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

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

What's more shocking to Verity? What the word means? That Ylna has attributed it to Iskra? That there is the possibility that it is true? The story certainly corroborates what she is saying and, unfortunately, it is all too easy to picture the captain that clueless; after all, she hardly ever picked up on Verity's sarcasm (actually, she can't recall a specific time where Iskra seemed to even notice it; or, perhaps, she is equally good at deadpan humor? No, no, the princess is almost certain the pirate isn't versed in the subtleties). Still, it's hard to believe that Iskra hasn't had the experience before; she reads as such a romantic that Verity had assumed she's charmed her way into many beds.

However, just as Ylna starts to get to something she knows will be juicy, the captain in question interrupts. Had it been anyone else, Verity would have been noticeably annoyed (she loves a good piece of gossip––gossip is just information that needs to be taken with a grain of salt). Instead though, a bright smile streaks across her face, her eyes twinkle like dancing stars, and she clasps her hands together over her chest. "Iskra!" But what Iskra has to say just causes her roll her eyes––though she still beams, more amused and exasperated than anything else. "You know, if I were a wiser fool I would think you are actually trying to kill me of boredom. I promise you, Iskra, my delicate princess body, or whatever it is you're concerned with me damaging, will not suddenly burst to dust because I am having fun.

"These lovely ladies," she gestures to Ylna, Myrne, and Saavika, "Saved me from such fate, as boredom certainly would have caused that outcome, and invited me to drink with them." She hiccups. "Anyway, you act as if I'm incapable of of defending myself––I joined the arm wrestling competition," because that is obviously the strongest argument in her arsenal of 'I can defend myself.' It isn't like she is ever weaponless; it isn't as if she doesn't have training; it isn't as if she doesn't know what she's doing (sort of).

All that said, she is happy that Iskra had decided to abandon whatever task had previously held her attention to join the party. She is quite curious about what the pirate is like among her crew. Now that she has met the crew without Iskra and met Iskra without the crew, she wonders what they are all like together. More than that, though, she likes spending time with the captain; maybe it's the freshness of her new friend that makes their interactions exciting or maybe it's that, up until this point, Iskra had been her main point of social contact... In either case, there is no denying how her heart leaps with excitement when they do get chances to chat outside of breakfast (an unfortunately rare occurrence. She wonders if Iskra had only been interested in her for her leads on the wayfinder and only entertains breakfast because of her promise; maybe that is true and perhaps even incredibly likely––if this is on her mind, she doesn't let on).

Her arms cross over her chest and she pouts with faux petulance, "Iskra, are you embarrassed of me? Because it took your crew ambushing me outside of my quarters to finally become acquainted with them," Despite what she says and how she says it, her eyes still dance and her smile so obvious it would be hard for even Iskra to miss the jest (though, perhaps, Verity needs to be reminded that this pirate is full of surprises). "Stay with us, please," yes, she does give the captain her widest eyes and even pulls on the sleeve of her coat. Of course, instead of waiting for an answer, she hurriedly continues, "We have to get you a drink––I've missed you."

 

[Syntra]

The moment Verity spoke of Iskra killing her? That was the second the pirate paled, to the point of resembling a ghost-- a perceptive observer might notice her hands shook just a little bit, too. (They were leaves in the autumn wind, utterly helpless, and her feet... her feet were planted in quicksand, sinking deeper, deeper and deeper the more she struggled. Killing, huh? Of course it cycled back to that, inevitably. Once blood had stained your hands, cleansing them was impossible-- in a way that would truly matter, at least. The ghosts of all those fallen enemies didn't get to rest in peace, so they followed her. A natural course of things, really. They whispered into her ear, and the ears of those who could hear, and Iskra-- Iskra understood, okay? So deeply, so desperately, even, that she would give up anything to look them in the eye. To be be able to say: 'I see you, and I recognize you.' ...being forgotten was a terrible, terrible thing, was it not? Almost as terrible as forgetting.)

"I don't-- I don't wish to hurt you, Verity," she protested weakly. (Wishing for something and doing it were quite different things, though. You couldn't build a castle out of promises, could you? ...and Iskra in particular couldn't build anything at all, for her hands only knew how to tear things down, down, down. How to kill, destroy, and step on the flowers growing alongside her path. Hadn't her short-lived adventure with the crown proved that?) "I didn't know you'd prefer such... such entertainment."

In the background, Ylna snickered, though she said nothing for once. ...huh. If even she recognized the need for silence, then Iskra's transgression must have been grave, indeed! "The royalty of my people wouldn't fraternize with commoners like this. That's why I... assumed, I suppose. Wrongly, for which I carry the full extent of blame." Because, truly, how could one justify their actions with ignorance when the answers had been there, plain for her to see? Verity gave her the gift of her words every day, and asking about it would have been the easiest thing in the world. Instead of that, however, Iskra had made a comfortable nest out of her assumptions-- she had stayed there, and allowed the spiders to weave their webs around her. To her absolute terror, it turned out that their miscommunication ran even deeper. Oh, by the Shade! Had she truly been sending out such signals? Even after stressing that her heart belonged to her? (...what an ugly, ugly prize. Who would even want that thing, blackened and scarred? A cursed wasteland, dripping with poison? Nothing grew in ash, ever, and Iskra-- Iskra could only ever produce that.) "No," the pirate defended herself. "No, that is untrue. You are dear to me, Verity, I just..." her gaze landed somewhere on the floor, "I just didn't know." Still didn't, actually. "This is all new to me. I-- I don't think I can handle you yet. It's too much, but, umm, not in an unpleasant way? I think." Oh, awesome. Back to stumbling over her own words, huh? What a wonderful, wonderful way to make an impression on the eloquent princess! Surely, surely only her perfect manners prevented her from laughing outright. (The impulse to run away reared its ugly head again-- curiously enough, it only ever seemed to emerge with Verity within earshot, but given how much time she had spent in her presence? Oh, Iskra almost felt like she could start to call it an old friend.) "Well then, with this misunderstanding cleared up, I should--"

Oh. Oh, she had missed her. The desire to flee was replaced by something equally mysterious-- a warm feeling originating somewhere in her stomach, and spreading, spreading, spreading, right to her fingertips. 'I missed you.' Who knew that three words could taste so sweet? (And that they could be this nutritious? Because, really, Iskra would be able to live off this energy for days, not needing a single bite.) "Ah. In that case, I suppose I should stay," she smiled, shyly, and someone behind her (Saavika, probably) dropped her glass. Ugh. What a gross, gross overreaction! It wasn't like Iskra never attended her crew's parties. No, she just preferred to do that when all of her duties had been taken care of, and it was not her fault that such a state could rarely be reached. The role of a captain was a thankless one, an endless plight, and-- okay, okay, maybe Iskra didn't actually spend much of her free time with them, now that she thought of it. Very well! This could... um, be good for the morale? Or something like that.

"Oooh, our esteemed captain joined us! We should mark this day down in a fucking calendar," Ylna smirked. "Well, you heard the princess. Drink!" And, yeah, before Iskra could fully comprehend what was happening, the other woman was handing her a glass of something. (The liquid was red, and smelled vaguely pleasant. Well, she thought, why not? Attending a party while refusing to drink would be like visiting a gallery with her eyes closed, and there was no point to doing things half-heartedly. Where did such a path lead, after all? To death and ruination, inevitably. For that reason alone, Iskra had to drink!)

Bracing herself, she looked at the glass as if it was an enemy-- a foe to be defeated. (A dramatic silence enveloped the crew as they watched their captain, their mouths agape. In that moment, even the sound of a feather falling on the ground would have been deafening.) In this life, and many others, I have destroyed worse opponents. En garde! With that thought, Iskra took a deep breath, and then she drained the glass in one swift gulp. ...wow! The world had gotten... softer, somehow? Softer and more pleasant, with fewer edges to cut your fingers on. (A gentler place, really.) The women erupted in a round of applause, and perhaps that was what emboldened her further. "You!" she pointed at Verity, her movements much more sweeping than usual. "You've accused me of a great falsehood. Unacceptable! I do not despise your presence, princess Verity, and I will prove it. So, may I have this dance?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity cannot say that she has ever seen someone look at their wine with such intensity; she might have mistakenly thought Iskra is debating the next several moves of her chess strategy. The liquid disappears and Iskra transforms from a bashful, flustered pirate to... Well, she doesn't have words for what this display is, but she is excited to know this side of the captain––especially since Ylna suggests this is rare (and the applause only echoes as further proof). Oh, she will be sure to savor the experience. 'How lucky I am to witness this!'

The theatrics only fill her with more joy. One hand tents over her chest as she lets herself lean back in faux-surprise. Though she can't fake the color on her cheeks at the request and she takes a small half hop forward, extending her arm for the pirate to take, "I would be honored, captain Iskra." And for this dance, Verity leads. She doesn't really care about the eyes that are clearly on them––it's easier to ignore the staring while drunk and it's not like she doesn't know how to deal with staring. Their attention doesn't really matter when all of hers is given to the captain, as per usual, completely engrossed with her and now the closeness of their bodies. "And who taught you to dance? Where I'm from, soldiers aren't traditionally versed in these performing arts," she teases, referencing their earlier conversation when the captain had asked the princess about her swordswomanship.

"Also, if I may remind you, Iskra, I am not where you are from and the princesses of my country... Well, we do things a little different," she punctuates her statement with 'hrmph' noise and in the same breath, brings her arms loop around the captain's neck. "And I enjoyed my time with the common people," because she had been one. The irony of Iskra's statement is in the fact that Verity had been just another wishful girl before the news was delivered that she had caught the eye of the Council. Though she crumpled on some of her convictions, afterwards, she always, always showed a willingness to be with the people. To meet them, and know them as best she could, with the purposes of both understanding them and gaining their support. Sort of like what she is doing now with the crew. "I swore to serve them, so I must know them."

The knowledge, too, that she unsettles the captain so much that she doesn't know what to do with herself is yet another thing that she circles back to––because she wants every ounce of confirmation that she is not reading too deeply into what that could mean. (The notion sends familiar jolts through her, but under the disguise of alcohol she does not think much of them.) "If I cause you such distress, perhaps that is because we are not spending enough time together," she looks at Iskra in earnest, "Perhaps, if we were to know each other more you would be able to desensitize yourself to my ways?" Of course, she doesn't really want that. To be honest, she likes confusing the captain. She likes frustrating her. And it's not because she likes playing with her––there is something genuine about their interactions and always has been. Perhaps that is what she likes. Like with her crew, she allows Verity to be herself more than anyone else.

"After all, how can you know how to handle me if you never practice?" Now, either in all of her Verity-ness or all of her drunkenness, she dips the captain as if to compliment what she has just said. As if she doesn't know the effect she can have on people. "Conquer this fear, my dear captain."

 

[Syntra]

Everyone was watching, Iskra knew, but oh, how could she resist? Technically, it had been her idea, too, so backing out now would have been peak cowardice. Oh no, no, no. Just like the other challenges in her life, the pirate would face this one with dignity-- with dignity and, as it turned out, also with her arms wrapped around Verity. (This, uhh. This wasn't what she had expected, actually? Like, not even remotely. In her homeland, there was much more personal space when dancing, and touching your partner like that would have been highly inappropriate, and, by the Shade, was that Verity's heartbeat she could sense? Shit, shit, shit. Iskra couldn't explain it very well, nor could she put it into words, but it felt like-- like the lid of her coffin closing behind her, really. Like her fate being sealed, in this ominous and yet strangely exciting way. If there was a line drawn in sand, they had crossed it, crossed it thousand times over, and perhaps that wasn't bad per se? Finality could taste sweet as well, apparently-- an epilogue written in ink instead of blood, oh so thoughtfully. A soft final note that encouraged the listener to dream on, rather than the swift harshness the sword brought. ...or perhaps it was just the wine turning her thoughts into mush, really. Who knew? Certainly not her.)

"I, ah. I've served in a palace, as I've mentioned previously. We weren't just guards. We were..." Toys, essentially. Pretty little puppets that had danced for the Holy Vessel's amusement, right until Iskra had had enough-- enough of repeating the same steps, over and over. Of dying for nothing at all, really. "...companions, I suppose. Boredom can be a terrible enemy to a ruler as well, so one of our purposes was to defeat it. Dancing was... well, she loved it. Along with singing, and other such arts, of course, but I wasn't gifted in those areas. At one point, she sought out my presence often, so I am, ah," surprisingly, Iskra giggled, "rather good, if I do say so myself." Now, the image of the Holy Vessel standing so close, her veils flowing like waterfalls? Being wrapped in them, the same way a fly was wrapped in a spider's web? ...the pirate almost wished she had forgotten that, but of course the memory clung to her consciousness instead-- it felt sticky, much like honey, but with none of its sweetness. (...it tasted metallic, and wasn't it a well-known fact that blood could be sticky as well? True, true, true! That was a much better comparison, now that she thought of it. Blood, then, and not honey.) Oh well! At least she was the one reaping the benefits now? Because, thanks to her training, Iskra found out she adapted to Verity's lead easily, with her own steps growing steadier and steadier by the second.

"Of course you are different," Iskra murmured, her thoughts slipping past her lips uncontrollably. "The difference between a dream and a nightmare." What was etiquette, even? With this pleasant warmth filling her head, weighing her words carefully felt like such a waste of time! Their hearts were beating as one, anyway, and so Verity must have understood her sentiments. Why, then, build a wall between them? Pointless, pointless, pointless! Counterproductive, even, for you couldn't belong to someone unless you let your guard down, and Iskra-- Iskra had promised.

