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

[starboob]

Everything is fine. Perfectly fine, even. Her conversation with the woman regarding what they are or aren't never resumed and for that, Verity has been extremely grateful. A whirlwind of new chaos has taken over her Life and she just has not had the Time to think about anything other than fixing the mess Seraphina left; fixing a mess that should have been Halen's burden. Between sending the former queen to an unmarked location in the Wilds to die and whither out of relevance; between figuring out funerals for her sisters; between finding homes for the three (of nine) who remain; between defending Iskra (?) from the rightful ire of her people; between being roped into helping her country forge a path forward; between everything and all of that there has been no Time. (She's made it that way, of course. Keeping her hands busy enough so that she doesn't notice them shake. Keeping her mind busy enough so it does not wander. Keeping her eyes fixed on endless correspondence so she does not have to see the pity from the crew. Keeping herself squirreled away in her bed so she never has to face the realization of her loneliness.) Time heals all, right? So, she figures, if she waits long enough, it will all just... Just go back to some semblance of normal? (Oh, she is so obviously not convinced of that and yet moving forward is an impossible task and there's no one else to walk this path with her. There is only that shell of her wife, who she has trouble facing for so many reasons she feels strangled by them.)

If only avoidance could be a perfect solution. If only it made her feel something close to normal. Instead she is left moving her body through the motions of the day, playing the role of princess for some, the role of pirate captain to others, the role of sister, and there's just no room for Verity. (Quite frankly the prospect of leaving room for herself terrifies her into inaction. Just, what will happen when she inevitably has to acknowledge all the ways her body aches? She will collapse and she doesn't even know if she will recover or what the recovery will look like.) Occasionally her eyes will mist inappropriately, she will snap at someone over inane things, or she will entirely float away from her body and observe the day from the outside perspective. This is fine. This is functional and what more does she need to be than functional, right?

(At night, when she wishes for Sleep so that she does not have to appear so living, she is met by every ghost of her past. It's not so bad, actually. Different from her nightmares, these sort of... sort of ground her. Or distract her? She isn't sure. Sometimes they will be memories of her Time as a princess, gossiping with Halen and discovering the woman beneath the ice; sometimes she is taken to her celebrations with her family and how cheerful everything is; most often, however, are the dreams of her Iskra and not the shell. The one she knew and loved and married. In those dreams she still smiles. In those dreams she can still caress Verity with hands that belong to her. In those dreams, she tells Verity to keep holding on.)

In a rare moment where she is not doing something, a meeting having ended too early and her next task not set to start for a few hours, she wanders through to the library, thinking perhaps there is an answer or a clue hidden in one of the tomes her wife collected. Today, she finds herself wondering if a lobotomy would be helpful––not for the shell, but herself. She wonders if she can shed the burden of being the one with all the memories. She wonders if that will help her start over, too. She wants so badly to start over.

She sees those metallic hands first, setting down the diary in front of her, and her entirety freezes. (The last Time Iskra touched her with her own hands it had been to shove her away from Seraphina's spear. She wishes she had been wise enough to savor that fleeting warmth.) Her eyes flit up to the woman, the stranger, the shell, the ghost and she just keeps hearing, "Make sure that she knows that some of her worthless sisters are still… hmm, searching for their purpose. They will appear on the menu on the final day!” over and over again. She just keeps seeing those flayed Restoration leaders; those burnt cities; those screaming children; her sisters. 'How can you love such a wretched thing?' the nastiest part of her thinks. (Much quieter, another voice offers, 'You know the truth. The complicated sticky mess. You know she is not a wretched thing.')

She blinks and looks down at the passage, surprised she never knew Iskra's handwriting before. 'So that is what my name looks like from her pen.' Perhaps she distracts herself with that rather than what the page says because she cannot bear to know what else is written on those pages. But the woman standing in front of her wants her to know what this passage says so whether or not she reads it, she knows. And she wishes she didn't. An entire storms ruptures in her chest then––loved. (Of course she knew her Iskra loved her. They never said it and they didn't have to. They said it without words. They said it with how they lived, breathed, and looked at each other. They said it in a language that was entirely their own so Verity never thought to say it or think of it and––) Loved. The syllable rails into her with enough force it stuns her. More than that, it crumbles everything she had been holding onto and that breath she had been holding is released. Loved.

Her fist clenches in her lap as the world spins around her. Loved. "What makes you think you have any right to that information?" she snaps, getting up from her seat in such a rush that her chair topples over behind her. Her eyes do not reflect anger, however. They reflect Fear, enough of it for her to drown. "And you say that so cavalierly, too! As if this is not a matter of my heart as well. As if––as if this is how I want to discover that you loved me." She sweeps up the books she had been reading and begins to shove them back onto shelves, her eyes misting. She blinks hard, but the mist turns to rain turns to waterfalls all too soon. "As if this is how I wanted to hear that phrase!"

"What even gives you the right to judge her?" As if Iskra is not Iskra and therefore does have immeasurable amount of claim to judge herself. (Except Verity has trouble seeing this woman as Iskra.) "Yes, she was terribly opinionated and stubborn and sometimes downright irritating, but that is all what made her her." It's what she misses, too. Not that she's even given this shell the chance to show who she is or what qualities have remained intact. (She's more so scared to discover what is gone for good.) Divinities! She wants to scream at Iskra. She wants to cry. She wants to beat her fists against her chest and ask her why. Why did she leave? Why did she have to abandon her and leave her with nothing but their memories and a ghost to haunt her? (It was always going to be this way, she knows... She's always known and yet it was never supposed to happen like this. Divinities are cruel and she can understand why her wife had such an issue with hers.)

Part of her does hear that the woman wishes things were different and wishes she still loved her, but too much of her other parts cannot hear that. (Does she want her love, even? Yes. No. This is and isn't Iskra. And is. And isn't. And is(n't). How is she expected to know how to do any of this properly? How is she not being set up to burn?) She hurriedly wipes her tears from her cheeks and is successful only in clearing a new path for them. Her entire body shakes and she cannot stop it, so she doesn't try. She finds it hard to look at the woman in front of her, an imitation of her wife and yet also her wife just the same. (This is who she married, she knows this. This is part of their deal. This was always a possibility.) "... I don't know how to answer your question when so much of me screams that you should know already." She knows what she says isn't fair. She knows she should not be angry. But she cannot help herself or the knot of emotions in her chest, becoming more tangled the more she is forced to confront her. "I loved her, too." Loved. Love?

 

[Syntra]

Well. What had (Iskra) expected to gain from this conversation, even? An anchor to steady herself with, so that she might weather the storm? A piece of warmth to retreat into, when everything seemed so damn cold? An explanation, if nothing else? Wrong, wrong, wrong, a thousand times wrong! (In truth, the pirate hadn't expected anything at all. She hadn't dared to, in the same way a fisherwoman didn't dare to hope to catch a salmon in a puddle-- out on the big, wide sea, you see, miracles didn't happen. In her life, they didn't, either.) "Nothing," (Iskra) admitted. "I don't believe I have the right to anything at all. To be quite honest, it seems to me that the only thing I should receive is an arrow in my heart. Still, I figured that the question wouldn't offend you." Yet another misstep, on a path that was already full of them. How long would it take for her to stumble over the edge of the world, hmm? To fall, down, down, down, into that bottomless chasm? (The sooner the better, the pirate felt. Quickly, it was becoming apparent that there was no place for her on Inure-- for a woman so lost that even her own name felt queer, akin to a gravestone tied to her neck. A gravestone that didn't even belong to her, either. Ah, what a cruel, cruel jest her existence was! Had I died back on Aurora, it would have been simpler. Kinder towards everyone, too. They would have built her a statue and remembered her fondly, and instead of that... instead of that, they have me. An eternal reminder of Seraphina's victory. ...pfft. What was it like, loving Iskra and then being expected to deal with her? Not too dissimilar to being used to diamonds and then having to wear a crown of thorns, she imagined.)

"Who says I'm judging her?" she raised her eyebrow. "It's just that... well, the woman did have a lot of opinions. I know not what I should think if I am to portray her role correctly." Somehow, (Iskra) felt that that wasn't what the princess wanted to hear, but so what? Verity wasn't exactly whispering sweet nothings into her ear, either. "I do apologize," she began, without a hint of irony, "for dying the way I did. I imagine that had to be very inconvenient for you. Still, didn't you know this would happen? According to these entries, Iskra worried about that very thing. About not being good enough for you, because you were whole and she wasn't." And, surprise, surprise, it seemed that Iskra was right! (Duh, naturally. For that annoying tendency of hers, the pirate was beginning to hate her. You know what it was like, having a brilliant older sister and always living in her shadow? This was worse, because the shadow whose edge she would never cross somehow belonged to her. Iskra this, Iskra that, she thought morosely. Don't you want to go where she went? ...no. No, such a thought wasn't worthy of her. It was hardly the princess's fault that she grieved for her wife, and it wasn't her fault that she didn't understand it. For two blameless people, though, there sure is a lot of guilt. And as for all the things they wanted to say, but were too afraid to? The weight could crush her at this very instance, (Iskra) felt.

"You resent me," she observed, with all the passion of a clerk recording the latest expenditures to her personal budget. (If a genuine emotion was there, then it was hiding behind those cold eyes, and unwilling to leave its safe space. Unwilling to do anything, really.) "You loved her, you say, and yet you cannot even look me in the eye. That much is fair, I suppose." More than that, it was refreshing-- the pirates hoping that the real Iskra would emerge from her broken body one day, much like a butterfly might emerge from its cocoon, were just setting themselves up for a disappointment. Meeting someone this expectation-free wasn't necessarily bad, you know? (Yes, it did hurt. The way the princess looked at her, as if she was something gross she'd accidentally stepped into, was painful, but (Iskra) figured it was a mere phantom pain, belonging to a woman who no longer lived. With time, it would surely fade. It had to. And, hey, if nothing else, she was good at discarding parts of herself, wasn't she?)

(Tears were shining on her cheeks now, like countless liquid diamonds pouring down her eyes, and (Iskra's) first impulse was to wipe them away. Well, did she? No, because it didn't feel like she had the right to such intimacy. Like any well-behaved stranger would have, the pirate stayed away.)

"I thought I would just fall in love with you again," (Iskra) sighed, sounding tired more than distraught, "but now I'm not certain. It doesn't seem like something you'd want. Tell me, Verity, why did you do it? Why did you save me? Your lips may not say it, but I can read plainly in your eyes that you would have preferred me to be dead." Humorlessly, (Iskra) chuckled and turned around, only allowing the princess to see her back. "I failed in that, too. From what I gather, Seraphina buried me alive and let me die, over and over and over, and yet I'm still here. Don't you perhaps wish to retrace her steps? That might be the fastest, surest route to getting rid of me. I mean, the Shade would still revive me, but I don't think it could keep me conscious for longer than a few seconds. It would be... kind, I think. Almost like genuine death."

 

[starboob]

'Breathe.' She has to actively remind herself to breathe, but doing so does not seem to fill her lungs with anything more than misery, so heavy she can feel it pulling her further into the abyss. (What a guiding star she is, right? Cannot even live up to an old flame's name for her, but she supposes she always knew Iskra was being too romantic with her notion that Verity pulled her from darkness.) Rather than breathe, she decides to instead hold her breath if only to stop her entire body from shaking. It's just too much. Too soon. Too fast that she doesn't know what to do and like the shell in front of her, she feels just as lost and unknowing in what role to play. (None of them feel right to her anymore. Anything she had been for Iskra seems to be dead and twitching.)

When this stranger admits that she only deserves an arrow to her chest, Verity cannot help but to agree. It's her first instinct and it terrifies her that this is where her heart has settled. Never before would she have wished Death upon Iskra, but, then again, she doesn't think this is Iskra. To align these two characters together would... would surely tear her asunder. Accepting that the woman before her is Iskra, means to accept that her wife committed atrocities. For her own sake, she must separate the two realities. (And yet this is the very source of all her pain and confusion.) And clearly she is not able to split them entirely if she still feels that pang of guilt for her darkest wishes––that she feels a pang in her heart knowing her wife once more wishes for Death. (When Verity had once taught her what it meant to live, no less.) It's all of these impossible parallels and intersections that drive the princess wild and she wishes she could just scream or roar or breathe fire to release the anguish that is tearing at her seams. "Well, it did," she replies coldly, feeling herself slipping further and further away from the woman before her. "You cannot expect me to be the same princess as in those diaries––too much has changed since her last entry, so you're reading about two ghosts as far as I am concerned. I doubt those diaries will help you at all."

She can feel her mouth filling with Regret and all she does is swallow. Despite that nasty feeling, it feels good to not watch her words or play any particular role. (Even if the woman in front of her doesn't necessarily deserve it. It's just somehow easier to be this terrible way with her than with anyone else. Maybe a part of her recognizing that Iskra only ever expected Verity's truest self, even if ugly.) "Why even bother portraying her? Do you not Fear getting more lost by trying to be someone that you're not?" Her words come down like a judge's gavel and, slowly, she starts to shake less as her initial upset burns up into anger. The flames only roar in response to that insulting apology––just, what gives her the right?! "Swallow it. I don't need an empty apology," though she had at one point. "Of course, I knew. We both did––endlessly we talked about it or didn't talk about it, but it hung over our heads. We were given warnings from psychics, sages, and divinities alike. It was an inevitability and we were determined to enjoy every last second that we had." So why can she not take Iskra being alive as a gift? Most likely because this is not her Iskra. (Her Iskra wouldn't have committed all those atrocities. Her Iskra was past that. Her Iskra was a queen slayer. Yet, it isn't Iskra's fault at all. Somewhere she knows this, but Seraphina is already gone so who else does she have to be angry with?) "I've said too much," she decides, taking in a sharp breath and wiping her cheeks once more.

When the stranger points out the obvious fact that Verity resents her, she does not rush to deny it. She simply shrugs. There is no point in lying when the truth is so plain. It may not be fair and it is how she feels, for so many reasons it rivals the number of stars in the sky. "Your eyes are not the same ones I used to look into. Of course I find it difficult." Somehow, she finds it in herself to not mention that it goes much deeper than that; that she cannot stare into the eyes of woman who partook in destroying the last remnants of her family. She does recognize that would be too far. She won't be a viper with her tongue more than she can help.

