TiYES, WHAT DO YOU WANT?!
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Stormy
With the escapades of the rest many footfalls behind them, the group arrived at Silverbrook.
Stormy had wandered between everyone by random, self-absorbed chance, gravitating around Koda. The path had climbed its way up a hill, meeting a large chunk of stone, crumbling under the passage of time and the plants that now dug their roots deeper into the crevices.
Beyond it, the town rose up. Thatched hovels and leaning shacks of wattle and daub shambled towards the central square of stone and brick buildings, huddling close, clawing for the monolith that spewed smoke from great, red-clay chimney stacks. Close by were the drab-coloured canvases of a market, shouts and smells spreading like ink in water. Crofts crept over the surrounding hillsides, like pilgrims to the holy land. A grey quagmire tangled through most of the village, brackish liquids nesting in its grooves and divots. Flagstones paved the way for a single thoroughfare that barged through to the square and then left the town in equal hurrying.
Windows glinted like staring eyes, all focussed upon the party, this squabble of strange and strangers, as they approached.
Stormy squinted and frowned at everything, chewing her bottom lip. Occasionally a humming escaped her.
Perhaps an actually beautiful sight was the winding stream of quicksilver and liquid crystal. Its song even reached them. It came from the valley, the same direction as the flagstones, between two treeless slopes, threading through the town and taking off into the trees. Dotted along its banks were the statue-like fishermen.
As they grew closer, the ever-smiling and clean denizens looked at the party for maybe a handful of seconds between them all.
“Perhaps it is festival time?” She trilled to Koda, pitch rising at the end of her question. Her smile guttered momentarily, cheeks twitching, aching, and then it slipped; it fell from her demeanour: snuffed. Everything had an odd quality, as if it was being observed through grey-tinted glasses not quite in focus; it was all hazy and dull, outlines and edges seeming not so sure in themselves.
Stormy bent over, rubbing her calves and thighs, careful to be away from the churned mud paths. She shrugged at the question Michael asked, “I’ll go with whatever’s groovy.” Though, her stomach too audibly rumbled.
With the escapades of the rest many footfalls behind them, the group arrived at Silverbrook.
Stormy had wandered between everyone by random, self-absorbed chance, gravitating around Koda. The path had climbed its way up a hill, meeting a large chunk of stone, crumbling under the passage of time and the plants that now dug their roots deeper into the crevices.
Beyond it, the town rose up. Thatched hovels and leaning shacks of wattle and daub shambled towards the central square of stone and brick buildings, huddling close, clawing for the monolith that spewed smoke from great, red-clay chimney stacks. Close by were the drab-coloured canvases of a market, shouts and smells spreading like ink in water. Crofts crept over the surrounding hillsides, like pilgrims to the holy land. A grey quagmire tangled through most of the village, brackish liquids nesting in its grooves and divots. Flagstones paved the way for a single thoroughfare that barged through to the square and then left the town in equal hurrying.
Windows glinted like staring eyes, all focussed upon the party, this squabble of strange and strangers, as they approached.
Stormy squinted and frowned at everything, chewing her bottom lip. Occasionally a humming escaped her.
Perhaps an actually beautiful sight was the winding stream of quicksilver and liquid crystal. Its song even reached them. It came from the valley, the same direction as the flagstones, between two treeless slopes, threading through the town and taking off into the trees. Dotted along its banks were the statue-like fishermen.
As they grew closer, the ever-smiling and clean denizens looked at the party for maybe a handful of seconds between them all.
“Perhaps it is festival time?” She trilled to Koda, pitch rising at the end of her question. Her smile guttered momentarily, cheeks twitching, aching, and then it slipped; it fell from her demeanour: snuffed. Everything had an odd quality, as if it was being observed through grey-tinted glasses not quite in focus; it was all hazy and dull, outlines and edges seeming not so sure in themselves.
Stormy bent over, rubbing her calves and thighs, careful to be away from the churned mud paths. She shrugged at the question Michael asked, “I’ll go with whatever’s groovy.” Though, her stomach too audibly rumbled.
Dusk was creeping in, slowly pulling back the honey rays of sunlight towards the ruby stained horizon. Farmsteads and lonely cottages leaked lamplight and chimney smoke, as families settled down for the evening, safe and warm from the encroaching night.
Stalks of wheat and barley rustled as a chill wind passed them. Waves of blue-cast grass lapped at the dirt wagon trail. It was nearly empty.
