The Maidens' Gaze

Game Room 

The game room is spacious, catering to most if not all forms of gambling in the known universe. Tables for cards, slot machines, roulette, and dice games are arranged around the space. Casino workers attend tables, distinguished by their blue vests and ties. The room is decorated with plants and crystal chandeliers.

The always-bustling casino seems to have an extra attraction tonight. A collar around his neck dangling a long, thick chain, a filthy, shirtless Timonae sits sprawled in a chair near the security office. That chain is fastened to a hook on the wall, effectively leashing the man down, though just to be sure an Ungstiri guard with a tangler gun stands nearby- taking no chances. The eyes of the Timonae are wild, almost feral, as he stares around the casino, the guard explaining his presence to any passersby who stop to ask.

Franceza has just entered the place, and as a first order of business went to cash in her voucher for a free beer. She constantly minds her step, rather waits for a bunch of Timonae to pass instead of walk right through the throng. Skirts a patch of Demarians rather then squeeze her way past. This method will bring her closer to the bar, but before that, by the guards and the chained up Timonae. She hesitates.

Those idly roaming emerald eyes, opalescent in the typical Timonae fashion, fasten on Franceza at the sight of her hesitation- not something usual in a casino. They're ringed with dark circles, and their stare fierce enough to be decidedly less than typical for a Timonae. After a moment, his lips curl up slightly in a faintly amused smile and he leans back, rearranging himself in the chair with unconscious grace. His otherwise easy expression is belied by the lingering burning stare.

When she picks up on the stare, the woman obviously finds it quite unsettling. She shifts uneasily, and when she's finally able to tear her eyes away, she is looking for a way around this problem. But it's a busy day at the casino, and there's not many options for her. There's a Zangali she probably could squeeze past. And a mildly agitated black Demarian who's currently glaring at a slot machine, landing a fist on the metal as it won't do something he wants it to do. Increasingly uncomfortable, Frank taps the voucher in her hand.

"I do no bite." Aadzrian's voice is a low thing, gravelly perhaps with disuse, but dark with amusement and pitched to carry over to the uncomfortable woman. It's also flavored with an exceedingly heavy Timonese accent. "At least, no here, no now, or t'ey t'row-ing me in cages, yes?" His smile deepens. "You may com-ing t'is way, I is do not'ing hurt you."

Startled, Franceza looks his way again, tries to ignore the looks from the guards best she can. She checks the collar, then the chain, finds an odd sense of security in it, but at the same time feels disgusted by the sight. She never was very proficient in hiding the emotions from her face. "You're not the one who bit, no," she answers reluctantly. "What did you do to have them chain you up."

Aadzrian tugs at the collar himself, seemingly something he's done a lot- judging by the way the guard merely sneers instead of bothering to discourage him. With a half-hearted snarl as it fails to move, he leans back, muscles shifting fluidly in his naked and wiry torso. "I wanted be sav-ing friend, is all," he answers with a humorless grin. "...T'ey know-ing t'is one guard no matsh for me. T'is way, I no es-cape, is too... nervous-ed cause trouble." The guard scowls darkly at the insult from his prisoner, but says nothing.

Brown eyes flicker to the guard, judging the response from the short man. "You probably deserved it," she defends her growing feeling of unease, "You and that black beast both." She pales considerably at the memory. "The Ungstiri are a fair people." The implication is obvious.

A soft, rather ugly laugh escapes the sizable Timonae man. His smile is still a calm thing, but there's not a whit less wildness in his eyes. "Are you t'ink so? Darya, own of t'is casino. She is drive Razor-back to t'at. He come here, honest, noble man. Re-fuse to kil a man t'at Darya is want-ing dead be-cause it hurt inno-cent woman. And for t'at? He is drive in-sane by her. For-cing to do sush t'ings, t'ings t'at canno be beared. And I? I am here... be-cause I could no aban-don my friend to fate of in-sane slave. I am con-vince t'ese fine folk bet on him or me. And al t'at is betted on me? Wil go set him free. Deserve? -Perhaps- it is t'at you is right." His voice begins to crack near the end, not from emotion but from dryness and disuse- he pauses, swallowing.

Franceza again glances to the guard, unnerved by the Timonese eyes more then anything else. She spits on the floor, shivering, "Murdering a defenseless woman came very natural to him then," she accuses. "And your kind have a way of twisting the truth." Anger seeps into her eyes, though it has little directly to do with him as an individual, "Have yet to meet a decent Timonae, you're all scumbags."

