Take a message?
Closed lids pulsed swiftly against their enclosure; tightening the taught appearance stubbornly as he felt himself skidding agressively across the flimsy, jagged rock surface that, unfortunately for him, was terra Cyclonia.
Not the most graceful of landings...
But the twenty-eight year old currently had little concern for...hell he didn't even care!
As far as the almighty Talon Commander was concerned; the most important matter at hand, right now, in his little world, was this indescribable, intolerable, inexcusable wench of a splitting headache that currently found some sort of amusement through tossing his front cranial lobes around like a puppy with a ball!
As he stalked along and down the unforgiving path of gravel and what he considered to be simply shattered over glass, he counldn't help but growl at the sudden gust of dangerously dry wind blasted itself against his tired face-- he couldn't help but feel that his noble jet black hair had been completely disshelved atop his beginning to tarnish head-piece; save for the few solitary locks that attempted to redeem any sense of physical pride; dangling cooly just below his eyebrow in a glamerous facade while the back appeared to have ruffled and shook it's own way into a panicked fluff of a spike...
Definately not the sleek or 'cool' image that you'd have given to Cyclonia's talon commander.
The soon to be scorching air was a warning--always fortold the coming of the rainy season: but Ace couldn't care less. Twenty-eight years of heat had boiled his blood; spawned his venom--nurtured his vindictivity; incredibly, it'd only taken a mere twelve months for his anger, his temper to escalate beyond his own bleeding blood lust!
Those Storm Hawks!
Stray gravel brushed through and took liberty to mat itself at the back of his hair--heightening his excuse to seethe savagely against the natural forces of fate and weather itself!
He snarled; eyes narrowing against the archway of Cyclonis' palace--oh just one more crystal!
Just one more bleeding crystal and he could've had him!
Just one iota more of power and
He'd have had it all!
The Atmos--Hell maybe even the entire Stratosphere and Exosphere!! All held in the palm of his cold, unfeeling, mechanical palm...where his own set of talons could sink in...influence...conspire and control through the very core of his, what could have been his universe!
His eyes had once burned to the brim with raw ambition! Fresh and unhindered through flimsy, communial shared dressings--he picked and pulsated through the very conceptual wound, and relished in extasy as it bled his very future into his head and set his eyes passionately ablaze with his own infinate glory!
As his boots hit the metallic tiling with a harsh CLANK of a sound...Ace never quite comprehended just how cold it could sometimes be on the innards of Cyclonis' palace...the raging beacon of terra Cyclonia...
"Take a message..."
He grimaced as his further mussed and bedded hair set heavilly against his scalp--weighing down upon his own throbing skull and all but illustrating just how deep he was in this time...
His eyes were still burning...but from anything but passionate power now...
"did I really...?...of all the things to..." Shaking his head out--he found his stubbornly creased brow-line coming apart at it's previously tight-knit seems...
Now: Ace had an option:
In saluting and celebrating all forms of deciet and mischieve; essentially clinching his fate as a suicidal insubordinate--Left lead to his quarters; which he supposed could buy him some extra hours to think and plan in all futility before his Master decided to put that staff to good use...
Right, however, offered atleast some security...he could stride in, as high and mighty as he liked, stand before Master Cyclonis' altar and pray to whatever that she had, infact, not recieved hide nor hair of detail of the Dark Ace's insubordination.
The air-conditioning was set heavilly against the frosty, prison-esque walls of the corridor--wafting against the nape of his neck, and arching his own back for him.
Here came the come down...
And anyway; Ace didn't feel like being hunted like some animal who was just about ready for it's intestines to be yanked out through his nose.
For Atmos' sake: He was a talon general!
His nose lifted in arrogance,
A scourge-fueled warrior!
His arms tensed amongst his armour; inspiring his strides to a brisker level,
He was Cyclonia's hand chosen champ! Her right-hand man!
And the twenty-eight year old man could honestly and openly say--that he'd never taken the time to admire the archway's bestial detail in such incredible care before...because he realized just how incredibly small he was, standing beneath the teeth of Cyclonis' crystal lab door...
His chest bore the Cyclonian insignia--a heavy honour upon his heart!
It took the pounds he should've given tfore stalking inside, before taking long, brash strides towards her pedastal.
An aura of indifference thickened the air; her luxuriously plain robes batted loosely against the back of her stoically practical boots as she marched casually from counter to counter. Apart from, perhaps, a slight flicker of a spark of solemn disturbance momentarilly igniting her eyes away from her work--the young Master paid little heed to her wayward protector.
The elder of the two figures, admidst craning his neck, stole the opportunity to slide his aching lids down and over his currently straining eyes; murderous red demanded that he lay creaking concentration from his straining neck up to the stifling the noise of his ignorantly blistering brain--damned power-withdrawl was tearing holes through his very cortex like a blunt drill through a decrepped piece of wood!
She hadn't turned; hadn't spoken.
He dared crack an ambitious eye open.
There she was: clicking, clacking, pressing away at her helpless tools--moulding the obedient machine to a pinical of loyalty.
Perhaps she hadn't heard him come in?