And she's glad she did hold back because what this stranger, this Iskra says next? It stuns the princess. 'She would just fall in love with me again? She already made that choice?' Yet Verity sits here floundering over her own decision and whether or not she can fall in love again. Whether or not she wants to. Where there is comfort in hearing those words, it's also so bitter because it just isn't that simple. It isn't. Especially when... Iskra (?) points out more of what she can see in the princess. (Somehow she (still) knows exactly what the princess is thinking without her needing to speak. Somehow she can (still) read her like an open book despite her trying to keep herself closed.) It's a halting question, too. Why did she save her? She could have turned her back the second she discovered who Azrael really was, but it never even occurred to her as an option. Why? 'Because I knew it wasn't your fault. I knew it wasn't you.' "I don't know," she replies, instead, unsure of herself and whether or not her first thought is even true or just something she wants to believe.

She looks at Iskra's back and is relieved she doesn't have to face her when she asks why she doesn't act more like Seraphina. Why she just doesn't kill her to get what she desires. (That's just the thing, though, Verity doesn't want her dead. Where there is that wish, it exists at the surface as an answer to her confusion but it is not what she truly wants. Not even a little. Not even at all.) Her hands roll into fists, irritated that this woman would think so little of her, that she would compare her to Seraphina. She opens her mouth, prepared to unleash a storm before she stops. She closes her mouth. She unfurls her fists. She lets her shoulders drop. 'Why is this so difficult? Why is Seraphina still winning?' She pinches the bridge of her nose and turns around as well. 'Why can I not stop seeing Azrael in you?' "You mistake who I am if you think I will ever again be the princess who kills you. I may not know who to be to you anymore, but I will never be her. That much, I am certain. The rest? I don't know. I don't fucking know and I wish you would not seek answers from me, because I Fear all I have is disappointment."

 

[Syntra]

It was like receiving a present, (Iskra) supposed. A large one, wrapped in shiny paper, with a pretty pink bow tied over it-- one that inspired you to tear the box to shreds, solely so you could see what was hiding inside. When she did, though? When she took it with her greedy hands, and satisfied her curiosity? There was nothing. Just stale air, smelling of memories she'd never truly get to claim. "No, you are right," the pirate agreed. "I didn't even think they would help. I... I don't know why she wrote them at all. Possibly to do something with her time? I mean, it must have been obvious to her that reading about these things wouldn't bring them back." Strangely enough, that was where she felt an odd sort of kinship with her former self-- even the perfect Iskra, shining like a beacon of righteousness from afar, hadn't known how to carry this burden. Even her back had been breakable. She'd tried, tried and tried, with every curve of her immaculate handwriting, and for what? For her to read those carefully crafted sentences now, only to feel nothing but a twinge of regret? (Good, she thought. I'm happy she failed, the self-obsessed fool that she was. Because, really, what had Iskra been thinking? That she could record her entire self on the pages of a diary, and count on her old vessel to just absorb it? Preposterous. She may not have been that woman anymore, but she was... well, she was still someone. A cracked toy, with the wires and her innards all exposed, though not any less authentic for it. Why, then, should (Iskra) want to rewrite that for a stranger? For a stranger who was bound to her by an umbilical cord, and yet somehow so unimaginably distant? She, not the princess, is a star. Not even death has managed to dim her light from where I'm standing. Will it always be this blinding, to look back and gaze upon her face?

"No," (Iskra) shook her head, "you haven't said nearly enough yet. Do go on, princess. I am thankful for your words-- they, hmm, put everything into a fresh perspective." And, indeed, they did! For one, they established firmly that theirs wasn't a story of love, but of tragedy. Of missed opportunities, and roads not taken. The Shade had brought them together not because they could be each other's cure, but because of... well, because of what? Its own wild whims, incomprehensible to the human mind? Most likely. "I don't know who I am," she admitted, her voice small and hoarse. "I figured I might try being her to see if that would fit, though perhaps you are right. Perhaps that route is closed to me forever." (Briefly, the pirate couldn't help but wonder why, exactly, people sought after closeness at all. Wasn't it like handing your enemy an ammunition? Seraphina had used their encounters like that, and Verity... Verity was a complicated topic, it seemed. A question mark more than anything else, but sharp enough that she could slit her own wrists with it. Was it so cruel, so entitled of her that maybe she'd hoped for some sort of support? For her to wrap her arms around her, and share a fragment of that which she'd happily given to her old self? No. You are alone, so best get used to it.) "Very well," (Iskra) sighed. "Then there is no point to it, is there? Don't look. I don't want you to look, if you feel that way."

(It did hurt, saying that. Even so, Verity regarding her with that cold contempt was even more painful, and (Iskra) couldn't imagine enduring it for a second longer. Ripping off a band-aid was never entirely pain-free, was it? It had to be done, though, and the pirate wasn't one to close her eyes before reality.)

"I see. I see how it is now, and once again, I thank you for your honesty. Had it not been for that, doubtlessly we would have wasted each other's time." (Iskra) refused to turn around, and instead began to inspect the rows upon rows of the books lining her shelves. (Was she truly interested, or just trying to avoid Verity's gaze? Only the Shade knew.) "As a reward, I shall not burden you with the decision-making. Not anymore. It must be harder for you than it is for me, no? Because, when you look at me, you see the shadow of that corpse. When I look at you, I see nothing. For that reason, it is my belief that my judgment is more objective." Hesitantly, (Iskra) reached for a book and opened it on a random page.

"You don't love me," she began. "What's more, you don't even wish to look at me. To you, I'm just a thief who stole your wife's skin. I ask, then, why stay in this marriage? Why torture yourself further? I free you from that bond, effective immediately. Let us be nothing to each other, to reflect the state of our hearts. I understand that you have a relationship with the crew, right? With the ship, even? Feel free to stay, then. I am not kicking you out, I just... cannot do this. I'm sorry. In fact, I don't even think I can stand the name Iskra any longer. Would you call me Whisper instead? For that is all that remains of me."

 

[starboob]

So it is done. They are over. There is a moment where she could take Whisper's hand and say, "No, not yet. We cannot give up just yet. After everything, I cannot throw this away. For it is too pure and a gift to be cherished. I am sorry I have been harsh and cruel, but give me Time to see you again. I know it's you. I know it's you." But whatever grand romantic speech she might have conjured exists beyond her reaches. It belongs to some other Verity whose world has not already been smashed. A Verity who does not have to preserve the last scraps of herself if she ever wants a chance to heal. That doesn't, however, mean she is disaffected by their end. She does leave the library in tears and whether it's the end of their relationship, reality finally catching up to her, or something else entirely, it consumes her all at once. So much that she is a river before she is a person; so much that she once again retreats to her bedroom and makes a coffin of her bed.

Guilt gnaws on her bones this Time around. Not just for what she said, but all the things she withheld––all the things that could have given them both reasons to hope, but she knows she couldn't have said those things with conviction. She cannot be a vessel of empty words. Where she wants to believe she will latch onto her hopes someday, right now she needs to make peace with her despair. 'It's over. It's over. It's over.' She repeats this to herself until it actually starts to feel real. Yet that does not mean she feels any sort of liberation in those words. No, if anything, she feels more shackled knowing there is nothing for her in Whisper. (She should feel grateful, and she is, but she still cannot believe all that she has lost––including the one woman who she thought she couldn't lose. LostLostLost. The ancestors should have said gone.)

She doesn't appear again for some handful of days. That's about how long it takes for her to release the first flood of tears and in the rare reprieve, she decides to do something for herself. She starts with fixing the mess of her room. (At some point, she remembers knocking everything over just to know she has control over some things, even if destruction.) Then she fixes her hair and makes herself... presentable but certainly not with her usual care or flourish. It's all she can manage. She avoids Whisper where she can. As a kindness, she doesn't try to make it obvious that she's avoiding her but when she sees her at the end of one hallway, she braces herself like she's walking through fierce winds and keeps her eyes forward. It's still hard to look at her. Especially when she's the only one bearing the histories of their relationship; when she's stuck to their past and unable to make sense of the present. (As much as it hurts to walk through Inure with all of these memories, with the phantoms of their past still running through these halls with glee, she cannot find it in herself to leave. Partly because she has no other home or family (Constance, Blythe, and Reverie are not ready to see her). Partly because there is enough of her that knows she'll Regret it if she leaves. She's holding on whether she knows it or not. She's holding on.)

In between her intermittent fit of tears, she remembers one of the promises she made to Iskra. One promise she does not feel right walking back on just because she has been axed from their marriage. It is her promise to chronicle the undying captain's Life and make her truly immortal. (Maybe she turns to this in hopes that she'll find some peace? Maybe in hopes that it will help her move on and say goodbye to the Iskra she loved? Loves.) So she takes to lying beside their peach tree and turning her thoughts into audio files.

That is where the princess is when the ship starts to shake. At first, she ignores it––it's not uncommon for Saavika's experiments to get out of hand. Then it happens again. And again. Her eyes fly open, she removes the buds from her ears and is immediately bombarded by the blaring alarms, indicating that they are under attack. "Divinities," she mutters, picking up Telos from the ground and dashing out towards the deck.

Her eyes widen at the chaos before her––not just one ship is attacking but three, all bearing black pirate's sails. Harpoons are lodged in Inure's hull, sparking, and causing the opalescent shine to flicker until the ship is awash in gray. She hears one of the crew announce that their systems are all down and that, actually, might be the least of their concerns as enemy pirates begin springing from their ships to board Inure. At least this is something Verity can handle. She raises her sword, ignoring the ache in her shoulder, and gathers a group of pirates to help her defend the grand ancestor. (She tries to wave away the memories of Iskra at her back and how much safer she felt with her pirate there. She can't seek that in Whisper.)

"Oi, captain Iskra! Princess Verity!" presumably one of the other pirate captain's shouts through the sound system, "Hand over Inure and we might let your crew live."

 

[Syntra]

It was the end. It was the end, and Whisper didn't feel a thing. In retrospect, that was probably a form of kindness, wasn't it? For no living creature in this planet welcomed pain, regardless of how their biology otherwise differed. On the other hand, she thought, it also means that they are still alive. That they aren't mere shadows of their former selves. Ah, how much would Whisper have given up just to experience a hint of agony? That sweet, sweet sensation of having thorns pushed into your flesh, and truly feeling it? Perhaps I will have to re-discover pain gradually, the pirate settled on. Just like with everything else. (...assuming that there even was anything else left for her, that was. Could a woman this wretched, this hollow, even dare to hope? Hope, she'd heard, was but a poison to a soldier's mind-- a false prophet, whispering sweet nothings into her ears. Was there any point to listening to it, then? Was there, was there, was there?)

Perhaps, and perhaps not. Time marched on in lazy monotony, with each day looking exactly like the one before it-- the only difference was the food, always cooked by someone else. (Do they seriously eat this? Iskra wondered when one of the meals managed to burn her mouth, despite the lack of taste receptors. 'Oh, that's Saavika's specialty,' someone explained to her. 'A friend or foe, that doesn't fucking matter-- she loves to hurt them with her fire.' Whoever this Saavika woman was, Whisper thought, she was not to be messed with.) To be fair, there were also other distractions, and one of them bore the name Myrne. Because, the initial judgment she had made? It had been wrong, the pages of her diaries had told her, and unlike Verity, Myrne did have an interest in maintaining their relationship. (Why? Whisper couldn't tell, no matter how deep into her thoughts she reached. Myrne must have known, better than anyone, that she wasn't looking at her pseudo-daughter when her gaze landed on her-- that she was nothing but an impostor, trapped by her nasty, fleshy shell. Maybe she just likes collecting broken things? Iskra had seemed fairly broken from her point of view, even if in vastly different ways! ...Whisper should have sent her away, she knew. She really, really should have. The hope blooming in her heart was foolish, and would it not be cruel to let her pave her way to disappointment like that? Most likely, but then again, she was but a human. The promise of solace the older woman offered... well, it was hard to throw away. Nobody else had so much as suggested that, so Whisper took what she could.)

In the ideal world, the universe would have allowed her to heal. The events would have stopped in their tracks, and let her wounds close themselves-- let her rest, which was something Whisper felt she hadn't done properly since the whole Seraphina fiasco. The thing about this world, though? It was far, far from ideal. (The exact opposite, if you asked for her input.)

"By the Shade," Whisper muttered under her breath. "Hadn't anyone told them that the former captain is dead?" Iskra, who had loved Inure so. Iskra, for whom it was a home rather than the bitter reminder of something she could never fully grasp with her hands. The perfect, insufferable Iskra, whose name was following her around like an unbreakable curse. Ugh! Would this farce ever end? Did she have to kill herself again and again and again, till the Shade mercifully removed any and all mentions of the woman? I would have to burn the diaries first, Whisper realized. And slaughter every single member of the crew, too. There is no way in hell they would let me forget, I think. For a second or two, the pirate actually toyed with the thought, but... no. No, that plan was unworthy of her. Wouldn't it only validate everything that Seraphina had forced down her throat? And that legacy deserved to burn in the deepest pits of hell, as far as Whisper was concerned.)

"You shall not get what you want, villains," Whisper replied, pushing the sound system button. "Never, for as long as I breathe."

"Well," her opponent chuckled, the smirk palpable in her tone, "that can be a pretty fucking short time, Iskra. Want to test that theory out?"

...which, no, she wasn't particularly interested in that. Her life may not have been worth more than a single grain of sand, but that didn't mean she had to give it to lowlives, you see? Despite everything, Whisper had standards. (They weren't plentiful, though they did exist, indeed. A small solace.)

"Ylna," she shouted into the intercom. "Just sail forward, using full power. I don't think the chains will be able to withstand it."

"But, captain!" Ylna protested, because duh, she always seemed to be doing exactly that. "The chains won't fucking last, but Inure won't, either. The damage--"

"--should be marginal enough for us to escape unscathed," Whisper interrupted, the annoyance clear in her voice. (Why did everyone seem to think they had worthwhile input to share? It wasn't her subordinates' place to question her decisions-- hence the 'sub' suffix, which meant the very opposite to 'superior'. Whisper would have thought it wasn't too difficult to accept, but here they were!) "Who cares about the ship? We shall repair her in the nearest port. Well, what are you waiting for? I am the captain."

