Post by mandi on May 23, 2017 9:09:02 GMT
“Faith, is the most powerful force in the world. Faith climbs mountain, crosses oceans. It begins wars, and it ends them. There isn't a single advance, not one accomplishment in all of our history that doesn't have faith at its very core. Faith in oneself. Faith in the future. Faith in the idea that whatever the task before you, it can be done. Without it, life is not lived. Without it. Life is an ugly twilight devoid of hope. For faith, and hope, walk hand in hand.”
The words are softly spoken, more of a quiet reflection than an actual address. But then, the diminutive blonde has had much to reflect on in the passing weeks. From failing to secure the Duos Championships...again...to the wedding four days later, to reaching her twenty-first birthday, which is a thing that seemed like it was unattainable for a long time. Funny, how your entire perspective on life can change when you tie that life to someone else's.
“Four years...sometimes, it seems like it's been longer, others like it couldn't possibly have been that long at all. There are so many times that I find myself frustrated because it feels like it doesn't matter. It feels like I'm almost exactly in the same place now, as I was then. And I wonder if perhaps, I have hit that dreaded glass ceiling. If maybe this is as far as I was ever meant to go. That, despite my hopes, my dreams, those things that I want, need, so desperately will ever remain beyond my grasp, close enough to brush my fingertips against, but always far enough that I can't seem to grip them. It's a thing that happens I guess, when you find yourself continuously coming up short. You stop remembering the nature of your foes, you stop seeing their value and see only your own lack of it. However wrong that may be to do, it remains an incredibly easy trap to fall into. Made easier by all the people who will never hesitate to throw your failures, and your flaws back into your face as hard and as viciously as they can. Because they have long since lost the faith that if they keep reaching, eventually they will find the next handhold to keep climbing.
And I suppose, all things considered, that should be me, shouldn't it? If you look back at my record, I've come up short far more often than I'd like, and far more often than I've actually managed to walk away with the victory. Looking at the numbers alone, it would be an easy thing to assume that the glass ceiling has been reached...until you stop to look at the nature of the people who I have fallen short against. Anastasia Starling. Aurora Jansen. Masaru Inoue, who despite the fact that every time he opens his mouth I want to kick his teeth in, remains one of the most savage, driven men this company has ever seen. There is no shame in having fallen to them. I know this. Rationally, I accept it as truth...and yet...”
The words trail off, replaced instead by a wry chuckle that most would call characteristic of her. The corner of her mouth tugs in an even more characteristic smirk, though the eyes remain closed. Though the floor beneath her is stone, she seems at ease, comfortable, her arms folded behind her head, creating a pillow of sorts. Home. Not the place in Detroit which has always felt...awkward, too crowded and rushed, but the sprawling, single story, glass walled place deep in the Mojave. Home. Where there is peace. And stillness. Where her god and her faith have waited patiently for her return. Once, she would have shied from the idea of allowing cameras into the sanctity of the armory and shrine. Once, she would have thought it a violation. Once...but no longer. Now, it has become the place in which she finds clarity, and peace. Where the demons that snarl and rage, threatening to lash out at everything around them quiet, and still. Where she doesn't have to hear their laughter and their hissing whispers. Here, she can think.
“And yet, there is that part of me, the voice that screams, and rails, and knows that bitter, bitter taste of despair that comes from reaching, striving, and forever falling short. A difficult thing to silence and ignore, that voice. It calls into question everything. So I rest here, battered and bruised, licking my wounds and trying to ignore it. And I think...what god did I anger to warrant this? What great injustices did I work in lives past to have to balance the scales in such a way? Two matches in a row, that was harsh, and taxing. Grueling. But there was hope. There was optimism and brave, brave words. But this...at this point, someone's just being cruel.”
There it is, that sharp edged bitterness. It's only now that her eyes open, to stare up at the ceiling, her expression impassive.
