Post by EymberFyire on Apr 21, 2013 8:57:23 GMT 10
Title: The Politics of the Heart 5, R
Rating: R
Word Count: 737
Pairing: Kel/Lalasa
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: The politics of Tortall are changing, and Kel and Lalasa are caught on opposite sides of the debate.
Warnings: Remembered death, remembered physical abuse, remembered sexual assault, violence against LGBT people and immigrants. This isn’t particularly graphic, but Lalasa has not had an easy life. It’s a tough one.
A/N: I'm incredibly interested in the play between Yamani and Tortallan culture that is beginning to happen at the end of PoTS. Politics is my Activist!Lalasa storyline that explores that.
There is something truly disturbing about a city that is empty. Even the dogs have gone someplace safe, and the familiarity of it drags her back...
When she finally dares return from the river the streets are deserted, but the smell of the place is dizzying. The bandits took everything that was left alive, from the horses, to the chickens, to the women. Everything else they left where it fell, and that’s how she found her family. Scattered around their small house like dolls discarded by careless children, the cooked-meat smell making her vomit.
She can hear the mob before it arrives, an angry murmuring and babbling of voices that gives rise to a great cacophony of talk. Shouts and screams as they catch someone new, the high, self-righteous chanting of the Mithrans that lead them.
The men and women behind her murmur anxiously, shift from foot to foot. She turns and smiles over her shoulder to steady them, then returns to her solitary vigil. Waiting.
She hadn’t liked her brothers or her father all that much - the men of the south were a tough and vicious lot. Still, she misses her mother and sisters fiercely in this strange new city.
She doesn’t understand folks here, but Uncle is kind. She wishes she could say the same for the other men she meets.
A small Rider group is on a neighboring rooftop. Scouts, she supposes, as there are only three of them. They are observing the scene. She knows there are too few of them to interfere. Once the violence starts it will play itself out - either to its end or to the arrival of the Guard.
One of the Riders casts a spell of some sort, opening a window to another place. She imagines it’s the palace. Wonders if Kel is there somewhere, watching this all.
She was odd, this girl. So cold! So stoic! And she didn’t understand what would drive a person to want the kind of life Knighthood brought. What drove her to fight, against all odds, for the least among them? What gave her the energy to keep fighting, as bad as the world was?
“Mistress Isran.” A man steps out of the back of the group, tall and lithe.
“Master Tanner.” She is not overtly hostile. She still hopes they might escape violence. “I’m surprised to see you here! Such an odd day for a walk, don’t you think? Perhaps you have walked far enough?”
The mob murmurs, confused, but Wyllam steps forward, his voice amiable. Inviting. It implied reasonableness, an adult humoring a petulant child. “Come now.” He smiled and held his arms wide. "We have no quarrel with you.” Looks left and right as if seeking agreement from his peers.
“No?” And Lalasa smiles just as amiably, mimicking his mannerisms and opening her arms. “Who then?”
His face twists then, his rage and hatred bubbling up through his soul to make him ugly, and hard. “Listen, slut. You wear my patience thin. Get out of the way.”
”You think anyone will believe you?” he’d growled into her ear, pinning her against the Courtyard wall. “You sluts are all the same.” and he’d dodged the shrieking sparrows to push against her.
He would envelop her, if he could. Consume her. Diminish and erase and destroy her.
Lalasa stands her ground, arms folded grimly across her chest. It is not that she is unafraid - she can feel the fear, bright and heavy and full. It is that she has reached a point where fear isn’t as important as what needs be done.
“No.” And the statement is simple, and direct. She can feel Rags and Tosh step up to either side of her, big, solid presences that bring comfort.
Wyllam stares at her in disbelief, the hatred turning to honest bafflement “Why, Ms Isran?” He shakes his head. “You have three thriving shops. You’re well respected. Why risk your business and your body for foreigners and” his mouth twists in disgust, “aberrations?”
She glances down for a moment, sees the past and the future laid out before her. Everything leading up to this moment, and everything after it.
She has never had a true place to call her own. Has spent her entire life running.
But really, there is only one thing to say.
