Futuristic 〄 Help me find my way––!! | (syntranator & starboobie)

[Syntra]

"...to my own I've created?" Iskra repeated, uncomprehending. Wasn't that true for all memories? Technically, she supposed, a friend could describe their memory to you and share it in this way, but that still didn't make yours-- at least not on any level that would truly be meaningful. That wasn't how it worked. Just like everything else in this universe, words fell victim to entropy, and how could they not? With the reality being so layered, so rich in stimuli, it was impossible to capture it in its entirety. A described memory, then, was just a shard-- a shard of a shard, in truth, for not even the memory itself contained the whole picture. And claiming this filtered, watered-down version as yours? That would be like... like using the same batch of tea leaves twice, and hoping to get a tea that tasted the same as well. Foolishness, indeed. Still, Verity didn't strike her as a foolish person-- far from it, actually. The princess wielded her words with the same level of precision Iskra reserved for her blade, which meant she must have gone somewhere with that statement. And, in that case... "What do you mean by that?" the pirate asked. "Do your people have some memory-sharing technology at their disposal?" ...what a weird, weird thought. Did it not get confusing, listening to thoughts that weren't yours? To voices that belonged to someone else? And, more importantly, how did you know where you ended and other people began? (The emptiness within her, at least, was comforting-- a landscape over which the sun had set, eerie and quiet. A grave, perhaps, but one where she lay. Would that be as simple to determine, however, if other people's perspective came into the picture? With her own presence a mere candle light, flickering in the darkness... no, Iskra wasn't at all sure.)

"I've heard this line of reasoning before," she nodded when Verity spoke of the inherent kindness in the gift of death, both surprised and not. "Do you truly believe in it, though? Because it rings false to me. I-- I mean, in theory, it probably is true. When you look at life and compare the overall amount of suffering to being dead, then... yes, death does seem kinder, indeed. The quantity aspect of it is quite clear. What about quality, though?" Iskra watched her with her big, blue eyes, and possibly for the first time since they had met, she didn't feel the need to avert her gaze-- instead, she searched for the answers in Verity's face, hoping to... do what, exactly? The pirate had no idea, really. (The ideas were engrossing, though, and in exploring them, Iskra forgot to feel self-conscious about so, so many things.) "Death removes your ability to suffer, but also your ability to feel joy. It robs you of all the choices, and is that really worth it? Worth it not feeling pain, I mean. I-- I don't think pain is necessarily bad. At times, it is the best teacher there is." ...and, equally, it could be a reminder that you were still you. Even with your memories stripped away from you, you remained stuck in the same body-- in the same body, which still had the same needs. And pain avoidance? That was the most basic of instincts, shared by all living things. (In that respect, at least, Iskra wasn't a freak. The Shade hadn't taken it away from her, and perhaps never would. It only made sense, you see? Having to repair her body over and over couldn't be fun, even if you had the means to do so. No, doubtlessly, some sense of self-preservation was beneficial to the Sleeping Godhead.)

"I like that definition," Iskra hummed. Somehow, she sounded more involved than she had ever had, too-- her voice was still quiet, almost quiet enough to be mistaken for a whisper, but the melody was more lively. Gone was the previous monotony, and the pauses between her sentences grew shorter and shorter as well. With some degree of imagination, you could almost say the pirate appeared to be... eager? Eager for something undefinable, much like a river after the dam that had been keeping it in check had collapsed. (Such a river had to flow forward as well, passionately, even if it knew not what awaited it. Momentum was a scary thing, wasn't it?) "That, however, raises another question. Is it even possible to be truly kind? Surely, you'll agree with me when I say that what is good for one group of people may be great evil for another. Not even inaction will spare you from the dilemma, for that can be a form of evil as well. Who decides what is good, then? How do you know?" How do you live with yourself, knowing that you only ever see a part of the picture? That no matter what you intend to do, the domino effect can take you somewhere else entirely?

Those questions, and many others, plagued Iskra's mind, but Verity's outburst swept it clean. "I-- I'm sorry," the pirate stuttered, her eyes widening. Could it be that she had shut the door to the princess's heart? Just like that, with one thoughtless remark? How cruel! "I did not mean to insult you. I just... do not see it." Evidently, however, Verity hadn't forsaken her, for she began to recite her verses.

A spell, she had said. Iskra's experiences with spells had been both extensive and unpleasant, and this-- this was so unlike any of that that it gave her whiplash. (The words resonated across the prison, pure and crystal-clear. A music without melody, really. That, and also concentrated meaning. How did she do it, that she packed so much into a few verses? The economy was staggering, and Iskra found herself... overwhelmed, maybe. Impressed, most definitely. Her words were sea, deep and unpredictable, and it was so, so easy to drown in them. ...in her, really.)

"That, um," the pirate began when she finally found her own words, "was something. How do you-- how do you achieve the effect? I mean, how do you choose the right words?" Because, as always, the analytical part of her wanted to dismantle the mysterious structure-- dismantle it, see what made it tick, and take it for herself. The less analytical part of her, though... "Is the poem about you?" Iskra asked innocently. "Because it sounds like you. Some parts more than others, but... yes."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

At first, Verity only nods––assuming that Iskra is only clarifying what she has said. It's not until she continues down her line of inquiries that the princess realizes that, to strangers and foreigners, her words sound strange even if true. Though the connection to ancestors, the collection of generations in their minds is no secret and is somewhat documented to extraterrestrial anthropologist that had studied her people (before being run off the planet for egregious cultural offenses bordering on a sense of entitlement to their knowledge)––she had forgot to consider that this is still something unique. Or at least not found in all species––like magic or horns or immortality or purple eyes. "We did," she replies curtly, refusing to say more on the subject of their lost talismans. It's a sore subject for her as she thinks about all that had been lost during the pilgrimage.

"But that's not what I was talking about––" she adds, steering the conversation away from what had been lost. "The history of my lineage, of my family, exists right here," she points to her temple and turns the tip of her finger as if it were a key. "Though we don't have access to every generation or even complete access to our ancestors' memories. Only a few generations and only the memories they want us to have." She decides to leave out her ability to actually speak with the spirits; that they can come to her in whispers; that she can travel, partly, to their planes. That, for some reason, feels dangerous or too intimate for the pirate to know. "The memory I described really is my grandmother's. I see it through her eyes though I know I am not the subject because it feels different from mine. Hers... Hers also have this tint to them, a color I don't know how to describe, whereas mine are clear and without filter. The same is true for the other memories––each ancestor seems to have her own color but all my memories are clear. I suspect when, or if, I have descendants they will see my memories with a tinted shade too. Probably purple."

As Iskra becomes more alive, almost magnetic even, Verity, now, finds herself cowing away from the other. The threat of her own words starting to strike her as she realizes that... that this argument is complicated. That this definition is complicated. That everything is complicated. And how she answers now can only further complicate things. In fact, hidden in the captain's question is the rock and hard place they both find themselves stuck between––how could this question not call forward both their hypocrisies? And yet––are their intentions both not righteous? And Verity? Verity does feel there is more justification in her own convictions, but only in the superficial nature because beneath that... She has to ask, knowing that many others could benefit from the lost technology of her people, how can she not feel that pain? Is she even capable of going forward guiltlessly? (Does it have to be either/or? Can it be both/and? Only Time has that answer, she guesses.)

The only way to escape her guilt is to dehumanize Iskra and her people, but she has already taken a misstep in that by listening to the pirate. To the detriment of her own people, potentially, she does see the human beneath all the labels. She even sees the daring threads that tied them together in the universal struggle of salvation for the good of their people; a leader's struggle and plight. "Pain is a reality of Life and I suppose Relief also exists in Life too––but Pain sometimes is too cruel a teacher to learn from in the moment and can feel more punishing than rewarding." Her hand touches her throat then slides to her chest showing, through implication, where all the Pain she feels lives and lingers. "Sometimes it's so cruel you may even refuse the lesson––but I suppose that is the joke of Pain too––doomed to continue feeling it until you learn and understand the Pain." She muses, letting herself freely associate in ways she hadn't done since speaking with the Sage Sisters she had once known.

"And to your question...I––I don't know," she admits, defeat in her voice as she struggles to make sense of this challenge. "Maybe there is no such thing as good or bad. Maybe there is only gray space and our only hope is to exist in the light grey of Life than the darker parts? Perhaps, too, kindness, goodness, all these things are subjective and not as objective as being and doing, because Consequence, even those unintended must be answered in one way or another." Verity begins to pull back as she realizes what her own answer means. As she thinks about her own choice to damn Iskra for herself. "Kindness is the choice we can live with, maybe." In her mind, she begins to collect herself––trying to reclaim the sudden power the captain has swept away from the princess with her questions.

The subject of poetry seems to be the safest topic, despite its intimacy, but Verity sees no issue with sharing how own process and she is happy to in order to escape the discomfort of their other subjects. "Well, it doesn't always sound right at first and I make a lot of adjustments––even that one I may continue to change. But I usually start by settling on a feeling or experience that I want to share and select the words or phrases that seem most potent or universal to the condition of Living."

However, in an instant (and once more) Iskra's sweeping, innocent, question rips straight into her chest. Obviously, she knows art is subjective and its interpretation is up to the audience once the artist has shared, but the comment and the suggestion completely shake her core. Is she the girl with beauty that is a warning sign? Maybe. For some reason the association hurts her, because the actual subject of the poem? She feels she could not be further from her (and, still, she knows the similarities that exist between the gaps in their bodies). Her arms cross over her chest and she leans back, letting the back of her neck hit the cot. Bubbles of hot emotion, nameless feelings, start rising to the surface as her eyes cut across to the pirate, "Is that so? And which parts remind you of me?" She doesn't answer who the poem is about––that can be left open to interpretation as is the point of poetry. "Do I cut down your armor with my silver whip tongue? Is my beauty so sharp you feel threatened? Or am I the girl with symphonies in her laughter?" Her chest heaves, tears begin to sting at her eyes and, if she were better at containing them she would pull them back in but they don't leave. Instead they fall in small streams and in some ways, she embraces them as much as she rejects the feelings that caused them. "Because the poem cannot be taken in parts, Iskra. If I am any of those pieces, then I am all of them, too."

 

[Syntra]

"Maybe," Iskra agreed quietly. The truth of Verity's words couldn't be denied-- everything about such topics was chronically messy, with blurred lines and sharp edges. Still, when the pirate saw her prisoner's distress? The final desperate attempt to take a breath before a tidal wave buried her, pushing the oxygen out of her lungs? Iskra wanted to prove her wrong. (Some part of her, covered by dust and webs, may have wanted to hug her as well-- to soothe her, perhaps. To show her that she wasn't alone in her doubts. ...which, wasn't that laughable? As if the hand that was also wrapped around her throat could provide her comfort! Nonetheless, striving could very well be Iskra's second name, so strive she did.) "And maybe that isn't necessarily a wrong thing," the pirate offered her perspective. "This ambivalence, I mean. Yes, it is hard to see what's right, or even if an answer to that question truly exists, but doesn't it make the truth all the more precious? And I'm-- I'm sure that trying to stay in one of these lighter zones has to count for something. Perhaps that is what kindness is, in a way. The real version of it, rather than some anstract ideal to aim for. Because, if we chose to perceive it as a binary thing? Kind versus unkind, or even kind versus cruel? I don't think that kindness could actually exist, for reasons we've established. You're always just a little bit cruel, no matter how you try, and-- well. I don't know about you, but I'd like to live in a world where kindness is at least possible. Where it isn't just a fairytale." Almost shyly, Iskra shrugged and stretched her lips in what looked like... a smile, actually? A small and inconspicuous one, like the spring's first flower growing in the snow, but it was there.

"And maybe kindness is about small things. About buying a child you don't know candy because you feel like it, or in petting a stray cat. In offering an ear to someone who wishes to vent to you about how horrible their day was. If the scope is the problem here, then isn't that the answer? Pursuing actions so meaningless that there won't be a domino effect to speak of? Granted, it's not all you can do, or all you should do, but it's something. Something good for your soul, I'm sure, and for the universe at large as well." ...when had been the last time Iskra had talked about such things? Never, or at least it felt that way. It was like-- like stretching a new kind of muscle, one that Iskra hadn't known she even had, and that... pleased her, more than just a little bit. (Even if, in practical terms, it only meant she'd have more to lose. Did it even matter, getting to know someone who was lying in their grave already? Lying, and waiting for the soil to devour her? Every day, more and more mysteries emerged.)

Iskra's brow furrowed, however, when Verity began to speak of poetry. "I understand the need for revisions, I suppose, but how do you know there's a certain emotion packed in a word? And how you determine what that emotion is? Is 'breakfast' sad or angry? And what about 'socks'? Are they displeased that they always get stepped on, or perhaps lonely because they keep getting lost? Do you think they miss their partners, eaten by the washing machine?" It all sounded one like giant joke-- but, no, Iskra watched Verity with eyes that were completely serious.

That seriousness, however? It transformed into fullblown panic the second Verity began-- began crying. (By the Shade, what had she done? The pirate hadn't thought her words were sharp, but clearly, they were, and they'd cut Verity, cut her and drawn blood, and she had no idea how such wounds were mended, and-- and maybe this proved she shouldn't speak at all. One should wield their sword thoughtfully, right? And if her tongue slashed just like one, then...) There was an impulse to run-- to remove herself from Verity's presence, and let her recover. To give her the privacy to mourn, for watching someone else's tears was shameful. No point in deepening her humiliation, right? Except that the princess asked her something, and... no. No, Iskra wouldn't run. This was her responsibility, her weight to carry, and she had to accept it. "I-- I'm sorry," she blabbered, uselessly, just like so many times before. (Sorry, sorry, sorry. Was that all she was capable of? Shredding her to pieces, and then asking for, nay, demanding forgiveness? ...a killer was always a killer, Iskra supposed, just like a wolf in sheep's clothing was still a wolf. The teeth gave it away, for they glistened with blood.) "And, yes. Yes, no, and I don't know, in that order." Fear was flowing in her veins-- fear that was cold, cold, cold, like a blade in one's heart, or shards of ice. Still, Iskra had no right to stop here, and so she didn't. Verity wanted her explanations, did she not?

"You do cut my armor. You make me feel... I don't even know what it is. There is this sense of being exposed, though," the pirate replied, with honesty so devastating it took her own breath as well. Just, wow. Who even cared for dignity, right? Not Iskra, that much was obvious! "But I don't feel threatened by your beauty. Why should I? I enjoy looking at it. And... and I have no idea what your laughter sounds like, so I cannot judge this accurately. I'd like to find out, though." Gently, running on some half-forgotten instinct, she wiped her tears away with her thumb. "Will you show me, someday?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Truth should be hidden and not cherished. Truth comes with cost. No one wants the truth, because it inconveniences Beautiful beautiful lies. How can Verity not know this––it's the current punishment she is working to untangle. So she isn't sure that she agrees with Iskra's claim that ambivalence makes the truth more precious. It makes it more dangerous to expose; far too unsettling, she thinks. But she doesn't say anything, letting the subject go as her mind wanders into Doubt and it's twin, Fear.

She begins to think that this is cruel––this "kindness" is cruel. Verity should not be seeking comfort in a pirate––it's not even that she is a stranger because some strangers are Sages in disguise; it's the narrative that they're trapped in that makes this so dangerous. Tricking her into feeling compassion for her captor. Tricking her into thinking that her captor cares about her. But. But the evidence speaks so much to the contrary. Because once she separates herself from the prison of context, she knows that everything is real, is true, and yet how can that be any comfort when she is in a cage? Her words, mind, may be free to explore, they may even impact the pirate, but what does any of this mean if the field they're on does not make them equals? The fact that Verity even has leverage at all... She knows she should handle it carefully because in this prison, anything can break. Anything can be taken away––so why is she letting the pirate see a part of herself she has not even explored with depth? The most core part of herself... The part of her that made her Verity. Exposing her heart to red hands. Foolish!

