EDELWOLFE, JOCELYN ELEANOR Nov 25, 2014 22:25:26 GMT -5
Post by JOCELYN on Nov 25, 2014 22:25:26 GMT -5
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JOCELYN ELEANOR EDELWOLFE
It would be easy to take Jocelyn lightly, passing her over as soft in the head. However, that would be a grave mistake. Her appreciation and dedication to cleanliness, order, and propriety is not something most if not any other in the Menagerie would encounter ... a last reminisce of the nobility and expectations she was raised with. It is the simple glue that holds her together, and it's in the detail and organization that she finds peace in an otherwise murderous, relentless, compromising, and ever changing world.
It goes beyond skin deep, though very few understand the difference. Her appearance is a result of her need to be ready at all times, and the time she puts into these things are more ritual than vanity, more akin to war paint than for narcissism or pride.
The things she has done, the memories, the nightmares, the guilt - it all slides away with each new outfit, stroke of liner, and shoe she can scrounge. It is a simple and harmless way for her to remain sane. Though things out of order bother her, it is not something that will drive her crazy. Mud on her dress? She will simply wash it. She is keenly aware that nothing is perfect, but will spend the time to make things right once more. Often despite the irritation or outrage of others.
Jocelyn is utterly unflappable, her tribulations and trauma in life have honed her into an almost emotionless creature of deadly grace. She is neither kind, nor selfish, neither self-conscious nor egotistical. She is fair if it kills her, and has an uncanny ability to know exactly what she is capable of ... but beneath the deliberately placed stoicism boils anger. It is a deep, passionate rage that is rarely seen. In these rare moments her icy fearlessness is traded for a tempered ferocity and nothing will stand in her way.
She does not like herself in these moments, doesn't like the feeling of being out of control - and it is very addicting to her. Like an alcoholic that slips. For instance, the last time she 'went off the reservation' she was gone for several weeks, killing and hunting anything that came across her path. Slowly she is learning a semblance of balance between these two dramatic personalities and as she's grown older has mellowed considerably.
Jocelyn spends most of her time between combat drills, sharpening her skills physically and mentally as well as Hunting and caring for herself. She is very independent, and prefers to go out on her own to hunt. Especially at night, others are often hard pressed to keep up. She would never leave someone behind, and when she has to babysit her hunting suffers.
She appreciates the Carna more than they likely understand. They are eager to protect their own and are simple yet fierce in their loyalties. What belongs to someone belongs to them, and she likes knowing where she is and what is expected of her.
Any and all name calling or advances roll off her composure her easily. Princess and Ice Queen are two very common nick names, and the same people that usually mock her often eventually try a pass at her. Jocelyn is extremely single minded, and cares little about the ideas of sex or relationships. As far as she is concerned it is her preference to spend that time bettering herself than wasting it away on some mouth breathing neanderthal. She takes nothing personally, and unless pushed into a fight one way or another will walk away more often than not.
In truth she little sleeps. Her best hunting hours are in the darkness where many will not venture. For Jocelyn her night time world is more home than the daytime, and often she will catch up on sleep for days at a time holed up somewhere she cannot be found.
Aside from her almost obsessive tendencies with her appearance, she is quite practical. She shares whatever she finds and can spare with others of her ring, however most know better than to try and take anything from her. Short of the Lead Hunter, Delta, or Alpha she listens to no one. Anyone that tries will have a fight on their hands. Unsurprisingly the only tenderness or affection she might show are for the few children in the Carna, and will often make sure her kills personally go to the families that are sometimes overlooked.
She is not afraid to kill, and will not necessarily stop someone else from killing. To protect and provide, Jocelyn will go to any lengths to make sure her own are cared for. It is the innocent, senseless, and unneeded kills that bother her. When a man is already down, has already been played out or injured and no longer poses a threat. A mercy kill is separated in her mind, and she fully believes in people repaying debts. Many of her fellow Carna have experienced both her benevolence and her retribution. Jocelyn has her own moral code that in the regular world would mark her a murderer, a criminal. In the Carna ... she is perhaps one of the few that deal fairly in the lives of others - or at the very least does her utmost to be just.
Edelwolfe Manor – Schwarzwald, Germany 2293
She didn’t know why they bothered running. They would catch them.
Even if they made it off of the manor grounds; even if they made it to the secret spot – they were all of them undone.
