There is not a word that spills from him in all that time, not a peep that escapes his alabaster lips until my furious rant is done and over (for the time being), eyes grim as they take in my appearance— lingering a moment too long on the bubble gum eyes that challenge crimson, holding out until Volterra speaks to me (wow, finally I'm acknowledged! It only took me eight long months to get his attention!).

"Funny, you think she'd mention me— she is my mentor after all." I choose my words carefully, picking apart Volterra's reaction to my words, needing the closure of his confusion (why had she not told me?)— waiting for that second of victory that I wasn't even sure would come.

It hurts (only a little) that Nymeria failed to mention my existence, and so that gives me the assumption that Volterra has not encountered the Mountain either (why would he?)— that the world neglected telling this idiot that he was as fertile as a rabbit, mass producing children like there was no tomorrow (or so he will be). My stomach churns at the idea of his conquests, of how much he must fuck if he can't even keep track of his children, that he's a hit and run kind of brute— ears draw back at the idea of Volterra fleeing from his victories because he cannot handle the responsibility and possibility of a child spilling from the sinful thighs he'd just conquered.

My lips twitch at his words, recalling word for word aunt Nym's description of Volterra— he is foolishly stubborn and close minded, a warrior, a man wearing his heart on his sleeve, an open flame. He preaches that he is not one for empty words (does he think my words are empty? Can he not feel the heat of my fury, see the rage induced trembling of my body?), that my body is my only real weapon— and oh he doesn't even know, soon I will have a body fit enough to charm (even the straightest of) men, to use the sway of my hips and elegance of my bulk to seduce the lustful fools. I'll conquer kingdoms with ease in the way my lips will work and my girly eyes will sparkle, with the way I'll please them even better than their queens ever could. And all the while I'll have their sons on the side begging me to look at them, to acknowledge their heroic acts and lay with them for a change. I'll have them all on their knees pleading for more, because this world is full of sick, greedy bastards who can never get their fill.

But Volterra, the straightest Straight, doesn't mean that kind of weapon. He means for battle, for brawn— to discard my knowledge and let the instincts take hold. But that isn't how I work. I work with both, body and mind combined in a not yet perfected technique used to outwit my opponents, verbal or physical. It's only just begun, a simple idea put into motion by taking up the role of Nymeria's apprentice. Eventually I'll have perfected the art, but for now it's still a work in progress that would look more like a failure than a success if I dared act on it now.

Zhu has been seething with white hot anger ever since my lips opened and I acted against Volterra, tail irritatingly twitching until it made its way off of the ground (that wasn't exactly the body part I was looking to charm but... it works). As sick and frustrating as it is, my eyes still linger a second too long on Zhu's glass framed features, still hover over those almost bulging muscles, knowing that whatever ideas Volterra had for me being some mare charming man are long gone. I've only got my eyes on one thing— and that's dick.

Midnight lips part and from them seeps a language foreign to me, but not between my father and son brother. Turning my head slowly towards Zhu, the typical smug smile I wear falls back into place and ears waver as my dual tone lips part to speak to him. "I hope that was a compliment." My eyes fall to the ghastly moons, seeking out something more than the solidified bitterness that had presented itself within the last few minutes.

I look at Volterra again, quaking with the hatred that has welled up inside of me— hatred that has been building every time I stop and think, "where is he now?" Every time Mother beats me, every time spit flies from her maw as fast as her insults, every time I glance upon other children and hear them preaching of their parents. Where has he been? Would he have ever even known about me if not for this chance meeting?

My teeth grind together, macabre features scrunching up as I gaze at the still stallion, watching as he waits for me to barge in to attack him in his might— tall and powerful, he's sturdy and strong, a force to be reckoned with. But he is an open man, an emotional one who bears his emotions where they are vulnerable and carries his burdens on his shoulders and beneath his mask (like Nymeria). I flatten my ears, glancing at Zhu with eyes dragging across ivory freckled features. "If you aren't swinging first, I will."

I take myself forward at a steady pace, legs rushing me to Volterra's front with nostrils flaring and eyes dulled— all the pain that I'd dealt with thus far, all the uncomfortable nights tossing and turning on open wounds, all the emotional and physical trauma I've put up with— it compels me to strike. The first blow is a simple set of blunt teeth headed straight to the breast, an attempt to bite and tear and make Volterra match me. The second comes when I move to the side, teeth now reaching for the soft skin beneath the stomach, the spot I've come to learn to be the most painful place to be hit.

The deepest scars pulse with each passing moment, throbbing as revenge is sought on one of the two people who worked to create this hell I'm trapped in. I want him to see them, want him to look at all the etches in my skin, the abundance of suffering I've managed to brave with each passing day since the beginning of my youth (since I took my first breath).

I strike at the left knee from behind, kicking out at it as if some how it would off set the titan before me. I was lucky if it shook him even slightly. I was no powerful brute ripened with experience and battle knowledge, packed with muscle and physical strength— I was a boy with a temper and harsh bite. I proceed to bite and kick, teeth fighting to get a grasp on a chunk of onyx shoulder, legs kicking out at knees and his stomach— breath quickening in the one sided fight (but I do not fight until exhaustion).

I take steps back, looking up at Volterra and feeling unsatisfied— gross, even. He just stands still, an unwavering presence that makes me sick (it feels wrong when he's just there?). It's too much like my situation with Mother, albeit he is stronger and I am weaker, he has offered himself and I am just here. The stifling, sharp pains of anxiety overcome my anger, now dwindling to a weak flame as my head pivots to look at Zhu. "Your turn." I swallow the knot in my throat, gagging internally at the pain it brings as I speak to my brother, just barely succeeding in hiding my worry.