I don't know if it's a consolation at all -- our brains are illogical, a lot of the time -- but people do say that time is essentially frozen back home, while we're here, so it's not like she knows you're gone. It's not an abandonment.
When you say 'not small', how not-small are we talking?
And no, unfortunately. My mom was allergic, so she never kept any; I always just lived vicariously through friends, the ones I met while I was at school. And after I moved out this most recent time, I was pretty busy with-- well, I don't know what to call them apart from 'apocalypse duties'. It wasn't a good time to take in an animal. I wasn't even sure there'd still be a world standing to keep them in, to be honest. Then I came here.
I think I get the jist of it. Distance makes us worry, even if we shouldn't. Will they be safe if I'm not there, well taken care of?
[Careful there, Sal, think too hard and you might have a real epiphany.]
Shit, well, you know how the people here like to ride horses or whatever? Think about it like that, only angry and full of feathers. The nicer ones out of Cathama are far fucking fancier than anything you can get in the Scar, of course, but Congeniality and I have been through everything together. So I'm pretty fucking biased on her account.
[There it is again, that apocalypse shit. Typically she wouldn't try to get too involved, but.]
You know, if I think far enough back, I remember the kind of shit they'd say to us back in the beginning. When they took us away to be trained in our magic—what a fucking honor it was, serving a greater purpose. Sacrificing so much just to keep everyone in the imperium safe, and I imagine most kids in the beginning took that birdshit to heart.
And of course, over the fucking years, you get to dreaming about all the things you'll have when the war is over, when everything is safe and people are satisfied. But that freedom never seemed to manifest, I guess. It's no fucking wonder everything went bad in the end, but.
Well, we're here now. Kind of nice to try and make the best of whatever this weird shit is we've been given, right?
Wait, sorry, first off and most important thing: are you telling me you rode a giant angry bird?
But-- yeah. Yes. Exactly. It's hard to sit down and try to picture an 'after', and I have to admit that the one I pictured didn't look anything like this, but I like to make the best of it. It's not peaceful here, but I think I'd have been bored to tears if nothing ever happened, either. So. We take the weird shit and we make some kind of home out of it, I think.
You know what? I think you're just jealous of my wonderful girl, Congeniality. In fact, I think this place would be much better off porting in some birds of their own and raising them too.
What do you picture, when you imagine being happy?
Fuck it, you've called me out entirely. And I agree. The Porter brought in my friend's pet hellhound, so if it can do that for him, it really should bring in your avian steed.
[ She can barely type that with a straight face. She's delighted. ]
And honestly? I don't really know. A cottage in the English countryside, stacks of books, good tea, a pet cat, a nice garden with lots of herbs. But also travelling the world and seeing all sorts of its corners. But also adventure and some mild peril? Somehow all of the above at once. I don't know how to make them all coexist.
[It's comforting to lie to herself and pretend that every soft part of her has died, some by her own hand and some by a sword in her side and that quiet apology echoing in the darkness. Unfortunately, none of that is ever true, and whatever tender emotion that slips past her guard seems inevitably chased by a certain sadness too.]
Freedom. It's the freedom to live every day however you want to.
I remember thinking almost the same sort of thing. A long time ago. But I think they're all beautiful dreams too, and I don't fucking know why any of it should be impossible.
[ Anathema is hopelessly nosy — she pries, she’s constantly asking questions about Sal’s magic, her world — but she doesn’t actually know much about the specific circumstances. What Sal was up to. What things might have happened. ]
[Sal has learned, through experience, what it's like when she doesn't provide answers. When the silence grows and grows, and every precious thing gets that much further away. Until there's nothing left at all, really.
It all still hurts, but she supposes there are things which can hurt so much more.]
Well, depends on what and when. I was taken away when I was eight, when I first came into my magic. And then, you know, the imperium trains you to be the very best—which is pretty shit honestly, if you just want to live your own life and not fight in some pathetic war.
