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

[Syntra]

'I wouldn't have asked it of you,' the princess said, and honestly? Iskra could find no lie in that statement. (...she wanted to, actually. So, so much! Because if this was merely a mishap born out of clumsiness, then all those fun, fun implications wouldn't apply-- you know, such as what she wanted not factoring into this at all. A sacrifice freely given? That, at least, was something Iskra could take pride in. A gift wrapped in her devotion-- a proof of how just deep her loyalty ran, really, and an affirmation that it transcended the boundaries of flesh. Verity could have had it! She truly could have had it, her blood and bones and everything else as well, had she just asked. ...except that, duh, this had never been about her. No, this was about the princess's wish, and... and she wanted this, for some reason. A blade concealed by silk, along with a kiss tha tasted of poison. Very well, then. Very well! Iskra wouldn't disrespect her choice, though that didn't mean she had to forsake hers. ...not when it still ached, like an open wound where her heart had once been.)

"No," the pirate agreed, "of course not. You didn't ask me, after all. You just took whatever you wanted. But I should have expected that, I suppose, for that is what it means to be a princess." Oh, how well the pirate knew! (The Holy Vessel hadn't asked her, either. All those sweet, sweet questions whispered into her ear? Commands in disguise, and a very thin one at that. ...because, really, how could a soldier refuse? A creature that had been raised to obey, obey and obey, to the point of slitting her wrists if it sparked her master's joy? The choice had been hers in the same way a clock could choose to tick, or a knife to stab.)

It was... peculiar, truly, to see Verity stumble over her own words. Peculiar and pathetic, in equal measure. (When had their roles reversed? This was supposed to have been her, Iskra knew-- her cheeks blushing and her mind reeling, indeed, as the princess wove scandalous images into her narrative with such staggering, staggering ease. Not much of a wordsmith anymore, it seemed! What had happened? Had she lost her hammer? ...maybe the princess had fogotten it in Iskra's head, right after smashing her skull to pieces. That, at least, made some sort of sense.)

And then, as if it wasn't enough on its own, the final nail in the coffin came. 'Do you hate me?' ...well. Well, did she?

Iskra stared at Verity, still expressionless-- facial muscles were usually the last ones to recover, and right now, the pirate was thankful for that small mercy. (Eyes were the mirrors reflecting her soul, after all, and... well, perhaps she didn't want her to have that sort of insight. What would she do with the knowledge, anyway? Pick a more strategic place to cut? Besides, it wasn't like Iskra even knew what would reveal itself to her in those blue depths. Teetering somewhere between anger and grief, pity and contempt, the desire to learn more and shut down entirely-- oh, by the Shade, it was too much! Too much for her to bear, but too much to just shrug off, too, and... and it would crush her, Iskra realized that. Still, what did that matter? Her body had been designed to break, so it only made sense that her mind would follow the suit. Beauty could be found in symmetry, so, yay! Praise the Shade.)

...that didn't solve her dilemma, though. How to answer? What did you even say in response to such a question, so boldly asked? Iskra didn't know, didn't, didn't didn't, and, as always when that was the case, she clung to the truth as her guiding light. (As her guiding star, although... no. No, it was safe to say that she wouldn't use this phrase for a while. So crystal clear it had been in her mind, pure like glass, but once glass shattered? Only shards remained, sharp enough to stab you, and Iskra-- Iskra had had enough of being stabbed. Oh, she was sick of it!)

"I don't know," the pirate finally whispered, her gaze downcast. (Facing her, in this very moment? That would have been like staring directly into the sun-- the same sun that had once warmed her, but now decided to be cruel, searing, blinding. ...perhaps it had been inevitable, actually? Because the duality had been there all along, tied into the concept itself. Refusing to see it had been on Iskra, and nobody else.) "I really don't, Verity. Should I?" The question cracked like a whip-- except that that wasn't her aim here. Not fully, anyway. "I mean it. Tell me what to think of this, princess, because I have no idea. Well?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

She clenches her stomach, bracing herself for blows that will never be physical––and in some ways, she wishes that they were. It is easier to nurse wounds that one can see, but the way she bleeds and bruises right now? There are no marks on skin. There's not even damage internally. Instead the Pain is visceral, all encompassing and were she standing, she would collapse to the ground, clutching her chest and begging for that foul creature to be released from its prison, because surely it is not a heart. Though that luxury is not hers. Here, she sits like an awkward child on her cot, heart hammer in her chest and trying to grasp some semblance of security. But it slips through her fingers like the wind––it's taunting too, because one can feel the wind and if its strong enough can even convince themselves that there is something to grasp. Iskra's words are something like that; powerful in the way they whip her around but they offer nothing for her to hold onto. (And, of course, she wants to hold onto hope. But it's dead. That's what happens when you murder it.)

It's not lost on her that Iskra refers to her as a princess for the first time since they have met––sure, she had acknowledged Verity's title before, but it had never been her name, like it is now, and it doesn't feel like a sign of respect. It is more like sentence she must live out. A marker of something she doesn't quite understand, because she doesn't really know what the princesses are like where Iskra is from, but the change, in this context, is hard to ignore. Hard not to tack on meaning when she has also just compared her to the Holy Vessel. And Verity knows that woman had been a bad one. So princesses, she assumes, must be as well. But maybe this is for the best. Being just Verity got her into trouble; scrambled up everything that had been true for her, because she forgot that just Verity does not exist for as long as Princess Verity is still alive. And she is. Regrettably.

Still, maybe an act of self preservation, she says, "I'm... That's not true." Her words, of course, are still weak because she has nothing to corroborate her statement. If she thinks hard, perhaps she could find instances where it isn't true, but none of that would be tangible for Iskra who never knew her as a princess. She knows her more as an exile than anything else. But if she could somehow show her what it has meant to her to be a princess... Maybe that could––oh she doesn't know. Why is she even bothering trying to get Iskra to see her in a flattering light when she has become the shadow of herself already and bore that for all the world to see? (Well, just Inure and the crew that cares for her now. To Verity, though, it does feel like the entire world.) If only she could grant Iskra the truth then maybe, maybe there would be solace in her knowing. Truthfully, Verity would like to tell her but it's a Painful story for her to share and part of her Fears that said aloud, it will only be foolish. That perhaps she made up all the demons in her head and there had been nothing to Fear all along. Then it would make her actions more deplorable than before and she's already crushed under that weight. Is it so wrong to want to stand on your knees for just a little longer?

Verity pulls her knees in tighter, wrapping her arms firmly around her bent legs when Iskra asks how she should feel about her. It's almost like when elders would tell her child self to grab a stick from the yard to punish her with for whatever infraction she had made; thought always had to go into that choice because a thin stick only meant more whippings and thick branches had more of that blunt force. Though, she thinks, this is not like that at all either. It cannot be, because she cannot use this as another moment to shield herself. Doesn't Iskra deserve honesty? Has she not suffered enough for it? It is the only thing Verity can give to her now.

With a heavy sigh, she looks the captain straight in the eye––noting how little the other is giving to her with her expressionless mask that makes the exiled squirm––and offers her honest opinion, "I would." And she already does, but she doesn't stop there. She can't. "I–I would hate me.. Or, or any person that, um," okay, she can't look the captain in the eye when she says this. She looks just past her, over her shoulder while her knees drop so they're criss-crossed in front of her, hands in her lap as she wrings them out. "Killed me," she whispers, eyes downcast in shame. Though somewhere she knows she hardly hates the villain of her story. With Iskra, however, she wants to spare her the misery of caring. "She, she'd be dead to me." Her stomach is in knots, tied together with all her words and while she doesn't want Iskra to hate her––she can't imagine a reason for her not to. Not after what she did. What she took without asking. It wasn't hers to take––Life is precious and she did not handle the captain's with care. Though she can feel more tears welling in her eyes, somewhat surprised she still has more left in her, she wipes them away hurriedly and forces out one more message, "When you know... I hope you'll tell me," she tries to look up again and instead of looking at the captain, she speaks to the yellow barrier between them (it's easier), "I am sorry, for trying to take you away." It might not feel right to her to apologize, but she does need or want Iskra to hear it from her, sooner than later, because the regret had been instantaneous. She does bite off the, 'I am glad it didn't work.'

 

[Syntra]

"Not true?" Iskra asked, tilting her head aside. (The movement was just as twitchy as the ones before it had been, though-- a sad, pathetic caricature of the usual gesture, so overdone it was a wonder her neck didn't snap. ...maybe that would have been better, too. Just, what was she gaining from trying to hold this conversation? No matter what Verity said, or how she said it, the truth would remain unchanged. The princess had killed her, end of. Without a warning, she had stabbed her, and Iskra-- well, Iskra had died, because that was the only thing she was good for, apparently. That was what they had designed her for, hadn't they? To throw her life away, again and again and again, and utterly pointlessly, too, since in order for your sacrifice to have some value, it had to be worth something first. So, why the sudden emptiness in her chest, again? Losing one's self was only a tragedy if there had been something to lose, and-- and she had been but a crumpled piece of paper, really. A single page from a notebook, covered in fading ink. What, exactly, had been destroyed by recycling it? ...nothing. Everything. Oh, by the Shade, she didn't know! And still, still something forced her to go through with this, stubbornly, like a bull spurned to action by a red flag.) "Can you pinpoint where I'm wrong?" she heard herself ask. "Because I don't think I am. Princesses have more than others, so they need to take. That isn't an indictment, mind you. Just a simple description of how this works. Resources don't just appear from thin air." ...as her people could attest, sadly enough. (Doom walked in her footsteps, always, always, always-- it was only natural, then, that it would catch up with her sometimes, too. That it would catch up with her, and slit her throat.)

And Verity? Verity, Iskra decided, didn't look like Verity anymore. Gone was the proud princess-- the thing that cowered in the corner was tiny and pathetic, and drowning in emotions the pirate didn't understand. (Why the tears? Because she hadn't succeed? Because, despite her best efforts, Iskra was still standing there? Perhaps she was afraid for her own life, now that the fearsome captain had risen from the dead. Oh, yes, that made sense! Doubtlessly, the princess had been torturing herself with her imagination-- picturing all those horrible, horrible things Iskra could do to her, in an attempt to avenge her past self. ...did she want to do it? No, not really. Again, what would she gain by that? A dead body, and a few more nightmares to haunt her sleep, and she had had enough of both of those to last her a few lifetimes.)

"You are not dead, though," Iskra pointed out the obvious. "And won't be any time soon, if that is what you are worried about. I may be a soldier, but I am not a murderer. Killing your prisoner would be as low as... as..." killing the woman who was kissing you, for example, though she didn't think that to be an appropriate comparison. No point in stressing the obvious, after all. "Forget it. I'm too tired to think of similes." And of talking to her in general, really, even if they'd barely begun. (Had it always been this hard, trying to find the right words? Iskra remembered struggling, struggling to capture all of those fickle, fickle meanings, but... well. Before, the words had been like a waterfall-- falling down, down, down from her lips, in a volume that had been entirely overwhelming, and the challenge had been in choosing the rare pearl among the rocks and seaweed and such. Now, though? The waterfall had been reduced to a stream, slowly dying in this terrible drought. There was nothing to say, you know? Just things to avoid saying, really, so that she wouldn't step on one of those obvious mines.)

"I will, if that's what you wish." Ah, yes! Falling back on the commands, as had been her habit for so, so long, seemed wise enough-- at least these shoes were well-worn, even if they gave her blisters. Except that, of course, it couldn't end with this wish alone. No, the princess just had to push harder! "...you did take me away, though," Iskra said, with quiet resentment. "I'm not the same person I was, nor will I ever be. Death isn't like sleep to me. I still pay a price." As for what it was, though? Verity didn't need to know, Iskra decided. (Too personal. Too painful, too, and bringing attention to it would be just putting salt in her wounds.)

"You'll stay here for the time being," the pirate rose from the box, suddenly feeling too ill to continue speaking. (The bile in her throat? Ugh, gross. Gross, gross, gross! ...grosser than that, though, was the monster inside of her who called for Verity's blood, or even the silence where words had once bloomed.) "I'd release you, but... well, I'm the only one with this condition here. Kill one of my subordinates, and they stay dead. And if that happens? I'll have to kill you, too, so this seems like the best option to me. We'll see about possible adjustments later. Now, is there anything you'd like to say before I go?" And oh, how she wanted to disappear! To hide in some dark hole and never crawl out, and forget this had happened at all. (To forget Verity's name, and hers, too. In her mind, they'd become intertwined, you know? ...what a foolish, foolish girl she was.)

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

For perhaps the first time since knowing each other, the exiled and the pirate are on the same page––both wanting to crawl into a hole and fade from existence. Of course, the reasons, while connected, are different. Verity's shame envelopes her and keeps her cold and shivering, with very little for her to hope for––so she may as well just whither. Even while the pirate guarantees that she will not be killed, well, that hadn't even been a worry in her mind. Whether because she knows Iskra enough to trust she wouldn't do something like that or because the thought itself had never been something to be scared of––she may have dreamed of it even––the words hardly move her. It's hard to imagine that beyond the pirate's biting truths, that anything she has to say will touch the exiled like it used to, now that she has been reduced to an unfamiliar numbness. One that scares a small part of her, but the rest is glad that her feelings are somewhat dulled. While her grief is present in full, the rest of her is shut off and there is an odd peace in that.

When the pirate asks her parting question, Verity wants to give her something to hold onto as much as she wants to push the pirate away. She wants to give her the peace of knowing her reason. She wants to keep that reason to herself. With her internal struggle waging a war inside of her, she offers Iskra the little she has, "I didn't do it because I was unhappy with you––I didn't." Her voice is quiet, and easily her words could be lost to the electric barrier, because that is louder than her own voice. She clears her throat, wanting to say more, wanting to let the pirate know that she will tell her, she will, but there are so many knots in her head and she hasn't begun to untangle them just yet and so she must wait. But she decides against it––decides that that is too much like demanding something of the pirate who owes her nothing (and yet she still lets her keep her Life––this will haunt the exiled).

