The Onyx Tattoo

Mistakes

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"I will do it."

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"That's good," Meyora told him, flashing those pearly whites in a predator's grin, one that made Polen narrow his eyes in distrust. Then she flipped her short hair and called over her shoulder, "Kiwa!"

The servant of Topaz, apparently still waiting below, appeared over the edge of the building, bowing slight to Meyora when she was standing. The leader cast him a glance as she told her, "Let's go. We'll be showing him where we stay."

Kiwa was quick to protest, and rightly so, Polen thought. "Meyora, how can you trust him so quickly? He could break the entire organization apart!" He tilted his head at her wild hand-waving, thinking to himself that it was a little overboard; he hid the tiny curl of his lip with a duck of his head, casting a shadow across his face in the already dark night.

Meyora shot Polen a secretive smile once Kiwa arms were once more at her sides, and he began to understand that this girl was far more devious than he had initially thought. "I don't believe he will. Will you?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Polen replied honestly. And he wouldn't, literally and figuratively - because he couldn't sleep, so not literally, and figuratively... well, he didn't have any reason to think about doing so. He wondered why the petite Servant of Cobalt was so confident; then he remembered that she'd been the one he had caught painting the name on the pump outside his house. When he hadn't turned her in, despite being a Servant of Onyx, he must've gained her trust (or at least the majority of it).

So she wasn't completely stupid, or she was sort of smart, at the very least - not that Polen could be sure. Besides, he was smarter, so what did he care? He could see through lies now if he paid attention to body language, which would no doubt be invaluable as time wore on.

Grumbling, Kiwa made her way toward the ground, climbing down with the grace of a cat. She was followed closely by Meyora. Polen simply leapt down from the tall building, sliding his feet in such a way that he landed quietly enough that one would have to strain their ears to hear him. "Impressive," Meyora murmured for his ears alone, but Polen did not respond. She was obviously attempting to get into his good graces, but she would have to try harder than that.

They traveled silently through the moonlit streets, Kiwa first and him last, cautious and careful and moving with smooth movements. He took great care with his steps, not eager to trip up in front of either of the girls, but then quite suddenly he completely missed a step and choked, almost biting his tongue (which probably would've ended badly). Rage filled his body, causing his fingers to shake and his vision to swim with red. He fought to control it, grinding his cheek between his teeth so forcefully the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, but this fueled it even more, and he soon found himself gripping his hands tightly together, fighting the urge to reach out and snap Meyora's neck.

Somewhere, in a detached corner of his mind, he understood that his tattoo was telling him to not let the traitors escape, to kill them, to not be with them. Something was telling him of all the honor he would receive if he shut down the Solitaire; something else, himself, his heart, was telling him about all the people who would have to suffer much like he did. Both only strengthened his resolve and his vow to end it all.

He managed to control the rage so well that Kiwa noticed only when he snapped his jaws together, grinding his teeth. "Something wrong?" she asked icily, hand on her dagger. What she thought to do with it, Polen didn't know; it wasn't like she could stab him to death should he go into a frenzy. He belatedly identified it as a nervous tick.