So why does she trust Iskra? Or, rather, why does she want to trust her? Believe her, even? The fact that she is so willing to take a chance on her even if the logical side of her brain tells her that this is like walking into the jaws of an insatiable beast, rubbing yourself up against its taste buds, and telling it, 'You may taste, but you may not eat,' is disturbing. This beast won't eat her, it will devour her if she is not careful. What happened to her Resistance the day before? In a day, the pirate has managed to disarm her with intrigue. This is cunning and convoluted, to the confused princess. But perhaps Iskra just knows how to play the long game better than the other players on the board, because Verity cannot forget that this is all a game (continually rationalizing the evil of her captor despite contrary evidence––yet this is necessary preservation, is it not? She is a prisoner at the end of all of this and forgetting that is unwise––and yet). And in games there are winners and losers.

The theses of worries rattling off in her head add to her distress as tears fall into her lap; memories and memories of the person in the poem, whom she lost, fill her up to the point of overflow (that poem isn't even current––yet its meaning continues to grow and deepen somehow; taking on more as it ages and the relationship with its subject evolves). Tears now cascade down her cheeks thinking of the last good moments she had with the subject of her poem (why had she even shared that one––because she thought it was good? Because she thought it could impress the pirate? And even then, why had she cared about that at all? Especially at the cost this was all coming to! How foolish! She'll never be able to recover herself from this––not just the display of tears, which she doesn't even see as the real loss, the real loss is the armor of her craft and how she let it come undone just because... just because how well Iskra is with her words, with her brain, how she can twist her ideas into something so fascinating that it demands response and further teasing!).

When the pirate––when Iskra strokes her cheek, wiping away the tears as if they aren't waterfalls, as if its the simplest thing in the world to do, she does feel her breath calm, but she doesn't want to; she doesn't want the pirate or Iskra to calm her. However, the action is so shocking, her comfort is automatic. The gentleness of it––even if Iskra has been technically gentle like this before, in the privacy of the cage, it seems more authentic (a terrifying feeling that she believes will betray her later on). She doesn't hear much of what the other says––too caught up in her own thoughts and they fall somewhere around her ears but never land in her head to masticate on. Though the last part echoes enough that she can latch on to it without letting on too much about the typhoon between her ears, hidden behind her eyes. Through teary eyes and a slight smile (she wants to say it's faked, but the shimmer in her eyes suggests otherwise), she says, "Write a poem about those socks and their feelings then maybe you'll hear me laugh." (She isn't sure whether or not she's serious.)

Though she isn't able to muse much longer, because the headache that she had been able to ignore before suddenly erupts into, what she can only describe as, a thousand rubber bands being placed around her head as if to pop it open. Her features screw, spots briefly form in her vision, and she almost falls on her side but her arm sticks out just before she hits the ground. Around her, the ship starts to rattle or creak––she's not sure what it's doing, but she suspects her sudden ailment is related. "What in the Cosmos––" her eyes shoot unspoken accusations at the pirate. "What is––what is the meaning this?"

 

[Syntra]

"Perhaps I shall try," Iskra said, a soft smile blooming on her lips. (It was an easy, automatic thing-- for some reason, Verity's presence seemed to trigger this sort of response in her. How curious. Perhaps she should spend more time with her, in order to see whether some sort of correlation truly existed here? Because that wasn't at all a given. The brain was a pattern-seeking machine, so seek it did-- and, with the wealth of factors to work with, seeing relationships where they were none was an inevitability, really. A sad fate of all thinking beings.) "I'm afraid it will be no laughing matter, though. The plight of socks is an often overlooked one, but no less tragic. I mean, just think about it." Being stepped on habitually couldn't be fun, after all-- Iskra had experienced some of that, and it had been enough for her to burn a whole country to ashes. To damn her people, their children, and the children of their children. (Ego was a scary thing, wasn't it? Magma that coursed through their very veins, ready to erupt at any moment. A well from which so, so many drank, without caring that their togues got covered in blisters.) "I also think that--" What Iskra thought, however, was to remain a mystery, because the ship shook then. It sighed, like a tree branch being bent by the wind, and-- "Oh no. Not again," the pirate groaned.

Was it the closeness, or something else? The Shade only knew, but Iskra leaned forward and wrapped Verity in her arms, as if to shield her from what was to come. Perhaps it was a good thing she had done that, too, for the metal around them started to sing. (Whispers filled her head, both haunting and beautiful. A cacophony of voices, blending together in a manner that made it hard for her to understand the words that were being said, but... huh. Could they be pleading with her, actually? 'Please, please, please. Give... give me... so hungry...' Iskra knew not what they were requesting, or even who they were, but there was this sense of loneliness, loss, even, and something about it inspired her to hug Verity harder. As if-- as if she was the sole stable point in the universe, really. Her anchor.)

The melody grew heavier, because of course it did. Her own heartbeat turned into a drum, its thud, thud, thud in perfect sync with the voices, and for a moment, Iskra was afraid that it would swallow her whole. (That this ship she had stolen would steal her, really. Because, wasn't there poetic justice to be had in such a development? A bad deed punished, and in such a deliciously ironic way, too. ...for that, though, the ship would need to want her. And, really, why would it? There was nothing desirable about scraps-- about empty shells, fragile enough to crumble with a single touch. About shadows on the wall, pale and weak and distant.)

The feeling came and went, though, and when it did? Iskra was staring into Verity's eyes, uncomfortably close. Oh. Oh, okay. That was... sort of expected, the pirate guessed. Obviously, the princess wouldn't freaking teleport out of her arms once the ship calmed down! What a preposterous idea. No, they were close, and Iskra-- Iskra didn't mind. Not truly, anyway. "Are you, umm. Are you alright? The ship-- sometimes, it does this. Jumps, we call it. We don't know why this happens, but Myrne believes that..."

In that moment, the door to the cell opened, and Ylna rushed in. "Captain! We need-- oh, shit. Am I interrupting something?" The eyes with which she regarded the scene were downright suspicious, and Iskra had no idea why. Just, what? Could she not even speak with her prisoner in peace without it being seen as something intimate these days? (Her subordinates and their eagerness to trust rumors, really. So silly! The ship wasn't the most stimulating of environments, Iskra understood, but come on. That still wasn't a reason to spin ridiculous narratives about-- about pets, and similarly absurd things. To her, founding a book club seemed like a much better way to pass one's time!)

"No, you are not. We are talking. What is it that you need?"

"Right. Well. This time, we jumped in the proximity of a fucking exploding star, so I figured you might want to know about that. You know, in case you wish to send out obituaries!"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

A spearhead pierces through Verity's skull––but it's not quick and, unfortunately, does not take her out. It's slow and more blunted and if she had been standing, she certainly would have buckled under the force consuming her. Her body, believing it's under attack, automatically responds to the threat by pushing out spikes from beneath her skin; it takes every ounce of her concentration to not let them poke out further than a few centimeters––remembering somewhere that she is not alone in the cell. Her mouth opens to cry out or whimper, but whatever noises may have escaped are silenced with the growing whispers of the spirits trapped in the ship. The tears that streak her cheeks now are strained as she fights off Inure's overwhelming anguish that demands someone pay attention to her. Now, she wails in a cacophony echoes and some speak to the princess directly, personally, with all the desperation of someone who's life all but depends on a miracle.

'Princess, I beg you
Save me. little Time is left,
Beg them, descendant'​

After that, the ship begins to settle and the screams quiet. Though she had not registered that Iskra had embraced her, she recognizes it now and finds that her own arms are wrapped tightly around the captain, as if she had been afraid of being ripped away by some unseen force. And she doesn't let go even as the ship settles in her new location. Even as she is released from the searing pain that enveloped her moments ago, she stays fastened to the other with her face buried into Iskra's neck––her breath hot, labored against her skin. As she continues to return to baseline, she focuses her attention on the warmth, scent, and feeling of being captured in Iskra's arms. (While she does not want to find comfort in her and is frustrated by the reality of it, she tries to reason she would have leeched this from anyone after what she had just experienced.) She pulls her face away from Iskra's neck, features weary as she listens to the explanation. Just as she is about to speak, Ylna comes in with her filthy accusations and it's then that Verity immediately and entirely pulls herself away from the pirate.

She scoots away and eases herself onto the bed to sit; her hands rise to her cup her face, rubbing her temples to clear away the last bits of discomfort. Slowly, she pieces together the experience and the explanations of both pirates to figure out what is happening. Though she has never witnessed this phenomena for herself, the ship relocating itself to a source of energy, a dying star, means only one thing: the ship's core is fading (and is likely already pathetic wisps). This realization only irritates her––even if she can understand the captain and her crew likely never would have known how to properly care for Inure to begin with, it is maddening that anyone would let its majesty succumb to such a slow Death. She wonders, bitterly, how many pirates crews had ignored the needs of the ship and reduced her to only a hull for their useless sundries.

Once again, she feels anger coating her tongue as she looks at to the two. She doesn't even try and stop herself as she begins her rain of vitriol. "Your supposed ship is dying––that's what's happening––that's what these jumps, as you call them, are about! If you had any semblance of respect for the ship and her well-being you would not have let her get this desolate and––" As she starts to reach a boiling point, Inure's essence seems to squeeze her heart, quelling the criticisms and reminding Verity of what is actually important and imperative. 'Ow! Fine, fine––'

While she is staunchly against sharing Inure's secrets with the pirates, especially since she is still figuring out how she feels about them being commandeering this relic, the ship had enlisted her help. That counts for something––even if just because she's likely the only one who knows how to locate the core and initiate the absorption. Besides, though nothing technically bad would happen if she is not fed, the ship would lose her essence and Inure really would be lost and may as well become Perilous Wind. She cannot and will not be the reason for her people losing more of their history. (Verity recognizes, too, that letting the ship die because of her own stubborn pride will not serve her in the long run if she plans to take it over––somehow.)

Burying her own fervid feelings for the sake of the ship's preservation, she shifts in a seeming blink. Looking at Iskra directly and ignoring Ylna entirely, she pleas, "Let me feed the core. Please. She's––she's dying and this may as well be her last breath if she's taken us to an extinguishing star. We haven't much Time––" The ship jerks again. Another wail whips through the prison cell and Verity, this time, doubles over with her hands covering her ears (as if that could help––these wails are in her head too). 'Patience! I will replenish you, I will heal you––one way or another...' Through gritted teeth, she says, "Bind me in your heaviest chains for all I care––just let me do this one thing," and for measure, she adds, "For the preservation of my people's history and memories."

 

[Syntra]

Guilt was much like a thorn lodged in one's side. Existing with it could hardly be described as pleasant, but frankly? Often, you forgot it was even there, for the pain faded into the background. (It didn't disappear, mind you. No, that would be far too convenient. Instead, it slept within-- quietly, yes, but its claws remained oh so sharp. And when you moved too abruptly, perhaps in hopes it had indeed evaporated? That, somehow, you had been freed? It tore you apart, again and again and again. ...a fair enough punishment, Iskra supposed, though that knowledge hardly provided balm for her wounds-- you know, for the wounds that were now being opened, with the barrage of accusations flung in direction. What an ugly twist to an otherwise nice morning! Kind of like a storm that came out of the blue, with the sky the color of azure and seemingly gentle, or a dog biting your hand after letting itself be petted.)

They were entirely justified, which was the worst part. Verity had only ever served her truth, and, by the Shade, did it taste bitter. The previous owners hadn't exactly provided a manual to the ship-- they hadn't been alive when the takeover happened, which had made any sort of communication between the two parties rather, uh, complicated. A spiritualist might have helped them, granted, but given that they had had a hand in their untimely demise? Oh, something told her that they wouldn't be too eager to share their wisdom with her. (Not that Iskra thought there had been any wisdom to share, of course. Just like her, they had been pirates, and had most likely... duh, treated this ship like a ship. Wasn't that what it was, after all? A heap of metal? A heap of metal that happened to fly, thanks to a mechanism too elaborate for her to truly comprehend, though a heap of metal nonetheless? ...thankfully, however, Iskra had enough presence of mind not to voice that line of thought. No point in rubbing salt in Verity's wounds, right? Besides, the princess had a point! Ignorance was like wool over one's eyes, but far more insidious-- because, unlike with actual fabric, you didn't even know it was there. Remaining blind throughout the entirety of your life was not only easy, but also comfortable, and Iskra-- Iskra didn't want to end up like this! Not when attaining the gift of Sight had cost her all, even that which she yet hadn't had. ...that which she would never have now, no matter how far she extended her hand. Had it all been worth it? Whenever Iskra asked herself such questions, awkward silence was her only answer.)

"Shut up, wench," Ylna snapped, with all the tact of a powder keg. "For a prisoner, you're not being nearly respectful enough. Next time you address the captain, you should--"

"No, Ylna," Iskra interrupted her, instinctively putting a hand between her subordinate and the princess. (Let's just say that Ylna had a rich history of escalating arguments, and they needed none of that now. Especially with the ship supposedly on the brink of death!) "We captured her for information, remember?"

"Yeah, and because you've been an aieshnyaree for ages."

"For information," the captain repeated, determined to ignore this silly narrative of hers. At some point, she would grow bored of it, right? Rumors were watered by attention, and without it, they withered and died. Even children knew this. "She's providing it now. It's vital information, too, and we have to act on it. Notify the rest of the crew." Unwilling to waste more of her time with Ylna, Iskra then turned to Verity. "Very well. I-- I trust you. I won't put you in chains, either. As long as your intentions are pure, I see no reason to restrain you. Come with me, then." Rolling her sleeve up, Iskra revealed a complicated-looking watch-- a few taps on the control panel disabled the barrier entirely, and just like that, Verity was free to roam the ship as she wished.

"I hope you understand I'll have to go with you," she piped up as they headed into the hallway. "I do trust you, but-- well, you still are my prisoner, I'm afraid. As much as I dislike the idea, I am responsible for ensuring you don't hurt any of my subordinates." Translation: 'I must hurt you myself if I see you trying something funny.' It was a leadership thing, you see? One of those 'can't be kind to everyone involved' situations. And, yes, while the prospect of spilling the princess's blood didn't please her, it still pleased her far more than her crew members potentially paying the highest price for a-- a whim of hers. For her inability to take responsibility, and to do it properly. (If nothing else, Iskra learned from her faults. Never again, she had promised herself! ...surely, surely her promises weren't flimsy enough to fall apart for a pair of pretty eyes.)

"You mentioned Feeding. How do we do that?" 'We,' not 'you'. The pronoun came to her naturally, as if she had been using it for ages, and it... kind of stunned her, honestly. Why did the smallest of words always have the biggest power? (It also made her worry, though. Had she overstepped a boundary? What if the princess did not wish to be associated with her in this way, preferring the firm divide apparent in 'you' and 'I'? It was an absurd concern, Iskra realized, in the context of her captivity, but-- well. Somehow, that gave it even greater importance in her eyes. With her freedom taken away from her like this, was it not even more important to give her some sense of agency? To cede the linguistic ground, if nothing else? Claiming it all felt selfish, selfish, selfish.) "We didn't mean to hurt the ship, I assure you. We-- I didn't know special actions had to be taken. If you show me how to do it, I will ensure its needs are always covered. So, where should we..."

Zing!