Two figures road along abreast. One was a cloaked silhouette that seemed to shift and break, like the smoke of a guttering candle, riding a massive black destrier, muscled and powerful, its breath misting against the air of the waning day. The other was atop a slender mare of pure white. This rider was also smaller, and wore riding dresses too fine for the locality.
They seemed to be engaged in conversation. A wayside inn came into view, and the pale rider slowed, enough to make the other circle back and slowly draw up back next to them. A voice like gravel and sliding rocks crashed from the horses.
“We should ride on into the night, Reshi. Our horses won’t throw shoes on the wagon trail.”
Then came the response, careful and patient, like a glacier – it spoke in inevitability.
“There is only so much haste required; we will arrive when we need to.”
“Then at least let us camp in the forest.”
“You know I do not sleep so well without a bed, and I need to again before entering Oakheim.”
There was a grumble, like a rockslide, but silence resumed, save for the beating of hooves upon hard packed clay and earth.
The Traveller’s Respite, a leaning, three-story building, each floor distinct from the others, but no less well-crafted, spoke of the hasty capitalisation of being the final stop along the Eastern route to Oakheim. Smoke billowed from inside a large circle of wagons in the yard behind, orange light dancing upon the canvas, and merriment and music spilling out of every recess.
The two stopped outside, the woman handing her reigns to Karl. As he led both beasts to the stables, Aleora entered the common room. It was a bustling affair, with shouted conversations and sloshing drinks, underneath a thick veil of pipesmoke and plucked strings. She didn’t garner much attention this late into the night, though a few lupine eyes followed her.
A woman rushing around behind a bar, polishing the surface and pulling drinks.
“Aye lass, how kin aye ‘elp?” Several of her teeth were missing, and the rest seemed in some state of decay. Her face was creased and shiny.
“I would like to buy food and board for the night.”
Almost immediately the woman shook her head, flicking her oily locks from side to side. “Neh kin do, full.” She set a flagon in front of a man who was slumped over the bar.
“Oh, dear me, that is a shame, what am I to do?” As Aleora said this she began stroking her chin very slowly with her left hand, her ring on full display. The proprietor’s eyes went large and glassy, and she began waving her hands and stammering, rushing over to Aleora.
“Oh, nay me thinks aboot et, ye kin haf may rum, free of charge fur sucha leddy as yerself.” She did her best to give an ingratiating smile, but with so many teeth missing the end result was quite the opposite. Nonetheless, Aleora smiled gracefully, though it did not touch her eyes, and bobbed her head ever so slightly.
“How fortunate.”
The room was adequate; the mattress was stuffed with goose down and it had well-fitted boards, though there was a pervading odour of port and cheese. Karl and Aleora began preparing for sleep in silence, their travelled packs hauled to the foot of the bed. Karl set up his bedroll in front of the door, sword tucked next to it.
“Reshi, when will you tell me why we are here.”
She looked at him and tilted her head, dressed in a pale blue nightgown.
“You have followed me this far, dear Watcher, I only ask for your trust one night longer, and I shall tell you on the road tomorrow; there are things I am still unsure of, and perhaps tonight my lady will grace me with their elucidation.”
He was frowning at the floor. She walked over and brushed her lips against his forehead. He seemed to soften, his shoulders dropping.
“I would not keep so much from you if it was not a necessity. I trust you above all else, oh watcher of mine.”
He nodded slowly. “Very well, good night Reshi.”
Stalks of wheat and barley rustled as a chill wind passed them. Waves of blue-cast grass lapped at the dirt wagon trail. It was nearly empty.
Two figures road along abreast. One was a cloaked silhouette that seemed to shift and break, like the smoke of a guttering candle, riding a massive black destrier, muscled and powerful, its breath misting against the air of the waning day. The other was atop a slender mare of pure white. This rider was also smaller, and wore riding dresses too fine for the locality.
They seemed to be engaged in conversation. A wayside inn came into view, and the pale rider slowed, enough to make the other circle back and slowly draw up back next to them. A voice like gravel and sliding rocks crashed from the horses.
“We should ride on into the night, Reshi. Our horses won’t throw shoes on the wagon trail.”
Then came the response, careful and patient, like a glacier – it spoke in inevitability.
“There is only so much haste required; we will arrive when we need to.”
“Then at least let us camp in the forest.”
“You know I do not sleep so well without a bed, and I need to again before entering Oakheim.”
There was a grumble, like a rockslide, but silence resumed, save for the beating of hooves upon hard packed clay and earth.