The Edelwolfe Family, one of the oldest standing members of The Bastian had been betrayed. Tonight UNPR, the United Nations for Paranormal Research, had descended, begun the extermination, and would not stop until every last Edelwolfe was dead or captured.
The Bastian was an underground age-old and crumbling order dedicated to the protection and education of those that held two forms. The shifters. Professors, mercenaries, scientists, doctors; where once at the turn of the century they’d had a foot hold in every capital, major hospital, government base, political house, and college … UNPR had slowly but surely searched them out and destroyed them one by one. Even human members that dedicated themselves through family or devotion were hunted down and killed.
“Keep running Jossy!” urged Uther, her elder brother. Banging, gunshots, and screams echoed from the dark house behind them, spurring her already exhausted body to push her legs harder. The grip on her hand was crushing as he half dragged her along with his galloping strides. At seventeen he could run much faster than eight year old Jocelyn, but she did her best to keep up.
“Come on!” the fear and demand in his voice made her want to cry but she focused on her steps, on not falling. It was hard to breathe. Terror and unbidden sobs had closed her throat, and the soles of her bare feet were cut and bruised from forest floor. Patches of blood covered her pink nightgown, and in the crook of her arm a plush toy wolf was crushed to her side. The forest was dark, and she couldn’t see where they were going. She could only trust that Uther did. Uther would get them out.
A sudden apparition ahead of them caused the pair to skid to a halt, and Jocelyn’s blue eyes widened in fear. She would not scream. Papa had made her promise not to scream. Uther pulled her behind him, his fighting stance reflexive as the soldier attacked. Jocelyn squeezed her eyes shut, but before she knew it his large hand found hers and they were running again.
From afar, an silent being watched the siblings curiously, a small amused smile on her perfect porcelain face. She watched as the young man protected the flaxen haired little girl, taking down the soldier efficiently then continuing their flight.
“My my, but the boy has talent. He has started as a Bastian Mercenary I see. Is he animal, or human?” her satin voice seemed conversational, though to all appearances she was alone.
“He has not been tested yet M’Lady,” answered a shadowed figured crouched at the base of a tree. “The children were impossible to get blood from, the family kept them too close.”
“Ah,” answered the lady UNPR agent thoughtfully. Her dark hair was curled and pinned up, her eyes framed by tasteful black rimmed glasses with the smallest touch of makeup. Her expensive dark suit was made up of a pencil skirt and blazer over a gossamer silk shirt accompanied by Jimmy Choos – all having no place in the wilds of Germany.
“Let us allow them passage, Granger,” she said her words near free of a French accent. Her steely eyes watched until they disappeared into the trees. The stooped dark figured at her side made a pitched noise of anticipation and disappointment.
“Now now, we must be patient. Let us see how Uther handles being a lone Edelwolfe, and maybe if we are lucky they will lead us to more,” her lips curled around the ancient German surname easily, enunciating as it once had been in the origin. Her tone bordered on mocking and she smiled fully in nothing similar to a smile.
“But, what about … what about the girl,” he whimpered then instantly cowered when the lady made a warning noise in her throat. A moment passed in silence before she answered.
“She may become useful at some point, or not. For now he can keep the little pup,” she said dismissively and turned to leave.
Catskill, New York 2299
Jocelyn hated this moment. The moment you were airborne and knew that in the next instant you were going to crash in an ungraceful and painful pile. The girl hit the ground hard, rolling in hopes of shedding some of the impact and was on her feet again before she realized she had found them.
“Good!” Uther called as he relaxed from the stance that had thrown his sister ten feet away. It was the third time he had used that move on her and she was getting sick of eating mat. This time had been better than the last two, she’d been quicker to rise and hadn’t made any noise when she hit.
“Uther,” she half whined as she trudged back to her mark. “I’m kinda sore. Can we call it for the day?” Uther chuckled then sighed as he stepped up to her and lay hands on either shoulder. His blue eyes smiled into her identical pair.
“We can call it a day when I see some real effort. Come on Joss – you got this,” he stepped back and, pushing his dark blonde hair from his face, took the fighting stance once more. Jocelyn sighed dramatically, her shoulders sinking in defeat before her posture shifted and her fists came up on defense. Uther swung and went after her.
