Octavia Blake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
okteiviakom) wrote2020-05-31 01:00 am
okteiviakom) wrote2020-05-31 01:00 am
Ilian's Farm, Saturday FT
Octavia was trying.
They'd been at Ilian's farm for about a week, and she was trying. Trying to learn, trying to help. Trying not to think about how her natural urge to address the sheep as strikon kept making her think of her Fandom habit of always speaking Trig to animals. Trying to not be the person she'd been just a week ago.
Trying to fit in.
Even if it was just with one person, this time.
Ilian was good to her. Kind, patient. During the daytime, they worked on the land and cared for the animals, and he taught her about both, and she did her best to listen attentively, to do things as he said, as he did. To be the kind of person he needed to have around on his farm. And when they slept, he wrapped her up in his arms, her back pressed snugly against his chest. She tried to tell herself it was for his own benefit, that he needed the comfort because he'd just lost his family. But she knew that wasn't it.
Things on the farm were peaceful.
But Octavia wasn't. She was trying, but all she was getting was frustrated.
"Are you tilling the soil or stabbing it?" Ilian asked from where he was sowing seeds into the rows that were ready. It was getting to be late in the day, and they'd been working on this patch of land for what felt like most of it.
Octavia stuck the hoe back in the dirt - with a little more force than was necessary, yes. "You know this is dumb, right?" she asked, with enough of a complaint in her tone to elicit a quiet huff from him. "We'll all be dead before anything grows."
"The earth survived Praimfaya once," Ilian replied. "It will again." He sounded so sure of it. "We do this for those who come after us." Another huff. Was he trying not to laugh at her technique? Probably, since he was coming over now. "Let me show you."
But right then, someone called out his name. They hadn't had any visitors in the time Octavia had been here. "Head down, say nothing," he murmured to her as he moved past her. "My people are wary of strangers."
So Octavia kept working. Or pretended to, because of course she was listening in. The stranger, a woman called Ankara, had come here because Trikru was calling on their allies to help push Azgeda out of Polis, and her mother - their leader? - was sending their best warriors to the city. And she wanted Ilian to go, too.
Yu kru gaf yu in.
But he said no. Even when Ankara told him his mother would have wanted him to fight. He told her to get off his land. Out of the corner of her eye, Octavia watched her stalk off, clearly displeased with the response she'd gotten.
Then Octavia made her way to Ilian. "You didn't tell me you were a warrior." You didn't tell me we had something in common, was what she wanted to say, but didn't. Her softer tone may have betrayed her, though.
He smiled faintly, wryly, as he turned to face her. "Not much point in fighting at the end of the world."
She wanted to believe him.
But it was still stuck in her head later, as they were getting ready to sleep. They'd cleaned up from the day's work, eaten, and now they were in bed under the warmth of sheepskin blankets, and Ilian was tracing the lines of her tattoo - the first one, on her right shoulder - with his fingertips.
And all she could think about was --
"There's a war going on," she rasped quietly, "and I'm not in it."
Ilian's hand stilled on her shoulder. "No war will stop Praimfaya."
"At least it would be a warrior's death." She almost sounded wry. She'd been managing actual tones to her voice here, beyond just anger and bitterness. "Better than melting."
"My people have a saying," he told her after a pause. "Nou fir wamplei in: em bilaik stoda kom nes soujon noumou."
Do not fear death, for it is only the beginning of the next journey. Suddenly, Octavia's throat felt tight. "Reincarnation?" she asked, trying to keep the feeling out of her voice. She wasn't sure whether she was successful. "You believe in that?"
"The crops, they die in winter," Ilian told her, "and then return in spring. Most people don't know when their winter will come, but we do. And that's a gift." As he spoke, he wrapped his arm around her, and pressed a kiss against the back of her shoulder. Nothing further than that. "Why waste it in fighting?"
And she wanted to believe him.
-----
The next day, Ankara came back, with two men.
And Octavia was working on the field alone.
They asked her where Ilian was, and she just offered a vague shrug, hoping they'd leave her alone if she just ignored them and kept working. One of the men wondered in Trig whether she maybe couldn't talk. But Ankara said that maybe she didn't want them to hear her accent. Shit.
