It kind of Ironic how Griffith saved Casca from being forced upon only for him to do it to her in the final episode and the ending point of the story act
@@ShadowPa1adin to be starting a petition comes off as childish instead of talking about your problems with someone intead of making a petition to get someone to changed or banned someone from doing something
Well, as they say, fact is stranger than fiction. I imagine even the things we've seen in this series pales in comparison to real life historical events.
@@TheAnimeAlliance imagine an army of 100 000 of Ottoman Turks invading a small country which can rise an army of merely 20 000 (with mercenaries mind you).
I'm not sure if people understand. Griffith didn't save Casca. He gave her a sword to save herself. She could have still died or been raped. From there on he used her as a sword in his name.
@@whycaninotfindagood I mean. He did give her a choice. And in truth she didn't need to follow him. Shit man I'd just have killed the guy and saved Casca
1:40 I find it a little funny that young Casca's mouth and nose combined accounts for about as much surface of her face as one of her irises. Manga and anime are really the only mediums where this can be passed off as normal.
Shes awesome, a strong woman who can hold her own in battle, doesnt take any bullshit from anyone, got a backstory that totally tells us how she became the way she is now and it fits, also shes super hot
@@PatZalatoris Here's my 2nd fav: The new corridor seemed antiseptic and clean after what I'd just stepped in. If there were unpleasant odors, they didn't penetrate my visor. I followed the corridor until I came to a room on the right. Something made me hesitate about going in. It wasn't a sense of danger or anything like that. Maybe it was because the door was closed. Mostly they'd been open. I don't normally credit sixth sense stuff or mysticism; but I've learned in combat that you ignore your instincts at your peril. There are human "predator senses" that normal, civilized life pretty much breeds out of us. I had my weapon at the ready, even though just two shots from the Sig-Cow would be nothing but a fancy spear. Kicking the door was easy; looking into the room was hard. There was one lone body on the floor, female, her back to me. For a cold-gut second, I thought she might be Arlene. The impression lasted only a few seconds; then I saw it was Tij "Dude" Dardier. We'd fought together pretty closely in Kefiristan, and you get so you recognize a buddy from behind, especially females in a crack fighting unit. Her face was unmarked, still cute, still a little girl with red hair who had a big surprise for any man who thought she was easy pickings. I wondered if a monster or zombie had gotten her. The ugly wound was in her stomach. There was something funny about her posture; she lay as if she had a secret. I stared for a moment, coaxing her dead body to talk to me. Then I figured it out: Dudette was lying on top of something, shielding it from dry zombie eyes. I touched her gently, then gingerly slipped over her corpse. Dude Dardier was lying on top of the pump-action riot gun I'd been wishing for earlier; her death-day present for Yours Truly. I felt like a ghoul, but feelings were a luxury. With a shotgun in my arsenal, my survival rating took a big leap up the charts. I checked the bore and found no obstructions. There were plenty of shells in the bandoleer around her body. I thanked Dudette for being a Marine to the end... Semper fi, Mac. Back in the corridor, I found remains of a map on the wall. The Bad Guys evidently followed a plan, proven by destroyed radio gear and vandalized wall maps. But this time there was just enough left of the map to figure out the basic direction toward the lift, which I prayed was still working. Being properly armed did wonders for my psychology; I decided maybe I would do well to generate a tactical plan. There is no north or south on Phobos, but I oriented myself along the facility's major axis. Getting to the nuclear plant was the next logical move; it had the largest concentration of equipment... and perhaps even an untrained engineer like me could jerry-rig some gear into a working radio. I found the lift without further molestation; naturally, it was broken, shot to hell - the hydraulics leaked away from numerous gunshot holes. But the manual escape hatch still worked. Placing myself back into a narrow, confined space was about as appealing as it sounded, and my damned imagination started bugging me again at precisely the moment duty called. My imagination was not very patriotic; it needed six weeks of boot camp. There was a dim light in the shaft, very, very dim. Every square foot of the base was supposed to be constantly lit, bright as day, except for the barracks. Someone in charge must have been mugged by a flash- light when he was a kid and wanted nothing more to do with them. Maybe I shouldn't have complained; light was light. As I climbed down the long