Jocelyn never knew how they had managed to escape. Every other member of their family had been killed or captured that night, and when The Bastian Headquarters had finally found them, they had spirited the siblings away from Germany and hid them in upstate New York. They were coached out of their German accents, given new aliases, and set up on a hefty stipend. Since then, Uther had been relentless in teaching her Bastian Mercenary combat. Maybe if he himself and known more he could have done more…
Before that terrible night Jocelyn had been tested and had shown the aptitude for Mercenary; even at a young age she was quick, resourceful, and took well to training. Still, she lacked the heart for it. She hated UNPR, but hated the act of killing more. Thus she was not selected. After the slaughter of their family, Uther made it his mission to teach her anyway. At first he made it a game, then he had to trick and bribe her into it. Soon, she grew tired of his pestering and humored him for a few hours each day.
Her shift form was another matter entirely. The smallest of the big cat family, Jocelyn shifted into a Clouded Leopard; which in the Edelwolfe Family was most unusual. Customarily their shift forms were wolves, elk, birds, and other animals from their surroundings. It was one of the ways they hid so well … evolution had been kind to them. The Edelwolfe’s only guess had been an insanely distant relative from China that had married into the family for political reasons hundreds of years ago.
Uther had only seen her in the shift a few times, but it was something to behold. Her coat alone was unlike anything he’d ever seen. Sometimes they would drive out into the woods and she’d run for a bit, learning about herself in that form as well – but they were careful. Very careful. There were no Clouded Leopards native to New York. Uther told her years ago he wasn’t a shifter – so there was no way for him to help her. All he could do was prepare her human half enough for all of her, and pray.
Now, he stepped into her space and went for the hold he was teaching her shifting his weight from the hip to toss her – but she slipped free, twisting to position herself behind him and used the force of her spin to catch the back of his knee with the top of her foot. He grunted as his knees hit the mat, and forced himself not to retaliate. The face he turned to her was split with a broad ear to ear smile. He had not taught her that move; she had reacted on instinct.
“See?! That’s my girl - good goin’ Sis!” he crowed as he tackled her middle and swung her around, yelling at the empty room about her genius. Jocelyn smiled and muffled a squeak as she was lifted into the air and spun.
She let him have the moment. This was all an exercise to let Uther sleep better at night knowing his baby sister could get out of a hold and shoot a gun. However, Jocelyn was fourteen and had different ideas about what she wanted out of life. You couldn’t change the past, but it had not taken long for her to realize that’s exactly where Uther lived … in the past. Once he put her down she smiled, then scrunched her nose at him.
“Phew,” she chided then waved a hand as if to clear the air. “You stink Uth.” Lifting an arm she sniffed herself then shrugged, “Then again so do I.”
Her eyes widened in realization and she barked, “Dibs on shower!” and sprinted to the door. Uther mock-jumped as if to race her, but thought better of it, huffed a huge sigh and looked at his hands shaking his head. No matter what he did or said he couldn’t get her to take this seriously. Jocelyn’s head poked around the corner where she had disappeared seconds before.
“Sooo Miranda just texted and said she has tickets to Pandagorium,” she began. They had a deal, Uther didn’t tell her what she could and couldn’t do as long as she was smart about it and told him where she was at all times. Still, there was the hint of a question in her voice. He didn’t like her staying out late …
“Go, have fun,” he said and she squeaked with a bounce and vanished around the corner again. The echoes of her calling Miranda reverberated down the hall. Uther would have to hurry if he didn’t want to lose her. She’d have been so pissed if she knew he kept an eye on her when she went out at night, but he’d rather risk her wrath than her safety. THE UNPR was everywhere.
It was really difficult to let her leave the house in that dress. If you could call it that. The thing was black and too short and too tight. The laser focus he kept on the TV was impressive demonstration of self-control as he clicked through the channels with unseeing eyes. If he looked at her again, he would yell at her and they would get into a fight. His father would never have allowed it, but he wasn’t there and as Jocelyn reminded him recently in a similar argument; Uther wasn’t her father.
Jocelyn would never have told Uther that she had a date, no sir. He’d think the guy was a secret agent and be paranoid, make a big deal, promise to stay home, then follow her around anyway. Pulling on a jacket, she stepped into her heels and flipped her long blonde hair from her face as she inspected herself in the mirror. She fixed an imaginary smudge from her black makeup and once satisfied, she chimed a farewell to Uther and closed the door behind her.