Skip ahead a few acts, and it isn't someone else holding you back but yourself. Because if you don't have a country and a purpose, well then, you've got to hold onto something else.
And if that's all done, well. I know why people feel angry about being here, taken away from their purpose and everything they love. But I don't mind. If I can fly again, that's enough for me.
Are you telling me we've known each other for months and I've been such a terrible friend that I didn't even known you'd been kidnapped to be a magic child soldier????
[ Anathema is always so very, very self-possessed — except for those times when she isn't. When that composure is shattered in one fell blow and she gets a little frayed and shouty around the edges. ]
[Sal's a little surprised too, but then again, is it ever the reaction she expects?]
Uh, no? If we're going to get real fucking technical about it.
First of all, didn't we just agree that you're perfect as is?
Secondly, I seem to recall some agreement about getting to know each other after that whole Jeopardy shitstorm, and since we're not dead yet, I'd say we're right on schedule.
Thirdly, we don't join the military until we're sixteen. As soon as our magic appears, the government minders just take us into custody for training and supervision.
Choice? As an eight year old against the machinations of an empire? Not fucking likely. I waited for days for my parents of course, thinking like a dumb kid, that they'd show up to get me eventually.
Not a chance.
And yeah, I guess others might've been sent to do less...fighty things, but most of those who trained with me were sent away to fight.
Fuck, magic is different for all of us here, right? And magic where I'm from—usually it comes with some shitty price tag. You get a favor from the Lady Merchant, something like, oh, the ability to call down lightning and bad weather. But she takes in kind, something equally important.
Except for the few of us who don't. The very few. And there's no question about where we'd end up.
Yeah well, sounds to me like your family was lucky enough to have someone like you.
What are they like? Because leaving it all up to my completely fucking humble imagination, Anathema, I'm going to decide on...hidden royalty maybe, living in some lavish palace on a beautiful, faraway island. Something they'd write a nice opera about, probably.
Or, well-- Our house was large and expensive enough that some people might definitely call it a lavish palace. And it was on a cliffside near a private beach, so I would go swimming on the weekends a lot. I was homeschooled by my mom and aunts until I was a teenager: mostly just lessons at home, and remote learning via computer, until I went off to college and decided I needed to try being out of the nest for a while. I was worried I'd be too sheltered, otherwise. I needed to get some life experience before the world maybe-possibly ended.
[ In the end, she doesn't fight the nickname, though. It's cute, Sal's cute, and therefore forgiven. ]
You know, that's odd. Normally I feel like they're the first thing people know about me -- which means I'm actually relieved that I haven't blathered at you about them yet. I've been trying to get away from them.
So. A few hundred years ago, one of my ancestors published a book of hyper-specific prophecies. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. So far as I know, it's the only truly accurate book of prophecies in the world. It talked mostly about our family, and kept an eye out for us -- investment tips and advice and so on -- but it also talked about the oncoming apocalypse and how to avert it. That it was our job to avert it. So we considered ourselves professional descendants: spent our days and years and lifetimes trying to sort out what each prophecy meant, and what she wanted us to do.
The only thing it was really clear on was that I would be there, and I would be involved somehow. Either I'd succeed or I wouldn't. Either I'd figure out what I needed to do, or I'd die with the rest of the world at age twenty-two.
Long story short, we did succeed in saving the world, and that was the end of those particular prophecies. Until a second book showed up, and I set the damn thing on fire.
My point being. I really like autonomy. Choice. And I was tired of feeling like I didn't have a choice, that my road was all set out for me hundreds of years before I was even born.
So even if the circumstances were different, I think I do know what it's like to be trapped in a cage of responsibility. From the sounds of it, I wish you'd been able to set yours on fire sooner.
[It's pretty easy to play around and make light of things, but even Sal knows an important moment when it happens. So many times she's turned away from them, leaving things ignored or watched them pass her by. Sometimes a prison is self-made, and you've got to watch your life burn down first before you can try to build yourself again.]
