Daisy's Refuge

[Daisy]

It was a small room, but it was warm and the bed was comfortable. She didn't even remember stripping off her armor and drawing the covers over herself. During the night her body healed, fixing the aches of the road. When she woke the sun was already well on its way to climbing across the sky.

The body was willing, but the spirit lagged. She lay motionless in the bed for a long while, before instinct and nature rebelled against the unnatural inaction. She got dressed on autopilot and went to the inn's communal facilities. The hot bath was a decadent luxury. After, she returned to her room and a single question stuck in her mind like a splinter.

What now?

Her stomach answered with a call to be filled, and while that might be her most immediate concern there was also the slightly less immediate future to think about. She wasn't made of money. In fact her coffers were dangerously low. She'd have to do something to earn some coin.

And that problem brought her back, close to the root of her angst. She was only really well acquainted with one skill set : violence. She was no diplomat, hell she wasn't even cut out to be a serving girl. Patience and her were not exactly old friends.

She sighed heavily. No labor skills, no education, no social skills, no way of making her way in life outside of putting the hurt on another person. Which wasn't a problem, or hadn't been.

But now.

Well, one could only go through life the way she did for so long before the weight of victims caught up with ones spirit. Or so it seemed. She didn't _want_ to embrace the violence anymore.

Maybe there was something out there she could actually do.

Of course, there was only one way to find out.

She hung one of her hammers from her hip, put a few coins in her pocket and secreted the rest away in her room before opening the door, heading into the world, and trying to tread a new path.

[Daisy]

"Once upon a time there was a little girl. She wasn't very different from other little girls, though she had bright red hair and couldn't play outside in the sun for long or her very pale skin would burn and blister. Because of it she couldn't play with the other children for long, and many of them made fun of her.

She was very young, and could only barely remember a time when her mother and father didn't always argue and yell. She thought all mommies and daddies were like that; so she stayed away from the other mommies and daddies because it made her sad when they yelled.

She prayed to Tria to make her mommy and daddy love each other again. But they only kept yelling. So she stopped praying to Tria.

As she got older her parents fought less, but when they did it was louder, and sometimes things got broken. One night her heart broke with grief from the angry yelling, and instead of hiding she walked in on them crying and begged them to stop. Her daddy hit her mommy so hard she bounced off the wall and slumped to the floor.

The little girl was frozen with terror as her daddy turned to her and raised his hand. She couldn't remember what happened when she woke up later; but the whole side of her head ached. She tried to sit up in her bed but it made her sick. Her mommy fed her broth later, and after a while she felt better; but she noticed her mommy was having trouble moving right.

When her parents started yelling again she tried to hide. She prayed to Silestra for protection. But sometimes her daddy would still come and find her. He'd drag the little girl in front of her mother and hit the little girl again. One night he twisted her arm very hard and she heard something inside break and it hurt worse than anything else ever. She stopped praying to Silestra.

Her mommy told the healer that the little girl had fallen out of a tree. The healer looked like he was nice, but something deep inside of the little girl told her he was a bad man; and she was afraid of him. The healer wanted money but her mother didn't have any. They went into another room and made sounds. Her mommy screamed.

The man came back into the room alone and set the little girl's arm. He was very unkind about it, and had a cruel smile when his treatment left the little girl in tears. When he left the little girl went to the room her mommy was still in and found her crying. Through the tears her mother tried to tell the little girl that everything was going to be okay. She didn't believe it.

She heard her father scream in pain. Then her mother screamed in pain, again and again, until finally her voice was cut off like a door being closed. She tried to hide. But there was nowhere in the little house that was out of her father's reach.

She tried to run away, but he caught her. She saw he was bleeding from his belly. She saw the still body of her mommy on the floor, laying in a pool of blood. She was thrown into a dark chest and locked inside; left for so long she ended up peeing on herself.

She prayed to Lii to get her father for killing her mother. When the chest was opened a strange man with dark skin and an ugly beard pulled her out. Her father had sold her to him and she was taken far away. She didn't pray to Lii again.