Iskra leaves and as will become her pattern, the prisoner gives herself the privacy to cry and make rivers of her cheeks. She doesn't even cry because she had failed at whatever mission she had been sure she needed to complete––she still cries because she committed the act at all. Sometimes her hands still feel warm with Iskra's blood; and sometimes she can smell it too––so much so she would have puked if there had been anything left in her belly. It's perhaps worse knowing she has to live with the undead ghost too––where there is relief that she is still here with her, she knows that nothing can ever go back to the way it was and maybe she mourns that just as much as she mourns the Verity she used to be. Nightmares, too, are now a common occurrence. Sometimes they are the same and sometimes they are different; Verity cannot decide which she prefers, but they keep her restless until there are two bruises under her eyes.

The days pass, no longer in a haze, but really the only way she has a semblance of knowing the begin and end is when she is brought her meals––which does remind her she hadn't been fed. Though she never mentions that. It hardly matters since she still ignores the food in front of her, as she had in the beginning. Only when she feels her body is truly about to flounder does she eat, but the food hardly does anything to spark her appetite. Sometimes it brings back the memories of her time in the kitchen with the crew and the laughs they shared––the stories Verity used to tell them, all made up and all fantastical in their own way to help pass the time. While a small smile usually graces her lips, it disappears when she remembers what she has done to earn her place in this prison cell. She doesn't even bother making requests for extra blankets, which she does need, or pretending to want a better cabin. Resigning herself to squalor is how she feels some degree of penance if Iskra won't give it to her.

Finally, three or four days after Iskra's resurrection, once Verity has had Time to mull over how she wants to deliver this information to the captain, she asks, "Will you stay this time?" The pirate has come to deliver her first meal for the day and there must have been a silent agreement somewhere to suspend their usual breakfast discussions––with Verity having little to say and all, it made sense to not stew in deadly silence. But now, the exiled does have something to offer. "Um, you don't have to," she says, her voice quiet as she scratches her head. Her eyes are still slightly puffy from whatever shook her body last night. (The nightmares have been getting worse––or maybe they've plateaued, she isn't quite sure but they do keep her up in a cycle of starts, tears, and back to sleep when she's exhausted herself once more.) Excuse the weakness in her voice, she is tired. Though she remains on her cot, scared to get any closer as if getting nearer to the pirate will shatter her, she does scoot to the edge.

"If you want to know, I'll tell you––I-I've wanted to tell you, that I promise... I just," she looks down, knowing she is taking too long on this explanation that should have been served days ago. "It's difficult, and you deserve to know." 'I've taken so much from you already... This is your truth, if you want it.' "I cannot promise it will make anything better." Truthfully? That is not even her intention. A few days ago, yes, she had tried to figure ways to tell this without ruining her image, but her image had been tarnished long before she ever stepped foot on Inure and entered Iskra's orbit. There is no point in cleansing it. She decides, it's up to Iskra to make what she will of it in the event that she does want to know. If she does choose to know, Verity has already prepared herself for the worst.

 

[Syntra]

Sometimes, Iskra thought, words can be a noose. And the princess's next line? You know, the one about supposedly not killing her out of dissatisfaction? It wrapped around her neck, alright. (The rope pressed into her skin, tighter and tighter and tighter-- every syllable may as well have been burned into it with hot iron, it seemed, because Iskra had no doubt that they would follow her for the rest of her days. 'I didn't do it because I was unhappy with you.' How to parse that sentence, even? That she had been unhappy with her, but killed her for some other reason? That kind of interpretation seemed absurd from the way the argument was structured, but... well. The other explanation was absurd, too, wasn't it? The one that included Verity being happy with her, and then expressing that happiness with a sword buried in her chest. That was the way it had always been, though. Just, reality swirling around her, like smoke carried by the wind, and her being unable to grasp it. ...perhaps her hands were simply ill-suited for any task that didn't revolve around wielding her sword, then. Yes, that had to be it.) With her throat too tight for words, Iskra just nodded-- a confirmation that, yes, she had heard. Now, the implication of understanding? That was baked into the gesture as well, though she hadn't actually said it, and if the princess read it that way, the responsibility was on her. "Goodbye for now, then. I shall visit you later."

And that the pirate indeed did, over and over and over. Not that she particularly wanted to, mind you-- the task of bringing Verity her meals dug up some memories that should have remained in their graves, but none of her subordinates wanted anything to do with that. ("You're kidding, right?" Ylna rolled her eyes. "She acted like an adoring puppy around you and yet she had zero reservations around stabbing you in the fucking chest. Do you want me to die, captain? If so, then don't be a coward and do it yourself. I'd prefer your blade to hers, anyway." Others weren't so blunt, but in their eyes, Iskra could read the same kind of rejection, and so she gave up. ...which, hey, wasn't that only appropriate? Giving up and dying-- two flavors, so intimately familiar, now combined into one bitter, bitter cocktail. How efficient. It had always been her fate to drink from this cup, it seemed, so why not drink all at once?)

At least her visits were brief, this time around. Had she actually had to talk to the princess, her heart might have overflown, you see? Because it hadn't been designed to handle these strange, conflicting feelings brewing in her guts. (Wanting to kiss her, both with her mouth and her blade. Wanting to release her and clip her wings at the same time. Never wanting to see her again versus never leaving this room, so that they might lose themselves in one of those conversations that had come so easily, so naturally to them in the past. ...except that, you know, those times were gone. Gone like the past year's snow, or perhaps like the light of a star that had been quelled by time itself. Slowly, the worst anger had left her body, but the terrible emptiness? The sense of not knowing what to say, even if her head was full of wild thoughts? That remained in place, hanging over them like a dark cloud. ...perhaps every relationship had a finite supply of words, and they had simply run out of theirs. Perhaps they should have been more frugal, then-- perhaps they should have saved them for times like these, when a good word could have spared them so, so much pain. The problem was that you couldn't build your life out of could haves and should haves, though, and wanting to... well, that was a sign of foolishness.)

So, gradually, her life slipped into a new kind of monotony. Always, there was this dull ache in the background, but so what? If ignored for long enough, it would disappear, Iskra was convinced of that truth-- or, rather, it would join the chorus of all the other pains that she was carrying inside, and its voice would fade into obscurity. (Maybe, if the Shade was kind enough, it would take away this memory from her when another death came. A sacrilegious thought to be sure, and a cowardly one as well, though the pirate just couldn't help but flirt with it, you know? With the prospect of that sweet, sweet release. It would have been as if it had never happened, in her mind at least, and then she could pretend that Verity was still hers, in the way she had once been. That she still wanted her, in the way she had once had. Wanting someone had been nice! It had made her feel more connected, somehow, to this fleshy prison they'd locked her soul in.)

Still, there was no point in mourning that loss-- mourning in general wasn't a privilege given to soldiers, who caused so much suffering just by existing. (The one who wielded the sword died by the sword, and the same was true of anguish as well. You had to embrace it, you know? If you didn't want to be a hypocrite, at least, which she indeed didn't. So, when viewed from this perspective, Iskra should have been entirely okay!)

...which may have been why, when the prisoner asked her to stay, the pirate only nodded. "If you wish so, princess." It still eluded her why she would want her to do that, really, when all of their interactions had been so awkward, but surely, there must have been a reason? Ahh, yes, there it was! Iskra swallowed, looking more panicked then anything else-- a deer caught in the headlights, or perhaps a mouse who had realized too late that the delicious piece of cheese was just a trap. Still, it only lasted for a heartbeat, and then her expression morphed into her usual neutrality. "Very well, then. You may speak."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Though Verity chews on her lips, eyes dancing around the room waiting for the captain's reply, she does catch that brief glimpse of something else on her features; like her mask had dropped and the prisoner had been too slow to capture what was meant in the reaction. She doesn't waffle on it for too long, however, because now it is her turn to feel caught––even if this is a trap she had set, and one she had set for herself. It's necessary, she knows this, and for as much as she has rehearsed how she wants this to happen, having delicately picked out her words, they have all left her. Forsaken her like her ancestors have. Her jaw tightens a bit as she adjusts her position, fingers wrapped around her cup of soup like a snakes. She nods, clears her throat.

"Like I said... This may not be any better than being in the dark and still, you need to know you did nothing wrong, Iskra," her voice is still quiet and subdued, but there is pleading in her tone as well, because it agonizes her thinking the captain might blame herself the way she blamed herself for the last time Verity had pulled away. 'This is completely my own.' Suddenly, her mouth becomes dry and she can feel the cracks in her voice before they even happen, so she sips on the broth and concentrates on the flavor. Yes, if she thinks she is talking to the soup and not Iskra, maybe that will make this easier. Well, that doesn't work either because the words die on her lips once more––as they have each time she has tried to get the captain to stay and failed to even mumble a pleasantry. Some miracle must have taken over before to give her the strength today and now it is gone. She decides to close her eyes, because she truly isn't strong enough to say this to the captain's face (and she wishes she was different).

"You've asked me some about my life in my homelands, and each time I've dodged the topic and instead told a story about the lands––you probably know more about our beliefs than you do of me and, well," she realizes she is stalling for more Time, but this also feels necessary, "the truth is, I don't really have a home anymore and so I don't much like to talk about it." Even with those closest to her she has refused. She will never understand how Halen can be so cavalier about living out in exile, but, then again, that woman has the same sentimental bone of a rock. If it bothers her, she doesn't and won't let on. "I don't say this to draw your pity––I have enough to last me and a world combined. I tell you this, because the woman who took my home from me," she chokes and takes another sip of her soup. Her lungs are now starved of oxygen as an uncomfortable heat flares through her; something hungry and she doesn't quite know what it's hungry for, but she dodges it at every chance she gets because it's so unlike her––or at least who she thinks she is? Or who she thought she was? Who she wants to still be? She isn't sure. But that woman has left such a deep scorch on her essence, she finds it hard to keep her wits whenever she is mentioned––perhaps why she turned away from Halen, who never can shut up about her.

One hand drops to her thigh and she she squeezes it until the pressure feels enough to be bruising, if she held it for a second longer, which she doesn't. She just needs something to help calm herself. As hard as this is for her, she must press on. That's what Iskra would do––she believes as much at least and if the captain is so honorable, she would rather follow her footsteps than her own. "Is the same woman who sent me to exile, is the same woman who," she pauses, again––somewhere she worries that Iskra is annoyed with how long this is taking. This isn't even a long story and yet she draws it out as if it was something more. This time however she is stilled by a memory. ('Princess! Princess!' a small child cried, one arm over her mouth as she coughed on ash and smoke, running towards the princess. 'What is it little one? What are you still doing here? Let's get you somewhere safe,' Verity had said, concern etched deeply on her features as she took the child under her wing and started to lead her towards one of her officers. 'Something's wrong with mama, she––she won't wake up, Princess. Can you wake her up?') Her eyes fly open, then, sweat heavy on her brow as she looks around at her surroundings, settling on Iskra. Remembering where she is and the story she is meaning to share. "Right, sorry––" she mumbles and hurries on, "She took everything from me."

"I didn't come on this ship because I wanted to reclaim an artifact important to my people––that had been part of my reason, but that was not it entirely," she finally admits. "Inure and the wayfinder are legendary relics, of course, but the wayfinder in particular has properties... Well, I'm not entirely sure exactly what it is or what it does, but I am convinced it could help me take back what has been lost," though she doesn't really want that. She won't admit it, but she wants to not only avenge the innocent, she wants revenge more than anything––that however, is something she struggles to accept about herself. It would be so ugly to lead the Restoration on the fuel of revenge, especially when she seems to be the only one who wants it. "So when we started the trials––trials I assume are similar to the ones I went through to try and attain the crown––I was certain you were being favored for the wayfinder and that surely you would be its master, and that thought... Well, as I mentioned once before, I have my own people to save too, Iskra... I made a choice. A choice I regret, because it was not mine to make and it didn't solve anything in the end."

And her story still doesn't solve what she would have done had she known Iskra cannot die from a single death, but must suffer many deaths several times over before she is released from service. It does not solve that she acted in such a rash way––it hardly explains that, to be quite honest. She is aware of this and so she swallows again. 'I had the opportunity, once, to prevent furthering suffering and faltered, because of my affections; because of my hope that woman could be healed if she were just shown how to care... But she did not hesitate in trying to end my life and the lives of so many others. In that moment, before I stole you, I felt I could not make the same mistake twice and cost more lives. But your loss has been the greatest burden on my essence.' All those pretty thoughts disappear from her and instead she finishes with, "I saw something that I imagined."

 

[Syntra]

Silently, Iskra listened. (The princess's speech twisted and turned, like a narrow path in the mountains, but so what? As long as it led her home, the obstacles on the road hardly mattered. ...and, besides, the pirate enjoyed Verity's voice. Something about that cadence appealed to her-- that quiet but urgent tone that gave you the impression that, yes, there was so much more under the surface than you could possibly imagine. So, so many things! Verses from poems yet unborn, for example, and the whispers of her ancestors, and ideas so solid they could even shatter steel should they be flung with a strong enough force, but also-- also poison disguised as wine, apparently. You know, the one she had made her drink before, and with such remarkable ease. Will I never learn? Because, oh, this could be the same kind of trap! A trap made of honeyed words, for honey was both sweet and sticky-- the sweetness lured you in, yes, but the stickiness made you stay, whether you wanted or not. And when the spikes emerged from its sugary depths? Your fate was all but sealed! Maybe this was her destiny, though-- to repeat the same mistakes over and over, like a planet always rotating around its own axis. ...all those years ago, something had set her in motion, it seemed. Akin to a whirligig, Iskra spun and spun, directionless, carried by her own momentum only. Where would she land? Did it matter, even? Did anything matter, in truth, when what should have been the game over only meant a pause in the endless grind? Death was the ender of cycles, the period that gave a meaning to the sentence, and Iskra-- Iskra would never have that. Not truly, anyway. Onwards and onwards she'd march, yes, but forever repeat the same pattern.)

