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No title.
(2013-09-07 - 2013-09-07)
No description.
Rakassa Rakassa lounged in her seat, sighing as she stared about her chamber. Wood, nautical equipment, and other paraphenalia was strewn about in an orderly fashion. Medals won, and even small reminders of her 'home' (/not/ Thamassa, but Vector) kept the office she had from being a simple room. It was comfortable, and everything was furnished well.

Rakassa sipped at her wine. So much as she loved comfort, it was getting late, and her 'subordinate' was late. Bars and other hedonistic pleasures awaited for when she was off the clock. Being delayed puts a scowl on the easily irritated woman's face. A hand, with well manicured nails, taps on the desk impatiently.

"...Where is that idiot? So hard to get punctual minions these days." She should have gotten one of those black mages from Alexandria. They at least didn't talk back when you screamed at them, /and/ did your dirty work.
Queegmaa The High Admiral, Rakassa, was already disappointed, but her day was about to become a little bit more frustrating, because she was going to presumably write some orders to have certain tasks carried out by some of the expert mechanics, which definitely would behave as a heavy leeching agent upon the budget of the naval division of the empire; at least, as the top director of the aquatic forces, she got to dictate where funds were diverted-- with the emperor's approval, provided he wasn't absent, which would ultimately give her a lot more leeway in the decisions that were to be made on the maritime's behalf. All in all, the fiendish matriarch, if she were at all responsible in her way of thinking, should've felt inclined to blame herself for some of what was to be, since she'd effectively indoctrinated her second-favorite yesman, to turn him into what he finally became. In popular media during the the late twentieth century, there'd been a film that depicted a villain named 'The Joker', who fought a hero going by the name 'Batman', and during an altercation, the antagonist had attempted to scapegoat Batman for having effectively created him, who was in turn bestowed the argument that the savior of Gotham had been initially made by The Joker.

This thus absolved Batman of any potential hypocrisy, for having attacked the byproduct of his past designs. In the same way, Rakassa could plausibly assert that her stooge had made life problematic for her, even though it was she that had mutated him into what he was, having warped him almost beyond recognition, so that he could better serve her impulsive will; the reality is, though.... as two selfish monsters, the admiral would probably use some convoluted reasoning to pin all the blame on Queegmaa for his tardiness, and if he objected to her logic, flawed or not, then Rakassa could easily subdue him with threats. It didn't matter who was right and who was wrong- the one who held all the power got to have the final word on any disagreements, and not only was Rakassa an influential member of the empire, but she also happened to be a Shadow Lord, which meant that no rationale Que had could defeat her arguments, since might made right. Already having this known in the back of his mind, the pathetic cyborg-imp had prepared for admonishment in advance.... because in the end, Rakassa still needed him, even if he was a nuisance to her at times; it was true that in warfare, he wasn't nearly as useful as her top lieutenant, Vohstra, and his reliability in fulfilling his duties also came with a red ribbon, but he was so sycophantic that he'd tolerate the most pathetic undertakings imaginable, that almost anybody else in their right mind would refuse, and if he was willing to live amidst the dregs, then he had some form of a monopoly.

All it really took for him to redeem himself was to cower in the wake of her wrath, accept her condemnations without complaint, and promise unquestionable compliance in the future, regardless of whether he'd succeed or not, in order for her flames to be extinguished. Having a whipping-boy truly did wonders for the admiral's mood! On the other hand, since Queegmaa had visible, and extremely detrimental injuries this time around, there was a potential /chance/ that the admiral would be more forgiving, without putting the kappa through the psychological wringer, before doing what needed to be done, to get him back up to speed. His past failures were rarely accompanied by physical proof that Que had actually legitimately suffered. Her doors opened, and a wretched looking creature with just two moderately-sized prehensile limbs dragged itself into her room; it was Queegmaa-- except, he was missing a prosthetic arm, as well as the majority of the calf of one leg, and a few toes on the other. Beyond that, there were other patches of skin on his torso that were missing, with bandages overtop of them, in a makeshift attempt to stabilize the wounds so that they wouldn't as easily become infected before he could receive the kinds of treatments he needed to recover properly. Most likely, the water-demon would need some more grafts, and a prosthetic leg..... but one had to ask, how exactly did this ensue?
Rakassa Rakassa looked down, watching as the barely patched up Queegma crawled into her office. Normally, she'd be dancing with glee at the prospect of someone showing just how higher above them she is, but this doesn't look like the usual rounds of kappa groveling. No, he's hurt. Most employers would be agast at such.

