It is never ending, the need for patrol, and few do them as consistently, as religiously as AnneMarie. In fact, it often seems like it is all she does. She is a mule, married to duty, for all the honor that has been stripped from her, for all the beat downs she has been given. She still does as she always has – her duty.
And thus, it is no surprise, that even as the temperature drops, she is walking the streets of Eagle territory, long strides covering the ground with a liquid grace, her hands tucked into the pocket of her long leather coat, cinched tightly around her waist. Her boots make the only sound as she moves, her pale gaze ever watchful.
[Evan McCollach]
Chicago was getting colder, winder and the face of Winter was all too apparent. There was always that desire to help the downtrodden that sat in Evan’s stomach, someone called him idealistic once. Maybe he was just trying to stem the Wyrm’s feast on the misery and horror that surrounded the people in their worst times.
However this was the Cabrini-Green, no matter how much you try there is always someone else who needs something, pain and suffering, misery and horror surrounded most of those that lived here. It was just too much, but then again that was what they were there to do, stem what seemed inevitable.
And it seemed that the night had a new suprise for him once he ran out of food to hand out, there was AM, like clockwork out on patrol. Seemed that she was looking to help in other ways. And he just paused under one of the few streetlamps that actually worked to watch her approach. A nod offered with his air chilled in the wind.
[AnneMarie Hoch]
Looking to help? There is duty, and there is duty. That is all she was born to do. Her grandmother instilled that within her, and she has only known defeat when she has forgotten such. So now, there is simply that. The mute mule, and her patrols. She will not make another mistake. She will not miss another Alaric. But that in no way equals a desire to help.
Be that as it may, she lifts her chin in greeting to her packmate.
[Evan McCollach]
When she got close enough he stood up straight, he knew that there were few things that would slow AM down, not even a little. Maybe it was the fact that when she had her mind on something there were few things that directed her attention elsewhere.
“Cool night isn’t it?”
If she was going to continue walking, he would walk with her. He may not have been so determined as she was in her patrols, they were all warriors, but unlike her he was not bred to be a pure warrior that revelled in the kill. He had to focus on meditation and council. Maybe that was why he joined AM on her patrol.
“You want company?”
[AnneMarie Hoch]
She arches a brow, slightly, and glances about. She does not answer the first question, as it is rather retoracle and all. There are few things that slow the Modi down when she is of a mind not to slow. Her mind, however, is not opposed to company this evening, and as such there is a slight pause in her step and a jut of her chin to indicate that he could join if he likes.
Since he asked, she assumes that he has a reason, that he needed something of her. After all, that is the way things go. She simply walks, now alongside him, and waits to find out what it is.
[Evan McCollach]
He didn’t seem to need anything when he started to walk alongside of her. His eyes keeping track of what was going on around them. It was hard not to notice the bums that were sleeping out in the cold, those that refused to go to shelters or churchs. Then there were the streetwalkers and pimps, no matter what the weather was they still needed to make a buck, hopefully get by.
No matter what they did, it seemed there was never enough done. The world was full of suffering, they just only made slowed the progression.
“So when is your birthday?”
Maybe it was just some small talk to pass the time as they walked.
[AnneMarie Hoch]
She narrows her gaze slightly, and shoots him a glance that gives away her surprise at the question just moments before she walls off her expression again and returns her eyes toward the road before them. It seems like she won’t answer for a moment, most likely. Either that or she has to think about it.
Finally, totemphone clicks to life, and before she answers she has a question of her own.
-[ Why do you ask? ]-
[Evan McCollach]
“Curious I guess, don’t know much about you really. Figured nice place to start off with after Decker’s bash and all.”
It was a simple response to her question. He didn’t really have to go that deep into it. She had made herself a model of oneness with your duty since he was with the Eagles, probably long before that as well. He was just trying to get to know her a little more, maybe the patrols would make her more comfortable with that. Even though this was a rather cold way of doing it.
