[ It's blindingly, burning hot, the heat shimmering off the sand where Primrose stands in thin sandals and gazes up, every muscle in her body locked.
In her gaze is a badly beaten dancer, her hair much shorter and darker than Primrose's, but the garb much the same, only a soft azure instead of Primrose's crimson. She's half-slumped in front of four heavily armed guards and an overweight, sneering old man with an unflattering hair style. Helgenish. Her master, of ten years.
"She was quite intent on keeping her mouth shut," Helgenish sighs now, adjusting his sleeves. "But my boys helped her get her open. It seems I was too lenient with the girl. I won't make that mistake again."
In a single moment, a blade slices through Yusufa's back, right before she's thrown off the cliff, to Primrose's horrified scream of her name.
Despite the injury, how far she fell, Yusufa still draws breath... feebly, when Primrose crouches before her, frantically searching for a way to stop the bleeding, to straighten out her broken limbs, to do something.
"Prim... I... I've never heard you shout so..."
"What? This is no time to--"
But Yusufa continues, haltingly, forcing Primrose to stop in order to hear her.
"Hey... Prim... we're friends... aren't we?"
"... Wh-what...?"
"I was... I was sold... to this place. As a child. Everyone... was so cruel." Her voice fragments, thick with tears and agony. "So... miserable... I thought I'd never... make any... friends... it was... lonely... having no one. But you, Prim... you were... different. Always... standing tall... proud... no matter h-how hard your days... looking... at you... it gave me strength..."
"Yusufa..." It shouldn't hurt. She doesn't deserve to hurt. She should never have shown this girl kindness, never found solace in her presence or accepted her help, because Yusufa is dying right in front of her and all she can do is let each struggled-for word slip free and listen.
"... Tell me... Prim... were we... were we... friends?"
Primrose knows better. She shouldn't speak further. But the only dancer who had ever been gentle to her and defended her... no, she has to reply. "Yes, Yusufa... you were... my friend."
"I'm... so happy... not... alone... anymore..."
Yusufa's eyes, tear-filled, do not close-- they stare up, unseeing, even as her lips remain frozen in a relieved, exhausted smile. Primrose stares down at her, then presses a palm over her friend's eyes, closing them for her.
And then Helgenish speaks, low and grating.
"Is it finally over? I must say, at least her last performance had some life. If she had shown that potential earlier, I might have kept her on longer."
Primrose closes her eyes briefly, before a single word slips out. "... Enough."
Helgenish's voce takes a turn for the threatening. "What was that?"
In response, completely undaunted, Primrose rises to her feet and faces the man and his guards looming over her on top of the cliff. "I have danced enough for you. This was the last night that I belonged to you."
"Oh." Helgenish sneers, condescending. Each word drips with venom. "Was it now? So some wheels do turn in that pretty little head of yours. Here I thought it a waste as empty as the desert."
Please. Does he think her suddenly vulnerable to scathing words, when she's endured them for this long? Primrose's reply is almost a purr, for all that it contains nothing but softspoken hostility. "I saw you for the foul swine you are the first time I laid eyes on you."
Helgenish growls, increasingly incensed. "You would take that tone with me!? You're nothing but a stupid whore! You would've died on the street if not for me!"
No. She's had enough, and for once, Primrose continues her retort, still so quiet, but the strength only growing in her voice. "You have given me nothing. I have always danced on my own two feet. I have always chosen where I step."
"Who do you think you're speaking to, whore?!" He sounds more... scared now. As though he's never seen her before today. Good, she thinks.
"All these years... the jeers, the beating, the dishonor, I endured it all... all for this day. The day that man appeared before me. I need your stage no longer. I dance for myself now."
"Primrose..." Helgenish makes a valiant attempt to draw himself together, his tone turning from unsettled to wheedling. "Y-you forget yourself, little kitten. But I understand! This is just your little show, yes? You wanted to see your master frown. Fine, very well, you've had your fun!"
She merely hums, distant. And Helgenish can't have that, not from his "pet". He gestures angrily, demanding.
"That naughty mouth of yours belongs to me! Put it where it belongs and if you please me to my satisfaction, I will overlook your impertinence."
Primrose gazes up at him, this pitiful man who had thought her a tiny kitten with little than half a thought in her brain. Someone who only wished to please him, fulfill his every twisted desire. Someone simpering and idiotic.
[well this is a very sad memory but primrose rules?
molly will just reach his hands out again, if she's feeling okay. he's normally just immediately offered to try and forget certain memories, pretend he hasn't seen, but--]
[She dances on her own two feet, and is choosing where she steps. Of course he follows in her slow dance, easily. He is a pretty decent enough dancer in his own right, or at least graceful enough to keep up.]
Good. Seems you left a place better than you found it, if you're asking me.
