Dog Fights

Chapter 20; Power

"O-Orgon," Ezra finally stutters, unable to drag any form of combat out of his countless memories of fighting. His conductor is alone, but still Ezra feels outnumbered, shrunken down under the gaze of the collected man.

"That is my name, yes," he says, smile almost apologetic, "I know it's been quite a while, but I didn't think you would forget about me so fast.

"You seem to be doing well, though," Orgon continues, pulling his hands from behind his back as he steps forward. Ezra watches with only his eyes, unable to move his feet. How can just the sight of this man plant him in place, completely immobile?

When Ezra doesn't open his mouth he continues speaking. "You do know this sort of rebellion comes with consequences, correct?" Orgon asks, stopping only a few paces in front of the vampire, "and why are you shaking so much? I thought we broke that habit."

Ezra tilts his chin down, squeezing his fists tight to try and stop their trembling. He did break that habit, by beating him into exhaustion.

"You've cost me a lot of money, you know," Orgon continues, raising his finger and stepping around to Ezra's side, "but you can't really blame me, can you? This is all on you, and a hell of a lot of people want to see you punished for it."

Orgon raises his hand, making the vampire shrink away as he grips his blood splattered sleeve. "Pastel?" he asks, cracking a smile, "what kind of pansy shit is this?"

Ezra doesn't respond, making the man shake his head. "I worked so hard to build up that reputation of yours, so no one would mess with you, and as soon as you have a free will you step out of line and stomp all over it. Take this off, and the glasses too."

Orgon takes a step back as Ezra shifts, watching him pull his bloody hands up to tug the ruined sweater and new glasses over his head. Leon had just given it to him only hours ago.

"Well look at that." Orgon whistles, leaning down to look at his bare stomach, "I knew you got messed up in your teams last crash, but I didn't know you got shot! That must'a been a shock to the system, huh?"

Ezra grips the crimson smeared top with his injured hand, shifting his eyes away as the conductor raises his hand to poke the bullet wound. "Silver too," he says, drawing back after studying the black ring of skin that halos the mark, "that's quite a well healed scar. Some new injuries to show off upon returning you to fight will just make you more interesting. A new story to tell, right?"

Orgon reaches up with one hand, gripping Ezra's disheveled hair and yanking his head up. For once the younger doesn't bare his teeth in defense, remembering how long it took to beat that instinct out of his system.

"Did you really think you would pull off this little stunt?" he asks, making Ezra focus down on the two fangs jutting from his top jaw; he had forgotten the news Gabe had given him what felt like forever ago. Orgon isn't human anymore, he got turned.

Overpowered.

"You're mine to own, do you understand?" the conductor pulls his hair, sending ripples of a headache all the way down to his faded red eyes, "no one else is allowed to touch you, talk to you, or give you instructions. You became an obedient bitch to any lowlife in less than a month, when you're supposed to respond to me. What happened to that? What happened to my good little fighter?"

Ezra finally shifts his eyes to meet Orgon's, glaring into the shallow pools of vibrant red. "Sanguinarian," he hisses, immediately earning a hard punch to his jaw. He spins in place, all the training he had ever received keeping him from losing balance and staying on his feet.

"You better watch that sharp tongue of yours," Orgon laughs, cracking his knuckles, "or soon you won't have it."

Ezra raises a shaky hand to his face, touching his split lip. His own blood smears over his dirty finger, mixing with dirt and dust.