[AnneMarie Hoch] Slender fingers wrap around the neck of a beer when it is offered, but a shake of her head declines any food. The beer itself is an acceptance of hospitality, not for want of actual thirst. But there are things that must be adhered too, unspoken rules her Grandmother instilled in her.
She slips from her coat and folds it over the arm of the couch, before she takes a seat, a slender leg crossing over the other, fingers smoothing along the crease in her slacks, easing away any wrinkles. She places the whiteboard and pen against her thigh, and waits.
[Princess] Princess sits on the stones in front of the fireplace. They’re raised up, and cool even through her clothes; she still has her guitar, and she tunes it without paying her fingers attention. No, all of her grave, serious attention is for AnneMarie. “I’ve got one more question, before I tell you some of his life stories. You say you only know his folly. His follies. What folly, Ruhiger-yuf? Tell me, so that I will know what I’m speaking around.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] The answer is simple and complex all at once, but she writes it simply. ~He continually challenged Silence and the Eagles, yet expected we would simply let it go. He refused to give up the bone during the Cracking where all have equal footing to speak. He sought to control that which was not his to control. He was weak, and a coward when it finally came down to honoring his words. And in the end, that folly killed him.~
[Princess] She is steady. She is as steady as the knife which is in her name, which should divide flame from flame, neither one or the other greater in portion than the other. She is steady, not emotionless; there is something complicated behind the way she looks at AnneMarie. But leave it. Doesn’t matter.
She says: “He was [twenty-something; Jess lost the transcript]. He was born in Egypt. Not the city, but the desert, and there is a great difference between the Egyptian city and the Egyptian desert. They are only the same in that they are both full of sand, and they are both full of poisonous creatures. His mother was a good kin; she died for her son. He was raised by his tribe.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] She meets that gaze steadily, unflinching in the face of such complication, and accepting of the eventual choice to leave it. And when Princess begins to speak, she listens. There are no notes taken, there is simply great attention to the details that Princess gives.
[Princess] Then, this next part, is a song; it’s very bare bones, almost a lullaby, a rhythmic chant. Wants music, wants another voice; but there is no other voice. This is all very plain.
“The shadow lords
raised him up
and when he fell
he raised himself up
and though he fell
raise him up.
He beat himself
into shape.
He took the shape
of the desert.
Harsh, implaccable;
without pity.”
Her own opinions don’t matter, here, and she isn’t likely to criticize her ex-alpha to the monster that killed him. Her eyes half-close, contemplative; still, she is steady. Finally pulls something dark from the guitar, throws it like the juggle of Spanish knife-throwers; winds it into a Middle Eastern scale.
“And when he was tempered,
And his human body was steel,
When his blood was hot,
And his body was scarred,
They beat him.
They beat him to death.
They stripped him of skin;
They tore him apart;
Rather than die, he changed.
Rather than die, he Changed.”
Then, stop the song, for plain (so very) speech: “In his old Sept, he mediated justice. But for the Agony Thane, justice wasn’t about fair. Justice was about right. You have heard him speak; seen how immovable he is. Sometimes, that was one of his greatest virtues.” And sometimes… “I wantcha to interrupt me, Ruhiger-yuf, when you’ve got something to say.”
Then she turns the guitar over, taps out a sharp tattoo.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She listens, and lets the young fianna spin her song. There is no move to inturrupt. There is nothing she has to add. Princess is steady, and has formed this song on what she knows – which is more then AnneMarie does of the Agony~Thane’s background. She will form her own opinions later.
For now, she listens – and remains as always. Silent.
[Princess] This is what happened, Princess says, when this person transgressed; this is how he fought, tooth and claw, a creature of massive proportions, all poisonous wyrm-corroded scales, all stingers, all needles, and this is how he stood in front of his grand elder, still wounded, to present the prize. The rest of his pack didn’t stand. But he did. That’s how he leapt from cub to cliath. Standing.
This, Princess says, is another instance of. Then, more solemn – and it’s strange, how she skims from the conversational to the formal. This? This is formal. A formal statement.
“He was stronger than
The rivalries between tribes.
His purpose, cut the truth
from the diseased,
the black from the white,
was stronger than rivalry.
