Scene Archives

crawls through the dirt and dense branches, fire licking at her heels. He is gone and he is gone and she is too late. The cave-that-isn’t-a-cave yawns before her, but when she goes to step inside the thick root-walls press against her, scrape her ribs, and she can see the far wall of the shrine, the place where the Mask is supposed to rest, but the root-walls press in on her chest and back and vines are tangled around her arms she cannot throw the Mask and dirt is raining down on her but not enough to bank the fire and she is too late and he is gone and he is gone and she is—

wakes. Not with a start. Just with a small inhale of breath. She does not move and she does not breathe for a long moment before she realizes she is in bed and there is no fire here, just Aurelius next to her, the heat of his body, and Awoken’s hand curled around her—wait.

turns over, slowly, so as to not disturb Aurelius, and her bluejay isn’t there. She’s grown so used to the way he always has his hand curled possessively around her thigh that she imagined—But he isn’t there.

sits up.

blinks a bit sleepily at that tableau. It is sort of a dashing pose, she guesses? She looks back to Aurelius, and presses a quick kiss into his forehead, and then eels her way carefully across the bed and stands up.

taps her nail against Awoken’s statue-jaw.

is kneeling in front of the Library’s table, poring over some of the scattered papers. He’s mumbling to himself, holding the papers steady with one hand, his other hand rolling a small, tenebrous orb along, small sheets of metal. The metals have different resonant properties- different notes, as he’s rolling it along their edges. Low, high, high, low…

enters the library a little trepidatiously. Though she only sleeps in her underwear, she’s wearing an oversized shirt—probably about the size Aurelius would wear, if he ever deigned to wear a shirt—that’s dyed a familiar azure. Her legs and feet are bare and her hair is completely undone. “Do you know it’s the middle of the night?”

: “Whup-!” His fingers jump, and the orb launches off of the table with a slight musical trill and it bounces to the ground and rolls under one of the couches. There’s a shuffling of papers as he turns, leaning onto his elbow. He brightens with a smile, though his slightly lidded eyes reveal a tiredness, and the pupils are slow to react as well as he adjusts from close up focus to Salme-distance focus.

: “Oh- nah, can’t be that late, I haven’t been in here long.”

stares at him in vague disbelief and she goes over to prod one of the orbs with her foot. “What time is it?” she asks, tilting her head up to ask the Narrator-in-Particular.

blinks a bit at the question, and it then strikes him that her hair is down.

: “Okay maybe I’ve been in here for a lil’ bit.”

picks up the orb. Does it purr?

pets the orb like it’s a cat anyway, and goes over to the Awoken. “Why are you up so late? And losing track of time? And doing … whatever you’re doing?”

: “Reading!” He slaps a hand on the assembled papers. “Crafting!” He taps on the metals. “Scheming!”

hops up to sit on the table—assuming there’s space.

quickly flicks an arm and sends the metals flying- they noisily clatter to the ground. There’s ample space, now.

: “I’m planning a heist, and I’m putting together a team.”

: “Yeah?” she says, drawing one leg up to her chest and pulling the orb closer. “What are you planning on stealing?”

: “A Polite Visitor. You in?”

flicks a grateful gaze up to the Narrator-in-Particular before settling her chin on the orb. “Seems kinda like it might violate their autonomy,” she says, though she doesn’t say no.

leans forward again, twisting a finger on the top of the table. “Ahh, but therein lies the beauty of the plan. Should all go as expected, they will happily swim into my loving arms.”

: “I’ll be stealing– their heart!”

then grips at his face with his other hand, evoking a mask, eyes peeking through fanned fingers.

laughs a little, and pets the purring gnosis-orb. “To what end? And how?”

: “‘To what end,’” he huffs, slightly incredulous at the question. “Why do the salt-seasoned Irós seek the edge of the map? Why does the ram scale impossibly-angled heights? Why does the baker seek the storytime-dreamt loaf?”

: “Oh. Well. To know. To see. Possibly because they’re very excited about bread? But yes, that makes sense.”

: “There’s more to the thought-baited beings than most believe, and nearly all know. Theoretically speaking.”

: “And so… I’ve an idea to turn theory into law.”

: “Still, best to have some sort of lonely sandbar to stand upon before wildly pitching a lure into the vast sea. That’s what all these are about-“ He gestures to the densely-written papers.

: “And what are they about?” She looks at the papers, but doesn’t even begin to attempt to decipher any of them.

