Drekkan

DREKKAN

“ H ey, !”

Qrow’s voice is very, very loud. My head pounds, like I’ve been drinking ale-wine all night, only I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed some ale-wine.

Or enjoyed anything.

I groan, sitting up and wishing I hadn’t, clutching at my head as I steel myself to open my eyes and see the travesty of color which is Qrow.

He grins at me. I’m back in my cave, slumped in the pit I refuse to call my bed. I don’t remember getting here. In fact, I don’t remember anything after…

Claws scrabble at the metal around my neck. Maybe a little more gently this time.

“What the nev is this?” I snarl at Qrow.

The collar whines.

“Control collar. Mayor says it has to stay on until after the celebrations, then I can take it off you. He suggests you might want to join in this turn,” Qrow says hopefully.

“What the nev is a control collar?”

“I understand it stops you changing into a Sarkarnii, at least fully. And if you try anything like last night, well…you’ll wake up here again.” Qrow spreads his hands out, looking around at the mess I live in.

“Nev Kitchik and its nevving celebrations,” I growl, flinging myself back into my pit, my back to him. “Nev off, Qrow, and tell the mayor I’ll get this collar off, then I’ll eat him.”

I must have really nevved the mayor off this time. I’ve gotten soft, thinking the inhabitants of Kitchik were scared enough of me to leave me alone to do what I want.

I didn’t bank on how much they love their solstice celebrations. Celebrations I’ve ignored in the past. Celebrations I’ve never actually interfered with…until now.

This is how far they’ll go to protect them. I growl out loud. The collar peeps irritatingly.

“Please don’t make it hurt you,” Qrow says querulously from behind me.

“Are you still here?” I say evenly, attempting to keep the snarl out of my voice for the benefit of the collar but still imbuing my words with as much menace as I can. “Nev off.”

I lie still for a long time, until I’m sure he’s gone. Then I roll onto my back, tuck my hand behind my head, and contemplate my nevving life. Stuck on this pathetic rock after…what happened…with my ship in disrepair. Now I’ve nevved everyone off enough they’ve put a collar around my neck and are insisting I celebrate with them, rather than getting on with my life.

Such as it is.

My stomach growls. I don’t remember the last time I ate. My thigh aches as I get to my feet. The pulsar damage has been cleaned up, presumably while I was unconscious, but my usual healing hasn’t kicked in. Then, what did Qrow say? I can’t shift with it on? That’s going to make healing a painful process. Shifting usually resolves such minor injuries in no time.

My tail is normally always present, but today, it is not. I try to shift it out and the collar makes a low farting noise.

Do I want to push it any further? Probably not. I have to work out a way of getting it off, getting into the spaceport, and getting what I need. If the nevving mayor thought something as minor as putting a control collar on me would keep me from my goal, or stop me from interrupting their celebrations, he was wrong.

I’m still fingering the collar as I limp over to the locker where I keep food, an idea prickling in the back of my mind. I flip the locker open, expecting to see my supplies, but instead, it is empty.

I stare at the note which has taken the place of my food. It’s in Qrow’s weird curly writing, and my translator chip struggles to keep up with it.

The mayor thought it might be a good idea if you joined us in the celebrations for a change. Come eat with us.

Or at least, I guess that’s what it says. There are other words which could be an apology or his attempt to convince me this is a good thing. I release a cloud of smoke and some flames. The collar doesn’t make a sound, thank the ancestors.

It looks like I have no choice but to join Kitchik with their solstice celebrations. But it doesn’t mean I still can’t get what I want.

And when I get it, I’m going to burn this place to ash.