sox
فلسطين حرة
her eyeballs? seriously? poor fucking taste.
dayyaan.
In all his time as the leader to the Shati clan, Dayyaan had never felt as stressed as he did in this moment, frozen in front of the dresser in his designated cabin-home wearing nothing but a ratty towel on his head and a pair of black boxer-briefs that he did indeed steal from some poor sap taking a mental health dip in Lake Talaab.
Day and Neniiyah had spent the better part of the last week waking each other up every ten minutes as they took inventory of countless supplies for the party, going over details once, twice, three times until they were positive no asscheek-faced bellend could throw a wrench in their carefully devised plans. Had it not been for Nen holding him back any time he was about ready to snap, he was positive some merchant's teenage son would be missing a handful of his toenails at the moment. He really did owe that trooper some good karma and a proper leave after the party.
And so Day stood, eyes flickering between a metallic, traditionally embroidered Pakistani suit, and a western loose-fitting dress shirt paired with black street trousers and numerous shiny accessories. He'd been stuck there for half an hour after his bath, unable to decide which style would catch the most eyes for this type of event. It had been a hot minute since the last cross-clan function he'd hosted, and he most definitely had not dressed up to par for his status at the time. His chance to redeem himself had finally arrived, and he'd be damned if he messed it up.
"Day! Hey! Day, it's me!" a disgustingly familiar voice called from outside his door followed by far too many sharp knocks. "I'm coming in!" Before the leader could get a word of warning in, the official Shati messenger, Rab something (Day didn't believe in surnames for sub-par humans) had already snuck his foot-scented self into the chief's humble abode.
Day grabbed the object nearest to him—a phallic-shaped dagger he'd made for shits and giggles because he's an adult—and flung it in Rab's direction, intentionally missing by just a hair to land in the wood beside his head, close enough to make the poor guy yelp. "For fuck's sake, Rabies, how many times are you gonna make me say it?" he chided, hands on his hips. "You knock, I don't answer, you go away, and I pretend you don't have fleas at the next clan meeting. This is how we operate." Day clicked his tongue disapprovingly, jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction. "Is it anarchy? Is that what you want? You want a bloody free-for-all? 'Cause I guaranatee, you're dying first."
Rab rolled his eyes discreetly before scooting halfway out the door, keeping nervous watch of his unsafe surroundings as he spoke. "T-The fire's ready and they need s-some of your knives for the boars. That's all they wanted me to t-tell you. You're mean—" He glanced down at the two outfits laid on the cot. "And that suit's ugly."
Day's eyes narrowed in warning at the brazen claims. "You bring out the worst in people, rodent boy," he called after the flighty messenger's suddenly retreating form. With a deep sigh, however, he stowed away the suit (it was too hot for that material anyways, he reasoned) and slipped into the second outfit, adorning it with an array of glimmering obsidian accessories as well as some handmade necklaces crafted by fellow clan members out of local specialties such as radiant flowers, animal teeth, and sculpted amber. They were prized possessions gifted to him over his years as chief, but he figured he could bust them out for an extravagant night like this.
With his fit finally settled and confidence in his decision-making abilities restored, Day slipped a thin dagger and a flask of his darkest bourbon off the shelf into his belt and locked the door of his cabin behind him, heading into the plaza for a night of fresh boar cuts and booze galore.
A quick glance at the island from overhead might give one the impression that the vast acres of jungle and hill tops had sat uninhabited for generations, charted only by the wildlife that roamed freely across its terrain. The nearest coast line sat empty and barren, while the nearby tropics obscured all life beneath its leaves.
Unknown to the modern age, however, a rather elaborate feast was being prepared on the island of Firdaus. Two mighty clans comprised of some of society's most vicious expatriates, Shajara of the Jungle and Shati of the Coast, had finally found common ground on which to unite and host a makeshift gala on the packed dirt paths between their territories. The leaders of each clan, Dayyaan and Akua, worked endlessly to piece together a night under the stars that both clans could enjoy, despite the growing tensions between their people and the unmistakeable vitriol of dehumanizing slander spewn without care in their day-to-day happenings.
