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.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Bittersweet Awakening
The bet was on. Alex thrust her hand forward, grabbing the hand of the well dressed boy before her, both of them squeezing the others' fingers tight, trying to cause as much discomfort as possible. Alex didn't flinch away from the pain, but the boy cringed. She flashed him a winning smile, releasing him and said in her cockiest voice, "Let's do this."
Her brother's clothes felt both alien and wonderful on her, baggy over her slight frame, swallowing her up in a boyish countenance, her strawberry blond hair tugged back into a long, tight braid. This certainly felt more natural than all the petticoats and cinched-waist dresses and stockings her Pa demanded she wear all the time. The MacLaren patriarch would have an apoplectic fit if he ever saw his eldest child and only daughter garbed in boys' attire, but Alex figured what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
Quickly climbing into the cockpit of the little Goshawk short range shuttle, she looked down into the sea of faces, consisting of nearly every child from the Seraphim District and some from the neighboring provinces. They had come to see blood, and she was willing to bet they were all hoping it wouldn't be her blood, but Tommy Hilton's. She smirked as her gaze caught Tommy's, the richest boy on Persephone, or so he claimed. At 14, he was two years her senior, and already possessed the rude arrogance of congenitally rich folks, bullying everyone smaller than him, including Alex and her little brother, Blake, because he knew he could get away with it and everyone feared the wrath of his father.
"Easy as eatin' cake," she drawled, strapping herself into the pilot's seat, then took a deep breath, butterflies erupting into a flurry of activity in her stomach. Okay Al, you and your big mouth got us into this pickle. Try not to die. She'd never flown anything this big before, only the few pieces of farming equipment on her family's farm. But for her, anything she'd tried driving had come as second nature to her.
Without giving it much thought, she flipped several switches and hit the ignition, the Goshawk roaring to life, blowing air in violent streams from the depths of its belly, Alex felt the ship rumbling beneath her and closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on allowing the vibrations to run through her. "Come on, big girl," she muttered softly. "Show me how to make you soar."
Reaching her hands out, she grasped the control stick, pulling slowly and lightly back on it. The ship eased up into a hover five feet over the earth, steadying for a moment, then shot up twenty more feet before she flipped the thrusters from vertical to horizontal, rocketing forward like a racehorse just out of its gate. She whooped with glee at the feeling of exhilaration coursing through her body. This is where I belong!
She banked the ship hard to the left, swinging her around to head back to the gathering of her peers, her equilibrium going haywire as the world spun, spiraling the plane as she burned through the air back toward the open field. As she neared the crowd, she yanked her nose up and rose quickly up into the air, again spinning in a tight spiral as she climbed higher into the sky, touching the clouds. Alex imagined she could feel the water vapor kissing her cheeks as she pressed the Goshawk further up, droplets of water forming on the canopy around her. The atmosphere began to darken around her, stars suddenly shining in the midday brightness, the planet's horizon becoming a rainbow of colors that reached up into the deep blue of open space.
She let up on her rear thrusters, the nose of the Goshawk leveling out, then dipping down as gravity began tugging her back toward the dirt. The change of orientation didn't phase her, feeling as though this ship had somehow become an extension of her body, as though she could maneuver thousands of pounds of metal with a mere thought. I really was born for this...
Aiming the nose all the way down, she slammed the thrust, gunning her speed, the plane screaming around Alex as her wings sliced through atmosphere like a hot knife through butter, in a vertical dive that would have left most people unconscious. She watched the planet rise up around her, the ground racing up to meet her, yanking the stick at the last possible second to pull out of the dive, her ship inverted so that when she looked up, she could see the kids directly below her cheering wildly and trying to remain standing against the windstorm she'd brought onto them.
Alex whooped, looping the Goshawk a few time before bringing her back into a hover ten feet in the air, descending into a perfect landing, the feet of the shuttle kissing sweetly against the dirt before she shut down the engine and leaped from the cockpit. There was tumultuous applause from the crowd of kids, but Tommy Hilton was not among those who looked impressed. He looked mad.
"You cheated," he scowled, folding his arms across his chest in a gesture of defiance.
Alex smirked, fisting her hands at her hips. "Reckon I had a pilot hid in my pocket, do ya? I did that my own gorram self. You're just mad cuz I'm a better pilot than you or your Pa could ever be. Now pay up!"
