Thinking about The Great and how at the end Marial, who has been there since the beginning, balks and that it's Velementov, the last main conspirator to join and who had the least confidence in Catherine, that stands beside her.
About how the desire for revenge, status, and money couldn't carry Marial through the end. About how she certain she was that, at the beginning, that she would get her status back. About how at the end she looked around and saw nothing but despair and gave up. About how thinking about only of herself, even if it's understandable, made her world so much smaller and darker than it could be. About how courage doesn't just mean taking that first step but taking the final one as well.
About how bad Velementov wanted to do right by his soldiers, by his people, but felt like he couldn't. About how, unlike Marial in the beginning, he gave up and just accepted not only his slow death, but the death of all those he was supposed to protect. About how he looked at Catherine and couldn't stop himself from thinking "What if". About how he looked not just at the soldiers but at the people. About how Velementov, the man that had given up, looked around when everything seemed lost and saw hope.
About how the person standing with Catherine at the end had to be Velementov. How it couldn't be anyone else.
It had to be him because he knew what he was asking her to do. He knew it meant to condemn people to death. He knew what it meant to have to live with that. It had to be him not because he was a soldier but because he was a leader. It had to be him because he knew what it was to be dragged unwillingly out of despair and finally, finally, be given the chance to make the world a better place.
In the end, revenge wasn't enough. Neither was bitterness, greed, or anger. Those emotions can only carry someone so far.
In the end, the fierce burning of knowing that the world can be better, that there is hope, is what wins the day.
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Choose Your Own Adventure– March 2024
Hello and thank you all for choosing to read this yet again! I am pleased to keep doing something. I am working on reminding mysaelf that the point of this exercise is to have something, and it is done in the sorta-kinda structure of a CYOA novel because I need permission for it to be bad, and we’re all just having fun. I keep going!
Challenges abound, in this life. They are capricious and quick as lighting, they are as slow and earned as dark patches of mold. But the challenge itself is not so much the measure of this life, as how it is met. Some houses can be built grasping to a cliff, or piled firmly into a bog, if the builder is daring and willing.
Lena Oxton was a daring and willing builder of her own life, and relished the challenge of an impossible feat. The corner of her mouth went up in appreciation of life’s little gifts of difficulty as she stood back for a moment and surveyed the house.
“Nothing to be done but get inside, right? Not burglary, as I’m not planning on taking nothing,’ She reassured the house, ‘it’s only so cold and wet, right? Just going to get warm, and put Fareeha and that Tenoh girl into separate corners. Act of charity, that is.”
She barely felt the rain, however heavy. The excitement of the game was too much, as her eyes flitted, hummingbird-like, over the little pots of nectar that were each possible entrance to the building.
There would be no getting into the large glass doors at the ground floor, not without breaking something, and Fareeha would take a more or less dim view of that, as might whatever posh person owned this house, or worse, the national trust. That would be what Fareeha called, an incident, and she did try to avoid incidents. Lena liked to avoid paperwork, so on that score they could agree.
But there was a trellis, running alongside those bright white columns, up to the flat roof topping that colonnade. Whether the roses were supporting the trellis or the other way around, it was hard to tell, however, and Lena suddenly found herself wondering if she should have had the whole pie set in front of her at the pub. And the mash. And the three ales.
Well, no, the three ales were necessary, because the Tenoh girl had sat in a bloody Wetherspoons and ordered chicken katsu, had picked the place because there was chicken katsu, despite Lena telling her chicken bloody katsu was a bit less than local to the area and there might be better ways of exorcising the homesickness she did not have, and then been bold enough to act surprised when it hadn’t been straight out of Tokyo. So another ale it was, for Lena Oxton, and Fareeha could look at her as crossways as she liked.
But the ales were had, and she needed to get into the window, so regrets and second thoughts would only be extra weight, and she dropped them to the damp grass. She took off her jacket and carefully set it under the small bit of roof over the doors. As if a bit more water damage could possibly make the jacket, with its crinkled edges, and stray threads, and a patch job with a dark stain around the edges of it, look any worse.
Lena gave a broad smile to no one and nothing in particular as she bent back into a deep stretch, her hands over her head. It would be easy, if the trellis held. That window up above was almost certainly not locked, so it was only a matter of careful wriggling. Nothing this old was built quite tight. It was one of the more charming bits of England, Lena thought, that the outside was always a bit in, if something had been there long enough. Like it had become part of the country itself, and couldn’t be properly separated.
She lifted onto the trellis, and began her climb, her fingerless gloves only protecting her slightly from the thorns of the rose that climbed alongside her. She gave a small, rare thanks for being built the way she was–her feet slipped easily into the holes of the trellis, and she began to pick speed.
