Sat Feb 02, 2008 4:36 pm
It had been a fairly treasured possession, actually, for something that had been idly pilfered and only worn once as a joke. Glenn Burnie cared a good deal for history, especially the recent sort and there was so little of that available in Myrken. There had been chaos in the year before last and transitions of government twice since then. That he had a piece of that history made him happy.
Then came the dream though, when Agnieszka died because of his actions, and his recent equine transgression, of course, which while utterly hilarious would likely offend greatly. It was why he had done this now. He knew she took a certain pride in her position, and for good reason, really.
It was why he had taken the uniform, the black breeches and the indigo tunic with its silver stripe down one sleeve. The uniform with the silver emblem of the Order of Straka embroidered on it, the one that he stolen from the Constabulary, the one that he had worn at the costume party not that long ago... it is why he took this uniform and had it tailored, as best he and the tailor could guess, to fit Agnie.
She might not walk around the Town with it. It was archaic after all. Still, he hoped she would appreciate it. It was a Captain's uniform after all. Captain of the group that protected Myrken.
And now, that was her.
That was why the package was delivered to her current residence, early on that Sunday morning. The tag said it was from the mapmaker, but there was no other note, no other explanation, save for five words, ones that were necessary considering things between them as of late... as of forever.
"A gift, not a joke."
Wed Feb 06, 2008 9:50 am
Her first instinct is one of revulsion.
Straka detaining Dominik on nothing more than hearsay. Straka standing by while Curin beat her father to paralysis, and refusing to prosecute. Had the Captain himself been an honorable man? Perhaps. But Agnieszka Kaczmarek had only ever seen the sneers of the ordinary 'purples.' The unjust treatment. The helplessness of being a girl going up against the machine.
And now the machine was her.
She can't control her hand, for once; it comes down and smacks the box aside, the uniform falling out and hitting the dusty floor like a dishrag. Angrily, she kicks it across the Sawyer Street shack, clogged with her brother's boxes, until it's splayed out on her pallet like a dead body. And only then does she see the note. Only then, alone and overwrought, she begins to cry.
He couldn't know. What a shitbag.
She walks across the floor.
She's got more money in her pocket right now than her family saw in a year of indenture with Jan Baker. It's one week's pay, she's been told by the clerk; the wages of being Captain of the Militia. She walked home with her hand shoved into the pocket of her bright new trousers, white-knuckled with it, for the first time keeping her mouth shut when her mother asked how much she's being paid; for the first time, walking to the man who sells the wine and buying the best Derry variety to drink at home, by herself --
-- where she stares at the uniform Glenn has given for her, anger bubbling up in her chest.
What right had he?
To kill that stupid little boy?
Jan Baker was one thing, but Charles McCoy --
-- I just wanted to scare him.
I know unfair. I've lived it my entire life. Unfair!
What Aeryn did was unfair!
He killed that boy, ran off to the elves, came back *once*, and -- and despite all the promises he'd made, all of the things we'd said in the dark -- he'd rather die one-up on that asshole Lentham than live for me!
I'd live for him!
I'd die!
Years ago, she'd put on the uniform of the Brotherhood to earn money for her family after Jozef's death in the Bloody Flux. It had sickened her to sell herself like that at the beginning, but had been necessary; and here, she'd found that she liked it, that the taste of such a life suited her. And one day, she woke up in the barracks, men's voices ringing with filth, and she'd gone out to trounce an aspirant, and -- she liked it. She met Aeryn, and oh, oh! She'd die for him, she would, she would do anything --
She loved it.
Months ago, she'd promised Aeryn that she'd cover for him. She wouldn't give him away. She'd be a model citizen, distractingly so; she'd not speak his name nor give away his location. And in the meantime, she'd become Captain of the Militia, she'd drank whiskey with the man who wanted to hang her lover, simply to defend the one she loved. It sickened her to sell herself like that at the beginning, but it had been necessary, like before. And she'd waited like a widow, watching the tree-line when she could, spouting off such things to Glenn and Cinnabar, and then, one night, treading in a dream along a surface of skin, blood on all of their hands, they'd all met again.
And he just lay there.
Agnieszka hasn't been able to get over it, seeing his head explode; she hasn't been able to get away for long enough to go into the woods, to search, to call like he'd instructed. But she's thrown herself into this new persona, this Captain Kaczmarek, this deferential, clean, government shadow, and now all this money, and now all these things, and now the respect of Cinnabar and so many others -- respect! For her knowledge, even given the things she's done --
Staring at the uniform, she wonders.
Here, she's found that she likes it. That such a life suits her.
Agnieszka Karolinger; she'd thought of it once or twice, the dying fancies of a girl quickly losing them to blood and reality. It was never to be. They both knew it, even in the close darkness. But she'd imagined some kind of beautiful end. Not this. Not out of spite.
She leans over and sweeps up the uniform, biting her lip so hard it turns white. And then she turns. The black breeches, the silver stripe, all of that will do, but the purple tunic? Purple is expensive, and not a color of the people. A remnant of a dead oppressor, and not to mention completely obvious in the kind of fight that the Militia will be engaging in. She thinks for a while, grabs a piece of scraped-up parchment, and eyes the emblem for a moment; looking down to sketch something new.
Dark greene, lyke trees.
Fist and pitchforke? Sikkle?
She is Agnieszka Kaczmarek, Captain of the Myrken Wood militia, and she will have her green and gold; she is someone Cinnabar can count on, a confidante of the surveyor's woman; she is talent, rising in the ranks, with a mind as sharp as her sword --
-- but she realizes, quietly, as she bunches the uniform in her left hand and sketches out designs for a new one, that she is also someone else.
I will not let him kill you, Aeryn. I would give up all of this, to see you safe. The more fool me.
-----
And, finally, a letter dispatched to Glenn:
Deer Glenn,
Thank yu for the gift.
I need to explain some shit to yu.
From,
Agnie
Wed Mar 05, 2008 1:14 am
Agnie,
I've been thinking about it and scarves, no matter HOW nice, are a dumb thing to get right now. Winter's almost over! You should have got them all hats.
I bought Rhaena a bracelet, a really nice one. There's nothing of mine to give her. I came to Myrken with nothing, Agnie. I haven't been here long enough to really make anything mine, except for my sword, and I think she'd rather me have that so that nothing eats me while she's gone.
Hopefully, it's good enough.
Glenn
Wed Mar 05, 2008 7:41 am
Glenn,
If its all sparkley it shud be good.
I hope its sparkley.
From,
Agnie