Not Hunting [Marionette]

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[attr="id","marion"]would you cry if i died?

[attr="id","marione"]would you remember my face?

[attr="id","marionette"]

She had stayed close to the outer walls of the abandoned building for too long, yet she only noticed it when she felt herself press her flank against the wood. Had she been shivering this entire time? The wall provided little comfort, and the wide, distressed look on her face probably did nothing to hide her true feelings. She already knew that she had dropped the focused calm she had tried to portray despite her constantly hunched and cowering posture. Slowly, one paw lifted and then the other as Marionette dragged herself towards the door to follow after John into the shell of her former home. The Watcher kept just above her head as soon as she passed underneath the robot, and the familiar whirring of its engine was only a slight comfort.

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Steps cautious and slow, she picked her way across the main room. The building itself, as its exterior might suggest, did not have much space. The main room doubled as a kitchen and a bedroom, and the single door--which was still on its hinges, she noted--leading into another room was for storing food. They never allowed her in there, and one smack across the hindquarters when she was a puppy was enough to get her scrambling for the safety of her mother. She Augment tensed her muscles, suppressing another shiver.

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She found herself keeping close to the walls once more, brushing up against it as it caught and tugged at her pelt. Blue and brown eyes darted around the main room. There used to be a warm glow around the stove. But now it was just as cold as the winter outside these walls. She took another step, pausing only to carefully step over the shattered remains of a cup. Soon, she found herself before a tattered box with an aged and flattened pillow inside. Her body stilled, and her ears drew back as she tried to suppress her earliest memories.

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The collie shook herself as John's words reached her. She turned, focusing her attention on the sighthound. She did not miss the change in expression from one of sympathy to one of... Did she even want to believe it? She hesitated, lowering her head before gently shaking it. "No," the Watcher voiced what she could only shake her head to. With a quick glance up to the Watcher, the stronger connection was made. "Sometimes, it is better to let things be. What good would come from condemning instinct?" She took a few steps towards the door, ready to dart once more and completely leave behind her old life for good. But, this time, she didn't take off in the blink of an eye, instead waiting for John to be ready as well.

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She couldn't keep leaving her company behind to struggle through the snow.

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"Besides, they could still be alive."

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[attr="class","johntitle"]John

written in pain, written in awe by a puzzled man who questioned what we were here for

John gave an almost pained expression. He felt chastised, but wasn't entirely sure for what. His mother had raised him to solve his problems with violence, but apparently Marionette would rather leave things be. It confused him. He thought he had figured things out. That it would be okay for him to have killed whatever it was that destroyed this house. "S-sorry." He wondered if there was something he could do to help her and found that if she didn't want the only help he knew how to give, then he had nothing to give her. He hated being so useless.
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He felt like the child who had been rebuked for asking before burning ants with a magnifying glass. An innate pleasure came from crushing those under him and it brought him to two paths. He could bow his head and refrain from doing the only thing he was good at. Or he could do it without permission. Would she secretly be pleased to see the head of whatever it was that killed her family? He wanted to protest and managed a weak-willed retort, "B-but in-in-instin... instincts can be b-bad, too." He believed it. Otherwise, why did he even try to hold himself back? Why even quash his desire to kill that which made him and those he cared about uncomfortable? He looked at his feet, at the floor underneath his paws.
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And he lifted his head at her next words,"Besides, they could still be alive." 
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John sighed. He thought that that was a bit too hopeful of Marionette. Canaria was a hard place to live. Even his family had found its own ruin. He didn't want to remove that optimistic faith from her because she seemed like her life was hard enough. Without a voice, with a Watcher that fumbled the pronouns of her speech, and a body that hunched over to hide the scars of her throat, she was a meager thing that had been stripped of the life she had before. That much was evident. And the thought rang through John's head as if it were the truth: They are dead. There's no way they are alive. 
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John nodded when he realized that there wasn't hard proof to point otherwise. He was being a pessimist. Perhaps that was his problem out here. Perhaps that was why he couldn't move on. When he saw her waiting for him at the door before she crested through the snow, he felt a tender part of his heart glowing. He wanted to share that hope. So, he allowed himself to believe in the way she believed. "M-mmm... maybe th-they are alive." He stepped forward towards the threshold. The trip out to the road would be slightly easier than the trek here, as he already cut a path through the snow with his body. "I want... to, to, to, um, help."
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Marionette

Pattern (cc) Evan Eckard @ DinPattern.com | table coding by Quirky Tea

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