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

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

'This is mild?' she thinks, or would have thought if her entirety were not seizing up as the mercury marches into her bloodstream. It should not be surprising that Myrne may have undersold the effects of this procedure. If she allowed herself she may have anger for the scientist for misleading her––the electrode under her eyelid seems like a cat's lick compared to this. Besides, it's not like knowing that it would be completely unbearable would have deterred her anyway, she just would have felt more prepared; she still would have bravely gone through with this for sake of... well, for the sake of knowing that she is not made of bugs, bile, and everything vile. While there is some selfish desire to beg Myrne to make it stop, the thought of the other's reaction stills her and she reminds herself of the pledge she made to help––she must stay true to that. Of course, her primary concern is also the dolphins and she reminds herself of that, even as sweat covers her brow and drips down her face; she doesn't even mind that it is getting into her eyes because it hardly stings when her veins feel as though they might burst inside of her. Her breathing becomes shallow, much too shallow for comfort, but doing anything more seems impossible when she feels heat so fervid it somehow feels icy and it starts to seep into her bones. This, she thinks, would be an entirely appropriate moment to curse and yet no words can leave her lips and she cannot even run from this feeling or stop this process with her body immobilized by the straps and the searing grip of Pain.

With the world dissolving around her, a change that Verity does not notice, or somehow her mind is able to make sense of it and reduce her confusion to null, she begins to calm some. The Pain, while still present, becomes a constant in this state and thus it feels normal, unworthy of noting any further. She's able to take some deeper breaths and the tension in her body dissipates as cinnamon and glass overwhelms her tongue. The spider on her wrist alarms part of her and then the other part is more curious about the sensation. In this dream-like state, she doesn't register Myrne per se, but she does hear her voice and nods slowly, lazily to the command as she remembers just why she is in this strange land in the first place.

She closes her eyes and brings to mind one of her early memories.

"I'm five years old, still a sprite. I'm waiting with two of my sisters by the docks for our mothers to return from the sea. Despite it being the evening, heat beats up from the ground, and the smell of sand, salt, and hot air swirl around me. We spot their boat sailing above the horizon and though we know it will still be many, many more minutes––which feel like hours to my smaller self––before they arrive, myself and my younger sister bounce excitedly. Our older sister, Priscilla, tries to reign in our spirits, but even she smiles having caught our excitement. We begin to chatter about what treasures our mothers may have found or if they will have any gifts or surprises. I suggest that they may bring us a pet octopus and I would be happy to settle for a cuttlefish, since an octopus might be too large for our home.

When our mothers' ship pulls into the dock, they don't even bother helping the rest of their crew unload, they run straight towards us and both gather their daughters in their arms and hold us tightly. They pepper us all in kisses and talk about how much they missed us while they were away. When they pull away, Mama crouches down and looks at me in the eye and asks, 'Now, my little sprite, have you been good?' and I nod my head rapidly, without thinking, without mentioning the glass I broke while they were away, or how the sage sisters had to chase me away from their lessons again, or that I snuck some of Pricilla's treats. Mama doesn't question me, perhaps her mother's eye already knows of my mischief and does not care or she believes me. Either way, she searches her jacket pockets and pulls out a dried starfish from one; she eyes me carefully and tells me that she watched this falling star descend from the Cosmos and made the wish that she could bring this star back for her little sprite. She says that because her wish had been a throwaway, it may still have a wish left in it and that I should use it wisely. I immediately wish to become a princess."

 

[Syntra]

The memory, it seemed, did serve as some kind of anchor-- Myrne kept encouraging Verity to recollect more details, more impressions from the life that no longer was, and every time she did so, the mist became a little less thick. (Sometimes, the princess could see the silhouettes of something real behind the nothingness, too. They were weak and thin, like shadows cast on the wall, but they were there, weren't they? ...unless they were just another kind of delusion, wrapped in slightly more convincing camouflage. Still, the silhouettes became a little more sharper with each memory remembered, and, gradually, a port began emerging from those white depths. You know, the one Verity had described!)

It wasn't easy, of course. Multiple times, the electrode buzzed when she was about to fall asleep, and many more times than that, Myrne herself shook her awake. (Another way of looking out for her, presumably? Because as insensitive as those touches had been, they were still gentler than electrical shocks, delivered directly into her eye. ...ah, yes, yes. Sometimes, cruelty was just disguised kindness. Once again, it depended on the angle, you see?) Without any clocks to watch, time itself blurred into something incomprehensible-- a stain spreading too chaotically to watch, in truth, except maybe unless you used all those instances the electrode woke her up to measure it. (How many times had it happened? Six? Seven? And, more importantly, what was the conversion rate between one shock and an hour? Because, in practical terms, this meant less than nothing!)

"Verity," someone's hand shook her awake. "Verity, can you hear me?" Myrne, because duh, it was always Myrne these days. (Ironic, perhaps, but the princess's least favorite 'parasite,' as she had called her, had become her only connection with the reality. If nothing else, she hadn't neglected her duties-- vaguely, Verity could remember the other woman feeding her, and even keeping her clean. The memories were hazy, kind of like the mist everything had been surrounded in, but they were there, too.) "Verity, come back. It's been done. You need to rest now."

And, to that end, Iskra stood there-- Iskra, who worried her with the guilty gaze of someone who wondered whether she hadn't done something terrible. "Myrne! I thought I asked you not to be--"

"Unnecessarily cruel, yes. I wasn't, captain. This is what the process does to a body. I assure you, though, that she's fine-- just tired. Three days without sleep will do that to you, even with no mercury involved."

"...mercury?"

"Look, captain, if you wish to study how this works, I can give you some books to peruse. I do not wish to insult you, but your area of expertise lies so far from this field that trying to explain it now would take a whole week. Just know it's safe."

Iskra inhaled sharply, and for a moment, it seemed that she might argue with the woman-- except that then her defiance went out, like flames during downpour. "Very well. Come, princess. I shall escort you back to your cell." Gently, the pirate grabbed her forearm, and allowed Verity to lean on her as they walked back to her cabin. "A few more steps," Iskra murmured, "and then you can sleep. I... uh, hope it wasn't too terrible. That Myrne wasn't too terrible, too, since I know how she can be. She rarely means the things she says, you know? The woman prefers to read you before forming any real judgment, and her reading techniques can be... how to say it... quite unorthodox." Yes, in the same way that an ocean was quite large in comparison with a puddle. Ugh! Iskra really, really should have mentioned this earlier, she realized that now, but... well. Different concerns had kinda consumed her attention, such as her lungs being pierced. Oh well! "There's your bed. Rest now, alright? I'll return when we're ready to begin." Almost lovingly, Iskra tucked Verity under her blanket, and then she excused herself. "Goodnight," the pirate whispered before the door shut behind her, so quietly at may as well have been part of some distant, unfinished dream. Had it happened, or...?

The time continued to flow strangely, with its course twisting and turning-- for Iskra, too, because a kind of madness seized her before every mission. (Kinda as if ants invaded her veins, really. Oh, how itchy their bites were! If she could, she'd spring to action at this very moment, but obviously, that would be, uh, inadvisable. Verity needed to rest, so rest was what she'd get! ...now, if only the pirate could still her heart, calm her thoughts. Relax, Iskra told herself. Everything will happen at the pace it needs to happen at. Seeds required time to sprout, you see? And fruits, too, if they were to ripen.)

So, a day later, Iskra found herself knocking on the door of Verity's cell once again. "Princess? Are you ready?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

What Verity remembers of the ordeal is hazy. In part, because of the mercury that distinctly did not poison her (as far as she can tell) and, in part, because the longer she went without sleep the stronger the mist seemed to be as her delirious mind filled in the necessary gaps to complete the pictures in front of her. For the most part, she recalled memories from her days before it had been announced she would serve as a princess––in fact, she chose to stay far away from that day and stuck with her childhood. In childhood, her life had been simpler, rosier, and thus happier. It made it easier to give Myrne more details as she accurately recounted the characteristics of her childhood home into the mist around her. Though she expected to perhaps feel a sense of loss or heartache, under all the delirium she only felt joy in the moment. She described the city she had grown up in, down to the last potted plant in front of her favorite storefront. She spoke happily of her antics as a child, and the sage sisters who she eventually wore down enough that they would occasionally invite her to their less sacred lessons. She spoke of raising her seven other sisters while her mothers and older sister were out at sea. She spoke of becoming an impromptu storyteller for her neighborhood, since there were no learning centers around. Each memory, a fun story she had not recalled in so many years it felt like revisiting a favorite toy from the past, one all dusty and drab, and still full of so much sentiment that you feel a little sorry for neglecting it. (And for her, she was surprised that she had been neglecting her memories of home and the things that make her Verity at her core.)

Though she doesn't really remember all of the shocks or how Myrne shook her awake before she could drift––she does remember how heavy her tongue felt after the first night and how she hadn't even been sure she'd be able to say anything more. Yet, she persisted anyway, her tongue lazily forming slurred syllables that made sense probably to herself and the mist only. Part of her, a hidden part, described her stories in so much detail because, yes, the exiled does miss her home and the sharper the illusions became the more she wished to immerse herself in them and get lost in her happy past. Pathetically, she has grief when Myrne announces that she has finished what needed to be done––though in her tired state, she does not process her desire to stay for any longer than a second.

When she is taken back to her room, she barely remembers the trek and is not even convinced that her own feet had dragged her back to her cell. Does she even register that it's Iskra who is with her? Not really. She catches onto a familiar scent, but aside from that this all remains a mystery to her. In fact, the second she hits her bed, she is fast asleep––Sleep coming much easier to her now that she has spent so many days awake. And thankfully, no dreams or nightmares, as is usually the case now, enter her deep slumber.

The one benefit of the sage, Sleep? She is quite forgiving to those who neglect her. So when Verity awakens, some several countless hours later, she feels refreshed and alert as if she had not even spent the past few days forcing herself to remain conscious. At this point, she is used to waking up in this cell that it no longer startles her or causes her panic about where she is. It's familiar. It's lonely, too. And in the loneliness the memories from the last few days return to her and she does feel that ache for home. It squeezes her heart and still, in the bitterness, she is somehow thankful she had spent so much time recalling her past; even if those illusions had been entirely fabricated, she felt at least connected back to her homelands and the city that raised her. In those moments she could bring back the ancestors who have left her. She feels, now, more connected to herself––like fragile threads are forming and maybe one day they will be strong enough to form a bridge to her core. Maybe then, when that happens, she will know her purpose since that all seems so cloudy these days.

When Iskra comes in, Verity is sitting up with her knees pulled to her chest, chin resting on top as she reviews all the times she used to have. It's a much happier sadness to envelop herself in than the guilt that has gripped her neck for the last week. Of course, the guilt is still there, and she does feel less incorrigible than she had before––able to see how the fruits of her efforts will be used. She feels, perhaps, hopeful. So much so that when Iskra calls to her, she does not feel that thick layer of doubt that usually suffocates their interactions. The prisoner rises from her bed and approaches the barrier with her usual neutral grin on her lips, "Yes, captain. I'm feeling quite refreshed now."

 

[Syntra]

There she went, all distant once again! So sweet it had been, the way Verity had pronounced her name-- almost as if she had been trying to taste it, really, with such careful attention paid to each consonant, each vowel. Captain is a sign of respect, the pirate told herself. Why get this upset over it? The question was an empty one, though. She knew, you see? Knew and knew and knew, and that knowledge sat uncomfortably in her stomach, heavy like a cannon ball. (...it dragged her down, too. That, and the weight of all the other sins she had committed. Yes, other sins! This twisted desire for something that could never be hers, you see, was a great evil, inflicted mainly upon herself-- a dog biting its own tail, in truth. What was happiness, after all, if not being mindful of your place? That way, you'd never step into a territory that rightfully belonged to another. You'd never get torn apart by wild beasts, nor would you walk into a trap. 'In obedience, salvation,' one of the old mantras said. Why, then, couldn't Iskra obey the voice of reason? Had Death taken so much from her already that only the basest of impulses remained? ...a beast or a corpse, those seemed to be her options here. Mindlessness versus rot, atavism versus entropy, and in the midst of it her, choosing and choosing and chosing. What, though? What was her favorite brand of poison?)

"...I am happy to hear that, princess. Let us go, then." As they emerged on the deck, under the watchful eye of so, so many stars, something bumped into Verity's foot-- something small but heavy, enough to send shock waves of pain through her limb. And when she looked down? It was the mouse they had saved! The creature was looking at her in a way that seemed almost accusatory, in that 'you burned my house and murdered my children way'. "Volcanic Mouse!" Iskra reprimanded, with complete seriousness. "I've told you many times you cannot do this to people. When will you learn? My apologies, princess-- I believe she missed you. Since the... um, incident," her being murdered, that was, "I've allowed her to roam free. She seems happy to explore Inure, so I thought forcing her to remain by my side as I take care of the paperwork would be too cruel. Still," the pirate sighed, "I wish she was more disciplined. Such an unruly child she is!" ...seriously, though. What did Iskra have to do in order to win the respect of one tiny mouse? Many women bowed to her, considered her word to be the law, and yet, yet this creature resisted. Against all odds! (Small she may have been, yes, but a spirit of a true fighter resided in her heart-- that much was plain to see. And Iskra? Absurdly enough, she also felt something akin to pride upon the realization. A spirit this indomitable, after all, was a sight to behold! ...now, if Volcanic Mouse could also stop eating her reports, that would be just splendid.)

"But anyway, everything is ready for us to embark on our journey," Iskra said as they walked towards the railing. And the dolphins' song she had spoken about? Oh, they sang it, alright. (The melody hung above their heads, heavy and yet so, so delicate-- as if made of silk, truly, except that silk could strange you as well. ...could and would, as the pirate had experienced. Ah, how sharp it could be! The fibers had bitten her neck with the zeal of barbed wire, and The Holy Vessel had laughed and laughed and laughed--) "You know what the song makes me think of?" Iskra interrupted her own string of thought, staring into the endless depths surrounding the ship. "Home. The way it twists and turns, and yet always leads back to the very beginning... I must have been blind not to notice. All this time, they've been singing about their hearts' desire. And, really, isn't that why songs exist at all? To remind us that there's something beyond what the naked eye can see?" Aside from that, songs also seemed to be the dolphins' language. Well, if that was the case...

"They won't come closer," Iskra explained before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a tiny, flute-like instrument-- it had been made of some white material, and shone like a pearl on the dark background. "Not since the initial contact. I heard that they love music, though, and this... this was a gift from the Great Whale. She let us sculpt haaneiasaram from the bones of her children, for she wished them to spread joy even after they'd passed away. Somehow, it seems fitting. Let's see whether my hunch is right."

Gently, Iskra put the instrument to her lips, and blew into it-- her fingers danced across its length, too, and a striking, sharp tones joined the dolphins' voices. (They weren't overpowering them, either. No, the tune the captain had chosen seemed to support the existing melody, like a response to a question asked. 'Yes,' it said, 'I know of your pain, just as I know of your wounds. Your hearts are bleeding. May I attempt to stop it?') And, for a while, nothing happened. Iskra didn't give up, though-- more she played, with greater passion, till her lungs hurt. That had to mean something, didn't? If nothing else, the dolphins would have to notice! ...which, indeed, they did. Carefully, as if approaching a predator, a small group of them swam closer to the railing, with curiosity reflected in their large eyes. Thank the Shade! Now they had to figure out how to ride them, though. ...uh. Perhaps she should have thought of that sooner?