Instead of reaching for his wallet, Tommy let his arm swing out, his fist clipping Alex across the jaw hard enough to force her head to turn. He sneered, "There's payment, you little shit!" He turned and began to swagger away from her, but Alex launched herself into the air, tackling him to the ground and pinning him on his back, pounding her fists against him as he struggled and flailed in attempt to ward off her blows. The crowd around them was full of jeers and whoops in appreciation of a good fight.
Tommy was finally able to toss her off of him and jumped on her, returning the pounding she'd just given him. The blows wouldn't stop. At one point, Alex felt her nose break, tasting blood as a river of it began flowing freely into her mouth. It infuriated her, and she reached up, grabbing the boy by the throat despite his fists smashing against her face. She tightened her grip, squeezing off his air supply.
As he stopped hitting her to try puling her hand off of his throat, she rammed the palm of her free hand up into his nose, spraying blood everywhere, then shifted herself beneath him, bringing her knee up and connecting it savagely with his groin. He groaned, collapsing over her, and she released her grip on his throat, unceremoniously scrambling from beneath his weight and rising to stand triumphant over him.
"This was worth you not payin' me. Somebody needed to kick your ass." She spat on him and walked away, cutting through the now silent crown of kids who were all trying to figure out if Tommy Hilton was going to make it.
Blake caught her up halfway back to their farm, his face red with exhilaration as he jogged along to keep pace with her long, angry strides. "Al, that was shiny! Tommy couldn't even get up on his own! See if he ever picks on anyone again after he got whupped by a girl!" Then he paused, as if wondering whether it was safe to ask before he did, "What're you gonna tell Pa 'bout your face?"
---
"Have you lost your gorram mind, girl?!" Her Pa raged back and forth across the kitchen floor, his boots stomping so hard the wood creaked ominously beneath him. "Don Hilton waved me and said he had to take his boy to see old Doc Miller this afternoon. Said he'd have to take him to a core hospital to get his nose fixed. What in the hell went through that damned fool head'a yourn?"
Alex knew better than to try to explain herself. It would fall on deaf ears. Her Ma understood, wringing her hands nervously as she looked upon the ruined face of her only daughter and listened to her explain about how Tommy Hilton had been bullying Blake because their father owed his father money. how she'd confronted him and some how made a wager over whether she could fly better than Tommy's father, and that if she won, Tommy would pay her a month worth of his allowance to help pay off the debt, and that he would leave Blake alone. She never said what she would have had to do if she'd lost. Her mother had listened with that quiet anxiety of hers, her gentle eyes full of understanding, the kind that knows more than she could ever let on, silent sadness and a kind of fierce pride.That's right. That's my daughter. Poor kid.
Her Ma had cleaned her up as well as she could, but Alex's face was a mess, her lip split wide open, her nose swollen up to twice its normal size, two spectacular black eyes, and a plethora of brilliant bruises blooming across her skin. No amount of makeup caked onto her could hide all of it. She had taken as good of a beating as she had given.
"Sorry Pa, I wasn't thinkin'." She hung her head, knowing the less she said now, the better it would go for her.
The back of his hand came out of nowhere, catching her fully across her jaw and mouth, knocking her out of her seat. She tasted fresh blood, but didn't dare raise her eyes to his. "Talk proper, gorramit! Least you can do is talk proper!"
Alex answered him with silence, remaining as she'd fallen, submission being one of those qualities he'd tried to instill in her.
"Shoulda been a gorram boy, way you carry on, fightin' and flyin' and playin'. How the hell am I s'posed to get you married off to a respectable gentleman if'n you can't act like a proper lady?" She heard the sound of him slipping his leather belt from around his waist, but still didn't look up as he continued ranting. "You're no use to me as a little tomboy hellraiser, Alexandra. If it kills you, I'll beat the proper into ya."
Alexandra MacLaren focused her mind on the feeling of euphoria she got soaring through the sky in the Goshawk, how the plane had felt like an extension of her body, how she automatically knew exactly what to do flying her, how she knew in those moments that this was where she was supposed to be, why she was born, in attempt to block out the pain of leather cracking against her bare flesh.
---
"I need that coin." The voice echoed in her head without ever losing its power, bouncing around in her conscious every moment of every day. Sometimes, she wondered if it was the voice of God, but then, during calmer moments, she'd remember that it wasn't, it was just Mindo. The coin consumed her. She could think of nothing else. That coin. It had to be found.
