Post by devilinthedetails on Apr 13, 2018 8:34:04 GMT 10
Title: Bad Blood
Rating: R
Word Count: 413
Summary: Ozorne and Princess Mahira discuss his Sirajit roommate.
Warnings: Racism, mental health issues, and child abuse.
Bad Blood
When Ozorne, home for a week between terms, bowed before his mother in her solar, he realized instantly that she—as Fazia had warned him in a whisper in the corridor—was on the precipice of falling into another one of her states that could drag him over the brink with her.
“You dishonor your father’s memory, which is all we have left of him because of Sirajit scum.” Mother’s gold ring slapped across his face, the inlaid rubies cutting his lip so that blood, tangy with shame, flooded his mouth and rusted her jewelry. “The vile Sirajit traitors killed him in their wretched rebellion, and instead of seeking vengeance for his death, you disgrace him by fraternizing with the enemy, your Sirajit roommate.”
“He doesn’t seem to be an enemy, Mother.” Ozorne was recovering from the stun if not the sting of her backhand. He longed to wipe the blood away from his lip with a swipe of his silk sleeve but knew that would violate the dignity that was all he had to cling to when resisting his mother’s insanity. “He’s a good Sirajit, not like all the other Sirajit.”
“That’s what he wants you to think to lull you into a false sense of security before he launches into his surprise attack.” Spittle flew from his mother as she waved her arm in agitation, the rubies embedded in her ring glowing like embers in an unbanked fire. “A good Sirajit doesn’t exist any more than a good flea does because bad blood will out. Like a flea, a Sirajit will try to get close to you so it can bite you and infect you with its deadly disease. The Sirajit fleas must be stamped out before they kill us all.”
Mother leaned forward so he could see the wildness burning in her eyes and feel it in her fingers as they coiled in his hair, forcing a gasp that was almost a whimper from him as they tugged in vicious accompaniment to her breathless demand, “Understand, son?”
“Yes, Mother.” He nodded fiercely even though it hurt since that was the only way to convince his addle-brained mother to relinquish her painful grip on his hair and hated the Sirajit with every bone in his body for reducing his father to dust and his mother to madness. He would have his revenge on the Sirajit for every humiliation his mother inflicted upon him during her fits of rage.
Rating: R
Word Count: 413
Summary: Ozorne and Princess Mahira discuss his Sirajit roommate.
Warnings: Racism, mental health issues, and child abuse.
Bad Blood
When Ozorne, home for a week between terms, bowed before his mother in her solar, he realized instantly that she—as Fazia had warned him in a whisper in the corridor—was on the precipice of falling into another one of her states that could drag him over the brink with her.
“You dishonor your father’s memory, which is all we have left of him because of Sirajit scum.” Mother’s gold ring slapped across his face, the inlaid rubies cutting his lip so that blood, tangy with shame, flooded his mouth and rusted her jewelry. “The vile Sirajit traitors killed him in their wretched rebellion, and instead of seeking vengeance for his death, you disgrace him by fraternizing with the enemy, your Sirajit roommate.”
“He doesn’t seem to be an enemy, Mother.” Ozorne was recovering from the stun if not the sting of her backhand. He longed to wipe the blood away from his lip with a swipe of his silk sleeve but knew that would violate the dignity that was all he had to cling to when resisting his mother’s insanity. “He’s a good Sirajit, not like all the other Sirajit.”
“That’s what he wants you to think to lull you into a false sense of security before he launches into his surprise attack.” Spittle flew from his mother as she waved her arm in agitation, the rubies embedded in her ring glowing like embers in an unbanked fire. “A good Sirajit doesn’t exist any more than a good flea does because bad blood will out. Like a flea, a Sirajit will try to get close to you so it can bite you and infect you with its deadly disease. The Sirajit fleas must be stamped out before they kill us all.”
Mother leaned forward so he could see the wildness burning in her eyes and feel it in her fingers as they coiled in his hair, forcing a gasp that was almost a whimper from him as they tugged in vicious accompaniment to her breathless demand, “Understand, son?”
“Yes, Mother.” He nodded fiercely even though it hurt since that was the only way to convince his addle-brained mother to relinquish her painful grip on his hair and hated the Sirajit with every bone in his body for reducing his father to dust and his mother to madness. He would have his revenge on the Sirajit for every humiliation his mother inflicted upon him during her fits of rage.