She didn't know the language. The man with the dark skin and ugly beard turned her over to an older woman with beautifully braided hair who taught her and spoke the little girl's language. The little girl was told the rules. If she disobeyed she would be beaten. If she tried to run away, one of the other girls would be killed.

She was dressed in clothes made of fabric that was barely there, that covered just enough to preserve her modesty. She brought drinks and food to the older men and women. She took care of the guests needs, bringing them whatever they wanted and passing messages. She helped in the kitchen and did whatever menial labor was expected of her.

She was naive and it was some time until she understood what was going on. Even then it had to be explained to her by the older woman with the beautiful braids. Men and women came to the place and exchanged money or valuable goods for pleasures of the flesh. Sometimes they even bought one of the other girls.

Nothing was fair. Nothing was right. Her father beat her and her mother and no one raised a hand to help them. The man who came to heal her arm did something terrible to her mother, and no one helped her. Her father killed her mother, and no one stopped him. She had been sold into slavery by her father, and there was no one to help her. Not even the gods moved to correct such injustice.

And her rage was finally born. It began as a little thing, a tiny grain in her bosom. But she held it close, and fed it, and it grew.

Years passed, and eventually all she knew was the smoldering hate for the world around her. Only the threat of violence against the other girls kept her where she was. But not only her heart changed. Her body had too. She was no longer a little girl, she was growing into womanhood.

One morning she woke up bleeding; and the woman with the beautiful braids told her what was happening. The little girl, now a young woman didn't understand why the older woman sounded so sad. Her old clothes were taken from her and what she received in their place was made of fabric that could easily be seen through. It was the same sort of thing the working women wore. The horror of what it meant finally dawned on her.

Terror gripped her heart. It left her mind and body numb. She didn't even realize what was happening until she found herself inside one of the working rooms with a man who's countenance she could only interpret as "hungry". Something in her broke and the young woman screamed when she attacked the man.

For a moment it seemed like she might get away with it. But she only pressed him back by virtue of the surprise he'd felt. He wrestled with her, and though the young woman bit and snarled and squirmed her fight was ultimately useless. He choked her into unconsciousness.

When she awoke she was beaten for her disobedience and thrown in a cage. The next day, the young woman refused to work. She was beaten again. The cycle continued for a week. Then things changed. Instead of the young woman being beaten another woman was brought in and beaten in her place.

She agreed to work the next day. That night she prayed to Sithaa to take her life. She woke up anyway, and never prayed to Sithaa again. The thing inside of her that had broken shattered and fell out of her heart.

She thought about the girl that would be killed if she tried to escape. She felt no guilt. She wasn't the one holding the blade. It was not her burden to bear. She was not responsible. The one who actually performed the killing stroke was; the people who allowed a place like this to exist were responsible.

She was a victim, that would be so no longer. Even if she died she would die free and unafraid. There was nothing left to lose.

The young woman couldn't recall how she got ahold of the knife, but it looked like it belonged to the dead man on the bed. She would always remember how it felt to kill him though. The memory would always bring her warm feelings.

She disappeared up the chimney and fortune smiled on her long enough to allow her to escape down the roof, down the side of the building, and into the streets. She stowed away on board a ship. She ate rats and discarded food and escaped into another city under cover of night.

The young woman grew without a home, family, or friends. She survived on streets that seemed bent to the sole purpose of breaking her. She learned that the only thing that mattered was strength because the only person that would look out for her was herself.

One day the young woman was caught stealing by a dwarven blacksmith. Instead of turning her in he gave her his coat and the money in his pockets. She didn't know what to do except to take them and run.

It was not long before she returned to the blacksmith. His behavior had been so incongruous with all her experience that her curiosity simply wouldn't let it be. In time they grew close, or as close as the young woman would allow anyone to be to her. He taught her to wield a hammer as a weapon. He made a suit of mail to protect her. If she had not been as hard as his anvil she would have known he was smitten.

Of course, all good things must end. While the young woman was making a gift for the smith; the only gift she'd ever made or considered giving; he was killed by men with greed and extortion in their hearts. Whatever had been left in the young woman's heart that might have known mercy, empathy, or well wishes for her fellow man died with him.

