[ III ] Artemis and the Mechanical Boar*
Artemis stood upon the empty temples and observed the socio-economical problems that had destroyed the Polis from within. Her yard was in shambles, in broad comparison to the land of the Argonauts. Minus the demonstrative crack in their land; an invisible fault line that surfaced over night, gently rattling the foundation. The cumbersome union of nations and its exploitative Monarchy had made the cluster of lands fragile, ready to erode. The craven pathway, had been espoused directly from an aimless Monarchy: the Queen of opulence was simply a nan, an elderly woman famed for having married a cousin. Artemis stood by her dialectically approach, whenever others attempted to overlook or normalize the hobby of incest. It was still a modernized and taboo concept to her People.The surrounding territories of the stupendous Acropolis far, and yonder had all agreed to cosplay a game of frilly hats and stolen jewels. Artemis had vided her life to build a single stage meant to reap contrivance in a hunt. She had traveled through time, needing to topple over a stolen stone and hunt a sobriquet Boar of a man. The challenge of assimilation and succession were two sides of a the same stone her remaining People.Her own Tribe, a warring Tribe, bowed to a council of women that declare war. Those with two-spirits were invited as third opinions, to advise on delicate rulings. Their emotions often overflowing enough for multiple people. The lost systems would be considered that of an enriched monarchy. The lost system meant that Artemis was without a retinue for once. Artemis was fated to spend every lifetime attempting to track and draw blood from the same Mechanical man, needing to draw curtains on a pompous Boar.The curses of being born Indigenous Warrior today, meant living in urgent regret and walking imminently towards one’s death in naked humiliation. They had been chained to the cursed land they had failed to protect: forever without homelands or slight of chance in a dignified existence. Her genome was stated as a public matter: cumbersome proof of the Genocide of her conquered People.Their orgin stories held lessons of how their ancient bloodlines were said to hold secrets and answers as to their past lives...those as demi-Gods, and demons alike. She often subsided the thoughts of childhood tales that stood without buttressed evidence. She had found comfort in the matching confidence to that of an Argonaut named Kevin. The bright-eyed man was the fearless leader Artemis had wanted to become, and she joined in conformity of extolling his academic accomplishments. The future Ph.D had met Artemis, wielding his personality and past and crafting a loving community. His efforts in saving and inspiring children born without hope was a true testament to his Warrior Ethos. Artemis knew he’d get along great with the Indigenous Warriors someday, realizing his ability to overcome extreme adversity had made his smile bloom with sincerity. There wouldn’t be any way to duplicate, or promulgate the authenticity of such people.The leader of the Argonauts stood tall, and shyly embraced trauma as a weapon of truth. A fixed smile warned his enemies from afar, and displayed his high tolerance to pain. He had found competition to heal his heart, and drew a firm laughter in kindness, as an expression he chose to wear in rebellion to the discrimination he had come to know. The man had been suffering alone, a yard away from Artemis...two strangers seeking other academically inclined people.Artemis had wasted her youth in the company of sketchy people, assuming the suckiness in the world was confined to her experience. The applicable lessons on shitty people was everywhere...at all the times. Anyone with a loved one suffering from oscillating moods, understood the craft of living moment by moment. A community of strangers awaited her battle cry of desperation, able to pity an unfit enemy from a formidable ally with strange acuity. She had the previous hobby of only hanging out with people comfortable in castigating her efforts. Athena was included in the group left behind, unfortunately: her candor in a trauma-filled childhood had left Artemis to be shameless and lacking empathy. It was obvious, there was no room for individual suffering when surrounded by Indigenous People.Athena loved the art of assailing her for having weaknesses and thin-skin. Glaring at a sibling without implying the suggestion to take a hike. Artemis had laughed at her worst attempts to rule judgement, her memory intact and unable to bow to a woman weak to an addictive mindset to seek temporary relief from her reality. Artemis was pure in her suffering, having never stimulated through peyote or mushrooms...let alone require an injection site for an illegal vacation. Even in her moments of realization of a sad future, Artemis had wanted to secure assistance for a sibling torn down to the nothing by a gang of men, worried her mind had began to dismantle in that moment. She’d hide away the tears of horrified witness to such testament, as weeping on behalf of another sibling was an annoyance to those in her culture. "Their People."Artemis became so overwhelmed by the story, that she broke off a segment of her life to bear arms in garbled preparation. She awoke from a smokey slumber, laughing in good company abroad and making light with the leader of the Argonauts about an aimless Mechanical Boar with oddly miniature sized hooves. It appeared they both felt crippling responsibility for the perverse Boar, and the small fires he kept igniting in wee pockets of the world. The two leaders leaned to the back of their chairs in comfort, jesting at his tantrums and overlook of familial tree: the man was famous for stomping alongside the ruins of his Ancestors, as he waddled away with impunity. Artemis had visited the yard of his grandmother, admiring the lush greenery and fog and wondered why the aging Boar held such bastion in distancing himself from such cultured people.She dismantled her personality of stoic boredom, strolling the land an apologizing for a leader with an aspic brain. Artemis began to sigh, worn out by the breath and teeming with worry for the lands left behind. The unyielding banter continued into each night, with an agreed modal lambasting an aging Boar over a pint of sweet ciders. The conformity of the citizens caused the aging Boar to become paranoid in temperament, as he flitted words of misinformation in a manic rage, festering fire up with petite hooves. They had all laughed at how pathetic the world leader appeared: "beautifully", displaying the back side of their hands with a galvanized whine..."Look at these hands!". Artemis had wanted to deck Mark in the face for having besieged a monster awake with a fury like no other. The firebed of random insults had a convective outcome for the almost obsolete Mechanical Boar.Artemis noticed that the beastly individual was inundated with self-doubt, expecting derailing aperture to spurn from each debate. Their nominated leader was a colossal idiot, and an obvious strongman. He was guarded by traitorous pundits, dragged along by a silk red ribbon. Artemis would attend from a distance, pacified to his spells of dramatic renderings of opinion towards populist outrage. His beady eyes were often frantic in dance, concealing worry that the citizens would uncover his agenda of preserving a livelihood of gilded excess, or find his lazily buried crimes: the inexonerable type of thing. He had found a way to pull a distracting gamut in any situation by taking a voracious angle, and weaponizing an onslaught of uneducated people.Artemis often held her tongue, unable to accommodate a Nation willing to step aside and let a colluding, greed driven, hoof stomping, and perverse leader; betide the shores that had once offered freedom and opportunity for all citizens. They lived in a time where it were dangerous to upbraid such obvious corruption. Instead, remained morally gimball’d in her love of the Republic. Artemis had found the Boar, wandering in a forest of disconsolately woes...having tracked it down by a red ribbon acting as