: “These are most, if not all, written knowledge, theory, and observation regarding the Polite Visitors, such as they are understood by the Academy. Caion helped with their…” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “…acquisition.”

: “(I mean… he probably didn’t steal them, but also, I didn’t ask.)”

laughs a little, clutching the purring gnosis ball to her chest. “I’m surprised there’s so much scholarship considering how everyone seems to be terrified of them.”

: “He’s authored or co-authored a fair amount of these. They pretty much are unsaid topic verboten amongst those with anything less than stellar eidesis, or so I gather. It didn’t take much convincing to ask him to share.”

: “(…am I using eidesis correctly? Whatever-)”

: “(from context clues that’s about right, I think?)”

: “And so you’re researching them in the Samudran sense, and plotting in the Awoken sense, and planning to draw one in to know them? Sure, I’ll help with that in whatever way I can.”

claps and rubs his hands together. “Excellent! This too, is walking the strange paths.”

: “Next, we divine the how.”

: “You seem to have … some plan?” she looks around the room, frowning. “Where did you get all the metal?”

“Various workshops. Though much of the Academy is a coral-based construction, metal is still obtainable through very heavy application of gnosis. It’s a whole complicated series of set-ups and crafting chains, easily requires multiple disciples of the hand for anything workable. It’s on the Whisker-Clan’s tab.” He winks.

laughs again and draws her other leg up to her chest, burying her face in the tenebrous not-cat. “Making the tenuously possible possible, I see.”

tilts his head and blinks again, finding a second wind in Salme’s movements.

: “Are you well, sweet sparrow?” Whatever fatigue he had before is being flushed away by inquisitive concern. “I doubt the table is comfortable, but…”

: “To draw into yourself and a bit of me so tightly…”

: “Oh! I’m fine.”

pauses.

: “Well. Not fine. Had a nightmare. And you weren’t there when I woke up.”

: “But it was just a nightmare and I’ve Bubbled our room pretty well.”

isn’t convinced by ‘just a nightmare.’ He pushes himself up to a stand, takes a few steps over to the curled Salme-ball, and reaches down to pluck her from the table with a bearhug- easily, not even a grunt of effort- and moves her to one of the couches, setting both of them down gently, his arms still clasped around her.

: “Same, or similar as to the ones before?”

blinks at him. “Did you just. Move me around!?”

: “Sure did. I’m much stronger than I look.”

’s mouth is open, just a little, disbelieving, but then she closes it and shakes her head. Impossible man.

tilts his head to the side, and gives a quick, but as-quiet-as-possible, whistle.

: “And it’s the same nightmare I’ve been having.”

allows the one in Salme’s lap to stay.

clutches her orb closer when they all start to move. “Why do you think I saw the Polite Visitor truly?”

thinks for a bit, nuzzling his forehead into her hair. After a bit, without raising his head- “You see things… people… for what they are. Not as a technique or ability. But it’s what you, Salme, do with your heart.”

: “Wholly and lovingly, even should it threaten to tear you apart.”

leans her head towards him. “Do I see you for what you are? Sometimes I feel like I do and then sometimes I’m less sure.”

: “I think what you see is beautiful and brilliant. Of which, yes, I am.”

: “Your pause in certainty is your fear.”

: “What do you mean?”

: “When relating what you witnessed from the Polite Visitor we met previously, you were certain that you saw what you saw. But you did not understand what you saw, or why you saw it.”

: “I understood I saw something that didn’t need to be met with fear. I don’t—should I have understood more than that?”

: “Regarding the Visitor, It’s more about what you don’t know. You don’t know why they’re like that. But regarding me, there’s a bunch of questions you, and myself, and Aury, threw up into the air and attempted to read the winds and ultimately went- whatever!”

: “I’m sorry, Professor-Awoken. I’m afraid I can’t follow what you’re trying to tell me.”

: “Could you rephrase a little more simply for a hapless student?”

: “(It’s cute when you did it earlier, too.)” He pulls his face from her hair to give her a quick kiss on the cheek before resting his chin on her shoulder. ⁂

: “You accept me as I am, you believe my words as I speak them, you know the time signature of my heartbeat- they are Truth as I speak them, this you feel.” ⁂

: “And, you muse it possible for me to be lost to a loving sun, or possibly be something the Architect created and could banish. I mean… I made up the ‘banishing’ part just now, but there’s a familiarity between myself and the others who call Sanctuary home that is difficult to ignore. All of these could be true, but the only ones you know to be Truth, at the moment, is that- I am here, I am a light you could witness despite any shadow that would wrap around me.”

