Olbie Bracket (Semi?) Finals: Roht Mirage Vs Taste of Treason

[Taste of Treason]

It is not all in my mind. Astarelle is teaching the children to beat up Zack Blaze. Why is the world so incredibly complicated? How do those two even know each other? Does Astarelle have any idea that were Zack to meet a young child alone in an alley his first instinct would be to help, not hurt?

I am not ignorant. I know that Zack is not a good person. I also know that there are varying shades of bad.

At first there are sounds of shouting and all I can see is a wall of torn clothing and tanned skin. The boys are quite literally running over one another for a shot at the dummy. It goes on like this for a long moment.

Then, I hear the ripping of fine leather. It is a sleeve. The boy who has pulled it loose is the pudgy one. He holds it above his head in victory and lets out a war cry. I find myself torn between the comedy and my own feelings about the true Blaze.

The zipper of the jacket soon gives and from there it takes no time at all for handfuls of straw to fly in all directions. Several of the children take a few steps back and give each other a look that can only mean something terrible. All at once they take a running leap. They barely clear the smaller boys as they smack into the dummy with all the might four skinny street kids can muster. A sickening crack fills our tiny slice of paradise. Even the carriage driver turns his attention to the chaos. The dummy gives. The mop head rolls a few feet away, separated from the now cloth-thin body which lays at the feet of the ferals.

I take a deep breath. It is over.

I glance at Astarelle and note the look of joy in her eyes. Manipulating children into doing her bidding with the promise of food and protection? The whole situation seems all too familiar. Can she truly believe herself any better than Blaze?

I am pulled back to reality at the sound of a shout. The pudgy one has lifted the mop head above his head. He is parading about and receiving pats on the back from his comrades.

"Enough!" The word leaves my lips without permission. I may as well finish now though. I breathe and lower my tone. "Astarelle, may I speak with you?"

She gives a look of pride to the boys that reminds me of a mother whose child has just begun taking their first steps. I suppose to her this is quite the same. Their first steps toward bettering the world through violence and savagery. I turn my back and take several steps toward the wagon. I close my eyes and listen to the silence that has overtaken the field. Only the sound of the leaves rustling remains.

Astarelle dismisses the children to play with a loving voice before making her way to me. I can hear her approach. I consider my words carefully.

I look into her metallic eyes. "I appreciate everything you've done for me Astarelle. Thank you, truly. I think it's time for me to figure things out on my own though."

The Ixian gives me a doting look, "Oh, little bee. Stop worrying about the money-"

I cut her off with a sigh.

"This isn't about the money anymore. Or, I suppose it is." I have spent my entire life buried in words, and yet I have none when I need them most. "I've lived on the streets for a couple years now. I've watched others like me come and go. Many have joined the ranks of Misery Business, more still have joined your precious knights. Why is it that the only way to escape poverty in Radasanth is to choose one or the other?"

My tone changes all at once. There is far more venom in the words than I intend. "Does it make a difference, really? These kids can fight for him or fight for you. Either way they lose themselves to the wants of the person with the largest coin purse! I for one would rather scrape by for each meal than become part of this broken system! Perhaps you should ask your beloved ferals what they would chose."

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle tried three times to form words, but she didn't know where to start. Her pulse, already high from the Ferals' destructive enthusiasm, rose higher. She began to sweat as an old feeling came back; vulnerability. Her intentions bared and read in the worst way possible. There was something she could say to smooth it over -there had to be- but she couldn't find it.

“Li- Cellar,” she began, forcing sincerity into her voice. The look from her friend said that it was fooling nobody. Cellar's sincerity was pristine. It had calmed Astarelle in one of her worst moments, even caused her to surrender the gun. Now, it stung. “I'm sorry,” she found herself saying, though she didn't know exactly why. She had underestimated Cellar's understanding of the world. But, it was more than that. She felt as if she was apologizing for a long list of wrongs with Cellar as the proxy pardoner.

Airborne straw clung to her shining skin as she took a deep, staggered breath of the dusty carnage. One foot moved forward, easing toward Cellar as if she was a frightened animal. The grass crunched loudly, for both the driver and the Ferals in the trees watched intently.

“Zack would promise them such honey and chocolate, Cellar. I'm sure you know that,” she said, struggling to find the right way to pull open this puzzle. She didn't even know how Cellar knew of Zack Blaze. There were too many cards in play, and she was blind to all but her own. Cellar scowled. She saw hypocracy, that much was clear in her once-soft eyes. Her mouth parted as if she might lend that accusation voice, but Astarelle cut her off shrilly. “I am not like Zack Blaze!”