For all those reasons, and for many others, the pirate continued to listen. The mask she wore, though? It remained fastened to her face, even as the princess drowned in herself. Didn't do anything wrong, huh? You have a curious way of expressing that, then, she thought, with so much bitterness it almost made her gag. (Lies, lies and filthy lies! Iskra may not have known much about affection, and she would be be the first one to admit that, though one thing didn't escape her-- rarely was the promise of loyalty coated in the other person's blood. On no, no, no. So, what was this? Some bizarre performance designed to spare her feelings, now that it had turned out she had more in common with cockroaches than other people? That severing the thread that bound her soul to her body was impossible? Such a foe was worrisome, Iskra knew, and Verity surely had enough acumen to realize that. It only made sense to try to remove the foe in some other way-- such as turning them into an ally, maybe.) Except that then... oh, then the aftertaste dissolved into something else. (The flavor felt neutral on her tongue, almost unremarkable. Kind of like pure water, you see? The thing was, water was exactly what you needed to put out a fire, and Iskra felt the last sparks of her anger die. ...her flesh remained scorched nonetheless, though. The kiss of flames always left you scarred, without exceptions, but at least the destruction spread no more. That was a win, right? Unless the fire had only stopped because it had nothing to devour anymore.) "I... don't have a home anymore, either," the pirate whispered. "Due to my own actions. That is why I'm trying to correct my mistakes, through all means available. So, in that sense, I suppose I understand." And, by the Shade, did that hurt! It would have been easier to paint Verity as the villain in her mind-- as an oathbreaker, honorless, who had stabbed her in the back on a pure whim. Instead, however? Iskra understood and understood and understood, so, so deeply, and every breath taken crushed her lungs. This is your fault. She won't say it, but it is. Had you never tried to take that which belonged to her people, you wouldn't have been in this situation. Your paths never would have crossed, even. And wasn't that alone a proof you shouldn't deny your fate? Because, clearly, their trajectories hadn't been designed with the other in mind-- which was why they were sitting here now, both shattered by the impact. (Two broken women, instead of just one. How... apt. Wasn't it only fitting for Iskra's hand to destroy everything it touched, herself included?)

"But, I... I don't understand. Me, the wayfinder's master?" Iskra looked up and finally, finally her expression showed a hint of emotion. (Anger? Fear? No, more than that, it seemed to be... confusion, truly. Standing on a crossroad and not knowing which path to take.) "I didn't conceptualize it that way. I thought that, umm... we were winning it together. I am not a master of anything. I cannot be. I just... I was wrong, clearly. Foolish." Well, at least they'd cleared that up somehow. The knowledge that Verity had killed her for a thing stung somewhat, though why? That Iskra couldn't tell, especially since she was a thing, too, and... and a way less valuable one at that. The exchange made sense, did and did and did! (Despite that, however, her heart closed somewhat. It did so automatically, like a hedgehog wrapping itself in its spines upon sensing a threat.)

"I never realized how little I knew about you," the pirate said, oh so quietly. "That is fair, I guess, since you know little about me. Perhaps we should talk about this more, too, to bridge the gap a little bit. Will you join me for a walk?" Because, yes, there was still something to be gained from this-- even with her heart wavering, torn between... oh, by the Shade, Iskra knew not what the two sides were! Not anymore, anyway. (Blurry, blurry, blurry, all of it. Clear edges had disappeared from her world, it seemed, when the Holy Vessel had taken her last breath.)

The second they left the cell, though? The string of her thoughts was severed by a chanting, or something similar. A group of women was standing near the railing, watching something that Iskra couldn't see, and... squealing in joy? Alright. Alright, now that was an interesting sight to behold! "What is happening here?" she asked. "Is everything alright?"

"Oh," one of the women turned around, "you've got to see this, captain. The dolphins came! Myrne said they seek a strong source of light, one per hundred years, to teach their young ones navigation, and consuming that star must have..." That smile, though? Yes, it died on her lips when she saw Verity, and she wasn't even trying to hide it. "What are you doing here?"

Iskra paid no attention to her anymore, however. Instead, she approached the railing, and oh, here they were-- dolphins, so many of them, indeed, red and blue and green, shining with the reflected light of stars. (They sang, too, their symphony of high tones. Most of them Iskra didn't hear, for they took place outside of what her brain could grasp, but those fragments? Oh, those were stunning, too! ...perhaps because she could imagine the climax and it would be perfect, in a way reality could never be. A pure, untainted picture.) "Do you know?" the pirate spoke to Verity, though her eyes were still fixed on the scene. "In my country, we always said the dolphins bring you a wish, from a faraway galaxy. Ask for something, and it will be yours. What is it that you want, Verity?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity swallows as she waits for the captain's reactions, and pays debts yet to be owed a thousand times over before Iskra even opens her mouth to offer what she understands of the situation. Though she does not give the exiled much to hold onto, at first, when she offers to take her on a walk, she... No, she cannot be hopeful of anything. It's not her right to continue to want the person she threw away. No matter how much she regrets the action, she will never be absolved of her crime or guilt. These are reminders of the thing she is and the cruelty that exists within her; something she wants to put out, because she never wants to be anything like the queen, and yet her actions and their Consequences only make it appear so. She Fears for the day she may look in the mirror and not recognize the animal she has become in her exile. 'What a desperate creature.'

She follows by the captain's side, or a half step behind, completely unsure of her place and where she even belongs. Though she is grateful for the chance to be out of her cell, it doesn't feel earned deserved. (If Iskra will not give her what she deserves, at least Verity has all the tools to destroy herself.) Her gait is not as confident as it once had been walking through this ship. Even when she first came aboard, she walked in as if it was hers. And when the captain had allowed her the freedom to roam the ship, she still walked through the passages with confidence even if she knew the crew had not been pleased with her then; of course, back then, it had been her mission to win over the crew and see how deep their loyalties were. Now, she has lost that privilege. So in a way, walking behind the pirate is like using her as a shield from all the eyes that may stab her. She walks with her shoulders slumped forward, eyes downcast, and one hand gripping her arm for support. The old part of her that is not dead yet, wants to grab Iskra and link their arms together as they had... as they had in the garden. She doesn't dare touch her or get any closer than she already is.

"That is not the way, Iskra," she says, as they walk, referring to the idea that two people can be the wayfinder's master. "For the trials are meant to see who is best," that she is still certain. It's not even that she is doubling down or digging her heels into a clearly false position, it is just what she knows. It is the only frame of reference that she has. If her people had a known history of Change, she may have believed otherwise or been creative enough to see another possibility, but as it stands, the exiled knows only this. "Two cannot wear a crown; two cannot wield the queen's scimitar––the trials of Glory and Gore had been designed to identify the most competent leader for Aurora," though, even she knows they had become more like games and fodder to satiate the masses. (What a bitter pill that had been to swallow when she made that discovery; back then, Halen laughed at her naivety for taking so long.) "Ah, but..." she begins to run around in her head; thinking of all the implications of what she is saying and how she is turning Iskra into a knowing player in these game. 'No, no. This is good. She needs to know we are competitors. Not allies. We... can never be allies now.' "If you are meant for it, you are meant for it. The trials will reveal that," she nods, focusing and unfocusing her eyes as she continues to admire the floor beneath her and all the dancing wisps of light that still glitter through Inure. (Those little lights that started this all––how the pirate allowed her to restore this ship to its former Glory. How moved Iskra had been by the majesty of this friendly giant. How shortly afterwards, Verity herself had agreed to aid Iskra's plight... And how Iskra had told that she would be the princess's from that day onward. She imagines that much is not true anymore.)

She sighs, grimacing and creating narratives of what the pirate must think of her now. 'I am an oathbreaker now and I was the moment I made that false promise... Have I ever been true with her?' She knows that in part, yes, she had been. But in so many ways, the ways that mattered most, she feigned her ultimate loyalty, because she already had promised her loyalty to the Restoration. A princess already has fealty to her people, she could never have been loyal to the captain. She cannot be loyal to her now or ever. She has damned herself to be forlorn with the little games she played on herself, stringing the captain along without her knowledge. Doomed to know the truth only when the knife was in her chest and back. (At least she showed herself a backstabber; she did not hide that.) "Ah, what do you still wish to know of me?" she whispers, resigning herself to float in this purgatory of not knowing. Not knowing where she stands. Not knowing what she wants. Not knowing what she'll do when Halen tracks Inure. (She must be only a day and half away at this point.) And where she desires to continue knowing the pirate, she is still too scared to ask her questions and convince herself that she still has a friend; but she does want to know. Desperately too. And she will still keep her hopeful eyes waiting for that green light.

When they arrive above deck and the crowd of crew all seem to be squished together trying to catch a glimpse of some spectacle, the prisoner immediately feels the color drain from her face. She cowers behind Iskra, embarrassed she using the captain as a shield when this ship should be hers anyway! Well, she tries to tell herself that to feel strong, but it doesn't really work, because she doesn't truly believe it anymore. Even as a princess, subject to criticism everyday, these stares are a far more intimate affair. And when the woman asks what she's doing here? She doesn't answer. Her words are locked away. There are no right answers. She averts her gaze away and settles on the––

Dolphins? In so many colors that she's never seen before! Her mouth hangs agape at the spectacle. The sage sisters did not have too many documents on the creatures lingering in space, and though some of the books in Iskra's collection had spoke of some, never has she heard of these beautiful creatures, floating and swimming through endless space. She gasps, a faint twinkle returning to her eyes, feeling this overwhelming sensation of wonder that it reaches just the edge of her eyes. "Oh my," she whispers, fixing her gaze on the dolphins to ignore the lasers in her back, the ones being shot at her by the crew's disapproving glares and glances. (And to think this happened because Inure has been restored!) "I..." her brows knit together as she looks at the captain, who is looking at the colorful creatures. "I don't think I can wish for anything." But if she felt otherwise, she would wish for peace. Peace in the broadest sense. For herself, for Iskra, for her suffering people––for all suffering peoples really, ever the idealist. Yes, she would wish for that comfort to wrap around the Cosmos like a blanket. "What do you wish for? Y-you are much, much more deserving of such blessings."

 

[Syntra]

Was that indeed true? This idea that they would always exist in opposition, much like death and life, or war and peace. Two straight lines that ran closely to one another, but without ever intersecting-- stretching forward, endlessly, in their loneliness. Existences incompatible on every conceivable level, really. Had the Shade indeed prepared such fate for them? Had that tapestry been woven out of disappointment, bitter enough to make you gag? (Maybe. Maybe, but maybe not. Because, in truth, wasn't the dichotomy described above just the fruit of the human mind, oh so used to judging, judging, judging? All too often, the category were just crutches-- a convenient way of conceptualizing the world, that would otherwise have been too vast for them to embrace. Belonging to the box X did not mean you were a sworn enemy of the contents of the box Y! In fact, in order to exist, one box needed the other-- for without war, you wouldn't know what peace was like, and vice versa. Definitions required both extremes, and... and perhaps the wayfinder worked in a similar way. Perhaps it needed them both, just like they'd both been needed to pull the levers or solve the mystery of the first trial. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps! ...perhaps Iskra was also lying to herself, though. Wasn't the sweetest lie the one you had concocted, after all? Since you'd know which tastes to cater for.) "I have no idea, Verity," the pirate sighed. "I just... need some time to think about all of this, I suppose. It's been a lot."

'You've been a lot,' she almost said, but in the end, those words remained locked inside of her head. (Was that supposed to be a compliment, or an insult? Both seemed true at the same time, and yet none of it was, and Iskra-- well, maybe Iskra would like to choose what she said more carefully from now on. How could she not, now when it was clear that anything that fell from her lips might be used against her? Because Verity, oh, Verity wouldn't hesitate, Iskra knew that now. ...a fire seemed to be burning in her soul, too. It hurt her, demanded its payment in ashes, as it always did, but if the pirate attempted to bandage those wounds? It would burn her, too. Flames weren't designed to be touched! So, no matter how much she wanted it, Iskra wouldn't allow herself to become close with the princess. No, not anymore. That period had been a dream, beautiful but brief, and clinging to it would have been foolish, foolish, foolish. A sign of a soul lost, truly, which... no. Losing her country had been enough-- losing herself, or whatever remained of it, would have been insult to those who waited for her return. A slap in their face!)

So, the dolphins. The dolphins were delightfully uncomplicated-- they contained no dichotomies, no multitudes, no contradictions. Led by an ancient instinct buried in their thick skulls, they simply danced across the stars! And that was all they were, too. (Pitiful, if you viewed it from that angle. Pitiful, but also staggeringly touching in its clarity, and Iskra-- Iskra may have wished to join them, for a second or two. ...to become literally anything that wasn't her, really, with her thoughts so sharp they even cut her own fingers. You know what it was like, to reach inside of your brain and end up with needles under your nails? Oh, she did. She did, she did, she did!)

"What it is that you are saying, princess?" Iskra finally turned away from the sight, confusion written in her eyes. "The dolphins bring wishes for everyone. There is nobody on this ship who is inherently less worthy of their blessings, for they chose to share them with all who are watching. Do not disrespect that choice, please." Ridiculous, truly. Why should the dolphins care that Verity had killed her? In the grand scheme of things, Iskra was but a speck of dust-- a tiny spark captured in her fleshy prison, marching on and on and on. What made her more deserving of anything? All life was the same, in the eyes of these creatures. "Although... I suppose I don't know that, either, actually. I'd wish for the wayfinder, or for some other way to help my people, but I don't feel like that's appropriate, you see? For that is my cross to bear. I failed them, so I need to wash those sins away. Pushing the responsibility on the dolphins... I can't help it, it feels cruel. A fate they don't deserve. So, aside from that? If I had to wish for something," and she had to, after what she'd said to Verity, "then I'd like to know myself better. To know what I should wish for, for I'm sure I must have wanted more than this at some point, but... I don't remember. Not anymore. Are you familiar with the feeling, princess?"

One of the dolphins swam closer, then-- perhaps lured by the combined symphony of their voices, Verity's honey and Iskra's steel. Eagerly, it raised its head and smiled, it seemed, in this mischievous way. "Go on," Iskra quipped. "Touch it, if you want. They crave it, or so I've heard."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

In some ways, this small break from her prison is needed if she is to continue to persevere; before the loneliness of her cell turns every thought into something too heavy for one person's mind to tackle. As it is, she only narrowly manages to hold onto her sense of self or even remember that there is a bigger picture and a much larger story unfolding that she must remain a part of in order to get that happy ending––not for herself, but for her people. So, being outside does ease some of her burden even if she cannot escape the feeling that she is in an unsafe place with all these watchful eyes just waiting for the moment she becomes a snake again. Not that that moment will ever happen, but she knows it has to be on the minds of the crew and perhaps even Iskra's, should the captain be wise enough to be wary.