He just dug his hands deep into his pocket to keep them warm, wondering if she would answer him or not.
[AnneMarie Hoch]
-[ No one does. ]- That’s the short answer, of course. The long is far more involved and involves years of no one caring to know more then her claws. One gets used to such things. One gets suspicious of other possible reactions, other possible intentions.
She continues her walk, her strides long, even, strong, steady. -[ May 5th.]-
[Evan McCollach]
“Well I am September 13.”
It was just an after-the-fact comment. Something that he just figured he should add considering the conversation. AM was not much of a talker, but then again that was probably something the Eagles were known for, action not talk.
He continued to walk along with her, his stride just as long as her own, but she was far more graceful than him, something about her being born to be a fighter. Her strength and skill surpassed his own.
[AnneMarie Hoch]
She is not known for being a talker. If he had voiced the thought out loud, there may have been a spark of amusement, wry and perhaps a little bitter at the edges for the irony in the statement. Instead there’s barely a flicker in acceptance of the date given, that she may or may not remember in time.
It is just another reminder of what she was, and what she is no longer. There are many things that cater to the effort to keep such control over herself, over her emotion, over her rage. She does, indeed, possess such things. She simply refuses to show them for many reasons that are obvious to the observant.
There is a bit, and then, a comment. -[ You have other questions? ]-
After all, she does not volunteer anything.
[Evan McCollach]
He remembered what she said her deedname meant, Rughier. And for the time being he didn’t think she wanted to talk about anything in her past. He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t want to.
So he continues to walk and watch. Pausing for a second to seemingly offer some change to one of the bums passed out on the street as they passed by. He didn’t have much money on him, but it was something at least.
“Well… where is your home sept?”
[AnneMarie Hoch]
At one point, while they were still a part of Maelstrom, he would have received a flippant reply, one that said ‘Here, as yours should be.’ but that is no longer an option. Her home is where her pack is. Loyalty before all. But she understands his meaning behind the question, and thus answers it as such.
-[ Montana. I came to Chicago directly after the death of my Grandmother. ]-
[Evan McCollach]
He nodded when she offered a snippet more of her past. She never offered more than what was asked, in some ways it was good. The problems that plagues the sept before they left was that everyone had something to say, even before the question was asked. But that also meant gave him pause. For some it was a matter of trust, you don’t offer more to those than what they ask of you, because you are unsure of what they might think, they might say.
But at the very least she was open, she didn’t seem to be as closed off as they first met.
“Was your grandmother true or kin?”
[AnneMarie Hoch]
Perhaps it is simply that no one seems to care enough to ask her things. Three years she has been with the eagles. Three years, and the one who sought more then her claws has been gone for two of them. She has had less conversations with the Alpha she idolizes then she has fingers, and the last of which involved her being beat down, rather then listened too. So she is careful. She is closed. She is contained. (….bitter….)
It is what her life has become – there is little wonder that it is disconcerting to have someone ask questions of her, and she is unsure of the motives, still.
But she answers, none-the-less. He does, after all, outrank her. -[ Kinfolk. She took on the care and teaching of her daughter’s shame. ]-
[Evan McCollach]
‘Daughter’s shame’ that statement seemed to strike him at the moment. Not that she cared for her grandaughter, or me, or even a metis. He thought about saying something but he didn’t think about correcting her. Maybe its that his father’s tribe thought the same, Fernir had thought similarly about Metis. Even in his challenge the idea of killing a metis in Fernir septs was not unheard of.
“Did she care for other Metis as well? Or just yourself?”
[AnneMarie Hoch]
If it were not that she holds herself so straight, so tall, so defiantly – as if she had the blood of kings within her veins instead of that of thieves and whores, he might see the stiffening of her spine, he might note how the questions set her on edge, raise her suspicions. But he cannot see that, because of who she is, and how she holds herself always.
There are methods to her madness.
