[…]
“I… since Togi doesn't have its own high school, I spent much time in Njoty, as… an outsider… in all senses of the word,” he begins, trying desperately to keep his voice level and not skip out of facts in the process. “I wanted…” he trails off at this point, unable to continue for long moments. “…a little bit of respect,” he finally whispers.
Dakarai takes a deep breath, finally finding the inner courage to continue speaking, regardless of how painful it is for him. “Early in twothousand-and-five, I decided I would try to… I would try to show them my worth by completing the gym circuit. I… prepared…” - He twitches abruptly. - “…myself by reading many books on the subject and informing myself about various… related technologies. On the fourteenth of May, I…” Again, his words catch in his throat - and now he whimpers in protest, though to no avail.
His eyes open slowly, revealing that the swirl of green has slowed and dimmed, making way for a strange emptiness. His voice continues, flimsily: “On the fourteenth of May, twothousand-and-five, I gathered several utensils together to begin working on a project I thought would help me attain my goal swiftly and efficiently. I completed it on the… twenty-ninth of September, twothousand-and-five. The result of my efforts was… a weapon… which… unfortunately… is still in use today.”
“On October the thir-” - “Aren't you forgetting something?” Jagdish interrupts Dakarai's roll, his grip twitching against his scalp. - “…m'lord?” Dakarai asks, his voice sounding utterly drained. - “Shouldn't you be a little bit more specific?” - Dakarai winces, his shoulders sagging a little. “…the device… - weapon… was - is - a whip,” he manages to say, with surprisingly little effort, shame tingling across the entirety of his body. He shifts his head slightly in Jagdish's grip, before taking an audible breath and continuing: “On the third of October, I set out to begin, and spent approximately a week capturing and strengthening pokémon around Mount Black.”
“On the eighth of November, in the late evening, I returned to Njoty and battled for and won the Path badge. On the ninth of November, I reached Nahla, and battled for and won the Dust badge. On the tenth of October, I reached Nightclaw and battled for and won the Glin-” - “You can summarise,” Jagdish sneers abruptly, interrupting Dakarai again. - “…m'lord?” Dakarai asks, his voice trembling. - “I assure you,” the gymleader remarks, icily. “It won't be mistaken for a brag.” His fingers flex through Dakarai's hair almost soothingly for a moment. - Dakarai swallows once more, before continuing: “…I progressed one gym a day and reached Taqnateh on the sixteenth of November, twothousand-and-five. I battled, and…” he trails off again, before shaking his head despite the grip on it. “M'lord, please?”
Jagdish pats Dakarai on his right shoulder, before regarding Raiko and telling him, simply: “It's a little wonder of technology that bundles the energies of pokémon types into [its three strands], selectably.” Then he chuckles, before pulling Dakarai's head to the side and tracing his fingertips, one each, down the marks left by Marcus' attack. “It hurts. A lot,” he says, simply, his voice thick with venom.
“Now, continue,” Jagdish snaps at Dakarai, pulling his head back slightly again, but without restricting his ability to swallow easily. - Dakarai whimpers softly, before whispering: “On the sixteenth of November, twothousand-and-five, I battled for the Astral badge in Taqnateh… and I won the battle.” His eyes drift closed, his last words having been barely audible.
“Nuh-uh,” the gymleader snaps. “You forget, Raiko is new here, treat him like a tabula rasa, waiting for your paintbrush to fill him with knowledge,” he says in a venomously yet saccharine sing-song tone. Dakarai whimpers, trying to cringe away from him slightly - and it prompts Jagdish to straighten and glance across at Raiko, sighing softly, as though dealing with a defiant little child. “The gym battle up here is designed to be unbeatable, Mr. Zelenka,” he tells Raiko. “Trainers wager their lives, possessions and pokémon in return for the Astral badge… perhaps they think that it is a test of courage?”
“I have won many lives in those battles, Mr. Zelenka. Losing is not usually part of our routine up here… but Dakarai here surpassed our expectations of cruelty.” He lets his fingers flex rhythmically against Dakarai's head, like a hypnotic, soothing massage. “Needless to say we couldn't let him go, not after all of that. He was quite… unique.”
“Since then, Dakarai has been our little experiment,” the gymleader remarks. “He was trying to fool us, you see,” he says, with a note of heavy sadness entering his voice - it's not a mocking one. “He understood quickly… very quickly, because he had focussed so hard on his little share of pride that he was well aware of it. He never wanted to be cruel - he just never realised it. And he's a bright lad,” he coos. “I think he understood it the moment we said, 'Dakarai N'Sehla, you are charged with excessive cruelty to your pokémon,' he knew, he knew what he'd done right there and then,” his voice drops to a whisper. “But he's a good actor, aren't you, my boy?”
“He pushed us to come up with the worst things we could possibly imagine. He was, of course, sentenced to death - so many that come up here are, after all, it's unfortunate, but wholly fair.” He chuckles a little, leaning down to kiss one of Dakarai's brows, before straightening again. “After eight days… - because, while sentenced to death, that was to come last, and he had a while to go - after eight days, I caught on, by chance… and I asked him, Dakarai, you silly boy… you're hurting yourself, you're making it worse for you, so much, much worse… why do you do that?”
