NationStates Jolt Archive

*Raven looked puzzled, she shook her head and shrugged*

"You'll have to make your mind up on this one Cal. You say you have had training both mental and physical to detatch yourself from what you have been trained to do, yet you stand and tell me a long tale of how three deaths affected you so much that you have had to step away for a while.
Maybe this is what you need, having to fight every day to control yourself in lighter gravity and just go through the motions, but I doubt it.
I think that you need to learn what life is about out side the life of a soldier, let your hair down.
Did you ever have a childhood? Do rediculously stupid and reckless things, hang around on a street corner with the guys? Make mistakes?"

Cal raised an eyebrow, chewed his lip for a few moments, then shrugged.

"I didn't have friends as a kid. My parents never left me alone, but they were in and out all the time. Never with me together, as it were. Both of 'em were and are senior noncoms in the AFESSR, my dad is a Command Sergeant Major in the Fleet Marines, my mother is a Senior Master Chief Petty Officer in the goddamn NSIC. You don't need nor want to know about the NSIC. Either way, they were as highly ranked as you can go without a commission."

He toyed idly with a strand of hair.

"No, I didn't have much of a childhood. It was simply expected that I would join the military. I think my mom wanted me to make it into a Seraphim Regiment or something...uhm, that is kinda like, I dunno...no real comparison. They're the elite of the elite, eclipsed as units only by the Guard Companies, and they recruit directly from the Seraphim...

So...my whole life up to age ten was preparation to begin Fhellanti Discipline, then my life consisted entirely of practicing said Discipline so as to prepare myself for the military.

I suppose I pretty much expected that I'd get tapped after basic by some sort of elite unit and work my way up the ranks just like my parents...but when I got The Letter..."

He smiled fondly. It was always like that -- the only way to gain admission to the DSSC was via invitation, which came in the form of a letter from the Warprince himself. Technically. His signature was on it, anyways. It often came as a surprise, and it was always referred to as "The Letter." In capitals.

"I never expected I'd go to OCS. It threw my life plans to hell and gone. I'd spent my life learning how to fight and take orders, and that I knew how to do. But giving orders to other people, leading them into battle...it scared me. Still does."

He sighed and swished the liquor around in its bottle...

"But I passed with flying goddamn colors. Got my commission. Second goddamn Lieutenant. Then the Captain tapped me for White Company. After a few months of AIT and specialization training, I found myself leading a patrol...platoon...whatever."

He looked up at nothing particular, "So. That is my life in a nutshell. The military was all I knew, is all I know. 'n, yeah, the Combat Fatigue story is pretty flimsy, I guess. There are...complications. I've always known how to deal with combat stress, I have since I was a kid and my parents would wake up screaming in the middle of the night. Bit of an odd reversal of role there, I suppose."

He stretched, yawned, "Maybe you're right. Maybe my problem is that I don't know what I was fighting for. It wasn't the money, it never will be the money...though the money helps."

He turned his head to look at her, his silver eyes rather intent, searching for something, something that he seemed to find.

"But being a soldier isn't entirely killing, y'know. We Revenians, like just about every warrior culture I can think of, has a fine tradition of the written and spoken word. Of course, most of our stuff is in High Ascended, and thus quite out of reach. Earth poetry, on the other hand..."

He smiled, closed his eyes, and the words came to him, as they often did.

"
What is a woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?

She has no house to lay a guest in --
But one chill bed for all to rest in,
That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.

She has no strong white arms to fold you,
But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you --
Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.

Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,
And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,
Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken --

Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters.
You steal away to the lapping waters,
And look at your ship in her winter-quarters.

You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables,
The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables --
To pitch her sides and go over her cables.

Then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow,
And the sound of your oar-blades, falling hollow,
Is all we have left through the months to follow.

Ah, what is Woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker ?"

His look was pointed, his eyebrow raised slightly. One doubted that anyone would notice the rapid series of signs that he made with below the level of the bar, but they were necessary.

One might, however, focus in on the ring that he still wore. A Revenian -might- recognize it as a Kal-Kree'Kas Signet. Or one might recognize the rune that figured prominently on the black iron ring...resembling ever so much an upward point arrow.

Possibly.

(OOC: Yawnage. Be back Wednesday. Poem was Harp Song of the Dane Women by Kipling.)

Sighs tiredly as the tender lance hands him the mixed kamikaze drink and slowly says " cheers to my father last of the Dragon platoon to die now may his soul rest as he goes back to the void to join his men for they were'nt just companions in the same war on the sameside they were and still are in a sense bestfriends " chugs the entire tankard of the mixed drink and sets it up on a mantle with the picture of the Dragon platoon now as he counted the tankard glasses he saw the picture clearer as he looked at it he saw himself and his father on the right side of the picture towering over the rest of the men both smiling " *sits down nearby looking at the picture a single tear rolling down his cheek*

*Raven listened intently to the words Cal spoke.*

"A very worthy poem in the Old Norse tradition?
Do your people have a tradition of following the Norse ways, I have noticed the rune on your ring, one of Tyr's 8 I believe?"

