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<blockquote data-quote="Drusilia Nailo" data-source="post: 533397" data-attributes="member: 2062">Celia's funeral had been a nightmare.&nbsp; Her pale corpse had been dressed in clothing that Drusilia knew she'd have never chosen to wear in life, though her cutlass, at least, had remained with her.&nbsp;&nbsp; She had been stretched out on a marble slab, and the guests had come and gone.&nbsp; All of them were discussing Celia as if she had been a stranger, and none of them seemed very saddened by her death.&nbsp; And no one spoke to the lone elven child, standing near the body.&nbsp; Drusilia hated all of them.&nbsp; All of the smiling faces, all of them trying to get into Papa's good graces by attending the funeral of one of his most trusted.&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Now she was finally home, or in what would serve as home for the next few weeks.&nbsp; She was sitting on the floor, staring out at the sheets of rain that were falling from the sky.&nbsp; Her chin on her knees, the picture of dejection. &nbsp; &nbsp; She heard footsteps behind her, and then heard someone sit in a chair.&nbsp; &quot;Drusilia, come here.&quot;&nbsp; It was Papa.&nbsp; &nbsp; She turned to look at him, and saw that he was holding her hairbrush.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &quot;Come here and sit in front of me, on the floor,&quot; he said.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Drusilia obeyed, leaning against his knees.&nbsp; &nbsp; He began to brush her hair gently, working out the tangles that would inevitably form throughout the day, every day.&nbsp; &quot;Celia's funeral was hard for you,&quot; he said, after a few minutes of brushing.&nbsp; &nbsp; Drusilia bit her lower lip.&nbsp; &quot;I didn't want for Celia to die,&quot; she said quietly.&nbsp; &quot;Especially for me.&quot;&quot;Ah.&nbsp; I wondered if you were feeling guilty about that,&quot; he said, setting the brush down and beginning to work out the knots in a particularly dense snarl of hair.&nbsp; &quot;You should not, though.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; &quot;Why not?&quot;&nbsp; Drusilia frowned, even though he couldn't see her do it.&nbsp; &quot;She'd still be alive if it weren't for me.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; &quot;Because people like you, and like me, are protected by people like Celia.&nbsp; She knew the risks when she signed on.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; Drusilia sighed, wincing as he pulled her hair.&nbsp; &quot;I don't want for people to die because of me,&quot; she persisted, stubbornly.&nbsp; &quot;It doesn't seem right.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; Papa finally worked out the snarl, and then picked up the brush again, smoothing the hair down.&nbsp;&nbsp; &quot;Maybe not,&quot; he said, &quot;But you will always have guards, so you had best get used to it.&nbsp; Make no mistakes about it, there will be more attempts on your life, because of who you are, because of who I am.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; &quot;Then I want to learn to fight better so that I don't have to have guards anymore.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; Papa chuckled.&nbsp; &quot;We'll see how you do.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; Drusilia's shoulders sagged.&nbsp; &quot;I don't want anyone else to die because of me,&quot; she repeated, quietly.&nbsp; &nbsp; Papa was quiet for a moment, and then said, &quot;Would you prefer to die instead?&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; Drusilia turned around to stare at him, since he seemed to be done with her hair anyway.&nbsp; &quot;No,&quot; she said, hating to admit it.&nbsp; &nbsp; &quot;Well then.&nbsp; You must have guards,&quot; he said, standing to his feet.&nbsp; &quot;So that you can stay alive.&quot;&nbsp; His eyes narrowed shrewdly, and he added, &quot;After all, if you died, it would make Celia's sacrifice be for nothing.&nbsp; You wouldn't want that, would you?&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; Drusilia swallowed hard.&nbsp; &quot;No, no.&nbsp; Never that.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; Papa nodded, looking satisfied.&nbsp; &quot;Then you will keep living, under my protection until I decide that you are capable of protecting yourself.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; &quot;Alright,&quot; Drusilia said heavily.&nbsp; &quot;But I want to continue my fighting lessons.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; Papa smiled at her.&nbsp; &quot;Oh, you will.&quot;&nbsp; He patted her on the head.&nbsp; He moved to the door, opening it.&nbsp; &quot;You are in the compound now,&quot; he told her.&nbsp; &quot;The place is bristling with my people.&nbsp; No one will attack,&quot; he said, to reassure her.&nbsp;&nbsp; &quot;We will be here until I have utterly slaughtered the opposition.&quot;&nbsp; He paused, studying his daughter to see how she would react.&nbsp; &nbsp; Drusilia stared at him.