Soul Mates? Or not. . .

[twisting]

Kuriel toyed with her food, eating slowly and enjoying the break in her day. She sat in the corner of the nearly empty mess hall, watching the straggle of prisoners file through the line and fill there trays. The lunch rush had already come and gone, and Kuriel would soon have to be on her way as well. She liked these quiet moments of people watching. With the new addition of candidate lessons heaped on top of her already full workload any peaceful moment was something to be appreciated.

The prisoners in their matching red jumpsuits seemed like little dolls. Stripped of everything that made them different and forced into perfect matching molds. Only the occasional bald head broke up the monotony that was Warden’s weyr. Just another doll to be shaped and formed. She wondered if she had looked as broken as these new arrivals did. They had the haunted look of addicts fresh from detox. Kuriel frowned down at her tubers as she thought back to her own detox. The experience had nearly killed her. Her memories were blurry, but she was fairly certain there had been biting involved in her detox. Whether she had bitten the healers or herself she couldn’t remember.

A flash of white caught her eye, and a tiny smile pulled at the corners of her mouth as she watched him enter. He was notorious around here. Everyone said he was crazy, that he’d killed his lovers and slept with the rotting corpses. Kuriel watched him shamelessly, as she watched all of them. Her critical gaze the reason for most of the empty space surrounding her chosen dining position. Kuriel had spent much of her limited people watching time observing the more violent prisoners in the weyr. She didn’t understand their rage anymore than she understood a mother’s love. Watching helped her make sense of it; helped her to catalog every emotion. Most of the violent offenders here had committed their crimes while strung out. Others had let their anger go. She wanted to know if he was any different. She watched him move through the mess hall the way a cat might watch a caged bird. Hungry to know more.

[nozomi]

Machi did not, in fact, have sex with corpses, nor did he sleep near them. What happened to his pets after their untimely demise was up to Natasa as that was her department, after all. Had been her department at any rate before Machi had been taken in by that sharding decoy and the mate of the dragonrider he'd killed. (The man should have known better than to stick his nose into things. Machi stood by his decision.) The accusation of 'rapist' always rubbed him the wrong way (heh). It did not keep him from being shaven while in detox or wrapped up in the strait jacket or held up in that hell hole until (poor, sweet L'vey) convinced Warden to free him.

Nor did it help him in the matter of his shackles except during mealtimes. Even Warden agreed to allow the youngman out of those leather bindings during mealtimes, provided he did not use utensils in order to eat, or trays, or even a hard cup. Wineskins filled with water - klah at breakfast - and a limited diet of vegtable-rolls and, sometimes, meatrolls. Machi liked the meatrolls. Guards always held him up, kept him till the end so the guards wouldn't have to watch him too hard due to lack of prisoners. They made sure the prettier young men had gone before Machi allowed to enter.

Precautions, after all.

And so, with all of that in mind, Machi kept up with the slow shuffling walk, eyes down in the very picture of subdued criminal. Let the Dusters pretend they had lost the taste for the stuff (he knew better, so much better), let the thieves continue eyeing what shiny things remained in the prison - Machi would rather sink into a rather mindless mask to keep the good food and the good graces of the weyrlingmaster.

(Oh, L'vey, when he got free of the shackles and the guards and the jumpsuit, you will be the only one left alive. Machi made a list of those he would spare; only L'vey and his Faeth occupied the list.)

He walked slowly to the front of the mess hall to retrieve his meal of two rolls - one meat, one vegtable - and the small skin of water. Machi turned towards the crowd, eyes flicking from side to side under his lashes, pale as they were. He saw a girl.

A waif, better put. She saw him so Machi kept looking, dead eyes narrowing in the slightest fraction. The guard nearest to him cleared his throat and shot the man a warning glance. In response to his uncouth and unspoken demand, Machi turned on his heel to face Kuriel and started towards her.

"Where do you think you're going, murderer?" The guard took a step after him and Machi feigned a flinch from his demanding fingers. His pace slowed into the typical shuffle. The guard did not go after him them but rather simply watched as the pale, quiet prisoner rounded out on Kuriels table. He did not see Machi's chin tip up a notch or how hooded eyes studied the young lady.

Machi put his skin on the table across from Kuriel and sat down, rolls in hand.

[twisting]

Kuriel watched the man who sat across from her. She took in the lack of tray, or utensils. Soaked in the guards and leather shackles. Apparently this man was considered dangerous. She moved on to his face. The paleness was interesting, but the empty coldness of his eyes truly intrigued her. Even the hardest of the violent offenders in this place had more life in their eyes than this fellow. His gaze was only matched by the empty shells that were hauled out of the detox area on stretchers. Little did she know how often her own eyes echoed that emptiness. Kuriel didn’t get in front of a mirror very often.