*She pauses, pulling up her left sleeve a little, she shows him the small tattoo just above her wrist, it is old and faded, but the angular R shape can still be seen clearly.*

"Freya's, all the Corvax are marked with this at birth, we are a very superstitious family."

*For a moment her hand goes up to the still healing scar on her forhead and she feels for the whisp of hair that was once there and she grins a little sheepishly.*

"Perhaps for good reason."


*Raven's attention is caught for a moment by Valoriamartia's actions, she strains her eyes to see the picture he is saluting and when she recognises one of it's subjects, she guesses why he is doing as he is.
Shaking her head slightly, she returns her attention back to Cal smiling brightly.*

"So......No childhood huh? We'll have to see what we can do about that. What do you reckon you missed out on the most?"

His eyes seemed to flicker, as if he was staring intently at a dancing candleflame. He reached his left hand over to absently caress his right wrist. Most people would never notice the slight difference in temperature between his right hand and the rest of his arm, but he did.

He shook his head lightly, then looked up and smiled idly.

"Well, it is more that my people have a tradition of following Great House Stark then it is that my people have a tradition of following the Norse ways. Our Lord Warprince was on Earth for a very long time...he lived with the Norse, fought with them...admired their courage and ferocity, if not their skill."

He shook his head idly, "I could spin a tale about the Warprince finding his faith, but it would be only a tale. I wish I could tell you about the ring I wear, but I cannot."

He smiled absently, "However, my -family- has a tradition of following the Norse ways. We are a military family, a fighting family, and Tyr has always been our god. We honor the Private Gods of the Ascended, and we honor our ancestors...but..."

He looked at her for a long time, then he extended the fingers of his right hand and held that hand out to her.

"Can you tell? That it is a prosthetic, I mean. Birth defect, of all things...but one that I and my father share. My grandfather lost his hand in combat...before that, I don't know."

He smiled, then, "Oh, superstition isn't as bad as most people make it out to be. Believe me on this, there are things out there that.." He stopped, closed his eyes, seemed to struggle with himself for a few moments, then opened his eyes again.

"Well, we don't need to talk about that. But let me just say that most superstitions exist for relatively good reason, and out there," he made a broad gesture upwards, "every little bit of trust in yourself or in anything...helps. More than you can know. The Ascended, the blood of whom runs through my veins, were immortal. Ageless. Possessed of great power, and yet with an incredible few exceptions, they all believed in some sort of greater power."

He shrugged, "Now...my childhood. I didn't really miss out on anything simple. Mostly just the experience of seeing normal people doing normal things. I think that I have gone as far as I can fighting for myself...and I think that what I need is something else worth risking my life for."

He shook his head faintly, "It would have been easier if I'd just gone into the goddamn Fleet Marines or a Seraphim Regiment. Then I'd be fighting for the Star Supremacy...but I'm a goddamn merc, and the money just doesn't cut it for me."

He exhaled, "But that is me analyzing myself. I can't really say what I've missed out on, because I've missed out on it. What do -you- think I missed?"

*Raven takes Cal's hand in hers and inspects it with interest, impressed at the quality of the prosthetic.*

"It's good, very good, I doubt I would have known even if I have held your hand unless you had said."

*She thinks for a while, still holding his hand, absent mindedly stroking the skin like covering .*

"We have a lot in common you and I, even though we come from entirely different worlds and backgrounds.
And what have you missed not having a childhood, or being allowed to be an
awkward, gangly, spotty youth for that matter?
The answer is simple.....fun!"

*She grins at the memories flooding back to her.*

"Running out into the rain, because it's been dry for weeks and dancing in muddy pools just for the sheer joy of it.
Creeping off when you know there's work to be done and wasting a whole day, even though you know there'll be hell to pay when your parents catch up with you.
Climbing a tree because it's there and for no other reason than that.
Stealing fruit and eating the evidence before you're caught.
Just sitting with your first love, watching the sun set and still being there to watch the sun rise.....

There are many simple pleasures that you have when you are young, sometimes you can recapture them when you are older, but they are never the same the second time around."

He smiled absently. "Ah, me. But I am young. Very young, for my people. We mature -- physically -- at eighteen, yes, but the mental development, well, I don't think it ever ends. The Ascended blood in my veins means that I will not age physically past eighteen. Oh, certainly, my body will look different, but it will look differently in relation to the way I want it to look, rather than having anything to do with age."

He smiled absently, "There are very few "old" Halfling Ascended, because very few people picture themselves as being very old. The most common appearance is what, in a human, would be late twenties to mid thirties. The prime of life, I suppose. Whatever."

He grinned absently to himself, "Me, I'm nothing but a babe in arms compared to most people, who've lived at least half a millenia. A lot of people have lived a couple of millenia. The High King has been around for over a million years, the Warprince around five hundred thousand. Needless to say, not having yet fallen in love, in a Halfling Ascended like myself, is relatively normal."

