Imrhien's got a lot of history, a lot of which was recorded on another blog - I gave her sort of a restart this year (a friend calls her Imrhien Reboot or Imrhien 2.0) and decided to start fresh with a new blog. That being said, there are still some very important facets of her character that can be found on her old blog. Those I feel that are most important to her are here:
Please bear in mind if you read these that a lot of the information contained in them is not generally known in an In Character sense. It is part of Imrhien's backstory, and can most certainly be used in roleplay. However, please talk to me about it before you use any of it, because part of Imrhien's intrigue are her shadowy history and abilities, and while storylines involving her history and/or abilities can be very interesting, having every IC Tom, Dick, and Harry being intimately familiar with who and what she is sort of takes the fun out of it.
Friday, July 30, 2010
Monday, July 26, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
((An OOC Post)): Everybody's Free (to roleplay what they want)
Most of us here in the Firefly Roleplay community have seen Firefly and the BDM. We love it. We love its philosophies. We love that the crew of Serenity goes their own way and does what's right by them, whether legal or illegal. We love it so much that we've forged an entire community here in SecondLife to emulate their stories. It's about making your own freedom and using it to do what's right by you.
The Firefly community is an open roleplay environment. We do not have applications or roles to fill, except within certain niches, like ships' crews, or the town sheriff's office. We do not look at a new player coming into our sims and say, "Okay, you may be a this or this, but you can't be that." Anyone coming into Firefly roleplay can be anything. It's about the freedom to make our own choices for our characters, and it's why this community is such a great one.
That being said, here's the gristle of my post. No one person has the right to tell any player what they may or may not portray their character as, nor may any person dictate to another how that person's character should be played. Just so it's out on the table for anyone who isn't aware of it. If you want to play a ship's captain, then you go ahead and play a ship's captain. If you want to play a Registered Companion, you go ahead and play a Registered Companion. There's no reason to stop you.
Recently, there's been a bit of confusion over the freedom of players to choose their own characters. The Companion's Guild of Paquin seems to feel that they and they alone are in charge of all Companion characters in Firefly roleplay, that EVERYONE wishing to be a Registered Companion must do it under the terms of Varahi Lusch. These terms include a year (Yes, an entire year, 365 actual days, not roleplayed, a real life year) being spent as an Acolyte in training, a curriculum designed by Varahi, but not necessarily canon (Really, I don't think Companions would have learned how to be Kajira and Geisha, but maybe I'm wrong.), before they are considered for elevation to the status of Registered Companion. It has gotten to the point where the esteemed leader of the Companion's Guild has harassed and bullied players wearing a Registered Companion title into joining their group as an Acolyte, and threatened them with lies about their not being recognized by the community as a Registered Companion unless the Guild acknowledged it.
Personally? I take HUGE issue with this behavior. Varahi Lusch does NOT, nor does any other person, have the right to dictate to ANY player what they may or may not portray. If players CHOOSE to join her organization, then she has that right. It is also the right of the players within her organization to leave if they do not agree with her rules or methods. Simple as that. Nobody put Varahi in charge of every facet of the Companion role, she stepped into the position of High Priestess when the last High Priestess left. She was not given the authority to lord over other players and make decisions that are not hers to make.
I stand by Calina Tereshchenko's decision to leave Varahi's Companion's Guild to portray a Registered Companion and open her own Companion Temple. I will stand by any other player who chooses to leave Varahi's Companion's Guild to portray Registered Companions, whether they are independents, as Inara was, whether they start up their own Companion Temples, or whether they join Calina's. I would also stand by any player who knowingly and willingly decide to stay with Varahi's Companion's Guild, so long as they choose to do so of their own volition. Calina is one of the VERY few Companion characters I have seen in Firefly roleplay recently (Gee, why is that? Cuz they all got bullied into being Acolytes) who actually ACTS like a Registered Companion would.
When I wanted to roleplay a pilot, nobody told me whether I could or couldn't. When I wanted to roleplay a ship's captain, nobody told me whether I could or couldn't. And you can be damned sure that if I wanted my character to be a Registered Companion, that she would be a Registered Companion, and I would NOT go through Varahi's training program, or anyone else's, because I felt like I needed to get her "approval" and "acknowledgement" to play what I wanted to play. This is a game, we're here for fun and to play out our fantasies and dreams. And sorry, but letting someone tell me which of my fantasies and dreams are ALLOWED is not my idea of a game.
I hate to attack someone like this, but I feel like this is a VERY serious breach of ethics. Sadly, from what I've seen, the people running the show over on Paquin just don't get it. They're afraid that the actions of Registered Companions who are not of their Guild, who have not gone through their training, will besmirch their names. Really? Who cares? Make your Guild different. Make it clear to the community that those Companions who are not of your Guild do not effect your Guild. Stop trying to control the decisions of other players, and stop trying to control things that are out of your control, like other sims. It's NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. EVER. So deal with it in an adult manner please!
So here's my message to players:
Firefly is about freedom. It's about being your own person and going your own way. Remember that while you're playing with us here. Freedom is a very important concept and belief, and is fundamental to our virtual environment here. If we continue to allow players to bully and threaten other players, to demand that things be their way or no way at all, we may as well start taking applications and become a closed, exclusive roleplay environment. Or start roleplaying on an Alliance cruiser. But then, we'd lose a really important aspect of this great 'verse that Joss Whedon has created and we've helped flesh out. And that would be truly sad.