The princess continued to speak, however-- and just like so many times before, her thoughts planted a seed in her own head. (Hmmm. Could she be right? Possibly! Expose could even conquer poison, after all, and so it was likely that--) "Ah!" Iskra squeaked in surprise when Verity suddenly dipped her, the blush on her cheeks deepening. "I-- I am not afraid. I am just unused to you, that is all. But, I have to admit, I don't hate the idea. In fact, I am rather enamored with it."

A sort of madness seized her then, and since the usual step between 'getting an idea' and 'running with it' had been removed by the wine, Iskra acted. Throwing caution to the wind, she took the lead and spun Verity around, again and again and again, before pulling the princess back into her embrace. They were closer now than they'd ever been, with their bodies separated by the flimsy fabric only, and-- oh. Had it always been this hot here? Had her breathing always been this ragged, as if her heart no longer wanted to stay in her chest? "What would you recommend, then?" Iskra practically whispered, a mischievous smile on her lips. (Instinctively, her hand fell on her lower back instead of her shoulder blades, and she let it linger.) "As a method for learning how to resist your charms, I mean. Surely, just being with you cannot be enough-- for that, you are far too radiant, and even a child knows that no amount of staring into the sun will make you immune to being dazzled. Well then, Verity. What am I to do?" A different question was written in her eyes, though: 'What would you like to do?'

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

What exactly is the name for the feeling that bubbles in the princess when Iskra reveals her training? It has a sickening green color to it and she isn't quite sure where this shade comes from. Perhaps, they're from that part of her who wonders what other meanings are hidden behind the suggestion that she has danced with the Holy Vessel, her queen. (A queen and not a princess; a queen she served, though perhaps did not respect...) Does it have the same potential double entendre that exists in her home country? Of course, she must also consider what her earlier conversation with Ylna revealed about the dear captain (not that she takes those words as stone truth, because only Iskra can confirm or deny them). 'Mystery of mysteries...' Much circulates through her mind and the threads all become tangled in the process.

Ah, but even if she feels green, she focuses on the present where she is the one who shares this dance with the pirate. Even in a room made of eyes, where all see and observe, this moment still feels like their own private intimacy. "And what other talents are you hiding from me? I should like to know them all––as I said, all of your layers and faces are details I wish to deeply understand and pour over." In fact if there were a book on Iskra’s life, Verity would want to read it cover to cover and then over again to see if new meanings could be made with each pass through of the pages. Like a Sage Sister dedicated to knowing Iskra only, and nothing else.

"And do you think I am a dream or a nightmare?" she hums, looking into her eyes and noticing all the ways the light catches in them as if that could tell her more about the other. Carefully, she carves all the details of this moment into her memories, all of Iskra's surprise and her blush, because this is a scene she wants to return to and she hopes the edge of alcohol does not ruin it too much, because this... This is a world of its own and she likes it more than the one she is from. Alcohol, of course, also causes her heart to start in funny ways that are not unfamiliar or unwelcome. She's surprised more than anything else as she didn't know her heart would also be joining this dance. "If it counts for anything, I think you are an ocean of depth to explore and I hope to know what lurks in the deep trenches."

"Oh––!" As she is spun around, there is no time for her to remember to hold a point of focus, lost in the spontaneity of the action. When she is brought back into the captain's arms, she stumbles and catches herself on her shoulders, holding herself steady and gripping the other woman in a way that doesn't allow her to move away. In a way that says stay, stay, stay. Even closer to her now she sees there is more to know and study––but maybe that's because she's seeing at least three Iskra's in her drunken dizziness. She giggles, moving her hands from Iskra's shoulders so that she can wrap her arms around the pirate and sway gently with her, head resting in the space between her neck and shoulder.

And she stays like that a moment, thinking on what she wants to do to help the captain.

"Well, Captain," She starts, pulling away just a bit so she can see the other. Her eyes flit over Iskra's lips. (Soft. Probably like rose petals, she imagines and she wonders if they taste as pleasantly light.) But she brings her attention to meet the captain's eye instead of acting on any desire (a desire she doesn't have a name for yet). A grin smears across her face––almost like a warning rather than a signal. She reaches behind her back, grabs Iskra's hand, and (painfully) removes it. She pulls herself away from the pirate––stopping the dance. However, she keeps her hand in her own, keeping their bodies connected, because she isn't going to let go now that the pirate is with her again. She must hold her attention for as long as she can! Because all she does is come into her mornings and leave! Verity doesn't want anymore of that––even if she feels she should want to keep a distance; Iskra is a star and she's some doomed asteroid already caught in orbit. (Why Iskra compares her to a sun is beyond the princess, because she couldn't feel less radiant in front of the captain who she thinks outshines nearly everything else; if anything she is a moon and Iskra helps her glow). Her fingers lace with the captain's and her eyes flicker with something dangerous, something that threatens to destroy all semblance of boundaries and lines to cross. "You know so much of my mind, but... you just cannot numb yourself without knowing the rest of me too. I think you will find many different friends in me."

She gently pushes the captain away, releasing her hand in the process as she steps backward into the center of the floor (one really can assume that Verity has forgotten all the eyes that watch her and all the stories that must be churning behind them. Dangerously, dangerously, she is in a world of her own with Iskra). With a smile, she drops the captain's coat that she had been wearing. Slowly she begins to dance for the captain; even slower, the buttons on her shirt come undone with her steps until the article is discarded entirely and playfully draped over the captain's head. "I should think that the most important thing in desensitizing yourself to me would be to understand that I am not the other princesses in your life. In fact, I hope to stand out entirely from them," she says, placing her hands on either side of Iskra.

"And the best way for you to understand that..." The princess leans close to the pirate and whispers, "Would be to uncover your eyes."

 

[Syntra]

"Do you?" Iskra raised her eyebrow. "Be careful what you wish for, Verity, because the ocean is home to many dangerous things." To many dark things as well-- abominations that should never see the sunlight, feeding on death and misery. To life forms that wrapped themselves in luminosity, pretty and ethereal, except that, you know, there were teeth behind that facade. Teeth sharper than daggers, dripping with venom. (And, hey, was Iskra all that different? Because the dance obscured so much, too. Much like the light, it drew your attention away, away, away from the ugly parts-- from the thing that she was, really. A sad caricature, painted by an unsteady hand. Would Verity still be so fascinated with her, the pirate wondered, when she saw the picture in its entirety? When the sun hit it in just the right way, and the illusion dissolved? Like-- like mist, or the last remains of a fragrance that was too pleasant to forget, but oh, Iskra didn't do fragrances, actually. No, she smelled of smoke and blood, and of death also. Always, always was it touching her-- a demon seated on her shoulders, sinking its claws into the tender flesh.) "Make sure you know that before you commit to anything," the pirate whispered, unsure of who she was even speaking to here. Was it Verity, or perhaps herself? Since the princess seemed to have depths of her own, too, and... well, depths equaled to mass, which translated into gravity.

...gravity, huh. Yes, yes, that explained it! The way she felt drawn to her-- this peculiar, inevitable sensation. Kinda of like standing on the edge of an abyss and knowing that you would fall, eventually, because there was no other way to go. Staying there wasn't an option, you see? There was this force that prompted you to go forward, forward and forward, and explore the unexplored-- go where nobody had gone before. To claim that which already belonged to you, in some abstract manner.

Now that she thought of it, actually, was falling so bad? Was gravity not an expression of love? Of longing, at least? And, if it wanted you this much, was it so wrong to want it back? To say: 'yes, yes, I'm yours'? As with so many other things, Iskra didn't know. (...she did know that she wanted to belong to someone, though. A cursed, wretched desire, usually hidden under the surface, but in vino veritas, as the old adage of some forgotten planet said. Oh well! Couldn't fight your biology, after all. For now, Iskra would allow herself to want-- to burn with the same flame that devoured moths once they got too close to a lamp, and turn into ashes for it. In the morning, she would wake up a new person, and everything would be... well, not fine, because things were never fine, but the same. Ah, the comforting, comforting sameness!)

The sameness that Verity shattered now, oh so nonchalantly. (A princess, or a revolutionary? The lines seemed blurred, blurred, blurred, because damn, had Iskra never heard of a noble lady this eager to shed her clothes. The coat fell on the ground, and the sound that filled her ears was almost deafening, and the pirate-- the pirate couldn't help but stare. Learning through seeing, huh? It made sense, she supposed, for knowledge was only ever born from familiarity. ...that Iskra didn't mind getting familiar with this helped, too.)

Verity wasn't naked. A sheen of fabric covered her most intimate parts, light like a dream, and somehow, that wasn't better-- cause, uh, it made her wonder. (Wonder about things she shouldn't dare to think of, shouldn't dare to grasp, shouldn't dare to touch with a ten foot long pole, really. A dangerous, dangerous impulse that she should have rejected, most assuredly-- except that she didn't, and now her mind ran into ten different directions at once. Would it tear itself apart, just like that? Like a wild animal, biting its own tail off in an all-consuming madness?)

The music had stopped and the crowd had fallen silent, too, but Iskra didn't realize that immediately. No, the moment was simply too sacred, too magnetic. When someone whistled out of the blue, though? The shrillness pierced through her brain, and the wild animal in her belly roared. Just, no. No, unacceptable! Swifter than wind, the captain sprang to action. Without even realizing what she was doing exactly, Iskra grabbed the coat off the floor and draped it around the princess's shoulders-- and, incidentally, pulled her closer once again in the process, too. "I shall look," she whispered, her voice hoarse. (Why, though? Had she screamed? Iskra didn't remember.) "But not here. You see, I think this sight should belong to me only. If-- if you want to stand out, for no princess has ever been mine. Would you like that?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Silence can be warm or cold depending on the person or persons that it is shared with. Verity shares this warm moment with Iskra, and Iskra alone. Even in this room where all curious eyes are watching her and watching Iskra and watching them both together, she considers them irrelevant and this event private. Whether she remembers they are all there or not is unknown––but if asked or questioned or whenever the realization will hit her, she will likely say, 'They should be grateful.'

She watches the captain with her scholar's eye; in this wine-drunk state her eagerness is only heightened and dauntless (careless?) desires are pushed entirely to the surface. Had there been a specific purpose in shedding her snakeskin in front of the pirate? Other than to get a rise and observe the reaction (as an good scholar does). There isn't a test for the captain to pass, per se, but if the captain is not eager, if she is stoic, or somehow otherwise unmoved by the display then Verity would know exactly that their morning are just breakfast and nothing more. However, should Iskra offer her more, give her more to feast on, she may come to the conclusion that Iskra's heart simmers with something, something similar to her own. She already knows there is a desire to know each other minds and worlds, that much is plain as day at this point, but she wants to know just how much the captain wants to learn. (And Verity? Well, the storytellers of her world are not just telling fanciful tales to entertain their constituents––they are teachers too; teaching the crisis of 10s, the mythos of the lands, and the importance of stars, and perhaps even, in this special case, they are teachers of desire).

(Verity doesn't hear the whistle––but she doesn't miss Iskra's reaction in the slightest; it would be impressive if she did, all things considered.)

Iskra passes the not-test. When she rises in a suddenly flurry and covers the princess, it shocks Verity––mostly due to the quickness of the action and her own slowed state of being. But the flush on her cheeks and the low, lazy grin when she is brought even closer to the captain does not discourage her pursuits. And the words? What she says and all the meanings hidden between them, that Verity is already teasing out and creating narratives of before even consulting with the source material in full? They settle and sit with her with as much impact as when she had heard her favorite songs for the first time.

It's a moment she wants to listen to on repeat. If she could have it injected into her veins so that its rhythm becomes her own heartbeat, she would. Her arms reach and wrap around the pirate's neck as everything about her softens and melts into the protective, defensive nature of the pirate––but also, more importantly, into that little question at the end. That suggestion that not only should this moment be truly for Iskra alone (something she can understand now brought back into the context of their stage), but that perhaps that she should belong to the pirate at all. Her heart flutters––she knows this feeling intimately and embraces it like a friend. "I think I would like that very much, Iskra," her voice is low, barely above a whisper and it's a good thing that the music had stopped and silence warmed them, because otherwise she might not have heard (she speaks only loud enough for the captain, but the eyes can make up stories about what she is saying). "I know a place."

She slides her arms into the sleeves of the coat and fastens the middle and top button only. Easily, as if this is something they have done before and make a regular habit of doing, she laces her fingers with Iskra's and pulls her away from the party. No one dares to follow them––or if they do, they make their steps quiet and their presence invisible.

She takes them both through the ship, knowing exactly how she wants Iskra to remember this moment. (Since she has already seen her once, the second time must be just as special and memorable. No need to test just how immune she is yet by bringing her to a boring stage.) As she did when she had located the core of the ship, she places her hand at the center of some door (she's never been in the actual room, just the paralleled one) and it glows, opening to reveal a space that seems to have no walls or ceiling or floor. It would appear as if they were really in some form of dreamscape, painted in colors of soft blue and lush pink––a bit like cotton candy, really. The room is filled with floating bubbles supported by candy clouds and in each bubble, it shows a different scene of the ship. (Though not all are from present day, in fact most don't even seem current). The floor seems to be made of a calm water that does not even ripple or become bothered when she steps onto it. At the center of the room (or what appears to be the center), there is tree made of crystal growing and glowing with the rhythm of a pulse.

"I don't know what this room was originally used for––but it brings me peace," she says as she walks towards the tree, to stand more effectively in the light. She waves a hand and imagines a cloud in the motion; this cloud materializes in an instant and she gestures Iskra towards it. "You can sit or stand..." She's about to take the coat off again, but another idea streaks through her head instead. "How do you want me to unwrap?" 'You can do it yourself,' her eyes say.