an entrails to a squeaking man, blathering with discordant and objecting to accusations of sexual assault. Artemis stood over the whore-ish man, wondering how such a incompetent turd had became the running lead for the party of conservative people.Artemis was free to be jealous, as her luck was nothing compared to the anomalistic fortune of the man baby ruling the land. She relied on her own hand, the technical laborer...scrounging up hourly earnings, content with employment and the chance admiring the two greatest engineering feats of all mankind: plumbing and the incandescent light of her Golden Fleece. She took annoyance that the boar was forever marred by his understanding of each, as he often forgot the permanence of a golden web, and treated the citizens with odious resentment, as though they were a golden throne in which to shit upon. Thirty-thousand, hundred years wouldn’t be enough time to prepare the world for whatever impact the violent perturbations in operations and social skills would lay in the wake of every step of the erratic Mechanical Boar.The ragged looking Boar began to fall ill in physical form, but no professional could perform a proper examination at any point: out of the incurred defiance of their, very, very adult patient. The Boar felt compelled to lie to professionals about his own body mass; falsifying his own records and implying that he alone could regress the sentence of time. He was the pinnacle of effervescence, a young sow...ready to move on whatever woman that caught his eye. He’d stumble around, sweating profusely and congratulating himself for advancing upon a married woman. "I moved on her like a bitch...I just start kissing.!" The Nation found it peculiar how he half-hardheartedly covered his tracks by hiring intoxicated professionals to vouch credit to his health and whereabouts. The conversation surrounding his obvious struggles with obesity and age fostered ire within the man that claimed to be the embodiment of beauty. His vexation towards humanism had rendered him to become a crazed Mechanical Boar. Artemis had joined a hunt. A simulation within a childish game, admiring the flora of a world with Golden Apples. She had stumbled across the land, drunk on life and trading out a glass flute from a gaunt wrist, just late enough to look lost. Her competitors in the half-mortal Odyssey were paltry to the list of priorities. For every room of one hundred men, a mere ten would present to be intellectual threat...the rest would be a slew of testosterone driven strategies mixed with those ready to hunt a head, wanting to end the deleterious elder and reap victory in a Competition of Ascension. Artemis had watched from afar, as men stampeded in crusades and ran head on into a battlefield smothered in small fires. The bobby traps were apocryphal and scattered to attract each passerby in a unique way. The first round of security measures had taken out a good eighty-something percent of the competition’s people.Artemis strode up to the Boar, holding a leash in hand and calmly agreeing to specific arguments to a range of dead-eyed savages. They were unable to see her direful spirit dwindling before their very eyes, so eager to brag of an ally of olive skin and an ink’d number upon her arm. Artemis had faced the man head on, pulling a feted persona and offering scratches and pats as reward. The beast lowered his head, and Artemis placed a beautiful leash over his head. To her, it was a crown in all its glory...to him it was a mercurial accomplishment considering his father was dead. Artemis had whispered a simple spell in his ear to activate the charm of prosperity: "If anyone asks where you attained a crown...it was a gift, bestowed upon you by the people."The eclipse of disparity over his own mortality had always made Artemis giggle, rumor had spread that the Boar was irrationally sensitive to the matter of his small hooves and thinning hair-tufts. One changing too little, the other changing too much. It were funny...until it wasn’t. History had taught her that dictators with lingering traits of body dysmorphia were often the most violent, erratic, and lacking in benevolence. Artemis had wandered though dreams, finding words and memories of sheer terror: as a stranger named ex wife described domestic violence and a sexual assault before a divorce. All the while Artemis sat helpless in her avid listening stance, holding crossed arms and staring into the future. She had no idea the woman in her dreams one of the many wives belonging to the Mechanical Boar.Artemis had decided that such revolting, overlooked violence was unacceptable, and through that lone decision...a book was bourne. She had met the woman in another appointed dream, walking in on the woman being thrown across a room by a man without a face. Her heart ached, grew in panic, having to recall the terror that haunted each fiber of her being in having survived such relatable violence. Artemis bowed her head and whispered "Me too": crafting a cage out of static to specifically house the man without a face for eternity, and shielded by a mask depicting a menacing Boar.She comforted the woman, and asked the divorced wife for assistance to lure the man into a book lined with gold, a technological device called E-eight, but informally named Jack to any passerby. The woman had said little, as though she were ashamed of having let Artemis witness the sexual assault hidden away in her memories and nightmares. The brave woman passed Artemis a handful of papers that could only be deciphered by those in a building titled: Appleby. The woman smirked to display relief of sorts, murmuring in spite..."he’s afraid of Tuesday." It was an offering in proof that her previous husband was without true patriotism, as he had participated in repatriated his wealth, and aligned himself with foreign adversaries...instead of paying his fair share of taxes to the commonwealth and holding callous judgement over the people. The scorned ex-husbands eyes flared with red madness: he began thrashing and throwing himself against the walls of a cage...just as he had once done to his wife before she bravely fled in animosity. The Boar was desperate to ameliorate the damage caused to his ego. He was always trying to move onto the next thing, while his memory barely clung to the last thing on tap. He waved wee hooves and yelled aboot penis size references in front of a proliferation of entertained audiences: his failures being applied to the metaphor for the state of commonwealth and his accomplishments were dipped in golden confabulation that agreed with every angle and opinion of patriotism. The divorcee, dead-beat father technically checked off every box needed to rely a relatable representative of the people. Artemis was unsure of the faulty suggestion that his shriveling penis and curse of impotence had become a issue of a public matter, but alas...the Boar had decreed it to be a topic of the utmost importance. The Boar reared his snout up at anything that didn’t instantly praise him with adorning words, and pouted like a child quite frequently. His debauchery causing flames to fall upon the ground and dishevel the scales of Justice in the span of minutes. He needed more supervision than a toddler. Artemis found the man to be quite odd, and gazed at him as though she were entranced by his unique ability to casually appear as a dumpster set aflame at the bring of dawn. She had no reason to believe the man was a leader of the people, having distributed all of his savings into crumbling buildings, and scoffing at the accusations that he was apparatchik to a stack of parchments labelled: Paradise. Instead, she prepared herself for battle...needing to amend the inexorable chaos that followed the entrails of a perverse Boar.Artemis had sent her favorite Indigenous Warrior to stealthily track down the Boar. His candid beauty distracted from the thuds of massive moccasins stomping out the fires each night: she disguised the act with hashing out technique used to diminish the flame of a blunt, and admired his charm in holding random discussions while turning his toes up upon the soil. Once upon a