Running away from...well, everything

((I didn't know if I should start a new thread or post in an already active one. I chose a new thread because I didn't want to butt in, but if it would be easier if I posted in an existing thread, just let me know and I'll repost. Thanks. ))

The thing that was most alluring about being here was the fact that she knew that she wasn't supposed to be. It was refreshing. For her entire life - or at least the part that mattered - she had done absolutely nothing but what was expected of her. That was her job, after all; to do what people wanted and needed her to.

But no. Not now. She just couldn't do it. Physically, mentally. Emotionally.

No.

So she packed her bags, left the Home, and came to the only place she could find that was far away from everywhere. Which happened to be here.

Sigh.

She stood in the door for a moment, bag slung over her arm, staring blankly into the reception area. Everything felt so surreal, like this was all just a daydream she was lost in or a story she was telling. She didn't feel like herself and this didn't feel like her life. Nothing fit the way it used to.

Another sigh.

She ran her fingers through her dark, wavy hair, pushing it out of her face, and stepped to the desk. "Excuse me," she said, "I'd like to get a room?"

Just some time, she told herself. I just need some time. I just need some time.

That's what she always told herself: that she just needed some time and then everything would be okay again.

"What kind of room?" For a moment she stared blankly at the man, her thought process stuck in some kind of rut. After a few rather awkward moments, she jerked herself out of it, shaking her head. "Um... right. Just... a normal room, I guess..." Her voice trailed off and she smiled weakly, not knowing quite what else to do.

She suddenly remembered pay, and reached for her bag. She dropped it on the counter and began rummaging through it. It was haphazardly packed, with everything just thrown together in one big mess. She had packed last minute - hell, it was all last minute - and had just stuffed whatever she could into the pack. Finding her purse would be
a task; she pulled out item after item and placed them on the counter, just to get them out of the way. A hat. A scarf. A book. Crumpled paper. A brush. Another book. A notebook. Yet ANOTHER book... why did she bring so many damn -

Then she pulled out a blood stained piece of cloth, clearing cut away from something
larger, and she stopped.

For a moment she just gazed at it, frozen except for a lump moving steadily from her heart to her throat. Something inside her began to ache. She bit down hard on the
inside of her lip.

Then the moment passed, and pushed herself back into reality. She closed the cloth between her two hands and glanced around her, realizing what a mess she'd made. As she reached to clean it up (forgetting that she hadn't found her purse yet), she accidentally hit the bag with her arm, sending it off the table and spilling its contents all over the floor. She cringed as she watched it fall, and a sudden surge of frustration surge through her. Why can't I do anything right anymore? she thought, the words
lashing out violently in her head. Why can't I even try and FIX ANYTHING?!

But then the frustration passed, and it left a black feeling of hopelessness. She let her hands drop to her sides, one of them still clutching the cloth between her fingers. She
looked back at the man. “Sorry...” she said softly, giving another weak smile. “I'm not normally so... so....Well, I'm usually not like this.”


((Warn me if I'm going overboard with TEH EMO ANGST. =P Azline's story is very sad and has been in my head for quite some time, so I'm worried that it may come out rather cheesy. ^^U ))

EDIT - Ack, sorry, posted from the wrong account. ^^U I'd post again from my Azline account, but then formatting is all screwed up and whatnot. So I'll just stick with this one. =P
((It's not a problem at all. ))

"Thank you," she murmured, and dropped to her knees to help him. She glanced once more at the cloth in her hand, then slipped it into her pocket - she couldn't risk losing that. She wanted it close to her.

She began picking things up and putting them back into the bag. She had packed so many useless things. What had she been thinking?

But of course, she knew what she'd been thinking, and it had nothing to do with packing.

She was just about to answer the man's offer when she noticed a silver pendant - a badge, really - lying amongst all of her other things. She picked it up and stared at it, running her thumb over its face. Over the flourishing letters that spelled "Militair" across the center. Guilt shuddered through her, leaving goosebumps behind it.

