(Erm. We post backstories here? I'm having issues with formatting.. forgive them. :<)
All I can think to myself is how embarrassing this all is. Every time I scream more spit accumulates on the cloth wrapped around my head. I can’t stop the tears. Can’t stop the piss running down my legs.
“Who the fuck are your parents you stupid brat? Where the hell are they?” The hilt slams into my ribs again.
“She’s too stupid ta know. Just kill ‘er and let’s go.”
The table beneath my feet disappears falls collapses rope tight and then
Chapter 1
Mr. O’Nassis
The sticky blue candy invades my fingers. I try to fight it off, eating it, wiping it off on my dress, on nearby furniture.
“It’s not like a kid is a fucking puppy, Jack, she’s a fucking child! We can’t just agree to take her cause some crazy bitch you let stay here for a night left her. It’s not like we can just leave her somewhere when you’re fucking tired of her!”
Behind the webs of blue I see a man who looks more like a woman than he does a man. He has pretty curly hair, wild I think, like the mane of a horse. His slender hands are rested on his hips, and he stands so straight and pretty, like saplings in the forest. I watch him behind the webs of blue.
“This is all because you’re too fucking nice to those highborn bitches! Now we’ve got a fucking child on our hands!”
Another man stands, now he’s trapped in the blue webs too. He’s not very much like the first man. He reminds me a little bit of a bear, because of all the brown hair on his face. And maybe also because he’s big and tough looking. But his voice isn’t very much like a bear. Not angry, like a bear. He doesn’t roar, he just talks.
“This doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Etty.” He sets a hand on the pretty man’s shoulder, then he moves over to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “I see you’re having quite a time with that candy. Look at her; she’s gotten it all over. Isn’t it cute?”
“Fucking adorable.”
“What’s a cause that always encourages people to give money, Etty?”
“Prostitution?”
The bear man sighs, squeezing my shoulder.
“Without expecting anything in return.”
“What.” Etty, the pretty man, the twiggy man, he changes his stance.
“Kids, Etty. People always donate for children.” Etty tilts his head, his shoulders relax and I can see the delicate line of his collarbone. “We can raise her as our own, Etty. Wouldn’t that be nice? It’s not like we’ve got a womb between us. She’s a cute kid anyways, don’t you think? We could’ve had a pretty ugly kid dumped on us.” The bear man makes a face. I don’t know why, but I laugh. His face is so funny.
Etty drops his hands, looking down at the ground and shuffling his feet. They’re both quiet for a few moments, and finally he looks up, smiling.
“It would be kind of nice to have a daughter around to dress up, huh?”
“See, there’s the way to look at it.” The bear man, whom I later came to know as Jack, as dad, he squeezes my shoulder again and smiles down at me. “We’ll just look at this as a gift, not an inconvenience.”
(but that’s not what I meant to say)
I’ve always been wary of dishonest people. But I’ve always believed in the art of misdirection.
1. Enemies and potential enemies underestimate me; this gives me an immediate advantage.
2. It makes it easier to treat patients when I do not come off as a threatening figure. It is easier to establish a trust relationship with those who do not believe you are capable of harming them.
(and i digress)
The afternoon sun filters in like dust. Etty is fixing something on my dress, so I try to stand really still. Sometimes Etty isn’t good with needles, I figured that out when he first started to adjust my stolen dresses. So I stand very still and I read the manuscripts that Jack puts in my hands.
This one, it’s about a tragic General who loses his family but wins a war. Then he goes insane. I read it before, but I like it the most. I like saying the General’s lines out loud, trying to scratch up as gruff a voice as I can in my throat.
“I fear nothing but ..s…soul…less?”
“Solace, dear.”
“I fear nothing but solace!”
Jack slams the door behind him. His face is bloody. He screams.
“Get everything we need!”
Etty stops sewing and looks at him.
“What?”
“We’re going, right now!” Jack grabs a bag and he starts throwing things in it, and I whimper a little because I’m scared. Etty breaks the thread and jumps to his feet.
“The fuck is going on?”
“Don’t fucking argue with me right now, just get everything packed the fuck up and let’s get the fuck out of dodge!”
Etty motions for me to follow him, and I do. We grab bags and trunks and throw things into them. I carry what’s not too heavy to their horses and tie it to their saddles. Some things I put in the wagon.
“Fucking can’t stay anywhere for more than a month…” Etty is carrying a trunk full of dresses and clothes to the wagon, I run along on his heels. He picks me up and sets me in the wagon next to the dresses, kisses my forehead. “It’s okay, Mido, darling. We’re going on a new adventure, mm? You’ll meet new friends where we’re going. And you’ll always have me and Jack, right?” He pinches my cheek.
