07-28-2014, 02:18 PM
She crossed the room to scrape back a chair from the table, and sat. Emotion ripped through Enzo's expression, a tell of pain quickly quashed, but Tehya nonetheless averted her gaze in respect. Where her arms lay folded on the table she could feel heat streaming off the humming laptop, a piece of tech she kept around despite the Wallet Marcus had given her when she'd arrived. For a while her attention settled on it, allowing Enzo the moment to compose himself with a modicum of privacy. To news of his mentor she only nodded; a solemn understanding. Words did no justice to tragedy; she did not know him well enough to offer condolence, for either the pain spoken or the one concealed.
Curiosity, though, she could accommodate. "My family have been Atharim for generations. I was born to this."
A finger unconsciously touched where the tattoo lay under the sleeve of her sweater. Its now long since blurred lines had been tapped in laboriously by her grandfather, a promise made with every strike of ink into her flesh. She could still smell the incense, still hear the hum of his voice. The memories stung, but they also forged steel into a warrior's soul. She'd never lamented her choiceless path, even when nature marked her out as an abomination in the eyes of the very society she offered her life's blood for.
"Sometimes we worked together, when it was necessary. But they taught me to be independent."
Though she did not say, it was her notoriety in the States that had brought her to Moscow in the first place, to aid the shifting ways in which the Atharim must adapt in a changing world - at least for those of her brethren willing to accept the necessity for it. Tradition dug deep and pervasive roots: the job turned out to be a steeper mountain than she had anticipated when she'd been back home complementing the offer. New techniques, new weapons, new knowledge. It was needed. But not always welcome.
Within a few days of arrival she had discovered that Marcus - himself indoctrinated to the Atharim - was funded by a benefactor unassociated with the church. The motivations were fuzzy, though Tehya had presumptions. What she had assumed to be sanctioned while she crossed an entire ocean, she now suspected to be somewhat skimming under the radar, though since Tehya agreed with the direction she persisted. If the Regus knew about the project - and from all she had heard of the man, she assumed he had his means - then it had not yet inconvenienced him enough to interfere.
"Moscow is different,"
she conceded. She did indeed work with others here, but not usually on the hunt - and then only when need dictated it. The idea was not repulsive, but she was used to her independence. Moreso, her plans with Aria were fragile enough without an added complication, and if she was ever discovered, she would not wish for someone else to be tarred with her betrayal. Nor did she wish to open herself to the possibility that he might be on the one to reveal her nature. Instinct said no. Instinct urged her to shrug and inform him he was on his own.
Of course there was also duty.
Left to his own devices, bereft of mentor and whatever ill thing had propelled him to pledge himself to the Atharim in the first place, would he simply throw himself into the fire? Burn in a blaze of glory until the pain no longer touched him, taking as many creatures with him as he was able? She had no means with which to convince him to live, but she could ensure he at least didn't have any inclination to kill himself. If only for her own conscience.
"America is vast, and we are few. I can't speak for other New World Atharim"
- the term held a touch of amused dryness - "but I didn't even know many others who weren't related to me by blood. Here there are more of us. Collaboration is less unusual. What did they tell you they were pulling you to Moscow for?"
Curiosity, though, she could accommodate. "My family have been Atharim for generations. I was born to this."
A finger unconsciously touched where the tattoo lay under the sleeve of her sweater. Its now long since blurred lines had been tapped in laboriously by her grandfather, a promise made with every strike of ink into her flesh. She could still smell the incense, still hear the hum of his voice. The memories stung, but they also forged steel into a warrior's soul. She'd never lamented her choiceless path, even when nature marked her out as an abomination in the eyes of the very society she offered her life's blood for.
"Sometimes we worked together, when it was necessary. But they taught me to be independent."
Though she did not say, it was her notoriety in the States that had brought her to Moscow in the first place, to aid the shifting ways in which the Atharim must adapt in a changing world - at least for those of her brethren willing to accept the necessity for it. Tradition dug deep and pervasive roots: the job turned out to be a steeper mountain than she had anticipated when she'd been back home complementing the offer. New techniques, new weapons, new knowledge. It was needed. But not always welcome.
Within a few days of arrival she had discovered that Marcus - himself indoctrinated to the Atharim - was funded by a benefactor unassociated with the church. The motivations were fuzzy, though Tehya had presumptions. What she had assumed to be sanctioned while she crossed an entire ocean, she now suspected to be somewhat skimming under the radar, though since Tehya agreed with the direction she persisted. If the Regus knew about the project - and from all she had heard of the man, she assumed he had his means - then it had not yet inconvenienced him enough to interfere.
"Moscow is different,"
she conceded. She did indeed work with others here, but not usually on the hunt - and then only when need dictated it. The idea was not repulsive, but she was used to her independence. Moreso, her plans with Aria were fragile enough without an added complication, and if she was ever discovered, she would not wish for someone else to be tarred with her betrayal. Nor did she wish to open herself to the possibility that he might be on the one to reveal her nature. Instinct said no. Instinct urged her to shrug and inform him he was on his own.
Of course there was also duty.
Left to his own devices, bereft of mentor and whatever ill thing had propelled him to pledge himself to the Atharim in the first place, would he simply throw himself into the fire? Burn in a blaze of glory until the pain no longer touched him, taking as many creatures with him as he was able? She had no means with which to convince him to live, but she could ensure he at least didn't have any inclination to kill himself. If only for her own conscience.
"America is vast, and we are few. I can't speak for other New World Atharim"
- the term held a touch of amused dryness - "but I didn't even know many others who weren't related to me by blood. Here there are more of us. Collaboration is less unusual. What did they tell you they were pulling you to Moscow for?"