 

[starboob]

Before, in the great before, Verity would not have been able to think of an instance where she disagrees with the captain's judgment. Usually, the pair are in-sync and share an unspoken rhythm that carries across the battlefield and allows them to defeat impossible enemies and form unlikely alliances. They never have needed to consult with one another, yet somehow always know what the other is thinking and are able to execute their unspoken plans with grace. However, so preoccupied with cutting down her enemies and feeling a familiar kinship with combat, she did somehow forget that this captain is not Iskra. This is captain Whisper––a ghost, a shell, apparently deemed too feeble to command Inure that opportunists wish to take advantage and claim the grand ancestor for herself. (That is what the princess has gathered from the crew between fighting off enemies, at least.) Captain Whisper is not her coconspirator, her lover, her anything. There is no invisible string connecting them together; there is no psychic link that they share. Of course Whisper would regard her grand ancestor as expendable. (Perhaps that is why Inure has been so finicky lately.)

Angrily, the princess's voice cuts through the communication channel, "And I am the princess! Ylna, you are not to use full power. You are not to sail forward. As the princess of this ship, it is my duty to protect her when others," she practically hisses, "are being too obtuse. We need conserve power until there is a clear path to Victory. We know not what other traps these villains have laid. There is too much risk." In her months being part of the pirate crew, she rarely has ever acted as their leader despite Iskra having given her the ship back when she saved her from becoming Demetria's wife. (Well, more or less. They agreed to share ownership and become co-captains, but even so Verity rarely ever stepped into the role. Her leadership has always been more auxiliary to Iskra's. However, when Whisper is so insistent on spitting on the ship's dignity, she very well doesn't believe she has any claim to being her captain.) There has never been a need for her to take over, because Iskra was a competent commander. Whisper, on the other hand, reminds her too much of that disrespectful pirate she first met.

Anyway, much to her surprise, the crew listens to her. The ship isn't pushed past her limits. They don't sail forward.

"What do you suggest we do, princess?" Ressie asks, grunting as she shoves one of the bastards floating into space.

"Where's Saavika? Get her to the deck straight away––tell, her to bring all the fire power she has. I know there's a new bomb she's been just itching to test and I do believe these three ships will make sufficient target practice. Ressie, Serrin, Kona, you are to defend Saavika while she sets up. Ylna, are the shields responsive at all?"

"Er, the harpoons fuckin' disabled them––"

"Alright, well, go fix them––we need those back online. I assume we've already got someone on the engines?" Someone confirms this and Verity continues on, not once consulting the captain and not once even glancing in her direction. "The rest of us, concentrate on stopping these cretins from boarding the ship. Let's also get a crew on cutting those chains. Come on, ladies, let's get moving! No one has defeated us before so do not let today be the day we fall."

A roar of, "Aye, princess!" passes through the communication channel and the princess cannot help her smirk. (It's not that she enjoys pulling rank or exerting her position over Whisper, but she is glad the crew all seems to realize the captain is not thinking holistically about their position. It's like she wants Inure to resist her, because that is what she will get forcing the ship to go forward under such strain. Obviously, Verity cannot help that Whisper does not remember the sacred bond she's supposed to share with the ship as her captain, and that only means it's up to the princess to make sure that bond is not tarnished. It's a bad omen to disrespect one's vessel.)

 

[Syntra]

Sometimes, a sacrifice was needed. In trying to turn the scales of victory in your favor, you had to re-distribute the weight-- to share your own blessings with the universe, and hope for the best. Essentially, that was what Whisper was doing here. She assumed that everyone else understood, too. How not? Were they not all warriors, aware of how fickle the tides could be? Professional gamblers with destiny, in other words? And a ship… a ship was a small price to pay, all things considered. A coin under the ferryman’s tongue. Precious as she may have been, Inure was but a vessel, designed to bring you from point A from point B! Hardly something to cry over, unless you were a sentimental fool.

Whisper had thought that her crew agreed, too. They were no heroines from the stories, after all-- pragmatism was a pirate’s daily bread, for anything else would kill her. (Perhaps not immediately, no. Not necessarily. Then again, you were dead the moment you drank a flask of poison, weren’t you? Your corpse hitting the floor was a formality at that point, already agreed upon by the fates. A foregone conclusion.) Therefore, sacrificing Inure was the only path out of this mess! …the only one that wouldn’t be lined by ashes, grey and dead, much like herself. The only one that wouldn’t end in tragedy, but perhaps in something new.

It seemed, however, that Verity had other plans.

“Princess,” the pirate pursed her lips, “stop this nonsense at once. You have no right to be commanding my crew.” Well, hers… it was and it wasn’t. Inheritance disputes could be a tricky thing, right? Except that, usually, the feud was between the wife and a distant relative, not between the wife and the corpse herself. …heh. Honestly, had Whisper remembered how to smile, she would have been choking with laughter by now. (She didn’t, though. She didn’t, and so instead of joy, the pirate began choking with rage. Especially when her women somehow chose Verity’s side! Just, why? Why, why, why?! Why couldn’t anyone on this cursed ship understand what was good for them? Why couldn’t they stop chasing after ridiculous dreams? Why were they following the princess, surrounded by the air of arrogance? There was no reason to do that! Not unless they were like stray dogs, used to obey any voice ringing with authority. Like that pathetic Iskra, who had bent her back so much that she had forgotten how to walk upright. Was that any way to live? Any way to die, even? If you had to fling yourself into oblivion, the pirate imagined, you ought to do it for causes higher than that!)

Whisper looked up at Verity, perhaps for the first time since their fateful confrontation. And, when she did? Maybe she understood, if only for a moment, why they gravitated towards her so. (There the princess stood, looking like a goddess carved out of marble. Her eyes were twin flames, and her spine steel-- no storm would move her, no hardship would break her. A symbol more than a person, really. Her guiding star, Whisper thought. So that's why she used that pathetic name for her. It... kind of fits, with the pull she has. Indeed, for the force with which Verity attracted her gaze rivaled the gravitational field of planets! ...if the pirate continued to stare, she felt, her own body would turn to stone. What was this feeling? Some kind of sorcery? That, or perhaps she was getting ill, because the heat rising in her cheeks was not normal. The butterflies fluttering their wings in her stomach weren't, either.)

"Myrne," Whisper pushed the older woman's sleeve. "Stop this madness. Make them listen!"

But, strangely enough? Myrne's lips formed a thin line, in a gesture she had learned meant rejection. "No, Whisper. If you want to learn who you truly are, you should listen to her."

To everyone's infinite shame, though, Whisper had had enough of listening. Enough for it to last her a few lifetimes! As Iskra, she had followed the Holy Vessel's every whim; as Azrael, she had razed cities to the ground for the chance of not facing Seraphina's wrath. All the lives she'd been granted had revolved around service, service, service, to everyone who wasn't her, and, by the Shade, did the pirate resent it! And now this woman, this so-called princess, was trying to tell her what to do with Inure. With her ship. Who gave her the right? By which authority was she issuing those commands?

So strongly did Whisper feel about it that she reached for her word, and marched right up to Verity. "Does it excite you, claiming the power like that?" (They, um, hadn't really stood this close to each other for a while. For some reason, she was acutely aware of that, and her knees were slowly turning to jelly.) "But I won't let you do this. First, you shall have to claim me." ...claim her? Really? Was that what her brain had settled on? "In battle!" Whisper added, stumbling over her own words with all the grace of a three-legged cat. "Of course. There, ah, isn't any other meaning. Fight me, Verity. Fight me now, for the title of the captain!"

 

[starboob]

She calls her Verity. Not princess––not that title that puts a million light years of distance between their hearts, but her name. (For the briefest second she forgets her ire, forgets her guilt, and forgets her resentment all because the pirate calls her by her name and reminds her what it sounds like from her mouth. She reminds her who they are, were, and could be.) Verity knows this should not touch her in anyway––their story is nothing but memories with burnt edges––yet she cannot deny the way that her heart swells just hearing the woman say her name. Even if to challenge her in a duel for the title of captain, the mere extension of familiarity reminds Verity a bit of the old captain, her pirate.'Come off it, Verity. She only said your name and is not... she is not Iskra.'

And that is distinctly true. Whisper has rejected Iskra. (At least in name. Though did a playwright not once write, "a rose by any other name would still smells as sweet"? How can the same not be true here? She'll have to ponder that one later.)

For a while she is quiet. She says nothing. It's almost as though she debates whether or not even to entertain such a request––and, really, she has every right to brush this to the side. They are in the middle of a battle; her women are at stake; the ship is at stake. Yet Whisper sees this as a wise Time to nurse her bruised ego.

At first, she merely arches her well sculpted brow, sending it straight up into the Cosmos as if to ask, ‘Just what are you thinking, pirate?’ She seriously considers flat out declining the request, to be perfectly honest. (Whisper is being ridiculous if she thinks she can beat Verity. She’s already beaten Azrael. How different can Whisper be?) Though there's something about how the pirate approaches her that makes her reconsider. (Perhaps it's the memory of her duel with Azrael and how she saw small glints of Iskra there. Perhaps she wonders if the same will be true fighting Whisper.) She raises her weapon and takes her stance. “If you are so desperate to retire, there are easier ways than humiliating yourself in front of the crew and your enemies.”

She then taps her blade playfully (or arrogantly depending on one’s perspective) against her opponent's steel, continuing, “We all know who is captain of Inure and this crew. And it’s not Whisper.” For the sake of Inure's crew, she is determined to win and perhaps that will show the pirate why the crew listens to her. She will deliver this message as many Times as Whisper needs until she learns her way. "If you can, at least entertain me with this dance, pirate. I haven't had a partner who can match my rhythm in a while and I quite miss it. Try not fumble as much here as you had with your words earlier," she teases, deflecting each of Whisper's strikes. (Yes, just what had the pirate's blithering even been about anyway? What possibly could have been on her mind that caused her to over clarify her statement? Yet another thing for the princess to investigate later.)

Of course, this is no appropriate moment for the two captains to be clashing for dominance and yet it is happening. While their crew pushes back against enemies––launching unholy cocktails of explosives towards the surrounding ships, throwing women overboard, messing with their transmitters––Whisper and Verity almost seem to be in a world of their own. (Quite like how Verity and Iskra used to be whenever they sparred.) "To answer your question," she says, stepping to the side to dodge an incoming strike, "it does not thrill me to exercise my authority over you, but it must be done when you so clearly have no respect for the grand ancestor. Is it arrogance that now what pumps through your blood that you cannot honor the relationship a captain is to have with her ship?"

"If so, then I am afraid you are not a fit captain for Inure and I shall be happy to retire you. Worry not, however. I am not cruel and will not evict you. You will be welcome to stay and I will happy relinquish the position once I am confident you are reminded of your sacred bond with the grand ancestor." Shng! Clang! Yawn, honestly. (No, she doesn't actually yawn, but she sees very little point in having this argument now.)

When she sees an opportunity to strike and dominate the match, she makes to go for it but midway through raising her weapon the glint of enemy steel catches her eye, aiming straight for the current captain's back and something roars to Life within the princess. Faster than lightning can strike, she changes her stance, grabs the collar of Whisper's shirt, and pulls her close while simultaneously leaning forward to send the tip of her blade through the adversary's throat. Though when the enemy falls, the princess's eyes land on the pirate, realizing how close she is, how she hasn't gone to touch her at all since... Divinities, she doesn't even know how long! Her face flushes while her heart hammers at a triple speed from all the stimulus and she's only able to mumble out an, "Ahh..." She's entirely frozen with her fist still tightly clutching the pirate's clothing.

 

[Syntra]

"Retire?" Whisper was downright stabbing the princess with her glare now, somehow more passionate than she'd been in... well, in weeks. (After the whole Seraphina incident, the pirate had wandered the deck like a ghost. Pale she had been, yes, but also strangely formless, despite her physical shell-- she herself had been able to touch things, but nothing had managed to touched her. It had been as if Whisper herself was but a mirage, an imprint leaking into their reality from some other dimension. A remnant of something that had perhaps never existed. Now, however? Now, fire burned in her eyes, and in one breathless moment, she looked like Iskra more than anyone else.) "I have no such intentions. In fact, I meant to remind you where you belong." Which, ugh. Did she really have to do it with her sword? For all of the resentment she'd been nursing, hurting Iskra's former wife did strike her as a low blow. Once, they'd been connected by the most sacred of bonds, and yet, yet...! She's doing it to herself, the pirate concluded. When a woman sows wind, she ought to reap the storm.

And, really, once the princess began running her big mouth? All of the sympathy Whisper might have felt for her evaporated, much like rain would on the sun's hot, blistering surface. "Spare me the speeches, Verity. Still thinking of your beloved Iskra? You might as well bury that memory, because she's dead. Lost. Gone. She died the day Seraphina gave her to the dirt, and then cut her to little pieces. I am aware that I am not a suitable replacement, but you know what? Tough luck, because I'm the only one you'll ever get. Best get used to it." Ah, no, no longer was Whisper going to allow this! A dead woman was holding her by the neck, and today, she was going to wrestle that control away from her cold, spider-like fingers. Iskra was a disease-- a reminder of what wasn't, had never been. How, then, was it fair that she still lived in everyone's minds? That, over her shadow, nobody ever saw her true self? Even Myrne, who had always been nothing but kind to her, was guilty of that! (...she was doing it all for her precious daughter, not Whisper. Never for Whisper. The older woman hadn't said it outloud, but the pirate could sense it, you know? The desperate, stupid faith that, one day, Iskra would return. I hope she is burning in hell, the fool for whom honor was far more precious than her own life. The one who is the reason behind my entire fucking existence. Why didn't you value yourself more, Iskra? Why did you put me in this ungrateful position? Iskra, of course, didn't answer, for she was dead. Resting among the ashes. Oh, how I envy her.)

