Between my crisis of conscience, an enlightenin' talk with Nack Barnes, gov'ner of Blackburne Downport, and an offer I couldn't refuse from Amyla an' Cholgosh, I've found myself back on Blackburne. Guess some things weren't meant to be - terrorism ain't really my cuppa tea anyway, so I ain't even real upset with my decision.
It was certainly interestin' explainin' I'd temporarily lost my mind to Cap'n Card, but when I told him what I'd been plannin', he said he wouldn't drop me on Osiris - 'nfact, he wouldn't even let me get off The Reverie when we made port. But he did get me a box of chocolate cupcakes. Said he reckoned they'd help with my Uncle Grouchy visitin' or somesuch nonsense. As much as the man hates the 'lliance, I was real surprised when he told me to get on back home where I belonged. He's a good man. Said he was glad I finally found a place in the 'verse.
From what I heard from Nack, it sorta sounds as though the 'lliance is gearin' up for a second round of war, what with continuin' to attack Hale's Moon. He said that was how the last war started, and he's advisin' everyone he meets to start stockin' up on ammo and food. But basically, he made a comment 'bout not directly attackin' 'em to give 'em a reason to attack us - instead, we should all be preparin' for the day when the 'lliance comes back so we can break their teeth. Made lots of sense. It hit me real hard, how I kept flounderin' over what I was gonna do on the central planets to attack 'em, cuz some part of me knew it was wrong. Whereas, if the 'lliance showed up on Blackburne lookin' for a fight, I wouldn't hesitate to kill every one of 'em. Guess it's the difference between bein' a hired soldier and someone protectin' what's theirs - the hired soldier don't go that conviction, they're just followin' orders.
As for Amy an' Chol... Well, it's somethin' I've wanted for a good long while now, and I couldn't say no. Prol'ly'll be sorta awkward startin' out, mainly mostly for me, cuz I'm worried 'bout boundaries. I'm sure it'll pass with time and experience. We'll have to see where it goes.
On the whole, I gotta say I'm glad to be home. There's a little part of me that's sad over not stickin' it to the 'lliance, but that part's just gonna have to deal with it. Makes more sense to do things this way.
9.5.08
Waves Home (A Message)
Amyla,
Right now, you're prol'ly wonderin' where in the world I got off to. You might even know. More'n likely, you know, cuz you got this way of seein' in my head and knowin' what I'm gonna do 'fore I do. I just hope you ain't angry with me, though I'd understand if you are.
I can't put details 'bout what I'm doin'. You know that. All I know is, I'm havin' second thoughts 'bout this whole thing - they got friends and family, too, misguided as they all are, and I'd become somethin' like 'em if I gave 'em what they gave us. On the other hand, I gotta do somethin'. It'll keep goin' on, they'll just keep plowin' through us 'til they get to Blackburne and instead of Aeon and Str8 and Khaz, it'll be you and Chol and Nack and Laure and Lorie and everyone else we care 'bout. I gotta stop it. I gotta send 'em a message that says, "Leave us alone," or "We won't tolerate this!" I just ain't figured out how yet.
Please don't hate me over this. It's somethin' I gotta do, it's part of who I am, and I couldn't live with myself if I stood by and watched my friends get destroyed.
I hope you're well, and Chol. Take care of that babe and try not to get in too much trouble. I miss you all.
All my love,
Immy
Right now, you're prol'ly wonderin' where in the world I got off to. You might even know. More'n likely, you know, cuz you got this way of seein' in my head and knowin' what I'm gonna do 'fore I do. I just hope you ain't angry with me, though I'd understand if you are.
I can't put details 'bout what I'm doin'. You know that. All I know is, I'm havin' second thoughts 'bout this whole thing - they got friends and family, too, misguided as they all are, and I'd become somethin' like 'em if I gave 'em what they gave us. On the other hand, I gotta do somethin'. It'll keep goin' on, they'll just keep plowin' through us 'til they get to Blackburne and instead of Aeon and Str8 and Khaz, it'll be you and Chol and Nack and Laure and Lorie and everyone else we care 'bout. I gotta stop it. I gotta send 'em a message that says, "Leave us alone," or "We won't tolerate this!" I just ain't figured out how yet.
Please don't hate me over this. It's somethin' I gotta do, it's part of who I am, and I couldn't live with myself if I stood by and watched my friends get destroyed.
I hope you're well, and Chol. Take care of that babe and try not to get in too much trouble. I miss you all.
All my love,
Immy
8.5.08
In The Black
I sorta understand what x0x0 was talkin' 'bout, bein' out in space. Maybe I ain't psychic like her, but there's somethin' about the vast, silent blackness that quiets your mind. I hope she's okay. Last I heard, she'd run off on that job with that Shadowbroker fellow, and it gave me a right sense of dread. I reckon Neutrino went chasin' after her. Don't surprise me none - them two's entirely twitterpated over eachother. I think, though, Neutrino's too stubborn to admit it to himself, and x0x0... well, she's maybe a little afraid of it. Way I see it, they just need to 'fess up to eachother and have it done, cuz life's too short. I really do hope they're both safe.
Maybe I'm just nervous 'bout all this. My mind's made up, so I know I ain't backin' out of it. I'm just on edge. It almost feels like I'm watchin' myself headin' for a wreck in slow motion. I'm fairly certain I won't survive this, and there's somethin' tellin' me to turn 'round and go home. Maybe it's just the black edgin' in. Ain't a comfortable feelin', I know that much. But if I don't do somethin', I ain't gonna have a home to go back to. If I live through this.
Cap'n card knows somethin's up. You don't survive long in this 'verse by bein' a dum-dum, and he's onna the more perceptive men I ever knew. I can see by the way he looks at me, his eyes searchin' my soul and askin', "What've you got up yer sleeve, little butterfly?" But he won't ask me, I don't reckon. He knows me better'n that. Not straight out, anyway.
He asked me earlier as we was catchin' up if I'd heard 'bout what happened on Hale's Moon. I'm fairly certain he saw it when I told him I had, the images flashin' through my head. As far as he knows, though, I'd been there and knew some of the folks who'd been hurt and killed. He saw me ache deep down, though. He might know me better'n anyone, seein' as how he kinda made me. Ain't like it's romantic, neither. He's like a father to me. And like any good Pa, he knows somethin's up.
I can't get 'em outta my head. Everything keeps replayin' like some video, everything I saw. The Gen, scattered and burnin' across town. Khaz in that real white bed, flat mattress where there shoulda been a leg. Aeon... Aeon in that wheelchair, just starin' at the flames, like I'd never be able to have his arms 'round me again, like I'd never seen him standin' on the deck of the Gen, all cleverness and balls, tough as nails, tryin' to lead a crew of headstrong, crazy women and somehow managin' to do it well.
The gorram 'lliance don't see what they do. They don't know the people whose lives they maim. They don't care, they don't give a rat's ass for us poor bastards on the rim, just so long's we fall in line and let 'em order us all 'round like cattle so they can have their perfect gorram 'verse. They don't gotta look in my eyes and see how hard I'm cryin' as I think about the people I care for, cuz they didn't like 'em havin' different opinions.