shaft, it occurred to me to think about something cheerful, a silver lining that must exist somewhere in these storm clouds. There had to be something. And there was. I hadn't found Arlene's body yet... and so long as I didn't know what had happened to her, there was hope. I figured the nuclear plant must be at least six stories down. Just keep climbing, that was all I could do. Climb. Hope. Watch out for demons. Real simple. I preferred thinking about Arlene. I remembered the day she showed up from Paris Island and joined the real Corps, the fighting Corps. I looked up from monkeying with the sticky belt-advance on a .60 caliber auto-stabilized, and I saw a brutal babe in cammies, spats, webbing, and sporting a newly shaved high-and-tight. Catching her eye told me all I had to know. She knew what she was doing, all right. The Corps is protective of its haircut, flat on the top and shaved on the sides. We're talking a sign of distinction, a challenge thrown at every other service. God help the Navy, Army, or Space Force puke who shows up on one of our bases in a high-and-tight! What happens afterward is why God made Captain's Mast. But Arlene was no innocent. She wore her cut high and proud, and wore a single, red, private's stripe. Lieutenant Weems (pre-punch) took one look at Arlene Sanders, a long, hard look, and curled his lip. He watched her hand her packet to PFC Dodd, who stared at her like she had two heads. So far as I know, that was the first time they ever met, they who were destined for ... well, not love, exactly; extreme lustlike. (After about a year of ignoring him with all her might, then another six months of despising him, she shamefacedly confessed to me that she'd spent the night in his flat.) All in all, not the best-foot-forward on this first day for the first woman in Fox Company.
@@PatZalatoris Part 2 - Of course, the opinion of Lieutenant Weems was already a debased currency by this time. But the opinion of the other men mattered. And no one could express that company opinion with more eloquence than Gunnery Sergeant Goforth, the company's "grand old man." Hell, he was in his late thirties, an eighteen-year Marine, the last ten in Light Drop. Goforth looked like Aldo Ray in those old John Wayne movies. He was heavyset, muscular but not fat; he shaved his head but would probably be bald anyway. Goforth was a Franks tank with legs, a few freckles mixed in along with the Rolled Homogenous Armor. The gunny made a big deal of sauntering over to Arlene and let loose with his thick, Georgian drawl: "Hooo-eeee! Where'ud the lay-dee get thuh purty "do?" She looked him in the eye. That was all. Not a bad answer, really, but I thought that under the circumstances a few words of reason might be in order. I volunteered myself for the task. Partly because I liked a woman with guts; partly because I respected the men in the Corps-and felt their position could be expressed in a more thoughtful manner than Gunny Goforth was likely to manage. But mainly I spoke up because at some deep level I hate all rules, symbols, rituals, fighting words, gang colors, routines, decorations, medals, trophies, badges... and anything else that suggests one human being is to be taken more seriously than another in a given situation simply on the basis of plumage. Besides, I was making no headway with the damned .60 cal. I was sitting on the mess hall table and felt very much above it all as I said, "Private, a high-and-tight is not a fashion statement. You gotta earn it." That seemed a nice ice breaker. She must have agreed because she spoke to me, not Goforth. "I'm as much a Marine as the next man," she said, glancing at me before returning her steady attention back to the gunny. The first retort that crossed my mind was to take a big bite of the red apple that happened to be in my hand. The longer it took to chew and swallow the piece of apple, the more profound would be my clever rejoinder, it seemed to me. So I did. And Goforth took a step closer to Arlene, deliberately breaking her space. Arlene stood her ground, not budging an inch. In between bites of the apple, I thought I would essay another arbitration. "You know," I essayed, "a high-and-tight is not mil-spec for ladies." "It's not regulation for men, either," she shot back. There was no arguing with that, but there was plenty of apple left to crunch. Gunny Goforth didn't have an apple. "Any Muh-reen who wears thet 'do," he said, "sure as hell is gonna earn it, missy." I thought the "missy" was a bit much. Arlene Sanders leaned forward into his space, close enough to either kiss him or bite off his round knob of a nose. Instead, she said two words: "You're on." Goforth was just as stubborn. He was native to Georgia but might as well have been from Missouri when it came to matters of proof. "Every Muh-reen is a rifleman fust," he said. "If'n you want to spoht thet thang, missy, then you had best pick up yer cute lil' buns and follow me tuh the rifle range." She gave him a curt