shitposting rave 5: discount rejects from every genre

Oh, that makes sense! My parents had that problem.

-She sighs.-

 

"There's a bank for that, kitten," says Stan with a sigh. He feels weirdly guilty about it, and how ridiculous is that? "No way to tell if it would be compatible, but at least you might have a chance to get one more."

 

My Ford has a reputation but he doesn't cultivate it. I think he wishes more people knew he's a gigantic goof instead of "everything's screwy, what'd he do this time?" or "somehow I'm not surprised you're involved." If I didn't like it here, and the one in charge who'd have to deal with the headache, I'd say let things burn a little before putting out the fires and let them know what it's like when he isn't involved. Maybe with a little fire, but with us it never is. -disappointed sigh-

I missed it! If I manage to catch them at the right time maybe I can claim Vali, Ford, and Sev as a pillow at the same time. -that is definitely a gleam of mischief in her eye- I should start collecting sets.

 

"Well maybe don't tell him immediately," Ford suggests impishly, steepling his hands like a villain.

 

"That would be super fun," says Lissa. "More fun if they shared, but sleeping is also quite nice."

 

Tempting, but anything we'd be trying to fix- my Ford's general attempts to tape, hammer, cajole, Science, and occasionally threaten the megaverse into something resembling "not completely broken" not withstanding- would be Tainell's headache and I couldn't knowingly do that to him. -She doesn't heart eyes talking about Tainell. She has to wall off a bit to do it, otherwise there would be SUCH heart eyes, so it's a little noticable anyway just in the other direction-

Not even sleeping, just being able to flop across people like "these are my people" and all do our own thing. My team and I had a lot of times we couldn't talk- that's how I learned how to smile like cats, which turns out a very useful skill here, because sometimes we couldn't even really smile at each other to go "yes I'm ok, things are going smoothly here" but cats had it figured out and people watch the eyes for the wrong things. Or one of us just took an e-weapon shot; an eye smile is visibly different from "wow that fucking hurts" wincing and it's faster than actually yelling at someone to stop worrying and move. But sometimes we'd be after someone in a warzone, or somewhere the universe was throwing up its asshole, and we'd have to wait. Sometimes people would be checking for enemies or looking for someone who'd holed up, or there was a pissed off dragon and it's wee mortal minions hauling people off and we weren't paid for that shit, or we were on fucking Wormwood. And we'd bunkered down and we were good at that, but you don't live long by flipping off fate so there's only so much noise we're willing to make.

If it's only an hour we could check our equipment, go over the plan and the map, check the equipment again, fit in a bit of annoyed grumbling at sufficiently low volume. But there were times we were stuck for days. Usually somewhere small and uncomfortable because those make the best hidey holes. So we'd maximize space by just sprawling on top of each other. We did everything together in close quarters anyway. So someone would be reading or going over the map again, and someone would be asleep, and someone would be risking their fingers trying to tame my hair, and whoever had best view of the door at the moment would be on guard. We did a lot of sprawling and laying on each other- I don't know why most of our safehouses bothered with beds when all they needed was a decently soft carpet, the post-job routine was "remove armor, fall down, try not to elbow anyone in the face unless you mean it" with "assemble the mass of bodies comfortably" being optional- but those times, when there was nothing else to do but be with each other, were best for it.

 

Ford winces. "Is Tainell...?"

He swallows. "We didn't have a Tainell, we had a Queen Asturien Kadiris e Fontaine. But I never thought...I didn't believe 'she' was happy. She looked like a woman. On the outside. Because cattes follow women. At least, they think they do. But I always wondered."

 

Lissa sighs wistfully. "That would have been so nice. We always went out on jobs alone, or maybe in pairs when we were still training. We weren't encouraged to form particular friendships. You know, on the station...once kits are old enough that they won't die of the cold if you don't hold them all the time, they pass them around so they suckle different mothers on different days. Everyone is kind, but the Station is cruel."

