Kindred: Hearts of Darkness

[Arameth]

She's waiting for you, Arameth.

A gloved hand lifted, the index finger belonging to that slender but strong appendage dipping into the steady tick at Arameth's pale temple. The pain hadn't receded. It had been there ever since he’d received the message from his home world. Home. That’s what it had once been. But now, only the charred remains of his family estate and the ghosts of his past lingered there.

Ghost chasing was precisely the matter presented before him in that message. So many times he’d told himself that he didn’t care. He’d buried his heart deep beneath the ruins of what had once been his life. A life with parents, brothers, and a dear friend that now suffered because of mistakes he sought to forget. No. A single mistake made by he and his brethren. He silently cursed that single letter that had been sketched with such loving venom into the data pad’s virtual sequence.

L.

There was no mistaking who’s signature it was. No mistaking who the ‘fragile miss’ in his letter was either. She had always been getting into trouble one way or another. Always tripping along behind the brothers three, beating up on the other boys in the neighborhood, and swearing like a pilot in front of all the grown ups. A damned nuisance who had learned everything she knew from a certain eldest brother and himself.

He might’ve smiled then…

The longer you take, the deeper I cut into her. I wonder what will be left of her when you finally get here.

If it weren’t for one small detail, he’d already be on his way.

You’ll bring Marek. If you must know, I’m more interested in him than anything.

Beneath all the rubble, choking on the dust from the collapse of his childhood dreams, writhing in the blood he’d shed when his kind and just demeanor split, was still the heart he left behind. It continued to beat for the young woman he could almost hear whispering his name, it thrived for the loyalty still pledged to his dying line. And maybe, just maybe, when all of this was over, he could slice through its fierce, annoying cadence once and for all.

[Poison Rey]

"If you were a man, you'd come in here and shut me up yourself, you dick!" she was screaming through the bars covering the doorway of what had once been a bedroom perhaps. She didn't quite know where she was, all she knew was that the Messiah had been hijacked on her way to the outer rim, and she'd been overwhelmed by six big brutes that had knocked her out and dragged her here. Not without a fight, mind you, Poison never went down without a fight.

Except now, she was at the mercy of whoever her captors were. No names had been given, they already knew hers. So far, she had a couple broken ribs, and a nice black eye. They hadn't pulled out the big guns yet. Apparently, they were waiting on someone, and they were giving him a time slot in which to show up. If he didn't she was toast. But Poison was taking it as a lot of smoke. She'd grown up hard, she'd go down hard. Her ribs were only broken because she had fought back, and her eye wasn't too bad.

It was union coffee break apparently, because the man who had been standing next to the makeshift cell was no longer there, and she could hear faint talking in the next room. Her throat hurt from yelling out at them, and her legs felt like jelly. The big man who had come in an hour previous had promised torture weapons during the next session. Poison couldn't wait.

She had overheard them discussing someone whom she had thought disappeared a long time ago. It brought back the memory of a time when she could boast she was one of the boys. She'd tagged along with them like they were the brother's she never had, looked up to and respected them above any adult, copied everything that they did, and learned everything she knew from them. Some of the memories weren't so good. As tough as she had acted, she'd still only been a little girl, and following such three boys around brought it's share of disappoinments and fights. According the the grown-ups, they were a "bad influence" on her, and many attempts were made by more responsible adults to influence her correctly, show her what a little girl ought to be doing.

Poison grunted as she gave up and lowered herself to the floor, gripping her side for dear life as she gritted her teeth through the pain. Her face and body was sweaty from standing up and yelling through the sharp agony in her ribs. She let out a shuddering sigh and leaned her head back against the wall, running her tongue over her bottom lip, smiling at the familiar metallic taste of her lip ring. Droplets of her blood decorated the room from the previous hours of beatings, open cuts and gashes on her face and back had spread it around the room.

Poison didn't know why it was her that was in this damn room, instead of some other poor sap. Her brain was too spent already to consider it anymore. In her current state, she was too weak to help herself anymore. She just hoped a miracle walked through the door.

[Arameth]

He knew what kind of company his brother kept, he knew exactly where to look for him. The gossip was extensive on the city planet and he had been trained to route out the truth from the lies. It was easy, after having lived with the slovenly subject for more than a third of his life. Marek tended to stick to the lower levels of the Hwang District, an area filled with low life scum and villainy that even he couldn’t respect, brothels and bars that reeked with the worthless souls that inhabited them, a colorful tattoo parlor where one of his brother’s close friends worked.

Rumor was, the place had almost been closed down after Marek had stirred up some trouble with the local authorities. Alexander, the middle brother and high class entrepreneur owning half the District above and so forth, had taken care of it with ease. Arameth rolled his eyes as he thought about them, the power they both had in one way or another. He had hated them so when he had learned that they had killed his mother. But then, the events that led to that happening…

He winced and turned his silver, tinged with flecks of azure, gaze upon the door leading to the tattoo parlor. The name of the owner was Yukio and he and Marek had been seen together off and on for the last several months. Arameth’s face twisted into a sneer. While Alexander had men at his disposal, Marek just took care of things himself. That would make obtaining his brother all the easier. Curious, though. Laurent hadn’t even mentioned Alexander in his message.

The young, dark haired Odarian looked up from the counter and their gazes clashed. He looked more like Marek then any of his other family, perhaps the artist was momentarily confused. His smile was sharp, cruel, and slowly he entered the pictured establishment. He stepped up to the counter, his eyes trailing over the walls and chairs before once again settling on the young man.

Lifting Iniquitous, the curved sword he kept forever at his side, he set it upon the counter in silent threat. His smile, all the more dangerous, lingered as well.

“It’s always something, right, Yukio? I’ve come for a word with my brother.”

[Yukio Ogata]

Yukio didn't like the way the guy felt as soon as he walked through the door. And when he grinned like that and laid his sword on the counter, Yukio knew who it had to be. Only Marek could have a brother as crazy as this. For a moment, Yukio looked at the man, deciding whether being sarcastic, or being obedient would be better for everyone. He leaned back from what he was writing, and with a finger, slid the blade towards the man, unphased. After hanging out with Marek long enough, he was used to seeing people with weapons coming into his shop.

"It's sterilized," he said, quirking and eyebrow and sticking his pen behind his ear and chewing on his cheek. He turned away and walked back to the divider, grabbing it and leaning around it to holler back up the stairs where he was sure Marek was up in his apartment area.

"Marek?!" he hollered. "You've got an especially pleasant brother in here who wants to have a word with you! I swear to God if you don't make him get his blade off my counter, It's you I'm castrating!" he yelled, turning back around and grabbing his pad of paper off the counter, where he wasn't surprised to see the man had not moved his sword. Yukio ignored it, tossing the paper on the table as a customer came in. Yukio glanced over at the menacing man and jabbed a thumb towards the door to his apartment.

"He's up there, probably smashed, if it gets messy all I ask is you clean it up," he informed the man, waving his hand as he walked around him. "Help yourself."