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portalling) wrote2022-04-02 01:17 pm
portalling) wrote2022-04-02 01:17 pm
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“I’ll remind you I did ask for the long version, after all,” Strange grants him, echoing the smile back.
After Vanya leaves, it takes the Head Healer a while to sort through his thoughts, judging what’s worth putting into the official record: dictating notes into his sending crystal for private storage and then later transcription by a trusted hand. Mostly it’s the first part of the conversation: symptoms, the withdrawal process, the jumbled memories and suspected memory loss, a couple timeline milestones.
Still. It felt good, hearing the actual story from the actual man, and not a creature masquerading as him.
Fixing a mistake.
After Vanya leaves, it takes the Head Healer a while to sort through his thoughts, judging what’s worth putting into the official record: dictating notes into his sending crystal for private storage and then later transcription by a trusted hand. Mostly it’s the first part of the conversation: symptoms, the withdrawal process, the jumbled memories and suspected memory loss, a couple timeline milestones.
Still. It felt good, hearing the actual story from the actual man, and not a creature masquerading as him.
Fixing a mistake.
[ she doesn't have to be able to read stephen's mind to know that she has his attention—being able to predict people, to tell where she's wanted and where she's not, is a practiced skill of hers, and she can read interest and intrigue in the way stephen learns in, the keen focus of his eyes on hers.
it's gratifying, and ness smiles to see it, even if she doesn't have a good answer for him. somehow, it feels like he won't mind that too much—the challenge will make this more fun. ]
No, not for either—I'm more likely to link to someone mentally under duress, or if I'm very focused on them, [ ask gwen how she knows about that some time, stephen, ] but neither is a guarantee. The tentacles happen at all times of day, whatever my mood.
[ she considers a moment, then taps her nails on the table. ]
The tentacles have been happening more, recently, though. I don't think they have a will of their own, really, [ probably? ] but it's almost as though, since the magebane, the magic wants to be used.
Hmm. Not that I have any experience with this specifically, but I could see that. If it’s just… building up that energy and not giving it a chance to release, to vent. Or the magebane might just be treating the symptom, not the underlying root cause. If you take a painkiller for a sprained ankle, the pain will still keep happening whenever the drugs wear off.
[ Quick, rapidfire patter, thinking out loud. The doctor still feels that itch to grab a pen and paper to take notes, but he doesn’t have the handwriting for it, so it’s just affixing this conversation in his memory to the best of his recollection. He’ll dictate some notes for himself later. ]
We didn’t go into much detail about it before; can you describe the tentacles further? And you said you didn’t have magic at all before Thedas?
[ Quick, rapidfire patter, thinking out loud. The doctor still feels that itch to grab a pen and paper to take notes, but he doesn’t have the handwriting for it, so it’s just affixing this conversation in his memory to the best of his recollection. He’ll dictate some notes for himself later. ]
We didn’t go into much detail about it before; can you describe the tentacles further? And you said you didn’t have magic at all before Thedas?
[ ness notices the twitch of fingers that suggests stephen might be taking notes, were his hands trustworthy to it, and thinks quick. ]
Sorry, pardon me, but might I borrow pen and paper? This seems like a conversation we should have notes on.
[ she'll answer the question in a moment, but first: notes and (hopefully) impressing authority figures, her favorite things. ]
[ He pauses, just a little —
There’s the faint instinctive suspicion, the lurking pride of a man not wanting to be pitied, condescended, accounted for (even as his disability very much requires accounting for). But. Might I borrow. Ness has landed on just the right combination of words which makes it seem like it’s more for her sake than his; it’s just a sensible next step, a rational response.
Gwenaëlle had always done much the same at the start, matter-of-fact offers and not making much of the accomodation.
So Strange nods, and starts rummaging through his desk before coming up with some scrap paper with old infirmary inventory on the other side. The pen he passes her isn’t the usual Thedosian quill, but rather a dip pen made in shiny brass, decorated in fine filigree, with a small reservoir for refilling. A Provost Stark construction, a treasured tool. Don’t break it. ]
You might’ve heard about the paper shortage, but these sheets should be fit for purpose. Reduce, reuse, recycle.
