She did not flinch when the doors opened, only pulled herself up to her admittedly not impressive height and lifted her chin, fingertips resting lightly on the smooth surface of the desk as if she were preparing to brief her Captain on a survey mission.
Trailed by merely two security officers, each wearing an impressive scowl that turned to leers at the sight of the two females, the Vaek'Riov marched into his quarters, silent rage emanating from him in near tangible waves. But underneath, … satisfaction. He had been right. She had done exactly as he thought she would. And now she would pay the price.
Without as much as sparing a glance for Yyaio, he strode up to the desk and looked across the polished wood for a split second before he reached out and gripped the Vulcan by the neck, slamming her down with enough force to expel the air from her lungs. No struggle. None at all.
Curious.
A cold, malevolent smile on his lips Itsak took in the half-eaten food, the alluring way the green silk outlined the supple, unresisting female form and frowned slightly at the dried blood in the matted, tangled curls. "Well now. It seems we have a problem, lady Vulcan."
"I should think that much is obvious, Vaek'Riov."
For a moment, his grip increased its pressure to the point where the slender neck seemed a hair's width from snapping, but then he gave a dry, short laugh and pulled the Vulcan across the desk by her hair before flinging her across the room. If she turned slightly in mid-air, it could well have been coincidence because either way, the impact against the wall had enough force to stun her into silence.
Yyaio watched with stoic resolve, her expression an inscrutable wall.
Beneath, Savant churned. It would be hard to call them emotions, however - could one quantify emotions in the same way? There were things to quantify, however, and Savants' complex differentials operated furiously beneath the silent mask. What would be the results of interfering now?
Would they have a net effect for her utility functions, or would they be net negative? The situation changed quickly, however, and Savant simply didn't have the power to deal with it all. Sadly, she de-coupled Sakarra's condition state from her operational matrix for the time being, placing it on an intermittent status. She simply could not afford to interfere, not while the escape of all the captives hung in the balance.
"Yes." He looked at the Vulcan who lay on the floor exactly as she had dropped there, sprawled on the carpet, the mass of luxuriant curls curtaining her face. But even as he watched, she began to stir and propped herself up on her hands.
"Yes indeed." Slowly, menacingly, he walked across the room to look down at the curve of her back, the bruises beginning to bloom on her neck. Stubbornly, she tried to get up though the heaving of those pretty round shoulders spoke clearly of the effort it cost her, and then that finely chiseled face lifted and the jet black eyes fixed on his face. Not dizzy, disoriented, or even frightened – and while he had expected the former, the latter would have been … disappointing, somehow.
Defiant. And for the merest instant, there seemed something more, a flame extinguished as quickly as it had sparked to life.
How interesting. Delightful, even. Grabbing the abundant hair once more, he hoisted her to her knees and noticed with satisfaction the small but audible hiss as she sucked in a sharp breath. "Yes, it seems you are still not aware of your changed position, … Commander." Still no resistance, no tension whatsoever in the pliant, lithe limbs. In fact, were it not for the eyes that held his violet gaze with a mind-reader's unnatural, disquieting intensity, one could think she were kneeling on the pillow in her quarters again, interrupted in her meditation. He was no fool to think this effect wasn't intentional, that she did not want to let him know that a kneeling Vulcan was far from a beaten one. As if he did not know.
"Allow me to clarify." Slowly, deliberately, he traced her throat, her neck, where the unflattering lloannen'galae uniform would display rank, and then tugged on the silk that barely managed to cover her shoulders. Shoulders that still bore the marks of his knife, and though it gave him no small amount of pleasure to remember … his brows knitted to see the formerly flawless skin so marred, the perfection ruined. Almost thoughtful, his thumb brushed over the faint white line crossing her collarbone – that at least seemed to heal well – and once more, there was an impression of … this time, he saw it clearly. Fury. Pure, unfettered fury, come and gone in the blink of an eye.
Delightful indeed.
Fast, much too fast for even his security officers to react and get out of the way, he hurled her across the room again, and again she seemed to have anticipated it. The collision with the startled Galae officer was little more than a soft thud and the man did not even lose his stance as she dropped at his feet. And again, she propped herself up, slowly, lifting her eyes.
This would take some doing. And he would enjoy every second of it.
Black eyes, darker than night itself. Betazoid. Mind reader. Oh, her file was clear enough about not having to fear unwanted intrusion, even if he had not been taught how to repel such things. But still, those deep, dark pools seemed to look right into a man's soul, never giving away more than a shred of hers in turn. He wanted to make her stop, to force her to lower those eyes, and if it meant beating her until the consciousness faded from them. And knew he would cradle her in his arms the very moment after.