The happy, chirping dolphins may do nothing to untie the knots in her stomach, but they are a distraction and if there is one thing the exiled has always been good at, it's running. Though, that only reminds her of her exile. 'Maybe,' some dark part of thinks, 'I never should have ran. At least then this mess would have all been resolved one way or another, in my blood or hers.' The little twinkle in her eyes disappears as she gets lost in things she meant to avoid. She slouches forward, arms resting over each other on the railing while she rests her chin on top, feeling surprisingly far away from this moment––as much as she does want to enjoy this. But joy seems to be away from her right now. "Alright," is all she offers to the captain––not really feeling up to arguing with her ridiculous point. She can feel a counterpoint bubbling up in her, because it's ridiculous to think that these dolphins would simply want to grant the worst of humanity a wish simply because they observed the creature's existence. If Iskra wants to believe that, Verity won't try and change her mind. There's no energy in her to entertain the nonsense they used to fool themselves with.

"I do like your wish," she says, hanging one hand off the rail as she turns on her cheek to look at the captain. Now that she thinks about it, it's a wish she would want for herself. It is the wish her ancestors had wanted for her too when giving her this name, Verity. Know yourself. Know your truth. "You should ask for it." The exiled lingers on Iskra's comment that she does not remember a Time when she may have wanted something more. Is she lost? (Is she lost, too?) It's easy to lose the self when reality is so messy; to forget what convictions may, at one point, have set one straight––Verity is learning this herself, now, in the harshest way possible. (Of course, the Divinities would not have delivered such a harsh slap in the face had she paid more attention to all the other variations of this lesson that got her to this point. Life, in this regard, is a game of mastery and the lesson in knowing thyself is a bitter one Verity has run into again and again and again. Somehow never learning it, for one reason or another.) "Yes, I am. Of not knowing myself. Of feeling like there is ghost of someone who might have known more, undead within me," 'taking up space in her miserable hauntings.' Her face screws automatically at the thought, like her tongue has touched something bitter.

"Curious," her tone is disturbingly removed from the present, in fact she might even sound apathetic. "How did you come to forget yourself?" Not that Verity necessarily knows when she lost her way either, but maybe if the pirate knows she can take this knowledge for herself and reverse it to figure out exactly who she is supposed to be, because she just doesn't know. All she knows is that she is disgusted with who she is and the woman who stares back in all her reflections. 'Deplorable thing.'

When the dolphin approaches her, it's hard to argue with Iskra that these creatures may also crave touch and she does show just a twitch of a smile. Especially as this one stares longingly at the hand she has hanging over the rail, as if tempted to pet herself against the exiled's hand but wanting the person to do it herself. "Yes, you think so?" she teases, but it falls much flatter than it would normally. Still, she straightens up and looks at the animal and all its shifting shades of color––from the lightest pink to the darkest red. "Hello," she says, outstretching her hand to let the other know that it is okay to come closer, that she will in fact relinquish her from being so obviously touch starved. The dolphin chirps back a response, swimming closer, and it's hard for Verity to not giggle––it would have been inhumane to not acknowledge the chirp in such a way! Anyway, she touches the animal's head, stroking her smooth skin and what Verity does not notice is that as her hand drags along the dolphin's body, its color seeps into her hand, leaving a faded, lesser trail of color in its wake. It's not until she pulls away and catches the faintest glimpse of her palm that she realizes something is wrong––that she has done something wrong. The brief glimpse is nothing she investigates in the moment, but she does see the blood stain on her hand. It could very well be a trick of the light, but it causes such a shock to her system––so reminiscent... Her breathing quickens with her pulse and she balls her hand into a fist and shoves it deep into her pocket.

While startled as if she has seen a ghost, and honestly being around Iskra is like seeing a ghost, she plays it off cooly as she is able. "Th-that was, um, neat. I've never touched a dolphin before, not even the ones in the ocean," with her thoughts racing, more and more leaves her lips. "I always wanted to, and just never set aside the Time––I suppose I always figured there would be more Time. My mothers used to send back photos of any they saw while at sea." She begins to wonder if her palm is truly red or if her imagination is punishing her once more. She wants to check. She is tempted to check. She cannot not––not in front of so many others, not in front of Iskra. A mark of her guilt. Had the dolphin known? "...I don't suppose you have heard that dolphins are notorious for scaring away sharks have you? I've always imagined them like the noble knights of the ocean, in that regard."

 

[Syntra]

A ghost, undead within her. Why did that sound so, so familiar? A turn of phrase so close to her heart, really, that if Iskra were to rip it out of her chest, she was convinced she'd see it carved into the organ-- into that wretched, useless thing that kept pumping blood into her veins. (...what would it be like if it stopped? A relief, unmistakably. A relief that might be accompanied by pain, yes, in the same way a funeral song always followed a burial, but that was kind of expected, you know? Having to pay for the privilege of release. No, the pirate told herself. Stop. You have no right to rest just yet. That, after all, was why Iskra still lived on-- why her fading essence, faint like the last wisps of smoke from a fire long since extinguished, held on so stubbornly. Responsibility was her chain! The hook had been shot through her chest, and now it was pulling, pulling, pulling her towards her goal, much like a dog on a leash would be pulled. ...at least that was what Iskra liked to think, anyway. The idea that the Shade only kept her alive because it, too, knew no other way? That it was just as blind as her, despite having so many Eyes? Too terrifying to contemplate, truly. Reality had so, so many sharp edges, and her hands were bleeding already, and... and it would solve nothing, ultimately. Her knowing anything at all, that was. What would a puppet do with something as dangerous as the truth, anyway? Those who wielded it needed to know themselves first, and oh, so many parts of herself were unknowable! Lost to time, lost to death.)

In some way, however, the admission made her feel... closer to the princes, a little bit. (Entire galaxies separated them, but so what? Their stars reflected one another, their planets ran across parallel trajectories. It wasn't the same, couldn't be, but if they connected the dots... well, perhaps the final picture wouldn't look so staggeringly different. Perhaps Verity would understand, then-- this woman who, too, had lost her home, and yet refused to let go. Who still tried to grasp it in her hands, really, even if every attempt resulted in her just grabbing a fistful of ash. Wasn't that perseverance beautiful? Wasn't it tragic? Something between the two, maybe-- like shades of grey between white and black.)

Except that then, then the princess asked her question, and Iskra was jolted awake from her daydreams. 'How did you come to forget yourself,' huh? The pirate gulped, her gaze downcast. "I don't... I am not sure." Not entirely, anyway. She knew why, though not really how, and so this wasn't a complete lie, was it? ...the intent was still there, though-- the intent to obscure, to hide herself in the darkness oozing out of her soul so that Verity wouldn't notice just how scarred it was. It would be nice to be complete, you know? Whole, even if only in someone else's eyes. "I died too much, I think," she finally settled on, deciding to provide honesty but not a real explanation. (Context, context, context! Without it, Iskra might shout the truth from the rooftops, and yet Verity would never understand. The secret would stay hers, forever locked in her heart.) "Sometimes, it's hard to remember why you're still here when you wake up. It sort of yanks you back, you know? It feels like being dropped into a lake of ice, and every time, I wonder if I finally drown. So far, there's always been something to hold on, though," Iskra shrugged, "which makes me think I should maybe let it go. The worries, I mean. It's not like I can do anything about this. What about you?" Because it was only fair for her to return the question, wasn't it? Especially given how much she had rambled-- how much she had shared, really, without actually meaning to. (Something about Verity loosened her tongue, it seemed. Was it her name? The gift given to her by her ancestors? That, possibly, or the fact that, around her, Iskra always felt at least a little bit intoxicated. In vino veritas, they said, and maybe... maybe they were right, indeed.)

The dolphins, of course, were majestic. Still, the pirate didn't actually think she could touch them-- they were heralds of life, harbingers of new hope, and having a corpse try to steal their shine... no, too disrespectful. For someone like her, watching was more than enough. (Don't overstep our boundaries. You know what happens when you do that, don't you? And, duh, of course she did! For it was hard to forget, truly, the sensation of life leaking out of your wounds.)

Verity, though. Verity and the dolphin looked like they belonged together, on some deep level, and Iskra watched the interaction with a small smile on her lips-- until, at least, it came to a screeching halt. (...huh. Was that a flash of panic in Verity's eyes? She spoke, yes, in a way that was and wasn't unlike her, and Iskra couldn't help but think this was a diversion-- fireworks that said 'hey, look at this' while the real drama was taking place elsewhere. How curious! Now, normally, the pirate may have let it go. Respecting a person's privacy was important, you see? Not stabbing a person in the chest seemed like an important rule to follow as well, however, and with that disregarded, Iskra felt she could go a bit overboard herself. Succumbing to her curiosity it was, then! ...the one true deity she had prayed to, fervently, since gaining a semblance of freedom.)

"No," she said, curtly. "I didn't know. There is something else I don't know, however, and it's this: what's wrong, princess? You appear as if you've seen a ghost. Has the dolphin hurt you?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Blood. Blood on her hands. How much? If her prison cell were to fill with all the blood of those she has slain, for better or for worse, would she drown? Could she handle facing every victim who had succumb to her poison or to her sword? No. A resounding no at that––she can barely face Iskra. What's worse is that Iskra is Iskra and so following the natural order of things does not seem to be her forte. While their interactions have been stiff and awkward, with the captain being so cavalier now she feels the guilt in every single breath that she takes. It reminds her of the good thing she ruined. The good person that she killed. For an object she barely knows anything about. Because she failed to kill someone else before––someone so far removed from Iskra she cannot believe she dared to draw such parallels. And now her hand is stained––if these dolphins can grant wishes then who is to say that they do not also bestow curses? Her palm itches and feels hot in the pocket she's hiding it. Her nails dig in to her hand and she begins scratching her palm––she doesn't even know if the stain is real or not, but when she looks over at the dolphin she had once thought could be a friend, she sees the empty white trail wherever her hand had touched. ‘Thief! Look at what you have stolen—-‘

'It's fine. It's fine. Everything is fine. You're okay, it's fine,' she quietly fills her head with this mantra, but her pulse can probably be seen throbbing against her neck. It doesn't help that the pirate continues to twist the knife with her words, with her admission that losing herself had almost everything to do with whatever affliction brings her back to life every time she dies. At least, with Verity's eyes looking perpetually on the verge of tears, she doesn't really have to hide how this news affects her. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' she wants to say and doesn't think she that she should. If she ignores her guilt and does not acknowledge the Pain that she has caused, maybe she can rest easier. It's too much to acknowledge. Not with her hand stained and bleeding in her pocket. "That... that makes sense," she whispers. It does make sense that rejecting Death and crawling back to Life that you would forget some pieces of yourself along the way, if that is your only purpose in the end. Does Life and the way you live and cherish each moment not define who you are? Verity believes this and yet... She has lived and only lived and still does not know what her definition is. She has looked for answers in so many places and none of them inward. She does and doesn't know how. "I suppose there is peace in Acceptance." She can say that, believe it with her entire heart, and still does not apply this sentiment to herself. And why should she? Why should she ever be given peace?

"Ah..." She doesn't really know the answer to Iskra's question. For as long as she has known herself, she has not really known herself. Or, no. That's not true at all. She has known herself and what she wants; she has known her beliefs and what she believes is right. She has stood for those things and she has wavered when it counted. "I'm not... I'm not sure," even so, while she says that, she does think. In her head, she draws out the map of her Life and tries to pinpoint the moments that led to her losing the person that she strived to be. She doesn't think it happened overnight so this must have been a subtle undoing over many years, one she did not notice until it was too late and... (and she stabbed the woman she was kissing). "My entire Life I think I have been losing myself. Though I think I really unraveled when I became a princess. Everything became wonderful and complicated when I accepted that title," suddenly there were so many eyes on her––and she shined so bright under their gaze. That is true. At the same time, it became so clear which parts of her people were interested in; more so, it became so obvious how the Queen's Council had wanted to silence her on the things she truly believed and wanted her to... It doesn't really matter. They're all gone and now it really is the Queen who rules. (How Life decided to throw hubris in their painted faces; it's not really a funny thing when it left her burned too.) "When you are a title, you are a thing and I was to be a thing to be filled," when they discovered she was already full? Had so many ideas on how she would like to rule if she proved herself worthy? Ah, she had to hide all of that away and settle for quiet rebellions and making secret allies. "I am full of the desires of others; it's hard to know yourself when that which you think you want is lost somewhere inside of yourself."

She slouches again on the rail, fingers continuing to pick at her palm as she tries to not think too hard about what she is saying. She tries to deny herself, even after she has just spoken of everything she has locked away, she tries to deny herself, still, of what she feels. And the red hand in her pocket makes it seem okay. Somehow. A reminder, again, of the villain she is when she thought she might have been a hero.

"What––?" she asks, completely incredulous as if she doesn't know what the pirate is talking about. As if she is not pushing her nails into her skin like she is trying to poke a hole through herself; as if she is clawing her palm this very second. She averts her gaze back to the group of dolphins. "N-no––you saw with your eyes that she did not harm me. It's not like she has acid skin," like Halen. "I just... thought of something unpleasant," she decides she will settle on this and it is technically true––her red hand, soaked in blood... the blood of someone she is certain she could have loved were she different. Had she not taken that choice away from herself. "My mind's a mess and so I get stolen away from pleasant things. I think it should happen often to me now." Now, she returns her eyes to the captain, drowning herself a thousand times over as she swallows the truth. “It’s nothing for you to worry about, Iskra.”

 

[Syntra]

Verity, a thing? Was that how she felt? The revelation stunned Iskra, truly, because it mirrored her own heart so closely-- the cage the princess lived in seemed to be made of gold, yes, while hers was made of bone, but even so, she saw more similarities than differences. ('A soldier belongs to her country,' they'd said, over and over. And it was true! But, now that she thought about it, didn't a princess belong to the same exact entity? To this shapeless, vague idea of a nation? Both the top and the bottom of the food chain ultimately led to the same destination, it seemed, and... that was poetic, in a way. As above, so below. How did the old adage go? Something about bathing the soil in blood and tears, so that the fruit would remember? Maybe people like her were meant to provide the blood, then, and princesses tears. That seemed like a fair enough distribution.) "I understand, I think," Iskra said, oh so quietly. "I, too, was a thing. Still am, actually. It doesn't get easier, does it? I mean, technically I don't need to be doing these things anymore, but what else would I do? Where else could I go?" (Into Verity's arms, she had once dared to think. They were warm, and long enough to embrace her even with all of her baggage. And, oh, how nice being held had been! ...till the blade had cut her in half, that was.)

