A Fall of Disgrace

To think, that something that had started out so very well, would end with such… dissatisfying results. It was a bold, radical choice, what he had done, but then again, what did any of them understand about the meaning of risk? Did they not see what was required of the Army? No, they cared all about appearances, appeasement, turning a blind eye to the true problems with their very existence, all their shortcomings. Funny… with all this posturing and pretending, Falltore sometimes felt that he was a member of the court, rather than a Lieutenant Major in the Imperial Army. All this talk of the border situation loosening up, a relentless preaching about a “return to normal”. How does one return to normal, with all that had happened? How does one even think that any of this can be forgotten or let go, that there would ever be any solution to the matter of rebellion, beyond the necessary? They didn’t want soldiers, they didn’t want to fight, all that because they were afraid to win at a cost. So they chose to lose at none. If the resulting aftermath of his proof of concept was any indication to how ridiculous and cowardly the army had become, then what was?

All Falltore had done, was take matters of training into his own hands. He at least had had the nerve to question the inabilities of junior officers to properly train and prepare recruits for the reality of warfare, for the realities of the Crown’s enemies. They attempted to almost inspire a misplaced sympathy in the rebels, and insisted that the cute, rudimentary way of training, of refusing to push any boundaries whatsoever, was the only way forward. They refused to push and to mold, and were left without an answer when their precious forces fell at the hands of peasants, farmers, and the like. It was because they insisted on outdated assumptions ideas about war, when so many had hardly seen or accepted how brutal it was. Falltore’s trials had been an unpopular attempt to correct it… met with derision and disapproval at every turn. There were calls for all of it to be abandoned, for Falltore even to be investigated for breaking the rules, though nothing came of it. All the while, he had not listened to the squeaking shrieks of the powerless and the incompetent. They mattered not. What mattered more was that he would take these recruits, and make them so much more than what any lowly Lieutenant would have.

At least… until it all fell apart. The first trial had gone smoothly, and had ruffled a few feathers. He had gotten some to play along, Yeddow the quartermaster for one, and Grimetthe the gatekeeper as well. He had deceived a few lesser officers—ones that he perhaps had had grudges against—into serving as formidable obstacles. He had given his recruits a challenge to sneak undetected to a target, and to the astonishment of everyone, they had succeeded, down to the last wolf. Sure, there was plenty of cleanup to handle, ruffled feathers to soothe… even then, egos had been far too bruised for the success to keep on going. One of the officers, well-connected through nepotism no doubt, had urged that the trials be shut down, that Falltore be demoted for his actions. There was pressure from all angles, but Falltore still persisted. He didn’t care what they said, what they believed, because to the wolf they were all wrong.

The second trial, alas, proved to almost be his undoing. By the time it was to begin, one of his five recruits had dropped out, saying not a word. She was pathetic, he thought to himself, nothing lost as far as he was concerned. He sent four wolves to handle a certain predatory threat at a local community… but from there things went awry. The beast proved far too difficult for the four of them, even though he knew that had they listened to his briefing they would have had everything they needed. Apparently, tracking a beast was not in their skillset, and by the time they had gotten their act together, the lynx had killed two of their companion animals, Jock’s and Otto’s, and had gotten themselves trapped on that hillslope. Day after day, their absence went by unnoticed, unabated, and wolves began to question Falltore’s decision to allow these young wolves to fight such a threat. Calls for an end to the trials only grew louder. Still, he refused.

It was only after six days of waiting when the party returned, disheveled, starved, broken. Only now, there were three of them. Their companion animals were the first to go, used as food to survive, not something entirely unexpected in situations of dire consequence. But it was the answer to the single question Falltore had asked them that caused all of it to break apart. “What happened to Otto?” There was no answer at first, a silence that spoke volumes to their failures. And then, Oleander broke, professing his crime for all to hear. By that point he had had no choice but to call it all off. Word had spread quickly about what had happened, what Oleander had done to Otto. It wasn’t long before investigations were opened, into both him, as well as the poor lad. It wasn’t about justice, but about covering the Army’s ass. Nobody cared about Otto, that petulant, unlikeable sod. But to them, he was a martyr now, a wolf that seemed to justify their careless, cowardly way of life. It was because of Otto’s death that Falltore was prohibited from ever trying such a stunt again, lest he lose his title. For him, he got off rather light, compared to poor Oleander.