The woman took up work as a mercenary; and to this day she'll kill anything or anyone for money without a question or a care."

And that was the last time anyone in the mercenary company of The Devil Tigers ever asked Daisy to tell a story by the fire.

[Kiko]

You have always had the ability to make me see the world through your character's eyes. This small excerpt of Daisy's world was wonderful. From beginning to end, from set up to finish.

+5 Acclaim.

[Daisy]

Thank you Kiko. I try.

I am glad you enjoyed it. I hope others will as well.

[Grayell]

As I said, I would read when I get home.

You have an incredible knack for stirring people. It might be grim and it might be gritty and it certainly should be. We write drama and fairy tales both and I think your work is wonderful.

On the topic earlier of Kiga and your dealings with Piper and what to do to him, this thread reminded me of some of his writings. He's not written at length, as you have; but has referred to some of his own childhood on occasion. I thought it interesting and though I might give you a couple of links, as the posts are buried in time now.

rpgmenagerie.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=ww2&thread=404&page=4#16943

rpgmenagerie.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=ww2&thread=429&page=9#19551

I could be wrong, but I think you two may come to terms on what to do with the villain. Should you get the luxury of choice.

[Daisy]

(chronologically this takes place immediately after "Wharf Rats", here : rpgmenagerie.com/index.cgi?board=ww2&action=display&thread=764&page=1)

It was only once she was inside the building where she rented her little room that Daisy allowed herself to favor her uninjured leg and walk with a limp. She made her way to the communal facilities, glad to be able to take the weight off her bruised knee. She took a taper to the banked coals of the fire that was used to heat the water for the hot baths, lit it, and transferred the flame to a couple candles and a lantern. Between them there was enough light she could mostly see what she was doing. She was also thankful that at this time of night the communal facilities were as good as deserted.

She peeled her half soaked and blood stained shirt from her body to take as good a look at her wounds as she could. The worst of it appeared to be high on her shoulder where a shard of old lumber had actually pierced all the way through her flesh, one side to the other. The hole was ragged, and she clenched her teeth as she probed it with a finger. It was bleeding still, but it was more an oozing than any sort of stream. There didn't seem to be anything left in it. But she was no healer and the pain was blocking out any hope of feeling a small splinter.

There were smaller abrasions up and down her flank, and she was fairly sure from the look of her shirt and the feeling of her back there were injuries she couldn't see; at least not without being an owl or having a couple of mirrors. She did her best to clean any foreign matter out of her flesh. Her breath hissed out between clenched teeth as the soap burned in her wounds. When she was satisfied they were rinsed as clean as she could get them she turned to her ruined shirt. It too was cleaned, then torn up and recycled into a very rudimentary bandage for her shoulder.

With that taken care of she disposed of the bloodied water, snuffed the candles, put out the lamp, and went up to her little room.

It was there that the events of the night finally really rolled over her. Rage and frustration boiled back to the surface; their sources so varied as to be almost unidentifiable. Piper made her angry. She knew the things he did, and they were inexcusable, unpardonable, unforgivable. Frustration and rage vied for equal attention at the fact he was being allowed to live, and the sure notion he would escape whatever prison he was interred in.

She couldn't hold Blue Gang Leader responsible for the crimes Piper would surely commit in the future. Everyone was responsible for their own actions; it was the hostage taker that killed the hostage, not the one who refused to meet the demands. But a part of her perversely hoped Blue Gang Leader was the sort of misguided fool that would feel responsible when Piper got loose and continued to do what he did. She hoped it ate him up inside and cost him sleep. She also hoped Piper got struck by lightning, but the world didn't work that way.

She was frustrated at the interference of Mr Dark; and his shielding Rut from the end he had earned. But there was nothing she could do about that monster. Not on her very best day could she hope to remove that Thing from the world. Because of him Rut was free. Maybe free to run into her again. But she doubted it.

