Public A Bearable Introduction

[Grigory the Bear]

There was a trick to moving silently. Most people thought it was about not stepping on things, or running into them, carefully placing every footstep in the most unobtrusive manner possible. Grigory knew better. Whether in the forest or the city, there was no way to avoid making noise. The trick, he had learned, was to worry less about what he was stepping on, and more about when he did the stepping. Every place had its own cadence, a signature every bit as distinctive as a skyline or mountain peak. If you were patient, observant, and just a little lucky, you could cover a lot of ground very quickly, without making any noises that would rise above the level of background noise. To truly be silent, you didn't have to remove yourself from the aural landscape, you became a part of it.

Practical invisibility was much the same. In the movies, secret agents wore all black and hid in the darkest of shadows. In real life, Grigory ate chumps like that for breakfast. Or, occasionally, lunch. In nature, true blackness was hard to come by. In a city, it was an endangered species, and was almost always artificial. The real pros wore muted browns, greys, and greens, drab colors that wouldn't be out of place anywhere. Since his own fur coat was an unassuming brown, the mammoth hunter had a natural advantage in that department. His enormous size was something of a hindrance, but not as much as one might think. Though there was a distinct shortage of oversized sapient bears in the galaxy, cities were always teeming with strange lifeforms. Acting like you were trying to hide made you stick out like a sore thumb. Adopting the dreary trudge of a longterm resident went a long way towards blending you into the background. The alert, watchful mind was tuned to pick out discrepancies. Anything that acted like it was supposed to be there, no matter how odd it might seem, tended to get discarded as background noise.

To make a long story short, Grigory's prey didn't know he was there until a six centimeter claw tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"You are Bossman, da?" the bear boomed, his voice somewhere between a basso rumble and a guttural roar. His vocal chords weren't designed for anything resembling speech, but they got the job done.

The little Rodian jumped in surprise, or at least, he tried to. It was hard to get much airtime when nearly a tonne and a half of ursine muscle decided you should stay planted.

"Who's asking?" the alien squeaked. Despite his initial shock, he had the bravado, perhaps arrogance, of someone who was quite used to getting their way.

"I am Grigory," the bear replied cheerfully. "Have been looking for you all night.

"You're not a cop, are you?" Bossman said, spitting the word cop like the something unspeakably foul.

"Of course not. No, Comrade, I keep the jackboot off the neck of the proletariat, not on it. So, are you Bossman?"

The bear's voice, heavily accented, practically shook the walls of the nearby buildings. The little alleyway wasn't much to look at, and it smelled even worse than it looked. Not the sort of place you'd normally find a crime boss, unless he was on his way to or from something clandestine and unsavory. In this case, Bossman was on his way back from one of the brothels he controlled. Brothels, typically, didn't have to hide, but this one catered to a very specific sort of clientele, the sort whose positions and tastes meant that secrecy was paramount. Having a mistress or two was acceptable, even expected, among the bourgeois, Grigory knew. Prostitutes and escorts were less socially acceptable, but still not out of the realm of normal. What happened in this particular brothel had shocked even him.

"I'm Bossman, yeah," the Rodian said, sneering. "What's it to ya?"

"Dinner."

Most species of bears have thick, blunted claws meant for climbing. Grigory was not most bears. His were long, retractable, and meant for killing, more like a predatory cat than anything ursine. He placed a paw on the back of the Rodian's neck, forced his head forward, and sent a razor sharp claw sprouting through the brain stem. The body twitched once, then went limp. Good. Pretty much anything with primate ancestry, he had learned, had to be killed quickly. If they got a chance to tense up, the meat would be tougher. Not much of a problem if you planned to eat it raw and fresh, but Grigory wasn't a complete animal. He liked to save choice cuts for later, and although he was a surprisingly good cook, he wasn't a miracle worker. There was only so much you could do with muscle fibers bunched up in agony from a slow, lingering death.

With practiced efficiency, the bear pierced the abdominal wall with a claw, and slit it open. Inside were the prizes any hunter cherished: the kidneys, liver, and heart. Organ meat was best ate fresh, seasoned with bile from the gallbladder. Rodians only had a couple of cuts suitable for eating raw, namely the backstraps and flank muscles, but those required a bit of work to butcher properly. The kidneys though, they were like little nuggets of flavor, and were nice and tender to boot. He plucked one out and popped it in his mouth, savoring the texture.

Before he had a chance to go back for seconds, however, there was a rustling nearby.

"Who's there?" he demanded, annoyed that his well earned meal was about to be interrupted.

 

[Daal]

A dirty, wispy, hooded figure wandered haphazardly through the dark alley, seemingly unable to walk upright but always managing to correct itself with every step. The freighter she had fallen asleep on carried nothing but metal parts, what those parts were for she had no idea, but she managed to throw together a couple of improvised tools for her hunt. Four meters of thin cable wrapped mostly around her arm, on the very end swung a broken rod of the same material, crudely ground to a jagged point. A hook would have been better, she thought, for ensnaring prey, but the journey was long and she was hungry. Ravenous, even. Her impromptu trip had ended, and she found herself back within the confines of civilization. She had no control over what scrolled through her head, the marquis of intrusive thoughts that seemed to parade through the air prevented her from ever having a moment of clarity. If she had it her way, she'd return to the stars. The stars were quiet, "pretty," even. She had never understood that word before, and rarely heard it used in a context that didn't immediately make her skin crawl. Of course, from time to time she found herself in the presence of a male, that word seemed to float out of their head like an insect, often followed by something vulgar. First, as a thought. Then, spoken aloud. She never hesitated to silence the words, as they were as unwelcome as the heart that dared to beat in such close proximity to her. The stars however, were truly pretty, and pure, not vulgar or profane. She welcomed her newfound appreciation for the word.

Blood.

Her movement suddenly ceased, as the familiar feeling began to spread across her. A vulgar thought floating through the air, snuffed out in an instant. The sticky scent of iron permeated the air, though it didn't feel human. She still didn't understand how she knew that, but she knew better than to let the opportunity slip by. At least if it wasn't a human, it would be less likely to be missed. She knew better than to refuse the opportunity to acquire sustenance, at any rate. If the body wasn't edible, there were usually items to be traded for food, and she'd take what she could get.

It was then, that her gaze narrowed ahead of her. Her hunger left her feeling faint, while a shrill ringing began to take root in her ears. Her eyes had wandered far from what was ahead of her long before she had even turned the corner that brought her down this dimly lit corridor between buildings in this urban hellscape.