So here he was, stripped of his usual responsibilities, punished by having his days filled with ascertaining latrine locations, food requirements, none of the essential functions befitting his rank. He had lost the trust of many above him, as well as below him, and now he spent his days bubbling the rage of how his affair had gone over. He was dissatisfied with what he had been reduced to now, a mere clerk of an officer… albeit temporarily. But he regretted not one moment or decision of it. As he sat there in his office, his patience waning with every bird’s call outside his office, a gruff voice he recognized as one of his few loyal subordinates called out to him. “He’s here,” the wolf said, and at once, Falltore knew who it was. After all… they had much to discuss. “Send him in,” came the reply from the officer.

Oleander Elric

He'd been summoned. Specifically, Lieutenant-Major Falltore, the mastermind behind the new recruit trials, had sent for him. Time continued to move as swiftly as it did sluggishly for Oleander as of late. He was pulled this way and that by upper ranking officers, interrogated until he no longer had lucidity to answer. After all, he had not been sleeping or really eating for that matter. How could anyone take care of themselves after killing someone?

Oleander was beginning to believe that his life, in its entirety, was nothing, but a cruel joke. It continued to have laugh after laugh and he was the brunt of every fault. Now, it seemed he would be facing it once again as he made his way through the long corridors of the Barracks until it brought him to the office of the Lieutenant-Major. When permitted entry, he stepped into the room, centering himself before the commanding officer, staring straight ahead with a hollow expression in his face. “You sent f-for me, Sir?" He asked in a monotone voice, already numbing himself to whatever was going to be thrown in his direction.

@Falltore

enie

Oh… that stare. How he knew it when he saw it, a wolf who truly believed he was at his wit’s end. There was a tinge of genuine tragedy to it, a look that was almost convincing. It was as if one were looking at a wolf, seeing their father, their mother, their lover, and the resemblance of them was there in every conceivable way. And yet… there was that one indescribable quality that they possessed that left a wolf with the reality that it was not who they thought they saw. Falltore had no doubt that there was truth to that look on Oleander’s visage, one he conveyed without so much as a single word. And yet… was any of it truly such a terrible thing? They were different wolves in that regard, a heart without softness or weakness as he believed as he was. But in time, one’s first kill fades into the background, buried in the heap of everything else that comes along. Oleander might not ever forget what he had done, nor forgive himself… but in time, there would be other things he would do that would take the place of this distraction of his.

“Leave us,” Falltore asked to his attendants, who quite quickly left the room at his urging. Just the two of them… it was a prize that Oleander would have been afforded at the end of the trial, if it had gotten to it. And now, he was here, the object of scorn and ridicule, rather than the broken toy he was. The officer was not entirely oblivious to what had happened to the poor lad, being put into a situation he was ill equipped to handle. Official inquiries, a scheduled court martial, accusations, rumors, whispers… suddenly the boy found that he had no one, nothing. Not even a companion animal, as far as he knew. Aside from his bird, that is. But now, everyone knew who Oleander was, at least so they believed. They saw what they wanted to see of him, a murderer, a killer, perhaps even a traitor. Look at how weird he acts, they surely whispered amongst themselves, surely it’s a matter of guilt. Some might distort the truth in ways that made a monster of the wolf… when what he had done had done nothing but break his spirit.

Falltore, alas, had worked with far, far less. A warm, inviting smile danced about his maw, as he looked at the cowering mite before him. “Please,” the soldier said softly, “sit, and make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to eat?” Oh, the useless perks of being an officer. Few would turn down the prizes that came with power, especially those in lowly places who were unaccustomed to the finer things in life. At least, as it so seemed in relativity. For a moment, Falltore seemed to be almost genuine in his offer, as if he were here to console away the young wolf’s pain by the gesture alone. Of course… they had much to discuss in the way of their unfortunate mutual business. He only pray that the young wolf didn’t fall apart before it got to that point. “After all,” the soldier went on, a sarcastic air about his words, “it’s not often I get to dine with the likes of one as famous as you are.”

Oleander Elric

The attendants were dismissed and Oleander remained where he was, standing rigid and awaiting whatever was to come next. He prepared himself to harden as though he were born a gargoyle rather than a wolf. Envisioning this typically helped him through any yelling the commanding officers would do in his face, complete with a misting of spittle across his muzzle. He was absolutely ready for it. What he was not prepared for was the warm smile the Lieutenant-Major offered him.