Due to their diligent efforts, the regional town center had been lit up by hundreds of torches and strewn with floral vines, all leading towards the central bonfire directly outside the shared meeting hall. Six wild boars had been strung up above the fire, enough to feed every islander and then some, with a variety of side dishes available nearby such as plantain pudding, locally brewed rice wine, and roasted cassava. Performers from both clans were prepared to sing in celebration of the festive union, their handmade instruments taking up an entire corner of the clearing as they sported wide grins and colorful attire.
Everyone was expected to dress up for the event and potentially bring a dance partner, though the prospect of bringing someone from the opposite clan was still a rather daunting task for many. Regardless of the tension, the Shatis and Shajarans were ready to let loose for the evening, and nothing could dampen their excitement.
Well, almost nothing.
"Day! Fuck, move, get out of my way— Day!" a panic-stricken voice cut through the music across the throng of drunken islanders. The chief whipped around to find the owner of familiar shrill cry from where he had been previously conversing with a Shajaran carpenter about his latest architecture projects. He didn't have to search for long; winded from booking it to the clearing, a frazzled Leena stumbled towards him with sweat dripping off her forehead. The Shati butcher was rarely one to be caught off her game, yet here she stood before him, clutching the layers of her skirt in a shaking fist with tears welling in her chestnut eyes. "You gotta come, quick! I-In the forest, it's—" a shaky inhale— "it's really bad! Everyone's fighting, and there's blood everywhere, and h-he's missing an arm, and there's a bu—"
"Hey, slow down. Breathe," Day insisted after a quick scan over her body for wounds, placing his hands on the trembling chef's shoulders to steady her while she caught her breath. Despite the festivities around him, the urgency in her tone alerted him that he should not make light of her fear. "Start from the beginning. What did you see?"
Leena swallowed and closed her eyes, stabilizing herself before beginning her explanation once again. "Someone found two bodies in the woods outside the clearing, right before the, uh... no wait, after the prison. Further east. A little Shati girl, hanging from a tree with her eyes torn out, and a Shajara boy with his arm ripped off on the ground next to her." Her voice trailed off to a whisper as she leaned in to tell the rest. "The boy had a bullet wound in his head. Entry and exit. Some Shajaran guards are looking for the round right now. Their people are this close to throwing hands. They think the feast might have been a set-up on our end."
In a single moment, the cacophonous music faded to silence as Day processed the information that had just been relayed to him. Naturally, he had expected some carnage at best should things turn south at a cross-clan event where booze was involved, but he hadn't predicted such brutality without prior cause emerging out of the blue like this. Furthermore, guns were not permitted upon landing on Firdaus, so it must have been a homemade firearm crafted under the radar making its first appearance at the feast. Unless, that is...
Day did not wait a second longer to mull over the possibilities before briskly following Leena to the scene of the crime, the fading music replaced by shouting and profanities as he approached the violence that had begun to break out. The situation was just as gruesome as Leena had described, a gory presentation of underaged bodies contorted and dangling before him while a berieved mother sobbed in anguish beside the fallen boy. A spattering of onlookers watched on in horror, some shocked into silence while others shouted belligerently at each other.
The liquor in his bloodstream seemed to dissipate in an instant, leaving Day feeling more sober than he'd ever been. Of all nights to spill blood on shared ground, must it have been tonight? A night dedicated to shrugging off their political differences in favor of celebrating their commonalities as one people of Firdaus? The audacity of the perp responsible for such a heinous act knew no bounds, despite an already low bar for the ex-terrorist Shati chief. There was no way in which this was resolved peacefully, not with the way things had been as of late.
"Rabies," Day growled through gritted teeth. In the blink of an eye, the courier appeared by his side, waiting attentively for his orders despite their earlier aggressive banter. "Send word to Nen that the feast is over, and everyone at the clearing should take shelter in the school building until further notice. They can return to their homes once we've investigated what happened here." Before the courier could dash off once again, he added, "And tell Yves to make sure none of those SFM assholes get any fucking ideas in there. Both clans lost one of their own. I'll kill them all my-fucking-self if they try anything. Go."
