#tray writes

He sat on a bench in the Lavender Beds. His face was upturned towards the the grey sky so he could feel the rain on his skin and let the water wash away the tears that were leaking from his closed eyes.  A bottle of whiskey was clutched in one hand while he held his revolver in the other.  His thumb idly caressed the hammer of his firearm as if he was stroking the cheek of a loved one. The rain continued to fall.  Streams of water ran past Tray’s feet.  Yet no amount of running water was going to carry away the pain he was feeling inside his chest.  The fire of emotion that had been sparked earlier was blazing out of control and it hurt him.  It was agonizing.  The masochist realized he had found a pain at long last he didn’t want to feel, a cruel sensation he wanted as far from him as possible.  He hated Kublai.  The man had manipulated him for his own ends and thrown him to the very literal wolf in the form of Kets and his smug, snide sneers. Tray’s hand shook as he reflected on that miqo’te’s gloating face as the smuggler relished the idea of ripping Ket’s throat out with his fangs.  But he hated himself even more because he’d seen Jak’s hatred for him and how he had let her down again.  Her words to him still echoed in his head, each recollection of her voice causing him to feel even further agony inside his chest.  Why wouldn’t the pain stop?  Why wouldn't moko and booze make this stop?!  Why had he ever let himself fall for her!  Neither of them was stable enough for this!  Yet, it was too late. He was trapped, chained to her by links of his own creation.  He stifled a chocked gasp in his throat and took several long breaths to try and gain -some- measure of self-control over his emotions and mind.  It felt like trying to control Bahamut itself.  He dropped his bottle, long since empty, and hunched over.  His right hand clutched at his heart as another wave of emotional pain seized him.  Mismatched eyes opened and they stared at the revolver. How many failures had he had in his life?  He had come into this world being called a mistake by his mother and his legendary curse of being a living disaster had followed him ever since.  How many mistakes? How many failures?  When would it be enough?  What foul star had he been born under to have the audacity to continue, to press forward, when all he seemed to bring was chaos?  Everything had been in hand.  He had been atop the world as his mechanizations had come together.  Moon Shine was poised to succeed and he had been so proud.  But then...this. His fingers tightened around the firearm and he watched his calloused thumb caress the hammer.  He knew he could take the pain away, punch out before it got worst, succeed where no one else had.  But is that what he’d do? Wasn’t that him being a hypocrite?  Him who said “I want to feel it all, both the good and the bad?  I want to feel alive because what do I feel when I die?”  He closed his eyes and hung his head. “Not that death is actually an escape for meh anymore.” he rasped with a weary chuckle.  Now that it had been revealed to him what would happen to him upon his death, the bitter reality of his cursed existence settled in.  There was no escaping this pain, no freedom from this torment.  He was a damned soul, fated to suffer forever it seemed. He dropped his revolver onto the ground and clutched his head in his hands and as he tried to let everything get lost in the rain and let his emotions become a muted grey until he felt nothing. (Mentions of @miqojak and @ketsuchikotetsu here.  Thank you both for ruining by boy’s initially very happy and successful weekend. LOL.  XD))

The doors to the ‘Coffer and Coffin’ crashed open as a man came tumbling though them.  The Seeker bounty hunter bounced across the deck and then down the front steps to slam hard onto the dirt and gravel of the Thanalan road.  The stars gleamed in their cold, fey light overhead as they watched the figure slowly pick himself up off the ground, blood leaking from his nose and mouth as he pulled a knife from his belt and spun back to face the open door. He swallowed as he heard a terrified scream suddenly replaced with a sinister ripping noise which in turn was replaced by at  a wet gurgling.  The bounty hunter felt his hand tremble as his eyes beheld the red-headed miqo’te tearing the throat out of his victim with his fangs.  Tray dropped the thrashing body in his hands to the floor and turned to look at the remaining bounty hunter, ignoring the man at his feet as they clutched at the gaping hole in their esophagus.  