quietus

@Anemone

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Thick, swirling snow shows tracks in the snow. Astartes knows his leave a mighty trail. He does not care. Let them come and find him. This land is uncontested, and he will stay here until he's chased from it. Wandering has exhausted him, and this peaceful enclave can be shared by many loners. But still he patrols, seeking to rid his personal space of the offense of daemons.

It's not a daemon he finds on this patrol, though. A shivering girl, brown in hue. A person-- a wolf, the distinction hardly matters. Instead of baring his fangs and charging into battle, he instead barks as he approaches. "This weather isn't good for anyone to be out in," he calls. In the rapidly approaching darkness, it'll be harder to find shelter. "Do you have a home to retreat to?"
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Snowfall.

She is blessed to see such a thing again. As a wolf or a person, it does not matter. Nature knows no bias. But Anemone finds she missed the kin-kissed autumn hues. She shivers instead of prances. She does not run but walks. Winter seems to take effect earlier and earlier... Her mind snaps back to reality as she turns, spying a stranger within her emerald sights. A man.

"Ah..." She is momentarily dumbfounded, furrowing her brow as she regards his question. Finally, she shakes her head "no... I don't have lodgings" Anemone is too oblivious to think that he meant her harm; his vocals were concerned as was his face "I've been looking — but not too hard if I cannot find a place." She breathes a sigh, trying to smile through her issue.

She wonders why he cares, and the answer she comes up with is simple. Perhaps he is just kind.

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He cares because it is his duty. He is not man. He is Apart from man. But it is his charge to protect them all. To keep them pure. And this wolf, she is of them. A small one, though large in frame she carries little weight upon it. He keeps a respectful distance, mirroring her softness almost. "I have decided to share this land," he says. "For all that enter. I have a few shelters nearby, if you'd like to rest." He can change up his routine, he thinks. The patrol isn't that important.

He glances uphill, knowing he's dug a snow hollow up at the base of the hill. "I can break the path if you would like. The snow gets deep, but you have long legs. Still, it is what I can do."
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He chose to share this place? Anemone audibly gasped, eyes flying open in shock. "O-Oh! I'm sorry, sir" she bumbled "I've been living on the other side of the Lake. You see, I woke up here not too long ago... I was scared to go anywhere else. I didn't know this was your property." She really didn't, thinking it was free land. An aware and defiant wolf would laugh in the man's face, saying this Lake had no claim to it. That his power over it was thin at best. She was a simple beast.

She was used to deferring to authority. As a vagabond in another world, a traveling bard with a caravan... Entering into cities and towns meant they were to be played by certain rules. She followed them, or else she'd become put in jail. Or worse. Called a witch for insubordination. Burned by those threatened. A thing women had to deal with in such medieval times. Sadly, witch hunts were common and a ruse to just control folks. Especially females. She found freedom not with a man but on the road.

Such things were risky too.

"I - Yes, if it is not too much trouble. I would like to rest" And if he was offering, why deny? "I can manage to walk there, though some snow breaking would be kind of you, sir." Anemone nods to him, gesturing with a tortie limb to lead the way, as it was.

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"Then we are neighbors." It's a simple answer. He's willing to share with wolves. They can fall under his protection. If anything, he's concerned about those that will claim the land. "I only keep chaos off this land. Keep it safe for those who live here. You do not seem a bad sort." Of course, what he thinks of as a bad sort has an entirely species-bent bias. He sees the faces of ancient enemies in every coyote and cougar he kills. This time he kills them with his bare paws, instead of a chainsword and bolter. What his memory does to produce such things, he's not sure. But he remembers almost nothing else but weapon in hand, killing those that would threaten the good people he's sworn to protect.

He breaks the snow, nodding to give her a path. Once they're up the hill, he squints to point out a small lean-to in the storm: dug-out snow and dirt, forming a den that, God willing, would not snow over. "There," he says. "It should be warm inside." He breaks the rest of the path there, then steps aside to let her go in first. "If you fear being alone, I will stand watch." There's something within him that compels him to do this, seeing this young woman as more important than anything. It would bring validation from... higher...

Well, his job, he vaguely remembers, is to crusade. To endlessly search... for those who would intrude on the claim...

