[Because she asks when he’s standing there at the podium, thinking about it, the simulation blips for just a moment -
The back of a cart along a quiet forest road, light chatter. A few horses at the front. Bird song and sunshine. Against the side of the cart a woman sits, greatsword next to her, staring a bit awkwardly at a orange tiger-striped cat that’s planted itself in her lap, purring loudly and pressing its paws against her leg to knead it. In a voice that’s much softer than her appearance would suggest, lightly accented:
‘Ah, Caleb? It’s doing something?’
And then it flicks back to the scene before, Harrow holding the bouquet still.]
[She's startled by the sudden change on scenery, shielding her eyes with a hand at the sunlight automatically, though it's not so bright as to hurt her eyes. When the scene switches back, she blinks again at the rapid change.]
. . . Yasha? It does that, draws on thoughts you weren't meaning to have.
If I don't know them, what opinion am I to have? If I tell you Ortus Ninegad composes dreadful poetry, will you appreciate knowing that even though the name can mean nothing to you?
. . . He was composing an epic poem celebrating our House's greatest warrior, Matthias Nonius. But his scansion was appalling. You cannot say Nonius has either two or three syllables depending on the verse.
[She thinks for a moment, and then recites, from memory - ]
Then did the dire bone frenzy fall upon Nonius, the mightiest arm of the Ninth and it's bulwark; Spasmed his veins with death lust; his great heart roared like a black iron furnace, hungry for corpses. Baleful the black blade struck at the shimmering stuff of the spectral beast, biting deep in it's false flesh. Shrieking, it flailed with its claws at the pauldrons and casque of the Ninth, yet his heart never faltered or failed him.
Don't be puerile, it isn't that funny. If you aren't using the simulation, then it's my turn.
[Slamming her hand on the simulation! She doubts he'll like anything on the Ninth, so she'll show him Canaan House instead. It's a beautiful fortress, almost a castle, on a planet with blue skies and oceans. Canaan House sits on a rock above the oceans, dead vines growing around it - there's nothing really alive here.
But what is here are skeletons - a lot of them, dressed in robes and vaguely Roman attire, all ambulatory and walking around.]
[sorry it is exactly that funny also what the FUCK does puerile mean anyway there's no time to react to any of this because
skeletons? Everywhere?
Honestly he just freezes, hands going to his waist like he's reaching for something, before he remembers that it's just an illusion again. It's certainly beautiful. Even the ocean, like that - huge and blue and expansive - nothing at all like he's ever seen before. Trying (trying being key) to relax, walking along to follow one of the skeletons and waving a hand in front of its face to see if it reacts. ]
They're constructs, but animated by autonomous spirits. The first time I saw them, I'd never seen anything so incredible. I've been animating skeletons since I was a child, but getting their joints to move as seamlessly as a creature with muscles and flesh is incredibly challenging.
[It's odd. There's a part of him that feels that itchiness again, like. He should know about this than he does, maybe. But he personally has nothing against it, beyond just not understanding much of what it is. And it is beautiful? In its own way.]
So they're alive? In some way? This is what you were talking about, tying a spirit to a body?
It is, but they aren't exactly alive. They're autonomous, but the spirits attached to them are ancient, not precisely human. I don't think you can call this living.
It was the first time I became aware of the possibility, however. That spirits of the dead could be used as something like. . . a battery, powering a construct like this for eternity.
Her hand is still on the simulation, so when he says that, the vision flickers - a large, overweight young man, dressed in black, face painted like a skull, a sword through his chest. A planet, seen from afar, crumbling, the life drained from it. A man, with monstrous eyes and a kindly smile and a crown of bone, speaking - What's done is done, now you have to live with it. Darkness, and pain, a wall of bones and death behind it, and a steady voice nearby, filled with warmth and sorrow - the cruellest thing anyone has ever done to you in your whole life, believe me.
And then the simulation shuts off, and Harrow faints to the floor.]
[so glad we keep triggering each other's trauma just purely on accident
There's a lot to unpack here and no time to dwell on any of it. It feels violating to see, flipping through someone's head uninvited - someone else's memories. He just keeps prying unintentionally lately, doesn't he? Just can't seem to stop digging. It's hard to pay much attention to any individual image when it's going so quickly however, and then-]
Fuck! Harrow!
