a coward behind a shield and spear

i'm going back to my roots
another day, another door, another high, another low
rock bottom, rock bottom, rock bottom

Parting ways shortly after they’re released, Sunjata’s placed onto a tram directly headed for POINT. And all the while, his stomach burns with discomfort to the point where he’s not entirely sure he won’t get sick as the train bumps along little notches in the rails.

It simultaneously feels too short and too long before the train slows, not even given a chance to get his car and drive himself back. Not trusted enough, as he’s pulled from the train car and put into a nondescript black vehicle, headed straight for Bratena Manor. It truly is a miracle that he hasn’t gotten sick yet. How much more trouble could he get into if he showed up on his front doorstep, wearing Drench clothes as well as vomit down the front of it.

He's stronger than that, though, and he swallows all of his nausea down hard, tries to keep a mask in place of silence as the car pulls through the manor’s blockades, pulling up to the front door, where he’s then pulled out of the car once more and brought to the entrance (as if he’d forgotten somehow how to get into his own home). And from there? Well, taken through the front doors, up the spiral staircase, along a dark hallway where Sunjata unfortunately remembers spending much of his youth, and into the Planning Room.

It's dark, except for his father by the desk, and Sunjata swallows hard as the door is shut behind him and he can hear the footsteps of the guards begin to fade away in the distance. It isn’t like they’d do anything anyway. So he tries to stand up tall, even as his back and the wound on his stomach barks its protest. He readjusts he borrowed shirt he wears, and he takes one step further in the room before coming to a complete stop – eyes trained to the floor, his voice which seemed so much more confident and loud slipping from him, only to come out quiet. Almost timid. “Father.”

SUNJATA

god's gonna cut you down

The door closes with a click, the footsteps fading away and leaving them in silence. Dull grey eyes bore a hole in Sunjata, watching as he takes a step closer. Brows lift as the disappointment deigns to open his mouth and speak.

Shaju pushes himself up from the desk, a gloved hand trailing along its surface as he walks around it. Each step makes the loose steel links along his knuckles clink, the sharp sound somehow louder than the boot falls that carry father closer to son. Somehow those knuckles don’t make a sound when they drive into Sunjata’s gut, firm fingers wrapped around his chin in a silent instruction to stay upright.

“You sound like a child.” The observation is disinterested, Shaju unable to even muster the effort of being disappointed. Fingers drop away from Sunjata’s chin to tug at the shirt he’s wearing, his nose curling. “And you’re dressed like trash.” He sniffs and steps back, taking in the full picture.

“So,” knuckles clink again as his hand lifts to stroke at his chin, “which is it? Are you a child, or are you trash?”

SHAJU

i'm going back to my roots
another day, another door, another high, another low
rock bottom, rock bottom, rock bottom

He tries his best to not flinch as his father stands, as he hears the metal along the man’s knuckles move. That sound in and of itself was typically enough to make his blood cold, and here is no different, Sunjata doing his best to keep the chill from coating his bones. Instead, focusing on the shadow along the floor to try and determine what comes next. He should know, though. He knows better than to hope for something else. And this was an event unlike any he’d ever had.

It’s a swift movement that brings Shaju’s knuckles into his stomach and he can’t bite back the way it sucks the air from his lungs, the slight whimper that leaves him as he stumbles, held stubbornly in place with the way his father grabs his face — and still, he doesn’t look at his father. Internally, he winces, knowing better than to show how the words affect him, focusing instead on trying to suck down breaths alongside the pain caused by the fist and the wound he has still trying to heal.

“I—I had nothing else to wear.” It’s likely a mistake, not to answer or acknowledge the question, but at least maybe he can try to get some words out before he’s unable to. He even lifts his gaze just enough to let the steel scan his father’s own. A silver mirror into a silver mirror.

SUNJATA

god's gonna cut you down

There is nothing of himself reflected in his son. All the Bratena head sees are weaknesses he’d ripped out years ago, long before he’d even reached Sunjata’s age. “I asked you a question.” Shaju’s tone never warms from its icy disappointment, it just gets loud, echoing around the dark room. “Maybe you’re just stupid, is that it?” In a practiced motion the back of his hand strikes Sunjata’s face at just the right angle to keep the steel from breaking skin. Bruises can be hidden far easier than cuts, though there’s a good chance either would have time to heal by the time Sunjata is allowed to see the light of day again.

“Are you stupid, boy?” The words are quiet again, somehow more threatening than the shouting had been. This question demands an answer, a correct one, faint clinking from restless hands a constant reminder of the threat of Shaju’s fists.

SHAJU

i'm going back to my roots
another day, another door, another high, another low
rock bottom, rock bottom, rock bottom

He can’t help the flinch this time as his father’s voice rises, dropping his gaze back to the floor the second that he realizes there’s no use in trying to evade the first question. His lips part, as if about to defend himself when he’s hit again, stumbling again in a way that he is forced to catch himself, instinctively reaching up to press his hand against the fiery bruise that begins to form, pain blossoming in sharp shooting sparks that radiate in his mind.

He sucks down a sharp breath as tears sting his eyes, heavier on the bruised cheek. “No.” He snaps stubbornly, frustrated and at a loss of being able to do literally anything in this moment. His hand drops from his cheek and he tries to focus on his father’s face again. “I’m not stupid.” He pauses, taking a shuddering breath to answer the first question. “And I’m not a child nor am I trash.” Again, it tries to come out with conviction, only to falter slightly with the tremble in his voice.