In the end though, through it all, now that she was clear of the haze that always seemed to so consume her when the act of violent conflict was upon her; she was free to be revolted by herself. It was an unfamiliar feeling that had been eating at her more and more of late. The killing used to be an untainted pleasure, a thing she could roll in and drown her senses with. It was a pure act, not a means to an end but an end in and of itself.

It had changed though. Everything had changed, or at least begun to change on that day... the day he had forgiven her...

She closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, slapped her injured shoulder just to inflict the pain so she could push the memory away. Her breath came in ragged drags, but she thought of other things. Eventually she laid down on her uninjured side and fell into sleep.

It was a deep, dreamless sleep that was cousin to oblivion. It was the only place she could retreat to where the conflict of her newly empowered conscience and her basic nature could not reach her.

When she woke the sun was well over the horizon. Her knee was stiff and swollen; it hurt worse than it had the night before. The wound in her shoulder was home to a dull throb that grew sharper and retreated with the beating of her heart. There were a multitude of places along her side that were raw and otherwise hurting. She had certainly seen better days. On the other hand she had also seen worse. At least this time nothing was broken.

She got dressed, somewhat gingerly in a few places, then donned her armor and gathered up all the meager coin she had. If nothing else, the previous night had taught her not to face this city without the full protection of her mail and weapons. Then she exited her room intent on going in search of a healer that might be convinced to ply their trade for other services rendered.

[Kiko]

Kiko leaves a small, but very familiar looking flower, on the vacated pillow. It might even be the cleanest item in the room including the dirt still clinging to the skimpy roots.

[Daisy]

It eats you. It's like swimming against the whole ocean. It's like drowning, but part of you invites it. The You that you know is pulled under and put into a dark hole, caged like an animal to let something else free; something so primitive the rest of your brain can't even recognize it. Or maybe it refuses to recognize it. I don't really know.

What's left? Instinct, purpose, action. Thought isn't a factor. That pure emotion is the drive. It is an emotion unfettered, unconstrained by morals or even the concept of consequences. It pushes you towards one thing, all else be damned. All. Lives, property, friendship; all of it is meaningless.

Somewhere, you're fighting to get out of that dark cage, the place where you know you're doing something terrible but you're powerless to stop it. You fight, but it doesn't matter, because the part of you that wants to be good, to be moral, to keep friends, and survive for tomorrow simply isn't as powerful as the rage.

It happens once, and you promise yourself it won't happen again. It happens twice and you promise yourself you'll do better. It happens again and you feel like maybe you're a monster, but a monster wouldn't fight it, so you keep trying. It happens again and again and again, and somewhere you lose track, somewhere you give up. It isn't a switch, it isn't a whole decision. It doesn't happen in a single moment. It's little steps that eat you up one tiny bite at a time; and you don't realize it until you've been consumed.

So, what do you think it feels like to know that the whole of who you are is no match for a single facet? Everything that makes you _you_ isn't enough to keep that one thing in check? How do you imagine that feels? What do you think it's like to _know_ you're a monster?

I stopped caring about it.

Because it was the only way I could keep on living.

[Daisy]

Chronologically this takes place in the middle of "Favors Traded". Here : rpgmenagerie.com/index.cgi?action=display&board=ww2&thread=788&page=2#27022

Daisy's eyes were immediately drawn to the splash of color on the pillow. There, a single flower lay; no it was the whole plant, roots and all with dirt still clinging to it. She knew not what to make of it. The little bit of greenery was incredibly hardy, often thought of as a weed in many areas. It would certainly grow if she chose to plant it; just as certainly as it would wither and die if she did nothing.

But who would have left it? And why? She had been in town for barely a day. She did not believe it was coincidence that her namesake had been left in the room. How many people could possible know her name so quickly? It was a mystery she did not have time for.

Time or not, it prickled at her mind. The stunning parallels between the fate of the flower and the current state of her life were not lost on her. It was actually somewhat disquieting.

She gathered up the few things she had left behind in the room, told the proprietor she would not be back anytime soon, and headed back to the House of Galena. Her new cape made the trip quicker than it would have otherwise been. It would have been faster still if she had not chosen to stop at a little patch of greenery and plant the flower in a plot of well sunned ground.