Scadrial Thread

[+Sorana]

Attayl didn't move when Nerin beckoned her back, although she hunched up her shoulders a little more. She wished that Brillin were here, that she wasn't alone with the two of them, with the stares and the gestures. She'd seen it often enough to know what it meant, knew that Nerin had made her decision already. And Lance, Lance would destroy her. He was just like everybody else. All masks and faces, parading around never looking at those twice he didn't think he could use. She was nothing but a whore to him, and maybe that was the only reason she was still alive.

Her fingers closed around the counter, tight, so tight that it nearly hurt while she forced herself to stay where she was. She would return to the table on her own terms, when she thought it right. Not when she was commanded to do so. Waiting she found herself gritting her teeth after a while, wishing that something would happen, that one of them got up and did something.

I'm not a whore anymore.

She told herself, repeated the words again and again. I can be more than that. She had to. If she didn't, if she stayed. Then she would end up like one of those young, burnt out women begging in the streets. Bodies used up, faces painted with cheap make up. Not young enough to entertain the rich ones anymore. Just good enough for everybody else.

I'm not a whore anymore.

She repeated although the words felt stale, nor did she straighten up to really face them.

[I think I am here.]

On 25/01/2020 at 8:27 AM, ZincAboutIt said:

“Attayl, Brillin," she spoke into the misty night, her voice still soft and even. "I believe the linens on my bed are already soaked in blood from yesterday. You can use them to carry this out to the back yard. It won't do to keep this out on the porch."

Spoiler

Moments seemed to fade into one as Brillin trudged through the parlour. Even though it was the same place it had been a few nights ago, it felt different, somehow. As if the whole building was exhausted of the violence that was going on. Or maybe that’s just me, Brillin thought sourly as he ignored the dust on the floor and chairs that weren’t pushed in, and followed Attayl upstairs. Just me and my imagination.

As Attayl went in Nerin’s room to fetch the bloody linens, Brillin caught sight of his own room. At least, the room he had spent time in after getting drunk. How long ago was that? Silently he entered the room, shut the door behind him, and was left with the messy, untidy bed he’d made in his drunkenness. The fancy electric light hadn’t been turned on, but the stars illuminated the small room. As Brillin looked over where he’d slept his tired eyes found a mirror, hung on the wall beside it.

His own eyes gazed back at him, and Brillin stepped back, captured by their stare.

That’s me.

Brillin raised a hand and the figure in the mirror, clad in shadows, raised its hand to. But things were... different. The skin was the same blue, the build identical to his own. But the eyes were harder. Brillin took a cautious step forward, and another, until he barely a hair’s width away from his own reflection.

That’s Brillin.

His coat was messed up, so uncharacteristic of the man who had entered Elendel. Dragging a chair over, he sat down, his eyes never leaving the man in the mirror, those cool eyes and rough build. He had a deep down knowledge who this was, but it seemed so easy to imagine the mirror was a window, maybe opening into another world. A window where Brillin could see this other man. Brillin attempted to softened his stare, tried to smile, but when the face in the mirror copied his actions it came across as a caricature, a poor facsimile of emotion.

I should like him. He has my eyes, he has my skin, my features exactly. But what’s there to like? That’s me, with the harsh stare. That’s my face. That’s the face everyone’s who’s ever looked at me has seen. Every woman who held their child closer when I walked near, every man who gazed daggers at me. All of those Koloss-Blooded that looked at me like I was a brother before I began to speak about books.

It was hypnotic. Almost without thinking of it, Brillin pressed a hand against his chest, felt around for something that wasn’t there. The figure in the mirror did the same, his pace hasty, his eyes glassy.

I should have taken the Koloss spikes. Became a full Koloss. Embraced who I really was, not the illusion of normalcy. I should’ve lived out my life among those who accepted me, who were like me. Even if... even if it meant losing my mind. I should’ve taken those spikes, years ago. Without them, what am I? Not a full human, not a full Koloss. Koloss-Blooded. Without them, who am I? Does it even matter? Does it even matter when I’ll forget this moment as soon as I pick up a rusting bottle?!

In a sudden action Brillin punched the man in the mirror. One good punch, to that face, that traitorous snake. One moment the man in the mirror was sitting in front of Brillin, and the next he was smashed across the ground, fragments spread over the wooden flooring. When that wasn’t enough Brillin picked up the frame and threw it into the wall, the wood splintering into pieces. Brillin looked down, and saw his face reflected tenfold in the shards or mirror. Poetic. Hitting the man in the mirror only made more of him. Maybe I’ll have to kill him, next.

With heavy steps Brillin made his way downstairs, unsure of how many minutes had lapsed in his fight with the mirror. It must have been more than he’d thought, because Lance was in the main parlour area, along with Nerin and Attayl, who was by the bar. At the sight of Lance he had no reaction, instead staying by the foot of the stairs.

“I see Lance is on our side again?” He asked to no one in particular before dragging his eyes to the man in question. “Wonderful.”

Quote

The spoiler tag is meant to be canon, just so you know. It’s just spoiler tagged for length and because it’s sort of an excuse of where Brillin’s been