With Rab off informing the masses and a small crowd of Shajaran guards sending him accusatory glares over their shoulders, Dayyaan gingerly approached the grieving mother, her echoing wails eliciting a wince from the usually unbothered chief. He could not imagine her pain, but he need not pretend; her anguish was palpable in the sorrowful night breeze as she knelt next to her son's dismembered corpse.
Before he could offer any condolences, however, a drunk young warrior with an axe came swinging at him from the rear, fury ablaze in his eyes as he stumbled forward. "Stay away from her, murderer!" Day leapt to the side as the man tripped before him, tumbling to the ground in a quivering, inebriated heap. The fall did not seem to faze the hatred spewing from his swollen, bloodied lips, evidently not the first fight he'd picked that evening. "You roaches will pay for this!"
Day raised an eyebrow at the Shajaran guards watching idly in the near distance, no intention of stepping in to de-escalate the situation crossing their stony glares, before scoffing dryly and crouching next to the drunkard with a booted foot atop his weapon. "Big words for such a tiny, little man," he drawled despite the threatening glint to his eye and grabbed a fistful of the man's hair, yanking his head up to make eye contact. "You've got at least another decade of training before landing a hit on a roach like me. Try acting like it."
Before he could haze the man any further, the guards rushed forward to protect their fellow clan member, their prejudice evident in the way they discarded their previous indifference to corral the man back towards Shajaran territory. For the better, perhaps— the scene had begun to attract a significant amount of attention in the meantime, crowds of clan members on either side approaching to assess the situation for themselves.
Unfortunately for the Shati chief who had been racking his brain for ways to keep the peace despite the turbulence, curiosity rapidly morphed into rage as fists began to fly once more. Fights broke out one-by-one as impulsive Shajarans lunged towards the Shati chief and his own people intercepted, protecting him from the onslaught and venting their anger all in one.
Day drew his dagger but remained on the defensive, a watchful eye surveying the crowds for one key Shajaran in particular with a knack for bloodshed who was sure to enter the arena with her teeth bared and blades swinging. Once she lost her cool, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to keep things under control for long.
Day and Neniiyah had spent the better part of the last week waking each other up every ten minutes as they took inventory of countless supplies for the party, going over details once, twice, three times until they were positive no asscheek-faced bellend could throw a wrench in their carefully devised plans. Had it not been for Nen holding him back any time he was about ready to snap, he was positive some merchant's teenage son would be missing a handful of his toenails at the moment. He really did owe that trooper some good karma and a proper leave after the party.
And so Day stood, eyes flickering between a metallic, traditionally embroidered Pakistani suit, and a western loose-fitting dress shirt paired with black street trousers and numerous shiny accessories. He'd been stuck there for half an hour after his bath, unable to decide which style would catch the most eyes for this type of event. It had been a hot minute since the last cross-clan function he'd hosted, and he most definitely had not dressed up to par for his status at the time. His chance to redeem himself had finally arrived, and he'd be damned if he messed it up.
"Day! Hey! Day, it's me!" a disgustingly familiar voice called from outside his door followed by far too many sharp knocks. "I'm coming in!" Before the leader could get a word of warning in, the official Shati messenger, Rab something (Day didn't believe in surnames for sub-par humans) had already snuck his foot-scented self into the chief's humble abode.
Day grabbed the object nearest to him—a phallic-shaped dagger he'd made for shits and giggles because he's an adult—and flung it in Rab's direction, intentionally missing by just a hair to land in the wood beside his head, close enough to make the poor guy yelp. "For fuck's sake, Rabies, how many times are you gonna make me say it?" he chided, hands on his hips. "You knock, I don't answer, you go away, and I pretend you don't have fleas at the next clan meeting. This is how we operate." Day clicked his tongue disapprovingly, jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction. "Is it anarchy? Is that what you want? You want a bloody free-for-all? 'Cause I guaranatee, you're dying first."