I will not cry, she told herself. I will not cry.

She glanced up at the man again. Her eyes were stinging, despite her fierce desire to keep herself under control. She didn't answer his question; instead she asked, softly, "When something very bad happens, it's normal, isn't it? To feel..." She glanced back down at the badge, once again running her finger over the letters. "... sad...trapped... it's not wrong, to be feeling that way, is it?" A tear rolled over the corner of her eye; she couldn't contain it anymore.

Devrane had caught her arm, tightly, as she went to walk away. His fingernails dug into her skin as he yanked her back. "You're being selfish, Azline," he'd hissed into her ear. "You are going against everything that you should be."

She jerked her head violently, pushing the thought away. But it left a bad taste in her thoughts.

She looked down at her hands. They were shaking, and not lightly.

((Emo warning... sorry. x_x It's just so darn fun. =P))

She tried to smile - to pull herself together again - but she failed miserably and ended up collapsing further into tears. Every attempt to regain control ended with her worse than how she started.

By now she was outright sobbing, her face covered in tears and strands of dark hair. It hurt so badly; a worse pain than she ever thought she could feel. It started at her heart and tore through the rest of her like a fire, or a knife. She felt herself collapse from the inside out.

She doubled over, resting her forehead on the man's hands around hers. It was good to have someone make a tender gesture again, but the small, rational part of her was ashamed of the her behavior, ashamed of how she relied on a total stranger for such comfort.

And yet... the emotional part of her reeled out in pain, too, because that comforting touch was so dreafully familiar.

"I'm so s-s-sorry..." she murmured, between sobs. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

I'm so sorry.

There had been no time. No goodbye. No heartfelt last words. There was just the shot, and then there was the body, and then there was that terrifying moment when the dread rose in her throat and she realized that she had made a terrible mistake-

No.

"People of the Te District... We all come today because an unspeakable tragedy has befallen the Te Militairs. Five..." -the way Ana had paused, unable to quite say it - "F-five of us have been killed-"

NO.

NO NO NO NO NO.

Her hands were clenched into bony, trembling fists, her fingernails digging into her palm; her teeth drew blood from her mouth; her eyes were shut as tight as they could possibly be. With every fiber of her being, she PUSHED the memory away.

It went, but every time she did it, it got a little harder.

She caught her breath, calmed down just slightly. Her heart still beat wildly. She frightened herself; she was on the edge and dangerously close to jumping, and she could see the black depths right below her toes. And no matter what she did, she couldn't step away.

She looked up at the man. "I don't know what to do," she said, barely above a whisper, because it was the only thing that she could think to say.

Speak about it?

She really must be far away, then. If he did not know. If he had not heard.

Back...home... everyone knew. Everyone had heard.

The idea of telling him about what had happened made her stomach clench nauseatingly. The idea of having to look back and relive what had happened made her heart tremble in dread.

But part of her - just a small little part at the back of her mind - thought that maybe it would help.

Even though it was hard.

Erryn leaned out the window, looking into the cool night air. "It's beautiful out there," he said, and looked back at her. "We should go for a walk. This is maybe the one day a year people will let us be."

It sounded like such a nice idea. All of the Militairs agreed; even Hanai, and he never REALLY agreed to anything.

She shut her eyes, and brought her knees to her chin - as if bracing herself. "I made a big mistake," she murmured.


They walked through the quiet city streets. Even though it was a big festival day, everyone had, for the most part, finally gone to their homes. Understandable, since it was nearly three in the morning. There was something...unusual... about that walk. For the first time in her life, Azline felt - somewhat - normal. They started off their walk quietly, then as they went on they allowed themselves to laugh and tease each other and be foolish, pretending that they were just a bunch of young people heading home after a night of parties.

And that night - just that one night, never before and never again - she was able to look at the city and see something beautiful. Its quiet cobblestone streets, and its tall, rustic buildings. The way the faces of the concrete looked in the soft glow of the streetlights. The skyline against the moon. Just then, it didn't seem like a prison.