Dakarai is silently crying by now, tears glittering on his cheeks, soundlessly. - “My sweet boy,” he remarks, softly, sighing slightly, before giving his shoulder a soothing pat. “He's a bright lad - and with that… momentary blindness of his life removed, there was nothing other than purity, do you understand, Mr. Zelenka?” he regards Raiko with a broad, genuinely happy smile, like the smile of someone who's found enlightenment, a twinkle in his eyes. “He thought he was beyond redemption. He was crafting his own punishment… by manipulating us. The little swindling bastard.” He chuckles, last phrase full of fondness.
The gymleader sighs theatrically, before letting go of Dakarai's head. “Well, he was sworn to secrecy, though. He fucked that one up, unfortunately.” His expression darkens noticably. “And every experiment comes with its own terms and conditions. Dakarai, tell me, what did we agree on?” - Dakarai lets his gaze drift down and latch to the ground, his face a frown. “…I live on borrowed time,” he says, simply, his tone neutral, even though he looks shaken and beaten to the core.
He glances aside, his gaze settling down on the ground somewhere, but it's nowhere in particular. “…I knew what I was doing when I broke my vow, Raiko. I don't expect special treatment.” His voice sounds hollow.
Dakarai's glance drifts up to Raiko for a moment, brows twitching as though to say: 'No shit, sherlock,' but without bringing it up. Instead, he sighs softly. “I'm… trying to come to terms with myself, Raiko. Please shut up.” Well, that was quite… frank, even if delivered with strange amounts of earnest care.
Long minutes pass, before Dakarai's shape stirs and he shifts, slowly pushing himself to a sit, strands of hair coming to rest across his forehead, his eyes drifting closed. A moment later, he's pulled his legs up and is resting his arms over his knees. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out, and he merely shakes his head slightly. “Sorry,” he remarks, softly, the word barely audible.
Knocked back by Raiko's weight and momentum, [Jagdish] snarls reflexively - skidding across the hard stone ground on his back, bringing up one hand to push against Raiko's shape, fingers curling to grab a hold of the fabric of his shirt. But of course it's not that simple - not with Dakarai, and, retrospectively, it was probably to be expected, but the motion still catches Raiko entirely off guard, arms sliding around him with sudden energy, Dakarai's left arm attempting to come to rest against Raiko's throat, right held in parallel to Raiko's, fingers grasping for his wrist to pull it back and against his spine, all in one graceful motion.
There's hesitation, of course - no amount of courage is going to make poisoning oneself easy in a hurry, unless one was truly suicidally inclined, which, despite everything, Dakarai was not. His hands loosely resting on his knees, he flexes them slightly, before squeezing his eyes shut and taking a sip. Eugh, bitter. No surprise there - but a petty part of him wishes for some sugar and berates the man holding the cup for not ceding that courtesy.
“Drink up - unless you're in the mood for a horribly excruciating and drawn-out death, which, well… knowing you…?” Jagdish mocks slightly, fondly. Something about his calmness seems off, as though it weren't natural to him… not right now. He's gentle in tilting the goblet and a frown touches his lips, pulling their corners down into a grimace. A few moments pass, before the last drop rolls from the metal its crafted from, and Dakarai's face contorts in a sour grimace, moving his head to the side, air hissing from him, before he coughs reflexively, twice, loudly. “Fuck,” he mutters, though it's more to himself.
A tremor runs through Dakarai's shape, his hands flexing, and, eyes squeezing shut again, he exhales audibly, in a soft wince. Then he seems to quieten, though, remaining sat as he is… waiting. Arms slide around his shape, pulling him into a loose hug - item discarded with a soft clatter - and Jagdish's gaze shifts to latch onto Raiko, through him, looking quite bitter, his jawline resting against the side of Dakarai's head at height of his cheek bone, holding him silently.
The hug tightens into something like a grip as Dakarai's shape is gripped by a reflexive spasm and the attempt to curl forward and in on himself - a pitiful sound surfaces from him, mixture of gasp and whimper of pain, and he lets himself lean forward, sagging slightly, his right hand rising to rest against the gymleader's back, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as though for support. The softest series of whimpers spills from him as he buries his face into the man's shoulder.
Jagdish bites his lower lip with visible force, causing the skin to pale further, his eyes closing as he holds Dakarai's now shivering shape. “Shh,” he says, softly, whispering, his arms pressed against the suffering shape, circled around it supportingly. Could he imagine what he was feeling right now, other than an horrible, all-consuming cold? Not really - especially since it was beyond Dakarai's abilities to say something as trivial as: “It hurts.” It just wasn't part of his vocabulary - but it probably rung true now.
Slowly, very slowly, the trembles subside, defeatedly - he's still breathing, though, a strange calmness setting in, crowding into the remnant of conscious thought as he feels a numbness close in on his shape, pleasant in that it dispells the sensation of stabbing cold. Not finding the energy to speak, his lips move in silence, mouthing 'Thank you,' though he distantly wonders if anyone will ever know what for. Smiling lightly, he decides he has faith that it will be understood, and he lets himself relax.
Arguably, it's not easy for Raiko to tell the last breath for what it is - he's not at an angle to see those subtle motions; but indirectly, it becomes evident as a violent shudder seizes Jagdish's shoulders, travelling down through his arms, them shifting to cling to the lifeless shape, and silent tears of very real grief leak from his eyes, his teeth gritted to force himself into silence, his cheek pressed against Dakarai's head.