Aubry lets the silence hang, studying you for a moment from above her cup. At least she knew her
herbs well enough to get some of the intended effect. She holds off from touching you just yet,
knowing that perhaps now it was not needed. Finally, as the silence becomes tangible, she speaks.
 	 "Tell me."

	Silence still hangs in the air, a sort of foreboding gloom that dares to rend the relationship
asunder. Your Yautja's knees randomly knock into each other in soft motions of his legs, nervousness
in some sort of gentle waver.
	"I am still unsure," Tarak finally admits, letting his subconscious thoughts be laid bare before
you. "I, I know she will no longer come back." Tarak swallows hard, Adam's apple visible as it
quivers. "I lived with that part." His voice breaks, the dam ready to burst from days of trying to
push the problem down into nothingness. That ignorance was bliss.
	"But, I still do not feel it, with you." Now his head lifts to regard your grey eyes, his pale ones
wet, more grief. "And I feel that if I do not get it now, I never will."

 	 Aubry's calm expression falters throughout what you have to say. Emotions battle within her.
Tears immediately spring in her eyes, but she keeps them from falling, just barely. Whatever good
mood had been there from Mangus' compliment, and seeing you, it's gone in an instant.
 	 She has to take a drink, to wet her lips, to help try and swallow that sudden lump in her throat.

 	 Time passes. Silence again hangs in the air.

 	 "If you do not feel it, you do not love me."

	"I still feel you have potential," Tarak adds, another part of him exposed. "She was, so
/passionate/..." That last word speaks of the very definition as it is thrust, breathed from him
with wild abandon. It makes him stand from his seat, now pacing the floor, cup in hand, other
clutching his forehead, gripping from the sudden swell of emotion. "So damn passionate. She offered
her body to me, wanted my marks and continually wanted me to bite her until scars formed. It was as
if every thing she did spoke to me on some profound level. The way she touched me, how she said
things to me. How she picked up my language quickly, wanting to speak in my mother tongue. She
wanted to be inside me as much as I did her. She wanted to -eat- my heart and absorb me." He nods
then, slow and sure, realization. "As much as I did her."
	Tarak continues to pace, back and forth, back and forth, the energy in him not wanting to be
contained any longer. "She said she saw me as her warrior. Not because of what I am. But because of
what I have been through. To survive for so long. She wanted to protect that. She really spoke deep
within her and she laid herself bare, cut herself wide open for me to simply gaze for my inspection.
" His passion continues to thrive in his baritone, to sweeps and drops, up and downs, the play of
drama, the rise and fall of action.

 	 Yes, exactly what she needed to hear. Everything that she was not to you. The words rip at her,
tear at her, leaving her vulnerable again. She hated it, hated feeling so open to letting you hurt
her. She trusted you, or otherwise, she would have never agreed when you had asked to become her
benefactor. The words are taken in silence.
 	 The tea is set aside with shaking fingers, pulling in on herself until her knees touch her chest,
and wrap around. Her standard posture for when she is trying to protect herself. "I'm sorry I am not
her. That I am not enough for you. Why bother, if what you say is true - that if you do not feel it
towards me now, you won't in the future."

	Tarak looks at you, still with grief, but now with full clarity. He looks withdrawn, his chin
lowering, eyes now starting to hood under his thick brow. "She never would have said that to me." He
swallows, serious. He eyes the cup in his hand, as if it is disconnected from him. "When I
questioned her about her passion and her honesty, she told me..." Tarak lifts his eyes to you, soft
yes but knowing, very knowing. "I will prove it to you."
	That makes Tarak turn away hesitantly. The breaths come in wavering catches, more emotion daring to
break. His head hangs between his broad shoulders. "If Only I could just -show- you what it was like.
 You would understand."

