her face. “I-I wanted to talk to you...” she stammered. She was not putting
out the copious amounts of pheromone anymore, having figured out that that
would not get his attention. Being called a near-wanton had been an effective
deterrent, also.
“What about, Gotra
Pelani’Dun?” he said, as formally, coldly, picking up his carry-pack,
meaningfully, implying that he wanted to be on his way to the transport, and
home. And away from you.
“You know, since we met up
at the Bustani line, I’ve been thinking about you a lot, lately,” she
said, tilting her head and waving her vuu’erio tennae in what was supposed to
be a charming pose, no doubt. It was charming, but Kreceno’Tiv was not
about to be charmed by her again. Easily one of the prettiest young women in
his term-level, she was frivolous and shallow, and cared only about being the
center of attention. “I – I think I made a mistake. And I wanted to say – I’m
sorry about... about being so – hasty to pick another over you.”
“No need,” he said tightly,
walking by her. “I’d suggest you keep looking. No doubt another male will come
along who has some other attribute more developed than any of mine, so you need
only wait.”
She gasped as if slapped,
then ran up to walk rapidly, paralleling him. “That was hurtful, Kreceno’Tiv!
Was I ever so cruel?” Her tone was wounded.
He stopped, indignation and
ire making his chest tight. His elytra-pace clacked, as the developing
wing-nets moved in agitation underneath. “Were you?! You told me I was an
unmarked bobling on my mother’s knee still, in body, and a silver-winged
eldster, in mind! You told me that you needed someone who was already a man,
not a mumphling playing at being one! What happened to your stone-headed hulkling,
all bulging with muscle and only able to say the word ‘pretty’ once you had
sounded it out for him?”
She stared at him, wide-eyed,
as if stunned. The few others in the rotunda stopped to take in the drama,
angering him further. Then her large, magenta eyes began to fill with tears.
Kreceno’Tiv clenched his jaw, and walked past her once more. He had not wanted
a spectacle, though it was obvious that she did. What, did you think I would
not dare to publicly reject you, the way you rejected me? he thought
angrily, his back burning with the wondering gazes of the spectators. He began
walking again.
“Oh, you think just because
your mother’s Genus and famiya can trace their lineage back to the times before
the Malkia-dominance that you’re too good for me?” she said in tearful wrath,
still following him, her voice loud enough to carry. “Now that every other girl
in Secondus is gloming their pheromones after you, you forget about me?”
The words were not worthy of
an answer. He did not respond.
“You think that just because
everyone now knows that your famiya sits on the Second Tier in the Solidarim
that you can just treat the rest of us like workers, like mfanya?!” she cried.
He felt rage rise, but
ruthlessly suppressed it, turned, not even projecting the opprobrium this time.
She stopped short, and even took a step back when he faced her.
“I am not treating anyone
like anything, Gotra Pelani’Dun,” he said quietly, looking down at her as he
squared his shoulders. When they had been Geni’vhes, he had been the same
height as she. Now, he was at least a head taller. “It’s no secret that my
father is part of the Solidarim. As to my mother’s Genus and famiya predating
the Malkia, whatever significance that has, has nothing to do with the fact
that you broke off our pre-mating, not me. If that had been so
important to you, maybe you should have found that out before you passed
me over for your stone-headed hulk. Why don’t you find out how far back his mother’s Genus and famiya go, and then go bother him light and dark-turn?
I have to get
out the copious amounts of pheromone anymore, having figured out that that
would not get his attention. Being called a near-wanton had been an effective
deterrent, also.
“What about, Gotra
Pelani’Dun?” he said, as formally, coldly, picking up his carry-pack,
meaningfully, implying that he wanted to be on his way to the transport, and
home. And away from you.
“You know, since we met up
at the Bustani line, I’ve been thinking about you a lot, lately,” she
said, tilting her head and waving her vuu’erio tennae in what was supposed to
be a charming pose, no doubt. It was charming, but Kreceno’Tiv was not
about to be charmed by her again. Easily one of the prettiest young women in
his term-level, she was frivolous and shallow, and cared only about being the
center of attention. “I – I think I made a mistake. And I wanted to say – I’m
sorry about... about being so – hasty to pick another over you.”
“No need,” he said tightly,
walking by her. “I’d suggest you keep looking. No doubt another male will come
along who has some other attribute more developed than any of mine, so you need
only wait.”
She gasped as if slapped,
then ran up to walk rapidly, paralleling him. “That was hurtful, Kreceno’Tiv!
Was I ever so cruel?” Her tone was wounded.
He stopped, indignation and
ire making his chest tight. His elytra-pace clacked, as the developing
wing-nets moved in agitation underneath. “Were you?! You told me I was an
unmarked bobling on my mother’s knee still, in body, and a silver-winged
eldster, in mind! You told me that you needed someone who was already a man,
not a mumphling playing at being one! What happened to your stone-headed hulkling,
all bulging with muscle and only able to say the word ‘pretty’ once you had
sounded it out for him?”
She stared at him, wide-eyed,
as if stunned. The few others in the rotunda stopped to take in the drama,
angering him further. Then her large, magenta eyes began to fill with tears.
Kreceno’Tiv clenched his jaw, and walked past her once more. He had not wanted
a spectacle, though it was obvious that she did. What, did you think I would
not dare to publicly reject you, the way you rejected me? he thought
angrily, his back burning with the wondering gazes of the spectators. He began
walking again.
“Oh, you think just because
your mother’s Genus and famiya can trace their lineage back to the times before
the Malkia-dominance that you’re too good for me?” she said in tearful wrath,
still following him, her voice loud enough to carry. “Now that every other girl
in Secondus is gloming their pheromones after you, you forget about me?”
The words were not worthy of
an answer. He did not respond.
“You think that just because
everyone now knows that your famiya sits on the Second Tier in the Solidarim
that you can just treat the rest of us like workers, like mfanya?!” she cried.
He felt rage rise, but
ruthlessly suppressed it, turned, not even projecting the opprobrium this time.
She stopped short, and even took a step back when he faced her.
“I am not treating anyone
like anything, Gotra Pelani’Dun,” he said quietly, looking down at her as he
squared his shoulders. When they had been Geni’vhes, he had been the same
height as she. Now, he was at least a head taller. “It’s no secret that my
father is part of the Solidarim. As to my mother’s Genus and famiya predating
the Malkia, whatever significance that has, has nothing to do with the fact
that you broke off our pre-mating, not me. If that had been so
important to you, maybe you should have found that out before you passed
me over for your stone-headed hulk. Why don’t you find out how far back his mother’s Genus and famiya go, and then go bother him light and dark-turn?
I have to get
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