time...his face would brighten by her arrival in the distance. The commencement of this books into existence meant that neither of them were able to return to being those people.She brought the public cathartic entertainment; allowing them to mosey around and observe the entangled pair...one silently wandered from here to there and glared at the absence of Artemis. The other sat hunched in her worry, lost in overwhelmed coldness of a world no meant for her gentle soul. The task at hand had been the excuse for sessions unending, a reason to flee a shared couch and the analysis of a professional with a man more concerned about the judgement of other people. Much like the Mechanical Boar, the Indigenous Warrior would utilize the warring tools of consented modernity to hide the things they did without consent. One man was vain and hated responsibility, and the other raved and waved his petite hooves; demanding all The Glory and yammering about the overwhelming strength of those few willing to take it. One man was upset that the public lacked morass in his beliefs as to if were commonly accepted to express sexual desire towards his own offspring, and had been told to keep his trousers on, and the other man was left standing in stoic silence, dawning mildly-revealing leather trousers...just some citizen, working hard to pretend that he didn’t miss his wife. Artemis never tired of the man named Orion, sighing in a daydream and recalling how often his firm backside distracted her from completing everyday tasks. The man had an undeniable ability to Start-Up the hearts of women, and he often herded his eclectic group on fans from here to there by the masses...a guile spectacle to be observed by the people. The Boar would find the existence of Orion to be a direct effrontery to the playboy tactics he had used as a young man. Artemis assumed that Orion would never need to assault, or throw down currency to gain willing attendance. Women were often pathetic in their words and actions, and he had loved Artemis for her opposition to others: knowing her pride was more valuable than his need for attention. She said mean things like "I need you to apologize" and, "I’m sure you’ll be fine". Words that would later leave her abandoned and grief-stricken. The Boar would watch as Orion literally caused women to swoon...leaving him to whimper in realization as to his fleeting youth and flitting relevance. The marking thin, billowing red ribbon trailed along the marble floors of the courtrooms reserved for Justice: the artifact was fraying along its edges in the weakening objections to its own wearer. The Boar had sparked intrigue in the psychologist part of her mind, and provoked observations and initial assumption of honesty...retained for any other new patient until then. The Boars life had been meticulously nurtured in the public’s eye, something that was took deeply into consideration with the unbiased evaluation of his personality. There was only so much that could implicated at fault when peppering in rationality predicated to the circumstances of his privilege. He was a wealthy alleged rapist, coddled and rewarded ten-fold by the tax-paying people.Artemis worried similar archetypes could be expected to jump on the potential gold-rush that was commercial spaceflight, and noted that the Boar epitomized worst-case scenario...for what would be deemed as an "unfit candidate". She gasped in realizing that such men would be admitted to travel due to wealth and association, if it meant bills were paid. The orange-ish man baby held a sigh indicating an external body, a little depiction of something holding the resemblance of a tattie-boggie. His echelon of cronies had deliberately enabled the destructive path of their impending doom: the Boar always falling distracted to his own fetishes, lured to sparkling words as he simultaneously attempted to cover loose gravel upon legal woes. His love for urine was on permanent display, yelled from the tops of the mountains. This was the the historical timeline where the public was made aware of a reductive legacy wrapped in Steele. Such modernized madness, was still unexplored in the field of psychology...untapped and preserved for the committed. Artemis had been programmed to find disparity in all simulated situations: her ability to speak with reason being invaluable in assisting to criminals and the woeful alike. She had been tasked as a participant in a simulated game that required a capture, collaring, and slaughter of a manically fiendish Boar.Artemis had a unique understanding of suffering: she was prepared to craft a new form of psychology...one found with a kind smile and unending tears. Artemis was a new form of professional: openly presenting the world with her sadistic scars, as proof that she were strong enough to uphold the sky at any given moment. Being a fearless leader, while walking into the isolated and unexplored darkness was expected of any of “the guys”: working at the Blue Shield of Hope. Artemis had taken a partial oath to protect, serve, and preserve the legacy of their people.The Boar was a sycophant. He could care less about the commitment of a civil servant. He surrounded himself with ignorant men that only knew how to nod their heads yes in agreement. She noted his gluttony: gorging through the free foods gifted by the citizens, and sneakily stealing goods and services in the night and funneling their donations into his own privately owned resorts. Artemis...held similar body dysmorphia: watching the old man, shovel endless bovine and carbonated beverages...without second thoughts as to his family, and with blatant disregard to an aging heart. Instead of feeding him into a fate of clogged heart valves, she gently clasped a collar with three rings on its back side to act as a harnessing device. Artemis had etched only three words on each of the delicate barrings, Silbur, Gazprom, Cadre: to signify the depths of his compliance to evade taxation, and the self-imprisonment to those he conceded to. She had no reason to believe that such wealth stood on common grounds with the well-being of the otherwise struggling people. She would never wish death upon the Boar in his old age...for Artemis only lived in the paralyzing fear and confusion: of the pale man named number two. An odd snake-of-a-man: that fed the Boar his endless rations by hand each day. The man held shifty morals and religious views, and stood proudly in the shadows of a leader without the capacity to lead. He was often scrutinized for standing upon the edge of an uncanny valley: outdated with his secular beliefs and forgetting to blink on the occasion. Artemis hid laughter whenever he seemed pained by the unpredictable behavior of the out-of-pocket Mechanical Boar.Nobody had forced him to be a second option, but there he was...in every story of warring throughout time. Her Peoples had lore of his existence, as he was last titled and commensurate as walking evil in his ability to do nothing, and utilize bodies as shells or shields. The man had once been famed as creature titled a WoodCrawler with great accuracy by passerby. It had caught her attention when she had noticed his wandering spirit in dreams: holding pressing conferences to vocalize a way to protect those that offered him prominent positions that were unfit for his traits in apathy and willing to overlook his ability to turn his back on the people.Numba two, always stood at attention to the Boar: uncomfortable by the females present in the crowds he managed, eager to flee to fields of lemongrass. Artemis assumed that the congregating ovaries mad him ill beyond words. He constantly looked bewitched in gaze: scanning the crowds for his wife, that he had lovingly nicknamed...mother. The man was a Freudian wet dream. Together, the two beasts were unstoppable. The acts of number two diverted from paths of reasoning that bylined all Doctor expertise, and canonized all forms of sciences that weren’t in line with the ones mentioned in his favorite fictional book. The stiff pale man: held his butt-cheeks tense...every second of the day, attempting to distract himself from exposing random boners