She had closed one eye and traced the city with the tip of her finger, not noticing when the others wandered away. Erryn snuck up behind her and locked his fingers together around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder, watching the city with her. "It's more beautiful than I've ever seen it," he had said.

"Yes," she'd agreed.

She opened her eyes and looked at the man, pleadingly. "It was an accident," she said. "Only an accident." Already making excuses, even though she hadn't told him anything yet. She was beginning to cry again, reliving that night - not a lot, not the sobbing of a few minutes before, but just a few tears. Here and there.


The gunshots took them all off gaurd.

When the shots started firing, there was a moment of total panic - if there was one day a year when they would have never even considered an attack, it would have been that day. They had their weapons with them, of course - that was their job. To have the weapons so that no one else has to.

Still, there was a frenzy, in that moment. Everyone rushed into crevices and corners to take cover. She had backtracked into a small alleyway, to get her gun out. Aimed and shot at a shadow on the rooftops, but probably missed. She never found out.

It was difficult to say. Difficult to admit. Difficult to even acknowledge in her own mind.

"I killed my best friend," she whispered. She felt as if she were sharing her greatest, darkest secret. Even though the last thing it was was a secret.

She had been scared. That usually didn't happen. It was usually more of a... rush. Not fear. But this time, she'd been taken totally off gaurd. She wasn't thinking straight.

She took a deep breath, then left the alleyway. Almost immediately, she heard another gunshot, terrifyingly close.

She knew that it wasn't the right reaction. But she did it anyway: she shot back.

"I should have known better," she said. She bit her lip in an attempt to keep from crying, and looked away. "I...I did know better. I did!"

It had taken her a moment before she realized what she'd done. It came slowly, over a few seconds. She could feel it start at the pit of her stomach and rise like vomit up her throat. There was just a second of shock, of disbelief. Then she thought:

"He could still be alive. I might not have killed him. I might have missed.

Maybe I can still save him!"

Deep down, she knew this was not true. She was a perfectionist. She trained herself to be PERFECT. She never missed. She always killed.

It never occurred to her that her own mastery could be used this way.

She began to run towards his body...but when she was nearly halfway, after just a few strides, there was another gunshot. She didn't feel the pain - at least not at first - but her leg crumbled under her and she fell hard onto the stone street. From her place on the ground, she watched as her teammates, the other Militairs, fought around her. She watched some of them die. And she watched him, not knowing if he was alive or dead, or dying, and knowing that either way, she killed him.

She promised herself that she would never again feel that kind of helplessness.

...even though, since then, it hadn't gone away.

"Why d-didn't I think?" She wasn't talking to anyone in particular now. "Wh-why didn't I realize how... stupid..." She covered her face with her hands.

I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry.

She repeated it to herself every time, but it never worked. Which figured. She was losing control of herself in every way, it seemed, and that killed her. It all killed her.

((Whew. That took awhile to get through. O_O Not all THAT long, I guess, but it sure took a looooong time to get out. Btw, if this STILL doesn't seem like enough to make Azzie lose total mental control/maybe become schizophrenic, well, just wait till you hear what a Militair really IS and how they are treated... especially the kind of stress Azline in particular kept herself under, in order to deal with it all. x_x))

"You don't understand," she said, shaking her head. "You don't understand at all... I can't... I'm not allowed to...to..."

She was beginning to collapse again. She stopped herself and took a breath. Control. It was all about just staying in control. Then she could explain; make him see. It was suddenly important to her that he understood.

"I'm a Militair," she said, slowly, then stopped. She knew that he probably didn't know what a Militair was, but they were so prevelent, so important, that it was like trying to explain what the sky was. She didn't know how to word it. "Um...you see... each of the districts - there are four - has a set of Militairs who are chosen when they're young, and trained. Um... they're like..."