I know how it feels to want to distance yourself from something in the past. Names and legacies can have a damn heavy weight to them, after a while. Maybe I'm too biased (of course not, my opinion's fucking perfect) but I don't think your saving the world had anything to do with this ancestor of yours.
Some cynical asshole like me wouldn't buy this story from just anyone either—but if anyone has the strength, the wisdom, and the bravery to do any of this, if I'm to believe in any person pulling some fantastic feat of heroics off it's you.
Just by being who you are, not whatever they all expected you to be. I think you change lives here, too, so why not your own? Whatever the fuck you want to do and whatever shred of happiness can be stolen out of a place like this, Anathema, I know you're going to find it.
Mm. No. I appreciate the sentiment and the comfort you're trying to give, but I have to give Agnes credit, too. By the end of it, I was flying by the seat of my pants and relying on pulling random prophecies out of the book and untangling them on-the-go, and they gave me ideas for what to do next. The guidance helped me, and I was the one who figured it out, but that doesn't change the fact that I do think I needed that guidance to get there. So, it's a two-way street. A team effort, across the centuries. Both of us working in concert (along with everyone else who helped, of course).
But. The rest of it, about life here. That matters too. Thank you, Sal.
Sure, I think I get it. I had a partnership for a little while too. Help decoding messages, unraveling conspiracies, or mostly just keeping me alive despite all my best efforts.
[Sal's been lying on her bed this entire time, her work laptop put away in favor of snuggling the yowly tuxedo cat that has, by now, adopted her. Her fuzzy friend opens its eyes, looking very unsympathetic when Sal starts to whine about how hard this is. It stretches out to recalibrate its comfy position on her chest, yawning as if to say, it was your brilliant idea, human, now stop complaining and let me sleep.
Honestly, the lack of gratitude.]
She's a freemaker and a spellwright, both of which are considered highly illegal and very dangerous. It's pretty fucking understandable then, that we met when I accidentally disrupted her would-be execution. I saved her life, she saved mine, and I guess the habit just stuck.
Anyway, it was during a real rough patch in my life, so we parted ways on bad terms.
[She almost wants to get up and get a drink; too late now, when the cat's already gone back to its nap. Just her luck.]
That seems to be how things go, the longer someone hangs around me. Sooner or later, they end up regretting it.
[Not that she wants Anathema to regret it. She's been worrying about it for months, in fact—fuck, even the Cacophony is onto it by now.]
[ Lucky for you, Sal, that Anathema is stubborn enough to just disregard that kind of worry. ]
Yours is a dark and lonely path, doomed to be alone because any relationship blows up in your face? That kind of thing?
[ She's only teasing because she wants to prove it wrong. After she types it, Anathema worries that it might sound too flippant, cavalier. She almost presses the call button; wants to hear the other woman's voice, wants to scrub away any potential misunderstandings from her own lack of tone. ]
Sorry, I don't mean to make light of it. I just mean that if that's your way of trying to warn me off, I'm not going to listen. (I was a pain in the ass to my mom when I was a kid, if you can't tell.)
[Sal can't take it anymore, she's too action-oriented, and all of these feelings percolating up to the surface like this have her ready to start climbing the walls. It takes her the better part of a half hour to reply back, most of that time spent gently moving the cat away.
(Look, if she's able to find a way to pamper a giant, grumpy murderbird, she damn well can spoil a cat.)
It's not until she's dressed and out of the apartment, high up above the city where the air is cold and crisp against her face, that she's able to find some reply. Sal tries to stick with text for these kinds of talks, just for some kind of safety barrier, but there's something to be said against typing and flying, probably.]
I'm not trying to get rid of you.
[There's a faint but telltale hiss of a breeze against the speaker, but it's not loud enough to mask her tone—what she's really feeling, instead of the tough persona she usually projects to hide it. Hesitant, certainly wary too, but also very gentle.