They were already dead, they just hadn’t realized it yet.  The bounty hunter watched as Tray slowly approached him, the smuggler’s jack-boots thundering on the wooden planks of the floor.  Tray slowly chewed the pulpy mound of muscle and meat in his mouth before swallowing the red mess.  Crimson coated his face and dripped from his chin as he gifted the bounty hunter with a sadistic smile that exposed his fangs once more. “Ye shoulda left like I told ye too when ye had teh chance. Ready to eat yer words, meow?” Tray purred, his head canted to the side as his lone, blue eye blazed with a feral hunger. “Go fuck yourself!”  The bounty hunter exclaimed, forcing himself to sound bolder than he felt.  Tray could see the Seeker’s knife-hand shaking.  “What, ye can talk shit when ye have two friends at yer side, but meow dat it’s just meh an’ ye, ye lose yer nerve?  What happened to ye swearin’ ye was gonna collect on meh bounty, eh?”  Tray licked his lips.  He continued to advance, the boards of the steps creaking under his weight as he descended them.  With each step forward Tray took, the bounty hunter took one step back. “Ye just like ever other fuckin’ Seeker male I’ve had teh displeasure of fuckin’ interactin’ with of late.” Tray snorted as his wicked-looking bone knife flashed from his belt and spun through his fingers.  The bounty hunter could see the years of dried blood coating the hooked blade’s surface.  “All talk an’ zero bite.” “Screw you!” the bounty hunter drew back and hurled the knife in his hand.  He turned to flee.  He had seen Tray butcher two of his comrades that night and didn’t fancy his chances alone against the ghastly apparition of feral bloodlust. The bounty hunter’s world was suddenly fire and agonizing pain as something bit into his legs and his Achilles’ tendon severed.  The muscle snapped up the inside of his leg like a bow-string as the suddenly useless limb wobbled underneath him and then gave out.  The bounty hunt went sprawling face-first across the Thanalan road for the second time that night and cried out in agony as he looked back to see Tray’s knife of bone sticking from his leg. Tray was right behind him, clutching at his side where the Seeker’s own knife had found a new home.  The seeker seized a rock, rolled over, and hurled it at Tray’s head in a desperate Hail-Mary attack.  Tray caught the rock in his free hand before he hefted his boot and brought it crashing down on the man’s knee.  There was a horrible shattering sound as the bone gave to the impact and the leg bent backwards at an unnatural angle.  The seeker screamed again and tried to do anything to help himself but another kick found his gut and took the air from him as he rolled over onto his belly.  A blow to the side of his skull dazed him and his head began to swim.  Pain, fear, and now confusion rattled around in his jarred brain as he felt a finger dipping itself into the head-wound as if it was an quill dabbing up ink. A few moments later, the Seeker felt his head jerked up violently by his hair.  His blurred vision was greeted with the sight of the rock he had thrown painted with the words:  “Failed Father.”  in Tray’s handwriting. “Told ye I was gonna make ye eat yer own words.”  Tray sneered as he recalled how the Seeker had used the insult not once but twice earlier, before the bloodbath had started.  The memory heated Tray’s blood further and he  crammed the rock into the other male’s mouth, heedless of any damage done to jaw or teeth.  Tray let the Seeker’s head fall to the ground before he stood up, lifted his boot up on high one last time, and then drove it down to merge skull, brains, and stone into one messy mix. The stars overhead watched as Tray turned from the twitching ruin at his feet and began to return towards the ‘Coffer and Coffin, pausing a few times to drag his boot in the earth to clean away the bits of bone and mush.  He came to the front door and met the horrified looks of the owner and the few remaining patrons.  He reached into his coat to pull out a rag and wipe away some of the mess on his face.  “Meh apologies for teh incident.” Tray said sincerely to the wide-eyed people.  He reached into his coat and tossed a large bag of gil over to the bar tender, who let the bag fall behind the counter and spill on the floor.  “Reparations for teh cleanin’.” Tray nodded as he turned and quickly made tracks away from the building and bodies before the Blade’s showed up.  Once he was a good distance form the bar, he gave a small whistle and then began to sing softly: ‘What do ye do with teh drunken whaler...”