Whisper's strikes were merciless, though the princess herself also wasn't holding back. Far from it. Both women were out for blood-- a blow followed each blow, harder than the one before it, and the way they moved made it look as if they were barely touching the floor with their feet. (Oddly enough, Whisper found herself feeling flushed. What was this sensation? A sheen of sweat was shining on her forehead, her heart was racing, and all of that should have been deeply unpleasant, but wrong, wrong, wrong! Perhaps for the first time ever, she felt... well, alive. More than just a mere sack of flesh.) "I do not need to respect anyone when nobody respects me. Had you given me an inch of the same consideration you extend to this ship, you might have understood some of my feelings. But, oh, that is just so inconvenient, isn't it? Because to you, I'm just a monster who barged in to destroy your fairytale happy ending. An abomination. I apologize, I suppose, for not being the one you can love. It wasn't my choice, either." (Most things weren't, come to think of it. Why had they granted her free will and yet taken away her power to exercise it? Why, why, why?! Was it some cosmic joke at her expense? The goddesses were cruel, indeed, to make their plaything out of her!)

Everything happened at a split second. Perhaps the captain's reflexes were getting rusty, or maybe it was the sudden burst of passion blinding her-- either way, regardless of the roots, the outcome would have been death. Without the princess, that was. Without... without Verity. (Suddenly, they were standing very close. The princess was holding her by the sleeve, and the warmth emanating from her body was excruciating-- suns and stars and everything searing that had ever been born in this universe, concentrated in that single touch. All that would ever matter, forever and always.) With her mouth feeling very dry, Whisper gulped. "I... thank you?" But that wasn't nearly enough. It couldn't be, because mere words couldn't hope to capture the intensity of the storm in her belly. No, the pirate had to follow her instincts, had to... kiss Verity? Apparently so, for that was what she ended up doing. Ahem. (In hindsight, Whisper would have loved to say it was a short, fleeting thing. A brush of their lips, brief and innocent. The problem with that? It wasn't, and the energy it unleashed was like nothing she had ever felt before. Like an entire galaxy dying and being re-created before her very eyes, in an explosion powerful to shatter existence itself. Ah. Ah, so that was the deal with kissing.)

"I did say I meant to remind you of your place," Whisper said, when she finally pulled away." Ah, by the Shade! What had possessed her to...?

 

[starboob]

The sting of Whisper's words strike harder than her blade. The princess almost wishes that she were being chopped to pieces than have to listen to everything that spills from her adversary's mouth. (Just, why must she point out what Verity already knows? While she is under no false assumption that Iskra as she knew her will ever come back––what is dead cannot be revived––she never thought that she'd wield her tongue against Verity. Then again, Whisper has made it clear that she is not Iskra and so why should the princess expect any of those considerations? For as long as they are in opposition, she must remember that the pirate she once knew could use her words as effectively as she did her blade. It just hurts, she supposes, that Whisper would strike so low. She thought the pirate might have kept some of her honor intact, but perhaps Seraphina buried that part of her along with everything else.) If anything, her remarks only add to the princess's fire because she wants her to shut up. To stop dredging up what she already knows––that she is stuck with this mangled mess of limbs that wears her lover's skin and could not be more different than her lover. (Of course this ignores all the ways she is very much like her lover. How she wields her sword is distinctly Iskra. How she cuts with her tongue is distinctly Iskra. How the fire that dances in her eyes is distinctly Iskra. Yet are all of those things enough? Yes and no and Verity doesn't know! All at once, she feels this push and pull and cannot decide where she lands. It is all just too much and she wishes there were some answer neatly gifted to her so that she does not have to agonize over this any longer.)

For all her hurt, for all her confusion, this does not stop the princess from saving Whisper. Not that her goal had even been to kill her, despite how hard their blades clanged together. Still, she could have handled this in a myriad of ways and now her heart is on the precipice of explosion and she knows not what to do. She cannot even bring herself to entertain the idea of starting by letting go. (Of the pirate's shirt. Of the pirate in general.)

Though it seems that letting go is not what the pirate desires either. At least, how else can the princess interpret Whisper leaning into her and pressing their lips together? In that instant, her mind is wiped free of all worries and all that exists are herself and those lips. It's no chaste affair either. Not with how the princess leans into the pirate and parts her lips, moaning softly against the other and entirely forgetting that this is not her wife. (Though it certainly feels like her. Yet it's entirely unlike her, too. Never had the princess been able to kiss the pirate so freely, so fiercely, and in that this is entirely new. The fireworks in her chest, she is sure, can be heard over the explosions and screams in the background. They boom so loudly in Verity's ears, at least, that she forgets entirely that she had been fighting with this woman only moments ago.) Her hand wraps around the pirate's back, holding onto her fiercely because she is afraid that she'll float away. That she will lose this moment all too soon.

And it does end much too soon.

As Whisper pulls away, the princess's head still spins as she comes back down to Inure. While in this haze, she still holds onto the pirate for Balance and is thankful she is when she reminds her, "I did say I meant to remind you of your place." Her legs reduce to jelly, looking at the pirate through a half-lidded gaze, merely nodding helplessly in response. Her fingers slowly unfurl from the pirate's clothes as she takes a step back, much to her own reluctance.

After a minute, maybe two, she clears her throat and pulls her composure together. (Well, as much as she can manage. Her cheeks are still quite flushed and she still sounds breathless.) However, unlike earlier, there is less fire and arrogance in her tone. (Maybe it's the aftereffects of the kiss or maybe she's trying something new.) "M-my orders still stand. We protect Inure. She has protected us before and we owe it to her, captain. You must trust me on this—she’s more than a mere vessel. Is there not another Time for us to discuss this?" she asks, kicking a grenade back towards their enemies. "I know Iskra is dead," she admits, though surprisingly she seems disaffected, "I don't expect you to be anything like you were, but if you cooperate, I can show you what this ship means to me. You owe me nothing, obviously, but this ship is my last connection to... to something outside myself and I cannot fail my people again by letting her get blown to near bits. Just, please, Whisper?"

Outside of their private world, it is still unclear whether or not Inure will make it our unscathed with the three other ships drawing nearer. "And, I don't think of you as a monster," she clarifies, needing Whisper to know that. (Yes, she cannot stop seeing those flayed women. Yes, she still hears their screams. Yes, yes, yes to all of that a thousand times over and she just cannot see the pirate as a monster. Once she had and that warped her entire perspective and blurred parts of the narrative. She won't do that again. Won't. Confused as she is, she won't.) "Now, captain, what shall it be?"

 

[Syntra]

Nodding? The princess was nodding? Absurdly enough, Whisper felt a shadow of relief-- a feeling so deep-seated it could have only come from releasing some hidden tension, brewing in the very bowels of her soul. Why, though? Didn’t she… well, not care about her? About anything? Once, the captain had been utterly convinced of that, but let’s just say that having control stolen away from her like this had pushed some secret buttons. “Good,” she said. “Remember that, or I will have to be firmer with you from now on.” …firmer? Firmer? By the Shade, what did she even mean by this?! Were words just flying out of her mouth freely now, as if they were birds and not the messengers of meaning? (A not-memory emerged in her mind, entirely on its own. There was Verity, and herself as well, of course, but the princess appeared to be… hmm, distracted. Distracting, too, with her hair spread over the pillow and the way she grabbed at her collar. “Iskra,” she moaned, “Iskra, don’t keep me waiting!” And something told her that Iskra certainly hadn’t done that, the lucky bastard. Ugh! How come that her old self had had the best things in life, and she was left with this? With the poisoned crumbs off her table?) The cocktail of emotions swirling around in her head was confusing, to say the least, and the pirate pushed it back, back, back, right into the darkness where it belonged.

“Your orders?” she repeated, uncomprehending. “You have no business issuing any orders.” Just, what did she have to do in order to be respected here? Push the princess against some wall, and…? (No, Whisper didn’t know how to finish that thought. Some small part of her was happy for that mercy, too, because she had the feeling that knowing would be its own kind of torment. …a bigger part of her was positively ravenous for the knowledge, though. Hungry, eager, greedy, and all those fancy synonyms.) Still, as Verity continued to speak, the barriers around her heart relented. Out of all people, Whisper especially was painfully aware of what that was like-- of being so disconnected from everything that should have meant the world to you, and perhaps once had. Of not really belonging anywhere. Could the princess be her soul’s sister somehow? In that tiny, microscopic way, at least? (It still would have been more than she had ever had, despite how little that must have meant to Verity herself. More than she had ever dared to hope for, too.) “Blasted woman,” Whisper lowered her blade, a scowl playing on her lips. “I bet you could talk a stone into blossoming, too.” (In the end, what had convinced her? The thread of connection between herself and the princess, or that small ‘please’ that still echoed in her head? …if Whisper focused, she could hear the ghosts of all the former appeals, whispered in her ear. “Please, Iskra. Please, please, please…” Uh. Was it just her, or was it suddenly getting hot around here? Hot, as in searing?)

“I do hope that the story is worth it,” Whisper sighed. “Once we are done with this nonsense, I shall have it, princess, and it better satisfy my hunger. If not, I will sate it in some other way.” Where had that confidence even come from? The captain was horrified at her own words, at the implications, at the sheer audacity, but… well, it also felt natural. Right, like tasting a favorite meal that you’d somehow forgotten about. And that the princess apparently didn’t think her a monster? That, ah, was a revelation that she needed more time to process. More time that she did not have, to be exact.

“The bitches just can’t get enough of one other, huh?” The would-be conquerors were crawling over the railing now, as numerous as ants. One of them seemed especially amused by the sight-- a woman with flowy, purple hair that was reaching her lower back, and a heavily tattooed face. (Were those supposed to be sharks on her forehead? Truly, certain people didn’t have a semblance of good taste.) “That’s fine, though. If ya wanna waste your time exchanging spit, you don’t need Inure for that. So, hand her over, will you?” At that, their adversary pulled out a whip and cracked it, the sound of it so sharp that Whisper’s ears began ringing. Of course, that wasn’t the only thing that happened. Far from it. It must have been some kind of signal, for dark clouds gathered above the ship-- they were reminiscent of black holes, but somehow more controlled, following a spiral-like pattern as they surrounded them from all sides. Oh. Oh, fuck. That couldn’t have been good, now could it? Whisper wasn’t exactly familiar with the technology used here, but having all the exit routes cut off was a universally bad sign.

“Or would you rather let it be destroyed?” she smirked, with all the charm of the average trashcan. “I have a buyer, ladies, and I don’t want to anger her. She isn’t the reasonable type. ‘Secure Inure,’ she said, ‘or perish yourself.’ I’m inclined to believe that she means it, too. So, before letting Inure slip beneath my fingers, I will reduce her to fucking ashes! Well? Want to try your luck?” The clouds above their heads thundered menacingly, as if to emphasize their mistress’ words. “Decide now, ‘cause I don’t have the whole fucking day for this!”

 

[starboob]

Firmer. That word alone stirs endless possibilities and nearly distracts the princess from the actual task at hand. (How she recalls just how firm Iskra had been after their wedding. How she held her down and...) The princess shakes her head of those thoughts as guilt, annoyance, and arousal all swim through her chest, feeling as though she is somehow cheating on the memory of Iskra that she wants to hold dear and at the same Time knowing that it is not at all cheating when Whisper both is and isn't Iskra. When Whisper ended her relationship with Iskra to free them both of the burden of that poisoned affair. Yet she cannot shake that where it felt nice, it also felt wrong. Even the pirate's confidence and the way her suggestive words alone can detangled the princess's resolve feels wrong. Despite that, she does not speak to any of this. She knows not how and there is not the Time for it, frankly.

Though as Isk––Whisper continues to speak, Verity can feel herself shifting into curious defiance––either wanting to test Whisper in some game she doesn't know the rules to or annoyed the pirate thinks she can talk to her like that at all. Likely both realities and possibilities exist within her. "Need I remind you that I am a princess? I would not think you had forgotten that since you are so insistent on referring to me by my title. What is it that you think princesses do, captain? Sit and look pretty? That is only one of our functions, but in case it slipped your attention we are the future leaders of our nation and, thus, ordering our subordinates is part of our duty. You, pirate captain, do not outrank a princess––especially not on a ship that I have as much claim to as you. Best not forget that." If the pirate wants the princess's respect, she will have to earn it and suggesting that she has no right to issue orders when she has been Inure's lead since Iskra's capture? It's an insult to her competence, plain and simple.

Perhaps the princess should have more Fear than she does when speaking so openly around Whisper. The woman has shown her willingness to go to blows with Verity and it's not as though Verity thinks Whisper would spare her for Iskra's sake––she's made it clear she won't (despite her willingness to take on some of Iskra's former, ah, carnal appetites). When the pirate does relent, tension she didn't know she had been carrying unknots from her shoulders and the breath she had been holding is released. A hint of a smile appears as well, but it's a small and paltry thing. Easy to miss, in other words. "You will have only what I give, captain," she replies, her tone somewhere between cheeky and serious. (Just, who does Whisper think she is now? What even has come over her for this sudden shift? While Verity has avoided her at all costs recently, she has still heard from others that Whisper walks like a ghost with her vacant eyes and empty features. The woman before her now seems nothing like that pirate.)

Investigating that, however, will have to wait as the enemy pirates encroach on Inure, getting much too close for comfort and soon the enemy captain (she assumes) is marching onto the deck like the battle has already been won. (That sets Verity's blood on fire.) Her arrogance nearly suffocates the princess and her lack of shame inspires several fantasies of ripping her tongue from the woman's throat. 'Not one more damn soul is going to take anything else from me, bitch.' Her fist clenches around Telos as she approaches the purple haired woman, clad in tasteless tattoos, and an ill-put together outfit. The crack of the whip and the snare it inspires does not phase the princess as it should. Her eyes harden to steel and focus only on the enemy at present. She doesn't notice what's happening around her. "Would you like to try yours, wench?" she tosses her hair over one shoulder and doesn't wait for her challenge to be accepted, she merely lunges forward.

The woman, at least, is wise enough to not meet the swordswoman's challenge with a whip and pulls out a blade of her own––just in Time for it to block Verity's attack. She smirks at the princess, revealing rows and rows of shark-like teeth. "Ashes it is, princess." And with that, those dark clouds begin to spit lightning from all angles.

