breezeshadow | I swear I can write happy things

So I thought up a Nur story last night, and for the most part it stayed with me.

The magistrate's office was stuffy yet still cold, either from the lost seven kilograms that she had yet to gain back, or the unwelcome atmosphere of the room. She did not understand most Ubiquitous yet, and while she had a translator beside her constantly whispering into her ear, it was the emotion in the room that she understood the strongest. A telepath stood in the corner of the room, eyes half-closed, and every time Nur looked at him, panic bubbled in her throat; but she could not feel his presence get any stronger or weaker, and it seemed that whatever his purpose, it was not to suffocate her.

"I understand that Ms. Nur has come from a different situation." The Judge pronounced her name strangely, flat and lifeless. "But Garanee is her homeland, her place of birth and culture. I do not understand why she has left it in favour of our Empire."

"Dire circumstances, Judge. Dire circumstances." Nur's "lawyer" -- a strange concept, which she only understood as the person who spoke for her, saying words in the right way to the Judge, who seemed to be like the leader of a coven, or maybe a guard, or some combination. There seemed to be little sense in it, talking to multiple people who all had different viewpoints and did not share these with others. And they had no network to help them, supposedly. Nur could only imagine it as going around blind and deaf, stumbling into walls, but then, even a deaf vampire could hear their companion's thoughts.

"So you keep saying." Bored irritation tainted the Judge's words as he made full eye contact with the lawyer; Nur looked between the two nervously. "Did she not go to the colonial authorities about the attack? No requests to Eroqu?"

"Garanee does not have the organization and accountability that our great Empire has." Her lawyer took a tip of water from a smooth glass container. "Her plight was not discovered by authorities. She teleported half-dead into a butcher's shop. It was that man's kindness that saved her, but their attempts to get answers failed. The mayor of the town refused to help, saying it was not his problem. The colonial governor refused to even see them."

"I see. And then a dead body teleported into the butcher's shop a few weeks later?" The Judge sighed heavily when her lawyer tipped his head forward -- a nod, was it called? "Erik, how difficult would it be for any killed vampires to teleport across Garanee, as opposed to here?"

"The very act of teleporting when so badly injured is grevious on the body." The telepath had a strange, unfamiliar accent, nothing like the ones she heard on the murderers of her coven. It reduced her fear enough to look at him curiously, trying to identify him further -- brown skin, bright hazel eyes, and thick curly hair. He looked nothing like the other humans in the room. "But certainly, teleporting in Garanee would happen far more easily. If these killings are happening at such a pace, surely more of the outlying covens will try to teleport to safety, such as a closed building. Getting here would not be in their minds at all -- they wouldn't know of it."

"So, no chance at all?" The Judge turned to look at the telepath.

"Miniscule. But there is another aspect at hand, Judge." A small frown traced the human's face, and she could feel his sadness like a flooding river. "Vampires have much... Stronger telepathy than humans. We can't find a comparison. But it seems that when these attacks are occurring, many other vampires know of it, even those who do not know the victims."

"So when one of their kind dies, they all can feel it?" The Judge sounded surprised, doubt thick in his mind; at the telepath's nod he turned and looked directly at her. "Can she feel when they die?"

At her translator's words, Nur narrowed her eyes, ears twitching. The question was asked so callously -- "can you feel when your friends are murdered, burning to death, crying out for help and receiving none?" More than that -- she felt their panic upon the first attack, their desperate fight, and then the pain as the sun ate at their skin and flesh. She heard their screaming, and then heard others hear it, and their own desperation as they struggled with indecision. And she felt when that vampire went out, extinguished like the rays that killed them. Writhing in pain in the butcher's home, she had felt all of it and more, day after day, neverending, and above it all the rapid unraveling of her coven leader, alive and unable to stop it--

Until one day Nur had no choice but to snuff it all out, cutting her mind away from her coven, her family, and the corpse thoughts of Lutfi, echoing screams and begging for help as she burned alive in the noon sun. Instead of relief, it brought the cold emptiness, a blank mind lacking life and companionship, ripped from it like grass in a baby's hands...

"Yes." She knew that word in Ubiquitous by then, barking it out and clearly taking the Judge aback. Then she borrowed one of his own words to snap back at him: "Feel."

But come on brain, usually Nur stories are HAPPY. What's this nonsense?

I actually hope to bring it around to something more heartwarming, but it will require a timeskip, I think, so we'll see.

Now back to reading about WWII war crimes (I really need to read happier Wikipedia articles) and cleaning the house.

Tschuess.