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

In truth, the prisoner does miss when she had been able to roam Inure freely. Though these past few days she had technically been in Myrne's laboratory, it was only a change of scenery and a minor break from her isolation. (Not that Myrne had been particularly great company––it's not as if they had spent any meaningful Time bonding. No, their conversation had been purposeful and mostly involved Verity talking and sharing.) There are only so many places her mind can take her before she ultimately will give up on staving off her spiralling thoughts––because that's how all her thoughts end these day, in a downward spiral. While her spirits are high now, she does not trust that they will remain so. It's just a brief moment of calm before the hurricane whips back around and thrashes her around again.

All that to say, she is savoring the moments she is allowed out of her cage. It feels pitiful to have to scrape these precious moments together to hold onto her sanity and yet she really has no other option until Halen comes to her rescue––which is only an inspiring thought in the sense that at least Halen won't confine her to a cell. While her presence feels like a cage in and of itself, she will be freer than she currently is. (She vaguely entertains the idea of running away once she is inevitably retrieved––perhaps that will solve all of her issues and problems; if she is not happy with Iskra, if she is not happy with Halen, maybe she should go and just be happy by herself. She doesn't know what that would even look like or mean, but she is hopeful for an out from all the guilt that she holds. Where she knows running may not help, she at least will have her space from the stressors that only press against her until she cannot breathe. In her fantasizing, she hardly considers her duties as a princess—mostly because she does not feel like one.)

"––ow!" she shouts, louder than she had meant when her foot hits something small and hard, effectively pulling her away from her thoughts. When she looks down, not sure what she expects to see, her eyes soften and she crouches down to pet––Volcanic Mouse? 'Ah, so she stuck with that name. I suppose that is fair. She spent so much time thinking up those dreadful names.' She does frown when the realization hits her that the poor mouse is stuck with that terrible name because of her. Murdering Iskra effectively stopped any conversation on what to name their pet. (Though is it even theirs? Did she not give up that role when she decided to stab the captain three times? It had been her idea to rehome the animal and yet Iskra seems to be the one taking care of her––what use is her caretaking when she is locked away? So long as she is being taken care of, that is what matters most, Verity guesses.) Though she wishes that the mouse had a better name, she does not voice this. She only strokes the mouse's smooth, glassy body and watches as her black hue turns red under Verity's stain––though Volcanic Mouse seems to absorb it and her normal color returns within seconds. The prisoner reaches for nearby crystal growth and breaks off a piece to feed to the small animal. "Apologies, Volcanic Mouse, I wouldn't neglect you were my circumstances different. This is all I can do for now," she whispers to the creature, careful to make sure that Iskra does not hear her––lest she think that Verity is vying for more than she is allowed. (That feels wrong to her. Guilt and self-punishment aside, in being treated as a prisoner she knows her place and thus her role.)

With the mouse happily distracted with the crystal treat, Verity rises and joins Iskra by the rail. She gazes out at the dolphin pod and listens to their song. It brings her a strange sense of peace. Not because it soothes her, but in their song she feels recognized. Though she doesn't assume that the dolphins are singing to her of for her, the song brings about a feeling that is rooted firmly in her chest. Iskra names the feeling and Verity agrees with the interpretation, because that is exactly the chord the dolphins' tune strikes in her. "It reminds me of that as well––of home... But, captain, I had no idea you would have such an appreciation for song when you disregard poetry as being just words; yet I see them similarly to how you see song," she comments, a certain shyness in her tone at bringing up some topics they used to discuss.

With curiosity, she watches as the pirate pulls out a flute and explains the object to her before she starts to play. Verity leans against the railing, resting her chin over her crossed arms as she listens to the song that Iskra has chosen. It also surprises her that the pirate is gifted in this arena as well––mainly, because she had never mentioned it before and Verity had never had the chance to ask. It's a pleasant surprise, however, and she can't help but to let that grin of hers stretch into something closer to a smile, eyes seeming to dance along to each note played––she forgets about the dolphins entirely. Not until they approach and Iskra stops the melody. "That was really lovely––did you compose that yourself?" Just as before, she feels shy prying into the captain's life and yet she cannot help herself either. So she continues before the courage leaves her, "Where did you learn to play the––the haaneiasaram?"

Verity then turns her attention to the group of dolphins that were brave enough to approach the railing and she beams at one––the red one who is still missing spots of color. "Ah, hello friends," she says, reaching her hand out slowly to see if they are still interested in being pet. The red dolphin approaches her equally red hand and bumps her head against Verity's palm, which prompts the exiled to stroke her. "We are going to help you, okay?" she says, as the animal nods into her palm. Then, without much thought and because Iskra had said the plan was to ride them once they increased that homeward pull, Verity jumps over the railing and saddles herself onto the red leader. She does it without considering the potential pitfalls of her action and it turns out she would not have had any reason to worry, because the dolphin happily catches her and she's firmly holding onto her fin. "Will you be joining us, captain? Or are you scared?" she teases, clearly finding it hard to not be herself while living out the most fantastic version of her childhood wishes.

 

[Syntra]

The way Verity just jumped over the railing, as fearless as a bird getting ready to soar the skies? Oh, Iskra would never get used to that. Never! (Just, how could she be this convinced of her own safety? Did the princess not know how fragile human bodies were? For the pirate knew, as someone who had been broken thousand times over. Again and again and again they'd shattered her, so much that she wondered how the flesh still remembered its shape. ...or did it? Mirrors were a needless luxury to a soldier, so Iskra didn't study her own face that much. How could she know, then, that it remained the same? That the model according to which the Shade reconstructed it each time wasn't fading, much like her spark was, and that it didn't fill in the blank spots with guesses? ...maybe, with each death, she was becoming something other than herself-- a collection of poems only half-finished, except that with each new page, the amount of verses was shrinking. And, really, wasn't that only appropriate? So, so many times had she written a full stop on the pages of someone else's future, and with blood, too. Having to deal with a similar fate was justice, no matter how Iskra looked at it. 'To filth you will return,' indeed.)

"Princess," she chastised, furrowing her brows. "You should be more careful than that. What if you hurt yourself? A great responsibility lies on your shoulders now, so you must ensure that you'll be able to bear it. Till the bitter end, if need be." Only Verity, after all, could lead the dolphins to their crystal now-- the homeward pull resided within her bosom, and if it were to break with impact... oh, the group would wander the space endlessly, slaves to an instict that didn't exist anymore. (Yes, that was the reason Iskra worried so much. Her, feeling scared for the safety of the woman who had killed her? Pffft, no. A cow wouldn't feel sorry for a butcher who had slipped on her blood, now would it? ...a dog might hold such feelings for its master. A dog, animal so stupidly loyal it almost rivaled Iskra herself.)

"But, no. I am not afraid." Because, unlike you, I am disposable. Don't you know? It's the only thing that saved you, Verity. ...yes, yes, yes! Hadn't Iskra stressed that, had the princess killed anyone else, she would have had to pay with her life? (Her own existence was worth less than nothing, though, so demanding payment seemed profoundly unfair. What had she lost, even? Illusions, wrapped in rosy dreams? That had been a kindness on Verity's part-- the gift of reality, from which she had slowly been drifting away. Now, however? Once again, Iskra's eyes were open, open, open, and oh, did she see the world clearly! In all its colors, faded as they were. ...shades of grey, mostly. Shades of grey, with all the meanings stripped away.)

Mirroring Verity, Iskra extended her hand-- and, sure enough, one of the dolphins swam forward. (Was it sniffing it? The pirate knew not whether dolphins used their sense of smell to navigate the space, much like many other animals did, but it sure looked that way to her.) "Hello, Ms. Dolphin," she said, oh so serious. "My name is Iskra. Will you allow me to sit upon your back? I am not as heavy as I look, and I need to escort the princess here. You know, so that I might help you find your home." The dolphin looked at her with its large, intelligent eyes, and in that moment, Iskra could have sworn that it nodded-- which, she supposed, wasn't that much of a stretch. They carried wishes, didn't they? And in order to grant them, they first had to understand.

Verity's jump wasn't something Iskra wished to copy, though. No, not at all. Had the princess not thought about the animal's comfort?! Having something this heavy land on their back, without a prior warning, must have been an unpleasant experience-- roughly equivalent to walking on ice, and it shattering beneath your feet. So, instead of that? The pirate grabbed the railing and sort flung herself over it, while still holding onto the construction. That way, her own strength had to carry most of her weight-- and, as she lowered herself on the dolphin, she controlled the process well enough to make sure it would be gradual.

"Thank you," Iskra said. Verity's dolphin then cried out, in this high voice that all the other members of the colony mirrored, and afterwards? Afterwards, it swam forward, with a great sense of purpose. (Did it mean it had picked up on the signal? Oh, Iskra could only pray for it to be so. It would be so, so easy to get lost in the darkness! Not even the stars could guide you with so many of them visible, blinking their greetings from the distant past. ...how strange it was, in truth, that so many of them were dead already. Time, it seemed, wasn't a line-- no, it was a curve, and what you saw depended entirely on where you were standing. Did other people see some other version of her, too? A creature less ugly, less broken? ...if she was allowed to wish for something, then Iskra would have gone for that.)

"Words are words and songs are songs," the pirate reasoned when her dolphin joined Verity's animal. "Words are told, songs are sung or played. That means that while words are for communication, songs are for pleasure. Or do you disagree, princess?" she challenged. "Although... yes, I have to admit that I did alter my position somewhat. Words can indeed spark joy as well, if you arrange them in patterns that are pleasing to the ear. I still think that transferring information is their main function, however."

Verity's other question, though... oh, it made Iskra purse her lips. "I... I was to please The Holy Vessel, and she loved music so. I think that she loved this instrument in particular, because-- because..." her voice failed, and she had to swallow before continuing, "...because it reminded her of victory, I suppose. With her own hands, she killed them. The Great Whale's children, whose bones had been turned into this. It was a peace offering, you see? The only way to sate Her wrath. Tell me, princess. How many deaths is a single song worth? If you had to choose between killing and living in silence, what would you do?" Iskra raised her eyebrow.

"And, no, I didn't compose it. The melody came to me, so I played it. In that sense, I'm an instrument, too." ...and in so, so many others as well.

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Naturally, Verity rolls her eyes at Iskra when she chastises her like a child. As if Verity needs to know about how dangerous her last act had been––of course, knowing and incorporating that knowledge are two different things; Verity clearly ignored the crucial integration of danger when she leapt over the railing and landed on the animal's back. In the end, she is safe and so what does it matter that she could have drifted off into the endless stream of space? That is not the path she has been strung on so there is no need to worry over what could have happened. (Again, the pirate also asserts Verity's value in a matter-of-fact way that is no less cruel to the exiled. Once more she is but a tool for someone else to use and so long as she functions, she is valuable. No one, of course, cares about Verity as she has learned several times over. Still, it had been nice when, for that brief moment, Iskra seemed to care about her. Though it also makes sense that Iskra would withhold that now––and she doesn't blame her either, because as has been etched into her the fiber of her essence a thousand times over at this point, she knows this her fault. She made herself an object only, devoid of anything meaningful. Such is the way her Life has gone.)

"There is no need to worry about someone like me, captain. I am quite capable of handling myself," she says, defiance licking each syllable even if her track record provides evidence to the contrary. It's not like those instances really matter, because she is still alive by some several miracles. "And if you think so little of me that I would shirk my responsibilities, then that fault is my own––for leading you astray," further defending her position––further wanting to push the idea from the captain's head that she is some irresponsible thing to look out for; if the captain paid closer attention, she'd know Verity doesn't take her responsibilities lightly. It is the very reason she ended up with a gaping hole in her chest when looked at from certain angles. (Not that that is the angle Verity tends to view that incident from.)

Though watching how careful Iskra is with placing herself on the animal's back does make her think twice about her less than graceful approach. So she leans forward and strokes her dolphin once more, whispering, "Ah, sorry for the stress, friend––I should have been wiser, I promise to be more graceful if we ever ride again." After her apology, Iskra's own dolphin is by her side and the two surge forward with the rest of the pod in pursuit. Glee spreads through the prisoner's veins and she can't help but to whoop, even going so far as to let go of the dolphin's fin and stretch her arms upwards as if on a rollercoaster and not dangerously close to falling off her stead. Though she only does that for a few seconds before returning her grip around the creature, who she is pretty sure will take care of her even if she were to get dismounted.

"I do disagree," Verity confirms, once she has processed the pirate's assertion of poems versus song. It's such an offensive and nonsensical claim that the prisoner does not even think to censor herself. "If you cannot understand that a song is a poem just by another name, then perhaps you should lift those blacked-out lenses from your eyes and see for once in your Life. A song is just another way to speak a poem––were I a better vocalist, maybe you would understand what I mean, but I shall not burden your ears with that." Iskra can be so frustrating sometimes, she thinks. "Poems, songs, prose, essays, are all means of transferring information, Iskra. If you do not understand what they are saying then listen or read more carefully, because I assure you nothing is just meaningless or for mere pleasure––there is message in everything if your essence is open to it."

Though as the conversation shifts back to the Holy Vessel, Verity falters some––unsure of what to even say, because the topic makes her uneasy now that Iskra has drawn a parallel between herself and the vessel. Something she is reminded of with each princess that slips from Iskra's mouth––probably because she associates Verity with poison and isn't that only fair? (At the same time, this story... This story does not remind the exiled of herself. Not in the slightest, because to kill creatures so sacred to the lands and sea? So much that their mother offers the bones of her children as a peace offering? Oh, that is an evil Verity's mind would never think to conjure.) "I see," she starts. "What caused the Holy Vessel to be so angry?" Though... why even bother finding reasons to justify the actions of an evil woman? Has she not already been given this lesson before? Of course she has and she has failed it, so it only makes sense she is doomed to repeat it until Life deems her a master of this lesson. "I would like to think that I would choose silence, but I'm not so sure now," now that she killed Iskra. The question feels pointed, but perhaps her imagination is connecting the wrong dots to create an erroneous constellation that will lead her nowhere great.

"The melody came to you? Is that not how all songs are composed, by an idea swimming into your head? And yet you do not see yourself as the creator of that song? Tell me, captain, do you understand that instruments do not play melodies? It is the musician's expertise that plays the instrument and gives it a voice––Beautiful or sour, that is the musician's craft. If you are an instrument, explain to me how you are able to play yourself?" Ah, does this feel familiar! Bantering, debating, challenging the captain––she has missed it and has wanted it to resume, but in the awkwardness of her cell she can never find the courage. However, outside of that, inspired by the giddiness of riding a dolphin, she is unable to stop her words from flying off her tongue without care. And that feels like a treat too, so she shall savor this moment for as long as Iskra will allow it to last––because she won't be the one to end it. (She assumes.)