 

[Syntra]

Oh. Um. Alright. Verity had mentioned an ocean before, hadn't she? Something about it resembling her. Back then, the comparison had felt somewhat appropriate, but as she stared into the princess's eyes? She was the one, Iskra knew, with treacherous currents and unexpected depths-- and, damn, was the pirate drowning, drowning, drowning. (Both in the moment and her partner, really. And the words? The promise that also sounded like a curse, pressing its thorns into her heart? The sweetest thing she had ever heard, truly, except that with a dangerous edge, and that-- well, that only made her want to press it against her skin that much harder. What was a little blood in the grand scheme of things, after all? Nothing, Iskra was sure. Nothing but the wrapping on a gift, sort of meant to formalize the whole deal: 'I bleed for you, and thus I'm yours. Yours, just like you are mine.' The oldest of seals, in other words. And, hey, didn't Verity deserve it? Because such things were meant to be reciprocal-- a person couldn't belong to you unless you also belonged to them, Iskra was convinced of that. ...not that she, of course, knew what 'belonging' even meant in this context. You couldn't own a woman, now could you? Souls had wings, you see, and it wasn't the kind of wings you could clip. Oh no, no, no. They soared the skies, and painted landscapes, and built dimensions of their own out of thoughts alone. Clearly, such a creature couldn't belong to nobody but herself!)

...that didn't stop her from wanting her, though-- from wanting this strange, ill-defined arrangement, possibly more than anything she had ever wanted in her life before. And, even more bafflingly? Verity seemed to want it, too. ('Very much,' even, if her words could be trusted. Could you light a fire with your voice alone? Did consonants burn as well as gasoline, perhaps, and could vowels feed the flames with air? Iskra had wondered about it before, back when she had still been afraid of that terrifying emptiness that was hers now, and come to the conclusion that, no, you couldn't. Not when there was nothing to set fire to, anyway. Even a chemical reaction demanded an offering, you see? Ah, the reciprocity, reciprocity again! One of the oldest principles, ruling this universe and all the others as well. ...except that now, years later, she was starting to think she had been wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, dangerously wrong, even, for Verity's words kindled something-- a spark, as shy as it was bold. A single flower in a desert, burning with the intensity of a sun. It expanded in her chest, wanting to breathe, wanting just that and way more than that, and-- yes. Yes, they couldn't stay there. Why? That Iskra didn't know, but what she did know was that the weight of the stares directed at her would soon make her explode otherwise.)

Maybe it was just the wine. Wine, the Holy Vessel had said, awakened your inner demons, and this-- well, this did feel rather demonic in nature, Iskra had to admit. (About as gentle as napalm, and twice as searing. A ball of something hot in her belly, but... not really unpleasant, actually? Fitting, she supposed, for demons were supposed to sing to you in a sweet voice.)

So, follow Verity she did-- she followed her in this peculiar haze, too, with her thoughts stumbling over one another. What were her intentions? What did she want to do with her? And, more importantly, what was it that Iskra wanted to do with Verity? (Something within her, she suspected, knew already. Because, the beast that had roared in displeasure when others had had the audacity to perceive what should have been hers and hers only? It seemed to have an, uh, idea. ...the idea was blasphemous, though, and its mere existence branded her mind with hot iron.)

"Ah," Iskra exhaled, suppressing the grim thoughts for a while. There was nothing sinful about admiring the scenery, was there? That, if nothing else, the captain could indulge in. "I-- I never knew such a place existed, Verity. Did Inure tell you?" And, don't get her wrong-- Iskra was interested, for every word that slipped past Verity's lips was a rare jewel. Nothing about her fascination was feigned! ...except that maybe, maybe a small part of her also hoped the question would delay the inevitable. The unwrapping, as Verity had called it. (It just felt different here, alright? Kind of like the difference between a wooden sword and the real deal, and now true steel was pressed against her neck. What would happen now? What, what, what? Iskra had yearned for the privacy, desperately, but the crowd had also been her shield! And now she stood here, shieldless, swordless. Defenseless, really, which terrified her.)

"I don't-- don't know," the captain admitted, suddenly bashful. "Is there a protocol? Maybe go for whatever feels comfortable to you, or--" Or what? Such a small word, and yet it carried so many possibilities-- potential incarnate, if there ever was one. A kaleidoscope, blooming before her very eyes. Now, which jewel did she want to pick? Which concept deserved to be expanded upon? Except that her thoughts turned into lead then, and Iskra's mind bent under the weight. (Her legs bent under her, too. The whole world seemed to bend, bend, bend, and before she could fully realize what was happening? Darkness embraced her, gentle and soothing.)

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Following the events of a couple evenings prior, Verity had been rather distant with the captain––keeping their breakfasts to just that, with little room to talk, no matter how much she wanted to continue their rituals. In the grand scheme of things, she isn't bothered that the pirate had passed out. It had been an anticlimactic end to the evening, certainly, and perhaps she had been disappointed with the turn out; even so, she had been more or less okay with letting it go. However, when she had gone to her own quarters, leaving the pirate on the cloud, her mind made an enemy of the situation.

In the privacy of her room, with only a bottle to commiserate with, she began to fixate on their intoxication; it's in that truth where she started to doubt the sincerity of the interaction. Even if she, herself, had been serious underneath that haze, she wondered and began to doubt all those big words and asks from Iskra. Were they just words? Drunken words filled by the spontaneity of the moment? Probably. 'Because that's all it was a single moment and in a blink it was doomed to disappear. No need to hold onto what had never been there in the first place.' That evening Verity had come to the conclusion that what had transpired had not been eternal. For if it had, Iskra would have shown her that, surely, and what she had shown instead? Flight interest––a gross extrapolation, but one that could also serve to protect her. And perhaps that is why she rationalized herself into a hole.

Even now, a couple days later, she reasons there isn't any point in pursuing all of what had possibly, maybe been. Not when she shouldn't even seek company or companionship from the pirate, her captor. That is wrong and silly for so many reasons. (She can already hear Halen telling her how illogical it is to succumb to sweet nothings from the enemy––even if she doesn't really believe Iskra is an enemy... She doesn't know what she is. Maybe an obstacle? A test in her path? If so, she is failing miserably or it feels that way.)

The resolve to remain at arms length from the other only bolsters when she also accepts that they are getting closer to their destination. Though she wants to feel excited––she wants to fill herself with a child-like energy that will have her bounding towards that 'X marks the spot' landing, she only feels weighed down. No matter what, everything they had somewhat built had to inevitably crumble; it is her own fault for mistakenly falling into the trap of getting to know a pirate, creating a person out of a monster. (No, she doesn't actually think Iskra is a monster but she knows she is dangerous like one. She knows getting as close as she had dared had been dangerous like that.) It doesn't make sense to fix whatever tension suffocates the air around them if she is slotted to destroy it anyway. That arc in her story is coming quickly and she has been prepping for it with the bone daggers that now line her belt and the spikes that sit beneath her skin. (She won't make arrogant mistakes this time around... She hopes?)

On this particular morning, breakfast had been short (but at least she ate) and following the meal she dismissed herself if only to get away from Iskra's presence, get away from the tension, get away from the guilt. Really, she couldn't believe that she let herself succumb to the other's mind and words. Princesses shouldn't be involved with pirates anyway. Princesses don't belong to pirates––least of all those that threaten the lives of her people. Princesses belong to their people first and Verity, even in exile, even unsure of her intentions (who is she doing this all for? Herself? Her family? Her colony? All of it? Because Halen says she should?), knows to remain loyal to those who still support her in the shadows. Those who helped her escape and gave their life for hers. She owes the pirate nothing (and yet she wants to give her so much, if not everything).

Those thoughts, those rememberings are not what she wants on her mind but they are impossible to avoid without the distractions of the pirate and that whirlwind she had been caught in. Still, Verity remains quiet and curt, much more involved with her head than her heart. It doesn't necessarily feel safer there, but she is convinced it is a less complicated territory to exist in. So she sits in this pensive state as they take a smaller spacecraft down into the atmosphere of a planet with only a few other crew members accompanying them to keep watch of the ship while they investigate the lead.

When they land, they end up in the middle of a swamp with a pyramid-like ruin near its center––an odd location, she thinks, but it had been the last known sighting of the piece. With little more to go off of than that, and since the wayfinder hadn't been with Inure, this is their best bet on finding it. Whether or not it is actually where it had last been spotted will be unveiled all too soon (much too soon––she feels sick and oddly hopeful that this is a dead-end, because that would be the ultimate cure for her ailment––or at least provide an extension of her lifeline).

The door opens and Verity hops out of the ship and lands, practically knee deep in thick green water, apparently much deeper than she had anticipated. (It also smells less than pleasant.) Soon, the water seeps and soaks through her pants and socks, the sensation perfectly reflecting how she feels around Iskra: uncomfortable. For several reasons that she would rather not think about. So even if conversation is not what she wants to be having with the captain, it's better than thinking. While they cut through the vines that block the entrance to the temple ruins, she turns to Iskra, "This is disgusting... Who puts a temple in the middle of a bog?" Essentially the equivalent to talking about as something as obvious as the weather; it's safe, she hopes. "Is your homeland like a swamp?"

 

[Syntra]

Wine was poison, Iskra knew-- it turned women into beasts, and erased the line between blasphemous thoughts and blasphemous actions. A demon's nectar, no doubt. Even worse, it could actually free you from the prison of your conscience, too! Often, the memories of your shame would dissolve in the morning, allowing you to feel pristine when you were anything but, and Iskra-- well, Iskra sorta regretted it hadn't happened to her as well. (Ugh. Why did the Shade hate her so? When she had prayed for clarity, she hadn't meant it like this! She wanted to remember her resolve, what made her her, not-- not drunken obscenities. 'Would you like to be mine?' Iskra had asked Verity then, and damn, did it still ring in her ears. Just, where had she gotten that audacity from? Where, where, where?! Pirates shouldn't even look at princesses, much less admit to their desires in such a brazen manner! ...to desires that shouldn't have existed in the first place, anyway. One touched by the Shade belonged to it fully, and thus couldn't also belong to another. It was just simple maths, you see? Once you gave one hundred percent away, nothing remained-- not even crumbs on the floor, pitiful as those would be. Pretending otherwise was selfish, and cruel, and something that Verity didn't deserve. Not in the slightest! No, clearly, Iskra had to pull away. ...not despite her words tasting so sweet, but because of it. Pearls, after all, shouldn't be given to swine.)

Thankfully, Verity seemed to understand that as well. The warm way she had regarded her before? It was gone, replaced by formality-- formality that felt like a knife in her heart, sharp and cold. (Which hurt, of course it did, but good. Pain was the best of teachers, was it not? And perhaps, if Iskra listened devoutly enough, she would learn where her place was. Trying to grasp a star? An endeavor that screamed foolish, foolish, foolish. Inevitably, she would only get her fingers burnt, and what then? How would she wield her sword? No, it was better for her to keep her eyes on her mission. ...they never should have strayed from it, anyway. Iskra was her mission, you see? A mission couldn't betray her, as long as she didn't betray it first.)

...betrayal, huh. No, nothing about this could have been described as such. Verity hadn't promised her anything, for starters, and even if she had? Iskra couldn't have accepted such a promise, no more than trees could take root in the air or rivers stop flowing. (Some distances weren't meant to be bridged. What good would come from it, anyway? Heartbreak for Verity, more guilt for her-- no, no, it was a good thing she had learned how to hate her. A matter of self-preservation, in truth. Would you blame a bunny for not wanting to be friends with fox? For not admiring its teeth, straight and sharp and deadly? Iskra certainly didn't. She didn't, and that was why she adapted to their new dynamic without complaints.)

What did that mean? Well, clearly, Verity no longer wished to spend time with her, so the pirate did her best to remove herself from the picture. Outside of their breakfasts, she didn't acknowledge the princess-- and during those breakfasts, when physical closeness couldn't be avoided, Iskra distanced herself in other ways. (Being present didn't necessarily have to mean anything, you know? With her soul wandering other places and her lips sealed, she might as well have been a statue-- a statue, or perhaps a picture. A thing, not quite dead yet not quite alive. ...an ideal state to be, truly, if all you were capable was causing hurt, hurt and more hurt. How had it never occurred to her before? Such a clean, simple method.) So, yes, gone were the times when a single innocent remark could spark an entire conversation. Iskra still answered questions, of course, but other than that? Mostly, she wallowed in silence, and focused on chewing her food. This is right. This is how it's meant to be. She's a princess, and you are nothing. Remember the palace? You do, don't you? Follow those guidelines. And, once she had made that connection, things were suddenly simple-- as if a missing piece of puzzle slid into place, revealing the picture in its full glory. Ah, yes. Now the path appeared in front of her!

(Don't look her in the eyes. Don't touch her. Don't speak unless you are spoken to. Don't move unless you're given permission. Don't take up too much space. Don't make weird faces. Don't, don't, don't-- the list was endless, each command a scar carved into her mind, but... um. Revisiting them felt oddly comforting, actually? Like putting on well-worn shoes, used to the shape of your feet. (A familiar kind of pain, really. The scars marked the places to cut, and that was exactly what Iskra did-- which was still better, she thought, than allowing Verity to do so. ...a princess wouldn't know how much she could take, obviously. They never did.)

