by Devmond Incarnata on August 2nd, 2011, 4:01 am
It did not escape him that the Akalak’s description of the attack was simple and humble. Devmond had criticized him before on his blatant honesty. Now there was a growing respect as he watched him tend the carcass. It was not the respect that was the conviction of a wrong move leading to being thrown dead in a ditch. Although, that was a small, small sliver of the whole emotional spectrum. No, Devmond had to raise an imaginary offering bowl in salute. Erato was even closer to becoming a Symenestra surrogate.
Erato was even closer to him. Although being ridden on a rail through memory lane, he was only in ire. She looked ready to faint, her pale lips in a quivering line. It bothered him that she had not laughed at his joke. Perhaps, this was better. In silence, the insincere offer of protection seemed to be accepted. The lovely Erato snuggled her soft hair into his neck. He had to suppress a small laugh as the spot was a little sensitive. Distracting the gut reaction to push her away, he put both hands around her and gave gentle squeeze. The Akalak looked pissed, although, trying to hide it. Devmond glowed like a latern.
Sure, muscle man was nice. Cute as a green button. Kindness, however, does not get you very far in Mizahar. This taught to Devmond from even before he could know the meaning of each sound from his father’s mouth. The world had almost been destroyed. Now everyone, every race, was fighting for survival. Many of those races would be more than happy to kill you, if convenient. This was no longer about the individual. The yearly harvest was a testament to the race’s success. This was about community. About having families. About sex.
Devmond knew how to know, if you wanted to name the number one, most rigidly practiced hobby. There had been times, in his teens and a few months ago, that he could no longer remember which girl was with what day. It was not for the kids. The women he slept with were mostly, after all, Symenestra women. Devmond had no intention of sliming the already skimpy population. No, it was to help understand what women craved. Through trial and error of hypothesis galore, he found the most effective thesis in the science of love. Play the bad boy.
It was instantly successful, worked hour after hour. Arrogance was considered your most attractive trait. Paying wads of money on edgy clothes made them want to take it off. Breaking the rules, being dangerous, made girls want you to teach them to dance dirty. They never were bothered by you sometimes forgetting they existed while in the same room. Tons of super-hot-chicks are always hanging out at the nest, you say, you better act fast. You were never mean outright, but dominated through manipulation. If they knew the ploy, they thought it made you intelligent.
Why? Girls want guys who surprise them, who are interesting. He had been naturally snarky and perceptive, the traits had only to be prompted. So, Devmond put unpredictability and a subtle dominance under the belt. You had to do more than just be trying to force with honesty or kill with kindness. The Akalak was doing it all wrong. Poor guy. Poor little, Nilky. Devmond snorted at the new nickname. He’d have to use it sometime.
However, the Akalak remained as clueless as ever and seemed preoccupied with eating. Rambling as he stood there horribly soaked. His request in a cook for the now ‘official’ party seemed to fall on the wrong four ears. Erato could well be put under psychological trauma at having to even touch the mutilated corpse. She currently seemed to be using his neck and shoulders to block out even the man’s voice. As for Devmond, he was under some specifically biological short comings. Symenestra did not cook. Well, occasionally on holidays you’d pull out the old recipe sheets and prepare a few simple meals. The daily meals, the fruit or meat, were drunk straight from the source. The poisoned fangs softened the insides and you downed it like soup.
“I’m afraid that I cannot help you, newfound companion. I happen to be a very horrible cook. Even if I did not make every meal into mush, I would not know how to tender or prepare such meat. It is a strange creature would need more skill than I.” Devmond said. For once in that entire day, he had been at least, for now, entirely honest.