&nbsp; &quot;When they're all dead,&quot; she said, after some thought, &quot;They won't come after us anymore, I guess.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; Papa nodded.&nbsp; &quot;And, by now, word is out that someone made an attempt on your life.&nbsp; I need to make the point that using my daughter is a mistake.&quot;&nbsp; His voice turned cold, and he turned away, as if reminded that he had work to do.&nbsp; &quot;Good night, Daughter.&quot;&nbsp; &nbsp; Drusilia moved back over to the window, watching the rain some more.&nbsp;&nbsp; She found herself hoping that Papa's vengeance would be swift and merciless.&nbsp; She wished that she could be with him when he did it, to avenge Celia.&nbsp;&nbsp; With a sigh, she turned away from the window.&nbsp; She was hungry.&nbsp; It was time to go on with living.</blockquote>

[QUOTE="Drusilia Nailo, post: 533397, member: 2062"] Celia's funeral had been a nightmare. Her pale corpse had been dressed in clothing that Drusilia knew she'd have never chosen to wear in life, though her cutlass, at least, had remained with her. She had been stretched out on a marble slab, and the guests had come and gone. All of them were discussing Celia as if she had been a stranger, and none of them seemed very saddened by her death. And no one spoke to the lone elven child, standing near the body. Drusilia hated all of them. All of the smiling faces, all of them trying to get into Papa's good graces by attending the funeral of one of his most trusted. Now she was finally home, or in what would serve as home for the next few weeks. She was sitting on the floor, staring out at the sheets of rain that were falling from the sky. Her chin on her knees, the picture of dejection. She heard footsteps behind her, and then heard someone sit in a chair. "Drusilia, come here." It was Papa. She turned to look at him, and saw that he was holding her hairbrush. "Come here and sit in front of me, on the floor," he said. Drusilia obeyed, leaning against his knees. He began to brush her hair gently, working out the tangles that would inevitably form throughout the day, every day. "Celia's funeral was hard for you," he said, after a few minutes of brushing. Drusilia bit her lower lip. "I didn't want for Celia to die," she said quietly. "Especially for me." "Ah. I wondered if you were feeling guilty about that," he said, setting the brush down and beginning to work out the knots in a particularly dense snarl of hair. "You should not, though." "Why not?" Drusilia frowned, even though he couldn't see her do it. "She'd still be alive if it weren't for me." "Because people like you, and like me, are protected by people like Celia. She knew the risks when she signed on." Drusilia sighed, wincing as he pulled her hair. "I don't want for people to die because of me," she persisted, stubbornly. "It doesn't seem right." Papa finally worked out the snarl, and then picked up the brush again, smoothing the hair down. "Maybe not," he said, "But you will always have guards, so you had best get used to it. Make no mistakes about it, there will be more attempts on your life, because of who you are, because of who I am." "Then I want to learn to fight better so that I don't have to have guards anymore." Papa chuckled. "We'll see how you do." Drusilia's shoulders sagged. "I don't want anyone else to die because of me," she repeated, quietly. Papa was quiet for a moment, and then said, "Would you prefer to die instead?" Drusilia turned around to stare at him, since he seemed to be done with her hair anyway. "No," she said, hating to admit it. "Well then. You must have guards," he said, standing to his feet. "So that you can stay alive." His eyes narrowed shrewdly, and he added, "After all, if you died, it would make Celia's sacrifice be for nothing. You wouldn't want that, would you?" Drusilia swallowed hard. "No, no. Never that." Papa nodded, looking satisfied. "Then you will keep living, under my protection until I decide that you are capable of protecting yourself." "Alright," Drusilia said heavily. "But I want to continue my fighting lessons." Papa smiled at her. "Oh, you will." He patted her on the head. He moved to the door, opening it. "You are in the compound now," he told her. "The place is bristling with my people. No one will attack," he said, to reassure her. "We will be here until I have utterly slaughtered the opposition." He paused, studying his daughter to see how she would react. Drusilia stared at him. "When they're all dead," she said, after some thought, "They won't come after us anymore, I guess." Papa nodded. "And, by now, word is out that someone made an attempt on your life. I need to make the point that using my daughter is a mistake." His voice turned cold, and he turned away, as if reminded that he had work to do. "Good night, Daughter." Drusilia moved back over to the window, watching the rain some more. She found herself hoping that Papa's vengeance would be swift and merciless. She wished that she could be with him when he did it, to avenge Celia. With a sigh, she turned away from the window. She was hungry. It was time to go on with living. [/QUOTE]

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