There’s the faint instinctive suspicion, the lurking pride of a man not wanting to be pitied, condescended, accounted for (even as his disability very much requires accounting for). But. Might I borrow. Ness has landed on just the right combination of words which makes it seem like it’s more for her sake than his; it’s just a sensible next step, a rational response.
Gwenaëlle had always done much the same at the start, matter-of-fact offers and not making much of the accomodation.
So Strange nods, and starts rummaging through his desk before coming up with some scrap paper with old infirmary inventory on the other side. The pen he passes her isn’t the usual Thedosian quill, but rather a dip pen made in shiny brass, decorated in fine filigree, with a small reservoir for refilling. A Provost Stark construction, a treasured tool. Don’t break it. ]
You might’ve heard about the paper shortage, but these sheets should be fit for purpose. Reduce, reuse, recycle.
[ gods above, that's a fancy pen. ness takes it with an appropriate amount of interest and respect without letting herself get distracted trying to inspect it too closely, even though she absolutely wants to inspect it closely. ]
It has been very difficult as a consummate note-taker to find new paper sources—you should see my personal sheaf, it's a mess.
[ a mess she WILL be transferring to an actual journal as soon as such a thing is available again.
ness quickly sets about making notes of what stephen's already mentioned, muttering energy build-up, painkiller treating symptoms to herself to keep on track. as soon as that's sorted, she pivots back to his question, making rapid notes as she explains. ]
The tentacles seem to be made of some kind of concentrated shadow, or darkness—they're fully physical, and they interact with the world, but they aren't like real animal flesh in any way. They don't last very long once they actually, ah, assert themselves, but the build-up to that can last a while, it's kind of variable? Like I said, though, it's been happening faster and more often since the magebane.
I had some magic prior to this, but nothing impressive, I could make little lights, that was all. Vazeiros—my father—he taught me. It's not unheard of to gain magic after contact with magical forces, and I—I—
[ here, ness finally stumbles, the rapid scratch of the pen on paper halted as she blinks, remembering exactly what had happened that she thinks started this whole stupid tentacle saga. carefully, minding the sudden tremor in her hands, she sets the pen back on the desk.
she'd done so well being impartial, impersonal in her explanation, only the facts, no value judgments or emotion clouding the important bits. now look at her. ]
I'm sorry, I just need—I have to gather my thoughts, I apologize.
[ The doctor’s fairly accustomed to people sitting in this room, door closed, giving a report about deeply personal topics. (Orlov, discussing things he absolutely did not want to discuss. Baynrac, the same.) He’s had months of practicing his actively-listening face. ]
Take your time.
[ The problem with Ennaris doing the notes, however, is that Strange doesn’t have anything to do with his hands while he waits for her to re-compose herself. So he folds them over his stomach instead and tries to affect casual patience, as if this exchange is perfectly normal, as if her hands aren’t shaking as his normally do. And eventually his nudging question, when it comes, is almost brutally straightforward: ]
Was that your death? Contact with magical forces. Gaining magic.
Take your time.
[ The problem with Ennaris doing the notes, however, is that Strange doesn’t have anything to do with his hands while he waits for her to re-compose herself. So he folds them over his stomach instead and tries to affect casual patience, as if this exchange is perfectly normal, as if her hands aren’t shaking as his normally do. And eventually his nudging question, when it comes, is almost brutally straightforward: ]
Was that your death? Contact with magical forces. Gaining magic.
Yes, [ she says, and tries to stay steady. tries not to lean too far away from the back of her seat, tries not to twitch at every sound. her fingers start to flex and she clenches them into fists instead. for a moment she tries to explain, tries to open her mouth and let the words flow out, but they won't come. she's never had to explain this before, she doesn't know how.
but maybe she doesn't have to. ness looks up and catches stephen's eye, asking with her gaze if she can enter his mind and tell him there, instead. whatever she sees on his face is the permission she needs, even if it wasn't really.
the walls around minds are permeable, she's learning. not for most, not for the vast majority of people—but once you learn how to look, you can see the holes, the places you can slide out of your own consciousness and into someone else's. doing it on command is a difficult proposition, one she still hasn't gotten the hang of, but she's under duress and she doesn't want to use her words, so: telepathy.
she slips through the walls of her own mind and pours herself into stephen's, instead, poking and prodding until she finds a hole in the wall to slip through. she's small, there, doesn't want to take up too much space, not here to intrude, just to show: the terror of the abduction, the horror of looking a mindflayer in the eye and seeing something soulless stare back.
