Scene Archives

Outside the Ziggurat, Ember’s sitting by the lamppost, curled up around their tomestone. They keep singing fitfully at it, but the interface isn’t designed for that, so nothing’s happened. Yet, at any rate.

pauses in his walk towards Ember’s pile of faded leathers, eyes flicking upwards for a moment. His shoulders sag, just a little, and when he resumes his steps, it’s more like a steady trudge. He does manage a small smile, however, at its attempts to manipulate the tomestone. “May I sit?” he asks. His voice sounds about as cracked and worn as the leather scraps that Ember wears. Or is. He’s never quite been able to tell.

Ember very glacially, but very pointedly, shifts over somewhat less than an inch, and to get the message across a bit more clearly, slow-blinks at Wolf like a cat, encouragingly.

sits, slowly–not his usual cross-legged seat, or the refined seiza he adopts in moments of focus, but draws his knees up towards his chest, head hanging down. Hang-dog, you could say. “What a day,” he says, trying to keep his voice light, and sounding somehow worse because of it.

Ember hums something, softly. It’s meandering, but gently so; bubbly, not quite coherent yet. One could say it is not quite fit, yet, for anyone’s ears, and yet: It is making an offering of it anyways, to Wolf, in an unfinished state.

smiles, slightly, and reaches out to pat the pile, gently. “Mmm. Keep working on it, friend,” he says, then sighs. “I am sorry, I am not…very good company right now.”

Ember shifts the not-quite-an-inch closer towards Wolf, as if to say that it disagrees with that assessment, entirely. Or perhaps, that we all have rough days, sometimes, which is certainly true.

: “Some rougher than others,” Wolf says. He sits in silence for a minute or two, looking out at the void, before carefully pulling a neatly folded length of purple cloth out of one of his belt pouches, and letting it drape across his hands. He stares at it, face expressionless…then he lets his head bow, as if beneath great weight, until his hair falls across his face, obscuring it from view, as his fingers clench white-knuckled into the cloth. ⁂

makes no sound, but his shoulders shake in fitful bursts. 🙧

Ember, very softly, begins to sing something- more coherent, somehow familiar. The kind of thing you might sing back home, really. It’s not a keening lament, or anything– but it gives voice to Wolf’s silent sorrow.

sits there for a long moment–and, slowly, the shaking of his shoulders eases, and his fingers loosen on the scarf. His head lifts, eventually, just enough to expose a glimpse of red-rimmed eyes turned upwards to the blackness. “Did we…did we break them, too?” he whispers, voice turned to gravel.

Ember–

swallows hard, blinking rapidly. “Oh…Goddess Bright, thank you…” And then he buries his face in his hands and allows himself a good couple of ragged sobs.

tries to collect himself, starts to wipe his eyes, realizes he’s about to do so on Caion’s scarf, makes a sound that sounds like a wet and very chagrined yelp, then puts it more safely in his lap and starts fumbling in his belt pouches for a handkerchief. “No, I was worried about the other voice in the aether that we might have inadvertently done something horrible to…” The acerbic tone is rather undercut by the snotty wetness of it, and also how utterly miserable he sounds at the idea.

wipes his eyes, then blows his nose thoroughly before responding. “Just because I have no idea what you are doesn’t mean I wish you harm, and…” He has to take a careful moment breathing to steady himself before continuing. “…there has been quite enough broken tonight. Quite enough lost.”

looks down at the fabric pooled in his lap for a long moment…then exhales, smoothing the wrinkled and now slightly tear-soaked scarf out. “…aye. Beats the alternative, for one.” He sighs, and scrubs his face with both hands. “I pray we did not do you harm.”

blinks, then laughs, just a little. “Oh…several times.” He leans back onto his arms, uncurling a bit, a fond smile starting to tug at his lips. “One time, when I was younger, we…” He stops, mid-sentence, suddenly looking almost…frightened.

sits up, not quite…wrapping his arms around his own knees, but definitely not relaxed, either. “If I speak bluntly of my fears, will I harm you?”

takes a deep breath, then nods. “I do not doubt my own reality, for I feel–to myself at least–how I have always felt. I do not doubt the reality of those around me, for…did I not experience Silver-Throat’s self-ness as if it was my own? And it felt no different than my own, not in any way that mattered. But…” He chews on his lower lip for a long moment, gathering words. ⁂

: “I remember having a mentor, a teacher. A woman of great wisdom and kindness who guided me from arrogant youth to respected yeresh. I could tell you the color of her eyes, her hair, the sound of her voice, I remember these things, but…” There is something like horror, creeping into his voice. “Did she exist, as a…a person? Before I ‘remembered’ her? As someone who…walked and lived and…hoped, and loved, before I thought of her? Jorule said that who we are now were just…ideas, possibilities, before our ‘angel’ selves were placed in them. Am I making…” His eyes slide upwards again, his face etched with a kind of quiet terror. “…people? To serve my…my memory, my need to have a past…?”

blinks, then nods–catching himself, realizing that he’s on the cusp of losing his control. He breathes steadily, in through his nose, out through his mouth. “Of course.”