It's gotta end. It's gotta. Somewhere, there's a line, and they're tryin' to scuff it out as they dance a jig over it. You can't destroy peoples' lives cuz they don't agree with you in how the 'verse should be. It's not how it works. People are people, and we're all different cuz God wanted variety. The 'lliance wants to stomp out the human spirit. And I'll be damned before I let that happen.
Maybe Cap'n Card knows my game, and maybe he don't. He's the kinda man, though, that understands sometimes you just gotta do somethin'. More'n likely, he'll let me go my way and hope I turn out okay. I sure hope I turn out okay.
's far as the other passengers go, I'm tryin' to keep to myself. The less they 'member 'bout me, the better off we'll all be. They seem pretty content lettin' be be a recluse, and I'm not gonna kick up a fuss over it. But the sooner this trip's over, the better.
Maybe I'm just nervous 'bout all this. My mind's made up, so I know I ain't backin' out of it. I'm just on edge. It almost feels like I'm watchin' myself headin' for a wreck in slow motion. I'm fairly certain I won't survive this, and there's somethin' tellin' me to turn 'round and go home. Maybe it's just the black edgin' in. Ain't a comfortable feelin', I know that much. But if I don't do somethin', I ain't gonna have a home to go back to. If I live through this.
Cap'n card knows somethin's up. You don't survive long in this 'verse by bein' a dum-dum, and he's onna the more perceptive men I ever knew. I can see by the way he looks at me, his eyes searchin' my soul and askin', "What've you got up yer sleeve, little butterfly?" But he won't ask me, I don't reckon. He knows me better'n that. Not straight out, anyway.
He asked me earlier as we was catchin' up if I'd heard 'bout what happened on Hale's Moon. I'm fairly certain he saw it when I told him I had, the images flashin' through my head. As far as he knows, though, I'd been there and knew some of the folks who'd been hurt and killed. He saw me ache deep down, though. He might know me better'n anyone, seein' as how he kinda made me. Ain't like it's romantic, neither. He's like a father to me. And like any good Pa, he knows somethin's up.
I can't get 'em outta my head. Everything keeps replayin' like some video, everything I saw. The Gen, scattered and burnin' across town. Khaz in that real white bed, flat mattress where there shoulda been a leg. Aeon... Aeon in that wheelchair, just starin' at the flames, like I'd never be able to have his arms 'round me again, like I'd never seen him standin' on the deck of the Gen, all cleverness and balls, tough as nails, tryin' to lead a crew of headstrong, crazy women and somehow managin' to do it well.
The gorram 'lliance don't see what they do. They don't know the people whose lives they maim. They don't care, they don't give a rat's ass for us poor bastards on the rim, just so long's we fall in line and let 'em order us all 'round like cattle so they can have their perfect gorram 'verse. They don't gotta look in my eyes and see how hard I'm cryin' as I think about the people I care for, cuz they didn't like 'em havin' different opinions.
It's gotta end. It's gotta. Somewhere, there's a line, and they're tryin' to scuff it out as they dance a jig over it. You can't destroy peoples' lives cuz they don't agree with you in how the 'verse should be. It's not how it works. People are people, and we're all different cuz God wanted variety. The 'lliance wants to stomp out the human spirit. And I'll be damned before I let that happen.
Maybe Cap'n Card knows my game, and maybe he don't. He's the kinda man, though, that understands sometimes you just gotta do somethin'. More'n likely, he'll let me go my way and hope I turn out okay. I sure hope I turn out okay.
's far as the other passengers go, I'm tryin' to keep to myself. The less they 'member 'bout me, the better off we'll all be. They seem pretty content lettin' be be a recluse, and I'm not gonna kick up a fuss over it. But the sooner this trip's over, the better.
6.5.08
Waitin' On My Ride
Cinco de Mayo came and went. Once upon a time on Earth That Was, it was the Mexican independence day. Don't rightly remember where I picked that up, but it kept blazin' through my mind last night. They fought a war, too, but I reckon they won, seein' as how they had their own independence day. We lost, so we got Unification Day.
How do you fight a war's already been lost? I was too young to fight in it, hell, I was too young to understand it. I ain't now, and I wish to God I coulda been there. Maybe one more woulda made a difference. More'n likely not, but at least I woulda been fightin' for somethin' I believed in.
But the war ain't over. Sure, there's no armies marchin' across fields of battle, but there's still a war. Gorram 'lliance says it's won, comin' 'round and tellin' folk how to live, how to think - meddlin' where they got no business doin' so - but they still act like they're in a war when they send teams of op'ratives to blow up ships and kill people. And they ain't won at all. There's still a spark here and there, there's still life in the cause. People won't lay down and die, no matter what the outcome of the damn war was. I know I ain't.
I made all my arrangements. Got in contact with The Lone Reverie - Cap'n Card's makin' out alright and so's the crew. They got a few new faces, he said on his wave, but they were survivin'. I hate lyin' to the man - he gave me everything - but I don't want 'em dragged into this if things go south for me. The less anybody knows, the better. I told him things had got hot and I needed a lift in a bad way - reckoned I'd try campin' out on one of the core planets for a bit, seein' as how nobody in their right mind'd look for me there. Pretty sure he bought it. The man taught me about subterfuge, so he may well see clean through me. I reckon he'd try and help me if he knew, cuz if anyone hates the 'lliance, it's him. But he's got a good thing goin' and a crew needin' watchin' out for, so I can't be lettin' him take those risks. 'Sides. This is my rampage.
I figured on goin' to Osiris first. I can spend some time gatherin' information, get the lay of the land, and figure out how to go 'bout firin' the first shot. I'd do some more plannin' here, but I can't be sure how close the feds watch the nets, and I don't want nothin' leadin' back here. So maybe it's like marchin' into Parliament armed with a huntin' rifle and a sketchy plan to end my life in a blaze of glory, but not so much. I plan to be careful. Said I wouldn't mind dyin' fightin' for what I believe in, but I sure as hell'd rather live through it so I can enjoy my freedom in the end.
I arranged my affairs, though. Made certain if anythin' happened to me, my friends'd know, and they'd be taken care of. I couldn't just leave it, cuz then the folks I care about'd prol'ly never know or understand what happened. I couldn't do that, 'specially not to Amyla. She won't understand anyway, and I know she'd try and stop me if she knew what I was plannin'. She's browncoat enough in her heart, but she's got so many ties to the 'lliance, and she's a pacifist on so many levels. Ain't sayin' she wouldn't pick up arms and do her damnedest to wreck the 'lliance if the right set of circumstances came up, but these ain't the right circumstances, and until they crop up, she ain't gonna understand why I gotta do this.