The admiral merely smirks. "...Well. At least it looks like you haven't been fracking off for once. Alright. Spill it before those wounds get too infected. What happened?" Asks the woman quite reasonably, still sipping her wine. Frown.

"And /try/ to not get blood on the carpets. They're worth more than you are."
Queegmaa Queegmaa growled a little as he clutched his side, which was considerably damaged, showing a rather large region covered by a massive splotch of gauze, wrapping around from his serratus anterior, latissimus dorsi, all the way to his shell, demonstrating that a good portion of his thorax will require modification. Fortunately for Rakassa, although the kappa is no healer, and doesn't have curatives, he was trained rather thoroughly in first-aid following the incident that cost him his upper limbs. It wouldn't do the job for the long-term, in any sense of the word, but it would stave off gangrene for the immediate future. "If you want me ta start spillin' sh*t, then I ain't gonna be able to promise that yer carpets'll stay clean."

Even when he's half-dead, Que still has a cynical sense of humor that stays the course, proving that he is more psychologically durable than one might suspect from a measly patsy. Wit still intact, as well as morbid optimism, the imp gets up onto a knee, the only one actually still in attendance, and remarks, "Some stupid drow tried to swindle me.... When I didn't buy inta her scam, and tried ta tell her off, she swallowed me whole. I was stuck in her gut gettin' digested by her bizarro dark-magic stomach fluids til' she eventually spat me back up. Only way I could git out wuz ta keep fillin' her pot with acid rain n' all that hooey."

From there, the admiral's servant shifted his gaze to transfix on his stump of a leg, adding, "I'm gonna need somethin' ta help me walk a lil' better-- wouldn't mind me a magic shoe ta help me letivate, if we're talking 'bout long term trinkets...." Greedy and opportunistic as always, even while injured, Que is seeking handouts, even if having something akin to 'Cherub Down' could improve his efficiency rating, not that floatation relics were easy to come by in the World of Ruin, since many of the empire's assembly-lines that were spread out across the southern continent that manufactured a lot of the goods had long since been purged, contributions of the Heartless takeover; of course, this was a bit of a guilt-trip, since both of them knew well and good that Rakassa had a hand in helping undermine the imperials in her quest to curry favor with the Shadow Lords..... He twists his head towards his remaining arm, "Had ta use my elbow-thruster to get m'self here.... but'cha got no clue how tough it is to prepel two hun' poundses aroun' town when ya only gots one thruster, and nothin' to lighten yer load......"
Rakassa Rakassa leans back, her smirking only growing as the wounded Kappa seeks a handout. She takes her time, sipping her wine, gesturing as if she's thinking the whole matter over.

She laughs lightly. "Oh, Queg. What a silly little fool. Mmm. I do so /hate/ a failure...but, the fact you've managed to crawl your way back here shows that you are good for /something/ at least. Mmm. Maybe I should dip you in mercury, test your kind's 'limits'. Orrr...hmm. Meet some of your kind. I'm sure they would /love/ to hear how your little act killed them all." Smirk.

"Oh well. At least you didn't end up as a snack for the damn elf. Levitation, hmm? Another, my, my. Such expensive trinkets! And such /whining/. YOu made it here alive, didn't you? Stop complaining. I've seen humans crawl back from worse. Certainly this is nothing to favorite little underling, hmmm?" Shaking her head, amused, she leans back as she takes her time in pondering the situation. On the one hand, she could dispose of him. But that would be a lot of work down the drain, even /if/ he's already paid dividends. But Rakassa is greedy. As ever, she wants more out of her little servant.

A wave of the hand. "Fine. I'll have you stitched back together. But it's going to cost you. Mmm. I'll think on it,'ll have to do something special to prove you're worth keeping around. Dangerous. How's that sound? I give you a new arm, patch you up...and then see if you were worth the scrap metal and favors I'll have to call in to get you in fighting shape. Just be glad you're worth it. Oh, and by the way?"

