[ 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?