[[He's Ready To End A Man]] - Tumblr Posts
voidtouched-blue--[Prior]
Cyra still turned her head to snap at the hands that came close to the ties that held the garment closed at her shoulder. Their words had become nothing but gibberish in her drugged state. She answered them with her own spat curses. It wasn't until one of the guards had enough of the primal display, stepping forward with the bite guard he had been instructed to keep on his person by the lead scientist. Grabbing a fistful of her hair and one of her ears, he pulled her head up, handing the mask to the medicus at his side. She hadn't much energy to fight other than shaking her head as best as she could. With the muzzle now secured over her chomping teeth, the man began peeling the bloody garment off of her, and then the bandage. She let out another yell, prompting the guard at her side to release her hair to cover his ears. Cyra would not relinquish herself to their touch without a fight.
︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
Bryn did not sleep that evening.
It was already late when he finished his report, and when he laid down...sleep didn't come. It hovered, on the edge of his conscious mind, his body aching as the events of the day washed over him, and he kept replaying it, over and over and over.
He had attacked a commanding officer, someone who outranked him, had nearly blown his cover over her. Her. Cyra. He couldn't tell why seeing her like that had seen such a guttural reaction from him, scratching his head as he tried to think through it, giving up on sleep as he thought through his...feelings. Protective feelings. Not completely odd, given she was Eorzean, and as was he. But it was more than that. There were other slaves here and he had walked past them, with sadness, yes, with pain for their plight, but not...not the same reaction as with Cyra.
He had spent more time with her. Seen how she reacted to his words, his help, his concern, his little ways to try and help, and he had seen how she feared him, feared his help, feared his touch, his words, his threats. She didn't understand what he was, what he was trying to do. He was just trying to protect her, protect them. And he couldn't protect them by being kind, by making her feel all warm and fuzzy. He had to play his part, his role, the man who would punish her for no reason, would make her fear his clenched fist while offering his open palm with the other hand. He could only hope that she understood, that she got the message. Today though, that would be ten...fifteen...twenty steps back.
By the time the sun rose, he was calmer, controlled, back to his normal stony face as he rose with the sun and slowly moved to dress--he had never undressed, still in his clothes from the day before, reaching down and brushing out his shirt, grabbing the one spare jacket he had, the other with Cyra, or whoever had taken if off her, and finally brushing down his pants before he clicked his boots together and muttered, "Well...at least I am still presentable."
It did not take him long to leave his room after that, the magitek rifle over his shoulder, this time going with his weapon for a bit of extra officialness, turning smartly and heading towards his first stop of the day.
And his least favorite.
︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
"You...attacked...A COMMANDING OFFICER!"
Bryn didn't even flinch, his back rigid, his eyes to the front, staring not at the Commander, but just above him, his lips pursed in a tight line as he took the verbal tongue lashing that had so far lasted a solid five minutes. It was much the same thing repeated over and over, that he had defied the chain of command, had committed a crime worthy of death, and had called into question his loyalty to the Garlean Empire. Which, was all fair. What wasn't fair was giving him the same dry threat over and over.
"I should have you executed! In front of the prisoners! As and example!" Bryn had responded the first time, and he didn't the tenth, just staring straight ahead, waiting, and finally, the Commander stopped pacing, sighed with frustration, and sat behind his desk, pounding his fist against it. "That's what I should do... But not what I am going to do."
We both knew that after the first time you said it...and did nothing. Bryn's mind absently refocused, having drifted from the verbal tirade in front of him to more...peaceful thoughts, but now that it was drawing to a close, he was happier to focus fully and listen in. His silver eyes eyed the Commander as he blinked and waited, no surprise when the Commander met his gaze and finally continued, his voice a low angry tone. "While you did attack me, and threatened my life, you showed you were committed to your training of the slave, and making sure she was ready for my...command. Still, I can't let this go unpunished... So I am agreeing to the testing of the serum on you, the moment it is stable."
"Understood, sir." The first words Bryn said, and they were simple, bland, hardly worth the effort of saying as he still stood at attention. What came after confirmed exactly what the Commander felt about the situation.
"And Sergeant...I am going to enjoy watching the fight drain from you when the serum takes hold." It was enough for Bryn to meet the Commander's eyes, the cold, hard, angry eyes of a man belittled and betrayed, as silver eyes flashed with a threat of their own, before it was stifled. But the affect it had was clear, the shrink back, the fear that flickered across the Commander's face, and the slow press of a spineless back against the too large chair.
Bryn didn't even answer, only turned, and left.
︻デ═一・・・・・・・・・・・・・・
It didn't take long to retrieve breakfast, for himself and his charge, before heading towards the cell block, stepping into the cold air that always seemed to seep through the metal corridor with her tray in hand, opening the cell door, and stepping in, eyes on the floor as he trusted his other senses to warn him if she tried to move towards him, rumbling out, "Breakfast. How's the-"
He looked up, and saw...nothing. There was no lashing tail, twitching ears, angry claws, no Cyra, no...anything. Her blanket lay crumpled in the corner where it was left the day before, ages ago, but she wasn't under it.
Had they moved her?
The tray was gripped in his hands, turning about face on his heels, striding from the cell and snapping to head down the row of prisoners trapped in their cold cells. And he stared at every one of them. In the eyes, if they looked up, a few reaching for the food, but he kept going. There was no blue furred Miqo'te. There was no Cyra.
The tray slammed against the ground, and his rifle was off his back, turning and storming towards the very office he had left minutes before, his eyes blazing as he felt a snarl rising to his lips. If she is dead, if she died, my promise to kill him stands, my promise--the infirmary.
He halted, skidded, his boots clanging on the ground, and he blinked, feeling his control return, as he realized there was one more place to go. To check. And as he turned to head back the other way at a brisk pace, his rifle did not leave his hands.