The others, people she knew, had gotten suspicious. She couldn't figure out why. She was acting normally, wasn't she? Sometimes she tried to analyze why people who had been her friends treated her like a bomb about to go off. Mindo wouldn't allow her into their heads, so she was left with a maze of guesswork and confusion over it. Her head was already a tangled mass of chaos. She felt like nothing would ever make sense again, and as soon as she tried to make sense of everything, Mindo would assault her conscious with a renewed compulsion to find the coin.
I need that coin. I need that coin. I need that coin. I must have that coin. There is nothing else more important than the coin. I need that coin. I have to do whatever is needed to get the coin.
Her head hurt from the obsession. She didn't know why she needed the coin, but the coin had become her entire existence. The coin was all that mattered. God, how her head ached...
---
She was in a building. It was floating in orbit over a planet, the black of space closing in all around it. It reminded her of a hamster cage, the corridors leading from one area to the next a thick cylinder of plexiglass. She stalked through the entire complex searching for a specific lab. It had to be there somewhere.
Doubling back to begin her search anew, she barely acknowledged stepping over the lifeless bodies of the people who had resided and worked in this place as though they were nothing but furniture. A detached part of her brain thought that they appeared at peace, no horrible bloody wounds to mar their corpses in the serenity of death. The complex was eerily silent in her wake. The silence haunted her, the feeling of ghosts watching her like an itch between her shoulderblades that she couldn't reach.
Finally, her footfalls carried her to the right lab. She had to push someone in a white lab coat who was slumped over his console out of his chair, not even apologizing as his body hit the floor with a dull thud. Here we go, this is what I need, said the voice in her head as she slid into the chair and began calling up data from the lab's mainframe..
---
A moustached man with sad eyes was gazing at her. He seemed vaguely familiar to her, but the more she tried to figure out how she knew him, who he was to her, the further the explanation danced away from her. Her instincts nagged at her, telling her that he was somehow very, very important. He was speaking.
"...haven't been yourself. I don't know what's wrong with you, Imrhien...."
Imrhien? Is that my name? Do I have a name? How does he know my name?
"...leaving. I'm just not in love with the person you've become. I don't know you anymore."
Imrhien tilted her head at the man, confused, the words not even registering, as though he was speaking an entirely foreign language to her.
"Take care of yourself, please." And then he left. And she didn't care, because she didn't have any idea about who he was. And then, somehow, she forgot she had even seen him. All that was left was a vague sense of loss, but she ignored it, because it didn't matter.
---
She was carrying something. It was a baby. In a jar. She didn't know whose baby it was, and it didn't look dead. It was for Mindo. Setting it on the large work desk before him, she stepped back, stilling herself, her blank eyes fixed on the baby in the jar, wondering what was going to happen to it.
"You may leave now, Imrhien," said Mindo's voice in her head, and she obediently turned and walked from the lab, stopping outside the door, a solitary sentinel keeping guard over his precious work, awaiting further instruction.
---
Blackburne was burning. There was no sound. Just fire. So much fire. The one place that sang to her soul, her home, and flames were consuming it. She looked around for water, but there was none, just fire.
Her Ma stepped out of the thick smoke, those gentle, all-knowing eyes gazing at her in the way only her Ma could do, as though she could look into her daughter's soul. She moved closer, pressing her forehead against her daughter's, caressing her cheek so softly that Imrhien wanted to cry. She wanted to crawl into her Ma's arms and mourn Blackburne, but her Ma shook her head, those eyes so sad, her gaze sinking so far into Imrhien's that she wasn't sure where she stopped and her Ma ended.
"Alexandra," she murmured. "This was not why you were created."
Imrhien saw brief, disembodied flashes of scenes: a rack of tiny vials with a corresponding paper stating the genetic trait isolated in each; she heard a man's voice, the words muffled except genetically altered to be a pilot and have to start subconscious conditioning soon; she saw her Ma's younger, unconscious form strapped down to a table in a dark laboratory while men in lab coats moved around her; she heard a terrible shriek of anger as a man exclaimed, "How could you lose her? She's carrying a gen-two psychic! Find her," he roared with finality; she watched her Ma arguing with her Pa, telling him he couldn't sell her into slavery, that she was too valuable, that she wouldn't allow it, and she saw the rain of blows her Pa showered onto her for her defiance...