The Reverie's scheduled to dock tonight. Cap'n Card's just throwin' down anchor long enough for me to stow my stuff, and we're gone. We'll prol'ly stop over on Persephone for food and fuel, maybe see if he can't pick up a few passengers and a job. I'm hopin' it'll look like I got picked up there, just some transient worker. Ain't holdin' my breath, and ain't settin' foot off the boat while we're there. My luck, I'd run into my Pa or Christopher, and that'd be a fine wrench to throw in a sensitive engine.
For now, I'm waitin'. Kinda nervous, kinda anxious. Some small partta me's beggin' to stay, to go buy a place on Blackburne and live out my life there, not get involved with this mess. But I don't hold with bein' a coward. I can't. Those were my friends on Hale's Moon. And eventually, it'll end up in Blackburne, and my friends, my family, they'll have to suffer the same. I won't let that happen. So I'll just keep waitin' til my ride gets here.
How do you fight a war's already been lost? I was too young to fight in it, hell, I was too young to understand it. I ain't now, and I wish to God I coulda been there. Maybe one more woulda made a difference. More'n likely not, but at least I woulda been fightin' for somethin' I believed in.
But the war ain't over. Sure, there's no armies marchin' across fields of battle, but there's still a war. Gorram 'lliance says it's won, comin' 'round and tellin' folk how to live, how to think - meddlin' where they got no business doin' so - but they still act like they're in a war when they send teams of op'ratives to blow up ships and kill people. And they ain't won at all. There's still a spark here and there, there's still life in the cause. People won't lay down and die, no matter what the outcome of the damn war was. I know I ain't.
I made all my arrangements. Got in contact with The Lone Reverie - Cap'n Card's makin' out alright and so's the crew. They got a few new faces, he said on his wave, but they were survivin'. I hate lyin' to the man - he gave me everything - but I don't want 'em dragged into this if things go south for me. The less anybody knows, the better. I told him things had got hot and I needed a lift in a bad way - reckoned I'd try campin' out on one of the core planets for a bit, seein' as how nobody in their right mind'd look for me there. Pretty sure he bought it. The man taught me about subterfuge, so he may well see clean through me. I reckon he'd try and help me if he knew, cuz if anyone hates the 'lliance, it's him. But he's got a good thing goin' and a crew needin' watchin' out for, so I can't be lettin' him take those risks. 'Sides. This is my rampage.
I figured on goin' to Osiris first. I can spend some time gatherin' information, get the lay of the land, and figure out how to go 'bout firin' the first shot. I'd do some more plannin' here, but I can't be sure how close the feds watch the nets, and I don't want nothin' leadin' back here. So maybe it's like marchin' into Parliament armed with a huntin' rifle and a sketchy plan to end my life in a blaze of glory, but not so much. I plan to be careful. Said I wouldn't mind dyin' fightin' for what I believe in, but I sure as hell'd rather live through it so I can enjoy my freedom in the end.
I arranged my affairs, though. Made certain if anythin' happened to me, my friends'd know, and they'd be taken care of. I couldn't just leave it, cuz then the folks I care about'd prol'ly never know or understand what happened. I couldn't do that, 'specially not to Amyla. She won't understand anyway, and I know she'd try and stop me if she knew what I was plannin'. She's browncoat enough in her heart, but she's got so many ties to the 'lliance, and she's a pacifist on so many levels. Ain't sayin' she wouldn't pick up arms and do her damnedest to wreck the 'lliance if the right set of circumstances came up, but these ain't the right circumstances, and until they crop up, she ain't gonna understand why I gotta do this.
The Reverie's scheduled to dock tonight. Cap'n Card's just throwin' down anchor long enough for me to stow my stuff, and we're gone. We'll prol'ly stop over on Persephone for food and fuel, maybe see if he can't pick up a few passengers and a job. I'm hopin' it'll look like I got picked up there, just some transient worker. Ain't holdin' my breath, and ain't settin' foot off the boat while we're there. My luck, I'd run into my Pa or Christopher, and that'd be a fine wrench to throw in a sensitive engine.
For now, I'm waitin'. Kinda nervous, kinda anxious. Some small partta me's beggin' to stay, to go buy a place on Blackburne and live out my life there, not get involved with this mess. But I don't hold with bein' a coward. I can't. Those were my friends on Hale's Moon. And eventually, it'll end up in Blackburne, and my friends, my family, they'll have to suffer the same. I won't let that happen. So I'll just keep waitin' til my ride gets here.
5.5.08
They Won't Get Away With This
'lliance pursuit suddenly dropped on me. I couldn't, for the life of me, figure out why, except that either my craftiness had given 'em the slip, or that they found a bigger fish to fry. I wasn't countin' on the former, but I took a chance on the latter and caught a transport home. Seems they did find a bigger fish.
It was unreal, the destruction. Hale's Moon's still burnin', bits of flamin' debris is still scattered across the town. From the sketchy stories I got, seems like the 'lliance hit the town hard with a team of operatives, shootin' the place up, then blowin' up the ships, includin' the Gen. I don't understand, but I don't need to.
I stood by the beds of the Cap'n and Khaz, their still forms helpless beneath white sheets, tubes runnin' out of 'em in every which direction, steady, monotonous beepin' about the only thing tellin' me they were alive. Why'd this happen? Why're my friends and family, the people I care about, havin' to suffer this? I don't understand, but I don't need to. I don't even think I want to. 'Cuz that would mean I'd have to understand the sick minds of the 'lliance. Don't rightly know if I wanna know those bastards that well.
The 'lliance went too far this time. Dunno who issued the order to attack, and part of me don't really care. 's far as I'm concerned, the whole gorram government and any who side with 'em's responsible. Though, there's a little part of me that wouldn't mind comin' face to face with the insufferable asshole who made the decision, just so's I could give him a little bitta insight on what my crew, what the people on Hale's Moon, had to experience.
My mind's made up. Even if I gotta spend the rest of my life on the lam, even if the rest of my life consists of a week cuz of it, I'm gettin' revenge. Don't rightly care at this point what 'lliance civilians get hurt in the process of me retaliatin', cuz those civilians choose to live under that crackpot gov'ment, they choose to let this kinda thing happen, so to my way of thinkin', they partially to blame. Maybe it'll stir 'em outta that gorram grand fantasy they all live in and let 'em see the ugly side of reality. Maybe it'll just make 'em hate us more. Thing is, I won't let us sit back and let 'em stomp us into ashes.
Maybe God'll be mad at me, and maybe I'll burn in hell, but doin' nothin' sits even worse on my conscience than takin' vengeance for hurtin' good folk. I think God'll understand why I gotta do this. Maybe he'll even help, and maybe he agrees that it's about time someone wanted to show the 'lliance that humanity won't lay down and die, we won't succumb to their evil way of thinkin'. Maybe revenge is wrong, but sittin' around with yer thumb up yer ass while you wait in terror for people like that to decide to kill you ain't right either. People got a God-given right to freedom and to protect their own.
