03-26-2009, 07:02 PM
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500+
“But better by your own hands.” The alto melody was quiet and soft in the darkness of the newly fallen night. A soft smile graced the lips of the black fae. Yes. Justice. And Justice must be served. But, at times, the female wondered if it would be Justice. It was not that she sought to take revenge, for that was not her intent. Her intent was to make better herself—her body and strength, technique and mind—so that she may better serve her pack, whether it be in war or simply in a duel. But this intent that she held could be both selfish and selfless, both of which could not be utilized to serve Justice. Both Selfishness and Selfishness required opinion, to be engaged. Justice required something near to apathy, a withdrawal so far into the self that the distance was insurmountable. Justice required one to be impersonal, to be able to view and see what things are and not what they simply seemed to be. It was a difficult thing, and the warrior did not find such withdrawal necessary in her personal pursuit within the martial field. Indeed, she could accomplish such withdrawal into the self, but the thrill of battle was at its height when she could experience the satisfaction of making physical contact with the enemy, then taking its life so that it may no longer bring harm to that which she was protecting.
And so when the blindfolded male responded, the female could not help but smile. It seemed to her, though she had only known him for a short while and thus could not judge with a certainty, that this male was completely withdrawn within himself, made impersonal for the services of Justice. “Have you ever become emotionally involved,” the soft melody inquired, and her curiosity was genuine. But it occurred to her, then, that he might be. Perhaps injustice and crime angered him, and that was what moved him to cleanse the world of such creatures. But then, while anger was an emotion, did not anger create a distance? But she wondered what the male thought of himself. And his descriptions did not make her cringe, though it was not pleasant. She knew that such things existed and did not ignore such an existence. But, unlike the male, she had not devoted her life to the purging of such horrors. It was a wonder that he had such a great will. And his metaphor was fitting. “Your devotion will permit you to bring Justice upon those who show such disrespect.” The woman saw such things as disrespect, and perhaps it was, put in milder terms.
And this Conri Church that had entered their conversation—he was one such creature that committed such disrespects. Rape. Her father, the crow wolf, sought to rape her, and perhaps he still did. For a moment, her thought wandered to her father, to the strange attraction and fear that she felt for him. It was that single thing that continuously tainted her soul. Mentally, she brushed away the thoughts, turning her white orbs upon the male as she struggled to focus her mind upon this reality. “It is the sign of one with no control—or even one with unquenchable desire.” Whether the desire was to possess or to humiliate did not matter. Rape was rape. “I’m afraid that I know nothing more of him....” the female apologized. “I have never had the pleasure of meeting him.”
“But better by your own hands.” The alto melody was quiet and soft in the darkness of the newly fallen night. A soft smile graced the lips of the black fae. Yes. Justice. And Justice must be served. But, at times, the female wondered if it would be Justice. It was not that she sought to take revenge, for that was not her intent. Her intent was to make better herself—her body and strength, technique and mind—so that she may better serve her pack, whether it be in war or simply in a duel. But this intent that she held could be both selfish and selfless, both of which could not be utilized to serve Justice. Both Selfishness and Selfishness required opinion, to be engaged. Justice required something near to apathy, a withdrawal so far into the self that the distance was insurmountable. Justice required one to be impersonal, to be able to view and see what things are and not what they simply seemed to be. It was a difficult thing, and the warrior did not find such withdrawal necessary in her personal pursuit within the martial field. Indeed, she could accomplish such withdrawal into the self, but the thrill of battle was at its height when she could experience the satisfaction of making physical contact with the enemy, then taking its life so that it may no longer bring harm to that which she was protecting.
And so when the blindfolded male responded, the female could not help but smile. It seemed to her, though she had only known him for a short while and thus could not judge with a certainty, that this male was completely withdrawn within himself, made impersonal for the services of Justice. “Have you ever become emotionally involved,” the soft melody inquired, and her curiosity was genuine. But it occurred to her, then, that he might be. Perhaps injustice and crime angered him, and that was what moved him to cleanse the world of such creatures. But then, while anger was an emotion, did not anger create a distance? But she wondered what the male thought of himself. And his descriptions did not make her cringe, though it was not pleasant. She knew that such things existed and did not ignore such an existence. But, unlike the male, she had not devoted her life to the purging of such horrors. It was a wonder that he had such a great will. And his metaphor was fitting. “Your devotion will permit you to bring Justice upon those who show such disrespect.” The woman saw such things as disrespect, and perhaps it was, put in milder terms.
And this Conri Church that had entered their conversation—he was one such creature that committed such disrespects. Rape. Her father, the crow wolf, sought to rape her, and perhaps he still did. For a moment, her thought wandered to her father, to the strange attraction and fear that she felt for him. It was that single thing that continuously tainted her soul. Mentally, she brushed away the thoughts, turning her white orbs upon the male as she struggled to focus her mind upon this reality. “It is the sign of one with no control—or even one with unquenchable desire.” Whether the desire was to possess or to humiliate did not matter. Rape was rape. “I’m afraid that I know nothing more of him....” the female apologized. “I have never had the pleasure of meeting him.”