"That is funny," the deep, accented voice replies with audible amusement. "I am te one here in chair for te save of a friend and you is te one here make judge on race. If is so t'ink am lie, I do no care. You belief or no belief in me, t'at wil no be set me free or keep me in chain. Al I am care for is to get Razor free to mind doc-tor, and to go home to my lover. Love. You do no know a -love-, do you?" He leans forward slightly, the chain pulling taut as he does so- it seems he's been given little leeway. Lank silver hair falls over his saturnine face, visibly quite in need of a washing.

Franceza takes a step back nonetheless, panick for a moment crossing her face. Soon after anger replaces her fear as she breathes deep, pins him with a glare, but can't find the words to properly retaliate.

"I did no t'ink so," the Timonae continues easily, smiling in that same rather smooth fashion at Franceza. "Now, did stop to t'ink for moment? He is mur-der defense-less woman, you is sayed. -But-. T'at woman... she was Timonae. So, you say t'at t'at Timonae... she is deserve to life, not die t'at way, yes?" His voice is a deep purr. In another circumstance, the tone of voice might be sensual, but that wild light never leaves his green eyes... and he still smells really terrible.

Franceza shivers, but wills herself to stay. The voucher crumples in her hand with the strength it takes her. "You don't know shit," she sneers. "My love? Was a fuckin' Timonae that blew his brains out." She can't quite keep the hurt from her alto and it only makes her angrier.

For some reason, the prisoner doesn't quite look abashed. Instead he chuckles, a low, lingering sound that rolls out in slow waves of amusement. "I has knowed few peoples be-fore who do t'at," he replies in a tone still that near-purr. "Qua, human, few peoples. If is t'ink sui-cide only Timonae t'ing, I is t'ink you in some sorts denial. No, you is no know love. You has take it, turn-ing it to hate. Come," he abruptly declares, voice relaxing to something conversational once more. "Please to be come closer. I wil tel your for-tunes."

Franceza shivers with fury now and tells him very quietly through gritted teeth, "My man was a good man. Man, not Timonae." The look of disgust doesn't make her any pretier either. "Only a coward would think of suicide." She glances at the guard, wondering if the man'd mind if the Timonae'd soon sported a black eye as well.

The guard seems to be busy explaining betting and gladiator fights to an interested casino patron, who's nodding frequently. "If you knows Timonae," Aadzrian says softly, "you is know t'at we read te stream of fut-ure, fish out drop of know-ledge. I is one sush Timonae. Come here, my lovely." Now his voice is gentled, as a caress, and for the moment that fire seems to drop out of his eyes- leaving them nothing more than a tired gaze. "I wil be read te stream of time for you."

Franceza leans a little bit closer, but only to snarl at him, "The thought of me -wanting- something from you," she hisses, "is too fuckin' absurd. Drop the pretense, asshole, at least your 'friend' showed his true colours."

At closer range, it's obvious how badly he needs a shower- he smells quite strongly of weeks of sweat and the faint, coppery tang of blood. His long face smiles tiredly at Franceza from under its healthy coat of silvery beard, looking easily older than her in human terms- which would suggest a half century or perhaps even more in actual age. "It is sad, how you is turn love to hate. Is sad and bit-ter t'ing. I is lost lovers, but I che-rish in-stead loathe te mem-ory of wat t'ey was." He closes his eyes, slowly, silver lashes long on dark cheeks.

Franceza can't help herself. Strong fingers grip his chin, dig into the skin harshly, meant to sting. "I hate the people who splattered his brain all over me," she bites. "You have no right to even think you think you know how I work." She spits him in the face.

"Is no t'at curious," Aadzrian answers, and there is a world of difference in his voice. It is flat, remote, almost more the voice of a machine than a man. His eyes open slowly, and they stare at Franceza, almost through her, for a moment- seemingly completely unaware of the spit running down his face. In that same droning tone, he informs her, "You wil love a Timonae before live is leaved you." His eyes slide closed again on that last flat word, and he shivers heavily, keeping them shut.

Sheer loathing has Franceza release his chin, pushing him back in doing so, while she again seeks the moderate safety of a step backwards. Woman indeed looks like she's gonna be sick. "Can't you hurt him," she asks the guard.

The guard snorts, "Woman, he is a gladiator, I cannot do dhat." With that brief, impatient phrase tossed over his shoulder- sounding very much as if he would like to hurt the Timonae- he turns back to his current patron. Aadzrian slowly opens his eyes again, looking faintly confused as he glances down to see the spit dribbling down. "Ah," he murmurs dryly, "I see. You is gived me bat'." He reaches up with one hand- long nails filed to points- and easily wipes it away. "We is more aliked t'an you is know-ing," the man continues, easily. "For I has al-so has brain of lover spatter on me from gun of Timonae. It is quick way of deat'."

Highly disappointed in the Ungstiri, Franceza folds her arms tightly before her. "I hope Razorback will tear your throat out," she bites at him, then starts towards the bar, desperately needing a drink by now.

