TDM #1, arc 1.0: we drift like worried fire

[lamentus]

BUFF

Bonded of The Sorrowweld will find that the NPCs are especially friendly to them this month. Seriously, they just keep trying to give you things. It might get annoying.

DEBUFF

For those who are bonded to Tarnished Az-Mehet, you keep seeing shadows out of the corner of your eye on every screen in the ship, even your datapad. Something is lurking.

At first, you feel a pull. In which direction, you do not know. When a portal of shimmering black and glittering stars appears in front of you, it only seems natural to step into it. On the journey, it is as if you see everything: ancient galaxies wheeling through space, cultures born and growing and leaving their planets, lights creeping over landmasses and them winking out all at once. You see the hungry arm of a black hole, an enigmatic smile under a mirrored mask, a fist clenched tight around an endless sword. Fangs shining in starlight, bandaged feet that have traveled so many miles and still remain sturdy, and code shattering under titanium will.

And then your feet touch solid ground again, and what you have seen is suddenly hard to recall, the merest of glimpses springing to mind when you try to think back.

All you know is that you witnessed something enormous, something you probably shouldn't have seen.

As you struggle to refocus your gaze, all you see for a long moment is white. White walls, white floor. Narrow white cots lined up against a wall, screens blinking above them in tones of soothing aqua and mint. You are in a medbay — a highly advanced one, given the lack of bulky machinery — but perhaps the most eye-catching thing about the room is a long window showing endless black and twinkling stars outside.

Before you can give voice to any thoughts, a small robot flutters toward you, and perches on the back of a chair. "Hello, Wayfarer!" the birdform chirps cheerfully. "I imagine you must have many questions; allow me to enlighten you! You have fallen victim to a quantum accident and have been pulled to another universe, but the Ascendants, in their generosity, intercepted your signal and brought you here so that you did not wind up in empty space. You are aboard the Theorem of the Astral Rose; our mission is to explore uncharted space and search for the Song!"

They pause, thinking, their little blue eye aglow, and then brighten.

"Oh! Introductions are in order! I am Starling's Lament in Flight, but you may call me Starling's Lament. I am one of the Hosts of this exploration vessel; we will do everything we can to ensure a safe voyage for you. Unfortunately, at this moment, we cannot send you home. The Ascendants have indicated that their search for the Song may play some key role in doing so." They whistle a merry tune. "Please enjoy your stay!"

REFLECT

When you manage to get your wits about you -- it's a bumpy ride between universes! -- you start to leave the medbay. Starling's Lament has indicated that you are free to explore the ship, and nowhere is off limits to you. As you leave the cool white tones of the medbay behind, a hallway stretches out in front of you. Both sides are transparent, offering a view into the long dark of space beyond. However, unlike deep space, there is currently quite a lot to see.



On the left lays the broad curve of a planet, lush green landmass and white clouds skidding across its surface. Its star is just sinking behind it, lighting up the very edge of its atmosphere in tones of engine-burn orange and ozone blue, as long shadows cast by enormous space elevators creep across the landmasses. Its most eye-catching feature, however, are the hexagonal structures webbed across its surface, connected by fine corridors with all the geometric precision of woven spider's silk. You can just barely see the tiny dots of spaceships flowing around them, docking, embarking, shuttling between them.

"That is the Redline Trading Post." You hear a tiny whisper, and look up to see another robot — a beetleform, this time, with a shiny dotted shell — watching you curiously from its place on the ceiling. In fact, there are a number of other Hosts doing the exact same thing; a snakeform coiled around a barrier rail, a catform with bright yellow eyes peeking around the corner, a chirping droneform hovering some distance down the hallway. They're all fascinated by you. "But we will be departing soon. You will not get to taste the Galactic Snowball Nova-Cream, the shining culinary jewel of Redline. Sorry. I hear it is very tasty."

You look to your right, away from the planet and the Redline post, to gaze out into the depths of space. In the distance, there is a nebula, its gasses lit up in shades of coral pink and deep purple. It is pockmarked with stars both young and old, newborn stellar entities cradled in the depths of its life-making dust. Set against the dark of space, it is a flower in bloom.