~K.D.F.
Imrhien Fargis' Typist
The Firefly community is an open roleplay environment. We do not have applications or roles to fill, except within certain niches, like ships' crews, or the town sheriff's office. We do not look at a new player coming into our sims and say, "Okay, you may be a this or this, but you can't be that." Anyone coming into Firefly roleplay can be anything. It's about the freedom to make our own choices for our characters, and it's why this community is such a great one.
That being said, here's the gristle of my post. No one person has the right to tell any player what they may or may not portray their character as, nor may any person dictate to another how that person's character should be played. Just so it's out on the table for anyone who isn't aware of it. If you want to play a ship's captain, then you go ahead and play a ship's captain. If you want to play a Registered Companion, you go ahead and play a Registered Companion. There's no reason to stop you.
Recently, there's been a bit of confusion over the freedom of players to choose their own characters. The Companion's Guild of Paquin seems to feel that they and they alone are in charge of all Companion characters in Firefly roleplay, that EVERYONE wishing to be a Registered Companion must do it under the terms of Varahi Lusch. These terms include a year (Yes, an entire year, 365 actual days, not roleplayed, a real life year) being spent as an Acolyte in training, a curriculum designed by Varahi, but not necessarily canon (Really, I don't think Companions would have learned how to be Kajira and Geisha, but maybe I'm wrong.), before they are considered for elevation to the status of Registered Companion. It has gotten to the point where the esteemed leader of the Companion's Guild has harassed and bullied players wearing a Registered Companion title into joining their group as an Acolyte, and threatened them with lies about their not being recognized by the community as a Registered Companion unless the Guild acknowledged it.
Personally? I take HUGE issue with this behavior. Varahi Lusch does NOT, nor does any other person, have the right to dictate to ANY player what they may or may not portray. If players CHOOSE to join her organization, then she has that right. It is also the right of the players within her organization to leave if they do not agree with her rules or methods. Simple as that. Nobody put Varahi in charge of every facet of the Companion role, she stepped into the position of High Priestess when the last High Priestess left. She was not given the authority to lord over other players and make decisions that are not hers to make.
I stand by Calina Tereshchenko's decision to leave Varahi's Companion's Guild to portray a Registered Companion and open her own Companion Temple. I will stand by any other player who chooses to leave Varahi's Companion's Guild to portray Registered Companions, whether they are independents, as Inara was, whether they start up their own Companion Temples, or whether they join Calina's. I would also stand by any player who knowingly and willingly decide to stay with Varahi's Companion's Guild, so long as they choose to do so of their own volition. Calina is one of the VERY few Companion characters I have seen in Firefly roleplay recently (Gee, why is that? Cuz they all got bullied into being Acolytes) who actually ACTS like a Registered Companion would.
When I wanted to roleplay a pilot, nobody told me whether I could or couldn't. When I wanted to roleplay a ship's captain, nobody told me whether I could or couldn't. And you can be damned sure that if I wanted my character to be a Registered Companion, that she would be a Registered Companion, and I would NOT go through Varahi's training program, or anyone else's, because I felt like I needed to get her "approval" and "acknowledgement" to play what I wanted to play. This is a game, we're here for fun and to play out our fantasies and dreams. And sorry, but letting someone tell me which of my fantasies and dreams are ALLOWED is not my idea of a game.
I hate to attack someone like this, but I feel like this is a VERY serious breach of ethics. Sadly, from what I've seen, the people running the show over on Paquin just don't get it. They're afraid that the actions of Registered Companions who are not of their Guild, who have not gone through their training, will besmirch their names. Really? Who cares? Make your Guild different. Make it clear to the community that those Companions who are not of your Guild do not effect your Guild. Stop trying to control the decisions of other players, and stop trying to control things that are out of your control, like other sims. It's NOT GOING TO HAPPEN. EVER. So deal with it in an adult manner please!
So here's my message to players:
- Do not ever let anyone tell you what you can or cannot portray here. The only people who have the right to dictate rules are sim owners, and then, only on their own sims. Yes, we must follow the rules of the sims we play in, so if a sim owner doesn't want a particular type of character there, well then, those portraying that role are out of luck in that sim. But a sim owner cannot just decide one day that their policies need to be umbrella'd over ALL of the Firefly roleplay sims. So, players, freedom is yours.
- Power of the consumer is very important, especially here. If you don't like the way a group acts, don't be in that group, don't support that group. If you don't like the policies of a sim, don't go to that sim. It's that simple.
Firefly is about freedom. It's about being your own person and going your own way. Remember that while you're playing with us here. Freedom is a very important concept and belief, and is fundamental to our virtual environment here. If we continue to allow players to bully and threaten other players, to demand that things be their way or no way at all, we may as well start taking applications and become a closed, exclusive roleplay environment. Or start roleplaying on an Alliance cruiser. But then, we'd lose a really important aspect of this great 'verse that Joss Whedon has created and we've helped flesh out. And that would be truly sad.
~K.D.F.
Imrhien Fargis' Typist
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Shorn of Burden: A Cleansing
Her hand streaked slowly across the tarnished old mirror to wipe a patch of steamy condensation from the glass, and once her fingers were out of the way, all she saw were her eyes. They were empty, hollow and devoid of their usual mischievous sparkle, dark circles rimming them, evidence of a plague of sleepless nights. The sight of herself in such a state caused her to lose interest in wiping down the mirror fully to see the rest of her features, and she dropped her hand to her side. And there she stood, nude, tendrils of deep brown hair trailing wetly over her shoulders, down to the small of her back, staring sightlessly into those dead eyes of hers for a long time.