Those weren't all thoughts, there were voices, too.

The realization of just how careless she had become began to sink in, as her eyes connected with the large creature before her.

It thinks. And speaks.

She had regained her senses, or at least what senses were there to regain at this time.

Speaking at me?

It felt dangerous.

Danger to me?

Her eyes panned over to the Rodian's corpse.

Danger to him.

She remembered why she had stopped.

Blood. Means someone can eat. Sometimes.

Her stomach growled with eager excitement, but her muscles would not budge, as though they knew better. Her arms dangled limply on either side of her, the makeshift harpoon clattered against hard concrete. The ringing which had settled into her ears quickly faded as it had been replaced by the loud, booming voice ricocheting through the alley.

So loud.

She looked to the mangled body before her.

Answer.

With a sharp gasp, hushed words finally escaped her.

"I was... hungry."

 

[Grigory the Bear]

Grigory regarded the newcomer with a curious nose. She smelled of metal and grease and confusion. The usual human stink of sweat, fresh and dried, mingled with Force knew what else, assailed his snout. It was clear that she was roughing it, and from the smell and sounds of her tools, was fairly well equipped for it. He filed that knowledge away for later and reached out with his mind, not seeking to probe or pry, just to feel.

She was lost and confused. Scared maybe? It was hard to tell. Human emotions carried a variety of subtleties that bewildered the bear. His were much simpler, and he wished others could see how much better life was that way. This girl was a right mess, and he didn’t even begin to understand everything swirling around in her brain.

What was obvious was that, despite her size, she was still a child. Grigory knew enough about humans to know that females cubs usually couldn’t look him in the eye on all fours. This one was taller, and old for a cub, but there was a simplicity, an innocence, that was unmistakable.

That made things simple. Grigory liked cubs, even human cubs. He had no children of his own, and likely never would. As far as he knew, he was the only one of his kind. But, the galaxy was full of abandoned and exploited children, and as far as he was concerned, each and every one was precious. He never turned away from one in need, however peculiar they might seem.

“Hungry, eh? Come here, girl. Grigory has food enough for the both of us.”

He sliced off a chunk of liver and offered it to the girl.

“Is fresh. Same day liver is big treat. Only kidneys are better, but those are mine. Hunter’s privilege, da?”

Daal

 

[Daal]

"Da?..."

Her mind trailed off at the last word spoken to her. It was unfamiliar. Of course, many languages were, as she had never any reason or opportunity to learn anything beyond what she could feel in one's tone. It was a moot point now, her eyes were more concerned about the prize being offered to her. She greedily reached for the chunk of meat before her.

Eat.

Her body hadn't moved from its previous position, yet her eyes felt as though they were right on top of the offering before her.

Right.

Not my eyes.

Just eyes.

It sometimes happened, and she could rarely tell when it was going to, it was as though her mind was leaping forward before her body could catch up. The chunk of meat shot through the air into her outstretched hand, landing with a squelch into her palm where it was met with nimble fingers. A dirty finger reached up to tug down the thin, tattered rag that covered her mouth, and she took her newly acquired meal into both hands, her teeth voraciously tearing out chunks. Whatever taste there was meant nothing to her, although she had experienced better and worse flavors, it was only her desire to sate her hunger that drove her. As her hands moved, the makeshift harpoon hanging from her arm would occasionally clang loudly against the concrete beneath her feet. She didn't register it as a sound. In that moment, her only thought was to consume.

More.

Her hands were now empty, sticky as her face with blood. She wiped them on her clothes, which at this point were rust-colored by more than just metal or dirt. She raised the sleeve of her untethered arm to her face, and wiped away what should could.

It's... better.

The hunger she felt wasn't sated, though it rarely ever was. For now, she would make it awhile longer, until the time came where she actually had to carry out the hunt she initially set out to perform. She was thankful to this creature, whatever it was. Her eyes began to glisten with curiosity at the sight of so much fur. It was unusual to see a creature so large in any city, let alone one with such fur. In the past, the furry creatures she had seen were much smaller, and often would approach her willingly. Pets, people called them. It was strange for them to all be considered the same species, since they frequently varied in size, stature, color, and number of limbs. They usually tasted different from one another as well. She was always too busy eating them to stop and admire their fur, and when she was done she usually found herself running away at the sound of screaming. She hated that sound, when others screamed, she felt their fear. When she felt fear, bad things happened. People die, and she could never eat that much by herself.

But this one...

The creature before her did not scream. In fact, it did not waste its food, either. How could it think, and speak, and still have so much fur? This definitely was no pet she had ever seen before. She started to suspect that it definitely was not a pet.

Now that her stomach was no longer thinking for her, her mind was cooperating in a more linear fashion than before her meal.

"What are you?"

 

[Grigory the Bear]

"I am friend," Grigory boomed, keenly aware that he didn't look all that friendly to most of the galaxy's squishier bipeds.

His vision, in typical bear fashion, was shit. He couldn't clearly see the girl, what she was wearing, or any of that nonsense, just a tall, dark outline. No matter. The nose knows, and it knew that she wasn't the sort who wanted to partake in a little bear baiting. Not that Grigory didn't enjoy a bit of sport from time to time, but that didn't seem to be on the menu.

He stood on his hind legs and bowed theatrically to the girl, his movements overexaggerated, cartoonish. The big bear had a theatrical streak as wide as he was tall, and he knew how to put on a show for children. Bear that moved like a bear, scary. Bear that moved like a two legged person, funny. It was a simply recipe, but an effective one. For children, at any rate. Adults saw a five meter tall, fur-covered behemoth festooned with all manner of strange and archaic weaponry, and they tended to soil themselves. He couldn't blame them. Rearing up for adults was usually a precursor to eating them. Cubs, on the other hand, had the wondrous ability to assume that anything interesting was a show designed for them, personally.

"You may call me Grigory."

He dropped back over on all fours with a resounding thud, and turned popped the second kidney into his mouth before extracting the rest of the liver and placing it on top of the chest cavity. From a pouch on his cargo harness, a small camping stove appeared and floated to ground, seemingly of its own volition. If Grigory did not have thumbs, he made up for it with the Force.

"Your kind prefer your meat cooked, da?" He paused for a minute, remembering her apparent confusion over the word. "Means yes. Anyway, I make you food. Poor thing, I can hear your stomach rumbling from here."

