#stoy

After Discord had rested up and had recovered from his nightmare, he and the others decided to play games in the arcade area. There were many different things to choose from ranging from horseshoes to skeeball.

While playing around with the claw machine, Shining Armor won a toy stuffed snail that he decided would make for a nice gift for his child. As he looked at the stuffed animal, he couldn’t help but to wonder how Cadence was doing.

Big Mac was doing a “Test Your Strength” type of game and managed to get the highest possible score on his first try. However, he decided to give his gift to a young couple that seemed to be wanting it more. He didn’t mind handing off his prize. In fact, it made him happy to see the young couple so excited.

INKTOBER 2018 - DAY 5

I’m doing Inktober with my friend @princessesaphi.

It’s a serie about our character’s story.

It’s funny to think about that we’ll never be 16 again, but someday we’ll be 60 and that’s quite scary to think about, because we can not stop time, we don’t controle time, time is something that keeps going even when we’re not there, time is out of our hand, we do not oven time, and we can not take time back, we can only be and try and be free.

Time is an endless concept, we can not pause and step back and just be young for an internaty, we can not go back, back to what it was, we can not afford to wait for a moment because if we does we lose time but, time can not be lost because time is a concept.

Time is something a smart man or woman one day thought of and by that put it into an perspective, time is an illusion created by man, by humanity, by the very people that felt a need to measured and control the sun and the moons cycle.

Time is everything and nothing, time is it’s oven bipolar, time is a fase, a moment, a blink of the eye, time is measured, time is debated, and time is controlling.

Time was created to be controlled, to tell what time of the day it is, to be by mans side and help with getting thing done but time almost stop, it did the impossible.

Time is controlling, it tells us what to do and when to do, it’s there, it’s always there, no longer in mans hand, it controls itself, no longer needing man.

Her father’s words echoed clearly as she watched the sparks cascade up from where the steel cuff kissed the grinding wheel. That particular night, Kat had come home with one eye black and swollen shut and a split lip. Tristan, her father, had been working on a wagon hitch when she plopped down on the bench in the corner, pressing a cold compress to the right side of her face. Jane had always been a terrific mother, but when it came to Kat’s temper, she knew it was best to leave it to Tristan.  

“Angry’s your restin’ state, Tabby Cat. You were brought into this world, red-faced and screamin’, raisin’ a clenched, white-knuckled fist to the heavens. I reckon that is just the way you’re gonna live life, darlin’. No point in fightin’ it or bottlin’ it up. We just gotta get you a way to vent off all that steam.”

By his words and labors, he had unknowingly blessed the workshop over the years. The heat of the forge and the sweat of his brow cleansed it, while the wisdom of his words made it something like holy. Even the Andersons and their profane deeds could not sully the sanctity of it. It was her place of worship and deliverance. In the hour of her darkest thoughts, as she dwelled on the terrifyingly possible, she would work tirelessly and meditate upon his lessons. While she worshiped the Light, as all her family always had, it was his teachings which brought meaning to her faith.

Unfortunately, not every devotion at this sacred place was productive. The bad news Gregor had delivered, over two hours prior, still stoked the ever-burning embers of her anger, and over time, her rage’s roaring won out. She flicked the grinder off with a disgusted groan and placed the half-polished coupler on the bench, abandoning the project in favor of a few pacing laps around the workshop’s floor. She moved the hand rolled cigarette from behind her ear to between her lips and marched over to her lighter, hitting the punching bag once as she passed it.

One of her former Brothers, a woman she had always held in contempt, let slip that the gang hoped to abduct Kat. They wouldn’t come near the Duskwood farmstead, thanks to Darsa’s men, but that wouldn’t stop the Brothers to find another way. In fact, Nina had mentioned Stormwind specifically, so now, Darsa’s men will be following her around, ready to protect her. While Darsa was putting himself at risk, while his men put themselves at risk, she would have a guard tailing her everywhere she went, like some sort of noble waif.

That was it.

That was the root of her rage.

Kat slammed her bare fist into the belly of the punching bag again, scuffing her calloused knuckles on its rough surface. She was a lockdown engineer and skilled combatant. She was resilient and strong, in spite of her size. She had put herself between harm and her kin on countless occasions, without hesitation, and now, she was in danger of falling prey to those she falsely counted among her family. They couldn’t convince her to come back, so now they would hunt her.

She pulled the cigarette from her lips and tossed it on the dirt floor, squaring up her stance to hit the bag again.

They knew her habits and haunts. They knew about the apothecary who provided Jane’s medicine. They knew about her favorite watering holes and the place near the lake where she would go to be alone in the city. They even knew about the circuit she did with the Brawler’s Guild.

She checked off each location with a tight jab into the dusty bag’s mid-section. Helkat was known for close combat, playing to her strengths to deliver devastating digs and takedowns. She still lost fights from time to time, but she wasn’t in the arena to win. While the workshop was her place of prayer and devotion, the arena was for another form of worship. Through violence, she purged the hostility from her rage, leaving her with only the passion and fervor. Win or lose, at the end of the night, Kat felt righteous in her rage.

And that was what she needed now.

While she had projects to finish, namely the shield generator’s new power source, she didn’t possess the focus or funding to see to them now. She needed to channel her rage into something constructive. With a determined huff, she walked away from the punching bag to grab a notebook and pen and wrote three letters.

One to her fight representative, alerting him of her intentions and urging him to get her on the roster fast.

One to Hannah, asking her mother’s caretaker to plan on spending the weekend at the house.

And finally, one to her employer, asking for the time off.

The last letter was a ruse, just a piece of paper she would pass off to Gregor to keep up the illusion that Lord Carrington was still watching from the North. When she handed it over for delivery, she would also announce her intentions, so if there were spies among the trees, the Brothers would know she was headed for Stormwind. She wouldn’t put Darsa or his men in danger, intentionally. She couldn’t ask more of them with all they already sacrificed for her. But she would make a stand. She wasn’t going to hide while others fought her fight.

She made sure everyone knew she was heading to Stormwind to Brawl. What few would know, is that she was headed into the city to prepare for war.