Sunset fell particularly beautiful through a haze of smoke and silence, warming even the cold bodies it touched with a contented(if strangely intense)glow. Blue-black shadows pulled the dread chill into themselves, the contrast so stark that walking through one of them felt like a whisper of death.

In one such darkness Jeice lay, bound and gagged and finding out that consciousness was not at all what he wanted right now. Streaks of blood had cooled in crackling patterns over his skin, darkening with the shadow's touch and itching unpleasantly as his clothes brushed them. Attempting to groan(the gag reduced the sound to a muted grunt), Jeice opened his one good eye—the other long since swelled shut—to see the tall figure watching attentively from a different shadow.

"Welcome back," the stranger murmured. "Would you like to run into another wall?" There was no heat in his voice; if anything, it sounded studiously bland. It matched his cool look.

He paused for a moment, then stepped with an air of caution into the dying glow, absently tucking a rogue strand of dark green hair back into its braid. His skin had been pale blue in the shadow; it seemed some variation of burnt orange in this light. A bit of dirt or dried blood marked the sleeve of his shirt and glancing down, he picked at it with a faint moue of displeasure. Jeice shook with a cloth-strangled chuckle. Oh, the worse part of battle was getting dirty, was it?

The Changeling regarded him mildly; mildly apart from the thin gold eyes that kept shifting, the fingers flickering briefly at his side before nonchalantly brushing more dust(real or imagined)from his clothing. Had Jeice been more objective he might have noticed that for the ostensible authority figure, his captor was comparatively young. Jeice, however, was hardly in a position to pass such judgements; he settled for a baleful glare, physically unable to do more.

"Well, nothing to do until they come back for us…I suppose conversation might relieve the boredom," the Changeling mused. He looked at Jeice for a moment, then nodded once—decision reached and recorded—and yanked the gag from Jeice's mouth. Jeice took a breath, preparing to launch into a tirade which resulted only in a loud wheeze as Zarbon's foot connected soundly with his ribs.

"I'd recommend saving your breath for something pleasant," Zarbon remarked. "And somehow I doubt what you were going to say was pleasant."

"Good…guess," Jeice coughed, wincing at the sharp stabbing pain now associated with breathing. "So what would you…prefer I talk about?"

"Oh, I don't know. May as well start with small talk, yes? What's your name, boy?" Gods, it felt ludicrous addressing him like that, but asserting authority was important, ne?

"None of your damned business," Jeice hissed, glaring as best he could from his somewhat disadvantaged position. It was difficult to be intimidating face-down in the dust.

"Hmm…leaves me with little to work with, you know."

"So kill me, bastard," Jeice rasped; it just seemed the right thing to say at the time. Zarbon squatted beside him and pulled his forelock out of his face, giving him an appraising look. Jeice attempted to spit defiantly and succeeded in dribbling a mix of blood and spittle down his chin. Just not his day to play the hero, apparently…

"Must you do that?" Zarbon asked, wrinkling his nose. "Considering how much blood you've lost, I should think you'd want to keep fluids in you." Jeice scowled in reply, pursing his lips as the action broke them open again; blood dripped sluggishly in the dirt.

"Doesn't matter," he muttered, annoyed by the taste in his mouth. "Just gonna kill me anyhow."

"I hope so. Orders, after all." Zarbon dropped Jeice's hair and sat on a nearby stump, cracking his knuckles distractedly. He was supposed to hate this man…

"So why am I alive, baka? You're just too weak to kill me?"

"Don't be an idiot," Zarbon snapped, bristling slightly. "If my commanding officer says to keep you alive, then I keep you alive. That simple." Had to be that simple…Zarbon had no way of knowing Jeice's true strength; he preferred to ignore the question entirely. Strength didn't matter, at least not here, now, in this situation.

"I see," Jeice countered acidly. "You're afraid."

"It's called training and loyalty," Zarbon retorted. "Judging by the fact that we found you alone, I guess you wouldn't know what those are. Are you part of the rebellion?"

Jeice blinked. "Rebellion? The hell are you talking about?"

"Well, that's interesting." Zarbon drew up one leg, clasping his hands around his knee. "Uninformed rebel."

"What's going on? Who's rebelling?"