Onto the stove went a simple cast iron pan. Dried onions, and oil were dropped into the bottom, along with a some garlic. As the aromatic volatiles began to fill the alleyway with their scent, he salted and peppered the liver, chopped it up into chunks that should be bite sized for a human, and dropped them into the pan. It only took a few minutes for them to cook through; the cast iron pan was excellent for this sort of quick and dirty meal preparation. It required a fairly intense heat source to get up to temperature, but once it did, it heated evenly and retained heat well. Once the meal was prepared, he scooped it onto a camping plate with a bit of telekinesis and offered it to the girl.

"Here, eat. I make more if you're still hungry."

Daal

 

[Daal]

"A friend..."

She knew that word, at least. She had met many people who would try to assert themselves as friends in the past. There were the loud, vulgar echos of "Let's be friends!" from men who mistook her for helpless in the dirty streets of whatever city she had come from. She never meant to break them, but sometimes they wouldn't let her leave. Better she do the breaking than whatever was inside of her, or there might be nothing left. And then of course there were her fellow destitutes, who saw her at the very least as a strong ally, and sound to befriend her with the best of intentions. Those intentions usually shattered before too long, as they couldn't stomach the blood. This new friend, however, was already covered in blood. Not physically, but it was a scent she still recognized.

As this friend stood, towering above her, she was in awe. It wasn't unusual for her to meet beings that were larger than her, as humans themselves are relatively small compared to many species.

This is an introduction...

"I'm... a Daal."

She wasn't certain that was how greetings were supposed to work, after all, she had never been named properly that she could remember, she only remembered being told that she looked like one. She watched with growing curiosity as her new friend began to prepared the items before them.

This new friend seems to be able to move things without touching them.

Alarmed, her eyes widened. The words tried to escape her.

"Grigory, how do--"

Her nose was equally alarmed, as the aroma of cooking overwhelmed her senses. It wasn't gaudy, or sloppy, like the food street vendors would peddle to passersby. It was a simple, pleasant scent, the kind she smelled coming from doors and windows as she clambered across rooftops and wandered through alleys. Cooked food was always better than raw, but she had never been in a position of being able to choose how she ate what was given to her, or what was taken by her. The fragrance overwhelmingly drowned out the smell of blood.

You need what he has.

"--wait!"

She gasped sharply as her feet slid the rest of her body forward, the unseen power she feared within her own body pushed her towards the giant creature against her wishes. It was like that, sometimes. A part of her that knew what she needed to survive, and sometimes just knew what could bring her joy. As fearful as she was, she sometimes needed a little push. Or in this case, a large push, as the soles of her feet seemed to drag the rest of her into the faint light. She stopped suddenly, a meter short of the creature, and stumbled momentarily as she caught her balance, and the plate floating to meet her.

It looks...

Before she could finish her thought, she began scarfing down the contents of the plate, one bite after another. She wasn't completely feral, she knew what utensils were, but all she had were sharpened bits of scrap that acted as skewers as she removed one from her sleeve, haphazardly impaling chunks of meat and vegetable alike from the plate and removing them with her teeth. Before she knew it, the plate she held was empty, but her stomach was full. Naturally it didn't take much to make her feel full, as her stomach had always remained small while living off of what she could find. She held the empty plate towards the bear.

You are grateful to this one.

"Th--...Thank you."

Words that she had seldom heard, and had never said aloud, felt unfamiliar coming from her lips. She wasn't certain, but this seemed like the time to use them. She was far from being the most confident of speakers.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

"You are most welcome, Miss Doll," Grigory replied, tearing into his own meal.

He was a much cleaner eater than the average bear, using his claws to slice away neat chunks rather than jumping in snout-first. It had to be a really good meal to make him want to do that. There was this babushka on Coruscant who had taken a liking to him who made it best. She liked that he kept the street thugs honest and the working girls safe. He liked that she pickled her own beets and used proper sour cream, not the imitation dairy you saw most places. It was a match made in heaven, until she fell and broke her hip. He'd tried to care for the poor dear as best he could, but, well, bear.

It didn't take long to eat the choice bits, then properly dress and butcher the carcass. It was a process that he'd done a thousand times, to a thousand different species, and he was nothing if not efficient. Bipeds had this idea that since they could speak, they were no longer a part of the food chain, and got antsy when they caught you snacking on one of their own.

He wasted as little as possible, even taking the time to slice the femur into sections for use in broth. Bone broth with marrow, now that was a survival food for the ages. It took ages to get right and prepare into bullion, but there was nothing better in a pinch. If you had time to do nothing other than heat some water, you could make soup. Drop in a bit of dried meat and some veggies and you had stew. The meat went into self-sealing vacuum packs that would keep them until he could get them into a deep freezer, which he then levitated into the appropriate spots on his cargo harness. The skeleton was laid out neatly over top of the flayed skin, the less edible organs and tissue piled in the chest cavity for other, less fortunate hunters and scavengers to find. The blood had largely been drained directly into the sewer, to avoid making too much of a mess. He Grigory wasn't a complete animal, after all.

Throughout the process, he tried to figure out what he was supposed to think about this Doll he'd picked up as a dinner companion. Obviously not in control of herself, at least not fully. Powerful in the Force, too, which was a dangerous combination. But not, he suspected, to the average civilian. No more than he was, which was to say, only if they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn't hunt the harmless, but occasionally they stumbled across him during a hunt, and decided that he was a threat to them. Bah. Grigory was many things, but he didn't take from the sheep. He found the wolves to be much more rewarding.

Doll, he figured, was much the same. Something along the way had broken her, badly, and that saddened him. Cubs were meant to be protected. There came a time when they had to be left to fend for themselves, but by that point, they would no longer be cubs. This one, it stood to reason, was left on her own much too soon. Not a cub in stature or lethality, but a cub in the brain, the mind. Probably why she didn't have a problem chowing down on a fellow biped, now that he thought of it. Silly superstition in his opinion, but no one asked him. They were usually too busy screaming or shooting.

"Do you have place to stay, little one? I doubt you want to come stay in the woods with Grigory, but this one-" he jerked a claw towards the corpse "-had safe houses. No one use now, you be fine. Can show you, give you place to sleep without rain and ticks."

Daal

 

[Daal]

She calmly tucked the shiv she had just used as a skewer back into her sleeve, realizing that she was still holding it.

"Safe?"