 	 Aubry stands to her feet, anger spilling out in waves. Her eyes are wide, tears still glistening
there, a few falling to her face. Your marks still mar her lips, her cheek. Conflict to the words
you just said. The temptation is there, to pick that cup up and throw it at you, if just to make you
see. Words spill out, a mixture of passion, anger, and hurt. "What else have I been showing you? I
have given you everything I have, and you are throwing it back in my face, telling me it is not
enough! You say you love me. We spoke of weddings, spoke of the future. And yet, it comes back to
her, because I am not her."
 	 Her body shakes, near her own breaking point. "I do not want you to show me. I want to be enough
for you. I wear your marks with pride. They will scar now, and I will keep them. Have I not laid
myself bare for you? You know my fears, my wants, my determination and passion for doing what I need
to. Why.." She trails off, hands shaking at her sides, unable to find more words.

		Stillness. Tarak's body is statue that can be immortalized. He watches your every move, how you
step, what you say, how much you put forth. And most of all, what you are trying to hide.
	That voice of yours trails, unsure, no more words spoken. And that is when Tarak's passion explodes.
 He -hurls- the cup right into the wall, shattering, exploding into droplets of lavender tea. "Did
you see that! Huh! I fucking THREW IT at the fucking wall!" He points, his anger able to be cut,
felt, touched with fingers and inhaled through a nose or mouth. His eyes are wide, brow sharpened,
creased greatly. This was his passion. And his trembling, dangerous and livid baritone said it
clearly. Even his mind started to flow.
	"Everything! Every fucking -little- thing. You look but you do not SEE. And when you cannot see you
have NO passion!" He cuts his hand through the air. "Throw the cup, Aubry." He points to the wall.
"Throw it." He approaches, stepping forward but stopping, knowing he could hurt you. "This is the
first time ever I wanted to strangle you with my bare hands. Not because I hate you! Because I have
PASSION for it. MAKE me hurt you, Aubry. And NOT from anger. From /desire/. PURE desire. To just -
think- of you. To a point where I have to buy a BONE to CHEW because I have so much AGGRESSION to
WRECK YOU. And then build you back up. That is what I felt with Lydia. And that is when I knew!" He
points his finger. "That is when I knew she has passion. She made me want to do things, I have never
thought of doing before to someone I loved."
	Tarak's face is no longer afraid. His conviction is on high. "Throw the cup, Aubry. Throw it -at-
me. Throw it. You are not doing it to -hurt- me. You are doing it because you LOVE me." He grits his
sharp teeth, severe. "You have so much EMOTION that you want to wreck the world, you want to wreck
me, because you cannot CONTAIN it. That is who I am. And I need someone just like that."
	"So throw the cup, Aubry.

 	 Aubry takes in that tirade, her jaw tightening, muscles doing the same, till she is just held, in
place, by her own sheer will. Even when you approach, that look in your eyes knowing that all you
had to do was extend an arm, and she would break.
 	 The cup is blatantly ignored. Instead she approaches you, and if you could see the emotion, there
would be fire beneath every step she makes. It takes a lot to make her angry, but being hurt by your
words, being told to ACT LIKE HER, that is far too much.
 	Hands reach out, and shove pointedly at your chest. Small as she is, there is strength behind it,
enough to make you budge. "Fuck. You." A harder shove, lips curling into an almost sneer. "Do. Not.
Try to make me her. I refuse. Fucking refuse." Another shove, harder, with each one she gives.
 	 "If you want me, you will want me for who I am." Another shove. "What I am." One last push, all
of her strength given into it. "You. Don't deserve me, if you have to force me into someone else's
image, just to want me. I don't want your faked passion, words of love, words of NOTHING, since that
is apparently all it is."