nod. Challenge accepted. They started to leave, then Goforth noticed my juicy, red apple, which had tasted much better than the discussion, far as I was concerned. "Hey, Fly," he said, "howzabout grabbin' thet sack o' apples?" As I hoisted the apples and made tracks, I could honestly say that I didn't have a clue what old Goforth was up to. The range was a short walk. Every man who had been present for the exchange of words followed along. No one wanted to miss entertainment of this high a caliber, no pun intended. Goforth walked on over to Arlene and said, "Private, you need a whole helpin' o' guts to wear thet 'do. Takes more'n jes' a steady rifle hand, thet it do!" At least he didn't call her "missy" this time. Holding up his hand, palm toward me, he shouted, "Fly, toss me one of those apples. Ya'll watch a history lesson." Now that I finally had the idea, I was none too happy, but Arlene just smiled - a little, thin smile. I think she guessed what the gun' was scheming. I slapped the apple into the gunnery sergeant's paw. He casually tossed and caught it a few times, then asked Arlene: "Yuh lak historee, lil' lady?" He was laying the accent on so thick I could barely understand him. "Let me guess," she said with a thick grin. "You like William Tell." Goforth looked crestfallen that she had outguessed him, stealing some wind from his sails. But if verbal teasing wouldn't do the job, he was more than ready to push this thing on to the real thing. I could see it in his face; there was no humor left. When I had first joined Fox Company, Goforth went out of his way to make me feel welcome. About the worst he did was to tag me with the nickname Fly. He didn't bag on me the way he was doing to Arlene, He gestured to Dodd to bring over the artillery, and Dodd brought a .30-99 bolt-action sniper rifle, top of the line. Goforth flashed Arlene a big, soapy grin; but she held her ground. Made me wonder, not just about the gun', but the other guys, who leered and chuckled unpleasantly. Plenty of men are solid guys, decent fathers and husbands, but revert to Wolfman when confronted by physical prowess in a woman. As Goforth lived up to his name and went forward with the William Tell bit, I was getting panicky ... but I kept it to myself. She was going to play this one out to the bitter end. I figured that from the way she planted her feet, put her arms behind her and said, "Go for it!" Abruptly, everybody stopped laughing. Gunny Goforth noticed but wasn't about to back down with eight, I'm sure it was, eight guys watching. With an almost delicate concern, he carefully placed the apple on her head. Then he took the .30-99 and slowly backed away from her. He aimed just as carefully and said, in a voice that had lost all the sarcasm, "Last chance, honey." I thought "honey" sounded better than "missy." Arlene didn't move, but I could see that she was trembling ever so slightly beneath her bravado. I sure as hell didn't blame her. Goforth took a deep breath and said, "All right, darlin'... I suggest in the strongest terms thet you don't flinch none." I was the one who jumped when he squeezed off a shot - and damned if the apple didn't split perfectly down the middle, each half falling on either side of her head! Everybody let out his breath, and a ragged cheer erupted. "Way to go, Gunny!" said one man. "Fox Company ichiban!" said another. We'd forgotten one item. We'd forgotten that Arlene had put her skull on the line. The drama wasn't over until she said it was. As Goforth basked in his moment of glory, the boys all praising him, Arlene walked toward him. Her hands were behind her back and she was smiling sweetly. I saw what she was carrying before the gun' did. She held an apple up until he saw it; then she tossed it to him. Silence again; nobody moved. Then just as smoothly as you please, Arlene Sanders picked up the .30-99 from the table, staring expectantly at Goforth and cocking one of her eyebrows. I never doubted what Goforth would do. His basic sense of fair play could be counted on; and he had guts. He wasn't about to lose his men's respect. Not Goforth! So, in the words of the old-time baseball player, it was deja vu all over again. He put the apple on his head, his icy eyes boring into Arlene's. She watched him just as intently; no lovers were ever more focused on one another. She cocked and raised the rifle, which wasn't even fitted with a scope, just iron sights. A few of the men backed farther away from the cone of fire surrounding the gunnery sergeant. That pissed me off, so I deliberately took a few steps closer to the duel. Something about this girl inspired confidence that she was no more likely to blow away a spectator than the gunnery sergeant. Goforth had his own concerns: "If you have to miss," he said so softly that it didn't even sound like him, "please tuh make it high?" He smiled with an effort. The request seemed reasonable enough. Arlene said nothing. She lifted the rifle nice and slow. She didn't make us wait; she pounded out a shot, and the apple was blown off Goforth's head. Corporal Stout ran over and picked it up. It was still mostly in one piece, but there was a gratifying furrow a little high off the center. After a long moment, during which no one said a word, Goforth walked up to Arlene Sanders. Putting hands on his hips, he made a big show of inspecting her high-and-tight, while we all held our breath. Goforth bent down, examined her right side, left side, back, front, then looked her evenly in the eye, winked and nodded. "It's you, Private," he said. And I was pretty damned sure he wouldn't be calling her "missy" again. She didn't miss, you see. Some of the boys took to calling her Will, though."