Character Bar (Explicit, 18+)

Charlie: Oh, shit.

Amy: Excuse me?

 

Zlada Volkov: Honey this is good enough for the Empress of 6 planets. You wish
anyone as distinguished as that would ever come close to the likes of you. But then
again, I have a thing for 2.4 meter tall four armed girls. How could you compete with
all of that? Oh wait you can't, but if you would like to join us in a drink we would be
more than happy to entertain you.

 

Amy: One second. Ninety-seven, fifty-seven, thirty-seven, five. Sixty-seven, ninety-seven, thirty-seven, nine.

Ok, you know how people who get orally raped get told that they should've bitten the bastard's dick off instead of "letting" him do it? Fun fact, I tried that when I was 15, and not only did it not work, but I don't remember anything for about an hour after that except that the back of my skull was covered in fist-marks. You want to ask me about my "pie hole" one more time?

 

Zlada Volkov: When I got raped, I beat the bastard until his face was mush. There was a time when
I used to be just like you. I shot a pregnant woman through the spine, and the mostly formed fetus's
head splattered out of the womb and onto a wall. All so I could draw out my intended target.
I have seen some shit that would make you toss your cookies. dear. My friend has caused more than
300 years of suffering, to avoid being a specimen on some dickheads slab to be dissected. The screams,
cries, and pleas still haunt her. Thousands of lives begging for mercy and death, and destroyed with
the trauma of what she has done. She hates herself for getting off to those poor souls misery.
Let alone my score card which frankly, is considerable. I like you kid, you've got guts.

 

Amy: Thanks! Either of you consider therapy?

 

Zlada Volkov: Maybe I will consider it when I don't have to keep killing dipshits, dumb enough
to point a gun at me. War is not over yet, so plenty of mess left to make. I cannot speak for my
friend however, but I am sure in time, and with a little healthy interaction she will do just fine.
She is the smartest person in the room, whether she knows it or not.

 

Claramilla: *handing Agnethe a drink* Here, you need that.

Agnethe: No I don't. I prefer my inhibitions intact when I'm angry. Just get me a Coke and remind Amy never to mention my mother like that again.

Rossweisse: *to Ortlinde* Any ideas how we defuse all of this?

Ortlinde: Yeah, but you're not going to like it.

Rossweisse: Try me.

Ortlinde: EVERYBODY! "The Royal Riders fuck their mounts...."

 

Amy: Let me tell you something - when I'm on my meds and attending group sessions, I'm a better kneebreaker for Charlie than I was before all that. Would you not sharpen a sword until the war was over?

Amy: Oh, that's rich. How was I supposed to feel about you saying exactly the same thing?

 

Agnethe: If you want people to care about how you feel, go lie to one of your therapy groups about how you're "getting better." What was it you said about not being able to do penance for murder?

 

Claramilla: The Royal Riders....

Agnethe: Not you too.

 

Zlada Volkov: Meds? You can't appreciate the hell and damages with drugs. You have
to meet each and take them for what they are. Killing is easy, letting them live is hard.
You can't take back anything, even if you wanted too. I took no joy in some of the things
I have done to complete a mission. If you can handle being the being the hand of death
then by all means, have at it. In my exp. being the instrument of death, it has made me
a cold and unforgiving woman. Any respectable soldier regardless of rank can tell you,
that you can't escape the fact that you have taken away a mother,father, son, or daughter.
You have to realize that you are not only doing a job and following orders, your destroying
lives and families. It hurts knowing you have done something terrible, even when you think
you are doing what you think and believe is right. So look in the mirror, and you will shatter
under the weight of the burdens you want to deny.

 

Amy: Well, I don't tell them that getting better for me means gang violence, but I'm not lying about getting better. I've gone from being a mentally unhealthy Chaotic Evil to being a mentally more healthy Chaotic Evil.

Amy: A, when I'm seeing red, I say shit to piss people off. B, wanting to feel better isn't the same as wanting to make penance. The Son of Sam tried to be a stabber, but that was very traumatizing for him, so he decided to be a shooter instead. That's what I was talking about. You were pissing me off and you made it sound like you felt bad about hurting people, so I tried to make you feel worse; these other people haven't done anything to piss me off and it sounds like they feel bad about hurting people, so I'm trying to help them feel better about it. If they decide that "feeling better" means trying to accept being the bad guy the way I do, then that's their choice.

Amy: In my world, "any respectable soldier" understands what PTSD can do to a person and how important it is to treat PTSD before it compromises the person's ability to respond in a crisis.

 

Zlada Volkov: Well in the 28th century they still haven't been able to to fix that.
Cancer was far easier to cure, and that was in the previous century.

 

Amy: Wow, seriously? Even in the 21st century, people in my world are already seeing breakthroughs like propranolol that show promise of being able to rewrite the parts of the brain that send memories into overdrive. One step forward, five steps back?

 

Agnethe: *snorts* It's cute how you've rationalized your regression into justifying violence as "progress." You're getting worse, you sick freak.

 

Alex: You know, Agnethe, I've been sitting over here quietly, listening to your bullshit for while and it occurs to me, through this whole pissing contest you got going on with Amy, all I see is one twisted self-loathing motherfucker (i.e. you) trying to project their own shit onto someone else. So I have to ask, just how much do you hate yourself? and why can't you just let go? cuz it's really getting pathetic from where I'm sitting.

 

Amy: Lady, I don't know how to be any more clear. My inclinations for violence are not a "mental illness," that's just something I love doing. My mental illness started out as a year of constant overwhelming terror with occasional overwhelming emptiness, then turned into a few years of the other way around. When I started professional therapy, the balance shifted back to constant overwhelming terror for the first couple of months, but since then, neither the terror nor the emptiness have been anywhere near as overwhelming. But I'm still the same kind of person who's not as worried about violence as normal are. That's not part of my mental illness, that's just me being a different kind of person than everybody else.

 

Agnethe: Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

Oh, and Anna, I'd rather not be arguing with Amy either. I'd rather be arresting her, but given that I can't do that right now, I'm not going to sit here and listen to her preach.

 

Charlie: Amy? Is this a good time to come out now?

Amy: Yup! Good to go. CHARLIE'S A LESBIAN, EVERYBODY!

Charlie: ... You can't possibly think that's what I was talking about.

Amy: Uh, "Charlie's black, everybody"?

Charlie: Is the pissing contest over?

Amy: Just as long as Agnethe stops equating evilness with mental illness. I mean for fuck's sake, did she think her mother was evil for needing therapy after everything that was done to her?

Charlie: Crap.

Amy: Like, it was bad enough when my mother tried to drag me to church to confess my sin of getting raped by a guy twice my weight and a foot taller. Getting that treatment from a daughter? I can't even begin to imagine what that must have been like.

 

Agnethe: My mother was a fucking saint. The only thing wrong with her was that she never looked at me the same way after she found out I had ASPD, it was like she had to drag a piece of that monster around with her every...

*Claramilla interrupts by cold-cocking Amy from behind with the hilt of her pistol, knocking her unconscious*

Claramilla: Damn that felt good.

*Pointing pistol at Charlie and Alec as they draw*

Claramilla: Don't worry, Vice Inspector Dinicu and I were just leaving. I've had about enough psychobabbe for one day.

*Claramilla and Agnethe exit the bar slowly, guns drawn*

Ortlinde: Well then, who needs another round?