“There is a sense of drowning. Of being in so deep, I can't even tell which way the surface lies anymore. And the harder I fight, the more I struggle, the deeper I sink. You can imagine then, the dread, the exhaustion, the sense of being so completely and utterly overwhelmed. You like to think that the war must end, there must be a reprieve of some fashion. An opportunity to catch your breath. So when, battered, half broken, blooded and tired. Dawn breaks and you find the foe waiting for you. Well fed and well rested, unbent and certainly unbroken. There is...despair. Followed by resignation. And you are faced with the choice to surrender and fall. Or to stand and chase glory, against the odds, fostering faith and hope in your heart. Because yes. Yes you might fall. But no battle worth winning comes easy.
I will not say that I have not had my moments of despair and resignation. Where I have not questioned the value of continuing to fight and struggle. I have been tired. I have been broken. But I have healed. And for all that I've struggled, all that I've come up short, for all that I frequently forget it. Above all else, I have survived. Through will, strength, and the blessings of bright Ares, I continue to rise to fight again. And so we come to it. Don't we?”
And now she rises, rolling upright onto her feet, wincing as she does. The bruises are well fading by now, but some take longer to heal, especially when you aren't bright enough, or willing to simply sit idly and let them do so. Blonde hair tightly braided, to fall in a straight line down her back. And in the dancing light cast by the two dozen or so candles scattered about the room it might very well be easy to imagine her in a different time, ages past, beneath a burning sun on a field of rust colored earth.
“I stand. And I do it with confidence, despite failings and short comings, because it is through failure that we learn the most. I stand. Because I must. Because a long life is not my fate. A life of peace and quiet reflection is not written in my bones. I stand because I have not yet fallen, though not because my enemies have not tried. I stand, because I have faith. In myself, and in my god. And because I know, that if it is said that I have hit that glass ceiling...that glass shatters when struck hard enough...or simply when it's struck enough times.”
Another faint smirk, and if perhaps, there is a slight hitch in her step when she walks towards the shrine, it's something she gives every appearance of ignoring. For what is pain to the warrior but a comforting and familiar friend? Pain, after all, only means that one still yet lives.
“I will admit, however, to having little to say at this point. What can I possibly say to any of my opponents that I have not said before? And more recently than I would like? Words hold no more weight here, they simply wind and nothing more. Aurora and Masaru know how I feel. They already know my determination, and while Masaru infuriatingly likes to make light of me, Aurora at least, has never questioned my abilities. If anything, she has ever been one of the rare, rare few to encourage me, to have faith in me, even when I struggle to have faith in myself. If it could be said that I go for the throat when facing her, then it is only because she deserves nothing less. And Masaru...ah. Well. We all already know how I feel about him, don't we? So there is little point in revisiting that anger.
Their...partner...however. Mmmm. A different matter. Do not think that I have, even for a moment forgotten your juvenile insults Ronnie Dear. You, love, are a pale, pale imitation of what it means to be a competitor. A pretender. Worse, you are no better, and no different than the plastic little dolls who prance about pretending to be queen bees and “badass bitches”. You are a trope. You have no depth. No purpose. No meaning. You. Are. Empty. There have a been hundreds of you who came before, and there will be hundreds of yous who follow, each of them washing out and fading into obscurity in their turn.
If ever I have felt like I am drowning, and in over my head, at least I can say that I still know how to swim...sadly, I don't believe the same can be said for you. You, my dear, are so far out of your league. I suppose it's possible that you may surprise me...but I very much doubt it. I don't like you Ronnie, but worse, I don't respect you. And that means that I will feel absolutely no remorse whatsoever if you get wheeled away from this match on a stretcher. You mean nothing to me. You are only an obstacle standing in my way.
I think, perhaps, I see the path before me more clearly now than I ever have before. No good comes from denying ourselves as to the nature of who, and what we are. I have always been a warrior, through words and deeds. That nature has been the source of my survival. I ran from it, not wanting to accept that what I was, afraid of my own capacity for violence. But we are all of us given gifts, and to deny them, is to deny the gods who bestow them and invite disaster. I am through hiding from myself. A warrior I was born. A warrior I shall be. And a warrior I shall die. But not...I think...in this match. No. This is not my time to pass.”