Her Ma's voice brought her back to reality. "I helped you escape slavery once because I knew what your Pa didn't. Now, you understand, too, and I'll help you escape again..."
"Mama? I don't understand..." But her Ma had vanished, and the smoke was blowing wildly around her.
A voice penetrated her dark prison, reverberating, shaking her to the core, resonating within her soul. "Butterfly." Petra danced around her, wearing Imrhien's favorite old blue debutante gown, her slight frame twirling 'round and 'round, weaving in and out of the smoke. Imrhien tried to catch her, reaching her arms out before her as she chased after the girl, losing herself in the dark plumes, but following her little sister, seeing an arm here, the hem of her dress there, the swish of long hair guiding her into the maze. Acrid smoke filled her lungs again and again as she choked through the maze, running faster and harder to keep up.
"Butterfly."
Imrhien fell to her knees, gagging, pressing her hands to the sides of her head, covering her ears, weeping. "Petra, stop. I can't do it," she wheezed. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Suddenly, the girl was there before her, taking Imrhien's face in her hands, staring at her with those big, blue eyes, and she murmured softly, "Butterfly. This is not your destiny." And then she smiled. "Time to fly free." Before Imrhien could react, Petra had taken a deep breath and blown it out as though she was blowing out candles on a birthday cake, causing all of the smoke to clear, leaving nothing but space. And then, she was gone, too.
---
Imrhien sat bolt upright, entirely, entirely awake for the first time in months. All of it came flooding back to her now, the memories from childhood, adulthood, and during her period of psychic incarceration by Mindo, every terrible, terrible thing she'd done under his control. And with all that came the horrible realization of what she truly was. And the devastating realization that she had forever lost Duncan.
The tears flowed in torrents down her face, dripping from her jaw into her lap. It felt as though her lungs were going to explode with pressure, and she finally gave in, sobbing uncontrollably into her hands. She cried for a long time, and when she finally calmed down, she realized that she was sitting in the cockpit of her stryker, where she'd always felt the most right.
She knew that right now, she couldn't go home. She couldn't face the people she knew and loved after having done the things that she'd done, even under someone else's control. So she would go back to the beginning of her journey, where she'd originally found herself, created herself in essence, and start all over. She opened a channel on her onboard Cortex unit and sent a wave to Captain Domonic Card, then set a course for the nearest settlement to fuel up for her journey to rendezvous with The Lone Reverie.
Her brother's clothes felt both alien and wonderful on her, baggy over her slight frame, swallowing her up in a boyish countenance, her strawberry blond hair tugged back into a long, tight braid. This certainly felt more natural than all the petticoats and cinched-waist dresses and stockings her Pa demanded she wear all the time. The MacLaren patriarch would have an apoplectic fit if he ever saw his eldest child and only daughter garbed in boys' attire, but Alex figured what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
Quickly climbing into the cockpit of the little Goshawk short range shuttle, she looked down into the sea of faces, consisting of nearly every child from the Seraphim District and some from the neighboring provinces. They had come to see blood, and she was willing to bet they were all hoping it wouldn't be her blood, but Tommy Hilton's. She smirked as her gaze caught Tommy's, the richest boy on Persephone, or so he claimed. At 14, he was two years her senior, and already possessed the rude arrogance of congenitally rich folks, bullying everyone smaller than him, including Alex and her little brother, Blake, because he knew he could get away with it and everyone feared the wrath of his father.
"Easy as eatin' cake," she drawled, strapping herself into the pilot's seat, then took a deep breath, butterflies erupting into a flurry of activity in her stomach. Okay Al, you and your big mouth got us into this pickle. Try not to die. She'd never flown anything this big before, only the few pieces of farming equipment on her family's farm. But for her, anything she'd tried driving had come as second nature to her.
Without giving it much thought, she flipped several switches and hit the ignition, the Goshawk roaring to life, blowing air in violent streams from the depths of its belly, Alex felt the ship rumbling beneath her and closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating on allowing the vibrations to run through her. "Come on, big girl," she muttered softly. "Show me how to make you soar."
Reaching her hands out, she grasped the control stick, pulling slowly and lightly back on it. The ship eased up into a hover five feet over the earth, steadying for a moment, then shot up twenty more feet before she flipped the thrusters from vertical to horizontal, rocketing forward like a racehorse just out of its gate. She whooped with glee at the feeling of exhilaration coursing through her body. This is where I belong!
