Futuristic 〄 Help me find my way––!! | (syntranator & starboobie)

[Syntra]

The blade, Iskra thought, sang. Not in a loud voice, mind you. More than that, it resembled whisper, its frequency so low it barely brushed against the edge of her consciousness-- a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of thing, really. And yet, despite that? It screamed, screamed to the point her ears were ringing, and she knew exactly what it wanted from her in that moment. Blood, the pirate realized. That is the offering it demands. (The words themselves were but a distant murmur of the sea-- an unknown melody that twirled and twirled, like a silver ribbon carried by the wind. They were not meant for her ears, either, as Iskra didn't truly understand them. The symbolism behind the blade itself, and the bowl resting underneath? Shade only knew what it all meant! This was a language of Verity's people, and Iskra did not speak it. The subtleties of this set-up were lost on her, because, really, how could they not be? A mouse wouldn't know how to appreciate a starry sky, either, and... well, that was a staggeringly appropriate comparison, actually. She was but a tiny, useless thing-- a mere speck of dust, confronted with the vastness of the universe that surrounded her. How did you even begin to conceptualize that? You didn't, that was the answer. You didn't because you couldn't, fundamentally. The weight of the ignorance was too heavy, and your brain would cave in under the pressure. ...still, though. Still, despite everything, Iskra was part of that universe as well-- her heart beat to the same rhythm the rest of the living things followed, and so she understood something. The gist of it, in other words. And the aforementioned gist? That she needed to suffer.)

...was the prospect supposed to scare her? Oh, how the captain wanted to laugh! (Again and again and again, like one of those old tapes you had to rewind manually if you wanted to listen to it once more. Blood, it seemed, was the ultimate currency-- the unifying theme, tying neat little bows over the mess that her life had somehow turned into. 'Bleed for me,' they asked her whenever she went, and Iskra said 'yes, yes,' for her mouth didn't know how to produce 'no'. Why would they do it, even? She had enough of it to paint the whole planet red, anyway, and selfishness was such an ugly, ugly trait! One not befitting of a soldier at all.)

Without a hint of hesitation, Iskra stepped forward. Slowly, she extended her arm and let it hover in the air-- her fingers were nearly touching the blade, but not quite.

('Show me the depths of your devotion, Iskra,' the Holy Vessel in her memories said, her lips smiling. Her eyes, though? Those were cold, cold, cold, like nights in the Great Desert. 'Isn't it true, after all, that you are supposed to be one with your sword? I've heard you claim it, more than once. Were your words just wind? A pretty figure of speech? I thought it to be more meaningful than that. Come, Iskra. Show me the way you bloom. All those shades of red!'

...and Iskra, of course, did just that. What other path was there? She didn't see any, didn't, didn't, didn't, and all the alternative routes were cut off here as well, which meant-- which meant--)

Obediently, the pirate grabbed the blade. There should have been plain, sharp and oh so familiar, but... there wasn't, actually? With a question written in her eyes, Iskra looked up to Verity. "Do you understand? What this is about, I mean." Because, surely, this couldn't be just some cheap test of bravery. Oh no, no, no. The courage you bore in your heart meant nothing unless you did something with it-- unless you let it crystallize, and transform the world around you. (...seeds, too, were worthless before they grew in the soil. You couldn't buy salvation with potential, you know? Ifs and maybes were no payment at all!)

But, as always, the demands for tribute didn't wait long to rear their ugly head. The shadows that sprang forth from Verity? Iskra watched them, her eyes suspicious, but she made no effort to move-- the blade was her anchor to reality, and letting go of it would be foolish, foolish, foolish. (Here she stood, and, if necessary, here she would also die. Her feet were planted in the ground, firm like the dandelion roots.)

Surprisingly, though? It was pleasant, the way she touched her-- gentle and feather-like, as if anything harsher than that would shatter her to pieces. More, Iskra thought, her soul captured by the moment. Take me. Verity had promised to do that so, so many times now-- perhaps not in those exact words, but really, what else did belonging to a person denote? For her to be owned, someone had to take her first. The pirate closed her eyes, ready for whatever that would come, and-- oh. Alright, maybe not ready for whatever that would come. The steel in her heart, cold like ice? That, uh, sure was a surprise. ...why, however? Was she not supposed to pay? Had she not expected to bleed? Yes, yes, thousand times yes! (And Iskra out of all people knew that you couldn't outrun your debts. No, they always caught you in the end. Inevitably, they sank their claws into you, and the more you resisted, the more you tore your own flesh apart. So, blood was required of her, huh?) Wavering, Iskra gasped in pain-- and then, perhaps shockingly, hugged the shadow with her free arm. "Take it," she whispered, driving the blade deeper into her chest. "I am yours, so take whatever it is that you need." ...and so, slowly, the blood dripped down into the bowl.

Plop, plop, plop.

Meanwhile, the Iskra-shaped shadow kneeled in front of Verity. Just like its source, she did so eagerly, without asking-- it seemed there was an invisible sword in her hands, too, for she lay something at the princess's feet. ('I am yours,' she said, even without words. How powerful gestures could be, huh?) Except that then, then the Shadow Iskra faltered. Great pain seemed to seize her, for she collapsed on the ground-- she gasped for air, a fish out of water, and held her head in her hands. (There was no sound to the performance, but even so? It was obvious that she was screaming, enough to burn her own lungs. It hurt, hurt, hurt!) ...which must have been even more true, really, when her head exploded. A dark shadow emerged from the remains of her skull, wrapping Iskra in its embrace. (Was it still Iskra, however? Because her shape suddenly looked blurry, a nebulous cloud more than a human body. A concept, somewhat poorly defined. That concept still had teeth, though, long and sharp, and what did teeth do? Teeth bit, and the closest thing to bite happened to be Verity's neck. Oops.)

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

'How can Iskra be so calm? How can Iskra be so foolish! Does she not see the danger that she is in? Why doesn't she run?' All these questions scream behind Verity's eyes as she watches the pirate embrace her shadow, embrace the knife in her heart. As if it's a mere inconvenience for her heart to exist around a blade––but an inconvenience she is willing to live with. Tears turn her face into a waterfall and she tries to dam them. Though the more she ignores the imagery, the deeper the blade seems to sink into her palm and the Pain that grips her is like an eruption of lava into her veins; it's a pain that forces her to see. Her eyes fly open, unable to stay closed and she watches, helpless, as Iskra only tells her shadow to, "Take it." Without a semblance of fear or doubt. Is it that Verity still cannot read her subtle clues? Or is the other truly fearless? No, she has to be fool to not see the danger, but Verity does not have it in her to actually warn the captain. To actually tell her to run away; to let go––to not embrace a creature so vile she deserves her banishment.