She was unsure what made a house safe, as she had mostly only ever taken refuge in vacant homes, empty warehouses, or scrapped ships. Occasionally there were other squatters seeking shelter in the same areas, but for reasons unbeknownst to her they tended to avoid her. Rumor had spread, as it always had, of the pale girl whose tattered clothes were rusty with blood. It was for the same reason that the street vendors had stopped pursuing her whenever she stole food from them. She didn't understand that, having never been welcome in any social circles, she was only aware of their discomfort, and their fear.

You're being rude.

Her mind has wandered, as it often did, and she once again became aware of her surroundings.

Where are you?

"I... fell asleep. On the ship. I-I don't know where I am."

Had she not awakened mid-voyage, she wouldn't have even known she was on an entirely different planet. The ship was operated by droids, there were no minds to peek into for information, not that she understood that was what she was even doing when it happened. Her technological prowess was even more unimpressive than her social abilities.

"I think... a safe house."

No house is safe if you're inside--

"--Shut up."

You said it out loud...

She panicked, looking to the face of the being before her. She would not make eye contact, though.

"I'm... sorry."

Stupid girl.

She hadn't intended to offend her generous new acquaintance, but after a life of apologizing for things beyond her control, the words had lost all meaning to her. Still, she knew she was supposed to say them. Say the right thing and they'll be less upset, for now, at least. It was reflexive by this point.

The blood you've spilled and you think your words hold weight?

Shut up.

Oh, not going to say it out loud again?

Shut up.

Her face contorted briefly as she winced at the discomfort of her own inner monologue. Her vocabulary wasn't stunted, by any means, but the will to use it aloud was, as evidenced by her lack of confidence as she spoke. Still, her mind knew all the wrong things to say or do, and it did so freely.

Are you going to tear apart this house, too?

I-I don't want--

You leave ruin in your wake.

Please, don't make me--

When has begging ever stopped you?

"SHUT UP!"

She gasped again, frantically looking around as though she had drawn attention to herself.

"I'm sorry, p-please--"

Begging.

She quickly looked down at the ground before her, and with her left hand reached up to clutch the side of her head beneath the hood drawn over it. Oily, unkempt hair spilled out over her dirty fingers as they rubbed her temple, combing back through the side of her head. The coolness of her hand was pleasant, and helped to relax her once again, if only for a short time.

"I'm... okay. I'm okay."

She slowly inhaled, taking a deep breath and then let it out.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

"Easy, detenyish," he said. "No need to apologize."

Detenyish. Little one. Cub. Something his creators had called him when he was little and in pain. Grigory couldn't rightly say why, or why it had helped him feel better, but it was a habit he had adopted for himself.

"You are hurting," he said. "This is nothing to be sorry for."

He could feel the conflict inside her head, without even trying. The bear brain and the human brain were wildly dissimilar in most respects. Same approximate range of emotions, but humans were far more complex. If Grigory was happy, he laughed and drank vodka. If he was sad, he cried and drank vodka. If he was angry, he killed and then drank vodka. When a human was happy, they could laugh or cry. Same when they were sad. When they were angry, they rarely killed anything to feel better, and almost no one drank enough vodka in any case. This cub was going through some serious problems, and clearly wasn't getting enough vodka.

He almost offered her the jerry can-sized flask that had, almost of its own bidding, risen to float by his head. Not having thumbs, Grigory tended to use the Force like he would his hands. Very fine control, though limited in reach. He took a swig, and mulled the problem over as the water of life burned its way, kicking and screaming, down his gullet. Good vodka often did that.

The bear had been told, on more than one occasion, that drinking vodka was different for humans. He quite literally needed it to survive, thanks to some of his modifications. Just as well that it made him feel as warm and fuzzy on the inside as he was on the outside. But for humans, it made what was on the inside louder on the outside, and what was on the inside for this cub didn't sound like it was something she wanted to share with the world. Or maybe it was. Hard to say.

"Let me explain. Our dinner, he had place to hide. Place where no one find him. But I am not no one. I am Grigory," he said with not a little pride. "I find it, just fine, and I find him. Only, he dead and doesn't need it, and I do not fit through doorway. Hidden place, where no one can find except Grigory? That is safe. Place to rest head, take bath, and no one bother you? That is house. Safe, house. I show you if you want it, da?"

Daal

 

[Daal]

"Then... Yes, safe house."

The notion that she may comfortably rest excited her. It was rare that she was able to sleep, let alone comfortably. Normally she had to climb into some awful crevice that was hard to reach for anyone but the most nimble of climbers.

No people means no thoughts but your own.

It was both a comfort and a concern. The thoughts of others often distracted her from the fractured voice within her own mind. Her own thoughts would torment her, provoke her, even. However, it was a rare opportunity that she knew better than to pass up. It had been awhile since she had last been able to bathe properly, and she was certain that had contributed to her lack of clarity.

This won't last forever, you know.

As she lowered her hand from her head, she tugged up the loose bits of cloth that had previously covered the lowered half of her face. They had certainly seen better days, and were almost unfit to be called rags by this point.

"A place to hide..."

Lifting her head again, there was a noticeable level of optimism in her eyes. She hoped this time that she may even dream of stars.

Voices.

Shouts could be heard from the far side of the alley where she had previously wandered from. The kind of shouts that come from men who are searching for something. Or someone.

What did you do?

What did I do?..

It couldn't have been me.

Then maybe?

Her new friend, perhaps. He did just kill their meal. Men like getting paid, and losing their source of income might not sit well with them. Crude taunts echoed throughout the alley, growing louder as they presumably got close. They weren't in sight yet, the unlikely duo could probably get away if they wanted to.

"What do we..."

What you always do.

But... my friend.

You're still clinging to that idea?

I...

No one ever likes the blood, once it starts to spill.

She glance at the unlikely creature before her, unsure of herself.

"Should we go?"

 

[Grigory the Bear]

Grigory shrugged his massive shoulders.

"I stay and fight," he said. "These are bad men, and bad men must be dealt with. If you want to go, I make enough ruckus, they never know you were here."

That much was painfully true. The massive bear had no illusions about immortality. He was big and augmented well enough that he could take more punishment than a dozen normal people put together, but he could be hurt, and he could be killed. Under his fur was a patchwork of scar tissue that told the stories of all the people who had tried. But, he had a sense of honor and commitment as broad as his shoulders.