It's beautiful, except—

The longer you look at it, the more something nags at the corner of your mind. A memory glances across your thoughts, unbidden. Something you hoped for, maybe; or something you fear. Whatever the memory, as you gaze at the nebula, a small piece of it curls, shaping in response to your memory. It is your face, reflected perfectly. Smiling, or howling in anger, or weeping.

Eventually, the nebula will go back to normal. But for now, it reflects the fears and triumphs of the new Wayfarers, a mirror held up in the darkness of space.

IMBIBE

Once you make it into the bulk of the ship, the Hosts inform you that as they have just restocked all essential supplies, they will be throwing a party in your honor, and they hope you will sample the food.

Maybe you're incredibly dubious about this. Maybe you're starving after your long journey. Either way, you find yourself in the mess hall. It's less like a traditional mess hall and more like a park full of food trucks with seating in the middle. The food trucks are bright and eye-catching, Hosts serving huge heaps of food from their interiors, as their signs advertise everything from Earthen Ancient Egyptian food (As Close As We Can Reconstruct It!) to Raxalar Black Stew (New and Improved: Now Free Of Grit!).

Real grass is underfoot, and the picnic-style seating in the middle appears to be real wood. The lighting is a myriad; whimsical string lights strung between the trucks, floating globe lights playfully dancing like fireflies, and the luminescence of a dogform's patterns and a droneform's enormous eyes and a flyform's glittering trail. The Hosts are clearly excited.

And if the food happens to have... some kind of effect?

Well, the Hosts say, that's only to be expected! The attention of an Edict may, for a nano-second, turn toward the start of this voyage, and that's bound to make anything go a little wonky. Also, they've used some ingredients from the local system, and it's only customary there to share some thoughts and ideas and memories when you eat together. How else can you properly get to know each other?

RED BUFFALO SHANK WITH SPIKED LOTUS

This may or may not look appealing to you depending on your sensibilities, but it does smell incredible. Soft, savory red meat paired with the fragrant, earthy scent of the vegetable. The Red Buffalo is perfectly seared, and if you poke them cautiously, you'll find the spikes are entirely edible, as long as you chew well enough. If Wayfarers eat this, they will find themselves sharing a memory with the nearest person, a vision of the last time they were truly happy.

UPSIDE-DOWN PLUM SPARK-WINE

It seems the Hosts aren't quite sure of the appropriate alcohol content of substances, as this will burn all the way down, chased by a cool, sparkly feeling all the way down one's esophagus. It tastes of sweetly sour plums, and a potential hangover tomorrow morning. Wayfarers that imbibe this alcohol beverage will start overhearing the thoughts of those around them, as if they are perfectly in tune with everyone.

GOLDEN BUNS WITH SPICED HONEY DRIZZLE

Ah, a perfectly homey looking meal, sweet and savory, gently steaming. These are a must-try for any Wayfarer with a sweet tooth, proudly boasting of the agricultural and apiary skill of a nearby alien culture. The buns are perfectly fluffy, the spiced honey is warming. What's not to love? After eating this, Wayfarers will find themselves and the nearest person sharing a vision of themselves as they might have been had they gone down the worst possible path in their life.

CHERRY COLA!™

This isn't the Cherry Cola! you may or may not be familiar with, but it's interesting that whatever alien came up with this came up with the same Earth word. Or maybe the Hosts got it from Earth? Either way, it's fizzy, it's sparkly, it makes you feel like you're floating on rainbow bubbles. Upon drinking this, imbibers will telepathically project outward a vision of the most beautiful thing they've ever seen.

A CAKE. MAYBE.

Dear god. What is it? Who came up with this? Who is even brave enough to try this? It certainly… has a taste. It… has an appearance. Whether either of these things are good is in the eye of the beholder. Wayfarers adventurous enough to put this in their mouths (or other eating appendages) will find themselves uncontrollably speaking aloud of the thing they long for the most.