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Word Count before Coding via Open Office: 1830
The words are softly spoken, more of a quiet reflection than an actual address. But then, the diminutive blonde has had much to reflect on in the passing weeks. From failing to secure the Duos Championships...again...to the wedding four days later, to reaching her twenty-first birthday, which is a thing that seemed like it was unattainable for a long time. Funny, how your entire perspective on life can change when you tie that life to someone else's.
“Four years...sometimes, it seems like it's been longer, others like it couldn't possibly have been that long at all. There are so many times that I find myself frustrated because it feels like it doesn't matter. It feels like I'm almost exactly in the same place now, as I was then. And I wonder if perhaps, I have hit that dreaded glass ceiling. If maybe this is as far as I was ever meant to go. That, despite my hopes, my dreams, those things that I want, need, so desperately will ever remain beyond my grasp, close enough to brush my fingertips against, but always far enough that I can't seem to grip them. It's a thing that happens I guess, when you find yourself continuously coming up short. You stop remembering the nature of your foes, you stop seeing their value and see only your own lack of it. However wrong that may be to do, it remains an incredibly easy trap to fall into. Made easier by all the people who will never hesitate to throw your failures, and your flaws back into your face as hard and as viciously as they can. Because they have long since lost the faith that if they keep reaching, eventually they will find the next handhold to keep climbing.
And I suppose, all things considered, that should be me, shouldn't it? If you look back at my record, I've come up short far more often than I'd like, and far more often than I've actually managed to walk away with the victory. Looking at the numbers alone, it would be an easy thing to assume that the glass ceiling has been reached...until you stop to look at the nature of the people who I have fallen short against. Anastasia Starling. Aurora Jansen. Masaru Inoue, who despite the fact that every time he opens his mouth I want to kick his teeth in, remains one of the most savage, driven men this company has ever seen. There is no shame in having fallen to them. I know this. Rationally, I accept it as truth...and yet...”
The words trail off, replaced instead by a wry chuckle that most would call characteristic of her. The corner of her mouth tugs in an even more characteristic smirk, though the eyes remain closed. Though the floor beneath her is stone, she seems at ease, comfortable, her arms folded behind her head, creating a pillow of sorts. Home. Not the place in Detroit which has always felt...awkward, too crowded and rushed, but the sprawling, single story, glass walled place deep in the Mojave. Home. Where there is peace. And stillness. Where her god and her faith have waited patiently for her return. Once, she would have shied from the idea of allowing cameras into the sanctity of the armory and shrine. Once, she would have thought it a violation. Once...but no longer. Now, it has become the place in which she finds clarity, and peace. Where the demons that snarl and rage, threatening to lash out at everything around them quiet, and still. Where she doesn't have to hear their laughter and their hissing whispers. Here, she can think.
“And yet, there is that part of me, the voice that screams, and rails, and knows that bitter, bitter taste of despair that comes from reaching, striving, and forever falling short. A difficult thing to silence and ignore, that voice. It calls into question everything. So I rest here, battered and bruised, licking my wounds and trying to ignore it. And I think...what god did I anger to warrant this? What great injustices did I work in lives past to have to balance the scales in such a way? Two matches in a row, that was harsh, and taxing. Grueling. But there was hope. There was optimism and brave, brave words. But this...at this point, someone's just being cruel.”
There it is, that sharp edged bitterness. It's only now that her eyes open, to stare up at the ceiling, her expression impassive.
“There is a sense of drowning. Of being in so deep, I can't even tell which way the surface lies anymore. And the harder I fight, the more I struggle, the deeper I sink. You can imagine then, the dread, the exhaustion, the sense of being so completely and utterly overwhelmed. You like to think that the war must end, there must be a reprieve of some fashion. An opportunity to catch your breath. So when, battered, half broken, blooded and tired. Dawn breaks and you find the foe waiting for you. Well fed and well rested, unbent and certainly unbroken. There is...despair. Followed by resignation. And you are faced with the choice to surrender and fall. Or to stand and chase glory, against the odds, fostering faith and hope in your heart. Because yes. Yes you might fall. But no battle worth winning comes easy.