Taking down the Bossman wasn't just a way to get a meal in. It was always good to eat before a big fight, but no, that had been a precursor. Of course, he had expected to have a little more time, hours at least, before the body was found and the hunt for the killer kicked off. That would give him plenty of time to watch, listen, and strategize. Small teams spread out through a large city meant he could operate more or less with impunity. Speed, surprise, and violence of action were his sword and shield. Strike hard, strike fast, and strike from the direction you were least expected, then the bad guys wouldn't have a chance to formulate a coherent response. They'd get scared, and panic. And, once the survivors were holed up, it was just a matter of lancing the boil with a sufficiently energetic bomb.

It was an MO he'd carried out time and time again. Killing the nasty bad guys made sure the poor and the helpless wouldn't be prey. There would always be thugs and pimps, but after one of his cullings, they either learned to moderate their vices, or they got killed by their former victims, recently empowered by the site of their former tormentors' flayed corpses. It was a good cause, and a good way to fight.

Judging by the sound, this group was larger than he was normally comfortable taking on, but they probably weren't as well equipped. More or less same plan, just an advanced timetable.

"If you go, I can find you later, show you safehouse. No need to feel bad about hiding. Not everyone is meant for this line of work. If you want to stay and kill bad men though, Grigory is always happy to have friends in a fight. You don't need to worry about hurting anyone other than bad guys. Only bad guys left in this part of town."

The cub would have to make up her own mind about whether to flee or fight. He twisted his head from side to side, the massive vertebrae in his neck popping with gunshot intensity. A rifle floated over his shoulder on its sling. For a normal person, it would have been an intimidating large anti-tank weapon. For Grigory, it was barely a carbine.

"If you do stay though, lots of meat for the future. Hunt like this will keep old Grigory fed for weeks."

Daal

 

[Daal]

Her mind had already wandered. She felt the threat, and her pulse quickened as her breath became shallow.

"Red--"

It came out as a hushed, shaky whisper, she wasn't even aware she had said it.

Don't.

The shouts were louder. Closer. Her ears heard the sounds of voices, but her mind felt the intent.

"Red--"

You need to be in control.

Was it shouting? It sounded like screaming.

You're slipping.

"It's red--"

You can't even hear yourself, can you?

Her ears were ringing. Why were they screaming? Why was it so loud?

Stupid girl, shut up.

Her dirty hands reached to cover her ears, pressing her ragged hood against them. Her body felt the weight of the makeshift harpoon bump into her hip as it swayed with unassuming malice.

Your friend's trying to tell you something...

Why couldn't she hear him? She heard the bear's voice, sensed the movement, but it sounded as though she were underwater. Her vision clouded in a similar fashion, as the water became saturated with a cloud of crimson.

"It's all turning red..."

She felt a low rumble, only in her head, but it made her stumble. Her voice had grown increasingly frantic.

You've done it now.

The sensation reverberated down her back, through her legs, back up again, into her fingertips, and back up her arms. It was cold, unpleasant, like icy granules of sand forcing their way through every vein. It made her body feel heavy, dense, until it wasn't.

"It--"

She felt hot, and light, as though she were floating. The low rumble turned to a shrill ring, and it was all she could hear now, second to the sounds of the screams. But where were they coming from?

--'s all black now.

Her newfound companion had prepared its weapon, but her's had been at the ready this whole time. Her mind hadn't moved, but her body was gone, sprinting toward the threat. She tried to reach for it, stop it from leaving, anything she could do, but she didn't feel as though she existed in this moment. She turned to the bear behind her, but he wasn't there either. Frantically twisting her head in the opposite direction, her body wasn't there either.

The screaming...

The alley was empty around her. She couldn't feel the presence of anything, as though the city had disappeared around her. There was only the stench of blood, the ground beneath her feet, and the red sky above.

The sky!

Fearfully, she tilted her head up. The sky was not dark, but a foggy shade of bright rust, splintered as though a glass dome was coming undone above her. She knew what happened here, and knew she must run.

In reality, her body had propelled itself like a contorted ragdoll, by the unseen presence she could not understand, the loosening cable trailing behind her, harpoon in tow, just in time to greet the first figure that emerged into view. Her arm launched its payload onward, landing on its mark as it passed through the ribcage of the first participant of the unsuspecting mob. Her body continued past the target, and the harpoon was met by the hand it was tethered to. Pale, dirty fingers wrapped around the bloody, jagged rod, and held the improvised weapon like a lever as the muscles around it tightened and pulled with ferocity.

The first victim, with a durasteel cable threaded crudely through his ribs, had not yet processed what had happened to him before he was pulled so hard off his feet that his fellow thugs had thought for sure he had been run through by a speederbike, until they saw the crudely shrouded girl before them. Their shouts would fall on deaf ears, however, as their partner's crumpled body smashed into the ground on the far side of the girl, with such force that they couldn't say for sure whether it was pavement or bones that they heard cracking.

Tears were streaming down a face that recognized no emotion.

The stars...

She would not see stars tonight, after all.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

As far as concentrated displays of violence went, that was one of the more impressive ones, Grigory had to admit. The gangsters seemed to concur. Most of them looked at their dead friend, looked at the girl, looked at each other, and tried to run.

They didn't get far.

This Doll was a whirling dervish of death and destruction, and Grigory for one, approved.

"HA!" he bellowed, leveling his rifle and disintegrating a runner from the hips up with a single shot. His rifle sounded like a cannon in the confined space, the muzzle blast powerful enough to rattle the brains of everyone within range inside their skulls. Except for old Grigory, of course, his brain was well insulated from most forms of shock. Most of the thugs dropped to the ground in boneless heaps. Unfortunately, so did his new friend.

"сука блять," he muttered.

The fight was well and truly over, at least. It was a simple matter to brain stab the fallen. Too much meat to take it all with him, and he felt responsible for the cub, too. Ah well, he could take one or two with him for later, plus the cub. She didn't need a brain stab, just some time to recover from the shock. Next time, he would be more careful about not turning her lights off, too.

The girl, he levered onto his back with a couple of mind arms. His cargo harness wasn't exactly meant to allow for riders to hang on, but it worked well enough for that purpose. Rather than outright killing everyone, he partially severed the spine of a couple of the juicier thugs. They'd be paralyzed from the neck down, unable to consciously control any part of their body, including their vocal chords, which meant they couldn't put up a fight or call for help. But, they'd live, which meant they'd still be fresh when he got around to butchering them. They'd be able to feel most of it too, but he didn't worry about that overmuch. Judging by their boss and his operation, they didn't care about inflicting suffering on others, so he didn't worry about their feelings.

"Serves them right," he muttered, taking a swig of vodka and lumbering off towards the safehouse. If he couldn't get through the door, he could at least use his mind arms to get his companion onto a couch or something comfortable. He could work on the others while she slept.