"Oh, he want to," the Timonae calls loudly, the fire back in his eyes and a terrible amusement in his voice. "He want kil me more t'an any-one, I who is come to t'is place to sav-ing him. Woman! Tel me t'is. If t'at Timonae, who mus has stoled from t'is casino, deserve to living- if Razor kil her is crime- why not I? Why not any? Why do we no deserve to live?" His voice sharpens, almost wildly, and the guard spins to look back- keeping a wary eye on his prisoner.

The guard isn't the only one who is now looking at him, and far from the only one looking warily at the Timonae. Franceza shivers, but continues onward. Orders herself something strong and mind numbing. Closer to Aadzrian, another human female is watching him, head tilted in curiosity. "Why is what she thinks so important to you," her gentle voice asks. In appearance, she might be the opposite of Franceza: blonde, blue eyes, with a general kindness to her that would probably usually work very disarming.

Aadzrian turns his exhausted gaze to the questioning woman, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. "Canno stand a hypo-crite, my dear," he offers with something like a shell of gentility, made almost ghastly by that odd sense of something fiery still dancing behind his eyes and the thinness of his face. "I is also fool e-nough to be wis t'at some-one under-stand-ing sad mess t'at is brung me and Razor to t'is place. Who is want to be telled t'at his suffer-ing are fault of his own?"

Obviously less hesitant towards Timonae then Franceza was, the woman walks a little closer, with a sauntering step that suggests she is no stranger to the talents of his kind either. "A hypocrite." She glances towards the woman at the bar. Slowly back towards him. Her study of his face is slow and thorough. "Something's wrong with you," she finally concludes.

Aadzrian can't help but laugh, a haggard sound more than one tinted by any of the airs he had shown to Franceza. Though the semblance of a beast might still be visible in him, now he appears a beast grown almost kindly in its weary state, at rest with his lean muscles unmoving. "How ever is it t'at you guess, my dear?" he inquires, not mockingly but heavily.

The girl waves her fingers before his eyes, "It's there," she explains, her voice sweet and light, soothing even now. "You're a good fighter?"

"Figh' al life. Make life figh' in cage bat-tle, in clubs," Aadzrian gruffly offers. "T'en, later, is po-lice on Antimone. Figh' in Nall war. ...could say t'at am goods. Bet-ter wit' gun t'an fist." His swirling eyes look up at her from his seated position. "No good e-nough to keep-ing t'em from catshes me." Those words are edged, and bitter.

"Yeah, must be it," the girl muses. She scratches away an itch on her arm, glances towards the bar again. "Must suck, to see yourself mirrored like that," she tells him softly. Just how much of his previous conversation did she listen to?

"Tsh," murmurs the Timonae, averting his gaze. "It were war. In war, peo-ple are die. Did no be ex-pect t'at... would be at hand of own peo-ple. But t'ere are some end t'at we -can- be to deserve, and may-be t'at is wat was. May be are t'is, too. My dear, you should be is to live life of mush good-ness. Or te sin t'at you do, even wit'out knowing, it wil... swallow you up."

Curiously the girl keeps looking at him, "Yeah, you're a fighter. Bitter, too. You can't let go, as little as she can." A nod towards Franceza. "I feel sorry for you."

"If you is felt sorry for me? Bet, when te figh is come. Bet on the big black cat. To be saw him go free to find doc-tor... t'at are wat I is wan-ting." He looks back up to the girl, and perhaps a perceptive face, seeing through the exhaustion, dirt, sweat and beard, could detect the symmetrical planes of a face some might consider handsome as he smiles. And younger all the sudden, with its anger relaxed a moment. "Wat is your name? One day, when I is let out, I wil be do you favor."

"If you promise to shower first," the girl grins. She thinks for a moment, then says, "Carin Janssen." She thinks again, then asks, "Will you tell my future? Will I win when I bet on the black cat?"

The Timonae's laughter is soft as he assures, that smile broadening, "I do no need-ing my power tel you t'is. Yes, you wil wins." But then it falters, slowly, fading, and his face loses all of that momentary energy, and charm the smile lent it. Once more he looks haggard, no more the laughing youth. "But do no watsh your win. You is no want-ing to be sees it. He is noble man, noble man who is weep in-side for wat t'is is did to him. Carin Janssen. I am Aadzrian."

"Use it anyway," she encouraged, aparently loving that Timonae trade. Until, that is, he grows so solemn. "You need to remember," she tells him softly, "They can't make him do things that's not already there to begin with. I've seen the black cat, so too late for that, but she," another nod to Franceza, "was right about that. Way he fights? Might be covered by nobility on an ordinary day, but it is his nature coming out now. Remember that."