 

[Syntra]

The smirk playing on Whisper’s lips? Oh, it was positively chilling now. “A princess, you say? And what is it that you expect me to do with that information? Kiss your pretty little feet?” Iskra may have been many things, as she had learned from the diaries, but never a sycophant-- her personality shone brightly through the pages, like stars on the night sky. Why, then, should she break that tradition now? Her old self was dead, but… well, that didn’t mean that she had to bury her dignity as well. “This is not your kingdom, princess, and the helm is not your throne. I am not your subject, either. You outrank me?” The laughter that spilled from her lips was dry, drier than the grains of sand in the Pershywarya desert, and yet, yet there was more life in it than anyone could see from Whisper in weeks. (More life than she had expected from herself, too. How come that stream still flowed? So many things were blocking it, sticks and stones and mud, and yet, yet it was still bubbling under the surface.) “Curious. Mere seconds ago, I could have sworn that you wanted to me beneath me. Isn’t that true, princess?” Ah, yes, there it was! The way to differentiate herself from Iskra, that adamant ghost that wouldn’t leave her side. Always, always had she treated Verity with respect-- with respect greater than she had ever deserved, based on their past interactions. Perhaps she could carve her identity out of this, then? Out of… out of… No, there isn’t any need to give this a name, Whisper decided. Names only ever complicated things, for they inspired your mind to wander forbidden places. You know, such as towards investigating one’s motives? The reason why that very idea made her blood boil, and why her inner eye was flooded with images? (Verity, running her fingers across her bare skin. Verity massaging her temples, managing to hit just the right spot. Verity licking her sweet lips, and then bending downwards--)

“And you will give me exactly what I want,” Whisper retorted, with a certainty that only could have come from experience. “Or have you forgotten? Among the two of us, I am supposed to be the one afflicted with that fate.” …was that an admission? An admission that there was a connection between herself and Iskra, deeper than them just sharing the same flesh? Whisper didn't want to think about it, and so she didn't. (Thoughts, you see, were like fish. They swam around in schools, aimlessly, and what did it matter that they were there when you chose not to entice them with bait? Their presence alone meant nothing! ...that was what Whisper said to herself, anyway.)

When the enemy started giving out threats like candy, however? Perhaps for the first time since she had awoken as Whisper, the pirate found herself agreeing with the princess. "Get lost, foul creature," she growled. "I have knowledge to absorb, and one such as you won't stand in my way." Nobody ever would, the captain had decided. Not again. Every villain in this galaxy seemed to think she was theirs for the taking, and why? Because of the Shade feeding on her core? Because of the programming installed into her mind, complying her to serve, serve and serve? Well, no more! No more, because Whisper remembered the desolate, cursed places where that path led. (She may not have known what she wanted, that much was true. Perhaps the answer to that would always remain a mystery, even. What she didn't want was a much less complicated topic, though, and from that rock bottom, the pirate could bounce back to the surface. No, the thieves would not get to claim their precious bounty!)

And, to tell you the truth? That the woman thought she was entitled to anything even remotely similar to a duel was naive at best. The duel was a sacred ritual-- two warriors comparing their strengths, and baring their souls in the process. 'This is me,' you said, without words, only with your blade. 'In my entirety. I hope that it's enough for you.' To think that a common bandit had the gall to demand that from Verity... oh, Whisper's stomach churned! So, instead of letting it all unfold? With her grappling hook, she wrapped a rope around the princess's waist, and pulled her to her embrace. (So warm, some part of her realized. (So fragrant, too. Is that, ah, is that a perfume? ...if so, Iskra wanted to drown in it.) "Have you asked me for my permission, worm?"

"Whatever the fuck do you mean?" the villain blinked. "The permission to kick her sorry ass?"

"No. My permission to engage with her. I am the captain here, and I do not let my women walk in filth. Especially not her." The lightning danced all around them, both beautiful and terrible, and Whisper's mind, too, was set on fire. What if...?

"Words, words, words! You've always known how to pick the right ones, captain, but that is not nearly enough. Oh no. I will fucking end you, if only because of the annoying way you speak!"

In response to that, Whisper said nothing. She only pushed one of the many buttons on her mechanical arm, and lifted it high in the air-- in that moment, she resembled a statue in the middle of a storm, still calm and graceful. "Watch," the pirate implored the princess. "Watch, and see how trash is taken out." For a while, there was nothing. Afterwards, however? Everything happened, all at once! The lightning hit her arm, with wild sparks flying in all the directions, but instead of howling in pain? Whisper pointed it at the villain brandishing her blade, and released the energy. Myriads and myriads of stars exploded before her very eyes then, heading towards the enemy--!

 

[starboob]

It must be a Beautiful sight. Against a backdrop of electrified clouds, the princess looks more like her own knight in shining armor than a damsel in distress. (And lately, she's felt like she's the only one who can save herself. In the endless sea of her own tears she has had to keep herself afloat, searching for islands of reprieve before they are inevitable swallowed by her seas.) She holds her sword as high as her head, standing stronger than its steel, while her green eyes bore into her opponent. Wise women would Fear being on the receiving end of that look, but the enemy captain is no wise woman. (How could she be? Thinking that she might have a chance at Inure just because her captain hasn't been herself is the mark of an opportunist. A coward, in other words, who knows not how to use her own strengths to sway the tides of battle.) 'Prepare to meet your end,' the princess thinks, lacking any of her usual empathy as she moves to strike against the enemy and take out all her recent frustrations on a walking corpse. (In so many ways, she needs this.)

Though it seems she will not be getting her release.

With her sword raised over her head and moments away from arcing down towards her opponent, she feels a snake wind around her waist and before she can even process what is happening, she feels herself pulled backwards. Irritation floods her veins, upset that she's been prevented from finishing what she started, and she's about to snap at whoever has interrupted her––assuming it's someone from the enemy's crew––but finds that it's Whisper. (Another annoyance in her Life. Her earlier arrogance, her words that drive the princess up a wall, the way it all makes her want to slap the pirate for her gall. Especially the ways she speaks of Verity like she's some object to be used for her whims. Perhaps she might not have been so irritated were it Iskra but there is still a stark divide between all of these realities. Where in one moment her heart can forget her Grief, desperate to pretend that everything is normal once again, the next moment will only remind her that everything has changed.) She's still upset with the pirate's audacity; with her refusal to understand her claim to Inure or her competence as a leader; with her bold claims to the princess's body––the kiss had been one thing, a spur of the moment instance, but to suggest Whisper has any right to the other parts of her... Her skin doesn't exactly crawl thinking about the implications, but she is not pleased regardless! Despite the mix of heat in her belly and longing in her heart, she presses her palm firmly against the pirate's shoulder to push her away but stops herself at Whisper's insistence. (Ugh, why is she listening to this blasted pirate anyway? A pirate who does not even have the decency to respect her.)

(Even so, she cannot deny how safe the pirate's arms still feel. It dissolves some of her irritation, if only because it's been a while since she's felt so calm and reassured even if the pirate is still figuring herself out. Perhaps she also feels this way not just because of the gesture, but, despite how she had interpreted Whisper's earlier slight against her honor, her defense of the princess forces her to consider the possibility that Iskra isn't dead. Not nearly as much as she thinks.)

"I can handle myself," she mutters, her defiance only half-hearted and scowl empty. Anything else she might have said, however, is silenced as she watches, mouth agape in awe as the bolts of lightning all collect in Whisper's cybernetic arm. Instinctively, she winces, still not used to the fact that Whisper's arm must protect her from feeling Pain, and before her concern can build she watches as their enemies are destroyed in one fell swoop. The electric charge is released and the purple haired captain's shock must freeze her in place because she does not move. Not until it's too late and the explosive energy has already captured her coattails. The blast is powerful enough to not only vaporize that arrogant woman, effectively disintegrating the storm clouds that had once been under her command, it also blows a clear hole through one of their adversary's ships. That, to say the least, inspires the remaining swine on Inure to make for a strategic retreat. (And those who don't are met by their crew and are eagerly taken out.)

"I see," she says quietly, gently pulling herself away from Whisper and sheathing her sword. She straightens out her clothing and looks at the pirate––looks at her for more than a glance, too. Her curious green gaze scrutinizes the pirate, but whatever she is thinking is kept to herself. "I suppose that was rather effective," she continues, stupidly. "Thank you." She swallows hard and pulls her attention away from the pirate to survey the damage done to Inure. Though she hardly takes any of it in, still thinking about how Whisper took out their enemies only moments ago. 'She saved Inure. She protected me...'

"Myrne," she calls over the communication channel, "Can you handle the rest? I, ah, would like to show Whisper something."

Whatever the older pirate's answer is, however, matters very little as the question served merely as a warning that she would be taking up the captain's attention. She gestures for Whisper to follow her through the ship. "You stole this ship from someone." Her tone is cavalier, matter of fact, and gives away none of her emotions. "And I am sure whoever you stole the ship from had stolen it from someone else. We met because I was searching for Inure and intended to steal her back from you. At the Time, I thought it would help me secure a claim to the throne because of its significance to my people. I thought if I had the ship and the wayfinder I could inspire some form of hope in my people," she sighs, "As it would turn out, I probably did not need either given..." She trails off not wanting to think about the mild Victory won back on her home planet. (There's so much guilt connected to knowing she could have comeback at anytime and defeated Seraphina. Instead, she wasted months in space searching for some relic that might not even exist. Would more of her sisters be alive had she... She interrupts that thought before it can consume her.) "Ah, anyway, the ship––she is referred to as the grand ancestor, partly because she carried our people across space from our collapsing planet to our new one. And also, because she is our ancestor." At this moment, Verity places her hand against a hidden panel to reveal the door to the Inure's core––the miniature star, brilliant and capturing a million colors at once. Ghosts from the past seem to be present in the room with them, singing a soft lullaby. "This is the grand ancestor. She was made myriads ago by sage sisters who are long dead. She is a fusion between our first planet's sun and core. She watched over and cared for three generations of descendants while we traversed through space searching for a new home. Those who captain her effectively share a bond with the ship that allows one to peer into her memories or travel beyond natural limits. It's why she's so sought after––or I'm sure was. Women these days don't seem to realize exactly what kind of ship they're dealing with. They just see her as a pretty vessel to get from one end of the galaxy to the next. At worst they aim to sell her for scrap metal."

"I am the only descendant on this ship and she is sacred to me. This is why I stay with her." She pauses for a long moment, with her head tilted up towards the hybrid core. "She feels like my only constant now and I won't let her be blasted out of the sky just because someone thinks we can make it to the next port. I refuse to take that risk."

 

[Syntra]

"I never said you couldn't," Whisper replied, for that was true. How many times had Verity defeated her in combat, after all? How many times, both in her existing memories and in those swallowed by the Shade? Enough times, certainly, for her to remember that particular lesson. (This princess was a rose, and all roses came with thorns. Hers reached deep, too, enough to shatter your very bones. The bitter words she had gifted her after their reunion... Whisper still remembered, didn't she? Even if she didn't especially want to.) "I'm just saying that you shouldn't have to. There is no need to waste your talents on someone so painfully insignificant. You wouldn't exchange gold for common rocks, now would you? Certainly, you are not that foolish." The grand concert of destruction began, stunning from the very first note, and Whisper? Whisper had to smile as the lightning raged at her fingertips, bending to its true mistress. (Maybe Seraphina had been right about her. Maybe she was destruction, tempered by blood and fire-- the one to bring death to hundreds, thousands, even millions. You know what the crucial difference was, though? That, this time, Whisper would be the one to choose who would die by her hand. Whisper, not some would-be queen drunk on her own madness.)

"Indeed," she offered Verity a small smile, feeling unreasonably... giddy at the praise? As if all of her organs meant to burst out, but in a way that felt pleasant. (No, it didn't make any sense, and Whisper didn't care to explore the thought process behind it. Going down that road was dangerous, for you never knew where you would end up. Thoughts were volatile like that, you see? An entire storm captured in a bottle, with lightning strong enough to burn you to ashes.) "Effective is the word that I would use as well. I hope the survivors shall spread the word of this, so that all the other parasites will know to beware." Just, having to fend off the attacks of starving hyenas all the time? No, thank you! Whisper would much rather enjoy some peace and quiet, and maybe... hmm, maybe the attention of a certain princess as well. (What? Verity hadn't exactly protested against that kiss. The way she had looked at her had sent a jolt of electricity down her spine, and the captain couldn't help but wonder what other things she could do for her. Those lips of hers... ah, Whisper could imagine a much, much better use for them than all those complaints she'd been throwing her way! For example, if they were to moan her name? Sweet. Enchanting. Magical.)

Without saying a single word to her comrades, Whisper followed the princess. (Huh. Was that how she had come to possess the ship? It did make sense, the pirate supposed, for a street rat couldn't possibly own such a glorious thing.) "Thank you for the summary," she sighed. "I haven't read all of Iskra's diaries yet. They are endless, I swear-- the woman thought it pertinent to record every single thought that had ever entered her mind, as if they were precious jewels. It's... exhausting, I have to say." Exhausting and, yes, also infuriating. Why had her former self believed it was wise to waste her time? Did she not know how to let go? Words, words, words, there were always more words with her! "Curiously enough," the pirate cast a sideways glance at the princess, "she doesn't speak of you much. Not in those first few entries, anyway. I think she genuinely had no idea what to say. You must have turned her world upside down, I presume? In that, at least, I do understand her." ...what? Excuse her? Was she flirting with the wife of her deceased self? Everything about this was so wrong that Whisper wanted to recoil physically, but yet another impulse encouraged her to lean in. 'Don't you wish to know where this can lead?' it whispered.'Once, you saw something in her. Perhaps you still do.'

Hm. Had Verity dragged her all the way out there solely to show her some engine? Whisper couldn't possibly imagine a less interesting thing if she tried-- well, until the fireworks exploded before her very eyes, that was. (Like a diamond reflecting light, really. Sort of like that, but also much, much, much more. Had such a wonder been sleeping in Inure's bowels this entire time? And to think that the princess was willing to share that miracle with her, with a total outsider...)