Within the blink of an eye, Iskra's sword left its scabbard, and cut the air near Verity's ear. ...or rather, not air, as it turned out, because there was an agonized scream, and a body of something resembling a giant insectoid fell on the ground with a loud 'thud'. (Its many legs trembled, almost pitifully, and then it moved no more. Oof! That was close.) "This also happens with the jumps," Iskra explained, a hint of apology in her eyes. "Uninvited visitors. I assume it has to do with the changes in the gravitational field, or something. There's no need to worry, though-- I shall protect you."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Once the electric yellow barrier is dropped, Verity does not hesitate to push past Iskra and bound into the winding passages of the ship's facilities. Filled with the ship’s sense of urgency, she weaves through the levels, muttering hurried apologies as she slips past crew members. This is a race against Time—but that doesn’t mean she has to be rude even if irked! (Besides, she doesn't need to give her adversaries any more reasons to loathe her than necessary.) Though the implication that she would use this moment to try something that would put the ship in harm's way for her own selfish attempt at freedom? When she is already on the treasure she wishes to obtain? That brings out her annoyance once more. "You know, between sharing the sinking feeling that my Life is almost over along with the ship's AND being subject to an onslaught of her begging, it really had not occurred to me to use this dire moment to slay your crew. But perhaps afterwards—thanks for the loan of brilliance!" Obviously, the latter part is a joke as it really is the furthest thing from her mind––she is not (currently) engaged with the reckless side of herself that made it so easy to forgo thought for action yesterday.

"In the event that we are not too late––if we are not already too late––your role in the feeding will be minimal. It can only be done by someone like myself." Actually, that claim is untested and unproven. Though even if it weren't and even if Verity were interested in experimenting, she is not keen on the idea of giving away more than she has to in regard to the ship and its care. Even with the pirate's promise that she would take better care of her, if given the proper insight, Verity is suspect of that truth. "Words, useless words––you treat yours as if they are diamonds. The only currency I care about is action. Show me––" The gentle swish of a sword slicing through something and the howl that follows, directly in her ear, interrupts Verity and stops her in her tracks. Her eyes first look at the space crawler, watching as it rattles before curling into itself; then her gaze follows the tip of the blade (that is much too close to her face for comfort) to Iskra's hand. Something of shock, fear, and gratitude all make their way across her expression. "I––thank you?" Though she doesn't waste anymore Time on wondering what the crawler is or where it originated from as the seconds ticks on and the strain in her chest twists and tightens like a python.

One last turn and an armful of space crawlers later, they arrive at the engine room (to those who never bothered to look closer than their eyes allowed). Verity, though, knows better than this and instinctively holds her hand to the center of the door, ignoring the traditional control panel to the side. Beneath her palm, the door begins to glow and it spreads, becoming brighter as the the door transforms itself into shimmering light. The effect fades in seconds and reveals the entrance to a hidden chamber where the radiant core should have been––in place of that, however, the room is nearly dark and seems empty.

As Verity steps into the parallel room (that appears to be much too large for a ship of this size), at it's absolute center, suspended in the air, is an axon of faint, pathetic light––the last pieces of the true home world and a shard of its star. Barely pulsing, barely keeping the ship in song. Though a shadow of what it once was, the princess still finds herself overcome with emotion and her hand falls to her chest––just being able to look at the soul of her history nearly brings her to tears. (If Verity were not consumed with exigency, she might have also found it in her to turn around and scold the pirate again. However, thankfully, that is not her priority and Iskra is spared.) Without looking away from the shard, she points, and says, "That's the the ship's core. I'm going to start the ritual––I suppose you can just watch for those space crawlers?" Then, a thought occurs to her and she adds, "Oh, and alert the bridge that we'll need to make an immediate jump to light speed once the core has absorbed the supernova. It doesn't matter to where, a few parsecs in any direction should suffice––some initial energy just needs to be immediately incorporated into the ship's veins to complete the process; light jumps are the best way to do this.

"There's also the slight possibility the ship won't be able to handle this much energy at one time. I've never seen a core this faded before so I don't know exactly what will happen––just be alert." With that, she ambles further into the chamber. When she is standing directly under the axon, neck strained as she stares up, she feels the faintest ounce of warmth (oh, how she wishes to bask in its fullness and soak the pure energy her long faded ancestors must have danced in). She hears Inure even louder now, too, but the whistles, wails, and whips of agony no longer fill her ears. Instead she hears the notes of a song that sound like... home. The sound fills her up, envelops her, and if she could have stayed there for even a second longer she would have. But the ship groans again and she knows Time is wearing thin.

With a breath she begins the ritual. She takes two fingers, and traces a line from her left shoulder, up to her throat and then swings down to heart; as she does this, in the presence of this grand ancestor, glowing purple energy builds at the tips of her fingers and when she reaches her heart she flicks her wrist upwards, sending part of her own essence into the axon (she briefly feels faint, but it passes before she fully registers it; Inure will return the gift). The light grows bigger, brighter (and slightly purple) for a minute before dying back to its original faint glow.

However, with the feeding process started, technically, the wall of the hidden chamber automatically shifts, becoming like a mirage before it disappears and opens itself to the brilliant Death outside. The star's heat is intense, though not unbearable in the safety of the chamber and behind the forcefield that protected them from getting sucked into the vacuum. Still, even with the portal open, the process started, the ship continues to fall into the gravitational pull of the star––Inure not strong enough to consume the powerful sustenance and create a force of her own.

Verity's heart begins to hammer in her chest, sweat builds at her brow as despair nearly takes over. As if to soothe her, the ship's homeward song sings louder through the room, providing something for the descendant to hold onto and allowing her to clear head until she finds her courage once more; she had not come this far, lost so much, just to give up. Nodding to nothing in particular, she repeats her earlier exercise and sends another piece of her essence into the axon in hope that this piece can energize the ship enough to pull in star before they succumb to flame (this time the feeling of faintness is more lasting—though she holds onto the knowledge she won’t have lost that piece of her forever; it will be returned).

Inure reforms the second dose of her descendant's essence and she brightens, same a before––though this time she is able to sustain that brightness. Sensing the imminent supernova outside, the descendant who has come to her aid when all hope seemed lost, she is inspired and strengthened. A tendril of light reaches towards the opening, stretching her arm into a thin thread. The wisp end of her arm overextends slightly and she just grasps onto one the last flares of the collapsing giant. In that moment of connection, the effect is instantaneous. Where the supernova should have bagun, the explosion is absorbed into Inure's thin thread––which starts to grow thicker and creates a pathway for the energy to be harnessed into a Life force, revitalizing her essence.

Which, of course, is too much for the rest of the ship to handle at one time.

 

[Syntra]

Oh, by the Shade! Must I make everything exponentially worse each time I open my big mouth? Once, a fellow guard had suggested that Iskra should have her tongue cut out, and the idea looked better and better with each passing second. Just, ugh. Sabotaging her mission via giving her own hostage helpful hints? A rare enough accomplishment to earn her a medal, surely. "Please don't," Iskra replied, her eyes completely serious. (Could a joke fly so high above one's head it rose straight into the stratosphere? Because, uh, that was exactly what seemed to be happening here.) "I don't wish to hurt you, Verity, but if you endanger my subordinates, I will." Since, obviously, her loyalty belonged to them-- it had to, considering what they had done for her. Only fools repaid kindness with indifference! Fools who deserved the inevitable knife in their back, really. A single breakfast, no matter how pleasant, changed absolutely nothing about this. (You had to stick to your principles, you see? Especially if you had nothing else left. Without those, she'd be less than nothing-- just a fleshy prison for the Shade. Its cradle, worthless but for the warmth it provided. ...maybe that was true regardless.)

"Don't mention it," Iskra said as she wiped her sword, using her uniform as a rag. It... wasn't the most aesthetically pleasing decision, given that the insectoid had bled some green ooze of questionable makeup, but so what? She was her blade, not her clothes, and a soldier always kept one's weapon in the best condition possible. What if the substance had corrosive properties? No, reducing the time of exposure to the liquid was far, far wiser than clinging to something as frivolous as your reputation, or even submitting to the dictate of fashion. "I've promised to protect you, and I intend to keep that promise." Because, no, her words weren't diamonds. They certainly were the law, though, which meant they were mutually binding-- a command carried as much weight as a vow did, even if Verity didn't see it yet. (And, really, could you blame her? Judging her to be a tyrant may not have been fair, but becoming a prisoner on a ship that had once belonged to her people wasn't fair, either, so it evened out, Iskra supposed. ...maybe, in time, the princess would understand her words were more than just wind. Until then, though? The pirate would wait patiently, just like seeds waited for the winter to end. Waiting was good for one's soul, anyway-- desires needed the opportunity to ripen in order to morph into something good, something productive. Unfiltered want only ever led to one's doom.)

Before they reached their destination, her blade got stained with the mysterious substance again and again-- Iskra danced her deadly dance, each movement a new death sentence, and soon enough, the floor was covered in tiny bodies. "Relentless, aren't they?" she turned to Verity. "One must ask what incentivizes them to go on. Is it a mere instinct, or something else? Do they perhaps see death by the sword to be the most honorable way to go?" Iskra could sympathize with the sentiment, sort of-- a blade, if wielded properly, could end one's life in a manner that was almost beautiful. Beautiful and clean, like a fitting denouement to a story. (Much cleaner, at least, than being devoured alive. But hey, no sense in complaining about that, right? Not when the Shade would collect its debt regardless. Tears couldn't buy her freedom, and Iskra-- Iskra had forgotten how to cry, anyway.)

"How did you know it would be there?" she asked Verity, her eyebrow raised in wonder. (Could it be that Iskra had underestimated the connection between her and the ship? ...guilt surged in her chest once again, guilt over taking something this special away from her, but-- no. No, the pirate couldn't afford to falter. This is your brand of kindness, remember? And if Verity needs to suffer for it, then so be it. If the choice was hers, she would doom your people, too. In a heartbeat. Ah, those sweet hypotheticals! Opium for her mind, and also balm for her wounds. With some amount of imagination, Iskra could turn Verity into a villain here-- instead of, you know, admitting the role belonged to her. ...or at least she could have, had she not been aware it was her, her, her. Always had been, really. What, after all, was a soldier who didn't know her place? A rabid dog, biting the hand that fed it.)

When a spectacle began to unfold in front of her eyes, though? Iskra watched, enchanted-- the colors blended into one another in the most pleasing ways, and looking at it... well, it did trigger something within her. What was it, though? Happiness? Wonder? ...pfft. As if her blackened heart could still feel such things! (A corpse, once its spark had gone out, could never spring back to life. And Iskra? Oh, Iskra couldn't cheat that law, either. No, her death was just slower-- a matter of months, years, rather than minutes.) "Understood. I shall remain alert."

And, honestly, she didn't even have to. The way ship shook, as if it was ready to fall apart? How the quiet song of the engine turned into a dying roar? One would have to be in a freaking coma in order to miss it!

"Shit!" Ylna's voice crackled from the communicator in her ear. "Captain, the shields. They are--"

Collapsing, Iskra new. Collapsing under the heat of the star, unable to absorb it all. (Would she die if the explosion tore her apart? Most likely, for not even the Shade could perform miracles, and that... seemed oddly comforting, really-- almost like closing her eyes, after centuries of staying awake.) Closing her eyes was exactly what the pirate couldn't do, though. Not like this-- not in a manner so uncomfortably close to giving up. Soldiers didn't do that! And so, mechanically, like a robot that could only follow its algorithms, Iskra began to look for a solution.

"I know. They're being overloaded." A statement of a fact, as true as the sky being blue, but that didn't exactly help them! What would, though? It wasn't like they could turn them off-- mostly because they were active for a reason, and that reason happened to be the prevention of everyone straight up dying. Gravity, levels of oxygen, atmospheric pressure? All of that, and more, depended on the shields! ...shields that would kill them if Iskra didn't do something.

"Ah. Ah, fuck! That's nice to know, I guess, but do you have a plan? Because we're kinda in trouble here! It's impossible to control--"

Ah, yes. Control! The ship creaked some more, heavy with despair, but Iskra wasn't afraid. "Continue," she shouted at Verity, "I'll handle this. Try to be quick, though." Within seconds, Iskra was kneeling down to gain a better access to the control panel-- the sequence to unlocking it was complicated, but she knew it by heart. Come on. Work, work, work! Seconds felt like hours in that moment, and, oh, her heart threatened to leap out of her chest, but then-- thank the Shade! A familiar green light welcomed her to the interface, along with an affirmative 'beep'. (And frankly? It was the sweetest sound she'd ever heard, no doubt. Sweeter than her mother's voice, even.)

"I'm re-directing the energy from the shields," she told Ylna, her speech quick and feverish. "As much of it as I can, and I'm sending it to the canons. Choose a neutral target and fire. Now!"

"Whew! Okay, okay. Sounds reasonable enough, I guess. I mean, roger that, captain."

Silence wrapped them like a blanket, deep and stiffling, except that then the air around them hissed. Knowing what would come, Iskra covered her ears, and-- vrrrrhew! A loud scream ripped out of the cannons, evaporating... uhhh, something not too important. Hopefully.

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Light from one dying star is transferred into the ghost of another. That ghost becoming stronger with each ray it siphons back into that pathetic axon, helping nurture its growth. Verity still stands at the chamber's center, watching the display. Her eyes are stuck on the ceremony, following the flow of energy––even feeling some of it herself. Though she notices the ship shaking and even can sense Inure's overwhelm, she remains steadfast in her spot. Nothing will tear her from this moment. Vaguely, she does hear Iskra call to her to be quick and while she does not know exactly what is happening, or where the captain's urgency is coming from, she looks up at the growing fragment then back to the outward supernova that doesn't look particularly close to being repurposed (they seem only halfway).

In all honestly, she doesn't know how long this process should take––generally, feedings didn't even need to be this drastic. Simply bathing in the presence of an appropriate supergiant could keep the core healthy. The need to absorb an entire supernova had been something Verity and others only told jokes about while learning basic ship maintenance. However, she does heed Iskra's request and raises one hand upwards, reaching for the core. Then she raises her other hand. With this, the core sends arms of light to meet with her palms and once she grasps onto the ship's essence she is able to help increase the rate of absorption by letting it also channel through herself. While this does not increase the speed by much, given she is only one person and outside is an entire collapsing being, even she knows that seconds count as much as minutes––after all in seconds a loved one can pass, a friend can sink a knife into your back, or an entire colony can be set ablaze on an angry queen’s whim.

Though she doesn't know where Iskra is in the room or what she is doing, she does register the sound of the canon firing. However, outside of that, she doesn’t spend any attention on it as it takes every ounce of her concentration to stay focused on helping Inure harness the energy––the Consequence for distraction, she knows, would be all but fatal.

Slowly, or gradually, the chamber starts to fill with light again. And not just light in the form of brilliance, but light in colors and wisps and shapes that dance, hop, and skip around the room. They swirl playfully around Iskra, around Verity as they rise to join with the axon––the axon that is starting to resembling less a nerve and more a miniature star itself. Her song now carries throughout the envoy. And aside from song, the ship herself even changes with this process––adding color, adding Life to the ship's interior and exterior. Shifting the palette from plain drab hues to an opalescent color that tricks the eye with what color it truly is.

Nearing the end of the feeding, Inure releases Verity and she drops her arms. The last bits of light are sucked into the radiant heart of the ship and she stares into the expanse of space where a supernova should have been; the wall glimmers back into place like a trick of light. Once Inure settles, two streams of purple radiance dance around Verity and pass through her chest, where her own essence is returned like receiving a hug from herself.

