Ba'ob: Obey

Ba’ob hugged the wolf, half lying on her, and staring out the window. Too narrow. Too small. Offering a glimpse into the world outside. Flat, distant, not *here*.

Azriel’s had good windows. Azriel’s were good for looking, good for climbing, good for breaking too. No hits for breaking those. “Why’d I give it to Bala?” Ba’ob asked the wolf, letting himself use the elf words. Didn’t bother to use magic. “I barely know her. But I begged her to.” He remembered. He’d asked her to take the ring, begged for it even. Because he couldn’t be trusted. Because he destroyed everything. Because he didn’t belong to himself.

“I could have given it to Azriel though,” he said, stroking the wolf’s ears. She wasn’t looking at him. Wasn’t acknowledging him. He’d forced her to attack Azriel, and she didn’t like it. Ba’ob was making everyone hate him. But at least the wolf was *here*.

“If I gave it to Bala, maybe, maybe she’ll give it back,” Ba’ob said slowly. Even though the thought of asking made his stomach churn. Even though he knew it didn’t work that way.

The wolf had no opinions. She just lay there, staring at the wall, ears pinned back and ignoring Ba’ob. He hesitated, wondering if he should bring her along. Better not. She might bite Bala, and then Bala…

Ba’ob kissed the wolf’s head and got up. “I’ll be back,” he said. The wolf looked up slightly, started to get up, but Ba’ob ducked out of the room quickly and shut the door behind him. He could hear her whine, scratching the door lightly. Still loved him. Was mad at him, but still loved him. Ba’ob closed his eyes and leaned against the door, listening. She could smell him still there, whined louder, barked. “Shhh,” he said, pressing his hand against the door. "It's okay."

He left, dragging his feet, slowly heading step by step towards Bala’s office. Maybe it would be easier to let her keep it. But— what if he had to fight Azriel again. Or Jasper, or Mahto, or Abel. Didn’t want to fight them. (Would they be angry at him about hurting Azriel? Would they try to hurt him back?)

Ba’ob bit his knuckle. A sob was trying to tear out of his throat. Stupid weak crying elf. Stop it. Didn’t help. He tore his knuckle out of his mouth, skin and blood remaining behind. Good. Deserved it. He kept going, more firmly, more determined now.

It fizzled when he reached Bala’s office door. She wouldn’t be happy. Didn’t like Ba’ob interrupting her. Could give up. Could just go back to his room. Forget it.

(But then what if he had to fight Azriel and Jasper and Abel and Mahto—)

Ba’ob pushed the door open. Bala barely glanced up and then went back to her papers. Ba’ob just stared for a second. Black spiderwebs crawling across papers, full of some meaning hidden to him.

“Did you need something?” Bala asked. Didn’t look up. Kept writing.

Ba’ob nodded. Bala wasn’t looking though. Needed words. “I would like my ring back,” he said. Slow, clear, elf words.

Bala looked up then. The pen clicked against the desk, and she folded her hands under her chin. “You gave it to me, remember?”

Ba’ob nodded jerkily. Rubbed at the metal, open, exposed. She knew what it did. Knew how to make it burn. Hadn’t, once she’d figured it out. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t. “I would like it back. Please.”

“But you can’t be trusted with it.” Her voice was soft, crooning, like an owl. Just before it swooped down to snatch it’s prey. “You’re a wild animal, you need taming.”

“Azriel can.” Ba’ob kept rubbing his wrist. Was going to skin his palm against it at this rate. “Azriel know how behave. Azriel can watch.” (Words was slipping. Ba’ob’s breath caught, rubbed harder. Bala not happy. Bala frowning. Had to fix.) “Sorry. Am— *I* am sorry,” he said.

No burn. She watch, but no burn. (Not yet.) “But he can’t protect you, only I can protect you, precious.”

Ba’ob hunched his shoulders. Bala powerful. Bala could protect good. But… “Ra— *I’d* rather be able *to* protect Azriel,” he said slowly.

Bala smiled. Sharp and cold. Like frost. “But how can you protect anyone if you can’t even control yourself?”

“If give— If I give Azriel ring, he can control me.” Pain. Rubbed hand raw against metal. Hooked fingernails under the edge instead. Or tried. Never worked. Pinched skin against metal instead.

“Him?” Bala laughed. Short and clipped— scary. “He’s not capable of controlling you. Remember how easily you could have killed him, little one. If he hadn’t run like a coward.”

Ba’ob wanted to deny it. Say something else. But. Even from the first time they’d met. Never let Azriel make him do anything. (Azriel gave up trying quick.) “A- Abel then,” Ba’ob said weakly.

“Last time my people nearly killed Abel. How good can he be?”

Ba’ob flinched. Pressed his back to the wall, tugging at cuff. Oh. He’d scratched himself. Bleeding again. Didn’t bother to stop. “Please. Just want back,” he begged. Just wanted out of here. Out of cold house, trapped in a room, where he was only wanted when he was useful. Wanted Azriel’s warm house, noisy, with friends. Wiped arm against his wet face. “Please. Please.”

Bala’s face crinkled. Like she saw a turd. “Enough of this. Leave,” she commanded.

Ba’ob still didn’t have his ring. But he turned and shuffled out obediently. Was all that a slave could do. Obey.