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Caion's Room, at the 36th

#saint #caion
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Caion, the Emissary

retreated to his room after some more time spent in the common area with the others, munching and chatting and teaching gnosis identification techniques; he’s been itching to do some work on the tomestones he liberated from whatever storeroom they’d been trapped in for who knows how long. At some point, there was a horrible sound, and a loud yelp from Caion followed by a harried “I’M FINE” and some loud grumbling.

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

has done a lot of work to accept her nosy nature, so when she hears “I’M FINE” she decides to check, just in case. She knocks on the door. She has something she wants to give him anyway.

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Caion, the Emissary

: “Hallo.” He sounds tenacious, more than dispirited, but there’s at least a little dispirited, in there. “Come on in, door’s unlocked.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

opens the door and comes in.

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Caion, the Emissary

is at his workdesk. There is a piece of some kind of shiny black rock firmly embedded in the coral behind the desk; the desk itself’s surface and the protective shield between the surface and Caion both look suspiciously shiny and brand-new. He turns around, and sees Salme, and perks up a little bit. “Hi! See, still alive.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

: “I’m very glad to hear that,” she says, genuinely, not … she’s not going to ask, even though she is desperately curious. “I—have something for you. That I wanted to give to you. Moreso after talking earlier.”

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Caion, the Emissary

catches something out of the corner of his eye, briefly turns back around, and -notices- the rock stuck in the wall, and growls ‘fuck’ under his breath, because the Almachadtans have been a terrible influence, and just- pushes his chair away from his desk and physically shifts it so he’s looking at Salme with his undivided attention. “Any gift from you is a gift I’d truly cherish, Salme.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

laughs at his use of ‘fuck’ and then feels a bit chagrined for being a terrible influence.

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

: “Well. Close your eyes and hold out your hands then,” she says, feeling a little silly.

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Caion, the Emissary

smiles, absolutely cannot help it, and would not even if he could, and closes his eyes and holds out his hands. You get the distinct sense, as you sometimes do, that if he had a tail it would be thudding riotously against whatever available surface.

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

sets something small and round in his palms. It is not heavy with gnosis, but it is not absent it either. “Okay. Open them.”

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Caion, the Emissary

opens his eyes, and looks, having resisting the urge to feel with his gnosis-sense any more than what he passively can’t help but do. That’s what his eyes are for!

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

It is an embroidery hoop, but instead of wood the frame is made out of abalone. The fabric stretched across it is sheer but strong; the kind of gnosis-worked tulle she’s only ever found on Samudra. Embroidered in the center of the hoop is an eye, gleaming, gazing patiently, and surrounded by iridescent streamers. The iridescence does not come from any gnosis-work; it is purely a trick of layered embroidery thread, each individual streamer blending in to the other. Around the edges swim thirteen noöplankton, their long streamers tangling together and forming an almost vining border. The core of each noöplankton is represented by a tiny glass bead. ⁂

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

: “The center embroidery is my memory of when I reached out to the Polite Visitor,” she tells him. “You can view it at any time. And each bead is my voice relating each individual message the noöplankton said to me. I used my knowledge of when I created a fiend for recording my voice, plus my work with the Samudran crystals.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

: “I wanted you to have this for times of doubt or loneliness. To know you weren’t alone, and that I saw and loved the Visitors as well.” She gives him a little smile. “Because you’re my friend. And I love you.” 🙧

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Caion, the Emissary

blinks, repeatedly- eyes gleaming, a little, as he blinks. He holds it up so the light hits it different, tilting it to one side and then the other, enraptured. He carefully reaches out and touches one of the beads, and somehow he’s grinning even harder, then, and he hugs the entire thing, suddenly- gets up out of the chair, and hugs Salme, suddenly. He’s definitely crying. “Oh, Salme. Oh, this is. This is beautiful. Thank you. (I love you, too.)”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

hugs him back, grinning. “You’re so welcome. And all the thread is from Almachadta, so you have some of my home with you wherever you go.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

pauses a moment and then adds. “Also. Thank you for loving my bluejay and my golden fox. I know they can be difficult and strange. I think you too know what it’s like to see someone not understand someone brilliant whom you love, and how badly you want to want to close that gap in understanding.”

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Caion, the Emissary

takes a moment to press his fingertips against the thread, when she says that, and listens, and- hugs her again for good measure. “Salme, my dear friend. If you will accept my thanks for reaching out to Archie, who can also be difficult and strange– for loving my WORLD, which is difficult and strange– then I will accept that thanks. The things that we love are difficult and strange, and we love them not just despite that difficulty and strangeness, I think. I do understand that, and I’m so glad I’ve had the chance to get to know all of you.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

: “I will accept it, but I care for Archie very much so reaching out was something I wanted to do. I was jealous at first, you know? That you had each other. I’d always wanted something like that back on Almachadta. I was even almost betrayed, that Archie was so well-loved, when I had thought he was lonely and singular like the rest of us. But I was being unkind and I was wrong. Not that I want anyone to be lonely, but … he is like the rest of us. You both are. And I’m so grateful you at least always had each other.” She smiles at him, and there’s something in her expression that’s always been there, but now it almost blazes forth from her, certain and sure. “I’m difficult and strange too. I love things like me—that don’t quite fit, that are slightly at the wrong angle—more than I love things that are straightforward and easy. So. Thanks. For also teaching me to love Samudra.”

