Isobel Brandt \\ Persephone (praxidike) wrote in thegalaxy, @ 2016-05-01 08:34:00 |
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Entry tags: | !locale: space, issan ren |
don't be ashamed of the monsters in your head
Who: Issan Vox.
What: Backdated like woah to when Issan was first recruited by Glasya; Issan makes a personal sacrifice to begin her Dark Side training.
When: Before the two were inducted into the Knights of Ren.
Where: The Wraith.
Rating: R for disturbing imagery.
Issan sat with her back against the spacecraft wall; her dunecat, Sidara, was pacing on the other side of the room, back arched and tail lashing maliciously. The cat was nearly a third of Issan's size; she could remember when it had been small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. It had been a tiny, spitting and hissing thing that her aunt had brought home in a cage one day.
'It is for you, lubito,' Sia had smiled as the thing raged inside its bondage. Issan had taken the cage gingerly, careful to not place her hands anywhere the small animal might be able to puncture them. Her aunt explained that the animal was another test for her, a way to practice her growing Force abilities. Issan had smiled and thanked her tanti profusely, and then quickly applied that gratitude to her mother when Sia reminded her to not forget Esaaj. It was one of the few times Issan remembered seeing her mother smile when she was looking at her, but the moment her gaze began to move away, the forced happiness evaporated.
She wasn't quite sure why she'd been possessed with bringing the cat onto the Wraith. Glasya had discouraged the decision, but she'd pressed, and he'd eventually allowed the animal with a few caveats. One, it was not allowed to leave her chambers; two, he would not be responsible for its care, nor if it went missing if they were assaulted in space by another ship. Issan had agreed to those terms, not expecting him to care one whit about her or her pet. Sidara had walked calmly onto the ship, pacing slowly into Issan's assigned quarters. Once there, Issan had released her mental hold on the animal, and it had found the smallest, tightest spot to hide that it could, only coming out for food. Even though she'd had the thing for years, it had never fully taken to her; the only times she'd even allowed herself to touch it were when she had complete mental control over it.
Now she was certain it could sense her intentions toward it. Issan almost couldn't quite believe what she was considering; she was contemplating killing the thing. She didn't hold any particular sentiment toward the dunecat; it was merely a toy, a plaything, she told herself. A teaching tool.
Glasya had explained the Jedi and the Sith codes to her in greater detail, going over the training methods of each and even going so far as to lend her a few datapads for her own research. She'd discovered the idea of the sacrifice implemented by the Sith, and Glasya remarked that it was an interesting if archaic method of instruction. The thought was to distance one's self from all other attachments, focusing solely on self improvement above all things.
Issan scoffed at the idea of killing her mother or aunt, causing Glasya had made an offhanded remark that she probably wasn't even capable of killing the silly pet Sia had given her when she was seven.
I could if I wanted to, she'd shot back, instantly regretting the words. Glasya had merely arched a brow in her direction, and hadn't deigned to offer a reply. His stinging assessment of her had the teen storming off to her room, the words spoken in haste and misplaced pride ringing over and over in her mind as she eyed her pet.
Sidara was always quick to pick up on emotions, and now, rather than hiding away, the animal paced, its slitted eyes unblinkingly focused on Issan. Issan, in her own turn, had watched Sidara for a minute upon entering the room, and then thought about taking a seat on the bed. Finally, she'd ended up simply putting her back to the door and sliding down to seat herself on the floor, her skinny arms looping around her knees. They'd remained in their static positions for a half an hour, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
I could do it, she thought. She'd taken a life before -- two lives, actually. But each had been in an instance of adrenaline, a need to protect. The first had been her aunt; the second, the man who had just treated her like the child she was. Issan hated him for the judgement, thinking it unfounded. It's just a stupid animal.
Slowly, Issan reached out with her mind, stroking Sidara's; it was smaller, simpler than her well developed brain, but there was sentience there all the same. The cat hissed, coming to a stop. Every hair on the cat's back stood straight up, turning to wire. Issan pressed forward, wrapping her consciousness around her pet and forcing its own to the back of its brain. The cat fought, hissed, rolled its shoulders in protest -- and then went calmly passive. Its eyes, however, were still accusing. The whole act had been over within a minute, but Sidara's contortions were still something Issan had not grown accustom to.
Just a stupid animal, she repeated in her mind as she directed it to walk toward her. The first man she'd killed had a blade in his hand; he'd been cutting toward her aunt, her tanti, the woman who had taught her the staff and her first spellcraft. The woman who read her stories at night, well into and past the age when she should have been able to sleep on her own, but her aunt and mother forever doted on their only child. Issan had struck without thought, bringing her staff down on the back of his neck so hard she'd severed his spinal cord. He'd dropped to the ground like a sack of sand, lifeless.