I'm just goin' by my conscience and firin' back in hopes it'll send a message to the gorram 'lliance. I want them to take one look at what I'm doin' and know I'm sayin, "It's an eye for an eye 'verse - what you do to me, I do back to you. So, let's just ignore eachother 'til we go away." They might be evil men, but we're naughty men (and women), and while they got superior technology, they ain't defendin' their homes and families and way of life like we are. That makes us more dangerous than all the superior technology in the 'verse. If I die defendin' what's mine, I won't be too upset. But I'll be damned sure I take as many of those bastards with me as I can. And when we all come face to face with God, it'll be me standin' there knowin' I did what I knew to be right, and them knowin' what they did was wrong. And I can live with that. Well, in a figurative kinda way.
It was unreal, the destruction. Hale's Moon's still burnin', bits of flamin' debris is still scattered across the town. From the sketchy stories I got, seems like the 'lliance hit the town hard with a team of operatives, shootin' the place up, then blowin' up the ships, includin' the Gen. I don't understand, but I don't need to.
I stood by the beds of the Cap'n and Khaz, their still forms helpless beneath white sheets, tubes runnin' out of 'em in every which direction, steady, monotonous beepin' about the only thing tellin' me they were alive. Why'd this happen? Why're my friends and family, the people I care about, havin' to suffer this? I don't understand, but I don't need to. I don't even think I want to. 'Cuz that would mean I'd have to understand the sick minds of the 'lliance. Don't rightly know if I wanna know those bastards that well.
The 'lliance went too far this time. Dunno who issued the order to attack, and part of me don't really care. 's far as I'm concerned, the whole gorram government and any who side with 'em's responsible. Though, there's a little part of me that wouldn't mind comin' face to face with the insufferable asshole who made the decision, just so's I could give him a little bitta insight on what my crew, what the people on Hale's Moon, had to experience.
My mind's made up. Even if I gotta spend the rest of my life on the lam, even if the rest of my life consists of a week cuz of it, I'm gettin' revenge. Don't rightly care at this point what 'lliance civilians get hurt in the process of me retaliatin', cuz those civilians choose to live under that crackpot gov'ment, they choose to let this kinda thing happen, so to my way of thinkin', they partially to blame. Maybe it'll stir 'em outta that gorram grand fantasy they all live in and let 'em see the ugly side of reality. Maybe it'll just make 'em hate us more. Thing is, I won't let us sit back and let 'em stomp us into ashes.
Maybe God'll be mad at me, and maybe I'll burn in hell, but doin' nothin' sits even worse on my conscience than takin' vengeance for hurtin' good folk. I think God'll understand why I gotta do this. Maybe he'll even help, and maybe he agrees that it's about time someone wanted to show the 'lliance that humanity won't lay down and die, we won't succumb to their evil way of thinkin'. Maybe revenge is wrong, but sittin' around with yer thumb up yer ass while you wait in terror for people like that to decide to kill you ain't right either. People got a God-given right to freedom and to protect their own.
I'm just goin' by my conscience and firin' back in hopes it'll send a message to the gorram 'lliance. I want them to take one look at what I'm doin' and know I'm sayin, "It's an eye for an eye 'verse - what you do to me, I do back to you. So, let's just ignore eachother 'til we go away." They might be evil men, but we're naughty men (and women), and while they got superior technology, they ain't defendin' their homes and families and way of life like we are. That makes us more dangerous than all the superior technology in the 'verse. If I die defendin' what's mine, I won't be too upset. But I'll be damned sure I take as many of those bastards with me as I can. And when we all come face to face with God, it'll be me standin' there knowin' I did what I knew to be right, and them knowin' what they did was wrong. And I can live with that. Well, in a figurative kinda way.
22.4.08
A Beginning
I am a liar.
The thought was omnipresent, hiding itself within the labyrinth of her memories, lying in wait to ambush her conscious at a moment's notice. Those moments usually occurred as soon as she began to let go and forget her past, either coinciding with patches of brief, amnesiac, unabashed happiness in her life, or perhaps stirring in spite of them. It was nothing more than a thought and she was the only one who thought it, but it served as a red flag, a noisy alarm, an annoying reminder, and an accusing finger pointed to remind her that, indeed, she had started out in life as someone entirely different, and that she had effectively lied to what seemed like the entire universe about who she was. It had never occurred to her that in a way, who she was wasn't so much a lie, that it was really more of a simple omission of facts regarding her origin. In her mind, the exclusion of fact was the equivalent of actually uttering a falsehood. The guilt of it gnawed at her conscience constantly.
Here she was, a marauding stranger, certainly not the first, probably not the last, but somewhere in the middle of a long line of transients who had meandered their way across the lonely expanse of the 'verse. Most, like her, were in search of a little peace, a quiet home where happiness could find them. Because that was ultimately what she sought - a place with no memories, a place in which she could quietly flourish without fearing the soft, slithering sound of pursuit, and without the bitterness of dishonesty tainting her very being.
Had she been right to run away from her previous life? The comfort of the answer was what helped her continue on in her bleak existence. Yes, she had been right to flee from the greedy plans of her family and the unjust clutches of the law, because she believed in every man's God given right to live free, and because she had been innocent of the crime they were determined to blame her for.
She could have been happy there had certain events not taken place. She could have found contentment on Persephone, planet of her birth, of the first community she had known, home to her family and friends and unfortunate love interest, had things gone differently. She could have lived out her life in blissful ignorance of the evils of a corrupt government, never realizing that the Alliance was wrong despite the evidence of it staring her in the face, had she not been on the wrong end of the cane they used to beat humanity into compliant submission. No, running away from the ridiculously calamitous situation had allowed her to live, and having survived it burned away the rose-shaded screen from her childlike eyes, altering forever her perception of everything.
And now, after the years of wandering the deep, black corners of the ‘verse, she had come to Blackburne Downport, a small town on the moon, Blackburne, and for the first time in what seemed like the span of many lifetimes, she found herself wanting to remain in one place. It wasn’t the picturesque, ideal, romantic setting with cowboys and sunsets; Blackburne was abused and coarse, its people suffering the lasting effects of the indignity of Alliance wrath, having to carve their livelihood out of the smoking remains of nuclear fallout, existing in the constant shadow of threat from the wild, mutant things of the uninhabitable waste just beyond the borders of the town, and from the Reavers, which attacked brutally and without prejudice or sympathy. No, Blackburne and her residents were certainly not what most envisioned as being the ideal homestead, but this girl was able to peer through the unsightly layers of the town’s aesthetics to its heart, and what she found was the answer to her silent question. Here was hope: Here was a tightly knit community who looked out for each other, who prospered and struggled together, who fought tooth and nail at every moment of every day to maintain not only their own happiness, but the happiness of their neighbors, who had grown roots that reached so deep into the very essence of the land that they could never be extricated, who refused to submit to the yoke of Alliance control, who took in complete strangers with a warm intimacy generally reserved for none but the closest of friends. These people possessed a deep honor, and it touched her profoundly to be among such naked goodness.
