07-01-04

"Rrrrrrah!!!!" Four resounding /thwok/s are heard throughout the training room as the same amount of Darklett's signature juggling knives end up deep within an archery target. Darklett looks at the target, and walks closer. He sees that all four are slightly to the left or right of the center of the target, and, with a bit of difficulty, yanks the knives out and sheaths them, walking back to his regular distance from the target, throwing one up in the air, then another, and another, then a fourth, juggling them as is his habit. "Again!" He shouts, although he's completely by himself in the room.

It did not take Zoe much to find out Darklett's location; he is making enough of a racket. So, she enters the 67th's training room quietly, and pads quietly over towards him - though she of course stays clear of the knives' path. Her paws are held clasped together behnid her back.

It may not have looked like Darklett even noticed Zoe coming, he looked so intent on what he was doing... But the four knives heading towards the target following another ferocious grunt of exertion showed it enough... One completely missed the target, two thudded somewhere around the outside, and one hit dead center -- only the handle made contact instead of the blade, and the knife bounced right off. He looks at the miserable failure for a bit longer than expected, but he eventually is able to turn around and salute, however weakly, at the Colonel.

Zoe_Lang merely quirks a brow at this show of mild incompetence, or nerves, or whatever it may be. "Fightah Darklett." She returns the salute with a dip of her head.

The problem is, this is the first time Darklett doesn't know what he's in trouble for. His thoughts roll over everything within the last few days, and he can -swear- there's nothing he's done recently. He drops from his salute, and tries to stay as calm as possible. "Yes, Colonel?" Darklett swallows, eyes darting back and forth, as if they are the machines that run his mind. The last thing he did wrong was getting Talek out of Redwall, which he believes was hardly wrong... And even then, he was just following orders. He finally shakes his head. "No, I don't have any idea."

"The fox, lad, the -fox-. The fox that ye took from Redwall against the Redwaller's express wishes." She pauses for a moment, leaving this to sink in before adding, "D'ya realize that, in othah situations, that could be considahed an act o' war? Takin' a prisonah without expression permission?" She then holds up a paw, shaking her head, "An' no, I don't want t' hear it. I -know- I ordahed ya t' retrieve him. Howevah, I didn't ordah ya t' -steal- 'im."

Darklett looks down at the ground, then back up again... Lately he's been awfully timid. Hasn't been his rebellious self. But that's because he's been trying to keep out of trouble. Well, the good streak's over. "Talek was -our- prisoner in the first place. It just so happened that he fled to Redwall to get his weapons, with which he probably would have killed more innocents, had I not stopped him in the Gatehouse. Maeva, that stupid otter, stole the prisoner from us. When I received orders from you to take him back down to the 67th, I didn't hesitate. You know why I didn't hesitate?" He pauses, for effect, letting it sink in that he's screwing himself royally. Too late to turn back now... "Because I assumed that as a Patroller, I was to follow your orders above the orders of a mere resident of Redwall Abbey. Apparently, I assumed just as wrong as usual, and I'm prepared to take the consequences for that. But I'd appreciate it before you were done with me to let me know just what the -hell- my duties are, anyway!"

"A mere... a mere..." Zoe can so scarcely comprehend what he's -thinking- that she can barely even articulate. But, she manages. "A mere /resident of Rewdall Abbey/?" She takes a step forward, and almost decides to flatten the buck before thinking better of it, for now. "Ins'lence! D'ya have any idea o' the importance o' Redwall Abbey? D'ya have /any/ idea? T' Long Patrol could disappear t'morrah, 'n' s'long as Redwall Abbey stands, d'ya know what? It wouldn't mattah." She might be exaggerating things, but Darklett obviously needs to be educated. "If'n ya /evah/ call Maeva, or any membah o' Redwall mere in -any- sense, evah again, I'll flatten ya m'self!"

To put it frank, Darklett doesn't care. "Well, if I would have known when I was signing up for the Long Patrol that we'd be forced to serve a bunch of snobby, self-centered INGRATES, I'd have turned around and left! Am I being punished for being too loyal to the Patrol, Colonel?"

"I am -not- a member of Redwall Abbey! I'm a fighter in the Long Patrol! That's where my loyalty lies, and if I'm punished for staying loyal..." He doesn't even continue, his mind working faster than his mouth.

