Division of the Classes (Rafi and kinadra)

[Deathkitten]

((@Rafi))


Terrannish Kelta Meninns V. That was his title. His name and the reason he was worth anything to anyone. At least in his eyes that was what mattered. He hated the Human filth. They lived in squander and couldn't even pick themselves up out of it. He shuddered of the time long ago when Humans ruled. He had only heard stories of it, but still... the thought of it.


"Meninns, sir?" a man said, clearly a bit distressed. He was clearly a neko person. Terra looked at him blandly, and cocked his head to the side in a questioning manner. He didn't bother with asking. The man gulped and nodded, "I... Um... Are you ready sir? We are about to go online soon. In five. Then we cut to commercial, and are back on in ten after that. We wanted to get part of the ride down. The timing is perfect."


Terra nodded a little, grimacing, he didn't want to be going down here of all places. It was the ground floor. His golden eyes peered upwards as his silver tails flicked back and forth. He had all nine of them, ever since an unheard of early age. He was the pride and joy of his family. Remembering that, Terra smiled a little at himself, and sighed in earnest. How he missed those days...


He heard the crew counting down, so he brushed himself off, smiled brightly, and turned to the camera. 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... thumbs up and they were rolling. "Hello and good morning to the good city of Ovalia," a newscaster said next to the smiling Terra. She looked at Terra, who nodded a little to her. Terra then spoke in a commanding voice, not too gruff, but deep and handsome, "Yes. Hello to all of you watching. It is a good day in Ovalia. I am heading down to the bottom district right now to give hope to those that live in that poverty stricken area."


"That is so noble of you, Terrannish," the newscaster said, and Terra shook his head, "Please. Call me Terra. My job is to be a nobleman and a royal, so I act accordingly. Thank you for your kind words though." The caster smiled at him, then touched her ear and looked at the camera, "Back to you, Jamel." As soon as the cameras turned off, Terra groaned and turned away, "Never call me Terra, alright? Realistically you should have called me Sir, Sir Meninns, or even just Meninns. Remember your place."


The moment they were on the ground floor, Terra stepped off the platform, and looked around, a few people strewn about. The news turned back on again, but he refused to be a part of the shot again, and walked off a bit, tired of the crew and their annoying behavior. He took out a cigar, and lit it with his fox fire, knowing that the cigars weren't bad for his race.


He looked around, then found a young girl who seemed injured. His curiosity caught, Terra snuffed out his cigar, and crept up to the human girl, looking at her with curiosity. He had never really seen one up close before. Perhaps in a zoo once, but never where they actually come from and live. Crouching there for a while, he heard the news crews call to him.


Terra raised a brow, and picked up the dirty, injured human, and brought her with him. "I want it collared and washed," he all but commanded once back on the elevator, "Oh. Yes. And tended to whatever is wrong with her. I don't want her defective." The people around seemed... confused and startled, but just nodded, not daring to argue.

 

[Rafi]

Ovalia. The endless city, the city that stretches past the horizon. It is a city made of metal and compounds synthesized both magically and manually. The structures themselves are architectural marvels; their outer walls are made of windows that reflect the sun's rays, alighting each building as a beacon of hope. Atop the roofs of these massive buildings are patches of land-- little farmfields and greenhouses half-way up to the heavens. Sunkissed fruits and vegetables are grown here, as are some delicacies, like meats and poultry. Amidst this land of plenty, living in the highest floors of these towers, is where the high-bloods dwell. Few humans have access to these upper floors, unless they work as farmhands.


Farmhands are the lucky ones. At least the air they breathe isn't thick with smog and damp with disease.


Every other human has to deal with the stench created by the refuse and pollution of many millions of inhabitants. It hangs heavy in the air and settles close to the ground-level, where humans are relegated to live. A few mushrooms, potatoes and tubers grow at ground level, though these are stunted crops grown in poisonous ground under UV lights, since sunlight dows not filter through the smog so thick that the tops of the skyscrapers are not visible to the ground dwellers. If these ground-dwellers want good, fresh food, they are forced to pay exhorbitant food prices set by the high bloods. Hardly surprising that the average lifespan for a human was only about 45 years.


