Duke
Apostate Shaman
Born: 18 July, 1991
Age: 24
Rank: Adept of Life
Titles/Memberships: Councillor (representative from cabal The Aegis)
Physical description: Duke's 5'11" but seems to will herself taller - she's built solidly despite her long limbs, and it's mostly muscle. She has pale skin, short, medium-brown hair, gray-green eyes, and a face that would be pretty if not for the lingering sense that she's about to fight you. She has the wary, cagey energy of a boxer, though it usually only comes into full focus when she's purged her system of the hallucinogens that are a more or less constant part of her brain chemistry.
Nimbus: Dusk light, sand & heat, the suggestion of small winged creatures flapping swiftly by.
Timeline
Awakened: 2012
Initial Master:
Recent events
2012-???
awakened
1991-2012
On a South Australian winter's day in 1991, a man brought home a small, fat, belligerent baby girl to his property just north of Freeling. She'd been born in the Gawler hospital, this much was certain, to a mother whose details were lost, or misplaced, or in some way compromised (the original copy of the baby's birth certificate remains similarly absent.) Blake Baker, 29, had spent the previous six months working his stoic way through every book on babies and child-rearing the Kapunda library had, dedicating his lunch breaks and evenings to the task. This had raised more than a few eyebrows at the Holden plant in Elizabeth, where Blake had previously been distinguished from the rest of the lads only by his political streak and outspoken union membership. He'd always been a taciturn kind of man, however, and no amount of ribbing would extract any justification for this behaviour. He took a week off work from the 18th (a Thursday) and returned the following Friday with a handful of photos of a pensive, scowling infant in a green playsuit, which he pinned proudly to the noticeboard in the break room. He seemed to take a perverse kind of pleasure in blithely dismissing any and all questions about the baby's parentage, but her round face and big ears belonged squarely to Blake, so there was half of the thing solved, anyway.
The baby had been walking (and smiling, a little, though usually only in response to destruction or violence, pretend or otherwise) when Blake took more time off work - two weeks, this time, with a somewhat gruff request to the girls in the office to tell him if they knew of any daycare centres that had places available immediately. He returned to work like a man who'd suffered something significant, but it was useless asking him anything about it, so his friends clapped him on the back a few times and went back to the assembly line. What more was there to do, really?
Blake was a good enough father. Duke never had any complaints, at least. He dedicated himself, in his stoic way, to learning to cook, clean, keep a house. He bought her a wide range of clothes, quietly retiring the frilly dresses and skirts when it became clear that his ferocious daughter preferred clothing that would not get caught on every bramble she insisted on climbing through. He read her every book she took an interest in, answered every question she could dream of as best as he could, taught her the meaning of every word she asked him about (and signed each angry letter home from her teachers, who felt a child's vocabulary ought not to be quite so expansive just yet.) One day she told her father about a small boy called Joseph, who had pushed her off the playground so hard that she had bruises right down her shins, and how her teachers had told her that he must like her, that that was how boys showed they liked people. His jaw tightened, and in his placid way, he showed her how to curl her small hand into a fist, to always keep her thumb on the outside.
The next day, he received an emergency call from his daughter's school. He left work early, found Duke swinging her legs on a chair in the principal's office. Three day suspension, the principal said sternly. Absolutely unacceptable behaviour. That's no way to treat another person, he said to Duke, who glanced sideways at her impassive father and nodded obediently. When we have a problem with someone, we talk to them about it, or we come to a teacher. Do you understand? More nodding. We don't hit, the principal said. We certainly don't break people's noses. Blake lapsed into a coughing fit. He didn't say a word in the car on the way home. They did, however, stop for McDonalds. Blake took the next three days off work, and taught his small, fierce daughter a little more about boxing. She took to it with a hunger she had never exhibited for other hobbies that had been offered her - netball, music lessons, dance classes.