Blood continues to coat her hand like a guilty-glove, dripping down the blade and into the bowl. Hers and Iskra's mix together (hers of poison and Iskra's probably of something purer than the stars themselves, she is certain). The glyphs slowly begin to absorb the offering, until it is as if they were never etched into the bowl but had always been made of red. Some begin to glow, but more, more is still needed. (Can she give it?)

When she looks up again, there isn't the chance to fixate on her opposite as the shadow Iskra approaches her and captures her attention (much like the real Iskra). Though this does not ease any of her tension. If anything it adds to everything she is already feeling; her culpability becoming more and more apparent, transparent, even if she has not done anything. (But don't her nasty thoughts count for something? Those nasty thoughts that stick to her brain and remind her, always remind her of an option; an option she cannot shake or see past; an intrusive thought that colonizes her entirety. She knows she must be made of something rotten.)

The shadow kneels and she knows that the shadow is giving herself to Verity, just as the real Iskra has. She swallows hard watching, watching and seeing how agonized the shadow becomes––surely premonition. Surely the truth. Surely, surely, certainly what will happen if she continues to devote herself to the princess. The shadow's agony seems to be her own too, as she assigns misplaced meaning to the display in front of her and she almost cannot bear to witness anymore of it. But the explosion forces her attention, like watching a city turn to rubble and ash, she cannot look away despite––despite knowing she is the cause. Only her.

She doesn't cry out when the new monster bites her neck, the monster she clearly turned Iskra into (shadow Iskra into––but what's the difference? Is it not all true? These shadows must have truth in them somewhere for they feel so real she knows they cannot be fake). The shadow's fangs are cold, everything so cold––she doesn't remember that the real Iskra is so warm. She doesn't even know if the shadow is truly marring her flesh, but the sensation of teeth burrowing into her causes some shock––is it loving? Is it rough? Is it cruel? Is she trying to tear her throat out? That would be fair, she thinks. The ghost of or actual blood spills down her neck and seems to also translate as more coming out of her palms into the silver bowl (almost, almost––the glyphs are almost fed).

In that moment, she almost lets go of the blade. She almost falters. But when she looks at Iskra, embracing the shadow stabbing her in the heart... Is she not embracing the ugliest parts of Verity on some metaphorical level? Is that a meaning she can assign to this image? Maybe. How can she make it look so easy––how can she accept that the princess will be her ruination? So much so she becomes a monster. 'Oh...' she thinks, making a connection, assigning a new meaning to the scene. 'Embrace the ugliness of my soul, because it is a part of me.' Intrusive as these thoughts are, hadn't Iskra told her about choices before? Yes, and so far she has ignored those thoughts each time they pirouette at the forefront of her mind––never choosing to act on her impulses, on her fear.

There is everything and nothing to fear in herself. She has choice for as long as she believes that, for as long as she sees that. Tears still fall from her eyes, but they are slowed; her features relax as she becomes calmer and the pain she had felt before eases to match the actual bite of the blade in her hand and the bite on her neck. It's no longer exaggerated as she stares at the pirate and becomes courageous in the process. Though Verity does not embrace the shadow Iskra, she accepts her all the same.

Her fist tightens around the blade with more determination than before. The missing piece of the map begins to fill the more the silver bowl is fed, the more the Sword of Judgment bites into their palms. The majority of the glyphs are glowing and they shoot streams of color into the air around them. These colorful lights swirl around them, something like a tornado, and the shadows seem agonized in the light but they are not vanquished.

 

[Syntra]

It hurt, and yet it did not. The blade kept sinking deeper and deeper into her chest, and time stretched oh so strangely-- it seemed to run in circles, really, much like light that was being warped by a black hole. (Who did she bleed for? Was it her own sword that was tearing her apart, or someone else's? And, oh, were those the eyes of The Holy Vessel staring at her from the darkness, urging her to go on? The lines between the past and the present were blurred, blurred, blurred, and the spiral it pulled her in made her so dizzy. Kinda like hanging upside down from a tree, you know? Hanging there, and dying of thirst, and waiting for a crow to pluck your eyes out. ...surely, if she let this progress further, Iskra's mind would snap in half. Oh, it would, it would, because how could it not? An eggshell cracked when you stepped on it, too, and this-- this was a similar level of pressure, when you looked closely enough. The weight of an entire planet attached to a blade of grass, really. Breakage, it seemed, was the fate written in its stars!)

...except that, no, that was a false narrative. Grass was actually much more resilient than it appeared to be, you know? It bent, yes, with every gust of wind, even, and it allowed to be stepped on, but it didn't break. (Many, many virtues would forever remain out of its reach. The pride of steel? That it couldn't claim for itself, for there was nothing honorable about its humble existence. The extravagant beauty of glass could never be grasped by it, either. The one thing grass did have going for it, though? Survival, under all circumstances. Survival, along with the gift of restart encoded in its seeds. One tiny impulse, and boom! The life inside would awaken, slowly but surely, and eventually, even a desert would be drowning in a sea of green.)

And as for Iskra? Iskra, as always, learned by example. Just like grass, she yielded completely-- the blood that flowed from her wound resembled a river now, red and so, so thick, but that couldn't discourage her. "Yes," she whispered and embraced the shadow tighter. "Let this be our covenant. A promise between you and me. I'm here for you. You are not alone any longer, Verity." And speaking the princess's name? It seemed to have a curious effect on her shadow version, for it began to writhe in her arms. (A snake caught in a trap, truly. It hissed, too, and attempted to bite her in its confusion, but promises went both ways, so Iskra didn't let go. Didn't, didn't, didn't! Instead, she embraced her tighter, as if to affirm their bond.) "Stay," the pirate exhaled. "Please." The plea echoed across the room, across galaxies, actually, and the shadow Verity-- well, she seemed stunned. (...by what, though? Her audacity? Her bravery? Now more than ever, Iskra regretted she didn't speak! They had so, so much to discuss, her and this mute phantom.) And then, without warning, the figure dissolved like fog in the morning sun. A sense of loss filled her, ancient and deeply familiar, except that... huh. Verity was still there, wasn't she? Her Verity, not some cheap copy.

