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Post by cogs on Aug 12, 2012 1:54:56 GMT -5
"The Pariah" I was hung from a tree, made of tongues of the weak. A successful job had led the Pariah to Omega. Some batarian was sought after by a client who wanted revenge. The order was to make him suffer a bit, then kill him. Easy enough. The krogan was very familiar with such tactics, and put them to use. Boy, was that one a screamer. Next time, he would do well to remember to cut the tongue out first. Of course that wouldn’t take care of the screaming, just the articulation. Maybe crush the vocal chords? No, it might kill him on accident. Perhaps just a thicker gag would do next time. Yes, that seemed to be the best way.
The body had been disposed of, and the Pariah had collected his pay, so he had time to spare in the barren space station he once stumbled upon centuries ago. Ah, yes the good old days. He wondered if Roman still claimed this territory? That pain in the ass never ceased to stop making problems for him. Always conveniently getting in the way of his job. How tiresome. Qadir leaned on one of the rustic railings overlooking the depths of ruin. There was a time where he thought of establishing a residence here, but it seemed far too dangerous. Too many enemies frequented here, and so did Roman.
It had been mere years since Pariah laid eyes on that son of a bitch, and he was hoping for a few more. He could do without the constant jibber jabber. Roman never seemed to understand his methods. They disagreed on too many things. Hell, they even argued about killing hostages. Pariah reasoned they did not really matter in the end, especially considering they were disposable and used to make an example. Killing a one or a few was meant to show how serious a situation could get, to whomever they admonished. You had to kill at least one to show you weren’t bluffing, and if you didn’t well, manipulation’s on you. You must let your target know that you mean business. It is a courtesy, to be quite honest.
Roman had some romantic ideal that hostages could just be used and not abused. That they could get away without killing them. It was that sort of empathy for the enemy that made Pariah sick. Life is expendable. What does it matter, anyways? They should not care. It was this argument that began their rivalry. The captain thought that they wouldn’t go through with their threats. He challenged Pariah, thought the krogan was just bluffing. Who would be so cruel?
The woman that Pariah held was dead before the captain could even finish his confrontation. He reached for a child next, and held the pistol to his temple. No words escaped his lips, and not even a flinch. When the Pariah meant business, he fucking meant business. Nothing was going to stand in his way. Roman, on the other hand, seemed astonished. They fought after the job was over. Well, Roman yelled, Pariah shrugged.
The Afterlife’s music reverberated faintly through the station. It always did. Aria always kept that place going, day or night. Pariah almost felt like going to the bar, maybe even watch the asari dance. However, he restrained himself. He was content with looking over the vast pits of Omega instead. It was a strange calm, one that echoed with bass and was tinted in low light. Omega was never a peaceful place, but the Pariah could find tranquility in what he compared to the Void. Nostalgia and danger basked in a glow of red.
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Crooz
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Post by Crooz on Aug 12, 2012 3:40:47 GMT -5
RomanBack on Omega. Roman couldn't exactly say it was good to be back on this shit hole of a planet, but at least they were on familiar territory. Familiar territory that could get you killed, if you weren't careful. Being here for three hundred years of your life gained you no special treatment, so it seemed. Except maybe a few enemies. These were in abundance. However, none were quite as... infuriating as one particular enemy. One particular enemy no krogan could agree with. One particular enemy that figured all life was disposable, especially the innocent. One enemy Roman felt was completely out of his mind, and they weren't afraid to admit it. Openly.
On any other occasion, Roman wouldn't be bothered with racking their brain over uselessly aggravating thoughts as this, but it was their first day back on Omega and suddenly their old rival decided to show his ugly fucking face. In the Afterlife, no less. Really, that last bit wasn't so important, as Roman didn't actually do any drinking in these places. Compromise their image and all that. But hey, if "The Pariah" was going to crop up around here, might as well cause him some trouble, right?
Roman is considerably vindictive for petty reasons, obviously.
The masked krogan made their way over to Pariah, leaning against the same bar a few steps away. They didn't say a word, as was their nature. They plainly looked out over the same harsh landscape without much acknowledgement of the scene in front of them. Passersby would believe the two of them had settled there merely by coincidence.
"What are you doing back here?" the mercenary demanded of the other, without making an effort to even turn towards him. As ridiculous as it made them feel, Roman was honestly outraged that Pariah would be back. They could feel their fingers curling tight around the rusty bar. They could remember the cries of terror as Pariah pulled the trigger, purely to prove a point. They could feel the lump growing in their throat as they recalled the embittered words they spewed from their mouth, all those years ago. They could see the stupid bastard just shrugging the whole situation off.
Maybe Roman had a problem.
Roman did have a headache, though. It definitely wasn't the pounding music in the background.
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Post by cogs on Aug 12, 2012 11:29:37 GMT -5
"The Pariah" The branches, the bones of the liars and thieves.