Walking over, she leans down. "...You'll be cleaning up the mess you left later~" Cleaning up dried blood will be a pain. It's just like Rakassa to save the carpets for Que to clean. Even though she's just going to replace them with new ones. It's the degredation of another soul she enjoys, not the carpet.
Queegmaa The Admiral/Shadow Lord was ever the haughty one, and it was quite predictable that she'd revere Queegmaa as a doormat, while ignoring the fact that he was in no position to do much arguing.... though, appropriately, he had been laid low to the point that he was now slithering along the floor, so if she'd mentally envisioned him as a doormat while treating him as such, Rakassa was not actually far from the mark. To his credit, the kappa was not nearly as much of a failure as he made himself out to be, although he was on the paltry side, compared to other experts in the martial ways, yet, in the hopes that others would hold him to meager standards, his output never had to be noteworthy, ergo, awe-striking accomplishments could be achieved at pivotal moments of his choosing.

This would preserve the illusion of his infirmity so as to enable him to choose when to highlight those instances where he could swoop in for a timely absolution, just when shadows of dubiousness might be cast on his usefulness to the severity of his employment's finality.... This is something even Rakassa herself didn't know about him; all the same, Que had every intention of keeping hidden the fact that he was only partially incompetent, instead of fully, which he conveyed deliberately on many an occasion! This also meant that his reputation kept him from rising too high, however.... at least he didn't disappoint, when so little of him was anticipated-- so, furrowing his brows as Rakassa reprimanded him on the subject of failure, he mumbled something under his breath which was purposely inaudible, to perpetuate the semblance of a peon who /wanted/ to protest, but who felt so downtrodden and powerless, that they wouldn't even allow themselves to express defiance, which would ultimately rejuvenate Rakassa's confidence that she was in complete control. And.... even if she suspected the kappa was just posing, it must not've mattered much in the end, because the fact remained that Queegmaa had not attempted in the slightest to circumvent her authority, or overthrow her, so there had to be some ring of truth to the performance that Que had continually replicated. "....You're cleaning up my mess.... so I guess I owe it ta you to clean up this one.", he remarked, referring to the fact that his replacements would tax Rakassa's vault, once more rendering unto Rakassa what is Rakassa's, by dispelling any apprehensive thoughts that the kappa would ever even /consider/ denying the admiral an opportunity to flaunt her political leverage in determining who was to blame.

"You been buddyin' up with that bishop over in Mullonde recently..... after all, ya sent me ta get on her good side. I suspect yer gonna want me to prapoze some kinda mutually befenecial deal wit' them churchies so that both of us gotta work tagether.... and then give 'em a reason ta feel all cozy aroun' us so dat we ken be expandin' our influence.... aye?" He raises a brow, accusingly; not in a judgmental manner, though.... if that was Rakassa's plan, he wholeheartedly approved, for, after all-- it seemed from his perspective that Glabados weren't made up of only pure, and unadulterated moral fiber, which hinted that they might be compatible with expansion, later on, if both could find a way to compromise for the common good..... or evil.
Rakassa A groveling, seemingly compliant Que more than strokes Rakassa's ego. It's amazing Vector can actually contain the titantic size of her own inflated self-worth; only certain mad clowns can eclipse her own arrogance. A shame Rakassa's not nearly as amusing. And she wouldn't caught dead in white makeup.

Whether Que's attitude is true or not doesn't seem to phase the woman, if she knows at all. The price of such overwhelming pride is blindness. /Certainly/ the inferior underling wouldn't plot against her. At least Que isn't an advisor, and she a King, else she'd have been deposed already!

Grin! Rakassa leans back, kicking up her feet onto the expensive table. The minor scuff marks she leaves will likely cost a year's worth of food for the poor in Munny.