East Harlem, New York, New York 2303
She wasn’t supposed to be here, Jocelyn had lied to him – again. Uther stood straight, his back against the brick of a building in an alleyway. What the hell is she doing? Here of all places, Uther growled to himself. This was the third time she had lied about where she was going and tonight he was going to bust her. Damn all be the consequences.
The voices of the laughing group he had been stalking drew nearer, and he tensed to intercede and take Jocelyn back by force if necessary.
“God damn it Uther,” Jocelyn’s voice was like the lash of a whip and Uther turned to see his little sister. Somehow she’d snuck up behind him. Her long pale hair was loose and tangled, falling to her elbows. Floral laced black tights gave a posh look to the cobalt blue dress she wore a few sizes too small. Her platform stilettoes were too high and the black smeared around her eyes made her blue eyes icy and evocative. She smelled of booze, cigarettes, and a few other things …
“Jesus Christ Joss,” he breathed, his anger tempering into concern as he pulled off his jacket and tried to put it around her shoulders. She made an impatient noise as she knocked the jacket away with the back of her hand and stepped toward him – almost eye level with him in her stilty heels.
“Uther, you have to stop this! I’m sixteen I can take care of myself!” she yelled. Had she been sober, she would never have been so loud.
“Jocelyn please,” he began, his tone between tolerance and entreaty.
“Jocelyn? Thought your name was Josephine,” a stony British voice said from behind Uther. Uther jumped and turned. The group Uther had been following had turned the corner led by a dark haired guy that looked in his early twenties. He had spoken around the cigarette in his mouth the first time, but now took a drag and talked through the smoke as it escaped his lips.
“This bloke botherin’ ya love?” His tone was friendly, but the look in his eyes were mocking and predatory. The panic on Jocelyn’s face was clear – followed by embarrassment. She cleared her throat and schooled her features.
“No Aaron, it’s just my annoyingly overprotective brother,” she said quickly as she crossed her arms. Her mouth opened for another retort as she threw a glare at Uther … until she saw his face and froze.
Uther’s settled expression was the same as any Bastian Mercenary about to fight; remote and focused. The agent was good. Uther shifted in front of Jocelyn protectively, his automatic stance ready to take a blow as his gaze narrowed and his chin rose.
“Jocelyn stay behind me,” he ordered. The group’s faces were a mix of unimpressed humor, and boredom.
“Uther! What are you doing, those are my friends!” she said, her protest a bit weak as unease crept up her spine.
“That one’s not,” Uther said between his teeth – indicating the agent in front of him. Aaron cracked a smile, threw his cigarette butt on the ground and smashed it with the toe of his boot.
“Oh but deddy,” he protested in a little girl’s voice. “I don’t like the mean secret agent man,” he said as he batted his eyelashes then laughed into giggles. “Maybe you ought to ’ave taught little sis a bit more ‘bout things that go bump in the night,” he chided as if they had eaten dessert before dinner.
“Let’s see here,” Aaron began as he took strolling steps forward with his hands clasped behind his back. He stopped with a lockstep and leaned to one side to look at the pair, peering as if they were in a cage at the zoo – then smiled. “Havin’ a bit of deja vous are we? The big brother protecting ‘is little helpless sister from the big scary governemt. I'm with a new outfit. Now let me think,” he said as he straightened, grasped his chin, and began speaking to the air above him. “Where have I seen this before? Oh right!” he cried with the snap of his fingers. His expression sobered and his gaze turned calculating.
“Es war einmal in einem Schwarzwald ... “ he uttered darkly in almost perfect German then smiled with excitement. It was the same agent from the night in Germany, the one that had tried to stop them in the woods so many years ago. Uther had recognized him instantly; it was only just now that Jocelyn caught on.
“Now you go,” he said lightly as if they were taking turns in the playground.
Uther’s sharp gaze had not left Aaron for an instant. He did not speak, but the recognition in his eyes was reverberated in the silence. Behind him, Jocelyn’s face had turned a whiter shade of pale and fear had clouded her eyes. Her mind was teeming with the same panicked line of thought, He’s an agent? He’s an agent? How did I not know? He’s an agent. Oh dear God Aarons an agent!
“We ent gonna hurt you lil’ dove,” Aaron cooed at Jocelyn as he looked around Uther. “Your going somewhere vury nice,” he snapped his teeth with a grin and turned on his heel to head back to the group. Oddly the group was calm obviously accustomed to these kinds of encounters.