INITIATE

Eventually, it comes time to launch.

The Hosts are a blur of activity, some of them packing up more delicate equipment in case of errant gravity waves during initial propulsion, some of them herding the Wayfarers into a seating area reserved specifically for the safety of its occupants during launch, deceleration, and rare turbulence. You are informed that engine flare will be so bright it will rival a star for the next twenty-five hours of engine start-up burn, but you will only need to stay strapped in for half an hour or so.

As the Theorem's enormous engines start cycling, the entire ship seems to hum in melodic song. And after everybody is strapped in, that's when the intensity starts. Gravity seems to want to push everything toward the stern, and Wayfarers are pressed hard against their seats with the inertia. After half an hour, the Hosts cheerily announce that everybody is free to get up and move around — but you might want to stay near a window, as they will be doing a low dive through the nearby planet's second moon's atmosphere, and it will be quite the sight.

Soon enough, the moon becomes visible. It is of unbroken crimson red, though subtle shifting in its surface lets you guess that it's water rather than earth. And then, as the Theorem rolls gently to the side, the view in the windows nearly perfectly split between moon and space, that's when you see them, swimming through the atmosphere.



To call them fish would be inaccurate — they are not in an ocean, or any body of water — and yet, that will be the word that springs to mind for most Wayfarers. Some of them are sleek and small, schooling in packs of shimmering white and ochre. Others are long and pointed, appendages pointed backward to exude a bright pink gas that propels them forward and which trails after them like oil slicks in the air. The locals call them x'enuda, the Hosts tell you, a combination of words that mean to fly and cunning prey.

They swim closer, swarming outside of the window. Some of them swim through, phasing through the shielding and windows alike, to dance gently in the interior of the Theorem, darting to and fro. If any Wayfarers find themselves curious enough to reach out and touch these creatures, they will find themselves similarly phased, capable of passing through matter for the next few minutes before the shared electrical field wears off and returns them to normal corporality. The external shield will catch you if you phase right through the ship's floor, but you may need to swim back up. Others may find themselves suddenly craving company, as if the x'enuda's instinct to remain safe in a school is catching.

FOREWORD

"All Wayfarers, please report to the docking bay!"

As you filter into the enormous cavern that makes up the docking bay of the Theorem, you see rows of smaller spacecraft. Some of them are sleek and light, like they'd be as free as a feather during aerial combat, while others are bulky and spacious. Many of them have designs in alien languages on them, or bizarre looking mascots, seemingly for good luck. As the occasional screen informs you, you are free to claim any one of the ships as your own, but first, Starling's Lament would very much like to give a presentation.

Past the rows of ships lays an expansive opening in the side of the Theorem, many stories high and wide, a shimmering forcefield the only thing between you and space. Beyond it, you can see the quickly fading shape of the planet and moons you left behind as the Theorem continues acceleration. It is in front of this that Starling's Lament has set up a large hologram of a star map.

As they start to explain once everyone is gathered, the map currently shows the region of space you are in. It is an enormous quadrant of multiple galaxies, some pinwheeled in shape, some circuler or tube-like. A line arcs across it, heading into what is clearly less-explored space, beyond the area colorfully marked as Alliance territory. Eventually, that line stops at a star, which then magnifies to reveal a six planet system, the second planet from the star circled.

This is your first objective: designation Epsilon-355.

There are many stories of which planets the Last Pilgrim has set foot upon, and yet, nobody has ever verified any of them. This, the Ascendants claim, is the closest match they have found for one of those planets in a scrap of story: a land of golden sand and shimmering glass, where pilgrimages track their way across the Golden Barrens desert. The planet is small and unassuming in the hologram, and the details next to it are scarce: relatively normal gravity, breathable atmosphere. More details will become available as the Theorem gets close enough for in-depth scans.

If there any notes of the Song to be found, they may yet be found in the Last Pilgrim's footprints.

