illirica
Well-Known Member
It was curious, Rhetta thought, listening to this perspective of Mathis Guiscard - a man who needed advice, who didn't heed it. A whisper of unsettled disloyalty from a son who loved him. It was nothing she'd ever been privy to, really. She had known the man, certainly - perhaps not as well as anyone, but as well as she had ever cared to. He'd been a pillar, when she was small - the First, always the First, for as long as she had lived. She'd known, one day, she would serve him, and she'd known what was expected of her. She might have thought of James as the one who wielded her, but she was Mathis' blade, when it came to it, back then. She'd followed him, as they all did. She'd raged at him, sometimes, when she was young and stupid and full of more pride than sense - after her mother had died, her father three years dead already, and she'd been all of fourteen and convinced she was ready to take on the entire world, pissed off at the man she respected for holding her back, refusing to let her take her rightful place. Fourteen was, of course, not the most rational of ages for anyone, but without her mother there to provide focus and without Mathis willing to provide an anchor, she'd gravitated towards Jacques, because he never told her she couldn't do something - even when, perhaps, he should have.
But he'd been there for her. They all had, of course - that was what the Pack was for, but Rhetta hadn't wanted sympathy. She'd wanted blood, and the three years between when she'd thought she could take it and Mathis had given her the patch and started sending her out after it had been nearly interminable. Perhaps something of that history showed, in the slightest tilt of her head as she watched a young Ragenard dismember his corps and make them put themselves back together, again and again, as many times as it took. She wasn't bothered by it - her expression was, momentarily, the one of someone who thought perhaps they might take notes, before realizing that they already knew everything being presented, and perhaps could have offered some suggestions. The Bloodstones trainings had always stopped earlier than that, but... well, Jacques never had. She'd sharpened her skills, whatever that entailed, until Mathis had finally decided to allow her the position she wanted. He'd paired her with James, more often than not, perhaps recognizing the need for it. James hadn't held back much, in those days, but he'd at least known how. If Mathis had paired her with Jacques, Rhetta didn't know what would have come of it.
Perhaps they'd have survived the carnage that had come later, if they'd all been that brutal.
She finished the last of the tea in the cup, watching the blood run rivers on the training grounds, and looked away once more as the scene shifted back to Ragenard, talking about plans for the future past.
"Idiot." It wasn't a condemnation, merely a designation. Her finger moved along the rim of the now-empty cup, tilting it along its base into a slow looping pattern, invisible except in memory. Her memory was contradictory: she doubted Mathis had ever thought of Ragenard as a second, not in any real sense. Perhaps he'd considered the man a blunt instrument to hit things with, but never trusted as a deputy, certainly never beloved. James had been the favorite. They'd all known that. Mathis' favored firstborn, and Ragenard... nothing like that. She wondered when he'd figured it all out, or how much of the time before that had been willful denial.
James had taken First, as she'd known he would for as long as she could remember, and Ragenard had stood beside him, and Mathis had faded, and it had all gone to hell. And now Ragenard was unconscious, and James was wondering whether he needed to go back to what he had been or try to remain what he was, and half the pack was dead and everything was in disarray. Desmond was Acting First and James refused to step up from Sergeant-at-Arms, and the Pack's leadership was all in disarray, and Ragenard was still a fucking idiot if he thought Rhetta ought to be part of it. She tipped the cup back to precisely where it had started, landing it in position on the bar with a subtly appreciable click.
"Mathis would make a good Second."
But he'd been there for her. They all had, of course - that was what the Pack was for, but Rhetta hadn't wanted sympathy. She'd wanted blood, and the three years between when she'd thought she could take it and Mathis had given her the patch and started sending her out after it had been nearly interminable. Perhaps something of that history showed, in the slightest tilt of her head as she watched a young Ragenard dismember his corps and make them put themselves back together, again and again, as many times as it took. She wasn't bothered by it - her expression was, momentarily, the one of someone who thought perhaps they might take notes, before realizing that they already knew everything being presented, and perhaps could have offered some suggestions. The Bloodstones trainings had always stopped earlier than that, but... well, Jacques never had. She'd sharpened her skills, whatever that entailed, until Mathis had finally decided to allow her the position she wanted. He'd paired her with James, more often than not, perhaps recognizing the need for it. James hadn't held back much, in those days, but he'd at least known how. If Mathis had paired her with Jacques, Rhetta didn't know what would have come of it.
Perhaps they'd have survived the carnage that had come later, if they'd all been that brutal.
She finished the last of the tea in the cup, watching the blood run rivers on the training grounds, and looked away once more as the scene shifted back to Ragenard, talking about plans for the future past.
"Idiot." It wasn't a condemnation, merely a designation. Her finger moved along the rim of the now-empty cup, tilting it along its base into a slow looping pattern, invisible except in memory. Her memory was contradictory: she doubted Mathis had ever thought of Ragenard as a second, not in any real sense. Perhaps he'd considered the man a blunt instrument to hit things with, but never trusted as a deputy, certainly never beloved. James had been the favorite. They'd all known that. Mathis' favored firstborn, and Ragenard... nothing like that. She wondered when he'd figured it all out, or how much of the time before that had been willful denial.
James had taken First, as she'd known he would for as long as she could remember, and Ragenard had stood beside him, and Mathis had faded, and it had all gone to hell. And now Ragenard was unconscious, and James was wondering whether he needed to go back to what he had been or try to remain what he was, and half the pack was dead and everything was in disarray. Desmond was Acting First and James refused to step up from Sergeant-at-Arms, and the Pack's leadership was all in disarray, and Ragenard was still a fucking idiot if he thought Rhetta ought to be part of it. She tipped the cup back to precisely where it had started, landing it in position on the bar with a subtly appreciable click.
"Mathis would make a good Second."