watching the people you traveled with, some you'd known for years, get a tadpole urged into their eyes, knowing it would be your turn, soon.
the ship you're in jolts, rocks, tumbles you away from the mindflayers and straight into a vat of brine. you keep your eyes shut but inhale a mouthful of the liquid and you don't know it but in that moment something inside of you wakes up, or changes, or wakes up and changes.
you cough brine out of your lungs and when you open your eyes the mindflayers don't care about you anymore. you're too smart to really think you're free, but you hope anyway.
what a stupid thing to do.
the first stab is such a shock you don't even feel it. you only know you've been impaled when you feel your stomach get wet and look down to find a blade sticking out of you. you make some stupid noise of surprise, and the blade disappears, and this time you feel it when it pierces your ribcage, and then again when it punctures a lung.
you fall to your knees, then your front, gasping and coughing up blood. your sight dims, and the aliens who killed you slit the throat of the merchant you've known since you were seven. they're going to kill everyone.
you want your father. you'd call out for him, but all you can manage is a faint, gurgling rattle. you're dying. it's a very calm thought, but maybe that's because you're so tired you can't be alarmed anymore. you hurt, but you know if you close your eyes, it'll be over soon. you want it to be over. everything is getting so cold.
you close your eyes.
ness pulls away from stephen's mind and has to press her hand to her stomach, to her breast. no wounds. no scars, even, to suggest she'd ever been injured at all. ]
Edited 2024-09-22 23:19 (UTC)
[ And for all that the experience is horrifying —
This, too, is distressingly familiar. Gwenaëlle’s panicked hand clawing at her spine searching for the mortal wound, remembering her own death, re-living it. Stephen’s own mind afire with his own death, I’m sorry on a whisper and that wave of force colliding with another him, slowly peeling his body apart. He had watched the execution happen from outside himself, seen from a professor’s steady remorseful gaze.
This particular memory is more visceral, bone-deep; when he looks down at his chest he half-expects to see the blade still extruding. A gasp, a startled breath, his hand splayed on the table. Strange is rattled, but not as much if he hadn’t already witnessed his own death. When he looks at Ennaris, however, his gaze is soft and apologetic.
He doesn’t really have the words. Doesn’t know the right thing to say. So what comes out instead, lodged on the sight of those tentacles, that pitiless inhuman face pressing the tadpole to an eye: ]
What are they?
This, too, is distressingly familiar. Gwenaëlle’s panicked hand clawing at her spine searching for the mortal wound, remembering her own death, re-living it. Stephen’s own mind afire with his own death, I’m sorry on a whisper and that wave of force colliding with another him, slowly peeling his body apart. He had watched the execution happen from outside himself, seen from a professor’s steady remorseful gaze.
This particular memory is more visceral, bone-deep; when he looks down at his chest he half-expects to see the blade still extruding. A gasp, a startled breath, his hand splayed on the table. Strange is rattled, but not as much if he hadn’t already witnessed his own death. When he looks at Ennaris, however, his gaze is soft and apologetic.
He doesn’t really have the words. Doesn’t know the right thing to say. So what comes out instead, lodged on the sight of those tentacles, that pitiless inhuman face pressing the tadpole to an eye: ]
What are they?
Mindflayers, [ she says softly, ] illithid.
[ he could be referring to the githyanki, too, inhuman and bizarre as they both must be to his eyes... but he's not. ness knows he's not.
she breathes in, breathes out. tries to find equilibrium. ]
They're some of the most horrifying creatures in my world, [ too rattled to maintain the distance she's been carefully cultivating since she arrived, ] because their goal isn't to kill, or to conquer. They propogate by infecting other species with their parasites, which grows within their victims in a process called ceremorphosis. For seven days, the infected experience a series of...
[ she flounders, momentarily, searching for the words, the clinical vocabulary that will keep this at arm's length. ]
Of symptoms, I suppose. Transformations. Fever, graying skin, loss of memory. [ among other things. ] At the end, the adult illithid emerges, with all of the memories but none of the soul of their victims.
[ she pauses, lets that sink in. the person that mindflayer was is destroyed. obliterated. from the inside out, they are unmade. understand? ]
There's no known cure. No recourse. Once you're infected, you're already dead.