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Caion, the Emissary

: “Difficult and strange, and yes, I love you as well.” He reflects back some of that expression; he looks light. “And I care for your companions, not simply because you kept and keep Archie well, not simply because you yourself do. They’re… brilliant. There’s so much I can learn from all of them, and I want to, and… it’s been. An absolute pleasure, Salme. There are things about this world that I’ve seen suddenly through fresh eyes and a refreshed love.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

: “Everything does feel possible right now, doesn’t it?”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

squares her shoulders. “And it is. But I am going to keep myself firmly rooted as well. Because I’ve chosen to love people who walk among the stars as easily as breathing. And that is a thing I can do. I can look at the complex myriad of truths, wholly and lovingly, and see them for what they are. And I can stand strong and not let them tear me apart. I am trying to treat myself less as tool.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

: “So. Let’s keep moving forward.” And she looks at the tomestone lodged in the walls. “Though. I should probably let you go. If I distract you any more Aurelius might actually kill me.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

🙧

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Caion, the Emissary

looks… relieved? Relieved is wrong. It’s more than just ‘happy’, though. Proud? There’s some pride there, for sure. And then he laughs. “Honestly, I- I needed this, I was about to get frustrated. I know I’m on the right track, though, and I can’t wait to show you all what I’ve been working on. Thank you, Salme. For everything.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

: “You’re welcome. And I really am looking forward to it. Plus, you owe me boy-talk at some point once you’ve accomplished your task. Wolf is a wonderful confidant, but,” she actually giggles and blushes a little, “there’s a joy in just being. Stupidly smitten about someone, you know?”

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Caion, the Emissary

grins, and giggles a little, too. “I’ll be looking forward to that as well. (And there’s a good chance I’ll be in need of another distraction sooner than that, honestly. I can’t stay nose to the grindstone for -too- long, as much as I wish I could. Never was able to like Archie could, but I’ve made it work for me.)”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

: “Well,” she makes a flourishing curtsy, “the Sword-Saint of Almachadta is at your service.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

turns to go, and pauses. “One last thing, actually. If. I wanted to ask someone about Tasna—not what happened to her, but who she is, what she was like … is there someone I could speak to without calling up too much sadness?”

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Caion, the Emissary

looks thoughtful. “Honestly? Solei themself wouldn’t be a bad idea. Tasna was their teacher and mentor, and at this point their eidesis about her is as strong as anyone’s. They’d enjoy the chance, I think. Ksenija, if you get the opportunity to speak with her again - they weren’t particularly close, and - Ksenija left the Academy under Tasna’s watch, but they never held it against each other in any way, and respected each other greatly.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

nods. “Would you be able to—at your leisure, of course—arrange a meeting with Solei with me? I’m curious about. Well. Tasna’s story is written all over the Rite, especially my Aspect. It’s more idle curiosity than anything else but,” she shrugs, “it might be nice for Solei too. To let their mentor live again in retelling her story.”

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Caion, the Emissary

nods a bit. “They -can- be rather difficult to get ahold of, and they’re probably busy right now… trying to secure support for another Northlands Expedition, but I’m sure they’d be able to spare the time if I put in a word, and– yeah. I think it would be good for them to tell her story.” He tilts his head to the side. “But, wait, written all over the Rite? How do you mean?”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

: “Oh. If you—okay, so Aury’s the one who’s really good at it, but there’s a way at … looking at a specific Rite? And each one has a story, or some sort of comment, or something, and if you focus hard enough you can get a sense of that story—the words and the image that accompanies it. For instance.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

calls up a bit of burning gnosis—just a bit—and dramatically flicks two illusory swords downward and angled out, echoing the imagery of [Big Damn Hero]. “And the story is that ‘nobody treated Tasna like a stranger anymore, after that,’” she says. “Did. Can you see it?” 🙧

  • Caion, the Emissary invoked their 🌌liminal gnosis [d6] -> 5.
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Caion, the Emissary

softly mutters, “(What the fuck?)” He scrunches up his face- and then forces himself to relax, and breathe in, and breathe out, and then he opens his eyes. “Wow. How did I never…”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

: “I have no fucking clue either,” she says, shrugging. “Again, Aury’s trick. I’m just a good copycat. But if you start looking, you’ll see her everywhere. Some of the others, but her especially.”

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Caion, the Emissary

: “Wow, she really -is- everywhere here– we’re both Breath wielders, then, that surprises me not at all.” A soft, amazed chuckle. “That’s… okay. I’m going to put that one on the shelf along with what ELSE has just been there this whole time waiting for me to notice it, I have work to get done.”

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Caion, the Emissary

: “But thank you for that revelation, too.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

: “You’re welcome,” she says, laughing. “And good job on the eidesis. I’ll catch you later.”

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Salme, The Sword-Saint

slips out the door, shutting it behind her and letting him get to work.

ꙮ After a moment, there’s another loud grumble and a sound that can only be a chunk of busted tomestone being wrenched out of a wall with the power of gnosis. A quick coral patch later, and it’s time to get back to work.