By the time she emerged from her trance, the steam had evaporated from the room and the mirror was clear of fog. She ran her fingers up her belly, sliding her palms over her breasts, and she studied her muscular figure in a very detached manner. The only question that was on her mind circled endlessly, like a broken record on a toy train track, ceaselessly asking again and again from every direction, "What in God's name is wrong with me?" The silence around her was complete, save for the sounds of the bustling city outside and the small noises of other patrons of the bath house, but she'd blocked them out of her consciousness, the stillness of the small enclosure enveloping her in a numb embrace, acting as a sort of sensory deprivation chamber, dulling her senses and giving her a few moments of . . . not peace, but . . . something akin to it.
He had left her a while ago, dressing quickly and departing once their business had concluded, back to his own world. Her skin still burned where he'd touched her beneath the scalding stream of the shower, her palms, the pads of her fingers still tingled where she'd touched him, her mouth still craved the taste of him, her body still ached to be pressed against him. She couldn't have called what they'd done 'making love' because it wasn't. The relationship was uncanny, surreal-seeming, because all they held for each other was malice, yet there was an undeniable attraction between them that she could no more rationalize than she could breathe in space.
"What am I doing?" She reached out to press her fingertips against the mirror, still staring at her own reflection in that detached, academic way of hers, as though analyzing herself. In all honesty, she did know exactly what she was doing. She'd fallen into his arms to escape the agony of loss and regret, to give herself some new intrigue to focus on, to allow herself something to look forward to. All the men she'd loved in her life were lost and gone away, and this last time, the void in her was almost overwhelming, sucking the joy from the very marrow of her bones. At least there was no risk of heartbreak with this new lover - He would never love her. She could love him, but with no reciprocity, she wouldn't. He was a safe haven for her, and maybe it meant she was using him, but wasn't he using her just as much?
Something about all of it rankled her, it didn't sit right, it made her restless. Something about losing Iskrin - really losing him, not just as a lover, but to have him leave like that, without so much as a word, made everything about her life seem unbearable, intolerable. The incident with the Boros mafia had been enough to drive them apart romantically, even when there was no denying the way either of them felt about the other. But what could explain his abrupt and unannounced departure? She knew he was gone for good, and she knew better than to follow him. You do what you have to do. She'd told him that, and it seemed so long ago now that it was a ghost of a memory because so much had transpired between them in the months since. "What have I done?" It was another question that plagued her across the expanse of many sleepless nights.
And then, there was her position. As a captain, she wasn't only responsible for herself anymore. Now, she had a crew relying on her to make good decisions. Before, if she fucked up, it was on her and only her. She couldn't do that anymore, because those she called hers would suffer her mistakes and shortcomings right along with her. The transition into the role of captain was much more brutal on her than she'd ever imagined - she had lost a certain measure of freedom as she stepped into the responsibility of it, and the fact that there were now others who depended on her to survive scared the hell out of her.
Above all, there was everything she had done. Granted, she had done the worst of it under Mindo's control. But still. It was her hand that had done all of it. And she'd been fool enough to fall under his control. And there were those things she'd done on her own. Those things which had led to Iskrin leaving. Nothing could absolve her of that.
Combing her fingers through her hair, she pulled her gaze from the mirror, looking to the pile of her clothes, and moved sluggishly toward them. Methodically, she pulled them back on, her limbs on autopilot. The idea came to her as she'd searched from some solution, some way to leave it all behind her, let go, let him go and move on with her life. It wasn't her normal, I'll-just-shoot-it-'til-it's-unrecognizable M.O., either. It was something dredged up from her roots, something she hadn't left behind, but had pushed aside of late.
Grabbing her pack, she started to push through the screen that served as a door, but turned, her gaze falling on the grooming instruments laid out on a small table next to the sink basin, and she walked over to retrieve a small pair of shears. Before exiting the bath house, she spoke quietly to its proprietress, offering her a handful of credits in return for the shears. The woman probably wouldn't have given them up, but the look on her patron's face suggested a need far greater than those mundane ones of the next customer to walk in, so she let them go. With a sense of purpose now, she strode out onto the dusty street, all but oblivious to the herds of people meandering along the thoroughfare, cutting through the crowds like a hot knife through butter, wending her way across the city until she reached the outskirts, a quieter quarter, the atmosphere calmer, laden with a sense of tranquility. She felt the presence of the church before its structure, crumbling grey stone, a citadel of hope, came into view.
How many times had she come here as a child for mass? How many Confessions had she given to the priests here? How many times had she sat in the cool silence of the chapel and prayed for a different life? And now, almost thirteen years later, she was back. But this time, it was for absolution, release from her guilt and misery. None would remember her, she knew, pulling the heavy wooden door open wide enough to admit her inside, then turned to push it closed, sealing herself inside, leaving the chaos of the world beyond the thick walls of the sanctuary.
The cool air brushed against her skin, chilling the sheen of sweat encasing her. She dropped to one knee before stepping further inside, genuflecting, as she had hundreds of times before, and crossed the large entrance chamber, reaching out to pull the bell and summon a priest to her. She waited in silence, contemplating what she was about to do. Will God truly forgive me my sins? Will I ever truly forgive myself?