: “I believe… the unanswered questions of Truth dissonates your innate feeling of certainty.” 🙧

taps her finger against the ball of tenebrous gnosis, the same sense of his heartbeat that she heard the other day. “Anything is possible. Isn’t that the Truth? The stakes of all this?” ⁂

: “I know that you are here, right now. I know that you are a hero of this story. I know that you will do everything in your power to come back, if you must leave. I know you don’t intend to loose. I know things are different in ways that they have never been before. I don’t know if that will matter in the end. Is that what you’re alluding to?” 🙧

: “It is.”

: “And you are saying … what, Sininen?”

: “That I should be more certain?”

: “I am saying that, in the absense of a Truth, you can make your own. The universe is especially malleable to those pure of heart.”

: “If multiple Truths were to battle, I believe you- and all of us- would pour our very selves into ensuring that what we want comes to pass.”

: “I don’t disagree,” she says, slowly. “At least …” she sets the gnosis-ball down in his lap and pulls away. Stands up. Starts to pace. “I think it’s malleable to some extent. Obviously. And what I have been trying to figure out is how I might … tell the story well enough to realign it into something that I want.” ⁂

: “But,” she says, turning on her heel. “It is not useful, to me, to forget about the possibility of failure. Especially,” she closes her eyes and inhales through her nose. “Especially because there’s two halves of it. We’ll either succeed at first, and fail later, or the other way around. At least, that’s the difference between a comedy and tragedy.” ⁂

opens her eyes and they are gleaming, pale brown, almost-yellow. “You keep talking about my heart, Sininen, but I have a mind as well. And not allowing an improbability to blindside us is how I am trying to keep us safe.” ⁂

’s shoulders sag a bit and she shifts from foot to foot, wrapping her arms around herself. “I, too, am a protector in my own way,” she says quietly. 🙧

stands and moves to her, but doesn’t reach out.

: “You are.”

: “But… please… be kinder to yourself.”

draws her shoulders up around her and holds herself tighter. “What do you mean?”

: “I mean… you’re gonna give horrible knots to your shoulders if you tighten up that much.”

: “You don’t seem very happy at being a protector, right now.”

: “And you may be fine at being torn to scraps so that any of us-“ he shakes his head. “So that I could live on. And were you but a scrap, I would still carry you with me. I believe that even as a scrap, you would stay with me, as I walk into unknown darkness.”

: “But I want you to be more than that. I want you to be the fulfilled, eyes straight, steel-bared protector. And I want to hold your hand, and share in the quiet moments, the loud ones, the joyous ones, afterward.”

: “We would still know each other from the light we bring. And I will fight to ensure neither is diminshed.”

slowly raises a hand, extends it to her. Offering it to her.

slowly, slowly, lowers her arms and unknots her muscles, careful, intentional, and she reaches out to him, to take his hand. And it is like before, the second time in the Courtyard Inn, when he reached out and plucked the lyre-string of her heart, but instead she takes a breath, and for a moment every blood vessel in her body is rootlit in emerald gnosis and dappled Centrelight and she reaches out for his hand and he sees a secret thing.

: “Over and over announcing your place/in the family of things.” 🙧

grabs his hand, hard, and pulls him to her, curling her hand around the back of his neck, then no, her fingers up into his hair, kissing him, like it’s the only thing she remembers how to do, and maybe for a moment it is.

drops his hand, fists it in the back of shirt instead, and is kissing him, pushing him backwards towards the couch, and she is shaking but it isn’t with tears or terror.

lets himself be pulled- encourages it, and the same strength that effortlessly displaced her earlier is backed up all the way to the couch, and down, and both of them in.

straddles him, and pushes him back and down, and looks at him, and she says, “The thing I need you to understand is that as miserable as you think I might be, trying to find my place, I am the happiest I have ever been. I am.”

: “But.”

: “You keep insisting on me taking more. On me wanting more. Both of you.”

: “But I am here right now with you, beautiful and brilliant and mine.”

: “So okay.” And she sparks, almost unintentionally, with flourishing and burning gnosis alike. “Let’s see how much you can handle.”

doesn’t answer with words, and his eyes flash with a determined glare in the face of a challenge, as swirls of tenebrous and burning gnosis spark to life… but for how long?