[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.
[That's not a statement she's used to hearing, from anyone. At least not until she came here, and people started to trust her, rely on her, even—well, it's enough to throw her off, a simple sentiment like that. Sal recognizes that trust in her and what she does. Worries how she'll carry that weight.
There's a moment to take those words in, and then.]
Right, same to you.
[That sounds almost like a shy whisper, fuck, get it together.]
Hey, what kind of evening tea is the best here? You know, without...caffeine, or whatever.
[Sal the Cacophony, minding anyone's criticism or suggestion, let alone from months ago? Sounds far-fetched, but she's going to stay up all night if she breaks open a bottle of whiskey this late, so.]
You asked the right person. Chamomile. [ Her answer comes quick, immediate; knowledge of tea is, after all, one of Anathema's strengths. ] It's pretty soporific and easy to find. Herbal teas in general will help: ones with valerian root, lavender, or passionflower.
There's this one brand I particularly like from a local apothecary, with lemon balm, oatstraw, catnip, skullcap, and lavender. I can get you some, if you like. I usually decompress most nights with decaf tea.
[Sal knows what it feels like to lie to someone important; this, however, feels like a promise she can somehow manage to keep. So why is she so reluctant to part ways, if just for tonight?]
...Good night, Anathema.
[The wind can't mask the affection when Sal says that name. She likes to say it, she realizes, as if such a tiny thing can be such a big comfort in this strange and sometimes dangerous world they've been brought to. In just a few days, when the other woman disappears, she's going to find how much she'll miss it.]
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no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
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.
no subject
I got to grow up and be taught magic by my own family. I didn't really realise how lucky that was.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
But. The rest of it, about life here. That matters too. Thank you, Sal.
no subject
Pretty invaluable, that kind of thing.
no subject
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
There's a moment to take those words in, and then.]
Right, same to you.
[That sounds almost like a shy whisper, fuck, get it together.]
Hey, what kind of evening tea is the best here? You know, without...caffeine, or whatever.
[Sal the Cacophony, minding anyone's criticism or suggestion, let alone from months ago? Sounds far-fetched, but she's going to stay up all night if she breaks open a bottle of whiskey this late, so.]
no subject
There's this one brand I particularly like from a local apothecary, with lemon balm, oatstraw, catnip, skullcap, and lavender. I can get you some, if you like. I usually decompress most nights with decaf tea.
no subject
[She pulls in a quick breath of cold air, holds it in. Wait. Wait.]
Chamomile, I'll remember it. Should I...let you go? There's got to be something you need to do tonight, right?
no subject
Maybe. I have a new roommate who's still settling in, so I... should probably go check on him and cook lunch for tomorrow.
We'll talk again soon, though, Sal.
[ An easy promise. Little does Anathema know she'll outright vanish in a few days, whisked off by the Porter. ]
no subject
[Sal knows what it feels like to lie to someone important; this, however, feels like a promise she can somehow manage to keep. So why is she so reluctant to part ways, if just for tonight?]
...Good night, Anathema.
[The wind can't mask the affection when Sal says that name. She likes to say it, she realizes, as if such a tiny thing can be such a big comfort in this strange and sometimes dangerous world they've been brought to. In just a few days, when the other woman disappears, she's going to find how much she'll miss it.]