... Oh. [Oh. Of course there had to be a reason she had no memory of even seeing him again. She just thought--it was probably lost with the memory. That sense that there had been a reunion, even if it was probably volatile.
Perhaps she just didn't want to face the possibility that it was that he was actually dead.] Hah. He was always real clumsy. He had a bad leg, and that'd normally be a death sentence for any merc's employment. But all the guys there, they'd do anything for each other. Took on the work he couldn't so no one in the band was left behind.
I'm sorry. [Weighty and genuine; it isn't simply because Cantarella currently carries the memory of the loss and can feel it tightening in her own chest.]
He taught you the same thing, didn't he? To look out for those who would otherwise be left without anyone.
[The feelings there are complicated, she can tell...of course, a lifetime can't be compiled into a single faded flame.]
Yeah. [It isn't just the swelling connection from trading secrets that makes her spill. Cantarella has been nothing but kind and patient through all of this, to many people. She really is lovely.]
He used to tell me stories about heroes, fighting monsters and saving princesses and all that. [She laughs, a little broken.] He'd make the whole band get involved in acting it out, it was so embarrassing.
But the thing is, I really believed it. So when I found out what kind of "jobs" those guys were really taking on... I left. Struck out on my own when I was barely of age. It felt like I'd been lied to.
Stories give us those heroes and villains, often in bright relief and definition. Then, when we leave those stories behind, things become...murkier. What we inherit from our families can rot and scab over.
[Of course, there are as many stories as there are stars...some are more complicated, just like family, just like real life. But to pass a value onto a child, the story often has to move in less abstract blocks, presenting figures and ideas as stand-ins.]
I can't say exactly what was recorded and destroyed in that room or why he returned to it when he did. [It's hard to talk through the pain and the feeling of guilt that comes, also, with what she has in place of her own memory...perhaps because those are some feelings she shares, too.] But he did return. Could his commitment to those stories, perhaps, have been true all along?
Guess I can't really ask him now. [Whatever happened to him wasn't her fault, but there's a different kind of guilt that she wasn't there in his last moments. That they didn't have one more chance to talk.
Maybe what he left for you can still carry some of those answers back to you.
[In her memory, the walking stick is so vivid...how inexplicable it was that it still remained, even after everything else was gone. It had to have been left for her, Cantarella thinks.
She feels some resistance to the thought of letting go of Dehya's hand. She'd like to keep it all so very close. It swells and roils in her chest. So, Cantarella doesn't manage to make herself move away.]
[Maybe Dehya's memory is disconcerting, but at least Cantarella's is one to bring her some peace. She feels the tug to hold onto it, but... after everything, doesn't Cantarella deserve at least this much?
It isn't like the secret has to be the thing that defines them.]
I'll keep them safe as long as I have to, until you can return to them. [She puts her other hand to her chest.] On my honor as a mercenary.
[She exhales in something like relief, the dormant mark on her tongue visible when it pauses against her lip.]
Your promise carries its weight in gold.
[Will Dehya's memory hurt her to receive again? Cantarella wonders. The situation was already so complex, and it's not as if a single answer can resolve feelings that took years to steep and brew.
And she...could keep her from feeling that wave of uncertain feelings, couldn't she, if she held on? But it isn't her lie to tell; it isn't.]
[Dehya smiles a little.] And I meant what I said, if you ever need to talk. Maybe I can't help physically, but at least you don't have to carry it alone.
WELL NOW WE CAN'T TALK, CAN WE, DEHYA. unless we backtag
I'd quite enjoy that. [It is, at least partially, because Dehya's company now feels irresistibly soothing, and she'll be restless with her out of her sight.
... But it's also simply nice to have the companionship.] Stop by any time; there's always a place for you.
All further threads will be done with Schrödinger's Dehya
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Perhaps she just didn't want to face the possibility that it was that he was actually dead.] Hah. He was always real clumsy. He had a bad leg, and that'd normally be a death sentence for any merc's employment. But all the guys there, they'd do anything for each other. Took on the work he couldn't so no one in the band was left behind.
no subject
He taught you the same thing, didn't he? To look out for those who would otherwise be left without anyone.
[The feelings there are complicated, she can tell...of course, a lifetime can't be compiled into a single faded flame.]
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He used to tell me stories about heroes, fighting monsters and saving princesses and all that. [She laughs, a little broken.] He'd make the whole band get involved in acting it out, it was so embarrassing.
But the thing is, I really believed it. So when I found out what kind of "jobs" those guys were really taking on... I left. Struck out on my own when I was barely of age. It felt like I'd been lied to.
no subject
[Of course, there are as many stories as there are stars...some are more complicated, just like family, just like real life. But to pass a value onto a child, the story often has to move in less abstract blocks, presenting figures and ideas as stand-ins.]
I can't say exactly what was recorded and destroyed in that room or why he returned to it when he did. [It's hard to talk through the pain and the feeling of guilt that comes, also, with what she has in place of her own memory...perhaps because those are some feelings she shares, too.] But he did return. Could his commitment to those stories, perhaps, have been true all along?
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Dehya squeezes her hand.] Thanks for telling me.
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[In her memory, the walking stick is so vivid...how inexplicable it was that it still remained, even after everything else was gone. It had to have been left for her, Cantarella thinks.
She feels some resistance to the thought of letting go of Dehya's hand. She'd like to keep it all so very close. It swells and roils in her chest. So, Cantarella doesn't manage to make herself move away.]
Thank you, too...for keeping them safe for me.
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It isn't like the secret has to be the thing that defines them.]
I'll keep them safe as long as I have to, until you can return to them. [She puts her other hand to her chest.] On my honor as a mercenary.
no subject
Your promise carries its weight in gold.
[Will Dehya's memory hurt her to receive again? Cantarella wonders. The situation was already so complex, and it's not as if a single answer can resolve feelings that took years to steep and brew.
And she...could keep her from feeling that wave of uncertain feelings, couldn't she, if she held on? But it isn't her lie to tell; it isn't.]
no subject
WELL NOW WE CAN'T TALK, CAN WE, DEHYA. unless we backtag
... But it's also simply nice to have the companionship.] Stop by any time; there's always a place for you.
All further threads will be done with Schrödinger's Dehya
I have a lot more reason to come by the library lately, so I hope I find you here.