The Traveller’s Respite, a leaning, three-story building, each floor distinct from the others, but no less well-crafted, spoke of the hasty capitalisation of being the final stop along the Eastern route to Oakheim. Smoke billowed from inside a large circle of wagons in the yard behind, orange light dancing upon the canvas, and merriment and music spilling out of every recess.
The two stopped outside, the woman handing her reigns to Karl. As he led both beasts to the stables, Aleora entered the common room. It was a bustling affair, with shouted conversations and sloshing drinks, underneath a thick veil of pipesmoke and plucked strings. She didn’t garner much attention this late into the night, though a few lupine eyes followed her.
A woman rushing around behind a bar, polishing the surface and pulling drinks.
“Aye lass, how kin aye ‘elp?” Several of her teeth were missing, and the rest seemed in some state of decay. Her face was creased and shiny.
“I would like to buy food and board for the night.”
Almost immediately the woman shook her head, flicking her oily locks from side to side. “Neh kin do, full.” She set a flagon in front of a man who was slumped over the bar.
“Oh, dear me, that is a shame, what am I to do?” As Aleora said this she began stroking her chin very slowly with her left hand, her ring on full display. The proprietor’s eyes went large and glassy, and she began waving her hands and stammering, rushing over to Aleora.
“Oh, nay me thinks aboot et, ye kin haf may rum, free of charge fur sucha leddy as yerself.” She did her best to give an ingratiating smile, but with so many teeth missing the end result was quite the opposite. Nonetheless, Aleora smiled gracefully, though it did not touch her eyes, and bobbed her head ever so slightly.
“How fortunate.”
The room was adequate; the mattress was stuffed with goose down and it had well-fitted boards, though there was a pervading odour of port and cheese. Karl and Aleora began preparing for sleep in silence, their travelled packs hauled to the foot of the bed. Karl set up his bedroll in front of the door, sword tucked next to it.
“Reshi, when will you tell me why we are here.”
She looked at him and tilted her head, dressed in a pale blue nightgown.
“You have followed me this far, dear Watcher, I only ask for your trust one night longer, and I shall tell you on the road tomorrow; there are things I am still unsure of, and perhaps tonight my lady will grace me with their elucidation.”
He was frowning at the floor. She walked over and brushed her lips against his forehead. He seemed to soften, his shoulders dropping.
“I would not keep so much from you if it was not a necessity. I trust you above all else, oh watcher of mine.”
He nodded slowly. “Very well, good night Reshi.”
Yes. I am thinking.
Name: Aleora Scryer
Age: 30+
Appearance:
Ageless in her grace, she could be a blossoming cherry of a girl or jaded wisewoman. One thing is for certain, the azure pools of her eyes hold wisdom – they are tempered ice-sapphires, and hold not so much kindness, but rather… pity? Fair haired and beautiful, with defined facial contours, she is often dressed in a travelling cloak, and underneath that, her sky blue shawl, with increasingly intricate, but distinct, bands of gold embroidery ascending around its base, above which sprawls a beautiful scene, inlaid in finer thread, denoting her station as Dream-twined and travelling member of Izia’s Archive. On her wedding finger she wears a signet ring of glassy stone that seems to have a trapped inside the falling sky and rushing streams of lightest blue. The bezel holds a symbol, six, interlocking circles inside a larger, singular hoop.
Personality: Intelligent, apathetic and self-absorbed
Occupation: Dream diviner, finder of lost artefacts, and travelling Magi
History:
After it became apparent that Aleora possessed the unique ability to just “know” things, the Magi living in their town sent word by letter, and soon she was whisked away from her family to the Demense. A bright and capable student, her time there might be difficult to piece together by asking her friends, such was her studiousness and independence.
After her trial she went on to become an indispensable follower of Izia, gifted the ability of foresight through her dreams and through casting bones, she travels with her Watcher, Karl, when her premonitions demand it. Otherwise she oversees the excavation of artefacts, both powerful and benign, to either lock away, destroy, or archive.
Age: 30+
Appearance:
Ageless in her grace, she could be a blossoming cherry of a girl or jaded wisewoman. One thing is for certain, the azure pools of her eyes hold wisdom – they are tempered ice-sapphires, and hold not so much kindness, but rather… pity? Fair haired and beautiful, with defined facial contours, she is often dressed in a travelling cloak, and underneath that, her sky blue shawl, with increasingly intricate, but distinct, bands of gold embroidery ascending around its base, above which sprawls a beautiful scene, inlaid in finer thread, denoting her station as Dream-twined and travelling member of Izia’s Archive. On her wedding finger she wears a signet ring of glassy stone that seems to have a trapped inside the falling sky and rushing streams of lightest blue. The bezel holds a symbol, six, interlocking circles inside a larger, singular hoop.