SUNJATA

god's gonna cut you down

“No?” The Arbiter repeats the word as if it’s been said by a child; too young, too undeveloped to know the kind of weight it can carry. “So I’m wrong then? The stupid, dirty child I see in front of me isn’t what you are?” Without stepping closer again Shaju leans in, daring Sunjata to try and look away with only the intensity of his gaze.

Sometimes it’s nearly impossible to tell what the right move is, if there’s some way to deescalate the situation. This time it seems obvious, the previous questions requiring answers, but no sooner does Sunjata dare open his mouth to retort than Shaju’s voice comes screaming out of him. “I told you not to go. I expected you home. What are you boy?!”

SHAJU

i'm going back to my roots
another day, another door, another high, another low
rock bottom, rock bottom, rock bottom

As much as he tries to hide it, the hurt does flicker across Sunjata’s face — in the frown that tries to grow even despite the pain to his cheek, the way his gaze grows more fractured as his father leans in. His pulse starts to race and shame colors his cheeks more than the bruise starting to form, and what makes it even worse is when he does try to respond and Shaju’s voice booms above it and it takes every ounce of Sunjata’s focus not to flinch.

But it sparks a streak of stubbornness, one that he knows he’s going to regret the second it happens, but he has to tell him. He has to get it out. “I tried!” The young enforcer tries to get out. “I got to the edge of the crowd and told the enforcers like everyone else that I belonged up here and instead, one of them stabbed me and shoved me into the tram with the others!” And as if that wasn’t already enough of a mistake, Sunjata’s hurt and anger flares in a way that it hasn’t before.

“And then you closed the tram back up!” So he couldn’t return. And by the time he had, he’d begun to wonder if anyone even cared. His mother would have were she here, but instead she was trapped from returning with the lockdown in place. Which means Sunjata knows that not keeping his tongue and calm will be one of the biggest mistakes he can make right now.

SUNJATA

god's gonna cut you down

A deep inhale through his nose fills Shaju's chest, his jaw set in a stony frown. "You tried." He simpers, striding around Sunjata until he stands behind the boy. Fingers clench behind his back, his plated knuckles clinking menacingly. "You could have tried harder, boy. You could have obeyed me." His knee drives into the back of his sons, bringing him down to the ground so he's kneeling before striding around in front of Sunjata again.

Leaning down, Shaju sneers in his sons face, cold contempt in his eyes. "What did i tell you boy?" Spittle is carried on the force of his shouting, red tinting his features and showing the first palpable sign of his rage. "I gave you an order, and you can't even follow my simple instructions! Pathetic." Leaning back and taking a breath to recompose himself, the arbiter runs a musical hand through his hair and works his jaw.

"So," He sighs, and reaches into his pocket to pull out a small container, taking a pinch of purple powdered snuff out of it and packing it into his lip, "what are we going to do about this, boy?{/sat}"

SHAJU

i'm going back to my roots
another day, another door, another high, another low
rock bottom, rock bottom, rock bottom

It’s a mocking repeat of his words and he doesn’t even know why he’s surprised by it. He also doesn’t know which hurts worse, the actions his father takes to punish him or the fact that as per usual, he isn’t even enough of a person in his father’s eyes to be called anything else but boy.

The strike to his knee does bring him down and his knees collide with the marble floor with a grunt and grimace of pain, hands catching him from losing his balance completely. And when he looks up it’s to more berating, so much anger in his fathers face and words that he flinches from the spit that collides with his face from the shout.

His gaze immediately drops to the floor and he works his jaw tightly, panting through his nose of all the anger and upset that grows within him. That little self destructive voice rings in his mind again as soon as he tries to speak again. “One of us had to go.” He mutters, not elaborating immediately, distinctly ignoring the pain in his leg and shutting himself off from the next reprimand he’ll get from ignoring his father. “Don’t you think it would have been suspicious if nobody else showed up except for the bourgeoisie’s and the Drench? Wasn’t it to help alleviate the lockdown drama?”

SUNJATA

god's gonna cut you down

It shouldn't be possible, the little breath that chuckles out of Shaju's lips. It seems wrong, it's very existence a deeper sign of anger than any strike. A hand flies out and snatches Sunjata's jaw, squeezing it until his teeth grind together. "Do you think I'm an idiot?" No sooner are the words hissed out than the younger Bratena is shoved back roughly, Shaju rubbing his own jaw instead.

"You were costumed well enough that your own brothers in arms didn't recognize you, yet you were there to represent us?" There is a not at all subtle ooze of mockery slipping from Shaju's lips, his words dropping to the ground like the spit he is too dignified to mar his son's presence with. "If you are going to lie you could at least do me the service of making it good." Boredom once again outweighs the disappointment, the Arbiter stepping back towards his desk and thumbing through a stack of papers.

One is tugged out with a casual grace and delicate clink, the sound of the knuckles somehow no less menacing for how gentle they are now. "You will be on double shifts for the next fortnight, one at the station here and one in the Officers Club." A pen transcribes the same on the paper before it's signed and set aside. "You will not be released to normal duties until you have been cleared by me." Steel eyes fix Sunjata with a piercing glare. "Do you understand, boy?"

SHAJU