Sidara -- she'd picked the name thinking of her aunt, forever favoring her over her own mother, even though she knew the thoughtless act constantly bothered Esaaj -- stood quiet in front of her, settled on all fours and completely motionless except for the odd twitch of her tail. Issan reached out a hand and stroked it over the cat's head, the top of the skull alone larger than her palm.
The second kill had been during an assignment. She and Sia had been hired to guard Glasya Labolas, the man who helmed the ship Issan was now riding on, and Issan could well remember what came of failing a job. There were nights when the Vox family had gone hungry, what little food left saved and given to only her despite her insistence on sharing. Only after Issan had taken and broken food into equal portions could her aunt and mother be convinced to imbibe any sustenance at all. But Issan wouldn't be honest if there wasn't something intriguing about the stranger, though even now, after accepting his offer of travel, she couldn't put her finger on quite what. She had only come here to get off of Nar Chunna, to travel the galaxy and learn these new skills that he offered her. Issan knew her growth would only be stunted if she remained on Nar Chunna; if she was to come close at all to realizing her dream of reclaiming Dathomir and bringing her family back to their true home, she would have to part with them for some time.
The man she had killed had hidden himself with a cloaking device, ensconced in the back of a room where the trade deal had been completed. Later, it was found that he was in the employ of another interested buyer who had been outbid by Glasya, and tasked with poisoning him. Issan had picked up the faint trace of an outline from the curtains that hung along all the walls; her slight frame made it easy to move away from the others in the room, staff in hand, and bring the man down to his knees with one swift blow. With her right hand, she'd pulled out a blade and slit the man's throat in one easy motion. The skin had parted like butter under the sharp edge of her knife, blood spraying out in an arc on the floor. His death or her family's starvation -- it was a simple choice to make.
But now, as she stroked Sidara's soft fur, Issan found herself incapable of raising a hand against this creature. Sidara had offered her hostility, and had even bitten her once or twice in their early days together, but Issan knew the difference between a man with a weapon and this defenseless animal. If she could do to those men what she was doing now to Sidara, applying mental control, would she have had to kill them?
She didn't know if that was what Glasya could offer her, but Issan wasn't afraid to kill. She wrapped her hands around Sidara's slender neck and squeezed; the cat didn't move, but she could see its eyes bulging from its sockets. Issan knew what taking a life felt like; she could feel Sidara's small heart beating wildly under her cruel touch. This was taking an innocent, one who had been subjugated from the start. Sidara had no machinations to kill her family; she only wanted to survive.
And that thought was what allowed Issan to squeeze tighter, her grip on Sidara's mind slipping. The cat's thick hind-leg claws came up and began to kick and shred at Issan's arms while the front struggled to push away. Issan's blood spattered the floor, but she refused to release the animal. She turned her face up and away, unconsciously attempting to protect at least some small part of her as Sidara ripped her arms to ribbons. She squeezed tighter, rolling to her knees and pushing Sidara down into the floor, using her bloody elbows to hold the cat down and prevent further damage.
Sidara squirmed, making a terrible noise like the un-oiled grinding of a droid Issan could remember from her neighborhood. She grimaced, but refused to allow herself to look away. Slowly, though in Issan's mind's eye it all happened so fast, Sidara's fight to live seemed to calm; she trembled, and then, finally...stopped. Issan didn't let go for another few minutes, remembering her aunt's teachings about cutting air off from a body for a necessary amount of time to ensure that the target was well and truly dead.
Issan unlocked her grip from Sidara's dead neck, surprised she hadn't snapped it. She held her arms up, inspecting the cuts that stung like a million fire wasps. A fine sheen of blood mixed with cat hair covered the pale skin from wrist to elbow, and cuts running helter skelter every which way marred the smooth flesh she'd once had. Suddenly, Issan felt hot tears stinging at her eyes; she looked back down at Sidara's dead body, the cat's glassy, yellow gaze staring off at the ceiling and into oblivion. Issan pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and stumbled to her feet. This was wrong. This wasn't what her aunt had taught her; this was ugly, and cruel, and unnecessary.
Issan pushed one hand off of the door, then shoved at it. Finally she remembered to move back a pace, and let the movement of her weight toward the door activate the opening sensor. She ran out of the room, stopping with one bloody hand pressed to a window and leaving a smear before she moved on. Before she realized it, she was moving toward the cockpit of the ship, intending on focusing her rage toward the person she held responsible.