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The Kiffar was an oddity, wedged between two men at a corner booth she held a limp cigarra between her red stained lips, scarlet toned sunglasses with round lenses upon her well shaped nose and weary smile on her sun tanned face.
She used the table as a foot stool and burdened the air with smoke rings.
"’Chou’ boys." she said, titling back her chin tiredly with her cut throat birth mark displayed like a crime scene- a port whine stain running from her lips, down her neck like a cascade of splattered blood.
"Treat me right, I might be going to hell tonight," she said.
"Crom Dailey wants me dead and the way I see it- he always gets wha’ he wants." She spat the trinket from her mouth and lifted her head back to scan the bar.
"Crom Dailey wants me dead and His blaster is about to make damn sure he’s a happy man."
She lifted her perspiring glass and toasted herself.
"So if I’m to be dead by first light, lets make me a happy woman tonight!"
She swallowed it down hungrily and gave a refreshed recoil of sound as she slyly smiled.
Seraque Kistal had lived her life in debt. Her birth was a fluke- her existence should not have been and she did what she could to repay the family that was not meant for her for their compensation. The way she saw it, She’d been given a life that should not have began and so she attempted to redeem herself by giving it meaning- she made it have meaning.
She put herself to good use, served her people, fought their wars and only held herself and her father to blame for the blunder of her being. She didn’t seek approval, she simple wanted retribution.
But as she sat in the casino, feeling utterly alone as she waited her maker…she was not satisfied.
Though she considered herself grateful for having anything to boast of when she was a family’s undoing - something still left her empty- hungry for more then that.
She excused herself from the two handsome zeltrons, suddenly wanting to be rid of their company as she slipped back into the casino.
The bright lights put her at ease but the unwanted attention directed at her markings left her with a distaste.
She entered the fresher and began to cover the thick red with putty like make-up, hardly leaving a trace or the scarlet letter and gazing into the mirror with suddenly enlightenment.
Her only regret was worn upon her face- her clan’s denial to mark her as their own.
She let her hair down and shook it free, laughing with abandon as if life’s punch line had just been whispered in her ear.
She stepped back into the lively light show and sang to herself, feeling only the freedom one who would not face the next day could muster.
“Drop dead, cross breed!’
That was what Dailey had shouted when he found her with his son.
If embracing him marked her for death she wondered what punishment she’d have received for being willing.
She used the table as a foot stool and burdened the air with smoke rings.
"’Chou’ boys." she said, titling back her chin tiredly with her cut throat birth mark displayed like a crime scene- a port whine stain running from her lips, down her neck like a cascade of splattered blood.
"Treat me right, I might be going to hell tonight," she said.
"Crom Dailey wants me dead and the way I see it- he always gets wha’ he wants." She spat the trinket from her mouth and lifted her head back to scan the bar.
"Crom Dailey wants me dead and His blaster is about to make damn sure he’s a happy man."
She lifted her perspiring glass and toasted herself.
"So if I’m to be dead by first light, lets make me a happy woman tonight!"
She swallowed it down hungrily and gave a refreshed recoil of sound as she slyly smiled.
Seraque Kistal had lived her life in debt. Her birth was a fluke- her existence should not have been and she did what she could to repay the family that was not meant for her for their compensation. The way she saw it, She’d been given a life that should not have began and so she attempted to redeem herself by giving it meaning- she made it have meaning.
She put herself to good use, served her people, fought their wars and only held herself and her father to blame for the blunder of her being. She didn’t seek approval, she simple wanted retribution.
But as she sat in the casino, feeling utterly alone as she waited her maker…she was not satisfied.
Though she considered herself grateful for having anything to boast of when she was a family’s undoing - something still left her empty- hungry for more then that.
She excused herself from the two handsome zeltrons, suddenly wanting to be rid of their company as she slipped back into the casino.
The bright lights put her at ease but the unwanted attention directed at her markings left her with a distaste.
She entered the fresher and began to cover the thick red with putty like make-up, hardly leaving a trace or the scarlet letter and gazing into the mirror with suddenly enlightenment.
Her only regret was worn upon her face- her clan’s denial to mark her as their own.
She let her hair down and shook it free, laughing with abandon as if life’s punch line had just been whispered in her ear.
She stepped back into the lively light show and sang to herself, feeling only the freedom one who would not face the next day could muster.
“Drop dead, cross breed!’
That was what Dailey had shouted when he found her with his son.
If embracing him marked her for death she wondered what punishment she’d have received for being willing.
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