 

[Syntra]

"Oh?" Iskra raised her eyebrow. "How come? Now, I do agree that certain songs do have poem-like qualities, but that isn't true for all of them. What of songs without words? You cannot possibly claim that those are poems, too." Because labels had meanings, by the Shade, and while Iskra may not have known much about poetry, she did understand how it worked in theory. You had to paint a picture with your words! Carefully, you had to arrange them, in the same way others might arrange flowers-- contrasting colors and contrasting shapes, yes, but ones that accentuated each other instead of clashing. And how did you do that when you couldn't use any words at all? You didn't, duh! Impossible, that was what it was, just like trying to catch sunlight in your hands. "Not all beautiful things have to do with your craft, princess. Would you say, for example, that a moon being reflected on an ocean's surface is a poem? Or that the way I dance with my blade, just because it looks elegant enough? Both the lion and the panther are cats, though only the one whose eyes are blind would say they are the same. Perhaps it's similar with songs and poems-- perhaps they were born from the same mother, but went their separate ways." Hmm, hmm. Who would their mother be, though? What exactly connected them on a level so deep it could serve as the proverbial umbilical cord? So, so many thoughts raced through her head! (...and then there was the sense of nostalgia, too. Verity and her had engaged in these verbal duels often, hadn't they? Both of them had claimed countless victories and suffered many losses, with the only constant being that victor had always helped the loser back on her feet-- until, of course, Verity had reached for real steel. That hadn't been a blow she should have recovered from, was it? Oh, it hadn't, it hadn't, it hadn't! Only her inhuman, monstrous nature had saved her then. ...too bad it couldn't also save her from herself, though. From the beast that lurked within, its claws bloody and its stomach always, always empty.)

Deep in thought, Iskra caressed her dolphin's head. "Beauty, perhaps. I believe that both of those, and many others, may have been born from the need for beauty. But, princess, didn't you tell me earlier that beauty is treacherous? That it's only ever used to mask the rot within?" ...if that was the case, then Iskra should have been extraordinarily beautiful. Was she? Did people perceive her that way? The pirate couldn't tell-- the mirror wasn't her faithful companion, and when she did look into it... well, it was hard to stare into those blue depths. (At some point, they had been more, you see? More than these cold, dead hearths. ...they'd burned, so, so brightly. Iskra didn't remember what they'd been like exactly, but she did know how powerful that flame had been-- hot like the righteous anger that had blossomed in her chest, before grief had buried it. Ah, why couldn't they just let her rest? Clearly, her heart still beating was only a formality.) "I didn't believe it before, but perhaps I was wrong. I mean, I'm not sure whether I could live in silence, either. It is too much to ask of a person. The real question is, though: if you have to sacrifice so much for it, isn't the pursuit of beauty ugly in itself? An expression of selfishness, rather than that of some noble instinct to spread joy?" ...or perhaps they chased beauty blindly, instinctively, in the same way their lungs craved oxygen. "What do you think, Verity?"

"And The Holy Vessel... it was complicated," Iskra admitted. "According to our law, she was to be the sole queen-- the ruler of the earth, of the seas, of the skies. The whales wanted to be free of her reign, and so they reached for their freedom. I never realized just how fractured the kingdom was, but... yes. Before us, there were many who dared to go against her as well." If only they'd cooperated! Everything could have been different had they joined their strengths, deepened each others' understandings. Had her eyes seen what they saw now, would the tides of history have flowed into a different direction? ...pointless, pointless, pointless. Only little girls who play with dolls think like this, and dwell in their dreams. "They had a good reason for their rebellion, too. Remember how I spoke of my people being skilled magicians? Many of these... rituals... require ingredients. Rare ingredients, such as whale fat. Every year, they had to choose among their loved ones, and send us a tribute. 'For protection,' The Holy Vessel had said. I assume she meant protection from herself," Iskra chuckled mirthlessly, "and the whales discovered the truth of that swiftly. Tell me, princess. Can such stories be found in your history as well, or have you always had a just queen?" The thought seemed alien, much like the idea of the sky being green, but perhaps, perhaps it wasn't impossible. Being able to choose the ruler must have eliminated the worst candidate from the pool, right? ...unless wicked, wicked people chose them, with only their own evil as compass.

"I..." Iskra opened her mouth and then she shut it immediately, as if that question shocked her. Had it stolen her words, too? (No. No, for that was the one thing they couldn't take away from her-- not while she still had her tongue, at least.) "Composing is hard work, princess. It is wrestling with the universe to create something out of nothing, not waiting till something comes to you. I didn't even try, and yet the idea wormed its way into my head. I can only conclude it existed before, and found me to be a suitable vessel. So, no, I didn't play myself-- something greater than me did. I cannot create music, princess. Nothing grows in dead soil."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Iskra can be so infuriating sometimes! Verity knows that the pirate is not this way on purpose, she just is and even though all her words poke at the prisoner's irritation, she does not mind. When all is said and done, this is the very thing she likes most about the captain. There is something in the way she speaks and how she links all of her thoughts together that fascinates Verity. Whether it's because she thinks so differently from herself or because, in someways, they both think along parallel lines. It is not the same, but there is something complementary in every new idea that springs from Iskra's lips. (Oh, how soft those lips had been to kiss... How sweet they had tasted... How she wishes she would have lived solely in that moment instead of the hundred other moments that collided with that one. If Time were ever to grant her one wish, she would, without a shadow of a doubt, wish to undo that moment before any other.)

The prisoner takes a sharp breath, trying to steady herself lest she become irrational and dig her heels into a point that is false. She does hear Iskra's point, but she still thinks that the captain is thinking about this all too literally––most of this world is figurative (or maybe that's just Verity's tendencies to bend rules). "True, poems, by their very definition are strings of words. However, to say that even wordless songs are not communicating with us? How did you think to understand the dolphins' melody? It resonated in you. The chords they struck, struck chords within us and so we learned their meaning by listening. A feeling can traverse landscapes that are beyond words... But, yes, not all songs are poems and I was referring to the ones with lyrics; still, I do think that the wordless ones speak. It's just a more nuanced language," while her tone is stern, suggesting she will not waver on her position and her gaze is equally fierce, there is kindness in everything she says. She is not, after all, trying to make the captain feel inept or daft––that has never been the nature of their debates. There has always been a unspoken respect between the two of them whenever they disagree, which they so often do, but neither ever really shuts down the other's point entirely. Truthfully, there are few times when Verity has thought her ideas and convictions would not benefit from further polishing by running it past another's mind. Iskra has always seemed up to the task, even now (despite Verity murdering her). "And, well, if Life is poetry then perhaps all those things are poems if you bend your perspective," she suggests, though she is not all that serious about this point. Mostly because she also does not think Iskra's more extreme examples are in good faith to her argument. "In all honesty, yes, I cannot think of songs and poems as entirely divorced so they must be related in some form or another. After all, vocalists marry the two quite effectively."

As they continue to sail forward on their dolphin steads, it's surprising that Verity does not spend more time gazing at the stars around them or marveling at the other dolphins in this pod. Her attention, as has become habit, is entirely the pirate's and it feels so comfortable speaking to her like this that she does not want to ruin it with fantastic distractions. "Admittedly, I have some harsh opinions of that sage because I have seen how she has been misused to distract and subdue. Beauty, if she were used in the ways I think she should be, can be purposeful and can shine light on the things we ought to cherish and keep sacred." Though if there is Beauty in everything, does that mean she should look for her in all things? To figure out just what makes them special and sacred? Perhaps. "My feelings on her are a bit complicated. I suppose I just don't like the facile uses of Beauty––I think she's much more complex than that. However I digress, I think we ought to question our pursuits if they leave ruination in their wake," she swallows quickly after saying that, realizing the ruination she has caused without questioning herself first. (Of course, then, she had never expected to deal with the Consequences of murder in the ways she is currently. It had been such a spur of the moment solution, too, and that should have been her first sign to step away. But instead, she stepped forward with knives crafted from her own bones.) "I suppose, though, Beauty is in the eye of beholder which makes her a tricky sage to grapple with... Even so," she says, deciding to go bravely forward, as uncomfortable as this conversation makes her, "is it really the pursuit of Beauty if it leaves something ugly behind? Perhaps if you never look back you can convince yourself that the ruination in your wake does not exist and thus Beauty is still what is gained. However, if you are wise, you will look back and assess your actions; perhaps then you will realize the pursuit was never worthy at all and that what you need is probably somewhere in yourself and not something attained outside." Now, just who is the prisoner speaking to? Herself? or Iskra? It's difficult to tell.

This new lesson on the Holy Vessel only further convinces Verity of that woman's corruption. Something must happen to the soul when it lives long past its expiration. Perhaps her hubris, believing she is untouchable because she defeated the gods themselves, made her soul wicked. In all honesty, Verity could see that happening to anyone capable of taking down that which should be immortal. Even herself, she can see a similar fate were she to walk that line and challenge a divinity or sage. Unchecked arrogance can be such a deadly poison and it only grows stronger over time. At Iskra's question, Verity sighs and looks forward as memories begin to rise to the surface before she can even quash them. "Tyrannical queens have reigned over the lands," she nods slowly and turns her attention back to Iskra. "The purpose of choosing our own was born out of that––though that was many centuries ago. I am told that the current system started after some form of rebellion, though I haven't a clue who those leaders were or where they originated or what that rebellion even looked like––we do not speak of it often. I only know that there was great unrest between the monarchy and the people and the people demanded a more just system. One that did not rely on birthrights or lineage. So when the people overthrew the monarchy, they elected a new queen from their ranks. Then they devised a council that was to be in charge of scouting future queens––the councils' purpose was to look for citizens who would not use the rule for their own gain, but for the gain of those at the lowest ranks. The queen's role is meant to be one of service," she sighs again. "But that's just not how it really works. Over the years the council has been filled with oligarchs and they have chosen queens who will benefit them and so everyone really has failed at their role and we have failed the people. Admittedly, we haven't had a queen like the Holy Vessel until recently." Until now. "The evils were more covert before." Or more normalized, having been carefully sowed and fertilized over generations.

Iskra's next ridiculous claim leaves Verity completely astonished. Just how can Iskra see composition in such a way? More importantly, how can she see herself in such a way? 'Dead soil, what does that even mean?' "That's absurd. You're being stubborn, captain. Composition does not have to be difficult to make it credible; yes, many struggle and wrestle with muse, but if the muse comes to you peacefully that still means you listened. You breathed her to Life with each note you played––it matters not whether you created it from nothing, as you say, or waited for the inspiration––I'm really not sure how either is scenario truly different. And I don't think everything has to be born of strife..." That last comment lingers in the exiled's head and she wrestles with herself to figure out how to address it. "Nothing grows in dead soil, that is true, but how can you think of yourself that way when there is so much Life in your thoughts?"

 

[Syntra]

Hmm, hmm. Could that be true? Iskra had never really thought of it like that before-- in her mind, there had been clear boundaries between the two terms, much like there were clear boundaries the ocean and the sky, but... well, maybe that was a wrong way of looking at this, after all. (Also, was that metaphor even fitting? Who could tell where the sky ended when the surface reflected it, and accentuated its magic? In the water, the stars shone so, so brightly! ...and they seemed within reach, too, which maybe mattered more.) "I wonder," Iskra began, "if the connection is similar to the one the ocean and the sky share. Sort of strengthening one another, I mean. I still don't think the two are the same, but I believe a lot can be gained from the union of the two. What you said about music... you do have a point, princess." Because one thing, if nothing else, was undeniable-- the message hidden in the melody had spoken to her, yes, oh yes! In a thin voice the pirate might have missed had she not been paying attention, but that wasn't what had happened. No, the words had indeed reached her. (...had they been words, though? For that which Iskra had deciphered wasn't a cluster of consonants and vowels, nor had she received clear sentences for her efforts. It was something more primal, it seemed-- perhaps a remnant from the times before speech had even been formed, and all the organisms had sung the same song of life.) "In a way, I think that music is easier to understand," she added after a while.

"I mean, don't you think that words are somewhat limited in their use, princess?" Iskra looked at her, the old flames of curiosity shining in her eyes. "Their meanings are more defined, yes, and that is what we require of them, but that can be a weakness as well. You cannot embrace the whole world with a single sentence. Moreover, there are many blind spots for us to deal with-- blind spots that you usually aren't even aware of. Take the word 'bird,' for example. Simple, right? You say 'bird,' and you think everyone will know what you mean because the idea of bird is so, so basic. Except that no, that isn't true. You want to know what my mind conjures up when I hear it? A maalikaansae, which is a bird native to my country. It doesn't live anywhere else, though, so I imagine that the creature you think of when someone tells you to picture a bird must be quite different. Do you see how deep the differences run? Such a common word, and so many interpretations! With this sea of options, I... don't really think it's possible to read a poem and understand what the author meant-- not fully, anyway. Music is more universal, however, and so it might carry certain meanings more reliably. It might support them, especially in tandem with word. Maybe... maybe melodies could be used as guidelines for how poems are meant to be read," Iskra offered. And then, because it was impossible to stop her thoughts from racing, she just had to ask: "Does it bother you, princess? As a poet, I mean. That, try as you might, your ideas will never come across to those who hear your poems-- that there's this wall between us, and it will never go away." ...was it the generic 'us,' or her and Verity specifically? By the Shade, she had no idea.

"I suppose," Iskra said as Verity presented her thoughts to her, "that someone this wrapped in beauty must have a complicated relationship with it. Your perspective must be quite unique here." (And, really, wasn't it beauty with which the princess had entranced her? Both the beauty of her mortal shells and her ideas, each a rare pearl. ...too bad, then, that the mesmerizing quality had been used to conceal her blade.) "Existence is anything but simple, I think. Perhaps there are such things that appear to be beautiful at a glance, but only to those who do not look carefully enough-- and perhaps that is a good thing, for sloppiness should not be rewarded. I just... what if you cannot look back, princess?" Yes, what if you couldn't? Not because you didn't want to, but because your memories were slipping away, away, away, and so you had no where to look? Was she destined to fumbling around in the darkness, then? "Consider it, as a hypothetical scenario. How would you know what is truly beautiful, without that safety net?"

Sadly, Verity's brief history lesson didn't surprise her in the slightest. "Ah, yes," she nodded. "That seems to be the one constant across the galaxies, truly-- greed." A survival mechanism gone haywire, that was what it was, and perhaps that was why it was so difficult to uproot it. "Do you think that you even can eliminate this aspect of our condition, princess? Or is some degree of suffering necessary, so that others might be happy?" 'In everything, balance,' one of the mantras said, and it seemed like such a nice sentiment to uphold-- until you realized, at least, that 'everything' truly meant 'everything,' and you were the one on who had to bleed so that others wouldn't.

