the splash of lukewarm water that covered his legs. His orange eyes raked upwards over the asshole that had thrown a literal pet bowl of water at him. He only managed to catch a glimpse of a smokey grey tail before they flickered back into existence, nearly squatting on top of him. Not that he could tell with their faces so close that their noses almost brushed together.

Lazy slitted blue eyes glared down their combined muzzles at him. He felt his throat tighten and his breath catch, eyes widening in recognition.

Ra’tima-Dro?!” he sputtered, jerking his head as far back from her maw as possible, stars danced in his vision as he cracked his head against the wall in his haste. His eyes squeezed closed as he felt a clawed finger trace soft patterns under his chin.

“Drink,” the rasping voice cooed, the sweetness sounded faker than plastic. His dry, sticky lips pulled into a thin smile.

“Why would I drink? You probably poisoned it. I'm not stupid.”

The she-cat tilted her head, large eyes studied the young male in front of her. She pushed her finger upwards, dragging a gagging sound from Ji’aaj-Dar as his tongue involuntarily poked out his mouth. A harsh chuckle escaped from her at the sight before she grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and took a step backwards, shoving his face down into the silver water bowl.

“Ra’tima-Dro said to drink. This one expects to be listened to.” She spoke over the sounds of his gasping and sputtering. His ears flattened against his head as he grimaced up at her like a wounded animal.

“What do you want with me? If you’ve come to kill me then just do it already!”

Another dry laugh echoed in the cell, “this one wants to know what Ra’tima-Dro plans for him?” Her eyes grew darker with each word, “she is not here to kill. She is here to make an example and trophy of the furless bastard Ji’aaj-Dar.”

His heart plummeted into his gut, threatening to soil his clothes with fear. “Tra-trophy?” He whimpered, swallowing in a vain attempt to settle his stomach.

She leaned in, uncomfortably close, “trophy.”

Ra watched his eyes dart around the empty cell block with urgency. He clawed himself out from underneath her, dragging his once pristine clothes through the dust and mud. The young cat scrambled to his feet haphazardly, staggering in his clumsy rush to throw himself against the bars of his cage. The rusted iron groaned, rattling slightly at the impact as he forced his mouth and nose between the rods and howled for help.

She stood, turning around to watch the performance of a lifetime.

“Guards!” He bellowed out, “guards! Come here and help me! There’s an assassin in my cell! Guards! ... GUARDS!! I know you hear me! Do not ignore my calls! You’ll be sorry for this when I get out!”

He began to shake the door to his cell, making as much noise possible. “Please! Someone, anyone! ... Is this how justice is handled in Nippur?! You spineless cowards! Yellow bellied, disgusting rotten corpse bastards! You’ll regret ever putting me in this cell!”

The she-cat leaned against the wall lazily. Ji’aaj-Dar’s body shook, with rage or fear she didn’t care to make a guess. After several painfully obnoxious minutes of hollering in vain for help, the golden khajiit’s form slowly sank to the ground, hands still clasping to the bars of the cell. His hunched shoulders quivered and soon the miserable, greedy gulping sounds of his sobbing filled the dungeon.

Her lip curled as she stared at him, crumpled into a ball and crying as if he deserved sympathy. She prowled toward him with a certain sadistic bounce to her step, scuffing the heels of her boots across the rough floor with each almost-gleeful skip. The petite feline lifted her leg up and back, twisting her torso before carrying the motion through.

THWACK

Her padded shin smashed into his face with a resounding crunch and he was sent headfirst across the cell. Ra’s tail twitched as she lowered her leg and returned to a normal stance. He wasn’t moving around at all. Had she killed him that easily? Blood was already starting to drip from his deflated nostrils and torn tear ducts, turning his golden fur crimson. Dust from the wall was still settling as she checked his pulse. It was faint and rapid, no doubt from the blood loss his shattered sinus cavity allowed. He’d live, and that was all she cared about as a ghostly blue dagger materialized in her palm.
 
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