He raged in the desert and wracked
wyrmfoes bloody and ulalalaylalu
in his time rose up to Fostern with this:”
This next has no music. But there is force behind each word. This next is from a tradition the Fenrir should appreciate, after all; Germanic, Old English. Languages suitable for harsh things said and done.
“He came from a sept: shadow lord strong.
And when a shadow lord fought and forgot
Not to fuck and felled the silver fang
woman of Falcon’s Guided Claw he judged
justice for both judged in the shape of:
Feral Whisper, shadow lord, send your sister
to fill the place of the silver fang’s loss.
When the silver fang smiled, the great griefless guest,
The agony thane saw, and judged justice JUSTLY:
For fighting and frenzy without circle of challenge
and challenging, cliath, with no judge,
though this is judged rightly: you’re robbed,
you’ve also wronged, so whine
like the jackal you are.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] The forms change, flow from one into another, and still she listens, absorbs. There are things that must be suffered through in order to complete a punishment, and this perhaps is one of them. The Fianna are story tellers by blood, and she, perhaps, has little patience for them. But tonight, with the moon full and heavy and thrumming behind her veins, she is Ruhiger. Calm. steady.
Attentive.
[Princess] “He – ”
and, Princess’s gaze goes distant. Turns inward. This next is word for word for word for word. His story of a strong pack, his judgment on that pack’s alpha, his act of “mercy”, killing her when she was wyrm-tainted, killing her when she’d killed her entire pack, and was too weak to take her own life. Don’t suffer your own.
But she sounds just like Baaku. All his Import. All of Letters of Very Important Ennunciation.
[AnneMarie Hoch] Her chin lifts, perhaps, in the face of this uncanny Baaku impersonation. Other then that, she continues to listen, in perfect stillness. It must be unusual to have an audience so quiet, so reserved, without sound or expressive countenance to give hint of the thought inside.
[Princess] Serious-eyed, Princess pauses; takes a sip of water. Then: “You remember last (blank, ‘cuz the player doesn’t know; October? November?). This is the story of the ambush the Agony Thane planned: this is the story of his willingness to lead: this is the story of those who were willing to follow.”
Ensue story of black spiral pack, warehouse, Danny being bad-ass, the Agony Thane performing a rite – thunder’s child that he is – which would keep the black spirals from going into the umbra and surprising those who hoped to surprise them, told with typical Fianna embellishment — except, well. Princess isn’t a galliard. She loves stories. Does not care if she’s in the presence of those who say words shouldn’t be wasted. Words should be used, in her opinion (always judiciously!), so she uses them. But — simplicity is the key word, here.
Then, again, in imitation of the man himself: “Renown is what We have for Each Other. Duty’s what We Have for Gaia.”
[AnneMarie Hoch] The slightest nod to answer the question, that she remembers.
Then, silence. And perhaps the barest smirk for the mimicry of the man himself. But it fades. It always does.
[Princess] “That’s all, Ruhiger-yuf,” she says, quietly. Those aren’t all of his deeds, of course; and she leaves out the story of his death. But Ruhiger will tell that her way, won’t she? “For more, talk to Evan; don’t wait for him to lick his wounds. Boy should be able to talk even if he’s missing his tongue.” Oh, she knows that Evan (probably) isn’t lying somewhere, a mass of unhealed teeth and claw marks. (Probably). But hey: the metaphor was meant to be abused.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She nods then, a simple movement, before finally putting pen to board. ~Thank you for your willingness to speak to me of Agony-Thane. Good evening, Thaney.~
And with that, she stands, slips her coat back on, rolling her shoulders to settle it into place. She takes back the board, swipes it clean and slips it into her pocket. Then, with the given beer in hand, she turns toward the door, to take her leave.
[Princess] “Take care.” That’s how she bids the Get farewell. “I’ll get you a cab.” Because, when all is said and done, she doesn’t want AnneMarie in her territory for longer than necessary; besides, it’s a bit of a walk. And unless AnneMarie is adamant, the same ghost cab will pull up in front of the apartment/condo not ten minutes later — willing to take her where ever she wants to go.
[AnneMarie Hoch] She is that. Adamant, that is, and leaves without the offered cab. She is no stranger to walking, and distance means nothing to one such as her.
And she does not remain in the territory of the remaining Hounds longer then necessary.
[Princess] ( flee! )