“Because, Wyllam. I am one of them.”
Rating: R
Word Count: 737
Pairing: Kel/Lalasa
Round/Fight: 1/B
Summary: The politics of Tortall are changing, and Kel and Lalasa are caught on opposite sides of the debate.
Warnings: Remembered death, remembered physical abuse, remembered sexual assault, violence against LGBT people and immigrants. This isn’t particularly graphic, but Lalasa has not had an easy life. It’s a tough one.
A/N: I'm incredibly interested in the play between Yamani and Tortallan culture that is beginning to happen at the end of PoTS. Politics is my Activist!Lalasa storyline that explores that.
There is something truly disturbing about a city that is empty. Even the dogs have gone someplace safe, and the familiarity of it drags her back...
When she finally dares return from the river the streets are deserted, but the smell of the place is dizzying. The bandits took everything that was left alive, from the horses, to the chickens, to the women. Everything else they left where it fell, and that’s how she found her family. Scattered around their small house like dolls discarded by careless children, the cooked-meat smell making her vomit.
She can hear the mob before it arrives, an angry murmuring and babbling of voices that gives rise to a great cacophony of talk. Shouts and screams as they catch someone new, the high, self-righteous chanting of the Mithrans that lead them.
The men and women behind her murmur anxiously, shift from foot to foot. She turns and smiles over her shoulder to steady them, then returns to her solitary vigil. Waiting.
She hadn’t liked her brothers or her father all that much - the men of the south were a tough and vicious lot. Still, she misses her mother and sisters fiercely in this strange new city.
She doesn’t understand folks here, but Uncle is kind. She wishes she could say the same for the other men she meets.
A small Rider group is on a neighboring rooftop. Scouts, she supposes, as there are only three of them. They are observing the scene. She knows there are too few of them to interfere. Once the violence starts it will play itself out - either to its end or to the arrival of the Guard.
One of the Riders casts a spell of some sort, opening a window to another place. She imagines it’s the palace. Wonders if Kel is there somewhere, watching this all.
She was odd, this girl. So cold! So stoic! And she didn’t understand what would drive a person to want the kind of life Knighthood brought. What drove her to fight, against all odds, for the least among them? What gave her the energy to keep fighting, as bad as the world was?
“Mistress Isran.” A man steps out of the back of the group, tall and lithe.
“Master Tanner.” She is not overtly hostile. She still hopes they might escape violence. “I’m surprised to see you here! Such an odd day for a walk, don’t you think? Perhaps you have walked far enough?”
The mob murmurs, confused, but Wyllam steps forward, his voice amiable. Inviting. It implied reasonableness, an adult humoring a petulant child. “Come now.” He smiled and held his arms wide. "We have no quarrel with you.” Looks left and right as if seeking agreement from his peers.
“No?” And Lalasa smiles just as amiably, mimicking his mannerisms and opening her arms. “Who then?”
His face twists then, his rage and hatred bubbling up through his soul to make him ugly, and hard. “Listen, slut. You wear my patience thin. Get out of the way.”
”You think anyone will believe you?” he’d growled into her ear, pinning her against the Courtyard wall. “You sluts are all the same.” and he’d dodged the shrieking sparrows to push against her.
He would envelop her, if he could. Consume her. Diminish and erase and destroy her.
Lalasa stands her ground, arms folded grimly across her chest. It is not that she is unafraid - she can feel the fear, bright and heavy and full. It is that she has reached a point where fear isn’t as important as what needs be done.
“No.” And the statement is simple, and direct. She can feel Rags and Tosh step up to either side of her, big, solid presences that bring comfort.
Wyllam stares at her in disbelief, the hatred turning to honest bafflement “Why, Ms Isran?” He shakes his head. “You have three thriving shops. You’re well respected. Why risk your business and your body for foreigners and” his mouth twists in disgust, “aberrations?”
She glances down for a moment, sees the past and the future laid out before her. Everything leading up to this moment, and everything after it.
She has never had a true place to call her own. Has spent her entire life running.
But really, there is only one thing to say.
“Because, Wyllam. I am one of them.”