"That's it, isn't it?" Ankara asked, switching to English. "Skairipa."
Octavia straightened up. Maybe she could still convince them otherwise. "Yu's mis ai op gon --"
The man cut her off. "I saw you in Polis," he said, seething now. And coming closer. They all were. "You murdered my friend Terro. Cut off his head."
She wouldn't let them think they were cornering her. With the hoe still in hand, she stepped closer to them. "I'm not that person anymore," she told the man - and immediately had to block the strike he tried to deal her with his sword. "Please," she said. "You don't want to do this." But he came at her again. This time, she struck him in the stomach with the blunt end, and he doubled over. Ankara and the other man were watching the situation unfold, looking at each other like they weren't sure what to do.
"Trust me," Octavia told them. She was trying. "Just walk away."
But Ankara drew her sword, and shouted, "Teik em au!"
And they all came at her. For a moment, she did her best just blocking their blows and keeping her guard up, but they kept coming, and one of the men almost managed to kick her knee out from under her, forcing her to stumble back. And they all hovered there around her like snarling beasts, waiting to pounce on her again.
And honestly, she'd tried. She really had.
But at her heart, she knew she was a shark.
And there was blood in the water.
She charged, with no mercy. The first man was easy, took the sharp end of the hoe to the face. The second man managed to cut the handle of the tool into two, and was rewarded with the broken-off piece rammed through his abdomen, making him spit up blood as he fell to the ground. Octavia had already knocked Ankara to the ground, and as she was trying to get up, Octavia whacked her across the head.
And then, with a primal scream, just kept hitting the woman until she barely resembled one at all, and Octavia's own face was spattered with blood.
When she straightened up, panting, she saw Ilian. Not sure how long he'd been standing there, looking stunned. But she also didn't care. She dropped the bloodied tool on the ground and walked over to him.
"This is who I am," she said.
Then she went and saddled Helios up, and took off for Polis, and didn't look back.
Her place was in the war.
[ooc: NFB, NFI. Taken from The 100 S4 episode 9. Content warning for graphic violence.]
They'd been at Ilian's farm for about a week, and she was trying. Trying to learn, trying to help. Trying not to think about how her natural urge to address the sheep as strikon kept making her think of her Fandom habit of always speaking Trig to animals. Trying to not be the person she'd been just a week ago.
Trying to fit in.
Even if it was just with one person, this time.
Ilian was good to her. Kind, patient. During the daytime, they worked on the land and cared for the animals, and he taught her about both, and she did her best to listen attentively, to do things as he said, as he did. To be the kind of person he needed to have around on his farm. And when they slept, he wrapped her up in his arms, her back pressed snugly against his chest. She tried to tell herself it was for his own benefit, that he needed the comfort because he'd just lost his family. But she knew that wasn't it.
Things on the farm were peaceful.
But Octavia wasn't. She was trying, but all she was getting was frustrated.
"Are you tilling the soil or stabbing it?" Ilian asked from where he was sowing seeds into the rows that were ready. It was getting to be late in the day, and they'd been working on this patch of land for what felt like most of it.
Octavia stuck the hoe back in the dirt - with a little more force than was necessary, yes. "You know this is dumb, right?" she asked, with enough of a complaint in her tone to elicit a quiet huff from him. "We'll all be dead before anything grows."
"The earth survived Praimfaya once," Ilian replied. "It will again." He sounded so sure of it. "We do this for those who come after us." Another huff. Was he trying not to laugh at her technique? Probably, since he was coming over now. "Let me show you."
But right then, someone called out his name. They hadn't had any visitors in the time Octavia had been here. "Head down, say nothing," he murmured to her as he moved past her. "My people are wary of strangers."
So Octavia kept working. Or pretended to, because of course she was listening in. The stranger, a woman called Ankara, had come here because Trikru was calling on their allies to help push Azgeda out of Polis, and her mother - their leader? - was sending their best warriors to the city. And she wanted Ilian to go, too.
Yu kru gaf yu in.