Aadzrian shakes his head slightly, murmuring, "Is no like t'at, my dear. Is... is long story. Is no so good story, eit'er. But... is not'ing. Do you so wis' t'at I should be read your for-tune?" He manages this offer gamely, genteelly. "T'en I shall, my dear. You is te only one in t'is casino, who is come speak to me as man, no slave. Come closer."

The girl walks closer without hesitation. Either she's of incredible faith in her own judgement, or maybe she saw him fight and he gained a little trust through that. "Correction, two showers," she grins, smelling him. After the joke, she remains silent to let him do his mojo.

There's a moment of staring, a moment where his eyes rake the girl up and down with overt appreciation, and then they close. When they reopen, it is with that same distant, trance-like stare forward, seeing nothing and yet seeing more than they should. Flatly, he drones, "You wil be kill upon te claw of my best friend soon, to bleeded out your life upon te sand." Those eyes slide closed, remaining that way- and the Timonae unmoving- for a long moment.

There's a lot of silence from the girl, while around them life goes on.

Slowly his eyes open, like a man swimming to the surface of a deep river, and gaze in bleak matching silence up at her. "I has never manage to chang-ing te fut-ure," the Timonae offers, in a voice heavy and exhausted. "I has never sav-ing any one of t'em. Maybe, if you is to be run quickly... Te fut-ure can stil yet be change."

The girl simply stares at him. Than that sweet countenance breaks and a fury is revealed beneath the gentility. She launches herself at him, fists pounding, aiming for his face, "You lie!"

He doesn't move- not as if he can move far, leaning forward to the limits of his chain- and those first few hits connect against his dark face. His head is turned by the blows, which he bears in utter silence. The guard is awoken to startled action after only a moment, swinging his tangler gun to point it at the girl- not firing yet, perhaps enjoying the show of the troublesome Timonae being beaten. "Stop, woman, or I will shoot!" the Ungstiri orders crisply... but not -too- angrily.

The girl won't stop. A fist connects with his right eye. Another hits him on the teeth. If she keeps this up, the gladiator will be damaged goods before he has had a chance to fight. "I won't die," she screams. Her actions draw attention from all around, Franceza as well, turning at the bar with her drink.

Aadzrian sits and takes it, something like a look of horrified realization showing on his face when he isn't grimacing sharply from the pain. Snarling in irritation, the Ungstiri eschews shooting the gun in a crowded casino and instead wields it like a club to slam into the troublesome girl's head. "Stupid bitch!" he grumbles. And still, the Timonae does nothing.

The gun connects with the back of the girl's head, the blow stunning her for a moment, but not hard enough to knock her out. She steadies herself, hands on the Timonae, but needs time to consider her options. There's a growing group surrounding them now, Franceza somewhere among them. The reactions are mixed, from sneers to the girl and her Timonae lover or outrage for her damaging a gladiator.

"Get out," murmurs the Timonae thickly, his voice a little slurred with dazed reaction to all the blows. "Get out. Maybe it is no be too late." He doesn't keep his voice down, probably confusing a good number of the onlookers, but the Ungstiri doesn't wait for the girl to follow Aadzrian's advice- he swings again, wielding that weapon like a club with surprising ease, still aiming for the head.

She heard Aadzrian, she was in the process of starting to rise away from him. But when the gun connects this time, there's no room for thought anymore, and the girl collapses in a heap of white flesh and blonde hair. The crowd murmurs in agreement, "Harlot!" someone yells. "Call security!"

"I will handle dhis," says the Ungstiri guard, rather self-importantly. "She damage dhe merchandise. So it is the same as stealing from dhe casino. We will dhrow her to dhe cat." A few of the patrons cheer at the thought of -that-, as he hauls the girl up roughly. Briefly he leaves Aadzrian unattended as he carries the unconscious girl back into the security office, and it's no wonder why- the Timonae is slumped hopelessly in his chair, bruised face bowed, a thin trickle of magenta blood running from a bitten lip.

Slowly the crowd dissipates. And when the people return to their amusement, Franceza is one of the last remaining, quiet eyes watching as the drama ends for now.

Aadzrian lifts his head slowly, a look of loathing on his somewhat rearranged face- loathing directed sheerly at herself. "I could has change te fut-ure," he babbles incoherently, to himself but out loud. "Could has sav-ing her. Does it wrong, all wrong, again." He closes his eyes, as if his eyelids have become too heavy to bear up under the weight of the day. "Now I is to watshing her die. Not my love... but my fault." He shifts his weight slightly, the chain rattling, and hisses in quiet testament to his discomfort.

Franceza watches, unsure why. Shivering, she empties her glass, sets it on a nearby slot machine.