Presentation nearly over, Starling's Lament directs you a series of tables that have neatly assembled packages of gear. Once you have picked your Division, you are welcome to claim the technological tools of its trade. You can also look at the spaceships available to claim, or even just watch out the docking bay door as you leave the planet behind and head deeper into space.

Welcome to the mission, Wayfarer.

(CODE)

Comments

IIa

[hyompora]

[Well, their hosts are generous if nothing else. A welcome party for all the Wayfarers inexplicably finding themselves out in some far-flung region of space is the least they could do, so it’s good to see they’re willing to go all-out with it. It’s nothing like the stuffier parties the upper echelons of Rhine had favored in recent years, where schmoozing and deal making were the main goals—but then, who’s to say what sort of ulterior motives might be lying underneath this all too?

At the very least she can say they have fun taste in decorating the mess hall. The little picnic area set up is cute; it calls to mind immediately one of the semi-annual food festivals that pops up in one of the parks in Trimounts, which is a thought simultaneously both comforting in its familiarity and a gut-wrenching reminder of just how far from home she’s come to be. Nothing to be done about that but shove it out of mind as quickly as possible.

The grass is springy underfoot—and a delightful surprise in finding that it’s alive. Not one plant in her vivarium had survived the journey upward if the data received in the last transmissions from Kristen’s mad skyward assent were to be believed and… well, she’d kinda assumed that the same must be true here. But nope, here is a little bright spot of greenery, vibrant and happy, and oh, she’s feeling a little more at ease now than she had been since waking up in the medbay.

She hadn’t given any thought to who was at the nearby table when she abruptly dropped to a crouch and ran her hands along the blades of grass, thinking to herself how cute the lawn is even if it’s strangely quiet in return…

…but there’s not much time to mull that over when the nearby Feline grumbles at her. Amber eyes shift their attention his way, scrutinizing the carafe, the flush of his cheeks, and his apparent youth.]

I see somebody’s got a case of the grouchies today. [She straightens up, hands perching at a playfully defiant angle at her hips.] Little guy like you should go easy on the drinks.

[solless]

( before it had been launched into space as New Kunlun, the focal point of yi’s own “Eternal Cauldron Project,” Kunlun itself had been an island. once a holy land to those that had escaped religious prosecution, it had been ecologically devastated by reckless mining during the Jin mining boom, only to host Lear and his Fangshi Guild once they ousted the miners. from the native vegetation preserved in Lake Laochi and the Grotto of Scriptures to the wild overgrowth of Goumang’s engineered crops taking over the agricultural area, it had been a space station bizarrely full of life. but nothing, not the peach blossom trees in the apemen’s village nor the mess of the agricultural area, could compare to the proliferation of Fusang throughout the island. the great primordial tree’s roots snaked through every part of it, carrying with them the essence of just what it meant to be solarian. and there are few that understood that so intimately as yi did; after all, it is the Primordial Roots of Fusang, entwined with his own heart and held together by the rhizomatic stabilizer embedded in his chest, which had allowed him to survive that explosion that had torn him to pieces when he was young. which had also allowed him to regenerate, time and time and time again, after his own physical death, so that he could drag himself to the conclusion of his own journey for vengeance and for redemption.

redemption. pah. the only shred of redemption that he could’ve ever hoped for was that shuanshuan had survived and made it to the Pale Blue Planet. with as much certainty as yi knew that he had ruined his people’s chances for survival and doomed that small, beautiful planet to a horrific ice age, he knew that that boy would do more good in his life than yi could have managed in a thousand of his own.

is it any wonder that he drinks?

he stares at the strange apeman—no, human (he’s not even right in this assumption)—brow drawing together in confusion over what the hell she’s doing. is she… petting the grass? the very cute grass? (where on earth had that thought come from? he doesn’t think the grass is anything out of the ordinary…!)

his lightly jumbled confusion is immediately cleared away by her tone, replaced by sharp irritation. his almond-shaped eyes narrow at her dismissive comment, and he grows even further irate the second she utters the words “little guy.” bristling, he is silent for a few precipitous heartbeats before he replies in a low, measured words, ) And just what authority do you have to tell me what I should do?

