Zaritha was, by all accounts, a typical huntress for her people. She left her village to stalk, trap, and kill or sell animals from the small Rivtias to the mighty Krotox beasts, their meat, leather, bones, and organs fetching her enough coin to live peacefully as she went through her second decade, seeking to establish herself before she sought a mate to raise children with. However, by one account, she was not a typical woman of her people; her religiousness.
Oh, make no mistake, Zaritha still prayed, was a devout believer, and donated just as much, if not more, as the rest of her village to the God-Emperor...but she and her village were far from any of her people's towns. Far removed enough that the last priest of the Imperial Cult had died three decades before she came into existence and far removed enough for no replacement to come into their village to tend to the shrines and souls of the villagers. In a priest's absence, they were forced to travel to the nearest town for their religious festivals, which, while monetarily lucrative, still attached a stigma to her and her village that was hard to shake from one's soul.
But that changed when the Offworldlers came after the Orks had been killed. It was not without some mixed feelings that, as far as Zaritha and her village had felt, the Ork Invasion had no effect on their lives. Beasts still needed to be hunted and butchered, crops harvested, tools made, and prayers offered. The Invasion of the detestable Xenos and their vile minds did not even pull the young and foolish from the village; they were so far removed from other settlements of humanity. So, when the Offworldlers came after the Orks and settled their spaceport near their village, the change in traffic and contact with civilization bothered her and others the most.
Yes, exchanging her rifle for a long-las with some clever trading with the Glimmerlings helped her in her hunts far more than her pride would allow her to state, and the money that flowed from her meats, leathers, bones, and organs to improve her hut, clothing, and items of convenience was not to be discounted, but the attention of their priests was...disconcerting in her mind. She had...
reservations regarding the words they preached, with some elders going from distrust into objections, but she knew enough about heresy and hatred that an open mind was a fortress with its gates unbarred, yet a closed mind was one unable to receive supplies to stand against the Witch, the Mutant, the Xenos, and the Heretic.
But time, as it was known to do, moved on, and with traffic and trade came wealth, people, and change. Enough that she, after three years of living in the metaphorical shade of the Glimmerling's spaceport and budding town had found a regular contact to sell her bounty to, a man by the name of Andrews, who hailed from a world called Quintura Di-something or other. One of the Glimmerling's Core Worlds, as he proudly declared it, saying it was a jewel of a dual-world system, bustling with trade, traffic, piety, and industry. In all honesty, the idea of a world set entirely over to house people and have them work was unnerving to Zaritha. Where were the wilds? The beasts? The endless expanse where nature ruled above the might of humanity? Yes, humankind had the stars as its birthright, but she had always envisioned that it would entail being a guardian for the wild places, too, not just the ones that produced things for them.
Regardless of all that thinking, Zaritha managed to make a name for herself, one that apparently caught the attention of some of the spaceship officers or some other important person who wanted to buy some of her more impressive trophies before they moved on, contacting her through Andrews with enough coin dangled in front of her that she, despite knowing it was a stupid idea, grabbed her bag of trophies and took a shuttle from the spaceport into the space station the Federation was busy building above her world.
It...took an embarrassing amount of time for her to stop staring out the windows of the hangar she had disembarked into when she had managed to untangle herself from the infuriating amount of safety nets she had been forced to wear on the ride up. Fortress, her world, had looked so...
fragile as she had looked down upon it. And scarred. By the Emperor, she had
not known how
much the war against the Orks had
hurt. It had...shifted something inside her and had turned the rest of the day into a blur. Only after waking up did she manage to sort through her mind and soul, the tiny amount of incense she had burned near a station shrine allowing her to find peace with the fact that war had come to her home and people, and she had not been able to answer the call. Had not
felt the need to answer the call.
Selling a Graxu Skull to what was, hopefully only a
really fucked up Magos that preferred sextupedal ground locomotion for enough money to not have to worry about anything for an entire year was, in comparison, nearly forgettable. The fact that she now had enough money to splurge a little was not, so her next stop was, despite knowing it would be hell to pay in the morning, a shop called, for some reason,
'Sphinxian Wine's' aboard the station, with a dozen bottles of her guilty drink ending up in her pack and room before she had to leave, with one in her hand as she walked through the station intent on seeing what could be seen before she had to go back.
Sure, that singular bottle may have turned into three by the time the hour was done, and a friendly woman calling herself "a Thule" or "77-D/FragCC#, also Fragged for her friends" had joined, not helping that matter at all, but nothing happened beyond a fun night out.
Pain.
Pain and misery.
God-Emperor, her brain hurt like nothing else, and the noises of feet hitting metal plates sounded like thunder in her head.
Blinking against the harsh lights shining directly into her brain, Zaritha slowly began to untangle herself from a pile of two women that had taken to sleep on and next to her, the stench of cheap booze clinging to both them and her. Looking around, Zaritha could tell, thanks to several books she had read out of boredom and a pict-serial she had watched once, that she was, likely, in a club...somewhere.
"Finally awake, eh?" A voice screamed next to her as she stood, making her wince as she looked that way, finding herself staring down at a tiny...furred boy? "I'm gonna have to ask you to pay for your tab before you leave or figure out how you're going to pay for the bill."
"Whu?" Was all Zaritha could say, her brain short-fried as she stared at the...oh, it must be a ratling, right? Tiny, furry, though with its fur colored in a dozen colors for some reason. It must be another Abhuman! Okay, that she could deal with. "Bill?" Another intelligent observation. Truly, she was getting the hang of waking up again.
"Yes, the bill of all the things you and your friends drank yesterday," the ratling that barely came up to above her abdomen said, hands on his hips. "You passed out before the Last Shot was called, so we left you here with security since so weren't about to puke and suffocate, or dip, but you still have to pay money." Zaritha opened her mouth to reply, but the ratling held up a hand with a glare on his face. "No, offering sex won't get you out of paying the bill. If you can't get lucky with the staff for after-hours fun, trying to get lucky and out of your bills by offering some won't work now. I want
money."
Zaritha blinked and, for a moment, tried to understand what the hell was going on. "Are...is this some kind of pick-up bar? Last night feels incredibly foggy..." she weakly said, looking around the club, parsing through the night with difficulty. After some more drinks, another "Thule" joined Fragged, must be some kind of job or title, and they went into a bar with a riot of colored people inside called...
'Pre-Flight Stretch' aboard a docked carrier? Everything after that was blank, though. Though she remembered the sensation of...fur on her face?
"...hrm, you must be truly new, or truly hungover. Thought you were one of the Piscarians that jumped ship at the first opportunity, especially after you happily debased yourself to rub yourself against Glimmerdust's arm like a
pervert," the ratling huffed, crossing his arms. "No, this is a rave club. One that would like its money.
Now if you'd please."
Zaritha didn't please at all.
Not after she saw the bill in full.
The pict-reel of what she had done the night prior given to her as a "gift" when she left honestly felt like insult to injury after that.
She still kept it though.
Dedicated to
@Toboe and their twisted mind.