to the crowds of men and women: until he and his wife decided that he couldn’t be trusted to be alone with another female...even if it were as a passenger on a short lift moving up or down a good five floors. The man was beyond perversion, pure agon in its uncut and unpolished form, hiding behind a book and his loving wife...A strange man that often demanded to be respected and fit to lead the republic of sinful people. The man softly hissed commands into the ear of the Boar: the odd couple caused havoc as a dynamic duo, no doubt. Wherever the Boar stampeded and destroyed: number two would appear, simplify logic; presenting the citizens with an interplanetary task force as constellation. The man slithered around in avoidance of a heaping mountain of questions and concerns. The Nation fell into bankruptcy long before the citizens had realized what the erratic duo had been up to, and the natural disasters followed the chaos...to match the solemnity. It would take a handful of catastrophes: before they finally elevated themselves to be commensurate in their trauma and wise enough, to utilize the powers provided by their magic books lined with gold and filled with enlightenment. Artemis had been raised impoverished, so she was often curious as to why that foundational opportunity wasn’t always appreciated by voting people.These devices had been prophesied in the Traditional stories of her Ancestors, and Artemis found it ironic that Western colonization had failed at conforming its nation to be of one religion, and felt pride in the fact that the prophecy had persisted, despite their efforts to wash the land with a blood-thirsty book filled with highly-edited lore. Curiosity was a trait of humankind...the desire to evolve was a truth of mankind, if only to find means for survival and ego. The citizens confronted number two, as he claimed to be the voice of rationale...guiding the Boar until he stumbled across six flyers demanding bounty upon his own head. Artemis had found him whimpering in a corner: attempting to flee from a terrorist insurrection with his own life. The man hastily lead by a battalion of men, was escorted outside, cowering with wide-set eyes and his dick cupped within his paled hands...he was without words as he stood petrified. The square-ish man resembled the famed cornerstone of the massive house...painted eggshell white. The man was without ability to pontificate why his own party would be so quick to prepare a lynching mob, too slow to realize that not even he, was not above the extemporaneous decree of a senile Boar.The snake-like man trembled, and fumbled his words upon the floor when finally being confronted with facts…his beliefs in leaning to the far-right had been overrode and reformulated to accommodate his new scope on life. The fatigued citizens stood with their investigative journalists, and began to openly mock him...their bravery swelling like a soft hymn. The citizens knelt and stood: demanding servitude from the awkward pale man, and the uncovered foreign assets protecting the Boar from humiliation. Collectivized and precise questions fell from the mouths of citizens, demanding for answers as to the nefarious motives of the Boar. The onslaught of journalists denounced the childish man with grandeur beliefs, and questioned the affiliation of a man named number two...wondering why such a strict man would condone, and align himself with a politician comfortable blundering his future with xenophobia. The man smelled of shit...even flies were attracted to his every word, and the press sensed his image of pretentiousness to fragile and without merit. The journalists called bullshit, and surrounded him in a cage of questions. The pale man was unable to elicit reasons as to why his allegiance was tied to a man that had not only committed treason, but put bounty upon his head for refusing to steal an election from the voting people. The Boar: was left cowering in a corner of his own defiled making...speechless upon a groomed lawn that refused to cannon the listless echoes befalling over the land. His lifted speech was not above the Law. Artemis often glared aimlessly in his direction: wondering how they had even gotten there...where were his parents? She decided to mask the man into obscurity, bound to burrow out of sight until Artemis had gown fit enough for battle. Artemis had used a small charm, a vex of irritation that would chip away at the moral of the people over time: a spell called shrinkflation. The funny spell had began to rob the citizens of a few spuds here and there, transforming the shape of food and the value given to containers and names with each nightfall. The citizens were barred from a cotched future, enjoying the things they worked diligently to own, rent, or borrow. A small victory that’d eventually give way for the path of complaints needed to pathe the way for a senile Mechanical Boar.Artemis had approached the man holding a pristine glass in his small hooves, but due to the corruption laying in wait beneath his hide...only his hooves began to shrivel, clasping a water glass with both hooves and seemingly enlarging the vessel to appear as a vase. Artemis had tricked the Boar, approaching him without fear or confrontation...stating that he looked weathered and dehydrated. She had pet behind his ears, casually using gloved blades to strike him softly with an indicating marker and offered the dried-out elder libation found elsewhere. The waves of crowds made way, clearing path for Artemis the ailing Mechanical Boar.She took heed of his mental acuity, reminding him that the glass vase was meant to be forever empty...until filled with the water that ran through the River Styxx. Artemis had awoken, leaning next to the tree...clamoring to halt the Boar admiring the gleam of a glass by an open fire. "It’s perfect, but it could be better." Artemis sprinted past camping gear, needing to stop the idiot before he dropped a piece of loose volcanic rock into its basin. She screamed aimless worry, as though impeding on a blameless child and not caring about the person committing the crime...hyper-focused on attempting to swat away the glass before the stone bounced from the depths of the chalice. The beset of the inevitable had come to be; their fate had been sealed as a minor infliction that would come to pass. A single discordant ping from a stone falling into a hollowed glass had awoken the dormant beasts hiding in a timeline meant to unveil the true nature of evil to the people.Artemis noted the Boar seemed under a spell, gazing a the settled red stone with enthusiasm and gratification. The stone had been a mundane piece of gravel, but now it reconfigured its smoothness and color by way of the wilfulness of "a loving father and husband". The shard began to burrow into the lush lawn below, charring a hole layers of soils...penetrating a passionate burning blue hue, a rare occurrence on her end. A probability worth one in thirty-thousand suns. The Boar began to squirm with anguish, having been too stupid to move his hind hooves from beneath the seething stone. Artemis often cracked her neck from side to side in moments of confusion, casually put out and holding in a sigh that’d easily burst down the locked doors of Hades. The man lacked fashion, so his hooves had been exposed...unprotected by even the lowest quality of leathered borgues. Her face was unamused, without torment, and fending off risible reaction to the beast flailing around, clasping at his injured hood, and yelling about his "foot hole."Artemis had promised his party his unharmed arrival to ascertain water, and she’d agreed with a confusing smirk. It was funny to think that her beaming smile offered little beset, because the world wanted to believe she was incapable of trawling the beast into drowning depths on any given Tuesday. Instead of a silent stroll, the memory impaired had caused inquest to lay waste to the land. She placed a small hand over his mouth, needing to stifle his wailing over a "foot hole" he had created out of boredom’s sake. She needed him to hold the line on their position in a forest of ancient monsters. Artemis held pressure