( he may not look like it, but he’s an adult! he’s technically well over five hundred years old…! (even if he’d only been awake for twenty-something of those years.)

but that doesn’t stop him from reaching out and protectively pulling the glass of wine closer to himself, still glaring. )

[hyompora]

[Whenever Muelsyse manages to shake off the unerringly surreal feeling inherent in being here, she finds her mind abuzz with all the novelty and the possibilities they come with. For so much of her life, she’d craved so badly to find a place where she and her people could live in safety and without worry. Terra was a dead end in that regard, Originium too omnipresent to make anything but the most remote and isolated existence truly safe for her kind. Muelsyse lived in defiance of it, but the aching desire for something better was an impossible feeling to shake.

Kristen and her obsession with the sky had at least given her a possibility to dream about in tandem; if the land was out, then maybe the skies and beyond might hold an answer for her. And a mere few weeks ago, that answer had felt like a resounding “no.” Sure, that hole her dear friend had torn in the sky left with it a glimmer of hope, but that couldn’t feel anywhere near as concrete as finding herself on a space craft, traveling the vast expanse with a whole host of people from who-knows-where. The novelty of it, the potential, is something she’s more and more eager to explore.

But there’s familiarity to be found in the midst of this all as well—such as running up against someone determined to fire off an attitude. It is decidedly uncute of him, but she is seemingly taking it in stride. And maybe giving an itty bit of it back, so sue her.]

Didn’t think you needed authority to dispense a little friendly advice.

[She crosses her arms, adopting a mock pout for just a moment.]

Hangovers are no fun, you know. Just trying to save you from a future headache. Literally.

[Surely that possessive little grab for his wineglass is coming from the irresistible desire all kids have to prove themselves mature, she thinks.]

[solless]

( the solarians had similarly turned to the depths of space for salvation. it was certainly not something they seemed capable of finding on Penglai—not with Tianhuo blossoms, blooming from the corpses of those overcome by the virus, beginning to dot the land and spread. that had been the essence of yi’s gambit. launch a space station large enough to serve as an ark for as much of their people as they could. put them in dream-like stasis, to slow down the progress of the virus as the scientists aboard worked in shifts to try to find a cure. conceptually, it had made sense… even if the nitty-gritty of how some of its systems ended up more ghoulish in practice than they had seemed in his proposal. the thing about space is that it is limitless and vast, but it is also mostly empty. whatever glimpses of potential hope that exist within it are like a single vessel adrift in an entire ocean, one blade of grass in an endless field. he had bet on the ingenuity of his people, and he had lost. not even the woman who had trained him to become a Fangshi had been able to overcome the Tianhua virus.

she may not have been able to find even a messy solution to her own indelible sin, but at least yi had managed to find one for his own. he has to wonder if he should take pride in that, regardless of how misplaced it may be.

be it originium or Tianhuo, the universe seems thrilled to show them just how fragile their existences are. that life is not nearly so much of a privilege as they are led to believe.

yi sniffs haughtily. ) If you wanted to be “friendly,” I could do without the patronizing.

( the weight of the alcohol over his mind causes his tongue to move slightly more thickly than it usually might, but he sure doesn’t… speak like a child might. or maybe he just has an advanced vocabulary and is trying really hard? )

Noted. ( though, after he says that, he takes another drink from his glass, maintaining eye contact.

when he sets the carafe back down on the picnic table, he decides to ask, ) …Were you petting the grass a moment ago?

[hyompora]

[Existence sure is fragile, and Muelsyse knows this better than most. When the entire society you’re inextricably entwined with depends heavily on a single substance that can spread woe as easily as it does joy—in the form of power, progress, and convenience—it’s an inescapable fact. It’s something all Terrans have had to wrestle with, considering the uncaring way Oripathy can inflict a looming death sentence, but for someone like her? She’d have maybe a month if she’s lucky.

