Post by mandi on Jul 4, 2017 23:46:21 GMT
The desert life is preferable to the one she lived in Detroit. This is home. It has always been home. From the first moment she set her feet on the rust red earth she knew it. It called her. The desert is extremes, and maybe that's part of the appeal. So bitterly hot it could boil the blood in your veins during the day when the sun is high...and so cold you could freeze from exposure when it sets. Extremes. Not unlike the blonde who calls it home. The sun has set now, completely, not the grayed sky of twilight. Stars sparkle like diamonds against a black velvet pillow. The fire that dances at the foot of the rock she sits on provides much needed warmth. But she doesn't notice it. Her eyes are locked on the figure who stands across it. A figure that, at the end of things, only she could see. For years, she called him by one name, and then another. For years he has been companion and guardian, a guide. But there are suspicions. She doesn't see the departed. She only hears them. She's had this conversation with Aurora, it was in fact, part of the beginning of their friendship. But she has always seen Othyrades, known as Lucas before. Always. He has reached out, touched her, and felt as real and solid as anyone else, and that is not a characteristic of the dead. Around him, the voices still. The demons quiet.
“You are not Othyrades.”
“Once. Though no, that is not my name. But he called on me, as you have on me. And I answered then, as I have answered now.”
“Who are you?”
“You know. You have always known, though for reasons that are beyond even my knowledge you have chosen to deny and refuse the truth.”
And perhaps...perhaps he isn't wrong. The name has been there, right there, on the tip of her tongue so many times. His expression is guarded, carefully so, betraying nothing. She refuses to meet his gaze, and so he presses onward.
“You called, and I answered. You were no more than a child, screaming in the darkness for strength, but the strength of your need stirred me from a slumber I thought would never end. You called, and I answered, but all power comes with a price. You made a vow, and you have strayed from it. And that, Faith, is where your demons come from. They were soothed once. Peaceful. But the centuries have not been kind. Being forgotten, being dismissed has made them bitter. And so they cling to their original purpose. To punish those who break their faith with their gods. If you would silence them, you must honor the vow you made. I am patient, they are not.”
Silence follows, heavy and cloying. A silence during which she struggles to piece together the puzzle. The clues are there, but the rational part of her mind, the part that wants to say that mythology is just that, myth is resistant. Still, the word comes, barely a whisper, but it comes.
“Ares.”
No response, but a smile touched his lips, just barely, pulling at the corners.
“What do I do?”
“You stop running for yourself. You stop running from the parts of yourself that frighten you, and you embrace them. War is ugly. It is brutal and violent, and the solitary force that changes the shape of the world. Honor your vow. Embrace the gifts you have been given. Accept who and what you really are. Priestess. Avatar. You must become War.”
Her breath catches, the last words no more than a whisper, hot against her ear. Her gaze jerks up to find that she is once more alone.
--- --- --- --- --- ---
There are many things that might have been expected from the diminutive blonde after her exchange with her opponent on Twitter. She is not, after all, known for having a forgiving nature, or an exceptionally rational mind. Instead of snarling rage, the camera is greeted with a strange calmness, her attention on the flickering flames of the fire that burns at her feet rather than on the lens itself. She leans back against the low rock formation which is her usual spot for doing this, arms crossed over her stomach. Despite the chill, she's chosen a simple black tank top to wear with her jeans, something that leaves the majority of her arms, and all the scars they bear, bared for the world to see. A cut across her right cheek, shallow, and scabbed, but the smear of flaking crimson suggests that it must be fresh. After an almost painfully long moment her eyes lift to find the camera, her head tilting just slightly to the side.
“I see through you. You may think you have the world fooled Cassius, but I can see the truth. Your every word betrays you. There is, after all, only one reason a man feels the need to constantly reaffirm his station, his titles, and we both know it. Most, most would foolishly mistake your bluster for ego, for arrogance. I see it for what it is. Doubt. You need to remind yourself as much as you need to remind the world. And it runs deeper than that, doesn't it? You need so desperately to be seen as the 'good guy' to be liked and respected, to be the hero you think the world needs. I had originally though that you running out during the tag match was about Mazzy and how he tried to drown you...but you proved that wasn't the case. You needed the recognition. You needed the gratitude. “I saved you” you said. When I didn't feel the same way you were so morally offended that you devolved into the same petty insults everyone tries to use...only, you're a few months too late Cassie. I don't expect you to actually listen to anything I say, that would be expecting you to extend the same respect you demand of everyone else, and you simply don't have it in you to do that. But there are things that need said, regardless.