Ace's eyes tenderly slid open; gazing raggedly upon the form of his superior;
A momentary nitch in her rythmic typing--barely a split-second's worth; but the uncomprehending silence in response to his greeting had his eyes blinking their way into a form of questionable clarity. His subtelty in clearing his throat was tedious at best,
A little louder this time--he knew she'd heard him. Her elaborate typing ceased as her talon-eque fingers clinched against her palms.
He waited; observing carefully as her hands struck down to her hips and gave her adequate leverage to turn sharply on her heels--stalking over to the opposite work-top on his right hand side--resuming, in little obviousness, what he could only assume would be the action of igonoring him.
"take a message,"
He perked instantly,
"Excuse me? Master?"
"Take a message." violent violet eyes pierced his own hazed red ones; striking any glowing form of pride or confidence that he'd managed to retain down low into the lava-based wastelands of his own psyche. "Would you care to explain that to me, Dark Ace?"
Instantly; Cyclonis' lap barking dog felt that he'd had himself yapping disgracefully against purposely deafened ears. Oh Atmos, what the hell was there to do?!
A hitch in his breath to connotate thought: ok--she was your overlord as well as your employer; did the two forms of leadership bear a crossroads of significant difference?
"Yes?" Her nose raised itself dutifully against his lowered gaze; fingers rapping irritably against her forearm as the slick, jet-black haired man found himself clawing against the festering wounds of his shattered mentality; desperate to piece together any form of plausable excuse.
"I...was not of my own character, Master!" his eyes sparkled anew; that underlining glimmer of passionate deciet blazed atop his own irises "Ofcourse, had I been able to comprehend the bigger picture, I would have instantly returned t--"
"You had no such intention of returning."
Fire extinguished; he snapped down to resume staring at the offensively prominent dirt that was harrassing his once polished boots,
"Such deciet! Such...Such insubordination! Such...!" In a split second; the fourteen year old master found herself turning abbraisively back to her work top--fingers furiously snapping and cracking against the poor defenseless keyboard.
The young man dared a peek up at his master...she seemed...quite contented enough to continue with her work...to bask in the aggressive glare of her precision-based crystals...
He stared; discreetly chewing the inside of his mouth. Perhaps best if he left her well alone?
In a bode of common confidence, the Dark Ace felt himself mimmick his master to a bold point--briskly turning heel as he fought to keep a near enough invisible demeanor about him.
Seven strides; she appeared to care little.
Another set of blinks had his ever-recovering mind reeling. Since when had she ever been so dismissive of his actions?
To say the least he was amazed: he'd expected...well more...
A snarl to strike the fear of her rule into his heart,
A glare to draw blood from a stone,
perhaps even the most vivid of--
Pain!! Pain! Fire! Intense!
He near enough screamed out a yell! Gasping for choked breath; he drove the haze from his murderous orbs to dare a glare up at his Master; matching her own stoic pierce glint for splint!
Her elongated fingers snarked at one of her infamous 'projectile' crystals. Her favourite form...a whip!
Ace could've twitched...snaking a hand behind his back--he felt the join between his upper and lower back, about an inch or so above his cochix. The unceremonious tear in his uniform was literally, painfully obvious as he felt the beginnings of an ugly gash surfacing from the very tips of his spine.
If he were any less of a man; he would've sputtered--choked, coughed...but no. Not him...he stared...eyes widened in pure, obvious clarity...
There cyclonis stood; her stance broad and her gaze cracking at the panes of his own resolve. Her mouth, respectfully, refused to mold or bend in a whim to suit her expression; her elegent lips were pierced smartly together.
He stared; imprinting her above her pedastal...essentially--the fourteen year or so gap between them had been successfully switched: an eye for an eye and all that lark.
"Heed me, Dark Ace," the crystal was secured gruffly in her grip "I will not have my commander skulking around, administoring desent or savagely ravishing carefuly constructed rules."
As he stiffened, her stance straighted accordingly,
"I won't be, as I've heard you so 'elegantly' put it as you splurge out a ten year old story from a stale eighteen year old can of booze--be 'fucked over'--not by my workers, not by those Storm Hawks, and especially," she seethed; glare intensifying ten fold as her muscles stiffened abruptly "Not, By, You."
He had to wince; from two seperate nicks to his pride.
She huffed out a breath; brow knitting together as her action of swallowing repressed any urge she had to further beat the young man into the ground.
Bloody eyes snapped to immediate attention,
"Am I making myself absoloutely...crystal...clear?"
"ye..." clearing his throat, he shook his head abruptly to attention "Yes, Master Cyclonis..."
"Good." a gesture as she absentmindedly tossed the offensive orange crystal into a basin atop her work surface, "You may go."
Had he been any younger...a teenager perhaps...Ace may have growled, snorted or even yelled out arguments to his treatment; but he was older now...supposed to be older...
Lower backside smarting as he took a deep, lengthened bow towards the young overseer--Ace tread carefully upon shaky foundations of trust.
Had he been any less of a man he'd have been whimpering...had he been any less loyal:
...He'd have been sprinting.