Personality: Intelligent, apathetic and self-absorbed
Occupation: Dream diviner, finder of lost artefacts, and travelling Magi
History:
After it became apparent that Aleora possessed the unique ability to just “know” things, the Magi living in their town sent word by letter, and soon she was whisked away from her family to the Demense. A bright and capable student, her time there might be difficult to piece together by asking her friends, such was her studiousness and independence.
After her trial she went on to become an indispensable follower of Izia, gifted the ability of foresight through her dreams and through casting bones, she travels with her Watcher, Karl, when her premonitions demand it. Otherwise she oversees the excavation of artefacts, both powerful and benign, to either lock away, destroy, or archive.
<Reserved>
AHHHHHH!Exciting stuff. Will get a CS up soon.
[This post is brought to you by the lovely Redward and the brilliant Me. It tells of some of the things that happened during the timeskip, eventually ending at when the group decided to Rest.]
Stormy
After taking the mask back from Koda, she nodded twice, muttering only, “I think I understand better now, thank you.”
The mask occupied her attention, whilst she found herself swept up by the motion of the party, her feet carrying her half unconsciously. It held her with empty eyes. Gripping it made the hairs of her arms stand on end and tingle as if she was in the midst of a great thunderstorm. It was quite beautiful, with rolling curves and striking colour. She turned it over in her hands, looking at where her face would nestle, if she was to wear it, but then her eyes widened slightly, and she shook her head, burying the mask deep in a pocket of her massive cardigan.
She looked around at the passing world for the first time. It seemed to be a more vibrant reflection of their own; a falsetto of nature, with odd flowers lining the path, the grass growing untamed and wild not far from them, and trees appeared before long, a clustered canopy of simmering gemstones – verdant emeralds, sunset rubies, and deep autumn amethysts, with slithers of jade and malachite interlaced. Tears gathered at the corners of Stormy’s eyes. The forest bloomed on their right, but wrapped around in front of them, on the horizon, and it seemed, rather fortunately to Stormy, that their path would lead them through the dazzling, alien woods.
The sun shining, Stormy lolled her head back and smiled, stretching her arms in a wide arch above her, unhurried and happy. For all in the world she did not understand, she knew it was a day to behold, a day for small adventures and finding pleasant company. Stormy liked to have picnics on such days, but she did not picnic often; they were rare treasures indeed.
She didn’t talk much with Koda; he seemed rather sweet, but something in the way he spoke about the mask gave her goose bumps.
After only a few minutes of taking in the surrounding, Stormy decided to pull her boots off, walking barefoot in the sun-baked dirt and dust. She fell behind at bit doing this, ending up next to Tabitha. With a boot in each hand, she offered a close-lipped smile, and went back to staring a white wisp of cloud racing across the sky.
A couple more minutes of silence passed. Stormy's gaze having flitted quickly to and from the perverted visage of the Rebel every now and then. Finally, she spoke.
“Tabitha, right? I’m bad with names, y’know, but I think I heard Her call you that. I’m Stormy,” She raised a hand and wiggled a boot from side to side.
"Huh? Yeah, I'm Tabitha."
The path was lined with shade and thick trunks. Tabitha's eyes had roamed relentlessly, though they trained themselves on certain targets for longer than others. Picking over the dark corners where trains of thought had halted or altogether crashed, Tabitha had kept a slow pace. Now she was back in Irriss, shaken from the swarm of fragmented images and unspoken ideas. The woman talking to her was barefoot, and had apparently been there for a moment, a slight smile on her face. Tabitha pulled herself together, silver eyes taking on a sleepy cast and her mouth becoming a more relaxed crescent. She watched Stormy shake her boot in greeting.
"Sorry, I was in another world or somethin'. Stormy, ya said?" She wouldn't bring up that she had popped into the woman's shop, before, with Will. Still, it wasn't something she would simply overlook. The Ghost Girl had a reason for everything, and Tabitha was curious as to the why of the connections that seemed to exist. "She usually says the whole thing. 'Tabitha Calvicante'." Her eyes settled on Koda's back. Seems like he got it pretty bad. She crossed her arms across her stomach, pointing a finger skyward. "Don't much like that."