"I think I do understand that. I apologize for my earlier mistreatment of her-- I didn't know. I will strive to do better, both by you and by your ship. I have to say, though, that you are blessed. Having a visible reminder of who you are must be nice." Nicer than floating through the universe, aimlessly, a speck of dust more than anything else. More than a person, at least. "Like wearing your identity on your sleeve, with no room for doubts. You speak to your ancestors, don't you? Meanwhile, I don't even remember my own mother's face. I don't remember anything, aside from the role that I'm supposed to play. Tell me, Verity," the pirate took a few steps towards her, perhaps subconsciously, "what was it like for you? When I kissed you, I mean." (Her tone was casual, as if the question didn't matter at all, and yet, yet so much was riding on it! ...her entire self, for instance. A paltry, weak thing, but also everything that Whisper had.) "Were you reminded of Iskra? Would you like me to do it again?"

 

[starboob]

"She thought it pertinent because her memories were precious to her," she retorts hotly, immediately getting defensive over her former wife without even thinking that the woman before her is that woman (as much as they both pretend she isn't). Then she pauses, mulls it over for a moment, and softens. (This is and isn't Iskra, she reminds herself. She's confused. She's hurt. She's lost so much. She's different than she was, but how can anyone remain the same after being captured by a mad woman? That Iskra or Whisper still stands before her... well, she knows it's more a testament to the Shade than anything else. Still, she's caught glimmers of her old self here and there and slowly the princess is starting to think that her prior assessment that Whisper is a shell may have been misguided.) "You believed it was important to record them. You knew something like this could happen. Perhaps not exactly like this, but you knew the Shade would claim more of you someday and felt... Well, I suppose I don't exactly what you felt but you were particular about your memories and preserving them. It's why you kept those diaries and were so diligent about recording every single detail, no matter how small. You cherished your memories, because there was so much you had lost and I think it might have given you some sense of control over your situation—if I had to guess." (There's no point in entertaining the idea that Whisper and Iskra are different, she decides. It's just too confusing for her heart and, she realizes, unfair. To both of them. If she wants to maintain some form of connection to her former wife, and she might be more open to entertaining the idea now, she does not think it can happen with this division between realities. ‘A rose by any other name…’ she reminds herself.)

Verity isn't sure exactly what to make knowing that Iskra had not written about her much in the beginning. It doesn't offend her or disappoint her––why would she have been a topic at all? She was merely the pirate's prisoner in the beginning and what more than that would there have been to write?

Though the implication that even from their beginning the princess had an effect on the pirate does come as a shock. (She cannot say the pirate did not have a similar effect on herself. Verity remembers being confused and curious about her captor and, for some reason, trusting her relatively early on despite her circumstances.) "Ah, did I?" Her cheeks color and she turns away, embarrassed. It's not news to her, she supposes, but having this effect again on Whisper seems to stirs something within her. Hope, perhaps? Curiosity most definitely. "It is, ah, I suppose a talent of mine to confuse you. At least that is consistent." She clasps her hands behind her back and focuses her attention on the brilliant engine, finding it difficult to look at the pirate directly. (If she does, she worries over all the possibilities and fantasies that may spur in looking at a woman who she still...) "What is it about me that has turned your world upside down, captain?"

Then as the pirate continues, the princess listens and nods, her brows furrowing together. She shakes her head and glances at the pirate from the corner of her eyes. "As nice as it is to know where you come from, your role does not have to be defined by your past and why play a part at all? That just gets so exhausting," the princess sighs, remembering all the masks she used to wear before a certain pirate opened her up by just being herself. "Our pasts may influence us and help us see patterns so that we may go safely forward—I reason that could be what Iskra wanted to give to you in those diaries—but you don't have to try to be her or anyone other than... well, anyone other than who you want to be. If that is Whisper, then that is Whisper but no one can tell you who you are or aren't. Who you are is up to you and your circumstances that shape you. Forgetting everything is part of your story now and who you wish to be to find some comfort in yourself again is entirely up to you. You have that freedom again,” she reminds her, not wanting to outright acknowledge who brought Whisper to this place but the implication is there for her to pick up.

Though as Whisper closes the distance between them, Verity's heart starts to beat out of rhythm and almost every thought leaves her brain. Ropes form in her stomach that tie themselves into knots at the implications. She doesn't know that she wants to respond at all, part of her thinking the questions demand far more than Whisper has earned, yet she knows this is only her Fears talking; her uncertainty in Whisper, the new Iskra. She can feel her legs flexing to leave as overwhelm takes over, but she forces herself to stay. Perhaps because… because this is her pirate, no matter the name she uses. "I... I don't know. It was confusing," she admits, rubbing the back of her neck, unsure of how to articulate how the kiss felt. "It didn't remind me of Iskra, no. Kissing never really was our thing. It couldn't be after I sullied our first with my betrayal. So I cannot say it reminded me of her." Does that mean she did not enjoy it? Well, no. She did and the noises she made suggested as much as well as the booming blooms in her chest. “I felt guilty and light headed and… I don’t know. How should I feel kissing the woman who was my wife? I…” her throat starts to close and she has to turn away from the pirate so as to not look at her and lose her nerve. “I don’t know what to make of you and all the other people you have been and I just… I just don’t know. You are and aren’t her and that… that pains me for I know nothing of who you still are and yet I see glimmers and want to hope for us to just be as we were and yet do not want to extend my hurt by hoping, because I know we will not be the same. I just… I don’t know.” Her ears and cheeks burn from her nerves and she forces herself to turn back around to look at Whisper, to look at her honestly. (Somehow this does calm her. Maybe because she is starting to see the woman before her instead of the shell.) “You’re different now. Different… different doesn’t have to be bad and maybe if you did kiss me again I might know more about how I feel?”

 

[Syntra]

“If so,” Whisper retorted, “then she was foolish. Lost long before the Shade took her memories away from her. Why did she value them so much when they were such a source of pain for her? It was always going to happen, and she knew that. There was no way around it. The logical approach would have been learning how to let them go. How to… I don’t know. How to not construct your entire identity around that, I suppose.” Indeed, that much was true! Except that Whisper understood the basics of economy, and its one true law: ‘That which is scarce is valuable.’ How, then, could Iskra not have valued the one thing that was guaranteed to be taken away from her? Death scared her not, so the same was most likely true for her counterpart as well-- to her, life was a never-ending grind, designed to shatter your very bones. Memories, though… Memories were the recordings of that, divorced from all the pain. Idealized images, in other words. In your head, you got to edit them, and remove all the inconvenient parts! Like a sculptor worked on her masterpiece of a statue, you molded the reality, tirelessly, until its shape was a little more palatable than the actual thing. In that, Whisper could see something worthwhile. (Another connection to Iskra, as faint as it was. Where would the similarities end? Were they skin-deep, or did reach as far as into her very DNA? Without the experiences that had shaped her, who was she? ...nobody, her subconsciousness whispered. Everything, some other voice countered. Pure self, free of any constraints.)

When Verity asked what it was that had turned her world upside down, the pirate smirked. “Wouldn’t you just love to know?” And, in all honesty, she would have loved to know, too. Where the princess was concerned, Whisper often found herself at a loss-- the path in front of her was drowning in darkness, each step a potential death sentence. Where, ah where should she turn? Which route would lead her to safety, and which would doom her further? “Frankly, I… am not sure,” the pirate admitted. “I don’t know whether these feelings are mine, or where they originated, but I suppose that you are too much for me. A mystery. I can figure my women out, even if I know not how to act in front of them, but when it comes to you? Nothing comes to mind. You’re just there, and I don’t know what to do with you. Or with myself, for that matter.” No, Whisper could no longer keep the lie alive. The way they’d fought on the deck, with sparks flying from their swords? Those very same sparks had set her own heart on fire as well! (Iskra had covered it up and denied it, that much was true. For months and months and months, she had lied to herself in her diaries, in a way so incredibly obvious that even Whisper’s eyes had picked up on it. Why, then, copy her strategies? Obviously, they had led nowhere! …or rather, into the princess’s arms, somehow. The sequence of events was still incomprehensible to her, much like the birth of the galaxy itself, but they had ended up together, despite all the odds. A princess and a pirate. A precious jewel and a common rock. Who would have thought?)

“You… ah, do awaken certain urges in me,” she confessed, her cheeks tinged with scarlet. “You, and nobody else. Handling them has been an interesting exercise in frustration, I suppose. How does that make you feel?” Whisper looked her straight in the eye, not lowering her own gaze for a second. “Knowing that, I mean.” Because, that was the question, wasn’t it? One of the many that had been plaguing her for the past few weeks, as searing as the moment it had hatched in her mind. The truth was, she wasn’t Iskra-- and Iskra, as her wife, was the only one who had the privilege to touch her like that. So, where did they go from there? Was Verity interested in exploring the options they had? Was she?

“I don’t know who I want to be,” Whisper said, finally looking away. “I have an inkling I can only be the person I already am, but when you don’t even remember that… it can be hard, Verity. I can tell that there are all those expectations, too. My women need a captain, yet who did they receive in me? A blind woman, capable of hurting her own ship. A poor imitation. What do I do when they realize, inevitably, that things aren’t going to be the same? I feel like I owe them something, and yet I have never made that promise. It was all Iskra, but Iskra is gone.” When Verity pointed out that not being the same wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though? That she didn’t have to end up where Iskra had been, despite the similarities? A great weight was lifted from her chest, just like that. How come that she had never considered this before? Change wasn’t a harbinger of doom-- it was the only thing that saved you from stagnancy, from rot, from repeating your past mistakes. And Iskra… Iskra hadn’t been perfect, had she? Her crew had created that impression, but that had been an epitaph! A way to remember a fallen comrade, even if she was still standing in front of you.

“Interesting,” Whisper said. (When had the pirate approached the princess? It must have happened at some point, but the memory of it escaped her-- all she could tell was that she was holding Verity in her arms now, far too close for comfort. Her skin was burning, but… well, it wasn’t unpleasant. Far from it.) “Perhaps kisses can become our thing, then. I know not what Iskra had against them, for I found myself enjoying the experience.” Whisper didn’t wait for another cue, and instead claimed the princess lips. (With her mechanical arm, she was holding her by the back and pushing her closer, while her healthy one tugged at her blouse. She wanted to tear the barrier off, that ugly, unnecessary thing, but, no, too fast! Instead, she just deepened the kiss, as if it was the last one she was ever going to receive. Heat pooled in her belly, so searing it could melt the galaxy away, and--)

“Still guilty? Still wondering who I am?” Whisper asked after their lips finally parted, feeling entirely breathless. Breathless and flushed, too. “I’m thinking I should make you forget who you are, Verity. Then you wouldn’t have the time to worry about all those unnecessary things. Would you like that, hmm?”

 

[starboob]

Whatever conversation they might have had, whatever new philosophies that would have been born from Verity and Whisper, are gone––swept away the second the pirate's lips collide with Verity's. She does not need any encouragement to press herself against the other woman, but the firmness of her mechanical arm does not hurt either. If anything it reminds the princess that she is wanted and maybe even needed. (No, she still knows not what they are. She still knows not what to make of Whisper, but if the pirate wants to satiate her carnal appetites with the princess then who is she to deny her? Confused as she is about stumbling into this simultaneously charted and uncharted territory, the heat pooling in her belly (that pinches at her most sensitive areas) is loud, demanding, and cannot be ignored.) The fist tugging at her blouse causes the skin underneath to bloom, wanting desperately to be set aflame underneath her touch––she even almost slips Whisper's hand beneath the fabric, but is distracted as the kiss deepens. Her lips part automatically in response, her tongue brushing against the pirate's along with her own soft moans. As the other woman pulls away (much too soon, always too soon), her teeth latch onto Whisper's lower tier, trying to keep her close. When they are parted she continues to lean into the other woman, finding that the world seems to be spinning. Through a half-lidded gaze, she looks at the woman and while she doesn't see the wife she misses she does see someone she might grow to...

"Yes, very much so," she breathes out, her hands forming fists around the pirate's collar to pull her in for another kiss.

***​

It's odd having such a physical relationship with the pirate captain. While she cannot say that she would not have expected this eventually, their wedding night (and days following) suggested as much, Verity never got to experience it in full. Though she's not complaining––far from it, in fact. (It's hard to complain when she's spread out under the pirate, tangled and tied up in her sheets.) It is just different than who they used to be, but perhaps that is for the best. In Time, she imagines, that will help her appreciate the new relationship she has with her former wife, because she has more or less decided to see if there is still potential for them even after everything. (Especially after everything?)

And while their rendezvous in supply closets, the library, the garden, and (once) the kitchen keep everything exciting, not every day is easy. Many days, in fact, still come with their struggles. If only she could say that starting to make amends with Whisper had swept away the broken pieces of her, but she still remains scattered. If it is not the Grief that eats her, it's the guilt; if not the guilt, then the anger; if not that, then it's the helplessness. Though things are better and each day she starts to believe in the possibility that she will find a new normal again. (She has before––many Times before, in fact––so she knows she is capable of surviving this Grief.)

Still, she struggles to keep normal conversations with the pirate––too often trying to find glimpses of the old Iskra and wishing for those days––but it is easier when they spar or when they garden. When there is something else for the princess's mind to focus on, she finds it easier to just be with Whisper and not expect another woman to arrive. It's easier to appreciate the pirate for who is rather than trying to force expectations onto her. (Was it not her who told the pirate to only be herself? Since such is the case, she must honor that wish by accepting whoever it is that appears before her.) When she is able to only anticipate Whisper, she finds herself enjoying her company as much as she had Iskra.

Perhaps that is why the princess seeks out the captain on a rare quiet evening. She knocks on the captain's door then opens it a crack. "Captain, would you like to join me and some of the ladies for a night out? I should feel much safer if you were to accompany us." A hilarious statement given that Ylna will be among them. Not to mention the princess is pretending as if she is not a force to be reckoned with. "Besides, whatever paperwork you're working on can be left for later. I'll help you sort through it––just join us? It will be fun."

