[ P ] Serotonin

she has little innocent demons inside her eyes—

The sun was cascading through the budding tree tops, warmth had settled in not long after the sun rose- a welcoming treat Ryker wouldn't take for granted, not when winter was brutal and harsh with its bitter cold and blistering winds. She often forgot how much she enjoyed the spring time, the life that it brought back to the land was always something to admire-atleast when she wasn't surrounded by rowdy, sweaty soldiers and Lieutenants, boasting their well earned ranks and duties.

Her coat is covered in fine particles of dirt and sand, a tell that she was just recently burying her soldiers in the sand- the cocky ones only, of course. She admired the fire that burned bright from within them, but she loved to be the one help keep their wildfires contained. The threat of a war-another one- could always be a wrong decision away from either sides od the coin in this country. And if she learned anything from the jacobites, it's that they are capable of doing and using anything they can to fight back. Which meant there was less room for error and a constant need for improvements and tactics that would set each of them ahead of the ruthless jacobites.

Ryker could have easily handed the reigns over to newer captains, taken the promotions that were laid at her feet more times than not. But she saw first hand what the gap between soldier and Colonel was like. Her father, and now brother, were seemingly so far away from the day to day, paw to paw combat a d interaction with the wolves that made up a good portion of the Imperial Army- the ones that they moved around on their maps as literal pawns-the fodder they all too often sent out with a simple "This is your order, and you'll execute it." She didn't want the disconnect, the distance. As much as she enjoys beating and pummeling the new recruits and soldiers to instill tact and experience in their thick heads, she also finds pride in being so close to them, teaching them. She finds herself most useful being here, rather than sitting around a stone table and talking or handling the more.. deeper tasks and responsibilities the army is faced with.

Perched just on the edge of one of the pits, she watches her pupils, her most recent proof of success as they now hold the title of Soldier, rather than a recruit or Cadet. But there are still faults and kinks to work out, each one to be observed and set straight when she sees them bending. Amethysts trace their steps, muzzle only moving to call out any poor defenses or lack thereof. She doesn't praise any one for any thing- theres nothing to praise just yet, shes too busy picking them apart just by their presentations of combat. She calls out the corrections to be made, and watches as they either follow her words or ignore them entirely. And what a fine, warm day to spend all day doing.

"the venom"

—and they recklessly play with matches

code // art

Was it wrong that he failed to remember these days? Even before the commotion of the fighting pits came across his ears, there was an odd emptiness in his memory when it came to those days. By no means were they eons ago… but with everything that had transpired it was as if they were from another life entirely. He had come to the army the way any other had, true soldiers at the very least. He hadn’t been one of the poor drunks that some had issued an ultimatum to: to join or be jailed. Nor was he a conscript, a position he had his own, perhaps unfair contempt for. He had been a volunteer, but had been selected for officer’s training not long thereafter. And, as the pits came into sight, this was where it had all began. Funny, how he didn’t remember it at all, like he was supposed to, but could not. There was not the slightest bit of memory of the time he had his first spar, against an unfortunate soul with no prior training. He, too, had not been well trained in combat, but by the time the diligent Captain had pried him off the poor lad, he was broken, crying out for his parents. There was no grace, no honor, and no reward. It was merely a brutal beating, and it would set the tone for the years to come. And now, here he was, no longer some Highlander runaway, but a Lieutenant Major. And yet, some days he felt he had changed only in title alone, even if those days were but a blur.

It amused him to watch the recruits train, the discipline akin to a most disorganized mess. They had a basic rhythm to their movements, a pattern that could be discerned. But to him it was as if they knew what to do, and still were struggling to do it. A bite to the leg, a bite to the chest. A bite to the tail, a bite to the other leg. Bite, scratch, tumble, bite, scratch, tumble. It made everything seem so simple, that combat would be easy, if they only knew the steps. Of course, nevermind if the Jacobites or the Voxi knew those same steps, just believe what you are told and everything will go smoothly. There was only one word that entered Falltore’s mind as he saw the manner these new soldiers practiced their fighting, one word only. It was a word that seemed to best describe all their efforts, all their attempts, all the things they felt they understood about the way any of this worked. The way they felt that all they needed to do was to subdue their opponent the way young academics might settle their affairs, and they would win. The way they would be hardly prepared, should their time ever come, to kill or be killed.

Cute.

Silently, the Lieutenant Major approached the display, each wolf earning two, perhaps three choice expressions he might endeavor to bestow upon them. And five for the commanding officer, whomever it might be. He expected hostility to his presence, a protest to his interference, a begging of forgiveness. He feared none of it, if only it made them better for what might come their way. And who, other than a select few Colonels and above, might see fit to reprimand him for his surely heinous conduct? As if such concerns had ever stopped him before? Or, at the very least, gotten him in trouble? The trials, for one, were his doing, and though they were going as expected, there were certainly rumblings as to their… appropriateness. Never from direct sources, of course, for it seemed Nalik had no ear for such complaints. That, or the Colonel was far too busy.