And all things are claimed in His name...

So a breathing xeno is a xeno marked for death, as far as he's concerned.
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"Well, I try not to be a bad sort."

She makes her way toward the lean-to, grateful to be out of the chill. Whether she truly was a bad sort or had the ability to be one, was unknown. Even to herself. She once confirmed she was airheaded and vain, even selfish and petty. But that was to another man. This one radiated a deep sense of dignity and duty. Not unlike Osamu, but at least he didn't sound so robotic when talked with.

"You'd stand guard in the cold?" Anemone's lashes flickered, shocked "oh, that will not do!" She tittered, shaking her head rigorously "I insist you come inside, at least at the entrance. I'd feel bad if you stood there and froze for my sake" She scowled openly at him, almost pouting with her pretty face "I insist." Anemone repeats curtly, raising her chin.

Defiant.

She turns and fully expects him to be behind her. Entering the lean-to now, the ground is warm and also cold to the touch. Warmth due to the enclosed air, but the earth itself is frozen like outside. She squeezes to the back, every intention of making room for her savior of sorts.

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Some might have thought taking shelter with a young woman alone would be inappropriate. Astartes, though, hadn't even thought of that reasoning. He has burned lust from his mind, leaving him only a hollow shell for the crusades. It is that reason why he hadn't thought to enter the den. He's not a person, not truly. But when bloodshed isn't being discussed, he also has no way to vocalize any sort of authority. When she insists, his words are soft. Quiet. "If you insist." He's rather large, though. He's not sure she'll appreciate his closeness. The den is not large enough for them to sit without touching, but perhaps it would be a good thing. It would help stave off the cold, and he can feel it on his paws and nose.

In truth, he's not really thinking much of it, though. Complaining about the cold won't fix it, and that's something to be reserved for real people. To be Astartes is to suffer the realities that most men could not handle, he thinks. He tries to make it easier for her, though, by not getting too into her space.

"Perhaps it would be easier for enemies to spot us if I'm standing outside," he mutters after a few moments, not wanting to say that he's grateful for the warmth. He should deny himself such comforts. He should know that the world is not a good place for those who have to fight in the endless wars. He is allowing himself to become soft.

And yet he lingers. Because saying no to a young woman is too hard.
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Having been a bard in her previous life, that came with the territory to be close to others. She would often drag others on stage to dance and sing with her, holding their hand and hip-checking them merrily when she danced close. Anemone beams at him, half satisfied he complied and half just for the sake of smiling. The man mentioned enemies, but she breezed by it with optimism. "Well, that, and you won't freeze to death!" Anemone points out with an easy grin, wagging her tail behind her "but if you want to go off and fight anyone you see, I'll be here."

She said it so casually as if used to men running off to do whatever. True, her caravan had guards that didn't work with the troupe. They more or less were hired muscle. Sometimes they'd sit around the fire with them, but often on their breaks, they'd huddle together. Relishing their shared profession. Only alerting the caravan when things needed to be done. Else they were silent guardians. Anemone couldn't remember not feeling safe with them around, even if she tried to drag them into sharing more and participating among the troupe. Sadly, three out of four of their guards weren't very good-looking.

Old, grisly mercenaries. Not fun to glance out of the corner of her eye. And true, this man was older than her (possibly, she couldn't tell wolf age!) but he still had some ruggedness. "I'm Anemone" she breaks the silence again, easily. As if charismatic chatter was a thing she did all the time "and what can I say is your name, sir?"

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Not freezing to death is good. Astartes has to remember that he has some limits. But what is losing a few toes to the endless patrol? But then he won't have as many toes to hold prey and daemons down with. So he'll do without it. The woman seems friendly. Warm. Cheerful. He doesn't know how mirror that, but he can mirror her kindness back. After all, there's nothing between his ears but duty and devotion. He can pretend he's a person for a while, and perhaps that won't frighten her as much as the hollow killer that seems to only enjoy when he's in pursuit of the filth he has sworn to destroy.

