godless woman

There was only so much time remaining before the set trails, before it would be made known to all if she were worthy enough to join the ranks of the exalted. Or rather that was something she needed to prove to others for within her eyes this was her destiny. It was always meant to be, it is what she had trained for before being abruptly thrown at the mercy of the wolves - those within the college, hardly the place she ever expected herself to be. She was meant to walk in the footsteps of those before her, honor family tradition. Not… that.

All of it done to keep her from the rage of war, at least that is what one claimed. Such decisions still grating upon the mind and bringing nostrils to flare in building anger whenever it may cross her mind. Did they think her weak? Unfit for battle? Questions she could not help but to ask herself no matter a late mother’s claims. It was for the sake of safety. To prevent both Lyra and herself from succumbing to an untimely fate. Keep them from far from the barbarity of a false king’s opposition and yet Bastille cannot help but to cling to what may have lain beneath such vocalizations.

Lingering upon possibilities only painted a sneer further across her visage. Maybe if she had been there she could have helped, offered some manner of redirection to the brute that had ended Nassar’s life… if nothing else she would at least know what the beast looked like. Such details carefully kept from her despite how she knew others within the family must carry such information. Her mother was not alone on that battlefield. Someone had seen.

What she would do with such knowledge however was beyond her. To seek such a fiend out may only spell her own demise if she continued to be so woefully unprepared, if she did not have support. Swirling thoughts drew a harshened sigh from her lungs. Each rising notion drawing her further inward as she hardly paid any mind to just where paces tread.

she has little innocent demons inside her eyes—

She was growing restless again, bored and disgusted alongside that feeling. It was a reminder that she was eager to leave these barracks for the last time rather than return time and time again. Since the end of the war, there was an influx of new recruits and cadets, some eager and some shaking with every bone in their body- a slight distraction but reminder of what was endured for months: casualties of war. Noone of importance to her was lost, though she considered her father's injuries too close for comfort. Kenzo was a war machine in and of himself, a force to be reckoned with- even if he was dragged off to endure gods know what in the confines of a Jacobite dungeon. Asher performed best lurking within shadows, but was just as effective on the battlefield. Adeline was even left merely unscathed. And yet they all settled back into their places here with ease, whereas Ryker was merely lingering, waiting for atleast her father to make the decision to retire.

For now, however, she was still expected to perform and perform well- these trials for the new recruits would be a true test of her abilities all around. She was keeping tabs on individuals- the most promising, most able. Lenora was on that list of tabs, if only to keep tabs on what she was doing, when she was doing it, and who she was doing it with. Trust would likely never form between them- atleast not in the blood aspect. The story was different if spoken from the perspective of a captain and one of her better performing cadets. Lenora took every beating Ryker sent her way, jumped through every hoop and endured every verbal assault she could hurdle at the Cadet. She would never tell the girl directly, not in a way that would mean anything more than the recognition that would be granted to her should she pass the trials. And the trials- that would be a thought better left for another time, perhaps when she didn't find herself staring at a familiar face after just colliding with the said familiar face.

Their bodies didn't crash and fall to the ground beneath them, but the collision itself pulled Ryker from her thoughts abruptly and left the Captain with lips that were bow curled and twisted just so at the edge of her mouth with brows furrowed. There was a sharp perfume that was Inhaled just before she shook her obsidian cloak and only raised her neck and crown, waiting for the offender to take a few steps back, if they chose the wiser choice in this situation. Amethysts would zero in on the face once more, chasing after traces of sun blazing yellow that pooled in the girl's orbs. Pelt that of sand and dirt- much like the pits that were just a few strides from the two of them in every direction. "Cadet Tiamat- " she instantly began, cooly and far calmer than she imagined herself being in the moment. Bastille was a favorite- yet another tidbit Ryker never let anyone in on, and made sure by never showing it. There were rumors of this one, rumors and whispers of all sorts that easily spread through such a large functioning unit that is the army. One of those rumors would entail the story of this Cadet before her: once expected to shove her face into tomes and such at the school, and was now shoving others faces into the dirt. Defiance from a woman was a beautiful sight to behold in Ryker's eyes- she herself was well versed in doing what she wanted. "Im assuming this isnt a pre-show of what we have to look forward to come time for your trials, Cadet. " Ryker had already pulled herself back a stride, giving the two of them space between one another. She waits for an answer from the Cadet, hoping-praying- she doesn't spew a stuttering salute or apology-at first.


"the venom"

—and they recklessly play with matches

code // art

It seemed as if nothing could calm rampant thoughts as they flooded her mind. Those which swirled of a vengeance she could not take, of one perhaps a mother would not wish for her to chase after. But what did she care now? Such a woman was dead and gone, resentment still a festering plague within Bastille’s breast over the final encounter held long before the price of war stole her away. A mother hardly known lain to rest before the lash of her daughter’s tongue could fully give way to all which brewed beneath the surface. Why did she think so little of her? Think that schoolwork of all things was a path a wildfire would willingly tread? It was so boring! Oh how she hated it all, that was far from her purpose - there was nothing to gain from it.

Studies of medicine and law, of languages she cared little for - nothing could compare to the exhilaration of sinking fangs into a willing opponent. Of studying the motions of another to better perfect her own form… there had only been so much she could do alone within the college walls and so few there seemed to appreciate the art of combat. The great majority shying away from shows of violence… their unwillingness only setting her further back from other trainees within the force. Important lessons went untaught and in their place lay books. Just the thought of it brought her to huff. She would find a place in the army, despite a fallen woman’s desires - Bastille would excel in the dance of battle.

Though all thought of such things were swiftly cast to the wayside as a figure collided with her own, a force which drew a snarl from deep in her chest. A crown whirling toward a wolf of shadows upon the snapping click of a tongue, “Watch it!” Venom reflected in eyes which blazed like fire, those which bore into the increasingly familiar face that stood before her now. Ryker Verlice. A captain. Such a rank she would love nothing more than to take at her side… before passing her by entirely in a reach for something more. An ambition she had already shown in the spars taken part in within the barracks, however, she’d found a great majority of her training occurred outside the eyes of many.

Not that it mattered. The man had taught her more tricks than she could have obtained on her own and with those lessons on top of what she witnessed here… there would be no stopping her on a path to success. And yet to that askance her breath huffed lightly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as instead they fixed upon glimmering amethyst. “Of course not Captain Verlice, there you will only see the glint of my fangs,” and with it the blood of whoever her unfortunate partner may be for such an event. Even if it was Lenora - or any other known for that matter - she would not hold back in a test of wit or strength. Yet then a wicked thought crossed her mind, bid dark lips to stretch into a smile, “’Less of course you’re askin’ for a preview?” Then she could see for herself, witness acts committed up close and personal.