They set a leisurely pace, when they walked, no more than Wufei could handle. They had both been eating out of Duo’s supplies, Duo giving him as much as he needed. “But...” Wufei started to voice his thoughts, before stopping himself. There was, after all, no need to give Duo ideas. “But what about me?” Duo finished for him, amused. “I told you, I’m the best. I only need to bring in three or four prizes a year, because take the hardest jobs, the biggest jobs, the strangest jobs. Like you, Dragon.” He didn’t have an answer, so all he could come back with was, “I have a name, you know, and it isn’t Dragon!” “I know.” The infuriating smirk was back. Duo returned his attention to dealing with his disheveled hair.
The fire was burning low. The bounty hunter had been right; the clear night brought with it colder air, and Wufei was grateful for the protection the dry clothes provided. Duo was asleep and snoring lightly; after several hours of lying awake fruitlessly seeking slumber, Wufei sat up and watched the fire burn to embers. His thoughts ran to darkness. What had he come to, Chang Wufei, scion of the proud Clan of the Dragon? What must his family think of him now; fugitive, outlaw, more base and worthless than the lowest peasant. What had become of the trace of fierce, proud, blood that ran in his veins, as the descendant of the legendary dragon? Here he was, lost and stranded in the wilderness with a mercenary who dealt in the flesh of human beings -- prostituting his word to such a creature, following the bloodhound back to Romafeller as willing and docile as a whore. For the murder of Treize Khushrenada -- his village’s lord. Lord and master? The name was bitter in his mind as it had ever been. His was the rule of the conqueror; Wufei’s village, his family, their traditions, their way of life and all their proud dragon blood had been overwhelmed by the might of the westerners. But they owed him no true allegiance, and hated him dully even as they submitted, called him lord, and accepted their barbarian traditions. Was he truly the first one to compromise his family’s honor? Or had they not done the same, when they surrendered, those generations ago? That they labored for their white devils, made the necessary obeisances to appease their conquerer’s childish egos, and sacrificed their maidens to the hunger of the foreigners? Prodigal son of a prodigal family. Wufei could almost weep.
Re: THE DRAGON AS AN OBJECT OF PREY
Date: 2006-02-21 10:09 am (UTC)“But what about me?” Duo finished for him, amused. “I told you, I’m the best. I only need to bring in three or four prizes a year, because take the hardest jobs, the biggest jobs, the strangest jobs. Like you, Dragon.”
He didn’t have an answer, so all he could come back with was, “I have a name, you know, and it isn’t Dragon!”
“I know.” The infuriating smirk was back. Duo returned his attention to dealing with his disheveled hair.
The fire was burning low.
The bounty hunter had been right; the clear night brought with it colder air, and Wufei was grateful for the protection the dry clothes provided. Duo was asleep and snoring lightly; after several hours of lying awake fruitlessly seeking slumber, Wufei sat up and watched the fire burn to embers. His thoughts ran to darkness.
What had he come to, Chang Wufei, scion of the proud Clan of the Dragon? What must his family think of him now; fugitive, outlaw, more base and worthless than the lowest peasant. What had become of the trace of fierce, proud, blood that ran in his veins, as the descendant of the legendary dragon? Here he was, lost and stranded in the wilderness with a mercenary who dealt in the flesh of human beings -- prostituting his word to such a creature, following the bloodhound back to Romafeller as willing and docile as a whore.
For the murder of Treize Khushrenada -- his village’s lord.
Lord and master? The name was bitter in his mind as it had ever been. His was the rule of the conqueror; Wufei’s village, his family, their traditions, their way of life and all their proud dragon blood had been overwhelmed by the might of the westerners. But they owed him no true allegiance, and hated him dully even as they submitted, called him lord, and accepted their barbarian traditions.
Was he truly the first one to compromise his family’s honor? Or had they not done the same, when they surrendered, those generations ago? That they labored for their white devils, made the necessary obeisances to appease their conquerer’s childish egos, and sacrificed their maidens to the hunger of the foreigners?
Prodigal son of a prodigal family. Wufei could almost weep.