Nox is grumpy and distrustful but he's serious about the work he does. Real helpful friend that I am, I had an early chance to test out the holocrons myself and I've seen what they can do. If you're really interested, I suppose he's willing to work with just about anyone, but uh...well, If anyone can handle a grouchy bastard like that I suppose it would be you.
[ Sal doesn't add in what she really thinks. That of course Anathema's presence has mattered; there's evidence in every faulty fiber of her being. She won't write it, has to pull her shaky hands off the keyboard and press her palm against her knuckles, but it's been truer and more evident with each new morning; there's evidence in each fractured piece of her old self slowly coming back together.
But that's not a worthy enough prize for someone who can help to save the world, is it? Or maybe it's something else, like that scar wrapped around her side from Jindu's sword; an old fear about how this story takes a turn. ]
You'd think my most precious memories would be something fancy, like winning a big battle or chasing down some dastardly villain. A memory that's worthy of being in a poem or an opera. But the most important things are always so fucking small. Reminds me of Daiga the Phantom. The greatest graspmage in the Imperium, probably, and what did he have to barter for magic like that? A necklace full of tiny trinkets. Everything that was most important to him could fit right into your hands and could be taken away in a flash.
Actually, I wouldn't automatically think that -- for exactly those reasons. I totally agree. Like, the biggest and most dramatic memories also probably come with a fair bit of peril, which taints them a bit. I find that sometimes the best memories are the small ones, precisely because they're so precious. We go through those big things in order to protect those small things.
Reading under the covers, or a nice day napping in the backyard. A picnic with someone you like.
Better to do it sooner so as not to get bogged down by any of the usual birdshit bad luck, up to and including alien attacks. First part of the month should work out just fine. Whatever else wants to fight me can do it after we've come back.
Of course I do, if you're comfortable sharing them. They're a part of you. I don't know if you have pictures back home, but in my world, we'd have tons and tons of photographs from all over someone's life, maybe even home videos. A way of sharing your past with someone. These holocron things sound more immersive, but otherwise...
A real shame then that I can't see any of yours. I suppose you're right and this kind of project will have to suffice somehow.
It's almost strange to think about now because all of my old friends were in the same position as me. All our memories were shared, and in that way it was almost like a family. But somehow, Anathema, I think if it had been you there with me instead...none it would have gone wrong.
[ There's a sudden, powerful tremor of emotion, something important she's on the verge of before carefully pulling back again. ]
I'll take some time to think about it, so I don't just offer up some birdshit useless memory, like that time I burped out opera lyrics at the imperial spymaster.
Part of me wishes I could have been -- even if I had somewhere dreadfully important to be. Everything in its right appointed predetermined place and all.
And hey, opera lyrics are nice too. I'm also trying to think what I'd throw into the pot. More to come on that front, TBD?
Come on, you don't want to dazzle me with your heroics, even just a little fucking bit? Puzzling out the right way to fend off the apocalypse via prophecy and all of that?
Can't have a sexy heroine without some fun villains to smite, is that it?
You realize what'll happen if you leave all of this to my imagination, I'm hoping? Better to spill the beans before I find someone to write that opera for me. I'll name it something fantastic, like: Anathema Saves the Word: With Help From Some Ancestors and a Band of Plucky Do-Gooders Too, Probably.
You say that as if that's not a pretty excellent outcome that I would be all in favour of.
Besides, I can really tell who's the writer in this relationship; that title's got a better zing to it than the actual family tome (viz.: 'The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch').
Glad we can agree about the quality of the subject matter.
Yeah, well, nobody's going to fucking blame you for burning the second volume. I'm more invested in your side of the story anyway, rather than whatever your wizened ancestor had in mind.
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[ Sal doesn't add in what she really thinks. That of course Anathema's presence has mattered; there's evidence in every faulty fiber of her being. She won't write it, has to pull her shaky hands off the keyboard and press her palm against her knuckles, but it's been truer and more evident with each new morning; there's evidence in each fractured piece of her old self slowly coming back together.
But that's not a worthy enough prize for someone who can help to save the world, is it? Or maybe it's something else, like that scar wrapped around her side from Jindu's sword; an old fear about how this story takes a turn. ]
You'd think my most precious memories would be something fancy, like winning a big battle or chasing down some dastardly villain. A memory that's worthy of being in a poem or an opera. But the most important things are always so fucking small. Reminds me of Daiga the Phantom. The greatest graspmage in the Imperium, probably, and what did he have to barter for magic like that? A necklace full of tiny trinkets. Everything that was most important to him could fit right into your hands and could be taken away in a flash.
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Reading under the covers, or a nice day napping in the backyard. A picnic with someone you like.
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Haven't tried that one yet either, but there is someone I like already.
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Any preferences on when we go? First half of the month, sooner the better before something inevitably blows up and aliens attack the swear-in?
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Better to do it sooner so as not to get bogged down by any of the usual birdshit bad luck, up to and including alien attacks. First part of the month should work out just fine. Whatever else wants to fight me can do it after we've come back.
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If that's how it is, I'll be sure to let them all know who's boss.
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Okay, so different question, same theme: is there anything you'll be submitting to the museum from your own memories?
I'd like to see some pieces from your home, if there's any of them you'd like to put in. Like, I don't know, the operas if nothing else.
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You want to see my memories?
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They're a part of you. I don't know if you have pictures back home, but in my world, we'd have tons and tons of photographs from all over someone's life, maybe even home videos. A way of sharing your past with someone. These holocron things sound more immersive, but otherwise...
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It's almost strange to think about now because all of my old friends were in the same position as me. All our memories were shared, and in that way it was almost like a family. But somehow, Anathema, I think if it had been you there with me instead...none it would have gone wrong.
[ There's a sudden, powerful tremor of emotion, something important she's on the verge of before carefully pulling back again. ]
I'll take some time to think about it, so I don't just offer up some birdshit useless memory, like that time I burped out opera lyrics at the imperial spymaster.
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And hey, opera lyrics are nice too. I'm also trying to think what I'd throw into the pot. More to come on that front, TBD?
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Whatever you decide, I'm sure I'll love to see it.
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[ this is probably an unfair tease, anathema ]
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You realize what'll happen if you leave all of this to my imagination, I'm hoping? Better to spill the beans before I find someone to write that opera for me. I'll name it something fantastic, like: Anathema Saves the Word: With Help From Some Ancestors and a Band of Plucky Do-Gooders Too, Probably.
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Besides, I can really tell who's the writer in this relationship; that title's got a better zing to it than the actual family tome (viz.: 'The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch').
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Yeah, well, nobody's going to fucking blame you for burning the second volume. I'm more invested in your side of the story anyway, rather than whatever your wizened ancestor had in mind.