There are times, when what happens in the ring, or just outside of it, has little to do with winning, or losing. There are times when a thing must be allowed to run its course, or else it sits and it festers, a wound that will never heal, an infection that will devour you from the inside out. This thing with The Collective...it is one of those things that needed to run its course. The importance was never really what took place between the first ringing of the bell, and the last. It was never about whose hands were raised in victory. It was about retribution. Justice. You made a crack asking me if I'd seen Frankie coming and implied that I would have had to be psychic to do so. No. I suspected Starlight would interfere because I recognize the nature of my foes. They are, at their hearts, cowards. Evidenced by the fact that they went for the chairs the moment things no longer went their way. By that measure, I also trusted in the integrity of Aurora Jansen, and knowing her loyalty to those she calls partner and friend, I anticipated that she would be somewhere nearby, watching. But there is no control to be had in chaos. You cannot dictate the actions of others, not of your partner or your foes or any allies there might be waiting to show themselves. The only person whose actions you have any hope of dictating is yourself. So you do what needs to be done and you hope that others will do the same.
Eyes to see and ears to hear Cassie. The first rule of war is to know your enemy. It is a rare thing that I step into that ring without knowing exactly who and what it is I face. So I wonder, do you really see and hear? Do you really learn...or do you see your own truth, only the truth that fits inside your convenient little box. I have my suspicions...but we'll see. Won't we?”
She pauses for a moment, using a thick stick to stir the embers of her fire, causing the flames to momentarily leap and dance higher. And then a smile touches her lips, not a smile of mirth and laughter, but a coldly confident little smirk.
“I'll admit. I have had my moments of weakness. My moments where I clung to any and every excuse I could find because I needed to feel validated. They are not moments that I am proud of. But there was a time, Cassie, when I wasn't so very different from you. I needed to be accepted, I craved the respect. I felt sold short, underestimated, belittled. I felt as if it would never matter what I accomplished, that it would never be enough to please. Then of course one day I woke up. And I realized that I don't need your respect. I don't need acceptance, or approval, because to those people, to you, I'm not real. You don't see me for who I am, what I am, you only caricature of what you expect me to be. You expect excuses, so that's what you hear. I could scream my faults and flaws from the rooftops and you would never hear them. But hey, you're the king right? So you must be right about everything.
Funny thing about kings though Cassie. They have a disturbing habit of being overthrown. Peasant revolts very seldom end well for the head wearing the crown.
You know I wanted to like you. I did. I really did. But you lack the basic understandings of how our world works. You scream about being disrespected but fail to offer up the same basic respect you demand from people. You mock and you belittle. I can respect that you did something few people have managed to do. You overcome Aurora Jansen. My unicorn. The victory that ever eludes me. But this does not make you untouchable. As you will come to learn at Redemption.
You see, I'm the girl who went to war. I'm the girl who had to be set on fire to be made to quit a match. I'm the girl who went toe to toe with a lunatic in a fucking battle suit and refused to back down. I'm the girl who had her skull cracked in two places and still fought her way back. I've run from myself for a long time, afraid of what I was capable of, afraid of what I might do. Afraid of my own capacity for violence. But I'm done running. I am violence. And rage. I am fury. And inside that ring I am completely and utterly fearless.”
Although the words are soft, they come hard edged. And there is a...a strange resolution. She's said the words before, but this time, this time they seem heavy with meaning.
“Bring everything you are Cassie. Bring everything you have. Because at Redemption you aren't walking into a wrestling match. You, are walking a warzone. And I...well, I am War given flesh. You want respect?
Earn it.”
----------
Word Count: 1899
“You are not Othyrades.”
“Once. Though no, that is not my name. But he called on me, as you have on me. And I answered then, as I have answered now.”
“Who are you?”
“You know. You have always known, though for reasons that are beyond even my knowledge you have chosen to deny and refuse the truth.”
And perhaps...perhaps he isn't wrong. The name has been there, right there, on the tip of her tongue so many times. His expression is guarded, carefully so, betraying nothing. She refuses to meet his gaze, and so he presses onward.
“You called, and I answered. You were no more than a child, screaming in the darkness for strength, but the strength of your need stirred me from a slumber I thought would never end. You called, and I answered, but all power comes with a price. You made a vow, and you have strayed from it. And that, Faith, is where your demons come from. They were soothed once. Peaceful. But the centuries have not been kind. Being forgotten, being dismissed has made them bitter. And so they cling to their original purpose. To punish those who break their faith with their gods. If you would silence them, you must honor the vow you made. I am patient, they are not.”
Silence follows, heavy and cloying. A silence during which she struggles to piece together the puzzle. The clues are there, but the rational part of her mind, the part that wants to say that mythology is just that, myth is resistant. Still, the word comes, barely a whisper, but it comes.
“Ares.”
No response, but a smile touched his lips, just barely, pulling at the corners.
“What do I do?”
“You stop running for yourself. You stop running from the parts of yourself that frighten you, and you embrace them. War is ugly. It is brutal and violent, and the solitary force that changes the shape of the world. Honor your vow. Embrace the gifts you have been given. Accept who and what you really are. Priestess. Avatar. You must become War.”
Her breath catches, the last words no more than a whisper, hot against her ear. Her gaze jerks up to find that she is once more alone.