She took two sharp steps forward, and she spoke to the girl so forcefully that her heart broke a little below the wave of anger that directed her. “I don't know how close you've come to this fight, Cellar. But, let me tell you what I've seen.” Her friend's eyes shone with moisture, but her words stampeded onward regardless. “He drew me into an unfinished Citadel arena. He tried to throw me into the blankness from which the illusions are born. It was an assassination attempt!” Her voice started to shake with emotion, and moisture welled in her own steely eyes. “He said he would come for my boys next. Me and them, we didn't ask for any of this, you know? It's just the hand I was dealt when I had no place to go and the Ixians took me in. Give and take. That's how they work.”

“And so you do it to others,” Cellar said in the tone of a meek philosopher, one who didn't know just how profound her words were.

Astarelle locked a desert-hardened hand on Cellar's slim shoulder. The girl leaned away as if ready for a strike from the other hand – the reaction made Astarelle's heart drop. Do you really think I would? she asked silently, for she feared the answer. More than anyone, even other Knights, Cellar had seen what she was capable of, when necessary.

“Listen to me,” Astarelle said, her voice lowering like the quiet, rolling pilgrimage of sand. Her words were for Cellar alone. “I know a cage -a prison- when I see it,” she began, letting her thoughts flow without their normal filter of white lies and deceptive guile. “Why do you think I disguised myself and stole a gun when I could have just bought it. I didn't want them to know. I wanted a way out.”

Cellar looked down, her face tinged with regret for making Astarelle part with the weapon, or perhaps for getting involved at all.

Astarelle's other hand shot forward, hooked under Cellar's chin, and delicately bid her to look up. There was a small smile turning Astarelle's lips. “No. Thank you,” she said gently, “I wasn't thinking straight. If I had tried to shoot my way out of the castle when they finally asked too much... Bury me, that would have been foolish. More foolish than brave. The boys would have been hurt, and so would those few in the castle who I consider friends.” A single streak of moisture fled from one eyes. “You know me. I will never submit to a gilded cage. The boys are the same, and I want them to stay that way. I want them to be able to defend themselves when I finally leave here.”

She leaned closer as if to keep her words safe not only from nearby ears, but also from listeners she could not see. “And I will leave, Little Bee. Someday, when no one expects it, I will disappear with the boys. The Knighthood and the Business can fight their war without us. We'll find our own hive... somewhere. Just like you will.”

[Taste of Treason]

I breath deeply as relief floods my veins. I was so close to writing the Ixian off. As badly as I need friends, I need my own approval more.

It does not come as a shock to me that Zack would wish harm upon Astarelle. Our brief encounters had left no doubt of his distaste for all things Ixian. I consider his brute force in the dogfight. I imagine what it would feel like to have that directed at me. I can't. Every time I close my eyes I see only his smile as he took my hand and led me to those who could tell me what I needed to know.

I owe much of my identity to Zack Blaze. I owe my life to Astarelle. I am at a loss to which one means more.

I will be the first to admit I know little of the workings of the world. One thing I do know though, is the human spirit. I am drawn to others in a way I can't quite explain. For some reason I devour their movements and actions like most would a play. I find each shrug completely intriguing. Each syllable of speech entrances me. For a long time I believed this fascination was due to being locked away for much of my youth. I never had the opportunity to learn the social order across a sandbox. The things others learned as children must be fast tracked for me to survive.

The longer I live in this world though, the more I doubt my own hypothesis. Perhaps there is something inherently different about me. Something that makes me distinctly--other.

It seems everyone chooses either 'good' or 'bad'. I'm not supposed to see the beauty and the horror in both. I take Astarelle at her word. Perhaps there is a hive for 'others' out there somewhere.

I give a small smile as I let my body relax. I do not speak. I just accept the fact that sometimes there are no words. Several of the boys have gone back to their play. The few who remain are wiping tired eyes. I look to the sky, where the sun is beginning to dip low behind the trees.

I raise my voice so that those running against the skyline can hear. Their silhouettes still as they listen. "How many people do you think we can fit in that carriage?"

[Roht Mirage]

The first cool breeze of dusk blew through an empty clearing. On its urging, straw tufts and bits of expensive leather danced as if trying to break free of the tall grass. A few golden stalks took to the air, tumbling gently toward a fallen tree where the grass had been flattened by the leisure of humans. There as no one left, now, and only the rutted mark of a carriage turning betrayed the direction they might have gone.

