[ And now it's Anathema's turn to be charmed at the fact that Sal's already been browsing cheesy travel sites for Puerto Rico; and that she even thought of it at all. ]
It won't entirely be home because you wouldn't be able to meet all my extended family, but-- It could be nice. Food, beaches, sun tanning, swimming, relaxing, sleeping in. Fruity drinks.
You should probably get to see a small English village at some point, too. You'd be mad about the cottages and the countryside. But that can be for another day. Right now, I'm feeling beaches.
[ Tadfield wasn't home either, precisely -- it was unequivocally Adam's, and it probably didn't exist here in the same way without him to craft it -- but the countryside villages had quickly wormed their way into her heart regardless. ]
I'll check in with Adam, see how he feels about running the shop on his own for a little while. [ She doesn't always specify which Adam she's talking about these days anymore; trusts Sal to figure it out based on context. ]
And I guess you could theoretically review books remotely, too, wherever you're at...
You think he's responsible enough to not set the whole thing on fire while I whisk you away?
[ Sal gets her fair share of practice in remembering Anathema's social contacts, especially after that wedding party. There's Small Adam from back home, for example, as well as Big Adam the roommate and colleague; not that she says it out loud that way, of course. ]
Shit, why disappoint that growing fan-base of mine now? I wasn't about to stay at anything this long that wouldn't afford me some flexibility.
After all, they're the ones who keep trying to offer me airplane discounts. Didn't think I'd ever fucking give into that, as if I wanted to fly up in some ugly machine but—I guess there's a first time for plenty of things around here lately.
[ Nevermind that it's a romance novel review site, and nevermind that it's billed as a dreamy romantic getaway. Even though, well, it sure the fuck is. ]
Oh, unlike Klaus, Adam's the responsible one. He'll do fine. [ Breezy, unthinking, she's pretty darn sure everything will go well — which is exactly why this'll bite her in the ass later. The fates do like a laugh. ]
Airplane discount?? Clearly I'm in the wrong line of work. Take advantage of that, Sal. Besides, 1000+ miles must be quite the trek even for you to fly; it'd be much more comfortable in padded seats. With peanuts. And very expensive very boozy drinks, extra-potent at high altitude.
How far's the furthest you've ever flown yourself?
[ It's a casual and seemingly harmless question, but Sal knows plenty about intrusive government oversight. She'll gingerly sidestep the topic as best she can. ]
For long-distance travel, we'd typically just use the gates of the doormages. I think you'd have liked that sort of magic; some expertly drawn rune-work could teleport a whole legion in a manner of moments. Though I'm sure peanuts and high-altitude boozing will work well enough too.
Other than all of that you, uh, might have to help in booking a hotel somewhere. I'm sure my usual diplomatic flair in strong-arming some tavern-keeper out in the Scar isn't a useful asset here.
I'd definitely like to learn, if you're able to pass it on. I was learning portals from Lilith, but— she hasn't been around to show me in a while. And I like being able to transport by our own willpower, not confined to having to go through the Porters.
There's a pal of mine who's been working on a project for a while, some kind of nerdy space magic. These little devices can hold memories of imPorts, and I guess he wants to create some kind of memory museum for the use of those who pass through here. Of course, at first I didn't take it very fucking seriously. Treading through the past is more like—stepping through a field of broken glass for me, after all.
But I guess after some thinking I can see his reasons. It can't be too different than Harry, that friend of yours anyway, trying to teach imPorts who come through here. They're all just trying to be a part of something useful.
[ And here's she's been for months, struggling with the weight of those responsibilities like a scared child. There's been progress lately, that unregistered girl she's been trying to teach swordplay. But she hasn't quite shaken the feeling that someone else would be better at this; or someone, at least, with less blood on their hands. ]
Anyway, it's basic Imperium learning at its heart. I knew the best of the business, Riccu the Knock; weaselly bastard, but his runework was frustratingly perfect. I'm sure I can give you enough resources to get shit moving forward somehow.
Space magic, huh? Who is he? It sounds like a good project — like, not necessarily for our memories of back home, but even just of each other. Here. To prove that we were here, and that we mattered. That we had an effect.
[ She pauses; considers. The question might seem out of nowhere, but she wants to know: ]
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?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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It won't entirely be home because you wouldn't be able to meet all my extended family, but-- It could be nice. Food, beaches, sun tanning, swimming, relaxing, sleeping in. Fruity drinks.
You should probably get to see a small English village at some point, too. You'd be mad about the cottages and the countryside. But that can be for another day. Right now, I'm feeling beaches.
[ Tadfield wasn't home either, precisely -- it was unequivocally Adam's, and it probably didn't exist here in the same way without him to craft it -- but the countryside villages had quickly wormed their way into her heart regardless. ]
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And I guess you could theoretically review books remotely, too, wherever you're at...
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[ Sal gets her fair share of practice in remembering Anathema's social contacts, especially after that wedding party. There's Small Adam from back home, for example, as well as Big Adam the roommate and colleague; not that she says it out loud that way, of course. ]
Shit, why disappoint that growing fan-base of mine now? I wasn't about to stay at anything this long that wouldn't afford me some flexibility.
After all, they're the ones who keep trying to offer me airplane discounts. Didn't think I'd ever fucking give into that, as if I wanted to fly up in some ugly machine but—I guess there's a first time for plenty of things around here lately.
[ Nevermind that it's a romance novel review site, and nevermind that it's billed as a dreamy romantic getaway. Even though, well, it sure the fuck is. ]
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Airplane discount?? Clearly I'm in the wrong line of work. Take advantage of that, Sal. Besides, 1000+ miles must be quite the trek even for you to fly; it'd be much more comfortable in padded seats. With peanuts. And very expensive very boozy drinks, extra-potent at high altitude.
How far's the furthest you've ever flown yourself?
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[ It's a casual and seemingly harmless question, but Sal knows plenty about intrusive government oversight. She'll gingerly sidestep the topic as best she can. ]
For long-distance travel, we'd typically just use the gates of the doormages. I think you'd have liked that sort of magic; some expertly drawn rune-work could teleport a whole legion in a manner of moments. Though I'm sure peanuts and high-altitude boozing will work well enough too.
Other than all of that you, uh, might have to help in booking a hotel somewhere. I'm sure my usual diplomatic flair in strong-arming some tavern-keeper out in the Scar isn't a useful asset here.
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Don't worry, I'm extremely good at bulling my way through bureaucracy. I can handle that bit.
You don't know how to write those runes, do you?
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[ Predictably adorable? Abso-fucking-lutely. ]
I'm sure I can draw up a few diagrams before I see you next.
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There's a pal of mine who's been working on a project for a while, some kind of nerdy space magic. These little devices can hold memories of imPorts, and I guess he wants to create some kind of memory museum for the use of those who pass through here. Of course, at first I didn't take it very fucking seriously. Treading through the past is more like—stepping through a field of broken glass for me, after all.
But I guess after some thinking I can see his reasons. It can't be too different than Harry, that friend of yours anyway, trying to teach imPorts who come through here. They're all just trying to be a part of something useful.
[ And here's she's been for months, struggling with the weight of those responsibilities like a scared child. There's been progress lately, that unregistered girl she's been trying to teach swordplay. But she hasn't quite shaken the feeling that someone else would be better at this; or someone, at least, with less blood on their hands. ]
Anyway, it's basic Imperium learning at its heart. I knew the best of the business, Riccu the Knock; weaselly bastard, but his runework was frustratingly perfect. I'm sure I can give you enough resources to get shit moving forward somehow.
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[ She pauses; considers. The question might seem out of nowhere, but she wants to know: ]
What's your happiest memory from back home?
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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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