Seth and the Prometheus Guild

Seth


 "Blue," the boy repeated obediently.

"Great job," cheered the small puppet dancing in the strange box. "And the next one? Everyone say it together: RED!"

"Red." He rested his chin on his palm and waited for her to continue.

"That's right," the puppet behind the glass praised. "And what do we call this color?"

"Yellow," the boy yawned, not waiting for her to finish.

"Everyone say it together: YELLOW," the box blared in his face.

He sighed and leaned back on his comfortable cushion. In the last few weeks his understanding of the human language had progressed in leaps and bounds. Probably because he had heard almost all of the words before and had just been unable to determine their meaning, he had no problem remembering them now. And some thanks should probably also go to the big human female – Francesca as she was called. This human business of naming each other had confused him at first, but he soon saw the benefit of it. There were so many of them living together that it apparently helped to differentiate between them - if you were dim enough to need it.

Another thing Francesca explained to him (after his inquiring about her offspring) was the fact that all human females had teats, no matter if they actually had kits who could benefit from them or not. When he questioned the logic behind this, Francesca had seemed flustered, which he interpreted as her not knowing the reason why either. It seemed quite impractical to him especially with the example of Francesca whose bosom size fit the rest of her generous body and probably got in her way frequently.

The first few days in his 'cell' had been quite a readjustment. He would always laze around and wait for the new Whitecloaks to take him away and return him with a few fresh scars but nothing happened. The new humans only shoved food into his room (always meat, but instead of fresh they somehow felt the need to burn it. Not wanting his food supply to stop, Seth hadn't complained yet) and turned this strange apparatus called 'Television box' on. He didn't know how to operate the confusing device and was therefore forced to watch the strange beings flit behind the glass that imprisoned them and yak at him in the human language.

He started to think that maybe his assumption had been wrong and these humans weren't Whitecloaks after all. Or if they were, then drastically different ones than his first set.

After another few days he started to understand the first words the Television beings were babbling and paid closer attention. It didn't take long for him to understand the purpose of this machine they left him with: he was supposed to learn their language.

He probably wouldn't have been so successful if the big woman hadn't come back after about a week of his imprisonment. She was the first human to enter the room since the bald male with the hard eyes had left. She stayed at the doorway, well out of his reach, and smelled off the nervous sweat that the heavy, artificial scent she used on her skin couldn't disguise.

He was uncertain if she had come to retrieve him for an operation. He hadn't pegged her for a Whitecloak and she didn't carry the device which spewed the colored darts. But why else would a human come into his cell? Curious, he sat still and waited for her move.

Kneading her hands, the woman looked at the boy sitting motionless in front of the TV, facing her without any expression. At first glance he looked almost angelic, with big eyes framed by curling lashes, symmetrical features and hair so light of color it was nearly white. But this time she paid attention to the myriad of fine, silver scars, almost invisible on his porcelain skin. They covered his face in straight, thin lines, running from just under his eyes to his lips and further down until they disappeared around his collarbones under the plain shirt he was wearing.