This is the story of two worlds, though a third will likely intrude on the story a few times--as it does in the next paragraph.


Our story begins with one 19 year old human named Towe. As Towe munches on a thin, discolored carrot, the three heavy hoop earrings in her right ear jiggling as her jaw crunched away hungrily. Most humans think it's just odd jewelry. Most humans never paid attention to the rats, who live in the true underbelly of Ovalia in between sewers, pipelines, engines and cables. They kept the water flowing and the heat going and the piss from smelling up the streets. Underground, they were even in charge of some generators and maintaining the fiber optic cables, which assisted the high bloods with various forms of communication.


Towe had been visiting the rats since she was fourteen. The first visit was purely by accident.They had tried to kill the outsider at first, but when she bargained stolen computer parts for her life, they allowed her to live. Over the years, as she filched more communications parts from the factory at which she worked, she earned her other piercings, denoting that she was no longer a footsoldier but a member of the rat realm. The piercing on her bottom lip denoted her complete loyalty to them, that she would never betray their secrets. So, although Towe slept at home, gave her earnings to her parents, and worked fourteen hour shifts at the factory, the highlights of her days were when she slipped into the realm of rats to learn what they know-- particularly in subjects related to electronic communications.The rats viewed her as a rare human that wasn't completely idiotic.


And Towe had to agree. Presently, she is sitting in a bar with a few friends from the factory. "Ever think o' tryin' t'get outta Ovalia?" One of them says, sipping a liquid from a tin can that was something between vodka and gasoline.


"Wheredjya go?" Towe rolls her eyes at the impossibility of the idea. "There's no place for youse outside of Ovalia-- and y'd probably die before you made it to the edge. Howdja pay fer food? Wheredjya stay?"


"S'better than yer ideer of trying to get the foxes to treat us equal," her friend shoots back.


"Well maybe if y'didn't come up with stupid ideas they wunnit treat us as though we can't think," is Towe's retort, said with a slight smile on her lips and a devious glitter in her dark blue eyes. Her friend shakes his head and chuckles, they all clink glasses and the next moment, the argument is forgotten.


After an hour or so, her friends leave. Towe stays seated-- she is expecting someone. She hasn't long to wait before a and old, bedraggled man, probably in his fifties yet still a towering wall of muscle, saunters over into the seat opposite from the thin nineteen year old. Towe anxiously rubs her shaved head. She knows what he will ask, and she knows how she will have to respond.


"Didja get my son transferred to the farms yet?" He asks desperately, looking at her with a glint in his eye that says he will cause her a world of pain if she hasn't succeeded.


"Iss not that simple," Towe protests, tugging at the neck of her coarsely woven shirt. "I can git the files done do problem, but they only hire a set number of workers I have t'wait fer someone to fall ill or die before they'll take his file from the waiting list."


"Lissen here, girl," He growls, "I paid ye good money to move him--"


"And so did others," Towe tries to reason with him but already she's looking for an escape, "But they knows that it takes doing by more than just--"


"Girl, my son's gonna die if 'e stays down here much longer. The poison's already getting to 'is lungs--"


"And I'm sorry 'bout that but I can't--"


THWACK.


Towe falls from her chair and slams her shoulder into the ground, her cheek stinging of the blow and her jaw sore. She's unsure if it's broken. She tries to get up but he pulls her up by the neck of her shirt and pins her against the wall, her feet dangling a few inches off the ground. The world is still spinning but she can see that the people in the bar have given them a wide berth, unwilling to tangle with the six foot eight tank.


"Mark my words, either get my son on a farm or gimme my money back. Or I will--"


"Remember if y'kill me y'won't get results either way," Towe chokes out the words, scrambling to remove the man's hands from her shirt.