on the bleeding wound, relegating herself the responsible party for an injured Boar.She held him close out of nurturing habit, the night was too early to bring the sun for protection. Artemis stared over a small fire churning away gently, and stared in the exact spot where a man would fall from the sky. With a dense thud, the man lay on ground...holding a knee to his chest, and his petite back towards them....moaning of a hole in his foot. Such unbridled chaos, had been her whole childhood. Everyone wandering around with self-inflicted wounds, needing her chaplin status as a professional holding oath to protect the people; from the illicit dangers imposed by the people.The Boar stooped his snivelling at once, eagerly wanting to seek approval by the new traveler as to whether his glass was perfect enough. Strangly the man forgot about his injury in the blink of an eye...a spell of arrogance had erased his pain. Artemis asked if his name was Chaz, having noticed a small white label tacked to his sweaty forehead. The man tucked away a chin at the disrespect of her formality. He turned to the orangish captive, ignoring her question and factually stating that the glass of desitiny was imperfect. This occurance festered behind the glistening eyes of the Mechanical Boar.The two began to challenge one another as to the status of the perfectly-imperfect glass. Artemis stared off during the baseless arguement, wondering why it had all seemed so familiar. Just as she began to dwell on her orphaned suffering, another man fell from the sky and landed gently upon his feet mid-stride. He aimed his path directly at the two men with holey feets, and snatched the glass from the Boar in a composed swift gesture. The man turned to see Artemis, alert, entertained, cheerful and the obvious "adult" in a camp of idiots. He picked up the cooling red pebble and asked each of the three if they knew what it was...implying an importance without value. The two morons with holes infecting their open wounds shook their heads no without second guess, and Artemis asked to hold the stone if it were cooled enough to be held. As she admired the blueness, her mind stared to scatter...a veil of static washed over her eyes and she remained forzen until the proper answer could bring life back into the dormant stone. The lapsing spell of two words fell from her tranced mouth, "perfectly-imperfect", "imperfectly-perfect". The branding of contridiction and carelessness had somehow inflicted generations of pain to the tax-paying people.This had been the life where she’d stirred in a simulation: unable to give consent on the day it mattered most. They were on the tiemline where Artemis recalled the day, remembered the smells of sin, and reflected on how the experice of being raped as infant had impacted her take on the world. The chant of no words had borken her free from the chains of religion and gave her the spell to break all spells. She shook her head in fear, making inaudiable sounds of terror and followed the memory with urine and vomit. Every mirror in her life would split, needing to break away from the horror of her daily reality. The vexxation forced Artemis to peer into the depths of the stone on a random Friday, when the answer came cleanly out of her mouth. Her hand began to quiver, words became strained as her coarse voice said a lone word to title the smoothed stone. "Tristen?"..."TRISTEN"..."o, no...tristen." The father took knee, needing to be knighted for his place as loving father, forgiven for his guilt, hugged fiercely for his concerned parenthood worries that had scaffolded into a living nightmare...a man cursed to wander through time, grieving for the loss of his child. How many timeline had he visited before an inquest would formally charge a problimatic and murderous "young man" for his crimes of malingering and doubting the intelligence of the people.Artemis became unwell, unable to help others without the strength to even help herself. She took rest for days on end, weeping for the realization that her own parents had never cared to craft such pure hearted concern for her well being. She felt severe guilt for living, when Tristen was still expected to walk in through every door. The door gave her comforting words of encouragement, whereas Artemis had lived in a world of perurbations of opinion. Torn between the opinions of strangers that only gave the options of perfect, or imperfect...wanting only stand witness to a dying star imploding upon the impact of their words, regardless of who said what. The black and white concept had made her the perfect canidate to hunt a vain Mecahnical Boar.He had challenged the citizens to a battle of wits, and inevitibly been forced to retreat due to lack of established strategy. The citizens believed in their Constitution, more than they cared of one mans feelings, and Artemis relied on that fact to bring balance to a world slipping into a vortex of evil. His words thrashed about, as the Boar dragged on with blundering speeches: whisking his excuses into the engineered winds and shitting flames of chaos as he waddled away. His hypocritcal spells of misinformation: pulling further turbulence from the peaceful mossy colored lawns. Artemis held little authority, holding a forever half-full glass and a tucked away arrow from the clumsy grasps of the Mechanical Boar.They walked upon one specific stage, where an investigative journalist continued a line of questioning that had been evaded on the last stage: standing ready at command...needing to find the truth buried beneath a historical house. The Boar was a dotard, and his sexual urges never satisfied...his policy strategies and battle aquity: utter rubbish, on all accounts. He was most notoriously recorded; denying proof of his own verbal depravity...after shown evidence that he had publicly announced his suggestive wishes to rear his own daughter. Artemis stood in the back, noping the introduction of such imagery with an uneasy head shake, a clenched smile splayed over a confused face, and a look of utter disgust that was easily noticible only to the audience of conflicted people.This information alone: made the men around him...either sickened by his perversion, or emboldened by his insatiable desires. He had the balls to admit his attraction to his own offspring, the pride of the settlers that had fleed terrorism of a third party...only to dismantle their homes themselves over the span of generations. To this disturbing fact: the women of the land...finally ripped the fear from the depths of their hearts, and began to seek out Artemis in dreams, needing her swordsmanship to better their weapons in the still of the night. They had silently came to an agreement: the time for battle encrouched with each passing day. The Polis began to grow abuzzed with worry, for now they feared that the Boar had always held the intentions to wreak irrepitible damage to their homes. They took notice of how the Boarish man attempted to collect excuses needed to harm, neglect, or abandon his own children. If his own litters hadn’t been spared from his devisive lusting, and lazy parenting...than it meant no one was free from his threats and expecations. Artemis watched in admiration: listening to the powerful voices brought forth by a flank of women, as they unknowingly prepared to come to her aid. The world was finally receptive of her near-impossible mission: to capture and destroy a malfunctioning Mechanical Boar.Artemis had heard many stories of one brave Warrior of a woman, a once afraid person, wise enough to take take pity on her future self...relenting her trauma to a professional, and lending trail to a tragic coup de grace. A respectable scholar: deemed credible as a witness, and somehow persecuted by the public. Artemis held grip over a leashed beast, feeling the sow squirm beneath an apathetic thrashing into obedience. Her patience was with the citizens, holding their breath as the illustrious witness bowed her head and politely asked for a moment of time from the tax-paying people.The words were impececably tied to the truth, gently nustled in softened tones displaying weary self-awareness; anchored