Ah, the pirate thought as she watched Verity, she doesn't understand. She doesn't understand at all. And could Iskra blame her for that? Just as a bird understood not the plight of the ant, a princess would never see the world from her perspective, either-- from the perspective of something this low, this disgusting. (Her mask hid that parts of her well, but that didn't make them disappear, you know? One day, it would slide off her face, and then... then, Verity would know. Know, know, know!) "Your eyes cannot perceive this," Iskra said quietly, her gaze downcast, "because you weren't there before. You don't know what I was like." She didn't know, either, and that was even worse. "Sometimes, I... well, I think I'm trying to get that feeling back, but it won't return to me. Full of Life, you say? Maybe it's leaking from me, then, and bleeding into those thoughts. That would explain why the rest of me is the way it is."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity had never thought about the relationship between the sea and sky; of course, she is aware of their relationship at the most basic level, however she had never made the connection that they can be in actual relation with one another––that they can strengthen each other. It is an interesting connection to make when the topic had been music––which Iskra does circle back to in her own unique way. That is, by allowing silence to pass and for the topic to change in those unspoken moments. The idea that words are limited and music is somehow more pure is fascinating to the prisoner, because she thinks the opposite. However, as Iskra continues to illustrate her point, she begins to see the captain's perspective––after all, she had similar misunderstandings back in her home country when she had requested something as simple as 'tea.' She remembers how confused she had been when the servant had come back with this spiced, milky drink instead of the sickenly, syrupy sweet variation common to the city she hails from. It had never occurred to her, in that moment, to clarify that she wanted western tea. "You're right, I think. Words are complicated––yes, they have specific meanings and the users also assign meaning based on their own contexts; so things can become lost even when speaking the same language. But I think that's what I like about words too––that they're so complex and the symbols that words provide can mean different things to different people. It's what makes talking about poetry or literature so fun in general! You just never know if your friend has read or heard the same poem as you." Not that Verity has had many friends who enjoy talking about such things, but at least some were patient enough to listen to her interpretations even if they thought the poem too simple to be worthy of analysis. (And that's where Verity thought they were very wrong––because that which seems simple very rarely ever is.)

Now, Iskra's questions does not bother the prisoner in the slightest. In fact it delights her. "Well, I think that was my favorite part about sharing my poems––that their meanings change depending on the audience. In fact, entirely new poems were written just by listening to how my words affected each of my listeners. So it never bothers me that the meanings can change." Of course, this does ignore Verity's outburst when Iskra had misinterpreted the first poem she ever shared with her. Though she would argue the circumstance and context had been severely different and that her rejection of Iskra's misinterpretation was completely justified. "I do think melody could help me preserve the tone of a piece and I have done readings with a cellist or harpist by my side, and I would say that drastically influenced how my poems were received. I'm not sure I liked it as much as only using my own voice, because it gave too many breadcrumbs for the listeners to follow and made interpretations so narrow." She wrinkles her nose remembering those readings. "So I don't think of the impurity of words as a wall; I think it's a bridge that always connects somewhere in the middle. That is why I never reveal the meanings of my poems––even when people guess right. I want it to mean something to the audience as much as it means or meant something to me. That's what makes it all so special."

However, as they sail forward and Verity gets comfortable placing her head down on her dolphin and practically resting on top of her, her cheeks flush at Iskra's odd compliment. She only thinks of it as odd because she is not sure what to make of it. Some part of her thinks that there is a backhanded nature to it in light of all the recent events between them; all the ugly events between them. She says nothing of it and only focuses on the remaining hypothetical. It's not something she had considered, because the idea that she can never look back never once occurred to her. Putting herself in the shoes of someone who has nothing to look back towards is difficult to even fathom. Even with the ancestors forsaking her, she still has their memories to review, so she is still able to look back in several different ways. This question takes much of her imagination to conjure a response. "Well, it sounds somehow lonely to never be able to look back. I'm not sure why lonely strikes me there, but I suppose it's because... well, if I could never look back then I would hope to have friends who could do that for me or help guide me on a path forward. People to trust, to help me realize my pursuit is worthless or worth too much. I guess I would never have my own objectivity in that case and would be relying on the perspectives of others to help me realize what is Beautiful... I really don't know, captain. I've never thought of that," she chews on her lip, unsatisfied with her answer. Perhaps because in her answer she had been trying to see a light at the end of the tunnel, but what if, in this scenario, there is no light? She does not want to entertain that possibility, but is it foolish to believe that everyone can self-reflect no matter what?

"I think you can eliminate anything that is unnecessary, captain. That includes unnecessary suffering," she says firmly. "Now, that means we would have to define what necessary suffering is––but I think on a basic level, in a country that has plenty, should anyone live in poverty? No, the resources are there and they have been distributed incorrectly and there are people with more than their share. If a country has the medical advancements to ensure that no child has to die before age seven, should every child's Life not be saved? Or should they withhold these services just because this child comes from a poor family and thus, economically, is considered replaceable? That seems unnecessary to me and yet that is a justification commonly used to deny access. They call it population control instead of population neglect." Her jaw tightens and her eyes begin to mist, but nothing drips down her cheeks. She has already spent all her tears on this particular subject. "Anyway, if one's happiness requires stepping on the necks of others then I question the sanity of that individual and what wounds they must be carrying so deep in their soul that they find comfort in selfishness."

(The princess has always been an idealist and yet she never thought that was such a bad thing as others had made it out to be. What is so wrong, after all, about striving for perfect scenarios? Of course she never believed that by waving her hand she could ever fix all the ills of her country, but it never made sense to strive for realistic when realistic never caters to those who cannot afford what is hegemonically defined as realistic. Too many times she had asked why things were they way they were and too many times the answer had just been, 'That is the way, princess. This is the way it has been.' Hardly anyone wanted to entertain challenge and ask important questions such as, 'Why? Why not change? If this is the way, can the way not be changed?')

Verity is pulled from her thoughts with Iskra's next assertion and when she looks over to see the pirate's gaze is downtrodden, her own eyes reflect that sorrow. Not because she understands, but because the words cut into her like knives with the weight they carry. In this moment, at least, she can see how lost Iskra is and it reminds her of their conversation when the dolphins had first found Inure. "I did not mean to cause you grief, captain. I suppose my interpretation of you is different than your own. True, I can never know who you were before, just as you will never know who I was before... But this version of you. I think that she is enough." Verity still frowns, wanting to reach out and comfort the pirate while also not believing that the hands that murdered her can be the same ones that try to heal her. And for a long moment she is silent. "I am sorry for your Loss. Not knowing these things must be Painful and disorienting."

 

[Syntra]

As always when the princess spoke, Iskra listened-- carefully, too, as if she could unravel some secret nuance woven into her words if she paid attention with not just her ears, but with her heart as well. And, honestly? What a fascinating stance to assume! The pirate had always assumed, without truly thinking about it, that artists wanted to be perceived. It made sense to her, you see? For they poured so much effort, so much of their very soul, in whatever craft they were pursuing-- they must have been crying tears of blood, Iskra figured, over things like correct word choice or notes that didn't flow too well. Even the tiniest mistakes could tarnish the whole picture, as they most of all attracted the observers' eyes! Not because they were inherently malicious, mind you, but brains were pattern-recognizing machines, and when something stuck out like a sore thumb... well, it was going to get noticed, inevitably. Wouldn't you, after all, cringe upon listening to a symphony, only for the sound to get mangled by a scratch on the vinyl? Oh, surely, surely! And so, with so much care invested into it, Iskra had thought the artists also wanted to be perceived in a certain way-- the way they had chosen for themselves, of course. (Perhaps it wasn't like that, though. Perhaps, rather than this being about attention, it was about... connections, really. About seeing the way your words were perceived and interacted with, not necessarily imposing your views on the others. ...wasn't that what they had been doing, actually? In some roundabout way that Iskra didn't really understand yet.)

"That is... interesting," the pirate said, a small smile blooming on her lips. "I always imagined it to be a more passive experience, you see? Something akin to: 'Here, I made this. Looking is fine, but you cannot touch it.' But, princess, it seems to me that you yearn to be touched-- by many, many minds." (And by her hands, once. It had seemed that way to Iskra at least, oh so long ago, but maybe that, too, had been a performance. Why wouldn't have it been like that? To the princess, she was but a captain-- a wicked demon who had stolen a precious artifact belonging to her people, and then dared to steal her kiss as well. ...a monster who foolishly hoped to be more than that, and yet, yet still kept her claws sharp. Oh, how silly her wishes had been! The context of her role had informed their entire relationship, still did, really, which... when viewed through this filter, Iskra had deserved those stabs. Deserved way more than them, in truth.) "The way you described it sounds like a much more equal arrangement, however. A dialogue rather than a monologue, perhaps?" Hmm, hmm. Now that the pirate thought of it... "Tell me, princess. Does it ever happen to you that someone else's interpretation influenced your own? As in, that a person tells you: 'Oh, I know what this is about,' and then they proceed to describe something strikingly different, and yet, yet it clicks? That... I don't know. That you realize that maybe this is indeed what you were writing about, without realizing it."

...ah, lonely. Lonely it was, indeed! When you only had your own shadow for company, and even that grew thinner and thinner, with each passing day. "Objectivity is a myth," the pirate pointed out. "You cannot divorce your opinions from who you are, and from what shaped you. Nevertheless, I... suppose that having your own perspective does offer a sense of safety. Not that there isn't danger in relying on it, but yes, I understand the appeal. It would be a nice thing to have it, this guiding light in the darkness." ...this guiding light that she hadn't had for so, so long now that her eyes didn't remember-- that they, too, had dimmed, for you were that which you surrounded yourself with. And Iskra? Iskra was blood and death and everything shameful, formed in filth. "What happens when you don't have anyone to lean on, then? Imagine that you're walking a bridge so narrow that nobody can follow, and that it gets burned. What do you do in such a case? Do you just... accept it? This terrible uncertainty, I mean." (That, as Iskra knew, had been the answer all along. Why torture herself? Just like living things had to accept their own eventual end, she had to embrace becoming nothing-- less than interstellar dust, floating aimlessly through the universe. That would be the wise approach to choose. ...and yet, yet! A desire for more had taken root in her heart, and those roots were spreading, spreading, spreading, and she knew they'd tear her apart, surely, but taking them out? Impossible. That, too, would kill her, at this point.)

"I understand that," Iskra muttered under her breath. "In principle, I agree. Nobody should suffer, if such a suffering can be avoided. You see, princess, there are schools of thought in my country that consider Pain to be holy-- something about it being a mark of your devotion, from what I've gathered. A devotion to what, though? And for what reason? Not once have I ever managed to glimpse a beautiful side of agony, and trust me, my experiences are vast. So, it seems to me that this devotion they worship so fervently belongs to things that shouldn't be revered-- to habits we should have shedded." Should have and, of course, hadn't. Weren't it always the most toxic of habits you kept close to your heart, after all? "But, princess, let me ask you one more question. Do you believe that, from your elevated position, it is ever truly possible not to lose a sight of what is important? Let me abandon cynicism for a while, and assume that even the tyrants in your history didn't ascend the throne with tyranny in mind. Maybe they, too, thought they'd bring joy to their people. How do you ensure that you don't become disconnected from the reality of your subjects? Of those who don't wear the crown?"

Sorrow enveloped her like toxic gas then, and it was so, so difficult to breathe with the fumes-- to think at all, really, for they sat so heavy on her mind. The lightness with which the dolphin swam forward? So contradictory it seemed to the pirate that she half-expected the creature to sink, burdened by her sins. ...except that then, for some reason, Verity apologized to her. Apologized to her and told her she was enough, and, uh. Was that truly directed at her? Because people didn't offer apologies to soldiers. No, she'd always taken the blows, much like a training dummy would, and learned to say 'thank you,' in response, for that at least proved her existence meant something. How to deal with it, then, when the blow didn't land? When the touch that came was a caress? Oh, she didn't know. Didn't, didn't, didn't!

"Enough for what?" Iskra whispered, sounding like... well, not like herself. Some innocent version of the person she might have become, perhaps, had they not planted the Shade in her mind. "And, Verity, don't. I shouldn't. Receive apologies, I mean. It is improper, for one such as you to speak like that to me. It might give people wrong ideas."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity’s breath catches somewhere in her throat when her favorite smile returns to Iskra’s lips, and just as she has promised herself, she memorizes the look of this one and holds onto it for as long as it will last. For as long as she is privileged to witness it. The gesture, even if just automatic and thoughtless, fills Verity with a sense of hope––a hopefulness that she can still reach the pirate; that she can still touch her soul in the ways she used to before. Hadn't her grandmother once told her, after all, that the purpose of one's Life is to touch and change and be touched and change? If she reads between the details of this interaction, maybe there is hope that they are still serving that purpose for each other––despite the wicked evil in Verity's essence. (The one that demanded Iskra's blood––to make up for blood unspilled; to make up for the thousands lost as a result. Yet, the Victory she thought she would claim, never came. Not because she ultimately failed her mission with Iskra’s revival, but because she had succeeded and failed to see the glaring error in her logic––that Iskra's blood could not make up for her weakness; that Iskra's blood has only stained her further and drowned her in all the uncertainty and despair that has followed.) Perhaps it's silly for her to believe that they can ever truly be the same as they once were, but her dreams are all she has. Her dreams are the only place where she may have a chance at something better instead of something bitter. (Though perhaps bitterness is all that she deserves. Perhaps she should swallow these pills and let them poison her so that she has no reason to cling to hope, because her hope seems so dangerous. There is no way that her hands can undo the damage between them. Wretched things have only evil to work with and her solutions seem to all be filled with Violence––no matter how much she once resisted those rotten temptations, they have already succeeded in corrupting her mind and she has already ruined herself with her choice.)

And yet...

Despite the heaviness in her head, despite the hopefulness trying to lift her back up, despite all the wish-washing of her soul, she manages to stay with Iskra and all her million curiosities. Each one a precious stone that Verity dutiful cares for. She finds this one in particular a little peculiar, because it suggests that Iskra believes that an artist demands understanding from their audience; where she can reason that most want to be understood, how can anyone, artist or otherwise, demand that of others? While Verity strives for people to understand herself (even if she, herself, does not), she knows that not everyone will. (And perhaps that is what makes her connection to Iskra so special––that she does feel understood by the pirate despite all their differences. The fact that Iskra continues to try to understand her speaks so loudly, it rings in the prisoner's ears and she wishes she had not tainted whatever had been blooming between them, because maybe it could have gone deeper and they could have traversed unknown depths together.) "I believe that when you share something with the world, what you are sharing is bound to evolve once it is in the hands of the audience," because to assume that there is only the creator's message to abide by always seemed too narrow minded to the princess. She learned many things in listening to her fans and what they thought of her work. And Iskra's next question allows her to share one striking instance where such thing had happened. "Well, this isn't about my poetry, but I once choreographed a dance meant to show two lovers drifting apart; yet I purposefully chose a melody that was more upbeat to illustrate how falling out of love can be unnoticed to the dancers––that you can be so wrapped up in this comfort that you do not notice all the distance between yourself and your lover. However, after the performance, a girl found me backstage and raved about how touched she was by the story of two people overcoming their differences! I was so shocked, because I thought, surely, this message is clear and yet, that was not so––however, when I looked back over the performance, I saw exactly what that girl was saying and it did cause me to think about another meaning to the dance and, yes, her interpretation meant a lot to me. It was almost as if I needed to hear her twist on my tale to understand the moment that inspired the dance."

