Unity – Mosaic
by Commander Isha t'Vaurek
Post Details
"All hands, civilians and crew. An enemy vessel has just de-cloaked outside Deep Space Five. You are to report to your muster stations. All docking bays are to be sealed … Civilian members are to make their way to their quarters. Do not panic." Commander Davies stated.
Panic, Isha thought, panic is what she should have done when Getal assaulted her, not passively accepting his violence. She was still on her knees in the corner into which he had thrown her as if waiting for permission to get up, down where the window met the wall, head bowed and her arms wrapped tightly around her body. Her flesh throbbed where his fingers had left their mark.
There was a certain sort of male that abused her in this way: the alpha type, able to physically intimidate, always ambitious and always powerful, but tainted by a deeply embedded insecurity. It was if Isha’s own power and independence posed a personal affront to them, something that had to be quelled. They demanded nothing less than her complete submission to their control and each time the technique was the same. The combination of superior physical strength, measured and swift brutality, the harsh threat of more, and manipulation of the crushing weight of guilt she carried with her was one that Isha had never been able to fight; Nniol had used it against her, Rh’vaurek had used it against her, and now Getal.
Still weakened from the trauma of her visit to ch’Rihan, her son’s betrayal of her and his execution, her own tribunal and the deal she had cut with the Senate to save herself and her House, it had taken him less than five minutes to break her.
His message to her was simple; You live because I choose to allow it!.
Isha could not allow herself to be found this way, tearstained and beaten. She pushed herself to her feet, stumbling as she took a step, forgetting that in the struggle she had lost a shoe. She stooped and pulled off the one that remained letting it fall from her fingers as she straightened. Her legs were unsteady and bruised from her fall, each step an effort.
As she passed Isha drew her fingers over the thin gash he had made in the surface of her desk, reflecting that if she had not stopped to remove his knife and trade insults she would easily have reached the door to her suite. She reached it now steadying herself against the wall as the door hissed open.
She locked it behind her.
For the first time Isha allowed herself to look at her reflection, there were so many cracks that she was hardly a complete being - only fragments representing one. A weak dishevelled creature, her hair hung down on one side where one of the bodkins that secured it had fallen out, strands were sticking to her face in places glued by drying tears. The ruched fabric that crossed over her shoulders and gathered into her bodice was askew and the skin on her upper arms was marred and mottled down to a deep dark green almost touching black where his nails had almost split the skin.
Isha turned away from the looking glass her gaze falling to her wrists, she could hardly believe they were still intact, she had been so certain that he as going to snap them both. Her skin, usually translucent was livid and sore to the touch, even flexing her fingers caused pain.
She had underestimated Getal despite Rh'vaurek's warnings. Isha had learned to her cost that Getal was not simply another posturing bully, he was another posturing bully but one both willing and able to follow through on his threats. That made him dangerous, she thought, if he would do this to her for interference that was entirely the product of his own imagination what would he do if he found out how much she had told Toran?
Getal would come seeking her blood.
But the Cardassian had underestimated her too; it took tenacity, resolve and subtle, cold cunning to keep rank among the highest families of the Empire, to repel threats to one’s station both from outside and from in, to successfully negotiate the hallways and chambers of government and emerge unscathed. With that thought foremost in her mind Isha padded through to her bathroom and turned the tap unconsciously massaging her left wrist with her right hand as she watched the steam rise and the deep tub fill.
Gingerly Isha raised her hand and despite the burn that seared from her fingertips to her elbow as though a nerve had been trapped between her bones she removed the remaining bodkin letting her hair hang where it fell then Isha pushed her gown over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She swallowed, tasting bile in her throat as she stepped out of it and pushed it aside with her foot, a garment that she would never wear again.
As Isha slipped beneath the surface of the water she did not care that the station was under attack, only this room existed for her, and though could not remove the bruises with water she wanted the reptilian taint of Getal’s touch off her skin.
Then she could think about how to fight back.