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In her gaze is a badly beaten dancer, her hair much shorter and darker than Primrose's, but the garb much the same, only a soft azure instead of Primrose's crimson. She's half-slumped in front of four heavily armed guards and an overweight, sneering old man with an unflattering hair style. Helgenish. Her master, of ten years.
"She was quite intent on keeping her mouth shut," Helgenish sighs now, adjusting his sleeves. "But my boys helped her get her open. It seems I was too lenient with the girl. I won't make that mistake again."
In a single moment, a blade slices through Yusufa's back, right before she's thrown off the cliff, to Primrose's horrified scream of her name.
Despite the injury, how far she fell, Yusufa still draws breath... feebly, when Primrose crouches before her, frantically searching for a way to stop the bleeding, to straighten out her broken limbs, to do something.
"Prim... I... I've never heard you shout so..."
"What? This is no time to--"
But Yusufa continues, haltingly, forcing Primrose to stop in order to hear her.
"Hey... Prim... we're friends... aren't we?"
"... Wh-what...?"
"I was... I was sold... to this place. As a child. Everyone... was so cruel." Her voice fragments, thick with tears and agony. "So... miserable... I thought I'd never... make any... friends... it was... lonely... having no one. But you, Prim... you were... different. Always... standing tall... proud... no matter h-how hard your days... looking... at you... it gave me strength..."
"Yusufa..." It shouldn't hurt. She doesn't deserve to hurt. She should never have shown this girl kindness, never found solace in her presence or accepted her help, because Yusufa is dying right in front of her and all she can do is let each struggled-for word slip free and listen.
"... Tell me... Prim... were we... were we... friends?"
Primrose knows better. She shouldn't speak further. But the only dancer who had ever been gentle to her and defended her... no, she has to reply. "Yes, Yusufa... you were... my friend."
"I'm... so happy... not... alone... anymore..."
Yusufa's eyes, tear-filled, do not close-- they stare up, unseeing, even as her lips remain frozen in a relieved, exhausted smile. Primrose stares down at her, then presses a palm over her friend's eyes, closing them for her.
And then Helgenish speaks, low and grating.
"Is it finally over? I must say, at least her last performance had some life. If she had shown that potential earlier, I might have kept her on longer."
Primrose closes her eyes briefly, before a single word slips out. "... Enough."
Helgenish's voce takes a turn for the threatening. "What was that?"
In response, completely undaunted, Primrose rises to her feet and faces the man and his guards looming over her on top of the cliff. "I have danced enough for you. This was the last night that I belonged to you."
"Oh." Helgenish sneers, condescending. Each word drips with venom. "Was it now? So some wheels do turn in that pretty little head of yours. Here I thought it a waste as empty as the desert."
Please. Does he think her suddenly vulnerable to scathing words, when she's endured them for this long? Primrose's reply is almost a purr, for all that it contains nothing but softspoken hostility. "I saw you for the foul swine you are the first time I laid eyes on you."
Helgenish growls, increasingly incensed. "You would take that tone with me!? You're nothing but a stupid whore! You would've died on the street if not for me!"
No. She's had enough, and for once, Primrose continues her retort, still so quiet, but the strength only growing in her voice. "You have given me nothing. I have always danced on my own two feet. I have always chosen where I step."
"Who do you think you're speaking to, whore?!" He sounds more... scared now. As though he's never seen her before today. Good, she thinks.
"All these years... the jeers, the beating, the dishonor, I endured it all... all for this day. The day that man appeared before me. I need your stage no longer. I dance for myself now."
"Primrose..." Helgenish makes a valiant attempt to draw himself together, his tone turning from unsettled to wheedling. "Y-you forget yourself, little kitten. But I understand! This is just your little show, yes? You wanted to see your master frown. Fine, very well, you've had your fun!"
She merely hums, distant. And Helgenish can't have that, not from his "pet". He gestures angrily, demanding.
"That naughty mouth of yours belongs to me! Put it where it belongs and if you please me to my satisfaction, I will overlook your impertinence."
Primrose gazes up at him, this pitiful man who had thought her a tiny kitten with little than half a thought in her brain. Someone who only wished to please him, fulfill his every twisted desire. Someone simpering and idiotic.
And she speaks.
"Master... go pleasure yourself." ]
no subject
molly will just reach his hands out again, if she's feeling okay. he's normally just immediately offered to try and forget certain memories, pretend he hasn't seen, but--]
Did you get to kill the bastard?
no subject
I slit his throat and he danced magnificently in his death throes.
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Good. Seems you left a place better than you found it, if you're asking me.
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But I won't disagree on this count.
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You've certainly made my day better every time I see you, so I wouldn't disagree on any counts.
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That you're quite adept at flattery.
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Never heard it in my life. You must have been told you're quite the charmer yourself.
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I'm afraid such praise has never adorned my ears.