[Immediately diving to catch her or at least check she hasn't brained herself on the floor? Shaking her, gently or trying to be gentle but he's a little frantic and not very good at medical advice.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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The back of a cart along a quiet forest road, light chatter. A few horses at the front. Bird song and sunshine. Against the side of the cart a woman sits, greatsword next to her, staring a bit awkwardly at a orange tiger-striped cat that’s planted itself in her lap, purring loudly and pressing its paws against her leg to knead it. In a voice that’s much softer than her appearance would suggest, lightly accented:
‘Ah, Caleb? It’s doing something?’
And then it flicks back to the scene before, Harrow holding the bouquet still.]
Shit, sorry.
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. . . Yasha? It does that, draws on thoughts you weren't meaning to have.
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[Very deliberately pulling his hand off the podium for the moment.]
That was Yasha. [And then, because he can’t help himself.] Did you know Beau has a big crush on her? Hilarious.
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[She's only talked to Beau a few times and literally just saw Yasha?]
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Really? I like gossip about all kinds of people, but whatever your preference.
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[That's an opinion to have.]
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[She thinks for a moment, and then recites, from memory - ]
Then did the dire bone frenzy fall upon Nonius, the mightiest arm of the Ninth and it's bulwark;
Spasmed his veins with death lust; his great heart roared like a black iron furnace, hungry for corpses.
Baleful the black blade struck at the shimmering stuff of the spectral beast, biting deep in it's false flesh.
Shrieking, it flailed with its claws at the pauldrons and casque of the Ninth, yet his heart never faltered or failed him.
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Secondly, what the fuck?]
. . . Bone frenzy?
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I do get the impression this person is fucking corpses. I'm only pointing it out as artistic commentary to a clearly great work.
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No, no. No desecration of corpses, merely the written word.
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[ . . . ]
What were we doing? You distracted me.
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[But he's not going anywhere.]
. . . Bone frenzy?
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[Slamming her hand on the simulation! She doubts he'll like anything on the Ninth, so she'll show him Canaan House instead. It's a beautiful fortress, almost a castle, on a planet with blue skies and oceans. Canaan House sits on a rock above the oceans, dead vines growing around it - there's nothing really alive here.
But what is here are skeletons - a lot of them, dressed in robes and vaguely Roman attire, all ambulatory and walking around.]
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skeletons? Everywhere?
Honestly he just freezes, hands going to his waist like he's reaching for something, before he remembers that it's just an illusion again. It's certainly beautiful. Even the ocean, like that - huge and blue and expansive - nothing at all like he's ever seen before. Trying (trying being key) to relax, walking along to follow one of the skeletons and waving a hand in front of its face to see if it reacts. ]
. . . What is this place?
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[The skeleton does react! Not like a sentient being exactly, but it avoids his hand and walks out of the way.]
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[Huh! Well. Gently reaching out to touch one on the shoulder.]
Undead? Or something else?
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So they're alive? In some way? This is what you were talking about, tying a spirit to a body?
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It was the first time I became aware of the possibility, however. That spirits of the dead could be used as something like. . . a battery, powering a construct like this for eternity.
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Not sure I'd want to stick around for eternity. Conscious or not, I suppose.
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Her hand is still on the simulation, so when he says that, the vision flickers - a large, overweight young man, dressed in black, face painted like a skull, a sword through his chest. A planet, seen from afar, crumbling, the life drained from it. A man, with monstrous eyes and a kindly smile and a crown of bone, speaking - What's done is done, now you have to live with it. Darkness, and pain, a wall of bones and death behind it, and a steady voice nearby, filled with warmth and sorrow - the cruellest thing anyone has ever done to you in your whole life, believe me.
And then the simulation shuts off, and Harrow faints to the floor.]
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There's a lot to unpack here and no time to dwell on any of it. It feels violating to see, flipping through someone's head uninvited - someone else's memories. He just keeps prying unintentionally lately, doesn't he? Just can't seem to stop digging. It's hard to pay much attention to any individual image when it's going so quickly however, and then-]
Fuck! Harrow!
[Immediately diving to catch her or at least check she hasn't brained herself on the floor? Shaking her, gently or trying to be gentle but he's a little frantic and not very good at medical advice.]
Harrow?
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