1.03.2008

...what you deserve.

They glided out from the white fingertips, extending menacingly towards Tic and Miraye; five venom-filled needles glinting threateningly through the meek light of day. A quick thrill embraced Tic at the sight of such an aversion, taking away the momentary shock of having somehow caused Larkin pain. The man eyed him silently, awaiting a response to his hovering question. Tic's eyes watered relentlessly; he looked down, needing not to look into those orange eyes, not wanting again to reveal his tears.

And who leads The Sink? He was unsure. What if Larkin rejected his answer? He couldn't let Miraye get hurt. After what she'd claimed to be the impetus behind such destruction, he felt bound to her; an obligation, perhaps, to protect her, to prevent her from being harmed in any way.

He considered lying; the forceful gaze could not control him now... but if only they would! To be unthinking and emotionless, spilling information unconsciously, was now more appealing than to be forcibly giving answers under threat; and those suasive orange eyes, so inviting, seemed now just as appealing...

His mind raced, searching for the words to please his captor, blood rolling slowly past his parted lips. Staring down into a stained tunic, he spoke, his soft voice strewn with uncertainty and hesitation. "I .. I don't know their names.. exactly." He paused, breathing softly, and feeling rather nauseous, "It is a.. a group of rebels.. known as," and he paused again. Nervously, he licked the blood off his lips, filling the void of momentary hesitance. ".. they are known as Rancors. Their base is located in.. in the center of the contin... "

A whisper suddenly sounded beside him. Tic turned his head, eyeing Miraye confusedly. What did she say? She was smiling; dazed, almost lost. Something was wrong with her. Rabbits? He stared at her briefly, feeling awkward and uneasy, longing, and fearing, to know what was wrong.

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