She banked the ship hard to the left, swinging her around to head back to the gathering of her peers, her equilibrium going haywire as the world spun, spiraling the plane as she burned through the air back toward the open field. As she neared the crowd, she yanked her nose up and rose quickly up into the air, again spinning in a tight spiral as she climbed higher into the sky, touching the clouds. Alex imagined she could feel the water vapor kissing her cheeks as she pressed the Goshawk further up, droplets of water forming on the canopy around her. The atmosphere began to darken around her, stars suddenly shining in the midday brightness, the planet's horizon becoming a rainbow of colors that reached up into the deep blue of open space.
She let up on her rear thrusters, the nose of the Goshawk leveling out, then dipping down as gravity began tugging her back toward the dirt. The change of orientation didn't phase her, feeling as though this ship had somehow become an extension of her body, as though she could maneuver thousands of pounds of metal with a mere thought. I really was born for this...
Aiming the nose all the way down, she slammed the thrust, gunning her speed, the plane screaming around Alex as her wings sliced through atmosphere like a hot knife through butter, in a vertical dive that would have left most people unconscious. She watched the planet rise up around her, the ground racing up to meet her, yanking the stick at the last possible second to pull out of the dive, her ship inverted so that when she looked up, she could see the kids directly below her cheering wildly and trying to remain standing against the windstorm she'd brought onto them.
Alex whooped, looping the Goshawk a few time before bringing her back into a hover ten feet in the air, descending into a perfect landing, the feet of the shuttle kissing sweetly against the dirt before she shut down the engine and leaped from the cockpit. There was tumultuous applause from the crowd of kids, but Tommy Hilton was not among those who looked impressed. He looked mad.
"You cheated," he scowled, folding his arms across his chest in a gesture of defiance.
Alex smirked, fisting her hands at her hips. "Reckon I had a pilot hid in my pocket, do ya? I did that my own gorram self. You're just mad cuz I'm a better pilot than you or your Pa could ever be. Now pay up!"
Instead of reaching for his wallet, Tommy let his arm swing out, his fist clipping Alex across the jaw hard enough to force her head to turn. He sneered, "There's payment, you little shit!" He turned and began to swagger away from her, but Alex launched herself into the air, tackling him to the ground and pinning him on his back, pounding her fists against him as he struggled and flailed in attempt to ward off her blows. The crowd around them was full of jeers and whoops in appreciation of a good fight.
Tommy was finally able to toss her off of him and jumped on her, returning the pounding she'd just given him. The blows wouldn't stop. At one point, Alex felt her nose break, tasting blood as a river of it began flowing freely into her mouth. It infuriated her, and she reached up, grabbing the boy by the throat despite his fists smashing against her face. She tightened her grip, squeezing off his air supply.
As he stopped hitting her to try puling her hand off of his throat, she rammed the palm of her free hand up into his nose, spraying blood everywhere, then shifted herself beneath him, bringing her knee up and connecting it savagely with his groin. He groaned, collapsing over her, and she released her grip on his throat, unceremoniously scrambling from beneath his weight and rising to stand triumphant over him.
"This was worth you not payin' me. Somebody needed to kick your ass." She spat on him and walked away, cutting through the now silent crown of kids who were all trying to figure out if Tommy Hilton was going to make it.
Blake caught her up halfway back to their farm, his face red with exhilaration as he jogged along to keep pace with her long, angry strides. "Al, that was shiny! Tommy couldn't even get up on his own! See if he ever picks on anyone again after he got whupped by a girl!" Then he paused, as if wondering whether it was safe to ask before he did, "What're you gonna tell Pa 'bout your face?"
---
"Have you lost your gorram mind, girl?!" Her Pa raged back and forth across the kitchen floor, his boots stomping so hard the wood creaked ominously beneath him. "Don Hilton waved me and said he had to take his boy to see old Doc Miller this afternoon. Said he'd have to take him to a core hospital to get his nose fixed. What in the hell went through that damned fool head'a yourn?"
Alex knew better than to try to explain herself. It would fall on deaf ears. Her Ma understood, wringing her hands nervously as she looked upon the ruined face of her only daughter and listened to her explain about how Tommy Hilton had been bullying Blake because their father owed his father money. how she'd confronted him and some how made a wager over whether she could fly better than Tommy's father, and that if she won, Tommy would pay her a month worth of his allowance to help pay off the debt, and that he would leave Blake alone. She never said what she would have had to do if she'd lost. Her mother had listened with that quiet anxiety of hers, her gentle eyes full of understanding, the kind that knows more than she could ever let on, silent sadness and a kind of fierce pride.That's right. That's my daughter. Poor kid.
