Apollo Wilde
Literotica Guru
- Joined
- May 13, 2003
- Posts
- 3,090
The moment the dark brew was placed in front of her, she grasped it, tilted it back, and heartily drank half of the mug’s contents in one go. Life was short. The ne’tragal was chill, thick – not quite like it was back at home, when it was usually warm from sitting out too long and varied from band to band. But it was close enough, just like this meal, this company, was close enough to what she wanted. What she craved. And something, yes, something was off. For her, drinking, eating to excess was a luxury saved for after the battle had been won. To indulge now seemed premature. She couldn’t keep running from what was bothering her. Maybe it was time for her to really and truly consider where her actions were taking her in her life – where she was ultimately going.
It was only after she had her initial deep draught that she half-heartedly clinked her glass to his. It would take more, much more than this, to get her drunk, or even close to tipsy. She leaned forward, breasts bulging against the thin fabric of her tank top. Beneath the table, she spread her legs in a wide stance, bare feet solidly on the ground. She lifted her glass to her lips again; listened to him prattle on about the taste of the beer. She was beyond the point of rolling her eyes at listening to him pick the meal apart, and wondered, idly, if he allowed himself to enjoy anything without dissecting it. She’d gone her entire life without hearing about the finer points of ne’tragal, and listening to him dissemble on it now made her vaguely ill. But she said nothing, continuing to sip. He seemed so involved in his own voice she doubted that he recognized that she’d tuned him out.
When he finally reached a gap in the conversation, his words taking on an upward inflection, she paused. Waited. Made sure he was finished. And insolently licking her lips, she spoke.
“The ne’tragal is passable, so are the uj cakes. Dunno about the meat yet. Could fool someone that didn’t grow up on this. It’s too refined. Too nice.” And yes, she was being deliberately snide at this point. She knew he hadn’t lifted a finger to make the meal. “Somethin’ rich folks would enjoy when they think they’re being rustic,” she added, slightly glowering over him over the rim of her glass.
She had been vulnerable before – and she knew he was using it against her. The nap had helped steel her resolve. And, in its strange way, so had the meal. It reminded her of what was important, where home was. That maybe it was time to stop all of this foolishness. What did she really gain from it? Seeing Mahoroba just…stung. Maybe he was never hers to begin with. They had been so different; he’d been so different from the beginning. And the time apart had only increased that. He was a changed man, a haunted man. There was no reclaiming what was lost between them – and for the first time in near a decade, Saudaji knew that she had her life back. After this mission, she’d go back to Zeltros. Talk to Saboten. Try to figure things out.
“Droids can’t make this. No offense to you, Sebastian,” and she called out loud enough for the long suffering droid to hear. “There’s somethin’ about slaughtering and cleaning it with your bare hands. To feel its life pulse in yours. You have to be thankful that it was there for you to kill. For you to eat. The uj cakes…”
There, that was what made her cry. How could she explain it to him, someone who clearly had no family, had no idea what it was like to be loved, to be welcomed anywhere? He’d write her off as foolish, she knew that already.
But she’d try anyway.
“Uj cakes are special treats. You only get them every once in a while. When you win. When you hurt so bad that you don’t have words and it hurts to walk and everyone gives you dirty looks for being weak but you keep going because you can’t stop, but then someone sneaks one to you.”
She’d had that walk once or twice – when she had been beaten so badly that her left leg was broken and she still stumbled home on it, ignoring the white flashes of pain that twisted her stomach and spine so intensely she forgot words, or when she first got to Mandalore and did her best to run away to the mother that she dimly remembered. There was always Saboten, sneaking her an uj cake, and the knowing looks of her replacement mother, somewhere between doting and hard. Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes, her lower lids. The tears didn’t fall.
“They don’t just make them because you’re supposed to eat something sweet after dinner,” she said, flatly, willing the anger out of her voice. “You make them because you love someone, because you’re proud of them, and you can’t always say that.” He meant for his intentions to be good, but like before, this was all about him. What made HIM feel good. “You can’t improve on this because you don’t have the heart. No spirit.” She gestured at him loosely with her free hand. “Nothing there. This,” and she held up an uj cake, “has to come from here,” and she placed her other hand against her chest, feeling the lull of her heart.
As she looked into the depths of his empty eyes, she realized, finally and truly realized, that she was paired with the most dangerous man she’d ever met. She set the cake down, ignoring the chill up her spine. Send her into battle, hardly armed, against foes frothing at the mouth and it was a good time. Something she knew how to handle. But not him. And all she could do is tread lightly – and put distance between the two of them.
Or take an example from Saboten.
Hm.
“My accommodations are fine as is,” and her tone suggested for him not to push the issue. “Whatever I need, I can acquire myself. Or did you not, in all of your extensive research learn that Mandos live a very menial existence? It doesn’t take much for me to be comfortable. But since you want to know so much about me, I’ll tell you.” Whatever he knew of her – it was past the point of hurting her anymore. And her family, dangerous as he was, could handle themselves. And he struck her as at least being sensible enough not to do something to bring the wrath of an entire culture of beings against him. But he was up to something. He knew too much already – and she suspected that whatever she told him now, he’d already know.