A prickling at the back of his neck cued Uther look up as four soldiers descended from the roofs of either side of the buildings. Jocelyn was slammed into the wall with Uther’s reflexive motion and the next several minutes of fighting were violet and futile.
“Uther!” Jocelyn called as one soldier with bloody teeth marks in his arm dragged her away by the elbow and a fistful of her hair. Her temple was bleeding, as was her mouth. The other three men where on Uther to make sure he went down and stayed down. Jocelyn fought to no avail. Her wrists were zip tied quickly and she spit the soldier blood from her mouth. “Uther!” she called again.
“Jossy,” he slurred in no certain direction. His head lulled as he looked up through two black eyes to a black suited soldier with a quiet expression, a gun, and obvious intention.
“Leave him alone!” she shouted and thrashed. She began to sob, her face twisted in fear and rage. “Leave him alone, he’s no Bastian he never even completed the training! He’s no shifter … leave him be sie ficken Blutegel!”
“Take him,” someone said.
The last thing she saw was the gun pointed at Uther before the black bag went over her head. All the horror and panic was ripped from of her lungs in a single blood curdling scream, “UTHER!”
The light was too bright.
Jocelyn had been shoved into the trunk of a car, driven for hours, dragged up a flight of stairs, left on a carpeted floor for another timeless eon, then plopped into a chair before finally the bag was removed from her head. Her eyes screwed shut against the light, her face turning away with a pained expression while they adjusted to the dramatic change.
Bang. She jumped in her seat and gasped, thinking it was a gun shot. It was simply the closing of a door. The room was well lit and white. The chairs were metal as was the table, and across from her was a woman. Jocelyn, the woman, the chairs, the table … her eyes wandered to what looked like a single white door with no window, and … that was all.
Her high heels were long gone, her tights were ripped, her head hurt, and her makeup was smeared with streams of tears. Uther was dead. It was all because of her. He was dead.
“Oh la la, ma bichette you look the worse for wear, I am afraid,” said the woman in a lightly accented, rich voice. Jocelyn’s puffy eyes settled on the creature across from her.
Her dark hair was curled and twisted into an elaborate knot that was ornamented by a tilted hat and netted veil. Her high collared dress reminded Jocelyn of a bad BBC Victorian drama she’d seen once but despite the association, she was beautiful – in the, maybe she’s not a real person – kind of way. Her mouth was full and red, her eyes a strange steely grey behind black framed glasses.
She shifted and smiled before she sat back again in her chair, casting her appraising gaze on Jocelyn as if to catch every detail of the insect before her. “Not much of a wolf I am afraid. Yes, bichette fits you well,” the agent said quietly.
Jocelyn didn’t give a damn what she called her. Her jaw set and her eyes narrowed as she said slowly, “Who the hell are you and why did you kill my brother.”
“My name is Agent Genevieve Desmarais, and you my little bichette were once the target of the United Nations of Paranormal Research. However, a new organization has taken over and is doing things ... differently,” she said and smiled. “And you child of Edelwolfe are going someplace special. That is, when our scientists are done with you.”
The Compound, The Menagerie 2304
It was loud, too loud and if light had been bright before now it was utterly blinding. Her pupils constricted to pinpoints as her feathered ears flattened. The cacophony she soon realized was a variation of animal noises, machines, and human speech between screaming and murmurs. It was relentless, and she curled into herself – shoving her nose under her leg and curling into a tight ball. Her wings tightened to her body as her eyes screwed closed again, attempting in vein to shut everything out.
This was the seventh such awakening Jocelyn had experienced, and each time there was something new. The first time appendages formed on her back by her spine that eventually grew into wings, and she had cut herself from her newly sharp claws. With each rousing something was different, and new, and scary.
A shadow fell across her as one of the Keepers leaned in, talking to a second person. She could hear the scribbling of pen on paper. She could hear their heartbeats, their breathing, the rumbling of a stomach from lunch. It was too much. Something touched her and instantly she whirled – moving without thought to swipe and hiss. There was more talking, and a growling moan of weariness and warning escaped her as she curled again in a tight ball. This time, she kept her eyes on the cage door, her sharp blue eyes glaring as her tail twitched in irritation.
How long she had been there she did not know, but it seemed like years.
Carna Borderlands, The Menagerie 2305
She ran as fast as her legs could carry her. If she had spent little time as an animal in The World she spent little to none as a human in The Dome. Her wings were still new – too new, and she could do little more than glide with them during short periods of time.