I will not say that I have not had my moments of despair and resignation. Where I have not questioned the value of continuing to fight and struggle. I have been tired. I have been broken. But I have healed. And for all that I've struggled, all that I've come up short, for all that I frequently forget it. Above all else, I have survived. Through will, strength, and the blessings of bright Ares, I continue to rise to fight again. And so we come to it. Don't we?”
And now she rises, rolling upright onto her feet, wincing as she does. The bruises are well fading by now, but some take longer to heal, especially when you aren't bright enough, or willing to simply sit idly and let them do so. Blonde hair tightly braided, to fall in a straight line down her back. And in the dancing light cast by the two dozen or so candles scattered about the room it might very well be easy to imagine her in a different time, ages past, beneath a burning sun on a field of rust colored earth.
“I stand. And I do it with confidence, despite failings and short comings, because it is through failure that we learn the most. I stand. Because I must. Because a long life is not my fate. A life of peace and quiet reflection is not written in my bones. I stand because I have not yet fallen, though not because my enemies have not tried. I stand, because I have faith. In myself, and in my god. And because I know, that if it is said that I have hit that glass ceiling...that glass shatters when struck hard enough...or simply when it's struck enough times.”
Another faint smirk, and if perhaps, there is a slight hitch in her step when she walks towards the shrine, it's something she gives every appearance of ignoring. For what is pain to the warrior but a comforting and familiar friend? Pain, after all, only means that one still yet lives.
“I will admit, however, to having little to say at this point. What can I possibly say to any of my opponents that I have not said before? And more recently than I would like? Words hold no more weight here, they simply wind and nothing more. Aurora and Masaru know how I feel. They already know my determination, and while Masaru infuriatingly likes to make light of me, Aurora at least, has never questioned my abilities. If anything, she has ever been one of the rare, rare few to encourage me, to have faith in me, even when I struggle to have faith in myself. If it could be said that I go for the throat when facing her, then it is only because she deserves nothing less. And Masaru...ah. Well. We all already know how I feel about him, don't we? So there is little point in revisiting that anger.
Their...partner...however. Mmmm. A different matter. Do not think that I have, even for a moment forgotten your juvenile insults Ronnie Dear. You, love, are a pale, pale imitation of what it means to be a competitor. A pretender. Worse, you are no better, and no different than the plastic little dolls who prance about pretending to be queen bees and “badass bitches”. You are a trope. You have no depth. No purpose. No meaning. You. Are. Empty. There have a been hundreds of you who came before, and there will be hundreds of yous who follow, each of them washing out and fading into obscurity in their turn.
If ever I have felt like I am drowning, and in over my head, at least I can say that I still know how to swim...sadly, I don't believe the same can be said for you. You, my dear, are so far out of your league. I suppose it's possible that you may surprise me...but I very much doubt it. I don't like you Ronnie, but worse, I don't respect you. And that means that I will feel absolutely no remorse whatsoever if you get wheeled away from this match on a stretcher. You mean nothing to me. You are only an obstacle standing in my way.
I think, perhaps, I see the path before me more clearly now than I ever have before. No good comes from denying ourselves as to the nature of who, and what we are. I have always been a warrior, through words and deeds. That nature has been the source of my survival. I ran from it, not wanting to accept that what I was, afraid of my own capacity for violence. But we are all of us given gifts, and to deny them, is to deny the gods who bestow them and invite disaster. I am through hiding from myself. A warrior I was born. A warrior I shall be. And a warrior I shall die. But not...I think...in this match. No. This is not my time to pass.”
--- --- --- ---
Word Count before Coding via Open Office: 1830
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