But he said no. Even when Ankara told him his mother would have wanted him to fight. He told her to get off his land. Out of the corner of her eye, Octavia watched her stalk off, clearly displeased with the response she'd gotten.
Then Octavia made her way to Ilian. "You didn't tell me you were a warrior." You didn't tell me we had something in common, was what she wanted to say, but didn't. Her softer tone may have betrayed her, though.
He smiled faintly, wryly, as he turned to face her. "Not much point in fighting at the end of the world."
She wanted to believe him.
But it was still stuck in her head later, as they were getting ready to sleep. They'd cleaned up from the day's work, eaten, and now they were in bed under the warmth of sheepskin blankets, and Ilian was tracing the lines of her tattoo - the first one, on her right shoulder - with his fingertips.
And all she could think about was --
"There's a war going on," she rasped quietly, "and I'm not in it."
Ilian's hand stilled on her shoulder. "No war will stop Praimfaya."
"At least it would be a warrior's death." She almost sounded wry. She'd been managing actual tones to her voice here, beyond just anger and bitterness. "Better than melting."
"My people have a saying," he told her after a pause. "Nou fir wamplei in: em bilaik stoda kom nes soujon noumou."
Do not fear death, for it is only the beginning of the next journey. Suddenly, Octavia's throat felt tight. "Reincarnation?" she asked, trying to keep the feeling out of her voice. She wasn't sure whether she was successful. "You believe in that?"
"The crops, they die in winter," Ilian told her, "and then return in spring. Most people don't know when their winter will come, but we do. And that's a gift." As he spoke, he wrapped his arm around her, and pressed a kiss against the back of her shoulder. Nothing further than that. "Why waste it in fighting?"
And she wanted to believe him.
The next day, Ankara came back, with two men.
And Octavia was working on the field alone.
They asked her where Ilian was, and she just offered a vague shrug, hoping they'd leave her alone if she just ignored them and kept working. One of the men wondered in Trig whether she maybe couldn't talk. But Ankara said that maybe she didn't want them to hear her accent. Shit.
"That's it, isn't it?" Ankara asked, switching to English. "Skairipa."
Octavia straightened up. Maybe she could still convince them otherwise. "Yu's mis ai op gon --"
The man cut her off. "I saw you in Polis," he said, seething now. And coming closer. They all were. "You murdered my friend Terro. Cut off his head."
She wouldn't let them think they were cornering her. With the hoe still in hand, she stepped closer to them. "I'm not that person anymore," she told the man - and immediately had to block the strike he tried to deal her with his sword. "Please," she said. "You don't want to do this." But he came at her again. This time, she struck him in the stomach with the blunt end, and he doubled over. Ankara and the other man were watching the situation unfold, looking at each other like they weren't sure what to do.
"Trust me," Octavia told them. She was trying. "Just walk away."
But Ankara drew her sword, and shouted, "Teik em au!"
And they all came at her. For a moment, she did her best just blocking their blows and keeping her guard up, but they kept coming, and one of the men almost managed to kick her knee out from under her, forcing her to stumble back. And they all hovered there around her like snarling beasts, waiting to pounce on her again.
And honestly, she'd tried. She really had.
But at her heart, she knew she was a shark.
And there was blood in the water.
She charged, with no mercy. The first man was easy, took the sharp end of the hoe to the face. The second man managed to cut the handle of the tool into two, and was rewarded with the broken-off piece rammed through his abdomen, making him spit up blood as he fell to the ground. Octavia had already knocked Ankara to the ground, and as she was trying to get up, Octavia whacked her across the head.
And then, with a primal scream, just kept hitting the woman until she barely resembled one at all, and Octavia's own face was spattered with blood.
When she straightened up, panting, she saw Ilian. Not sure how long he'd been standing there, looking stunned. But she also didn't care. She dropped the bloodied tool on the ground and walked over to him.
"This is who I am," she said.
Then she went and saddled Helios up, and took off for Polis, and didn't look back.
Her place was in the war.
[ooc: NFB, NFI. Taken from The 100 S4 episode 9. Content warning for graphic violence.]