[ Strange sizes her up. There are other, more anthropological questions he wants to ask, but suspects would be too impolitic and unwelcome; what are illithids like outside of their reproduction? Is this the only way they can reproduce? Do they have any choice? What looks unsavoury in a parasite might just be a fact of biology—
But at least he’s tactful enough not to go down that route. Instead: ]
I’ve known you for several weeks now, and your skin doesn’t seem particularly grey, and your memory is as sharp as any student I’ve known.
[ A hint, an implication. ]
It seems it hasn’t followed you here, at least.
But at least he’s tactful enough not to go down that route. Instead: ]
I’ve known you for several weeks now, and your skin doesn’t seem particularly grey, and your memory is as sharp as any student I’ve known.
[ A hint, an implication. ]
It seems it hasn’t followed you here, at least.
action; sometime a little before he leaves for sarrux's pass
youwonscience
2024-10-10 10:47 pm (UTC)(link)
Even if Stephen has technically moved out of the Gallows proper, he's not hard to find. The late afternoon sun is streaming in the windows as she makes her way downstairs to the head healer's office. (She's willing to venture out to the infirmary if she needs to, but this time of day, her odds are better that he's just a floor removed.)
When she knocks on the door frame, it's not so unusual. She stops down to consult with him reasonably frequently. But usually she's got a book or some papers under one arm; today her hands are free, though there is a small pouch attached to her belt.
"Hey, you got a minute? Or maybe several, if you don't have a boat curfew."
When she knocks on the door frame, it's not so unusual. She stops down to consult with him reasonably frequently. But usually she's got a book or some papers under one arm; today her hands are free, though there is a small pouch attached to her belt.
"Hey, you got a minute? Or maybe several, if you don't have a boat curfew."
The head healer’s standing by a bookcase, Cosima evidently having caught him in the middle of some office rearranging, plucking out books and piling them into a stack, bound for a box and then presumably removal. He waves Cosima in, then keeps packing the books. Multitasker.
“Boat curfew,” Stephen echoes her choice of phrase, already bemused, “That makes me sound like some kind of kept man—”
Well. Actually. He pauses while holding one book in mid-air, and considers. “Which probably is what I am. Hm. Well, point being, it’s not like I’m going to be grounded if I don’t go straight home. I’ve got time. What’s up?”
“Boat curfew,” Stephen echoes her choice of phrase, already bemused, “That makes me sound like some kind of kept man—”
Well. Actually. He pauses while holding one book in mid-air, and considers. “Which probably is what I am. Hm. Well, point being, it’s not like I’m going to be grounded if I don’t go straight home. I’ve got time. What’s up?”
"Look, I'm not knocking it." She comes to half-sit, half-lean on the corner of his desk. "So I feel like I could ... stand to talk to somebody about something personal, which I know sounds scary or at least not that fun. But I did bring weed and I am totally down to share if that sweetens the pot at all."
They're close enough that this doesn't feel wildly off base, but on the other hand, asking for a listening ear so directly does feel like a bit of a new step for Cosima. Then again, don't ask, don't get. She's been stewing for a while, and she knows herself well enough to know it's not doing anything productive to her psyche.
They're close enough that this doesn't feel wildly off base, but on the other hand, asking for a listening ear so directly does feel like a bit of a new step for Cosima. Then again, don't ask, don't get. She's been stewing for a while, and she knows herself well enough to know it's not doing anything productive to her psyche.
Normally opening up can be so excruciatingly painful, both giving or receiving, but practice has made it easier with Cosima, tempered by elfroot and wine alike in some of their looser and more informal evenings. The more often you take a path, the more well-trodden it becomes and the easier it is to walk.
One of the harder lessons for him to learn: maybe you do actually need to lean on friends, sometimes.
“Oh, thank god, weed changes the equation entirely.” Stephen cracks a smile at her, though; he would’ve said yes either way, but it’s easier with chemical assistance. “A break’s good anyway. Fire away.”
So he puts down the last of the books and shoves the box off to the side, pulling up a chair instead and sitting down with a sigh. Work mode deactivated, Provost and Head Healer hats fully removed, now they’re just Cosima and Stephen. He’ll let her roll the joints; her hands are steadier, and maybe it’ll give her something to fidget with as she broaches whatever she needs to broach.