Pale yellow eyes store into Omega without any such bitterness that Roman undoubtedly possessed. The Pariah's helmet was off, and his facial expression did not even flicker in surprise when Roman questioned his appearance. Actually, Pariah looked rather bored. He should have known this would happen, Roman had been a constant pest for centuries.
Proving a point was half the battle, the other half was running out of hostages. Hostages were taken to be used. It was a common tactic for krogan battlemasters. It was accepted as a successful maneuver, but so was genocide. The rachni were a prime example of that. Complete and utter destruction.
Qadir twisted his head to face his masked counterpart, his dark skin highlighted with an under glow of red. The ugly scar that crawled its way from his neck up to his crest especially accented in the dim light. Yellow hues locked with the shiny red lenses of the colossus armor. Perhaps he could see those weary greens underneath, the Pariah's stare seemed to pierce through even the thickest hide. Of course that was just rumor.
"Followed a target here." He stated," A batarian, actually. Thought he could hide out awhile."
Poor bastard never thought Pariah could find him in a sea of populace. The fool actually thought he could sequester himself away, and Pariah was having none of that. The krogan weeded him out, and made him suffer. Of course there was no joy that came with his pitiful face, no sadistic urge that drove him to drag out his target's inevitable death. It was simply what he was paid to do.
A gun wielded by his clients. They were the ones who had given the order that ultimately killed him. You do not blame a gun for shooting, because that is its one sole purpose. As was with the Pariah. His one niche.
The Pariah let the silence draw out, and his head swiveled back to the depths of the space station, his eyes closed, and his hands clasped loosely, as if in prayer. A common sight, but he had already said his words after the life had been taken, and the batarian sent to the oceans. "I will not be here long, Roman. I am only...."enjoying the scenery" before I take my leave." Qadir stated. He had a certain distaste for when he spoke the other merc's name. As if it rolled of his tongue with poison.
In truth, Pariah wanted to draw this out as long as possible. Make it completely unbearable for his little fly. His mere presence irritated them, made Roman buzz around his face in some sort of panic. While he would metaphorically swat such a fly down, he was content with letting such an insect burn itself out on such petty things.
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Crooz
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Post by Crooz on Aug 13, 2012 1:30:12 GMT -5
RomanThose rumors about Pariah's glare being capable of piercing the thickest hides may or may not have been true, but Roman could definitely feel their rival's stare boring into the side of their helmet. The glare only made Roman grip the bar in front of them all the tighter, not daring to turn even the slightest to meet Pariah's gaze. That wasn't... fear, was it? No, it couldn't be. Krogans fear nothing and no one. Well, aside from a crest or two getting pulled off, but we can't have anyone knowing about that, can we? No, that was not fear welling up in the mercenary's chest. It was just more unbridled fury. Roman should really get that checked out.
As soon as the other krogan turned to look out at the bright red abyss that was the Omega station, the masked mercenary finally faced Pariah. Roman had almost forgotten what the other krogan looked like. They were ugly face scar buddies; however, Roman's wasn't quite as extensive.
The mercenary's head snapped back forward as soon as their name rolled off their enemy's tongue. They released the bar and clasped their hands tight in front of them, shoulders tensing. The tension was visible. Roman despised the way Pariah spoke their name. They were sure Pariah knew how much they hated it, otherwise the other mercenary wouldn't say it like that. Pariah knew exactly what buttons to push to make Roman's mind explode. And it made Roman sick.
But "enjoying the scenery [/b][/color]"? Really? Roman wanted to turn around right then and there and give up, but that would mean that Pariah had won this little battle of nerves and wits. It wouldn't be a change from the usual. Sooner or later, Pariah always did. "You and I both know that's total bullshit." Roman tried to hide the shaking emotion in their voice. There was no such luck; it was plain as day. The mercenary continued to face forward however. Never display your weakness. If it's there, then it's there. No need to acknowledge it. You're enemy could do that, just fine.[/blockquote]
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Post by cogs on Aug 13, 2012 2:23:35 GMT -5
"The Pariah" Skinned her alive, ripped her apart.
The Pariah's lips flickered with a ghost of a smile. His pale eyes lazily rolled to the side, eying his long time rival with a knowing glare. He was getting to their, and he knew it. Qadir always knew how to get under Roman's armor and mess with them. It was the little sadistic joy that he found outside of his job that made life enjoyable. The fly was all in a tizzy, and he was about to bring the swatter down upon it.
"And you and I know how are last argument ended. "Bullshit", was your exact response, remember?"
The krogan, rested his head on his open palm,” And we both know how that ended. ”
He tilted his head back to his resentful enemy. The crumbling foundations in their voice were a dead giveaway. Roman was always so soft, such a romantic. They did not seem to understand the necessary evils of their line of work. Maybe that day he did go a little far. Pariah wouldn’t be the first to admit it, but upon reflection..well. Perhaps he should have grabbed an able bodied male.
Perhaps it would have made more of a difference.
Perhaps.