A priest appeared, hobbling slowly toward her from one of the many doors leading into the belly of the church, his wizened features studying her intently as he neared. She tried to smile, but here was a man she recognized from childhood, and suddenly, she felt shame, shame for every horrible, horrible thing she'd ever done, and all she wanted to do was run away. But the old pastor smiled gently, reaching his hands out to her, embracing her at the arms, and gazed into her eyes for a long moment.
"I see a girl I knew a long, long time ago in the beautiful woman who now stands before me."
She gasped, then pondered the life of a clergyman, how odd it must be to remember so keenly the face of every parishioner. Smiling then, if sadly, she brought her hands up to clasp his forearms. "Father Salvador. It's good to see you."
"Alex MacLaren. How long it's been. I had lost hope of ever seeing you again when your family disappeared. Your mother used to come daily to pray for you, you know." His wrinkled facade, so ancient, lines engraving every inch of his leathery brown skin, pockmarked with imperfection, yet full of knowledge, held no accusation. There was simply warm welcome in those deep, chocolate-hued eyes, and she felt herself calm, the panicked fluttering of her heart against her ribcage settling into a much more relaxed rhythm.
"I... I didn't think I'd be back again, Father." She didn't drop her eyes, but held his gaze.
"To what do we owe the pleasure?"
It was as though she'd been given a script to recite, the words she'd been ashamed to utter a moment before rolling easily from her tongue. "I need to give Confession, Father. Badly."
He smiled, and it was a sad smile, before speaking again. "Ahh, how hard it is when we lose our way. But God knows none of us are perfect. It is good you still have your relationship with Him, for He will never turn away from you." Dropping one arm from her, he led her delicately across the room and through a door she knew well, revealing a dim chamber, a row of confessionals lining one wall. "I would be honoured to take your confession, my child." With a nod of his head, he stepped into the nearest box and closed the curtain behind him.
Frozen for a moment, the panic and fear returned to her full tilt. This man knows me. Can I confess myself to him? But she had come this far. The shame she felt gnawed at her, but it also told her this needed to be done. So, she walked slowly toward the confessional, placing one foot in front of the other, telling herself, I need to do this, with each heavy footfall. She stepped into the box and settled herself down into the seat after pulling the curtain closed, taking in the tiny chamber, dark and claustrophobic, the screen between herself and the priest giving her only a silhouette perspective of his head and shoulders.
After giving her a moment and probably judging from the sound of her breathing, he began. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."
"Amen," she finished, her voice cracking as she continued. "Bless me Father, for I've sinned. It's been near two years since my last confession." She paused for a moment, dredging up a Psalm from the depths of her memory, and murmured, "Give back to me the joy of your salvation."
And with that said, the floodgates were opened, and she was speaking without conscious effort, the words tumbling from her lips unbidden. "I've loved and I've lost love. I've been selfish to those I've loved. I've been intimate with a man I don't love, but for the comfort o' havin' arms 'round me. I've been jealous and spiteful o' them that've got what I've wanted. I've not controlled my anger, I've taken it out on those 'round me. I've not loved my neighbors as I shoulda. I've judged. I've killed in cold blood. I've been afraid. I am afraid. I've lost my way." She stopped for a long moment before going on. "For these and all o' my sins, I am sorry."
Father Salvador was quiet for a long time, reflecting on her confession, but finally asked softly, "My child, what penance would you offer to absolve yourself of your sins?"
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself, her hand slipping into the pocket of her pants to withdraw the shears. "I offer a part o' myself. I'll sever my vanity, my selfishness, my jealousy, my anger, my judgment, my thievery, my fear, my hopelessness, from myself 'long with my hair."
"You feel this is enough to absolve you of your sins?" She could tell the old priest was more asking, Are you certain you want to do this? She might regret it later on, but to her, it was a worthy sacrifice to offer as penance for all the wrongs she had done. So, she answered, "No, Father. It ain't 'nough by far. Don't reckon anything'll ever be 'nough. But it's a start."
Without waiting for his say so, she began reciting a Rite of Penance that she'd memorized so many years ago, bringing the scissors up to her head, her hand grasping at strands of her hair as she began to cut them away from her. "Lord Jesus Christ, you are the Lamb of God; you take away the sins of the world. Through the grace of the Holy Spirit restore me to friendship with your Father, cleanse me from every stain of sin in the blood you shed for me, and raise me to new life for the glory of your name." By the time she had finished the prayer of the penitent, she held the long strands of her hair in her hand, the short roots left attached to her scalp shorn, ragged, uneven. Her face was damp with her tears.
The old priest gave her a moment, and then spoke the penitent absolution over her. "God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." As he said the final words, he made the sign of the cross over her head.
All she could do was whisper, "Amen. The Lord has remembered his mercy."
She rose, as expected, pressing her palm against the grating between them, her eyes searching the darkness for something, some sign that everything was alright. Father Salvador stood in silence for a moment, and quietly intoned, "Go in peace, my child. Remember always that love covers a multitude of sins, and remember always that God loves you."
And with that, she fled, uttering an unintelligible apology to the priest, the bundle of her severed hair scattered and forgotten across the stone floor, like so many of her dreams.