One of the harder lessons for him to learn: maybe you do actually need to lean on friends, sometimes.
“Oh, thank god, weed changes the equation entirely.” Stephen cracks a smile at her, though; he would’ve said yes either way, but it’s easier with chemical assistance. “A break’s good anyway. Fire away.”
So he puts down the last of the books and shoves the box off to the side, pulling up a chair instead and sitting down with a sigh. Work mode deactivated, Provost and Head Healer hats fully removed, now they’re just Cosima and Stephen. He’ll let her roll the joints; her hands are steadier, and maybe it’ll give her something to fidget with as she broaches whatever she needs to broach.
She pulls the supplies from the pouch at her waist, as well as one of the little rune-stone lighters floating around the Gallows these days. Elfroot isn't exactly marijuana, but you roll it more or less the same way. (It works in her rifted-in vape, too, but tonight she's gone analog.) She takes a minute to deal with the rolling, not because she can't do it while talking but because it's a decent excuse to gather her thoughts.
Once it's lit and she passes it to him, she says, "So I know Herian is working with you these days." Which is certainly a place to begin.
Once it's lit and she passes it to him, she says, "So I know Herian is working with you these days." Which is certainly a place to begin.
[ at any other time, ness might be willing to answer all those questions—she could even genuinely enjoy the conversation, despite the subject matter—but for now, it's probably best that stephen listens to the little voice of tact in his head.
she nods, understanding his implication, but doesn't look much happier about it. ]
But that's where this magic comes from, I think. Contact with strong magic can... leave an impression, sometimes, in my world. Like the rifts leave a bit of themselves in us, in the anchor, I've been left with... Aberration. Invisible but ever-present difference.
[ ...hang on, she's getting maudlin, this is supposed to be about practicing magic. ness visibly pulls herself back together, shaking her head and straightening out her shoulders. deep breath, chin up, pen back in hand, where were we? ]
So that's where I think it came from. Mindflayers are psychic, and you saw the tentacles, ergo. It is, at least, the strongest theory I have, given I'm not likely to ever know for sure.
she nods, understanding his implication, but doesn't look much happier about it. ]
But that's where this magic comes from, I think. Contact with strong magic can... leave an impression, sometimes, in my world. Like the rifts leave a bit of themselves in us, in the anchor, I've been left with... Aberration. Invisible but ever-present difference.
[ ...hang on, she's getting maudlin, this is supposed to be about practicing magic. ness visibly pulls herself back together, shaking her head and straightening out her shoulders. deep breath, chin up, pen back in hand, where were we? ]
So that's where I think it came from. Mindflayers are psychic, and you saw the tentacles, ergo. It is, at least, the strongest theory I have, given I'm not likely to ever know for sure.
Stephen’s so straight-laced on the surface that this might have seemed such a surprise the first time he gladly blazed up with her; but he also underwent psychedelic training with a bunch of monks in the mountains where ayahuasca wouldn’t have been out-of-place for opening their third eyes to other planes. Life comes at you fast.
“Mmyeah,” he says. He’d wondered when this would come up again. It was likely always going to happen at some point; sending Gwenaëlle to impart that initial bad news to Cosima was only delaying the inevitable, and Herian’s been settling into the day-to-day at the infirmary ever since.
“She was very eager to make herself of assistance.”
“Mmyeah,” he says. He’d wondered when this would come up again. It was likely always going to happen at some point; sending Gwenaëlle to impart that initial bad news to Cosima was only delaying the inevitable, and Herian’s been settling into the day-to-day at the infirmary ever since.
“She was very eager to make herself of assistance.”
What makes it aberration? [ Strange repeats, drilling in on that particular word choice. His voice has taken on a faintly professorial air as if he’s questioning a theorem, interrogating an assumption. ] You and I, we’ve got glowing green shards in our hands that can seal rips in reality. Anyone who sees them knows we’re rifters. We’re already visibly aberrant. And just because you can read minds and get a little tentacle-y sometimes, I don’t think that necessarily entails a judgment call either way.