OFF
Ambassador Isha t'Khellian, down, but not out.
by Commander Isha t'Vaurek
Post Details
| Title | Mosaic | |
| Mission | Unity | |
| Author(s) | Commander Isha t'Vaurek | |
| Posted | Tue Apr 20, 2010 @ 6:31am | |
| Location | Romulan Consulate | |
| Timeline | SD17 - 13:20 |
Panic, Isha thought, panic is what she should have done when Getal assaulted her, not passively accepting his violence. She was still on her knees in the corner into which he had thrown her as if waiting for permission to get up, down where the window met the wall, head bowed and her arms wrapped tightly around her body. Her flesh throbbed where his fingers had left their mark.
There was a certain sort of male that abused her in this way: the alpha type, able to physically intimidate, always ambitious and always powerful, but tainted by a deeply embedded insecurity. It was if Isha’s own power and independence posed a personal affront to them, something that had to be quelled. They demanded nothing less than her complete submission to their control and each time the technique was the same. The combination of superior physical strength, measured and swift brutality, the harsh threat of more, and manipulation of the crushing weight of guilt she carried with her was one that Isha had never been able to fight; Nniol had used it against her, Rh’vaurek had used it against her, and now Getal.
Still weakened from the trauma of her visit to ch’Rihan, her son’s betrayal of her and his execution, her own tribunal and the deal she had cut with the Senate to save herself and her House, it had taken him less than five minutes to break her.
His message to her was simple; You live because I choose to allow it!.
Isha could not allow herself to be found this way, tearstained and beaten. She pushed herself to her feet, stumbling as she took a step, forgetting that in the struggle she had lost a shoe. She stooped and pulled off the one that remained letting it fall from her fingers as she straightened. Her legs were unsteady and bruised from her fall, each step an effort.
As she passed Isha drew her fingers over the thin gash he had made in the surface of her desk, reflecting that if she had not stopped to remove his knife and trade insults she would easily have reached the door to her suite. She reached it now steadying herself against the wall as the door hissed open.
She locked it behind her.
For the first time Isha allowed herself to look at her reflection, there were so many cracks that she was hardly a complete being - only fragments representing one. A weak dishevelled creature, her hair hung down on one side where one of the bodkins that secured it had fallen out, strands were sticking to her face in places glued by drying tears. The ruched fabric that crossed over her shoulders and gathered into her bodice was askew and the skin on her upper arms was marred and mottled down to a deep dark green almost touching black where his nails had almost split the skin.
Isha turned away from the looking glass her gaze falling to her wrists, she could hardly believe they were still intact, she had been so certain that he as going to snap them both. Her skin, usually translucent was livid and sore to the touch, even flexing her fingers caused pain.
She had underestimated Getal despite Rh'vaurek's warnings. Isha had learned to her cost that Getal was not simply another posturing bully, he was another posturing bully but one both willing and able to follow through on his threats. That made him dangerous, she thought, if he would do this to her for interference that was entirely the product of his own imagination what would he do if he found out how much she had told Toran?
Getal would come seeking her blood.
But the Cardassian had underestimated her too; it took tenacity, resolve and subtle, cold cunning to keep rank among the highest families of the Empire, to repel threats to one’s station both from outside and from in, to successfully negotiate the hallways and chambers of government and emerge unscathed. With that thought foremost in her mind Isha padded through to her bathroom and turned the tap unconsciously massaging her left wrist with her right hand as she watched the steam rise and the deep tub fill.
Gingerly Isha raised her hand and despite the burn that seared from her fingertips to her elbow as though a nerve had been trapped between her bones she removed the remaining bodkin letting her hair hang where it fell then Isha pushed her gown over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She swallowed, tasting bile in her throat as she stepped out of it and pushed it aside with her foot, a garment that she would never wear again.
As Isha slipped beneath the surface of the water she did not care that the station was under attack, only this room existed for her, and though could not remove the bruises with water she wanted the reptilian taint of Getal’s touch off her skin.
Then she could think about how to fight back.
OFF
Ambassador Isha t'Khellian, down, but not out.