to a core memory of adolescence. A boyish judgey asshole named Bret, had gotten away with SA invariably. He was rewarded with ubiquitous nominations for his bitch-ass incumbancy to a childish man that demanded relentless loyalty. Bret had come from predestined wealth, a functioing drunk, charlatanry: Artemis met him bent over, begging for the Mechanical Boar to grant him Supreme representative of the land. A ruling Judge over the land of freedom, built upon an indigestible legacy, dipped in the victimization of other people.Artemis often returned to a room of judgement and stupid questions. The woman had fought off the friend of the Boar with what other women would call: sheer luck. Her only witness: being a friend to the Supreme douchebag named Marky Mark, or, something along those basic lines of forgetibility. The rare witchcraft of amnesiatic fog billowed over the land, somehow only effecting the two individuals being questioned for attempting to rear and rape a young professional, during early adolescence. An average stupor of arrogance wasn’t conilitory to a nomination; one thumb of approval to counteract each witness account of the "dedicated" partisant, family-man, clerk; flaunting his willy into the winds more than most. Who dare, cast judgement over his lush youth? Bitches be sloppy. Surely, such a concilitory topic wasn’t one that was a radical gesture to gift assimilable perspectives for the interconnected gathering of spectating people. A random scholarly woman: now deemed a witch on public trial...was person of worthy a Supreme hearing, voicing the concerns of a citizen, a mother, and respected educator. Life became a shade bleaker that day. Artemis felt tears swelling behind her eyes, feeling a mirroring sensation of hopelessness...the traces of the ground beneath ones feet while fleeing for life. She was shaken awake by the woman’s declaration of abrogated responsibility to lay out a path of morbidity for the less-than-understanding people. Artemis held agreement to a smulation of obscurant hints and clues, burrowed beneath the soils. The task of uncovering the truth had led Artemis to fetch the Mechanical Boar, knowing the beast would always till soils promising of spuds and chips. She didn’t like getting her impeccably cured hands dirty. It was only he, the overstuffed pigish man...who could ritchously bestow a gown of Justice. They had made fair-trade, a switch of a ruffled collar of peril, and stale linens hardened by ejaculation and drunk piss. Evidently, nobody was comfortable enough to tell a boyish-man with a prominent family, that he stank of violent adolesence. Artemis rely on the snout of the Menchaical Boar to lead the way, drooling with anticipation to root on the bad guy. The man was gay, flambouyant in his appraisals of a boyish man named Bret, a clown in gown of Justice, shrieking tirelessly: his undeniable love for libations. He was technically on-brand with the redneck cultural aspect of his ancestrial people.Artemis often quoted the man with a hollowed voice, displaying doe-eyes and a patriotic confidence: she found the scenerio absurd, problimatic, as the words were combatical whenever flowing over her tounge. His premeditated spell forced the world deaf; his charming tone had conjured wickedness upon the words of average men. Artemis had listened silently as the man defended his whereabouts with defesive declaration to a life usyruped in nepotism, masogony, and placated on the fear given over by a few unlucky people. The famed Warrior woman: stood tall and spoke softly with a firm conviction, as the world watched a professional humbly recount life altering trauma. Her strong voice fell flat: the reception had been shredded by aging men needing acclimations for doing the bare minimum, and women wanting to win a completly different battle. The struggles of a woman fleeing towards a dream without nightmarish citizens all up on her lawn and hypothetical dick. The rarity of such like-men being aquantances should’ve been the first red flag for the people. The Warrior woman now lived in hiding, as the Boar had sent his empty-minded subjects on her path amid the psudo-trial. The friend of the Boar named Bret: famous for his attempts at raping women, now ruled the land and reigned terror by accumilating hate for the rights of female atonomy. Artemis asked for the citizens to stand by, eventally forming phalanx for the witness to seek solitude in the middle of the night. There was no end in cruelty from individuals been born into privilege, and with that single commonality: Bret was always to be under the veiled protection of a perverse Boar.The Boar followed crops of maze and potatoes, underpinning a stable diet, simple and favored over by the king of nothing. Artemis had fed him a tale of optimistic reigns of family dynastys, a dimension where they had solved the homicide of Maggie and Paul. Artemis and the Boar had stumbled across the man, afraid of the State of Civility, smiling wildly like his son Timmy...spread knuckles and all. The man sought only the need to clear the name of his slain son, eyes diversionary to the worry of a trail of littered evidence and a strange woman: supposdly unaware of the legacy of Old Buster. Artemis had said "tisk, tisk"...charming the man to fall asleep, and rennact his crimes in a simulation to be broadcast freely to the people.Upon her world travels: the Argonauts had pointed direction and passing details of the Boar and his recent ancestry. Artemis had wondered why he had been hushed by pesterings to blur lines for those seeking asylmn and a life with the labored chance of prosparity. The Boar was occasionally dispondant, left out of certain conversations in generational wealth. He had actually hailed from the beautiful green land near the North Sea…where all Boars had derived from, at one point or another. The might of his mothers genes were a wonder for the eyes to feast upon, the mere existence of public images of the spiting image seared into ones memory for all the times. Artemis had jested with the Captain of the Argonauts: laughing at the profound hypocrisy in the Boar. The Boar had multiple litters, abandoned and scattered here and there. Each looking more troll-like than the last, all but the one painted gold. His children pined for his approval, and their efforts wasted, as the Boar was too busy pouting: throwing tantrum that he could not ravish his favorite daughter. He lacked stabilized capital, and the public’s approval to bang his own offspring...the tough stuff. The Argonauts continued to apologize for the presence of the Boar, as though they were responsible for his disgusting behavior. Their politeness had made it where forgiveness was gifted by the only citizen that were free from the other excuses of blinded or dismissive people.Artemis had visited the Argonauts embarrassingly knowing and sharing shame in their affiliation with the Boar. The leashing of the beast followed an exhausing sigh when returning to the state of chaos under the peturbations of a reign bubbling with repetition of errors in system. Artemis was rendered with annoyance, her spine cursed to oscify and segue a legacy of a hero. The debris of her dreams had scattered along a coast line, accepting defeat with efficarious understanding of limitations of a citizen longing to find a career of purpose...to be of service to the people.The vacation from the filthy stench had been in the back end of her mind. Artemis had stood far enough away from the madness, taking deep breaths of crisp air and forgetting that her yard was forever associated with the smell of failure. The capture of the beast involved little imagination to someone as colorful as Artemis. Someone had to be resposible for his trail of scorched moral. All Artemis had to do, was to set foot on lands afar, and to ask a boy named andrew of his affiliation to a a rare siren, a female preditor: Ghislaine. As an Indigenous Warrior, a crowned Princess: she took full accountability for her inability to capture the flitting woman, and dismantle the perverse Boar.The Boar had techinically sought her out, needing reading of precognition