She's just got to remind herself that she trusts Anathema, and that the simple act of being soft isn't going to hurt either of them, somehow.]
Shit, if it's not obvious by now, I like having you around. It's just— [A shiver. Must be the cold?] This place is fucked up, is all. When I first met my friend, Nicholas, it turned out just to be some strange, shadow apparition, some hidden part of him roaming around by itself. Who knows what strange things are going to happen like that again?
[There's a sigh, or it could be the wind complaining.]
Knowledge is preparation, right? That sounds a lot fucking less like some cheesy opera than stay away I'm dangerous, at least.
[ Anathema had stared at her communicator for far too long, waiting a while before accepting that a text response isn't coming, or if it is, it's delayed. She worries, for a moment, that she might have pressed too far, made too light of it.
When the phonecall comes, it's not really a surprise, and it's also a relief. She answers quickly. Listens solemnly, even past the hiss of the wind (she's pretty sure Sal's flying again). Feels a smile curl at the corner of her mouth. ]
Yeah. Preparation is half the battle. We were big on knowledge in my family, my life. So— I appreciate it, Salazanca.
I keep finding myself wanting to be ready for whatever the next thing this place will throw at us, but there's really no being ready for it, I think. So in the meantime: you're a good person to have in my corner, and I'm glad that you are.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
When you say 'not small', how not-small are we talking?
And no, unfortunately. My mom was allergic, so she never kept any; I always just lived vicariously through friends, the ones I met while I was at school. And after I moved out this most recent time, I was pretty busy with-- well, I don't know what to call them apart from 'apocalypse duties'. It wasn't a good time to take in an animal. I wasn't even sure there'd still be a world standing to keep them in, to be honest. Then I came here.
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[Careful there, Sal, think too hard and you might have a real epiphany.]
Shit, well, you know how the people here like to ride horses or whatever? Think about it like that, only angry and full of feathers. The nicer ones out of Cathama are far fucking fancier than anything you can get in the Scar, of course, but Congeniality and I have been through everything together. So I'm pretty fucking biased on her account.
[There it is again, that apocalypse shit. Typically she wouldn't try to get too involved, but.]
You know, if I think far enough back, I remember the kind of shit they'd say to us back in the beginning. When they took us away to be trained in our magic—what a fucking honor it was, serving a greater purpose. Sacrificing so much just to keep everyone in the imperium safe, and I imagine most kids in the beginning took that birdshit to heart.
And of course, over the fucking years, you get to dreaming about all the things you'll have when the war is over, when everything is safe and people are satisfied. But that freedom never seemed to manifest, I guess. It's no fucking wonder everything went bad in the end, but.
Well, we're here now. Kind of nice to try and make the best of whatever this weird shit is we've been given, right?
no subject
But-- yeah. Yes. Exactly. It's hard to sit down and try to picture an 'after', and I have to admit that the one I pictured didn't look anything like this, but I like to make the best of it. It's not peaceful here, but I think I'd have been bored to tears if nothing ever happened, either. So. We take the weird shit and we make some kind of home out of it, I think.
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What do you picture, when you imagine being happy?
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[ She can barely type that with a straight face. She's delighted. ]
And honestly? I don't really know. A cottage in the English countryside, stacks of books, good tea, a pet cat, a nice garden with lots of herbs. But also travelling the world and seeing all sorts of its corners. But also adventure and some mild peril? Somehow all of the above at once. I don't know how to make them all coexist.
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Freedom. It's the freedom to live every day however you want to.
I remember thinking almost the same sort of thing. A long time ago. But I think they're all beautiful dreams too, and I don't fucking know why any of it should be impossible.
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[ Anathema is hopelessly nosy — she pries, she’s constantly asking questions about Sal’s magic, her world — but she doesn’t actually know much about the specific circumstances. What Sal was up to. What things might have happened. ]
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It all still hurts, but she supposes there are things which can hurt so much more.]