The map shone even brighter now, glorious in its entirety, but Iskra cared not for such things. Definitely not now, anyway. No, she only saw the tears streaming down the princess's cheeks-- like diamonds, every single one of them, and yet so, so unwelcome. "Verity!" the pirate shouted. Within seconds, she was by her side and wrapping her in her arms, much like what she had been doing with her shadow earlier. ('With me, you are safe,' the gesture said. 'Worry not.') "What happened? Are you hurt? I-- I wasn't able to pay much attention to your side of the trial, but... by the Shade, I hope you didn't suffer much. Tell me, how do you feel? Are you hurt?" Pulling away just slightly, Iskra inspected her for wounds, and... oh. Oh, indeed. Colorful lights, so many of them, were dancing across her face-- like a swarm of fireflies, bright enough to put even the map to shame. That wasn't where they stopped, though. Swiftly, they conquered the entire pyramid, till there wasn't a single grey spot left. Ah, what a splendid sight! "What is this?" Iskra asked as she looked around. (For once, her eyes weren't dead. No, the opposite was true. Her inner child that had been killed so many times surfaced, somewhat shyly, and the usual seriousness was replaced by wonder. ...could some of the colors have touched her soul as well? It felt that way for sure, because something inside her was blooming.) "Never in my life have I seen something that would compare!"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

As the ritual finishes, and the shadows disappear, only the impression of the morphed Iskra remains; the feeling of cold where the frost-bite had been lingers, but no gaping wound as she half-expected is left. The absence of warmth, however, is not gone for long, because the pirate sweeps the princess into her arms and in her embrace she fills the gap with her familiar warmth; one that Verity has only been able to experience a handful of times and each time Iskra pulls away it only leaves her craving more (if this is the captain’s game or her intention, then she is smart because it eternally keeps her on the princess's mind wondering when she will be able to sap it away again).

"I–I'm fine––" she is about to answer the pirate's worries, but is instead mesmerized by Iskra's own amazement and her rainbow streaked cheeks. "They are Beautiful, aren't they?" she asks, her tears coming to a stop and seeming to dry as she basks in the other's wonder-full radiance. If she can keep Iskra with this face and see it for the rest of her life, she will do anything for that reality. And as this thought crosses her mind, she devises ways to keep that look there, to keep this version of her Iskra for a little longer––because the thought of the pirate returning to her dead-eye gaze is entirely unacceptable to the princess. Remembering earlier that her dear captain had never seen lights like this before, she clears her throat. While one part of her wants to watch the other's face transform as she tells this story, the other part pulls the pirate closer, wanting the comfort of her arms and the security of knowing she is with her and not being harmed. Verity rests her head on her shoulder and closes her eyes as she speaks.

"I've heard it said that they are the emblems of the lovers, Amaryllis and Iris, from the Western and Southern provinces of Aurora, my home country. But before you fully understand this story, know that in my home country the uninhabited parts of the isle are referred to as the Wilds. Now, the Wilds are not named such for any silly reason––in fact, most would agree they should be named something closer to the Hopeless Land, because those who enter the Wilds with no proper provisions are sure to go mad if they are consumed first by the beasts hidden in the foliage––like the giant boars in this story who have impenetrable skin, steel tusks laced with poison, and a vicious fire in their hearts that can easily destroy unprotected villages and towns.

"Now long ago, in a Western village, there was a hunter named Amaryllis who was renowned for her skill with the bow; it is rumored that when a hundred giant boars threatened to stampede through her village, she used a hundred arrows and singlehandedly took them all out––her eye so sharp she never missed a mark; reflexes so quick that the boars were slain before even crossing the boundary of the village. Anyway, because of her skill and favor she was selected to brave the Wilds alone to vanquish the Great Boar, a giant boar who had grown much too large for her own good and who's fire was starting to burn herself––really, it was an act of mercy to send our best hunter to end the Great Boar's suffering.

"While searching for the beast, Amaryllis stumbled upon Iris, a hunter from a Southern village, who had similarly been sent to defeat the Great Boar and was in the middle of her attempt at slaying the beast when Amaryllis arrived. At first, she only watched the other fight––stunned by her skill and immeasurable beauty––but as Iris' last javelin landed in the Great Boar's eye (one of several already), she realized the Boar still had fight in her and was readying to toss Iris through the Wilds. Overwhelmed by the peril of the situation, Amaryllis became strengthened with the power of ten women and wrestled the beast into submission; with Iris' help, they bled the Great Boar until the ground was mud beneath their feet. The bond forged from that fight inspired a soul-friendship between the two women.

"So enamored with the other hunter's skill, they agreed to meet whenever they could. In order to navigate the Wilds to find each other, they would leave trails of multi-colored flowers to follow and meet at private rendezvous, away from their responsibilities as hunters. Together they laughed and cried and became close confidants. Eventually, their friendship blossomed into Love and with the blessings of their mothers, they married. They lived a happy and rich life together and when the Time came for Amaryllis to enter the next stage of existence, from Life to Death, it is said that as her spirit ascended she left a rainbow behind for Iris to follow so that they could reunite in the Ether. When Iris did join Amaryllis, her trail seemed to overlap her wife's and while a bit fainter, it was no less obvious.

"So you see, rainbows are our way of seeing messages from loved ones who have transitioned onward––they remind us we will meet again. They are considered good things, typically. Sometimes bittersweet." She squeezes the pirate as she finishes, then she pulls away to look at Iskra. "Tell me what happened to the rainbows on your planet."

 

[Syntra]

Verity felt soothing in her arms, much like her favorite memory of a summer day, and so Iskra didn't protest against her huddling closer. No, quite the contrary. Instead, she leaned into it-- leaned into it and hoped, foolishly, that the princess would never leave. (...like this, Iskra almost felt whole. Complete, you know? The screams that echoed in her mind stilled, perhaps not daring to break the spell, and sweet, sweet silence enveloped her. Silence, and a peculiar fragrance that seemed to cling to Verity. What was it, even? Much like the princess herself, Iskra couldn't even begin to hope to fit it into a narrow box-- it was everything and nothing at once, both flowery and heavy, fruity and sharp like the tip of a knife. Stardust, the pirate thought. Maybe that is what she is made of.) The rhythm of her heart, beating so close to her own, was overwhelming in its own way as well. Thud, thud, thud, it went, and Iskra? Oh, how she wanted it to be her lullaby! (To listen to it at nights, pressed against her. To be able to do more than that, perhaps, if she discovered what that little 'more' even meant. ...frustrating, that was what this was. Like a poem whose lines she had forgotten!)