"Let's make a game of it," Zarbon offered with a faint smile. "I'll say a few names of the people involved and you tell me what pops into that rattling skull of yours."

"Right," Jeice grunted, shutting his eyes. Just what he needed, a reminder that his brain felt like puree…

"Dalwen."

"The king."

"Just the king?"

"What else would he be?" Jeice asked, frowning. Barely into the game and already he didn't like the sound of it.

"Cheada," Zarbon continued, ignoring the question.

"Don't know him," Jeice said slowly, after a long moment's pause. Zarbon eyed him curiously. Perhaps what he'd heard was true…

"Lureine."

"Where did you hear that?" Jeice snapped sharply, rolling to his side and craning his neck back painfully to look at his enemy. Zarbon's smudged face bore a faint cool smile; this was easier than he'd anticipated.

"Another one you've never heard of, I suppose?"

"Not your fucking business…"

"Oh, of course not; I never had any intention of doing that with her," Zarbon said lightly; it was amusing to be literal, sometimes.

"Leave her out of this, you bitch," Jeice snarled, incensed. No one insulted Lureine…certainly not this shit-bag of a Changeling.

"All right. Another name, then?"

More muffled snarling in response; Zarbon chose to take it as an affirmative.

"Jeice."

Jeice looked up, startled. "Yes?" He hadn't even meant to say it like that, just a reflex, was all…Zarbon smiled slowly.

"So it's true."

"What's true?" Jeice sputtered. "I never said what I—"

"Oh, that's right," Zarbon chuckled. "So tell me…what comes immediately to mind when you hear your name?"

"Not my name," Jeice spat.

"Too late for that approach, I'm afraid; try something else."

"Smug bastard, think you know it all, don't you? You don't know shit, you lousy son of a—" He cut off in another hoarse gasp as Zarbon nailed him in the side with a weak ki blast.

"Sorry, Jeice, but you were being unpleasant again."

Jeice glowered through pain-narrowed eyes. "And you're being a prick. Still." Zarbon lifted his hand to blast again and Jeice flinched.

"Ah, survival instinct at last," Zarbon murmured. "I was beginning to wonder if you had it in you at all."

"What does it matter to you, anyhow?" Jeice growled. "I thought you wanted me dead. Change your mind?"

"Not at all. Just trying to ascertain if your race really had declined as far as I'd been told."

Jeice sighed and slumped a bit further into the dirt, too weary to keep up a conversation this infuriating. Zarbon shifted, drawing up his other knee.

"Trying the 'If I ignore it maybe it will go away' approach? Hardly innovative. Rarely successful, either, come to think of it."

Jeice remained stubbornly silent. Fine, let the baka babble his fool head off…Jeice attempted to concentrate on the quiet of the ground, on the too-rapid pulse throbbing over his body. The sun must have set already, he was feeling so cold…still, the darkness was blessedly quiet…soothing…

"I said wake UP!" Before Jeice could register the voice, he was flung onto his back and slapped hard across the face. Grimacing weakly, he squinted up at a decidedly tense Changeling. Zarbon frowned and shook his head, baubles swaying.

"Sorry. You'll die when the time comes, but you're not going to do it on my watch."

"We'll see about that," Jeice coughed, feeling disgusted. Not only was he bluffing, he was failing at it. Zarbon looked uneasy nevertheless. Of course Jeice had no particular say in his eventual demise, but if he kept blacking out like that…it was Zarbon's first real, critical assignment; he wasn't about to see it ruined by some mop-hair misdirected princeling.

Zarbon watched his charge closely for any signs of drifting; if nothing else, it lent him an excuse to give Jeice a good once-over. The Changeling's smooth brow furrowed slightly. Jeice didn't look like the stuff of royalty. Did this race truly have so little physical distinction between the classes?

'How confusing that must be…any grunt in the street could be your superior and you'd never know. Small wonder they're so mixed up.'

Jeice sighed, relaxing again, and Zarbon scowled. Just when he thought he was through kicking the kid around—he whirled suddenly as one of the Resistance transport pods screeched overhead, slamming into the ground nearby. The hatch wasn't halfway open before Gomen shot out, looking close enough to frightened to nearly panic his underling.

"Zarbon!" he barked. "In the pod, NOW! We're too late!"