--- --- --- --- --- ---
There are many things that might have been expected from the diminutive blonde after her exchange with her opponent on Twitter. She is not, after all, known for having a forgiving nature, or an exceptionally rational mind. Instead of snarling rage, the camera is greeted with a strange calmness, her attention on the flickering flames of the fire that burns at her feet rather than on the lens itself. She leans back against the low rock formation which is her usual spot for doing this, arms crossed over her stomach. Despite the chill, she's chosen a simple black tank top to wear with her jeans, something that leaves the majority of her arms, and all the scars they bear, bared for the world to see. A cut across her right cheek, shallow, and scabbed, but the smear of flaking crimson suggests that it must be fresh. After an almost painfully long moment her eyes lift to find the camera, her head tilting just slightly to the side.
“I see through you. You may think you have the world fooled Cassius, but I can see the truth. Your every word betrays you. There is, after all, only one reason a man feels the need to constantly reaffirm his station, his titles, and we both know it. Most, most would foolishly mistake your bluster for ego, for arrogance. I see it for what it is. Doubt. You need to remind yourself as much as you need to remind the world. And it runs deeper than that, doesn't it? You need so desperately to be seen as the 'good guy' to be liked and respected, to be the hero you think the world needs. I had originally though that you running out during the tag match was about Mazzy and how he tried to drown you...but you proved that wasn't the case. You needed the recognition. You needed the gratitude. “I saved you” you said. When I didn't feel the same way you were so morally offended that you devolved into the same petty insults everyone tries to use...only, you're a few months too late Cassie. I don't expect you to actually listen to anything I say, that would be expecting you to extend the same respect you demand of everyone else, and you simply don't have it in you to do that. But there are things that need said, regardless.
There are times, when what happens in the ring, or just outside of it, has little to do with winning, or losing. There are times when a thing must be allowed to run its course, or else it sits and it festers, a wound that will never heal, an infection that will devour you from the inside out. This thing with The Collective...it is one of those things that needed to run its course. The importance was never really what took place between the first ringing of the bell, and the last. It was never about whose hands were raised in victory. It was about retribution. Justice. You made a crack asking me if I'd seen Frankie coming and implied that I would have had to be psychic to do so. No. I suspected Starlight would interfere because I recognize the nature of my foes. They are, at their hearts, cowards. Evidenced by the fact that they went for the chairs the moment things no longer went their way. By that measure, I also trusted in the integrity of Aurora Jansen, and knowing her loyalty to those she calls partner and friend, I anticipated that she would be somewhere nearby, watching. But there is no control to be had in chaos. You cannot dictate the actions of others, not of your partner or your foes or any allies there might be waiting to show themselves. The only person whose actions you have any hope of dictating is yourself. So you do what needs to be done and you hope that others will do the same.
Eyes to see and ears to hear Cassie. The first rule of war is to know your enemy. It is a rare thing that I step into that ring without knowing exactly who and what it is I face. So I wonder, do you really see and hear? Do you really learn...or do you see your own truth, only the truth that fits inside your convenient little box. I have my suspicions...but we'll see. Won't we?”
She pauses for a moment, using a thick stick to stir the embers of her fire, causing the flames to momentarily leap and dance higher. And then a smile touches her lips, not a smile of mirth and laughter, but a coldly confident little smirk.
“I'll admit. I have had my moments of weakness. My moments where I clung to any and every excuse I could find because I needed to feel validated. They are not moments that I am proud of. But there was a time, Cassie, when I wasn't so very different from you. I needed to be accepted, I craved the respect. I felt sold short, underestimated, belittled. I felt as if it would never matter what I accomplished, that it would never be enough to please. Then of course one day I woke up. And I realized that I don't need your respect. I don't need acceptance, or approval, because to those people, to you, I'm not real. You don't see me for who I am, what I am, you only caricature of what you expect me to be. You expect excuses, so that's what you hear. I could scream my faults and flaws from the rooftops and you would never hear them. But hey, you're the king right? So you must be right about everything.
Funny thing about kings though Cassie. They have a disturbing habit of being overthrown. Peasant revolts very seldom end well for the head wearing the crown.
You know I wanted to like you. I did. I really did. But you lack the basic understandings of how our world works. You scream about being disrespected but fail to offer up the same basic respect you demand from people. You mock and you belittle. I can respect that you did something few people have managed to do. You overcome Aurora Jansen. My unicorn. The victory that ever eludes me. But this does not make you untouchable. As you will come to learn at Redemption.
You see, I'm the girl who went to war. I'm the girl who had to be set on fire to be made to quit a match. I'm the girl who went toe to toe with a lunatic in a fucking battle suit and refused to back down. I'm the girl who had her skull cracked in two places and still fought her way back. I've run from myself for a long time, afraid of what I was capable of, afraid of what I might do. Afraid of my own capacity for violence. But I'm done running. I am violence. And rage. I am fury. And inside that ring I am completely and utterly fearless.”
Although the words are soft, they come hard edged. And there is a...a strange resolution. She's said the words before, but this time, this time they seem heavy with meaning.
“Bring everything you are Cassie. Bring everything you have. Because at Redemption you aren't walking into a wrestling match. You, are walking a warzone. And I...well, I am War given flesh. You want respect?
Earn it.”
----------
Word Count: 1899
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