Aadzrian finally just slumps back in that chair, his head falling to rest against its back, displaying his scarred and sweat-streaked self more clearly as he heaves torn, somewhat ragged breaths. It seems to be a mixture of pain and reaction both that galls him, the flow of less-than-sane words to himself silent for the moment. Uselessly he licks his lips, carrying away some of that blood and grimacing at its taste, before forcing himself to sit a little more upright and shade the mess of scars once more. Blankly, idly, his gaze wanders the casino- until it settles on Franceza, and with a hopeless little laugh he offers, "I bet-ting I has.. made you very happy now."

Franceza frowns, shakes her head softly, not understanding. "How so."

"Look, I make her... los-ing tempers, hurt me, and so t'at she are now good as dead." The Timonae turns his head and delicately spits out some blood on the casino floor. "You has prov-ing I is evil bas-tard -and- I is attack. Wat more coulds you be wan-ting?" Black amusement is back in his voice again, even as he winces to speak and move that bruised flesh.

The brown eyes narrow with her study of him, still from a safe distance. Again she shakes her head, this time in dismissal of him. She starts for the exit, but as she walks around a group of youngsters, a small fight erupts, driving her back towards Aadzrian, pushed the last meters. She stumbles backwards.

Automatically, perhaps cursed with chivalry regardless the woman, Aadzrian lifts his arms from their weary slump to stop Franceza from stumbling any further if she happens to fall within their reach- with his considerable height, it's quite a reach as well.

Her initial anger was directed at the youngsters, but as she finds they were just roughing each other up a bit, the sentiment fades. Not so when she glances back to see who caught her. She reacts like she was bitten by a snake.

Tirax has arrived.

The casino is as one might expect any casino to be at such an early hour, except for a few curious things. A small fight is brewing near the exit of the game room, though it's quickly being broken up by a few bulky Zangali guards. And near to the security office, there's a decidedly less normal sight- an unwashed, unkempt Timonae with a metal collar around his neck and a heavy chain leash attached to the wall, giving him only a few feet of leeway. He's straining that leeway to the utmost right now, leaning forward in his chair with his hands supporting Franceza, and looks as if he's recently been punched multiple times in the face. A rather bored Ungstiri guard, wielding a tangler gun, is hardly paying attention- he's mostly talking to various patrons inquiring about the gladiating, though he does keep one wary eye on the Timonae.

"Do no say I never do you any favor," Aadzrian grumbles as he releases Franceza, slumping back in the chair and plucking uncomfortably at the collar tight around his neck. "And do no -hit- me, my face feel-ing like piece of meat." It's a hollow attempt at jesting, as hollow as his tired expression.

Flinching back, Franceza tries to dust off her shirt where he stopped her falling back. "I wouldn't touch you if my life depended on it," she mutters, angrily. She has eyes only for Aadzrian, warily looking at him. She nods, all she's willing to give by way of thank you.

For the moment- perhaps it has something to do with his right eye beginning to swell up quite terribly- Aadzrian doesn't seem to see Tirax just yet either. Grimacing slightly at it, reaching up to tentatively touch- and wince at- his face, he offers to Franceza in a gravelly voice, "Well, good t'ing your life no is depends on it, t'en. By te way, if you keeps let-ting mens you love to be walk away, you wil one day be make your-self alone for-ever by no let any-one in. Consider t'is warn from a future-seer who is wis' to believing te fut-ure can be changed." He keeps rubbing uncomfortably at his neck, the red lines where he strained against the collar's limit visible on his skin.

Tirax sits himself down at one of the machines in a way that he can just about see Aadzrian out of the corner of his eye, with enough of his face turned towards Aadz that he could recognise him if he looked. Then, he begins playing the slots.

"The day I'll listen to advise from a Timonae, is the day the universe ends, capice," Franceza hisses, frown turning glare. "Keep your nose out of things you don't understand. Rather try and save the girl you just sent to the gallows." Sneering, she walks away.

Aadzrian has no reply to that, hanging his head for a hopeless moment- and it's then, as his gaze lowers wearily from Franceza, that it lights on Tirax. Unable to help himself, the man jumps to his feet, eyes widening with a sudden startled hope on his bearded, beaten face- and then he immediately falls back into the chair as the Ungstiri guard turns to eye him suspiciously. He mumbles by way of explanation, "Just want-ing to be spooked t'at bish," waving a hand after Franceza, and with a snicker the guard accepts that, turning mostly back away. It leaves Aadzrian free to stare at Tirax, disbelievingly.

Tirax keeps his eyes on the slot machine, playing it as any casino goer would. His lips move soundlessly, as if praying to himself, but one finger keeps tapping his ear, no reaction made to the movement of Aadzrian.

"Asshole," Franceza obliges Aadzrian, then walks out of the game room.