By the time she emerged from her trance, the steam had evaporated from the room and the mirror was clear of fog. She ran her fingers up her belly, sliding her palms over her breasts, and she studied her muscular figure in a very detached manner. The only question that was on her mind circled endlessly, like a broken record on a toy train track, ceaselessly asking again and again from every direction, "What in God's name is wrong with me?" The silence around her was complete, save for the sounds of the bustling city outside and the small noises of other patrons of the bath house, but she'd blocked them out of her consciousness, the stillness of the small enclosure enveloping her in a numb embrace, acting as a sort of sensory deprivation chamber, dulling her senses and giving her a few moments of . . . not peace, but . . . something akin to it.
He had left her a while ago, dressing quickly and departing once their business had concluded, back to his own world. Her skin still burned where he'd touched her beneath the scalding stream of the shower, her palms, the pads of her fingers still tingled where she'd touched him, her mouth still craved the taste of him, her body still ached to be pressed against him. She couldn't have called what they'd done 'making love' because it wasn't. The relationship was uncanny, surreal-seeming, because all they held for each other was malice, yet there was an undeniable attraction between them that she could no more rationalize than she could breathe in space.
"What am I doing?" She reached out to press her fingertips against the mirror, still staring at her own reflection in that detached, academic way of hers, as though analyzing herself. In all honesty, she did know exactly what she was doing. She'd fallen into his arms to escape the agony of loss and regret, to give herself some new intrigue to focus on, to allow herself something to look forward to. All the men she'd loved in her life were lost and gone away, and this last time, the void in her was almost overwhelming, sucking the joy from the very marrow of her bones. At least there was no risk of heartbreak with this new lover - He would never love her. She could love him, but with no reciprocity, she wouldn't. He was a safe haven for her, and maybe it meant she was using him, but wasn't he using her just as much?
Something about all of it rankled her, it didn't sit right, it made her restless. Something about losing Iskrin - really losing him, not just as a lover, but to have him leave like that, without so much as a word, made everything about her life seem unbearable, intolerable. The incident with the Boros mafia had been enough to drive them apart romantically, even when there was no denying the way either of them felt about the other. But what could explain his abrupt and unannounced departure? She knew he was gone for good, and she knew better than to follow him. You do what you have to do. She'd told him that, and it seemed so long ago now that it was a ghost of a memory because so much had transpired between them in the months since. "What have I done?" It was another question that plagued her across the expanse of many sleepless nights.
And then, there was her position. As a captain, she wasn't only responsible for herself anymore. Now, she had a crew relying on her to make good decisions. Before, if she fucked up, it was on her and only her. She couldn't do that anymore, because those she called hers would suffer her mistakes and shortcomings right along with her. The transition into the role of captain was much more brutal on her than she'd ever imagined - she had lost a certain measure of freedom as she stepped into the responsibility of it, and the fact that there were now others who depended on her to survive scared the hell out of her.
Above all, there was everything she had done. Granted, she had done the worst of it under Mindo's control. But still. It was her hand that had done all of it. And she'd been fool enough to fall under his control. And there were those things she'd done on her own. Those things which had led to Iskrin leaving. Nothing could absolve her of that.
Combing her fingers through her hair, she pulled her gaze from the mirror, looking to the pile of her clothes, and moved sluggishly toward them. Methodically, she pulled them back on, her limbs on autopilot. The idea came to her as she'd searched from some solution, some way to leave it all behind her, let go, let him go and move on with her life. It wasn't her normal, I'll-just-shoot-it-'til-it's-unrecognizable M.O., either. It was something dredged up from her roots, something she hadn't left behind, but had pushed aside of late.
Grabbing her pack, she started to push through the screen that served as a door, but turned, her gaze falling on the grooming instruments laid out on a small table next to the sink basin, and she walked over to retrieve a small pair of shears. Before exiting the bath house, she spoke quietly to its proprietress, offering her a handful of credits in return for the shears. The woman probably wouldn't have given them up, but the look on her patron's face suggested a need far greater than those mundane ones of the next customer to walk in, so she let them go. With a sense of purpose now, she strode out onto the dusty street, all but oblivious to the herds of people meandering along the thoroughfare, cutting through the crowds like a hot knife through butter, wending her way across the city until she reached the outskirts, a quieter quarter, the atmosphere calmer, laden with a sense of tranquility. She felt the presence of the church before its structure, crumbling grey stone, a citadel of hope, came into view.
How many times had she come here as a child for mass? How many Confessions had she given to the priests here? How many times had she sat in the cool silence of the chapel and prayed for a different life? And now, almost thirteen years later, she was back. But this time, it was for absolution, release from her guilt and misery. None would remember her, she knew, pulling the heavy wooden door open wide enough to admit her inside, then turned to push it closed, sealing herself inside, leaving the chaos of the world beyond the thick walls of the sanctuary.
The cool air brushed against her skin, chilling the sheen of sweat encasing her. She dropped to one knee before stepping further inside, genuflecting, as she had hundreds of times before, and crossed the large entrance chamber, reaching out to pull the bell and summon a priest to her. She waited in silence, contemplating what she was about to do. Will God truly forgive me my sins? Will I ever truly forgive myself?
A priest appeared, hobbling slowly toward her from one of the many doors leading into the belly of the church, his wizened features studying her intently as he neared. She tried to smile, but here was a man she recognized from childhood, and suddenly, she felt shame, shame for every horrible, horrible thing she'd ever done, and all she wanted to do was run away. But the old pastor smiled gently, reaching his hands out to her, embracing her at the arms, and gazed into her eyes for a long moment.