Which was, perhaps, why the bitterness of her shady past haunted her now so much more than it ever had – the residents of Blackburne had picked her up and wrapped her in their warm embrace, never questioning who she was or why she was there, just accepting her as one of them. The fabrication of who she truly was, which she had put so much effort into concocting, rankled her, because here was a community who deserved to know the truth. In fact, she very much wanted to share her story with them, because she knew that they wouldn’t turn away from her. It wasn’t as though she desired to wear this mask – she wore it because it kept everybody safe, and for now, that was enough to warrant keeping the smokescreen in place.
Imrhien Fargis had not started out in life deceitful, nor was it her intention to be at what would ultimately be the commencement of her protracted journey. Imrhien wasn’t even her real name. It was a name given to her, not by her parents at birth, but by those who had befriended her from the beginning of her exodus from the past, by those who had effectively given birth to a new person, one already grown, yet still new to the world – at least, to the reality of it rather than the ignorant façade of it as seen through the eyes of an innocent child. In that, she at least felt absolved of some of the guilt of the falsehood of her name, because Imrhien was who she had become, rather like growing entirely new skin instead of just donning the kenning like a piece of clothing. She was no longer that girl on Persephone, because she had grown, matured, and transformed into the adult version of herself, obliterating entirely everything about who she once was simply by opening herself to a new perception of the universe. Some qualities of the child remained throughout the transformation, but they were those quiet beliefs, morals, and abilities which made up part of her core – her faith in God, her belief in free will, her ability to recognize and experience profound beauty, her desire to love with her entire being. The rest of her, though, consisted of new qualities and faults, new beliefs, morals, and abilities, most having developed on their own rather than having been given to her, as her name had been.
She still clung to the archaic edifice of Catholicism, which her kindhearted mother had bestowed upon the entire household, with varying results. Religion had been important to the child who would become Imrhien in her early years, the ancient traditions at its foundation allowing her a vestigial connection to Earth That Was, the archaic rituals of prayer, sacrament, and sacrifice giving her a soothing method of meditation and introspection. Her pious nature was one that she concealed from the world at large, praying the Rosary in solitude, venturing to the sanctuary of the Catholic Church for the sacraments of reconciliation and the Eucharist only when it was not obvious to those she was close to. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of it – it was more that she regarded religion as something very private, cherishing it because it was the only part of her family, or rather, of her mother, that she was able to bring with her when she left her home.
As for the idea of love in its passionate, starry-eyed form, she almost entirely dismissed it from her abridged list of aspirations. She had been shown at eighteen, tragically early in her life, that to love another in that way was intolerably painful, and she harbored no intentions of seeking that which would ultimately, in her mind, bring about such a powerful sense of vicious grief and agonizing despair. The fanciful, naïve girl who had been so ecstatically in love with the man she was to marry was gone, metamorphosized into a jaded spinster; she was not so much bitter as she was disillusioned and doubtful of romance. The moment she had discovered the betrayal of her beloved betrothed, inadvertently catching him in the arms of another woman, her heart had hardened even as it howled in anguish. To her, love was permanent, indestructible, sacrificial, and always faithful, not this inconsistent, insubstantial, selfish and adulterous behavior that stood bared in its contemptible glory before her. Yet, while she had vowed to safeguard her heart against all pretenses of romance, she still allowed herself to love. She had readily embraced those deserving individual people in her life with the same ardor that she would have expended on a lover or spouse. She cherished her friendships, not out of the absence of romance, but because that was the only way she knew how to love.
Ironically, the discovery of her fiancé’s infidelity was where the trouble in her life began. Her father, a poor farmer and unsuccessful businessman, had treated her hand in marriage as an object to be sold to help support the family rather than as holy sacrament. Therefore, when the arrangement with her fiancé came to an abrupt and very public end, he faced a crisis, as the money he had been depending on to bail his family out of financial trouble was suddenly vanished, as was the virtue of his merchandise. The girl had, of course, given herself to her betrothed, and even if she hadn’t, her chastity would still be suspect – the girl was damaged goods that could not be salvaged for the sake of marrying her off. So, her father, who had not taken so easily to his wife’s religion as his offspring had, began making arrangements to sell his oldest child into slavery. As soon as his intent became apparent to his wife, she sent the girl away with some supplies and enough money to barter passage off of Persephone to avoid being apprehended and forced into a grueling existence in servitude and abuse.
As is usually the case in life-altering catastrophes, coincidence, resonating to some universal imperative for complication, reared its ugly head and convoluted matters further for her. Upon reaching the Eavesdown Docks, the closest spaceport, hub of most regional businesses and the local government, news of the attempted murder of her estranged fiancé found its way to her ears, fortunately before the news of her arrival in the city reached the ears of the Alliance. The perpetrator had managed to remain anonymous, even to him who had been shot in the back, and so the investigating officers quickly surmised, based solely on assumption, since his ex-fiancé not only had the motive to seek revenge, but whom had also disappeared from her home in the dead of night, that she had obviously been the culprit. The bulletins seemed to line her path through the city, but no one seemed to notice the waifish urchin wending her way around the docking area, seeking the least conspicuous ship to throw her lot in with.
She chose a firefly class freighter named The Lone Reverie. Whether it was keen perception on her part or plain luck, she chose well for herself. The Reverie’s crew were a ragtag bunch of marauding thieves and scoundrels, working their way from one end of the ‘verse to the other, taking on whatever jobs they could acquire, legal or not. Just reputable enough to still be flying, yet low enough in the pecking order to flow below the Alliance radar, The Lone Reverie was the perfect escape, save that her captain didn’t stay in business by being easily bamboozled. Shortly after departure from Persephone, Domonic Card cornered the skittish stray, demanding the truth from the girl, and then advising that her cover story was so weak a gentle wind could wreck it. He took pity on her, though, having known hardship, and because of his acidic abhorrence for the Alliance and their skewed view of law. He offered her the opportunity to prove herself a competent hand on the boat with the promise of allowing her to stay on with the crew if she could shoulder some of the labor.
Much as he surmised, the girl wasn’t a shirker – she toiled as hard as the rest of his crew, making up for her lack of strength with her ability to learn quickly and her willingness to try her hand at anything. The Reverie and her den of thieves warmed to her almost immediately, taking turns tutoring her in a large array of subjects, anywhere from winning at Cripple Mister Onion to the proper care of firearms to basic mechanics. Most importantly, each took part in breaking her of a lifetime of debutante habits. She learned to cuss and spit, to slouch, to talk tough, and to shoot. As the weeks turned to months, she was no longer recognizable as the girl from Persephone. Between her own body filling itself out into the shape of a woman and hard labor toning and building her muscles, she didn’t look a thing like the waif who had slipped on board with a fistful of money and even less nerve.
As the transformation took place, the captain began calling her “little butterfly,” and the name stuck. The Reverie’s mechanic, Bran MacAbier, who had been raised in a richly Scottish society, dredged up the Gaelic word for butterfly, and the girl became “Imrhien” to the crew and everyone else she met. Some months later, she was treated to her first tattoo – the captain had sketched a tribal butterfly, and the crew demanded it go on her back, not only as protection against stealthy attacks, but as a reminder of them. The boat’s doctor, with his steady hand and talent for drawing, painstakingly inked her namesake into her flesh.