Daal

 

[Daal]

The feeling of a taut cable ripping bone and tissue apart was one of the most unique sensations that could be experienced by such ragged fingertips, as though a string instrument had switched professions and dedicated itself to the pursuit of blood. A dull hum could be felt through the arms of the unhinged assailant as her anchored body became a fulcrum of demise.

Dying. Someone’s dying.

As she darted through the labyrinthian cityscape her consciousness had become trapped inside of, a deafening guttural choir of screams of had begun to echo from above with growing intensity. A large eye snapped open in the sky and fixed itself on her, unwavering from the task it was entrusted with. She wasn’t certain of the details, but she noticed a correlation between the eyes above, and the corpses left in her wake. It was hard to know for sure, because she was rarely in a position to consciously take a life. Nevertheless, they frightened her. She didn't know what they wanted, only that once they opened, they would not see anything other than her.

Run!

Stupid girl, you knew this was coming.

Run!

There are no stars to be had in a place like this.

Shut up and run!

You'd be better off if you just accepted your fate.

The sky above in this prison had previously been littered with these unwanted visitors on occasion, and no matter how many appeared, they would always set their sights on her. Rarely, they would not come, but the anxiety that they could appear sent terror adrenalizing itself through her perceived body. There were times where she would awaken outside of this place surrounded by bodies, other times alone. Even if she woke up alone, there were times that she still overheard rumors have discovered corpses, corresponding to these episodes. All she could suspect is that the eyes upon her meant death. She only hoped that they weren't coming for her. After all, it wasn't as though she enjoyed the blood. It was familiar, like dirt or grime, but she didn't enjoy those things either. They just existed around her, like a pestilent breeze come to sweep life away.

This is your audience. Hear how they applaud.

No!--

She tripped. The ground had shaken suddenly and with such magnitude she was helpless as her head met with the hard surface of whatever her mind was trying to convince her was actual pavement. In that instant, the nightmare ended with a thud and a dull ring that faded into silence.

The turbulence in her body was snuffed out in an instant by the concussion from the blast of the weapon that her unlikely companion had used.

Her eyes slowly opened to the sight of another unfamiliar ceiling above. It was clean, but dark. This was unusual. It didn't feel like she had been captured, in fact she felt safe.

Safe?

The safe house. She had ended up there somehow after all. Did she get there by herself? Likely not, as she had no idea where to find it to begin with.

The...bear?

Did that happen? It seemed like quite an unlikely encounter.

It's blurry again...

Her head was throbbing. She raise a dirty hand to her forehead to rub her temples.

It hurts.

She didn't know what happened after she disappeared into her own head. She wasn't consciously aware of how her body had ravaged itself through overexertion, the sore muscles and tendons that had no time to warm up before dedicating themselves to the role of harvesting life.

Someone died.

She began to cry, briefly, and a couple of muffled sobs escaped her lips. She had lost control, and someone else paid for it. Was it her new friend?

Was that real?

A giant furry companion did seem rather farfetched, in the course of events. Of course, she had to have ended up in her present location somehow. It didn't seem as if she had let herself in, as there were no noticeable holes or dents, or broken windows, or even the slightest bit of draftiness for that matter. As far as places to wake up go, this was definitely one of the better ones. She slowly sat upright, or at least tried to. She was dizzy, and immediately fell over into the floor with a loud thud. The soreness shot up her entire body all at once.

"Agh--!"

She yelped, and tried to pull herself up immediately, but fell again. Her hands were crusted with blood, as her eyes trailed up her arms and down her clothing, she realized that she was pretty evenly coated in dirt and blood. Such was her life. She sat upright, properly this time on the floor, and peeled off her outermost robe which had soaked up the most of the blood. She sat there in the dark room, staring at her dim surroundings.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

"I see you are awake," Grigory called from outside.

The safehouse wasn't in the city proper. Bossman had been a man of means, and had been able to buy up some actual land on the edge of town, and what's more, was paranoid enough to build a proper hideout on it. His main residence was several kilometers away, in the city proper, which must have been far more convenient for business. There was out of the way, and then there was straight out in the boonies.

The house part of the safehouse was constructed under an abandoned warehouse. The bear had been too massive to properly explore the complex; the only entry point was an airlock that would have been on the small side for a normal human. So, naturally, the first thing Grigory had done was to rip it out, to see if it could be made to fit his bulk. The answer was no, because the safehouse was also a bunker rated for anything short of a direct turbolaser strike from a capital ship. His light lance, too big to be considered a saber, might have done the job, but not without considerable damage to everything behind it.

Not that he minded. The bear wasn't fond of enclosed spaces, especially underground ones. Open sky and fresh air, that was the Grigory way. Camping outside the entrance to the safehouse was, probably, the closest he'd had to a good night's sleep in quite some time. Since last night's dinner was so paranoid that only a handful of his most trusted associates even knew he had a safehouse, and none of them knew exactly where, he wasn't worried about any of them looking for him here. Just in case, he set motion sensors along the perimeter of the compound, but he wasn't expecting trouble. Not yet, at any rate.

"I made food, found some clothes that aren't covered in blood," he shouted down the staircase that led to the airlock. "You don't have to wear them if you don't want, but option is there."

The strange cub had apparently been exhausted, because she'd been soundly passed out for half a day. Concussions, he knew, rarely resulted in unconsciousness for more than a few seconds. Anything more than that and either there was something seriously wrong with the brain, or they were so tired that their body took the lights being flipped off as an excuse to rest. His AK-141 could knock someone out with the muzzle blast alone if they weren't ready for it, as evidenced by the alleyway brawl, but experience told him that most beings didn't stay down long after. He was kind of embarrassed that he had forgotten to warn his companion about it, but frankly, she looked like she could use the sleep, and much more where that came from.

"If you want company, you'll have to come up here. Old Grigory, his fat arse can't fit through that door, da?"

 

[Daal]

Hearing the booming voice from outside startled her, at first. She welcomed the familiarity of it, consistency in any form was something she had rarely known. Per the bear's advice, she began to look more closely at her surroundings. The lights in the room flickered on, at an intensity almost overwhelming to her senses. Very rarely did she get to see the inside of many rooms that were clean, well-lit, and properly furnished. The one who put this property together had awful tastes, and was clearly a gaudy individual to anyone who didn't welcome chartreuse-colored carpeted walls and brass lampshades. Luxury made people silly, it seemed, as her eyes turned to a nearby stack of clothing. Rodians weren't known for their stature, many in fact weren't bigger than her, save for the girth of their mid-section. She fumbled through the stack, looking for something that wasn't dyed an obnoxious hue, or embroidered with something opulently tacky.