The man invited him to sit and make himself comfortable. Oleander remained rooted to the spot, convinced that this was likely one of his tests. He was asked if he wanted something to eat. Oh, yes! “No, th-thank you, Sir." He declined, despite his mind wishing that he had greedily consumed everything he was offered. In a rather sarcastic tone, Falltore alluded to him being famous. Brows slowly furrowed on an otherwise expressionless face, waiting a moment or two before responding, “I d-do not w-wish t-to be f-famous, Sir."

@Falltore

enie

Stuck at attention like the tin soldier he so desperately wanted to be, everything seemed amusing about Oleander’s appearance and behaviors. At least, as far as Falltore was concerned. Sure, he acted as he did, the proper courtesies and traditions befitting his position, as well as the young lad’s, and he seemed unwilling to subject himself to accepting Falltore’s act of kindness. He spoke respectfully, his words monotone, simple, befitting the repetitive hell he had lived out with various and opportunistic commanders, day after day. But there was no hiding how weary he looked, worn down… or perhaps shut down to the outside world that hated him for what he had done. Sometimes it was hard for even the Lieutenant Major to tell. For a moment, Falltore wondered what he wished to do with Oleander then and there. He was in an unusually good mood, all things considered. Sure, they had their business to go over… but why not have a bit of fun?

“A shame, then,” Falltore said, as he turned around to take his choice of a succulent rabbit leg, brought fresh to him today. The juicy, tender snack went down easily, Falltore striping the bone clean, and chewing his meal slowly, as if to subtly tease Oleander on his poor decision. “Yeddow was quite generous with my portions today, you know,” he said, “I suppose he has a fondness for me. That… or they must assume I enjoy the frivolities of my position.” In truth, a part of Falltore despised himself for enjoying having his meals brought to him, being pampered as he was. He desired never to grow used to it, the way the others did. And yet… his old ways of socializing and appearing hospitable had never truly left him, even with all that had been taken from him. Perhaps a change of pace to his personality might be a rather unnerving thing for the cadet to process, and to see how Oleander might navigate the unfamiliar was better than any entertainment he could ever stomach to seek out.

In response to Falltore’s subtle jab at Oleander’s current status as a member of the Army, it appears that the wolf was remorseful for his current position, that he did not wish to be famous. “Well, if that would be your wish,” Falltore said, as he continued to chew, “you should have thought harder on what would have come from killing one of your fellow recruits.” Falltore was not privy to the ongoing investigations, going off only what he had been told or whohad found out. It seems that most in official circles classified it as an accident, though he had heard conflicting things about it. Some said it was hardly an accident, that Oleander had been pushed to his breaking point and snapped. Some said that Otto wasn’t even pushed, that the wound patterns were inconsistent from what the official narrative was… that Oleander wasn’t telling the entire truth to his crime. These rumors were hardly believed by any who had the power to decide on the lad’s punishment… but that did not mean that they were static either.

Having finished his rabbit’s leg, and having deposited the bone back on the tray, next to the other three unspoiled rabbit’s legs that remained, the scarred soldier turned back to the recruit. This time, he had a rabbit’s leg in his maw, and with grace, threw it towards Oleander. “I asked if you would like to eat before,” Falltore said, “consider it a direct order now, Oleander.” Even if he had said his words in jest, Falltore spoke almost sternly, as if serious. Who was Oleander to tell the difference, of course? “After all… I think we both know that all these investigations into you… they must feel quite invasive, don’t they,” Falltore said, as he took up another rabbit’s leg for himself, “how many of them have come to ask you about your incident? Five? Seven?”

Oleander Elric

The response from the commanding officer as he denied his fame gripped at his insides as though it would strangle the life from them. And in a tone as nonchalant as though "killing one of your fellow recruits" followed "wash the dishes" on a simple list of daily chores. Oleander continued to stare straight ahead at the rather smug Lieutenant-Major, except now the world around the frame of the older brute darkened, his vision tunneling.

The boy was perfectly present and yet he was infinitely far away now, watching the man rip the flesh from bone and consume the rabbit meat from a galaxy's distance. He could hardly feel the earth beneath his feet, his whole body having gone numb from simply trying to allow him to escape.

When Falltore turned back towards him, a rabbit leg flew from his maw, landing at his feet. He blinked down at it and then returned his gaze upward in confusion before the order was given. That was what he did now. Took orders without questions. Answered to the men that he'd allowed to slip a collar around his neck and proceed to choke him with it. Now more than ever did he resent them for not having tightened it enough to rend him lifeless. He did not deserve to be here. He should have died with his mother, and father, and sisters. These were the thoughts that went through his head as he lowered his head and obeyed, forcing the meat down after not having eaten properly in days.