Imrhien was at peace on The Lone Reverie. She felt camaraderie with the crew, she felt safe in their midst, even in the middle of gunfights. She picked up various uncouth habits from each of them out of admiration for their tough spirit. Everything she had learned, everything they had given her, she embraced like a lover. Not only did she adopt their habits, however, but their attitudes. Between the abundant gunfights she eagerly engaged in and the tense situations her captain seemed to drag them all into, where simply appearing dangerous could do the trick, she developed a take-no-shit-or-prisoners posture that ended up being applied to her entire personality, the result of which made her seem rather rough and rude. Having seen, firsthand, more worlds than she could remember, she also espoused the crew’s harsh hatred of the Alliance, because she now understood precisely what the scheming regime was doing to humanity.
Years went by, somewhere in the neighborhood of four and change, and the time came for Imrhien to part ways with The Lone Reverie. A few too many run-ins with the Alliance made up her mind to move on, both for her own safety, and to protect those she cared about. It would have been a dreadful show of gratitude to have her friends incarcerated for harboring her, a known fugitive. So she left, bitter over the parting, but determined to throw the Alliance hounds off of her scent, and began crisscrossing the ‘verse on various transports, sometimes able to work for her fare, sometimes able to barter for it, and sometimes forced to sell her own body for passage. It was a few years and millions of miles of wandering the various corners of space before her trail ran entirely cold.
When it did, she decided to search out a place to settle down for a while. The loneliness of space travel, never with a crew long enough to develop friendships, never on one planet long enough to get to know people, had plunged her into a cavernous melancholy, and she had a profound pining for human interaction on a level much more meaningful than the ephemeral exchanges that had defined her life for far too long. It didn’t take her much time to happen upon her haven of humanity. She landed on Blackburne, a small moon on the rim, hoping to pick up a transport elsewhere, but quite inadvertently discovered that the jade-tinged town of Blackburne Downport was exactly what she was searching for, in all its radioactive, perilous glory. It was her avowed hope that some day, she would able to share who she truly was with the people she had come to care so deeply for, because there was so very much to tell, and the lie of omission would never cease gnawing at her until she exposed herself.
The thought was omnipresent, hiding itself within the labyrinth of her memories, lying in wait to ambush her conscious at a moment's notice. Those moments usually occurred as soon as she began to let go and forget her past, either coinciding with patches of brief, amnesiac, unabashed happiness in her life, or perhaps stirring in spite of them. It was nothing more than a thought and she was the only one who thought it, but it served as a red flag, a noisy alarm, an annoying reminder, and an accusing finger pointed to remind her that, indeed, she had started out in life as someone entirely different, and that she had effectively lied to what seemed like the entire universe about who she was. It had never occurred to her that in a way, who she was wasn't so much a lie, that it was really more of a simple omission of facts regarding her origin. In her mind, the exclusion of fact was the equivalent of actually uttering a falsehood. The guilt of it gnawed at her conscience constantly.
Here she was, a marauding stranger, certainly not the first, probably not the last, but somewhere in the middle of a long line of transients who had meandered their way across the lonely expanse of the 'verse. Most, like her, were in search of a little peace, a quiet home where happiness could find them. Because that was ultimately what she sought - a place with no memories, a place in which she could quietly flourish without fearing the soft, slithering sound of pursuit, and without the bitterness of dishonesty tainting her very being.
Had she been right to run away from her previous life? The comfort of the answer was what helped her continue on in her bleak existence. Yes, she had been right to flee from the greedy plans of her family and the unjust clutches of the law, because she believed in every man's God given right to live free, and because she had been innocent of the crime they were determined to blame her for.
She could have been happy there had certain events not taken place. She could have found contentment on Persephone, planet of her birth, of the first community she had known, home to her family and friends and unfortunate love interest, had things gone differently. She could have lived out her life in blissful ignorance of the evils of a corrupt government, never realizing that the Alliance was wrong despite the evidence of it staring her in the face, had she not been on the wrong end of the cane they used to beat humanity into compliant submission. No, running away from the ridiculously calamitous situation had allowed her to live, and having survived it burned away the rose-shaded screen from her childlike eyes, altering forever her perception of everything.
And now, after the years of wandering the deep, black corners of the ‘verse, she had come to Blackburne Downport, a small town on the moon, Blackburne, and for the first time in what seemed like the span of many lifetimes, she found herself wanting to remain in one place. It wasn’t the picturesque, ideal, romantic setting with cowboys and sunsets; Blackburne was abused and coarse, its people suffering the lasting effects of the indignity of Alliance wrath, having to carve their livelihood out of the smoking remains of nuclear fallout, existing in the constant shadow of threat from the wild, mutant things of the uninhabitable waste just beyond the borders of the town, and from the Reavers, which attacked brutally and without prejudice or sympathy. No, Blackburne and her residents were certainly not what most envisioned as being the ideal homestead, but this girl was able to peer through the unsightly layers of the town’s aesthetics to its heart, and what she found was the answer to her silent question. Here was hope: Here was a tightly knit community who looked out for each other, who prospered and struggled together, who fought tooth and nail at every moment of every day to maintain not only their own happiness, but the happiness of their neighbors, who had grown roots that reached so deep into the very essence of the land that they could never be extricated, who refused to submit to the yoke of Alliance control, who took in complete strangers with a warm intimacy generally reserved for none but the closest of friends. These people possessed a deep honor, and it touched her profoundly to be among such naked goodness.
Which was, perhaps, why the bitterness of her shady past haunted her now so much more than it ever had – the residents of Blackburne had picked her up and wrapped her in their warm embrace, never questioning who she was or why she was there, just accepting her as one of them. The fabrication of who she truly was, which she had put so much effort into concocting, rankled her, because here was a community who deserved to know the truth. In fact, she very much wanted to share her story with them, because she knew that they wouldn’t turn away from her. It wasn’t as though she desired to wear this mask – she wore it because it kept everybody safe, and for now, that was enough to warrant keeping the smokescreen in place.
Imrhien Fargis had not started out in life deceitful, nor was it her intention to be at what would ultimately be the commencement of her protracted journey. Imrhien wasn’t even her real name. It was a name given to her, not by her parents at birth, but by those who had befriended her from the beginning of her exodus from the past, by those who had effectively given birth to a new person, one already grown, yet still new to the world – at least, to the reality of it rather than the ignorant façade of it as seen through the eyes of an innocent child. In that, she at least felt absolved of some of the guilt of the falsehood of her name, because Imrhien was who she had become, rather like growing entirely new skin instead of just donning the kenning like a piece of clothing. She was no longer that girl on Persephone, because she had grown, matured, and transformed into the adult version of herself, obliterating entirely everything about who she once was simply by opening herself to a new perception of the universe. Some qualities of the child remained throughout the transformation, but they were those quiet beliefs, morals, and abilities which made up part of her core – her faith in God, her belief in free will, her ability to recognize and experience profound beauty, her desire to love with her entire being. The rest of her, though, consisted of new qualities and faults, new beliefs, morals, and abilities, most having developed on their own rather than having been given to her, as her name had been.