"Oh, I am so glad you're keeping your eyes and ears open! See, Que, this is why I keep you alive. Because unlike the rest of the dunderheads I can command, you.../you/, my boy, are smart. Like a true servant, you anticipate what I desire. Yes. We shall expand, with the help of those pack of crazy zealots. The Ajoran sheep shall bleat, reproduce, and bleat all the louder. But they shall bleat to the tune of the Empire, and of those who pull the strings at the top. That is, if those at the top are truly wolves. Find out, hmm? I'll send you some paperwork. Go meet with an official, get in good with them, maybe some kind of employment. Shouldn't be too hard for you."
Queegmaa Queegmaa's compliance was the price it took to obtain the endorsement of a high-level official, and in turn, he reaped rewards at times, while at others, he received the short end of the stick. But most folks could be bought somehow or other, it just so happened that all the kappa had to do to get in the good graces of the egomaniac was to jump through a few hoops and sacrifice a little bit of his dignity; someday, it was possible the day of reckoning would come, if the imp could just rally other victims to unite under his banner, so as to strike down the Shadow Lord who was so much stronger than he by himself.

In numbers, even the greatest of warlocks could be toppled-- it was often seen as cowardly to backstab a liege with the help of their other mistreated lackeys, instead of challenging them to a solo duel, but Que could afford to live himself if he knew he'd ascended to his station by the craft of a coward, after all.... he'd already sold his soul down the river long ago, so what did he need to prove to anyone as far as bravado was concerned, or honor? Perhaps it was just a pipe-dream, and his golden-day would never come, thus indenturing him until the end of his days, yet, he did know the secret of the Oni-Yoroi, and that part of Rakassa's magnitude emanated from the minuscule pieces of armor she had collected thus far. All the demonic runt needed to do was beat her at the arms.... or rather.... the armor-race. His influence, being so petty, meant that he'd probably have to resign himself to mediocrity for the remainder of his existence, and realizing the likelihood of his true dream materializing was astronomically shabby, his meditations on avarice dissolved as he reminded himself of the bleak reality surrounding such a betrayal; if Rakassa was eliminated, the other Shadow Lords would come knocking, unless Queegmaa proved his valor to be worthy of being counted amongst them. The very act of ousting his master with the help of reinforcements would already be counter-productive to this end, and thus, if he was to truly rid of the wicked Thamasan, Que would have to do it on his own.... or at least find a way so that it wasn't so evident that assistance had been a variable within the overall equation!

Clinging to one last ray of hope, he suppressed his desire to resound his worth, and resist Rakassa's superimposed sovereignty! Furrowing his brows for just an instant, they soften as he concedes temporary defeat, psychologically, and he nods his head in agreement to her statements, ".....The lot of 'em are all a buncha distrustful b*stards, or too stupid to be worth makin' deals with anyway.... So ya git whatcha pay fer, I ain't gonna be able to make much headway talkin' to da airheaded pawns, might as well be chasin' my own tail...." His remark was a good analogy, since his tail in particular, was not even proportionately the size of a canine's, so if there were a chance he could snag it, there still would /not/ be a chance he could snag it for all his perspiration. "Yer gonna hafta gimme somethin' ta show yer goodwill..... not datchu got any..... but they'll jus' grimace if ya dun toss 'em a bone of some sort so they know that you're puttin' in as much as yer plannin' ta take. Ain't no bishop or cradnial gonna take me seriously if they gots no collateral!" Which meant that Rakassa, as much as she disliked it, was going to have to verify her trustworthiness, by making a small sacrifice of some kind, such as revealing a minor secret, or sending a dowry to accompany her pet.
Rakassa A small nod to her long-suffering servant, and Rakassa leans back in her seat. Another wine-sip, and she grins. Reaching into her desk, she pulls out a small package wrapped in paper. Gently pushing it towards Que, she makes a dismissive gesture.

"A small gift. Those religious types should appreciate it. Also a note for an old account from a deceased nobleman. Should be more than enough to prove how serious we are about the whole thing. It shall be easy."

The woman smirks, shaking her head. "But no secrets. Such an organization is no doubt as hungry for power as all others in this world. They would use any secrets of /ours/ to their advantage. No. I'll have one of our spies dredge up something juicey on their enemies. No sense in revealing what /we/ hold dear while others' secrets are far more easily spilled."

