Slater the satyr series: mourning

Narrative of how I'd understand the character's archetype: The lining of their respective shoes were rubbing blisters into the toes and heels of the group's aching feet, as nothing but gravel, railroad ties and asphalt are what brought them here. The entire trainyard would sit quietly in a stillness that she'd been forcing herself to adapt to, unsettled by the sheer number of bare skeletons and useless vehicles of all those lifetimes prior. Their return trip to what was once Fenway Park had given them only time for brief respite, as breathing in the wintry air of this new Boston was taking more of a toll than she would've anticipated, going into that long-lost tradition of the holiday season. Pondering the memories of her husband and child - she knew, would utterly haunt her being, had she stayed in her best-if-left-forgotten neighborhood up north. Before those two lost centuries, life in Massachusetts was subtle, gradually shifting through family obligations and preparing for her return in the Spring of 2078 to life as a paralegal. Her practice with firearms would need years of improving, as she never expected to become an active-duty cop after law school. That former cage fighter and neglected canine would provide morale, company and combat support, yet the aloofness of that dishonored mercenary would need to be addressed by the time they'd return to the theme park to check for her misplaced rifle. The group would still need more fire support if her matriarchy of raiders is to ever amount to anything beyond a failed flock of small-minded morons. Her collection of cigarettes and narcotics in her possession would only provide her spirit a lingering temptation; however the walk would build her resolve for how she should proceed forward into the harshness of this deadening world. She'd learned the cost of leaving herself behind, venturing so often beyond consciousness in her confusion between sleep and eternity... What to do...

Narrative of how I'd understand the character's archetype: Her knight - she deliberated, would be better suited for a higher station of her aspirational court, being that his nonchalance in the succession of numerous combat settings had begun to rekindle her memories of her life as an expectant mother; to relive such a time as that - she'd lose sleep over such feelings... Following her instinct, she'd send the young man back to the boathouse upon the arrival of his worthy replacement... The longing would linger but briefly, as her newly anointed Knight could easily carry that nearly-40 pound gatling gun, armored in what must be either aged copper or crudely-painted scrap-automotive parts. Her latest recruit: a compliant giant, is what her efforts atop that tower culminated into, as this particular mutant is a creature of simple means, yet a horrifying past of gruesomely inhumane experiments. The walk back to the market would grant her yet more introspection: entering that walled village alongside a former cannibal would not bode well with the simple settlers of that much-needed sanctuary for the lost and the hopeless. The many sideways looks and uneasy stares from those people only told her that her time in that town must be quick. Post-war Boston - the city proper - is a traumatized place that her younger self could never have survived, yet the logic she'd discover in the however factor could only be proven via the singular way she'd proceed. Formerly, the once bustling Fenway Park Metro Station was a dating scene at which herself and her husband would arrive on but a handful of occasions. The once-great national sport of baseball - he'd eventually explain - would capture the thrill of overseas combat, only without any of the danger of gunshot wounds or the many repercussions of shell-shock syndrome. Her widow's sorrow would reveal itself, yet again through her budding sympathy for his abandoned passion in the solitude of gunsmithing and "by-leverage" munitions reloading... Their next destination - she'd wager - would need a more subtle approach; one that would require usage of Boston's underground railway system. She'd resolve how her naive fear of the dark must be confronted, since wandering through the wide-open downtown streets - whether during the daylight hours, or in the gloom of nightfall; her chances of survival could only plummet beneath each rooftop vantage-point chosen by any lucky sniper bored enough to spot her. Beyond the tranquility of the Fenway Metro Station, the group's only mood-melody would soon become the reverberating echoes of their footfalls; otherwise, there would be the still-small; quiet confines of this graven tomb, which in some unacquainted way, could manage to settle her restless feelings of fear. This strange new darkness would expand all throughout the largely derelict network of literal train-wreckage, and after maneuvering yet one more bout of mutant-bloodshed, her store of supplies would be reallocated into those of her better-suited traveling party. Immediately, that newly-acquired Knight would prove worthy of his station and title through the willingly remorseless gunning-down of his former kinsmen. In the wake of the firefight, the returning aroma of untreated, pungently rotting meat was bound to make her sick yet again, so she made the choice of sleeping near the entrance to the network maintenance tunnels. Her rudderless vessel would need yet more firepower in its arsenal if her return to that theme park was indeed as immediate as her need for her old rifle. As her consciousness would drift beyond her, she'd wonder whether Porter went and sold the damned thing... What to do...

Narrative of how I'd understand the character's archetype: Her cage-fighting rook would wait outside the sheltering train wreckage upon her awakening, staring cautiously at her, before following in her footsteps through the flooding. Gingerly, she'd keep her attention away from the entry-ramp up to the hospital's ground level, passing between the wall and another crushed train car further along those very same tracks. She had noticed the mutant's commentary about the canine; her bishop, and therefore, resolved to dismiss one of them from the group. A simple trio - she would propose to herself. At the very least, she owed her lineage simply whatever she could confidently perform through the strained recollection of her networking skills. During the many silent moments walking the alleys and byways, trails and roads, she'd occasionally remind herself of the numerous study groups she had engaged with back in law school. All the reading, interpreting, mis-interpreting, then later re-interpreting after the barrier of burnout demanded time away from such verbose literature. She'd effort to once again embrace the company of desperate strugglers. Legally, her actions in the streets all across the counties of Massachusetts would not only include arson, theft and murder, but ever since the dissolution of the former branches of government, she'd be possessed in her labors to gain any form of foothold on what morality or immorality even meant anymore. Disarming that final prank and tripwire would at least show that she isn't a monster... Fortunately; as it turns out, the only clear path ahead would be through the doors to the street leading directly into the theater district, yet by those howling outdoor winds, a sinking feeling in her gut would accompany such an atmospheric shift, as those early morning skies above suddenly faded into that ominous shade of putrid rot - a storm-current of radioactive rain would proceed to sweep its way across the city, yet again. Her lethargic system would slow her stamina, as she'd try running for the nearest place to wait out the storm, only to despair and hurry into the ruins of the old theater; reduced now to a postwar boxing ring, where once, plays and live singing were the venue often frequented back in her lost existence... She would stifle her self-pity, using the rush from her sprint to focus and organize their supplies, as they'd recuperate for but a moment longer. She'd humor herself in how that big green brute has the mind of a toddler, trying to encourage some levity into her ever-glum headspace... What to do...