Even so, now wasn't the time for that. No, Verity had chosen to tell her a story, and Iskra's role was to listen, listen, listen-- listen until she managed to extract every single meaning, every nuance carved into those words. That was a listener's task, wasn't it? Her great mission and also her damnation, for understanding was a concept as elusive as an eel being grabbed by a bare hand. (Still, she was convinced, there was a value in trying. And, really, how could there not be? The entirety of the human history could be reduced to it-- to endless attempts to forge connections, to rewrite the stories of their lives so that the ending felt more pleasant, to find a some inherent meaning in the chaos. Suffering and striving did go hand in hand, like a pair of lovers, so... Yes. Yes, Iskra had to try!)

And try she did. Thankfully, despite its complexities, the central theme seemed to be easy to grasp-- easy and yet so, so distant, in the same way the bottom of the sea was distant even if you could see it through the crystal-clear water. (What could a soldier know about love, after all? Theories, mere theories. Iskra had been born to the sword, and to the sword she belonged-- it was her only lover, the missing part of herself. Without the weapon, she was nothing, nothing, nothing, and to inflict that upon another person? This fight against emptiness, as meaningless as hoping to stave off the sunset? No. No, Iskra couldn't possibly do that to anyone. ...cruelty was a tool in her arsenal, yes, but why use it aimlessly? Cooking with a hammer would have been wiser!)

"That's-- that's a beautiful story, Verity," the pirate said once her companion fell silent. "The idea of a cherished connection is... something we have never considered, at least in the context of rainbows. It is an interesting way of viewing it, though. Maybe a different facet of the truth?" Because, really, now that Iskra saw the phenomenon in her own eyes, she refused to believe one explanation would suffice. Surely, the mysteries of the universe couldn't be revealed in a single sentence! There must have been numerous angles, and different paths you could take to ultimately reach the same destination, and-- and maybe it wasn't true that one question only demanded one answer. What about all those puzzles with multiple solutions, for example? And wasn't reality itself more intricate, more rich than anything the human mind could come up with?

"Right, our rainbows. We, uh, have a story that revolves around that as well," Iskra began, somewhat awkwardly. "It's not as uplifting as the one you have told me, though. I am not sure how many parts of it are true, or if any of it is true, actually, but it is the version of the events I was raised with. In that sense, at least, it is one hundred percent accurate. And does that not make it true regardless of the facts, in a certain way? Since this story lives on in the heads of my people, and always will." For a while, Iskra paused-- perhaps to gather her own thoughts, or to figure out which words would convey the main idea faithfully enough. (Was that possible, even? The ones that came to her tongue were the words of her childhood-- the ones that mother had sung to her, presumably, before they'd ripped her from her arms. How rich they were in imagery, in meaning! ...except that the princess wouldn't understand, no more than a rock would, and that would make it pointless, pointless, pointless. Kind of like her entire existence, really.)

"It began before queen Lellenei," Iskra finally said, "back when the gods still ruled our lands. They weren't always cruel, and often, they even shared their gifts with us. That is why my people have a natural affinity towards magic." ...not her, though. Not her and not her sisters, nor anyone who had ever carried the Shade in the depths of her mind. Plants needed sustenance to grow, you know? And magic, that rare pearl, was a spark in the form of thoughts-- pure and raw, and so, so tasty. (She could remember it, the day the energy exploded within her. That, and the way it had tied into her first death. The Holy Vessel hadn't liked it, the Shade hadn't, either, and... and... No, not the point. Focus.)

"Our abilities used to be much more powerful then, for we could channel the might of the gods themselves as well. So, in these days, some of our sorcerers practiced the art of Rainbow Walking. Prismatics, we called them. It is said that rainbows covered our skies, as far as the eye could see, and that Prismatics could... sort of use them as bridges, I suppose. They were able to travel great distances in seconds, long before spaceflight was invented. So, I suppose," Iskra smiled shyly, "is that we do have this one thing in common. The idea of rainbows acting as bridges, I mean." Ah, what a wonderful sight it must have been! How had her ancestors ever managed to look away? ...perhaps, like so many others, they hadn't understood what they had until they'd lost it. (That was a fate inherent to all human beings, it seemed-- their shared curse. How come they couldn't see what was right before their very eyes, instead chasing after some abstract concepts? Ridiculous. Ridiculous and tragic, truly.)

"When queen Lellenei rose to overthrow their eventual tyranny, though? They took the rainbows from us, for they were too convenient in warfare. Imagine not having to deal with logistics issues at all! Of course they eliminated this advantage first. The gods... filled the air with some type of pollutant, I suppose. Even now, it still lingers, and so you cannot see the rainbows. We haven't been able to do that for centuries. I-- I think I'm the first one to have that privilege, in many, many years." The weight of that realization fell on her shoulders, and when it did? It was a lot-- too much, even. (Why her? Why not someone more worthy? Why, why, why?) Once again, her eyes stung strangely, and Iskra couldn't stand to look at... anything, in truth. Processing visual information hurt! "I'm sorry," she sobbed, averting her gaze, "I don't know why I'm being like this. It's just a story."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

There are more stories about rainbows and how they came to be, but the one that she parts unto Iskra is the one she loves the most; the one she grew up with and the one that originated from the village that raised her. (It being her favorite is the result of her girlish desire to have a love so powerful it is immortalized in the sky and in a story for everyone to admire. A dream she let go of when she became crowned, for a princess's duty is love of country. ...Not that she ever truly stopped looking.) In the moment, it feels important to share only her favorite stories with the pirate. Not to paint her homeland the way she wants herself or the other to see it, but so that she paints an image of herself that she wants Iskra to see. To show her, secretly, the things that make her Verity. There is no better way to know another person than to discover what lights the spark in their soul.

Just as eager as she had been to share, she is equally waiting for the exchange. Tragic or Beautiful or humorous, she does not care so long as Iskra is teaching her something new. Giving her something else to chew on, something to learn from––the scraps of knowledge she has of the other and her planet are so sparse if they were laid out as food on table she would surely starve. Her eyes even reflect this hungry desire as she takes this moment to immortalize Iskra's rainbow into her memories.

And the story? She does think it's tragic. To rob a whole world of the rainbow––well, maybe it isn't so bad if you never know what one is or how happy it is to see one, but imagining a world where they suddenly disappear? It's a small Pleasure in Life and Verity knows she would miss it if it were to happen to her home. "No, that isn't a happy story... But I asked to hear it and I am happy that you told me." Her arms loop around Iskra's neck, curiously wondering what she thinks of the rainbows glittering across their faces. She wonders, too, if there is hope for Iskra's world to have rainbows in their skies again and she wonders what their skies full of rainbows must have looked like––Beautiful, she imagines. (If she closes her eyes she can almost picture it for herself.) Maybe as pretty as the rainbows that glitter across the pirate's face and are surely glittering across her own. In the old days did everyone have a rainbow tint? She has several questions. "It seems both a small and heavy price to pay for freedom; if the two can exist at once."

