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Morathor
Supernova
- Joined
- Feb 19, 2012
- Location
- Midwestern USA
"Please."
They said it all the time, of course. Please. Please. Please, I can't afford it. Please, I need a little more time. Please, I never meant to cross you. Please, I'll make it up to you. Please, forgive me. Please, don't kill me. Please, please, please, please, please...
In fact Elica had mostly stopped listening to what came after 'please'; in her bountiful experience, it meant they had nothing of value to offer. If they did, they would have offered it. So listening to their pleading was a waste of time. Elica may have had all of eternity stretching out ahead of her, but that didn't mean she had all day.
This one, though, was different. Not because she had any tangible value--no money to speak of, no exceptional skills, nothing to set her apart from every other piece of meat to walk these streets. It was just... her voice. That sweet, desperate little voice. The fear that overwhelmed her, the spark of hope that gave her the strength to at least ask, the despair that threatened to swallow even that up. It had stirred something in Elica. Not sympathy; she could never sympathize with a human in that way. They were beneath her. No, that voice had stirred excitement. And Elica was eager to hear it again...
And so the girl was not dead, not lying in the alley where Elica had found her. Not laying in a puddle of her own blood as it oozed out of her stomach. Instead she laid was on a couch, under a blanket, in a penthouse, still unconscious but very much alive. Very much clean, and very much naked; aside from being exquisitely comfortable, that couch was outrageously expensive, and Elica wasn't risking any bloodstains from the girl's body or clothes on the upholstery.
They said it all the time, of course. Please. Please. Please, I can't afford it. Please, I need a little more time. Please, I never meant to cross you. Please, I'll make it up to you. Please, forgive me. Please, don't kill me. Please, please, please, please, please...
In fact Elica had mostly stopped listening to what came after 'please'; in her bountiful experience, it meant they had nothing of value to offer. If they did, they would have offered it. So listening to their pleading was a waste of time. Elica may have had all of eternity stretching out ahead of her, but that didn't mean she had all day.
This one, though, was different. Not because she had any tangible value--no money to speak of, no exceptional skills, nothing to set her apart from every other piece of meat to walk these streets. It was just... her voice. That sweet, desperate little voice. The fear that overwhelmed her, the spark of hope that gave her the strength to at least ask, the despair that threatened to swallow even that up. It had stirred something in Elica. Not sympathy; she could never sympathize with a human in that way. They were beneath her. No, that voice had stirred excitement. And Elica was eager to hear it again...
And so the girl was not dead, not lying in the alley where Elica had found her. Not laying in a puddle of her own blood as it oozed out of her stomach. Instead she laid was on a couch, under a blanket, in a penthouse, still unconscious but very much alive. Very much clean, and very much naked; aside from being exquisitely comfortable, that couch was outrageously expensive, and Elica wasn't risking any bloodstains from the girl's body or clothes on the upholstery.