The look at each other for a few tense seconds. He finally lets her down. They look at each other, the thin, gangly girl looking up into the world weary eyes of the father who for all his strength is helpless to save his son, and has turned to this slip of a girl who is said to be able to tinker with the dealings of the foxes, or so the rumors say.


He punches her in the gut. Hard. She groans, doubles over, and sinks to her knees.


"Y'don't think I know that you deal with them rats. They can't be trusted and neither can you," he hisses, glaring down at her. She hardly hears what he's saying, she's too busy coughing, which only make her stomach hurt even more.


"Hey, hey, that's enough," A man finally speaks out, coming over and placing a hand on the giant's shoulder. "She's just a kid..."


But the giant is in no mood to listen. He just brushes off the man and aims a few kicks at Towe before storming out of the bar. Representatives of the justice system never appear. They avoid the human neighborhoods whenever possible. The bar eventually returns to its normal din, and the man helps Towe up and walks her to the door. He offers to walk her home, which would have flattered her ego on any other night, but she declines, and leans against the steel walls of the skyscrapers as she stumbles home, wholly focused on staying upright and moving forward that she doesn't even realize that she's the only human in a street full of foxes.


And before she knows it, there's a collar around her neck.


"What the frak?" She wheezes, unwilling to yell for fear of at least one broken rib. "What the frak are you doing?" She repeats.


Already, she knows its too late. Humans have no rights in the eyes of the foxes. Whatever is happening, she is too weak to defend herself, and no human on earth could help her out of this predicament.


She prayed that somewhere, a rat would figure out what was happening to her.

 

[Deathkitten]

The human spoke, but Terra hardly reacted, just a raised brow in her direction. He still held onto her, much to his distaste. One of the news crewmen was worried about her having broken bones. This led to them all worried she was bleeding internally or something like that. So, needless to say, he was left holding this little human girl until they got to a damned doctor.


The little open elevator rose above the smog clouds, and the amount of sunlight that poured in on them was incredible. Terra breathed in the air happily, more than glad to be out of that grimy bottom-feeder area. It took a while, but the group eventually got to the top of one of the lower skyscrapers. Terra got off first, grumbling to himself, "I don't see why any of you couldn't have held the human." They all hated him, but were polite none the less. One spoke up, "Well. Sir. You are the one who picked her up in the first place..."


Terra just shrugged to that comment, and walked on with the human to a nearby medical center. It was connected to the top of the roof, in case there had been any injuries while down in the Human area. Without a word to the crew, who he didn't like anyways, he took the human into the building and looked at the secretary, which was another Kitsune, "You. Heal this thing, would you? I believe it is a female. She seems to be injured. I've chosen her as my pet."


The secretary just looked at Terra with a confused look for a moment before hurrying to prep a room. The hospital was a stark white color, pristine to a fault. Terra groaned as though it was especially tiring to carry around the Human girl for a long period of time. He was rather happy to plop her down onto the prepped hospital bed the moment he could. "Sir!" the nurse who was now in the room cried out, "You've no clue her injuries! That could have done more harm! Sit!"


Terra looked at the smaller nurse incredulously, and then just sat in a nearby chair, not bothering with arguing. "Already too much of a hassle..." he muttered, and waited for them to do their healing thing. He knew they were some of the best at what they do, but he didn't understand what that was entirely. From what Terra knew though, it was a blending of magic and technology that allowed for rapid healing. It was supposed to reach far beyond what human medicine could ever do.


He didn't know how long he had waited there, how many odd things they had done, whether the human was awake or not... He didn't care though anyways. It was just annoying. Once all the nurses had left, they closed the door behind them, and Terra just rose a brow, turning his vulpine head to look at the girl, "Do you speak common tongue? Oh hell. What am I saying? Who knows if you even are smart enough to understand me? Well. If you can. What is your name? I brought you up out of the filth. Now you are my pet, servant, slave... whatever you wish to call it."