Down the road was an answer in a box, if the question was, “How many Ferals can you fit in a carriage?” That answer, technically, was “All of them.” Though, as with all things in life, there were caveats. Five of the boys sat atop the carriage, bottoms to its lacquered roof and fists holding tight to the railings that were supposed to support luggage, not persons. The other seven were crammed into the vessel's body. Three of them hung out the windows to escape the crowded seats and, while they were there, snatched leaves for their burgeoning collections. The four inside sat haphazardly on the seats and laughed with a fading mania as they played their newest game. In truth, it was a game for four and one-fifth players. The odd man out was a head with button eyes and flesh of straw, flying back and forth between the boys, ricocheting off the carriage hull and the bottoms of the window-leaners.

It was a strange and somewhat morbid trophy for, to be honest, strange and somewhat morbid children.

“I'll send you a quote for the damages,” the driver said bitterly. The reins were limp yet clutched tight in a white-knuckled grip. High on his forehead, a vein pulsed in the fading light. It would have been hidden if not for the loss of his hat, though it hadn't gone far. One of the boys on the roof, the oldest presumably, wore it like a proud rooster strutting across his coop. By some miracle -perhaps proof that wild boys could be reformed- he was taking care to keep it pristine and away from the grabby hands of his fellows.

“Parenthood is expensive,” Astarelle mused aloud, then turned in the saddle of one laboring horse. “Send me the bill later, good sir,” she said with mock elegance. The driver just huffed and hunkered down in his unmarked jacket. Count yourself lucky that they're tired, she thought with more than a little venom.

Perhaps a touch of that venom made its way to her face, for Cellar gave an odd reaction as Astarelle turned forward. The girl's eyes had been heavy with something. Guilt perhaps? Before more could be deciphered, she turned her deep blue eyes to the road ahead and stared far more intently than the dim, rutted trail warranted.

Astarelle felt the need to console her, but she could only say, “Don't worry about the money,” so many times before it lost meaning. It hurt, though, to see her charity causing Cellar such distress. Little Bee, she intoned, keeping the words and their exasperated sympathy silent. The girl was so unused to kind gestures, and Astarelle so free with them. She simply had to give Cellar something for her friendship. Nothing, however, was equal to the girl's trusting and sincere nature. It gave Astarelle leave to speak more honestly than with anyone else. It made her feel like she could breath deeply and just be herself.

All she could do was trust in return, if she dared open her locked chest of secrets. It was a chest full to the lid, and one that she often felt heavy on her shoulders.

“Cellar,” Astarelle said softly as she tilted easily on the horse's bare back. Her friend gave a small start, then leaned inward as much as she dared on the unfamiliar animal. “I haven't told anyone else this,” the reluctant knight whispered, “But, in that arena...” She refrained from naming her attacker again. “I did fall into the void of the Citadel.”

Little Bee gave a little squeak. Her eyes looked up and down Astarelle's body critically. “Are you okay?” she asked, to which Astarelle nodded emphatically. The obvious question followed, softer than the evening breeze and the soft clip-clops below them. “What was it like?”

“It was more than just illusions,” Astarelle said with a small measure of reluctance that she tamped down forcefully, “It was everything that might have been.” She stressed the odd phrase, not because she understood what she had experienced, but because it just felt right. “Later, I'll tell you everything. I'll tell only you. No one else.”

The curiosity caught in Cellar's eyes like lit tinder, and a subtle smile heralded her awareness of Astarelle's earlier hesitance. Secrets were a commodity that the Fallieni woman had in as much abundance as she had coin. Yet, it took force to part with one, and it meant much more than giving a small fortune. It was a gift Cellar might receive without guilt, for an invisible weight seemed to ease in Astarelle's face.

The desert scorpion gave a small piece of herself to her friend, the little bee, for the bee knew well the poison the scorpion harbored and was not deterred.

[Max Dirks]

Great story. Writing elements made the difference here. As always, you can PM me for specific comments.

Roht Mirage

Story- 6
Setting- 7
Pacing- 6
Persona- 6
Communcation- 5
Action- 5
Mechanics- 7
Technique- 6
Clarity- 6
Wildcard- 5
Total- 59/100

Taste of Treason

Story- 7
Setting- 6
Pacing- 5
Persona- 7
Communcation- 5
Action- 5
Mechanics- 6
Technique- 6
Clarity- 6
Wildcard- 5
Total- 58/100

Roht Mirage wins, which means there will be a rematch next round!

Lye will be around to add rewards shortly.