Her Ma had cleaned her up as well as she could, but Alex's face was a mess, her lip split wide open, her nose swollen up to twice its normal size, two spectacular black eyes, and a plethora of brilliant bruises blooming across her skin. No amount of makeup caked onto her could hide all of it. She had taken as good of a beating as she had given.
"Sorry Pa, I wasn't thinkin'." She hung her head, knowing the less she said now, the better it would go for her.
The back of his hand came out of nowhere, catching her fully across her jaw and mouth, knocking her out of her seat. She tasted fresh blood, but didn't dare raise her eyes to his. "Talk proper, gorramit! Least you can do is talk proper!"
Alex answered him with silence, remaining as she'd fallen, submission being one of those qualities he'd tried to instill in her.
"Shoulda been a gorram boy, way you carry on, fightin' and flyin' and playin'. How the hell am I s'posed to get you married off to a respectable gentleman if'n you can't act like a proper lady?" She heard the sound of him slipping his leather belt from around his waist, but still didn't look up as he continued ranting. "You're no use to me as a little tomboy hellraiser, Alexandra. If it kills you, I'll beat the proper into ya."
Alexandra MacLaren focused her mind on the feeling of euphoria she got soaring through the sky in the Goshawk, how the plane had felt like an extension of her body, how she automatically knew exactly what to do flying her, how she knew in those moments that this was where she was supposed to be, why she was born, in attempt to block out the pain of leather cracking against her bare flesh.
---
"I need that coin." The voice echoed in her head without ever losing its power, bouncing around in her conscious every moment of every day. Sometimes, she wondered if it was the voice of God, but then, during calmer moments, she'd remember that it wasn't, it was just Mindo. The coin consumed her. She could think of nothing else. That coin. It had to be found.
The others, people she knew, had gotten suspicious. She couldn't figure out why. She was acting normally, wasn't she? Sometimes she tried to analyze why people who had been her friends treated her like a bomb about to go off. Mindo wouldn't allow her into their heads, so she was left with a maze of guesswork and confusion over it. Her head was already a tangled mass of chaos. She felt like nothing would ever make sense again, and as soon as she tried to make sense of everything, Mindo would assault her conscious with a renewed compulsion to find the coin.
I need that coin. I need that coin. I need that coin. I must have that coin. There is nothing else more important than the coin. I need that coin. I have to do whatever is needed to get the coin.
Her head hurt from the obsession. She didn't know why she needed the coin, but the coin had become her entire existence. The coin was all that mattered. God, how her head ached...
---
She was in a building. It was floating in orbit over a planet, the black of space closing in all around it. It reminded her of a hamster cage, the corridors leading from one area to the next a thick cylinder of plexiglass. She stalked through the entire complex searching for a specific lab. It had to be there somewhere.
Doubling back to begin her search anew, she barely acknowledged stepping over the lifeless bodies of the people who had resided and worked in this place as though they were nothing but furniture. A detached part of her brain thought that they appeared at peace, no horrible bloody wounds to mar their corpses in the serenity of death. The complex was eerily silent in her wake. The silence haunted her, the feeling of ghosts watching her like an itch between her shoulderblades that she couldn't reach.
Finally, her footfalls carried her to the right lab. She had to push someone in a white lab coat who was slumped over his console out of his chair, not even apologizing as his body hit the floor with a dull thud. Here we go, this is what I need, said the voice in her head as she slid into the chair and began calling up data from the lab's mainframe..
---
A moustached man with sad eyes was gazing at her. He seemed vaguely familiar to her, but the more she tried to figure out how she knew him, who he was to her, the further the explanation danced away from her. Her instincts nagged at her, telling her that he was somehow very, very important. He was speaking.
"...haven't been yourself. I don't know what's wrong with you, Imrhien...."
Imrhien? Is that my name? Do I have a name? How does he know my name?
"...leaving. I'm just not in love with the person you've become. I don't know you anymore."
Imrhien tilted her head at the man, confused, the words not even registering, as though he was speaking an entirely foreign language to her.