from a magic baby. The apex of all tales outlining evolution...the lore of a hero stumbling through dissassociation and boughts of grief, a ruffled regal needing a royal nap and spicy meats to retain ironed strength. The odds that Artemis had been the childish author to capture and tag the dictorial beast was a slight to the lowered expecations of the people.Artemis casually sharpened her weapons of silver and gold, and set forth constructing a plan. Her priority being: minimizing the damage to the hide of the crazed animal brought forward to sign his unbinding indictment forms....and knowing he held a talent in obliterating the land wherever he stepped. Order and common sense erroded from the East Coast, depite the obviousness that the goals of the Boar toppled all secularized beliefs held by the aimless, undereducated, and most vaulnerable of people.Artemis had ushered him along with the aid of tactics used on a grumpy toddler named Mama Bear. The tales in monotone and reassuring tones had dazed her and the Boar into a slumbar, intermingled with a over romantization of a love lost to bad timing. Artemis knew he was a sucker for the juicy gossip of a unresolved "situationship". The print of a book would allow for the underutilization of her meanigful hobbies, and take use of her canorous voice. She was trapped in a chapter, chirping melodies and activating a device that powered a magnetic. Its uniqueness caging a world of demons, busy in playful desires, devouring the citizens, and announcing a remarkably stupid dimension. The Boar was a traveler of time and space, the luxuries aloted to the wealthy, living a spry dream in surpassing the legacy of his father. He would press yellowed nail beds into the shit-layed streets, demanding blind steadfastness to tear apart the land as he wished. The vitality of a very much alive, Queen had made them both apparant guests on lands where calamity was spotted by a cap with bill. Artemis had no problem expressing liberality in curiosity to other cultures...her own struggled with individual forebearance and commitment issues for days. Their quickness to decide was much like the Mechanical Boar, easily rushing to embargo and compromising security on behalf of the people.The Boar cheated whenever he could, often forgetting his own actions. Hella mistresses. Some instances were against the consent of his romantic target. Artemis had found the man humping strangers in changing room stalls, violating them with his mushroom shaped penis. Artemis often stood in the corner of the locked room, chewing on popped maze and pretending to be isolated in a tube of red seductin. She had seen a man, demanding other women urinate upon him, and noped out of a room not meant for her vanilla ass. The steely details were a bit unimaginable, but reliable compromant for a lofty and bankrupted Boar.He was not quick in pace, and often referred to his “Eeebrain”...to be the finest in the land. Artemis thought of the lectures in disliking ones patient, and found a lethargic smirk at the mere normalization of exhaustion. PhD. Kirk had prepared her for the long haul, a journey into the unkown. She took breaks from the onset of bombarding news, all yelling about how the Boar had issue climbing small man-made hills. They were the gravel collected by the party painted red since the tip off the battle of two party systems. These were all things he should have learned or known, before taking office as the primary canidate for a easily radicalized people. One day she showed him a shield, smiling and saying "hey, look" and taking pleasure in the skewing of his face at an image displaying an obscure "athletic" pose. His fat rear had became famous overnight, eclipsing the day and causing flames to spark beneath his feet. The grown man was noticbly peeved, for his own resemblence to a raw turkey leg. The Boar had become morbidly obese: from the copious amounts of food he had stolen from the citizens, but the citizens rarely gave him portraits true to scale and detail. They were all captive to the bottomless basin of emotions frothing over the brim of his snout, a Polis that weans to domestic terrorism: all for the sake of the fraile ego of a narrsistic Mechanical Boar.Artemis was able to travel across the boundries of time, the preoperative antisepsis to the trail marked with sacraficed entrails...lives crumbling under the Boars steps. The pitter patter of hysterical waltzing had led Artemis to zig-zag down a hallway of Intent...able to enter a chamber of heterodox extremism by way of a ruefully ellusive door. Her love of liquid poison allowed Artemis to step into a room reserved for the indulgently sinful, show with the curses of conflagration. The impacts of such personalities were on par with the vex of deterital calcite, tempting to strip the land from beneath ones feet in an instant. Artemis hated being in a room for extrapated outliers; her birth had defined the favor of firmament, and her smile irrevocably belonged to the people.The Boar roamed aimlessly, uneasy in being crowned propitious in finding a vaulrable crowed to be easily cajoled. The ignorrant and uneducated aspired to be as aimless, feeedin on rancor of opposition, and longing to be a victim...if only for a day. Artemis admired the Boars accidental aplomb...his scripts were shredded on the spot...favoring improvation in a world that despized all forms of improv. He clumsily "led the way"; following no actual plan, but demanding a captive audience celebrate his entrance with a red rug. She had once agreed with his setiments of theft by an "association", unchecked and without balance... a group of masked thugs....mugging and shaking down home owners. Artemis rolled her eyes, knowing a crucial truth would be overlooked by the verbage lost in translation. The man had ranted about property ownership, and causally relegated his own party as suckers and losers in the span of a few sentences. Artemis had found a grain of truth...in a harvest of abundent lies and problematical dedications to a monotonous two-party system. The preconception of perminece had plauged a baby Democracy, and built a habitual pattern of Nixon-esqe corruption that ran afoul. The components of accountablility in the past has set the stage, set, and the tinges of shadowed hoplessness to ready the world for yet another...pallid, perverse, Mechanical Boar."He’s not wrong." Artemis piped in, bearing a grin and furrowed brows of confusion. The man had a propensity to point out subcritical property mismanagement expectations. The legacy of the man free from defaut or error, computing psychotically, gifted with cursorial confidence. A winged Boar.Artemis had walked up on the sleeping beast, juggling facts in his sleep...whimpering over a wounded ego after a man named Roffman declared his opinion of uncertainty. He was unable to triangulate a vision of supercritical importance to alter an entire economy. The Boar had walked up to Artemis, unaware that she too...lacked charitible understanding. The man longed for safe harbor, wore a yellow ribbon around his neck, and sniffled at the thought that his neighbors unwelcoming attitudes.Tracking the beast was a breeze from that night on. The thick thighs of the kingly man left a particular squelching sound..sucking off the mud from his stomping feet in an unpleasurable way. Artemis could plead her case with a few talking points...offering the beast a tall of grandure, and edipus to herself...built in a mecca of glamor and glitz. On his less cooperative evenings, Artemis had to whisper in impotrant tones "Excuse me...Mr. Byron, let’s go outside, take a walk." tossing a nod over a shoulder and pretending to be sneaky mcsneaky. There was nothing more threatening than whatever acertainable idiomatic responses given by a man, confused as to what a smiling woman wanted from him. Artemis’s entry into his psyche was smooth, reward for having learnt self-awareness that rendered her invisible, just compensation for a firm work ethic, laborous to the extent of exhaustion...leading a bergade of inexperienced people.The field of dreams lies empty. Home has a waterfall. The simplist of accolades