Kuriel dropped her gaze, pushing the food around on her plate before glancing up through her lashes. “Should I be frightened?” She asked, almost playfully, “or honored?” She twirled the spoon in her fingers, half taunting him with her additional freedoms. Toying with dangerous things gave her a thrill. It wasn’t a strong sensation, but there was something about walking a fine line between a horrible bloody death and sauntering off unharmed that gave her a fuzzy feeling inside.

She’d learned to play this game while at Warden. Kuriel’d managed to creep out more than a few of the hard core criminals. The girl passed it of to others as a survival method. Act a little crazy, and the toughs left you alone. It had never come to violence, at least not violence that could be traced back to her. Kuriel frowned slightly at the guards, the game was more fun without a safety net, but if this guy lived up to the hype, they weren’t much of a safety net.

[nozomi]

Kin called to kin. Blood to blood. Insanity to insanity. They both had their addictions and each pretended to have recovered from them, Machi from murder, Kuriel from her Dust; maybe the shared lying and lurking sociopathic tendencies were why he did not attempt to scare the girl with words or restrained actions. Warden could not hold him responsible for a lack of social skills, could he?

(Yes, he could, and would, but Machi pretended not to know that.)

He looked to the flicker of the utensil and, ever so slowly, trailed his eyes back up to her face. The pale man could kill her with that spoon, imagined how, even, with eyes and the scooped end, the handle and her throat. So easy. Even with the shackles, the guards... Machi blinked instead, a wonderful and quick witted response. It said something for his interest in Kuriel that he did not snap his shackles threateningly as he had with Daman or narrow his eyes in a glare that had more than a few guards taking a step back when he bothered.

"Excited I'm not thinking of at least three different ways to kill you with just that spoon." Machi took a small bite of his first roll, the vegtable one. He shrugged, shoulders small under the jumpsuit. The guards shuffled, tensed with the possibly non-threatening words he'd said in that low, nasal voice of his. "How about that?"

He'd tell her about how the dipper would fit or the four other ways easily imagined for that fork and the major blood vessels that took just enough pressure to hurt but -

THe guards would never appreciate the information. Nor would L'vey or the Warden.

Best keep it to himself.

[twisting]

Kuriel raised an eyebrow teasingly, she kept her face mockingly lighthearted, but the swift dilation of her pupils gave away her excitement. “Only three?” She asked, flirting lightly. Flirting, she was flirting with a serial killer. Even she was sensible enough to realize how foolish that was. She didn’t really have any romantic interest in the man, just in what he could do for her. What could he do for her? Beyond a few exciting moments in the dining tent? Not much, his keepers watched him to closely for that. Besides, she would be sacrificing everything she had worked so hard to build up, including her chance to get out of here. This man was poison, he would destroy her.

That made it so much more exciting.

Kuriel set down her utensils and focused all her attention on the strange man in front of her, not bothering to hide her scrutiny. “You’re not the beast they say you are. At least, not the raving beast. I think you enjoy it, all the attention you get from them. All the fear.” She smiled softly, knowing what it felt like to frighten people, it could be empowering. If she cared for such things she might have continued down that path, but dust gave her more of a high than bullying ever would. “It’s just a game to you.” It, being life. Kuriel knew just what that felt like. She played the game too.

[nozomi]

"Six."

Machi watched Kurial bat theorhetical lashes and talk about her games, his lack of (outward) crazy. She flirted with a known serial killer and that on its own raised what little opinion he had of the girl, if nothing else. Oh, female she was, and a crazy one at that, to be saying such things, but Machi liked him his crazy girls. He could utterly crush her hopes of ever escaping, maybe, but he had a soft-touch on his side. Being kind to Kuriel ... Well. No one knew of his sister. So she talked and they stared one another down, though Machi never ceased those small and careful bites of his vegtable roll. Guards gave an alotted time - Machi would be damned if he didn't eat.

Very carefully, slowly and without malice, Machi put his elbow on the table and extended his hand, fingers relaxed. He looked to the spoon, and back to Kuriel, before speaking, a murmur. "I am a mad canine, not a wild beast. Canines have their leashes."

An indication that Kuriel may be safe in his clutches? Maybe. Either way, he bit into the meatroll with a ferocity not exactly required for the poor roll in question. It'd be so much easier to look less creepy if he just looked away from the wraith of a girl, so easy. Unfortunately, Machi had no clue what 'acting' really felt like, not in the way Kuriel did.

"You're crazy. Aren't you." Oh, Machi. You and your wonderful way of asking questions.

(I understand if you don't want to continue this because of Djith and all the new stuff going down, but I felt SUPER BAD for not responding to you before. My apologies! Didn't want to leave this hanging because I fail at multi-tasking.)