The days passed in a strange haze, and Iskra got used to the new rhythm-- so much, in fact, that it almost surprised her it was time to land. The time to land didn't forget about them, though, and so the pirate found herself... in the middle of a bog, it seemed. "These people, I suppose," she replied, because Verity asked her a question and questions demanded answers by their very definition. (Answers that were quick and concise. Anything else was just pointless chatter, and that wasn't why she was here. Focus. Focus on what you are meant to do.) "And, no. It's a--" A wasteland. "--a diverse place. Not just a swamp, though I assume there are swamps as well. Personally, I haven't seen one of those before, though. Now, shall we go?" No! Wrong! That was a question, and Iskra wasn't here to ask questions, either. She was here to-- here to-- here to investigate, actually, not to serve her. Thus, the question may have been okay? Kinda, maybe. (...ugh, discovering her place in this relationship would be far more difficult than she had thought. Not a servant, not a soldier, but also not a friend-- so, really, who was she supposed to be? What was she supposed to be?)

These questions, and many like them, were swirling in her mind, though not for long. Not she had managed to answer any of those, of course-- no, this dilemma would take her many sleepless nights to solve. Once they entered the pyramid, however? Her thoughts belonged to her mission only, as they should have. "What a peculiar place," Iskra thought aloud. And, indeed! 'Peculiar' was the best word to describe it. Pyramids, she had heard, were mostly burial sites-- except that the imagery on the walls didn't seem religious in the slightest. Instead of gods or animals, they were covered in... what seemed to be geometrical shapes, perhaps? Mostly broken shapes, too, such as sad little circles that never connected, or crystals with missing sides. (The drawings shone as well, in various shades of blue and pulsated in regular intervals. Maybe to simulate heartbeat? Convenient, truly, because it was intense enough for them not to need their own source of light.) "Is this imagery connected to the wayfinder somehow?" Iskra dared to ask another question, hoping it wasn't too much. "I-- I mean, does it tell you anything about the nature of this pyramid? Does it speak of dangers?" If it did, though, then the warning came late, because there was a loud, rrrrrrrup sound-- and after that, the floor swallowed them. They fell and fell and fell, kept falling, actually, long enough for Iskra to believe this pit had no bottom, but that was foolish. Eventually, they did land! Right into the smelly green water Verity abhorred so much, except that now it almost reached their neck. Uh oh. "Verity! Verity, are you alright?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Interestingly enough, when plummeting at an unknown speed into a cushion of water... It actually doesn't feel much like a cushion when you more or less absorb the impact with your back. The water only barely keeps her from crashing too harshly into the ridged surface beneath the pool. It takes her a minute to orient herself and figure out where the surface is, but when her feet find the ground she is able to stand, poking her head up and taking several gasps of air.

"Yes, yes––I'm fine. Or should I say, your precious source of information is fine? Either way, I don't think the fall knocked anything too important from my brain." She wipes muck from her eyes and slicks her hair back in a quick motion. Her nose wrinkles at the putrid smell––like earth but far more rotten. As if it had been fermenting on itself for eons. And perhaps, with how old the structure appears, it really had been. It's obvious she is not keen about being neck deep in the swamp water though it probably seems more exaggerated since she similarly is not interested in being trapped inside of some ruins with only the pirate as her only means of support. (A pirate who didn't even care about her and made that increasingly more clear with each terse interaction––even if partially her own fault that doesn't mean her own feelings aren't multifaceted; she has a lot of feelings about the current state of her relationship with Iskra and the two leading ones are dismay and regret).

She waves her hand at the captain, as if dismissing her, and wades further away to investigate just where what they had landed in and if there is a way out. Since Iskra had decided that conversation should be treated as a race to the finish, all of sudden, she didn't really see the point to trying to extend her earlier attempts at filling the air with something less awkward than whatever currently pings back and forth between them. Nope, no point in that––in fact, that only hurts more. 'There's probably a way out...' Her eyes sweep over the room and aside from a few glowing light sources, that shine in different colors coming from above, the room does not reveal much in terms of where an exit could be.

As she continues to swim/walk towards the edge of the room, her knee bumps against something that seems to be sticking out of the ground below. When she looks down there is a faint glow––either green or yellow, it's hard to tell through the murky water. Without consulting Iskra or even mentioning the discovery, she dips below the water and feels around for the object. Her hand smooths over it and when she finds the object's end, she assumes it's something like a lever. Given that it is a lever, her instinct is to pull it under the assumption that the reaction won't trigger anything nefarious. Right?

Well, no. Once the lever is pulled the room groans and floor beneath them begins to move. (Look, Verity is not a master adventurer and the thought to account for traps had not occurred to her given that her skillsets are not in wild archeology.) It's not much, but she feels something begin to come up from the ground and instinctively brings her feet up just as spikes poke up from the ground. "Oh," she mutters, annoyed that the lever didn't help and only added obstacles for them worry about. "Okay, well I found a lever and apparently it just made things worse so." It feels rather useless to try anything else, but it makes sense that flipping the switch back should make the spikes recede, right?

Wrong, again! The spikes are now double the length they were before. "... That, ah, was me too. Be careful of the traps, I suppose."

 

[Syntra]

How? How had they reached this point? Iskra could still remember, with staggering clarity, just how warm Verity's smile had been-- thousands of suns that had shone for her and her only, both gentle and somehow devastating. An entire universe contained in the curvature of her lips, really. Now, though? All of that was gone, gone, gone. The flames had died, consumed by their own intensity, and ice ruled in their stead. ...ice strong enough to freeze the blood in her veins. (The pirate dared not touch her, but she didn't even have to. The coldness just seeped through, you see? It clung to her, like flies to a corpse. She could see it in her eyes, hear it in her words-- the message that her, Iskra, shouldn't be here. That she didn't even deserve to breathe the same air as she did, really. ...and, hey, maybe that was true. What was she supposed to do about her lungs, though? They worked on their own, without her consent. Her chest rose and fell automatically, led by the rhythm of her heart-- which, by the way, also beat of its own volition. So, how could Iskra possibly please her here? By making herself even smaller? By curling into a ball and allowing herself to be kicked, again and again? Very well, then! Being someone's punching bag, after all, was something she had had extensive experience with. All those years in the palace? Those had prepared her for the task quite well. If Verity needed a human-shaped thing to turn her anger against, then Iskra would serve! ...serve, faithfully, as she had always meant to. This time, her pride wouldn't get in the way.)

"Good, then," the pirate said, instead of all the things she had truly wanted to say. ('Why? Why are you like this, Verity? I know I offended you, but I'm trying. Can't you see I'm trying?' Except that, duh, there was no value in effort. Only results mattered, quite obviously, and if her repentance didn't strike the right chord with the princess-- well, Iskra may as well have been spitting in her face instead. Useless, useless, useless! Much like a sword with a broken hilt, or... or her, really. An attack dog that had turned against its master deserved to be put down, didn't it? Not to be punished or anything crude like that-- oh no, no, no. It would have been an act of mercy, actually, for a dog was nothing without its master. How was the poor creature to navigate the world on its own? How was it to tell the right from wrong? Iskra didn't know, know, know.)

Stop, she told herself. Focus. Function now, break down later. That, at least, was a mantra that hadn't betrayed her before-- shoving all the ugly things so deep, deep inside of her they merged with the ugliness that had been there already, residing somewhere within the charred remains of her soul. (Perhaps that was why these things kept happening? Because, as the alchemists said, like attracted like. What, after all, could you hope to get from rot? Flowers? Pretty jewels? Pfft, how foolish! More rot would be your only reward, because that was how it worked. Rot spread, devouring everything in its way, and-- no. No, Iskra wouldn't even continue that line of thought. Break down later, remember?) Yes, yes, later. Later, when they weren't neck-deep in filthy water and at the threat of... what, dying? (Or being stuck there forever, in her case, which also wasn't a pleasant prospect. Eternity was a terribly, terribly long time!)

"The communicator doesn't work," she announced to Verity, her voice almost a whisper. (Small, small, make yourself small.) "Something is jamming the signal, so it looks like we're on our own. I suggest..." Her recommendation, however? It got lost in the sound of the room tearing itself apart, and screaming in agony. "What-- Ah!" So, uh. Verity had found a lever and... pulled it? Just like that, without even considering what it might do? Anger bloomed in her chest, and in that moment, she could feel her self-control snap.

"Are you enjoying this, Verity?" Iskra asked, still quiet and monotone. (Something resonated in her voice now, though-- something intense, kind of like the way air vibrated shortly before lightning struck you.) "Do you wish to die here? There are more pleasant ways to do that, I assure you. Or is it me that you're trying to kill? Sadly, that won't be so simple." Why? Why? Why? What do you even want from me? The question was practically burning through her tongue now, but as always, Iskra swallowed it-- she had to, for the privilege of asking wasn't hers. "...forgive me for my outburst," the pirate said, bowing her head in the process. "That was inappropriate of me. It is true, however, that you should be more careful, and... Look, there are more levers! Hmm. Do you think the colors of the handles mean anything?" Because there were many of them, now that she looked around-- yellow and red and blue, shimmering like precious stones.

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

When Iskra announces that her communicator isn't working, Verity accepts that she is doomed to die in this pit of despair. Melodramatic? Maybe so, but should anything less be expected of a princess? And even if she weren't that, should anything less be expected of Verity? Her hand slaps across the water making a splash as she flips onto her back in this swamp water and floats herself just a bit closer to the pirate as she watches the pulsing lights above. One green. Two blue. One red. Two purple. Two orange. Two yellow. None are particularly close together, some even seem spaced at different heights. 'I'm sure they all do disturbing things. I bet that one turns the floor to lava, perhaps. Does that one release noxious fumes? We can only hope!'

Throwing herself a pity part may not solve any of her problems, but it certainly doesn't... well, no, it's entirely unhelpful. Iskra seems to think so as well––while her tone still sounds about the same as a piano with one sad note there's something else in it that piques her interest and pulls her from her inkwell thoughts. She flips her self back to standing, finding space between the spikes as she looks over at the pirate, brow raised up (and arms crossed under the water). While it seems that she is unimpressed, it's quite the opposite. This is the first time since their drunken dance that she's gotten any semblance of an emotional reaction from Iskra (and not that dead statue part of her personality that she hadn't ever noticed or been acquainted with before).

"Yes, actually," her head tilts to the side, "I woke up this morning and spoke with the Divinities asking them if they could be so kind as to trap me inside of an ancient ruin with no reasonable means of escape or survival. This is perhaps the most thrilled I have ever been." Again, the sarcasm is heavy on her tongue, but it is the most she's given the pirate in a while. Moreover, it is at least like when they had first met––a hostility that invites anyone daring enough to challenge it. She wades closer to Iskra and bumps into another lever on the floor (red?), but this time does not pull it since she is not interested in actually confirming her earlier theories about what the levers do.

She sighs, and bites her tongue on the rest of what she may have been inclined to say––and she really could come up with many more ways to use her viper's venom. Though, despite how it seems and had looked for the past few days, she does not actually enjoy using this talent. Not on the pirate. She shakes her head and instead looks up at the levers again, concentrating on their beat and breathing in rhythm with their glow. "But I much prefer poisoning people to having spikes shoot up their feet, just so you know." Technically, she supposes, with her adaption she could actually kill someone with a spike through the foot. But she tosses away that useless observation and focuses on the lights.

(Also, Iskra's ask for forgiveness strikes her––especially the idea that she had had an outburst. Verity hardly thinks that display had any makings of an outburst, but... Well, when she looks and sees the pirate's bent head she doesn't really want to remember to keep her distance. It's hard to keep distance from someone who has already swept her into their gravitational pull. Though she doesn't do anything to acknowledge the sentiment––doesn't say that there's no need to apologize. No, while it may be hard to want to keep that distance, it is necessary. 'For the survival of those dearest, most innocent...' she reminds herself. Besides, the pirate is a pirate. She doesn't care about Verity. She cares about the princess who has information she needs.)

Anyway, after a few minutes she's certain she has found all the levers. It's hard to spot the ones under the thick-stew like water, but there seem to be about two on the floor and at least ten lining the walls. "I don't know. There are at least twelve levers and six different colors." Then she lists them off in the order that she sees them, "Yellow, green, orange, blue, purple, and red." She swims over to the red one she had seen earlier and spots the matching one on the wall nearest Iskra. "I suppose... There could be a sequence? I mean, there has to be a way to get to those higher ones, right?" Of course, what if this trap had been designed with winged peoples in mind? She doesn't voice that bit of pessimism. Not yet.

"We do have all the colors of a rainbow––is there another pattern you can spot?" This somewhat reminds her of her own princess trials, but that association is still loose and not quite firm enough for her to realize to treat these similarly (with tact and care, over thoughtless and reckless).

 

[Syntra]

"Oh. Um. You're in luck then, I suppose?" Iskra said, shooting Verity a look that could only be described as 'concerned'. (Would that be deemed as offensive? By the Shade, the pirate hoped not. Concern wasn't a bad sentiment to express, but back in the palace, all of emotions were bad-- or, well, not really bad per se, but off limits. Things weren't meant to feel, you see? And functionally, the guards hadn't been that different from a spoon or a spade, or a knife in your enemy's heart. The level of sophistication was the only thing that had set them apart, for all intents and purposes. ...did Verity see it that way as well? Would it make her happy if she retreated further into her shell, till only a pale shadow remained? A tombstone to her former self? And was there any way to make her happy at all, actually? Because, sometimes, it seemed to Iskra that princesses just didn't have it in them, really. The capacity to be happy, or anything even remotely close to it. The crown was so, so heavy, after all-- it dragged you down, and twisted your spine, and before you knew it, you didn't even recognize your own reflection in the mirror. Oh, how well she understood! ...all too well for her own liking, even.) "I mean, it is a strange thing to wish for, but if you happen to derive joy from it, then I won't judge you. Obviously. It is not my place to do that," the pirate added quickly, her expression carefully neutral again. (Yes, that's it. You're doing well now. Just continue like this, and Verity will have no reason to loathe you. Nobody will.)