The recruit was then asked yet another question that he did not want to answer, but would have to. Oleander lifted his head after swiping the last of the remains of rabbit from his lips with a swift lap of a tongue and stared through Falltore once again. “I d-don't know, Sir. I was not g-given the order to c-count the inquisitors, Sir."

@Falltore

enie

Falltore went silent as he allowed Oleander to consume the treat. Though no words were exchanged, he liked to think that it was the best thing the poor lad had tasted. Despite how some may have felt about Yeddow, there was certainly no secret as to the abhorrent qualities of Imperial Army food rations. Still, he could only suppose what thoughts Oleander was having about his rabbit leg. It was funny, though, how the hypocrisy played out. He could see, without question a look of pain on the younger wolf’s face as he ate, the thoughts that must have plagued him so. Did the stress of this unfortunate incident torture him so? Did he see it happen and play out before him, over and over? Did it make him sick? And yet… he shed no tears for the rabbit he ate. At the end of the day, the rabbit and the soldier are all the same. They are just meat to be separated from bone, and nothing more.

Of course, what surprised him was not the ironic conflict in Oleander’s position, but rather the remark he had retorted. If it were any other soldier, that would have been the end of it, then and there. He might soon rip out his tongue for that. But… there was nothing in Oleander’s shaky tone that would be to suggest that he was trying to be funny or sarcastic. He, perhaps, merely spoke as all broken things do. But that did not mean that Falltore would not have fun of his own in turn. “And is that what they expect out of you, Oleander,” the soldier said, stepping closer and closer, “do nothing except what they tell you? Don’t think for yourself? Oh… if only I had had the forethought to order you not to kill one of our own… perhaps this mess of yours would never have happened. What a thought!”

Of course, there was a reason behind the dagger that twisted inside Oleander’s proverbial guts, now. Falltore’s cruelties were always calculated, after all. Despite the almost sarcastic tone of the Lieutenant-Major, his eyes were boiled, feral to the core, almost as if deep down the mere existence of this issue enraged him, but the salves on his head kept it at bay. And yet, his tone was soft, mellow even, leaving one to wonder what it is that he truly felt. “Eight,” Falltore then exclaimed, turning away, “there have been eight official inquisitors who have bothered you. You’ll have a ninth tonight, I hear, and a tenth tomorrow, Oleander. And they all want the same thing out of you. I’m sure you have your whole story memorized by this point.” His own form of comedy, to be sure. Falltore couldn’t help but smirk at his comment, though he knew the gesture would not be returned.

And yet, he could not help but wonder why this pestered Oleander so. After all, Falltore had received the reports, had investigations conducted into his own affairs, all over some useless whelp who lost his life. Otto’s death was truly on Oleander, it was… but why should anybody care? Nobody would mourn Otto anyways, as frank as it was to say. “I take it that Otto was your first,” Falltore said, “they say you never forget your first. That it stays with you all your life. I personally do not believe that though… I am not sure who my first was anymore… but do you know why I’ve forgotten, Oleander?” He turned once more to face Oleander, his gaze just as intent. “Because I am a soldier, Oleander. Death will always be a part of who I am and what I do. And when I accepted that fact for myself… I realized that the cruelties of this world, and those around me that didn’t accept it for themselves… were all meaningless.”

There were perhaps a million other things that Oleander needed to be told at that time that would have been more comfortable to hear. It wasn’t his fault. That he had a good soul. That the circumstances of his upbringing should never tarnish himself. But those were the coddling teats offered to the weak and the insufferable. It perpetuated a lie that was difficult to stomach… and Falltore knew when a wolf deserved to have advice that was genuine. “But… I know that you struggle with what has happened,” Falltore said, perhaps more sympathetically, “speak your mind, Oleander, to me, about how you feel. I feel that I may perhaps be the only wolf here who has nothing to gain from your honesty.”

Oleander Elric

**TW FOR MENTIONS OF THOUGHTS OF SUICIDE**

Doing what he was told...wasn't that what all of this was about? That is what the whole purpose of the Imperial Army was, wasnt it? Taking orders or giving them? And he certainly would not be the slightest surprised if he never took on any sort of mantle to be on the giving side of the hierarchy. Lieutenant Major Falltore sunk that dagger in deeper, however, which caused Oleander to stiffen as he dug his heels into the diet beneath his paws. If any sort of God existed, he willed them to tear open the earth and swallow him in it. It was spiteful sarcasm forming the blade that the elder soldier drove and twisted in his gut. It was an accident!! I never meant to...to hurt anyone! His mind screamed, but Ole forced himself to continue staring straight ahead, ensuring his ears swiveled and twitched to show that he was listening.