-[ Just the one she felt responsible for, since she considered herself to have failed to teach her daughter properly. ]-
[Evan McCollach]
It was nigh impossible to see her straighten her spine at such a discussion. There was no true way to pick at the intonation in her voice, because she didn’t have one. But there were other points, the method they shared along the totemlink connected them to each other. Maybe it registered along that link, maybe he just ignored it.
“Well its a good thing she did, feel responisble for you. Who knows what would have happened without you being around Chicago.”
He was probably letting her off the hook, letting her history stay a blank slate for some time. Getting to know her slowly is a good thing.
“I wonder if Decker or Maya has more questions for you too.”
He would have smirked for a second, if not for the presence of AM right there.
[AnneMarie Hoch]
She snaps her gaze toward him, eyes flashing, jaw tightening. There is letting her off the hook. There is making fun. She is well versed in the second. The look is brief, and she turns to watch where she walks again, as she bites back the sudden surge of ire, of irritation, of rage. It is clear that this feels very much the second.
A breath, then. Even, slow. And only then a reply – and this time it dos not come across the Totemphone. This time she removes the board from her pocket, and writes while she walks. Then she simply hands it to him and returns her hands to her pocket.
–If Silence wished to know anything, he would have asked before now. He knows what he deems important. He calls, I answer. —
Duty is everything. Duty is the only thing. It is all she has.
As for Maya, she would not know. She has seen the woman only in passing, but she would respond to her call as she would any of the Eagles. They have need of her claws, she is there.
[Evan McCollach]
He sees her reaction, he was able to catch such things in those small instances. He was trained to, he had to do it. It was apart of what made any philodox something more. He could see that she did not believe his concern was genuine. A lifetime of such would not be changed in one moment.
“Maybe it is the fact that Decker already knows how you feel about your past. Then again I can’t speak for how Decker thinks. But he does not only think of you as claws and teeth only.”
[AnneMarie Hoch]
There’s a huff of breath from her nostrils, a snort if there were any sound behind it. There’s not, of course. There never has been, never will be. Instead, she stops, and grabs the board back. The writing is fast, but no less neat then before.
— ‘And that you would think so, after less then a year as Eagle, does nothing but prove you are overly optimistic, or that you have discussed this with him, discussed ME with him behind my back. That is your right, of course, as I am only a cub. It also means that if he would say that to you, rather then show it to me, only proves my point more completely then anything else could. I am what I was trained to be. A very fine guard dog.–
And clearly one that has chaffed under her chains yet strives to reclaim her stance, her equilibrium of those first months. She is failing in that task – and that bothers her more then anything else. It is emotion that is in her eyes then, a fury and a hurt that she hides very quickly – the only way she can for the moment. She hands him the board, and walks away at a speed that does not invite company.
[Evan McCollach]
He looks down to the board after her hasty writing. She was quick to respond and even quicker with the marker. And probably a hell of a lot neater than he was. He reads the words quickly as she starts to pace away from him. A speed that he would have a hard time matching. But as he looks down at the board, he shakes his head at the final words. Thinking privately, about how harsh he was on himself, and still he would never hold a candle to her.
His tone does not raise higher than he had used before, but she would hear him if she so desired to.
“Do you hold yourself in such little regard?”
It was her choice if she would respond.
[AnneMarie Hoch]
It was not her choice. She has none. She is, after all, a cub who dared walk away from a Fostern. Despite what she wishes, despite the fact that she wants nothing more then to leave, she stops. Duty above all. Loyalty. Respect of rank. Wisdom. Honor. All things she has always prided herself in, some things which have been stripped from her in crimson washed images of the others. She stops.
She does not face him though. That would be too much. Instead, her gaze is on the distance, some speck that would hold her attention, her focus, create the solidarity and steadiness needed to regain control. -[ “I am what the Nation has asked me to be, has decreed that I am worthy of. A mule, lucky to have been allowed life, yet unworthy to have the same outside of the war she is trained to fight, unable to have the things other’s take for granted. Unworthy. A stain on the sanctity of the Nation’s True born. I am my mother’s shame, sin and murderer, my grandmother’s chore and duty.