The poison thing? Iskra chose not to comment upon it, since, again, she wasn't here to do that. Silence was the only shield afforded to her, so, yes, she did crouch behind it-- instinctively, in the same way earthworms sought out water after the rain. (Behind that wall of indifference, it almost felt safe, you know? Because, provided they were thick enough, anyone would get bored of trying to tear them down. Kicking corpses just wasn't satisfying, plain and simple. Even the most vicious of tyrants craved attention, craved some sort of reaction, and if she didn't provide it... well, Verity would give up in time, wouldn't she? Surely, she'd leave her alone! ...alone, alone, alone. The word had a pleasantly smooth texture, now that she thought of it-- kind of like balm, cool and soothing against her wounds. Soon enough, she'd be able to wrap herself in it entirely, and everything would be fine. ...or familiar, if nothing else. Familiarity, too, was good, because it meant having an appropriate coping method in her little arsenal. A convenient outline to follow, and-- uh. Following was the one thing she was good at, wasn't she? She had been, at least, before her strings had snapped and the gift of obedience had been taken away from her as well. ...too bad that marionettes with broken strings were even more useless, though. Having legs and knowing how to walk on your own were two different things, as she realized now-- yet another lesson that had been paid for in blood, really. In blood and ashes, and all those lives that hadn't been hers to give.)

Feeling fine, however, seemed like a very distant concept right now-- like a memory of a summer day in the middle of winter, with snow in your heart and ice in your veins. Just, why? Why, why, why? Why did Verity have to adopt the same tactics as Iskra? (The princess, too, closed her heart to her. How was she supposed to know what she wanted from her, though? She hadn't even reacted to the apology! Had she accepted it, or did she consider it to be another proof of her arrogance? A demand of sorts? 'I deserve forgiveness, so give it to me' kind of thing? But, no, that wasn't what the pirate had meant! No, no, no, no--)

"I don't know," Iskra blurted out, clearly desperate. "I'm not... would it please you? I mean..." Calm down. Just, calm down! Which was simple in theory, but not that easy to pull off in practice, with her heart beating in a panicked staccato. Her throat felt terribly tight, too, and... damn. Why did her eyes sting again? Focus. Go away, if need be. Imagine you're somewhere else. (Which did help, somewhat. There were always ways to escape, you know? Even if the door had to be located within your own soul.) "No. No, I'm sorry, I don't. I also don't know what rainbows look like, though. In my homeland, we didn't have them. I'm sorry, I really am. Can you explain?" she asked, her gaze directed at... well, at everything that wasn't Verity, it seemed. (It traveled across the levers, and across the filthy water as well, but never once did it stop on her face. A coincidence? If so, it was a weird one for sure.)

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

It hasn't technically been that long since Verity and Iskra had been on more favorable terms and the princess has already forgotten the other's blissful unaware of all her sarcasm. (Though, maybe, blissful isn't the correct word since the literal interpretation of her words usually makes her seem crazed. Thus the pirate's concern is appropriate for the narrative she is reading.) Not that she had been an expert on the pirate in the first place––she had barely just started to read that book. There are many more mysteries she has left and intends to leave unsolved given that she has realized she not only shouldn't know a pirate, she shouldn't want to desire being wanted by a pirate; and, most important to the preservation of her dignity, it is not worth chasing a pirate who desires her only as a means to an end. Surely as has to be the case. Their frigid breakfasts practically prove that Iskra only continues to see her out of some sense of duty. No one would subject themselves to the frost otherwise (Halen barely withstood it, even, and the woman is notorious for taking ice baths). She must hand it to Iskra, however, for enduring such frostbite just to prove she can keep a promise.

(And maybe that makes it worse too; Iskra is truer than true even if she, herself, is scared to accept it. But even if she were to accept it, what good does that do her? Trapped at the bottom of some grandiose well? There is no use in that except for a more peaceful Death. However, escaping from here and accepting it later also would never help her and that only complicates her situation further. It's hard to know what to do––it's like there is a multiple front war waging inside of her. All the things she wants and all the things she needs standing against each other, and opposite to that conflict are the voices of those who demand servitude of a princess and demand, demand, demand her input, status, influence, power––her responsibilities without taking any weight from the crown. Can a princess ever live for herself? No, and succumbing to Iskra would be abandoning that role and she does not see way to hold both thorny realities.)

"Luck seems to just shower me with her grace," she mumbles, offering no more than that. If Life were easy, she would returned Verity's anger, that volcanic rage that spurred her to charge the pirate upon arrival and defend the sacred artifacts of her people. That rage, though, had not been hot enough, clearly, because somehow Iskra tamed it with ease and drew out something warmer from her. Warmer than she had intended. Since fire doesn't work on her, then maybe ice will. Though, icy caves make for resonate echoes and the sound of desperation in Iskra's voice ricochets straight through Verity's ribs––even if she hasn't put together where the distress is coming from, that she is the cause of it, it begs her concern.

Her head snaps to look over at her, fighting the urges to reach out in some friendly way. "Would it please me? What do you mean?" She asks, first, as her brows knit together forming a near tight line across her features. It only transforms into confusion as the pirate continues to stutter on, tripping over her words. All of that, however, disappears, like a mask lifting to reveal the actor underneath, when Iskra admits that she doesn't know what a rainbow is––something she has, apparently, mistakenly assumed that everyone in the galaxies must be aware of; after all they are just reflections of light off water––and shouldn't every planet have that? Questions are already forming a ring around her mouth and if she wanted, all she would have to do is puff them from her throat like a ring of smoke. But, despite being an ever curious wonderer, she sweeps the questions out of her mouth and swallows them. (Painfully, about as pleasant as swallowing gravel.)

"That's okay, Iskra," she says, with reassurance somewhat tinging her tone though it's otherwise neutral. "They're just beams of light reflecting off droplets, like rain or mist, that cast streams of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple in that order..." She trails off looking back at the handles of the levers. It does seem like the warmer colors are mostly concentrated at the bottom of the pit and the cooler colors are nearer to the top. "If there is an order to these levers, assuming they don't all produce traps and other interesting ways to die, my first guess would be that order." She does wonder and have many other questions about these levers and the various ways they can be triggered, but she sees no point in hypothesizing forever when all the unsavory outcomes are the same: Death.

"During my trials for the crown... Well, we didn't have anything like this, specifically," aesthetically speaking, "But there were definitely puzzles we had to solve. To test our patience, creativity, problem solving, and the like. I think this 'trap' could be similar," she mumbles and at the same time directs Iskra towards the other red lever on the wall with her finger. "I think we should pull these."

 

[Syntra]

...what did she mean? Wasn't that plain for everyone to see? One would have thought that, yes, thousand times yes, but apparently, the answer was 'no' instead. How curious! (Before this, the pirate had assumed they spoke the same language-- that the words they used were wrapped in the same connotations, carried the same symbolism. Was that not true, then? There was no other way, after all, for Verity to have missed what she had been shouting from the rooftops!) "Because I wish to please you," Iskra said, slow and deliberate, "but it turns out I don't know how. So, once again, I am asking: what is it that you want from me?" (The uncertainty was like a swamp, and it was rising, rising, rising, rising high enough to reach her neck. Would it swallow her? Claim her, just like it had claimed all the other dead things? The kingdom of decay was waiting for her, Iskra knew-- she could feel the ghosts pawing at her legs, its claws sinking into her flesh. 'Please, please, don't let me fall,' her eyes begged. 'Just give me something. One stable point, so that I may pull myself out of this. A rope I can grab, or perhaps a compass.' ...which, of course, was a sentiment she dared not voice. How did one even demand something like that, and from a princess of all people? Iskra was worth less than the dirt on her shoes, and... and that she talked to her at all was a honor. Asking more than that would have been a terrible affront, surely-- much like trying to talk the sun into shining more, into shining brighter.)

Verity did decide to shine some of the light on her nonetheless, though. 'It's okay,' she said, and by the Shade, did Iskra feel better! As if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders-- a weight large enough to grind her bones to dust, and turn her into a pile of meat. "I... I know what it is intellectually," the pirate clarified, "but I've never seen one with my own eyes. The atmosphere of my planet... It's peculiar. Too many foreign particles in the air. I, um." Would Verity even care for such things? The ghosts of previous conversations that lingered in her mind said 'yes, yes, yes,' but everything else? It screamed 'no,' so loudly that her ears rang. (...what a foolish, foolish thought. The past was called the past for a reason, you know? One of them being that it was severed from the present-- stuffed into a neat little box labeled as 'memories,' which only served as fuel for nostalgia. So, no, of course that Verity didn't care. She might have been interested a few days ago, sure, but that bridge had been burnt, and Iskra was now wading through the ashes. ...as always, really. But, hey, wasn't that exactly what she deserved? Because such was the heritage of the flames-- the path she had chosen to follow, despite all the warning signs.) "I'm sorry," the pirate uttered, her shoulders slouched. "I shall not bother you with meaningless details." Since, duh, they had a task to focus on, didn't they? (A task that was everything, while she was nothing. Just a body that occupied a certain amount of space-- a biological machine, somehow existing even if it no longer had the right to. Was that what it was like, outliving your own god? Wandering aimlessly wherever your feet took you, and trying to find that precious spark of meaning? Futile, futile, futile. Oh, how well she understood!)

"But, yes. I agree. I... um. Perhaps these levers are supposed to be activated at the same time?" Iskra thought aloud. (...which carried interesting implications, in truth, because the distance between the levers was large enough for single person to be doomed to failure by default. Some mechanism could rectify that, the pirate supposed, but who would be able to construct something elaborate enough after falling into this trap, presumably without any tools at their disposal? No, it was almost as if the mysterious architects had designed the trial with at least two people in mind! ...but perhaps she was just seeking for an explanation desperately, and thus grasping at straws. Maybe there was no meaning to this at all, just like there was no meaning to most things.)

Either way, standing around would get them exactly nowhere, so Iskra walked to one of the levers. "The red one first, you say? Let's count to three together, then. Ready? One," Iskra wrapped her fingers around the handle, "two," she inhaled sharply, "three." And, with that word, she yanked the lever backward, her movement swift and decisive. ...much more decisive than she felt about it, in fact, but when a ledge emerged from the otherwise smooth wall, wide enough for them to be able to stand on it? Alright, this was a proof they were heading in the right direction! "Good job, Verity. Let's try to do the same for the other levers as well." And so they advanced from one point to the next one, systematically, pulling a lever after lever-- and, with every part of the puzzle solved, the room changed its shape once again. (Everything was connected even in a way that seemed arbitrary-- kind of like the butterfly effect, it seemed. Was that the message they were trying to send here? A sermon about this peculiar connection? If so, then they were diligent about their themes, because a single timing errors resulted in the ledges being retracted, and them plummeting into the dirty water. Twice it happened-- twice they fell, with Iskra cursing under her breath. How long would this take? How many hours would they spend in this pit, chasing after perfection?)

Not that long, actually, because soon enough, they slid into a comfortable rhythm. (...maybe because Verity shone so brightly? It was easy to follow her lead, in the same way pilgrims might follow the Great Northern Stars when trying to reach their destination without a compass. So, yes, just like she would do the same for the stars, Iskra allowed the princess to lead her as well.) And so it was that they found themselves standing on one of the highest ledges, balancing on the edge. A little more, the pirate thought, and we shall be free! ...except that, uh, the second lever was nowhere to be seen. You know, the one that had to be activated in tandem with the purple one within their reach? As if gods wanted to answer her unspoken question, though, something shimmered in the depths below them-- purple, much like amethysts. (Much like the other lever, too. Oh. OH.) "I, um. I think the last lever is underwater, Verity. See? There, the purple light below. But, alright, no need to worry. I shall take care of it, though the timing may be a little tricky to pull off in this instance," Iskra furrowed her brow as she glanced at the princess. "Maybe count to twenty and then activate your lever? That should be enough time for me to reach the underwater one, I believe. Or, um, do you have a better idea? Is there some way for us to communicate that I am not seeing?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

'I wish to please you . . . What is it that you want from me?' ​

Like ceremonial bells, the question clamors in her psyche. To the cosmos, the Divinities and Sages, the ancestors themselves, if she knows what she wants. Iskra hadn't meant her question like that, Verity knows this, but it rings just the same because it's one she circles back to and is forced to circle back to often. It is a question she has never had a definitive answer for, because the level of introspection it takes to have that kind of profound answer... She doesn't know even where to begin untangling that web; to know that the pirate wants this answer from her, too, is overwhelming. It's like a tiger-griffon is tearing her heart apart in all the directions it wants to go and can't. But doesn't she owe Iskra an answer? So shouldn't she go searching for one? Because what is it that she wants from the pirate? What will please her?

She wants the pirate's heart, she wants her mind, but she doesn't even want those things––she wants to be consumed by them or tossed under them like a wave that will only pull you down the harder you struggle to break to the surface. And, and yet, she cannot want that either. Princesses cannot be consumed. They are always saved by the beasts that want to consume them and Verity may have to slay this beast on her own; a knight and a princess and all on her own.

Her brows knit together, her eyes sow themselves shut, and her fists, hidden by water, are squeezed tightly. "You don't have to do that, Iskra," she finally says, shoulders dropped and slouched forward. "You don't have to please me––I couldn't tell you what it takes to please me... So I don't know what to even ask of you," she admits. It's her turn, now, to look anywhere except for the pirate.