He tried to tell her why he was teaching her to fight. "You can't trust people to do what's right just because they're in charge." Duke considered this. "Even teachers?" "Mrs. Davies let Joseph push you over. She could have stopped him, but she didn't." She frowned. "Even... the [i]police[/i]?" "Even them." "Even the pry minster?" "Prime Minister. Yep." "But we have to do what they say." "Would you do something wrong if Mrs. Davies told you to do it?" The frown deepened, then cleared. "No. I'd punch her."
It would be the first of many conversations about politics as Duke got older, taller, and more prone to starting fights. She didn't make friends easily, or willingly - she preferred solitude, taking great long walks along the river to the north of their property. Blake would go with her, on the days his leg wasn't acting up (an injury a little older than his daughter) and they'd talk about politics, or (more often) just walk in companionable silence. Duke bullied her way into boxing classes at the local gym - any boy who sniggered about her bright purple knuckle wraps would stop about thirty seconds into sparring with her. Boxing became the only reason she kept going to school (a quiet ultimatum from her father - no school, no gym. Whatever the faults of the education system, life without a high school diploma was harder than life with one.) She spent long afternoons daydreaming, scraping through each assessment by the barest of margins. A frustrating child, but the school was underfunded and understaffed and as long as she wasn't causing any problems, the teachers let her be.
"It makes me crazy," she grumbled to her father one evening, unwinding the sweat-drenched wraps from her hands. "I feel like I'm treading water. Waiting for something." "You are," was all he'd say over the top of the newspaper.
In year 10, Duke took Outdoor Ed (top of the list of bludge classes.) The teacher was new - nobody was sure where he'd come from, or where he was going, or how old he was, or what his deal even was. The kids mostly thought he was weird. Duke thought he was brilliant. She arrived early for every class with him, sat in the front row, listened raptly to every story he told of wandering the Australian outback. "I've always felt closer to the land than I have to human beings," he told them once with a jovial wink, and Duke's eyes nearly popped out of her head as she wrote it down. On the last day of school for the year, Duke saw him by the school gate and hurried over to say goodbye. "Where are you going now?" He considered this. "North. Just north." She squared her shoulders. "Can I come?" Laughter danced in his eyes but he only smiled, rueful. "Miss Baker. You're not ready." "I passed year 10, that's enough. I can leave. I can pack a bag, I've got a Swiss army knife, I - " "Not what I mean, little devil. You're still sleeping." With the palm of his leathery hand he messed up her short hair, grinned at her again, and set off up the road leading north. "No I'm not," she said to his retreating back, confused and angry and hurt.
(MORE TO COME)
Quotes
Quotes by
Quotes about
"The thing you have to realise about Duke is, she once punched an angel to death." -- Cadence
"At first, I was offended, but then I came to realise. This child is extraordinary. Let's keep her around, shall we?"
Conversations
Rumours
- Punched an Angel to death.
Inspirations and Soundtrack
Cosby Sweater - Hilltop Hoods you get a scar you get a scar you get a scar! me, drunk, in the back of a rental car
Dear Science - Seth Sentry when i was just a kid at a tender age, i was thinking about tomorrow and them better days i just wanna let you know you let me down
Sweet Leaf - Black Sabbath you introduced me to my mind
The Plan (Fuck Jobs) - The Front Bottoms i fuckin' hate the comments, why do you feel you have to talk?
Choked Out - The Mountain Goats if they all wanna die dead broke that's fine that's fine - everybody's got their limits, nobody's found mine
Bilgewater - Brown Bird if the sun was always shining and our load always light we'd be shaking like a leaf with every god-given night
Motherfucker - Hopsin how come nobody takes me serious wherever I go?
Super Duper Fly - Hopsin people acting like they hate to show love until they find out what i'm capable of
Loser - Beck you can't write if you can't relate
White Rabbit - Jefferson Airplane when logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead
Float Away - Seth Sentry i could tell 'em what's on my mind or I could just float away
Home Again Garden Grove - The Mountain Goats now we are practical men of the world we tether our dreams to the turf