Unless…
“I go where the money is,” she said. There was a game she used to play with her various siblings – well, it wasn’t a game as so much part of their training. Part of being a warrior was knowing when someone was lying and when someone was telling the truth. So, they’d gather round, and tell 2 lies, and 1 truth. Or sometimes 2 truths and 1 lie. And once they got proficient enough, 1 lie, 1 truth. And so on. For being caught in a lie, the “reward” was a slap in the mouth. She wondered how good he’d be at this.
“They heard I was the best at what I do and offered competitive wages. I want to see my sons and daughters. I finish this mission, I get enough money to go home and stay home for a while.” Gods, lying was hard. She was out of practice – she had a hard time hiding the smile from the ridiculous tale she was weaving. “Their fathers are usually gone, so another one of my sisters and her husband watches them. They’re all doing so well. But it gets hard on her to watch 5 younglings.”
Chill as Hoth, that was.
As Raeth leaned forward and began his tale, she leaned back, eager for more ne’tragal and to sharpen her skills. It didn’t take her long to figure out, originally, that he’d been lying to her. That nothing lay behind those vivid green eyes. And she snorted, softly.
Gods, what had it been about Raeth that had been so charming before? Was it because he was begrudgingly clever? The accent? Maybe lack of sex did that to you. And the fact that he just kept talking, and talking, and absolutely none of it was true! Who actually bought the osik that was just flowing from him? Ne’tragal had a way of providing much needed clarity – and the post-sex haze had worn off. For the first time in a long time, she felt centered. Perhaps she had gained something from Mahoroba – that much needed closure. A farewell.
And if she were in any better mood, maybe she would have humored it. His lies, at least. From a stranger, maybe. But from someone that she had to trust with her life? There was no way. “I’ll spend my time in my bed, Rae’ika,” and the nickname was stripped of the loving intent from their hurried fucking. Now, it was every bit the diminutive that it was meant to be – belittling, as if she were speaking to a child.
She slammed the glass down on the table, harder, perhaps, than she initially meant. The remnants of the heavy liquor sloshed, teetering dangerously to spill out over the high lip.
And she leaned over and deftly slapped him, making sure her fingers landed across his cheek and the corners of his mouth. Not hard enough to hurt; just enough to catch his attention.
Leaning back, she had a giant smile on her face. At his bewildered expression, she started laughing. “Oh, I’m sorry – I thought that since you laid out this Mandolorian meal that we were playing Madolorian games! See, I just caught you in a bunch of lies. So since I knew you were lying, you got a pop in the mouth. You tell me the truth, I’ll give you something nicer,” and she licked her lips. “If I catch you telling the truth, I give you a kiss. If you catch me lying, you pop me in the mouth. If you catch me telling the truth, you give me a kiss. Tayli'bac?”
It was only after she had her initial deep draught that she half-heartedly clinked her glass to his. It would take more, much more than this, to get her drunk, or even close to tipsy. She leaned forward, breasts bulging against the thin fabric of her tank top. Beneath the table, she spread her legs in a wide stance, bare feet solidly on the ground. She lifted her glass to her lips again; listened to him prattle on about the taste of the beer. She was beyond the point of rolling her eyes at listening to him pick the meal apart, and wondered, idly, if he allowed himself to enjoy anything without dissecting it. She’d gone her entire life without hearing about the finer points of ne’tragal, and listening to him dissemble on it now made her vaguely ill. But she said nothing, continuing to sip. He seemed so involved in his own voice she doubted that he recognized that she’d tuned him out.
When he finally reached a gap in the conversation, his words taking on an upward inflection, she paused. Waited. Made sure he was finished. And insolently licking her lips, she spoke.
“The ne’tragal is passable, so are the uj cakes. Dunno about the meat yet. Could fool someone that didn’t grow up on this. It’s too refined. Too nice.” And yes, she was being deliberately snide at this point. She knew he hadn’t lifted a finger to make the meal. “Somethin’ rich folks would enjoy when they think they’re being rustic,” she added, slightly glowering over him over the rim of her glass.
She had been vulnerable before – and she knew he was using it against her. The nap had helped steel her resolve. And, in its strange way, so had the meal. It reminded her of what was important, where home was. That maybe it was time to stop all of this foolishness. What did she really gain from it? Seeing Mahoroba just…stung. Maybe he was never hers to begin with. They had been so different; he’d been so different from the beginning. And the time apart had only increased that. He was a changed man, a haunted man. There was no reclaiming what was lost between them – and for the first time in near a decade, Saudaji knew that she had her life back. After this mission, she’d go back to Zeltros. Talk to Saboten. Try to figure things out.
“Droids can’t make this. No offense to you, Sebastian,” and she called out loud enough for the long suffering droid to hear. “There’s somethin’ about slaughtering and cleaning it with your bare hands. To feel its life pulse in yours. You have to be thankful that it was there for you to kill. For you to eat. The uj cakes…”
There, that was what made her cry. How could she explain it to him, someone who clearly had no family, had no idea what it was like to be loved, to be welcomed anywhere? He’d write her off as foolish, she knew that already.
