Post by Vocado on Feb 11, 2022 17:21:07 GMT -5
Her story checked out rather unsurprisingly. Cato was a Podling. That’s what he and some of the other low-class grunts used to call recruits from offworld. Either some noble would ship off their runt, or a particularly unimpressive Saiyan would be sent to “prove themself” among the stars at the ripe old age of an hour. They’d come home fairly often, looking to show just how much they learned as a mercenary or god-king of some backwater planet.
Usually, they ended up dead.
”I was a noble too, once.” He spoke of it as if it happened so long ago, but his house was still active. Under the rule of a vile man, but even so, the house remained. ”Us Bonewood’s were known for our lumber. One of the few noble houses to bring with them proper Sadalan seedlings to plant real trees when we arrived. Strong trees. Not like the junk that remains here.”
It was hard to remember the exacts. He was so young when everything happened. Kind of like Cato, in a way.
”I won’t bore you with the specifics. But someone ran our name through the muck. Now our estate is in ruin somewhere among the wastes, and Callion, the bastard, runs our house as if he earned it.”
He could’ve went on. He could’ve mentioned the decade of homelessness he and his brother faced. Hunting down scraps and wrestling free meals from weak civilians. He could’ve mentioned the propaganda that he and Pitt were entranced by, practically hypnotizing them into signing up for the war. He could’ve mentioned how, now that his brother was dead and the war won, he felt a creeping sense of emptiness. But that was a little too much personal information to dump on a woman he’d met less than an hour ago.
”Maybe your house was in the same boat. We could look them up in the databanks when we get to the capital. Got a name, or maybe a crest?”
Usually, they ended up dead.
”I was a noble too, once.” He spoke of it as if it happened so long ago, but his house was still active. Under the rule of a vile man, but even so, the house remained. ”Us Bonewood’s were known for our lumber. One of the few noble houses to bring with them proper Sadalan seedlings to plant real trees when we arrived. Strong trees. Not like the junk that remains here.”
It was hard to remember the exacts. He was so young when everything happened. Kind of like Cato, in a way.
”I won’t bore you with the specifics. But someone ran our name through the muck. Now our estate is in ruin somewhere among the wastes, and Callion, the bastard, runs our house as if he earned it.”
He could’ve went on. He could’ve mentioned the decade of homelessness he and his brother faced. Hunting down scraps and wrestling free meals from weak civilians. He could’ve mentioned the propaganda that he and Pitt were entranced by, practically hypnotizing them into signing up for the war. He could’ve mentioned how, now that his brother was dead and the war won, he felt a creeping sense of emptiness. But that was a little too much personal information to dump on a woman he’d met less than an hour ago.
”Maybe your house was in the same boat. We could look them up in the databanks when we get to the capital. Got a name, or maybe a crest?”