Aadzrian averts his gaze after a moment, his eyes taking on a cloudy sort of cast. Anyone who watched closely might notice he appears to be staring at absolutely nothing, up at the ceiling with all of the attention of someone heavily drugged... perhaps understandable, given his current condition.

In Timonese: Tirax is continuing to tap at his ear, still murmuring quietly in another language, over and over. "Can you hear me? I can do that too, if I need to. Been practicing, and you're not too far away."

A fat woman sitting next to Tirax is starting to give him a funny look.

Aadzrian murmurs to himself rather quietly in the same language, his voice gravelly from the pressure of the collar, soft from emotion and very faintly pissed, "By all that is holy and some things that are not, I am going to kill you, Tirax."

Tirax's own expression seems to be rather far away by this point, still mechanically playing the slots. A faint smile crosses his face. "...Not before I kill ya. Don' worry, I ain' gonna do anythin' stupid," is the very soft murmur in Timonese.

The fat woman nudges the fat man on her other side, "Look at the nutter..."

Aadzrian is perhaps lucky that the Ungstiri guard is paying no attention as he continues to softly babble to himself in his native tongue, in an audibly affectionate tone. "Well, if you're not going to do anything stupid... I can tell you how good it is to see your face and how much I want you to get the hell out of here right now before I beat the ever-loving shit out of you." Yes, it's -all- affectionate.

"No can do, bastard," Tirax says, quietly affectionate as well. "One way trip. I ain' goin' anywhere. Not till I can get all the information I can off you about what's going on here. Weak points, the like."

The fat man glances over at Tirax as well.

"Gods damn it, T- you." Aadzrian's voice is suddenly suffused with weariness. A couple casino-goers, passing by, view the mumbling Timonae gladiator with less than perfect certainty, even as the Ungstiri guard tries to convince them he's quite worth a bet because he fights like a devil when irritated. Even so, he continues onward. "There aren't weak points. We're heavily guarded, especially now she just moved us here into the casino. Breaking us out isn't an option without a team of probably at least five or six men. Now you're here and if she figures out who you are she's going to take you too."

Tirax chuckles quietly to himself. "She already knows who I am. Least I know yer alive, mm? So, large team, mm? You bein' kept anywhere else? Less guarded?"

"Oi, you there," the fat man calls out to Tirax, "You not right in the head man? Machine won't talk back, so shut it, yer scarin' the wife."

Aadzrian slumps further back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling bleakly as he whispers, "Not anymore. They moved us permanently here. There are four guards between me and Razor, a fifth who's a double agent presumably on our side, two more Zangali in here, two more Timonae in here. I think that's it. And Darya's own guards. The security is tight as hell. You want me out, go do a bake sale. She'll let us go once her moneybags are bulging, and then she won't take you if you're there to bet." He can't help but look down and momentarily -glare- at the fat man, with all the fierceness of a feral animal debating snapping its leash... not that the relatively wiry man could likely snap his chain.

Tirax's concentration is lost for a moment as he turns to peer at the fat man, dropping into Terran. "Ever heard of prayin'? Tha's wha' I'm doin', mm? Not so good at it." He shrugs and turns back, staring off into the distance again. "Wha' about jus' befoer or after a figh'? an' wha' happened to ya captain?" he murmurs quietly, in Timonese again.

"Henry," the fat woman whines, "How can I concentrate like this..." Henry shifts from his seat and walks over to Tirax, tapping the man on the shoulder, "Now listen here..."

"My second to last mail, I told him to cut his losses and run. That I'd get Razor and myself out of here-" Aadzrian shuts up abruptly, his eyes narrowing at Henry's intrusion. Hands clenching into tight fists, he goes back to staring balefully at the interrupting fat man, a savage anger on his face rather out of proportion to the situation. He does pause to inhale deeply, however, and manage to school his features into calm.

Tirax snaps his head around to glare at Henry. "Then fine, I'll move down an' outta ya way a bit," he says, obviously repressing the urge to smack the guy. "Remember yer on TeeKay. No law here, so watch yaself. Not really th' holiday destination fer ya an' yer wife." He stands up and moves to a different slot machine, still in sight of Aadz. And with that he goes back to quietly muttering. "He's a fuckin' coward. Gotcha inta this and does nothin' ta get ya out. So, answer th' other question."

Henry looks about to retaliate, but his wife prevents him, "He's not worth the trouble dear. Certainly not the kind to serving time over, let's just play?" Henry gives in, but needs a minute for outward appearances.

"He didn't get me into this, it's that damn Razor's fault," Aadzrian mumbles without any real heat to his voice as he insults the Demarian. Taking a deep breath to release the rest of his anger, he continues, "Likely we'd be back in the ready room where we -were- staying, which might mean just the four others and Rkagar. But she'd be near with her guards. You'd need more firepower than you've got, Tir, even if you give me a gun too. Don't even think about this. I won't have you killed to break me out of here. I can handle this." He insists it rather confidently for his worn-out appearance.