 

[Syntra]

The following weeks had been... odd, to be sure. Dream-like. Whisper and Verity had reached some sort of agreement, at least-- an agreement that mainly revolved around the fact that, yes, exploring each other's bodies was pleasant, but an agreement nonetheless. Still, even as they shared one bed? Whisper couldn't really shake away her impression that there should have been more to it. (Don't get her wrong, she wasn't... dissatisfied. Not necessarily. The thing was, something in Iskra's diaries was bothering her. 'She's mine,' the pirate had written, in her annoyingly perfect handwriting. 'Body and soul.' And while the princess's body was undoubtedly hers, what about that soul? How did one even gain the access to it? ...maybe she was entitled, indeed. With her dirty hands, the pirate was trying to grasp something that wasn't hers, and most likely would never be. Still, could she be truly faulted for that? For trying to reach the stars, even if they didn't shine for her? Such was the nature of humanity, she supposed. Their shared curse.)

In a queer manner, paperwork was Whisper's refuge throughout all of this. No matter how her heart raced, or how tangled her thoughts became, the mountain of paper was always there-- it needed her, in a way nothing else did. It also... didn't expect anything from her? Not beyond that which she was meant to do, and that provided a nice framework for her to function in. Whisper was just raising her quill, ready to fill out yet another order, when Verity entered. "Ah! Princess. I, uh, wasn't expecting you." Quite clearly, because she was dressed in her sleeping robe. (Truth be told, the captain should have been asleep by now. Lately, nightmares have been torturing her-- strange visions of a strange land, where the women who had called themselves her sisters dwelled. They'd grabbed her hands, like true siblings might, but ah, how searing their touch had been! 'Come with us, Iskra,' one of them had sung. 'That's not me,' she protested. 'My name is Whisper, and I do not know you.' 'Oh?' the mockery in her voice was sharp yet contained, like a knife wrapped in silk. Like something much, much worse than she could possibly imagine, too. 'Spare me the theatrics. I won't live the lie you have invented for yourself, Iskra. Or are you hoping to escape from your debts, perhaps? Because that won't happen, oh no, no, no! I won't let you. No, we won't.') "I don't know," she sighed, shoving that memory away. "There's so much work to do, princess. Can't it wait?" Because, frankly, the concept of 'fun' terrified her. Whisper knew it was supposed to be pleasant, for that was the entire point, but... well. What if it wasn't? What if, much like with taste, her body had forgotten how to savor it? What if corpses weren't allowed to enjoy the privilege? What if, what if, what if? (No, the captain didn't need another proof that she was but a hollow shape, modeled after the actual woman. A cheap replica. No, Iskra's ghost hadn't left, but why perform all those complicated rituals to get it to communicate? Even now, Whisper could feel it hanging over her shoulder-- watching, and frowning, and judging. 'Is that what has become of me?' she snorted. 'By the goddess, I hope the Shade devours me soon. Such a disgrace.')

Maybe the captain shouldn't have wished for peace, though, for it was a long-standing tradition for her wishes to get ignored. Barely did the words spill from her lips when Inure suddenly shook-- the grand ancestor's pain was palpable, and Whisper had to grab onto one of the support pillars just to not fall over. Just, what was happening?! "Verity," the captain shouted, forgetting her formalities all of a sudden. "Verity, is Inure saying something? Can you understand her?" Except that, before she could possibly respond, bloodied claws pierced the hull, just a few inches away from where they were standing. Oh, by the Shade! What madness was crawling in the depths of the space, deep beyond their understanding? What entity had they roused from its sleep now, and how? They'd done nothing but follow the course that Ylna had set! (The word behind the windows had changed color, too. It was crimson, crimson like blood, like suffering, like--)

'Who are you to enter my territory, princess and pirate?' the creature thundered, her voice shrouded in... well, Whisper could only describe it as emptiness. (Something she was intimately aware of, whether she liked it or not. Reality didn't stop being reality just because you didn't like it, similarly to how a sword could only ever be a sword. Such was the truth of this galaxy.) 'No, this just wouldn't do! Why do you think you can enter the realm of the dead without repercussions? Without even getting scratches on your pretty faces? That being said, though...' Whisper could sense the smirk somehow, even if she couldn't see it, '...it is true that the pirate is a denizen of my queendom, more or less. One who has escaped so far, over and over and over. Do I understand it right, then, that you wish to return? Oh, but of course, my most beloved daughter. Come and embrace me, and the rest of your crew may go!' One of the claws glistened, as if beckoning her to come closer, and Whisper... Whisper knew what the right thing to do was, then and there. How not, after all? Exchanging her life for the lives of others was like paying dirt for diamonds-- only a fool, blinded by nostalgia, wouldn't make such a trade.

"Ah. Well, it seems like there's no other choice," Whisper shrugged. "Goodbye, princess. I am glad I was able to get to know you, despite everything. Should this be my last life, I want you to remember me fondly." There was no point to prolonging it, was there? And so, with a sigh, the pirate approached the claw. Was she meant to let it impale her, or... what?

 

[starboob]

Something about seeing the pirate in her robe warms the princess's heart. She isn't quite sure why, but perhaps it's that she looks so cozy and, for a brief moment, Verity can picture the two of them curled up together in bed reading or reciting stories to each other. Unfortunately, the fantasy is interrupted when she reminds herself that that is something she would have done with Iskra and Whisper? Well, it's hard to know if that would be something they would do if only because she has not given them a fair chance at that sort of intimacy. (Despite Whisper having full and exclusive access to her body, her mind remains shut away. On occasion she can let slip her barriers and reveal herself as she had with Iskra, but those instances are far and few between. The princess is still confused even if there are signs of clarity on the horizon. If she were to investigate her hesitancies further, she might come to realize that she is scared. Scared to open herself up to another only for that person to be ripped away from her. Naturally that is a risk anyone takes in relationship with another person and yet Verity does not know if she can bear to do it all over again with the same pirate. Perhaps if she had some assurance that this Time will not be like the last then she would be more open, but she is still waiting on evidence.)

"Fun waits for no one," she nods, the slightest evidence of a smirk playing on her lips. She steps further into the room and sifts through Whisper's wardrobe. (A wardrobe she had picked out for Iskra.) "You will need to change, however, as we are not going to a slumber party. We don't have to stay long if it makes you uncomfortable," she decides, thinking this is a fair compromise. "I just..." 'don't want to dance with any other woman,' is what she would have said before a headache splits across her skull and silences her entirely.

Her face contorts and twists as a thunder of voices flood her all at once. Her fingers fly to her temples, trying to focus the ancestors and also ease the pressure on her skull, but rather than soothe, it only gets worse. Markedly so when claws tear through the ship and the princess swears she can feel the same claws ripping through her stomach. (Except that when she looks down, there is no evidence that she has been struck at all.) Finding it difficult to speak, she only shakes her head in response to Whisper's question. Inure isn't saying anything explicit (she rarely ever does), she only forces the princess to feel her pain.

When the disembodied voice echoes through the ship, however, Inure eases her grip on the princess, perhaps wanting her to listen. Much like her companion, she recognizes the hollowness in the entity's voice and can feel a tug of empathy––even if she has just torn into the grand ancestor. "Realm of the dead?" the princess echoes, perplexed. When had they entered such a realm? Only mere moments ago the princess could have sworn that Ylna had them set on a course to find some bandits––nowhere on the map were they to cross into such a realm. The idea that, against their intentions, they have somehow crossed into the ether startles the princess. (Why? How? What does this mean?) "Apologies, but we meant not to cross over into this realm..."

"Oh? But didn't you?" the beast chides, "No one comes here by accident, princess."

And as the voice continues, reminding them both of the pirate's undying nature, she can tell where this conversation is leading. Her hands roll into fists, while her features pinch together in a frown. She opens her mouth to deny the entity payment for safe passage, but Whisper... Whisper seems to have already made up her mind. "What!?" the princess explodes, not even bothering to contain the flux of emotions that storm through her all at once. Hurt bubbles inside of her, almost enough to blister her skin while she stares at the pirate in absolute disbelief––somewhere she can see where the pirate is coming from, but no part of her is ready to acknowledge that. Not when she is still nursing the wounds from the last Time Iskra sacrificed herself. Lightning hot anger then rips through the princess. She clutches the pirate's wrist and pulls her away from the claw. "You are not doing this to me. Not again, Whisper. Have you no consideration for what your Life means to everyone on this ship? To myself?

"How dare you think you can sacrifice yourself again without even... Without even considering me!" Yes, yes, she does know how ridiculous she sounds––Whisper does not really belong to her. They are not the same pirate and princess duo as they had been before. And all her resentment towards Iskra for sacrificing herself all those months ago comes crashing through the gates all at once, like a dam breaking and flooding the valley. Her eyes fill with hot tears and she doesn't bother to stifle them, letting them fall freely down her cheeks. "Why can you not consider myself for once when you make these choices? Why can you not understand that I value your Life? That I want you to live for as long as your natural Life will allow––do you not know how painful it is to know that you will be taken from me much earlier than you deserve to leave? Why are you always so insistent on bringing that day closer? You are not going with this entity. You owe her nothing and I won't allow it."

The entity in question chuckles at the princess's outburst. The claws then start to close a fist around the ship and the sound of metal crunching fills the room. (Once again, the princess feels as though her own head and heart are being squeezed. She bites her lip on a groan, refusing to take her attention from the pirate lest she use this as an opportunity to depart.) "Foolish princess, do you think you are so worthy to escape payment? Debts must be collected and the pirate owes me everything. Though I am not unkind. Shall I take you both? If your concern is being separated, I will happily accept two souls to feast on."

 

[Syntra]

The princess meant well. Whisper could, at least, acknowledge that-- when she looked her in the eye, you see, there was nothing but concern, nothing but genuine care. Some of it was shrouded in anger, though what did that matter? Better than anyone, Whisper understood that... well, that things weren't what they seemed. That camouflage was a necessary skill. Still, regardless of all those factors? Regardless of all those factors, fury exploded in her chest. "How can you even say that?" the pirate spat out. (Without realizing it, Whisper gripped Verity's wrist. Did she mean to hurt her? No, but it happened nonetheless, with the way her nails dug into her soft flesh.) "What am I doing to you? You? It shocks me that you know any other pronoun at all, because with you, it's always me, me, me. Even when we... no," Whisper shook her head, refusing to stoop to that level. There were certain boundaries still, and she wouldn't cross them. (Not now. Not with death looming above her, so close she could feel its cold lips on her neck. 'Come, Whisper,' it pressed another kiss into her skin, white-hot and razor sharp. 'Come home. Don't you remember what you are made for?' ...and, indeed, she did. She may not have remembered anything else, but that, at least, remained etched into her memory. A warrior was meant to die, otherwise she was no warrior at all. Just, dying in her featherbed? No, no, no! A disgrace, akin to you breaking your own sword in half.)

"Why should I consider you in my choices at all?" Whisper lifted her chin. "Because you allow me to please you beneath the sheets? Because, when you look at me, you no longer try to murder me with your glare? Because, from time to time, you throw me a kind word, much like you'd throw a bone to a starving dog? But I'm a starving dog, Verity. I'm not." (What they had was... no, they didn't actually have anything. Not on any meaningful level. What was it that Iskra had said in her diaries? That the princess was, hm, generous with her affections? Indeed, Whisper could see that! Both that, and also the fact that nothing, nothing about it pointed into any direction at all. The princess had crawled into her bed because she wanted her-- wanted her in the same way once might want a cup of wine, or perhaps a well-done steak. Whisper wanted her like that, too. She also wanted her in other ways, mind you, but what could possibly come of that? Just like you couldn't coax fruit out of a rotten seed, you couldn't get love from someone who didn't care. From someone who saw her as... as a convenient source of pleasure, most likely. A rarely sentient corpse, left behind by her dearest wife. What was this, then? Misplaced empathy? The zombified remains of the feelings that Verity had once held for Iskra? Because Whisper didn't want those. No, no more than she wanted other woman's unfinished drink!)

"You are comely enough, princess. I am sure that, wherever you decide to search, there will be at least ten different women ready to fall at your feet. Why fixate on me, then? It's not like there are any... hmm, special qualities about me. Or at least you've never bothered to find out. Why should you? I gave you everything you wanted from me already." (It did hurt, Whisper could admit to that. The pain was ancient, and probably not entirely hers-- even now, Iskra's spirit just wouldn't fucking let go, like a parasite that had burrowed itself way too deep. Stupid Iskra. Couldn't the moron have stayed alive? She, at least, did have people who loved her. The princess, among others.) "You have no right to make these demands of me," the pirate frowned. "Not when I'm nothing to you. I get to decide what I do with my cheap, pathetic imitation of an actual life, and I'm choosing to do something useful." Yes, because, in the end, dying was all she was good for. The Shade within her proved it, didn't it? The one who could die repeatedly had to do it, so that others didn't have to. So that others, like Verity, got to escape that very fate. "I'm not letting you die, by the way," Whisper hissed, finally letting go of her hand. "Stop being so dramatic about this. My death is the only one that makes any sense here, so let's end this farce. I understand not why you enjoy pretending that there's any value to my life, but we both know, deep down, that it isn't true. It's just not."

'Well?' the entity asked, sounding more and more impatient by the second. 'What will it be? I gave you options, pirate and princess. That is more than most people can say about themselves. Choose now, or perish both!'

"No," Whisper shouted. "Take my life. Take my life, and nobody else's. That is my final decision."

Once again, the pirate could sense the creature's satisfaction. 'A good choice. Now, come to me--!'

 

[starboob]

She knows this isn't fair. She knows that she is angry with the wrong person––that the person who she is angry with is dead and a proxy stands in her place. But no longer can she keep this anger to herself. No longer can she push these shards into her own chest to prevent them from exploding outwards at the wrong people. It threatens the Life inside of her and she cannot live if she continues to harbor all this resentment towards the pirate for the actions she made in a past Life. A more graceful princess might have chosen to handle this differently, but Verity supposes she has never been a graceful princess. (The circumstances, too, are to blame as well. Under different ones she can imagine that she would not have been so explosive, but the threat of Whisper losing her Life and her own willingness to sacrifice herself in front of Verity is too much. It reminds her too much of the pirate she married. The noose that's been around her heart since that pirate was stolen from her has not loosened and to watch that same woman make that same choice has dropped the floor beneath it.)