"I just... think I've ruined myself," the pirate continued, words falling from her lips like raindrops in a thunderstorm. "You are what you do, aren't you? All my life, I've killed, or been killed, and now it seems to me I am drawn to these things, like scales that have been calibrated towards a certain weight. And I do try to look away, but," her voice broke somewhat, "I'm always reminded, somehow. Reminded that looking away doesn't make it not exist." ...yes, both the scars she bore and the scars she had inflicted on others! (Weren't the two one and the same, though? When she closed her eyes, Iskra could see it-- the face of every fallen foe, the Holy Vessel's lips parting slightly when she'd stabbed her in her cruel, empty heart. Inexplicably, that had hurt, too. On the other hand, should she truly be surprised? A bunch of commands was all she'd ever been, so of course that not following them would rip her apart. Of course, of course, of course! ...knowing that didn't make it any easier, though. Seeing the shadow of the axe as it was being raised above your neck also provided no comfort, you see? And those two deaths weren't so different, all things considered.)

The sorrow in her eyes morphed to disbelief, though, when Verity began speaking of the nature of her own distress. (Did the princess think so lowly of her? So lowly that she thought she wouldn't spot a lie, hidden in plain sight? Her voice was a lovely stream, cascading over the rocks, but the cadence was different-- a sign of something else being hidden beneath the waves, not wanting to be discovered.) "Is that so?" Iskra raised her eyebrow. "Very well, princess. I shan't bother you, then, if you do not wish to speak of these matters." ...because, ultimately, this wasn't her conflict to solve. So what if a storm raged in Verity's heart? She couldn't provide a shelter-- not when the princess had torn it down with her own hands, anyway. The impulse to find out what was wrong was but a fragment of what they had had, and fragments... fragments didn't do anything for anyone, least of all her. (There was more than enough shards within already, pushed deeper, deeper, deeper than she would have liked. Sometimes, Iskra felt like a graveyard! With all the tombstones of the dreams that once had been, mapped meticulously on her skin.) "You may, though," the pirate said, despite herself. "Should you find out you need a willing ear."

Inure sailed forward, then-- without stopping, as it always did. And the next day? The next day brought more worries, albeit of the... unusual kind. Very, very unusual kind.

Just like every morning, the pirate visited Verity in her cell-- mostly to bring her food, as their conversations only seemed to wake up things that should stay asleep lately, but when she placed the soup in front of the woman, Iskra just... couldn't help herself, for some reason. (Call it an instinct, or perhaps foolishness. And as for what it truly was? Only the fruits of her effort would tell!) "You mentioned living by the sea, princess," she began, carefully. "Did you observe dolphins often? As in, do you understand which tides might sway their hearts, and why they behave the way they do? Because they've been following us, you see. They've been following us, and, well..." Seeking for the right words, Iskra looked the princess straight in the eye. "...their song sounds mournful now. Something you'd play at a funeral. I am not sure whether it reaches you here, but it is true. Myrne says this shouldn't be happening. Have you perhaps seen something similar before? Or, do you have an idea as for why they might be behaving in this way? It's silly, I know. Nothing about this matters." Iskra averted her gaze from the prisoner, as if in shame, and looked at her hands instead. "I'd like to find out, though. These creatures came to grant us our wishes, after all, and this just... doesn't feel right to me. If there's a way for us to help, we should do exactly that."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Relieved from having to perform in front of so many, in front of Iskra especially (a woman she would rather be as true as she can be with––because it is what she feels she owes her at minimum), the moment she had been led back to her cell and left alone she almost thanked the pirate. Because the second the door to the prison closed, she wept in a panic and rushed to that small sink in her cell and spent most of the evening trying to rub off the red stain on her hand. It had been a fruitless effort––because the prisoner found that the more she tried to rub the symptom of her guilt away, the more it seemed to spread. In fact, each time she touched the stain, it seemed to blossom over new untouched territories. And, well, feeling too helpless this only caused her to scrub harder and harder and her hands had become so pruned and soft...

When she wakes the next morning, she is as exhausted as she has ever been. Though to say she had awoken would be inaccurate, because the prisoner did not sleep. Torn between choosing her nightmares and clutching her torn, red hands to her chest, feeling their dull thumps, she spent most of the endless night lying on her side, facing away from the entrance, staring at the wall. She is not sure where her mind went during all those hours that she spent waiting for her next meal. She does not remember––perhaps she had been too stunned to think of anything more than the wall in front of her. While she should be used to the sound of the door opening and it should no longer come as a surprise, the sound still startles her. Still on her cot, she curls into a ball with her eyes shut tightly as she waits for Iskra to leave. Except that she doesn't. 'Of course.' Just what does she want from her? To torment her with her ghostly presence? To remind her of everything she has done wrong? What is her purpose staying on this ship if they sail towards nowhere? 'Just let me go already, because I won't.'

Ah, but that's not quite it. Though Verity wants to avoid all the words that the pirate has and especially the questions that pry below the surface, this one, at first seems safe. Until it doesn't and she realizes the dolphins must have realized what she had done to their red leader. How she had stolen that color. Or been cursed. Maybe they want to tear her apart––though that's not really what dolphins do, so why does her mind jump there? She doesn't know; her mind makes less and less sense the more Time she spends in her head. (The loneliness is undoubtably getting to her and making short work of the princess who had once been proud and sure that this cell could not and would not break her essence. But back then she had her ancestors to guide her and keep her safe. Keep her company. And even then she had not spent so long in her cell... Back then she had quickly earned the pirate's grace; just to show her what a mistake that had been.)

"I did. I did live near them and sometimes would be lucky enough to spot their peaking heads," she speaks to the wall, still. Her hands ache against her chest as she pulls them in closer to her. "But I never studied them so dutifully––I'm sorry, I don't know..." And no, she had not heard her song. (The princess that used to run her whispers quietly in her ear, 'Oh, if only from my cell I could hear their songs, sweet or mournful, but lately I only hear the song of my own tears.' If she wanted to make the captain feel... Well, she doesn't know how she would take that line now, but she can only imagine the panic it would have stirred in Iskra before. Given how panicked she had been when Verity teased the food brought to her; when she mentioned being cold...) But the thought that the creatures are mourning the loss of their sister's stolen color––Verity wants to run. Wants to say she hasn't the slightest clue why they cry and yet she knows why! She knows it and soon everyone else will too, because she cannot lie to Iskra forever––not when she sounds so concerned (not when her good heart sounds so concerned).

Finally, she turns to face the other. She sits up in her cot with her arms crossed and hands hidden under her armpits. "Please, don't be cross––I didn't... It's my fault, Iskra," her voice shakes and had she not spent all her tears already, she may have been in full blown hysterics; in place of that, her eyes are only watery like they want to cry if they could. If there were anything left in her to release. Slowly, with her gaze downcast, she pulls her hands from under her arms and shows the captain angry red hands––it's hard to tell that they're even injured with the color soaked in her skin. "I don't know how––I just... I stole her color and I didn't mean it!" But what good is that? Do her intentions even matter anymore when the impact sends her backwards and crashing into stone walls each time? "I'm sorry––I wasn't trying to take another good thing away. I wasn't..."

 

[Syntra]

'With your eyes you shall look, child, if you wish to see the truth,' someone had once said to her, and yes, Iskra did look with her eyes now. What the pirate saw, however? She didn't like it. No, not at all. (Where had her Verity gone? You know, the woman who could set her mind of fire, and then dance with the flames? Who could touch them with her bare hand, yet remain unhurt? Because, oh, she bad been wrought out of stardust, and fire was no match for that at all. What were stars, after all, if not wishes given form? Memories of the primordial flame, distant in their collective consciousness but nevertheless unfading? They were concepts more than a tangible thing, and you couldn't destroy a concept, no more than you could capture wind in a butterfly net. By the Shade, what a stupid idea! ...except that maybe, maybe Verity wasn't a concept. A strange realization to be sure, especially since it was something that shouldn't need to be realized at all, because, duh. People and concepts? The two definitions were mutually exclusive! Ideas were spun out of dreams, joined this invisible thread, while humans-- humans were flesh and blood and bone, so, so corporeal that it hurt. ...concepts remained stagnant in time, too. That was why they could live on the pages of books comfortably, you see? Once the ink dried, they were content to exist there forever, contained within itself. 'Look at me,' they said, 'look at me and consume my words, feast on me, in fact, for I shall remain whole nonetheless. Time itself cannot kill me, and your mind cannot, either.' Humans didn't exist to be consumed, though. That was the one crucial difference-- you couldn't take and take and take, and expect things to stay the same. Had she, indeed, treated Verity like a thing? Like a perfect statue to be worshiped, rather than the person she was? That would explain the bitter flavor in her mouth upon realizing that the princess was more than pretty words to be pondered over, more than a form to be admired. ...a butterfly whose wings had been shattered, that was what she resembled. A tiny, pitiful thing.)

(Iskra didn't hate her for it. It was what it was, and, hey, why would she of all people judge her for being crushed by guilt? The same weight was resting on her chest even now, pulling her down, down, down with such fervor it was a wonder she hadn't yet sunk into the Underworld. Oh no, the pirate... knew what it was like, really. She knew, more than she knew anything else, even, and, well. For some reason, it... kinda made her feel closer to the princess? As if the abyss separating them, deep and dark, shrunk just a little bit. As if the chance of them ever building a bridge increased somewhat-- and a real one, too, not the flimsy parody of it they had had before. ...maybe this was just another proof of her foolishness, though. A sign that she'd never learn, no matter how many lessons the Shade subjected her to.)

Still, when Verity finally explained, Iskra's eyes went wide. "I... what?" she asked, not even bothering to hide her surprise. Did the princess really think this was her doing? And the way she framed it, as if that killing was suddenly meant to serve as the context for every action tied to her name from now on... No. Just, no. Iskra may not have known much about life, but she did know one thing-- namely, that this was no way to live! "Princess, this isn't your fault," Iskra furrowed her brow. "It isn't anyone's fault, in fact. I am not too familiar with the details, but I have read about similar things happening in the past, and it seems to be an affliction of sorts. Your touch merely revealed it. Had you not done it, someone or something else would have, I'm fairly sure. You cannot exist in this universe without being touched." ...yes, as she had learned. To her detriment, mind you, except that Iskra didn't think it appropriate to mention.

"I shall investigate this. I do not know how you feel about it, but if you'd like to help," since the red liquid staining her hands was her business, in this very intimate way, "I won't stop you. You may join me on my way to Inure's library. Another pair of attentive eyes would go a long way, I think, though I also won't force you. The decision is yours." Ah, there it was! Yet another symptom of stupidity, probably in its terminal stage. Because, really, why would Iskra want to spend more time with her? (With the woman whose presence was poison, quietly seeping under her skin? A sweet poison, too, which made it all the more difficult to spit it out! ...perhaps that was the reason the invitation had slipped past her lips so easily, as if the words weren't sharp at all-- as if they hadn't cut her mouth, and as if she couldn't taste her own blood.)

"And, princess," Iskra continued nonetheless, apparently determined to hurt herself more, "stop this. The blaming act, I mean. Yes, you did kill me-- that much is true. That shouldn't have to translate into you viewing everything through the lens of this experience, though. Me and the dolphins... we aren't a metaphor for one another. Nothing really is. What you did to me is a separate thing." 'And I forgive you,' something within her wanted to say, but no words would come out. (...probably because, no, Iskra hadn't forgiven her. Besides, why should this even matter? Her feelings were hers, and had nothing to do with any of this.)

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity, unsurprisingly, does not feel like Verity. She feels small like a child; she feels like a child who is constantly running from trouble, except unlike her actual childhood, in this version she is always caught. Right now, she is redhanded and though she admitted it freely on her own, that's only the result of both the captain's concern and her own realization that she wasn't sure how long she would have been able to hide her red hand secret. After all, the stain only spreads and what would she do if she accidentally brushed her cheek or rubbed her eyes? How would she explain that to Iskra? More than that, now that she knows there is something affecting the dolphins, she is glad (though it feels out of place to have such a feeling in combination with all her ugly ones) that she had confessed. While she is relieved, somewhat, that the dolphins have not cursed her or were not angry with her for stealing their color, it does little else to ease the rest of her suffering. For now, though, it may at least be enough for her to push away those poisonous thoughts that continue to tell her that she is a villain, capable only of wrongdoing. She'll hold onto the small relief and focus her spirit on following that trail––she cannot bear to stew in her misery for a second longer lest she really do something rash and dramatic to ease the suffering in her bones. Already, her hands ache and itch; her knuckles in particular are sore and scraped as they would be had she punched a glass mirror, but... it doesn't actually bother her. Not in a way where she might ask for her hands to be tended to––partly because there is that self-punishing part of herself that wants to feel these injuries. The other part of her is also more focused on answers––she sees there being no Time to waste if the dolphin's song is one of mourning.

And so, she does accept the captain's offer to help. "Anything to ease their suffering sooner," because, at the end of the day, Verity, though she does not feel like it, is still Verity and she has always been someone who helps (as much as she destructs, some bitter part of her adds). Though when the captain tries to absolve the guilt she feels, over, well, everything? To prevent her from accepting more undue blame for infractions she is not even certain are truly there? She doesn't say anything, at first. In fact, she avoids that altogether. Because Iskra is so cavalier in the way she mentions her most recent death at the hands of the woman who had been kissing her. (Verity ignores the inkling that it may have been Iskra's first too––Ylna had her hypothesis about the captain's love life and, well, all the implications are too much for her to think about. So she pushes that thought away.) Besides, killing Iskra had acted as a catalyst to uncover all the other guilt she has been avoiding and refused to talk about. Not that she is speaking on them now, and while her guilt with what she had done to the captain grates on her the most, they twist in her just as fiercely, just as tightly (like snakes made of sin). The blood on her hands is more than just Iskra's, but Iskra's burns her the most. That she knows for certain.