But nothing quite made a statement like the future of your race lying dead on the floor. Children were precious things. Not that he, himself would know. His son was of the thousands, born dead. The Genophage and its wonderful gifts. Conversely, in Pariah’s experience, to avoid further bloodshed; some droplets had to fall first. The greater good would come from the sacrifice of the few, such is the way. It was accepted. Roman had no more to say after that. His point was made and they were out of there in no time after the whole ordeal. Quick, efficient…certainly not clean, but surgical in his actions.
Pariah could almost trace the lines of Romana’s face underneath that mask. How the wrinkles in their skin folded and squeezed together to form that scowl of anger. His yellow eyes drifted back to the abyss,” Oh, how that child bled for you.” Qadir remarked. His head lifting as his hand raised in unison. His three fingers traced the descent of the space station, mirroring his thoughts,” This place, looks like the Void. 'Where we come from, and where we will go'. Some just faster than others, no? Surely, you of all krogan could appreciate that?”
He let that sit with Roman for awhile, his hands clasped together again. Anyone passing might believe the two krogan were simply enjoying the same view. One rigid, the other relaxed. A little chit chat here and there. Maybe even nostalgia. Sure, there was a trip down memory lane involved, but not the kind most people wanted to stroll through on their down time. This was the street that you stayed the fuck away from.
[/blockquote][/size]
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Crooz
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Post by Crooz on Aug 13, 2012 7:12:28 GMT -5
RomanGoddamn this krogan. Damn him and all that he may or may not stand for. Now was time for Roman to drop their head. The mercenary took a step back and rested their head on their arms. Their fingers were clutched together in a vice grip, quivering with the force of their hatred and pure shock. Roman had only just noticed they were breathing too heavy to be normal.
How dare he? How dare The Pariah, Qadir, bring up that day so frankly? How dare he use that boy's memory to mock them? They say krogans are soulless beasts, but this was a new low. The Pariah always had to move a step down on the moral scale every time the two of them spoke. It left Roman wondering if he did this with every person he met, or if the masked krogan was getting some sort of special treatment. Thanks, Roman sure did appreciate it, Pariah. Really, they did.
"Surely, you of all krogan could appreciate that? [/color]" Roman lifted their head up at this statement. This was a step too far. This was something you did not touch with the mercenary. Talk about a touchy subject. They stood up straight again, pulling their hands apart and balling them into tight fists. The krogan pressed the broadside of their fists into the bar. It took every ounce of willpower in Roman's body not to twist and plant a good hook right on Pariah's jaw. Maybe that would get him to shut his gaping hole. The tension around Roman was almost palpable. It was a good thing their helmet was always deployed, or they'd be shooting daggers in Pariah's direction with the glare they were giving him beneath the lenses now. The sheer pain in Roman's face would've been enough to satisfy Pariah for a good century. Roman was hurt. But they weren't going to let Pariah know that. Now was probably the best time to walk away, before the pistol their hand was on got to see some use today.[/blockquote]
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Post by cogs on Aug 13, 2012 12:32:59 GMT -5
"The Pariah" Scattered her ashes, buried her heart.
For a krogan supposedly devoid of emotion, the Pariah smiled. Even chuckled a little under his breath. Roman, Roman, Roman. What a silly little insect you are. You're heading towards a bug zapper, and you just don't know how to stop. He turned around, resting his arched armor on the railing and quietly observing all the people in afterlife.
"I would suggest that you take your hand off that toy of yours, Roman. There's quite a lot of people here, and I'll do what needs to be done, if you so choose it to be so."
Qadir spoke carefully, a sidelong glance from Roman's armament to an asari dancer was all he needed to convey his intentions. From a krogan, the Pariah could be quite fast. Especially matched up with another, blinded by empathy. Easily, could he grab the said dancer and either use her as a meat shield, or a hostage. Of course, we all know how most Pariah's hostages end up.
He crossed his thick arms over his chest, his half closed eyes locking with Roman's helmet. The Pariah did not often mess around, and if he spoke a threat, he most certainly carried through with it. Keeping his word was important to him, and a very gentlemanly thing to do, such was the image he liked to keep up.
However, if Qadir could keep his hands clean for at least a few days longer, he would. Right now, he didn't want to leave Afterlife with blue blood on his armor and a hit from Aria. So, instead, he hefted his bulk up. The Pariah clapped his hand together, as if shaking off imaginary dust, and then clasped them together again behind his back.
"Be smart, Romana. We don't want another accident like in the Attican Traverse, do we?" With that threat stacked upon many others, Qadir walked a few steps, came to the edge of the crowd, and turned," Oh, what you krogan do not see. The awe of clarity behind the veil of anger. "There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.""
A quote from Shakespeare's Hamlet ended the Pariah's verbal assault. His yellow eyes turned away from Roman, and into the crowd, where he disappeared. Krogan should not be able to meld into anonymity, yet Qadir managed in the Afterlife. He was intent on leaving Roman bruised and broken, in no shape to come after him.
And if they did?
Undoubtedly easy to disarm and throw, but that would be too good for dear, sweet Roman.
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