[ This angle is perhaps a little self-serving and biased, considering Stephen Stranges across the multiverse and their predilection towards alarming-looking spells, but. He folds his hands on the desk in front of him. ]
Magic’s gross and ugly and a little slimy sometimes, sure. But if it gets the job done, I don’t see what the problem is. Any tool in a kit.
[ This angle is perhaps a little self-serving and biased, considering Stephen Stranges across the multiverse and their predilection towards alarming-looking spells, but. He folds his hands on the desk in front of him. ]
Magic’s gross and ugly and a little slimy sometimes, sure. But if it gets the job done, I don’t see what the problem is. Any tool in a kit.
"Yeah, that part's not only the Tranquility. She always wanted to be put to work." They might eventually get to some of Cosima's thoughts on what the Circle system did to Herian, but she's still sober right now and it feels like a rough place to begin.
She shifts so she's fully sitting on the edge of his desk, not leaning anymore. "So when we talked about the Blip and how it's weirdly sort of like being here twice as a Rifter, I talked a little bit of my ex-fiancee. Did anyone fill you in that it was Herian I was talking about, since she's been back?" An honest question, as far as it goes. It's easy to imagine he'd gotten that from Gwenaëlle, purposely or otherwise; it's just as easy to imagine that no one had thought to spell it out.
She shifts so she's fully sitting on the edge of his desk, not leaning anymore. "So when we talked about the Blip and how it's weirdly sort of like being here twice as a Rifter, I talked a little bit of my ex-fiancee. Did anyone fill you in that it was Herian I was talking about, since she's been back?" An honest question, as far as it goes. It's easy to imagine he'd gotten that from Gwenaëlle, purposely or otherwise; it's just as easy to imagine that no one had thought to spell it out.
Ah, [ she presses her lips together—there has been a miscommunication, here. ]
I don't mean aberrant as in... morally repugnant, or reprehensible in any way, [ although that debate may be worth having too, considering the unfortunate bent of enchantment magic in general, ] but instead...
[ ness rolls the pen between her hands, squinting softly, a delicate crinkle between her brows. ]
There is a plane of existence known to my world as the Far Realm. It's a place of madness, by all accounts, where many layers of reality blend together. From that Realm come Aberrations, creatures that don't fit in the natural order. Creatures inexplicable by the laws of man or gods.
[ she looks up to catch stephen's eye and spreads her fingers; see what she means now? ]
Mindflayers are one such creature. And now, touched by their magic as I am...
I don't mean aberrant as in... morally repugnant, or reprehensible in any way, [ although that debate may be worth having too, considering the unfortunate bent of enchantment magic in general, ] but instead...
[ ness rolls the pen between her hands, squinting softly, a delicate crinkle between her brows. ]
There is a plane of existence known to my world as the Far Realm. It's a place of madness, by all accounts, where many layers of reality blend together. From that Realm come Aberrations, creatures that don't fit in the natural order. Creatures inexplicable by the laws of man or gods.
[ she looks up to catch stephen's eye and spreads her fingers; see what she means now? ]
Mindflayers are one such creature. And now, touched by their magic as I am...
[Stephen's pigeonhole contains a scroll, which, when opened, reveals itself to be several pages of piano sheet music for an assortment of raunchy tavern songs. The lyrics are, of course, included.
At the center is a small note reading:
Happy Satinalia!
Your Secret Satina,
Barrow
At the center is a small note reading:
Happy Satinalia!
Your Secret Satina,
Barrow
“They did, yeah.” The unspoken Gwenaëlle sits there between them, his usual hotline for any Riftwatch gossip or social context he’s missing. “And Herian herself was very open about it besides. She didn’t want to cause you any extra distress.”
But how Herian feels isn’t precisely the most pertinent topic at hand, considering she doesn’t feel much of anything anymore. So Stephen looks at Cosima instead, and weighs what he can see of the expression on— his friend. Yes. They are, in fact, friends, and so he tells himself he’s allowed to ask this, and she came here specifically to talk about this.
“How are you feeling about it?”
But how Herian feels isn’t precisely the most pertinent topic at hand, considering she doesn’t feel much of anything anymore. So Stephen looks at Cosima instead, and weighs what he can see of the expression on— his friend. Yes. They are, in fact, friends, and so he tells himself he’s allowed to ask this, and she came here specifically to talk about this.
“How are you feeling about it?”