How could anyone stand to be seen in this?

Look who's talking...

She scoffed at herself. Sure, the apparel before her wasn't entirely a lost cause, as she thumbed through a few neutral-toned garments. Anything was better than the rags she had been traveling in. If anything, this was an opportunity that had presented itself. Perhaps a little color would lift her spirits.

If only these colors weren't so vulgar...

Wealthy individuals loved to flaunt their wealth. At least, the foolish ones did. Bright colors and gaudy decorations were seldom donned by those who didn't want to be seen. Still, she could work with what was before her, as she slid a thin, rusty needle out of her sleeve.

Maybe start fresh?

That's the first good idea you've had in weeks.

She set aside some gray layers, and a thick, black robe.

This was clearly his "please don't notice me" outfit.

She grinned slyly at her little quip. Those muscles in her face were very rarely used to make that facial expression, but it felt better to do it from time to time. Having been moving around for a few minutes now, the sore muscles and tendons were beginning to loosen up a bit, and moving had become easier. Her eyes looked to one of several mirrors hanging on the walls. Her lifted spirits sank at once, seeing the horror staring back at her. Who was this person? This gaunt, filthy, blood-crusted girl she made eye contact with? It saddened her to see what she looked like in this state.

Calm down. Look around you, you can do something about it. This is your chance.

"I'm...I'm going to try to find somewhere to clean up."

She seldom raised her voice, in fact she was rather sheepish when she spoke by normal standards. Fortunately, she suspected her new friend was fine-tuned for picking up quiet voices.

She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. She grabbed the clothes she set aside, and took them with her to find a place to bathe. It took some time, as the asinine architect of this establishment apparently needed all manner of useless rooms. One room even had a wall of monitors on one side, with visible camera feeds running. She could see the bear outside, from a couple of different angles. There were rows of lockers and cabinets on the other walls, as well as a few wallboards with blasters mounted on them for display.

See? The bear was real. You didn't make that up this time. Come back to this room later.

Finally, she found her objective. She didn't get to make use of such facilities often, and had never set foot in any so clean. After locking the door behind her, she turned on the water, and began undressing. This was a rather arduous process, given that she had to stop every few seconds to set a newly-loosened shard of metal to the side. By the time she had finish, a grotesque pile of debris had accumulated next to her. She hadn't felt warm, clean water in such a long time that she had forgotten the feeling. She felt refreshed, invigorated even, as her remaining soreness seemed to melt away for the time being. If she had it her way, she never would have left this room again.

Look who's enjoying herself for once. You should try to do this more often, relax a little.

But I can't afford to relax like this.

After quite some time had passed, and the water flowing down the drain beneath her feet was no longer brown, she stepped out onto the cold floor. A twinge of pain shot up her ankles, and she stumbled for a moment. She regained her footage and stiffly made her way to her fresh change of clothes, dressing herself. She could not remember having ever worn fabric so clean, or soft. The crusty, dirty pile of scraps in the floor nearby seemed like her entire world, before now. Even the weapons she carried seemed out of place in their crudeness. Most of the blades were filthy, covered in rust, or barely resembled anything more than a jagged spike. At the very least, she would keep the sewing needles, and tucked those into the hem of her sleeve.

That other room, though. The one with the cameras. I'm sure it has more suitable tools for you than these.

She ran her fingers through her damp hair repeatedly, and then made her way back to the room with the cameras. She felt lighter now, even though her eyes still felt heavy, her body moved with a renewed clarity. The soreness in her muscles had slowly crept back in, but she had a certain energy that she lacked before. Upon re-entering that room, she glanced at the monitors on the far wall from the doorway and saw the bear in the same spot as before. It was hard to tell what it was doing, but no matter, she was relieved it had even waited around this long. She turned her focus to the lockers and cabinets surrounding her on the other walls, and began rummaging through them. Most of what she found seemed rather useless, but every now and then she came across a stash of assorted blades, many of which were intended for concealment. She set those aside on a nearby table, which seemed as though it had been placed in the room for that purpose. Occasionally, larger blades presented themselves, but nothing that she thought she would be able to wield with any efficiency. If it wasn't on the smaller side, it was difficult to use with just one hand.

It's not as though you're the one who ends up using them. Or are you?

Shut up. I can't afford to carry nothing.

The blasters held no interest to her. They were always so loud, and flashy, Sometimes they even seemed to scream at her when she tried to use them. She hated those the most. It was no surprise that the owner of these weapons put them here, they seemed suited for individuals with such a taste for spectacle.

Speaking of tastes...

Her stomach growled. She wasn't sure how long she had slept, but surely it wasn't unreasonable that she desired food again. She found a container full of medical supplies, and after glancing across a few different pill bottles, opened one that she recognized and swallowed a couple. They would help with pain, at the very least. Her body would still need time to recover on its own.

I'm almost done. Just one more thing.

She returned to the main room, having bundled her newfound blades in one of the extra shirts she grabbed, tucked under her arm as she walked. She would sort through them later. The previous scraps of cloth used to cover her face were discarded with the rest of her old garments, and a suitable replacement was needed. It was comforting to having something, and this time she had just the right material. In the pile of clothes she had delved through, she saw a cloak that was a deep shade of burnt orange. It wasn't too flashy, but it was just enough color that it was pleasing to look at.

I've never felt fabric of this quality before.

Taking one of her new blades in her left hand, she sliced the cloak into strips of cloth. It was thin, but strong, smooth to the touch and soft. It felt as though it was quite breathable, which is exactly what the slapdash seamstress had in mine as she pulled some loose threads from the cloth and threaded her needle with them. Using a simple basting stitch, she made short work out of her project and threw it around her neck. It was now a scarf, wide enough to pull over her face if she felt inclined to do so, which she often did, and long enough to be layered several times around her face, neck and shoulders. For now, it draped loosely over her gray clothing, adding a spark of color she didn't realize she needed until she looked at herself in the same mirror from before. There was a clean, properly dressed girl looking back at her this time. She smiled faintly as she pulled her black robe over her shoulders, and set out to see her new friend outside.

Maybe he'll cook again.