As they walk towards Inure's library, the captain's words keep echoing inside of her until it's the only sound that she can hear. With her hands buried in the pockets of her (or Iskra's) coat, she looks at her. "The lens of guilt is all that I have, now. I had it before too, you know," she finally admits. "It's... thicker now, I suppose, but it was there before." 'I just ignored it better then... Assumed that I had been on the path to righting the things I failed to do or done disastrously wrong. That may have been where I was led astray––I forgot to look behind myself to see where my path has already led me and did not realize I was walking in a circle.' She leaves the conversation there, however, and elects to not reveal the rest of her thoughts. It's hard to speak as freely as she once had. It's more difficult for her to allow that level of transparency or to speak with the same elegance that used to grace her tongue. She doesn't really think that Iskra wants to hear more of her than she has to. This offering to study together is just business, as far as the prisoner is concerned. One she will happily occupy herself with so long as she is not trapped in that cell with only the memories of her tribulations.

Once in the library, which seems a ridiculous addition to a pirate's ship, she settles on picking out the books related to biomes and habitats for these creatures and their planet-bound counterparts––in the event there isn't anything on their space cousins, perhaps the ones in the sea will offer clues too. And perhaps, though she is taking this seriously, she wants to look at the pictures of the dolphins as well. A silly wish to bring her closer to home. Of course, aside from the pretty photos, her logic for researching their habitat, as opposed to starting with the symptoms of their affliction, comes from the history of her people. It was an environmental disasters that led to their first world's planetary collapse, ultimately. Naturally, a descendant of that disaster, she looks for that pattern with the dolphins as well. "Iskra, did you know that these dolphins use these, ah..." she looks back at the page, "crystals? (Well, they're called the Crystal Essence, in this text) to help their population remain centered in space? It seems as though these crystal reefs provide another sense of direction for the dolphins should they drift too far from a recognizable star, because the crystals store the essence of the pod. Since it also stores their essence, it is important for the overall health of the pod... Have you ever seen one of these? They look so ethereal and this is only a picture," she holds up the text to show the captain.

 

[Syntra]

"Is that so?" Iskra arched her eyebrow as she surveyed Verity's face, her expression a mystery. (An ending of a book you hadn't finished yet, drowning in all that potential. Was it a comedy, or a tragedy? Sometimes, the line between the two genres was so, so thin, and you could only really judge by the epilogue. Ah, if only it was possible to skip right to the end! ...perhaps, in that case, Iskra would have been able to find some semblance of meaning in all of this. The light at the of the tunnel, as cliche as it was. But, you see, didn't people need their cliches? For at its core, a cliche was nothing but a thought that had resonated across the universe-- resonated so far, in fact, that it had worn thin, become a shadow of its former self. Kind of like the pirate herself, actually.) "You carried it well, then. Perhaps you were made for it. I'm sure that, if given some time, you will learn how to deal with this weight as well. Under pressure, muscles only grow stronger." ...yes, that was the only kind of solace she could offer right now. So what if Verity was feeling overwhelmed? The same was true for her as well, and nobody could magically lift the burden off her shoulders, either. No, that would be like-- like hoping someone else could breathe for you, or perhaps serve you your own conclusions on a silver plate. Which, ridiculous! Verity had decided to kill her, out of her own accord, and so the consequences of that act belonged to her. (That was what honoring her choice meant, in the end. The only real way to honor it, actually, for stabbing someone in the heart also meant splitting your own soul in half. And if a person decided to do such a thing to themselves? You had to trust that they knew their own limits-- that they knew how far to cut, really, before tearing themselves apart.)

Inure's library was vast, and also one of Iskra's favorite places. Books didn't tend to be popular companions for most of the pirates, so solitude was to be found there-- solitude and wisdom, two sisters that seemed to walk hand in hand. And here, where her entire existence was reduced to flipping pages? Flipping pages, and wandering the worlds that could be found there? It was so, so easy to forget! (To forget that which she was, along with that which she wasn't. That which she could have been, perhaps, had the Shade not called upon her. Would she have had a wife, perhaps? A daughter or two? ...such strange, strange thoughts. Mourning what you had never known was foolish, akin to wishing for last year's snow.)

Seeing that Verity chose to investigate dolphins, Iskra headed down a different path-- medical journals and the like, in which she had read about the disease in the first place. (Back then, it had been but a passing fancy. 'Oh, look, that's rather fascinating' type of thing, you know? That was also why she had forgotten most of it, and needed to refresh her memory now. Hmmm, hmmm. If I remember correctly, it was some sort of... deprivation, wasn't it? A lack of nutrients? Not that the pirate knew what space dolphins ate, mind you, though she supposed they couldn't just photosynthesize the fuel that kept them going. No, of course not! They were still animals, even if ones accustomed to, uh, specific conditions. ...in conditions that usually crushed life, that was, and yet they'd embraced theirs. Curious, was it not?) "Do you know why dolphins also live in space, princess?" Iskra asked while examining one of the journals, for reasons that seemed alien even to her.

"I don't. There's a legend that is told among my people, though, about this very thing. They say that the dolphins' souls grew too large for the ocean, even, so it could house them no longer. 'Go forth, my children,' mother Ocean said then, 'and find a new home. I have nothing more to give to you. As such, you need to be the ones to give.' That is how they began granting wishes, it is claimed. And as for why they chose the space? Well," Iskra smiled gently, without realizing it, "that is the only place even vaster, even more boundless, than the ocean." Perhaps her imagination would have wandered even deeper-- led by associations, misty and dreamlike, she would have told Verity countless legends. (The one about the grey mare, maybe, and Aylsen the Sevenwonder, and how raindrops came to be, and... and all the other stories she had heard, back when she had been but a Seed. As the princess pointed out she had discovered something, though? Iskra's focus shifted there.)

"Ah! Now that you mention it... yes, I have heard something like that as well. In fact, I have seen such a crystal, too." Leaning closer to the text, the pirate frowned-- a far cry from the expression of 'eureka' this realization should have painted on her face. "This doesn't help much, however. I mean, every colony is connected to their own crystal. See? It's covered in this section," she pointed at the text. "Which, if I understand this right, translates into us having to find their specific crystal in order to discover what is wrong with it. In the space. It can be anywhere! Unless... hmmm." Could it be? It was an idea more than a theory, and a wild one, too, but... perhaps, perhaps it was worth a shot. "Princess. What do you know about the space dolphins' hierarchy?" Iskra asked all of a sudden, with her trademark seriousness. "Supposedly, they follow the dolphin that is the most touched by their crystal. So, what does this tell you about the reason they follow us now? Your hand... I believe it may have absorbed most of the essence. What if we strengthened its homeward pull in our laboratories, then? You could maybe ride one of the dolphins, and they'd lead us to the crystal."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

"Ah, thank you," then she quickly adds, "captain. For your words of hope." Not that she feels particularly deserving of such a thing; not from the captain herself at least. Not from the daughters who's lives linger on her lost blade. Not even from the queen who had she had once meant to betray. (And in the end, the intention to do so is what mattered most... So perhaps she should stop telling herself that she didn't betray her, because that lie no longer provides false comfort. No, perhaps to move forward she must embrace each action that to her fall from grace. Denying their existence, spinning stories of backwards narratives... How long can she live in denial? It is so Painful there. So lonely there, too.) So while underserving of the hope, she does find it in her to appreciate the wish and accepts it with caution. (And calling the pirate captain? It only seems appropriate if that is the wedge Iskra wants to drive between them. After all, they are no longer just Iskra and just Verity as they had both once fooled themselves into thinking. Perhaps these titles will help bring clarity to the prisoner and whatever new role is meant for her on this ship... At least until they part ways.)

And as she listens to the captain's story, she gives her her full attention. Ears soaking in every word, eyes capturing this moment to turn it into a vivid memory, and perhaps spending a bit too much Time on that gentle smile. Iskra's smile, one she thinks she must cherish and hold onto forever because she does not know how many more of these she will ever be able to draw out of her again. How many more she will be privileged to see, so she will memorize each unique curvature and come up with names for all the different kinds the pirate has. (Yes, some part of her does feel pathetic for clinging to the scraps of the captain's mannerisms, still aching for the time when she had shone so brightly in front of her... still not ready to let go of those memories or that Iskra, her Iskra, even if her red hands tore it all apart. Even if she knows nothing more can exist between them than business with what she has done, she still has those girlish wishes and fantasies––perhaps her head is full of too many stories where a happy ending always exists no matter the odds.) "I––that's a lovely tale. I'm not sure we have one similar. We, um, don't really have many stories about the worlds and creatures beyond our planet's atmosphere," she admits, embarrassed for reasons she cannot explain. It's not that she wants to offer another story in return, but this shame that her people had decided to never engage in the affairs of other worlds after what happened with the first world. (Participating in intergalactic affairs hardly means anything for the people, it is just a means to keep them all unbothered by foreigners.) "So I hadn't even heard of dolphins being able to live in space until just yesterday." Even so, her mind is already spinning a story she might share with her family, should she ever be reunited with them. That is up to the Divinities now.

Returning back to her own text, she listens as the captain explains the various crystal reefs. (She feels a tinge of jealousy that the captain has been able to see them with her very eyes. What else have those eyes seen that Verity hasn't? 'A great deal many things, I suppose.' Never had she thought being planet-bound would be such a disadvantage until she met this pirate who knows so much more than she ever could.) "That could take ages," she mumbles in agreement, though nothing about her tone suggests defeat. And perhaps it's that princess returning to her, the one who does not give up... Maybe it's not the princess? Maybe she should give that credit to herself, for once. 'Hmm.' Verity does not give up until all options have been exhausted. (Yes, she likes the sound of that.) And she is glad that the captain seems to made from the same Diligence.

Instead of answering the question, she listens. Listens to this wild hypothesis and feels a light turn on inside of her, it's small and faint, but that spark of hope is all she really needs to hold onto this mission that they are on. She believes in trying anything. With a slow nod of her head she says, "Yes, that... That sounds unorthodox, I'll admit, but without other viable options I should like to try any and everything." If she did absorb the essence of their leader, then she will do anything in her power to restore her––it was an accident after all, an apparent symptom of their affliction, and Verity does not mean to do them anymore harm. (Or anyone for that matter... Even if a nasty voice tells her that is all she is capable of, given the evidence of her Life thus far.)

As they exit the library and make for the laboratories, it is not lost on Verity that some pirates had scattered around the library's entrance as they were exiting. It's also not lost on Verity how many eyes shoot arrows at her as much as they stare in disbelief at the captain. That all makes sense to the prisoner, given recent events. Though yesterday she carried herself with her head low and avoidant of the stares, inspired by this mission she would much rather pour herself in, she carries her head just a bit higher while still avoiding making any semblance of eye contact with the rest of the crew. She won't give them the time of day––is that not something she had learned as a princess? Ignore the stares, because they are forever on your back? If she were gifted with more Time she might try to make amends with the others, but knowing her timeline may be coming to a close, she sees it as not worth the effort. Besides, it's hard to amend things when no one, save for Iskra, visits her let alone speaks with her. "Captain, what will you be doing while I ride one of the dolphins?" is that a hint of her excitement in her tone? Undoubtably. To think, she's always wanted to swim with these creatures and now she will have that chance! In space, no less! (The stories she'll be able to tell... They almost speak for themselves.) "Will you be aboard Inure or will you be joining me?"

 

[Syntra]

...captain. Captain, not Iskra. Why did it feel like such a slap to her face? It wasn't like the title was hurtful, or even untrue. From her subordinates, she always required that honorific! (Except that, you know, most of her subordinates hadn't kissed her. None of them had, in fact. And, really, what were honorifics for if not for creating distance between people's hearts? 'This is where I stand,' their usage said, 'and this is where your place is. It isn't by my side. Bow down, for I am greater than you are.' Oh, Iskra had never wanted that! Not between her and Verity, anyway, and-- and yet she had caused this, the pirate knew. Who had reached for the title first, after all? It certainly hadn't been the princess! ...her name tasted too bitter on her tongue, you see. Whereas once, it had been honey and milk, now it was wormwood-- a herb so overwhelming, indeed, that trying to swallow it felt like forcing nails down her throat. No, Iskra truly did need that space to breathe, for all it was worth. She just... hadn't expected that Verity would feel that way, too. Which, foolish, foolish, foolish! Was it not a universal truth that every action triggered a reaction? That you couldn't fell a tree without splinters flying in all the directions? ...Iskra, of course, realized this. How could she not, with the splinters resulting from her actions being so numerous you could build an entire bridge out of them? She just hadn't thought one of them would get stuck right in her eye, really. An amateurish mistake.)

Still, this was fine. Or, well, not fine in the traditional sense of that word, but entirely deserved-- a tooth for a tooth, an eye for an eye kind of thing. Verity did have the right to react in this way, and Iskra wouldn't interrogate her about it. (Maybe this was for the best, too. What would they gain from nurturing this relationship, anyway? It was hanging on a thread, already half-severed-- kind of like a gangrenous limb, really, that was only attached to its owner out of some deluded hope it would recover. It wouldn't, though! No, it would spread the poison further, further into her already sick heart, and... and this time, not even the Shade would save her. Its healing touch, you see, couldn't cure idiocy. Neither idiocy, nor those mysterious, uninvited feelings Verity's name still stirred within her chest.) "I haven't thought about that," the pirate admitted, deciding to direct her attention elsewhere.

"It would make sense for me to join you, though. For safety reasons. The dolphin wouldn't hurt you, obviously, but seated on its back... you'll be much more vulnerable than you'd be on Inure, that can be said with certainty. Besides, someone should be there to catch you if you fall," Iskra reasoned. "Not that I'd expect that to happen, of course, but just to be sure. You never know." (The pirate's fascination by the dolphins, of course, had nothing to do with the decision. No, she was just being responsible, you know? Ensuring the safety of those who followed your lead went without saying.)

The laboratories were a later addition to Inure, and it showed-- or rather, the room had been there, but before the pirates had taken over, it had been a mere storage. As such, it looked like a lab and yet it didn't, with mysterious machines buzzing quietly on the tables but without the atmosphere to match it. Something about it just seemed... underwhelming, really. Kind of like a throne room without a throne, or a peasant daring to wear a crown.

"Captain?" Myrne asked from across her desk, not even bothering to look in their direction. No, her eyes seemed far too occupied by whatever they were seeing in the test tube she was watching so, so intently. "Captain and Verity, I see. Well, well. What an interesting company." 'Interesting,' of course, was said in such a tone that you could easily substitute it for some other words-- 'treacherous' came to mind. "What is it that you want?"