"Yer bein' punished for failin' t' remembah what the Long Patrol's -for-, fightah! If'n I can even stand t' -call- the likes o' you a fightah o' the Long Patrol." The doe shakes her head, looking severe. "The Long Patrol is about servin', not leadin'. 'Tis about helpin' those that can't help themselves. 'Tis about keepin' places like Redwall Abbey free t' be what they are. The Patrol is -not- abou' selfish, ungrateful little twits like yerself forgettin' centuries o' tradition all because he's got a bit o' uniform on, 'n' he's feelin' big. An' t' Long Patrol is -not- about you callin' anyone an idiot save fer yerself!"

Darklett opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out... He's trying to say so much at the same time that he can't really make anything out. He closes his eyes and mouth, swallows, and tries again. "They don't even want us there, Colonel! Every time I've ever tried to help out there, all it got me was trouble. You of all should know that, you've most probably heard." Darklett's voice cracks at this, probably because of how deeply he feels about what he's saying. "I'm sick of it, Colonel. I'm sick of helping where my help's not welcome."

Zoe_Lang doesn't look to be softening any time soon, not after the things he's said. "Given what I've been told, I don't see how I c'n take it on yer word that what you call "helpin'" was helpin' anyone, fightah Darklett. Howevah, if'n yer sick o' helpin' where yer help's not wanted, then ya won't mind yer punishment. Ya are not t' entah Redwall Abbey without express permission from m'self or any othah officah, and fer that mattah, ya are not t' leave the 67th, unless it is t' do work in the quarry or t' patrol - with an officah! - until I tell ya othahwise. Is tha' -undahstood-?"

Darklett bites his lip very strongly, drawing blood on the inside of his mouth. "I never thought that being an errand boy for a bunch of sheltered abbeybeasts was in my job description in the first place... That's understood, Colonel. Loud and clear, Colonel. Next time I'm on patrol, do I report to you, or to that marten Kevarr? Or should I go to the otter Maeva?"

Zoe_Lang takes a step forward and grabs hold of Darklett's collar, pulling him close. Her voice is a heated whisper. "Darklett, y'are comin' -dangerously- close t' truly angerin' me. If'n I hear ya -once- more disrespect those abbey beasts, y'wont have t' worry about reportin' t' anyone in the Patrol, least o' all me." She then pushes him back from her, releasing his collar. "I don't bloody well care fer this self-centahed, childish talk, eithah. You are -not- m' equal. I am yer -superior-. If'n ya evah talk t' me like this evah again, I will lay you lowah than ya've -evah- been before, boy. Mark. my. words."

Darklett simply looks back, unamused the whole time. "Yes, Colonel." Hints of sarcasm, nothing strong. "And, I mean no disrespect or offense, but please, just answer me one question, because I'm unclear on it: the next time that what the abbey tells me I should do and what the Patrol tells me I should do contradict each other, do I disobey the orders of my commanding officers and be punished, or do I disobey the orders of the abbeybeasts and be punished?" And his face looks -very- sincere.

The look Zoe is giving Darklett is far worse than contempt, at this point. "Since ya can't seem t' make judgment calls on yer own, judgment calls tha' most -lev'rets- c'n make, yer punishment will remove ya from evah having t' worry about tha'. Ya've already damaged our reputation enough. Unless a situation demands it, I want ya t' stay as clear o' Redwall Abbey as possible. Is tha' undahstood, or should I speak slowah?"

"...It's understood." Darklett turns and begins to walk towards the target to collect his throwing knives, immediately feeling like an idiot. He seriously must be the most stupid hare on the face of the earth, arguing with a punishment that isn't really a punishment at all. The buck sheaths his knives, making another silent vow to himself to keep away from any situation that could potentially cause him trouble. He returns from collecting his knives, and stops back at where he was just standing before, in front of the officer, but head bowed.

"Yer -dismissed-.. Mind, just because yer out o' some duties at Redwall, there're -plenty- t' do here. Specifically, I'd like t' see ya on kitchen duty fer the next week, is tha' undahstood? Mayhaps that'll teach ya what talkin' back t' yer officahs gets ya." Because old tubby in the kitchen certainly doesn't handle back-talk very well at all. "Now -get- outta m' sight." However, she takes more initiative than that, and turns, walking away from him before he even has a chance to get out of her sight. The door slams behind her, laeving him once again by himself.

At the slam of the door, the room fills with Long Patrol hares, past and present, all turning, pointing... Some laughing, some shaking their heads in disapproval... Darklett quickly takes off his belt, chucks it across the room, and retreats to a corner, where he curls up and tries to sleep.