Wild Banshee Indians
The Internets say, "A banshee Indian is an Indian mythical female spirit whose wailing or appearance warns a family that one of them will soon die. Before a death occurs, the Indian banshee will go wailing and clapping hands: if the death is of a holy person, a whole chorus of banshees will wail."
Ok fine, I believe everything I read on the Internets. I don't think my Mom seriously thought my brother and I were harbingers of death, at least I hope not. I suspect what she was on about was the sounds we were probably making. When you are a kid these sounds are normal, but when you grow up and have children of your own - well then you know exactly what kind of Hell your own parents lived through.
What does any of this have to do with Eve?
The whole idea of "wild banshee indians", not the actual historical words, (but the concept that springs to life in your imagination upon hearing those words) makes me think about Stay Frosty. We certainly operate like a pack of wild banshee Indians. Again, not like historically accurate and respectful representatives of a proud, dignified and amazing race of people whose lands were taken from them. But exactly like the concept sounds in your head.
Lately however, it has started feeling more and more like someone is following me around wailing about how they are going to die soon. As if I have my own Banshee following me around in space. Someone is clapping hands and making noise, and it ain't me!
I joke around in Corp chat that I get three kinds of fights:
1) Everyone runs away,
2) I get blobbed, and ("wouldn't Rixx's head look good on the mantle?")
3) They obviously don't know me...yet.
I am well aware of the various skulls/red tags/flashing bars/-10/criminal tag/suspect flags that follow me everywhere I go. Those things come with the territory. I am, as far as others are concerned, a bad egg. I am not entering local for a nice game of Bingo or to join the knitting circle. I am entering local with one thing on my mind and that is removing your pod from your ship. That makes me a problem. A problem with only three possible solutions. (See above.)
From my perspective there are two possible outcomes from this reality. Either I choose to bemoan and whine about the reality of the situation, or I choose to embrace it and do the best with it that I can. There are other options, like becoming a carebear, but let's not get carried away here.
I, like the entire Corporation of Stay Frosty, have only one choice. We must embrace the reality of who and what we are. I'm not going to change and neither is Stay Frosty. We are a pack of Wild Banshee Indians. That is our badge of honor. Our claim to fame and our chosen play-style. We are rarely home because we are out hunting. We are perfectly capable of fighting alone, but the other warriors are always nearby if needed. We range far and wide in pursuit of our prey. And we are not afraid of attacking a Buffalo with our horse.
The fact that people run is understandable. The fact that many choose to over-do it a bit when they tackle me is also understandable. This is the world I have created for myself. And the reality of it makes every single kill that much sweeter. This is a hard-scrabble life I've chosen for myself, that every pilot in Stay Frosty has chosen. It isn't supposed to be easy.
When I get caught, good for them. I should be better at not getting caught. When they blob me, or gank me, or ECM me to death, good for them. I should be better at avoiding those tarps. And when they want my head for their mantle, I should be better at denying them that opportunity. That is on me. I cannot change the fundamental nature of my prey, all I can do is be better at the job of catching them. I cannot change the deer or the buffalo, all I can do is learn their ways. Observe them in the wild. Understand their spirit, and use that knowledge to hunt them.
And ultimately be respectful of their spirit. They exist in this world, they share my space. They are a valuable and important component of what makes my life in-game possible. Without prey there can be no hunter.
Wild Banshee Indians. I like the sound of that.