Realizing he had stood frozen for long enough to make his officers throw him cautious, puzzled glances, Itsak strode towards the stubborn Vulcan, once more dragging her to her knees and pulling her back towards the desk.
"You seem remarkably unconcerned about your work being ruined again so soon, Yyaio." Hardly unexpected, the other Vulcan had not moved at all and he smirked at the impassive face, the battered, swollen eye. Oh, he had noticed the ruined dress as well. Which of them had done it was of little consequence, but the pathetic thing seemed to have at least some use, evident by the towels and the soap. "Was it that your loyalty did not allow you to stop your superior? Well, perhaps I shall have to demonstrate precisely why you should have."
He hoisted the Vulcan to her feet only long enough to smile at her, the razor-sharp, predatory smile of a Le-Matya about to taste blood, and for a second seemed to consider striking her so she would be flung over the desk and into the wall behind. Instead, she was slammed down on the hard surface again, a vice-like grip squeezing her throat.
"What would you consider an appropriate punishment, Yyaio? And I should speak fast if I were you, your superior is in no condition to survive long without air."
No struggle. No resistance. It was almost as if she were yielding, only he knew better. Just as he knew better than to interpret the brief movement of her hand as the plea for mercy he would sooner or later force from her. No, it was meant for the other thaessu.
Letting his free hand trail over a silk-covered leg, Itsak raised a sarcastic brow at the blue eyed one.
Yyaio's jaw worked once, as if chewing the question over. It was a ridiculous question, meant to provoke the emotions. In a turbulent, emotional situation such as this one, even a Vulcan would have a difficult time replying rationally. Choose the punishment for a friend and superior? Either choose pain and suffering, or deny the question and provoke even more suffering? It was a cruel question, with pain the only foreseeable answer.
Fortunate that Savant's heart was made of sterner stuff.
"I believe that the channel for addressing grievances agreed upon by both the Federation and Romulan Star Empire is a political deliberation between adjudicators, Vaek'Riov. I also predict that you will find this answer unsatisfactory, and that my logical reply will rouse you to further violence." She didn't skip a beat, and her leaden eyes did not waver. He was beset on all sides by stubborn, raven-haired chattel who did not know their place.
The security officers, knowing well the signs of a storm brewing and about to break loose, seemed to shuffle backwards while keeping their curious, almost delighted glances riveted on the scene unfolding before them. In their minds it was only a question of when the Vulcans would die, and how slowly. And which would suffer more, succumb first. The flicker of rage on tr`Sahen's face was unmistakable. As was the brief jerking of the hand that still held the slight, slender one with the surprisingly lush curves in its choking grip.
To their surprise, that grip suddenly loosened and the Vaek'Riov broke into a low chuckle.
"A thaessu with an ounce of wit. Ah, who would have thought." His hand casually dropped away from the bruised neck, only to toy with the hem of the silken dress, pushing it up a little further. Lovely, sculpted legs but as marred as the shoulders, the once golden toned skin much too pale … she did not move and he was tempted to shake her, a brief frown creasing his brows. No, she was breathing. Still breathing.
Before the relief could show on his face, Itsak turned towards Yyaio and lifted her chin with one finger, studying the swollen cheek "Crude."
Not that the bland, tasteless creature deserved better, but it lacked refinement all the same. And there might be use for this one yet. "Further violence." He chuckled again, deep in his throat. Humorless, menacing. "No, I think your superior and I shall have the rest of our … discussion in private. But you may take pleasure in the fact you have spared her a public lesson."
Pointing his chin at the door, Itsak dismissed the guards and nudged Yyaio into the closest one's arms "Take her to a cell. She has earned water and food. Do see to it she's able to look after her friend when she's needed."
He did not wait for his order to be obeyed but turned back to the still, silent Vulcan sprawled exactly where he'd left her. Breathing. Ah, still breathing.
As soon as the doors slid shut he pulled the limp, unconscious body against his chest, burying his face in the sable curls that smelled of blood and a faint trace of the scent that had haunted his dreams since the night on I'Rak Prime.
"Ah, lady Vulcan. What ever shall I do with you?"
[End Log]
LtCmdr Sakarra Tyrax
Executive Officer
Savant
Aka Yyaio the witty Vulcan
USS Charon
Vaek'Riov Itsak tr'Sahen
Fleet Commander
Galae'Krha-Sei
