#no tags again bc it deals w thoughts of SH so. yanno

[jackals-ships]

the little freaks are back in my brain. they haunt me

[pre/very early relationship jackal/marazhai. sensitive subject matter wrt self harm thoughts but no explicit actions. bullying that elf too for funsies]

The itch has returned. Not a literal itch, but a nagging crawling sensation under Jackal's skin born of an urge they had long since thought repressed since their youth. But alas.

Fucking alas. It returns.

They suppose they should not be surprised. After all the itch so often came about in times of strife, and so often did they find themself even as a child throwing great fits of striking their head into the wall in an attempt to abate the overwhelming feelings of being. So they should not be surprised.

But they are annoyed by it.

It gnaws at them. A constant background hum that begs they split flesh draw blood. Only then will the itch be soothed and the buzzing in their brain fall silent. But too do they know the immediate souring that will follow. Relief being short lived, naught but for a scant few moments before shame and disgust at their weakness curdles inside them.

It is also bothersome because it means the Drukhari lingers. Constantly.

Oh certainly Aezyrraesh follows like a hound at their heels frequently enough but in a way that is almost unobtrusive. Now?

Now the damnable beast hovers. Looming over their shoulder, intruding upon their personal space, eyes bright with barely restrained excitement at the inevitability of their falling. Feeding on the scraps of suffering that the Itch gives him in the process.

…it's actually almost funny however when they pull back from their irritation. That him doing such has prolonged the process.

Normally they would have made it a week, perhaps a full month if they could stand it, before succumbing to the urge.

It has been three.

Because they refuse to give their xenos the satisfaction of feeding upon their suffering in full. They will throw their crew to him, they will throw those that get in their way, all without batting an eye. A well fed Drukhari is one that is more willing to heed their call when they have need of him.

But they will not give up their own suffering. Not willingly. If he wishes to have it he will have to rend it from their body piece by piece as he did on Commorragh. But of course; he won't. He knows enough now to not try his luck.

(they do wonder, in the silence of their own room, their mind still buzzing that terrible song, how sweet they must have tasted to him then. he must have taken some liking to the flavor of their pain with the way he follows near relentlessly now.)

(..it's almost flattering in its own way.)

Three months turn to four to five and then.

The itch is gone. For once in their life the itch has momentarily abadated without need for them to act upon it.

It takes Jackal so off guard that they pause in the middle of the hallway, realizing both that their mind has fallen still and that their perpetual shadow has fled. Ah.

He must've grown irritated when he realized that even the scraps they fed him were now gone. Presumably he is off skulking around the ship, looking for a meal that shall temporarily sate the ever gnawing pit in his soul. The thought makes their lips twitch into what a man gone blind could charitably call a smile. How fascinating, to find the tables turning so.

Their assumption proves correct; they find him on the lower deck. Knelt over the corpse of some poor fool who wandered too close, claws dripping with gore as he pants.

“Enjoying yourself?”

He only growls at them, not looking up. Rude. The click of their heels joins his growls as they settle at his side, nose wrinkling slightly. He always gets so messy when he eats. “What's the matter Aezyrraesh? Do you not find your meal to your liking?”

Their tone is flat as ever even as they mock him. A foolhardy thing to do certainly but the way he bristles is so fun. “Ah, were you hoping to dine on something, someone, else?” They tug on one pointed ear, forcing him to look at them.

Even on his knees, straddling a corpse, he's almost as tall as they are. So he barely has to look up at all.

(what a thrilling thing it is, bringing such a beast even partially to heel.)

But oh his face. His expression is downright murderous, deprived of his prey-thing he continues to growl at them. It makes them tug on his ear again, a silent warning to behave. “Oh hush. I still allow you to feed, you should be grateful for that alone.”

He will not thank them, and they do not expect it of him. Not yet anyways. But he will learn in time.

When he continues to grumble like a petulant child they roll their eyes behind their mask. Hands releasing him to instead pat firmly at his cheek. “When you are quite done, clean yourself up. I shan't have you tracking blood all over the floors again.”

With that they leave him. Amusement lightening their mind for the first time in some time as well.

And the others had said there was no reason to keep the Drukhari on board. Ha.