 

Stan stares at her. Ford doesn't look surprised, of course, there must be all sorts of things she's said to him that she would never say to anyone else. "That's the saddest thing I've ever heard you say, kitten." He reaches out to tousle her hair and scritch the closest ear. "No wonder you want your own so bad. You never said anything about this to Carla or me..."

 

Huh. I'd have thought that ruling'd have meant... well... not being trapped. Or... was Asturien the other kinda Queen? The kind that Valiska is, you know?

 

"It's not the saddest thing I could say." Lissa yawns. For a moment she considers turning herself back into a cat to play with Marcus and the leopard girl, but Ford is holding her and that is nice. And Emre is here. And Emre wanted to hear these things. She hopes they don't regret the question.

 

"Asturien was the family name. Sometimes there are prides-within-prides. When that happens, the larger pride's name precedes the rest of the name. The given name was Kadiris, but people called...her...Fontaine, after her human mother. Among the cattes, a man cannot be the head of a pride. Not a respectable one, anyway."

 

For the most part, Emre is listening intently. To the pale lady in her equally pale dress, does she not burn in the sun? To the man talking about his world and the wars, to the few things the Forest Witch says, to Lissa and Ford, to the dark-haired woman who could be talassani if it weren't for the ears...
And there's this name again, Pines. Emre feels like they have forgotten something. Something important.
'Go find,' they remember, but who and why...? Stupid dreams.

"I had assumed it was, to be honest."

Emre notices the glottal stop because it's a thing you need to internalize when dealing with non-Talassani, their words and names are strange and difficult to form, and the glottal stop really helps.
"Lissa and Ford, got it," they say. "I like my name, but I don't like the form of it..."

Emre blinks. "I've heard that name before! One of the travellers I met said they came from there. Can't pronounce its name in their native tongue, though, so many consonants following each other... Deep and dark and thin and you don't even notice when you shift."

"They never do, not if there's someone left they can band together against. And if it's their neighbour."

"... But why?"

Emre looks at the pale woman in the pale dress with interest and confusion. Strength and finesse is at the core of the Talassani, especially their women. It is, perhaps, different for other species, but from the pale woman's expression, it's a societal thing? But why would a society sap half of its strength and potential like that?

They say nothing, but their expression shows that somewhere in their head, something went click. And another, and another. Tainell Asturien reigns the Pennarine Empire. He came from nowhere, and took on a role no one would've thought he could hold, and he still holds it. There is talk of a woman in the shadows.
And of all the gossip their mother participates in, they never lose a word about him. But it sounds a bit like Tainell is a little bit like them.

"There's the sword prides," Emre mentions. "And the Highsword is a respected man. But there's talk that there must be a woman in the shadows somewhere, aside from the ones on his staff..."

Pines, Pines, Pines, members of the revolution... No, there's something else there.

 

"Can't you change it, in your universe? You could in mine. And changing the form is easier than changing the whole thing. On ai-Talas I thought it was a duelling offence to use someone's dead-name, but I've never actually been there, and yours might be different from ours. My daughter's middle name is Emireissa, but that one strikes me as really quite wrong for you."

Lissa yawns again; she's getting a bit tired.

"Because I fell in love, and went right into season, and I didn't want to finish the job and kill the man I loved, or give my kit up to the nurseries." Lissa smiles. "Ford taught me to be selfish."

Then she swallows, hard, when she understands what the real question was. "Or do you want to know why they believe what they do?"

Something in Lissa's eyes goes dark, she can feel it, and she wants to pick up crockery or bottles and throw them, anywhere, hard, without reason. "Emre, I could repeat the scriptures until I went black in the face and began to doubt everything I now know to be true all over again, but I could not really ever tell you why. They believe that because life feeds on life, and violence is inherent in survival, that the world's no good. Maybe they think if we could learn to live on plants and stop feeling desire or attachment, we'd all be happy. But then we would also be dead. So they say, well then, it's better to be dead. I don't believe it any more."