It still sounds like there’s a big of an implicit judgment call in the name. Although, who am I to say— my mentor drew her power from an outside plane of existence known as the Dark Dimension.
[ Also arguable as to whether or not that was wise.
He’s looking at Ennaris across that table, sizing her up and feeling her out. Part of this is getting a sense of what her abilities are, and how she feels about them, considering how skittish she’d been in their earliest conversations about it. If only he can help guide her away from the fear, and back to that pleased beaming smile when she displayed her telepathy; the pride, the delight that he remembered magic sparking in him, too. ]
Well. Regardless of origin, you have those tools now. So: you want to be able to practice this— telepathy, this mind-link, in addition to the tentacles? We can do that.
[ Also arguable as to whether or not that was wise.
He’s looking at Ennaris across that table, sizing her up and feeling her out. Part of this is getting a sense of what her abilities are, and how she feels about them, considering how skittish she’d been in their earliest conversations about it. If only he can help guide her away from the fear, and back to that pleased beaming smile when she displayed her telepathy; the pride, the delight that he remembered magic sparking in him, too. ]
Well. Regardless of origin, you have those tools now. So: you want to be able to practice this— telepathy, this mind-link, in addition to the tentacles? We can do that.
"Fuck if I know," has a shaky edge that's more a laugh that otherwise. "I don't ... OK so like. Layer one in this bizarre onion: I'm so fucking angry someone did this to her against her will. Like, taking all I can do to not grab Rowntree and force a vote where I demand we immediately burn down the Chantry. Like, metaphorically, I should specify given that we're in Kirkwall. But still." She flexes her hands, absent and a bit restless.
"Layer two, somewhat in confidence because I don't know how widely this is known: years ago, Herian told me she was thinking about Tranquility on purpose. The fucking Circle made her so afraid of herself that she..." Cosima breaks off over what's clearly an unpleasant memory, taking a breath to center herself. "Anyway. I talked her off the ledge. This was back when we were together, my first time here. And now it feels like some monkey's paw shit on top of how much I would have hated this anyway."
She tilts her head back for a moment, as if the ceiling might have an answer (or just not to directly meet Stephen's gaze for a minute, as much as she trusts him to be saying this at all).
"Layer three. Talking with her now ... it really brings home to me that there's a lot of places where we just don't understand each other that don't really have anything to do with the Tranquility. I mean, maybe that makes it clearer in some ways, but it's nothing that wasn't there before in a different form. And that sucks, you know? Like, in a way I don't know what to fucking do with right now because there are a million more important things going on, but it's still tough to swallow. Because it's right up against layer four, which is that I'm always going to care about her. Like, even if we restore her connection to her emotions, I don't think we should get back together, it's a bad idea for a lot of reasons. But even if it's as friends, what happens to her, her well-being. It matters to me so much."
Another shaky laugh as she looks back his way. "Sorry, I kind of meant to ease into some of that, it's just ... I haven't really talked to anyone about it at all and now you're the lucky winner."
"Layer two, somewhat in confidence because I don't know how widely this is known: years ago, Herian told me she was thinking about Tranquility on purpose. The fucking Circle made her so afraid of herself that she..." Cosima breaks off over what's clearly an unpleasant memory, taking a breath to center herself. "Anyway. I talked her off the ledge. This was back when we were together, my first time here. And now it feels like some monkey's paw shit on top of how much I would have hated this anyway."
She tilts her head back for a moment, as if the ceiling might have an answer (or just not to directly meet Stephen's gaze for a minute, as much as she trusts him to be saying this at all).
"Layer three. Talking with her now ... it really brings home to me that there's a lot of places where we just don't understand each other that don't really have anything to do with the Tranquility. I mean, maybe that makes it clearer in some ways, but it's nothing that wasn't there before in a different form. And that sucks, you know? Like, in a way I don't know what to fucking do with right now because there are a million more important things going on, but it's still tough to swallow. Because it's right up against layer four, which is that I'm always going to care about her. Like, even if we restore her connection to her emotions, I don't think we should get back together, it's a bad idea for a lot of reasons. But even if it's as friends, what happens to her, her well-being. It matters to me so much."
Another shaky laugh as she looks back his way. "Sorry, I kind of meant to ease into some of that, it's just ... I haven't really talked to anyone about it at all and now you're the lucky winner."
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