1627, Earth Season, Late in Harmony Week
Context
Varanis has recently learned that Xenofos does not wish to be resurrected if he dies. She’s very cross about it. After Session SA2.48 (Scribal Error).
Events
Berra has been running around for most of the afternoon, doing small things and being small. She was probably getting in the way a lot. Now, she finds herself in the early evening light, in a small courtyard, practicing with two swords and a couple of professional-looking warriors at a polite distance. She is going through slow-time drills for two-handed fighting.
Varanis strides in, encased in armour, her helmet under her arm. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you. You haven’t stopped moving since we got here.”
Berra nods to Varaneva first, says, “I’ll see it from here. Wake you early,” and then turns to Varanis. “Hey. Yes. I’m a bit escitea…. excitable right now.” She bounces on her feet a little.
Varaneva has a look of serene patience underlaid with the absolute confidence that she could happily kill just about anyone who gave her good reason to. Varanis, on the other hand, looks tired, irritated, and generally unsettled.
“I needed to talk to you about something, but I don’t remember what. I’ve been looking for a while now. People keep talking to me.”
“Food? Army? Argrath? Kallyr?” Berra looks undismayed as Varaneva walks away without a word. “Rajar? Chaos? Uh…. Tribes?” She is very very bouncy, only just held in by the mere fact she needs to stay in her body, and is not an Orlanthi.
“Xenofos.”
“Oh, yeah, him. I talked to him. I was looking at the rafters in the stables. I made a flower out of a splinter there but it wasn’t very good so I put it on the fire.” Lots of talk. Words. Berra.
“Have you gotten into his head? More than usual?” As the memory of what she wanted to discuss comes back to her, Varanis gives her friend an accusing glare.
“Yeaaaah, a little bit, I think?” Berra slows down, so that she is speaking at only slightly above her usual speed. “I think it was a good talk. He’s… having a hard time right now but we’re good. At least as far as I could tell. And it wasn’t fear that made him say charge. He was just too eager.”
“He wants to die,” Varanis growls. “Or at least, stay dead when he does.”
Berra nods. “It’s his decision. I mean, if he’s in Sartar I probably have to fight people who try to resurrect him, but he doesn’t want to be anyhow.”
“No! Why would he want that? Why would he want to leave me? This is your influence.”
Berra blinks. “Uh… People don’t always want to go on forever?” she guesses. “He’s the resting sort.”
From where Berra is standing, it looks like Varanis is grieving for a man who is not yet dead. “I don’t want him to die. He swore to serve me!”
“Of course you don’t. I don’t want him to die either. That’s not what coming back is, though.” And then she adds, “And I’m against Resurrection as an idea. It harms Death.”
“It just makes Death wait until the right time! He must have gotten this idea from you. You convinced him…”
Berra says simply, “Not by asking. I never said that to him.” Her voice is determined, her expression one of studied calm.
Varanis steps forward, her stance aggressive. She’s spoiling for a fight.
Berra checks her swords, not that they are loose, but that they are firmly away. “His choice. Not mine. I don’t lead him round by the groin or by the heart.”
“Yeah right. You know…” the Vingan stops, looks at the two men gawping at them, then pivots in place and storms out the way she came.
Berra considers, and then follows at a jog. This might not be the best idea.
Varanis doesn’t have a clear route, having left the courtyard. It doesn’t take long before she picks her favourite. Up. She finds a likely wall, jams her helmet on her head angrily, and begins to climb.
Berra sighs, looking up that way. Then, despite herself, or because of herself, she follows.
The Vingan is agile, easily finding handholds. In her anger, she doesn’t bother picking a route that would be simpler for her shorter-limbed friend. Instead, she is making her fastest way to the top of the structure.1Special on Climb.
Berra says, “Don’t go too far over towards the main houses. They hate that,” like she has already found out. As for the rest, she just follows, up what is probably a storehouse, curved and without windows. She is falling behind, but not apparently in trouble with the climb.2Passes Climb.
“Why are you following me?”
“Because I’m your bodyguard. Although that’s handy because I want to as well.”
“I could just fly,” Varanis points out, pausing at the roof to allow Berra to catch up.
Berra stops when she is safely up on the long curved roof. “Please don’t?” she suggests.
“I said I would respect his wishes,” Varanis whispers. “I don’t want to. I really don’t want to. But I won’t bring him back against his will.”
Berra’s reply is, “He doesn’t love me like he loves you. He’s yours.” She might be looking for more words, but they are not coming.
Varanis looks at Berra. “If I die… when I die… will you prevent them from bringing me back?”
Berra looks back. “If it’s in Sartar. Then that’s my duty. But… if I failed I … you’re my friend. I know losing people hurts. But I’d have to try. If I was at home.”
“You’d have to stop it. Even if my work wasn’t done?” Wide grey eyes peer at the Humakti from within the bronze helmet. This is a thing that Varanis has not considered before.
“When is work ever done?” comes the counter. “I’ll die in my time, and my work won’t be done either, because when it’s done we go look for more work.” Tact got left at ground level.
“I have to see the Lunars out of Dragon Pass and Kallyr on her throne, Berra. I have to. If you stop that from happening, I will haunt you.” Anger into sadness, sadness into shock, and shock circles back to anger.
Berra shrugs. “Ghosts aren’t undead,” she says, “So I’m not going to argue with that.”
Varanis makes an inarticulate sound, followed by “I don’t understand you at all!” And with that, she clambers to her feet and tears off across the roof, launching herself at the next building. Berra is left to follow as best she can.
Berra does, making use of her strength rather than her size to jump and haul herself along. For all her many faults, at least she can keep her balance on a sloping roof in dimming light.
Up ahead, there’s a slip. A shingle isn’t quite right.
Berra speeds up fractionally, flexing her hands to be ready to grab things and people.
Varanis skitters, almost tumbles from the roof, but manages to sit down hard instead. By the time Berra reaches her, she is muttering curse words in a variety of languages and breathing hard.
Berra comes up slowly once it is clear nobody will be dying this minute. She is elegance itself on the roof, like an alynx made human. She pauses, then sits cross-legged, facing the same way as Varanis.
“Too many feelings. Too many thoughts. I just need some quiet, Berra. Why can’t I have quiet?”
Berra puts out her hand, not quite resting it on her friend’s knee, but either offering or threatening to. “You’re Orlanthi,” she says. “You feel harder than me.”
“Do you remember me asking you to help me find separation?” Varanis stares at the hand, rather than looking at Berra.
“Yeah?” Berra’s hand flexes, withdraws.
Next to her, Varanis sags. “I think I’m glad you couldn’t teach me. Because this hurts, but I can’t imagine being willing to let the people I love go so easily.”
“Separation hurts when it’s incomplete. Memories stay, so you know what you’ve lost.”
Varanis nods, but there’s no understanding in her expression. “We should go back. I have to clean myself up in case Stark wishes to continue discussions. I’m meant to meet with this daughter of his.”
“Give it a few minutes. Spend some time breathing and watching Yelm die.” Perhaps Berra could have chosen a better word for sunset.
She’s met with silence, but Varanis doesn’t make any movement towards leaving either.
- 1Special on Climb.
- 2Passes Climb.