"I see a girl I knew a long, long time ago in the beautiful woman who now stands before me."
She gasped, then pondered the life of a clergyman, how odd it must be to remember so keenly the face of every parishioner. Smiling then, if sadly, she brought her hands up to clasp his forearms. "Father Salvador. It's good to see you."
"Alex MacLaren. How long it's been. I had lost hope of ever seeing you again when your family disappeared. Your mother used to come daily to pray for you, you know." His wrinkled facade, so ancient, lines engraving every inch of his leathery brown skin, pockmarked with imperfection, yet full of knowledge, held no accusation. There was simply warm welcome in those deep, chocolate-hued eyes, and she felt herself calm, the panicked fluttering of her heart against her ribcage settling into a much more relaxed rhythm.
"I... I didn't think I'd be back again, Father." She didn't drop her eyes, but held his gaze.
"To what do we owe the pleasure?"
It was as though she'd been given a script to recite, the words she'd been ashamed to utter a moment before rolling easily from her tongue. "I need to give Confession, Father. Badly."
He smiled, and it was a sad smile, before speaking again. "Ahh, how hard it is when we lose our way. But God knows none of us are perfect. It is good you still have your relationship with Him, for He will never turn away from you." Dropping one arm from her, he led her delicately across the room and through a door she knew well, revealing a dim chamber, a row of confessionals lining one wall. "I would be honoured to take your confession, my child." With a nod of his head, he stepped into the nearest box and closed the curtain behind him.
Frozen for a moment, the panic and fear returned to her full tilt. This man knows me. Can I confess myself to him? But she had come this far. The shame she felt gnawed at her, but it also told her this needed to be done. So, she walked slowly toward the confessional, placing one foot in front of the other, telling herself, I need to do this, with each heavy footfall. She stepped into the box and settled herself down into the seat after pulling the curtain closed, taking in the tiny chamber, dark and claustrophobic, the screen between herself and the priest giving her only a silhouette perspective of his head and shoulders.
After giving her a moment and probably judging from the sound of her breathing, he began. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."
"Amen," she finished, her voice cracking as she continued. "Bless me Father, for I've sinned. It's been near two years since my last confession." She paused for a moment, dredging up a Psalm from the depths of her memory, and murmured, "Give back to me the joy of your salvation."
And with that said, the floodgates were opened, and she was speaking without conscious effort, the words tumbling from her lips unbidden. "I've loved and I've lost love. I've been selfish to those I've loved. I've been intimate with a man I don't love, but for the comfort o' havin' arms 'round me. I've been jealous and spiteful o' them that've got what I've wanted. I've not controlled my anger, I've taken it out on those 'round me. I've not loved my neighbors as I shoulda. I've judged. I've killed in cold blood. I've been afraid. I am afraid. I've lost my way." She stopped for a long moment before going on. "For these and all o' my sins, I am sorry."
Father Salvador was quiet for a long time, reflecting on her confession, but finally asked softly, "My child, what penance would you offer to absolve yourself of your sins?"
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself, her hand slipping into the pocket of her pants to withdraw the shears. "I offer a part o' myself. I'll sever my vanity, my selfishness, my jealousy, my anger, my judgment, my thievery, my fear, my hopelessness, from myself 'long with my hair."
"You feel this is enough to absolve you of your sins?" She could tell the old priest was more asking, Are you certain you want to do this? She might regret it later on, but to her, it was a worthy sacrifice to offer as penance for all the wrongs she had done. So, she answered, "No, Father. It ain't 'nough by far. Don't reckon anything'll ever be 'nough. But it's a start."
Without waiting for his say so, she began reciting a Rite of Penance that she'd memorized so many years ago, bringing the scissors up to her head, her hand grasping at strands of her hair as she began to cut them away from her. "Lord Jesus Christ, you are the Lamb of God; you take away the sins of the world. Through the grace of the Holy Spirit restore me to friendship with your Father, cleanse me from every stain of sin in the blood you shed for me, and raise me to new life for the glory of your name." By the time she had finished the prayer of the penitent, she held the long strands of her hair in her hand, the short roots left attached to her scalp shorn, ragged, uneven. Her face was damp with her tears.
The old priest gave her a moment, and then spoke the penitent absolution over her. "God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." As he said the final words, he made the sign of the cross over her head.
All she could do was whisper, "Amen. The Lord has remembered his mercy."
She rose, as expected, pressing her palm against the grating between them, her eyes searching the darkness for something, some sign that everything was alright. Father Salvador stood in silence for a moment, and quietly intoned, "Go in peace, my child. Remember always that love covers a multitude of sins, and remember always that God loves you."
And with that, she fled, uttering an unintelligible apology to the priest, the bundle of her severed hair scattered and forgotten across the stone floor, like so many of her dreams.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Taking The Bad With The Good
"Imrhien Fargis, you got a lotta nerve showin' your face back here."
Sonofabitch. 'Nother face I didn't warm to t' idea of runnin' 'cross while I was stuck on this Godforesaken hellhole of a rock. Moonshine Kalinakov was the local crime lord... or lady, if you could stomach t' thought of her bein' a woman, an' she had that gorram shotgun of hers leveled at my face.
Reckon I should take y'all back a spell. I never intended on comin' back to the Drift. After everything't happened, I didn't particularly relish t' thought of facin' the folks here. Some more'n others. I'd intended on gettin' myself good 'n lost in t' black, but obviously that weren't written in t' stars for me.