	Tarak is again silent, statuesque, watching, noting everything you say. He takes it all clearly. He
allows himself to be pushed, but his eyes never go away from you. He drinks of your response, the
feelings you have, the outright need to stab him for hurting you. Make him die and then be brought
back up so you could kill him again.
	And when you finish, the mountain comes right for you. It is quick and there isn't much to really
think. You are against the wall and a big blue hand is at your throat, pinning you in place. By now
the towel from you is gone, dropped to the floor, your pale-hued body vulnerable in its purest form.
"And what makes you think I want you to BE her? Did I tell you to dye your hair blonde? Did I tell
you to call me Paya or sugartusks? Did I tell you to speak in a southern drawl? Did I tell you to
suddenly like musclecars and fawn over my Camaro? Hmmn? DID I?" Each question makes his hand quake,
each word forced into your body through the simple act of energy transfered from his muscles into
your throat, your skull clattering against the stone wall.
	"But did I say to show passion?" Something clicks in his head, gears turn and for those heartbeats
he looks away. Those deadly eyes return and he speaks with lucidity on high.
	"Remember all of that /shit/ Magnus said? About Honor? Do you?" He's waiting for your answer.


 	 When you approach her, she is still angry enough that realization of what is happening doesn't
occur until her head hits the wall. Pain blossoms, sweet and sharp, through her neck and skull. The
red she had been seeing is muted, dulled in the haze of pain.
 	 "You haven't asked me, YET. Let. Me. Go." Whatever emotion she has still is thrown into those
words, nearly spit back out at you. Speaking of honor, when you were the one going back on your word,
 making it clear you wanted things to end. Hurt, even deeper now. You are not seeing her for what
she is either - her passion is overlooked, bound by what you deem it to be, instead of what /is/.

	"See? You THINK I was going to ask you. You LOOK, you do not SEE. Fucking SEE ME." Tarak's other
hand grabs for your shoulder, using your chin and skull to keep you above as he rips you from the
wall. His hand is tight, constricting but not enough to prevent the needed air to keep you breathing.
 Gravity wants to pull you from his grasp but your own skull says no, and you stay. Your face is
right to his own, all you can see are his eyes surrounded by pitch flesh, shadowed by his brow.
	"SEE me, Aubry. SEE me. Magnus wants you to have Honor. He wants you to have Honor as HUMANS see it.
 But that is not how YAUTJA see it. Every day, every single -fucking- day there is a chance
someone's passion can come up right behind you and STAB you. A high elder can be a lowly, crippled
servant. You are only as good as your last hunt. And every hunt there is a DRIVE, a PASSION to SEE.
See EVERYTHING around you." Tarak's mandibles reset over his face, fluid, clicking their tusks in
unison as they greet each other over his mouth. "Not even once did you mention the picture above my
bath. You do not SEE and you do not ASK. You do not have the PASSION to truly KNOW EVERYTHING. How
do you think I became Master of Ceremonies after half a year being in the public eye? I have PASSION
for it. To KNOW. To LEARN and SEE. EVERYTHING."
	Tarak doesn't stop there, he wants to pour his brain into your own. And that is what kills him.
That you are not willing to speak everything. Not your background. Not your want to be a courtesan.
Not your mother or father. He wants you to truly SEE within yourself as you saw him making love to
you in the mirror. And how you felt when you saw it, how your body felt. How /disconnected/ you felt
watching yourself, and truly SEEING it. The very /basic/ sensations and emotions. The very basic
elements of you. And he wants you to seek it out in himself. His true nature.
	"Remember what I told Esroh too? A lot of people here do not know how to control themselves. But
that is because they want to control the WRONG things. They castrate their own heart. People are
cruel and people are lewd. It is those feelings that MAKE them cruel and lewd they should control.
But they end up slicing away everything else. The key, Aubry, is to not make yourself emotionless.
The TRUE key is to show passion where it COUNTS."
	Nope, not done. With Dreamspeak Tarak is able to express himself fully, as if he could write a book,
 a novel, a complete manual to really KNOWING how it all works. And from his experience of what he
is living in a world that does not bend to his kind.
	"I AM NOT a beast. Beasts cannot control anything. They seek out simple pleasures. They LOOK but
cannot SEE. They look at the details. They want to fuck, party, be entertained, have their base
desires met, their need for power. But a true and real thing here is that I need NONE of that. None
of it. I am an ANIMAL. ANIMALS do not need those things. ANIMALS show themselves, their REAL selves.
They see everything, they use it for their knowledge, they learn, they adapt. They have no NEED for
those details. And that is why I am here now. A Yautja in a Human's world, trying to make sense of
those details. And those details YOU are hung up on. You THINK I want YOU to be Lydia? Honestly,
WHAT do you THINK I want you to be? You think I would ask you to copy someone else? I am asking for
you to do something EVERYONE can DO. What //I// do! I am asking you to show yourself, show your love
and show those basic things. I am honestly shocked..."
	Tarak is starting to falter now and his grip is loosening. His eyes blink, tears falling. But he
realizes you're slipping and he re grips. His baritone is haking. "You think I wanted you to act
like someone else? Aubry...I want you to just /see/. Not look, see. And that is what Magnus will
also ask of you. Why any woman who wants to be a Kajira fails. Because they do what you are doing.
They look. They do not see. And I want you to see /me/. And everything about me. And I want you to
allow me to see all of you too. And I cannot see it, because you are not letting me. There is more
to it than weddings, and knowing about your past..." Tarak's voice is still wrecked, soft sobs and
whimpers upon it, mandibles shaking. "That night when I made love to you, in front of the mirror. I
did that on purpose. It is called the mirror technique and Magnus does it with people he trains to
be Kajira. To let them /see/. And what did you see?"