Now able to fully appreciate Inure and her heart, the princess gasps. Light continues to twirl around the room, at her feet and she suspects these tiny dancers can be found throughout the ship now. The chamber continues to piece itself together, decorating the once dark expanse into a bright illusion of a dusty pink cloudscape, making it seem as though they are not in a room, but in what she imagines the Ether may look like. The core shines bright above her and she takes a few steps back to take a full look at the shard in her wholeness. Tears fill her eyes and her breathing becomes short as she is overcome with the ethereal beauty and familiar warmth of the grand ancestor—it’s felt inside and out, almost beyond her own words to describe.

Her heart sings in rhythm with the ship's subtle song (just faint enough that anyone could choose to ignore it) and wishes she could share this someone––at least, someone who understands the majesty of what she has just accomplished and the significance of the piece overhead. In this moment, she'd even choose the company of Halen or... She doesn't complete that thought. Tearing her eyes away from the heart, she sweeps the room for the captain, feeling less agitated than she had been earlier and more open to sharing––somewhat too excited to keep her emotions properly contained.

"Thank you," she starts, once she has found the other, "I––being able to restore the core means more to me, and my people, than I think you could ever know." While grateful, she still believes this is only the bare minimum effort in taking care of the relic or even returning what is owed. She shouldn't have to be grateful for this. Even so, she says, "I will remember this." (And it's true––she will; not just because she remembers all things, but because the captain did take a chance on her trustworthiness. While she may still be foolish to think the other as trustworthy, yet or ever, she knows that this means something. And she will be satisfied with that for as long as she doesn't believe this to be a trick to gain her favor.)

She then returns her gaze to the core––already missing her image and wanting to spend as long as she can building memories around the essence. After some silence passes, her mind wanders and returns to some of the pirate's earlier inquiries. While she speaks, she does not tear her attention from the miniature star hanging overhead. "The leaders of my world all share connections to our cultural pieces––especially those that belonged to prior leaders. Inure calls to us. It's how we thought to track her down in the first place." She doesn't even realize her slip, calling the ship by its true name, but also doesn't seem to be as guarded about information as she had been earlier. In fact, the air around her seems lighter; she feels lighter and the chances of her getting lost in the knowledge she knows are enough that in this particular moment she may be prone to saying more than she would let on otherwise. "She is, in many ways, the last remnants of the grand ancestor that bind us all together," her voice shakes as she speaks, the raw emotion forming wells of tears in her eyes. "I never thought I would see her––though I also never thought I'd end up captive on this ship either. Life is strange giving us things we want under conditions that surprise us." While bitterness would have been justified, her tone doesn't suggest it––she is more awestruck than anything else.

 

[Syntra]

Time didn't stop for anyone. It always galloped forward, Iskra knew, and with each step taken, you were a little bit closer to being ground to dust. (A little bit closer to being nothing at all, really. Because, wasn't that the natural state of things? To stop resisting, and finally let the darkness overcome you? It had to be, the pirate was sure, for shadows were eternal-- the only thing in the world that required no sustenance, no kindling, no nothing. They just existed, as a stark reminder of everyone's mortality. Of everyone's insignificance, in the grand scheme of things.) So, yes, Iskra was aware of all of that. Despite that knowledge, however, it certainly felt as if it stopped now-- perhaps this entity, too, was stunned by the display.

And, oh, what a display it was! Colors bloomed in front of her eyes, in shades Iskra had never seen before, and danced across the engine room. (So, so many lights, illuminating the darkness. Illuminating it and effectively slaying it, like hundreds of tiny knights wearing their shining armor. ...huh. Iskra hadn't realized before, had she? But maybe, maybe this was the entire point. The shadows were eternal, yes, but also fragile-- a single spark, no matter how short-lived, always kept them at bay. A tax for the permanence, perhaps? For defying the most basic of principles? Iskra of all people knew-- knew better than she would have liked to, really, that there was always a price tag attached to miracles. A price tag transformed them into horrors, as inescapably as the day turned into night. Still, though, perhaps this proved she had been focusing on the wrong aspect of this mess all this time. Perhaps it didn't matter who claimed the victory in the end-- especially if nobody was there to witness it, aside from the last dying stars. Could you even say that something had happened, after all, if the event couldn't live on as a story? If nobody would be able to learn from it? It was possible, then, that the true value could be found in the conflict itself. In the willingness to fight, even if your only reward would be dust; dust and, eventually, also cold steel in your heart. That was the coin the fate paid you for struggling, you see? For overstepping your own shadow in order to take that which never should have been yours in the first place.)

...eventually, however, wasn't now. Now Iskra stood there, baffled, and watched... what was it, even? Death? Birth? Something close to those concepts, she was sure, and yet unlike both of them. (A grey, unexplored territory somewhere between-- a no woman's land, kind of like the place Iskra so often visited. A blurry, dream-like NonExistence, where her sisters embraced her and whispered into her ear. Where she could Rest before the Shade dragged her back, into the world full of sharp edges and fire and-- and everything else. The similarities were staggering, except that... well. This was anything but grey, actually? Which felt both right and wrong at the same time, much like watching a familiar picture from a different angle. Like speaking to someone who you thought was your friend, maybe, only to discover it had been someone else the whole time.)

The melody reminded her of her sisters, too-- not in the way it sounded, or anything superficial like that, really. They talked to her in a similar manner as they held her, however, and perhaps-- perhaps that was why her eyes stung. Memories had sharp edges sometimes, you see? And it was so, so easy to cut your fingers while trying to grasp them.

Soon after the realization, something wet rolled down her cheeks-- blood, perhaps? But Iskra didn't remember being hurt in this way, and attacks targeting one's eyes were, uh, rather difficult to miss. An infection, then? Worrying, though much more likely. Who knew, after all, what gases were being released into the air during such a process? "You, um, have nothing to thank me for," the pirate said, her voice trembling. (Which, what? That hadn't happened to her in... by the Shade, in years.) "You saved our lives, Verity. It is me who should be thanking you." And, because it indeed was appropriate, Iskra found herself on her knees once again. Without thinking about it, she grabbed Verity's hand, and brushed her lips against her knuckles-- they felt cold, but the contrast... wasn't unpleasant, actually. Not at all. "For your graciousness," the pirate murmured, looking the princess directly, "I will grant you one wish. Whatever your heart may desire, unless it goes directly against what I'm trying to accomplish. Moreover, if-- if this ship's true name is Inure, then it should be recognized as such from now on. I'm honored I was able to get to know her." She was also sorry for using her ancestor in this way, but considering that apologies hadn't impressed Verity so far? Maybe respect would ring more true to her-- better than pity, so often hollow and insincere. "And isn't that yet another brand of kindness? Sweetening a bitter deal with something pleasant. That, at least, is how I choose to view it-- instead of it being vice versa."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

"You're crying?" The captain's tears surprise her. They match her own in steadiness, perhaps in feeling? (Or is she projecting?) While it would not be hard to assume that, to anyone, the display had been incredible (to the fullest extent of the flimsy word)––Verity wants to be sure of the reason. What does Iskra see? What does she experience? In her eyes and with her heart, what lingers there? It seems impossible to her that this experience had been the same, but possibly it was similar; and, in that case, she wants to know what it was like. So does Iskra think it had only been beautiful? Or is there something more to her tears? (Or, worst of all, are they crocodile tears?) Yes, she is curious and wants to know the soft tissue beneath all her hardened, impassive features. Tenderly, she bends down to cup the captain's cheek and leans to kiss a tear from under her eye––as if tasting it could give her answers to her questions. (They don't.)

She drops her hand to the other's shoulder as she crouches to the pirate's level and looks clearly into Iskra's eyes (piercing through her with an intensity so sharp it is as if she can see the entirety of a person, each facet, each crack and edge. She is intent and present; she is clear as water). Curiosity skips through her and before she can even stop herself (and the scary thing is, she isn't sure she wants to stop herself), she's blurting out her question, "What are you feeling right now?"

In her own stream of thoughts, she almost misses that the captain has also offered her a wish––her own eagerness to figure out how this experience had affected the captain, as if she were a Sage on a quest for knowledge, had distracted her. Though it felt important, as does the wish now. So she returns comfortably backwards to that topic; she leans back onto a cloud and it doesn't dissipate under her disruption, it actually catches her and holds like a cushion. She crosses one leg over the other as she looks at the captain and teases, "A wish with limits––you're not much a genie then are you?" Quietly she rolls the wish around in her head, mulling over exactly what to ask for––because surely she had to maximize this offering. Or should she keep herself humble? Or the happy medium of asking for something practical? These questions fill her, but she doesn't worry about wishing for anything too soon––after all, thoughtfulness must be expected when making this decision.

'A little wish––for saving the lives parasites. The joke gets funnier each time you say it.' She could bite with that one, but she's not ready to poison the other again. "Is it kindness if it motivated by guilt? If you are seeking to absolve yourself through gestures, then you are stuck trying to find the exit of a blackhole." She peers at the pirate from her cloud cushion. "Though, make no mistake––I see your integrity, I suppose. I just want to pull at your strings and unravel you some," she chances saying too much, because eventually she needs these strikes to veil themselves until it is hard to know what is true and what is false. "You have a curious mind."

'Curious.' She thinks to herself, repeating it as she observes the pirate once more. And the more she stares, the less she sees a pirate. Pirates don't act as Iskra does. They do not flirt with ladies of the court; they do not give her roses; bend their knees, promise loyalty with swords and hearts; swear protection; and they do not kiss her knuckles tenderly. No, those are things that knights would do. Though that image is so funny juxtaposed to Iskra (covered in insectoid guts––highly un-knightly), that she laughs to herself, brushing the thought as easily as she does a cloud that obscures her vision.

"If I cannot wish for freedom––I will wish for as much as I can. I am a princess, too, so I think my demands should match my worth as well––especially considering without myself Inure may have sacrificed you all." She pauses, perhaps for effect and to drum up the worst assumptions the pirate could muster in herself. Or maybe because she is indecisive. "I want to be able to roam the ship during the day. At the very least, I want a tour."

 

[Syntra]

Crying? She? Preposterous! As ridiculous as the idea of fire raining down from the heavens instead of water, or perhaps sausages growing on trees. Iskra, the captain of Inure, didn't cry. Just, no. (The ability had been taken away from her, long ago. Crying, you see, was an obstacle-- mist in your eyes, one that didn't allow you to see properly, and a soldier... well, a soldier had no use for such things. Not when her sword always needed to be swift like the wind! As such, her tears had been the first gift freely given, and graciously accepted. The first offering out of so, so many. Kind of like stars, now that she thought of it, for only a fool would bother to count those. At this point, her eyes didn't even remember what crying felt like, so, no. Iskra wasn't crying, simply because the version of reality in which she had been capable of doing that had collapsed on itself. It was a memory, and an incomplete one. ...a shard, much like herself.)

"I-- I'm not crying," the pirate sobbed. "I never cry. I forgot how to. Something... something fell in my eye, surely. I don't know what is happening, but I'm sure these aren't tears, and--" Oh. Verity seemed to be intent on murdering her, didn't she? Because how Iskra was supposed to breathe after this, that remained a mystery to her. The pirate stared at her, wide eyed, her expression teetering somewhere between shock and apprehension-- almost as if she had sunk a knife into her heart and not, you know, kissed her. (...perhaps the knife would have been more merciful. What kind of cruel joke was this, anyway? Iskra hadn't been made for kisses. Kisses were for other people-- for those for whom 'tomorrow' was more than just a synonym for 'maybe'. For those not promised to the Shade, really. Did Verity find the contrast funny? Because, oh, it wasn't. Not even remotely. Besides, her skin had turned to leather, hard and insensitive, so it wasn't like she could even appreciate the gesture. It felt like nothing. No, the princess may as well have been kissing rocks, or perhaps frogs. Those, at least, could get her a beautiful bride!)

Then she looked at her, though, truly looked at her, and... uh. If Verity's eyes were a sea, then Iskra drowned in them-- the water filled her lungs, burning her from the inside, and, by the Shade, every attempt to take a breath hurt so, so much. Her thoughts slowed down to a crawl, too. And as for what that meant? Honesty, pure and unfiltered. "I don't... I don't know," the pirate stuttered. "Exhaustion. Loss. I miss them. Look, just-- just stop, okay? You're making me nervous." Nervous, right. Technically, it wasn't untrue, but in the way that saying that carbon was the basis for life wasn't untrue-- a gross simplification, in other words. Because, the emotions that had set her heart on fire? Iskra didn't understand them. Nervousness was a component, yes, but the rest of it? Only the Shade knew.

Abruptly, Iskra stood up-- putting some distance between herself and the princess seemed wise, for whatever reason. Still, she shouldn't be cruel to her, right? This incident notwithstanding, Verity indeed had saved their lives. Without her, there would have been no kissing conundrum, or-- or anything else, really. So, clearly, getting over her wounded ego was the best course of action here. "I never fashioned myself to be a genie. Not once. I do not command magic, so my options are limited." ...by her own cruelty, sometimes. "Within those limits, though, I shall strive to satisfy you to the best of my ability. I promise."

Verity continued to talk and talk, though, and Iskra-- oh, Iskra understood less and less with every sentence she uttered. (Which, what? Wasn't bridging gaps between people the express purpose of communication? The pirate had thought so, until she had met Verity at least. The princess spoke in a way that was maddening, with each word wrapped in ten different meanings, and-- it was interesting, alright. Interesting, with this strange, bitter aftertaste. ...perhaps madness and fascination were two sides of the same coin?)

"Feel free to continue, then, if it makes you happy. No promises you'll like what you find out, however," Iskra warned. "You did speak about life granting you wishes in a way you don't approve of, didn't you? You may discover that I'm actually frustratingly boring, and merely hiding it very well. But, yes, your wish is my command-- you shall be granted a greater degree of freedom, then. Come with me."

Because, a tour, huh? There was no point in postponing it, really. Inure was Inure, and would remain as such today, tomorrow and until the end of time. No special preparations had to be made before Verity's inspection, and they had no better program right now, either. Why not, then?

The two emerged on the deck, which was effectively crawling with her subordinates. Some of them waved at Iskra, which she repaid in kind, but the vast majority? They cared for their own business, as they ought to. "Well. This is... the deck, I suppose," the pirate announced, rather uselessly. "Not much to see here, though it is the most convenient route for reaching point B if you start out in point A. I've always wondered what those do, however," Iskra pointed at the colorful crystals growing from the railing, like flowers among concrete. (They even reminded her of cherry petals, too-- somehow. Don't look for logic in associations, alright?)

"But I've been wondering about great many things, if I am to be honest. And since you seek to unravel me," she cracked a small smile, "isn't it fair for me to try as well? So, tell me, Verity. Who taught you to fight the way you do? And why? Where I'm from, you see, princesses are meant to be protected. Is that not true for your country?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity does not challenge Iskra's clear emotional reactions since they seem to put her in such severe distress and this is not the kind that she can easily manipulate in her favor. No, this is potent. It is raw, pure––just as powerful as the shard that hangs above their head. It should not be messed with. So she simply accepts the pirate's word. Unfortunately, though, she has only planted more curious seeds within the princess and she is quietly determined to figure out why the pirate no longer cries. Who is that she misses? Why does she feel so nervous? These are inquiries she is sure a Sage would respect; even if her fascination is in these seemingly benign things––she figures, sometimes it is the most plain things that provide the most interesting observations. There isn't much else to do while traveling through space, anyway.

"If you were a boring person I would know that already," she says, following Iskra out into the hallways again. The chambers are locked away and hidden once more as they leave, returning back to the plain engine room. Outside, the ship is newly brightened and shining––opalescent with accents of solid sapphire, ruby, and emerald spread throughout. The little light friends also continue to dance through the facilities and some even fall in line with Verity's step as she follows the pirate. As they walk, she tries to stuff her eyes with as much wonder as she can––not even her ship shines or dances or sings as brightly as Inure. Though she is equally invested in what Iskra has to say and so she continues splitting her fascinations. "Boring people rarely offer rich answers––and a boring person couldn't pretend to be half as interesting as you are. I remain hopeful that I'll find a prism and not gravel once I reach your center.”