She wants Wrench, right now; she doesn't want to be with him all the time, or love him the way she does Ford, but suddenly it hits her why she feels so much kinship with him.

He would understand this, wouldn't he? He would get it. He would understand why sometimes, when she thinks about this, and thinks about all of the kits she has lost, and all of the things she saw but did not understand at the Station: the kits who died, and were thought to have been spared, to have done enough that just this one last breath of life would set them free, when really they had not been loved enough, and the ceremonial suicides of the elderly, and what they ate, sometimes...she just wants to grab something heavy and run through the world smashing everything wrong in it, and to set it all on fire and watch it burn and dance in the flames.

She doesn't know what his damage is, but she knows he would get it.

Ford knows why, in his head. But he's never wanted to do it. He always plots things. Takes things down slowly, and then they don't come back, but he doesn't need that rush of righteous violence in his bloodstream and she does, she wants it. She hates killing people, but she would kill the Condesce, and she would crash that ship and take it apart panel by panel and screw by screw.

And she'd kill Morrheina, the mad Mother of Time, and burn her heart instead of eating it because it's bound to be full of poison. And piss on the grave.

"The sword prides are mostly bandits, I'd thought," says Lissa. "But I've never been to ai-Talas, I only know what people say. And the Highsword is the champion of the Matriarchs. People on Earth seem to think it's unfair, but they are more unfair to their women than we would ever be to anyone who was not a woman. A pride's what it is because it's a family, isn't it?" She shrugs. "I don't know what I think. On one hand I think everyone should be able to do what they want to do. But the heart of a household is always its mother, unless she's dead and none of her sisters or daughters have taken her place yet. On Earth they call us the Pines family, and they're all afraid of Stan and Ford, and they think crazy things about Carla and me. But inside the house it's Carla that everyone follows. Except when it's me. She's like my sister, or sometimes my aunt. She's a lot older than I am. But sometimes she defers to me because she says it's something I know."

 

It's more the whole paranoia thing where it reminds me that I can't trust anything I drink or eat ever because what if someone managed to sneak something in on you. Not that you'd poison me, I know you wouldn't, but my brain is terrible.

*He Understands the importance of pettins, and thus continues them*

Uh.... He doesn't really--

Jordi is like if someone strapped a dildo to the energizer bunny already.

 

"I tried and none fit, until Maha told me to figure out what I am before trying on more names," Emre muses. "Grandmother must've overheard because she lost her shit, but..."
"And besides, it's the only thing I've got left of Arha."

"The latter, yes. It sounds nonsensical. Oh no, it's not perfect, we must destroy it and hide it under the bed so no one knows."

They remember talking to a priestess of a deity whose end goal was, in theory, the cessation of existence. 'Others call it wanton destruction, we call it cleaning up,' she'd said, 'But between us two, that's never going to happen. By virtue of us breaking the circle of creation to such an extent that we ourselves become a circle of destruction that necessitates breaking.'

"So everyone else keeps telling me. But the only time I ever met one, it was filled with old people, I was hopelessly lost directly after my first shift, and they fed me jerky while figuring out what to do with me..."

 

Lissa chuckles. "Well, the stories aren't always true. You'll find your name, or someone else will."

Then she smells Jordi. "Oh, dear. Marcus, perhaps you should have one, too. I did warn him, but it's just not polite not to share."

 

[He has been sitting here thoughtfully sipping this drink the entire time everyone is talking about things he's got no big interest in. With Marcus in his lap. Life is good.]

[He grins. Life is getting better.]

Hey, good point. Here, Marcus, try this.

 

Jordi, I swear. *Takes a sip anyway*

You should probably do the bubble thing, like Lissa said, because I don't know how. I know you though. *Boops Jordi on the nose because he does not fear this man in the slightest*

 

Nah, I don't need a bubble.

[He just tips backwards and hauls them out of the rave completely instead. Much easier.]