"Lyin' bastard," Tirax says rather fondly. "Thee agains' four, plus her guards mm? What about four gains' four an' guards, mm?"

"I'm not a lying bastard," Aadzrian growls, a hint of anger in his voice. "I'm not going to thank you if you try, Tirax. I won't. Darya's not an idiot. She'd be prepared for a breakout then and probably marshal the casino staff. I don't know what odds we'd be facing, and you said this was a one-way trip. How the hell are we supposed to get off TK even if you broke us out?" His hands clench and unclench, his jaw set despite the discomfort such an expression probably causes to his face, on which bruises are beginning to bloom.

"I'm bein' selfish. Deal with it, mm? I toldja, I ain' gonna try anythin. Do they search ya? At all? If I coul' get a weapon to ya?" Tirax suggests idly, peering at the slot machine.

"They don't search me. I've caused almost no trouble, tried to be reasonable so they don't pay too much attention to me. But I don't have somewhere I could hide it. And I'll chuck it at your bloody head anyway because I'm not getting you involved in this shit." It's a tired refrain in Aadzrian's tired voice, but gaining a bit of strength with repeated assurance. "That's my selfishness. Knowing you're safe..."

"I mean what I said. I am going to beat the crap out of you for being an idiot and getting into this," Tirax remarks quietly. "Or at least try. Whether that comes before or -after- I've spent all the time I need to kiss you and shag you until you can't move... I haven't decided yet."

Aadzrian closes his eyes momentarily, a quiet sigh relaxing him bonelessly back against the chair. Under his breath he continues, "You throw a punch at me, I'll beat you until you don't like it anymore, and this time, no holding back." It's not a very strong threat, taut with lingering tension but softened by helpless affection at the same time. "You're going to have to wait a while before you do anything to me, anyway. You're not breaking me out. If you've got a giant amount of money in your pocket, that might do. Otherwise, it's patience that's called for. I'm getting Razor out first."

Tirax sighs. "No such thing as not liking it anymore. Anyway, -you- are so bloody stubborn. How much money?"

"Hell if I know. She hasn't told us exactly. Probably to keep the Faux crew from showing up and buying Razor out on the spot. They're here, want to save him. I think they're going the diplomatic route, so if you're willing to be smart about this shit, go look around for them. You need an escape route anyway." The older Timonae's voice is inflexible, even as weary and almost feeble he might look to a quick gaze at the moment, curled up in his chair while the oblivious guard continues to hawk him to potential betters. "...I can't keep looking at you, I might do something stupid."

"Why do you think I'm watchin' the slot machine?" Tirax queries in an even quieter whisper. "I'll do wha' I can. Stay stron'."

"I'm trying. They had him eat a Timonae girl the other day. She begged for me to help her and I tried, but I tried too late. I couldn't do anything, and then they threw me in the cage." Aadzrian's voice, as he relates this all so softly, is more or less totally numb. "A Demarian woman, but he didn't eat her, he didn't even kill her. They took her away while I was crossing the room to find my shirt for bandages. I couldn't save her, either. I'm not sure, that was a while ago. How long has it been since I stopped writing?"

"Far too long," Tirax says softly, shaking his head. "We'll figure out somethin', don' you worry. After all, someone else I know's here, mm?"

"See the Faux crew, too," Aadzrian quietly advises. "I'm sure they've got plans. They're still hanging around for -something- or another. She wouldn't abandon Razor, I think. Whoever you know's here... don't come trying to rescue us in force. It won't end well for anyone. And I can stand this- I can stand it. How am I going to stand it worrying about you now that you're here, I... I don't know." It's a confession, a rather hopeless, heavy one. "He wants to kill me. More than anyone."

"I've lived on TeeKay before. I'll be fine," Tirax notes. "I'll see if I can run inta the Faux's crew.. an' who does, Razor?"

"He's not really Razor, that one, but yes. He's tried a few times. Near the beginning- I guess that was a few weeks ago?- I used to be able to talk him down, a little. Get Razor back. He's more and more gone each day. Throws himself at the bars to come after me. Lin, I -miss- you." That's sudden and out of nowhere, quietly fierce, Aadzrian lifting his face and daring to look directly at Tirax for a moment. "I want you and you're right fucking there." A hint of amusement manages to make it into his voice as he accuses, "...tease."

"Dumbass," Tirax says with a small grin. "Now yer lookin' at me. I'd better be out fore someone notices what's wrong. I miss ya too, mm?" he says softly as he stands and begins to head for that door.

