☼ RUTH OF HOUSE IESHAN ☼רות
"down to the root of the thing. / to the chromosomal confusion. / to the atoms that are made up, / the bone & flesh & tendons & / bloodshed."
"down to the root of the thing. / to the chromosomal confusion. / to the atoms that are made up, / the bone & flesh & tendons & / bloodshed."
The smile that coils across Ishak’s mouth is bitter. I don’t know if most people would notice (Ishak is good at pretending to be someone he isn’t, or something) – but when I look at the curl of his lips, and when I look at the hard glint in his eye, I know that it is wry. He is only smiling to fill space.
I don’t smile back. I’m sure that he isn’t expecting me to.
Did I tell you about the time I impersonated a painter? Oh. This one, again.
“You did,” I say, but I shift my weight from hoof to hoof and settle, because I know that he will retell at least a bit of the story regardless. It is the only assassination that he will tell me about, so I think that he likes to drag out the details as much as possible.
“I botched the followthrough. Probably the closest call I had before meeting you; doused a guard in paint just to escape.” He tosses another grape into his mouth. I try not to find it distracting.
“…did you finish the job or not?” I can never remember, or maybe I’m never sure; botched doesn’t mean that no one ended up dead, at any rate, and that is what I am asking. From the sound of things, he did. I feel like it warrants asking regardless.
The curve of his lips seems to sharpen like the edge of his knife; it’s more smirk than smile, now. Sometimes I consider how many people at these parties are Ishak’s former clients. I never pay enough attention – intentionally – to notice. I’m sure that I don’t want to, but sometimes I wonder what they think of me, with him trailing like a shadow in my wake almost anywhere I go. It’s funny; I would have thought that client would have been long dead by now. That’s Solterran justice for you — retaliation.
It’s best not to think about it.
“Solterran justice catches the weak, the foolish, and the unprepared,” I say, coolly. In most of our history, the most powerful figures in our nation have been by far the most corrupt; if it were a matter of justice alone, no monarch would stay in power for long, nor any house. It’s ultimately an issue of cleverness, and of luck. “If I had to guess – your client is still alive because he is none of those things.” Even if I suspect, from Ishak’s question, that his former client is currently outrageously drunk. Perhaps he has friends – or family – in high places. At any rate, his presence alone suggests that it is more trouble than it would be worth to do anything to him, and, besides, I am no murderer.
(It would not bother me to murder, I suspect, but I don’t want to test the point and find that it is true; and, moreover, I am still cross with Ishak.)
There is one other thing, beyond the issue of the bracelet. I am not sure that Ishak and I are done quarreling – that this is some kind of peace offering -, but, if we are, I am sure that what I intend to do after the party will reignite his frustration. “Ishak. Have you seen Adonai?”
I ask like I don’t know where he is. I do – I picked him out when the party began, because I am tired of waiting for him to come to me. I don’t know when the idea of talking to my brother became so oppressive, so horribly distant, but I’ve grown tired of it.
I’ll find him tonight. It’s as convenient – and inconspicuous – a time as any; in fact, it might seem stranger if I didn’t see my brother, during an occasion like this.
@Ishak || I'd joke about RKS sponsorship but every Ruth post is actually sponsored by RKS so || here
I don’t smile back. I’m sure that he isn’t expecting me to.
Did I tell you about the time I impersonated a painter? Oh. This one, again.
“You did,” I say, but I shift my weight from hoof to hoof and settle, because I know that he will retell at least a bit of the story regardless. It is the only assassination that he will tell me about, so I think that he likes to drag out the details as much as possible.
“I botched the followthrough. Probably the closest call I had before meeting you; doused a guard in paint just to escape.” He tosses another grape into his mouth. I try not to find it distracting.
“…did you finish the job or not?” I can never remember, or maybe I’m never sure; botched doesn’t mean that no one ended up dead, at any rate, and that is what I am asking. From the sound of things, he did. I feel like it warrants asking regardless.
The curve of his lips seems to sharpen like the edge of his knife; it’s more smirk than smile, now. Sometimes I consider how many people at these parties are Ishak’s former clients. I never pay enough attention – intentionally – to notice. I’m sure that I don’t want to, but sometimes I wonder what they think of me, with him trailing like a shadow in my wake almost anywhere I go. It’s funny; I would have thought that client would have been long dead by now. That’s Solterran justice for you — retaliation.
It’s best not to think about it.
“Solterran justice catches the weak, the foolish, and the unprepared,” I say, coolly. In most of our history, the most powerful figures in our nation have been by far the most corrupt; if it were a matter of justice alone, no monarch would stay in power for long, nor any house. It’s ultimately an issue of cleverness, and of luck. “If I had to guess – your client is still alive because he is none of those things.” Even if I suspect, from Ishak’s question, that his former client is currently outrageously drunk. Perhaps he has friends – or family – in high places. At any rate, his presence alone suggests that it is more trouble than it would be worth to do anything to him, and, besides, I am no murderer.
(It would not bother me to murder, I suspect, but I don’t want to test the point and find that it is true; and, moreover, I am still cross with Ishak.)
There is one other thing, beyond the issue of the bracelet. I am not sure that Ishak and I are done quarreling – that this is some kind of peace offering -, but, if we are, I am sure that what I intend to do after the party will reignite his frustration. “Ishak. Have you seen Adonai?”
I ask like I don’t know where he is. I do – I picked him out when the party began, because I am tired of waiting for him to come to me. I don’t know when the idea of talking to my brother became so oppressive, so horribly distant, but I’ve grown tired of it.
I’ll find him tonight. It’s as convenient – and inconspicuous – a time as any; in fact, it might seem stranger if I didn’t see my brother, during an occasion like this.
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HE FEEDS ME RED MEAT / HE WATCHES THE BLOOD POOL IN MY MOUTHlaughs at my red teeth❂please tag Ruth! contact is encouraged, short of violence