Happily, gladly, however, she jumps at the chance to return to their current puzzle when Iskra mentions pulling the levers at the same time. (This is an appropriate distraction, really––one could even argue it's hardly a distraction when the stakes are literally the difference between Life and Death.) So she looks back to the red glow beneath her and escapes from finding the answer to her desires. She waits for the pirate's count and tugs on the lever. Surprisingly, the strategy does work––which on some level she does think is interesting because she realizes, too, that had she somehow done this alone, or if Iskra had wandered here herself, that there wouldn't have been a way for them to escape. Not without each other. However, rather than thinking too deeply about the implication, she simply sums this up to, 'Ah, then I suppose it has been a grace in disguise being trapped with her...'

And as they reach the top, after two frustrating falls down, she, like Iskra, realizes there is only one lever at their current level. Unless, suddenly, the task had become individual they could risk plummeting again by pulling it; but she knows that is not the case as she had counted twelve levers before and remembers the two she had seen at the bottom of the well. Just as this realization hits her, Iskra confirms the location of the final lever. While the pirate seems insistent on diving to pull it herself, Verity doesn't even give her the chance. (Oddly enough, when she looks back down toward the water, she notes that it has risen and is now deeper than it had been when they initially landed). "No I don't think so––that won't be necessary," she says, rolling her eyes before stripping off her cape (she left the coat––Iskra's coat––back on Inure) and pulling off her shoes. "You can count to twenty––make it twenty-five to be safe."

Without time to even stop her, the princess dives down into the water, hands over each other to make her body like an arrow so that she shoots to the bottom. 'One... two... three...' She breaks the surface with ease and weaves herself deeper, deeper, deeper, and deeper into the murky water that stings and bites at her eyes. But she ignores that and focuses on pulling herself towards the faint purple glow at the bottom of the pool––which is kind of like fight against the pressure of the water itself and she wonders if twenty-five seconds is enough time.

'Thirteen...' Holding her breath isn't the issue, half a second is not even half her own lung capacity, but in combination with the depth it does exert her in a way she had not thought to anticipate. The headache that wraps around her head like a rubber band makes her want to return to the surface, but she resists, thinking of Iskra at the top, waiting for the count. With her hand clasped around the handle, counting down the last few seconds, she pulls herself downward and somewhat plants her feet firmly on the ground. 'Twenty-four... twenty-five!' With a jerk, she pulls the lever, hoping Iskra has managed to do the same and that they are still in-sync.

Once the lever is pulled she can hear the faint rumblings of the room changing again; the ground beneath her begins to shake as well. Though she does not pay much attention to that, because in the moment that she tries to push herself back to the surface, back to Iskra, the water begins to recede at a rate that pins her body to ground, making it impossible to move her limbs. While panic does grip her, especially as her lungs start to beg for oxygen, she knows better than to resist the flow of water around her––it had never worked when she had been swept by waves or riptides, so she figures this principle is the same here. However, as the seconds tick on and it seems as though she is truly trapped, she instinctively relents against logic and opens her mouth. Water fills her without her being able to stop the reaction; it clogs her lungs; and though she cannot move effectively she thrashes, coughs, and chokes on the mouthfuls of swamp and if her eyes were open she would likely have spots in her vision as she starts to slip away.

And at what seems to be her last moments of consciousness, the water breaks around her and releases its hold on her. However, instead of celebration or relief, the princess merely turns on her side and begins coughing up and expelling what appears to be the entire swamp from her lungs. (Also, as it turns out, Verity had been wrong––the water levels were not receding so much as the ground beneath her had lifted, raising her to the platform where she had left the pirate.)

 

[Syntra]

In Iskra's head, it wasn't even a question, and why should it? This decision was like choosing between discarding a precious jewel and a dirty rag, really-- one was loved by millions, while the other could easily be replaced. Who would even consider that to be a dilemma? Only fools would, that was who! (Fools who couldn't abandon their own limited perspective, clinging to what they felt was theirs with all their might. Which, how stupid! Their eyes were blind, blind, blind, unable to see the world that lay beyond the curve of their nose. Iskra, though? Iskra wasn't bound by such petty concerns. No, her training had freed her, and so the now Truth showed itself to the pirate in its full glory-- both beautiful and cruel, a contradiction existing in a perfect balance. And what did it tell her? That Verity had everything to lose in this scenario. She was a princess, treasured by her people, while Iskra was... what, actually? An imprint, fading more and more by the second? An old photograph, partly consumed by flames? ...a memento of something that shouldn't have been remembered by the first place, perhaps. Yes, yes, that seemed like the most appropriate metaphor here. Oh, how plainly she could see who was the queen and who was the pawn! And as every half-decent chess player knew, you just didn't sacrifice the queen-- never, for as long as it could be avoided. The queen was too powerful, too precious for something as crude. ...she was to be cherished, unlike the soldiers on the battlefield. A crown was supposed to rest on her head, you see, and people like Iskra? The sword was their lot in life, whether it was in their hands or lodged in their hearts. That was the was of things-- the heartbeat of this Universe, to which all the living things pulsated. The symphony of life and death, really.)

So, yes, Iskra had made her decision immediately-- except that she had, uh, forgotten to account for a few details. You know, such as for the fact that Verity had her own will as well? Uncomprehending, the pirate blinked. "Why would I need to count to twenty? You are the one who needs to-- oh." Oh, indeed! The reason behind Verity's strange words revealed itself to her soon enough, because the princess proceeded to dive into the water. Just, why? Why, why, why?! Iskra could only stare in helpless terror, really, as she disappeared in the depths-- as the water devoured her, possibly for her to never appear again. (What was this, some petty revenge? A retribution for not being able to unlock her heart? Because, yes, Verity had said that Iskra didn't have to please her, but the pirate had her doubts. Didn't princesses speak in riddles? They did, oh, for sure, for sure, and deciphering them often meant the difference between life and death-- between dining at her table, and starving in the catacombs. There must have been some answer that could have prevented this! ...Iskra had failed to find it, though, and the disappointment tasted like ashes in her mouth. They piled higher and higher, too, and they got in her mouth as well, and, by the Shade, she'd suffocate, she knew it, and-- Calm down, said voice that was and wasn't hers. Calm down and count, Iskra. You still have a part to play in all of this.)

Right, the countdown! Verity's fate wasn't in her hands anymore, but this was, and she wouldn't fail. Never, never, never.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. (What if this was too fast? Or, or, or, could it actually be too slow? Should she abandon her mission and jump after Verity instead, orders be damned? It wasn't like she had given her an order, and besides, she wasn't even her princess. A princess, yes, but not the crown princess of her lands! That Iskra had decided to follow her had been her decision alone, which meant she could easily take it back. No vows tied her hands, and no oaths sealed her lips. She was a free woman, in the eyes of men and gods alike!)

Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty, Iskra continued to count nonetheless, the numbers but a faint noise in the background of her mind. (So, so easily they could be drowned out, and yet they meant everything. They were her lifeline, her only connection to the princess who struggled underneath, and-- and Iskra couldn't afford to lose her, dammit. Not like this! ...she was hers, even if Verity didn't belong to her. That, too, had to mean something.)

Twenty three. Twenty four. Twenty five. Help me, Shade. Help me! For a heartbeat, the pirate hesitated-- a heartbeat that could easily strangle her, and bury her in the same breath. After that, though? Iskra pulled and pulled and pulled, her entire existence, reduced to that simple movement. Work. Just work, you stupid piece of shit! Whether they were so synchronized or whether the Shade had heard her prayer, that Iskra couldn't tell. What she could tell, though, was that the mechanism began moving-- the ancient stone filled her ears with screaming, screaming that seemed to last for minutes, and... huh. Just like that, it was over. Over! (And, yes, the last ledge emerged as well. ...had they won, then? They must have, Iskra knew, except that none of this felt like victory. It should have been relief that flooded her, but as she watched the princess cough out dirt? Anger exploded behind her eyelids instead, and suddenly, the pirate saw red.)

Unthinking, she helped Verity get up from the floor. A standard behavior, right? Yes, at least up until she pressed her against the wall, a storm raging in her eyes. "What was that supposed to mean?" Iskra asked, her voice hoarse. "Have you accepted my pledge only to spit on it? Because, Verity, even if you don't want me, I am still yours. I promised, so it is true. I would die for you a thousand times! Why won't you let me, then?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

It's not the most princess thing to do, but retching up everything that exists in her lungs is a solution she cannot help even if somewhat terrifying. Terrifying only because she is still catching up with what has just happened and in that she is disoriented. So while she does accept the pirate's offer to help her up, she is wholly unprepared to be pushed up against a wall. And when her vision returns to her and she's looking directly into Iskra's eyes, something she hasn't let herself do for the past few days, her legs give way and an automatic whimper leaves her lips. There's also this interesting warmth, golden like a sun, swirling in the pit of her stomach and traveling to low recesses; like flowers feeling the first bits of morning sun, she feels her garden bloom. (Of course! Of course, this is when Iskra would choose action––not when Verity had extended the invitation. Not when it would have been entirely appropriate and welcome. Perhaps even something she had been hopeful for––but, no, the pirate instead made her disinterest clear; at least she let the princess save face in privacy.)

Though, Iskra's words somewhat sweep away all of her slick warmth. While her heart still hammers in her chest, the reason for it changes as she notices the intensity in her eyes and how they push her under their depths. Once again, she feels like she's drowning. 'What?' her expression reflects this sentiment just as plainly. In fact, most of the thoughts currently running across her mind can be seen plainly on the princess's face. "What?" she finally asks, knowing at this point she cannot trust nonverbal communication with the captain, who tends to need things in literal word than anything else.

"I was only trying to complete the test––I don't see how that can be so personally offensive to you, Iskra. Please explain, because I'm lost." Of course. Of course, this is about Iskra's promise. Yes, Verity knows that she had been serious. That she is always serious. That she is always honorable. Annoyingly so––if only because Verity admired the quality so much and wonders how to scrape some off for herself. Still, she chooses to be lost, because maybe she needs clarification. Something absolute before she actually, truly, wholly accept what Iskra means by all of her promises. Are there layers to them? Or does she only mean that Verity has her heart and sword as a metaphor for her unwavering loyalty to the princess?

She doesn't understand what is going on or what is happening. Though this is technically not a new feeling for the princess, this is something she may be desperate for clarity on––desperate for knowledge so that she can know how to be around the captain––because what are the expectation? "You say that you desire me, you say you want me to belong to you... You pledge yourself to me and fill me up with so much promise. And then what?" She knows she is part of this equation too, and this confusion is partly her own doing; her own fault for icing the captain out; her own fault for thinking herself into a trap; and yet by necessity she even knows she had been and is justified. Not that she has ever let Iskra in on her inner machinations. She would like to let her in and maybe in time, and with some Miracle, she will have that luxury. But half-truth is all she has in these perilous conditions that she did not ask to be in and yet orchestrated herself. "What is even happening here, Iskra? What? Because some days I feel like I am your entire world and other days I feel as though I am an inconvenience in your schedule; a bitter means to a sweet end." Her bottom lip trembles, wells of tears beginning to pool in her eyes but she does not let them fall.

"I don't want you to die for me. Not once and not a thousand times––I know that you would too, if that were even possible," she has no doubt that Iskra would break the laws of the Universe and Life and Death themselves to keep this promise to it's fullest degree. The pirate is too genuine to lie so fabulously. If only she weren't so terrified of the truth, because maybe she could find something warm there too. She closes her hands around the pirate's wrists, gingerly––is she keeping her in place? Asking her to stay? Undoubtably. This, however, she cannot say to Iskra with words. "I won't let you die for me, because what use even is that? What problems would that ever solve? I cannot have you if you are dead. I could still continue to want you, but only in the saddest sense. Do you wish to make me cry thinking of such things? Because I think about this frequently and I don't like it."

And yet, that is where all of her complications lie and she cannot escape these ones by running away.

 

[Syntra]

'What?' Verity asked, and that single word was strong enough to pull Iskra back from the edge of the abyss. Just, what was she doing? Had some kind of madness seized her, clouding her sight and mind alike? It must have, clearly, for daring to lay her hand on a princess was a great sin-- a sign that she was slipping, slipping, slipping, slipping further into the skin of someone else. (Someone she didn't necessarily want to be, but hey, what could a shadow do? Inescapably, it was tied to the one who cast it, and Iskra-- oh, Iskra was no exception to that rule. She had to follow, just like blood always followed a blade drawn.) "Ah. I-- I'm sorry," the pirate stuttered, her eyes wide. (She would have stepped back, too, but the way Verity held her in place? Something about the gesture felt sacred, and Iskra dared not break her grip. Hadn't she, after all, stepped on flowers enough already? Wasn't cruelty such a tired companion? Oh, it was, it was! And so, even if this tender thing couldn't survive in the long run, Iskra refused to be the one to deliver the final blow-- no, her hands wouldn't be stained in its blood. That way, perhaps she could find some peace. ...or a semblance of it, anyway. It wasn't like Iskra could possibly hope for more.)

