A Slip of the Tongues

                                        

                                              
Calling up a Golemi that Gideon would mirror after herself was not as simple as the golemi for these kidlings because there were certain things the Gidster truly did not want reflected in her mud miniature, though that would lead to a very entertaining evening if the truth were told. With her forearms burned and her hands out of commission, the injuries should have been reflected in the nearly identical mud monster staring at the crowd of shocked watchers, but Gids had called a perfect replica forward. It at least looked identical, even if it was toned down for sanity’s sake, but the moment it started to move it would be apparent to those that could see that the mud copy was a truly poor copy of the real Fury. It lacked the killer’s grace that Gideon was constantly trying to mask in her own movements, and it was utterly silent. Not in the patient predator way that the Gidster could use, but in the lack of true life or individuality way that the golemi always bore. 
                              

                              
“Now my freaky darlings, I want to see just what kind of monsters you truly are. I can and will reconstruct this little crude brute as many times as it takes. Now your job is simply to kill it. And when your golemi copy is doing its best to kill mine, I will be doing my best to distract you. You have until lunchtime, and then we eat.” Gideon felt her words rock through one or two of the people present but most of them were purely unaware of the opportunity being presented to them. They were naïve children, but that was to their advantage right now because they were simply facing off against the boogeyman of their kind. They hadn’t realized that where Furies are concerned, even the rumours were often tame compared to the truth.  “Fangs, since you did so well with the last challenge, you start this round. Go forth and rend mud.” She gestured for the vampire addict to shuffle his golemi in. 
                              

                              
The trick to operating a golemi is not to try thinking of it at all; instead the controls come as much from the subconscious mind as they do from active will. Sadly, in this case, Gideon knew she didn’t have to do a single thing to offer distraction for Dilhil because his own mind would do it for him. He was telling the golemi to attack hers, and yet it stood there sniffing the air with nostrils that had no ability to smell, all because the vampire’s mind was more interested in getting his next fix. The boy’s addiction was to Faerie blood and that thrill of almost dying it would give, and yet the boy didn’t want to die. He wanted to feel like he mattered, like his life had worth and purpose. In a family as large as his, in a cluster of vampires as large as the one his family housed with, it was all too easy for one awkward vampire boy to feel entirely alone and unwanted. His file had laid it all out for Gideon to read and the Punt had cleared the boy as being able to be helped, and yet this moment right now would be a single step on his path to realization; if he wanted to find purpose, he had to start looking instead of waiting for it to be handed to him. Harsh but the truth, he had to want to be something more than what he was right now; an addict and a Camp inmate. 
                              

                              
“I want you to attack that golemi.” Dilhil tried to verbally cajole it into action which had absolutely no effect. Except to make the shaking in his hands more pronounced, so Gideon tensed herself to intervene if necessary. She did have one Fae in her intake, and even with human blood she’d be a prime target for the vampire. 
                              

                              
“You have to want to attack more than you want to find your fix.” Gideon called out, prodding the boy and trying to get him to face the reality of his addiction. “Your golemi will not do anything unless you can accept the need of blood without giving in to the desire for one specific type.” That was the hard part of those with an eating addiction like he had, something he shared with Hantu. They both needed the food, or blood for the vamp, to live. And yet they had to learn to properly control the impulses that had driven one to eat until he was grotesquely obese and the other to seek out a type of blood that was more likely to kill him than sustain him. And Dilhil seemed to be trying to listen, even if it was impossible for him to put into action her words just yet, his entire body quavered with intensity as he tried to command the golemi to just move one step closer to Gideon’s. If he could get it to move under his command, it would be simple after that. But that would be like saying it was a simple thing for a paraplegic to wiggle their big toe, it just didn’t happen.