Mercy tat
Mercy sat in Erik's apartment, the hate and tension in her blood soothed away.
She had both a programmed and instinctive dislike of anyone more powerful than her psychically who was not on her side. It was why she despised Smith... No, that wasn't true. She avoided him because he was a threat she couldn't kill right now. She despised him because he was Black Tabs - a traitor - a psi who had joined the Coalition Security Force and hunted down other psi. But right now, she hated the thing in that building more. That self assured almost reptilian mind that was all knives and velvet. And his High Drake accent was appalling. Show some respect for the Draconic language? He should stop bloody speaking it!
Mercy didn't like to remember how close she had come to being caught by that mind or destroyed by Smith - so she let Erik cause her to forget.
She had spent an hour walking round, looking at the strange assortment of possessions he had acquired - found, stolen, bartered and hard won no doubt. She studied each piece, each trinket and tried to divine why Erik had picked it up.
The metal chair for example, the one that looked cold and elegantly uncomfortable. Erik had picked it up because it was the sort of chair rich empty people liked to have in their rich empty homes, everything clean and minimal. The scurrying part of Erik's mind snikkered at the thought of how the rich people would feel if they knew. The other chair, the wooden one, black and singed with age and carved to look like a throne... Someone Erik had cared for had liked that sort of chair but had not been able to afford one. His mother or father perhaps... And so Erik had taken it, to remind him - when he let himself remember such things.
Other things had simpler reasons. Electrisity could be unreliable in this part of the city so Erik had many candles. They sat in ornate silk lanterns and in wrought metal candelabras, in simple silver holders and in the tops of coloured glass vials. Those Erik had simply because he liked them; the rat in him wished to have treasures that shone or were soft to line its nest with.
At last, thinking of territory and how she might be invading his, Mercy sat, watching a single candle flame burn at the top of its silver holder. She amused herself by shaping the flame. Such things did not come as easily to her as to Firebird, but if she was careful she could shape the flame with her mind, push it one way or another tug it for a second or so into a specific shape. Sphere... star... pillar... cross... something which might be a bird or a butterfly... a heart... The heart she held, releasing it just enough every second so it gained the air it needed to keep burning and seemed to beat in time with her own.
Shape the flame... A heart of fire...
Mercy's eye's widened in surprise and the top of the candle exploded in a small shower of molten wax as two ideas colided into her head almost simultaneously.
She bit her lip. The first idea was elegant - poetic even - but might not be possible at all. The second idea was brutish and absolute, but it got the job done. She preferred the first and knew that Erik and her companions in arms would as well. But she hoped they would understand - he would understand - if it came to the second.
She had both a programmed and instinctive dislike of anyone more powerful than her psychically who was not on her side. It was why she despised Smith... No, that wasn't true. She avoided him because he was a threat she couldn't kill right now. She despised him because he was Black Tabs - a traitor - a psi who had joined the Coalition Security Force and hunted down other psi. But right now, she hated the thing in that building more. That self assured almost reptilian mind that was all knives and velvet. And his High Drake accent was appalling. Show some respect for the Draconic language? He should stop bloody speaking it!
Mercy didn't like to remember how close she had come to being caught by that mind or destroyed by Smith - so she let Erik cause her to forget.
She had spent an hour walking round, looking at the strange assortment of possessions he had acquired - found, stolen, bartered and hard won no doubt. She studied each piece, each trinket and tried to divine why Erik had picked it up.
The metal chair for example, the one that looked cold and elegantly uncomfortable. Erik had picked it up because it was the sort of chair rich empty people liked to have in their rich empty homes, everything clean and minimal. The scurrying part of Erik's mind snikkered at the thought of how the rich people would feel if they knew. The other chair, the wooden one, black and singed with age and carved to look like a throne... Someone Erik had cared for had liked that sort of chair but had not been able to afford one. His mother or father perhaps... And so Erik had taken it, to remind him - when he let himself remember such things.
Other things had simpler reasons. Electrisity could be unreliable in this part of the city so Erik had many candles. They sat in ornate silk lanterns and in wrought metal candelabras, in simple silver holders and in the tops of coloured glass vials. Those Erik had simply because he liked them; the rat in him wished to have treasures that shone or were soft to line its nest with.
At last, thinking of territory and how she might be invading his, Mercy sat, watching a single candle flame burn at the top of its silver holder. She amused herself by shaping the flame. Such things did not come as easily to her as to Firebird, but if she was careful she could shape the flame with her mind, push it one way or another tug it for a second or so into a specific shape. Sphere... star... pillar... cross... something which might be a bird or a butterfly... a heart... The heart she held, releasing it just enough every second so it gained the air it needed to keep burning and seemed to beat in time with her own.
Shape the flame... A heart of fire...
Mercy's eye's widened in surprise and the top of the candle exploded in a small shower of molten wax as two ideas colided into her head almost simultaneously.
She bit her lip. The first idea was elegant - poetic even - but might not be possible at all. The second idea was brutish and absolute, but it got the job done. She preferred the first and knew that Erik and her companions in arms would as well. But she hoped they would understand - he would understand - if it came to the second.