ON PRESENTABILITY:
I don’t consider myself especially vain. Rather, I think myself practical. Everything I learned about feminine appearances and guile I learned from a human man. A human man that once had the misfortune of charming a thane. You see, his real lover couldn’t handle letting the acting troupe pimp out his love to a thane anymore, so they ran away. They remained actors, but they didn’t have a set stage. So that’s what I learned. Appearances do matter. If you want someone to fear you, greet them with your enemy’s skeleton wrapped around you. If you want someone to ignore you, greet them in simple linens. If you want to seem disarming, but charming, perhaps you can invest in just the right dress.
I can’t stop staring at Etty. I laughed at first, because I thought it was funny that a man was wearing a girl’s dress. But the more I looked at him, the more like a pretty woman he started to become. His wild curly hair was hidden under a horse mane wig, tied back in a clean, neat bun. He looks like he’s glowing, with priestess’s robes on. I look at the shop window at the pair of us: me with my burlap sack and dirt smeared on my face. Etty steps into the shop, and I tag along behind him.
“Hello, good sir. Blessings upon you from the Light.”
The man behind the counter looks up, and he stares at Etty for a bit, before he looks at me.
“The same to you, sister.”
“We at the temple are looking for donations for a new orphanage.”
The man stares at me.
“I’ll be damned… Is that a kalderray?”
“Yes, indeed. There is much turmoil in Ashenvale- many orphans are being made.” The man looks at Etty.
“No shit?”
Etty blushes, looking away as he curses.
“Ah, forgive m’tongue, Sister. I ain’t never seen a kaldarrey before.” He squints at me. “You was sayin about orphanages?”
“We were hoping we could collect donations from local businesses?”
He pushes himself away from the counter, grinning. “Ah, yeh, o’course sister. I ain’t one te let the kids starve. Just wait ‘ere a moment eh?”
And we would repeat this over. And over. And over. Easily fifty times a day, within a variety of small villages and towns. Then we would move on.
There were days when Jack would finish counting gold, finish writing up figures in his small brown book and he’d smile. He’d wrap an arm around Etty’s waist, kiss his face, pick me up and spin me around and he’d say, “Get dressed, both of you. Tonight we go to the theatre.”
Etty would always smile, he’d pick me up and find a nice dress for me to wear, then he’d go into his own room and dress, but not before warning me not to get my dress dirtied. He’d reemerge, with a nice and clean coat with an almost feminine neckline and his finest pants and ornate boots. And Jack, how magnificent I remember Jack looking. Like the General from the play. I always remember Jack having this tragically noble appearance about him; even after all the scars. I remember thinking to myself that I would follow Jack to the ends of the world.
The three of us would set out into the warm, young summer night like this. Me holding Etty and Jack’s hands when no one was looking, and only Etty’s when people were. We’d approach the theatre- with all the candles glowing so brightly… I remember… The golden décor- the twirls and the twists and the curls and the curves. Golden, shining under the candlelight.
Jack would approach the men at the front, not even glance at them. Etty would follow behind, hands on my shoulders. And because I knew how Jack and Etty worked, I knew that Etty had created a mirror above and behind the man at the door. Jack would look above and past the same man, as if he weren’t worth the effort of lowering his proud chin and say, “Underhill.” The man would nod and wave us through, and then we’d settle down in the darkness.
I remember Etty muttering his quiet criticisms of the women in all the plays.
“Ugh. Does he call that a feminine walk…” And Jack would shush him, lean back, and wrap an arm around us both. These were good times.
[Intermission]
MIDO
No one’s ever questioned my loyalty to the horde. This is because I preformed so well under Ash. This is because I was constantly driven by a lust to kill as many allies as humanly possible. Yes, I was raised by two human men. I am perfectly willing to accept the idea that there are, indeed, exceptions to the rule, that not all humans are scum.
But it comes down to this: (beat) us. Or them.
When we rush their borders, we don’t allow them the convenience to plan their next attack. When we keep their troops on guard and busy and scared, we stretch their resources and we disable them from killing and pillaging and raping.
For these reasons I have always willingly entered the field of battle. My past aside.
Peace treaties are an attempt to postpone the inevitable so that future generations can spill their blood and soil their name instead of your own.
Cowardice, is perhaps not just a word.
[Please return to your seats.]
I recognize her face. She grabs me and picks me up.
“We’re leaving now, Mido.” I try to push her off. I scream. I try to kick at her, bite her. I can hear Etty sobbing and screaming and thrashing and I can hear the gunshots. The man with her doesn’t look nice the way Etty and Jack do- his head is shaved, his face is mean like a snake. He steps back into the hovel. The three of us leave and I keep screaming. Keep asking Jack to save me. Keep calling for Jack and Etty. But they don’t come.
Mother shoves a piece of cloth into my mouth and ties another piece of cloth around my head to keep it there.
And that was the last time I ever saw Mister O’Nassis and Mister Bartheleme.