"Myrne," Iskra began, eager to nip whatever questions the woman might have had in the bud. "There's been a breakthrough in the dolphin situation. It seems that Verity absorbed their crystal's essence by accident, and..." The pirate spoke, quickly and precisely, to explain what had happened to the other woman-- except that it seemed that Myrne had stopped paying attention a long time ago, with her gaze directed at Verity. (Her gaze that happened to be sharper than Iskra's sword, too. Ah, by the Shade! No, she wouldn't want to be on the receiving side here. Never, not even if they paid her actual money in exchange.)

"Curious," Myrne finally said. "Yes, that might work. I am even capable of strengthening the essence. The issue is, Verity, that you'll have to stay here for a few days-- it isn't a fast process by any means. I'll also require your full cooperation. What I have to do here lies somewhere between science and magic, and so you will have to sacrifice a piece of yourself as well. It's nothing drastic, though," she smiled, and oh, was that smile bad news. "Not as drastic as being killed, anyway. You will need to stay awake, for the entire duration of the operation, no matter what I do. Can you do that? And, oh, this is important-- you'll need to think of your home as I work. Your own memories will serve as fuel for the homeward pull. Should your concentration waver, all is lost. Well? Do you still wish to do this?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

There is a small glimmer of delight when Iskra confirms that she will be joining Verity as she rides one of the dolphins back to their crystal essence––she had asked the question with the half-hope that she would not be alone for the adventure. At the same time, she does wish the circumstances were happier. That they could enjoy it as they would have before, but she only has her imagination to guess what it would have been like to ride a dolphin with her Iskra following suit. She doesn't think she'll be able to enjoy that togetherness half as much now, so she decides to put that piece of herself away. Put her high on the shelf for safe keeping; a piece she will walk by and admire fondly on occasion, but ultimately it will only collect dust. Because dust is all that remains of that past Life. So instead of that, she'll focus on what she imagines the experience will be like for her, separate from sharing it with Iskra––they only will share it by technicality now. (However, putting her fondness for the pirate away may be a fruitless task, because her heart still beats for Iskra. And her heart is full of shame for what she has done to the pirate's; some things there is just no coming back from and that Iskra has remained cordial in the aftermath... For whatever reason, the Divinities have granted her that double-edged kindness and confusion. She still has no idea what to make of it all.)

The laboratory is the least spectacular thing she has seen since coming aboard Inure. While it doesn't offend her as it may have were this her first day aboard the ship, she does think that it's rather archaic and primitive in comparison to the laboratories that exist on her ship and the ones she has seen back in her homelands. She might have laughed if she were not stopped by the sight of Mryne, her least favorite parasite on Inure and she has an inkling the feeling is mutual. (While Verity is more or less contented with the current occupants of Inure, given that Iskra has been true to her word in taking care of her properly, and the ship herself no longer seems upset, when it comes Myrne she does wish that the ship would choose to toss her overboard. Not that she has ever voiced this want with anyone, especially not the captain.) Under prior circumstance she might have offered an innocent, sweet smile or perhaps a glare made of knives in return, but in this instance, with things between her and Iskra being as muddy as they are, she settles for something impassive like stone.

"Myrne," she says rather curtly by way of greeting. Even if the other woman's disdain for the prisoner is entirely valid, Verity feels her own irritation with Myrne is equally justified. Just how many times has she had to listen to Iskra talk about all of Myrne's theories about the ship? All of them incorrect, Verity would like to add. Something about that arrogance has always grated her nerves. Well, not arrogance, but the idea that some outsider believes she can ever understand the complexities of this ship on her own without the guidance of a competent descendant awakens eons of stored ire. That ire may be her shield against knowing that, of all the people who feel slighted by her actions, Myrne may be the most deadly; it reminds her to never get too comfortable in the company of pirates. Though she doesn't necessarily believe she is in harm's way, in the Life or Death sense, the older woman's sharp tone and scythe like glare are enough to give the prisoner an inkling of where she stands in this laboratory (if it can even be called such a thing). At least the silver-haired woman is honest. Unlike with Iskra, she has the benefit of the other's transparency.

"I'll admit I have little experience with magic," and the thought that her first experience might be with this pirate does cause some concern, "But I trust that the captain would not put me harm's way by bringing me here. I assume all of our goals are the same?" That is, ensuring the survival of the dolphin pod that follows them because of Verity's red touch. Yes, the woman does make her worried and perhaps reminding her of the common goal may act as another measure of safety. She clears her throat, still holding the pirate's gaze, though the mention of being killed is certainly not lost on the prisoner and for a moment her eyes snap to Iskra before coming back to Myrne. She settles for ignoring that piercing comment––at least while Iskra is around. "If a sacrifice is needed, then it is one I shall make––the prospect does not frighten me," she says with all the conviction of someone who is experienced in stifling their Fear. "Ah, again, my inexperience makes me wary, but I trust in the mission," because it is foolish to say that she trusts the magician scientist.

"Do what you must, Myrne." While she has been wrought with homesickness and misses the isle dearly, she does not think that the memories she will have to recall will do anything to cause her to waver. Thinking of home does bring about a certain melancholy in the exiled, but she has been able to share bits and pieces with Iskra and so she assumes this will be only slightly more intense than those stories. (Of course, she forgets how little of her actual home she has truly offered and assumes that the stories have a similar likeness to the actual memories.) "Shall we begin now or are other preparations needed? I am eager to resolve this bind with the dolphins as quickly as possible."

 

[Syntra]

"Eager, aren't you?" Myrne smirked, and... yeah, that expression didn't exactly fill Iskra with warm, fuzzy feelings. (And, really, how could it? The glint in her eyes resembled the steely shine of a bear trap, ready to snap shut-- ready to feed itself on its victim's pain, on its blood. ...why did people say Ylna was the most terrifying of her subordinates, again? Don't get her wrong, Ylna's wrath could be terrible, but it was also a thunderstorm in the middle of summer. Quickly it came, quickly it went, and afterwards, the sun emerged from behind the clouds once again. Myrne, though? Oh, Myrne nursed her grudges. Just like a gardener, she watered that seed, and sang to it, and under her careful ministrations, it grew and grew and grew-- grew so strong, in fact, that the roots alone could strangle you.) "But yes, we may begin right away. Sit down in this chair and..."

"Uh, Myrne? Is the procedure safe?" Iskra asked, clearly doubtful. "If it is not, then--"

"No need to worry, captain," the older woman smiled. "I won't damage your precious princess. Not too much, anyway. As I stressed, some of it may be mildly unpleasant, but there will be no lingering injuries."

"Myrne! Why do I have the feeling you're enjoying this?" Iskra reprimanded, her lips forming a thin line. "I am asking you to be professional here. The princess may be our prisoner, but she volunteered to do this. It doesn't matter that..." that she killed me "...that our past endeavors didn't lead to a happy ending." (To people like her, happy endings were a delusion, anyway-- a fata morgana to be chased, fruitlessly, till their feet were covered with blisters. Still, that meant something, too, didn't it? That she was still willing to follow, despite knowing all of that. Whether it was good or bad, or simply of symptom of her once being human, that Iskra didn't know, but... well, it wasn't machine-like, at least. Machines were more efficient than that.) "She wishes to help, so don't make this harder for her than it needs to be."

"Oh, I wouldn't," Myrne reassured her, in a tone that was about as close to comforting as sleeping on a bed of nails. "I do find her willingness to help moving, of course. If you think me such a villain that I'd stoop to hurting her in a position that vulnerable, you are wrong. My name, after all, isn't Verity."

"Myrne," Iskra said, her voice cracking like a whip. "Let it go. That is a command." (Because, truly, what was this accomplishing? Nothing, aside from making her look like an even bigger fool! Myrne may have enjoyed crafting her elaborate insults, but the final message was always the same, no matter what words she wrapped it in. 'See this stupid, stupid girl? She trusted that someone could like her, and you used that trust to slit her throat!' ...which made her look like a kicked puppy, really. (Like a monster tragically unaware of the extent of her own monstrousness, because only a beast plagued by such lack of self-reflection could delude herself into believing someone might want to embrace her for reasons other than driving a knife between her ribs. She was a soldier, remember? And each soldier's story ended in blood. ...Iskra may have forgotten her past, but her past certainly hadn't forgotten her. Oh no, no, no. Forever would it cling to her, just like the smell of rot clung to a corpse.)

"Fine, fine," Myrne rolled her eyes. "As I said, Verity, sit down. Hold your eye open-- with your fingers, if you have to. I'm going to insert an electrode under your eyelid. This will serve to keep you awake if sleep threatens to take you away. I'll be watching over you most of the time, but," Myrne shrugged, "I'm a crone already, you see. I do need my beauty sleep."

The electrode was a tiny thing, barely bigger than a grain of sand-- and yet, beneath her eyelid? It scratched and burned, like shrapnel stuck into her flesh. "This is alright, isn't it?" Myrne smiled sweetly. "I'm sure your conviction to help runs deeper than discomfort. Besides, your body will get used to it within a few minutes. Captain? Please, be so kind and bring me my stabilizer from my room. You know what it looks like, don't you?"

"Yes, of course, but Myrne, is this--"

"Yes, it is very necessary. Now go, so that I may finish all the preparations in time."

And when the door closed behind Iskra? Myrne began fastening Verity's arms to the armrest, with the kind of skill that suggested she wasn't doing it for the first time. "You will receive a blood transfusion," the woman explained, "only it won't be blood. Do you know what mercury is, princess? In alchemy, mercury denotes mind, and your mind is what we need to sharpen. That's what we're going for with liquid silver here. Of course," Myrne smiled, "it is also highly toxic, though really, no need to panic. Like won't poison like. That's the one of the basic alchemical principles, you know?" For a few terrible, terrible seconds, Myrne let Verity stew in her uncertainty-- except that then she chuckled, in a voice that felt drier than Sahara. "No, I'm kidding. The toxic properties will be removed via partial distillation, as they should be. Doesn't mean it won't hurt, however. Now, tell me, Verity, for I am curious. Why do you want to help, even? Are you perhaps attracted to broken things? To how grateful they are if you show them the tiniest fragment of affection? Or is it because they're easier to shatter completely?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

At one point aboard this ship, Verity recalls feeling as though she were in the presence of a lizard who thought herself a dragon––an assessment she might still stand by knowing what she does now of the captain. (That is not to say that she thinks Iskra is weak. Anything she has done has only shown the prisoner of her strength. True, she knows very little of Iskra still and never fully unraveled the captain as she had once promised to do, but in all their interactions and with all of her observations she sees a rare form of leadership. The quiet kind that says, "Ah, let me think on that." One that is not reactive or threatened by the dissent of her subordinates. It's admirable, really, and thus she is no lizard or dragon, Verity decides. She is something much more powerful than that––she's Iskra. There is no metaphor that can contain her.) In this instance, she realizes who the actual dragon aboard this ship is and is not the captain. Oh, no. It is Myrne with her pointed smile and whip of words that crack against the prisoner's fragility. She has all the elegance and smarts of one too––and that is no insult, as anyone familiar with the creatures knows of their wisdom as much as they know of their ferocity. Myrne is that dangerous combination.

While Verity appreciates the captain ensuring her safety, the prisoner feels she can handle whatever mild torture will be burdened unto her. If Myrne takes satisfaction in doing her harm? What does she care? And can Verity really blame her? Not really. She may dislike this parasite the most and she can still empathize with her; it's not hard to guess how she might have felt were she in the parasite's position. Anyway, she remains mostly quiet as she sits down in the chair and holds open her eyelid for the electrode and––yes, it stings and her eyes water almost immediately; with each blink she feels the small grain scraping against her eye, burning it and causing her to blink more which only furthers the irritation.

"Oh, it's just perfectly splendid," she smiles back, just as genuine as Myrne, despite the burn in her eyes. And just as the parasite says, she adjusts to the discomfort quickly, though she is still hyper-aware of the debris behind her eyelid. 'It's only a few days. What is that in the grand plan of the Divinities?' she thinks to herself as she takes a deep breath and resists the urge to rub her eyes. Thankfully, or perhaps concerning, the choice is taken from her as her arms are strapped to the arms of the chair.

The idea that Myrne may be poisoning her? It crosses her mind several times in the silence that elapses between the pirate's joke and her explanation. It would be all too easy too with her vulnerable position. Even if Myrne insists she would not slay a vulnerable thing (as she, herself, has––Iskra not even being her first innocent), she has no reason to trust her word. She can only trust the captain. Which may have been comforting were the captain not so trusting herself! Verity can already hear the story the silver haired woman might spin, 'Oh, captain, a terrible terrible accident has happened in the process of trying to enhance the homeward signal. The prisoner seems to have reacted poorly to the procedure––such a shame.' Myrne's explanation doesn't really settle Verity either, because she is not sure if this woman is capable of jesting and may be trying to throw her off the scent of danger. She does realize that locked in this chair, she really has no options to escape and her only means of defense would do little to undo the effects of whatever poison might replace her blood. Well, this becomes less and less comforting. And Myrne's question only adds to that.

Left alone and strapped down, she certainly feels like a trapped animal. The question grinds the discomfort directly into her chest. Not that she is surprised that Myrne, like the others, would also find room to torment her with the guilt she has over murdering the woman who had been kissing her. Of course, no one on this ship will ever let her forget that she has killed Iskra. Iskra's presence, even if the captain avoids saying it directly, is still a reminder of what she has done––a damned attempt to secure an object for herself. (Well, that's not even really it. Not entirely, but thinking of the false parallel she saw only makes her heavier. The captain trusted her so dearly and what did she do with that trust? She turned it into knives and sent it into her back and heart. At least, the last time she had been meant to betray someone close to her heart there had been nearly every reason in the universe to do so and she didn't; apparently it had been easier to doom Iskra to a fate meant for another.) Verity stares off, making her eyes faraway so that she does not have to sit in this laboratory. (Is she attracted to broken things? Yes, Halen had told her that once, but does she consider Iskra a broken thing? No. Not at all. For all her strength, Verity never saw the cracks as weakness––only markers of her resilience.)

"Since I don't think you actually care about my involvement helping the dolphins, I'll spare you that drivel," she finally says, her tone surprisingly even. A contrast so stark to how the prisoner has been, that if Ylna were in the room she might feel slapped in comparison to the prisoner she had spoken to only a week ago. Perhaps its Verity's desire to not crumble in front of a woman she knows is dangerous and will only use her guilt as fuel for whatever fire she wishes to stoke in that wretched heart of hers, that gives the prisoner scraps of strength. "I never saw Iskra as broken. But perhaps that's because the pieces that are missing in her complement the pieces that are missing in me; or they used to match," she admits, concentrating on the sharp grain that rolls under her eyelid. (She half wonders if it will leave cuts on her eye.) "What, ultimately, do you hope to gain from this charade, Myrne? I can tell you the truth or I can tell you a lie and I don't think either would sate your desire to punish me. If you think you're so deserving of that privilege, then try harder."