Even so, Whisper's response only further enrages the princess.

Because she just doesn't get it and how could she? She's forgotten everything. She is not the one bearing scars––or she is, but they are different and there is a private worry that the way the two have been cut up means that they no longer fit together. Regardless, the accusations still sting and cut deeper than any knife ever could. 'Ah, so this is how it is to be?' Her brow arches, clearly unimpressed with the display but there is hurt behind those angry eyes of hers. So much so an entire galaxy could be birthed from it. (Just... how can she think Verity does not care? Verity has stayed... She. Okay, if she thinks about it she does see how she has kept herself hidden, but she also cannot fault herself for this. In that, she finds more threads to add to this tangle because deep inside she doesn't think either of them are in the wrong per se. But they do need to release what they have been holding. Explosive as it may be, she recognizes that they both need this.) However outwardly? Verity does not have the same sense of rationality as her deep self and finds herself growing more defensive as the pirate hurls stones at her. Her walls start to come up and her gaze steels over––but at least she is not looking at the pirate like she wants to murder her. "Oh? Well, do keep going, Whisper. Do not stop this diatribe for my sake! But do not get off thinking that are Saint Whisper in this. I will not let you drag my name through the mud just because you don't understand that you are not the only person grieving. I am sorry for not being the soft place for your head to rest––excuse me for not being that princess, in fact. Excuse me for being a little different than I was at the start, but I am still trying to figure out how to be myself when everything has been ripped from my hands." Yes, everything and the princess does not think that she is exaggerating because beyond her wife she no longer has her family or her home or anything really to ground herself in. Of course she is not the same. (In that, she supposes she can start to the parallels between herself and the pirate. They are both lost.)

"And do not act like you were not the one to invite me to your bed and have continued to extend that invitation!" she huffs, clearly offended. "You wanted me in that way and I... I..." Well, what had she wanted from the shambles of their relationship? "I wanted to feel connected to you again! I wanted to see where this could go––excuse me for not knowing how to go beyond our physical relationship. Just as you are not the same pirate you once were, I am not the same princess you are reading about in those blasted diaries! So stop comparing me to her. I have already told you she is as dead as Iskra."

The pirate continues to twist the knife, however, apparently insistent on making sure that Verity knows exactly what she thinks of both her and their relationship. For a moment all the princess can do is stare. (Stare and feel new guilt manifest in her chest when Whisper admits that she does not believe that the princess still has feelings for her. Though she should not be shocked, she is. Perhaps because those diary entries should have made it clear that Verity would never leave the pirate or give up on her––yes, the princess has just said that that princess is dead, too, but... well some things cannot die. Just as there are things about the pirate that are still very much Iskra, there are elements of the princess that will always remain. Ugh. Just why could this not be easier? Does she not deserve a break?) "Nothing? You think that you are nothing to me?" Though it's not as though she can really blame the pirate for not understanding what she means to her when she really has not given her much to grasp. "You have been my beginning, my middle, and I would like for you to be my end as well. But I need to know that you'll be more careful. I need to know you are not going to leave me before you are meant to. I need you to fight a little, Whisper. Please. If you go now, that is it. This will either be your last Life or I will entirely let go, because I cannot be with a woman who continually puts herself in harm's way without trying to find an alternative solution. If you make this choice, we will never know if we would have made it and I want to know. Don't you?"

Except, of course the pirate doesn't listen or consider her and it angers the princess more than words can even describe. (In this moment she feels as though she is made from the same heat as the liquid core of a star.) Fine. If Whisper will not fight for herself, then Verity will because that blasted pirate needs to understand that the princess will not give up on her without a fight. "If you want to die so badly and call it a noble sacrifice, then you will have to wrest that outcome from me first! I intend to know you again!" And with that? With that the princess tackles the pirate to the ground. There is nothing in her eyes that suggests she will give up. There is nothing about the look on her face that suggests she won't force the pirate to kill her before she sacrifices herself. Rather than throw punches or kicks––as she isn't trying to hurt Whisper––she wraps her arms and legs around the pirate in a vice grip, holding onto her fiercely, refusing to let go no matter how the pirate tries to wriggle free. She is not letting go. "I won't let you do this, you stubborn pirate!"

 

[Syntra]

Saint Whisper. Was that what it looked like, viewed through the lends of another? A performance, built around earning others’ approval? Whisper could understand that, she supposed-- such a conclusion was a natural thing to reach, if you were approaching it from the princess’s perspective. (The thing was, such a perspective wasn’t hers. It never had been. Just, how little did she understand that precious Iskra of hers? Because in that, at least, they weren’t all too different. Out of all the threads that were connecting them, the captain could tell that this was the most pronounced one, and also the least likely one to be cut. An umbilical cord of sorts, linking the past and the present together. Throughout those blasted diaries, pages upon pages upon pages, this was the one consistent theme! And now Verity was, what, accusing her of being sanctimonious all this time? Oh, how little she understood. How little she wished to understand, apparently.) “I don’t think I’m a saint. I don’t think I’m anything at all. You out of all people should be aware of that, but I suppose that I am not the only one with memory issues.” Again, it hurt, but Whisper couldn’t imagine why. Because it confirmed that they truly had nothing? That, maybe, they’d had nothing all along, even back when she’d been Iskra? (A castle built on a foundation of sand was no castle at all, for it would sink, sink, sink, deep into those wet, filthy depths. Perhaps Seraphina had just been a catalyst-- perhaps their relationship would have fallen apart even without her, despite Iskra’s fervent declarations of love. …if so, then it had been for the best. A mercy, disguised as the cruelest of punishments. The memory loss was an armor, protecting the softest parts of her, and yet, yet she could still feel the blow! Living that reality as Iskra... no, Whisper didn’t even want to think about going there. Too painful.)

“Your grief,” Whisper spat out, too exhausted for even trying to sweeten the poison in her tone. (Don’t get her wrong, the sympathy for her had been there. It really, really had, and if the princess couldn’t see it, then that was her fault alone for being so fucking blind. From the very beginning, her thoughts had revolved around Verity’s loss! Because, all in all, Whisper hadn’t lost that much. When you didn’t remember losing a precious jewel, let alone ever owning it, it just… didn’t matter. Not on any meaningful level. Still, when she watched the princess’s attention revert to those me, me, me patterns, with all the elegance of a ballet dancer? No. Enough was enough. It had been enough for weeks, and the pirate knew not how she hadn’t picked up on that earlier.) “Indeed, I’m sure that my death must have been difficult for you. Me losing my memories must have inconvenienced you so, too. What’s next? Are you going to tell me that you felt every cut Seraphina inflicted on me, and much more intensely than I ever could have? Do go on! I’d love to hear everything about that.” And, yes, she may have said a few things that she didn’t really mean, but it felt good to say them. Freeing, as if the poison directed at Verity had been released directly from her wounds. (Did Whisper understand her side of it? Yes. No. Yes, and no, and yes, yes, yes, but that wasn’t the goddamn point! The point was that, for the first time in ages, she allowed her own perspective to swallow everything else. To sort of… bypass all those filters that she had set up, in order for her not to be too much, or too entitled, or too anything, really. A thing to be used, rather than a person with her own feelings.)

“Connected to me?” the pirate laughed. “You had some interesting ways of showing that, I’ll grant you. I cannot say that the way you kept me at an arm’s length made me feel appreciated, but perhaps that is customary where you are from. Tell me, Verity, is it some tradition of yours? A trick to ensure a woman will truly fight for your heart?" Whisper's tone was sharp, sharp enough that she barely recognized it herself, but by the Shade, did it feel right! The missing ingredient, in so, so, so many ways. "But yes, you are right. We are not the same people. We can't be. Maybe I was wrong to judge you by the same standards by which Iskra judged her princess." Yes, wrong in that, and so many different things as well. Every step she took, it seemed, only led her down a darker path-- still, still there was a rock bottom for her to crash into, and that... no, Whisper knew not what to think of it. Shouldn't she have discovered it years ago? Hadn't she been born there?

But Verity continued to talk and talk and talk, burying her under more accusations. Accusations, and… explanations as well, weirdly enough? The concoction was confusing enough to make her head spin, with its strange, bittersweet taste. Just, how was she supposed to interpret all of that? Being Verity’s beginning and her and, and yet also a coward who somehow failed to fight? A villainess who had abandoned her wife? You didn’t throw those words at someone you loved-- you shouldn’t, at the very least. “You don’t understand,” she shook her head, ready to defend her former self for the first time. “Iskra did the best she could. There was no good solution. It was either her or you. What did you expect her to do, princess? Watch as you were getting slaughtered?” Which, of course, had been impossible. Even now, Whisper couldn’t imagine that, despite her feelings being… whatever they were. Weaker, certainly? They had to be! And yet, yet-- “We both know it wasn’t going to happen. And now… now the situation is the same, Verity. No, it’s worse. It’s either me or me and you, so why are you resisting so?”

Except that, suddenly, words were too good for the princess. Instead of the two of them continuing to talk it out, Whisper found herself on the ground, imprisoned by Verity’s vice grip, and... well, it was too much. Too much, all at once. Who could judge her when tears welled up in her eyes, then? The pirate let them fall freely, too, for she no longer cared. Death was coming for them both, it seemed, and few things were more important than that. "Why are you like this?” Whisper sobbed, powerless against her touch. “Must you speak to me as if I hurt you on purpose? Must you take my choice away from me? It’s the only thing I have, and… yes. Yes, I did want you in my bed. I wanted you in all those other ways as well, because, you know what? I guess love you still. It appears that I must, for whatever reason. But you treating me the way you have… I don’t want that, and I don’t want you. I can’t.”

 

[starboob]

Everything she touches is poison. The odd thing is? Rather than let this fact devastate her, she just doesn't care. Doesn't have it in her care. All she can feel right now is her anger as the pirate entirely misses everything that she is says. (Well, except she doesn't. No, she picks up on what Verity has said alright, but has warped it so beyond the original meaning that the princess is not convinced that she was heard at all.) Whoever said that anger shrouds judgment clearly has never felt it, because Verity feels fucking clear––clearer than crystals, the skies, and the seas. She wagers to guess that the pirate must feel the same with how raw she is being, how honest she is being. (Of course Verity understands Whisper's side. She doesn't necessarily believe this has been easy on either of them and there is certainly no handbook for how to respond when you wife forgets who you are. They are both doing their best. It's just that their best clearly isn't enough and perhaps never will be. Perhaps they are too broken to ever represent people again. ...Funny how she can recall telling Iskra that broken people can be whole, like mosaics or fragmented art from lost civilizations, but now she doesn't think that is true. For maybe if it were then herself and Whisper could accept each other as enough. But that must just be wishful thinking from a princess who had hope.)

She does, again, recognize that she is angry with the wrong person. She is angry with Iskra, not Whisper. She is angry with Seraphina, not Azrael. But all of those people are gone so who else does she have left to be angry with other than Whisper and herself? (Myrne may have tried to talk some sense into the princess, yes, but that only worked in the moment. Now, left in the ruins of everything, how can she not blame herself for letting Iskra fall into Seraphina's hands? Everyday she fantasizes of a reality where she had held onto Iskra's corpse until she revived. Every night she has nightmares of what actually happened.)

She doesn't even know how to say everything that she feels, how to unleash this storm from her chest. She feels her heart jumping and heat rising to her face the more agitated she becomes. She just wants Whisper to understand that she cannot watch her die. She won't. As much as the pirate wants to make this choice, Verity won't let her. The princess won't let Whisper die when she has barely had the chance to live. (Why does she never fight to live?) Verity wishes she had something to say, wishes that could add more venom to this mess because it's not fair! None of this is fair and it becomes less fair the more Whisper speaks and how she defends Iskra. The princess shakes her head, much like a petulant child––she doesn't want to hear this. "I know!" she shouts, unable to contain herself. And it is true, she does know. She knows why Iskra made the choice she did. It was logical and her pirate was nothing if not logical. It hadn't been meant to hurt her. It was supposed to save her, but it doesn't feel that way. "I know! But don't think that means your sacrifice hurt any less. I still had to watch you die. I almost fucking lost you that night. You don't think it hurts knowing and not knowing everything Seraphina put you through? No, I never felt her fucking knives. I didn't have to live through it and," she sucks in a breath to keep herself from shaking, "and it's not fair! None of this fair! She never should have gotten you."

Tears are cascading down the princess's cheeks now, mirroring that of Whisper's, and she does not think that they will ever stop. It only becomes worse when the pirate confesses, once again, that she doesn't and can't love her. That she doesn't want her anymore. (Because of Verity. Because Verity couldn't give Whisper what she needed. Because Verity has had to hold her at a distance. Because Verity couldn't cope with the loss of the wife she knew. Because Verity doesn't understand her. Because Verity couldn't and can't accept her choices.) If such is the case... then why let her sacrifice herself for a woman who can't even treat her properly?

Through teary eyes and choked throat, she looks the pirate in those blue eyes of hers. "I am sorry I cannot be the princess you need me to be. I am sorry that I did not love you better. I am scared," of who she became, of who she is, of who she isn't, of everything. She adjusts herself, still holding onto Whisper with a firm grip. (She is not letting go.) "But I am not letting you do this." Beneath her skin, the spikes that lay underneath shift and reshape themselves into a signature dagger. The tip pushes out from her forearm and in a single fluid motion, she pulls it out and uses it to pin the pirate in place by the loose fabric of her shirt and robe. "Forgive me for not honoring your choices and taking this away from you, but you still have a chance if you let yourself see it." This she whispers into the pirate's ear so that the entity might not hear. She pushes herself up and off of Whisper and turns to face the creature.

Some princesses have pricked their fingers and succumb to eternal slumber, but Verity? She is not those other princesses. She stands between Whisper and the claws and before the entity can bellow a snide remark, she draws her sword and severs the three claws. Thud. Thud. Thud. "You shall have to find your feast somewhere else, wench. I am done with this bullshit. Have we not suffered enough for your games!?"