Calvicante… Will’s sister. Poor girl. She’s been through enough as it is. “Does he scare you?” Stormy nodded her head towards Tristan’s new body and its many eyes. “I see how you look at him.”
It didn't take her long to hit a relatively fresh wound. Tabitha's mind leapt at the question. She didn't bother sorting out what followed next. "I ain't scared, lady. I got over that on the tracks." She lied easily, flicking her finger in Stormy's direction. "And whatchu mean 'how you look at him'?!" She wasn't loud, exactly, but her voice had risen slightly; and to the observant there might have been something akin to surprise in Tabitha's eyes.
Fuck.
“Oh, of course you’re not scared, my mistake,” Stormy didn’t look at Tabitha; instead she swooped down to pluck a flower, carrying both boots in one hand as she stared at what resembled a lily. Its leaves were the stark white of bleached bone, but it was the stamen that had caught Stormy’s eyes; in the shade of the trees she could see that it had been glowing blue ever so faintly. Perhaps the native keystone pollinator here has the same visible spectra as we do and thus – she cut her thoughts short. The flower fell to the floor. It was lost to the dust.
She turned quickly back to Tabitha with an almost feverish grin. “But, you know it is okay to be scared. Heck, it’s probably the sanest thing to be right now. This place,” she gestured with and quick flick of both hands, her boots swinging in her grip, “is gnarly.” An odd chuckle punctuated a short silence.
Probably, yeah, but 'sane' ain't what we came here for.
Tabitha watched the older woman take up a bone-coloured flower. She was more watching her hands. It wasn't long before it fell away. She looked back at it, for a bare moment, but kept her feet moving. How many times I tell myself that I ain't scared? The easy answer was Long enough to know it's a lie, with the more convoluted thought trailing behind it so unnecessary that Tabitha half-laughed aloud. It came out something more of a choked chortle, before she settled back into her usual disinterested visage.
She was still tense, but it was much less pronounced after her small outburst. Stormy's easy way of talking helped, and that Tabitha couldn't imagine her as a scheming or plotting sort. Or a threat. "Yeah, it's somethin'." She glanced at Stormy, "'Gnarly', though? I kinda like that." Tabitha decided to lock that somewhere in her memory. "Probably gonna get more gnarly as we go." Yeah, ok. I like that one a lot. She waved a hand a bit, grasping the air; practising something she couldn't be sure existed. Does around here, though. That was never really a question. It did, however, remind her of something. A something that happened to be a question. I'll ask her in a minute.
“Don’t worry, nobody else will notice. I was just paying close attention,” she winked, tapping the side of her nose, “and I’ve enough years under my belt to spot certain things.”
A long hanging branch dangled tinkling leaves of chipped amber and spun gold. Stormy brushed the outstretched fingers of her free hand against them as they passed under. They chimed sweetly.
“I guess what I’m saying is, not dealing with your feelings is harsh on your spirit and soul. It’ll eat away at you, bit by bit. So don’t do that, yeah?” The sleepy sunset eyes of Stormy smiled with her face.
She listened, instead. Stormy gave her some words, and she considered them. She's gotta point. Maybe a couple'a points. She watched Stormy reach up to some leaves, trailing a few steps behind. "It ain't their business, anyway. Ain't ya's, either, but I guess I'd feel like a real bitch if I ran off a sweet old lady. Especially when ya right. Thanks," she did her best to not let a sliver of sarcasm slide through; she wasn't really feeling it, anyway, "Kinda gives me a bit to think about." Really it brought too much to mind. A thousand problems and sorrows caught behind her lips. Tabitha would swallow them, again, for now.
Sort that out, later.
"How come ya ain't wear ya Mask, Stormy?" Tabitha's eyes drifted to it, then to the woman's face. "Interestin' choice, for real. Seems like everyone else took to it real quick." She lowered her hands to dangle at her side, staring ahead. "And that some of 'em are regrettin' it, real quick."
Stormy’s smile slipped slightly. She shoved the mask deeper into her pocket, hiding it almost entirely. Tabitha watched her, as she hid the Semblance away. Silence followed, but her eyes didn't stray for a long moment. When they did, the harlequin sought the Sun; catching glimpses of its radiance through an almost oppressive canopy. She held her hands aloft, letting it fall on her where it would. Her feet had started to ache, and her head wasn't faring much better. It was warm and familiar, despite her displacement. Stormy stopped chewing her lip and broke the silence, finally answering.