"Now! Close your eyes, little Kappa, and dream your dreams...powers? Wealth? Life? Glory? Death? Guilt? Dream of all that you desire while I get this body of yours put back together.
Queegmaa The kappa nods when Rakassa relents, and sees the wisdom in Que's suggestion to throw something at the fanatics in order to appease their gluttonous appetites for implications of a willingness to bend over backward at their whims.... which ironically, was the very same thing for which Rakassa always hungered-- being too selfish to ever be willing to take the first step to even /consider/ that anyone else had feelings besides herself, it always took Queegmaa to remind his Shadow Lord master that not only were other people concerned about somebody's welfare besides hers, but that they actually expected to have their backs scratched before they'd be willing to reciprocate. The kind of self-serving arrogance that begot such confidence in Rakassa to endear her to the upper echelons of the empire, which enabled her to fearlessly cut a swathe through her enemies in the battlefield without the slightest hesitation or hint of mercy was the very thing that blinded her to the fact that other people mattered.... at least in their own minds.

In the military, it was all about following, or giving orders, without regard for the value of life, unless one was a true leader like General Leo; most other directors at one point had the mentality of being willing to throw away their life for the empire as rookies, which was an attitude that gradually reversed polarity as one's rank would increase, which conveniently perpetuated the cycle, by impressing upon superiors that their subordinates should do no less than they had done in their day, effectively turning leaders into megalomaniacs who felt that the grunts were cannon fodder that needed to know their place in order for the 'war-machine' to work without a hitch. If it wasn't broken, it didn't need to be fixed, and since there was an unofficial 'caste-system' bias that led the uppers to believe they'd 'earned' superiority over their lessers, by way of having proven their worth in having achieved higher rank, it justified the notion that those at the bottom were still just 'seeds' that could be scattered about thoughtlessly in a garden in the hopes that only some would survive, take root, and blossom into more valuable, fruitful manifestations of the evolutionary process. Survival of the fittest was very much ingrained in the mind of the Gestahlian Empire, and those who made it to the top, either through treachery or hard work, had every right to dismiss their juniors as unequal. Why should a cub receive the same treatment, or privilege of an alpha of the pack? It was a cycle that sustained itself indefinitely, because it stood the test of time, and had gotten the empire to where it had been, engraving this mentality in stone for the remainder of the lifespan of the nation itself. Changing lanes was a gamble that those in power didn't want to take, and human rights would have seriously cut into the budget-- it was easy enough to keep the citizenry in line by ostracizing 'wimps' and 'cowards' for whining about abuses against them, since a truly tough individual could suck it in and keep on trucking.

Those who were tenacious enough to endure the public stigmatisms and still dare to throw tantrums were few enough in number that organized packs of dissentors could very easily be bribed, threatened, or eliminated so that the minorities could have their strife ignored, and the subject of society's real victimizations could be swept nicely under the rug. The chances were.... Rakassa bought into all of this, and had a head filled with their mantra, because she was at the forefront of the gravy-train, whereas Queegmaa was smart enough to see the problems, and had /some/ sympathy for the downtrodden, having been one himself, but was too afraid to actually voice his opinion on the matter..... he had to work in more subtle, stealthy ways, which was precisely why even if the admiral didn't /consciously/ know that the kappa was vital to her retention of power, somewhere in the back of her mind..... something told her that it was a bad idea if she pushed him -too- far, to the point where she might lose his loyalty, and then lose the advantages of being the spearhead of the symbiotic relationship. All she had to do was keep him nourished enough to survive.... no more.... no less. Narrative tangent aside, Queegmaa bowed his head in a fawning manner, pandering to the self-absorbed executive, and commented, "By your command." After all,.... since that recent boot-licking had persuaded her to get him some replacement parts, there was a chance that persistence might result in getting some tantalizing boots for himself that he'd gladly drool over on a voluntarily basis!
Rakassa Rakassa nods as Queegmaa bows his head. Just where he should be. Below her, like the rest of the world. Really, with her ego and confidence, it's a wonder she doesn't have a decent side of vanity to mix with it all. At least she's managed to keep /one/ of the 'evil villain' stereotypes out of her personality.

Not long after, in walks a pair of guards and a duo of healers. The quartet will soon have Queegmaa hefted up, and walked out of the room towards the infirmary! First, there will be general medical cleanup from the makeshift bandages Que applied himself. Then, a good dose of anesthesic, and the creature will be prepared for the surgery that won't be too far off!

This scene contained 11 poses. The players who were present were: Queegmaa, Rakassa