Her hand grazes over the crystal petals on the railing and she breaks one off, not cruelly, but gently as she holds it delicately in her palm. "Some remnants of the first world, I suspect. The planet was mined primarily for diamonds and other precious stones. I would guess Inure still has some traces of the first world in her," she shrugs and pockets the crystal. "And that may cause her to mimic some of the old growth. In any case, it is Beautiful and pleasing to the eye––is that not enough to be satisfying on its own?"

As the questions turn to her she weighs the answers out carefully out in her head––but something in Iskra's shy smile convinces her to settle on the truth. These questions seem harmless enough anyway that she guesses it couldn’t hurt. She hops onto the railing, not concerned that she'll fall off or that falling off risks falling into space (which, the shield around them would certainly catch her but that does not stop her brain from telling that she will fall into the expanse of nothing). She sticks her arms out for balance––though based on how she stands, it's not hard to guess she knows her center of gravity well and carries herself with an obvious dancer's grace. "We are protected––surely, you didn't miss my guards when I first arrived on this ship? Your women certainly didn't." She mentions this casually, or at least with the understanding that they all risked Death when they attempted their all but suicide mission the day prior. (Perhaps Verity should have gone alone, knowing the chance of Death had been high––sure it would have been suspect to Halen, but at least more lives wouldn't have been lost. They are her fallen responsibility––just as many others are.)

"But a princess who cannot fight for herself if captured is quite pathetic––I wouldn't be nearly as entertaining a prisoner if I were constantly cowering away from you, now would I?" She asks, a little playfully, because she does have some awareness that even if she thinks the pirate strange, her responses as a prisoner must be equally unexpected. Somehow, she feels comfortable acknowledging this freely. "We must be able to fight for ourselves as we are not mere pretty damsels. Especially if we are meant to lead not just an army, but a country. It's not very inspiring to the countrywomen supporting our efforts, even if for their ultimate benefit. It also does not show that I respect the soldiers who fight for me––how can I ask them to sacrifice themselves if I do not show my own willingness to die with the cause? What are my words if not backed by action?"

Without realizing that this is a culturally encapsulated statement, she adds, "Plus, if the trials do not identify a clear queen, as rarely happens now, what use would the princesses be in the final combat trial?" She hops off the rail, landing in front of Iskra. "And to answer your first question: a few people trained me. We had our instructor, of course, but I also sought lessons from my own guard and learned by watching the arena fights––though that style is much different from classical forms since they're mostly for entertainment and are thus..." she hesitates, but decides she doesn't care if Iskra knows what she really thinks of the tradition. "Barbarically cruel––I'd never cause someone who is already at their last resort so much suffering." Her nose wrinkles thinking about a particularly gruesome flaying at the hands of their now queen. She clears her throat, shaking the iron imagery from her head, "But they were educational nonetheless."

As they continue across the deck, and as they walk further into territory of inquiries, she returns the harmless wonderings. "Were you always a pirate? Did a great pirate teach you how to fight?"

 

[Syntra]

"That may be true," Iskra admitted, her expression thoughtful. "The soul needs sustenance as well, so why couldn't it be beauty? I've read somewhere that inner harmony is reflected in how the object looks-- that the regularity of various geometric shapes is most pleasing to the eye exactly because of that relationship. I wonder, does this somehow apply to people as well? I mean, if you're... attracted to a person, I suppose, does that signify that you're drawn to some inner quality of theirs that you recognize in their features? A missing part of yourself, perhaps? Because there are many ways to be beautiful, and yet it rarely happens that someone is seen as universally gorgeous. What do you think, Verity?" It wasn't like any of that mattered, of course-- especially since Iskra was missing so many parts of herself that looking for them in another people would be foolish, foolish, foolish. An exercise in disappointment, essentially. Still, as a thought experiment? It distracted her from the gaping emptiness in her chest, and that was more than enough. (One day, Iskra knew, she would fall. You couldn't balance on the edge forever, you know? Gravity would claim her, just as it had claimed those who had come before her, and her bones would shatter with the impact. Still, that day wasn't today, which was enough, too. It had to be.)

"Verity!" the pirate produced a strange, choked sound as she saw the princess hop on the railing. By the Shade, did she have no sense of self-preservation?! The eagerness to try and assassinate her on her own ship should have tipped her off, Iskra realized now, but still! That had been a matter of honor-- something brave and thus also good. Could honor be found in falling to your death on a whim, though? If so, she certainly wasn't familiar with that particular brand of it. "Please, stop. What if you hurt yourself? We don't have that many medical supplies available, and-- and I don't like the idea," Iskra concluded, as if that was the most convincing argument of all.

As seemed to be the trend, however, Verity's words captured her attention, and made her mind run into several directions at once. "I don't believe words are inherently less valuable than actions," she blurted out. "I mean, don't you think that's a false dichotomy, Verity? Because, as I see it, words are a type of action as well. When you get someone to forgive you through words, is that not an action? If you inspire someone to persevere despite all the hardship, is that not meaningful? Understanding, too, is most often reached via words. I... can see the value in your approach as well, make no mistake. I'd like to believe that there is more to power than just a sword, though." ...that there was something greater than the power she wielded, really. (A blade couldn't clothe your people, nor could it feed them. And fields that were watered with blood? Those were cursed, hated both by mortals and spirits alike. Barren, just like her own reign. You couldn't build a house out of paper, you see? You could make a structure that would resemble it, and even serve as one for a while, but in the end, paper was paper, and the first summer rain would tear the whole thing down.)

"I do believe it's admirable, however," Iskra said. "Knowing the way of the sword is good for your mind, I'm sure. I've found it makes you think much more efficiently, you see? In a context where a single movement could mean your death, your thought processes needs to be crystal clear, and this very much transfers to other areas of life. There is a reason all the great philosophers also used to be warriors. What do you mean by trials, though?" Iskra raised her eyebrow. "Is it not enough to be born as a princess?" The title sort of implied, or at least that was what the pirate believed. Perhaps Verity's people had a different system in place, however? How... intriguing.

The two women walked at a leisurely pace, and the stars shone above their heads-- millions of them, each with a story of their own. (Was that what the poets meant, when they said they talked to them? Could they hear those stories somehow, perhaps?) Either way, Iskra turned to Verity and offered her hand, ready to help her to get back on the deck safely. "Come, I'd like to show you something from up close. But, no. No, I wasn't always a pirate. I was a..." Iskra took a deep breath, visibly uncomfortable, "...a soldier. They Chose me, back when I was still in my mother's womb. That's how I learned. My teachers were too numerous for me to remember, though, and so I mostly credit Experience. We were encouraged to develop our own style, anyway, because... well, I'm sure you can imagine. Becoming too dependent on one person--" who could die at any moment-- "could be rather problematic. Cruel, for both parties involved."

Suddenly, they found themselves standing in front of a glass house, and the door opened on its own as Iskra approached-- the air inside was hot, though not unpleasant, and as they entered, there was a... a sound of water splashing? A waterfall, as it turned out, that flowed into a shining, blue pond. Around it, there was a sea of green-- flowers growing haphazardly, seemingly without any organization, red and yellow and purple, and all colors you could think of. "This is where I like to spend my time," Iskra said, the smile returning to her lips. "Back when I got the idea, I attempted to bend them to my will, but now? I don't even try. It is my belief that they know their needs better than I do, so I allow them to do as they please. I'm merely here to observe, and assist whenever a problem arises."

The grass was tall enough to swallow her knees, though Iskra didn't seem to care-- she embraced it, and the greenery embraced her in return. (Like a family, almost. That, at least, was what the pirate supposed it was like.) "See?" she caressed one of the roses, only to spread the petals gently. And inside? Inside, there were the same crystals Verity's rose was covered in. "They turn up on their own. Myrne says they're parasites, but I don't think so-- the flowers thrive, even like this, and some of them appear to be stronger for it. Could it be a remnant of the old world as well?" And, almost as if it was an afterthought, Iskra added: "What's your favorite flower, Verity? It-- um, it can tell you a lot about a person."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

For some reason, she thinks it's funny that Iskra is so concerned for her safety––like she doesn't know what she is doing when she is up on that rail balancing as if danger were not imminently to her left. She files away this piece of information for later and this will only likely result in several more displays of recklessness that she thinks are actually quite careful. Fondly, perhaps, it reminds her of her own guard and the people in charge of watching over her safety––as if she had not been watching her own back for many years prior to ever becoming a crowned member of the royal court. ‘In just a single day, suddenly everyone started caring about my wellbeing, health, and safety. And yet nothing changed about me but a title. They were always protecting a silly word... Who is Iskra protecting, I wonder?’

As they continue on with the tour, the stimulus of the new environment, new places, as well as the conversation all split her attention. Once more, unable to concentrate much on her own words, she allows herself to freely associate with the pirate––not caring what she says or how it will be received. Though even if she were more concerned with that, Iskra has not rejected her ideas in any meaningful way––she has even encouraged her to expand her thought and because of that it seems safe to share with her; to experience curiosity so fully, so carelessly, and maybe even a little dangerously. "Oh, I'm not sure," she says, cheeks coloring some as she thinks over the beautiful people she had filled her life with and how, like getting too close to a star, they burned her in the end––were the pieces missing from her that hot? (Ironic that she has such association since she has now just been so close to a star without getting burned.) She shakes her head, "I'd like to think that I am whole enough on my own that there are not pieces of myself to look for in others." Though a whole person should be able to approve of herself and Verity? She seeks approval from others. Or she did––she's not quite sure what she seeks now (other than the wayfinder). “But maybe... Are those pieces I see in others, that perhaps I want for myself, that even attract me to them, missing or am I just adding to a collection of personality knick-knacks?"

It surprises her that the pirate has caught on to rhetoric around words over action––though she knows she has repeated this several times, she didn't think that Iskra would say anything on the subject. Though she does find it odd that when Iskra speaks of action, she thinks specifically of the sword. That she doesn't already associate her list of actions as such––of course, Verity saw those gestures, however small and counted them for their entire worth. "I suppose, words can be action too––sometimes, though, I need more. Words can be priced at millions and worth so little; and action, absolutely, can be small and still worth a ton." She pauses. "Iskra, do you see action as only sword? Because I think there are impactful actions that require no sword at all." 'For example,' she thinks, 'Dining with a prisoner, bringing her a flower, consoling her, allowing her to restore a relic... They are no sword and they have still struck me.' But she cannot say that. The association, the intimacy of the sentiment are things that could be too soon to play off of and she isn't even sure where it all came from.

Soon, it becomes obvious why Iskra associations with action are sharp and bloody. "A soldier?" she repeats, surprise hiding in between her words. It hadn't occurred to her to think about Iskra outside of her context as a pirate; though, obviously, not everyone is always their profession or title. That hadn't been true for Verity, so why did she jump to that assumption when she had first met the pirate? (Probably, because she put a sword to her throat––not that it had not been appropriate at the time.) Even when the pirate had spoken to her of her people before, the princess assumed that those people were not connected to another planet or country. She doesn’t know who she thinks the pirate would claim as her people, but she supposes Iskra had been referring to her own crew (and maybe she had been––the princess has not clarified and now she dares to wonder... Dares to put a country to the people she would see die to her own). "You've been a soldier your whole life?" The image does make sense even though she had been laughing to herself about it earlier (she's shocked she had been almost right in the first place). "Or... you were..." She wants to ask why Iskra left her life and post to become lost in a sea of stars. She guess, perhaps, for the freedom and though she wants to ask, and she almost does, Iskra's discomfort admitting her former role is palpable enough she decides she'll return to it later. Another thread to pull at when the Time is right.

"I suppose it had been fun practice––it certainly has forced me to think differently than I would otherwise. I have grown from it too, for better or for worse," she remarks. Though she doesn't actually enjoy fighting outside of sparring––because at least in sparring she could pretend it was an improvised dance. In real combat, the intimacy required to pull someone's Life from them is far more than Verity cares to entangle herself with; in fact, if she could help it, she much preferred using the poison spikes embedded underneath her skin. At least that had always felt less personal––or she didn't have to put as much effort into it. A simple cut would do (unless you happen to be Iskra, apparently).

While she knows that to those from different places her country's monarchy is unique in execution, it surprises her each time this realization is thrust upon her. "No one is born a princess. I mean, I suppose if you believe in predestination then, yes, I was born a princess but in a similar way that The Chosen One to a prophecy is born––I didn't know it my whole life." The announcement had been rather shocking and surreal at first too––those parts of her memories actually still feel like dream. "If we relied on birthright, what happens if the person out of the canal doesn't want to be queen? Or is terrible at it? We choose our princesses and thus our queens to ensure we are in good hands––the trials similarly work to disqualify anyone who is unworthy to wield the queen's scimitar." Well, that is how it is advertised. The truth has a sour, rotten flavor but Verity does not let on that she thinks ill of this tradition; it would untangle too much. "They test our ability to rule in various ways. Though we don't go in unknowing. Our princess years are meant to prepare us for everything–– from the trials to, potentially, ruling the nation."

When they enter the green house––the things that Iskra has said are, temporarily, pushed to the side as she runs into the expanse of green, the fresh smells of new flowers, and the delicate heat that warms her under all her layers. Though she knows this is not something that had been originally part of the ship––or, at least, it had not been used for the purpose Iskra has dedicated, she does immediately adore this garden. It is the one thing that she has not immediately hated regarding the changes that have taken place on Inure. It shows in how she skips through garden, dropping her cape and Iskra's coat from her shoulders as she bends to stuff her nose with new worlds. "This place––this place is so beautiful, Iskra..." she gasps, spinning around as she tries to take it all in at once as if she thought it would disappear from her at any moment. "You really care for all of this?" Her head tilts to the side, maybe surprised. This pirate seems to exponentially rise through the princess' good graces––even surprising herself with how easy it is to forget about the cares of the yester-world while with the pirate (yes, perhaps she is using this all to escape and maybe this will all blow-up in her face later. But it's too hard to not to give into these exciting, new feelings that inspire so much spark in her––spark she had been lacking, spark she had missed. She feels like her old self and while it feels good now, part of her worries it will all slip away from her soon. These are things she wants to ignore, so she does.)

She joins the pirate, finally, next to the crystallizing rosebud. "Yes, maybe––I think I've given up on concrete explanations for these fascinating surprises," she says as she holds the rose petals delicately between her fingers and carefully caresses the gems. "The rose seems fine, though. I think you need to explain to this Myrne character what a parasite is, because what naturally occurs on Inure as a result of her make-up is no parasite. Maybe the occupants are actually the parasite." She lets a second hang between them before she finishes, "Though, maybe not the ones who open themselves up to Inure in earnest." The last part is offered with kindness laced between each syllable, slowly extending an olive branch of her own to the captain––because the earlier willingness to restore the core is stuck on her and perhaps even the effects of witnessing the marvel still linger. "I like orchids. What does that tell you about me? And what would your favorite flower tell me about you?"