How could she possibly explain what a Militair was? It was so much harder than it should be.

"We... protect our district... from each other. So that way... civilians never get hurt. I've heard of..um... wars, in other far away places, where hundreds of people fight each other. And so many die. So...Militairs... we just do that to each other. Maybe ten of us, or so, for each district." She closed her eyes and thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain the rest.

"But that isn't... that isn't everything. We aren't just protectors... we're...special. To the people, I mean. We're very important figures...like..."

It was so hard to word.

"...the people look to us for...guidance, I suppose. Hope. Strength. We aren't considered to be... the same as human. We're different. Higher." She said this with a hint of bitterness, of disgust. "But there's really nothing different about us. Or... well... um, there's a Militair who says there isn't. And I think... I think I agree, maybe." She paused and thought for a moment. There didn't seem to be any difference between the Militairs and the people, but yet... she always kept them apart in her head. The idea of being just like everyone else seemed... strange.

She looked back to the man, her dark eyes looking into his. "But you see... we exist for the sole purprose of being... hope, I suppose. We don't exist for ourselves. Just all of them. And so..."

Her mind wandered back to that night, and those deaths, and the guilt and grief and sadness and hatred boiled up in her again.

She let her voice trail off, not trusting herself to speak then. She hoped that he understood.

((Sorry for the delay. I've been busy lately. x_x))

"Forgive me if
this may offend, but you appear as a human to me. I am unfamiliar with
mortal customs, but I do not understand how one can be considered
different when they appear not to be. You should always exist for
yourself, for what would you be when they are gone?"

She stared at him for a moment after that, and her heart sunk. You don't understand, she told him silently. You don't understand at all. We're different. And "they" will never be gone.

She didn't answer, but just picked up the Militair badge again. She held it with both hands, running her thumbs around its edge. Just looking at it evoked such hopelessness inside her. It made her afraid that she would never feel the least bit happy ever again.

She sighed. A sound of resignation. She looked at the man and said, with that hopeless resignation bare in her voice, "I just need a room."

OOC: Because Azline probably isn't going to elaborate on Militairs right now:

Basically, there are about ten per district. The closest thing that they can be compared to are Gods. However, Azline didn't describe it like this because she doesn't know what a "god" is, at least not in that wording. The Militairs are believed to be sent to the people by the gods, and are "worshipped" the point where the Militairs are completely alienated. They're lonely and have a lot of stress on their shoulders. Militairs only fight each other, from other districts, never anyone else.

Just a brief, hopefully helpful explanation. Rushed, admittedly, but it'll do. ^^

She saw the look on the man's face, as she finished clearing the items spilled from her bag. She knew he was sorry for her, and sorry that he couldn't do more to help. But knowing this alone DID help her - knowing that someone WAS trying to help at all was something that meant a lot to her.

It was just...

It was just so hard for her.

Especially because, in a way, he reminded her of Erryn. Just in some way that she could not quite place.

She finished collecting her things and stood. She signed the paper, then stopped and thought for a moment. She glanced into the open bag against her hip - right on top, there was the Militair pendant. It was both alluring and repulsive. On one hand, it marked her inclusion to something, ANYTHING. On the other, it reminded her of how much she had hurt them. And how much they had hurt her.

After a few moments, she picked it out of the bag. She held it up, showing it to the man. "Thank you so, so much for your help," she said, "but can I ask you just one more favor?

Will you help me dispose of this?"

She could have done it herself, she supposed. Physically, at least. But mentally, emotionally... she needed someone to be there with her. She couldn't stand there alone and cast away that kind of bond. She couldn't imagine that she would feel anything but utterly, painfully alone.

She still might feel painfully, utterly alone.

She smiled at him, weakly, her eyes stinging a bit for no particular reason. "Maybe," she murmured, "it'll be good for me to get rid of it. I'm hoping so. But... I'm afraid it might not." She looked down, at the pendant. "So I want to make sure I can never get it back...if I change my mind..."