 	 Held in the air, Aubry dangles, her body limp. All you have to say, the words spit out at her,
only chip away at what pride she has, pride in the fact that she had been making some kind of
progress. Yet, your words make it clear she had done nothing of the sort, had been doing it all
wrong. The blood drains from her face, and she in unable to hold back the tears from hearing you
speak those things to her.
 	 Her entire time here, she had been able to hold part of herself back, keep her sanity, keep from
breaking. But you, holding her in the air, and telling her how she is constantly failing you - it is
enough. She breaks, and words can't find her lips. They open, as if to speak, and nothing comes out.
And then she is pulling at the wrists around her neck, yanking, trying to pull away.
 	 "I saw us. Saw you and I being one. I felt complete for the first time." She manages to get that
out, and then breaks down into soft whimpers, "I'm sorry," becoming a mantra, unable to hold back
anything.

	Tarak is seeing a glimmer of hope in you and without fail he lets you down, gently but sure, you
find your footing. His hand lets go and away, standing tall and honed like a blade. His mind is
sharp, the sharpest it's been.
	"Aubry," Tarak begins, careful, his baritone still with emotion. He WANTS you to know this. No. He
NEEDS you to know this. He NEEDS you. But he needs you to /see/. And When you see you will see why
Tarak is what he is, why all of his past relationships failed. And maybe perhaps why the one
relationship that did not fail but ran away? Maybe they could not handle /seeing/ everything.
	"I want to tell you what I saw. Come here..." Tarak offers his hand, his way of showing hope in you,
 that he, on some level, still loves you with a fiery passion. He has faith in you. That you want to
be a courtesan. But he thinks what you truly want to be is someone who is so confident that they are
able to have pose and carriage as if it were second nature. You emulate Sadira. But the key is to
see Sadira's truth. To SEE her. Not her handwriting. Not the way she holds her cup or always fixes
her chiffon. But her innate nature. And everything above, the details, they then become you instead
of you trying to copy it.

 	 Aubry's legs are shaking, but they manage to keep her small frame up, at least for now. What else
can she do, but take the hand being offered to her, her skin cold to the touch, body unable to stop
shaking.

