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[hr][hr][center][h2][url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DPaQ3N_89KA][color=696969][i]Don't Lay Your Weapons Down: ♫[/i][/color][/url][/h2][/center][hr][hr][color=696969]There had been a point in her life when Jocasta had hated the world and everything in it. She had first been a victim: bitter, helpless and frightened. Then, she had found her strength but lost none of her hatred. She did not, by and large, know the faces of most of her victims. She never would. She had been told that they were bad people and hadn't cared enough at the time to question those who seemed - to her warped and damaged teenage mind - to be good.

Then, San Agustin happened. Zarina happened, and Ayla, and Kaspar and Abdel and Marceline... and Yalen. Jocasta had come to understand that the world could be a bad place, full of awful people and awful things, but there was good in it too! There were things worth keeping in her life: protecting and having and [i]loving![/i]

It was late and she could not sleep. Yalen, thankfully, had managed the trick, but his loving wife paced anxiously about the living room, hands both heavy and light on her wheels. Finally, she pulled on a light shawl and eased herself out of the front door into the cool night air. Crickets chirped and stars shone overhead, peering shyly through the hazy bands of clouds. In a nearby alleyway, two or more cats were fighting and, presently, a dog started barking and drew out three more or its kind to join in the howl.

Jocasta rolled along the flagstones, working up a bit of speed on the flat ground and coasting, feeling the comforting little bumps and jostles beneath her wheels, the sharp wind on her nose and ears. Her golden hair trailed like a series of ghostly ribbons behind her, but her breath did not come out in little wisps as it had in Retan. It was too late in Stresia for that and Ersand'Enise was too warm anyhow. 

Retan: it was still with her. What she'd witnessed and been a part of had rendered itself indelible in her mind's eye. [color=ffdead][i]Elder sanguiniares,[/i][/color] she thought. [color=ffdead][i]Sapient dragons, Arcel of Perrence reborn, and that... tentacled titan.[/i][/color] The crushing enormity of the threat facing... [i]everyone[/i] was, honestly, too much for her to fully wrap her head around, insignificant girl that she was. 

But it was not all that bothered her. There had been no missing the looks of reproach: Maura, some rich merchant's daughter whose venomous smile and barbed words had split the group of students, who had twice denied Jocasta land of her own so that the rich might grow richer, who looked relentlessly for advantage with her silver tongue and false earnestness; Abdel, who had rendered judgment upon others with his beasts; Ingrid, who had used her strength to intimidate Yalen into giving up his land - their land - and the security of their shared future. It was another bauble in a growing empire to her. It was [i]everything[/i] to Jocasta. She'd had to grit her teeth and bear it for the sake of decorum, because of her position.

The further on that she went, the more that Jocasta thought. Something had surfaced after that, though. She had taken, for herself, three items of value to make up for the loss, ignoring Maura's judgmental glares. How quick she was to turn bitter and righteous when it was [i]her[/i] on the losing end of things. [color=ffdead][i]Go cry into your stacks of money, you spoiled bitch.[/i][/color] Then, there were bullies, like Ingrid and, now, possibly Abdel. The latter at least did so out of some sense of moral superiority and it made him dangerous but not bad. The former, however, the more that Jocasta thought about it, was simply a bully, through and through: eager to threaten with her superior strength and - usually - quick to back down if she sensed that she could not win or felt, in their glares and mutterings, the burning resentment that people held towards her actions. 

And that was when Jocasta knew it: she had strength of her own and talent in magic that far outstripped theirs. She had people that she cared for and that she wanted to protect, because they were what made a bleak life in a bleak world... something better: something 'worth it'. But there would always be Mauras and Ingrids. There would always be people who sought relentless advantage for themselves and were either too blind to see how awful they were, too callous to care, or too weak to change. And, as long as there were people like that, there would be a need for Jocasta. There would be a need to protect herself from their aggressions, whether with words or force. There would be a need to protect Yalen and Ayla and Zarina and Marci and Kaspar. The best way to do that was to be strong. There was some good in the world, but it was a place of predators. She could not show weakness. Every testing word by Maura was a sniff for blood in the water, so that she might force and subject her prey into either agreeing with her or being cast as villains. Every too-firm hand on the shoulder, warning draw of energy, or buyout of some auction was Ingrid's attempt to place herself above others and then help them - on her terms - from on high. They were all so power hungry and all so relentless, and... 

Jocasta, quite frankly, did not care about any of that. She'd have been perfectly happy to live and let live. Yet, the closer that she let people like that get to her level, the stronger they became in comparison to her, the greater the chance of it happening again: they would step on her. They would humiliate her and crush her underfoot and leave her loved ones vulnerable. She would [i]not[/i] be left counting on their dubious goodwill. That was not a mistake she would [i]ever[/i] make again. The refuge had used and abused her. The Volti had shown some care - true - but they had used her as well, in their own way. The school, certainly, was using her at this very moment.

She came to a stop, eventually, at the edge of the arboretum, and the cool brisk wind was making her eyes water. She wiped them clean with the back of her sleeve and turned on the spot, blinking and looking about. [color=ffdead][i]Not anymore,[/i][/color] she promised herself. In truth, she could kill them. She could kill almost anyone. If she were an animal, like Benedetto, she might. It would be so easy and so... [color=ffdead][i]What? Satisfying?[/i][/color] It wouldn't, though. It would just make her a murderer. It would get rid of a few run-of-the-mill bad people who might, someday, even see the error of their ways. No. Jocasta would have to drink this poison. She'd been living the past nine months in a fantasy world - a kneejerk escape from her more customary misanthropy - where she could simply be nice to people and have them be nice in return. They weren't, though, and the tethered was reminded that she was not a nice person either. She took and released a couple of long breaths, rolling to the foot of the gazebo before turning back. She had her immense magic. She had her position of authority at this school. She had her wits. It was time to use them: no apologies or pretense. It was time to take the offensive.[/color] 
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