Rab rolled his eyes discreetly before scooting halfway out the door, keeping nervous watch of his unsafe surroundings as he spoke. "T-The fire's ready and they need s-some of your knives for the boars. That's all they wanted me to t-tell you. You're mean—" He glanced down at the two outfits laid on the cot. "And that suit's ugly."
Day's eyes narrowed in warning at the brazen claims. "You bring out the worst in people, rodent boy," he called after the flighty messenger's suddenly retreating form. With a deep sigh, however, he stowed away the suit (it was too hot for that material anyways, he reasoned) and slipped into the second outfit, adorning it with an array of glimmering obsidian accessories as well as some handmade necklaces crafted by fellow clan members out of local specialties such as radiant flowers, animal teeth, and sculpted amber. They were prized possessions gifted to him over his years as chief, but he figured he could bust them out for an extravagant night like this.
With his fit finally settled and confidence in his decision-making abilities restored, Day slipped a thin dagger and a flask of his darkest bourbon off the shelf into his belt and locked the door of his cabin behind him, heading into the plaza for a night of fresh boar cuts and booze galore.
—————
A quick glance at the island from overhead might give one the impression that the vast acres of jungle and hill tops had sat uninhabited for generations, charted only by the wildlife that roamed freely across its terrain. The nearest coast line sat empty and barren, while the nearby tropics obscured all life beneath its leaves.
Unknown to the modern age, however, a rather elaborate feast was being prepared on the island of Firdaus. Two mighty clans comprised of some of society's most vicious expatriates, Shajara of the Jungle and Shati of the Coast, had finally found common ground on which to unite and host a makeshift gala on the packed dirt paths between their territories. The leaders of each clan, Dayyaan and Akua, worked endlessly to piece together a night under the stars that both clans could enjoy, despite the growing tensions between their people and the unmistakeable vitriol of dehumanizing slander spewn without care in their day-to-day happenings.
Due to their diligent efforts, the regional town center had been lit up by hundreds of torches and strewn with floral vines, all leading towards the central bonfire directly outside the shared meeting hall. Six wild boars had been strung up above the fire, enough to feed every islander and then some, with a variety of side dishes available nearby such as plantain pudding, locally brewed rice wine, and roasted cassava. Performers from both clans were prepared to sing in celebration of the festive union, their handmade instruments taking up an entire corner of the clearing as they sported wide grins and colorful attire.
Everyone was expected to dress up for the event and potentially bring a dance partner, though the prospect of bringing someone from the opposite clan was still a rather daunting task for many. Regardless of the tension, the Shatis and Shajarans were ready to let loose for the evening, and nothing could dampen their excitement.
Well, almost nothing.
—————
"Day! Fuck, move, get out of my way— Day!" a panic-stricken voice cut through the music across the throng of drunken islanders. The chief whipped around to find the owner of familiar shrill cry from where he had been previously conversing with a Shajaran carpenter about his latest architecture projects. He didn't have to search for long; winded from booking it to the clearing, a frazzled Leena stumbled towards him with sweat dripping off her forehead. The Shati butcher was rarely one to be caught off her game, yet here she stood before him, clutching the layers of her skirt in a shaking fist with tears welling in her chestnut eyes. "You gotta come, quick! I-In the forest, it's—" a shaky inhale— "it's really bad! Everyone's fighting, and there's blood everywhere, and h-he's missing an arm, and there's a bu—"
"Hey, slow down. Breathe," Day insisted after a quick scan over her body for wounds, placing his hands on the trembling chef's shoulders to steady her while she caught her breath. Despite the festivities around him, the urgency in her tone alerted him that he should not make light of her fear. "Start from the beginning. What did you see?"
Leena swallowed and closed her eyes, stabilizing herself before beginning her explanation once again. "Someone found two bodies in the woods outside the clearing, right before the, uh... no wait, after the prison. Further east. A little Shati girl, hanging from a tree with her eyes torn out, and a Shajara boy with his arm ripped off on the ground next to her." Her voice trailed off to a whisper as she leaned in to tell the rest. "The boy had a bullet wound in his head. Entry and exit. Some Shajaran guards are looking for the round right now. Their people are this close to throwing hands. They think the feast might have been a set-up on our end."