 

[Syntra]

"I..." Iskra paused, mulling the question over. 'It isn't,' she wanted to say, 'isn't, isn't, isn't,' but at the same time? Her mind had gone there, probably because it had nowhere else to go. (Such was the power of predestination. It wasn't about the gods deciding what your fate would be from their heavenly thrones, you see? No, only a child would interpret it like this. The shackles of fate bound you in a wholly different way, and one that was much more inescapable, too. The thread had been spun from your own essence, and dyed in your blood, and severing it? That would effectively translate into death, for you would no longer be you. A bird, for example, had to fly. Similarly, a fish could only ever swim. And a soldier-- well, a soldier had to kill, if only in her thoughts. Would it always be like this, with her just seeking new lands to conquer? New fields to burn?) "Yes," the pirate finally answered, her eyes downcast. "I haven't thought of it like this, but I suppose it's true. Logically, of course, I know that there are other aspects to the word as well, but they don't come to me as easily." Probably thanks to muscle memory, so deep it had been imprinted into her brain as well. If you had only ever used a knife for cutting onions, would stabbing someone with it occur to you as one of the usages immediately? No, right? Iskra was experiencing something similar here-- except infinitely more grim.

"Perhaps... perhaps I should try harder to see the other meanings as well. Thank you, Verity. You've given me a lot to think about." Inevitably, though, the topic of their conversation returned to her past-- as if guided by magnetism, or a force much more mysterious than that. "All my life," Iskra confirmed. "I knew nothing but the sword. Sometimes, it still feels as if that's all I know but," she shrugged, with a smile that could only be described as devastatingly shy, "at least I get to decide in which direction it should be pointed. It's not much, though it's something. One should appreciate these small steps, don't you think? We all crawled before we learned how to walk." ...except that, regardless of how quickly she got there, Iskra was walking towards her doom. Not death, for that would have been far too kind-- towards nothingness, really. Towards the grey, colorless place where her sisters rested. Still, no point in emphasizing that, was there? They were sharing a pleasant conversation, and existential dread wasn't a welcome guest.

Besides, Verity continued to speak, and in doing so, she gave Iskra other topics to latch on. "Ah! That is... wise." Much wiser than the process of choosing the Holy Vessel, actually. "I assume that, if you aren't born a princess, then you can also lead your people with greater empathy, right? Because you don't spend your life locked away in a castle, cared for as if you're a precious pearl." Yes, the more Iskra thought about it, the more she liked it. The idea of earning queendom-- that resonated with her, somehow. (The sound it made? It was pure and clear, as if you struck a bell.)

"We only ever had one queen," the pirate offered a different nugget of knowledge in return. "Queen Lellenei, who ruled for centuries. She... back when the world was still young, she rose in rebellion, and overthrew the gods who had been treating my people unjustly. We loved her so much we found a way to keep her alive." That love, however, had turned into a noose-- and almost strangled them all. "Isn't it strange, Verity? The extent to which people will go for love alone. Apparently, we will move mountains, dry seas and, yes, even defy the will of the gods. And yet, for some reason, wars are fought with hatred! I wonder why that is." Perhaps it was some universal truth of the human condition-- a fate of theirs, really, to have to exist between the two extremes. ...or could hatred be related to love? (Maybe those musings were pointless, however. It wasn't like Iskra would ever know, anyway-- Iskra, to whom these were just abstract concept. Iskra, who felt nothing at all. Her heart had been turned to stone, after all, and stones were dead, dead, dead. Barren, much like desert with its flowing sands.)

Verity's happiness was radiant, though-- and, just like the sun that illuminated even the darkest of corners, some of it reached Iskra as well. "Well," she stuttered, "it's not... it's not hard work. As I said, I mostly let them do whatever they want, and it calms my mind. I've discovered it's better to do something with your hands as you're coming to an important decision, you see? Because-- because everything in your body is connected, and stimulating one area will eventually trigger something positive somewhere else as well." By the Shade, why was she suddenly going on wild tangents? Usually, Iskra could speak with such clarity, and yet-- yet she treated words like her shield now. What was there to be shielded from, though? Verity's enthusiasm? Enthusiasm couldn't cut her, though. (...praise, however, could. The princess had no idea who was she being oh so warm to, did she? She didn't, didn't, didn't, and once she found out... well, it was safe to say the revelation would show her Iskra in a different light-- in a light much more sharper, and crueler as well. Would Verity still mean it then? ...no, not accepting the gift of kindness was the wise thing to do here. Later, it would turn into thorns, and-- well, not allowing it to pierce her would hurt less in the long run.)

Flowers, though. Flowers were safe to talk about-- personal and yet not, in a way that let her forget about restrain. "Orchids," Iskra breathed out, visibly delighted. "Well, this tells me there's more to you than meets the eye. Some believe them to be a symbol of luxury, but that has always struck me as false. Or rather, as shallow. They are beautiful and precious, of course, but orchids also grow in the most dangerous places, so what does that mean? Certainly not that they're fragile. Quite the contrary, actually. These flowers are strong, but they...." 'don't do well in captivity,' Iskra almost said, though she stopped herself just in time. (A good thing she had managed to do so, too, because the phrase would have burnt her tongue to a crisp. There was a new wave of guilt, powerful and all-consuming, and-- No. Stop. This feeling is useless, and so you must disregard it. Your people won't be salvaged through virtue alone. Staining your hands is necessary, remember?) "...umm. Mysterious and resilient. Someone I will probably never understand," the pirate uttered, quiet in a way that felt almost reverent. (A prayer, that was what it resembled. A believer speaking to their deity, hoping their voice would reach them across the galaxy.) Unceremoniously, Iskra plopped down on the grass carpet, and raised her face to look at the ceiling. What did she see there? Shade only knew.

"It matters not, though. Trying to understand can be just as fulfilling. And as for my favorite flower... hmmm, probably the dandelion. Now, what do you think it means? Flowers speak to everyone differently, Verity. Spoonfeeding my own interpretation to you would be an empty gesture."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Judgment does not even cross Verity as it had the day before. When Iskra answers, in humility and openness, she notices this and while it makes sense that the pirate, the former soldier, would only see action through the blade alone she does want (for some reason) to open her eyes wider. Whether she knows it or not, whether she sees it or not, Verity knows (or wants to believe) that the captain is capable of gestures that are more piercing than a sword. Though, as her Sage had once told her, all must revealed after struggle––struggle encourages the growth after all; answers are too easy to ever truly learn from. Still, it's too tempting to not reveal some of what she thinks. "I would be interested to hear more about what you learn in redefining action. Your sword is strong, but so are your hands. They supported all of this," she says, gesturing to the garden around them.

As she continues, Verity feels something in her wanting to get closer to the other. Maybe not physically (but also maybe physically)... In that bashful smile she wants to see a million suns warming a million planets, but worries she is filling her eyes with roses again. "You could even put your sword down," she offers, hesitantly, as she sets herself down in the ripples of green that hide her up to her shoulders; she is seated close to the pirate but not as close as they had been in the confines of her cell. "And pick up something else to know––like the pen or garden sheers," she lists things she thinks the other already dabbles with, curious if the captain sees the layers beneath the swordswoman she must stare at in the mirror. 'An ocean that thinks she's a puddle.' "You said yesterday that we have choices... is this a choice you have? Or have you never thought to consider this?" Had her life really been so full of only one thing she couldn't, doesn't, wouldn't dream of something else? Though a soldier to a pirate... That is an interesting transition. A pirate with a mission to save others, too. Peculiar, strange, mysterious.

Verity realizes there is a people this pirate belongs to––whether it is the people she is desperate to save or not, still remains shrouded. It seems safest to keep it that way; for even the princess knows this flash attachment is dangerous and yet she has never been good at knowing when to stop wondering––especially so caught up in the moment. "Who are the people you are saving with your sword? Who is it pledged to? Other than myself, should I help you," she asks, suddenly and before she can even stop herself––as she doesn't want to know this (and yet, she also holds the powerful need to know).

She leans onto her palms as the conversation shifts towards their respective countries. And the concept of one queen? One eternal queen? That idea strikes her as odd and she tries to see the benefit in stasis. "Queen Lellenei," she tries the name on her tongue and wonders how it rolls in Iskra's mouth (is it bitter? Sweet? Sour? Hot?), "Must have been powerful if she took on gods––but if you only ever have one queen... How do things change? How are new ideas introduced?" Not that a change of queen had ever done more for her people than warm the throne with a new ass. "Wielding so much Power for so long, I can only imagine the dangers of tyranny if she is unwilling to relinquish control... Are the people happy?" This is infinitely more fascinating than anything she could ever offer to Iskra. So she leans into the topic with all eagerness. "What do you think of her? Did you ever get to meet her as a soldier?"

The topic of war brings about a slew of emotion in the princess who turns to look away from the captain, but does not turn away from the topic. "A war is never fought for love of country, as far as I am concerned," her words are acidic though not in anyway directed towards her companion. "A war is fought for power and more subordinates to serve the interest of few. What purpose, truly, is there in war?" Colonies were razed because of her and there had been no love in that action––the command had been sent with all malice and every intention to wound. "It tears apart families, murders civilians... Civil war is especially nefarious. A war between sisters––between family is hardly civil..." she mutters, trailing off into her memories that fill her ears with cries, nose with flesh, and heart with both regret and determination.

She pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her cheek on the surface, eyes flickering over Iskra as she works to pull herself out of her hauntings. It's not hard to do when the captain flatters her with her interpretation of what exactly it could mean to favor orchids. "I think you should be careful then––I see no environment more dangerous to flourish in than on a pirate's ship," she teases, falling onto her side and hiding herself completely from Iskra. She bundles her discarded clothes under her head for a pillow, but is careful to remove the rose from her cape first. She holds it, twirling it around and talking to it as if it were the pirate, "I want you to understand me, though." That is not something she had meant to admit and when it comes out, she doesn't feel regret though she is fearful. Then, just as quick, she decides it's good to have this desire––if the captain understands her, then maybe she will sympathize with her and maybe she will forgive her when she ultimately has to sacrifice the pirate's people for her own. Already, she knows this will be a betrayal more personal than she had intended and there seems to be no stopping the intimacy she is forging now––the situation had always been ugly and only grows uglier.

But there are other things to occupy herself with and she has her dandelion to think about now. "Dandelion?" she hums the word, a smile buzzing on her lips like a bee. "Dandy lion," she repeats, playing with the word and the way it sounds, teasing it apart out of habit. Her eyes close as she calls one to mind, remembering the feelings she associates with those nostalgic yellow flowers. "Personally, they remind me of my childhood and all my hopes and wishes I sent away into the wind, but as for what this says about you..." A mischievous grin plays on her lips, "I think, though they grow in abundance, each one is unique and demands to be seen with her bright yellow petals. Dandy lions are as bold as they are brave; they can grow in just about every climate––I don't think they're even native to my planet but we have them too––so that suggests their adaptability and ability to survive anything." Especially if they could survive where she is now native––that planet seemed to have been built of noxious intentions only, but that is their natural protection from outsiders too. "In their seed head form, this suggests a thoughtful, introspective person––after all, you wouldn't want to waste a wish on something frivolous––or maybe you would." Finally, she ends with, "They are also very nourishing. Given all this, this person probably has many facets to appreciate."

 

[Syntra]

'Put your sword down,' she said. The sentence rang in her head, over and over, and, by the Shade, did it feel sharp-- like a shard of glass pressed against her skin, really. 'Put your sword down,' huh. They were just four words, so straightforward in their meaning, and yet, yet. (Perhaps that was actually the problem with speech? Both a blessing and a curse, wrapped in a cloak cut from the same cloth. It was so easy, after all, to speak of such difficult things! And that was the point, Iskra knew. Humans needed a simple way to conceptualize complex ideas-- without it, they would spin in circles, trying to understand one another and never quite succeeding. No, some level of simplicity was very much needed. Finding the lowest common denominator, you know, and all that. Still, wasn't this a little too convenient? A little too detached from the reality? Because, in these few syllables, there was a whole ocean of pain-- and yet Verity uttered them so easily, with the same kind of regard you might pay to a snail you had accidentally stepped on. A passing thought, more or less. ...if saying these words hurt her as much as hearing them hurt Iskra, the princess would have been much more careful. On the other hand, this was her cross to bear, and Verity-- well, Verity was just being Verity. How could she be anything else?)

"No. No, I cannot," the pirate shook her head, her voice full of distant sorrow. "Technically, I suppose, the choice is mine, but that would mean abandoning my mission. Some paths, as I am sure you know, can only be carved with a sword. I can try to be more, with the pen or the shears, but the sword is a part of me as much as my arm is, or my eyes are. They forged it for me specifically, Verity. It has been bathed in my own blood, and such a pact cannot be broken. The steel Remembers me, in the same way I Remember the steel. Forsaking it would be like betraying my oldest friend." Because, yes, that was what the Ritual of Remembering did to you. Even marionettes needed their strings to ground them, you see? Some sort of landmark in the barren desert of her heart, at least, for a soldier had to know where to march. And a sword-- a sword was an obvious choice. (Tying their identity to it, Iskra thought, was an ingenious move. If you took everything from a person, even scraps from someone's table felt like the whole world, didn't it? ...yes, the pirate had seen through the tactic-- years ago, even, for the purpose wasn't especially difficult to unravel. Still, though, the realization had changed very little. You couldn't rationalize away hunger, now could you? Understanding its mechanics didn't mean you could suddenly ascend beyond needing nutrients, and this... this was similar, in a way. Perceiving one's shackles did not make them go away.)

Mindlessly, Iskra wrapped the grass around her wrist, though she didn't break any of it-- more than anything else, it appeared... as if she wanted to be restrained? Or embraced, perhaps, like a child seeking comfort in her mother's arms. "...these days, I'm not sure. I'd like to think the people I'm helping are Unthreians, from my home planet. Those are my intentions, at least. Do intentions matter, though, when I may actually be dooming them further? Say, Verity. If someone ran a sword through your chest, but did so under the impression they might cut out a tumor, would you forgive them? Would you care why they did it, or would you be too busy drowning in your own blood?" ...a morbid comparison to be sure, but a fitting one. Why, after all, wrap her metaphors in pretty imagery when they were referring to something this ugly? Something this visceral? Colorful language, Iskra thought, should highlight one's point, not shroud it in confusion. Only liars thought otherwise, and while the pirate may have been many things, she wasn't a liar. Not now, not ever.

The barrage of questions, however, made her smile just a little bit. (Verity, sweet Verity. How did she do it, really, that she asked such heavy questions with such unbearable ease? Others would collapse under the weight, but the princess acted like they were feathers-- bright and pretty and shiny, and existing solely to adorn her gown. ...curiously enough, though, Iskra didn't hate it. Perhaps because she asked with such innocence? Her subordinates understood, and so they walked on eggshells-- Verity didn't, and so she crushed them underneath her feet. Maybe that was a good thing, however. If Iskra kept worshiping these altars dedicated to dead gods, how could she hope to build something new? Something unrelated? Her throat was tight, as if an iron fist gripped it, but... yes. Yes, perhaps talking about it could help. At least to organize het own ideas, if nothing else?)

"People as a group can never be happy, I think. There are too many hearts, with too many complex desires, and all too often, they contradict one another. But, if you are asking whether they thrived... yes, on some level. No, on so many others. And I can't presume to speak for Queen Lellenei, or how she formed her opinions. I..." Verity's intensity became too much for her to bear at that point, and she had to look away before it crushed her as well, "never truly met her. Only the one that carried her. Holy Vessels, they were called. Humans are too fragile, you see? We never figured how to preserve her in her entirety, so there were women who shared their bodies with her Essence. That, I suppose, may have influenced new policies-- the Vessels co-existed with her, so I'm sure some thought osmosis happened as well. I was but a palace guard, however, so I wasn't privy to the details. And I thought... I thought..." What had she thought, really? "I didn't adore the last Vessel. She was cruel, and deserved her death." There, simple and yet so very effective. Again, the beautiful economy, right? It revealed so much while telling so little.