Something else Iskra had mentioned knocks around her head and though she has endless questions, one is louder than the rest. "Do you have magic?" her head tilts to the side as she asks this question. No one on her planet manipulates magic––it only exists in fantasy and daydreams and child's play. (Though maybe a sage sister would tell her that the imagination is magic in its own right, no? It can create powerful images and ideas, after all.) Discovering it had been real while learning of other worlds had been quite the shock for the princess––naturally, she has always wanted to meet someone who can use it (maybe skeptical of what it is and maybe believing magic is just synonym for science; a different name for the same principle). "I have never heard you speak of it before..."

Perhaps luckily, Iskra's sudden overwhelm and change does temporarily distract Verity from her inquiries, taken aback by this. She frowns, not disappointed or shocked even––she's not sure why she frowns, maybe because she does not want the pirate to cry. She lets go of Iskra. "You're crying again," she states, pointing out the obvious as she had done when Iskra had seen all the lights inside of Inure's core. "Stories bring me to tears all the time... And the chance to see rainbows for the first time? That might make me cry too––Beauty can be as much a mother to tears as Sadness." Then she lifts her hand, the one that had been cut by the Sword of Judgment, and though she had meant to clean her face she only makes more of a mess––only realizing which hand she she had used once her blood is smeared across Iskra's cheek. Her lips purse together, but quickly turn into a sheepish grin when she sighs, "Ah, well..." That hadn't worked the way she had intended.

"I suppose we ought to get you cleaned up," and herself as well, the cut on her hand still bleeds with her pulse. "But if you need a moment––if you want to take in the rainbows for a little longer... We can stay, too."

 

[Syntra]

"I... no, I don't," Iskra shook her head, somehow sad and resolute at the same time. (...resigned, perhaps? Kind of like a prisoner with a noose around her neck who knew that next step would kill her, but had to take it regardless.) "Not anymore, at least. Soldiers don't have that gift. The two roles are incompatible. When we are Chosen, the magic within is us... uprooted, I suppose. To prevent accidents. I've never cast anything." ...not consciously, anyway. And, hey, could it even be called 'casting' when the raw energy clawed you apart, as if you were but an eggshell to house it? To house it till it was ripe, and ready to take on the world? Under some liberal interpretation, Iskra supposed, it technically could qualify as magic. Definitely not in her book, though! (...magic, you see, was about control. It was a thought given form-- a will to shape, shape, shape your surroundings until they matched your vision. What kind of magic had it been, then, if it had chosen to shape her? Something profoundly sick, which... oh, yes. That fit nicely. If nothing else, the Shade had a sick sense of humor!)

"I'm not," Iskra protested, even as the tears streamed down her face. "I don't cry. It is not a thing I can do. Physiologically, this makes no sense. Verity, why are you accusing me of crying all the ti-- oh." Caught somewhere between horror and fascination, the pirate could only watch as the princess touched her cheek-- so gently, too. (Almost as if... as if she was something precious. A little porcelain doll, perhaps, that would break with one careless shove. Still a thing, because duh, you couldn't breathe a soul into a rotting cadaver, but at least a pretty one? One that could potentially bring someone joy. ...of course, Iskra knew it to be a lie. A lie, lie, lie! They had forged her with edges, razor-sharp, and those edges were meant to cut-- joy, then, was on the completely opposite end of the spectrum. A distant dream, really. Still, with the Verity so close and so, so eager? Iskra may have felt compelled to chase that dream, for a little bit. To bask in her sunlight.)

"Verity," she whispered, the name half a moan on her lips. (Instinctively, her hand pressed against the princess's back so that she ended up even closer, closer, closer, with practically no space left between them now. No, just them and their bodies, which, uh, Iskra was suddenly very aware of for some reason. And one other thing she noticed? Her lips. Her lips, glistening in the darkness, soft and inviting. What would it feel like to claim them? To kiss her, just like what other people did? ...Iskra had never done that before, never dared to, really, but it must have been pleasant. There was no way it wasn't. One didn't need kisses in order to survive, and yet many sought that sensation out-- more than that, some even went so far as to risk their very life for that feeling. So, it had to be nice! Iskra was convinced of that. And with Verity-- with her Veriry--) "I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing. Nothing bad, I hope? I just... if you could, maybe..." Their lips were getting closer now, too, and by the Shade, was it supposed to be this stressful? Because it did feel stressful, vaguely. Some part of Iskra wanted to turn around and run away, and forget this incident had ever happened, but the beast in her belly roared in satisfaction, and--

"Oh, so here you are! Scared the hell out of us, captain," Ylna smirked. "When the communicators stopped working and everything. If you just wanted some privacy time for a fucking date, though, then you should have said so!"

"What!" Iskra practically leapt away from Verity, her cheeks burning. "N-no. That wasn't what was happening. There, uh, was a trial. We had to get the-- the coordinates, you see? Coordinates, and this fancy map," she gestured towards the holograph, feeling more and more guilty with every word that fell from her lips. Just, what? What was she saying, even? Why had her brain switched to autopilot?!

"Suuure," Ylna gave her a bright smile. "I'm sure that's exactly what is going on here. Getting these precious, precious coordinates! Understandably, your hands were quite full." Despite the teasing, however, the woman pulled out her device and scanned those coordinates-- it only took a few seconds for the room to be illuminated by a sickly green light, and boom! The numbers were now saved in its memory, along with the copy of the map. "Okay, so now that we've taken care of that, we should go. Myrne is really worried, you know? Like, I'm sure she'll walk a hole into the floor if we stay here for longer than five minutes."

***

Inure welcomed them with open arms, and just like that, it was time to move on. (To her own surprise, Iskra found out that she... sort of regretted it? Being able to gaze at those lights some more would have been pleasant, at least. Still, her mission called, and its voice was the priority. Always, always, always!) Speaking of priorities, though? One morning, when Inure was still sailing towards her goal, Iskra found herself standing in front of the princess's room in full armor.

