15! Who needs RNG.werewolf_hackerAugust 15 2012, 04:36:29 UTC
[Most of the things Ben talks about, in his past, are the things from after slavery turned him into an object rather than a person. On the rare occasions when his life before that comes up, he can tell that she's a skeptic, indulging his tall tales because they comfort him, not because she believes them.
She doesn't believe in Dad, doesn't believe in angels or demons, and even if she did, he's got the feeling that she thinks that God would never forgive the terrible things she did.
And there's a problem with that. Because he's falling for her, and not only is the inherent imbalance of power a major problem, so is the fact that she doesn't share his faith, which is more important to him than his life.
He has no idea how to broach the subject without coming across as pushing her. And it's never been his way to throw a Bible at someone's head and holler "Repent, sinner!" at them.]
[Maria, from the start, has cared more about the present than the past. It's not just him; she learned hard and fast that too much looking back will paralyze you. Particularly if, like her, there are a great many terrible things back there waiting for the chance to catch up to you again
( ... )
[Ben's taken to sleeping in Maria's room more often that not, lately. And sometimes he stays human, although dressed. There have been a couple of occasions where he's gone to sleep wolfed and awakened human and naked, which have been embarrassing -- but not embarrassing enough to stop him sleeping there.
His nightmares have dropped back, especially when he sleeps with her, but they still plague him occasionally. And so, sitting straight up with his heart pounding and tears running down his face is really nothing new.] GURI!
[Then he realizes where he is, and he crashes back down and scrubs at his cheeks.] Oh. Sorry.
[Maria's used to this by now, and she rolls over and pitches her voice into a calm, quieting tone, seemingly undisturbed by the sudden awakening.]
Shh. Just a bad dream, Volchok. No need that you should apologize.
[She holds her hand out in the dark, offering. She still doesn't touch him without permission, without his initiating it, but she's relaxed her boundaries enough that offering is okay.]
[He clutches that hand in both of his and brings it to his chest, swallowing hard and curling into her. He's been uneasy over the past few days, twitchy and a little depressed. He owes her an explanation. His voice is hoarse.]
[Maria flinches a little, reaching up her free hand to card her fingers through his hair.]
Ach. Pobrecito mío, my poor wolf. I am so sorry.
[Disbelief or not, she knows that Guriel was a real person, someone incredibly precious to him. Nobody could hurt like that over a figment of their imagination or a religious delusion.]
[He nods against her, closing his eyes.] He was my best friend and my brother and I was too slow to save him.
Angels don't get an afterlife. It hit me hard. Harder than anything ever had, before. Worse than being a POW, worse than Prissy, worse than coming home from that and finding out my parents had been killed while I was in Afghanistan. We'd been partners for over twenty-five years.
Oh. I don't think He does. Or, at least, no one's told me. And they would have. Loudly, and at great length. I had two other embodied angels living in the house when it happened, one that hardly ever showed himself unless it was dire, and another who popped in and out whenever the mood took him. I perma-wolfed for a couple of weeks after it happened. They took turns sitting with me.
[Breathing. Inhaling her scent, grounding himself.] They say. That when God makes it all new again. That He'll Remember the angels who fell in battle back into being. Oh, dear Dad, I hope it's true.
It's been a lifetime. Sometimes I still feel like I'm missing a limb. And I wish-- [He stops, shaking his head.]
[Maria sighs and rests her cheek against his hair.]
I wish, too, Volchok. I wish there were some justice in this world for how much you have lost.
[And failing that she wishes she could get her hands on even a fraction of the people who have hurt him and taken things from him. But she's not going to say that.]
I know you don't think that. I do. [He tries to marshal his thoughts.] But what? You live with a werewolf. This was unthinkable back when I got turned. I thought werewolves and vampires were myth and legend until I got tossed face-first into a case gone horribly wrong and a fu-- friggin' vampire used me as a live dialysis machine.
Angels and demons are a stretch? [He huffs out a laugh.] I got tossed face-first into that too.
[Maria shakes her head again. She's honestly not sure she's ready to have this conversation with him; she doesn't know where it might go, what it might do to what they have between them, and that frightens her, frankly.]
It was not the case when I was younger, Volchok. I never saw one of the vilkolaiku until I had left home, but we knew there was such a thing, that they were real and one could encounter them. These other things . . .
[Were fairy stories. Old wives' tales. But she doesn't want to say that in so many words.]
[Ben huffs out a breath through his nose, half-amused, half-exasperated.] I realize that religion's gone out of fashion in a lot of places. But that part of my life was as real to me as you are. [He traces the sigil on his chest, and then the scar around it, before poking the hand-shaped scar in the center.] You must be curious about this thing. Everyone asks, sooner or later.
She doesn't believe in Dad, doesn't believe in angels or demons, and even if she did, he's got the feeling that she thinks that God would never forgive the terrible things she did.
And there's a problem with that. Because he's falling for her, and not only is the inherent imbalance of power a major problem, so is the fact that she doesn't share his faith, which is more important to him than his life.
He has no idea how to broach the subject without coming across as pushing her. And it's never been his way to throw a Bible at someone's head and holler "Repent, sinner!" at them.]
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His nightmares have dropped back, especially when he sleeps with her, but they still plague him occasionally. And so, sitting straight up with his heart pounding and tears running down his face is really nothing new.] GURI!
[Then he realizes where he is, and he crashes back down and scrubs at his cheeks.] Oh. Sorry.
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Shh. Just a bad dream, Volchok. No need that you should apologize.
[She holds her hand out in the dark, offering. She still doesn't touch him without permission, without his initiating it, but she's relaxed her boundaries enough that offering is okay.]
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Today's the anniversary of when Guriel died.
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Ach. Pobrecito mío, my poor wolf. I am so sorry.
[Disbelief or not, she knows that Guriel was a real person, someone incredibly precious to him. Nobody could hurt like that over a figment of their imagination or a religious delusion.]
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Angels don't get an afterlife. It hit me hard. Harder than anything ever had, before. Worse than being a POW, worse than Prissy, worse than coming home from that and finding out my parents had been killed while I was in Afghanistan. We'd been partners for over twenty-five years.
I retired from the Hound of God biz after that.
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[She strokes his hair, holding him close. Her poor wolf, who has suffered such sorrows.]
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[Breathing. Inhaling her scent, grounding himself.] They say. That when God makes it all new again. That He'll Remember the angels who fell in battle back into being. Oh, dear Dad, I hope it's true.
It's been a lifetime. Sometimes I still feel like I'm missing a limb. And I wish-- [He stops, shaking his head.]
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I wish, too, Volchok. I wish there were some justice in this world for how much you have lost.
[And failing that she wishes she could get her hands on even a fraction of the people who have hurt him and taken things from him. But she's not going to say that.]
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I wish you believed me.
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She sighs and shakes her head, still stroking his hair.]
I do not mean to make it seem that I think you a liar, Ben. I know that you are not one.
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Angels and demons are a stretch? [He huffs out a laugh.] I got tossed face-first into that too.
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It was not the case when I was younger, Volchok. I never saw one of the vilkolaiku until I had left home, but we knew there was such a thing, that they were real and one could encounter them. These other things . . .
[Were fairy stories. Old wives' tales. But she doesn't want to say that in so many words.]
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I did not want to pry.
[Her one great virtue. And, if she's honest about it (which she rarely is), her one great defense mechanism, too.]
But I have supposed it was for protection. A good-luck charm.
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