"Take care of yourself, please." And then he left. And she didn't care, because she didn't have any idea about who he was. And then, somehow, she forgot she had even seen him. All that was left was a vague sense of loss, but she ignored it, because it didn't matter.
---
She was carrying something. It was a baby. In a jar. She didn't know whose baby it was, and it didn't look dead. It was for Mindo. Setting it on the large work desk before him, she stepped back, stilling herself, her blank eyes fixed on the baby in the jar, wondering what was going to happen to it.
"You may leave now, Imrhien," said Mindo's voice in her head, and she obediently turned and walked from the lab, stopping outside the door, a solitary sentinel keeping guard over his precious work, awaiting further instruction.
---
Blackburne was burning. There was no sound. Just fire. So much fire. The one place that sang to her soul, her home, and flames were consuming it. She looked around for water, but there was none, just fire.
Her Ma stepped out of the thick smoke, those gentle, all-knowing eyes gazing at her in the way only her Ma could do, as though she could look into her daughter's soul. She moved closer, pressing her forehead against her daughter's, caressing her cheek so softly that Imrhien wanted to cry. She wanted to crawl into her Ma's arms and mourn Blackburne, but her Ma shook her head, those eyes so sad, her gaze sinking so far into Imrhien's that she wasn't sure where she stopped and her Ma ended.
"Alexandra," she murmured. "This was not why you were created."
Imrhien saw brief, disembodied flashes of scenes: a rack of tiny vials with a corresponding paper stating the genetic trait isolated in each; she heard a man's voice, the words muffled except genetically altered to be a pilot and have to start subconscious conditioning soon; she saw her Ma's younger, unconscious form strapped down to a table in a dark laboratory while men in lab coats moved around her; she heard a terrible shriek of anger as a man exclaimed, "How could you lose her? She's carrying a gen-two psychic! Find her," he roared with finality; she watched her Ma arguing with her Pa, telling him he couldn't sell her into slavery, that she was too valuable, that she wouldn't allow it, and she saw the rain of blows her Pa showered onto her for her defiance...
Her Ma's voice brought her back to reality. "I helped you escape slavery once because I knew what your Pa didn't. Now, you understand, too, and I'll help you escape again..."
"Mama? I don't understand..." But her Ma had vanished, and the smoke was blowing wildly around her.
A voice penetrated her dark prison, reverberating, shaking her to the core, resonating within her soul. "Butterfly." Petra danced around her, wearing Imrhien's favorite old blue debutante gown, her slight frame twirling 'round and 'round, weaving in and out of the smoke. Imrhien tried to catch her, reaching her arms out before her as she chased after the girl, losing herself in the dark plumes, but following her little sister, seeing an arm here, the hem of her dress there, the swish of long hair guiding her into the maze. Acrid smoke filled her lungs again and again as she choked through the maze, running faster and harder to keep up.
"Butterfly."
Imrhien fell to her knees, gagging, pressing her hands to the sides of her head, covering her ears, weeping. "Petra, stop. I can't do it," she wheezed. Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Suddenly, the girl was there before her, taking Imrhien's face in her hands, staring at her with those big, blue eyes, and she murmured softly, "Butterfly. This is not your destiny." And then she smiled. "Time to fly free." Before Imrhien could react, Petra had taken a deep breath and blown it out as though she was blowing out candles on a birthday cake, causing all of the smoke to clear, leaving nothing but space. And then, she was gone, too.
---
Imrhien sat bolt upright, entirely, entirely awake for the first time in months. All of it came flooding back to her now, the memories from childhood, adulthood, and during her period of psychic incarceration by Mindo, every terrible, terrible thing she'd done under his control. And with all that came the horrible realization of what she truly was. And the devastating realization that she had forever lost Duncan.
The tears flowed in torrents down her face, dripping from her jaw into her lap. It felt as though her lungs were going to explode with pressure, and she finally gave in, sobbing uncontrollably into her hands. She cried for a long time, and when she finally calmed down, she realized that she was sitting in the cockpit of her stryker, where she'd always felt the most right.
She knew that right now, she couldn't go home. She couldn't face the people she knew and loved after having done the things that she'd done, even under someone else's control. So she would go back to the beginning of her journey, where she'd originally found herself, created herself in essence, and start all over. She opened a channel on her onboard Cortex unit and sent a wave to Captain Domonic Card, then set a course for the nearest settlement to fuel up for her journey to rendezvous with The Lone Reverie.
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