-DOOM: Knee Deep in the Dead, by Dafyd ab Hugh and Brad Linaweaver
I really honestly don't kbow why but the scene where griffth throws her the sword and she defends herself makes me fuckign cry it's so amazing I love casca so much. it shows the exact reason people go to griffth he gives them the right and ability to fight for something but even still she is so righteous in taking up the sword for her own sake instead of Griffith doing it for her. I seriously love that scene more than anything in berserk because it shows such a powerful character moment for casca and it alone is why I love her so much so proud of her lol
Spoiler || it would have been interesting to see Skull Knight speak to Casca after she was restored one on one and have him know her whole story just as he knew about Guts. Then go on to give some omens as per usual.||
@@lucifer5788 I'm four years late, but Kentaro Miura once said that Pippin is supposed to be based on himself, the closest to a Japanese representative. Though Vice-Commander Azan also has some Japanese elements to his character, namely his armor have a samurai design.
"Instead of waiting and enduring, I now fought for what I wanted." -- Casca
This quote will stay with me for the rest of my life.
It kind of Ironic how Griffith saved Casca from being forced upon only for him to do it to her in the final episode and the ending point of the story act
Feels kinda like Griffith meant to say "I'm the one whose gave you this new life, and just as easily, I'll take it away from you."
A "Game of Thrones"-fan would call that "bad writing" and start an online petition to get the ending of the Golden Age-arc changed.
@@ShadowPa1adin to be starting a petition comes off as childish instead of talking about your problems with someone intead of making a petition to get someone to changed or banned someone from doing something
Somehow i feel like she would be okay to do it with Griffith since she actually loved him
Le noble prince Casca lost her sanity when Griffith r*** her. I don't think Casca enjoyed what Griffith did to her. Griffith betrayed her trust....
you ever read beserk and wonder how hard life must've been for people in those times? this anime/manga has made me rekindle my love for anime
Well, as they say, fact is stranger than fiction. I imagine even the things we've seen in this series pales in comparison to real life historical events.
It's still happening
@@TheAnimeAlliance imagine an army of 100 000 of Ottoman Turks invading a small country which can rise an army of merely 20 000 (with mercenaries mind you).
Griffith is so kind for saving Casca from being assaulted… I hope he doesn’t do anything to her in the future
Corny af just making jokes for hate bait only excitement you get huh fucking clown
☠️💀
Guts was abused, Casca was molested and Griffith was very poor.
Casca desired Love, Griffith desired his dreams and Guts had no clear aim
Guts was molested too
All 3 happened to guts
Guts was poor, raped, and had his only father figure betray his trust to try to take his life. Guts is the embodiment of suffering.
guts and casca had the same first kill, guts didnt know if gambino fell on his sword or if he stabbed him
Guts had killed before
I can’t believe I never realized this
Guts killed Donovan before that and it was on purpose
"Do as you wish" Even then, he had the mindset of a Godhand
Causality
So what is that mentality where they say “do whatever you want”?
*“DO YOU THINK SOMEHOW YOU’VE BEEN CHOSEN BY GOD JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE A NOBLEMEN.”*
I'm not sure if people understand. Griffith didn't save Casca. He gave her a sword to save herself. She could have still died or been raped. From there on he used her as a sword in his name.
He gave her a choice.
He told her to do as she pleases, to decide for herself. The only person he obtained by force was Guts.
He didn’t give her a choice. That’s the point.
@@whycaninotfindagood I mean. He did give her a choice. And in truth she didn't need to follow him. Shit man I'd just have killed the guy and saved Casca
1:40 I find it a little funny that young Casca's mouth and nose combined accounts for about as much surface of her face as one of her irises. Manga and anime are really the only mediums where this can be passed off as normal.