Until the trellis seemed to realize that she was there, and its voice croaked, an old and blueblooded madam affronted by the gall of a dockworker’s granddaughter to presume she was welcome. Lena barely had a moment before the trellis slipped away from the rest of the house like an evening fur, but a moment was all she needed to jump to the edge of the roof and pull herself, inelegant and flat on her stomach, to the safety of the flat space.
She was soaking wet, but she still took a moment to roll on her back and laugh. There were warm clothes in the van, she’d change as soon as she got back. The window was all that she could have hoped for and more, rotting at the very edges of the painted wood. Lena took a tiny penknife out of her pocket and slipped it into the edge of the sill at the bottom, hoping it was stalwart enough for the job. The rain had swelled the old wood, and it stuck firmly. She leaned on it a little more heavily, but to no avail.
Lena rocked back on her heels and tried to think. She pushed up on the sill, strong as she could. She pressed and pressed, and then–a chuck of old wood came flying off the sill, onto the ground, but the window remained shut.
“Oh, come on!” Lena implored the house, and leaned against the window glass. “Please just let me in. It’s bloody freezing, and no one else is making use of you, and–I promise I’m very respectful. Trellis aside. Also the window frame. In general, I suppose.”
There was a strange ripple, that ran through Lena, a sort of deep thrumming that she felt rather than heard, and she stepped back from the window. Just to the left, a french window simply popped open. Just an inch. Barely enough to be seen. But Lena watched the house let her in.
As she walked toward the window, in the back of her mind, she could hear her father’s voice, from far away. She couldn’t hear what he was saying as she climbed inside.
__
Challenges abound, in this life.
Fareeha closed her eyes and took a breath. People often remarked that it must be so hard, being a military commander. Giving directives on the field. It was nothing to her. It is easy to give orders, when the only consideration is the wisdom of the order itself. When people follow instructions, it is easy to give them. The matter is closed.
Command is easy, and management is hard. Sitting in a van in the rain, attempting to mollify the feelings of an overly-sensitive potential donor while putting up with needling of little her friend, was taking Fareeha to the end of her tether. She should have offered to go on ahead, and left Lena with the problem. She was better with people. She understood how to be charming, more easily.
When she felt inclined to, which was sometimes the trouble with Lena. She did not feel thus inclined, on the subject of the Kaioh family representatives.
So it was on her, to make connections for Overwatch, and so Fareeha turned to Doc, who was still sitting quietly in the corner, foot thumping on the bottom of the van.
“Help me with something.”
Doc nodded. “Can’t hurt.”
Fareeha rolled her eyes, but flung open the van door and zipped her collar back up to its full height. Mina and Haruka were huddled under the umbrella, looking out at the dark fields, the possibility of a small town at the edge of them. The United Kingdom was so small, and yet they had managed to get so far from anything. It seemed to defy sense, but it had happened, and therefore it must be perfectly explicable. There were plenty of places such things could happen, even here.
She cleared her throat, and Haruka and Mina both turned to look at her.
“I–apologize. I am from Egypt, and, so, the cold and wet irritates me. I become difficult. So I have been told.”
The corner of Mina’s mouth raised, but she said nothing. Fareeha walked toward them, letting her eyes rest on the dark road, and the bright white of the cigarette butt lying atop it. She bent down and picked it up, looking first to it, and then to Haruka.
“You have forgotten your litter.” She swallowed. “ An easy mistake, of course. I will handle it.”
She pocketed the cigarette butt and let her eyes drift along the edge of the darkness. Standing in front of the two of them, their eyes on her, expectantly, she realized that while she had resolved to allow Haruka to help her with something, she had utterly failed to figure out what the thing she could help with might be.
Foolish. She was constantly chiding Lena over her impulsivity. She did whatever came to her mind first, and never thought a day, a month, a year past it. But at least her impulse came with it a certain quality of genius, while Fareeha had no gift for improvisation. She was a careful strategist.But here she was, barelling forward without the benefit of planning, and now the very people she needed to impress were staring at her with expectation as she stammered.
“I was–I wonder.” Fareeha turned toward them, “If, the van being broken, we should wait for Lena, or follow to the house with her. I was hoping, Haruka, that you could help me decide. Which is wiser. I have not done many country drives, in places like this. I was told you like to drive in the country, back home.”
It was smarter to stay, of course, even allowing for the fact that Lena was just as likely drinking a few pints and watching some football highlight reel right now. But Haruka would know the same, and could imagine herself an important part of the larger workings Overwatch.
Fareeha wrested the words from her own mouth like a bone from a starving dog.
“I need your help.”
Challenges abound, in this life.
What should Haruka say?
results! The spooky details will be posted down here as they are used in future chapters, so don’t worry about not seeing them right now. I’ve got them!
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