Her stomach growled again at the thought.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

The air was thick with the aroma of a hearty stew. It had to be, because like most bears, his vision wasn't his dominant sense. His nerves were fairly inensate, all the better to withstand pain and discomfort, and his ears were of limited utility. His nose, on the other hand, was a precision instrument, and it was was that he took full advantage of.

Grigory's snout could pick out the exact moment when an ingredient underwent a vital reaction, and could capitalize on the moment in ways that few chefs could. He knew when to add garlic and onions to the hot butter in the bottom of the pot, how much salt to offset bitter gaminess, just when a pepper released its volatile oils, ready to be absorbed by mushrooms and meat.

In another life, perhaps, he might have had a long and successful career as a chef. It was a dream he still cherished fondly, though not one he could ever devote himself to. As long as the powerful exploited the powerless, he felt compelled to turn "eat the rich" into something far more literal than the typical activist was comfortable with.

Still, if he couldn't chase that dream and make it reality, he could share his passion for cuisine with the occasional lost cub who wasn't too squeamish to share his table.

"Dinner is ready," he boomed cheerfully as he heard feet on the stairs below. "I make plenty, and had time to do it right. Come, come, eat your fill. Enough for both of us, with plenty leftover for tomorrow."

The bear turned to look at the cub as she ascended to his camp, and was pleased to see she'd gotten herself cleaned up. That was a great sign. There wasn't a disease in the Galaxy that could share his blood with all the vodka, but fleas were another story. Vagrant cubs didn't always have them, but when they reached the Doll's state of raggedness, f fleas and lice were inevitable. And when you were covered in a thick pelt of insulating fur, damn near impossible to get rid of.

"I see you find new outfit. Good! Look much better now. Get some food in your belly and you might even look happy!" he said cheerfully.

 

[Daal]

"Thanks..."

She was still rather meek when she spoke, even in her more refreshed present condition.

Better to be not be seen or heard.

Cautiously emerging from the doorway of the busted airlock, into the more drab lighting of the warehouse the bear had set up camp, her eyes began to adjust to darker conditions. After being inside of the safe house for any amount of time, there was certainly an adjustment period. It was hard to believe that the dull gray around them was owned by the same person at one point. It wasn't falling into ruin, but it was quite dirty compared to the accommodations that had been prepared below.

This feels more natural.

She sat across from the bear, on a storage container.

That smell again...

The scent of a well-cooked meal was still a new experience to her. She had already forgotten the scent from last time, and by now the entire warehouse was thick with the smell of refined cooking, with only hints of the musty greasiness that previously dominated their surroundings.

But don't get used to it.

Hesitantly, her gaze turned upward. Large warehouse windows allowed light to flood in, and the sky outside appeared to be a normal color again. Relieved, she turned her attention to her new comrade before her.

"I... I don't remember what happened. There was food... and then... nothing."

A half truth. She remembered that her mind disappeared, and where it had gone. Where her body had gone in the meantime, or what it had done, was unknown to her. She felt the pain in her body when she woke, and her forearm even had a spiral of bruising from her lost weapon, which had been wrapped around it before things went dark. If a stranger saw these marks, they might have thought she had been dragged by her arm from a speeder. It didn't bother her, she had suffered similar marks for worse reasons. Such is life.

Speaking of food...

"I-I've never smelled food like this before."

Her stomach grumbled in agreement.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

"The secret ingredient is time," Grigory said. "You want good food, it takes time to make. No one say you have to spend all that time at once, mind."

The campsite in the warehouse was fairly expansive, and not just because its occupant was a good match for the word himself. He had a number of portable cooking devices set up: grills, smokers, dehydrators, even what looked like a small cauldron over an open fire. It was his practice, whenever there was a lull in work, to prepare food for the future. His massive bulk required a lot of calories to sustain, and unlike natural bears, he couldn't sustain himself for long off of stores of bodyfat. That wasn't to say he wasn't well insulated, but his metabolism was practically a blast furnace. You could get a lot of calories from hunting, sure, but there was more to life than raw meat and fat. And so, every chance he got, he prepared ingredients for those days when he wouldn't be able to take his time.

"What I don't eat now, I prepare for later. Smoked meats, bone broth, dried vegetables, I take the time to make now, so when there is much to do, I don't have to take time then. "

The bear waddled over to the cauldron, and used a brain arm to ladle out a healthy portion of the thick stew, and passed it over to his new companion.

"As far as what happened, you made good fight. Went a little crazy, but don't worry about that. I get a little crazy myself. Really showed those pigs a thing or two about up close and personal violence, let me tell you. You have a real gift, and I should know!" he boomed, not a little pride in his voice. It always pleased Grigory to no end to see a cub perform well. "After that, you got knocked out, and I brought you back here. Sleep for long time. Is good though, you need sleep after a fight like that."

He neglected to mention the part where he knocked her out by accident. It really had been an accident, and just a little one at that, but he didn't want to give her the wrong idea. He got the impression that she was a little sensitive about her penchant for violence, and didn't want to come across as chastising. She could really use some practice in control, but the cub had a gift.

"And now, here we are. So," he said, as he filled his own, much larger bowl. The stew was positively packed with calories, but he still needed a lot to fill his prodigious stomach. "Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

Daal

 

[Daal]

She graciously accepted the food given to her, reaching out to take the dish before her.

"It happens, sometimes. I lose control... and..."

People die.

"People die..."

Her hand reached toward the bundled weapons placed next to where she sat, she pulled out a thin blade, and proceeded to skewer bits of whatever she could. As she pulled the chunks away with her lips and teeth, the warmth and rich flavors seemed to melt over her, and even if for a moment, her anxiety and concerns mostly dissipated. In that moment, she was not in danger, it was okay to enjoy a hot meal so generously given to her.

Ask it.

"That thing you did... you made that stuff move... how?"

She had never gotten an answer before, back in the alley. She had never seen another being able to do that, let alone with such calmness and precision.

"I can't control it. It takes over, even."

You're stating the obvious at this point, stupid girl.

She didn't fully understand that the turmoil in her head and the power she had weren't necessarily a part of one another, but the they seemed to run in tandem.

"But I-I don't understand. No one would tell me what it was. They were afraid."

You were afraid, too.

I hurt them.

Don't make excuses for the awfulness of others.

They're all dead.

You're not.

She inhaled sharply, and exhaled slowly, and raised her bowl to her mouth to drink some of the broth. Any liquid was better than the filthy water she had to pilfer from unsanitary sources, but this broth was absolutely divine as far as she was concerned.