She was angry. She couldn’t take those that chased her there were too many, so she’d had no choice but to run. Behind her were several species of animals that seemed to be part of the same group but as she neared a crest of rock through the sand they drifted back. She could no longer hear them as clearly, and up ahead she could see two people watch her as she ran toward them.
“Stop!” one commanded, holding up a hand. The spliced shifter put on the breaks, and her pads scraped against the red dirt. Her wings splayed out to aid in the sharp movement as she ground to a halt. Both he and the girl that stood next to him seemed rather self-assured, cleaner than many she had met, and a bit better fed.
“What is your business here,” he demanded as he reached for what she assumed was a hidden weapon. The girl beside him was crouched in readiness. Jocelyn watched them a long moment as she panted to catch her breath.
“Is this the Carna Ring?” she asked in shifter-tongue between pants. Her brow was furrowed, her gaze sharp despite her gasps for air. She’d been lucky enough to speak to a scout from this ring and from what he had described she liked what they had to offer.
“It is,” he replied cautiously and exchanged looks with his companion.
Jocelyn was tired of running, and tired of feeling lost. She’d felt lost since the night they had taken Uther away from her. The change in temperament she had undergone since then was staggering … her brother wouldn’t have known her. It was amazing what capture and torture did to a person. They had stolen more than just two years of her life ... and the rest of it.
A second later she shifted into her eighteen year old self. Her long blonde hair was twisted into a braid, the blue dress that was little more than a long t-shirt she had been forced to wear since the night they caught her almost hung on her now. Her tights were ripped, her shoes were gone … but that little mattered. Her posture was straight, her gaze unflinching. She might have been wearing a floor length gown with her composure. She wanted to get clean, wanted to mourn, to wear black and to say a prayer for her brothers soul - but first things were first.
She needed a home. If she was going to be stuck here until her demise she needed something to belong to. She’d belonged to The Bastian her entire life, trained with her brother and for what? To end up here anyway. Alone out here meant death. The body thrived when the heart had a mission. She wasn’t so sure there was much of a heart left, but she had determination and a hell of a lot of will power. She’d had to, to get this far.
Jocelyn settled her gaze as the tips of her mouth turned up almost pleasantly. “My name is Jocelyn Eleanor Edelwolfe,” she said almost formally, “and I am here to join you.”
Carna Borderlands, The Menagerie 2305-2308
Wearily, Jocelyn was introduced into the Carna and her time there has been nothing short of brutal and satisfying. Finding different fighters to spar with had been fairly easy, for many of them were just like her; either were trained for combat or had learned quickly.
One of those she studied with was Old Jack. He had been in the clutches of the government far longer than anyone else she knew, but he also had a unique fighting style. A combination of Okinawan kobudō, and Aikido. It was different than she and her brother practiced, but he was pleased with her dedication. When he passed away, he gifted her with his Machetes they had trained with, and long after his bones had been buried and taken by the earth Jocelyn continued to train.
When she began carting home what people assumed to be bedding and spending long hours sewing they thought she went crazy. Some were astounded by the skill she showed in making the outfits she wore as well as the care she took with her belongings and the vicious retaliation she doled out if anyone so much as touched her possessions. She quickly gained a reputation. She didn't care, it was little harmless things that made her happy.
She won weapons in combat, traded them for materials, shoes or jewelry. Little bits at a time, and never at the expense of others, but it was insanity for someone in the Menagerie to spend so much effort on her appearance. She washed daily, brushed her hair and clothes, applied charcoal or liner when she had it and felt like it, ground up minerals for her near-white complexion, and always always she wore black. Many of the Carna were not pleased, and more than once she had come back to her tent ruined. Each time she rightened everything, sewed up the holes or slowly replaced them. Eventually they let her be, and she was always civil but few were friends.
It was not until she was made a Hunter that they realized she wasn’t just a pretty face. She was emotionless in battle, cunning in her shifting and almost untouchable. The price she paid in bruises, breaks, and the long hours of dogged practice was beyond obsession, but it was her life. The mini dramas of her fellow member’s lives were separate to her, as needless and pointless to Jocelyn as they thought of the clothes that she wore.
In the battle with the Fallen Jocelyn saved many lives, and in return many saved hers. It was then, after many years that the Carna truly accepted her. Comrades in arms formed the strangest of bonds, and it was not long before she was very close with her fellow Hunters. They respected her, and she respected them.