So it is that she’s always been careful, careful, careful, particular about her environment and maintaining distance via watery proxies when needing to leave its confines. Frustratingly she’s found that that is not a methodology she can fall back on here on this ship—the reasons behind her lack of her usual control over water here is a problem still to be puzzled out—but after some initial panic, she’s come to realize that maybe she doesn’t necessarily need it. There’s something freeing about not having to worry about the presence of Originium here on this ship, and it stirs up hope that wherever else they might be about to travel might have a similar blessing.

It provides a little bright spot to her mood that she opts to reorient toward here and now; no need to antagonize her little crewmate more than she has. First impressions are incredibly important, after all!

Her expression shifts with practiced ease to something more neutral as she opts to slip into a seat opposite of him. Mentally, she scrutinizes him and his behavior even as she makes careful effort not to let her gaze linger on him in too prying a manner. Young or not, it’s undeniable that he’s particular about the way he’s being approached here, though it’s hard to say if that’s just natural prickliness or just an effect of the drink. Perhaps—

She blinks at the question, the light laughter that follows a little twinkle of amusement.]

I was saying hello to it. [Her smile fades as her gaze shifts downward to the greenery at their feet.] Though it doesn’t seem as eager to say it back right now.

[solless]

( they are, each and every one of them, thoroughly uprooted from anything they might have internalized as natural or understood. in yi’s case, this is literal. though he must believe that the portion of Fusang on Penglai must still exist, its roots wending through every square mile of their planet, the piece of it that they had taken to the stars with them was little more than scattered dust now. this is the first time in over fifteen years (years that he actually experienced that is; it’s technically been well over five hundred) that his feet have stood on ground devoid of those roots. to him, this means a distinct lack of a safety net. if he died here, he doubts he would regenerate as he had aboard New Kunlun—there were, of course, no root nodes for him to reform in. what a strange thought; it makes him feel bizarrely untethered.

like originium, the solarians had built their technology around Fusang and the roots that had originally given them life. old solarian mythology likened the sun as their “father” and the Primordial Tree as their “mother,” for it gave them both shelter in its roots and food in its fruit. but it was more than that, though, and especially as their technology developed in leaps and bounds—the rhizomatic energy produced by the Primordial Roots as they absorbed sunlight ended up being the backbone of all solarian technology. it had done so much good for their civilization, but… it had posed a dreadful threat as well. nothing so insidious as Oripathy; no, yi himself had discovered it, hidden away in Lear’s tomb. a rhizomatic bomb, and one so powerful that it had brought an end to the Turbulent Era just with the promise of the destruction it could wreak. it had been so small, it fit in the palm of yi’s hand; small enough that he could affix it to an arrow and draw back his bow.

the stranger sits across from him. despite the prickling of animosity he’d had in their first few moments of meeting, he finds he doesn’t mind this. yi has never particularly enjoyed drinking alone—if he could suffer the company of shennong, drinking together in the Four Seasons Pavilion, he can drink with this strange woman now (even if he’s technically drinking alone).

when she answers his question, he looks up to her with a peculiar sharpness. his almond-shaped eyes widen somewhat, and his expression… mellows in a way that’s hard to define.

an image dwells in his mind’s eye: heng, in their youth, playing her flute for the Primordial Roots. speaking to them, claiming to hear the songs they sang in return… it’d always seemed like foolish nonsense, but then again—she’d known, hadn’t she? before the experiment which ended in an explosion that nearly took his life, she’d said that the Roots had told her they felt suffocated… arrogant, as he’d always been, he hadn’t listened to her.