He did feel his shoulders sag only slightly at the news of yet more inquisitors forcing him to dig up Otto's over and over and over. It only became more shallow and he could always feel that angry boy looming over his shoulder. ‘You did this to me! Your fault! Your fault!’ Bone creaked as the recruit ground his teeth together to try to rid that ghost from his mind while Falltore insisted that it was a story he had memorized. If he had been there for the questioning, perhaps he would know...the more they pressed, the shorter span of time there was of Oleander being able to relay the horrors of that night without having a full blown panic attack. It was the closest thing to torture he had ever endured up to this point.

A silvered head turned then, somehow finding the bravery to spare a glance at his Commanding Officer while he attempted to...relate to him in some way? Disappointment moved his gaze back to that far off space beyond the talking head of Falltore when he realized that this man's experiences did not truly mirror his own. A soldier was expected to kill, he knew that...he worried that he would not have the stomach for it, but he understood that in order to keep the people of Rionnach safe, a soldier may be expected to kill those who sought to do harm to those who called this country home. He supposed it could be justified...

But, Otto? No...he was another recruit, a comrade, a brother in arms...they were on the same side...and he had killed him. It was not the same. It would never be the same. His lip twitched as he forced the heaviness of emotion down his throat, holding it in his belly. It was the Lieutenant Major's order for him to speak his mind that made his entire mouth go dry, his head aching so powerfully that it felt like someone was trying to split his skull apart. How he longed to escape this entirely. To refuse the man who towered over him as he stood rigidly. Oleander's face was expressionless as he drew in a breath to ensure his words were steady. The traumatized recruit then said the very first thought that came to him whenever the inquisitors spoke the name of the dead boy so freely in their line of questioning...

“I wish...I were dead."

@Falltore

enie

In five simple words, Oleander made his state of mind known to his commanding officer. In five simple words, Oleander made it known how much he suffered, day after day, with the consequences of his actions. In five simple words, Oleander regretted what he had done, begged and wished for the immutable timeline to be changed, that he had not done as he had. In five simple words, he had trusted Falltore with the intimate blade churning his guts, as if he were the night’s supper. It was clear that the boy had had enough, to see it in his eyes that he was finished, drowning in the seas of his own head. He hadn’t stopped thinking about it, had he? Haunted by a ghost that was not even there in the first place, and as Falltore saw it, had no right to haunt him. Perhaps, it was only so, because Oleander had allowed it to be so. Any other wolf would have seen him as a lost cause, a wolf who had gone over the abyss from which there was to be no return. Some would say that he could never be trusted, never be embraced, never be called “brother-in-arms”… but Falltore was not one to rush to assumptions. Part of him still believed he could get through to the wolf.

Coming around his desk, staring into the wolf’s eyes, as if he were searching for the tears in them, Falltore seemed to genuinely care for this wolf, his gaze somewhat softened, despite the rigidity of his form. There was perhaps a moment of understanding between them, as if Falltore knew what he was going through. He would never say it aloud, but he had been there, in a much different circumstance of course. But still… he could relate to this state of mind, even if he found it most ill-placed. A comforting paw found itself atop the youth’s shoulder, as if to steady him. “It is not easy to admit these things, Oleander,” Falltore said, sympathetically, “how they have treated you is what this infernal machine does… nameless cowards that tell you who they are… without know who you are. They seek to make an example out of you… but all it is, is a means to wipe the slate clean, so to speak.”

He had his contempt for those who had done this to one of his own. How dare they tear a wolf down, even one as soft-spoken as this one was. Falltore might have seen the lad as weak… scared, frightened by this world… but he believed that he might find himself. There had been greater miracles to come true, after all. In his arrogance, perhaps, Falltore was content to admit that there was never any need for there to be these meaningless investigations an accusations. After all… as an experienced soldier, he knew what had really happened. “They can all… have our fun at your expense, Oleander,” the Colonel spoke, softly, “and you may shoulder this burden as you do… but it will never change the fact that the truth is far from what they are making it out to be.” In a rare, almost unfathomable show of kindness, the soldier patted the recruit on the shoulder, as if to console him. “You did not murder Otto,” he finally said, “it was either you or him, wasn’t it?”