When the topic shifted once again, though, Iskra straightened. "I don't agree. Some wars are fought for a good cause, Verity. There is much needless bloodshed, yes, but what if invaders come knocking on your door? Diplomacy won't solve everything. Sometimes, you need to grab a sword and fight, even if you don't love it. Isn't that why they trained you? Your people must be aware of this truth, I presume. Or do you hope that your own sword skills will only ever serve as inspiration for your subjects?" For those that would have to harm others, whether they liked it or not? Because status wouldn't protect the lowest of the low-- those who had been dragged on the battlefield, most likely against their wills. (...very few had been born for it, the way Iskra had been. Poor, lost souls.)

Frankly? The pirate didn't even dare to predict where her choice of dandelions would lead-- they were pretty, with their heads full of gold, but also weeds. Weeds, and thus worthless in the eyes of many. Now, which side of it would Verity opt to see? Not that it mattered, of course not, but... well, something within her hoped the princess would see the beauty as well. (It was a small, fragile hope, much like a freshly hatched bird, though the fact that it existed? It stunned the pirate on its own.) And Verity-- naturally, Verity didn't disappoint, with her observations and remarks and a nickname that was... cute? By the Shade, she hadn't thought anything cute in... in ages, if ever. "That's a very thoughtful interpretation," Iskra smiled, genuinely warm. "Facets, huh. Personally, I like them because of the roots. Have you ever seen one, Verity? It's so, so long-- it's almost impossible to pull one out entirely, in fact. And even if a tiny part of it remains in the ground? It will grow back, no matter how much you try to rid of it. Give it some time, and the flower will return-- beautiful and strong and whole. I guess I enjoy that aspect." ...ah, to be a dandelion! If only it was that easy for her.

"In my homeland," the pirate continued, the words flowing freely from her mouth now, "we had this... this legend, in which a brave dandelion grew so deep it fused itself with the planet's very core. The core was happy for it had been lonely, but it burned its new friend-- because, indeed, a core could only ever be a core, and the core of our planet is the twin of our sun. It wept bitter tears, which caused many earthquakes. The planet almost tore itself apart in its grief, but you know what happened then? It noticed that the flower didn't die. The core hadn't burned it completely, so it grew from its own ashes-- and, most shockingly, aimed to become one with it again. And again and again, as many times as it took. Somehow, it was all worth it to the dandelion. The legend says the cycle keeps repeating itself even now, with the two of them eternally trying to reach one another. We haven't had an earthquake in centuries," Iskra shrugged, "allegedly because the core tries to keep the dandelion safe. Who knows, really? I do like the story, though."

Shyly, the pirate's eyes met those of the princess. "The wayfinder. Does it have a legend as well?" Because, if she was going to claim it for her own benefit, the least Iskra could do was to try to understand. An empty gesture, probably, but so what? It was something, which always trumped nothingness. Always, always, always.

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

‘Mystery of mysteries.’ If Verity were a different person, a person with less inclination to understand or learn, she may have scoffed at the captain’s claim that she could not abandon her blade. But she is Verity and she sees with her eyes and understands with her heart. The way that Iskra talks about her blade is similar to how Verity might have spoken of a talisman or even how she speaks of Inure. As if truly living and not just a mere piece of shaped steel. This vague parallel is where she knows to accept that Iskra is telling the truth or a version so close to her that it may as well be stone fact; besides, no one chooses to live as Pain-fully as the captain sounds. Verity has little doubts.

Especially if the sword is what she has to use to heal her nation, her people, her Unthreians. If Verity can understand the sword can only be so precise and if Iskra is her sword, then she must know this too. It’s no surgeon’s tool. Careful as Iskra seems to be with her blade, even she cannot turn her steel into something it is not meant for (no, it would have to be broken and re-forged––and if Iskra is her blade, can she be broken and reforged? Verity wonders this and she doesn't know if this is a dark or light thought, but she does not welcome it).

Wounded as Iskra looks, Verity speaks before she can think to soften her delivery, “I cannot pretend that I have anything nice to say about that suggestion, Iskra, as I don’t really know what circumstances would cause a swordswoman to think herself a surgeon. I would assume a great desperation and love, certainly… If you drown them in the end, at least you fulfill the promise of ending their suffering, for I’m sure the tumor caused some Pain.”

Silently, she draws connections between the points in the conversation to create a story of what must be happening where Iskra is from––dangerously, daringly. The pieces comes together in an unfortunately familiar way. “I am sorry to hear that the last Holy Vessel was cruel,” she sucks in a breath, all too familiar with the effects of tyrannical, too-hungry-for-her-own-good queens. The scar is still fresh over her chest. “I wonder if she intended to be or if she had no other way of knowing how to rule.” She is not trying to absolve Iskra’s queen in that statement; it reflects a hopefulness for the one she understands too well––dangerously, daringly.

“But the Holy Vessels sound like our talismans,” she pauses as she determines the best way to articulate this concept so that it travels perfectly from her planet to Iskra’s. “Our queens are not vessels for any original queen, but rulers across my planet have these objects, talismans, that preserve an imprint, for lack of a better word, of prior leaders. Whoever wields the talisman can use it to draw on the stored wisdom.” Though she cannot definitively confirm this, she does believe the wayfinder is one such object and Celestia’s wisdom… There isn’t a price she can name for what she would give to gain that insight and the insight of her unnamed predecessors for a chance at vengeance something. “In Aurora, the queen’s scimitar contains the knowledge of all our past queens––well the ones who are already in the Ether or beyond. The ones who are living their years out in retirement can be consulted personally, obviously, but once they depart their image will be left on the scimitar.”

The legend of the dandy lion speaks to the storyteller––or the girl who, once, could only dream as big as becoming one. She brings herself up from the grass, so that she can see Iskra fully, knees curled into her chest. She wishes she could have stopped Iskra before she started this story because she wants to create a specific memory around this moment; so she can preserve it with all of its authenticity. And with all her intensity, she watches and listens, a grin sitting easily on her lips. “Thank you for sharing, Iskra… We have a different way of understanding earth shakes––but the subtle romance of yours… I like it.”

When the topic of the conversation eventually shifts to the object that has brought them together, she meets the captain’s eye, becoming impassive and her tone equally dead, “We have several legends of the wayfinder.” The stories of the wayfinder feel more personal to her than perhaps the tale of a brave dandelion embracing her homeworld’s heart—because the wayfinder is the story of their survival and rebirth. The legends around the relic are the very mythos of the Sages themselves, practically. And where this is not something she minds talking about, she wonders what benefit there is to having Iskra know about the object she want to seize for herself (the intentions cannot matter and that is why Verity should steer away from knowing any more about the pirate's cause and yet).

She stands, dusting herself off as she agrees to the unspoken request to learn.

“The wayfinder is the protection, salvation, and guidance of my people––or was. As our first world came under threat of all out collapse, the people on the brink of near extinction, the Sage Sisters of our world pleaded our cause to the Three Divinities––Death, Time, and Life––for salvation.

They begged Death for more Time,
They reasoned with Time for more Life,
And they cried to Life for Rebirth

“At first, the Divinities were unlistening, unfeeling to our suffering––believing we had damned ourselves by mining too close to the jewel heart of the first world—consumed with a hunger that had only one price. But, we begged—pleaded with the Divinities for redemption and made promises to grow, to learn. Hearing the sincerity in our sorrow, the Three relented, for all Divinities must be empathic towards their creations. They bestowed upon us a tool to save the people, because the planet was beyond saving. They spun this tool from the cosmos and infused it with the essences of the original Sacred Sages,” she would name them if she knew them, if they were not lost and covered in secret by the Sage Sisters now. "To help lead our people. Those who were able to wield this object were given wisdom beyond measure as they guided our people through endless space, in search of a new home, in search for a peaceful existence..." she stops, deciding that is enough for now. "That is one legend of the wayfinder.”

(The legend, while solid, is vague too. Raising more questions than answers––or at least it does for Verity; because she doesn’t know what it truly is or even what it looks like. It is not something she has ever seen and the memories are so buried that she only has her imagination to work from. She guesses it is a talisman and the wisdom it stores is from the imprints of prior leaders, but outside of that she only has these vague stories.)

“As I recall, you want to use the wayfinder in a similar manner?” Her brow quirks upward, hand on one hip as she gazes down at the pirate. “To preserve the Unthreians of your homeworld?” Simultaneously, she wants to know and never know the reason these people need saving. Already, she believes that she knows too much, so she does not inquire further––and she does not require any more explanations from Iskra. Her charade of a difficult princess is wearing thin faster than she had even thought to expect––and what use is it drawing this out any further anyway? The faster they can acquire the wayfinder, the less Time she will spend fascinated by Iskra.

“I will help you. I will take this chance on you. But should you break my heart with betrayal, I will not hesitate in making myself useless to you,” she warns, her tone darkening. “As I see it, I cannot keep telling you that I want to see your true intentions through action if I never give you sufficient means to demonstrate this—so I promise you my knowledge in exchange, later, for your assistance and unwavering loyalty.” She bends, extending her hand to the captain to seal the deal with trust alone. "There is no negotiating this deal, Iskra."

 

[Syntra]

...could that be true? Could the Vessel simply have not known better, consumed by the realities of ruling? Maybe so. Iskra didn't like the thought, of course, but she couldn't discard it-- an elephant, after all, cared not for the plight of an ant. It couldn't. The creatures observed the world from such vastly different heights, from such vastly different perspectives, that they might as well have lived on separate planets. (And, in many ways, they did. How often did they find themselves bearing the same burdens, or experiencing the same joys? Almost never, Iskra would wager. ...at the same time, though, an ant felt it sorely when an elephant stepped on it. Did it not mean, then, that the bigger animal should be more mindful of its movements? More considerate of the smaller life forms?) "I suppose," Iskra said, "though I admit, it is hard for me to imagine. I'm a prisoner to my own perspective," the perspective of an ant, "and mindless cruelty is still cruelty. 'Aekhanariisalayam,' as we say. It means..." the pirate trailed off, looking for the closest equivalent. (Which wasn't easy, in truth. Not in the slightest. Translation was like building a bridge, but sometimes, the places you were meant to connect weren't even in the same dimension. How did you find the lowest common denominator in such a case? ...ah, thoughts! So precise at times, so sharp they could cut flesh, and yet so nebulous, too. Much like fog, floating weightlessly around you-- it was there, granted, but have you tried to grasp it? A fool's endeavor!) Iskra wasn't especially good at not being a fool, however, so try she did.

"Duty is your chain, I guess. The idea is that it is wrapped around your neck, and that you need others to help you carry the object it is attached to. Now, help can mean many things, from actual contributions to simply approving of your decisions. Depends on the context, really. And without that mysterious factor? Inevitably, you will strangle yourself. That was what happened to the last Vessel."

When Verity began speaking of her people, however, Iskra fell silent-- it was pleasant to lose herself in the sound of her voice, and she also happened to be genuinely interested in what the princess had to say. Talismans, huh? Concentrated knowledge, no longer bound to the one who had unearthed it. Kind of like books, then? Except that much more accurate, for words were to thoughts what mugs were to rivers. You could hope to capture some of it, but the entire thing? Never, not in a million years. (Iskra would know. She had tried so, so hard, lost many nights of sleep, even, and yet the entries still felt like pitiful fragments-- parts of something larger, something grander, perhaps, forever divorced from its original context. ...the context, of course, was her. And with that person no longer present, at least not in any meaningful way? They worked about as well as a ship without fuel.) "That must be fascinating, being able to access the memories of your ancestors like this. You are blessed to have this ability, Verity."

Iskra, however, found out she was blessed as well-- blessed by the princess herself, when she decided to share the legend. When she decided to help, against all odds. Oh, how had she gotten so lucky? At this point, Iskra hadn't dared to hope! (To think that... that they might truly understand one another, regardless of the paths they walked. Despite their positions, and the light years that separated those. No amount of distance couldn't stop two hearts that beat as one, it seemed, and in that moment-- well. Maybe, just maybe Iskra could see why the dandelion thought it all worthy. The struggle, the pain, the death and rebirth, everything, really. Surmounting the insurmountable, if only to enjoy the view.) "Thank you, Verity," the pirate whispered, clasping her hands in hers. "Both for the story, and your assistance. I shall treasure both. I-- I won't disappoint you. From this day until my last day, I am yours."

***

Needless to say, Iskra meant her promise. Shortly after the end of the tour, Verity was allowed to move to a better room, and oh, was the change drastic. Calling the difference day and night? That would have been an understatement, actually. Not only were there windows, but the bed was also large enough for a queen, with a mattress softer than feathers. Perhaps even more curiously, a bookshelf stood near the wall-- a bookshelf that was overflowing with titles from various galaxies and eras, some of them written in languages Verity couldn't understand. Those she could read, though? They seemed to be historical texts, mostly, along with philosophical theses and an occasional biological study. Iskra, who seemed to have picked up on her love for stories, sent her a new collection of songs every other day-- perhaps as her way of saying sorry for not being able to spend all day with her, now that they had a destination to head towards to. Someone had to take care of the navigation, after all, and that task? Traditionally, it fell to the captain.

Nothing had changed about the breakfast arrangement, of course-- every day, Iskra appeared on her doorstep, and they debated hotly. (It almost felt like a ritual, with this sacred hour dedicated to them and them only. A happy place to look forward to, or at least for the pirate.)

Breakfasts didn't tend to consume all of your energy, however, and so when the princess stepped out of her room one day to pursue some other business of hers, she discovered that a trio of pirates was waiting for her. Ylna, and... two other women she didn't know yet, actually? One of them older, with silver in her hair, and the other with her face so mangled one could hardly guess her age. (Her scars? A map drawn with knives, that was what it resembled the most. That, or perhaps a spider's web.)

"Why hello, your highness," Ylna waved at her, with cheerfulness that seemed about as genuine as a telemarketer promising that, no, their product really was the best. "Do you have a second? I was just wondering what kind of black magic you used on Iskra to make her give up her room. Or, you know, what shady tricks you're pulling in general. Because, hey, she's kind of dumb, but we sure as fuck aren't!"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Ritual is all Verity can do to keep herself from tripping over her thoughts.

Each day starts just the same––with Iskra at her door, breakfast in hand. They take turns picking topics to discuss; it's not an even pattern but it has naturally evened out and each day Verity enjoys learning new things about the captain. Like which buttons make her blush; which make her pull away; which excite her; which she'll defend fiercely without compromise; and which can get her to show that shy smile of hers that almost seems embarrassed it exists in the first place (tragic, because the princess is quite fond of it). Some days it's hard for her to decide which side of Iskra she wants to see, but she is mostly happy to see the captain at all. It doesn't matter how hotly they debate, with or without understanding, she is always left aching for more, at the edge of her seat each time Iskra leaves to do whatever it is that captain's do (really, a ship can drive itself, she’s almost certain).

Once Iskra leaves––she may occupy her time by sliding her finger over the volumes of text in Iskra's collection and spends more time than one might assume on the books she doesn't understand. For some reason, she finds it interesting to stare at the pages and imagine what she thinks the story is; that’s far more interesting, to her, than reading the books that already have stories on their pages—and most of them aren’t story books anyway. (Well, some in the collection are interesting too––she has been especially engrossed with the captain's collection of historical texts, as historical texts, even for the few books that are available on her isle, are difficult if not all but impossible to find). However, the songs that Iskra specifically delivers to her? She always looks over those, studies them, imagines what Iskra may hear or feel, and sometimes she does this twice.