"I didn't mean to-- please, don't misunderstand. You trying to complete the test didn't insult me, of course. It was commendable. It was just that--" What, actually? What had offended her so? Oh, if only it had been easier to tell! Beneath the anger, you see, there was an entire sea of feelings. (A sea that was hot and cold at the same time, it seemed-- an unholy concoction that flowed in her veins instead of her blood, its composition a mystery. Still, though! Who could possibly discern them, if not her? Nobody, surely, and that was why Iskra had to peer within. Verity deserved her explanations!) "--I was afraid," she finally admitted. "I didn't wish for you to get hurt. You failed to warn me properly, too. I-- I mean, you just acted. Had there been a discussion, I might have handled it better. But, frankly? I still hate the idea, because you aren't meant to risk your life. That isn't your role, Verity. Am I not your sword, after all? And, by extension, your shield as well?" Because if the princess didn't even want her in that capacity, what did she have left? Nothing, nothing, nothing! (Just the bitter aftertaste in her mouth, and, by the Shade, had she had enough of that. Enough to last her a couple of lifetimes, even.) "If I do not serve my purpose, then my existence is meaningless," Iskra said, matter-of-factly. "Surely, you must be aware of that? And yet, yet you accepted my oath. Why, if you do not intend to use me? Just to spite me? Or do you wish to use me in a different way?"

Except that Verity continued to speak, and Iskra's confusion only deepened. (How curious! Wasn't communication supposed to remove ambiguity? To build a bridge towards understanding? The pirate had thought so, but the longer she knew Verity, the more that belief was being tested. Every word, every attempt to clarify her position, only seemed to muddle the waters further-- they were caught in one another's gravitational field, fated to stay close but never truly meet. ...like a star and its planet, truly. Would they always be bound by that invisible chain, each stuck in her own routine? For some reason, the thought made Iskra so, so sad.)

"No! No, I don't wish to make you cry, Verity," she said, startled. "Just like I don't wish you any harm. I... suppose it's the only way I know? The only way for me to serve, I mean. I haven't-- haven't really considered all of that." 'All of that,' yes, whatever the hell it was. (Naming it would have been simple had she looked into her heart, but honestly? Iskra wasn't brave enough. The revelation would shatter her, she knew, and so she kept it under the wraps-- you weren't supposed to look at a solar eclipse directly, after all, and this intensity felt similarly searing.) "And all of that is still true. There is no contradiction in what I said. My pledge holds true, and I-- I do desire you, rest assured." (In some mysterious, unexplored way that terrified her. Still, there was no reason to stress that, was there? The weight on Verity's shoulders was heavy enough without her adding to it.)

"My directness seemed to have offended you, though, and so I pulled back," Iskra shrugged, seemingly casual. "I figured this is what you wanted, with you being this distant and everything. But, again, apparently I have no idea what would actually make you happy. Will you tell me, Verity?" Daringly, foolishly, the pirate put a stray strand of hair behind the princess's ear, and allowed her hand to linger. (It was so, so close to her lips! Were they as soft as they looked? Without her permission, her thoughts ran into all of those forbidden directions at once, and the force of that almost tore her mind apart.) "Please. Please, let me know. Guide me."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

"You don't need to apologize to me, Iskra," she whispers, eyes downcast, lidded and running back and forth trying to search for answers. An answer that is out of reach and also within her literal grasp. She realizes this duality, too, and maybe that's why her grip tightens, in a desperate way. A way that is clinging to whatever semblance of security she can extract from the captain Iskra. Their union feels dangerous, feels disastrous, feels doomed, and feels so daring she wants to be bold. The one in front of her makes her want to be bold, because something about this also feels worth her while. More than that, maybe she hasn't always had a string attached to Iskra, but she does now and ignoring the tug only anguishes her heart.

She hits her head back against the wall behind her, eyes closed as she searches for patterns inside of herself. Answers maybe in patterns from the past lives living in her head. What have they done in situations like hers? Well, none have been in situations like her own. First of her line to become a princess; first of her line to leave Aurora, leave the entire planet of Celestia; first to become an exile; first to get ensnared in a pirate's string who has no claim to her heart. Or should have no claim. (While she is alone in her experience, there are patterns she sees and ignores; that could help ease her from worry; and yet, so clouded, so worried, she cannot see those threads of connection and cannot listen to the answers that circle around the shell of her ears... Or even fully understand that, again, she holds the answer right in her hands.)

Iskra, however, makes it impossible for her to keep her denial.

"You were worried about me?" She says it like a question and accepts it as a fact just the same. On some level, this doesn't surprise her, because she knows her value to the pirate. What actually sends a shock to her system is Iskra's insistence that she does still desire Verity––that she pulled away only because Verity had first. Yes, buried deep underneath all of her excuses and narratives built of half-truth and full-anxiety, she knew this would happen if she pulled away. When her eyes open again, looking at Iskra with more clarity and somehow more confusion, too, tension knots in her stomach and her mouth goes dry. 'Breathe, Verity, breathe––' she wants to give herself permission to allow her heart to speak, because she knows that is the root of all her eloquence and truth. (And yet that also gets her into so, so much trouble. The heart is too voracious for its own good.) And that want turns into need, because it is too much to know that silencing her heart has only resulted in shrapnel lodging itself in both of them; her heart hammers so loud, now, she can hear it in her own ears and soon all that noise is slipping past her wannabe guarded lips, "Iskra, you promised more than just your sword. You promised your heart and you promised your friendship, too; those are just as important to me as your sword and shield. Are those promises not just as true? Not as sacred?"

"If your heart is stopped then I can only hold onto the ghost of your heartbeat; if your heart is stopped then I lose a friend," and once she has started down this path, her mouth keeps running ahead of her thoughts. "Chivalrous as you are, I can make these decisions for myself. And shouldn't I? You were never my knight, my soldier, or my guard," if she were, she'd already be dead. "You don't need to wear those chains anymore––least of all for me. I am not your princess, but I am yours."

'What?? What are you saying! How can you admit this so freely when you know nothing good can come of this?' she thinks, but her heart is much too loud to pay attention to her head. Once her heart is started, it is hard for her to stop it or control it. Only later will her head make her think she is foolish.

"I am sorry, Iskra. For worrying you––I didn't know you were so protective of me," and now it's clear because she is more than a well of information; it's clear she's not protecting the princess, the source of information, but Verity herself. "But we were working as a team and in all things, Balance––I will protect you just the same from danger. I don't like the idea of anymore people dying for me or because of me. You––you are not allowed to!" she says, petulantly and also with so much fear that it may as well be an argument too. Not a strong one, about as strong as any of Iskra's regarding her safety, but she doesn't know another way to justify it.

"Most of all, Iskra, I am sorry for hurting you; for causing you so much uncertainty. I didn't know... I thought you didn't care––I don't know." It doesn't feel right to mention their last pleasant night in this moment, because really that had never been the issue. She cannot blame all of this on that moment and she doesn't like the idea of tainting that memory with a lie––and yet it would be so, so easy for her to do so. To agree and tell the pirate it had been her directness all along that caused this rift between them. But that would not be Verity, who prefers to speak with her heart first even if she is doomed to endlessly regret it later. "I guess, I didn't really think that, but I let myself think that. I––" she closes her eyes again, but they don't stay closed for long, not when Iskra is pushing her hair back and she finds herself leaning into the warmth of her palms and realizes just how cold she is and has been. "You do make me happy, Iskra. As you are, you make me happy. You spark joy like I've never known or maybe forgotten..." She looks deeply into the captain's eye, cheek turned just so the corner of her lip is touching Iskra's palm. "Can you forgive me? Will you?"

 

[Syntra]

Overwhelming, that was what this was-- like trying to breathe when the world around you was burning, burning, burning, and only managing to fill your lungs with smoke. (Smoke as black as her own heart, really. Thousand times she had denied it, unwilling to cope with that truth, but now? Oh, now Iskra could see it. In vivid colors, in fact. Had her heart been pure, after all, it would not have yearned for that which it couldn't have-- for the sweet apple dangling above her head, just outside of her reach. There was no point to it, you see? Because she would never grasp it in her hands, no matter how close it seemed. Her arms weren't long enough, so that was where the story ended. And if, by some miracle, the apple fell down into her lap? Oh, as if she actually knew what to do with it! One who only dined on ashes could hardly appreciate the flavor-- fire had a way of marking you, and after a while, everything tasted like flames. You know how staring into the sun resulted into its image being burned in your sclera, for example? Into you seeing its phantoms everywhere, like millions of tiny will-of-the-wisps? This was the same, for these things stayed with you. They claimed you, and used you for kindling, and took and took and took from you till there was nothing left, and by the end of it? You said 'thank you,' for at least you got to be a part of something greater than yourself. So, clearly, the apple would be wasted on her. Someone else would come along, surely-- someone who knew how to savor it, and to whom it would bring much joy. Stealing it for herself was sinful, as there was no sin graver than not knowing your place. What good could ever come from that, anyway? House cats that played with lions would get torn apart, and-- and orchids who grew among dandelions would be strangled, with those roots that allowed for no breathing room. No, staying where you belonged was a proof of your wisdom. ...and yet, yet the wretched desire bloomed in her chest! So, so vigorously that she almost choked on it.)

"Not my princess," Iskra repeated, as if she wanted to find out how the words tasted on her tongue. (Sweet, vaguely. Kind of like dark chocolate, with these bitter undertones.) "Not your soldier." And, yes, technically, all of that was true-- the pirate had promised Verity her loyalty, though there hadn't really been any labels attached. The old patterns? She had slipped into them, kind of, because those were familiar shoes to fill. (Well-worn, even if not exactly comfortable. Once, they had made her bleed, but now her feet were rough and calloused-- the flesh had turned to stone, and stone couldn't be pierced. She had become her own armor, essentially. ...how did you take it off, though? And did she even want to?) "I did," Iskra conceded. "I did promise all of that, and I do value all of my promises equally. Like my memories, they, too, are mine. It's just that..." What, actually? What, what, what? Her thoughts were fog, and once she tried to grasp them, they passed through her fingers. "How am I supposed to be a friend to you when you are dead? Should I converse with your corpse? Bring flowers from my garden to your grave? Certain concerns just... supersede others. It's always been that way, in everything. Hunger for food and hunger for knowledge are terrible, but only one of those will kill you." Then again, how did one's ability to decide their own fate factor into it? Because the princess's speech did strike a chord with her, or perhaps several of them.

(...the note felt off-key for some reason, though, and the sound ran a shiver down her spine. Could it be because...? Oh, yes!)

"Decisions, decisions. I don't mean to take those away from you, Verity, but how can you even speak of them? As if you aren't robbing me of my decisions in the same breath! Why is it valid when you decide to risk your life for me, but I am not supposed to do the same for you? Where is the balance in that? The scales you are using are lying, I can tell, and--" oh. Oh. 'I'm sorry'? The sentence reached her ears later than the others, or maybe it was just its resonance-- a faint echo, really, because the raw power behind those words would have shattered her. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' Had anyone told that to her before? Iskra... didn't think so, actually. (Soldiers weren't made for apologies, after all. No, they were created to be broken, again and again, and then glued back together, if you found all the pieces. That was their function. Would you apologize to a wrapping paper after cutting it, the way it was meant to be cut? No, of course not. ...why, then, did Verity not understand? And why did it feel vaguely good, like a warm blanket around her shoulders?)

"I-- um. I don't..." Iskra stuttered, taking a step back. It was too much-- too much and, at the same time, also not nearly enough. ('...you make her happy,' a tiny voice in the back of her head whispered, and it filled her with joy. 'You have no right to,' a different voice said, and along with it, the despair came. Because, really, how could she? Was there cruelty greater than binding someone to you when you knew there was a ticking bomb where your heart should have been? ...by now, there wasn't much time left. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock-- in the dead of the night, when the stars had gone to sleep, Iskra could almost hear it. How much longer?) "It's-- it's fine," the pirate said, her voice tainted by sorrow. (And her eyes? For a second, they weren't those of Iskra, the fearless captain. No, they were large and scared, and might have belonged to a girl she could have been had they not killed her, over and over. ...too bad that, in a corpse, the eyes always rotted first. Something about the moisture, probably.) "I don't blame you, Verity. I never did, but... I don't know what to say to that. To all of that, I mean. I don't know how to be the woman you need me to be. You say I'm not a soldier, but I am not sure how to be anything else-- if I can shed my skin this easily. I've been wearing it for too long. You would, umm..." some strange sort of audacity took a hold of her then, and Iskra smiled shyly, "you would have to strip me of it. If-- if you wish to see whether there's something underneath."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity nods when Iskra repeats her rejection of their roles and titles––all the titles they have between them, Verity thinks, are shredded anyway. Were she not in exile, perhaps she would think differently, but her title, in combination with her lack of home, merely reminds her of Loss. (That she is a princess of nothing. Being able to keep the title only seems like a cruel insult and a bitter reminder of everything she is not.)

She doesn't linger on those thoughts for long, because Iskra pulls her back to her own argument and turns it against her. 'How clever...' When she hears it from Iskra's mouth she can gather the hypocrisy even if she doesn't necessarily think it’s valid; or rather, it's not that she doesn’t think it’s a valid position, she just doesn’t want to acknowledge that they are both as right as they are wrong. Arguing, she knows, won't get them anywhere either; the impasse is clear to her and something about that realization pulls her lips into a small smile with just a faint shimmer in her eye. Maybe because it confirms some unspoken, vaguely defined attachment. "Neither of us want to see the other die and yet both of us are equally willing to sacrifice ourselves for the sake of the other; I do not wish to create an argument of this, because I think we will only end up dizzy dancing in circles. So I won't ask you to not risk yourself for me, because I know that would be an impossible ask. In return, do not ask that of me... If I want to dive into a swamp to pull the last lever to a test, then you will have to learn to hold your breath. Similarly, I will learn to do the same––but you'll have to beat me to it," she says cheekily, a joke that she knows, somewhere, the pirate will take all too seriously.

