- Joined
- Nov 10, 2010
- Messages
- 1,356
- Reaction score
- 0
"On the 14th bilunar perigee of the 2nd dim season's equinox
The Orphaner poses a caliginous riddle like no other I've met. I am presuming him bothered by jealousy, and it would be sickening if it were not so marvelously amusing. But then, who but royalty could have the finned cheek to show disdain for the manner in which his black lover conducts her red conquests? Less has accelerated meeker than I to homicide, and the violation would hold me aghast, again, if his misgivings did not complement his so endearing arsenal of quaint flaws. It is impossible to stifle this grin even now as I write. "
Samara walked down the halls of the installations on Yavin IV, inside one of the Sith academies that were placed among the worlds under control of the Empire. Her choice of clothing was simple, with colours varying in different shades of red, black, and oddly, teal and white. Black boots with their laces tied even up her ankles, with no sign of socks, but possessing two anklets on her right leg. Her pale skin showed in the small interim between her boots and her skirt, hiding a short, small work of pants under it, that came along with the skirt in one piece. The sides of the skirt on her thighs were considerably shorter than the back and front of it, being the part of the skirt responsible for leaving the small set of pants under it in evidence.
On the top of it, a regular black shirt with red and teal patterns, seemingly random which formed lines among it and more complicated shapes, that possessed no sleeves. A communicator was placed on her left wrist, but all her attention was focused on the book she had in her hand, the very same one she had been reading for days. Right now she was not even bothering to look where she was walking, it was not like that would've of changed anything anyways. She was blind, and it was her right hand the one who was busy holding a walking cane that had become a trademark tool to be found in her possession. Some believed it had something to do with irony, and they were right, up to some point. She had always been playing the role of the pitiable blind girl since she was a little child, most of the time because it was suitable and favorable for her objectives, so much that now she was always almost in character.
"He surely understands this as my maritime overlord, a superior while through gritting fangs he would concede the expanse of my plunder makes his seem hardly worthwhile to trouble a map with good ink over. I know he understands. I will take what I want. I expect nothing less from Dualscar, and truly, less would offend me. Is it the crude blood of the suitors from which I have taken enjoyment recently? If his displeasure is with my blithe treatment of the social order then he has either not spent enough time in the warm company of my indifference, or is simply very stupid. I saw the look he gave. He's so secure in knowing I can't feel what's in his mind he forgets the traitorous ways of his own face. His little looks are words to me, interjections in our deliciously bitter repartee. First a look as I summon a slave from the hold, with such ease between my remarks. Why yes, Dualscar, they were the very slaves in your hold until but this hour. Another ship deployed carelessly, languishing in strategic vulnerability. Is this not our routine? Our dance? What is this look, my dear kismesis? Is it shame? Envy? Contempt for what he knows will follow?"
Deeply engaged in her reading, her steps wandered aimlessly in her quest for a place to sit down, ocassionally dodging people or droids at the last moment, too busy to say a witty reply to their angry protests. She finally reached a door that wouldn't open. She spent several seconds with her hand navigating it's surface before realising it was just a wall and not a malfunctioning door. Turning 90 degrees from her last angle, she continued to walk the corridor without taking a proper moment to consider shame or even a slight bit of self-loathing, as anyone would've had done in such situation, including herself had she not been so immersed into the literary work.
Two black-hilted lightsabers were tightly secured against her waist, one at each side, indiferent from the world around them, just as their owner was. Samara often wondered if anyone on the planet ever spent time reading, or having fun in any other way that wasn't power trips or sparring, perhaps it was just that she didn't spend enough time with her fellow Acolytes to know it. Having heard that a few apprentices killed themselves for fun wasn't helping either, even a high ranking Sith was involved. Oh, but who cared now, the book was getting more and more interesting just as she finished every sentence.
"I nod her over. She is fearful and it makes her prettier. He scoffs without a movement or sound. I know there is disgust feeding the shadows in his corner of my block. At least prick her in the light, he surely thinks. Determine what vulgar hue she bleeds before persisting with your abasement, Marquise. Do try to understand, Orphaner. Not knowing is the point, and if you truly understood this, your crusade against the Gamblignants would not be among our Grand Highblood's most uproarious punchlines. (If only one truly needed to be so high to find it amusing!) And so not knowing, I take her will, but leave enough of it to enjoy her response. Her hands are in my service but they still shake. They unfasten the first button at my jacket's waist, clumsily. I have masked the line between my puppeteering and her volition exquisitely, and her uncertainty over her own control fuels her fear. She unfastens the second button, and between the second and third, I make a casual remark to Dualscar, continuing our conversation. He does not respond. "
A small grin started to show upon her face, almost shy but not absent of enjoyment. A disimulated blush attempted to appear across her face, barely succeeding. Her steps, dry and loose on appearance guided her across a opened room with an outside view, possibly a balcony of some sort, but it was much larger. Without checking she led herself into one the many tables that were placed nearby, and clumsily found an empty chair into which she let herself fall upon, carelessly leaving her cane besides the back of it as she reached the end of the page. This kind of genres were the one she enjoyed the most, it had different elements of everything, drama, suspense, horror, and it was exquisite in morbid details.
Sordid literature for some, she couldn't deny she was interested in that kinds of leisure. Zeltrons often made great, passionate works, but sometimes they lacked other kinds of substance she seeked, it was tragedy, severity, everything else that contributed to keep one hooked into the story, not just how much they could get to accelerate her heartbeats. But perhaps that was a bad example given the situation. Her legs stretched under the table comfortably, making no sound except the exhalation of relief that escaped her blackened lips.
"I look again at the face of my slave, imagining for a moment her mind is not an unguarded port to her every dread. I imagine I cannot feel her conviction that it's not merely a matter of whether she will be put to the irons, but how hot they will be if she fails to please. Poor thing. Her horns make attractive shapes and pair themselves pleasantly amidst her violent snarls of hair. Her fingers, which I have lost track of, to my surprise have come between the petticoat and my skin. The heat of her touch tells me the likely range for the color of her blood. I wouldn't have guessed it to look at her, not with her sign stripped. Her mouth opens slightly and I squint. Ah! Razor sharp, and none missing. Perfect. How disappointing it is to find quivering lips hiding dull teeth. I pause to consider. What will her fear become if I choose to show her mercy later? And even, in days, kindness? Will this be the red dalliance that becomes fully flushed? Love demands my cunning just as my raids. If it is to be, she will never understand how thoroughly she was manipulated, her body, her mind, her devotion. "