“One should accept gifts as graciously as possible, especially with Her kind. I would have left my mask if it were possible. But all that talk of souls,” she shrugged, “I’m me. Always have been, always will be. There’s nothing anyone could offer to tempt me into giving that up. No pretty mask. No power.” As she walked her mouth hung half open, her eyes far off. There was more to say, but then she sealed up, and nodded.
"I took it without thinkin'," it wouldn't be the first time she had done something of the sort, "and decided that s'worth it without checkin' costs. Still, I ain't think we traded off our souls or anything." Despite herself, she smiled, "Even if I did, it ain't matter now. Maybe that's what it takes to get what ya want, anyway?" Tabitha didn't know where she really stood. She had taken the Semblance, and had chosen to wear it; those were the facts. What applied to others didn't seem to much have anything to do with her. People flyin' and fightin' and movin' rocks and shit. I ain't got nothin'. That had rolled around her mind, as well, since leaving the field. If Tabitha concentrated, as she was doing now, she could feel something begging to be moved. Something both within and around her.
Then, of course, as she tried to latch onto that feeling; that strange tingling that started in her fingers, Stormy called her out and lightly squeezed the hand she was so intently staring at.
“You’re hurting; your bravado hides it only so much. I don’t know what we’ll face here, but we’re in this together. All of us. Please don’t forget that, Tabby Cat,” She gave Tabitha’s hand a squeeze gentle enough to match her smile.
She wanted to pull back, but for no reason other than keeping distance; it didn't have the same alien feel that the Ghost Girl's grip possessed. Tabitha sighed, lifting the edge of her massive hat to scratch at her scalp; setting long strands of hair to dancing as she attempted to properly replace the oversized headgear, afterwards. She had known someone would eventually, but doubted it would be that quick. Or that quiet.
Tabby Cat, huh? Haven't heard that one in a while. It brought a smile to her face, despite the slight edge the thought held. "Yeah, I've been hurtin' for a while, Stormy," it was a whisper, her eyes without their usual steel, "I came here to make that right, weird as that sounds." Through all the doubts, that one thing had remained unmalleable in her mind; Irriss and the Ghost Girl could be whatever they wanted, but Tabitha Calvicante was going to get hers... through them or through something else that existed, here. And she was sure she'd know it, when she found it.
"I know what ya sayin'. I just don't know if we gonna make it work, like that."
She slowed herself, falling behind Stormy again. That's when she decided it was time to take a break, with or without the others. So, she announced it; kicking a rock and putting forward a question.
Stormy halted with the party. Sliding down its trunk, she plonked herself at the base of a tree with brick-red bark and honeyed leaves. Uncertainty and worry swam in her eyes, so she shut them tightly, tilting her face up to the dappled sunbeams that smiled back at her.
“I’m sure there will be all the food you can eat in Silverbook.”
The mask weighed heavy in her pocket.
She did not think of picnics.
Stormy
After taking the mask back from Koda, she nodded twice, muttering only, “I think I understand better now, thank you.”
The mask occupied her attention, whilst she found herself swept up by the motion of the party, her feet carrying her half unconsciously. It held her with empty eyes. Gripping it made the hairs of her arms stand on end and tingle as if she was in the midst of a great thunderstorm. It was quite beautiful, with rolling curves and striking colour. She turned it over in her hands, looking at where her face would nestle, if she was to wear it, but then her eyes widened slightly, and she shook her head, burying the mask deep in a pocket of her massive cardigan.
She looked around at the passing world for the first time. It seemed to be a more vibrant reflection of their own; a falsetto of nature, with odd flowers lining the path, the grass growing untamed and wild not far from them, and trees appeared before long, a clustered canopy of simmering gemstones – verdant emeralds, sunset rubies, and deep autumn amethysts, with slithers of jade and malachite interlaced. Tears gathered at the corners of Stormy’s eyes. The forest bloomed on their right, but wrapped around in front of them, on the horizon, and it seemed, rather fortunately to Stormy, that their path would lead them through the dazzling, alien woods.
The sun shining, Stormy lolled her head back and smiled, stretching her arms in a wide arch above her, unhurried and happy. For all in the world she did not understand, she knew it was a day to behold, a day for small adventures and finding pleasant company. Stormy liked to have picnics on such days, but she did not picnic often; they were rare treasures indeed.
She didn’t talk much with Koda; he seemed rather sweet, but something in the way he spoke about the mask gave her goose bumps.
