07-01-2014, 02:08 PM
Vellas looked at him. There was something odd in the man's eyes, a distance.
For a moment, Marcus was reminded of one of the fosters, Mr. Rudell, who'd watched over them when he was 8. On one particular day when he'd come home from work, he'd seemed relaxed. Marcus was glad. The man had a temper to him, a way of always being on edge and snapping, especially after work. Usually, Marcus stayed as far away from his as possible, especially at those times. But this time he seemed better. This time, when he walked into the kitchen, the man seemed disinterested. Marcus always craved disinterested. Being the subject of interest was very bad. Inwardly, he had relaxed his guard for just a moment. He'd gone to the fridge to get a juice and the door was hard to open. He pulled on the door as hard as his little arms could pull and after a moment, the seal came unstuck and the door flew up too fast and hit the cabinet. That was it. That was all that it did, just hit the cabinets and rattled the items in the door.
Instantly, Marcus felt a slap to the back of the head and then a big hand around the back of his neck. He started crying and that's when the beating began. From that point forward, Marcus carefully watched the faces and made sure to understand them. He had to. They told the truth.
All of that flashed through Marcus' mind in the moment between his answering Vellas' question and the man's responding. And he saw a distant look in the man's eye, some emotion hiding in there somewhere. For a moment, Malik felt rage flash through him. How dare he judge me! As if he's endured a tenth of what I went through before I was 10 years old. They were the same age. But he let none of it show. Another lesson from Mr. Rudell. The man was quick to spot any look, no matter how minor- or even no looks at all. Mr. Rudell. And Mrs. Schlock. And Mr. Canton. I have been trained by tormentors my entire life to hide myself. If had not learned, I would have died long ago.
Marcus' smile never left his face, nor did his eyes twitch. This was every bit as deadly as those he'd faced his entire childhood. Vellas spoke. "As a foreigner myself, I know many in the Custody can be somewhat unwelcoming. Coming from the United States, it must be hard. The incident before, do you wish to make a formal complaint? It can be hard to speak out."
The question was completely unexpected and Malik let his true feeling of wonder show. He gave an honest laugh. "Incident?"
He pursed his lips and shook his head, genuinely surprised. He cast his mind back as to what incident the man was referring to. Finally, when he could think of only one possibility, he said, "Do you mean the waiter?"
He smiled, completely genuinely confused. "Why would I make a formal complaint? Accidents happen."
An idea occurred to him and he went on. "It wasn't that long ago that I was a waiter myself, before I went to the University."
He decided to open a bit more, let the truth come through. "Before I graduated from High School I worked to afford night classes so I could get ahead in college."
He laughed. "I've spilled many drinks. No. I do not wish to make a complaint."
And then he had a thought. They were the same age. And the man had initiated the conversation. "You and I are similar in age. How does one so young as us achieve such a high position in the military?"
His question and interest was genuine. He even allowed a touch of respect into his voice. The man had done it, after all. Marcus wasn't afraid to let that show. Malik needed to know his enemies, after all.
For a moment, Marcus was reminded of one of the fosters, Mr. Rudell, who'd watched over them when he was 8. On one particular day when he'd come home from work, he'd seemed relaxed. Marcus was glad. The man had a temper to him, a way of always being on edge and snapping, especially after work. Usually, Marcus stayed as far away from his as possible, especially at those times. But this time he seemed better. This time, when he walked into the kitchen, the man seemed disinterested. Marcus always craved disinterested. Being the subject of interest was very bad. Inwardly, he had relaxed his guard for just a moment. He'd gone to the fridge to get a juice and the door was hard to open. He pulled on the door as hard as his little arms could pull and after a moment, the seal came unstuck and the door flew up too fast and hit the cabinet. That was it. That was all that it did, just hit the cabinets and rattled the items in the door.
Instantly, Marcus felt a slap to the back of the head and then a big hand around the back of his neck. He started crying and that's when the beating began. From that point forward, Marcus carefully watched the faces and made sure to understand them. He had to. They told the truth.
All of that flashed through Marcus' mind in the moment between his answering Vellas' question and the man's responding. And he saw a distant look in the man's eye, some emotion hiding in there somewhere. For a moment, Malik felt rage flash through him. How dare he judge me! As if he's endured a tenth of what I went through before I was 10 years old. They were the same age. But he let none of it show. Another lesson from Mr. Rudell. The man was quick to spot any look, no matter how minor- or even no looks at all. Mr. Rudell. And Mrs. Schlock. And Mr. Canton. I have been trained by tormentors my entire life to hide myself. If had not learned, I would have died long ago.
Marcus' smile never left his face, nor did his eyes twitch. This was every bit as deadly as those he'd faced his entire childhood. Vellas spoke. "As a foreigner myself, I know many in the Custody can be somewhat unwelcoming. Coming from the United States, it must be hard. The incident before, do you wish to make a formal complaint? It can be hard to speak out."
The question was completely unexpected and Malik let his true feeling of wonder show. He gave an honest laugh. "Incident?"
He pursed his lips and shook his head, genuinely surprised. He cast his mind back as to what incident the man was referring to. Finally, when he could think of only one possibility, he said, "Do you mean the waiter?"
He smiled, completely genuinely confused. "Why would I make a formal complaint? Accidents happen."
An idea occurred to him and he went on. "It wasn't that long ago that I was a waiter myself, before I went to the University."
He decided to open a bit more, let the truth come through. "Before I graduated from High School I worked to afford night classes so I could get ahead in college."
He laughed. "I've spilled many drinks. No. I do not wish to make a complaint."
And then he had a thought. They were the same age. And the man had initiated the conversation. "You and I are similar in age. How does one so young as us achieve such a high position in the military?"
His question and interest was genuine. He even allowed a touch of respect into his voice. The man had done it, after all. Marcus wasn't afraid to let that show. Malik needed to know his enemies, after all.