She still clung to the archaic edifice of Catholicism, which her kindhearted mother had bestowed upon the entire household, with varying results. Religion had been important to the child who would become Imrhien in her early years, the ancient traditions at its foundation allowing her a vestigial connection to Earth That Was, the archaic rituals of prayer, sacrament, and sacrifice giving her a soothing method of meditation and introspection. Her pious nature was one that she concealed from the world at large, praying the Rosary in solitude, venturing to the sanctuary of the Catholic Church for the sacraments of reconciliation and the Eucharist only when it was not obvious to those she was close to. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of it – it was more that she regarded religion as something very private, cherishing it because it was the only part of her family, or rather, of her mother, that she was able to bring with her when she left her home.
As for the idea of love in its passionate, starry-eyed form, she almost entirely dismissed it from her abridged list of aspirations. She had been shown at eighteen, tragically early in her life, that to love another in that way was intolerably painful, and she harbored no intentions of seeking that which would ultimately, in her mind, bring about such a powerful sense of vicious grief and agonizing despair. The fanciful, naïve girl who had been so ecstatically in love with the man she was to marry was gone, metamorphosized into a jaded spinster; she was not so much bitter as she was disillusioned and doubtful of romance. The moment she had discovered the betrayal of her beloved betrothed, inadvertently catching him in the arms of another woman, her heart had hardened even as it howled in anguish. To her, love was permanent, indestructible, sacrificial, and always faithful, not this inconsistent, insubstantial, selfish and adulterous behavior that stood bared in its contemptible glory before her. Yet, while she had vowed to safeguard her heart against all pretenses of romance, she still allowed herself to love. She had readily embraced those deserving individual people in her life with the same ardor that she would have expended on a lover or spouse. She cherished her friendships, not out of the absence of romance, but because that was the only way she knew how to love.
Ironically, the discovery of her fiancé’s infidelity was where the trouble in her life began. Her father, a poor farmer and unsuccessful businessman, had treated her hand in marriage as an object to be sold to help support the family rather than as holy sacrament. Therefore, when the arrangement with her fiancé came to an abrupt and very public end, he faced a crisis, as the money he had been depending on to bail his family out of financial trouble was suddenly vanished, as was the virtue of his merchandise. The girl had, of course, given herself to her betrothed, and even if she hadn’t, her chastity would still be suspect – the girl was damaged goods that could not be salvaged for the sake of marrying her off. So, her father, who had not taken so easily to his wife’s religion as his offspring had, began making arrangements to sell his oldest child into slavery. As soon as his intent became apparent to his wife, she sent the girl away with some supplies and enough money to barter passage off of Persephone to avoid being apprehended and forced into a grueling existence in servitude and abuse.
As is usually the case in life-altering catastrophes, coincidence, resonating to some universal imperative for complication, reared its ugly head and convoluted matters further for her. Upon reaching the Eavesdown Docks, the closest spaceport, hub of most regional businesses and the local government, news of the attempted murder of her estranged fiancé found its way to her ears, fortunately before the news of her arrival in the city reached the ears of the Alliance. The perpetrator had managed to remain anonymous, even to him who had been shot in the back, and so the investigating officers quickly surmised, based solely on assumption, since his ex-fiancé not only had the motive to seek revenge, but whom had also disappeared from her home in the dead of night, that she had obviously been the culprit. The bulletins seemed to line her path through the city, but no one seemed to notice the waifish urchin wending her way around the docking area, seeking the least conspicuous ship to throw her lot in with.
She chose a firefly class freighter named The Lone Reverie. Whether it was keen perception on her part or plain luck, she chose well for herself. The Reverie’s crew were a ragtag bunch of marauding thieves and scoundrels, working their way from one end of the ‘verse to the other, taking on whatever jobs they could acquire, legal or not. Just reputable enough to still be flying, yet low enough in the pecking order to flow below the Alliance radar, The Lone Reverie was the perfect escape, save that her captain didn’t stay in business by being easily bamboozled. Shortly after departure from Persephone, Domonic Card cornered the skittish stray, demanding the truth from the girl, and then advising that her cover story was so weak a gentle wind could wreck it. He took pity on her, though, having known hardship, and because of his acidic abhorrence for the Alliance and their skewed view of law. He offered her the opportunity to prove herself a competent hand on the boat with the promise of allowing her to stay on with the crew if she could shoulder some of the labor.
Much as he surmised, the girl wasn’t a shirker – she toiled as hard as the rest of his crew, making up for her lack of strength with her ability to learn quickly and her willingness to try her hand at anything. The Reverie and her den of thieves warmed to her almost immediately, taking turns tutoring her in a large array of subjects, anywhere from winning at Cripple Mister Onion to the proper care of firearms to basic mechanics. Most importantly, each took part in breaking her of a lifetime of debutante habits. She learned to cuss and spit, to slouch, to talk tough, and to shoot. As the weeks turned to months, she was no longer recognizable as the girl from Persephone. Between her own body filling itself out into the shape of a woman and hard labor toning and building her muscles, she didn’t look a thing like the waif who had slipped on board with a fistful of money and even less nerve.
As the transformation took place, the captain began calling her “little butterfly,” and the name stuck. The Reverie’s mechanic, Bran MacAbier, who had been raised in a richly Scottish society, dredged up the Gaelic word for butterfly, and the girl became “Imrhien” to the crew and everyone else she met. Some months later, she was treated to her first tattoo – the captain had sketched a tribal butterfly, and the crew demanded it go on her back, not only as protection against stealthy attacks, but as a reminder of them. The boat’s doctor, with his steady hand and talent for drawing, painstakingly inked her namesake into her flesh.
Imrhien was at peace on The Lone Reverie. She felt camaraderie with the crew, she felt safe in their midst, even in the middle of gunfights. She picked up various uncouth habits from each of them out of admiration for their tough spirit. Everything she had learned, everything they had given her, she embraced like a lover. Not only did she adopt their habits, however, but their attitudes. Between the abundant gunfights she eagerly engaged in and the tense situations her captain seemed to drag them all into, where simply appearing dangerous could do the trick, she developed a take-no-shit-or-prisoners posture that ended up being applied to her entire personality, the result of which made her seem rather rough and rude. Having seen, firsthand, more worlds than she could remember, she also espoused the crew’s harsh hatred of the Alliance, because she now understood precisely what the scheming regime was doing to humanity.
Years went by, somewhere in the neighborhood of four and change, and the time came for Imrhien to part ways with The Lone Reverie. A few too many run-ins with the Alliance made up her mind to move on, both for her own safety, and to protect those she cared about. It would have been a dreadful show of gratitude to have her friends incarcerated for harboring her, a known fugitive. So she left, bitter over the parting, but determined to throw the Alliance hounds off of her scent, and began crisscrossing the ‘verse on various transports, sometimes able to work for her fare, sometimes able to barter for it, and sometimes forced to sell her own body for passage. It was a few years and millions of miles of wandering the various corners of space before her trail ran entirely cold.
