For all his gentleness and slow wits, the essential tension still held--dim eyes burned sharp and garnet-bright with the purity of conviction that only the simplest, most sincere feelings could bring to hear. His tail snaked behind him, his blades held subtly differently--Jara hated to fight. He had never liked to see blood spilled. But it was obvious that he knew how, and that he was good at it--he would not hesitate, if he had to. If the Yeerks could use his body as a weapon, then he would use it as well, and turn that learning against them.
But he was certainly not mindless; he knew who his anger was directed at, and why. Jara took a moment to scratch at his chest and arms, gathering up tacky half-dried slime and rolling it between his palms. It wasn't a very good demonstration, and while the slime was solid enough to be worked, it wasn't as sticky as it should have been to hold together properly. Still, he managed to create a loose, lumpy shape perhaps two inches long, something that could very easily fit into one of Daniel's hands. "Yeerk is small. Small like this." He brought it closer so Daniel could see, movements carefully controlled as he offered it to him.
He didn't back away, once the gesture was offered--Jara stayed close, bent low to watch Daniel's face, one claw held up to point very purposefully at the human's forehead, right between his eyes. (Bang.) Maybe his obviously intimidating size was being used purposefully now, to impress upon his new friend how dire the information was, or maybe he just wanted to watch closely and make sure he was believed; either way, his eyes were fierce, and his voice low and serious, even as he struggled to find appropriate words to make his description.
"Yeerk get in your head, and head is not yours. Body is not yours. Voice is not yours." Jara moved--slowly, now. Jerkily, a puppet being tugged along by its strings, tail moving from side to side, arm lowering and raising, fingers clenching and uncurling by degrees.
"Yeerk in your head, and make you do things; you do nothing. Can do nothing. Only scream! Scream in head, and nobody listens. Nobody hears. You are nothing. Then only for Yeerk." As non-vocal as his species tended to be, pantomime seemed almost more appropriate than the explanation; his head jerked to one side, his tail to the other, taking a step back and abruptly rearing to his full height. Sharp, purposeful movements now, the imaginary puppet strings snapping.
Finally, finally, he lowered himself again--the gesture was almost like a bow, as he planted his hands on his thighs, shoulders bent and neck arched to display the top of his head to Daniel. Along with the three sharp horns sprouting from it, a thick, ragged scar curved from his forehead to nearly the base of his skull, marking a blow that looked like it should by all rights have left his head in two pieces altogether. The anger had bled out of him at some point during the explanation; his voice was calm now, steady, crackling with intensity of purpose. "Jara Hamee has his own head. Jara Hamee will free other Hork Bajir. Jara Hamee kill Yeerks, or die. Never again."
Not bad at all~
But he was certainly not mindless; he knew who his anger was directed at, and why. Jara took a moment to scratch at his chest and arms, gathering up tacky half-dried slime and rolling it between his palms. It wasn't a very good demonstration, and while the slime was solid enough to be worked, it wasn't as sticky as it should have been to hold together properly. Still, he managed to create a loose, lumpy shape perhaps two inches long, something that could very easily fit into one of Daniel's hands. "Yeerk is small. Small like this." He brought it closer so Daniel could see, movements carefully controlled as he offered it to him.
He didn't back away, once the gesture was offered--Jara stayed close, bent low to watch Daniel's face, one claw held up to point very purposefully at the human's forehead, right between his eyes. (Bang.) Maybe his obviously intimidating size was being used purposefully now, to impress upon his new friend how dire the information was, or maybe he just wanted to watch closely and make sure he was believed; either way, his eyes were fierce, and his voice low and serious, even as he struggled to find appropriate words to make his description.
"Yeerk get in your head, and head is not yours. Body is not yours. Voice is not yours." Jara moved--slowly, now. Jerkily, a puppet being tugged along by its strings, tail moving from side to side, arm lowering and raising, fingers clenching and uncurling by degrees.
"Yeerk in your head, and make you do things; you do nothing. Can do nothing. Only scream! Scream in head, and nobody listens. Nobody hears. You are nothing. Then only for Yeerk." As non-vocal as his species tended to be, pantomime seemed almost more appropriate than the explanation; his head jerked to one side, his tail to the other, taking a step back and abruptly rearing to his full height. Sharp, purposeful movements now, the imaginary puppet strings snapping.
Finally, finally, he lowered himself again--the gesture was almost like a bow, as he planted his hands on his thighs, shoulders bent and neck arched to display the top of his head to Daniel. Along with the three sharp horns sprouting from it, a thick, ragged scar curved from his forehead to nearly the base of his skull, marking a blow that looked like it should by all rights have left his head in two pieces altogether. The anger had bled out of him at some point during the explanation; his voice was calm now, steady, crackling with intensity of purpose. "Jara Hamee has his own head. Jara Hamee will free other Hork Bajir. Jara Hamee kill Yeerks, or die. Never again."