But she’d try anyway.
“Uj cakes are special treats. You only get them every once in a while. When you win. When you hurt so bad that you don’t have words and it hurts to walk and everyone gives you dirty looks for being weak but you keep going because you can’t stop, but then someone sneaks one to you.”
She’d had that walk once or twice – when she had been beaten so badly that her left leg was broken and she still stumbled home on it, ignoring the white flashes of pain that twisted her stomach and spine so intensely she forgot words, or when she first got to Mandalore and did her best to run away to the mother that she dimly remembered. There was always Saboten, sneaking her an uj cake, and the knowing looks of her replacement mother, somewhere between doting and hard. Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes, her lower lids. The tears didn’t fall.
“They don’t just make them because you’re supposed to eat something sweet after dinner,” she said, flatly, willing the anger out of her voice. “You make them because you love someone, because you’re proud of them, and you can’t always say that.” He meant for his intentions to be good, but like before, this was all about him. What made HIM feel good. “You can’t improve on this because you don’t have the heart. No spirit.” She gestured at him loosely with her free hand. “Nothing there. This,” and she held up an uj cake, “has to come from here,” and she placed her other hand against her chest, feeling the lull of her heart.
As she looked into the depths of his empty eyes, she realized, finally and truly realized, that she was paired with the most dangerous man she’d ever met. She set the cake down, ignoring the chill up her spine. Send her into battle, hardly armed, against foes frothing at the mouth and it was a good time. Something she knew how to handle. But not him. And all she could do is tread lightly – and put distance between the two of them.
Or take an example from Saboten.
Hm.
“My accommodations are fine as is,” and her tone suggested for him not to push the issue. “Whatever I need, I can acquire myself. Or did you not, in all of your extensive research learn that Mandos live a very menial existence? It doesn’t take much for me to be comfortable. But since you want to know so much about me, I’ll tell you.” Whatever he knew of her – it was past the point of hurting her anymore. And her family, dangerous as he was, could handle themselves. And he struck her as at least being sensible enough not to do something to bring the wrath of an entire culture of beings against him. But he was up to something. He knew too much already – and she suspected that whatever she told him now, he’d already know.
Unless…
“I go where the money is,” she said. There was a game she used to play with her various siblings – well, it wasn’t a game as so much part of their training. Part of being a warrior was knowing when someone was lying and when someone was telling the truth. So, they’d gather round, and tell 2 lies, and 1 truth. Or sometimes 2 truths and 1 lie. And once they got proficient enough, 1 lie, 1 truth. And so on. For being caught in a lie, the “reward” was a slap in the mouth. She wondered how good he’d be at this.
“They heard I was the best at what I do and offered competitive wages. I want to see my sons and daughters. I finish this mission, I get enough money to go home and stay home for a while.” Gods, lying was hard. She was out of practice – she had a hard time hiding the smile from the ridiculous tale she was weaving. “Their fathers are usually gone, so another one of my sisters and her husband watches them. They’re all doing so well. But it gets hard on her to watch 5 younglings.”
Chill as Hoth, that was.
As Raeth leaned forward and began his tale, she leaned back, eager for more ne’tragal and to sharpen her skills. It didn’t take her long to figure out, originally, that he’d been lying to her. That nothing lay behind those vivid green eyes. And she snorted, softly.
Gods, what had it been about Raeth that had been so charming before? Was it because he was begrudgingly clever? The accent? Maybe lack of sex did that to you. And the fact that he just kept talking, and talking, and absolutely none of it was true! Who actually bought the osik that was just flowing from him? Ne’tragal had a way of providing much needed clarity – and the post-sex haze had worn off. For the first time in a long time, she felt centered. Perhaps she had gained something from Mahoroba – that much needed closure. A farewell.
And if she were in any better mood, maybe she would have humored it. His lies, at least. From a stranger, maybe. But from someone that she had to trust with her life? There was no way. “I’ll spend my time in my bed, Rae’ika,” and the nickname was stripped of the loving intent from their hurried fucking. Now, it was every bit the diminutive that it was meant to be – belittling, as if she were speaking to a child.
She slammed the glass down on the table, harder, perhaps, than she initially meant. The remnants of the heavy liquor sloshed, teetering dangerously to spill out over the high lip.
And she leaned over and deftly slapped him, making sure her fingers landed across his cheek and the corners of his mouth. Not hard enough to hurt; just enough to catch his attention.
Leaning back, she had a giant smile on her face. At his bewildered expression, she started laughing. “Oh, I’m sorry – I thought that since you laid out this Mandolorian meal that we were playing Madolorian games! See, I just caught you in a bunch of lies. So since I knew you were lying, you got a pop in the mouth. You tell me the truth, I’ll give you something nicer,” and she licked her lips. “If I catch you telling the truth, I give you a kiss. If you catch me lying, you pop me in the mouth. If you catch me telling the truth, you give me a kiss. Tayli'bac?”