Great writing, fantastic strory, one of the bet anime/ manga ever.
Most beautiful fictional female charachter
Casca is my favorite female character ever
Shes awesome, a strong woman who can hold her own in battle, doesnt take any bullshit from anyone, got a backstory that totally tells us how she became the way she is now and it fits, also shes super hot
@@PatZalatoris Here's my 2nd fav:
The new corridor seemed antiseptic and clean after what I'd just stepped in. If there were unpleasant odors, they didn't penetrate my visor.
I followed the corridor until I came to a room on the right. Something made me hesitate about going in. It wasn't a sense of danger or anything like that. Maybe it was because the door was closed. Mostly they'd been open. I don't normally credit sixth sense stuff or mysticism; but I've learned in combat that you ignore your instincts at your peril. There are human "predator senses" that normal, civilized life pretty much breeds out of us. I had my weapon at the ready, even though just two shots from the Sig-Cow would be nothing but a fancy spear.
Kicking the door was easy; looking into the room was hard. There was one lone body on the floor, female, her back to me.
For a cold-gut second, I thought she might be Arlene. The impression lasted only a few seconds; then I saw it was Tij "Dude" Dardier. We'd fought together pretty closely in Kefiristan, and you get so you recognize a buddy from behind, especially females in a crack fighting unit. Her face was unmarked, still cute, still a little girl with red hair who had a big surprise for any man who thought she was easy pickings. I wondered if a monster or zombie had gotten her. The ugly wound was in her stomach. There was something funny about her posture; she lay as if she had a secret.
I stared for a moment, coaxing her dead body to talk to me. Then I figured it out: Dudette was lying on top of something, shielding it from dry zombie eyes. I touched her gently, then gingerly slipped over her corpse. Dude Dardier was lying on top of the pump-action riot gun I'd been wishing for earlier; her death-day present for Yours Truly. I felt like a ghoul, but feelings were a luxury. With a shotgun in my arsenal, my survival rating took a big leap up the charts. I checked the bore and found no obstructions. There were plenty of shells in the bandoleer around her body. I thanked Dudette for being a Marine to the end... Semper fi, Mac.
Back in the corridor, I found remains of a map on the wall. The Bad Guys evidently followed a plan, proven by destroyed radio gear and vandalized wall maps. But this time there was just enough left of the map to figure out the basic direction toward the lift, which I prayed was still working. Being properly armed did wonders for my psychology; I decided maybe I would do well to generate a tactical plan. There is no north or south on Phobos, but I oriented myself along the facility's major axis. Getting to the nuclear plant was the next logical move; it had the largest concentration of equipment... and perhaps even an untrained engineer like me could jerry-rig some gear into a working radio.
I found the lift without further molestation; naturally, it was broken, shot to hell - the hydraulics leaked away from numerous gunshot holes. But the manual escape hatch still worked. Placing myself back into a narrow, confined space was about as appealing as it sounded, and my damned imagination started bugging me again at precisely the moment duty called. My imagination was not very patriotic; it needed six weeks of boot camp. There was a dim light in the shaft, very, very dim. Every square foot of the base was supposed to be constantly lit, bright as day, except for the barracks. Someone in charge must have been mugged by a flash- light when he was a kid and wanted nothing more to do with them. Maybe I shouldn't have complained; light was light.
As I climbed down the long shaft, it occurred to me to think about something cheerful, a silver lining that must exist somewhere in these storm clouds. There had to be something. And there was. I hadn't found Arlene's body yet... and so long as I didn't know what had happened to her, there was hope. I figured the nuclear plant must be at least six stories down. Just keep climbing, that was all I could do. Climb. Hope. Watch out for demons. Real simple. I preferred thinking about Arlene.
I remembered the day she showed up from Paris Island and joined the real Corps, the fighting Corps. I looked up from monkeying with the sticky belt-advance on a .60 caliber auto-stabilized, and I saw a brutal babe in cammies, spats, webbing, and sporting a newly shaved high-and-tight. Catching her eye told me all I had to know. She knew what she was doing, all right. The Corps is protective of its haircut, flat on the top and shaved on the sides. We're talking a sign of distinction, a challenge thrown at every other service. God help the Navy, Army, or Space Force puke who shows up on one of our bases in a high-and-tight! What happens afterward is why God made Captain's Mast. But Arlene was no innocent. She wore her cut high and proud, and wore a single, red, private's stripe.