I met up with The Lone Reverie. Cap'n Card welcomed me back on t' crew, he knew I pulled my weight 'round a boat. Problem was, he'd hit some good fortune and was runnin' some real legal jobs. Which meant we was 'round 'lliance more often than not. Which meant I had to lay low more often than not. Couldn't set foot off t' boat most places. Only thing there was to do was pick up a different crew in a less savoury corner of t' market.
Parted ways with The Reverie on Boros, where I'd already stashed Chrysalis 'n most of my gear. Parked my Stryker with her 'n managed to sign on with a crew. Boat weren't great, crewmates were a bunch of foulmouthed pirates, 'n I had to remind 'em more'n once 't I wasn't booty to be plundered. Hindsight bein' 20/20 an' all, reckon I maybe shoulda looked for a crew 't was more comfortable with t' idea of a girl playin' pirates 'steada just lookin' to fulfill some rape fantasy.
We ran a few jobs. I pulled my weight. An' then, we got one transportin' some of Miss Oakley's cattle off MacLaren's Drift. I weren't keen on t' idea, but a job's a job. 'Course, the Cap'n knew I'd planted down there a spell when the 12th splintered, so he sent me to negotiate for supplies. I weren't too keen on that idea either, but again, a job's a job.
It'd figure I'd walk straight into Duncan first thing. My life ain't never been what you'd call convenient. So, there I was, standin' in t' middle of t' gorram dusty street with a man I hadn't been able to come to terms with over losin', lookin' all skanky (Cap'n figured cleavage and thighs'd give me more of an advantage negotiatin'. He weren't wrong, neither.). I tried playin' it cool. It mighta worked, too.
He looked sad. May be he was sad for me. Don't rightly know, cuz I didn't wanna open up that can of worms. But I knew in that moment him and me were through on that level. Maybe he'd moved on, maybe he hadn't, but what'd been 'tween us was over and done. An' all I could help thinkin' was it was a damn shame. 'Cuz more'n anything, he'd been my best friend, and I regretted that loss more'n the rest put together. Could be maybe we'd be alright sometime in the future, we could go back to bein' friends, when all was settled and we was both more used to things bein' the way they are now. I can only hope for that. Reckon as long as he's happy, that's what matters to me.
Anyway, 'fore I go gettin' all nostalgic an' make anyone queasy, I did my job, got what we needed and hauled it back to t' boat. After that, we was all given a few hours liberty, which I used to walk 'long the river. Always did like bein' off on my own out in the wilderness. Woulda gone to church, ain't been in a coon's age, but Prosperity's religious services pretty much entailed prayin' Moonshine weren't gonna go batshit mad 'n kill us all.
I got back in plenty of time to not be called late, but no boat. What in t' hell? I marched up to stand on the landin' platform, wonderin' if'n maybe the sun hadn't got to me while I was traipsin' 'round by t' river, and could only glare up at the sky. That good for nothin' hwun dan left me to bake here on this rock. Like I said 'fore, my life ain't never been what you'd call convenient.
Up there, though, 's when I saw him t' first time. Can't say for sure what it was 'bout him, standin' there, gazin' up at his boat with this intense look of pride etched on his face, but I knew... Well, I don't rightly know what I knew, but I felt this powerful need to know him. So I complimented his boat.
Maybe she weren't much to look on, but I could hear the steady rumble of her pre-flight engines, and I knew the old girl flew true for him cuz he was lookin' at her t' way a man looks at t' love of his life. There was just somethin' 'bout a man 't stuck by his boat, even if she was fallin' apart, 't appealed to me. But it were deeper 'n that, too. Somethin' 'bout him caused somethin' in me to resonate.
His name was Iskrin. Ain't rightly sure if'n that's his first or last name, but it didn't much matter to me in that moment. His voice flowed like the smoothness of satin on satin, even as we stumbled through that first conversation. Everythin' in me screamed to reach out 'n touch his mind. I yearned to know him, to feel what he was feelin', to think what he was thinkin'. But I couldn't. I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't use it, I wouldn't open my head up like that 'gain so maybe nobody else could break in an' control me like Mindo had. 'Specially not for a pretty face I didn't know from Adam. But Lord, how I wanted to.
Then he left. Oddly, I felt like some part of me went chasin' off after him. Wandered down to the loadin' area, my mind full of him, and walked smack dab into gorram Moonshine, who never did seem to much like seein' me on her moon. Damn. 'S if I didn't have enough to worry on, now I had a pissed off old bitch aimin' her shotgun at my face, just to be sure I understood I was still on her turf 'n subject to her rules now't her happy little agreement with Mindo was done 'n over. I was fairly certain she weren't gonna shoot me, but it never hurts to err on the side of caution and bow 'n scrape with Moonshine, or at least acknowledge she's t' one callin' t' shots, even if she ain't. I ain't a smart woman, but I know better'n to mouth off to the business end of a shotgun brandished by a terminally cranky hag.
Some days, it just pays to stay in yer bunk. Then again... Well, thinkin' on Iskrin, I s'pose I'll take t' bad with t' good 'n call it a win.
Sonofabitch. 'Nother face I didn't warm to t' idea of runnin' 'cross while I was stuck on this Godforesaken hellhole of a rock. Moonshine Kalinakov was the local crime lord... or lady, if you could stomach t' thought of her bein' a woman, an' she had that gorram shotgun of hers leveled at my face.