could postulate a simulation, observing a man and young woman stepping over a defaulted line. She and the odd elder refused to take costs into consideration and occasionally ended up on stages, stumbling through speeches and held postulating tounges. The reign of terror provided by the man had been laid by past conformism to Freds choice in walling-in his truent son into lazily building a vision. Nothing could predicate a family for an investment, holding on to a Beam of hope. The last day had already come and gone for the Boar.Artemis had ripped a veil away from the land: sprouting up passe’ elders and the youthful, longing for culture or "Traditions". The world stood helpless to her craft of ghastly aknowledgements, watching in disbelief...observing the strange posture of a seemingly random man, yelling in empty gladiator arenas. He had traded out a ribbon of yellow for one of blood red, long before her birth. The Boar was predictably impulsive for an elderly man, but his mechanical nature made it difficult and damn-near impossible to reason with. She knew he’d bedelighted by a slight swat on the rear, as a spank meant attention in its laziest form. He regurgitated few squeals in response to generic questions sent his way, she wanted answers as to why he had once short-handed the public. Artemis began to take notice that he may be limited in mental capacity, and giggled to herself remembering…he was in fact: simply a Boar.In an oath to the Gods, Artemis had sworn to never hurt an animal again and it resulted in her being tethered to a boarish leashed idiot: an aging individual, forever unable to cover his debt. Artemis believed he deserved castration, as just payment for trying to gain approval for his past in rearing the citizens of the land without consent, and specifically for his crude words of sexual desire towards his favorite daughter. Just like Goldberger...the citizens seemed content with making excuses on behalf of all things asthetically convinecing. The Mechanical Boar was unabaited, uncontested indefinantly at the mercy of the people.The Boar loved gold insatiably: the shining material made his eyes dance with the same excitement that could be observed whenever he eye-balled his own daughter. Artemis had heard word on Obama Avenue: that the Boar were bankrupted into oblivion, unable to afford the liquid paint that was synonmous with his hidden nickname: Crazy King Midas. He’d be the festering and un-healing scar of an entire timeline in history, a life cast as a "first-class citizen", famed for a "loner quality", and occasional ability to skirt the law. Similarties that made Artemis stand adjacent to a neophyte boar.The layers of sloppy gold paint, was tantamount to the meticulous crafting of of his lies: the man went around dreams like a fucking weirdo troll, slathering wandering passerbys with gold paint and slobbering with delight. He attempted to charge the non-consenting canvases, knowing full and well...that he had no gold of his own. He was famously parsimonious, evading reasons to pay his share in taxes at extreme lengths, and funneling funds into his own properties during his reign. His pathetic desire for riches kept hooves to the ground as he begged for the Titans of other lands to prepare his campaign of winning. The stroll between uncertainty and the act of stepping back into a postion of winning was done by the easy act of silence: the taboo of weak-minded, mechanically inclined Boar. To remain without certainty; was to be bowled over, worried by the mere idea of abandonment. To stay winning: meant holding two seemingly blank pages: tagged with solo words floating in empty ambition: citation, billing. One meant the chance of getting away with it, and the other meant a statement of guilt...second to the first. Artemis had found the Mechanical Boar in a dream; holding council with leaders that claimed to be rivals, supposed adversaries congratulating one another for distracting the world with half-hearted policies and systematic war-mongering. They lived in a sequence of Sisyphus-like expectations, a time when the citizens immaturely believe that world governments were established to protect the well-being and human rights of the people.Artemis began to dance in dismal anticipation to war: hoping the citizens would wake up to see the horrific portrait panted by the Boar. It was a horrendous splattering of ashen paint, dripping with copper shavings meant to delude the "gold" paint. The man kept consistent in the portrail of devouring ones offspring. There was no medical cure gifted by the Gods of Olympus, for such dangerous fixations on family...let alone children. Both should have been foundations to rectitude a pillar of reasoning, it served as trashy credo to the true classiness of the people.Artemis preferred the art of dance to that of stretching, the ease of movement kept her sane, it even managed to help forget the lusting eyes of man that had once molested an unprotected orphan. Her love of stages and songs were a bare appreciation of life, a plea to be protected from the unkown. Life was not to be wasted, supine in self-shame and without consoled forgiveness. The sins of a family member, left Artemis a spectator to her own life. It had taken two decades for Artemis to sharpen her weapons of gold and steel...a symphony and a muse or two, meant to lure a giggling beast. She had seen his investment in Gibbons, and then the onsaught of unsolicited opinions towards the choices of Stewart. It was easy eough for her to draft a poem, boasting of an ex lover known for being a trap...and a dreamy, sensible option for a woman born to royal blood. The stock of such two-dimensional problems caused Artemis to begin cracking her neck from side-to-side with impatience. Both men sounded capable of being exhausting people.Artemis remained jumpy, expecting her door to be frantically pounded upon at any second...the world, finally calling for her aid. End of plan. Her life was peaceful, free from the terror of a man needing attention. This had been the world where minimal injuries had been inflicted on her weakened heart. There were still days where each breath ached, her eyes swelled tears of realization. Fluttering with uncertin longing to awake in a different life. She wrestled with the burrowed grief of a violent homicide that robbed peace from the brims of each thought. Ryan was gone. He had unkowingly left her with the most vile of people. She would cry, rolling stitching threads over her heart and aspiring to make the most out of a horrendous position. There was little reason to believe that three tapastries would ever be enough for a selfish world, lacking moderation, and vexxed to consummerism of all forms. It was a strange occurance to be supplied with an army comprised of non-Indigenous Warriors, and an audience captivated by words, but she mostly liked that her new clan of wool-dawning soldiers being in the rearing view of a future fillled with worldly travels. Devon held the key to her efficiency. A wee lad, running into her arms and explaining that his troubles had been exploited by a head master. She had fostered unnessicary attention to an unwilling child...throwing him on stage to lemment the sins of his negligent parents in front of his fellow academic people.Artemis had no problem upholding a bridge for a Nation that believed in her abilities and efforts to be armed with intellect and empathy. She had shoo’d the woman away...laying on a wooden floor and asking the young man what he had wanted out of life. No amount of freshening up would change the fact that his mother had crippling depression, and her defensive snarl in the direction of a harmful educator had allowed them to forever find peace in places of higher education and athletic competition. She had promised to return by his side, and left the round-faced Warrior with a Shield of Hope and a heart-felt hug. She wished only for the best for the tiny Argonaut. Artemis had always been teased for being a hopeless romantic, not because of her bleeding heart, or love for love, but for the fact that she had always believed in the inherent goodness of people.