Lieutenant Weems (pre-punch) took one look at Arlene Sanders, a long, hard look, and curled his lip. He watched her hand her packet to PFC Dodd, who stared at her like she had two heads. So far as I know, that was the first time they ever met, they who were destined for ... well, not love, exactly; extreme lustlike. (After about a year of ignoring him with all her might, then another six months of despising him, she shamefacedly confessed to me that she'd spent the night in his flat.) All in all, not the best-foot-forward on this first day for the first woman in Fox Company.
@@PatZalatoris Part 2 - Of course, the opinion of Lieutenant Weems was already a debased currency by this time. But the opinion of the other men mattered. And no one could express that company opinion with more eloquence than Gunnery Sergeant Goforth, the company's "grand old man." Hell, he was in his late thirties, an eighteen-year Marine, the last ten in Light Drop. Goforth looked like Aldo Ray in those old John Wayne movies. He was heavyset, muscular but not fat; he shaved his head but would probably be bald anyway. Goforth was a Franks tank with legs, a few freckles mixed in along with the Rolled Homogenous Armor. The gunny made a big deal of sauntering over to Arlene and let loose with his thick, Georgian drawl: "Hooo-eeee! Where'ud the lay-dee get thuh purty "do?"
She looked him in the eye. That was all. Not a bad answer, really, but I thought that under the circumstances a few words of reason might be in order.
I volunteered myself for the task. Partly because I liked a woman with guts; partly because I respected the men in the Corps-and felt their position could be expressed in a more thoughtful manner than Gunny Goforth was likely to manage. But mainly I spoke up because at some deep level I hate all rules, symbols, rituals, fighting words, gang colors, routines, decorations, medals, trophies, badges... and anything else that suggests one human being is to be taken more seriously than another in a given situation simply on the basis of plumage. Besides, I was making no headway with the damned .60 cal.
I was sitting on the mess hall table and felt very much above it all as I said, "Private, a high-and-tight is not a fashion statement. You gotta earn it." That seemed a nice ice breaker. She must have agreed because she spoke to me, not Goforth. "I'm as much a Marine as the next man," she said, glancing at me before returning her steady attention back to the gunny. The first retort that crossed my mind was to take a big bite of the red apple that happened to be in my hand. The longer it took to chew and swallow the piece of apple, the more profound would be my clever rejoinder, it seemed to me.
So I did. And Goforth took a step closer to Arlene, deliberately breaking her space. Arlene stood her ground, not budging an inch. In between bites of the apple, I thought I would essay another arbitration. "You know," I essayed, "a high-and-tight is not mil-spec for ladies." "It's not regulation for men, either," she shot back. There was no arguing with that, but there was plenty of apple left to crunch. Gunny Goforth didn't have an apple.
"Any Muh-reen who wears thet 'do," he said, "sure as hell is gonna earn it, missy." I thought the "missy" was a bit much. Arlene Sanders leaned forward into his space, close enough to either kiss him or bite off his round knob of a nose. Instead, she said two words: "You're on." Goforth was just as stubborn. He was native to Georgia but might as well have been from Missouri when it came to matters of proof.
"Every Muh-reen is a rifleman fust," he said. "If'n you want to spoht thet thang, missy, then you had best pick up yer cute lil' buns and follow me tuh the rifle range." She gave him a curt nod. Challenge accepted. They started to leave, then Goforth noticed my juicy, red apple, which had tasted much better than the discussion, far as I was concerned. "Hey, Fly," he said, "howzabout grabbin' thet sack o' apples?" As I hoisted the apples and made tracks, I could honestly say that I didn't have a clue what old Goforth was up to.
The range was a short walk. Every man who had been present for the exchange of words followed along. No one wanted to miss entertainment of this high a caliber, no pun intended. Goforth walked on over to Arlene and said, "Private, you need a whole helpin' o' guts to wear thet 'do. Takes more'n jes' a steady rifle hand, thet it do!" At least he didn't call her "missy" this time.
Holding up his hand, palm toward me, he shouted, "Fly, toss me one of those apples. Ya'll watch a history lesson." Now that I finally had the idea, I was none too happy, but Arlene just smiled - a little, thin smile. I think she guessed what the gun' was scheming. I slapped the apple into the gunnery sergeant's paw. He casually tossed and caught it a few times, then asked Arlene: "Yuh lak historee, lil' lady?" He was laying the accent on so thick I could barely understand him.