It then occurs to her that one of their earlier conversations had revealed the smallest sliver of who Iskra was before becoming a pirate. When those memories whisper, and are confirmed by what the pirate says (not knowing how to be anything other than a soldier), she makes a connection that Iskra still operates from one role. The role she had been born into. This lands on her chest with a force so sad she might break, because the world is more than the stage and the roles fulfilled. And Verity’s privilege has allowed her to spend more of her life operating outside of a word; because of that she can see that the chains of its definition are false and are only as strong as the believer bound in them; and Princess Verity? She believes in more than just words. She hopes Iskra can learn to believe in something stronger than those chains.

“What you have said cuts me, because as I have told you before, I haven’t been bound to my role my entire life. Not like you," her voice is quiet, solemn almost when she acknowledges the differences between themselves. Though these differences may be wide, she knows that the gaps between them are areas to explore and understand more. She isn't scared of the abyss that separates them from understanding––she's more so scared of what it means to understand. "I know what Life is like without being anything or being part of anything... Let me help you see beyond titles and servitude, because the galaxy is so rich without those heavy chains. You may find that you like it and if you don’t, well, no one is saying the armor of your titles won’t be waiting in the corner should you want to return," she shrugs, as if she doesn't care one way or the other, but her next statement suggest she does have a preference. "But I beg you, for me, drop those roles because I have never seen you as just a pirate or just a soldier, I have seen you only as Iskra––as I suspect you may see me beyond Princess Verity––as you hardly ever called me that or even princess.” She quickly clarifies, “And I like that. It makes me think you see me as me and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I miss being just Verity. Maybe you will like being just Iskra. But you cannot know until you try and if you never try, well it’s like my grandmother always says, you could be missing half your Life.”

What Iskra suggests next? Verity hadn't expected that; not from Iskra, who stutters when she’s nervous and loses her heartbeat when Verity is too close. The pink hue that streaks across her cheeks show her astonishment as well as her pleasant surprise. She does not hesitate to accept the invitation to be coy, because if this is a game Iskra wants to play, she is more than happy to engage; though she should be warned that this is one Verity knows all too well and is perhaps a little infamous for. Where Iskra has taken a step back from the princess, Verity doesn't let the distance linger for too long and she steps forward, savoring her favorite bashful smile, and looking Iskra in the eye while biting her lip. “Iskra, I often wonder what it would be like to strip you of all your layers; it's quite tantalizing,” she replies, eyes doing a suggestive once over of the captain. With this invitation her mind wanders to several gardens and she wonders exactly what makes Iskra's bloom––beyond seeing a princess strip for her; that, she assumes, would cause anyone's lips to water.

Though it would be like Verity to get caught up in her imagination, her imagination must be left for a later time (unfortunately). Around them, the temple groans (perhaps impatient) and rumbles beneath them—not in a concerning way but certainly in a way that at least reminds Verity they still have a task to complete (and the task she is supposed to complete after? She’s not sure how she’ll handle it now; not with so much Truth spilled). She sighs, “Well, I suppose we can finish this conversation once we’re free of this place? I should like a scene that smells more pleasant than this anyway; perhaps your garden?” She asks with a suggestive smile while taking Iskra's hand and pulling her towards the final platform. (Which––it doesn't even occur to her to think of the implications of their earlier synchrony and triumph. Sure, they had their count and even then so many things could have gone wrong. Truly a feat to have gotten it on the first try; though Verity does not recognize it as such as she has already attributed it to Luck more than anything else.)

Once they’ve hoisted themselves up and are back in the main chamber of the temple, the chasm behind them closes. The mural from before shines much brighter now––if only because the incomplete circles and missing pieces of crystal are now filled in with contrasting colors that bring out the brilliance of the other. And the brightened mural is not the only thing that is different about the room. With the new light and all the shifting from the levers below, the room seems to be filled with a hologram (?) of a different galaxy. It’s an image or illusion so real that Verity truly believes she is like a Divinity standing in the middle of the universe, her creation––stars, nebulae, tiny, tiny planets and tinier moons fill the room. While she can still make out the walls and boundaries of the room, they are easily ignored by the map in front of them. However, easy as it is to get lost in this, she also notes that there is a path carved in this illusory map. When she follows the line of light with her eyes, it doesn’t seem to go anywhere; a portion of this map is missing––a portion big enough it would take years of guessing and dumb luck to find the destination.

"Well, the wayfinder isn't here," she muses, some relief and, simultaneously, disappointment existing in her tone. “And this map, which I assume will take us to it, is incomplete..."

 

[Syntra]

"I--" --cannot allow that. Will not allow that! Your life is precious, and so you must treasure it. There is no point in risking it for one like me, who has died over and over. It isn't worth anything, this aimless existence. I'm here because I have to. These words, and many others, were stuck somewhere between her throat and lips-- they burned, much like an alcohol too strong for her liking, and they wanted out, out, out. (She needed to get them out of her system, Iskra felt. Shouldn't Verity know the truth, after all? The exchange may have seemed fair to her, yes but that was an assumption born out of a false premise-- out of this sweetly-smelling, pleasant lie. Yes, a lie! Because, really, was it not true that you could lie with silence as well? Was it not a form of deception if you saw someone walking towards a trap, knew about it, and said nothing? Were you not responsible for their fall? Yes and yes and yes, thousand times over. So, if Iskra wished to consider herself honorable, she had to point to that faulty understanding of hers now! She had to-- had to--) "--I suppose that's true," the pirate ended up saying, to her own horror. "I will have to try harder, then, so that I die earlier than you do. I don't think I could handle it if death took you away from me."

(It was, of course, foolish. Lies had feet of clay, you know? You could try to walk on them, and perhaps they'd even carry you forward for a bit, but in the end, they always shattered under your own weight. ...in time, Iskra knew, she'd die. It was what she did-- just like spiders wove webs and trees produced fruit, soldiers bled and bled and bled, till there was nothing left. It would happen, inevitably, for death was her truest friend. Until then, though? The pirate could pretend that this body was more than just a prison of flesh-- that it was her, in the same way Verity was Verity, and that she only belonged to herself. That every breath she took was sacred, and not just a way to keep this machine in a tip top condition. ...huh. What was that like? Sweet or bitter, or something in between? The third option, most likely, because impermanence must have hurt in its own specific way-- much like admiring a butterfly's wings, and knowing their color would fade within a week. Maybe... maybe pain was just a symptom of existence, then.)

"Chains?" Iskra raised her eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Is that how you perceive it? Because that isn't how I think of my role. No, it is... something to lean on. A way to understand myself, in relation to this space I exist in. It is a part of myself, like my name or my arm or my leg. I suppose... it helps to remove ambiguity? When I don't know how to proceed, I look at the options that have been defined for me, and go from there. I'm not saying I follow them blindly, but..." the pirate shrugged, suddenly a bit shy, "it is a solid point in this vacuum, you know? In this nothingness. You can accept it or reject it-- either way, the contrast can serve you well. It is something, at least." Being just Iskra, though? Iskra, and nothing else? That thought resonated within her, like a note from a half-forgotten lullaby, and yet-- yet it also scared her. Without those crutches, would she even remember how to stand upright? Who was Iskra, without all of her props? Was there anything at all underneath her mask, or would her face crumble once she tried to take it off? (...maybe that would be for the best.) "But I have to admit, I am curious," the captain said. "I shall try. I-- I want to see for myself what that would be like. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps... perhaps Iskra's skin would be more comfortable to wear."

And, oh, when Verity looked at her like that? Iskra certainly didn't feel like a soldier. A soldier's heart didn't race in this manner-- not from a glance alone, anyway. (Blood didn't rush to their cheeks, either. By the Shade! What was it that Verity was doing to her, even? Some strange type of magic? A curse? ...if so, then she wanted to bear it, and wrap herself in her spell completely.) "Ah," she exhaled, suddenly keenly aware of how close the princess was standing. "Then-- then you may, once we return. If that is the kind of thing you'd be interested in." ...and if it sounded as if Iskra had no idea what she was talking about, then it only seemed that way because it was true! Still, she assumed, it couldn't be anything unpleasant. (It was hard to imagine that anything Verity might decide to do to her would feel that way, really. The princess was a sun, you see? And suns, with their gentle rays, were meant to touch flowers-- which, perhaps, was why Iskra could feel herself opening up. ...perhaps that was also why she craved her warmth, in the same way a woman lost in a desert might crave water. It was only natural, wasn't it?)

These thoughts, however, were shoved to the side when the Universe itself emerged in front of them, woven out of starlight. "By the Shade," Iskra put her hand over her mouth, entirely overwhelmed, "that is beautiful. But... perhaps we are meant to puzzle out the rest of the map? There has to be some clue hidden around here. I mean, I doubt the people who have built this pyramid would invest so much effort into this only for it to lead nowhere. No, Verity! I'm sure we are missing something here."

Iskra took a few steps closer, and, as fate would have it, literally stumbled into the answer-- she could feel something move beneath her foot, after which the map sort of rippled, as if it was the surface of a previously calm pond. ...huh? There was no time for them to examine it, though, for a female silhouette stepped out of the map. (She, too, appeared to be woven out of starlight. The woman had no face, nor features that could be described as human, yet she was beautiful-- a being formed equally by darkness and light, and yet belonging to neither. Equilibrium herself, truly.)

'Welcome, seekers,' she spoke, and somehow, Iskra heard it perfectly well even if she had no mouth. 'Welcome. Hmmm. What an interesting pair you are! A contradiction, but... yes, perhaps that is exactly what the wayfinder desires. In all things, there must be Balance, and the best sort of balance can be found on the knife's edge. Speaking of which...' The woman made a sweeping gesture and the floor opened beneath her feet, only for a strange mechanism to surface instead. It... seemed to be a double-edged sword? A double-edged sword connected to a bowl, silver and covered in strange glyphs. 'You need to prove yourself, seekers. Show me that you know what Balance is about. Grasp the Sword of Judgment, and let it reveal what is hidden in your hearts. Then, and only then, will the wayfinder find you worthy.'

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

"That's just not how––" Verity wants to say something to Iskra's point about the comfort of the role; how it can be treated as a guideline to follow; how it provides one option and then a choice to act differently should the path not be favorable. But whatever counterpoint or agreement or addition she has dies on her lips the moment that the woman made of starlight and abyss appears before them and begins to speak. The princess does not know who this woman is––if she is meant to be recognized at all, but her ethereal beauty stings at her eyes; parts of her want to look away but the magnetism is much too strong that she physically cannot resist and burns this woman into her eyes.

Her voice, so much like a homeward song, that Verity almost doesn't hear the words. On top of the scenery, her eyes do more than just sting and two small streams form from her eyes down her cheeks––completely overtaken and feeling as if her chest is about to explode with overwhelm. Eventually, though, the words connect with her brain and she follows the woman's hand to the double-edged sword. 'A test for the wayfinder...' she muses silently to herself. At first, because this is not a possibility she had ever considered, she thinks it is strange (though she wholly trusts the being before them––wondering silently if she is real or divine...). Though, if this is truly a thing designed by her people, those who insist on trials to even prove worthiness for the crown, it clicks: this is another competition. While this is not a pleasing revelation to the princess, who is done with trials and tests to prove worthiness, this one is far too important to pass on. If her competition is the pirate... Well, she doesn't doubt the others abilities, but she does doubt her ability to understand the way her people work and would design such tasks. In that, Verity believes she has the edge.

So perhaps with a more fearless heart than before, she steps towards the blade (though her eyes never leave the mythic woman––Verity needs capture her within her memories for as long as she exists and so that she can continue to exist). She grabs the edge first, with both hands, surprisingly and yet unsurprisingly without thinking about the possibility of being cut. And, as it would appear, that is hardly a concern because when she closes her fists around it, she doesn't feel a bite. Blood does not coat its layered steel edge. It's perfectly fine. 'Curious...'

Though she wonders that too soon, because once Iskra has her hands on the blade everything seems to change. With all the lights in the room, their tall shadows are cast in threes around them and then those three shadows start to move. Verity doesn't see her own at first, but the three shadows collect together behind her and form a larger silhouette of herself (and one of Iskra, similarly, forms behind her). Still, the princess remains calm and level. Though as the shadows, as her shadow, specifically, starts to move from its position behind her to circling Iskra, that's when her curiosity halts. While she doesn't know the name for this new feeling yet, she watches, now transfixed on what her shadow self is doing.

The shadow figure seems to dance around Iskra at first. She appears harmless. She caresses the pirate's cheek, strokes a finger down her chest and seems altogether quite loving. It's something how Verity feels now and so it feels comfortable to see this––how it must all look from the outside. That's when the shadow changes. She watches it grow, the shadow hair becoming like tendrils and snaking all around the pirate––in fact, the shadow Verity seems to shed a skin and the lower portion of her body turns into that of snake, wrapping and twisting and coiling around Iskra. This viper Verity moves in so many different ways it is, at first, difficult to separate all of her actions but she seems to squeeze the other, bite her with sharp-shadow fangs, and altogether tear her apart.

Tears, once more, streak the princess's cheek though they resemble something of terror as her heart stops and seems to strangle itself the more the shadow version of herself destroys her opposite. In its final moves, it reshapes itself back to its original form. This shadow Verity then circles behind the pirate, draws a shadow blade from her skin, and then––reaching around Iskra––sinks the blade into her heart.

As she watches, blood starts to spill from her palm, down the blade, and into the silver bowl below them. While the cut isn't particularly deep, what she feels is intensified like thousands of whips crashing against her––both inside and out and she wants to let go to make this pain stop, to stop what she is seeing, to stop Iskra from being consumed by this shadow Verity that feels like such a real part of herself she doesn't know what to do.