DarkObsidian 
Smiling Panzerfuchs 2.0
(has a cigarette, lights it with his storm lighter, inhales the smoky death deep into his lungs, and then blows all the smoke out like a steam engine from the last century)
*All quiet on the inner western front.* The world of Equus continues to perform its dance of the dead, the cries of the forgotten millions barely penetrating consciousness. With a smug grin, the Panzerfuchs channels his feelings, which can hardly bear all this everyday hypocrisy.
"What is wrong, Kamerad?"
Obsidian, the half-breed, turns to look into the eyes of one of his best friends. The Griffon with whom he had a great time before. They grilled delicious ribs beforehand, ate garlic bread and tasted an excellent wine and two or three glasses of first-class whiskey. They discussed the differences between Equestrian bourbon and Griffonstone Scotch. Certainly, his friend was an expert in the culinary and beverage realms. A true creature of taste. That suited Obsidian's own hedonistic taste very well.
They spent hours playing board games like the remake of Heroes of Zargon's Dungeon - Quest Edition, enjoying themselves and having a great time together. But then came the shock. This discussion, which already began when the ribs were coated with various expensive BBQ sauces, which are hard to get in these lands of the empire.
"You can't say anything these days. And Her Heiligkeit, Queen Greta of ..."
Obsidian had already stopped listening. Phrases like that, always caught him. Deep in his heart, he was still that political and idiological activist he had been in his youth. Inside, a shy bookworm. Although part of a proud and lower noble family that had made a name for itself in the empire. On the outside, that Sturm und Drang, that need to no longer hide behind books and rebel against education, to always go with the flow. Against the family tradition.
But it has always been the same game. The possibilities between what you want to achieve and what you can achieve have always been far too great and, in some cases, delusive. Obisidian has always felt like a donkey who was constantly held a carrot in front of his face. But instead of wanting to bite, he always questioned his own existence and the necessity of a carrot at all. It was all so obvious. Boring. Downright ridiculous.
Snap. Back to the here and now. He raised his voice: "You do know that our generation lives on that from which those who come after us tug? And we are already consuming it... Like what? Ten times?"
"Huh? All I just asked you what was wrong..."
"Yeah. But that is precisely what IS wrong. Don't you think so?"
"Um. Nein. What have they done for us!? Haven't worked, have no idea, and..."
(Obsidian raises his paw and smiles meaningfully).
"All right. Sorry. Nevermind."
He knew there was no point to any of this. Neither the discussion, nor the argument, nor his own conviction. Deep down, he knew that you can't change someone else's mind. Not really. You can only try to slowly erode the stone. Be the water and not the rock. Don't talk. Convince through action. But choose your battles wisely. Otherwise, you consume yourself. And feel only like butter scraped on too much bread...
(Obsidian flicks the cigarette and puts on his cynical smile again)
"All good. I was just lost in my thoughts again. But hey, let's fill up the tank and hit the road. I really need a change of location."
(His friend grinned.)
He was a good friend. Strong and caring in his own way. But also misguided by the general fear that was going around. Obsidian knew he couldn't blame him. He, like the Panzerfuchs, was himself a victim of circumstance. But couldn't everyone say that of themselves? Or was that just a lame excuse for not wanting to take matters into your own hands. To rise above what allows you to live a supposedly safe life. The lack of will to really take responsibility for what is happening around you?
So the tank was readied, the engine revved, and the chains buried deep into the flesh of the earth. On the move, all was still right with the world. On the move, his thoughts couldn't catch up with him either. But one day, he vowed, he would wave his own flag over this tank. The flag of sincerity. The flag of inner and outer liberation. The flag of his own conviction. And it will be a flag that is no longer compatible with this status quo.
Liberty or death. How many times has this sentence been misunderstood? Liberty was so much more than just being free yourself. Even if Obsidian had always wished this for himself. However, if it was up to him, it was more important to enable future generations to be free from the worries and fears of the elderly. But this view was shared only by the least he had met in his life.
In the end, everyone was next to themselves. And that was frustrating, so to say. Although he knew how egostic and hedonistic he himself always was and could be. Yet there were things that went far deeper. And which were much more important to him personally. Everything in him fought for the place in his heart. His convictions. His desire for freedom of choice and relatively equal opportunities. And harmony. And his fear of not being half the fox he wanted to be.
"One day I will see this world burning. One way or another. And if it's just going down with my own world."
(he looked out of the commander's hatch and lit another cigarette)
"One day, I will have to make a decision. And I'd rather go to Barkhalla than let myself be dissuaded from my beliefs."