I am Rihuger. Anything else is unimportant, is immaterial, is non-existent. Even the spirits have declared me unfit for that which I strove so hard to achieve. Fenrir himself must feel shame in this daughter. All I can do is try to appease the unappeasable.” ]-
There’s a slight smirk. Then a shake of her head. -[ I was taught at the hands of our Alpha that I held myself in too high a regard, that I have too much pride. You would call him a liar? ]- A pause, in her thought. She will only remember later that this was said over totemphone, and disappear from the kinhouse in shame that she allowed such thoughts to be overheard. But now, she just turns to look back at him for a single moment, a single solitary moment, before her gaze drops and she turns her head away. -[ It matters not how i consider myself, Evan. It is the eyes of the nation, of Fenrir, of the Spirits and Silence that dictate what I am. ]-
[Evan McCollach]
Evan walked towards AnneMarie as she stopped, her eyes facing forward as she could not look at him now. It was her duty, loyalty, honor that held her there and that made this even stranger as he moved closer. His mind trying to reach back and remember what it was that was said. What he said, what was said to him.
Hold on AM
He figured she would stop once again, wait for him to come to her. She had done it once before. Maybe she would do it again. He would only walk towards her, his eyes not looking to meet her own. He would not force that on her.
“You and I are dangerously similar, whether you believe me nor not.”
He handed the board over to her, should she be willing to take it and he continued to speak. Trying to pull back the conversation he and Decker shared before.
“Now this is an oddly familar situation. I have heard this conversation before. Well not so much from this side of it. In fact I stood where you were standing, Decker in my position right now. It came after one of my… states. I barely was out of my depression when I spoke with him, told him how I was a stain on my family line. A shame to my father, a burden to my mentor. That I was worthless in the eyes of the spirits because I could not be accepted under falcons own. Switch out Fernir and your added mule comments and it is almost identical.”
He looked down, his eyes searching for something on the ground.
“What was it that Decker told me. Oh yes.”
He turned and looked at her again, his eyes far from those piercing grey storms that Decker’s were. But the words were still the same.
“Little bit ungrateful to Fernir. Do you think that Fernir would have accepted someone who was a worthless dog? To spit on the the gift that was bestowed to you. Do you think that Eagle care that you are a mule, no. You have proven yourself. Moreso than I have. You have done more than most of the Sept of Malestrom and your going to bemoan about how rotten your life is. It doesn’t matter how others view you, only how you view yourself.”
His eyes left her and back to the horizon, looking out into the darkness of the green once more.
“Well Decker made it sound better. But do not think Decker and I are of one opinion. Pride arises from self-esteem of which you have told me you have little. You are stubborn and some may mistake that for pride.”
[AnneMarie Hoch]
She shakes her head, slightly, a sharp movement. There’s a frustrated huff of breath through her nostrils, her lips in a fine line. She takes the board back, and tries to find words that would make him understand.
Finally, she writes. –No. It is not the same. Tell me Evan, what does the law say about mules, who cannot further the line? Remember, Philodox, that you may have a mate, you may have a life outside of pack, outside of duty. I am not ungrateful to Fenrir, but my existence is not a gift. My existence is a barely tolerated result of a sin considered more detrimental to our society than anything else.
I was to have been killed at my birth. The dagger was silver, and waiting in the hand of the Theurge there to ensure my death. the only reason I am here at all is because my deformity – also thought pointless, worthless, and not enough punishment for the sin of my existence – made my birth silent, and I was thought already dead. When the mistake was finally noticed, it was too late, the one charged with my death had gone, and my grandmother chose to raise her daughter’s murderer to have only duty. Even the spirits chose THAT to show me when they plucked out the root of my shame, and took my tongue. They show me nothing else but that my very existence is to be regretted.