But just before a single word could be uttered to anyone about anything, he heard the sharp voice of the commanding officer, and all at once the plan changed. Of course it was her, a certain Captain Ryker Verlice. He knew her only so very little, but was nevertheless familiar with her family. Her brother Kenzo, an arrogant shadow of his father, and a Colonel too. Nepotism has its perks, does it not? And how might he forget about her father, his commanding officer, and brilliant mind. They were hardly comrades or friends, the two of them, but he did owe quite a great deal to him for all he had done for him. Of course, such gratitude was so often unspoken. It seemed that the greatest gift of all he had given him, besides his rank and charge, was perhaps his freedom to do as he so seemingly pleased. It was as if he knew that what Falltore might do would be for the good of the domain, and all that failed to be a part of it. But where did that leave Ryker? She was, for lack of a better term, untouchable, and like him, she did as she pleased, and suffered no consequence. But even though he was her superior officer, one might be a fool to think that he was above her. What else might he do, then, but stare in a cold silence, as he watched the circus perform so wonderfully for him?

she has little innocent demons inside her eyes—

Too often did she have to remind herself to breathe, to call off the serpent that so often worked her body, mind, and tongue like a puppet; always poised to strike, be it lethal or otherwise, she was always too ready to sink her fangs when poked just so. These fresh, future meat shields were not poking her, however, atleast not on purpose- and yet here she was, letting their fumbles and fuck-ups poke and prod at her very core. But these fumbles and fuck-ups that the wolves around her were making were also a reflection of her abilities- either that or this batch of newest soldiers and recruits should call it quits now and go bury themselves in tomes or a medical tent rather than waste more of every one's time here. She was told to be patient, be mindful of the most recent events that these very souls before her would have come to witness at some point in some aspect- be it injured or dead family members returning to their homes, or rumors of the blood that soaked the various fields that the war and chaos had touched. Even with this in mind, even with her own personal experience she held little patience for the few that made it to where they stood at this moment.

Her attention would retract subtly from the recruits rolling in the sand and dirt, and slink after the man that strode in as if a bitter, cold whisper on the wind. Her next set of words were not of command, but a cooling coax- an invitation to the Lieutenant Major that was now doing what his rank and above did best- sit by and watch. Her amethysts would remain trained on the wolves in the sand pit, while faux honey chords called to her higher up: "Fancy yourself a trip down memory lane, Lieutenant Major? Surely you'd like to recall what.. discipline could be found while fighting in the sandpit?" Her crown would turn slowly in his direction, as did a handful of the wolves in the pit. The sight that is Lieutenant Major Falltore is not.. a pretty one, that was certain. Perhaps he would grant her the opportunity to add to his canvas of hideousness.


"the venom"

—and they recklessly play with matches

code // art

It would seem that his mere observation of the spirited— surely that would be the most optimistic word to call it—display of Imperial combat training had not gone unnoticed. It appeared, in fact, that Captain Verlice was not open to having an inattentive audience, and was bold enough to extend to him an invitation to participate. There was a fair number of ill-bred specimens who no doubt would have jumped at the opportunity to participate in a fight they know they would win, many of them now called officers and the like. It gave them a rush, surely, to know that this may well be the only victory they would ever get in their military career. But never-mind the unpleasant state of affairs, when the Imperial treasury is at their paws, and all the luxuries that came along with it, what else mattered to those who had the final say?

But enough about those that shall not be considered. Captain Verlice… he knew only so much about her. No doubt she was out to prove her status was more than that of mere nepotism, that she would hardly be a non-commissioned officer in the Imperial Army if not for her father. Speaking of… it was well known that he had recently retired, and for the first time since Falltore had joined, he had no commanding officer to report to. He was without a leash, an opinion that many seemed to be against the interests of the Crown. They always said things like that, of course. But where, in all of this, did it leave father’s dearest? Whether she had earned the right to her title on her own, whether she stood in Nalik’s shadow, was not for him to say. Opinions were so difficult to form sometimes about wolves like her.

He knew some things, though, for certain about her. Unlike some, she had fought in the war, and by the looks of her had had her share of injuries. Those peasants and starving fishers surely did a number on her. And yet, were these wounds the results of her failures to take the enemy seriously? Or was it because of the odds she was up against? Was she, like he, sent to die so that those above them could reap the rewards of their efforts? Defeat had been unacceptable, but for that failure, was she accountable, or was she pitiable? She was curious, that one, and considering how well he knew her father, Falltore wondered how similar, or perhaps dissimilar she was from him? Or was she, like the rest, just another log blocking the way?

Amused at her invitation, Falltore dipped his head as he approached. It had been so very long since he had been this close to the fighting pits, even longer since he remembered the coarse grit of the sand in his paws. If it was one thing he noticed, it was how clean it looked. “Memory lane, is that where this path has taken me,” he retorted, sarcastically, “no wonder it all feels so familiar. Your soldiers remind me of my days spent training among their ranks.” He approached the edge, an inspecting glance blanketing the circular arena as if he were looking to find fault in the construction of it. “It reminds me of when my Captain brought two wolves forward, and told them that the loser would not eat for three days. I mean, could you imagine it? Fighting over the slop that they serve? But the way those two wolves tore into each other, and how many soldiers it took to separate them… they had to replace the sand there was so much blood.” He considered the memory fondly, as if it were the best day of his life to recall. Of course, considering what had happened, perhaps it was.

But enough with beating around the bush. Looking over at that proud, scarred Captain, Falltore smirked, almost sincerely. “They really did a number on you, Captain,” Falltore said, “perhaps this war would have ended at Windy Hill if I had been present. I know quite well how much the Jacobites love to… focus on the head and face.” He motioned, of course, to her scars from that engagement, though by no means did he bring up her subsequent victory at the river, one that salvaged a losing effort of a war into a stalemate, as they called it. “But, discipline, you said?” Falltore continued, “what a lesson. I’d be honored if you were to have your soldiers demonstrate for me what that meant. Please… show me, Captain.”