So they both continued driving. Riodinge towards the sun to pick up the rest of the crew.
*All quiet on the inner western front.* The world of Equus continues to perform its dance of the dead, the cries of the forgotten millions barely penetrating consciousness. With a smug grin, the Panzerfuchs channels his feelings, which can hardly bear all this everyday hypocrisy.
"What is wrong, Kamerad?"
Obsidian, the half-breed, turns to look into the eyes of one of his best friends. The Griffon with whom he had a great time before. They grilled delicious ribs beforehand, ate garlic bread and tasted an excellent wine and two or three glasses of first-class whiskey. They discussed the differences between Equestrian bourbon and Griffonstone Scotch. Certainly, his friend was an expert in the culinary and beverage realms. A true creature of taste. That suited Obsidian's own hedonistic taste very well.
They spent hours playing board games like the remake of Heroes of Zargon's Dungeon - Quest Edition, enjoying themselves and having a great time together. But then came the shock. This discussion, which already began when the ribs were coated with various expensive BBQ sauces, which are hard to get in these lands of the empire.
"You can't say anything these days. And Her Heiligkeit, Queen Greta of ..."
Obsidian had already stopped listening. Phrases like that, always caught him. Deep in his heart, he was still that political and idiological activist he had been in his youth. Inside, a shy bookworm. Although part of a proud and lower noble family that had made a name for itself in the empire. On the outside, that Sturm und Drang, that need to no longer hide behind books and rebel against education, to always go with the flow. Against the family tradition.
But it has always been the same game. The possibilities between what you want to achieve and what you can achieve have always been far too great and, in some cases, delusive. Obisidian has always felt like a donkey who was constantly held a carrot in front of his face. But instead of wanting to bite, he always questioned his own existence and the necessity of a carrot at all. It was all so obvious. Boring. Downright ridiculous.
Snap. Back to the here and now. He raised his voice: "You do know that our generation lives on that from which those who come after us tug? And we are already consuming it... Like what? Ten times?"
"Huh? All I just asked you what was wrong..."
"Yeah. But that is precisely what IS wrong. Don't you think so?"
"Um. Nein. What have they done for us!? Haven't worked, have no idea, and..."
(Obsidian raises his paw and smiles meaningfully).
"All right. Sorry. Nevermind."
He knew there was no point to any of this. Neither the discussion, nor the argument, nor his own conviction. Deep down, he knew that you can't change someone else's mind. Not really. You can only try to slowly erode the stone. Be the water and not the rock. Don't talk. Convince through action. But choose your battles wisely. Otherwise, you consume yourself. And feel only like butter scraped on too much bread...
(Obsidian flicks the cigarette and puts on his cynical smile again)
"All good. I was just lost in my thoughts again. But hey, let's fill up the tank and hit the road. I really need a change of location."
(His friend grinned.)
He was a good friend. Strong and caring in his own way. But also misguided by the general fear that was going around. Obsidian knew he couldn't blame him. He, like the Panzerfuchs, was himself a victim of circumstance. But couldn't everyone say that of themselves? Or was that just a lame excuse for not wanting to take matters into your own hands. To rise above what allows you to live a supposedly safe life. The lack of will to really take responsibility for what is happening around you?
So the tank was readied, the engine revved, and the chains buried deep into the flesh of the earth. On the move, all was still right with the world. On the move, his thoughts couldn't catch up with him either. But one day, he vowed, he would wave his own flag over this tank. The flag of sincerity. The flag of inner and outer liberation. The flag of his own conviction. And it will be a flag that is no longer compatible with this status quo.
Liberty or death. How many times has this sentence been misunderstood? Liberty was so much more than just being free yourself. Even if Obsidian had always wished this for himself. However, if it was up to him, it was more important to enable future generations to be free from the worries and fears of the elderly. But this view was shared only by the least he had met in his life.
In the end, everyone was next to themselves. And that was frustrating, so to say. Although he knew how egostic and hedonistic he himself always was and could be. Yet there were things that went far deeper. And which were much more important to him personally. Everything in him fought for the place in his heart. His convictions. His desire for freedom of choice and relatively equal opportunities. And harmony. And his fear of not being half the fox he wanted to be.
"One day I will see this world burning. One way or another. And if it's just going down with my own world."
(he looked out of the commander's hatch and lit another cigarette)
"One day, I will have to make a decision. And I'd rather go to Barkhalla than let myself be dissuaded from my beliefs."
So they both continued driving. R