exile, villify.

a tes and d&d oc. written by piri (30, he/they). dead dove. follows back from pennyawfuls.

carrd. / ask. / memes. / lore.

were they?

amma doesn't know.

she doesn't know if she can have friends. she doesn't know if sofie can have friends. she doesn't know if friends are possible, in their shared line of work. it shouldn't be. connections-- feelings-- are a liability. a bad decision. a sign of someone undisciplined and childish, still hoping for a happy ending, even as they manufacture hell for other people.

she thinks of all the times they went out drinking. all the times they celebrated victory. the way sofie smiled when o-ren taught amma how to swing a single-edged blade. the way sofie had fluttered her lashes in surprise at the kickback of a crossbow amma taught her how to hold. she thinks of how soft and gentle sofie's hands were, as she took hold of the weapon.

sofie doesn't have the fucking stomach for this line of work. she never wants to get her hands dirty.

amma knows a way to really keep them clean.

people only say that shit when they are on the losing side. if they're about to win, or have already, they just put their sword down anyway. it's a display of power. i don't need this thing to kill you. amma knows this from experience; she's put her sword down plenty before.

she doesn't put her sword down now, though.

amma theylin is a quick thinker, at the best of times, and even when she cannot think, she knows to act. her hands know how to find her daggers or a throat; her feet know how to run; her legs know how to open. she has not lived this long by being lucky.

or so she thought.

perhaps her luck's run out.

she inhales. her mouth is dry. she swallows. then, she visibly relaxes, like she is relieved to be so vulnerable. she smiles. she bows her head. she tries to let her rough voice soften to a purr.

crouched at the edge of the broken temple floor, staring down into the darkness of the crypt within, there are certainly more comforting words to hear.

not that amma was expecting comfort from an oblodra. but, still. iymkiira hasn't exactly instilled confidence in the little sneak-thief. she's perfectly aware of her own capabilities. iymkiira's loyalties, on the other hand...

amma doesn't want to turn her back on a drow psionist. it is not the first time this tadpole has forced her to do something that she does not want to. it will not be the last. she grinds her teeth, and reminds herself she will be kililng people, soon.

"i always do."

amma doesn't respond to that immediately.

peace has never been a word she would use to describe her work. bloody. grisly. murder. torture. dark work, done in dark places. larcenous. dishonorable. profitable.

(she hopes that bonnevance has peace, in his own afterlife. she hopes that he is laying in the sun-kissed fields of arvandor, listening to heavenly birdsong, and not thinking about her at all.)

(he forgave her for killing him. he said so, even as her dagger cut the words out of his throat. she knows that he was a good man, who wanted to do good things, and leave the world better than he found it-- that he wanted to help, to heal. he was good and kind, and the last thing he said was i love you, i'm sorry.)

she will have to live with that.