As the conversation shifts to the metaphor of the bridge and being without support, Verity is quiet. Her mind does not even turn its gears trying to puzzle out an answer, because the truth is she has nothing to offer. The scenario that the pirate has conjured seems so desolate and she wonders if anyone can truly survive that way. "I––I don't know, Iskra. I suppose it's the only thing you can do, is to accept your fate in that terrible uncertainty," her words are quiet and practically whispers. Tears, even, well in her eyes at the thought of such loneliness––to feel so alone inside your own person must be a damned way to live. "How come you asked me this, captain? This seems so hopeless, and I admittedly don't want to believe that it has to be this way... I mean, if this person is without anything to keep themselves grounded... I just don't know. Perhaps I would keep count of all the things I know for sure; perhaps, I would fill my head with books to know what I think of other perspectives, because surely I can still learn... I suppose it's not awful to succumb to uncertainty, to a degree we must all accept that Life is never entirely certain and that the path ahead is a mysterious one, even if we have reasonable assurance of certain outcomes. But to succumb to it entirely and let it consume you so much so that you despair? I just would not want to live like that and maybe my folly in this situation would be embracing Resistance rather than Acceptance," she admits, letting her shoulders fall forward.

The thought that Pain can be something holy is not a new concept to Verity; her own people consider Pain a sage, one they are to learn from and gain understanding, however. It is not a form of suffering that they believe tests one's loyalty. That idea is entirely new and she thinks it rather barbaric, and she says nothing of it. It is also not lost on Verity either that Iskra has admitted to suffering a great deal; while this is something she has gleaned from the brief stories regarding the Holy Vessel, the reminder only makes her wish that she could have handled the pirate with more care and not added to her surfeit of scars. Her eyes mist once more, but she still manages to hold her composure. Then, with Iskra's question as perfect distraction, she blinks a few times and clears her throat. "Well, the idea that I would rule selfishly was a Fear I once had when had been in the running for the crown; I agonized over it frequently and worried that I would forget everything that makes me who I am. Admittedly, at the very beginning of my tenure, I almost did," and thankfully, her mother had called her back. ('Verity, you may adorn yourself in their jewels, dress yourself in the their silks, and fill your head with things that I will never understand, but you are not above where you come from.') "What I had to remember, and what I had hoped I would remember should I prove worthy of the title, was my humility. It is my belief that what separates a leader from a tyrant is her ego. A tyrant will sacrifice her people for the sake of her ego and a leader will relinquish her ego for the sake of her people. I made a habit of listening when I was a princess in hopes I could continue listening were I to be a queen." The council had been quite upset with her over that and so they reduced her reputation to that of some silly wishful girl living out her fantasies in being a princess.

And the way that Iskra sounds when she asks for clarification? And how she rejects Verity's apology? The prisoner is not sure what to make of either of these things at first. For one, because to give Iskra clarity she would have to admit that her words had been subjective. Because she believes the captain is enough for her and she does not feel that is her right to say that, because, selfishly, she does not believe that she is enough and so what would that admittance even mean to the pirate? It'd just be another insult, she assumes. "It's just a feeling I have––that you are enough, Iskra," she offers, pathetically and wishing she did not feel the need to hold herself back. (Perhaps she should have stayed quiet. How was that answer comforting at all?)

Then she is not sure what to do with Iskra's rejection, because she does not know what Iskra even means by for one such as you; does she mean because Verity is a princess? Because Verity is a traitorous murderer? And what people would get wrong ideas? Her crew already thinks so little of Verity she cannot imagine an apology will tank her reputation further; they all already assumed Verity was Iskra's pet so how can the assumptions get any worse? "I––captain? How can you say that? You are welcome to reject my apologies as much as you please," she, herself, would likely reject the apologies from the mouth of a snake, "But I do believe I am well within my rights to give apologies as I see fit. And if you haven't noticed, I have very little reason to care of my reputation sinking any lower than it is." 'I am an exile; I murdered a woman who trusted me; I abandoned my responsibilities as a princess and leader of the Restoration; I have no lower to sink than this––I should hope.'

 

[Syntra]

Ah, how beautiful that must have been! To be able to connect with other minds this effortlessly, over some sort of abstract, shared joy. Was that what it was like to truly know someone? (Iskra hadn't thought it possible, once upon a time. How could you, after all, know something that was in constant motion? Just like new blades of grass sprouted from the soil every day, new thoughts sprouted from people's minds, and... well. Trying to learn of them all sounded like too gargantuan of a task, for her own ideas were enough to keep her awake at night. Pointless, pointless, pointless! Perhaps her approach had been wrong, though. Perhaps this wasn't about quantity, but quality-- not embracing all of their thoughts, in other words, but aiming for the rare moment of utter, completely disarming clarity. For understanding so deep that no language could hope to capture it, really. ...all of them were just fumbling in the darkness, it seemed. Fumbling in the darkness and flailing around, grotesquely, like sacrifices being consumed by fire, but sometimes? Sometimes, their hands met, whether by accident or by design. Sparks flew then, and the flailing turned into a dance, and then... then you got stabbed, duh. At least if your name happened to be Iskra.) "Thank you, princess, for sharing the story," the pirate bowed her head. "I shall think about the implications."

Implications, however, were a double-edged sword. You could fight with it, yes, and end the lives of your enemies with grace, but inevitably, your hand would slip-- it would slip and, soon, you'd be bathing in your own blood. (Ah, so quickly was it flowing! A scarlet flood welling at her feet, so warm and sticky. Fast, the pirate thought. I must find a way to bandage it fast, otherwise I'll bleed out. A lie would do, undoubtedly, but did she wish to stain her lips like that? No, they were filthy enough already! ...filthy enough to dare to whisper sweet nothings, never meant for someone like her.) "I..." Iskra began, painfully aware that the longer her silence lasted, the more suspicious she'd seem. "I don't blame you for not having answers, princess. I don't have them, either, and I've been searching for them longer than you have." Foolishly, stupidly. Why try to complete a puzzle with its pieces missing, after all? The picture would never be complete, no matter what she did! ...much like her, in truth. "And yes, I was asking because of myself. Surely, you've been able to glean that much, so I shall not invent excuses. It's... complicated, princess. Being like me, I mean. All of my sisters are gone, so I don't know where to turn for advice. I do trust my women, but I do not wish to burden them with this. It's not like they'd know what to say, anyway." More than that, her subordinates also couldn't reach into the void-- couldn't open the Shade's jaws, and wrestle her memories free. "I just do not think it productive," Iskra sighed and shook her head. "It would only bring them grief, just like it has brought grief to you. For that, I am sorry. Still, princess-- you have my thanks for at least trying to solve this brain teaser. I know it is no easy matter."

When the conversation turned back to the topic of rule, however? Expectantly, Iskra looked at Verity, and let her talk. "That, I suppose, is a good place to start. Again, those are all just theories, though I don't think I can really hold that against you. Perhaps it would work, perhaps not. Many beautiful ideas are rotten inside, you see, but I can at least say that you can never go wrong with listening to your people. That much I've learned while leading my women, anyway." (...this past of Verity's seemed to contain a lot of useful lessons, though. How could it not, when she'd been raised to wear the crown? Privately, Iskra made a note to ask her questions like this more often.) "And, who knows? The paths which we walk towards our fate are often tangled, princess. Maybe it is written in the stars for your to become the queen eventually."

When Iskra asked her to clarify, though? Verity struggled with her explanation, she could see that much, but curiously enough, it awakened no empathy in her heart. (Words like that, you see, should not be uttered so carelessly. They could mean the world to another person-- so, logically, they should also weigh as much. This wasn't a simple 'How are you' + 'I am fine' exchange, as empty as the Holy Vessel's promises. No, Verity had chosen to challenge her to a duel, with her worldview at stake. In that case, her sword better be sharp! ...it wasn't a sword at all, though. It was a dagger, its blade tarnished by rust.) "I see," Iskra said, and added nothing at all. (The ultimate dismissal, truly. The 'I have nothing to say to that,' was implicit, but no less searing for it.)

"Ah," the captain looked up when Verity stated her confusion, surprise reflected in her blue eyes. "This has nothing to do with you personally, princess. It's just that... it is pointless for me to receive apologies in general. I don't know what I'd do with them. I mean, do you apologize to a knife when you use it for cutting? It's a bit like that with me." Well, not really, but almost, and that had to be enough. "You shouldn't waste your breath like that, I think. A kinder, softer soul might appreciate them more. They'd know how to accept them, at least." Iskra might have added more, but then, then she saw it-- the crystal, shining in the distance!

The crystal which was dying, with a large hole in its center. It was still flickering, switching between various shades of purple and pink, but the colors were becoming more and more faded by the second-- like the heartbeat of a dying star. "Well," Iskra uttered before covering her mouth in shock. "That... that is our answer, I suppose." More decay, just like always.

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

'So she had been asking for herself,' the prisoner thinks, feeling foolish for not guessing sooner that Iskra had been speaking of herself––especially since it seems so obvious now. Though, maybe, Verity refused to the draw that particular connection because she would not want that life for the pirate. Knowing this truth, however, causes her to return inward. Not because of guilt or somehow finding a reason to blame herself for Iskra's affliction, but just to see if she can find a better answer, because she wants that better answer for the captain. (Of all the people she knows, she does think that the captain is most worthy of having her peace.) "It's alright, Iskra." She looks at the captain and appears to study her face for a long moment, though it is unclear what connections she is making or what thoughts are swimming through her head. Finally, she says, "I want to help––in anyway that you might allow me to. It is not my burden, I know this, and I just know I won't stop thinking of this knowing how personal this is to you. There just has to be a better way." She says all this without thinking much of what she is saying or without thinking about what her words imply. Strangely, it doesn't occur to her that she may never fulfill this promise, either because there is no certain answer or because her Time with the pirate is limited anyway. Perhaps she is too caught up in the moment or perhaps because a decision she is unaware of has already been made within her and that allows her to speak truthfully without fully knowing the details.

Though what decision exactly remains a mystery. A mystery that starts to reveal itself to her when Iskra comments that perhaps one day she will have her chance to wear the crown. Now that's a thought that should send her heart soaring into the sky or should have her feeling humbled. However, neither of those sentiments are present within the exiled. The notion is sour in her head and she feels herself rejecting it––even if this is the desired outcome of the Restoration; even if this is something that she and Halen have discussed, in depth, and come to the conclusion that Verity is the better figurehead. "Yes, I suppose that is true. I am curious what the stars have fated for me," she says, deciding not to reveal her disdain for that outcome because she isn't even sure if it's disdain she feels towards the role or something else. Her feelings on the subject change so frequently she does not want to commit to saying anything before she knows for sure.

Which is what she wishes she had done before telling Iskra, with such certainty in her heart, that she is enough. While true, she realizes her inability to explain further makes the statement useless. It makes it seem as empty as pleasantries can be. Already, with Iskra's curt response in mind, Verity feels ashamed for saying anything, but she remembers, too, that she has always valued actions to words; so she makes a promise to herself to show just what she means or at least show that she believes Iskra is enough just the way she is. It's the least she can do to make up for some of the destruction she has left in her wake. (And maybe that's something she can work towards; these small moments of apologies, because one will never suffice to undo all the destruction she has caused. And if there is one thing she can do, she can show Iskra the extent of her remorse and just how far she is willing to go to right this, because there is a part of that cannot give up; that has to try.)

"No, it's not like that at all, captain," Verity retorts, her own expression showing her confusion at Iskra's ridiculous claim. "You are not a knife. You're a captain. You're the pirate captain of Inure. I would absolutely apologize to her––" though whatever else Verity has to say flies away from her mind the second she sees the crystal.

Like Iskra, she covers her hand over her mouth and she gasps. The dolphin that she's on begins to chirp as the rest of the pod circles around the crystal, their mourning song now being sung louder than it was before. "I––my word... Who would do this?" Verity would have thought something as sacred as the Crystal Essence would have been protected by the intergalactic governing body––and even if not true, what purpose does destroying this reef even have? It's not as if it have any value now that there is hole blasted straight through its center. "I mean, why destroy it? Would it not be more worthwhile to steal it and sell it?" as has been done with artifacts belonging to her people. "This is just needlessly cruel," she mutters, gesturing for her dolphin to take her around the essence. (And to think, she had been excited to see this! The pictures in Iskra's books had looked so otherworldly and this? This just fills her with more sorrow than she has room for.)

And the longer she stares at the crystal, the longer she listens to the dolphins' song, the more her own despair grows. As excited and determined as she had been when she realized there had been a chance to help, now all seems... lost. Hopeless. "Iskra, I read that because each dolphin pod descends from a specific crystal essence that the desecration of their essence means that the pod's survival is endangered..." her voice trails off as she looks towards the captain, feeling useless and unsure of what to do. "I just... I don't understand," she says, quietly, her eyes downcast and staring at her red-hands. (Verity wonders if the Divinities have sent her on this chase just to show her that––that there are some things devoid of hope. That not everything can be fixed. And if that is true, does this mean she can never make right her relationship with Iskra? She grimaces at that thought.) "Just why would the Divinities... why," her voice trails off, tears already falling from her eyes, affected by the song and the feeling of the dolphin's Grief beneath her.

 

[Syntra]

Not a knife, huh. That, Iskra supposed, depended on one's point of view-- although, if she wished for her metaphor to be more accurate, choosing 'sword' instead would have been wiser. (A knife, after all, had its gentle uses as well. With such an instrument, you could cut bread or onions, and feed an entire family. A sword, however? A sword only served to draw blood. Oh, beautiful it was, yes, in its metallic radiance-- so beautiful that one might be fooled into thinking it had stolen the shine of stars from the night sky, and brought it to your feet. That was its danger, though. Its danger and its curse as well, which mirrored Iskra herself. ...had she chosen a bad comparison to lead the princess astray? To make her reject it, and remain blind to what she was? The pirate wasn't aware of such manipulation, but that didn't mean it hadn't guided her words. The heart could be treacherous, you see? It had its ways of bypassing the brain when it truly desired something, and... well. Maybe, just maybe Iskra wanted to be better in Verity's eyes, for various reasons. Reasons such as wanting to be worthy of the help she had offered.)

Truth be told, these words still resonated in her. The princess had uttered them oh so casually, as if saying them had been the most natural thing in the entire galaxy, and Iskra... by the Shade, Iskra didn't know what to think about it. (Imagine you'd been blind since leaving your mother's womb, and despaired over not knowing colors. Not even over missing them-- more like over not being able to imagine them, even, for you'd always been surrounded by darkness. How would you react to someone promising, with this earth shattering certainty, that they were going to cure you? With anger, probably. Anger and disbelief, which... yes, Iskra could feel these emotions stir within her. Verity knew nothing about her situation! Nothing, nothing, nothing, and yet she had spoken like a wise crone from fairy tales. How was that not insulting? The crones from fairy tales, you see, could ask the wind-- the wind, the sky itself, or perhaps even the sun, and they'd receive their answers, no matter how complicated they were. Verity had no such connections. Who was she going to ask? Her subjects, who also didn't know? Preposterous! ...and yet, yet something about it also warmed her heart. The notion that she wasn't alone? That someone cared, even if in this abstract, ignorant way? You are a mess, Iskra. A total, utter mess. What is it that you want, actually?)