In a single moment, the cacophonous music faded to silence as Day processed the information that had just been relayed to him. Naturally, he had expected some carnage at best should things turn south at a cross-clan event where booze was involved, but he hadn't predicted such brutality without prior cause emerging out of the blue like this. Furthermore, guns were not permitted upon landing on Firdaus, so it must have been a homemade firearm crafted under the radar making its first appearance at the feast. Unless, that is...
Day did not wait a second longer to mull over the possibilities before briskly following Leena to the scene of the crime, the fading music replaced by shouting and profanities as he approached the violence that had begun to break out. The situation was just as gruesome as Leena had described, a gory presentation of underaged bodies contorted and dangling before him while a berieved mother sobbed in anguish beside the fallen boy. A spattering of onlookers watched on in horror, some shocked into silence while others shouted belligerently at each other.
The liquor in his bloodstream seemed to dissipate in an instant, leaving Day feeling more sober than he'd ever been. Of all nights to spill blood on shared ground, must it have been tonight? A night dedicated to shrugging off their political differences in favor of celebrating their commonalities as one people of Firdaus? The audacity of the perp responsible for such a heinous act knew no bounds, despite an already low bar for the ex-terrorist Shati chief. There was no way in which this was resolved peacefully, not with the way things had been as of late.
"Rabies," Day growled through gritted teeth. In the blink of an eye, the courier appeared by his side, waiting attentively for his orders despite their earlier aggressive banter. "Send word to Nen that the feast is over, and everyone at the clearing should take shelter in the school building until further notice. They can return to their homes once we've investigated what happened here." Before the courier could dash off once again, he added, "And tell Yves to make sure none of those SFM assholes get any fucking ideas in there. Both clans lost one of their own. I'll kill them all my-fucking-self if they try anything. Go."
With Rab off informing the masses and a small crowd of Shajaran guards sending him accusatory glares over their shoulders, Dayyaan gingerly approached the grieving mother, her echoing wails eliciting a wince from the usually unbothered chief. He could not imagine her pain, but he need not pretend; her anguish was palpable in the sorrowful night breeze as she knelt next to her son's dismembered corpse.
Before he could offer any condolences, however, a drunk young warrior with an axe came swinging at him from the rear, fury ablaze in his eyes as he stumbled forward. "Stay away from her, murderer!" Day leapt to the side as the man tripped before him, tumbling to the ground in a quivering, inebriated heap. The fall did not seem to faze the hatred spewing from his swollen, bloodied lips, evidently not the first fight he'd picked that evening. "You roaches will pay for this!"
Day raised an eyebrow at the Shajaran guards watching idly in the near distance, no intention of stepping in to de-escalate the situation crossing their stony glares, before scoffing dryly and crouching next to the drunkard with a booted foot atop his weapon. "Big words for such a tiny, little man," he drawled despite the threatening glint to his eye and grabbed a fistful of the man's hair, yanking his head up to make eye contact. "You've got at least another decade of training before landing a hit on a roach like me. Try acting like it."
Before he could haze the man any further, the guards rushed forward to protect their fellow clan member, their prejudice evident in the way they discarded their previous indifference to corral the man back towards Shajaran territory. For the better, perhaps— the scene had begun to attract a significant amount of attention in the meantime, crowds of clan members on either side approaching to assess the situation for themselves.
Unfortunately for the Shati chief who had been racking his brain for ways to keep the peace despite the turbulence, curiosity rapidly morphed into rage as fists began to fly once more. Fights broke out one-by-one as impulsive Shajarans lunged towards the Shati chief and his own people intercepted, protecting him from the onslaught and venting their anger all in one.
Day drew his dagger but remained on the defensive, a watchful eye surveying the crowds for one key Shajaran in particular with a knack for bloodshed who was sure to enter the arena with her teeth bared and blades swinging. Once she lost her cool, he wasn't so sure he'd be able to keep things under control for long.
coded by reveriee.
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