He took a swig from his bottle and rolled the alcohol around in his mouth before swallowing it. Wretched stuff, really. No flavor.

"Not saying I'm a virgin or anything, of course. Fleet Marine bootcamp is co-ed, and sex is about the only recreational activity around. Unless you -reaally- enjoy pushups. 'n Bruises. 'n pissing off a guy who has every legal right to have you summarily executed."

He grinned idly, "Not that I had to worry about that. It would have taken a -very- stupid Drill Instructor to off Command Sergeant Major McRae's son. Even then, Senior Master Chief Petty Officer Mama McRae didn't raise any idiots."

He smiled, his eyes fogging over slightly with tears as he reminisced. "Ahh...I miss those days. People -relied- on me. It was goddamn -fun.- Here, I dunno. It's too easy, I guess. Because I'm Revenian, y'know. Heavyworlder. Armel, my homeworld, has twice the gravity of earth. I'm too strong, too fast, I can leap small buildings in a single bound..."

He barked a laugh, "Ahh...maybe I'm just too cautious. I need to be, sure...if I wasn't careful, I'd end up hurting somebody really bad. But it gets to be...almost...too much. Obsessive."

He yawned, then, and took a long pull from ze bottle, swilled it around...

"'n like I said, don't worry about the alcohol. It takes about thirty ounces of this crap to get me really drunk. 'n that drank all at once. We metabolize this stuff -reeeeaaally- fast, naturally, and my implants just make it go faster."

*Raven shakes her head and laughs*

"See?
Everything military and nothing you!......
You check everything, you monitor everything, you won't drink anything or eat anything without taking a sample first!"

*She thinks for a moment then passes him her bottled water and for good measure grabs a handful of what looks like peanuts from a dish on the bar*

"There you go, eat and drink without checking, I dare you!"

Cal looked at the peanuts and the bottle, then shrugged and took a handful of peanuts and squeezed gently, then opened his hand and picked the nuts out, then deposited the cracked shells in the bowl reserved for them.

He popped the nuts into his mouth, one at a time, chewed, then swallowed. Then took a short drink from the bottle of water, before handing it back to Raven.

"The reason I check things, Raven, is because of my job. We are trained to check everything that we or our primary - charge - client...whatever, would ingest. For poison, you understand. Dignitary protection. Not because I'm obsessive compulsive.

The White Company is, perhaps, the foremost "bodyguard" unit in Revenia outside of the Armed Forces. We are this because we live our jobs, breath our jobs..."

*Raven sighs and looks at him in disgust and frustration.*

"See.....?
Every damned thing you do is referred back to the military, every thought every action is because of the military.
Have you ever had one damned conversation with anyone that doesn't refer to the White company or Boot Camp?

Yes I have joined up, but I know what I'm fighting for, what I've got to loose, what others have to loose if I don't.
You?
You are just some brain washed baby sitter!"

*Feeling her anger rising, Raven pauses and takes a long drink of water, draining the bottle.
She takes a deep breath and pauses, putting her hand on his arm.*

"I'm sorry Cal, that was harsh of me, but it gets me so annoyed seeing good men go to waste....."

He shrugged weakly and stared at the bartop...

"'n what exactly am I supposed to say to that, anyways? If I died, right here, right now...nobody would care. Nobody. Not a single goddamn person."

He chuckled absently as he finished off his bottle and tossed it into the fireplace. Presuming there was a fireplace. If there wasn't, a wall would serve. Tradition.

"No, Raven, I don't know what I'm fighting for. But you want to know what will happen if I -don't- fight? Nothing. Not a single damned thing. I could resign my commission and head off to do whatever the hell I wanted and -nothing- would happen."

He smiled, maybe just a little bit manicly...
"They say that the most dangerous type of person is the one with nothing to lose. Whatever."

Cal shook his head, laughing at some fleeting thought.

"Going to waste, am I? I suppose I wouldn't know. Maybe 's the brainwashing that makes me think that all I'm good for is killing stuff...or maybe 's that killing is the only thing I've ever done. See, the thing is...I'm good at it. Killing, that is. I'm fast, strong, precise..."

He shrugged, "Ahh, what's the use. E-freaking-nough about me. I'll get better, I just need time. Why the hell -did- you join up, anyways, Raven? Seems like an odd thing to do for a person with your...views."

*Raven stood listening, her hand still on his arm.
She paused for a while after Cal had finished, deep in thought.
Then shaking herself out of it, she turned and ordered him another bottle and a large dark strong smelling drink for herself.
She took a mouthful of her drink and whinced at it's bitter taste, then handed Cal his, preventing him from taking it for a mamonet then letting it go.*

"There would be some one who would miss you even if it was only for a moment, no one has nothing to leave behind."

*She pauses again and drinking more and whincing less.*

"Why did I join up? Because I know what there is to loose, I have seen what that loss brings and I don't want it to happen to those I care for."

*Her face begins to lighten uop with an impish grin, one that she seems to be using most at the moment and she peers over her glass at him.*

"Besides, it's a family tradition and my brother had no wish to do it, so I did."