Still, now wasn't the time to ponder over that. Not with the corpse of the crystal growing cold before their very eyes! (Iskra, too, watched it with unconcealed dread. Who could have committed a sacrilege like that? There was nothing to be gained from staining your soul with such a terrible, terrible sin. Even those mad with greed couldn't feast on the crystal's corpse!) "No," the pirate shook her head. "Selling it isn't an option. When you disrupt the crystal's integrity, or take it away from its natural habitat, it withers. The color goes away, and the structure changes to that of sand. Outside of its birthplace, it has no value. That's what has protected them for centuries. I... cannot fathom why anyone would do this," Iskra admitted, her eyes unhappy. "Perhaps it was a whim?" A whim, after all, could be the cruelest of advisers-- it led you thoughtlessly, you see, and cared not that the final destination might be your doom. (Your doom, and, occasionally, the doom of others as well. Oh, how well she knew!)

Verity's grief was palpable, and soon enough, her eyes were glistening with tears-- the dolphins cried with her, it seemed, and the sight almost crushed her heart. "No. No, I will not accept this! Listen, princess, we cannot give up as easily," Iskra insisted. (Before the murder, she would have reached for her, too. Gently, the pirate would have taken her hand, and wiped her tears with her thumb, and maybe kissed their traces away, but the wall between them stopped her. It was still covered in her blood, you know? And, as such, she had no desire to get closer. ...still, the fate of these innocent creatures wasn't just a formality to her. Wasn't, and would never be!) "The crystals are formed in their underwater worlds. I read that... that, technically, it is possible to revive a crystal. To let it grow back to its full form, in other words. We would have to act quickly, but yes," she nodded, resolve burning in her eyes.

"If we cut a part of it off and let it rest in its homeland, it should recover. The dolphins will have their anchor then, and everything will be alright. You've been infused with the crystal's essence, princess, so you have to be the one to do it. Cut it off, and then open your heart to its voice. It... well. It is said that when a crystal dies," Iskra decided to offer an explanation, "it calls for its homeland. Something about wanting to be reunited with the others and spark a new life, if I understand it correctly. Their souls are supposed to be old, for they have lived through many, many cycles." ...because, yes, the crystals were alive. Alive in a different way than they were, perhaps, but considering them to be just colorful rocks would be too reductive. "Have you read about their origin? The legend claims these are their foremothers, stuck in this form so that they might protect their children forever. A lonely fate, if you ask me, but a noble one. Shall we help this specimen in her endeavor, then? I know I want to."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

In everything there is purpose. In everything there is meaning. One just has to dutifully search for the sage lessons that the Divinities are presenting. Yet this lesson just seems much too early for the young descendant to process; she can only see one thing in all of this and the conclusion she is drawing fills her with more gloom to go with her defeat. If she cannot even help this dolphin pod after she has taken the essence of their leader, then what had been the purpose of filling her with hope to take it away in the next moment? Perhaps, all those ideas she used to have about helping people were merely wishful dreams from a girl disconnected with her reality; because in reality, this girl is no hero, but perhaps the villain to her own story. How could that not be true? She is a traitor, an exile, there is no other way to spin this. She should thank the Divinities for this lesson, lest she continue to march forward towards a light that does not exist, because creatures like her can only exist in the darkness.

Except that, maybe that is not so. Perhaps she has come to the wrong conclusion, because Iskra? Iskra has not given up her hope just yet. Through her tears, she looks towards the pirate and maybe it's just how that faint glow of the crystal's former glory reflects off the captain's face, but Verity swears she sees her actual radiance emanating from her person. An true beacon of light, presenting itself to such an unworthy candidate. But if there is something to work towards, if there is chance to prove to herself that she is capable of fulfilling this task, maybe there is absolution for her––she just cannot give up so easily. Silently, she thanks Iskra for this reminder and wipes the tears from her eyes, sniffling them up because she knows they are needless. "If you say there is reason to believe in their survival, then I trust you, captain."

Carefully, Verity listens to Iskra; to her instruction, explanation, and even lesson on their history. Verity nods once Iskra has finished, "Yes, I as well am committed to seeing this endeavor through to the end. If this is the next step we must take, then I shall. For the preservation of their grand ancestor." Looking down at the dolphin under her, she bends forward and asks, "Will you take me closer to your ancestor? I wish to help her grow again, so that she may protect you once more." Silly as it seems to speak to the animal as if she understands her language, the dolphin does respond. Perhaps it is coincidence and the leader merely wanted to be closer to her crystal home, or perhaps she truly understood the request; in either case, Verity is brought forward to that withering pulse of light. (It reminds her of when she had first seen Inure's core, how it had been just an axon barely capable of keeping herself alive. She wonders if what she had felt then, all her anger and anguish, if that is what this pod feels as well. In that, she believes she understands these dolphins most intimately.)

She places her red palm on the crystal, and feels a heart beating beneath it. Though in flash, her eyes fill with rapid memories of the foremother––of small dolphins swimming around her, children returning home, tourists marveling at her beauty, scientists taking tomefuls of notes on her function, and, lastly, one of a cannon blast, aimed straight at her center, piercing through her so quickly Verity is not even sure if this crystal felt Pain. (The idea that a crystal can feel anything surely seems foolish, but clearly she has memories so who even knows what is only legend and what is true.) The most horrifying thing, however, about this vision is that when Verity follows the line of the canon blast she sees Inure in the background, along with that dying star. She pulls her hand away, then looks back at Iskra with her eyes wide, a look of guilt and alarm on her features before she turns back to the crystal. Knowing that the cost of saving her ancestor, caused the desecration of this one spurs the descendant into action, now doubly determined to right all of these wrongs that seem to lead back to her name, Verity. 'What a curse this name is turning out to be.'

Without a knife, sword, or any blade, really, on her person she calls upon the weapons resting beneath her skin for aid. In her mind, she concentrates on the image of an axe blades coming out from her palms. In a matter of seconds, the edge begins pressing against her skin until she pushes them outward, gasping as her palms are cut open from the inside out. Without removing the blades, she drags her sharpened palms around a piece of the crystal, whispering, "I shall revive you––my companion and I will restore you." When the chunk of crystal is just barely hanging onto the rest, Verity retracts the blades then finishes her task by snapping the piece off. With the piece in her hand, she listens once more to the crystal to see where her home may be. Visions once more flash through Verity's eyes, taking her deep beneath the ocean of a planet not too far from where they currently are; there is a city below this ocean and its people seem to have an abundance of crystal essences for their own kind. The crystal also seems to warn her of something, though she does not quite understand what she is trying to tell her; she only shows Verity an underground cave and flashes of a stone guardian.

After that, the images cease and Verity finds herself back beside Iskra, a deeply pensive look on her features. "Her homeland is not too far from here––she belongs to an underwater civilization. She also informed me of some... well, I'm not sure what exactly, but I was shown a cavern that houses some stone guardian of sorts, though I don't know what it means exactly," still, Verity does not seemed all that concerned. She assumes the vision will become clear once they are arrive at their next destination. She tucks the crystal piece under her arm, then looks back to the captain. "The foremother also showed me... how she ended up with a hole blasted through her center. It was no whim, captain––it happened when we restored Inure's core. I think the dolphins sought us out on purpose."

 

[Syntra]

As was appropriate, Iskra stayed behind. That was the best thing she could do right now, you see? The dolphins had marked Verity, which meant they'd chosen her-- her, and nobody else. Thus, intruding upon this sacred moment would be unhelpful, perhaps even downright harmful! No, the pirate wouldn't cross the boundaries that had been erected with such clear purpose in mind. (Nothing good had ever come out of that, anyway. The last time she had tried, reality had shattered her dreams, and she didn't feel like going through that again, even if on a different stage. ...the perfect recipe to avoiding such an outcome, though? Not having any dreams in the first place. Perhaps that was, the pirate thought, the lesson she was meant to learn-- this realization that, instead of dwelling in her own fantasies, Iskra was meant to stand on the ground firmly. What other choice did she have, after all? The thing was, Verity had been right. With her own soul this faded, to the point it resembled a cocoon from which a butterfly had broken out already, looking outside rather than inward was the only answer left to her. ...not for the first time, it occurred to her that this may have been the beginning of that process. Oh yes, the process with the capital P that had been hanging over her head like a dark cloud, for as long as she could remember-- the Shade taking what had been promised to it, in other words. The Shade taking her, and devouring her whole! What if it started with this rejection of self? With Iskra herself letting go, so that something else might take her place? So be it, the pirate thought. I've been running from it for all my life, and where has it led? ...to pain, pain and, duh, more pain. Maybe, if she gave up, it would be for the best. No point in resisting gravity, was there? And, oh, this kind of pull was much stronger.)

When Verity returned, however? With that return, new secrets came to light, and Iskra felt cold all over. "I... what? How did that... oh. The laser blast, wasn't?" It hadn't been wickedness that had led the hand of the attacker, then. No, it had been ignorance, and somehow? Somehow, that felt even worse. (Like one of those instances when you were too busy to look beneath your feet, and then heard the terrible sound of a snail's shell cracking under your boot. Why oh why did such weight need to be attached to their lives? Oh, if only they could be like mist! Mist floated through the space with such grace, without hurting a single blade of grass, and... and paid for it via being stuck in this half-existence, it seemed. What a cruel, cruel tax.) "Very well," the captain nodded. "It seems to me, then, that we truly have no choice. If we caused this, then it is also our responsibility to fix it. Lead the way, princess. You do hear the foremother's voice, don't you? Follow it."

***

The rest of the journey took place in silence, mostly-- it wasn't that Iskra didn't feel like talking, but disrupting Verity's focus would have been dangerous. What if her own voice interfered with that of the foremother, and led her astray? With each passing second, the crystal grew weaker and weaker! Weak enough, perhaps, for such a mistake to be fatal. Keeping this in mind, Iskra reined her usual curiosity in. Instead of allowing her gaze to linger on the princess, she decided to feast her eyes elsewhere-- on the constellations shining in the distance, whispering stories into her ear. On the debris wandering through the galaxy aimlessly, too, for it had once been part of something greater. (Monuments to fallen ships, perhaps? Ships as majestic as Inure herself, but also vessels as small as peas. ...a story had been attached to each of them, though. That, at least, the pirate did not doubt.) Colors danced with one another on the horizon, and Iskra could only guess what that spectacle was about-- a chemical reaction between some gases? Probably, though she liked to imagine something grander. A narrative worthy of a legend, really, and not something that could be captured by the pages of a scientific journal.)

Finally, the dolphin began to descend-- slowly and gradually, yes, but also undeniable. Ah, good! Against all odds, they arrived in time, and... oh. Oh, Iskra hadn't actually thought about that. For all of her planning, the pirate had forgotten that she couldn't actually breathe under water! And, as they swam closer and closer to the planet that was shining like a sapphire with all the water it was drowning in, she was suddenly... uh, reminded. By the Shade, just how stupid could she be?! That was worse than-- than deciding to have a dinner, and forgetting to open your mouth!

"Princess," she said, her voice somewhat alarmed. "I, uh, acted in haste. It seems that you will have to go alone. The essence you absorbed will protect you, you see, but I will have no such privilege, and... I don't really want to drown." ...yes, because that was something that needed to be stated, obviously. Ugh, Iskra felt dumber and dumber by the second! If this trend continued, she would soon forget how to breathe. "Unless the foremother knows some way to extend the protection to me as well? Since, trust me, I do not wish to make you face whatever you are about to face alone. That is just about the last thing I want."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Holding onto the foremother, and allowing her to guide them towards her homelands, reminds Verity of her own connection to her ancestors. Though she cannot speak to this ancestor in the same way that she can her own, it does provide the descendant some semblance of comfort. Either because of the memories she has to reminisce over when she had had the ancestors by her side or even the thought of knowing she is about to help restore the dolphins' connection with theirs. Perhaps it is a combination of the two and she is happy for the moment; happy that Iskra had encouraged her to not give up; happy that hope can still be found in all the darkness that surrounds them.

While Verity may have fascinated herself with the constellations around them, perhaps would have even made up a few of her own, she is focused on her task; listening to the foremother's guidance takes every bit of her effort. Mostly because the signals she gives to the exiled are subtle, like gentle nudges in the right direction. As they continue to swim forward, the song the dolphins sing changes from mourning to a tune of something that lifts her spirits. While there is hope in their melody, she also feels their excitement and anticipation as they grow nearer and nearer to their homeworld. It also stirs some curiosity in Verity herself as she wonders what this underwater world is like––Iskra had mentioned some underwater peoples on her own planet and Verity recalls hearing of such civilizations when conversing with her homeland's galactic representative. Though she never dreamed of being able to visit such a place!

So wrapped up in her own expectations of what this might be like, she forgets that her adaptation does not also allow her to breathe underwater. It's not until Iskra brings this to her attention that it becomes a rather short-lived concern. Turning to face the captain, she raises a curious brow, "I suppose I wouldn't want you to drown either. That would be most undesirable." When Iskra suggests that the crystal may be able grant her safe passage as well, she immediately tries to search for an answer––because the thought of facing that stone guardian alone does not inspire courage. (Not that she would necessarily cower away, but, well, she would rather not face her alone.) "Let me see," she says, holding the crystal in front of her and staring deeply into her fading glow. She relaxes herself, opening up her heart and allowing her request to flow from herself into the essence in front of her. After a few beats, the crystal seems to respond and Verity pulls her dolphin towards Iskra. "She will grant you protection," she starts, moving to touch the crystal to Iskra's forehead. "But our timeline will be shorter, so each action from here onwards, must be with haste." When the crystal makes contact with Iskra, just as Verity's hands are stained red, the pirate retains a light blue smear across her head. She smiles at the mark, thinking it's amusing that they both have these stains now, though she quickly clarifies, "Uh, these should all disappear once we restore the foremother."

Without explaining any further, and remembering their timeline is shorter than it was before, she leads them once again. As they break through the planet's watery surface, Verity instinctively holds her breath and then gasps in surprise when she realizes that not only can she breathe just fine, she can see just fine as well. The dolphins even seem changed by the atmosphere shift and they swim faster under the protection of their historic home. In the distance, Verity spots a faint glow of light that becomes larger and more magnificent as they approach what appears to be crystal city.

As should have been anticipated, especially by a princess, just at the outer limits of the city, a swarm of creatures encircle their envoy and cause the dolphins to halt. The leader of this group, who appears to be something between a woman and a shark approaches Verity, eyeing the crystal and her red hands with suspicion. The shark woman reaches for the crystal and, automatically, Verity turns slightly to prevent the other from grabbing the essence. The woman merely rolls her eyes and moves with such speed that Verity cannot stop her before she places her palms on the crystal. Her eyes widen, at first, then her gaze becomes neutral. She lets go of the foremother and finally speaks, "Ah, seekers, I see..." her voice echoes through the water, "How have you come across this ailing foremother? What purpose do you have here?"

Verity swallows and looks to Iskra for a second before returning her attention to the leader of this group. "My name is Verity, exiled princess of Aurora of the planet Celestia, and this here is my companion, Captain Iskra of the spacecraft Inure. This dolphin pod sought us out after an unfortunate accident with their foremother..." she pauses and debates whether to elaborate further, and ultimately decides against that, "We seek to restore their crystal essence so that this pod may continue to swim, sing, and grant wishes long after we both have taken our last breaths. The foremother guided us here."