Eagle recognizes might. I have that. Strength. I have that. Glory. I have killed enough to have earned that. Respect, honor, wisdom. These I have gained, and had stripped again. I can only go back to what I know. Even Silence said with the back of his hand, that how I see myself is immaterial. He tells you different, Evan, for you are the Trueborn of the nation. I am but the waste of the same. You are of a tribe that accepts their mules. Fenrir do not. I am tired of fighting for what one would give any equal. The Nation has spoken, the Spirits have spoken, and so has Silence.–
[AnneMarie Hoch]
added before she gives it over, at last minute. –I do not bemoan how rotten my life is. I never have. It is only as it should be. You should take more pride in yours. Some of us want nothing more then to have the same freedom.–
[Evan McCollach]
“I told you of my challenge haen’t I? No. Well do you know I was a second from failure, only my last decree was my saving grace. It was about judgement on a Metis. A Fernir Metis. I counciled to spare the child’s life. It is that council that had given me my Fostern rank.”
He thinks for a moment and shakes his head. There was a change, his voice did not ring out in the air as it had been. This was more to the fact given through teh link they shared.
“I do not believe that I will make you think of yourself as equal, nor do I believe I have enough time alive to ever change that fact. If you wish to think that you can strive to nothing more than what you are given by the Nation, the Spirits and Silence than so be it. Wallow in the misery of being second-class.
[AnneMarie Hoch]
Perhaps he might have made her pause, made her think. Until the last. Those words are the words that make her regret trying, regret opening as much as she had. It’s almost visible, the way she shuts down, the way the shields are drawn tight, fastened and bolted in place again. Her spine straightens, her chin lifts, the expression bleeds from her face until it is neutral, until there is nothing but the cool impassivity that she is known for.
There are many things she would like to say. Perhaps things that would hurt, that would slice, that would cut to the quick. But she is second class – and for a mule, there is no possibility to raise above that. He has put her again into her place. It chaffs, but she accepts it, as it is no more then deserved.
She slides the whiteboard across her thigh, cleaning the words from it, and slides it again into her pocket. If he believes the next words do not pain her, then it merely furthers her point, her opinion. -[ If you’ll excuse me… -rhya. I have patrols to tend too. Enjoy your evening. ]-
And with that she turns on a heel, and walks away.
[Evan McCollach]
There is a second when he thinks he is getting to AM, that he is actually convincing her that she is no second class citizen. And then in that one moment, she seems completely shut off once again. Locked away in her own little world once more. He sees it as she starts to starten up once more, locking him out again.
And then she hands him the whiteboard and he reads it, reading those words. And he cant help but think he has screwed up in some way. Handing it bakc to her he shakes his head.
“Okay”
He was so close, so close this time.
[AnneMarie Hoch]
(actually she said it over totemphone. To clarify. *g* but s’all good)
[AnneMarie Hoch]
She does not even hear him, truth be told. She is already several steps away, she is already hoping for something to fight, she is already trying to regain her equalibrium. This time, however, her path changes, and brings her as close to the boundary that borders the sept as she dares.
There, she climbs to the highest point, traversing fire escapes that are rotten and rusted and pulling away from the side of the building. Once rooftop access has been gained she settles to a crouch, with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her gaze is locked on nothing, realmside, and she would not go umbral here. Those who know would realizes where her gaze is trained if they thought about it. It is not the sept that she misses, nor the ever spinning water that is Maelstrom.
It is simply where she had sacrificed the one thing she’d held most dear when she returned to Chicago. The last thing she had of her. It has been over a year now, closer to two. There have been many losses in her life, but none that cut as deep as this one, the loss of a woman who understood her, who understood the society they were born too, who was as strong as any trueborn, and stubborn enough to earn complete trust with the internal turmoil that is the silent Modi. And it is here, with eyes trained against some invisible spot in the night sky that she will remain until the city begins to stir around her, and mourn.
Only once the day has broken over the horizon will she return to the packhouse, to tend to Sniper, to shower, to sleep, to change, and to disappear into the city streets once again. The more things change…