After only a few minutes of taking in the surrounding, Stormy decided to pull her boots off, walking barefoot in the sun-baked dirt and dust. She fell behind at bit doing this, ending up next to Tabitha. With a boot in each hand, she offered a close-lipped smile, and went back to staring a white wisp of cloud racing across the sky.
A couple more minutes of silence passed. Stormy's gaze having flitted quickly to and from the perverted visage of the Rebel every now and then. Finally, she spoke.
“Tabitha, right? I’m bad with names, y’know, but I think I heard Her call you that. I’m Stormy,” She raised a hand and wiggled a boot from side to side.
"Huh? Yeah, I'm Tabitha."
The path was lined with shade and thick trunks. Tabitha's eyes had roamed relentlessly, though they trained themselves on certain targets for longer than others. Picking over the dark corners where trains of thought had halted or altogether crashed, Tabitha had kept a slow pace. Now she was back in Irriss, shaken from the swarm of fragmented images and unspoken ideas. The woman talking to her was barefoot, and had apparently been there for a moment, a slight smile on her face. Tabitha pulled herself together, silver eyes taking on a sleepy cast and her mouth becoming a more relaxed crescent. She watched Stormy shake her boot in greeting.
"Sorry, I was in another world or somethin'. Stormy, ya said?" She wouldn't bring up that she had popped into the woman's shop, before, with Will. Still, it wasn't something she would simply overlook. The Ghost Girl had a reason for everything, and Tabitha was curious as to the why of the connections that seemed to exist. "She usually says the whole thing. 'Tabitha Calvicante'." Her eyes settled on Koda's back. Seems like he got it pretty bad. She crossed her arms across her stomach, pointing a finger skyward. "Don't much like that."
Calvicante… Will’s sister. Poor girl. She’s been through enough as it is. “Does he scare you?” Stormy nodded her head towards Tristan’s new body and its many eyes. “I see how you look at him.”
It didn't take her long to hit a relatively fresh wound. Tabitha's mind leapt at the question. She didn't bother sorting out what followed next. "I ain't scared, lady. I got over that on the tracks." She lied easily, flicking her finger in Stormy's direction. "And whatchu mean 'how you look at him'?!" She wasn't loud, exactly, but her voice had risen slightly; and to the observant there might have been something akin to surprise in Tabitha's eyes.
Fuck.
“Oh, of course you’re not scared, my mistake,” Stormy didn’t look at Tabitha; instead she swooped down to pluck a flower, carrying both boots in one hand as she stared at what resembled a lily. Its leaves were the stark white of bleached bone, but it was the stamen that had caught Stormy’s eyes; in the shade of the trees she could see that it had been glowing blue ever so faintly. Perhaps the native keystone pollinator here has the same visible spectra as we do and thus – she cut her thoughts short. The flower fell to the floor. It was lost to the dust.
She turned quickly back to Tabitha with an almost feverish grin. “But, you know it is okay to be scared. Heck, it’s probably the sanest thing to be right now. This place,” she gestured with and quick flick of both hands, her boots swinging in her grip, “is gnarly.” An odd chuckle punctuated a short silence.
Probably, yeah, but 'sane' ain't what we came here for.
Tabitha watched the older woman take up a bone-coloured flower. She was more watching her hands. It wasn't long before it fell away. She looked back at it, for a bare moment, but kept her feet moving. How many times I tell myself that I ain't scared? The easy answer was Long enough to know it's a lie, with the more convoluted thought trailing behind it so unnecessary that Tabitha half-laughed aloud. It came out something more of a choked chortle, before she settled back into her usual disinterested visage.
She was still tense, but it was much less pronounced after her small outburst. Stormy's easy way of talking helped, and that Tabitha couldn't imagine her as a scheming or plotting sort. Or a threat. "Yeah, it's somethin'." She glanced at Stormy, "'Gnarly', though? I kinda like that." Tabitha decided to lock that somewhere in her memory. "Probably gonna get more gnarly as we go." Yeah, ok. I like that one a lot. She waved a hand a bit, grasping the air; practising something she couldn't be sure existed. Does around here, though. That was never really a question. It did, however, remind her of something. A something that happened to be a question. I'll ask her in a minute.
“Don’t worry, nobody else will notice. I was just paying close attention,” she winked, tapping the side of her nose, “and I’ve enough years under my belt to spot certain things.”
A long hanging branch dangled tinkling leaves of chipped amber and spun gold. Stormy brushed the outstretched fingers of her free hand against them as they passed under. They chimed sweetly.