Well, depends on what and when. I was taken away when I was eight, when I first came into my magic. And then, you know, the imperium trains you to be the very best—which is pretty shit honestly, if you just want to live your own life and not fight in some pathetic war.
Skip ahead a few acts, and it isn't someone else holding you back but yourself. Because if you don't have a country and a purpose, well then, you've got to hold onto something else.
And if that's all done, well. I know why people feel angry about being here, taken away from their purpose and everything they love. But I don't mind. If I can fly again, that's enough for me.
no subject
[ Flabbergasted, a little. ]
Are you telling me we've known each other for months and I've been such a terrible friend that I didn't even known you'd been kidnapped to be a magic child soldier????
[ Anathema is always so very, very self-possessed — except for those times when she isn't. When that composure is shattered in one fell blow and she gets a little frayed and shouty around the edges. ]
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Uh, no? If we're going to get real fucking technical about it.
First of all, didn't we just agree that you're perfect as is?
Secondly, I seem to recall some agreement about getting to know each other after that whole Jeopardy shitstorm, and since we're not dead yet, I'd say we're right on schedule.
Thirdly, we don't join the military until we're sixteen. As soon as our magic appears, the government minders just take us into custody for training and supervision.
Anyway, I kind of forgot my damn point here.
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I think I've lost my own point too.
So did you not have any choice? Are all magic-users taken away like that and made to fight a war?
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Not a chance.
And yeah, I guess others might've been sent to do less...fighty things, but most of those who trained with me were sent away to fight.
Fuck, magic is different for all of us here, right? And magic where I'm from—usually it comes with some shitty price tag. You get a favor from the Lady Merchant, something like, oh, the ability to call down lightning and bad weather. But she takes in kind, something equally important.
Except for the few of us who don't. The very few. And there's no question about where we'd end up.
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I got to grow up and be taught magic by my own family. I didn't really realise how lucky that was.
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What are they like? Because leaving it all up to my completely fucking humble imagination, Anathema, I'm going to decide on...hidden royalty maybe, living in some lavish palace on a beautiful, faraway island. Something they'd write a nice opera about, probably.
no subject
Or, well-- Our house was large and expensive enough that some people might definitely call it a lavish palace. And it was on a cliffside near a private beach, so I would go swimming on the weekends a lot. I was homeschooled by my mom and aunts until I was a teenager: mostly just lessons at home, and remote learning via computer, until I went off to college and decided I needed to try being out of the nest for a while. I was worried I'd be too sheltered, otherwise. I needed to get some life experience before the world maybe-possibly ended.
Did I tell you about the prophecies yet?
no subject
I can't seem to recall any mentions of these prophecies, princess, but now you've got to tell me the rest of it.
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Princess[ In the end, she doesn't fight the nickname, though. It's cute, Sal's cute, and therefore forgiven. ]
You know, that's odd. Normally I feel like they're the first thing people know about me -- which means I'm actually relieved that I haven't blathered at you about them yet. I've been trying to get away from them.
So. A few hundred years ago, one of my ancestors published a book of hyper-specific prophecies. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. So far as I know, it's the only truly accurate book of prophecies in the world. It talked mostly about our family, and kept an eye out for us -- investment tips and advice and so on -- but it also talked about the oncoming apocalypse and how to avert it. That it was our job to avert it. So we considered ourselves professional descendants: spent our days and years and lifetimes trying to sort out what each prophecy meant, and what she wanted us to do.
The only thing it was really clear on was that I would be there, and I would be involved somehow. Either I'd succeed or I wouldn't. Either I'd figure out what I needed to do, or I'd die with the rest of the world at age twenty-two.
Long story short, we did succeed in saving the world, and that was the end of those particular prophecies. Until a second book showed up, and I set the damn thing on fire.
My point being. I really like autonomy. Choice. And I was tired of feeling like I didn't have a choice, that my road was all set out for me hundreds of years before I was even born.