"Astartes," he says, even though he's not entirely sure it's his given name. But it's a name that describes him better than anything he's ever been given before. Astartes. It's almost like a creed, one he repeats to himself. The significance, he barely remembers, but he knows he's not the only Astartes out there. He just hasn't met anyone from his past life in this one.

He shifts for a moment, not entirely sure what to say next. Conversation isn't his strong suit. He could talk about the crusade, perhaps, but he doubts this one wants to hear it. "...I live alone," he starts, a statement of fact, and perhaps an explanation for why he's not good at conversation. "That's why the den is small."
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His name is almost familiar. Almost. She did speak a bit of Latin, to sing and recite mostly during plays and performing, but that was it. She did not know the true meaning, if there was one, behind his name. Anemone was blissfully unaware, ignorant, and oblivious to any deeper meaning. "Astartes" she repeats, mulling it over and committing it to her memory "you have a nice name, Astartes." She nods after further thought. Acceptable. She still wonders about the meaning behind it, though. But it slipped her mind to ask.

He proceeds to tell her that he lived alone. "Ah, well... I do too" Now, that is "but I used to live in a troupe; they were artistic types, bards, acts of any kind. Even those who could breathe fire... Cooks and hunters, some guards. We traveled around in a caravan together. It was life on the road. We all had something to dream about or run away from. I wanted to be a famous singer and dancer" Anemone smiled forlornly "now, I live alone. Nobody came with me to this world, to my knowledge."

It would have been nice to get together again. Alas. "It feels weird to be alone. I've always been around lots of people."

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He listens, the saving grace of his conversationalist skills. He ponders her words over in his mind, wondering what it could be like to have dreams outside of service. Pieces of his memory come back-- no hard details, just flashes. He remembers faceless shapes, which he assumes could be his parents. He doesn't even remember their names, not even the words he truly called them. They weren't important.

"I traveled as well," he says, thinking on the shifting realities. "The Crusade called me when I was young. I traveled with others, like me. Brothers. We destroyed that would sully the world." He looks at his paws. "I wanted nothing else." Is that true? It must be true. He thinks about dreams like hers. Dreams to be famous, to dance and sing. It seems foreign. He surely had none of those. And what else could he have? Once he was chosen, it was over from there. He would only be that.

"But I don't think it makes much of a difference, to be alone or with others." He shrugs. "I wouldn't recognize a brother if I saw him. But I would hope he would take up the cause again should we meet again." He rests his head on his paws, flicking his ear.

"Did you ever become famous?" He's surprised he's even asked.
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Many conflicts avoided the troupe when they were on the road. The odd time it infected the entertainer group but was quickly put to rest. It only seemed to happen when they overstayed their welcome in communities. From large kingdoms to farmer villages, the troupe never stuck around for long. They did go back, and spring and summer were prime times to re-visit, but they often lived on the road. "You wanted nothing else at the time" She repeats "but do you want different things now?" She tilts her head at the man curiously, so very naive.

And Astartes eventually asked her a question too. She grins easily. "Well, the crowd was always happy to see me" But "I wasn't asked to perform in kingdom courts though by name alone. So I guess not, to answer your question" Anemone didn't look very put off by it though, even if inside she was sighing. It would have been nice to be famous in her original world. But she settled for widely known. Now, she was a nobody here. No wolf seemed to recognize her, and no one from her world was even in this one. It was sad and lonely at times. "you really only made as an entertainer if a king or queen asked for you."

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Astartes ponders her question longer than he should. Knowing his purpose is one thing, but to slip, to let it be known that perhaps he desires something else, is heresy. And yet he thinks of the long years he spent wandering far and wide, crusading for the God-Emperor. Is there not a time to lay down arms? He forces the thought back. "Of course I still want it," he says. If he starts to entertain those ideas, he's going to become a being of chaos. That won't do.

But she seems happy, talking about her performances. And impulse seizes him. "What sort of performances did you do?" He pauses. "I am not a king. I lay claim to no lands. But you thought me leader of the lake, and I suppose it would be an honor for both of us to see what performances you can offer." It's soft. Too soft for him. He should crush the feeling. But he also thinks, perhaps for once in his life, he'd like to hear the music of the common folk.

That perhaps for a few seconds, he can pretend he's one of them, and not a man apart.
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