	Tarak can see the fear and uncertainty. He wants to be the rock for you, he always has and always
will be. He affectionately clips behind your knees, making you fall right into his arms, safe and
sound. "Come, Aubry," he smooths, careful but -savoring- the walk, the feel of you in his arms. And
not just that, but how vulnerable you were. But also how you did not run away with what energy you
had left to stand yourself. It was a glimmer of something there and he wanted to take it and nurture
it.
	Tarak now sits on the bed, looking over to the mess he made against the wall and floor. He doesn't
make a face, he now focuses on you, laying you down upon the soft bedding, allowing it to comfort
you on the basic sensations, tactile against your skin and body registering as soft, safe. He kicks
off his shoes and climbs right in with you, curling into your body and tucking you into him. He is
so warm and he wants to share this with you.
	"I know this all happened, but, I respect you Aubry. I realize I was focusing on the details, when
in reality I want to focus on the -truth-." His fist comes up and shakes from that passion ready to
overflow, but it is just a gesture and nothing more. "The wedding will be beautiful. I wish I could
have met your parents, even though I probably would have scared them into their graves." He smiles,
rare in the moment but he maintains. "But all those things right now? They do not matter. Because
what matters is you seeing me, and me seeing you. And then when those details come in, we can
appreciate them, and /understand/ them."
	Tarak nods as his arms come up around your nude form, curling further, almost like a fetus with you
at his stomach and his thighs, knees keeping you from escaping as they bend up to cup you into his
body.
	"What did I see in the mirror? I saw hope. I did not see something beautiful, because that implies
I was looking. What I -saw- was a woman who was torn from her previous life, forced into slavery and
made to become an object...she was, at that moment, happy, complete, fulfilled. Even before the
portal took her here." His breath washes over your face with his words, tusks touching your cheeks
and nose with each syllable they form. "Her pleasure spanned beyond her body. And she fell deep into
me. And -that- was beautiful. Not seeing my cock slide the stubble into you, but how it completed
you here..." He presses his hand to your left breast, under it, your heart. "And how you wanted to
mend from being used and abused. To triumph. To overcome. For yourself, and that is powerful."

	 For all Aubry knows, the room is not even there. She only feels you picking her up, just when her
legs would have given out, just when her energy was fully depleted. There is comfort, in your arms
around her, relief, because she had thought you were the one giving up on her, and if you were still
here, maybe that was not the case. Tears are still on her cheeks, in her eyes. Speaking is not
something she can do. Even if she had a voice, emotion would have prevented her from doing anything
but mumble incoherently.
 	 Even the bed, its softness, while felt, is nothing compared to feeling you wrap around her, and
give her what she needs. Strength to pull from, to rest on, to have reassurance that her breaking,
her opening all the way up would be taken care of. All her trust has to be in you, in knowing that
while she is in this state, you will not take advantage, hurt her more, or break her completely
beyond repair.
 	 She whimpers, when you speak of what you saw in the mirror, body curling in, more towards you.

	Tarak smiles, his eyes closing. As if he could feel the synapses in your mind firing, even though
your body is still. He can hear that small voice, truly seeing. Taking in all those things, right
down to realizing that he would never take advantage of you. He only wants to comfort. And in turn,
it caresses his own mind like a lover and it too makes him feel complete.
	"I told someone this: to be vulnerable is to be empowered. And when you are vulnerable to someone,
you are letting them see you. That is why I want to be vulnerable in front of you. I want you to see
me. And I want you to see /yourself/. Just like how I saw myself, and how I realized the moment I
held your throat against the wall, I finally -saw- the problem. I saw why you were upset. You
thought I wanted a carbon copy. No, Aubry. I want you to be able to see. And when you see me, you
will know me and you will have that -passion-."
	Tarak's hand comes up, slides around and takes your own, threading digits tightly, flexing them
into the slight webbing between your fingers, spreading them. As if he's ready to waltz. "When you
finally see, it is as if the water flows in your mind and sometimes you cannot stop it. Those
details hold you back. It is why some people can write books that span volumes. And why God was able
to make and know everything. Because while we are down here worried about little things, He
understood the reality, the basics. To truly know something is to own it. And when you own it you
become it. And it all starts with that spark. The passion. It all connects. Sadira mentions Honor,
Integrity and Poise. That is all very good, but, deep down, the -basics- is: passion, seeing,
knowing and being. To take what you know, to own it and -do- it. BE it. And that, Aubry, Chi'di, is
truly the key to everything. To make it."