"Verity," the pirate greeted her, "I've been thinking. I-- I have come to the conclusion that you are right. Your sacrifices are yours to make. I will still do my duty, but... yes. I cannot rob you of your choice. If you wish to, you should be able to risk your life. But," she pointed her index finger at her, her eyes bright with new resolve, "I don't wish to send you into battle unprepared. The idea of you getting hurt frightens me. So, uh. Would you like to practice swordfighting with me? You are skillful, I've seen that, but I can-- I can teach you more. Much, much more."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

'Of course I'm right.' She thinks, before hearing what she is specifically right about. Nevertheless, she closes the book that had been in her lap. (Another one she doesn't understand; another one full of secrets not meant for her eyes. But she likes the way the script looks; it reminds her of water with all the smooth strokes and peaks and valleys like the ocean swell before it becomes a wave bounding towards earth shores.) When she looks up, a smile had already been ready on her lips, but when she actually sees the pirate? It shifts just a bit and she braces her back against the bookshelf, stunned. Her breath hitches, getting lost somewhere in her throat. She doesn't get up just yet, because she needs to gather herself––something about Iskra in full armor sends her mind to distance lands. (It also reminds her of a friend she once had; she hadn't realized it before, but the connection is clearer with the armor on. A hollow sadness begins to bubble in her chest, but she does not want that feeling right now––she would rather feel that other feeling. The one that brought images of their lips crashing together as she pins Iskra to the wall... 'Not the time, Verity.')

She purses her lips together as she tilts her head and lifts a single brow. "Oh? Is that so?" Giving the pirate a hard time is the princess's signature move and just because she has actually warmed up to her does not mean she will be any less cheeky. She is Verity, after all. Besides, it's all in good fun––why would she ever reject the opportunity to spend more time with the one who has captured so much of her. "Maybe I didn't show you everything that I had then. Have you considered that, Iskra?" It had been pretty clear that last they fought she had done her best––or at least her best that day... Being clearheaded may have helped her but even then, having fought Iskra, she does know that the pirate has plenty more to offer her.

"No need to flatter me though––I know my skill is the product of having the best instructors and some interesting sparring partners." She won't elaborate on what she means by that. It's not important. "I would delighted to learn from you," another way to learn about the captain's mind and how it works and functions. An exciting way to learn about her too. "But don't be surprised when I eventually knock that sword from your hand, I'm an excellent student." Though she isn't actually confident she'd reach that level––mostly because the last time she thought she had finally been able to outmatch someone they ended up outsmarting her.

Finally, she stands up, feeling the strength returning to knees and approaches Iskra. "Does this mean I get a sword now? Because I did leave mine with my ship and I'm not sure if studying sword theory is as effective as a more hands-on approach." Her hands are behind her back now, a bright smile across her face, and she rocks back and forth on her heels––clearly excited. "I do miss sparring," because it had been a lot like dancing in some ways and maybe she does want to dance with the pirate again. No, not maybe, she does.

 

[Syntra]

"I, umm. That-- that would be an interesting strategy, I suppose?" And by 'interesting,' Iskra mostly meant 'stupid.' There was a time and place for bluffing, of course there was, but not in the middle of an assassination attempt! Unless... unless it hadn't actually been an assassination attempt, and the princess had been pursuing some other goal. Hmmm! Iskra was definitely intrigued, that was for sure. (Intrigued rather than worried, which was what she should have been, though frankly? For that, Verity's aura felt too calming. It was like staring at the color blue, and drowning in those cool depths-- you couldn't possibly get agitated while stuck in such a pleasant, pleasant place. So, yes! Iskra did notice, and she recorded this little fact for any future needs that might arise, but didn't actually bother to chase after all the implications. ...if they mattered, they would catch up with her on her own, anyway. You couldn't escape these things, you know? Just like you couldn't escape the time painting wrinkles on your once perfect skin, or the weight of your predestination, or the emptiness of your own grave. In many things, you were powerless-- a speck of dust stuck in gravitational fields of entities much larger, and thus eternally pushed and shoved around. The sooner you got used to these things, the better for you, really. And accepting that universal truth? It was freeing, in the same way shedding your chains was freeing. ...in life, there was too much enemies already to waste your energies on windmills.)

"Yes," Iskra nodded, "I could see that. Still, I believe you aren't giving enough credit to yourself. Instructors can only carry you so far. Wouldn't you agree, for example, that not even the best teacher in the world can teach a bug how to read? Or a fish how to fly?" The pirate gestured for Verity to join her, and together, they headed... somewhere. Somewhere the princess hadn't been yet, judging by the direction. "Well, the principle holds true for all skills. A good instructor will teach you how to hold your sword, and explain to you how this dance is danced, but they cannot get inside of your head and make you understand. Not truly, anyway. And," she smiled shyly, "which is even more important, they cannot perform the actions for you. That effort is all yours, and so the credit should go to you. They provided the ladder, but you climbed it." As they walked, a few women waved at them-- yes, them, not just her. (Which, duh. That Verity was good at earning people's hearts would be an understatement of the century, so it didn't exactly shock Iskra that she had claimed some of those that belonged to her subordinates, too. How many hearts were in her collection, come to think of it? And, amongst all of them, was hers even a little bit precious? ...probably not, the pirate knew. 'Iskra' and 'precious' in one sentence sounded like an oxymoron, no matter how she looked at it. Still, it was nice to dream, you know? To imagine that, perhaps, the princess thought of her fondly.)

"You are welcome to try," Iskra smiled. "Actually, I would be flattered. There is no greater compliment to a teacher than when your student surpasses you, I assure you. But, I simply have to ask: how much experience do you have with real battle, Verity? With your life hanging on a thin thread, and you doing whatever you can to preserve it? Because that, I'm afraid, is the kind of knowledge that no teacher can give you." And yet, yet it held such tremendous importance! How would your skills serve you, after all, if you didn't know how to keep your cool? If you couldn't access them, really, because panic choked oxygen out of your lungs? They wouldn't, plain and simple. (...too bad that testing your aptitude in this area usually involved, you know, almost dying-- or even actually dying, if you were bad enough. Sometimes, the price of knowledge could be steep.)

"And yes, you are going to get a sword. In a few moments." The door they arrived to was massive and made of some kind of alloy unknown to Iskra-- it was firm and yet it seemed to be moving at the same time, much like the surface of a pond. And its color? The pirate couldn't decide what it was, really, because it kept shifting before her very eyes. Blue turned into green, and green into yellow, and yellow into orange-- a feast for senses, truly. "We use this room as an armory," she explained before punching a code into the device. With a mechanical hiss, the door opened, and revealed its contents to the duo. "I wasn't able to find out what it was used for previously, though apparently, the security is top-notch. Not even a bomb would open that door, Myrne says. But, not the point. Verity," Iskra turned back to her companion, "choose your weapon. A weapon calls for its owner, and it is unwise to ignore that. Each sword has a soul of its own, after all. You just... cannot force that relationship, much like you cannot force a normal friendship. So," she gestured towards the shelves, "you can have whichever blade your heart resonates with. You need to tell me why, however-- what kinds of things the sword whispers into your ear when you hold it and the like. I, uh... will be able to teach you more effectively if I know." Well, that, and Iskra was also simply curious. Was that such a great crime?