"Don't you -dare- get caught," is the quiet reply, Aadzrian throwing caution and subtlety to the winds to look at Tirax for a long moment as he leaves. His eyes just linger, a faint smile tugging at his lips fondly, brightening up the haggard ruin of his face to a considerable degree.

Tirax shakes his head. "I won'. See, yer in a better mood already. Notch one up fer the Tir-machine," he grins as he goes past, looking for all the world like he's talking to himself.

Darya has arrived.

Aadzrian is sitting, curled up tiredly it seems with a face showing the effects of -several- recent punches, in a chair near the security office. There's a collar around his neck with a chain attached, securing him quite firmly to the wall, enough chain to give him a little leeway and not much more. An Ungstiri guard with tangler gun ready keeps one eye on him, between talking to various casino-goers about the gladiating games. Near the door, Tirax is just heading out of the casino's game room and back towards the lobby.

Tirax sighs to himself. "Really gonna have to cash in on some of that Timmie luck," he mutters as he heads towards the door. "Cause I ain' never gonna win money otherwise."

Darya steps out of the security offices, frowning as she approaches Aadzrian. "Can not let vi out at all, it seems," she says coolly. "Unarmed casino, guards all about, *vi* get damaged."

"Is only cos-metic," Aadzrian dismisses the state of his face with a slight shrug, despite the swelling right eye and general collection of bruises. "I can be figh' fine for you wit' ugly face. If she real be hurt me, I would has stop her. Sorry you no longer has my pret-ty face to be look at." He smiles up angelically at Darya for a moment, though the effort costs him a wince.

Tirax tilts his head at the arrival of Darya, and pauses, then heads to the bar instead.

"Ya am not interested in vi pretty face," Darya replies, eyes narrowed. "Ya would sooner give vi plenty of pretty scars to make vi look more fearsome. Bruises make vi look like stupid kicked puppy. Who bets on that?"

Aadzrian glances down at his plentifully-scarred torso, a faint grin curling his lips- a less wide expression, it doesn't win a grimace of pain this time. "Wil make t'em bets on me," he assures with supreme self-confidence. "Next time am out here, wil made it so. If is slow firs' figh, wil never are slow again once t'ey see me figh. Rest-ing at ease. I wil mak-ing you your money."

Tirax looks at a couple of the games as he slowly walks towards the bar, yawning a little.

Darya nods. "Ya do not tolerate trouble in casino," she says. "Tourist who did this feeds the cat."

"Yes, I know," states Aadzrian with a bitter twist of his lips. "I sawing t'at it would happen. My fault. ...But not'ing is broken. From te stands, t'ey wil be see only a man who looks has been in fight. And t'at is no bad for wat you is want me for. I has lost you not'ing."

Tirax reaches the bar and slips inside inobtrusively, looking in need of a drink.

Tirax has left.

"Such a martyr," Darya rolls her eyes. "Ya tell tourists at the door - no weapons, no trouble. If tourists do not listen, is nyi any fault of vi."

"I -told- her she were going die at Razor claw and she attack me," Aadzrian states brusquely, sitting up a little more straight in the chair. "Is hard blame her, t'ough she is no very smart girl. Is you going let us take shower some point?" He changes the subject abruptly, not that it'd be hard to tell why- he smells quite terribly of sweat and even faintly of dried blood, perhaps because his pants seems to be stained with it.

Darya nods. "Go to medical room," she says. "Facilities there to clean vi up."

Aadzrian rises to his feet slowly, looking down- rather far down- at Darya. "Do I has must taking guard in shower?" he queries in impossibly bad grammar, raising an eyebrow. "T'is one no my favorite fellow. And would also be like to has shave if let-ting me. Wil no kill-ing any-one wit' razor. Or even just make them cry." He smirks, humorlessly.

Darya considers the request. "Da," she decides. "Go have...fun."

"T'is are firs time alone in... long time," Aadzrian remarks, rather straight-faced. "I wil." That said, he glances down to the also much smaller Ungstiri on his other side, who stands on tiptoe and then barks, "Down," as he still can't reach the Timonae's neck. Aadzrian obediently bows and the collar is unlocked- he stretches, lithely and slowly, letting out a happy sigh as the bond is off him.

Darya waves Aadz and the guards into the security offices. "Go, go," she says. "Ya will be certain there are no more stupid tourists today."

"Sure you do no want comes along?" Aadzrian calls easily over his shoulder as he strolls in that direction. "You can helps to wash-ing the back." Considering how grimy that back is, it probably would be quite a chore.

"Da, certainly," Darya replies, moving along the rows of slot machines. "Ya have plenty of bleach and acid."

"A shame, you no know wat you miss," sighs the Timonae- and disappears inside the security office, still grinning to himself, the guard following. [[Category:Encyclopedia Intergalactica Classic OtherSpace Logs Twin Moon Logs]]