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trans_92009-08-05 03:58 am
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"This is Siaynoq." She said. "All that remains of the Tyrant's greatest ritual." [OPEN]
Sheeana doesn't like to train in the sensorium. There's something about the guarantee of safety, the artificiality of the sorroundings...It dulls her edge. Her reactions are a fraction of a second too slow.
Instead she's brought her little maker to the park with her. Purple grass. Strange, crystalline trees. Bags of multicolored sand lie in a heap a few meters away, where she's dragged them from the nearby playground.
The sandworm is barely seven feet long on its diet of scraps and sickly from the humid environment. Even still, it rears back and snaps at her with impressive speed on the purple grass. Sheeana dodges back and twists side to side. Each snap of the tripartite jaws closes just a few inches from her. She is a literal blur of motion, dancing evasively then vaulting over it like a naked ancient Greek on a vase.
There is something to this scene of a boy wrestling with his dog. It can be seen on the Dune waif's little crook of a smile.
She draws her crysknife. The bone-white blade is the tooth of an adult maker, and she tells her charge so: "Someday you'll have teeth this big too."
She feints playfully at it, careful to keep her arm from getting caught in it mouth with its rows of little daggers and blazing internal fire.
She doesn't realize she's not alone at first.
Instead she's brought her little maker to the park with her. Purple grass. Strange, crystalline trees. Bags of multicolored sand lie in a heap a few meters away, where she's dragged them from the nearby playground.
The sandworm is barely seven feet long on its diet of scraps and sickly from the humid environment. Even still, it rears back and snaps at her with impressive speed on the purple grass. Sheeana dodges back and twists side to side. Each snap of the tripartite jaws closes just a few inches from her. She is a literal blur of motion, dancing evasively then vaulting over it like a naked ancient Greek on a vase.
There is something to this scene of a boy wrestling with his dog. It can be seen on the Dune waif's little crook of a smile.
She draws her crysknife. The bone-white blade is the tooth of an adult maker, and she tells her charge so: "Someday you'll have teeth this big too."
She feints playfully at it, careful to keep her arm from getting caught in it mouth with its rows of little daggers and blazing internal fire.
She doesn't realize she's not alone at first.
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"It sounds like all of you have great ability. Wouldn't it be easier to band together?"
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"But I don't trust them. I watched them glass Arrakis in a fit of pique. If our woman is knocked off her throne...They have a tradition of ascension by assassination you see...Then we're all dead. There's twenty of them to one of us and each more deadly. So me and a minority of other dissenters stole a No-ship and a sandworm and fled for the uncharted parts of the universe. I felt...As if I could paint this great blank canvas myself. That was two days before I was captured." She didn't bother to hide from Luke the frustration and pain of being constricted again. Her years of BG training had taught her responsibility but at heart she was a wild thing and chafed at being caged.