📋 how organized is your muse?, 🌘 how hard is it to really know them?, 🫀 what emotion scares them the most?, 🕯️what do they grieve that no one else sees as a loss?, 🚬 what vice do they justify the most?, 💔 have they ever used sex to avoid something?, ⚖️ what line will they never cross?
symbol hc questions. | @falsedk1ng
how organized is n'jideka?
she's not a perfectionist, but she does well to eliminate clutter in her space. her gear stays clean, clothes folded well, belongings arranged in a meticulous way where she'll know if something's been moved.
she keeps motion sensors at every entry point, tripwires or traps at every exit. wherever she sleeps becomes a defensible position. she's cautious like that—paranoid, some would say, but it's what kept her breathing. she takes inventory often: food, ammo, supplies. if it runs low, it didn't. the system isn't fancy, just tight and efficient.
how hard is it to really know her?
ever read the book of job? now imagine you’re job—asking questions, searching for answers, only to get clapped back with riddles and thunder and terrible misfortunes for thinking you’re owed clarity of some kind. she’s got that same tyrannical divine arrogance, that same fire-under-the-tongue, like she’s half-convinced your curiosity is an act of insubordination. and in her eyes? it probably is.
you might catch pieces of her if you’re sharp—when she quotes her readings, when her strategies echo old black revolutionaries, when her rituals betray the scar tissue of a girl raised as hyena. but they’re glimpses. nothing concretely her. and it's nothing handed to you.
she doesn’t give herself. not to lovers. not to comrades. sex is easy. intimacy isn’t. you could be beautiful, honest, broken, pure—it don’t mean shit if you expect access. being with her, in any sustained way, is a different kind of trial. most don’t survive it. most were never meant to.
what emotion scares them the most?
loneliness. it makes fools out of the strong. drives people to cling, bargain, compromise. to reach for shit they don’t need just to fill the void. she loathes that. despises the idea of craving someone. of needing them. of depending on them.
if she ever feels herself leaning, she’ll vanish. or gut the thing she’s grown fond of. not out of cruelty—out of preservation. because needing anyone makes her a mark. a liability. that’s how you get cornered. that’s how people lose themselves.
she prefers to hold the reins. control the pace. stay colder than the feeling that tries to root itself inside her. her mother taught her that. not with words, but by walking. when she got pregnant, the hyena forced her to leave the settlement—black american or not, she was hyena now, which meant living by the creed. she could only return when the child—n’jideka—could stand on her own, as children were perceived as weak and useless.
so that’s what she learned to do. stand alone. stay standing. and never, ever need.
what do they grieve that no one else sees as a loss?
back when she was hyena, she had place. she had rank. for all their ugliness—the infanticide, the sacrificial rites, the war-breeding programs—her people had purpose. that kind of clarity does something to a child. yijila wasn’t about joy. it was about order, bloodline, force. even if the hyenas were the scourge of africa, they were her scourge.
klaue stole that. tore her from everything familiar in the name of the american empire. and wakanda never came for her. queen shuri's refusal to call back the scattered sons and daughters, especially those born into outcast tribes, was another nail. another betrayal. to the world, the hyena were a cautionary tale. to her, they were home. she mourns them more than any death. no flag, no plaque, no apology—just exile and things she had to to survive it.
what vice do they justify the most?
again, her community was a military one. survival wasn’t abstract—it depended on discipline, intimidation, and the strict enforcement of yijila, a brutal code of conduct shaped by war. infanticide, ritual cannibalism, and uncompromising obedience weren’t excesses; they were tools meant to harden the body and strip fear from decision-making. the hyena tribe she comes from mirror the imbangala of precolonial africa in this way.
in west-central african belief systems, the unburied dead could return to harm the living. within hyena culture, the symbolic consumption of the dead was meant to prevent that. it wasn’t hunger that drove them to this act. it was a building block on their martial innovations. it also served another purpose: to eliminate cowardice. dying in battle wasn't honorable. fleeing or failing was betrayal under the law of yijila. fear was trained out early, violently, and publicly. the practice of ritual cannibalism also created a fear factor in their enemies, generating this idea they're non-humans or a supernatural force.
that spartan-esque worldview never left her. violence is not emotional for n’jideka. it’s very procedural, because it is a integral element of their tribal war customs. every act is weighed against outcome and once its committed, you bestow a mark upon yourself. every kill is a calculation of risk, exposure, and necessity. what does that mean? hyenas are an amalgamation of african tribes, wakandan and otherwise. the ritualistic act of scarification is heavily practiced. like her male counterpart @falsedk1ng, her upper torso is peppered with scars, each mark a kill. if she were to have express a hint of cowardice/fear in battle, she'd be expose herself as a weak link. a disgrace and killed. so, her moral compass wasn’t skewed by war—it was molded since was a child, reinforced by years of surviving predatory men and brutal institutions on both sides of the atlantic.
if she puts a round through your spine, it’s because she already decided you destabilize the mission. whether she enjoys it is irrelevant. she doesn’t dress brutality up as righteousness, and she doesn’t pretend she’s above it. that belief—that violence should be regretted to be justified and reevaluated as an immoral act—is a civilian luxury. she doesn’t have it, and never did.
have they used sex to avoid something?
yes. but not in the way most people do.
when she's on the edge of unraveling, she might choose intimacy to anchor herself in another's body, in impassioned friction. to remind herself she still has humanely needs. so, when grief starts to swell and her memories start to overwhelm her, she'll sometimes seek sex.
love? love-making... now, she loves soft skin, a steady heart, and whispering sweet nothings... but if she's crawling into bed with you to silence the ghosts she's dodging, then that's what it is. a moment. a coping mechanism. nothing more.
and if you wake up beside her asking, “so… what are we?”
you won’t get the chance to ask again.
what line they will never cross?
she'll never sell out her mission—not for a lover, not for safety, not for a clean slate. no heart, no body, no ideology will ever come before what she's fighting for. she's not building someone else's dream. she's reclaiming a history that was taken, violently, and she won't trade that back just because something feels good for a moment. if the cause dies, then so does the point of her survival. but as far she's concerned, she is the cause.