"You will never hear what you want, unless what you want is to watch me torment myself in the guilt that I feel for killing the woman that used to trust me," only a fool would still trust her after her colors shone through. (Though, is Iskra not a fool?) "Make no mistake, my essence is more than fractured and I reckon I will never be the same again––Iskra's revival or not, I will always know that these hands are not capable of doing anything other than damage. The mistakes that led me to my ultimate one, they soak my hands and I bathe in the transgressions of my past each night. But if there is the chance that these hands can heal, then I may as well try, because is the effort not worth it?" Not that she has not tried to heal with her destructive hands before; she still feels the shrapnel of the aftermath lodged in her torso––and still she tries and tries to right what is wrong as if she does not already know that her touch is a curse. "Not that you care of such things, I'm sure. But you asked. Or didn't," she says, heat flaring through her veins with a fervidness she has not felt since her first arrival. "But Myrne, I am curious, what is a woman like yourself doing aboard a pirate ship? You strike me as a noblewoman more than a pirate. So where did your Life go wrong that you fell for taking commands than being the commander, hm?"

 

[Syntra]

"Desire to punish you? Is that what you think this is?" Myrne asked, clearly amused. She waited not for Verity's reaction-- instead, she turned around and headed to her desk, probably to work with her precious, precious test tubes. "Riddle me this, Verity. When a mosquito bites you, do you feel the need to punish it? I mean, technically, it may be what ends up happening, but that's a pretty dramatic word for squishing the creature and never thinking of it again. As for myself... well, I suppose I am trying to determine whether you should be squished," the other woman shrugged, her tone light and conversational. (Was she talking about murder or tea party etiquette? Because, in Myrne-speak, the two could apparently sound almost the same! ...and yet, yet there was a trap under each word-- a pit full of poisoned spikes, just waiting for the clueless victim to impale themselves. It was more convenient, you see? To let the idiots kill themselves, as opposed to swinging your sword around.) "Not here and now, of course. What I said still holds true. Just a piece of friendly advice, though: sleep with your eyes open, Verity. Traversing the space is a dangerous, dangerous task. Who knows what might happen?"

"Although," she shot her a brilliant smile, "I haven't made my decision yet-- It may just be that you'll be as safe here as a baby in her cradle. It depends on which words you'll feed me, Verity. Now, what you need to know about me is that I love the truth, and abhor lies. I'm also very, very good at detecting them. Do what you will with that knowledge-- I just figured it was fair to warn you in advance, given how often you resort to falsehood. Tell me, Verity. Do you lie because you can, or because you have to? Because lies... oh, lies are acidic. Speak them often enough, and they'll burn you from the inside. Do you even remember what you looked like, before you set your own soul on fire? I've seen many such cases, with my own two eyes-- silly little girls, as pretty as butterflies, thinking their wings would look that much better if they just presented them to the audience from a more flattering angle. ...except that, you know, butterfly wings are fragile-- not made for carrying the weight of lies. Always, always they broke."

One thing had to be given to Myrne, and that was that she worked fast. Her hands? They resembled the hands of an experienced pianist, moving so quickly between the test tubes that the movement produced a melody of sorts, too-- this quiet, subdued cling clang, shrouded in potential. (What would the result of that experiment be? Life, death, or something in between? Because, oh, there were many ways to be, a lot of them worse than not being at all. At least a blade in your heart ended the suffering quickly! One clean cut and there you went, forever lost in the darkness amidst the stars-- waiting, waiting and waiting, waiting for your turn to become something beautiful, too. How was that not kinder than wallowing in your filth? Than letting the gravity twist you, to the point you no longer recognized yourself in the mirror? ...sometimes, blessings took a curious form, indeed.) "Fell for taking commands?" Myrne chuckled, entirely mirthless. "I serve because I want to. No fall of any kind had anything to do with it, I'm afraid. Is it hard for you to conceptualize such things, Verity? Doing whatever your heart commands you to do, without assigning a moral value to it?"

"But, I suppose I can tell you that story. There is no harm in that. In fact, it might prove to be... interesting. So, me and Iskra, huh?" Finally, Myrne turned around to face her, with a ghost of smile on her lips. Everything about her was ghostlike, actually-- there was a strange intensity etched into her features, but more than the real thing, it seemed to be an echo of something that was long dead and buried. (A memory? If so, then one carved into her very flesh. ...how many scars did Myrne bear, under that fancy lab coat of hers? And, if you connected them in the same way a child connected dots in order to reveal a hidden picture, what exactly would you see?) "Iskra killed my daughter, back when I didn't call her 'captain' yet. She killed her, and that was the happiest day of my life. You see, Verity, they took my daughter away from me when she was born. Women in shiny armor came, and examined her, and prattled on and on about what a great honor it was, that her Aptitude was so great. They even gave me coins! So that I might 'build a better life for myself,' apparently," Myrne rolled her eyes.

"They made of her what they made of Iskra. I never stopped searching for her, though. I couldn't. You understand, right? You did say you were missing pieces of yourself, so you have to-- unless that was just a pretty phrase to roll off your pretty tongue. Well, I did find her in the end. I did, except that she was a monster, drunk on blood. They'd weaned her on it, so she knew nothing else. Still, still I was foolish enough to try and bring her home, though! Can you imagine? Anyway, she tried to kill me. She tried and would have succeeded, if Iskra hadn't killed her first. I begged her to kill me as well," Myrne shrugged, "but she wouldn't do it. Always so soft-hearted, right? And because I was too cowardly to take care of it myself, I decided my life is her responsibility now. It wasn't like I had anything better to do, among the ruins of my old existence. Does that answer your question, Verity?" she asked, her tone mildly sarcastic. "Has your curiosity been sated?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Being compared to a mosquito is certainly not what Verity had expected when she stepped into Myrne's laboratory. Actually, she had not even expected the older woman to be here in the first place, but here they both are, Verity strapped down to a chair and Myrne continuing her rain of insults. Part of her might have hoped for a better insect to be compared to, but then that would the defeat the purpose of the insult, now wouldn't it? In any case, the prisoner should not be spending so much time on her wounded ego while the woman threatens her––Verity is at least smart enough to know that the other is serious when she makes the suggestion that she should sleep with her eyes open. While Verity feels the weight of the threat, she does not show it. She only watches as the other expertly handles the various test tubes and prepares whatever it is that she is preparing.

"Well, at least these next few days will force my eyes open," she muses, and it's difficult to discern if Verity is being truly stupid or trying to make light of her predicament. It is likely a combination of both forces and, unfortunately, when stupid is in the mix it turns everything it touches to rot. "And perhaps I should thank you, too, for each day that I am able to continue breathing. I shall cherish these days knowing that they may or may not be rapidly dwindling in number. Perhaps, I will be free of my chains of worry and truly act as if each moment is my last." There is a certain flavor of genuine in her tone, but under such a thick layer of sarcasm Myrne may not detect it; yet, it is true that she wants to live her Life without chains of responsibility; she would like to live as herself and perhaps the threat of Death may help her to live more truly. (And then there is that arrogant part of the princess that does not think Myrne will squish her anytime soon––at least not for as long as she has Iskra's protection and shows no sign of harming her. Iskra may very well still be her shield; however, relying on that logic is foolhardy when the other woman could very well be a person who will take out a threat before it is even has a name.)

While Myrne's warning about lies also hangs in the air, Verity chooses not to address it. She doesn't believe that she owes the older woman an explanation of herself and why she has chosen, over and over, to keep herself hidden behind a Beautiful facade. It's not her business even if Verity's own Life is the thread that may be cut by this predator. Besides, the lies she has told started as a way to shield others from hurt and so she justified it as noble in her early days. In playing a doting role, it made it quite easy to blend in like a chameleon no matter her environment, no matter what people knew of her, because it's easy for people to believe what they want when you offer a flirty smile and gentle caress. She learned many terrible things in gaining the trust of the right people. Then, of course, contributing to her silence, there had also been the then princess, now queen, who had convinced Verity that no one would care about any of her revelations, because she is just a stupid girl from the west. Halen had also said something similar; the council as well; and the sages... her guard. 'No one cares for the truth,' other than Myrne, apparently.

And as the older shares her story Verity listens with intensity. She has no reason to believe that this woman is lying to her, given her insistence that she hates the action, and she can see no purpose in fabricating a tale such as this. This is not her sorrow to hold and, still, she feels it––even if Myrne claims that it had been a happy day she can only imagine that there must have been a bitterness too. The story also forces Verity to see this woman in a different light––either the respect she has for this devoted mother or something else entirely, she begins to see her less as a nuisance, realizing where her protective nature over Iskra may come from. Verity is not really sure what she thought of the other's behaviors before, but she had found it troubling that she had been able to easily win over the rest of the crew and yet this woman remained as a block of ice. Now she believes she understands why. "I––" she starts, almost about to apologize for the loss and then decides this scientist may not want her pity. So she settles for, "Thank you. For sharing that with me––I know I asked and still you chose to share." The prisoner swallows hard as she thinks over the story and imagines how she might have grown from an experience like that. "You are wrong, though, about Iskra being soft––I can see why so many think that of her," because people think the same of her as well, though maybe their reasons are more valid. "But I will stand by my judgment that Iskra is the strongest person I have ever met. Honor like hers is not something that exists on every planet; granted, I know very little of the captain, I can admit that, but who I have come to know is not someone who is soft but someone who is careful and understand the reactions of each of her actions and weighs them carefully." 'I––I have much to learn from that,' she thinks, bitterly. (The captain's mercy seems to be a punishment more than it is leniency for the exiled, because where she can see why Iskra would not want to kill her––since her knowledge remains valuable to Iskra's quest––living only ferments her torment. It would be easier if she were dead and yet, like Myrne, she is not brave enough to take herself out of this equation. Yes, there are people she needs to live for, and while she imagines her Death frequently, she does not have the drive to actually empty her body of her essence.)

Somewhere in her brief speech, that she has not yet finished, the scientist moved from behind her desk and tied a band around Verity's arm, above her elbow. Her veins begin to protrude and knowing what is about to happen, or not knowing what is about to happen, her pulse quickens and she looks away as the needle makes a home beneath her skin. The distilled mercury starts to pump into her and whatever else she had to say about the captain is completely derailed by the operation. Discomfort is quite a weak word for what is happening to the exiled.

 

[Syntra]

"No need to thank me," Myrne assured her, perhaps a little too quickly-- a tell-tale sign of a phrase carefully rehearsed, and often used as a shield. (Was she thankful, then? Or perhaps insulted? Gods only knew, because Myrne's face betrayed exactly nothing. ...come to think of it, the woman would have been a good diplomat had she not ended up under Iskra's wing-- or Iskra under hers, depending on the point of view. A funny little thing, wasn't it? Change the angle, and with it, the entire narrative shifted, too.) "You asked, so I answered. My part isn't secret, nor am I ashamed of it. Besides, it only seemed fair. You are about to open up as well, you see? And while I may not approve of what you've done, I cab at least respect that." ...what? The alchemist, however, chose not to elaborate-- instead, she took one of the needles, long and thin, and jammed it into Verity's skin. (Stars exploded beneath her eyelids, white-hot and painful, painful, painful. Searing, almost, like fire itself. ...could that be the goal, perhaps? To reduce her to ashes and then present Iskra with the charred remains, under the guise of it being a 'terrible, terrible accident?' Who had even heard of distilling mercury, anyway? Metals couldn't be distilled, and mercury was one, even if it transcended the boundaries of that definition, and-- and--)

"Pain is part of the process, too," Myrne murmured. "Do you know why flames cleanse, Verity? It's because they burn all that is unworthy. Besides, fire is sulphur, and sulphur is the soul. The consciousness. You cannot have mind without consciousness, and vice versa. The two concepts are linked, inseparably. Did you know that, back when our planet was young and barren, life came to be from suffering? Aleatha, the Merciful Mother, tore her own heart out of her chest and planted it, solely because she wanted to see it grow. The soil was dead, however-- so, so very dead that the heart almost shriveled along with it, too. The Mother didn't give up, though. Because life can only ever grow from another life, she fed the corpses of her daughters to it, flesh and skin and bones, and watched the dirt devour them all. Yet still, still it wasn't enough! There weren't any rivers back then, and seeds require water to grow. So, every day, the Mother watered it with her tears-- the tears she'd spilled over her daughters, killed in some senseless war. That's how life came to be, Verity. And why am I telling you all of this? Well," Myrne chuckled, "perhaps to make you realize it could have been worse. At least you get to keep your organs." ...well, that, or it was her specific brand of kindness, actually. Didn't words, after all, serve as a cushion? Not a cushion as soft as morphine, or perhaps dreamless sleep, but still a cushion nonetheless-- something to sink into, as opposed to just wallowing in pain.

Without another word, Myrne sat on a chair nearby and watched, with all the attentiveness of a hawk, as the mercury began to work its magic. And, oh, work it did! Slowly, Verity's world dissolved before her very eyes-- mist began rising from the floor, thick like whipped cream, and attached itself to her hair, her fingers, her eyelashes. (Did she want to scream? Too bad, for it gagged her mouth as well. The substance lay heavy on her tongue, and tasted of cinnamon, somehow-- cinnamon and shattered dreams. Drowning in the sensation would have been easy, all too easy, in fact, but then, then Verity felt something on her wrist. ...a spider? A fleshy spider, if it was a spider at all, with so, so many legs. It ran across her skin, too, and its claws left bloody trails behind, and... Oh. Oh, alright. Not a spider, then. Those were Myrne's hands!)

"--rity," her voice echoed in the princess's ears, seemingly from a great distance. (How, though? Wasn't the woman right next to her? Or had the process perhaps transported her to some parallel dimension, where Myrne existed and didn't exist at the same time?) "Verity. Do you hear me? That's it-- that's what we want. The fusion of the mind and consciousness. Now, don't get lost. Think of home, as hard as you can. Describe your favorite memory."