So even if the circumstances were different, I think I do know what it's like to be trapped in a cage of responsibility. From the sounds of it, I wish you'd been able to set yours on fire sooner.
no subject
I know how it feels to want to distance yourself from something in the past. Names and legacies can have a damn heavy weight to them, after a while. Maybe I'm too biased (of course not, my opinion's fucking perfect) but I don't think your saving the world had anything to do with this ancestor of yours.
Some cynical asshole like me wouldn't buy this story from just anyone either—but if anyone has the strength, the wisdom, and the bravery to do any of this, if I'm to believe in any person pulling some fantastic feat of heroics off it's you.
Just by being who you are, not whatever they all expected you to be. I think you change lives here, too, so why not your own? Whatever the fuck you want to do and whatever shred of happiness can be stolen out of a place like this, Anathema, I know you're going to find it.
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But. The rest of it, about life here. That matters too. Thank you, Sal.
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Pretty invaluable, that kind of thing.
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Honestly, the lack of gratitude.]
She's a freemaker and a spellwright, both of which are considered highly illegal and very dangerous. It's pretty fucking understandable then, that we met when I accidentally disrupted her would-be execution. I saved her life, she saved mine, and I guess the habit just stuck.
Anyway, it was during a real rough patch in my life, so we parted ways on bad terms.
[She almost wants to get up and get a drink; too late now, when the cat's already gone back to its nap. Just her luck.]
That seems to be how things go, the longer someone hangs around me. Sooner or later, they end up regretting it.
[Not that she wants Anathema to regret it. She's been worrying about it for months, in fact—fuck, even the Cacophony is onto it by now.]
no subject
Yours is a dark and lonely path, doomed to be alone because any relationship blows up in your face? That kind of thing?
[ She's only teasing because she wants to prove it wrong. After she types it, Anathema worries that it might sound too flippant, cavalier. She almost presses the call button; wants to hear the other woman's voice, wants to scrub away any potential misunderstandings from her own lack of tone. ]
Sorry, I don't mean to make light of it. I just mean that if that's your way of trying to warn me off, I'm not going to listen. (I was a pain in the ass to my mom when I was a kid, if you can't tell.)
voice;
(Look, if she's able to find a way to pamper a giant, grumpy murderbird, she damn well can spoil a cat.)
It's not until she's dressed and out of the apartment, high up above the city where the air is cold and crisp against her face, that she's able to find some reply. Sal tries to stick with text for these kinds of talks, just for some kind of safety barrier, but there's something to be said against typing and flying, probably.]
I'm not trying to get rid of you.
[There's a faint but telltale hiss of a breeze against the speaker, but it's not loud enough to mask her tone—what she's really feeling, instead of the tough persona she usually projects to hide it. Hesitant, certainly wary too, but also very gentle.
She's just got to remind herself that she trusts Anathema, and that the simple act of being soft isn't going to hurt either of them, somehow.]
Shit, if it's not obvious by now, I like having you around. It's just— [A shiver. Must be the cold?] This place is fucked up, is all. When I first met my friend, Nicholas, it turned out just to be some strange, shadow apparition, some hidden part of him roaming around by itself. Who knows what strange things are going to happen like that again?
[There's a sigh, or it could be the wind complaining.]
Knowledge is preparation, right? That sounds a lot fucking less like some cheesy opera than stay away I'm dangerous, at least.
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When the phonecall comes, it's not really a surprise, and it's also a relief. She answers quickly. Listens solemnly, even past the hiss of the wind (she's pretty sure Sal's flying again). Feels a smile curl at the corner of her mouth. ]
Yeah. Preparation is half the battle. We were big on knowledge in my family, my life. So— I appreciate it, Salazanca.
I keep finding myself wanting to be ready for whatever the next thing this place will throw at us, but there's really no being ready for it, I think. So in the meantime: you're a good person to have in my corner, and I'm glad that you are.
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