"Let me guess," she said with a thick grin. "You like William Tell." Goforth looked crestfallen that she had outguessed him, stealing some wind from his sails. But if verbal teasing wouldn't do the job, he was more than ready to push this thing on to the real thing. I could see it in his face; there was no humor left. When I had first joined Fox Company, Goforth went out of his way to make me feel welcome. About the worst he did was to tag me with the nickname Fly. He didn't bag on me the way he was doing to Arlene, He gestured to Dodd to bring over the artillery, and Dodd brought a .30-99 bolt-action sniper rifle, top of the line. Goforth flashed Arlene a big, soapy grin; but she held her ground. Made me wonder, not just about the gun', but the other guys, who leered
and chuckled unpleasantly. Plenty of men are solid guys, decent fathers and husbands, but revert to Wolfman when confronted by physical prowess in a woman.
As Goforth lived up to his name and went forward with the William Tell bit, I was getting panicky ... but I kept it to myself. She was going to play this one out to the bitter end. I figured that from the way she planted her feet, put her arms behind her and said, "Go for it!" Abruptly, everybody stopped laughing. Gunny Goforth noticed but wasn't about to back down with eight, I'm sure it was, eight guys watching. With an almost delicate concern, he carefully placed the apple on her head. Then he took the .30-99 and slowly backed away from her. He aimed just as carefully and said, in a voice that had lost all the sarcasm, "Last chance, honey." I thought "honey" sounded better than "missy."
Arlene didn't move, but I could see that she was trembling ever so slightly beneath her bravado. I sure as hell didn't blame her. Goforth took a deep breath and said, "All right, darlin'... I suggest in the strongest terms thet you don't flinch none." I was the one who jumped when he squeezed off a shot - and damned if the apple didn't split perfectly down the middle, each half falling on either side of her head! Everybody let out his breath, and a ragged cheer erupted. "Way to go, Gunny!" said one man. "Fox Company ichiban!" said another.
We'd forgotten one item. We'd forgotten that Arlene had put her skull on the line. The drama wasn't over until she said it was. As Goforth basked in his moment of glory, the boys all praising him, Arlene walked toward him. Her hands were behind her back and she was smiling sweetly. I saw what she was carrying before the gun' did. She held an apple up until he saw it; then she tossed it to him. Silence again; nobody moved. Then just as smoothly as you please, Arlene Sanders picked up the .30-99 from the table, staring expectantly at Goforth and cocking one of her eyebrows. I never doubted what Goforth would do. His basic sense of fair play could be counted on; and he had guts. He wasn't about to lose his men's respect. Not Goforth! So, in the words of the old-time baseball player, it was deja vu all over again.
He put the apple on his head, his icy eyes boring into Arlene's. She watched him just as intently; no lovers were ever more focused on one another. She cocked and raised the rifle, which wasn't even fitted with a scope, just iron sights. A few of the men backed farther away from the cone of fire surrounding the gunnery sergeant. That pissed me off, so I deliberately took a few steps closer to the duel. Something about this girl inspired confidence that she was no more likely to blow away a spectator than the gunnery sergeant.
Goforth had his own concerns: "If you have to miss," he said so softly that it didn't even sound like him, "please tuh make it high?" He smiled with an effort. The request seemed reasonable enough. Arlene said nothing. She lifted the rifle nice and slow. She didn't make us wait; she pounded out a shot, and the apple was blown off Goforth's head. Corporal Stout ran over and picked it up. It was still mostly in one piece, but there was a gratifying furrow a little high off the center. After a long moment, during which no one said a word, Goforth walked up to Arlene Sanders. Putting hands on his hips, he made a big show of inspecting her high-and-tight, while we all held our breath. Goforth bent down, examined her right side, left side, back, front, then looked her evenly in the eye, winked and nodded. "It's you, Private," he said. And I was pretty damned sure he wouldn't be calling her "missy" again. She didn't miss, you see.
Some of the boys took to calling her Will, though."-DOOM: Knee Deep in the Dead, by Dafyd ab Hugh and Brad Linaweaver
@@justsomeguy3931 ?