When it did, she decided to search out a place to settle down for a while. The loneliness of space travel, never with a crew long enough to develop friendships, never on one planet long enough to get to know people, had plunged her into a cavernous melancholy, and she had a profound pining for human interaction on a level much more meaningful than the ephemeral exchanges that had defined her life for far too long. It didn’t take her much time to happen upon her haven of humanity. She landed on Blackburne, a small moon on the rim, hoping to pick up a transport elsewhere, but quite inadvertently discovered that the jade-tinged town of Blackburne Downport was exactly what she was searching for, in all its radioactive, perilous glory. It was her avowed hope that some day, she would able to share who she truly was with the people she had come to care so deeply for, because there was so very much to tell, and the lie of omission would never cease gnawing at her until she exposed herself.
On The Lam...Again.
I always knew my temper'd land me in a big enough stewpot to feed Persephone for a month. Well, here's my stewpot, boilin' happily away, just waitin' for me to dive right on in. I'm such a gorram idiot.
So, there I was, sittin' back at a bar on Boros, relaxin', mindin' to my own affairs, when some walkin' rectum with a purple belly started layin' lines on me like I was some poor little backplanet gal that ain't laid eyes on a man she wasn't related to and'd never been hit on before. That alone wasn't much more'n I handle regularly, so it was more of a minor annoyance. Not so used to 'lliance boys takin' an interest, but hey, there's a first time for everything, right? Then, he started gettin' gropey. Now, there's times when touchy-feely's appropriate - namely, when I'm okay with it. Not so much when I'm not. I told him to cut it out. Maybe not as politely as some woulda, but I'm not some refined lady like Shay is, and besides, he was outta line.
He didn't quit pawin' me. So, I told him to cut it out or I'd shove his nuts up his nose. He got all offended and said I must be a browncoat whore, cuz no whore with a brain in her head would turn him down. So, I punched him. Can you blame me?
Apparently, he didn't get the message too clear, cuz he grabbed a handful of my hair, yanked me outside, threw me down on the ground and started fiddlin' with his pants. Guess on the core planets, punchin's part of foreplay, cuz I reckon he meant to have his way with me. Well, I wasn't havin' any of that, so I shot him. And we all know me, it wasn't one of those girly-knee shots. If there's one factor that's important in opening a restaurant, real estate, and bullet placement, it's location, location, location. I got a heart shot, and that idiot fell down dead.
Now, I've killed plenty. I'll kill when it's in my best interest and not feel remorseful, cuz let's face it, it's a kill or be killed 'verse, and if you don't show people you mean business, you're pretty much dead, it's just a matter of time as to when. That asshole had it comin', so I don't feel one shred of bad. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but I can live with bein' a bad person so long as my sense of right and wrong's in balance.
The problem with killin' this particular jackass was, not only was he 'lliance, but he was a 'lliance officer. Some leiutenant or somethin'. And how'm I s'posed to explain that to his commander? Oh, sorry, he was gonna rape me, so I killed him 'fore he could get his pants down. They'd have my ass on a firin' line 'fore I could say 'uncle.' So, I ran. Just like I always do when it comes to 'lliance trouble.
SO now, not only am I on the run from the 'lliance for shootin' somebody i didn't even shoot under a diff'rent name, but I'm also on the run for killin' a man to protect myself. Needless to say, I need to keep as far from Blackburne and Hale's Moon as possible for a bit to throw off the trail. I don't wanna cause anybody there undue stress for harborin' a fugitive, cuz I'd just hate to have to kill anybody else over this little incident.
Guess I need to write home and explain things so nobody gets nervous when I don't turn up for a bit.
((OOC Note: My internet is seriously FUBAR at the moment, with no schedule for getting not-FUBAR, so... I'll be around when I'm around. I can log in sometimes, but I can't do much when I can get on. I'll try to be faithful about posting interesting blogs so nobody forgets poor Immy.))
So, there I was, sittin' back at a bar on Boros, relaxin', mindin' to my own affairs, when some walkin' rectum with a purple belly started layin' lines on me like I was some poor little backplanet gal that ain't laid eyes on a man she wasn't related to and'd never been hit on before. That alone wasn't much more'n I handle regularly, so it was more of a minor annoyance. Not so used to 'lliance boys takin' an interest, but hey, there's a first time for everything, right? Then, he started gettin' gropey. Now, there's times when touchy-feely's appropriate - namely, when I'm okay with it. Not so much when I'm not. I told him to cut it out. Maybe not as politely as some woulda, but I'm not some refined lady like Shay is, and besides, he was outta line.
He didn't quit pawin' me. So, I told him to cut it out or I'd shove his nuts up his nose. He got all offended and said I must be a browncoat whore, cuz no whore with a brain in her head would turn him down. So, I punched him. Can you blame me?
Apparently, he didn't get the message too clear, cuz he grabbed a handful of my hair, yanked me outside, threw me down on the ground and started fiddlin' with his pants. Guess on the core planets, punchin's part of foreplay, cuz I reckon he meant to have his way with me. Well, I wasn't havin' any of that, so I shot him. And we all know me, it wasn't one of those girly-knee shots. If there's one factor that's important in opening a restaurant, real estate, and bullet placement, it's location, location, location. I got a heart shot, and that idiot fell down dead.
Now, I've killed plenty. I'll kill when it's in my best interest and not feel remorseful, cuz let's face it, it's a kill or be killed 'verse, and if you don't show people you mean business, you're pretty much dead, it's just a matter of time as to when. That asshole had it comin', so I don't feel one shred of bad. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but I can live with bein' a bad person so long as my sense of right and wrong's in balance.
The problem with killin' this particular jackass was, not only was he 'lliance, but he was a 'lliance officer. Some leiutenant or somethin'. And how'm I s'posed to explain that to his commander? Oh, sorry, he was gonna rape me, so I killed him 'fore he could get his pants down. They'd have my ass on a firin' line 'fore I could say 'uncle.' So, I ran. Just like I always do when it comes to 'lliance trouble.
SO now, not only am I on the run from the 'lliance for shootin' somebody i didn't even shoot under a diff'rent name, but I'm also on the run for killin' a man to protect myself. Needless to say, I need to keep as far from Blackburne and Hale's Moon as possible for a bit to throw off the trail. I don't wanna cause anybody there undue stress for harborin' a fugitive, cuz I'd just hate to have to kill anybody else over this little incident.
Guess I need to write home and explain things so nobody gets nervous when I don't turn up for a bit.
((OOC Note: My internet is seriously FUBAR at the moment, with no schedule for getting not-FUBAR, so... I'll be around when I'm around. I can log in sometimes, but I can't do much when I can get on. I'll try to be faithful about posting interesting blogs so nobody forgets poor Immy.))
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