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity skips along as she follows Iskra, eventually matching her stride and taking the spot next to her as they walk through the ship. While she waves and excitedly beams at the crew members who she regards somewhere between friendly and friends, she is still more interested in the captain. The other pirates on this ship, entertaining as they are, are not Iskra and so her flirtations are facile and meaningless. Anyone who cares to look closely enough would be able to see that––because the spark that lights in Verity eyes when the captain enters the room may be a firework show of its own. Flirting with the rest of the crew is just the most entertaining thing she has to do to pass the time––it also makes helping with dinner prep all the more amusing.

She nods along with what is Iskra is saying, though she still thinks that perhaps she is still taking too much of the credit. Maybe the captain would agree if she had seen the state of Verity's talents when she had first arrived at the palace––it had been clear then that the only swords she had ever wielded were the sticks in her backyard that were only as sharp as her imagination. There hadn't been a reason for her to learn such skills until she had become a princess––after all, the common people were rarely inspired to arm themselves and so the skills were kept with those who's jobs and roles made it necessary. Poets don't need swords. Princesses, however, do.

And when Iskra does ask about her real experience using a weapon, the princess is suspiciously quiet. She pretends it's rhetorical and so she ignores it entirely. Instead, she just nods with what the captain says and finds a way to steer the conversation away from her time in battle (of which, the experiences could be counted on both hands). "Well, yes, of course knowing a theory versus being able to apply it in the moment are entirely different skills," and simulator lessons can only teach you so much, she knows this––as real as they can feel they are not real. In a simulation, she still always had the security she would never actually die and thus reacted quite recklessly and that translated to recklessness during the traditional Wild Hunts. What a powerful and terrifying lesson that had been. "I remember knowing a few people who simply learned the ways of the sword for parlor tricks." Nobles who would, of course, never have a reason to bleed for their country... unless it's their own heads rolling, that is.

Once they reach this armory, Verity takes this extra step to distract from any more questions about her experience fighting. "You know, Myrne seems to think she knows a lot about Inure despite not being a descendant at all––perhaps you should bury whatever insight she has provided because she has been so, so wrong about the secrets of this ship," she says, getting noticeably defensive. Of all the pirates on this ship, she likes Myrne the least and she suspects the feeling may be mutual. This does motivate her to try and know the older woman more, but the opportunities have been marginal. "Admittedly, I suppose I don't know what this room was for either––my ship, while it mirrors Inure almost exactly, does not have one of these." Though if she had to guess the possible uses, it may have been where they kept preserved wildlife to help rehabilitate whichever planet they claimed as home. She sighs, realizing that may have come off too hotly, "Sorry––the subject of Inure and the relics of my people are a sensitive subject. We have lost so much of it, after all, and even before we had to flee... Well, we've always had issues with outsiders."

However, she does not spend more time on the mini-history lesson because as soon as the door is opened to reveal rows and rows of weapons, her eyes begin to sparkle. Not because she enjoys fighting, but she does appreciate the aesthetics and the craftiness of each piece. Really, she regards them the same she would a piece of art. "You know, it is interesting that you say that, Iskra. The custom is a bit different where I am from though I think the principle is still the same," she says as her eyes walk over the swords, and she picks up some to see how they feel in her hand. There are even shapes she has never even seen before! "When our swords were made for us, that is myself and the other princesses, the craftswoman who was in charge of making them spent a tedious amount of hours getting to know us first before she even began to talk to us about design; she had said that our blades needed to match our personalities and so we spent countless hours with her," well, Verity did. It only took her two weeks to figure something out for Halen and about a day to figure out the other princess's blade. Verity, on the other hand, had to wait months. Of course, that may have been by Verity's own design. The craftswoman had been dreadfully attractive and she may have wanted to spend more time with her... and they did get to know each other quite intimately. "It was a pretty involved process, but I loved the blade she made me––it was a double-edged short sword that bled poison."

She handles a couple more weapons, slashing them through the air a few times though not feeling particularly drawn to any just yet. She isn't necessarily even looking for one to mirror the one left behind as she is taking Iskra's advice to heart and is trying to find one that truly speaks to her. After several more minutes her eyes land on one tucked away near the back corner of the room. She doesn't reach for it––that feels far too intimate a thing to do, but she does hear the whisper of this sword. Just like the one she used to wield, it is short and double-edged. However, what makes it different is the layered steel and the wavy bottom half of the blade. The guard are pommel are both ornate and she can tell whoever had fashioned this weapon was a master of the craft. "This one," she points at the blade. "It calls to me. It calls me home, for some reason; though I don't think we have blades like this. I think it's because of the waved portion at the bottom––it reminds of the ocean. It reminds me that I come from the ocean, like my grandmothers before me. That they are with me, too." Suddenly, she feels embarrassed––as if she is not getting this prompt right at all even if there is no right answer. Still, she continues, "And because of that, they protect me, always, from danger." Hesitantly, she picks up the weapon and may have even asked the sword for permission before holding her. “She tells me that she will protect me as if we are family—I must only trust the arc of each swing and ensure her edges are kept sharp and clean; we will take care of each other.”

 

[Syntra]

Iskra, of course, remained silent. In this context, how could she do anything else? The swords did speak, yes, but they shouted not-- instead, they whispered, so her voice would drown their words out, as easily as the crashing waves overpowered the soft sounds of rain. Obviously, the pirate couldn't allow that to happen! Not when this moment was supposed to be sacred. (This is a wedding of sorts, she thought. A wedding, whose vows will be written in blood. I wonder, which blade will she choose? ...or rather, which blade would call out to her? And would the union be harmonious? Iskra had the benefit of wielding a sword that had been forged for her hand-- a weapon that was a part of her, in the same way her limbs were. Such a blade wouldn't reject her, for that would be the same as it rejecting its own self. What of Verity, though? Verity, who had apparently had to give up a weapon that had been similarly precious to her? ...oh, how her heart wept for the princess! Once these relationships were formed, you see, only death should ever be able to break them. The death of the wielder, or the death of the blade-- which it was, that didn't matter. No, what truly counted was the weight of that commitment. Anyone would agree that a fighter had to trust their weapon, right? That the weapon also had to trust its fighter was a lesser known fact, but one that was true all the same. All relationships were, after all, transactional in nature-- even if not necessarily equal per se. Your own gravitational field interacted with the gravitational field of the planet you found yourself on, too, you know? It wasn't one-sided, not in the slightest, and this-- this was similar. Now, the main question was: would the sword accept Verity, with the old contract broken so unceremoniously? And was there even place in her heart for a new weapon, if she still mourned that recent loss?)