“so please, don’t worry about me, dear brother. i am not alone—not when I have the Roots to tell me your story.”

his gaze has fallen. his claws scratch lightly against the wood grain of the table as his right hand draws into a fist. )

Does it usually? ( slowly coming back to himself, he actually doesn’t sound as derisive as one might expect. he turns his gaze back to her. ) My sister always claimed she could hear Fusang’s roots singing to her. Of course, I always told her that was ridiculous…

( he trails off, looking away in a way that seems to indicate he might regret that. )

[hyompora]

['Outcast' is probably too strong of a word to describe the feeling of being alone despite living in one of the most burgeoning mobile cities in Columbia, but it's not entirely off the mark. Muelsyse is all too used to living life as an outlier, the only one of her kind even in a place of such diversity. Most of the time it hardly mattered so much; she went about her days as anyone else did, albeit sometimes in a remote way with watery dopplegangers that very few could see through the illusion of. Her outgoing disposition helped, as there was hardly a time in which she wasn't chatting up someone somewhere, but in other ways it only exacerbated the indescribably lonely feeling that she kept secreted away in her heart.

She had wondered, briefly upon her arrival, that maybe that could be a feeling she might be able to shake here. It wasn't long before she realized that it had only been a naive bit of hope; even if more of her people had been aboard this ship, it would be no different than the experience she had venturing into the cold reaches of Sami to find that last little bastion of elves remaning on Terra. They would almost certainly have lived lives so alien to her own that it would make no difference whether they shared distant blood or not. At least it was easy to resign herself to settling back into old feelings when faced with the eccelectic nature of the crew aboard the Theorem.

But there's something in that sharp look the Feline sitting across from her leverages that she can't quite put her finger on until he manages to find the words to respond. When she realizes it had been recognition, her own gaze adpots a keener edge, and she sits up a little straighter. Her ability to speak with plantlife had been something that, despite how much she cherished it, only further alienated her from everyone else back home. She had adapted to keeping it mostly as a little secret for herself, something that helped immensely in her ecological work. So when she'd mentioned it here and now, she had primarily expected confusion from him (or, more realistically, skeptical dismissal, considering his prickly attitude thus far).

It takes her a moment to tamp down some of that hopeful surprise that had snuck up on her, and she tries to place that look of his as he trails off. The smile she summons now is less full of the forced but well-practiced cheer she usually dons; it's smaller, gentler.]

It does. Plants have all kinds of things to say to those willing to listen.

[Or more accurately, those who are able to listen. But it's a distinction she doesn't care to dwell on in the moment. There's a quiet pause before she continues.]

I bet those roots must have had a beautiful song. Your sister's real lucky to get to hear it.

[solless]

( “so I swore to never talk to them again. but… the voices never disappeared. I hid under the covers and responded in secret.

our calls and responses formed their own meandering melody, its color and aroma changing as it flowed… even now, in these dead streets and deserted alleys, the Roots still sing.”

she’d told him that the Roots held more than just the biological and physical structure by which they converted solar energy into rhizomatic energy—that which the solarians had studied, quantified, and harnessed for themselves. she’d said that, in absorbing solar energy, the Roots absorbed the very remnants of dying stars, and that wasn’t all. souls, dreams… all that was so bright and yet so ephemeral, they consumed, and they sang as they devoured them. the songs were stories told of each and every soul and dream they had absorbed from both Penglai and this universe.

it’s not as though her assertions were so utterly baseless. he cannot explain them; under pain of death, he would be unable to produce a single scientific hypothesis or theorem to support what he himself had experienced, but he had entered the Limitless Realm within Fusang itself. he had spoken with a man who had lived hundreds of years ago. he had helped him develop Fangshi techniques that Lear himself had used all that time ago as well. time was not so simple as he imagined, so, too, perhaps so is space, the soul… death.

he notices the slight shift in his companion’s tone. still, it does little to reach him—he feels as distant and remote as he had been receiving those last messages of heng’s, sent to him over hundreds of thousands of lightyears, received five hundred years too late.

”heard it.” he wants to correct. “she is long since dead.”

bitterness wells up inside his chest, just below and behind the rhizomatic ring embedded in the flesh there to help stabilize the strange construction of his heart. rather than allow this emotion to rule him and spur him into saying something he might regret, he takes another long drought from the carafe.

upon setting it down again, he asks instead, ) What do they say? …Have they ever told you any stories?