The shark woman considers Verity's words carefully, looking between the two strangers and her women. If there is an exchange happening between the sea-women, then it is not for Verity or Iskra's unattuned ears. Finally, she beckons Verity and Iskra's dolphins forward, "Come. If Faysal believes your Truth, then the Crystal Essence shall be restored. But be warned, seekers, if you are not True in your intentions, if you have motives beyond healing the damage brought on this Essence, you will be swallowed." Though Verity cannot confirm this, she almost thinks she can hear the smirk in the shark-woman's words. It's all but confirmed when she adds, "It's been a while since we've been entertained."

And so the two are guided through the crystal city, with curious eyes staring at them as they make their passage through the heart of this foreign ocean. Finally, the shark-woman, who Verity realizes never introduced herself, brings them towards the same dark cavern she had seen in her vision. "Our time together ends here as I can bring you no further. Enter Faysal's lair and face your judgement, prove your worthiness, seekers."

 

[Syntra]

"Ah. I-- I see. How generous of the foremother," Iskra bowed her head. "Can you thank her for me, princess?" Because, yes, she very much deserved that! Due to her kindness, the pirate would be able to protect Verity, and... and for some reason, that changed everything. (The wayfinder, right? Such a nice, acceptable justification. Only through the princess's guidance could she ever hope to reach it, and thus she had to hold her hand. Anything else was secondary, thank you very much! A mere byproduct of her amygdala-- that tiny, traitorous part of her brain that hadn't atrophied yet, even if it should have. It never should have existed at all, if she were to be honest. What were emotions good for, anyway? They only served to plant seeds of doubt in her beliefs, in her convictions, and Iskra... oh, Iskra couldn't afford to watch them go up in flames! Not in the same way the rest of her life had, at least.) "Let us make haste, then. We cannot afford to waste more time than we already have." If Iskra knew anything about magic, it was that it always demanded something of you in return-- so, yes, this gift she'd received was likely costly. What did the foremother have left, after all, aside from her own dying essence? Clearly, she had bestowed some of it upon her!

Water embraced them then, gently, like a mother would-- Iskra had expected the touch to be cold and biting, but no, that wasn't at all what it felt like. Truth be told, it didn't even feel wet! The surface resembled a membrane of sorts, a gate separating two worlds, and once it found them worthy? It opened, removing all the obstacles in the process. Seems like the air, the pirate realized, and yet it doesn't. (Water weighed more, yes, but it also carried this gentleness within-- a whisper versus a caress, truly, for a caress' weight allowed it to be more noticeable.) "Such a beautiful scenery," Iskra couldn't help but whisper. Curiously enough, though, it appeared that her words hadn't been produced in her throat, nor had they reached her companions ears. Had she said it, even? She must have, for she had heard it, but... well, with her heart more than anything else. How mysterious! Had the foremother granted them this ability, too? "Never have I thought that I'd see something more beautiful than the birth of a new star," or Verity herself, "but still, it seems, there are more sights for me to discover." A weird thought, all things considered. How could, after all, memories enrich one who was inevitably going to lose them? Just kindling to the fire, that was what they were-- Shade would sink its claws into them, and feed and feed and feed, and Iskra would only become emptier. A container, you see, stretched to accommodate its contents. What would happen, then, when you took those out? The vessel would remain stretched out, and all the more hollow for it. Spread completely thin, on other words. ...still, Iskra had sort of accepted it. What did it matter if she ended up dead or deader, after all? (If being deader later meant she could live more now, then maybe, maybe it was worth it.)

When the shark women appeared, though? Instinctively, Iskra stepped in front of the princess. Her hand didn't fall to her sword, of course, but it was ready to perform the move-- in case it turned out these messengers weren't as friendly as they would have liked them to be. "Yes," she nodded. "That is, indeed, me. We have come in peace. Not only in peace, actually! We wish to prevent a terrible tragedy." A tragedy they had caused, but something told Iskra that that particular piece of information might not be... uh, received with joy. Mildly speaking. No, no, there was no need to uncover details that would only muddle the waters further! "My intentions are as pure as the crystal we are trying to heal. I am not afraid of this Faysal, whoever she is. Lead us to her, please! I will be happy to succumb to whatever trial she has in mind." Now, were those grins encouraging? No, of course not, but that was kinda the point. Just as the foremother had paid a price for letting them enter this underwater kingdom, they now had to sacrifice something for accessing privileges that weren't theirs by birthright-- in Iskra's eyes, that was entirely fair! (Terrifying, yes, but what thing of worth wasn't surrounded by fear? To get to the sweet, sweet center, you had to cut your way through. Swords or words, thoughts or deeds-- the form mattered not, or at least not as much as the conflict itself.)

And so the duo was being led to the cave in which Faysal apparently resided. Deep it was, deep and dark, like one's inner demons, but the walls? The walls were covered in sea creatures, tiny and glowing-- they must have swallowed a star, the captain supposed, for none other object shone so brightly. (Perhaps the sky had given them to the ocean, its lover, as a present? So that it, too, had a thing of pure beauty.) "Go now," one of the shark women instructed them. "Faysal awaits you, seekers."

Iskra did as she told, and soon enough, the narrow tunnel before them widened-- suddenly, they were standing in what seemed to be a throne room, with a large creature of stone resting on a chair covered with weeds. (Iskra... had no idea what she was looking at, really. Faysal was certainly something, but what, exactly? Her grey body was tangled, tangled in a way her brain couldn't even begin to comprehend, and just looking her way made her feel so, so dizzy. ...the patterns sang to her eyes, you see? As little sense as that made, it seemed fitting to Iskra.)

"Seekers," Faysal's voice boomed, "there is no need for words, for I know why you came. I also know your crime, however. Was it not your ship that mutilated this foremother? Oh, it was, it was. Now you may only wash your sins away with actions. What are you willing to sacrifice to prove that your intentions are pure?"

Ah, there it was! The consequences of their thoughtlessness, returning to them like a boomerang. (...Ylna was her subordinate, Iskra knew. Her own hand may not have guided the shot, but it may as well have! As such, she had to accept the responsibility.) "Wise Faysal," the pirate dropped on her knees, "I recognize our role in this, and for that, I am sorry. In exchange, I offer myself. You may do anything you wish to me, as I am the captain and thus am to be blamed. I merely ask you not to hurt the princess-- as a prisoner, she was powerless."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕
​

The thunder in her veins is not something easily ignored. Though Verity is prepared to face whatever Faysal has in store for them, the unknowing fills her with Fear and with that mystery, it invites the prisoner's mind in one thousand different directions. All of them equally horrible––save for a few scenarios where everything turns out fine. However, she doesn't count on the slim chance this guardian is particularly friendly, in the traditional sense, given all those sharp-toothed smiles from the shark-women. Then, it occurs to Verity that perhaps that is just the way their smiles look and perhaps there was nothing meaningful behind their rows and rows of serrated edges; after all, should she blame their anatomy for making them appear hostile? Were it not for the discreteness of the adaptations bestowed on her people to survive the new world, perhaps she would look quite frightening with all her quills on display. As these reasons and the mild comfort they provide fill her, each step she takes pulls her away from her Fear and closer to her courage.

When they finally enter the throne room, shining as bright as a sky full of stars under an invisible moon, Verity gasps––completely awestruck by the sight. It's not until Faysal begins to speak that she fixes her attention on the statue––whatever this guardian is, Verity has no name for her species. She wonders if Iskra has any insight on this, as the captain seems to have a great deal of knowledge beyond Verity's own. She decides she will save that question for later, however, so as to not insult the guardian while they are standing right in front of her. That seems unwise.

Especially since Faysal knows the truth behind how this crystal essence became damaged––apparently, all knowing (or at least all knowing where the foremothers are concerned). Verity swallows hard as she steals a look at the captain through her peripheries, wondering exactly what to offer. Perhaps, had the foremother been able to communicate what would be expected at this point, she could have at least been prepared with a list of things that may appease Faysal; that would show her that they truly meant no harm and what had occured was an unfortunate accident; and that they are committed to attoning for their sins. As it stands, she is at a loss.

Frozen and unsure of what exactly to do, Verity breathes a sigh of relief when Iskra steps forward. Of course Iskra knows how to handle this situation and the exiled feels so thankful that the foremother had granted the captain safe passage as well. Left alone, she might not have known what to offer or would not have had the Time to come up with an appropriate sacrifice.

When Iskra speaks, however? Verity's eyes widen in absolute disbelief, shock, and utter horror. (Had Ylna been right this entire time? Is the captain truly this inept? Certainly, Verity had heard rumors of this not just from Ylna but from others too––but at the time she had so much evidence against the captain's stupidity that she never once believed them. She thought perhaps they were poking fun at something else or thought Iskra was stupid for burying her nose in so many books. Now, with this instance in front of her, it crashes through her image of the pirate like a wrecking ball. Slowly, she begins to make sense of some of the other poor decisions Iskra has made, that she had previously swept under the rug.) Her brow arches to the Ether as her mouth hangs agape––still too incredulous to act.

Faysal, however, is not. Though her face is hard to distinguish, there does appear to be a glint in her many eyes. "Captain Iskra, is this truly the sacrifice that you wish to make? You would save the foremother, protect your prisoner, at the risk of losing your organs? For it has been a while since I have dined on such delicacies."

At that moment, Verity shakes her head, snapping out of her trance, and steps in front of Iskra, pulling her to her feet. If there were Time, she would scold her right there, but as it is, she must settle for a reprimanding look. She looks back to Faysal and shakes her head, "Apologies, honorable Faysal. The captain has an odd sense of humor and only jests," ––Faysal looks none too impressed with that explanation––"we recognize how our careless actions led to the destruction of one of the foremothers and in that regard, my companion was sincere. While, true, I am a prisoner on that ship it was my wish to restore one of my grand ancestors that led to this tragedy. Thus, I feel as responsible as any other aboard Inure, our ship––"

"Hurry it up, girl," Faysal booms, her irritation stirring the critters clinging to the wall, "I haven't all day and neither does the foremother in your care."

Verity nods, her hands shaking as her pulse heightens to an almost unbearable beat––like her veins are trying to jump out of her skin and save themselves. She clenches her jaw and balls her fists before she relaxes. An idea comes to her and instead of thinking this through, she acts. Similar to when she had used her essence to revive Inure so that she could swallow that dying star, she takes two fingers and traces a line from her left shoulder, up to her throat and then swings them down to her heart. She draws out a piece of her essence from her chest and she kneels, holding the offering up to Faysal, "I offer a piece of my essence to you, in exchange for restoring this foremother. With that, I also pledge to protect her grandchildren as fiercely as the foremother herself. Until my last breath, I swear no undue harm shall come to them or their crystal essence. Though the captain is honorable as well, I ask you not take anymore from her––surely, if you have looked into our soul's already, you must know," Verity gulps,"of her affliction. But, please, show mercy to the dolphins for it is not their fault they are dying."

There is a long pause between what Verity offers and Faysal's deliberation. The only noise comes from the glowing creatures on the wall that shift and burp bubbles with their movements. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, the stone guardian speaks, "I shall grant your request, Princess Verity. You and your companion seem to have true hearts. However, should that change, I shall come for you and that would be... a most unsavory end. For you two, anyway." Then, with what seems to be a great amount of effort, the stone guardian moves––or a part of her moves. From the many patterns on her body, a stone tentacle reaches forward and takes Verity's essence. Just as always happens when her essence has been taken away, and admittedly the exiled does not know how renewable this resource is, she feels a faint weakness settling into her bones that leaves her fatigued. The guardian then seems to swallow the offering and in the next breath, reaches for the foremother. When Faysal touches the crystal, her many eyes glow bright, brighter than all the glowing sea creatures in the room combined, and that light leaves the guardian and seeps into the crystal mother, who begins to shine in fullforce. She hands the foremother back to Verity and says, "Be gone, seekers and... be wary of my followers. I sense that their thirst for blood is high tonight."

 

[Syntra]

Her... organs? That wasn't a small price to pay, Iskra knew, but did she even have the right to demand something like that? To beg for a discount, when the foremother had spread herself so thin solely to allow her to breathe? No, quite clearly! If that was what Faysal required, then the pirate had to rise to the occasion. (Beggars couldn't be choosers, after all, and oh, as beggars they had come. ...besides, a part of her thought this would be a bargain. When measured against the life of the foremother, what was her existence worth? Less than dust, Iskra was certain. The dolphins relied on her, needed her guidance, and... well. Grief would consume her women upon her departure, surely, but they weren't children-- even with her gone, they would find their own way. How could they not? Each of them possessed a compass in their heart, and if they followed it faithfully enough, it would lead them to their destined harbor. ...unlike Iskra, you know. Her heart was a dark, shrivelled thing, barely good enough for pumping the rotten blood through her veins. Perhaps they'd be better off without her, actually! A bird with broken wings couldn't lead a flock, no matter how well-loved it was.)"Yes, wise Faysal. The price you've set is high, but I am willing to pay it. If that is what it takes to save the foremother, I shall let you sate your hunger with my own flesh. However, Faysal, you must promise that the princess stays safe. Can you guarantee that outcome?" Since Verity's life, you see, was much more precious! Millions awaited their princess's return, undoubtedly, and... and even if they'd didn't, her women still needed her to locate the wayfinder. Facts spoke for themselves, truly. In this game of chess, Iskra was a pawn and Verity a queen, so why defy the natural order of things? Everyone who had so much glanced at the rules knew who to sacrifice, if such a need arose.)

...everyone but Verity herself, apparently. Before Iskra could react properly, the princess was pulling her back to her feet, and... wait, what? Offering her own essence as a payment? Oh no, no, no. Not under Iskra's watch! "Wise Faysal," the pirate protested as she all but glared at her companion. "Listen not to the princess. She means well, I'm sure, but she is yet inexperienced, and does not understand what such a sacrifice demands. I, on the other hand, know exactly what I'm about to give up. Does that not make my offer more worthy?"

"Silence, captain," Faysal boomed. "Do you presume to know more than me, Faysal the All-Knowing?"

"No. No, I wouldn't dare! I just..."

"Then speak not! I believe I can judge better than you what it is that I desire. And, hmmm... A princess's essence is a rare treat, don't you think?"

Oh, by the Shade, by the Shade, by the Shade. How did Verity keep getting herself into these situations? Iskra had promised to protect her, but dammit, you couldn't protect a person from themselves! You couldn't, no more than you could protect fire from being consumed by itself, and the princess seemed to share that cursed drive. (Somewhere in her brain, the pirate was sure, a self-destruct button could be located. And you know what? Verity pushed it at least once per week! First with that ridiculous assassination attempt, then with the other assassination attempt, and now with... oh, Iskra didn't even know what to call this endeavor. 'Foolishness' seemed to cover it, but that wasn't nearly specific enough. What was happening in that thick skull of hers, even? Right now, she would give up an impressive cut of all the treasure they'd managed to steal over the years just to get a glimpse of Verity's thought processes.)

Still, that mattered not. It didn't, truly, because it was too late, too late, too late, and Iskra could only watch with horror as Faysal took what she wanted from Verity. (Like tearing a flower's petals away, that was what it was. It never should have happened! Anger flooded her vision, like a scarlet tsunami, and her hands rolled into fists, but... no. No, they'd gotten what they wanted. The foremother was saved, at least for now-- what would fury accomplish here, then? Faysal changing her mind, perhaps, which would make their victory turn into ashes in her mouth. Verity's sacrifice would be rendered meaningless, with only Iskra to blame! Realizing this, the pirate swallowed all of her objections and nodded.) "I... thank you, Faysal. May the foremother thrive for many ages to come."