After she grows eventually gets bored of her cage within a cage, she strolls through the ship; sometimes with a book in hand just to appear busy (a surprisingly good way to eavesdrop too––at least where she could). The ship is easy for her to navigate as its layout mirrors her own, though Inure seems to have more parallel rooms and she's already found some of her favorite hiding spots (really, exploring a ship to stave off boredom is just wandering from room to room). Most days, she doesn't bother trying to interact with the crew and they don't seem all that interested in her either––no, they seem openly mistrustful if not hostile.

And since she had this unspoken agreement with the crew, that neither herself or they need to acknowledge each other, she had not thought to check to see if the coast had been clear when she exits her quarters. Her routine is now disrupted by the three pirates standing in her way and she is not sure if this is a welcome change of pace or not.

While she had figured out the room belonged once to the captain––the ship, after all, mirrored her own––she looks backward at the room in surprise before returning to the three in front of her."Oh? That's Iskra's old room?" She feigns innocence quite well––easy when her eyes make it appear as if she is prey and not a predator full of poison. "She didn't tell me that––I forgot to ask who's space I was intruding on when these arrangements were made. Princess brain, as they say––incredibly dangerous affliction where I am from," her tone is eerily light, especially for someone with dubious intentions on a dangerous mission.

"Perhaps this is a cultural misunderstanding, but my people have no such thing as magic," again, she speaks in a naïve fashion as if she hadn't known Ylna wasn’t necessarily being literal. "I understand some peoples, though, have devised ways to interact with this 'magic' but unfortunately I am not versed in any form, least of all dark."

She puts her hands into the pockets of Iskra's coat and balls them into fists, keeping them warm more than anything else. "As I recall, Iskra is the captain of this ship and there is nothing I can make her do being a prisoner," she shrugs. No matter how it may look, that is the truth. Verity is a prisoner on this ship and while she may be able to wrap its captain around her finger, this pirate is set on her sacred mission and the princess's true freedom ultimately compromises that. "And being the captain, is it wise to call her dumb? She has more depth than most I've met," this is true and she believes it wholly. Debating with Halen had been like arguing with a mountain and the Sage Sisters usually had a direction they wanted Verity to fall into... and their queen? She had never been much for debate. Iskra is fresh. "I don't think dumb is the word I would use to describe Iskra––she's brilliant, really."

"Perhaps, you should ask what magic she is using on me, because I've never felt magic like when she opens my eyes to a new perspective." Sincere as she sounds she is certainly suspicious––even she knows these pirates have no reason to trust or believe her. No matter what truths she is drawing from, she has to remember that her first impression does not do her any favors now. “I assure no spells or tricks are being played,” well, “My intentions were clouded when I first arrived, but if Iskra is as true as I think she is I do believe we have reached something of a compromise and are healing the rupture from our first meeting with discussion. Though I doubt anything I’ve said has landed remotely near your hearts so what other purpose do you have being here if—and correct me if I am wrong—you don’t intend to believe me anyway?”

 

[Syntra]

The women exchanged a glance among one another, quick and mysterious. The smiles they wore? Yeah, it was impossible to tell what they were thinking-- whether Verity's little spectacle worked, or if it only served to condemn her further in their eyes. Stupid pirates and their stupid poker faces! Clearly, what they were doing here was dangerous, a deadly game of chess, and--

"Are you a dumbass as well?" Ylna asked, arching a perfect eyebrow. ...oh, okay. Apparently, 'subtlety' wasn't this pirate's preferred modus operandi. "No, really, I genuinely can't tell whether you're just fucking with us or if this brand of stupidity is what Iskra finds appealing. Also, hah! You really don't know shit about her, do you?" she watched her with tiny flames of amusement dancing in her eyes, her hand on her hip. (At least it wasn't on her sword, though? That had to mean something.) "Iskra hired me after I spent months terrorizing one of her old ships. So, two things you can conclude from this: a) she is a little bit dumb, b) telling her that probably won't send her into a murderous frenzy. I mean," Ylna shrugged, "it hasn't happened yet. I'd say my chances are good."

"Ehm," the silver-haired woman coughed, in a manner one might expect from countess rather than a cutthroat, "would you like to hand Miss Verity here your entire CV, Ylna? I would have printed it for you, had you shared your intentions with me beforehand."

Not even bothering to blush, Ylna turned around and punched her colleague's shoulder instead. "Oh, come on. Are we still pretending data protection is a thing? Some fucking intergalactic corporation probably knows when you like to shit, and they know it down to the exact hour. So, let's not clutch our pearls over this. Besides, what is she gonna do with that information, huh? Tell Iskra? Because, newsflash, Iskra knows!"

As Ylna spoke, the other woman's face underwent a curious transformation-- the initial annoyance was replaced with disbelief, then with something that almost resembled anger, and finally, it settled on resignation, of the 'disappointed-but-not-surprised' variety. "Alright. A wise fighter knows how to pick her battles, and I know loss when I see it. Either way," she turned to Verity, as if Ylna had simply stopped existing, "you are right in your assertion that this... this interesting spin on traditional interrogation," (Ylna scoffed in the background) "isn't really why we came. No, we wanted to welcome you aboard." ...wait, what?

The woman must have been aware of how absurd her statement sounded, really, because she didn't even pause to take a breath-- no, nobody had to encourage her to clarify. "Your presence here raises some... concerns, yes, but is it not true that these concerns can best be removed via getting to know each other?" she smiled, because such statements were only ever accompanied by smiles, but something-- something about it felt sharp as well. (If snakes could smile? They would smile exactly like this, and venom would drip from their fangs.)

"My name is Myrne. You do know Ylna already, and this charming young lady here," she pointed at the remaining woman, "is called Saavika. She doesn't talk, for obvious reasons," Saavika opened her mouth and, yeah, missing a tongue did seem like something that could prevent you from being a chatterbox, "but she's the best pyrotechnic we've ever had. Well, we haven't had many of them, though--"

This time, it was Ylna's turn to sigh. "By the Shade, Myrne, are you trying to kill her with boredom? Iskra would throw a tantrum, so, please, just fucking don't. Anyway, your highness," Ylna bowed to her mockingly, placing her hand on her heart, "wanna drink with us? And by us, I mean pretty much the entire crew because the other girls are curious about you as well. Oh, and if you don't go, I'm warning you in advance that I'll have to invent some ridiculous rumor about you to keep them entertained. So, you know, your choice!"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Though Verity does feel vaguely threatened by the three women, she doesn't show it and the concern is minimal enough that she ignores it entirely. Either it's her arrogance creating a false shield or the knowledge that one, or both, of her allies on this ship will protect her should she be put into harms way. Iskra has promised her protection and she trusts that. Inure watches over her similarly––though she's not sure what protection she can offer, she does feel at ease in the confines of a ship crawling with enemies (perhaps, if only because Inure feels like a second home to her now). In any case, it does not make sense for her to make her situation worse or harder by being difficult.

Besides, she's intrigued that these women are so concerned about their captain's judgment and willingness to trust her. While she knows this is not unreasonable behavior, it just makes her wonder what other questionable decisions Iskra has made. Increasingly so when she finds out just how the captain determined Ylna's fitness for duty. These thoughts run through her head and she runs her fingers through her chocolate colored hair, sweeping it over to one side almost bored as she listens to Ylna and Myrne bicker. (The notion that she is a dumbass does not go unnoticed, but she sees no reason to fight the label; ignorance can make her seem blissful and perhaps that association will lower the guard of the rest of crew.)

As she observes the three, she determines Myrne may be the most dangerous. Especially with the way she smiles at her (a little too much like the curve of an axe for her taste); she seems the most sophisticated between the three of them and the princess has made a note to be especially careful around the silver haired woman. Ylna, she more or less thinks is simple in comparison; from what she has observed in their short interactions she is aggressive and brash––nothing really to be concerned about there. Of course, that leaves Saavika and other than the knowledge that she's covered in scars (perhaps ritualistic ones?); had her tongue cut out (Verity pretends not to feel the pang in her gut); and is interested in pyrotechnics, she does not have much to go off of. Her actions have not been able to speak for her yet, so she remains quietly suspicious of her as well. As high as their walls are towards her, she will keep hers even higher––at least until she gains their favor and as a princess? Is it not her role to win people over?

At the offer to join the pirates for drinks––with the entire crew––she sees no better opening for her to charm the crew than by sharing a liquid communion. She also cannot pass at an opportunity to learn about their relationship with Iskra. It could even be a chance to learn about the captain herself––a subject she finds herself studiously attending to. "Threatening me with fun is not necessary, Ylna. Though I am amused you think a rumor could strike down a princess, who naturally would be the center of many rumors over the course of her princess-ship," she replies, with a kiss of sweetness in her tone. "I'm happy to make your acquaintance and join you all for drinks––especially since I thought you all wanted nothing to do with me."

.............​

Several drinks later, Verity finds herself smushed between pirates who have yet to introduce themselves and boisterous laughter (nothing like alcohol to relieve everyone of their earlier tension and passive hostilities). Her cheeks have adopted a light pink hue and the smile on her lips never leaves––it's even brighter than her cheeks. Save for the captain, the pirate crew and the princess are all located on the deck; heaters, tables, chairs have all been set out giving it somewhat of an outside tavern feel; the alcohol flows especially free and Verity's cup, interestingly, appears bottomless. The pirates ask the princess questions and she openly gives answers; while there had been some pointed remarks and challenges, the princess handles them with as much care as she can manage, but mostly she just tries to get them to laugh.

Through the evening, Verity has gathered that Iskra does not run a tight ship. Or she does, but in a way she's never seen or even thought to imagine. Her crew seems to benefit from the freedom of thought. (This, of course, makes sense in the context of her own relationship with the captain and how much freedom and even respect Verity has received from the pirate in question). In fact, she gathers that the captain is well received and that warms her, but she attributes this to the alcohol more than anything else.

At some point, Verity had been tossed into the middle of an arm wrestling tournament with the others. And while she had lost a few rounds ago to a woman who looked like she could crush the princess with a blink alone, the rest of the crew, naturally, wanted to have a try at the princess as well. Always up for some light fun and able to tolerate some humiliation at her own expense, she plays along and rakes in wins and losses. Though when fatigue eventually becomes the major reason for her losses, it no longer becomes fun to challenge her and she is relieved of the role. Wringing out her elbow, rubbing away the soreness, she goes to find Ylna among the crowd.

"Ylna, if you don't mind my asking––" she hiccups and puts a hand on the pirate's shoulder, because the hiccup threw her off balance somehow, "––the other day, you said something and I didn't quite understand it, but I'm curious..." she recalls the memory, remembering precisely the conversation and the word in question, "What does 'aieshnyaree' mean?"

 

[Syntra]

Iskra was sitting behind her desk, a pen in her hand. That scene, of course, wasn't particularly unusual-- the captain wrote so often that it inspired these silly little 'pen vs. sword' jokes among her crew, even if she couldn't understand why. Could a fighter not have intellectual needs? What was writing, after all, if not slaying a new beast with every page, forever waging war against its emptiness? Were words not a double-edged sword, ready to cut you down the second you grabbed them carelessly? No, those who didn't understand the connection had clearly never tried both. (...had they had, they would have known that the pen was a type of sword as well-- its smaller companion, though no less dangerous. Pens struck hearts, you see? And the ink they bled all over the pages could cut someone's soul across ages, across galaxies. A sword proper, on the other hand? Oh, such a weapon was bound by distance, and by time as well. ...honestly, Iskra had no idea what was stronger.)

So, yes-- not an unusual scenery at all. What was unusual, though, was that Iskra didn't actually write. Words tended to come to her on their own, much like a stray cat after you had fed it once, but now? The page still remained mostly blank, with the pen hovering in the air more often than not. The whiteness almost hurt her eyes, and after staring at it for what felt like an eternity, Iskra had to frown. What was happening? Had she run out of words? No, impossible. Clearly, she was still thinking, and you couldn't formulate your thoughts without those. Besides, as far as Iskra new, they weren't a non-renewable source, so this hypothesis had never made a lick of sense in the first place. Why, then, was this so difficult? Why did it feel as if-- as if she was staining the paper, rather than making it beautiful? Rather than painting a picture?

Perhaps because I am not a sock. Ah, yes. That sort of made sense! Iskra had never written as anyone other than Iskra, or some version of her, at least, and trying to slip into someone else's skin was... trying, to put it mildly. (What was a life form not touched by the Shade like? What did their thoughts feel like, unburdened by the dark presence? Did they soar like a bird? Most likely, Iskra thought, but with the chains wrapped around her wrists... well, she had no idea how to convey that. ...a colorblind person trying to imagine blue, that was the most appropriate comparison here. Foolish, foolish, foolish.)

Still, Iskra had promised. She had promised to the princess herself, who owned her heart now. Such a promise carried a certain weight, didn't it? Only the most accursed of oathbreakers would disregard it, and Iskra-- well, Iskra didn't exactly wish to join their ranks. (A soldier still had her honor, even if it was stained by blood. A murderer's honor, that branded her with hot iron.)

Once again, Iskra raised her pen-- only to put it down in the next moment. Aaargh! There was no deadline, she knew, but Verity... huh. Could this strange hesitation be connected to the princess herself? Because Iskra still mostly didn't know what to write about Verity, and this was a task that had been given to her by her. (Instead of it getting better, it had somehow gotten worse. The reason she only ate her breakfast with the woman, and then disappeared like morning dew in the sun? The princess made her feel... well, something. It was like-- like a tangle of snakes in her belly, and the beasts grew fiercer every time Verity so much as smiled at her, and... look, Iskra couldn't take it. She just couldn't, okay? As much as the conversations stimulated her, and made her view old arguments from new angles, this strange ailment was a problem. Especially since it affected the clarity of her thoughts! Would Verity even wish to talk to her, once she was reduced to a bumbling fool? ...by the Shade, the thought was so dreadful it convinced Iskra to consult the ship physician immediately. Alright, the pirate thought, alright. I suppose I should bring Verity as well, then? Since, obviously, the whole issue could have been caused by her unique physiology! In fact, Iskra was fairly sure that was the case-- this had never happened to her with anyone else before, for starters, and the girl could shoot spikes of her body. Was it not logical, then, to assume that her abilities also extended beyond that? The thought was worth examining, Iskra felt. (And quickly, before this strange phenomenon destroyed her!)

...to her dismay, however, Verity was nowhere to be found. Nobody was nowhere to be found, now that she thought of it, but when the faint sound of music reached her ears? Oh, Iskra had a good idea of what was happening now. With a rising sense of urgency, the pirate hurried into the lower deck, and-- it was a party, alright. One of the larger ones, actually. Women were wrapped up in one another, dancing and drinking, but Iskra cared for none of that. (Verity! Where was Verity? This was no place for a princess, and if they had dragged her down there against her will... then she had failed as a guardian, plain and simple. Once again, her promises would turn into ash in her mouth, dry and stifling. But, oh. Oh! There she was, talking to Ylna.)

"Oh, that?" the other pirate smirked. "That's a fun little word, actually. It means that our poor, poor Iskra hasn't been able to enjoy the company of pretty ladies like yourself for a hot minute. My personal guess? I'd say never. The girl is fucking tragic, I'm telling you. One of my friends invited her for a dinner once and she was like: 'No, thank you, I do not require further sustenance.' Seriously, not even lying. It went completely over her fucking head. And, later, the same friend tried to--"

"Ehm, ehm," Iskra coughed, blushing furiously for some reason. (Why, though? It wasn't like Ylna had been spreading false rumors about her, and there was nothing shameful about it in the first place. Perhaps she was just feeling hot? Due to, you know, all those bodies pressed together in this cramped space? Yes, that had to be it-- not even Iskra was immune to the effects of air that contained very little oxygen, after all.) "Verity. Have you come here willingly? If not, I have come to save you. You, um, don't have to be here."