[hyompora]

[Stories make for a great bit of escapism, and Muelsyse is adept at that at least. She’s tried nearly every method under the sun to keep life exciting, and in turn, stave off that interminably lonely feeling. Success is mixed, considering she’s never had much luck in eradicating that feeling for good, but stories often fared pretty well. There’s an inherent connection with other people within them, in that act of sharing a tale. It’s never quite hit in a way that would fill up that empty feeling in her chest, not even when she’d made her way to the cold northern climes to meet the few other elves persisting on Terra, but… It could be nice, nonetheless. Interesting, entertaining.

It probably comes as no surprise that tales from the perspective of plants, of the land itself, could be awe-inspiring in their own right. They had long memories, and an almost alien perspective that somehow just felt so right to her. It’s a two-sided feeling to talk about this sort of thing with others; she’s glad to be able to share something so deeply entwined with herself, but others often just couldn’t get the full picture. Not with just words. She recalls one afternoon in the office of the Doctor of Rhodes Island where she had tried to share this with them. The words hardly did it justice, and sharing those thoughts, that knowledge, just couldn’t work for them the way it did with other elves. But, well. They were willing to listen, to learn. That meant a hell of a lot.

And so she’d never turn down the opportunity to speak of it when invited to. It’s hard to tell just how the surly Feline here would take it, but he’s asked. “Ridiculous,” he’d said moments ago, but perhaps it’s a way to understand this sister of his a little more? She could relate to that, in seeking out understanding.]

Some are more talkative than others, but they all tend to be super glad to have someone who will lend them an ear. They could tell you all sorts of things about their lives and their ancestors, and the long-lived ones have such a unique perspective on the history of the world around them, not like anything you’d read in the history books…

[She lets the thought trail off, fingers idly skirting back and forth along the edge of the picnic table. Once again she’s struck with that low thrum of frustration that she couldn’t just explain all this the easy way, but she shoves it aside with a very light, wistful sigh.]

Can’t help but wonder what sort of things plants aboard a space ship might have to say. Now those must be interesting stories.

[Their own perspective is probably much more limited, but she’s sometimes still surprised at the things the plants might whisper to her. She catches herself wondering, idly, what the plants within the vivarium aboard Kristen’s Galleria might have been witness to, had they survived.

Hell, she wonders what must have been going through Kristen’s mind after breaking through the starpod and outward to the stars themselves.]

[solless]

( it’s a loneliness he is getting used to.

poorly, apparently. as evidenced by the dwindling amount of wine in his glass.

prior to New Kunlun’s launch, everything had felt different. the Eternal Cauldron Project was perched on the threshold of its initialization. the brightest minds of Penglai were on board, as well as many of the civilians they could manage. he had no reason to believe any portion of their systems or structures were corrupt or flawed. and heng had told him she would stay behind, intent on dying upon the same soil that their parents had died on. shock and hurt had freed his tongue to say such venomous, barbed things to her then, but he’d promised to come back, to give her one more chance—

he’d never come back. instead, he had learned the truth, and he had gone to confront eigong. she had turned the rest of the Sols against him. she had killed him, and he had fallen to Fusang’s roots. by the time he awoke, centuries had passed, and it had all decayed to such a point that there’d be no way to put it to rights again. if Fusang hadn’t spent all that time repairing him, the whiplash of the confidence of that hope he’d felt to waking up to find it had all shattered might have killed him on its own.

yi clings to science and logic because feeling has always failed him. he had never had an ounce of the intuition his sister had had with things, be they people, plants, Fusang… contrary to what muelsyse was wary of, he doesn’t snap at her. his gaze becomes hazy and distant as she speaks, deep in memory. )

I doubt they’d be grateful. ( he says it after a long moment, returning to himself if at least in part. ) The overwhelming majority of space has no light, heat, water, or soil. To suddenly become reliant upon another for what they need to survive… I wouldn’t blame them if they became resentful.

( it still confuses him that shuanshuan hadn’t been, when he’d learned the whole truth. is he really that “different” now? )

But… perhaps I don’t give them enough credit. They may be more adventuresome than that.