“I guess what I’m saying is, not dealing with your feelings is harsh on your spirit and soul. It’ll eat away at you, bit by bit. So don’t do that, yeah?” The sleepy sunset eyes of Stormy smiled with her face.
She listened, instead. Stormy gave her some words, and she considered them. She's gotta point. Maybe a couple'a points. She watched Stormy reach up to some leaves, trailing a few steps behind. "It ain't their business, anyway. Ain't ya's, either, but I guess I'd feel like a real bitch if I ran off a sweet old lady. Especially when ya right. Thanks," she did her best to not let a sliver of sarcasm slide through; she wasn't really feeling it, anyway, "Kinda gives me a bit to think about." Really it brought too much to mind. A thousand problems and sorrows caught behind her lips. Tabitha would swallow them, again, for now.
Sort that out, later.
"How come ya ain't wear ya Mask, Stormy?" Tabitha's eyes drifted to it, then to the woman's face. "Interestin' choice, for real. Seems like everyone else took to it real quick." She lowered her hands to dangle at her side, staring ahead. "And that some of 'em are regrettin' it, real quick."
Stormy’s smile slipped slightly. She shoved the mask deeper into her pocket, hiding it almost entirely. Tabitha watched her, as she hid the Semblance away. Silence followed, but her eyes didn't stray for a long moment. When they did, the harlequin sought the Sun; catching glimpses of its radiance through an almost oppressive canopy. She held her hands aloft, letting it fall on her where it would. Her feet had started to ache, and her head wasn't faring much better. It was warm and familiar, despite her displacement. Stormy stopped chewing her lip and broke the silence, finally answering.
“One should accept gifts as graciously as possible, especially with Her kind. I would have left my mask if it were possible. But all that talk of souls,” she shrugged, “I’m me. Always have been, always will be. There’s nothing anyone could offer to tempt me into giving that up. No pretty mask. No power.” As she walked her mouth hung half open, her eyes far off. There was more to say, but then she sealed up, and nodded.
"I took it without thinkin'," it wouldn't be the first time she had done something of the sort, "and decided that s'worth it without checkin' costs. Still, I ain't think we traded off our souls or anything." Despite herself, she smiled, "Even if I did, it ain't matter now. Maybe that's what it takes to get what ya want, anyway?" Tabitha didn't know where she really stood. She had taken the Semblance, and had chosen to wear it; those were the facts. What applied to others didn't seem to much have anything to do with her. People flyin' and fightin' and movin' rocks and shit. I ain't got nothin'. That had rolled around her mind, as well, since leaving the field. If Tabitha concentrated, as she was doing now, she could feel something begging to be moved. Something both within and around her.
Then, of course, as she tried to latch onto that feeling; that strange tingling that started in her fingers, Stormy called her out and lightly squeezed the hand she was so intently staring at.
“You’re hurting; your bravado hides it only so much. I don’t know what we’ll face here, but we’re in this together. All of us. Please don’t forget that, Tabby Cat,” She gave Tabitha’s hand a squeeze gentle enough to match her smile.
She wanted to pull back, but for no reason other than keeping distance; it didn't have the same alien feel that the Ghost Girl's grip possessed. Tabitha sighed, lifting the edge of her massive hat to scratch at her scalp; setting long strands of hair to dancing as she attempted to properly replace the oversized headgear, afterwards. She had known someone would eventually, but doubted it would be that quick. Or that quiet.
Tabby Cat, huh? Haven't heard that one in a while. It brought a smile to her face, despite the slight edge the thought held. "Yeah, I've been hurtin' for a while, Stormy," it was a whisper, her eyes without their usual steel, "I came here to make that right, weird as that sounds." Through all the doubts, that one thing had remained unmalleable in her mind; Irriss and the Ghost Girl could be whatever they wanted, but Tabitha Calvicante was going to get hers... through them or through something else that existed, here. And she was sure she'd know it, when she found it.
"I know what ya sayin'. I just don't know if we gonna make it work, like that."
She slowed herself, falling behind Stormy again. That's when she decided it was time to take a break, with or without the others. So, she announced it; kicking a rock and putting forward a question.
Stormy halted with the party. Sliding down its trunk, she plonked herself at the base of a tree with brick-red bark and honeyed leaves. Uncertainty and worry swam in her eyes, so she shut them tightly, tilting her face up to the dappled sunbeams that smiled back at her.
“I’m sure there will be all the food you can eat in Silverbook.”
The mask weighed heavy in her pocket.
She did not think of picnics.
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