Needless to say, though, that Iskra did not feel compelled to stay silent out of Faysal's earshot. "Verity!" she exclaimed, agitation ringing in her voice. "Why did you do such a thing? I never asked you to interfere. All that time, I had everything under my control. It would have turned out just fine, and, ugh. How irresponsible of you to risk your life so needlessly, really! Don't you have people to return to, after we're done with the wayfinder campaign? What would they have said?" Once the flames of her anger stopped burning so furiously, however? Concern won within her, and Iskra looked at the princess with genuine worry. "Will you be alright? I hope the ritual didn't take too much from you. It, uh... looked scary, from an outsider's perspective at least."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Iskra's words still ring in her ears as they walk back through the narrow tunnel and she isn't sure what she feels. Annoyance certainly comes to mind as well as feeling insulted by the captain's odd idea that Verity is somehow stupid and doesn't know the cost of her own sacrifice! While that is partly true, in that she does not know what parsing off her essence does to her in the long-run, to think she is so daft that she would offer something she cannot give? It's beyond aggravating––especially when Iskra would sooner see herself die than allow Verity to save her from her own brashness. 'Pah, who even offers their entire self to a guardian without knowing what that guardian may want? How utterly foolish!'

The captain seems to have similar gripes about Verity's own behavior so when she finally breaks their silence, the prisoner's eyes widen in shock. "What?" she asks, her tone clearly communicating her vexation and if not in her tone, then those malachite eyes certainly suggest her ire. "Are you being serious, right now, captain?" She stops walking, arms folding over her chest. Of course she assumes the captain is serious, because she rarely ever has seen the captain in a lighter mood. (Other than when she is with her––though that was before and this is now and there is no use in remembering those premature Times.) "Because from my standpoint, you were about to unwittingly offer your organs to Faysal. What good would that have accomplished, hm? Oh, wise captain, please enlighten me since you think me to be some stupid princess," as everyone else tends to think. It upsets her that Iskra does not think she is capable of making necessary sacrifices when the situation demands it. (This argument feels familiar to her as well and vaguely, she remembers the last time they had fought over this. Though she shakes that memory from her since those were different versions of the two women they now are––with everything that has changed between them due to her soiled hands.)

"The way I see it, Iskra, is that you would have given your Life, again, to some guardian and abandon your crew," she doesn't mention how Iskra's Death would affect herself. What use is there telling her that? She probably is just a nuisance on Iskra's list of people she must attend to so there is no use in leveraging herself anymore. "Are you so careless with your Life just because you can live it many Times over? How has your affliction not taught you the value of Life, hm?" she challenges, stepping close to the captain, closer than she might have dared were she not so agitated. "How much of yourself do you have left to lose? Were it not for me, you may be just as lost as you were yesterday and the day before that. I cannot help you look backwards at your path if you don't look forwards and realize that falling to your doom does not have to be the only answer." Because it occurs to Verity, with this new light shed on the captain, that she may offer her Life to just about anyone who she has sworn to protect. How many Times has she carelessly ended her Life just because it was an available option? How has she not learned to search for other options as any normal mortal would?

The prisoner huffs. Her piercing gaze never leaves Iskra either. This entire time her eyes burn as she delivers each of her lines. "Can you not see that people care for you? That do not want to see you die again and again? Or is there glass in your eyes, because only a blind woman would not see these facts." Though the idea that Verity would betray her people by allowing herself to be killed? She nearly snaps before remembering to cool her temper. "If you think me so foolish that I would offer something I cannot give, then you insult me, captain. I have given my essence before as sacrifice and I will give it again if asked of me." Again, she does not know how many years, if any, that she is losing with each sacrifice. She also may or may not be exaggerating how often she has done this, because the truth is she has only permanently lost a piece of her essence once before. However, all princesses in her home country parse their essence in this way so as to connect them with the relics of their people––and this has been without adverse reaction. While Inure required her sacrifice, twice, to restore her core, she had given those pieces back to Verity. Faysal likely won't, but what does that really matter? "The foremother is saved and we are both still alive. That is what is important, Iskra. If left up to you, only one of us would be returning and I'm sure Ylna would be delighted to blame me and finally sink her blade into my heart."

Though with Iskra's concern, Verity too softens and realizes how harsh she had been. "Ah, I'm fine, Iskra, really it was just a small piece. I shall recover, of that I am sure." And she is sure of that, because the Loss will be something she adjusts to all in due Time. She places her hand on the captain's shoulder, "I'm sorry for snapping at you, but you are not the only one capable of making sacrifices. And your sacrifice? What even was that, Iskra? Were you thinking at all of your crew or your mission? Have you any skills at negotiating? Because that was the poorest attempt I have ever seen."

 

[Syntra]

"Stupid?" Iskra asked, shock plain on her face. "I don't think you stupid, princess. Careless, perhaps, and far too impulsive for your own good, but never stupid." How would Verity arrive to that conclusion, even? The same Verity who shattered her entire world with her words, again and again and again? Laughable! Preposterous! If this woman was stupid, then what did it make her? (...something infinitely fragile, probably. A glass statue, pretty and crystal clear, but cursed nonetheless. Even a pebble would cause her to crack, you see? Along the length of her entire body, too. And, in the same way the cracks would spread, Verity's ideas spread through her, too, became part of her, really, and... well. Perhaps such was the fate of a puppet-- to be controlled, by anyone daring enough to pick up her strings. So what if she'd used them to cut her previous mistress' throat? For all it had been worth, the act had only deprived her of guidance. ...freedom she had gained, yes, but oh, what was it if not a shadow on the wall? Without knowing where to go, without that most precious of compasses, her hands were still bound, bound, bound! More reliably than with actual shackles, too.) "But, since you're asking, it would have accomplished a lot. Precisely the same thing you have accomplished, and for a less steep price."

Except that Verity did not seem to grasp that concept, for some unfathomable reason. (Were they speaking the same language, actually? Because, to Iskra, it certainly looked as if the princess had switched to something that sounded like words she knew, but had wholly different meanings assigned to it. Just!!! How did any of that make any sense? The thread of logic had to be there, as Verity rarely spoke without consideration, but to the captain's eyes, it was invisible. Invisible and impossible to touch!) "Why should I value my own life?" Iskra asked, casually, as if the two of them were discussing which outfit to wear today. "Do me a favor, princess, and imagine this... this hypothetical scenario. Imagine that you have a fine hammer. The hammer isn't stronger than the average, but it does its job well. What makes it unique, though, is that it repairs itself automatically-- you may grind it to dust as you work, and yet, yet it will brand new in the morning. Your other instruments don't behave like this. Does it not make sense, then, that you'll use it to do the hardest labor? That is what I'm doing, essentially. Dying is what I'm good at, so I die often. Better me than you, or anyone from my crew." ...because, yes, better to throw away gravel than diamonds! (And, oh, gravel she was-- tiny and insignificant, chopped to these little pieces. Once part of something greater, perhaps, but now? A mutilated corpse, alive in name only.)

"Karashaolathlam," Iskra said quietly, her gaze distant. "I suppose you don't understand, princess? 'Through death, dignity' would be the closest translation. It is one of our most beloved mantras." (One she had recited, over and over and over, till it felt like the word was carved into her tongue. How did that other saying go? 'Carved into tongue, carved into mind?' Yes, yes.) "To me, and others like me, it is the only way to reach it. You must not judge a fish by its ability to fly, yes-- that is a common enough sort of wisdom. Have you thought about the implications of that saying, though? About what lies behind that facade of gentleness? I mean, if you cannot judge a person by what they can't do, then obviously, you must judge them by what they can do. And I... I am a shield, princess. Always have been. Shields are meant to take blows, otherwise they're worthless." ...even more worthless than she already was, anyway. What value was there to be find in burnt coal, anyway? Once it had given its essence to fire, it could never be set alight again, and since feeding the flames was its only purpose... Useless. Useless, useless, useless! It had become that way through service, yes, but nothing about that changed its status.

"My crew would recover. A different person would obtain the mantle of the captain, and eventually, the mission would be completed. They wouldn't abandon the task, of that I am sure. Without you, though? Without you, the path to the wayfinder closes. We cannot afford to lose you, Verity, and if I have to lose myself in order to save you from doom, then so be it." That, after all, was the most meaningful way for her to contribute! (Another thing was that Iskra also didn't wish for the princess to be hurt, though that mattered not. So what if bees loved flowers for their colors? Their purpose was to seek them out for pollen, and everything else was secondary. The world cared not whether they composed poems dedicated to their beauty, or whether the brightness hurt their eyes! As long as they made the planet bloom, their motivations could remain shrouded in mystery-- pages of chronicles were reserved for things much grander than that.)

"And I do know they love me," she agreed easily. "They love me for what I do, though. Stopping would be the fastest route to losing that love, as well as their respect. They'd be entirely justified in it, too. What is a leader who isn't true to her principles, after all? A fraud! A fraud, and also poison that is circulating through her subordinates' veins. Besides, you are wrong. If you explained what happened, nobody would harm you. That much I can swear on my honor, princess." Verity continued to talk and talk and talk, though-- seemingly determined to drown Iskra in words, one stranger than another.

"Ah! N-no, it is fine. No need to apologize. I am happy to hear that if that is true, indeed, but... why would I need to be skilled at negotiation? I do not peddle any goods, princess. Haggling like that is demeaning to both parties, I think. The honorable thing to do is to offer exactly what you're willing to give-- not more, and certainly not less. That is the only way to preserve your integrity."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

As the captain starts to speak she begins to make less and less sense with each word that flies out of her mouth so carelessly. It baffles Verity that she ever thought this woman to be brilliant––and while she still does, to a certain degree, she no longer believes that Iskra has the best ideas. She sees the fool in captain's clothing, the one everyone had warned her about and now she feels so damn foolish for trusting Iskra without question. This kind of leadership is surely akin to following lemmings off the cliff with how she makes decisions. "Why should you value your own Life?" Verity repeats, in complete and utter disbelief that the captain would ask such a stupid question. For as much philosophy as she believes the captain has read, given her impressive collection on the subject, she does not understand how Iskra has taken all of that and crushed the meaning of Life, at least hers, to being about untimely, unnecessary Deaths. Verity is incredulous and her expression is that of a mother listening to the ridiculous excuses of a child with crumbs all over their face, who absolutely does not know where the last of the pastries went. Iskra's hypothetical does nothing to move Verity to her side of this particular argument. "A great and beautiful analogy, captain, truly you have outdone yourself with that one. However, you are not a tool. You are not," she repeats the last claim to hammer home this concept since it seems to be so far from the captain's fingers. "Please, captain, you're being unreasonable. Just because you have this power at your disposal does not mean you should flaunt it so flagrantly!" And that Verity has essentially done the same thing with her own sacrifice? No, the hypocrisy does not occur her. "Not when the Consequences are known and the price seems steep from an outsider's perspective."

On and on Iskra continues. On and on she continues to make less and less sense to the exiled. Had it been but a dream the days when she felt she understood Iskra and all her convictions? It must have been, because each sentence is more evidence that Iskra is no chivalrous knight willing to go great distances for that and those she has sworn to protect. No, that image of the pirate was but a flimsy, yet convincing illusion, apparently. The prisoner exhales in disbelief as Iskra reveals what she calls a mantra and what Verity hears as a not so subtle brainwashing disguised as honor. Though will she deliver that revelation to the pirate? "I really am starting to believe that there is something stuck in your eyes, captain. You act as though the only thing you can do is die; you act as though the only thing you are meant for is Death. Well, where I am from we have a great respect for Death, but it equals our respect for Life. To reach an honorable Death, one must live a fulfilling Life––only then can your spirit truly live on as it has learned to live while tied to its corporeal form," hence the sages and following their lessons to reach fulfillment and ultimately become a wise ancestors for your descendants. "You are not a shield, you wield a shield," it does occur to Verity that she's beginning to see more glimpses into how the captain views herself. As an object more than a person. A thing to be used. "But if you are so convinced that you are a shield, tell me then, captain, how you can continue to protect yours once you have fallen? Because surely a flesh shield has limited ways of protecting her wielder if she is bleeding out on the ground."

At the mention of the wayfinder, Verity quiets some. Not because of how she had once sought to make it hers, but again for the way Iskra makes her feel like a mere object. She knows or wants to believe that had not always been the case. In fact, crystal clear in her memory she can recall when the captain had told her she had been scared for her safety, for Verity––there had been nothing about her wealth of knowledge then. Though clearly that has changed and Verity knows this wedge is made of her bones. "I will not help them find the wayfinder, captain. I made an agreement with you and you alone. Not to your crew. Without you, I will make myself obsolete to them and I'm told obsolete things are of little use on a pirate ship."

"And your memory would live on inside of them, but it will not keep them warm on dark winter nights. It will haunt them, fill them Grief, and inspire anger. They will ask, surely, Why, why has such a thing happened to our dearest captain? and nothing will fill that Iskra shaped hole in their hearts. They will only learn to live with it. Yes, they will adjust, but your Loss will always be felt and that is cruel when you damn well know you can do more than just die, Iskra." She speaks with such certainty one might think Verity is a goddess delivering the next undeniable truth unto her followers. Though if Iskra cannot see her worth past continued Deaths, Verity does not know how she can ever learn to live. (And she would like that for her; to give her reprieve from her current existence.)

As frustrating as Iskra continues to be, she does appreciate the idealism in the pirate's heart. Because wouldn't it be nice if you could negotiate terms openly?'If only.' "I see that being a captain has taught you nothing of diplomacy," she starts, hearing herself sound more and more like Halen, the sage sisters, her guard, whenever she brought her idealism to light. Though, she does believe this is different because she has not met a single person who plays this game differently and so she has trouble imagining a different way. "As golden as that idea is, it is foolish to think your adversary has the same idea as you, captain. And yes, in diplomacy the opposing party is almost always your adversary in some regard. Their words are tricks and they will see how much they can squeeze from you. If you are as much a pushover as you were with Faysal, not even ready to request an alternative such as a piece of your liver and one of your kidneys, then I am frightened to learn how much you have lost with your delusions that you can always just be honest. There are times when bluffs are necessary, captain. That is how you keep yourself from getting played," or even getting killed.

Though there is more to say, in fact oceans bigger than this water world to say, her thoughts are stopped as the echo of several feet stomping through the cavern fill her ears. Her brows knit together as she looks over Iskra's shoulder and turns her head just slightly to listen more closely. "Here, here, they should be finished––Faysal has what she wants, the seekers are ours now," one voice says and Verity immediately looks to Iskra, silently telling her, 'We'll finish this later.' Because the footsteps only get closer and closer and Verity realizes being stuck in this passageway is not exactly advantageous. 'Shit,' she thinks, regretting the fact that she is not yet trustworthy enough to have a sword again; so she relies on what she does have: her poison spikes, obviously. With them just poking out from her skin, any hand that touches her will fall.