@@prettysick9070 What was unclear? Arlene from the 1st DOOM book is my 2nd favorite female character. That's my favorite chapter from a book, ever
Either way, it was self-defense, honey.
"you must choose which path to take, now that you know what it means to fight"
Casca best girl
Prefer the dub over the japanese, it makes more sense considering it's an european ambient.
What I liked about Carrie Keranen voice for Casca as she founds like the headstrong and bad ass chick I would see in some of her work
Just like FMA. FMA and Berserk are two of the anime I prefer seeing in English dub.
Fair enough.
Me too, but american accent and the girl's voice doesn't really fit imo
@@chmonyaaa Tell that to whoever cast them.
I came here to catch a glimpse of my man judeau
what’s the timecode
I really honestly don't kbow why but the scene where griffth throws her the sword and she defends herself makes me fuckign cry it's so amazing I love casca so much. it shows the exact reason people go to griffth he gives them the right and ability to fight for something but even still she is so righteous in taking up the sword for her own sake instead of Griffith doing it for her. I seriously love that scene more than anything in berserk because it shows such a powerful character moment for casca and it alone is why I love her so much so proud of her lol
Griffith is so grandiose & pompous, no different than the Nobles he chastises. And in the end, no less corrupt.
Did you hear the news?
@@Ape8658 He is risen
Causality
Song is In Anno Domini by Francesco Tamponi
little Casca is so damn adorable, how someone could harm her?
Spoiler || it would have been interesting to see Skull Knight speak to Casca after she was restored one on one and have him know her whole story just as he knew about Guts. Then go on to give some omens as per usual.||
How many people got AOT Mikasa flash backs from this.
Isayama is a huge Berserk fan so...
He even claimed that Mikasa was inspired by Casca
@@hallo4651 thank you for that info
Bruh see shiva and the rumpling
What are the chances that Casca is Kushan, even further, being related to Bakakira Clan????
Unlikely. The Bakiraka kept to themselves when they were on exile. It's possible that she's of mixed Kushan descent, though.
Thats what i thought of pipin
I thought maybe she was of gypsy descent
Her mom looked white - prob mixed
@@lucifer5788 I'm four years late, but Kentaro Miura once said that Pippin is supposed to be based on himself, the closest to a Japanese representative. Though Vice-Commander Azan also has some Japanese elements to his character, namely his armor have a samurai design.
FIGHT!
THE ONLY WAY TO WIN IS TO FIGHT!!!
The song that plays during the first part of the flashback isn’t on the OST :(
ruclips.net/video/8vOhx0NTkh0/видео.html
@@hyperbolicechochamber THANK YOU!
awesome thanks
with the la duchesse sword i could slay the god hand with it
anyone know where i can find the song at the start?
ruclips.net/video/8vOhx0NTkh0/видео.html
@@hyperbolicechochamber thank you so much omg
This is literally Griffiths theme just look up "Griffiths theme" on RUclips it's the same theme.
@@aithanleeom5152 interesting... i dont remember it playing anywhere else
what episode is this?????
add in description
Episode 12 in the 97 series.
Poor casca
Anyone know the name of the track?
ruclips.net/video/wEvtnqh5OsE/видео.html "Behelit" its the first track of the ost
ruclips.net/video/8vOhx0NTkh0/видео.html
@@hyperbolicechochamber Thanks
The name is Causality
How can one watch this dubbed?
Casca a truly GODLY written Strong Woman. It's so funny how a Japanese guy can make a strong woman given the treatment that girls in Japan get.
How old was casca back then
12
She was the age of Causality
What is the épisode
Episode 12
bubbles if she was a black voice actor
OH MY GOD SO HORRIBLE ITS ALL 2D! >:^[ wow those slow moving still frames!!! lol i am kidding actually this is also good even despite its faults.
Please tell me you dont like cgi lol
@@ghrey8557 cgi is only good if its avengers not berserk
So....is Casca black or nah?
If I had my guess, she might be Kushan. She looks the part in quite a few manga panels.
Seems to me that she's black. I always saw her that way.
All charachters are japanese btw she didn't look like kushan
@@griffithfgotaku2461 Berserk is based on medical Europe tho, and the Kushans are clearly meant to be Indian.
She is a peasant, and peasants were usually strongly tanned because of work in the fields
2:08 your welcome
Get some help
What the..
Gross
Shut up creep
She's 12 here you sick fuck