Reckon I should take y'all back a spell. I never intended on comin' back to the Drift. After everything't happened, I didn't particularly relish t' thought of facin' the folks here. Some more'n others. I'd intended on gettin' myself good 'n lost in t' black, but obviously that weren't written in t' stars for me.
I met up with The Lone Reverie. Cap'n Card welcomed me back on t' crew, he knew I pulled my weight 'round a boat. Problem was, he'd hit some good fortune and was runnin' some real legal jobs. Which meant we was 'round 'lliance more often than not. Which meant I had to lay low more often than not. Couldn't set foot off t' boat most places. Only thing there was to do was pick up a different crew in a less savoury corner of t' market.
Parted ways with The Reverie on Boros, where I'd already stashed Chrysalis 'n most of my gear. Parked my Stryker with her 'n managed to sign on with a crew. Boat weren't great, crewmates were a bunch of foulmouthed pirates, 'n I had to remind 'em more'n once 't I wasn't booty to be plundered. Hindsight bein' 20/20 an' all, reckon I maybe shoulda looked for a crew 't was more comfortable with t' idea of a girl playin' pirates 'steada just lookin' to fulfill some rape fantasy.
We ran a few jobs. I pulled my weight. An' then, we got one transportin' some of Miss Oakley's cattle off MacLaren's Drift. I weren't keen on t' idea, but a job's a job. 'Course, the Cap'n knew I'd planted down there a spell when the 12th splintered, so he sent me to negotiate for supplies. I weren't too keen on that idea either, but again, a job's a job.
It'd figure I'd walk straight into Duncan first thing. My life ain't never been what you'd call convenient. So, there I was, standin' in t' middle of t' gorram dusty street with a man I hadn't been able to come to terms with over losin', lookin' all skanky (Cap'n figured cleavage and thighs'd give me more of an advantage negotiatin'. He weren't wrong, neither.). I tried playin' it cool. It mighta worked, too.
He looked sad. May be he was sad for me. Don't rightly know, cuz I didn't wanna open up that can of worms. But I knew in that moment him and me were through on that level. Maybe he'd moved on, maybe he hadn't, but what'd been 'tween us was over and done. An' all I could help thinkin' was it was a damn shame. 'Cuz more'n anything, he'd been my best friend, and I regretted that loss more'n the rest put together. Could be maybe we'd be alright sometime in the future, we could go back to bein' friends, when all was settled and we was both more used to things bein' the way they are now. I can only hope for that. Reckon as long as he's happy, that's what matters to me.
Anyway, 'fore I go gettin' all nostalgic an' make anyone queasy, I did my job, got what we needed and hauled it back to t' boat. After that, we was all given a few hours liberty, which I used to walk 'long the river. Always did like bein' off on my own out in the wilderness. Woulda gone to church, ain't been in a coon's age, but Prosperity's religious services pretty much entailed prayin' Moonshine weren't gonna go batshit mad 'n kill us all.
I got back in plenty of time to not be called late, but no boat. What in t' hell? I marched up to stand on the landin' platform, wonderin' if'n maybe the sun hadn't got to me while I was traipsin' 'round by t' river, and could only glare up at the sky. That good for nothin' hwun dan left me to bake here on this rock. Like I said 'fore, my life ain't never been what you'd call convenient.
Up there, though, 's when I saw him t' first time. Can't say for sure what it was 'bout him, standin' there, gazin' up at his boat with this intense look of pride etched on his face, but I knew... Well, I don't rightly know what I knew, but I felt this powerful need to know him. So I complimented his boat.
Maybe she weren't much to look on, but I could hear the steady rumble of her pre-flight engines, and I knew the old girl flew true for him cuz he was lookin' at her t' way a man looks at t' love of his life. There was just somethin' 'bout a man 't stuck by his boat, even if she was fallin' apart, 't appealed to me. But it were deeper 'n that, too. Somethin' 'bout him caused somethin' in me to resonate.
His name was Iskrin. Ain't rightly sure if'n that's his first or last name, but it didn't much matter to me in that moment. His voice flowed like the smoothness of satin on satin, even as we stumbled through that first conversation. Everythin' in me screamed to reach out 'n touch his mind. I yearned to know him, to feel what he was feelin', to think what he was thinkin'. But I couldn't. I'd sworn to myself I wouldn't use it, I wouldn't open my head up like that 'gain so maybe nobody else could break in an' control me like Mindo had. 'Specially not for a pretty face I didn't know from Adam. But Lord, how I wanted to.
Then he left. Oddly, I felt like some part of me went chasin' off after him. Wandered down to the loadin' area, my mind full of him, and walked smack dab into gorram Moonshine, who never did seem to much like seein' me on her moon. Damn. 'S if I didn't have enough to worry on, now I had a pissed off old bitch aimin' her shotgun at my face, just to be sure I understood I was still on her turf 'n subject to her rules now't her happy little agreement with Mindo was done 'n over. I was fairly certain she weren't gonna shoot me, but it never hurts to err on the side of caution and bow 'n scrape with Moonshine, or at least acknowledge she's t' one callin' t' shots, even if she ain't. I ain't a smart woman, but I know better'n to mouth off to the business end of a shotgun brandished by a terminally cranky hag.
Some days, it just pays to stay in yer bunk. Then again... Well, thinkin' on Iskrin, I s'pose I'll take t' bad with t' good 'n call it a win.
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