: “No.” He smiles, just a little. “Though I would not dare ask some of our company that question.”

nods, quietly, though he does think for a second before doing so–not out of doubt, but confirming his own logic. “Indeed. There are countless lives which go on every day without my awareness.” There’s a wry smile on that, but still.

: “Mmm.” He scrubs his hands over his face, clearly thinking hard. “And Jorule’s assertion that, prior to awakening in Sanctuary, none of us were really quite…real? Did not have…selves, or pasts, just…a rough sketch for something greater to inhabit?” Wolf draws in a deep, shuddering breath. “I fear that I am…shaping lives without their…consent.”

opens his mouth, blinks, shuts it again, blinks some more. “Hmm.”

: “Mmm.” It’s a very useful, if not very erudite, sound. He does unwind again, though, leaning back on his hands. “Perhaps it is…selfish. But I do not wish to be separate from these worlds. These people. I do not want to be ‘above’ them, I want them to have had existence and life and meaning before we became…whatever it is that we are. Yet, I suppose, it is that desire which most makes me mistrust my conclusions–that I am ending up there because it is comfortable, not because it is…correct.”

laughs, in spite of himself, at that imagery. Something he has seen Casid do, personally, several times.

chuckles softly, and nods…something in his shoulders finally relaxing, and it seems like he takes his first un-restricted breath in hours. “Then…hmm. Perhaps I can let my eidesis relax.” He swallows hard, and gives a wry smile. “I have been desperately trying not to remember if my mentor is alive or not, since the Serpentrione.”

laughs quietly. “You sound like her, you know. My teacher.” He lets his head fall back and his eyes close. “She would laugh at me for all of this, I’m sure. I just couldn’t bear the thought of being…responsible, in some way, for her death, were that to be what I…remembered. I feared that I would be creating a good woman only to kill her for the sake of…” Wolf trails off and shakes his head. “But I must cast out fear. She taught me that. I believe that. I must.”

looks upwards sharply at that, and shakes his head. “Never. If anything, I have thought that…your perspective must be harder, in some ways, than ours. To see, to describe, but to be constrained to that sight, without…action?” His voice is quietly sympathetic. “As much as we might feel we are stumbling around blindly in the dark, there is a reason that I feared the strain we might put on you.”

is quiet for a long moment, then. “I feel fortunate, then, to have you as a companion on our journey. For you have been wise indeed, and I have some small wisdom of my own. So I should know.” Wolf looks, for a moment, troubled. “And I fear that I owe you an apology.”

smiles a little. “I have been very well aware of your presence for quite some time now, and…I have refused to acknowledge it, a-purpose, because…” Wolf grimaces. “Because I could guess at what it meant. For us to have a companion like yourself. A Narrator. And I did not want to see that truth, and so I attempted not to see…you. Have treated you like an annoyance, in many cases.” He sighs. “It was unworthy of me, and I do deeply apologize.”

: “Thank you.” Wolf smiles slightly. “I fear it was noticing your absence that hammered home how much you have been a…continual presence on this road.” He looks down at the scarf in his lap, and sighs. “Ahh…I fear I have not felt this sorely wounded for many a season.”

: “Aye. Wise words. But I am coming to expect no less.” Wolf smiles crookedly, and carefully folds Caion’s scarf back up, tucking it back into his belt pouch. He reaches out to pat Ember, somewhere around where its head might be. If it has one. It’s hard to tell. “I had a question for this one, but…alas, I think it will have to wait. There have been enough heavy thoughts for one night.”

smiles and ducks his head, clearly touched. “Thank you, my friend. Is…is there anything better that I can call you, than…’NIP’? It seems rather rude, especially since…you are hardly ‘no one in particular.’”

: “Indeed.” Wolf levers himself to his feet with a grunt–really, did his knees always sound like that?–and bends (with another grunt) to give Ember another pat. He looks over at the Ziggurat, sighs, and squares his shoulders…at which point his stomach makes its emptiness loudly known. “Hm. Food first, I suppose.” He glances up. “Thank you, my friend.”

tosses off a two-fingered salute to the sky, and heads back towards the Ziggurat. It’s less of a trudge this time, at least.