“That well, hmmm?” Chows lightly laughed. “Yeah, dat well’.” Tray started. “I sense a ‘but’ coming on.” Chows mused. “Aye.” Tray nodded as he stepped over a fallen branch.  “Dis lass named Eiai I am acquainted with got drunk and wild.  Was a party after all, nothin’ new.  But she went steppin’ up at one of meh Bluesky family an’ things got tense. An’ I may have threatened to cut off her hand if she ever threatened on of meh people again.” “Fiery disposition.” Chows mused.  “But was to save face.” “Yeah, well based on a chat last night, sounds like I pissed some folks off.” “You? Making enemies? Noooo.”  Chows snorted, almost sarcastically as he chuckled.  “They gonna be a problem?” “The messenger I got last night implied I had burned bridges an’ if I stepped wrong, they would be one.  So meh plan is to just avoid ‘em.  Dey wanna get mad cause of drunken words an’ straight up foolishness, dat’s their waste of energy not mine.” “That’s one of the most mature and level-headed reactions I think I’ve ever heard from you, Tray.” Chows commented with mild, pleased surprise.  “Two years ago, you would have been on a war path.” “Well, I’ve done some growin’.” Tray admitted.  “An’ I got someone dat expects better out of meh den dat.” “Well, I have expected better for years.” Chows smirked. The pair of miqo’te reached the small collection of buildings and headed for a small set of stables that sat on the outside of the village.  The smell of chocobo’s hung heavy in the air as the entered.  A single wagon sat in the middle of the stables.  There were four stalls, one in each corner of the building.  Three of the stalls held a dozing chocobo.  The fourth stall was open and full of reigns, saddles, tools, and a young, red-haired miqo’te youth currently attaching a set of spurs to his boots. “Vren.” Chows greeted the young male warmly and the young miqo’te turned and fixed Tray and Chows with a sheepish grin as he quickly rose to his feet.  “Chows, I, good morning!  And you must be Mr. Estinoch.” Vren said, clearly both nervous and excited as he stood there, holding the boot in his hands.  His nervousness grew as Tray’s one, blue eye squinted at the younger man.  He could feel Tray’s gaze scanning every inch of him. Vren gave a nervous chuckle and licked his lips as Tray turned to whisper softly to Chows: “Where ye find dis kid?” Tray said, in a hushed tone. “He comes from Vesper Bay.” “Uh huh.  An’ ye clearly have noticed who he looks like...” Tray commented, glancing back at Vren. “Part of why I hired him.” “Any chance there’s a connection?”  Tray flicked his tail. “You tell me.” Chows commented casually and Tray gave him a dirty look. “I see yer game, don’t think I dont, Chows.”  Tray grows softly before turning towards Vren and took a sniff. “So, Vren.  Chows says yer a chocobo racer.” “I am, sir.”  Vren stammered, twisting the boot nervously. “Ye driven many wagons?” “Often, sir.” Vren nodded several times. “Ever been in a fight?”  Tray asked.  Vren seemed a little surprised. “A few, sir.” “Ever killed a man?” Tray cocked his head. “What, no!” Vren blinked in surprise. “Been arrested for any crime?”  Tray’s eye grew more intense. Vren shook his head.  Tray grimaced and looked at Chows.  He was about to speak but Vren interjected. “Sir, look I know that you’re a mostly legitimate business that’s planning on using it to move moko down south.  Chows told me.  I understand I’m not your ideal candidate, but I can make any run faster then any other driver and can tend to the birds better then anyone else.” Tray paused, looked back at the youth with his mismatched eyes and red hair and then winced as he looked away. “Chows, he can tend to the birds. Pay him for that. But I’m not putting a child on these drives when he could get hurt an’-” “Sir, I am not  a child!”  Vren exclaimed.  “Sir, please.  I have no where else to go and need this!  Chows said he’d sponsor my racing in exchange for making these runs.  I’m not even making gil off of this work.  Please, let me do this!”  Tray refused to look at the boy as he looked towards Chows. “He can do this.” Chows said, having clearly taken a liking to the boy.  “He can make our runs -and- help us launder like we planned with his races.” “He’s a child. One who is potentially in harms way in the driver’s seat.” Tray warned. “And you weren’t when you where harpooning whales at his age?” Chows reminded Tray of his own youth.  “I won’t risk another Yimir situation.” Tray hissed.  “Then see too it he has guards on his deliveries.”  Chows replied sternly.  “You hired me to run things here while you do your duties to Bluesky, and I hired this man to do a job and -will- use him.  So you want to see him protected?  Do your part.” Tray paused.  It wasn’t often Chows’ got stern and put his foot down. He was normally willing to let Tray run about freely.  But when Chows did bring out his old, military bearing, Tray knew there was no changing the older man’s mind. “Anything happens to him, dis is on ye.” Tray clicked his tongue as he looked back at Vren, who was still holding his boot, both defiant and nervous. “Alright, kid.”  Tray ran his tongue over his teeth, studying Vren’s features one last time.  “Ye get -one- trial run.  Ye fuck it up, ye come off teh wagon and stay here tendin’ to teh birds.  Understood?” Vren nodded his head too fast to speak and Chows tried not to laugh at how comical it was.  Tray grunted and exited the stables to give Chows and Vren time to talk. Once outside, Tray went for his moko pipe but paused.  He looked down at the pipe in his hand, and then put it away.  He needed to think, not blur.  He had to talk to Jak,and get some guards on the delivery.  It was no longer an options.  He wasn’t about to have the blood of another kid on his hands. Especially one that looked like Vren did.

“Tray.” Frandrin repeated the name of the prisoner.  This crying miqo’te interested him.  “Why do you weep so heavily?” “Cause I killed another person.” Tray answered, clenching his fists as tears fell from his eyes.  “I…I couldn’t forgive him for killin’ my mate.  God’s I tried.  I swear I prayed for peace and to be a better man but I couldn’t!  I couldn’t find it in my heart to forgive him and I killed him.” Frandrin blinked, so surprised at this powerful display of emotion from this man.  He looked at Tray’s hands and then the tears.   “This man killed your mate?”  Frandrin asked softly.  Tray nodded. “Aye.  We took money out…a loan…to open an orphanage.  But…my farm wasn’t making enough gil, we defaulted.  They came to rough us up for the money and got so rough they broke…” Tray sobbed and pulled his knees to his chest and hugged them. “Y’Mara open this cell.”  Frandrin ordered.  The guard raised her eyebrows but did so.  Frandrin, dressed in rich robes, entered, and pulled out his handkerchief.  He offered it to Tray, who looked at Frandrin in surprise. “Why…why…” “Was this the first person you have ever killed?”  Frandrin asked.  Tray nodded slowly.  The lalafel placed the handkerchief into Tray’s bloody fingers and gave a small smile. “Never in my life have I seen someone so repentant for a crime many would say is justified.  Losing a loved one like that….and too have wanted to have forgiven them….I wish more of mortal kind was like you.  With a heart like yours.” Tray swallowed, confused.  He blinked his tear-filled eyes and Frandrin could see the miqo’te’s regret. “Guard, dress him, let him shower, and bring him by my office.” “Beg your-” Frandrin snapped his fingers and the guard shut her mouth.   “Sometimes all people need is a second chance.” The Monetarist gave Tray a small smile. Tray suddenly heard another voice, dark and twisted, cackling.  He realized it was his own voice. A second chance was given And that given faith was riven As yer beast deep within Came to love yer sin As ye finally realized Yer goodness died within. Tray slumped down on the tree, his eyes opening as the looked at the sun rising over the ocean.  “What am I?” Tray asked, and for the first time that day, no internal voice answered; because no one knew. ((Wheeeew! This got loong as hell.  Fallout after finally running into @repose-and-run ‘s char after a long time apart and past and present collided.  Scene had allt he feels and Tray’s reeling from it.  Was fun to get to mention Frandrin again.  Miss him.  Probably my favorite antagonist I’ve gotten to make for a plot))