These thoughts, and many other thoughts like that, were racing through her mind as she watched Verity choose. (The princess... seemed to take this seriously, actually. Which, good! Many of her subordinates had laughed in her face when Iskra had explained what was required of them, thinking it to be some silly ritual. 'But captain,' they had asked, 'why? It's just a piece of steel!' It wasn't a coincidence that those who had done that, however, weren't seasoned fighters. No, they had taken up arms to protect what they deemed to be important-- a noble goal, naturally, though it also meant that their understanding of the craft was rather superficial. There was a difference between those who enjoyed watching pictures in a gallery and those who struggled against the emptiness of the canvas to bring them into existence, you see? And Verity clearly had painted with blood, judging by the utter concentration reflected in her eyes. Yes. Look carefully, Verity. Look, and let the hand of providence guide you.)

"Ah. That is... an interesting choice," Iskra raised her eyebrow when Verity presented her with the sword. "A double-edged sword, and not an ordinary one. That association with the ocean is curious, too. It's correct, you know? To an extent. Of course, what it means to you personally is just as important, but... well. The truth is that this sword comes from my homeland, and the symbolism behind it belongs to the most revered of the athareilakam. The athareilakam are..." How to explain? How to make the concept closer to Verity's heart, when it couldn't possibly be further? "...those who live beneath the waves. That's the literal translation. They came to us riding a shooting star, not too long after we formed our kingdom, and began living on the bottom of the ocean. Our relations hasn't always been the best, but this blade? It's a precious artifact. A symbol of peace, meant to remind us that tolerance goes both ways. Hence the two edges! But, Verity," Iskra continued, her tone suddenly much more grave, "beware. The sword spoke to you because it felt you to be its kin, and that means your desires can double-edged as well. Be careful with your heart, so that it doesn't get cut. I would hate for you to be hurt by something that sleeps within you."

Opening the door, Iskra motioned at the princess to follow her. "Say, Verity," the pirate began as they walked, her eyes shining with strange fire, "what does swordfighting mean to you? How do you conceptualize it? And what do you think is the most important aspect of the art?" Because, yes, practice was important, but all practice stemmed from theory-- and, most importantly, from your very soul. So, what inspired her? What drove her to pursue such noble goals, and how far was she willing to go in order to achieve them? Oh, how Iskra yearned to know the princess's mind!

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

The hilt of the blade seems to fit perfectly in her hand. It's the right size, shape, and the grip feels comfortable. She wouldn't say it's like holding a lover or loved one's hand while strolling the palace garden, but it is as comfortable as it is comforting. The balance of the blade to the hilt is symmetrical, as well, and she remembers that the craftswoman who had fashioned her blade had also been careful to create such balance. In that, she knows it will help her strikes slice through opponents with grace. The wave of the blade, of course, is new to her and so she does not know how this will affect her style, but she does image it might make pulling the blade out of someone's person a bit easier––a theory she is unlikely to test as... Well, there's a reason her own blade had been made with poison. (But maybe that is the reason this blade chose her... An insight into what lies ahead for the princess and the push to change, perhaps.)

She listens intently to the story behind this weapon and is shocked there is a known history behind it at all. She may have assumed that these weapons had come from many different worlds and had been picked up during various pirate raids. So she is delighted to know more about the weapon that speaks to her. Knowing it is a precious artifact too? She almost doesn't feel worthy of it, knowing she'd likely not want to part with something so significant to her people (that, of course, is the crux of her dilemma that she has temporarily cast aside––the ancestors haven't even been very helpful in providing guidance either; too much conflict on their end as well). Though she does not voice this concern, because, well, she figures if Iskra had an issue with it, surely she would not be accepting the choice the blade had made. "How did you come to acquire this weapon if it is an artifact of your people? Quite curious to me that it ended up aboard your ship––did you steal it?" Her question does not suggest judgment. At this point, knowing what she knows of the pirate, she would not assume Iskra did so with nefarious intentions. After all, it says a lot she kept the weapon and did not sell it––surely, it must be worth a fortune.

As they continue through the ship, she fastens and secures the sheath to her belt. It's been a while since she's walked with a weapon at her side, but it doesn't interrupt her stride at all. The warning, too, is something she takes to heart and she finds the pirate's interpretation to be as interesting as it is ominous. "You're not the first person to tell me to be careful of my desires," she muses. "I will heed the warning, of course; I trust you." And that is true. She doesn't have many reasons to doubt the pirate and her doubts, so far, have stemmed from herself––her inability, really, to trust herself. But Iskra seems honorable and has so far kept to many of her promises and even gone beyond. (Iskra is so, so different than she had initially imagined or even anticipated. That does, naturally, work in the pirate's favor because the curious cat within Verity begged to shine and so she let it and now look where they are––prisoner and captor, learning from each other, entering competition, and growing too. Though she used to remind herself often of her situation aboard Inure, as a shield, it almost seems silly to do so now. Maybe she is getting too comfortable, but, again, Iskra... Iskra doesn't seem like the kind to play games. A player on the board, for sure, but she doesn't seem understand the nuances of this one.)

At the questions, she nearly cows away from them but the look in the captain's eye? She cannot resist the urge to feed that fire just a little bit more. So she answers to the best of her ability what she is willing to share. "Well, it's meant a lot of different things to me over the course of my lifetime," she starts, clearing her throat as the air around her neck becomes like a noose. To compensate for the discomfort, her grin widens. "I see it mainly as a way of defense and if no other means are available, as an absolute to solve conflict." That doesn't mean she always acts in a way that reflects this. "With as many Consequences that can stem from sword fighting, it must be done carefully and with purpose. To take another's Life is serious and so I..." She stops, rather suddenly, and decides to pick up the thought elsewhere. "So I think what is most important, is knowing how to only cause the damage your own soul can bear. You have to live with those spirits, too... Or, at least, that's what I believe." Not everyone agrees with her. Somehow, some people are able to Sleep restfully knowing they have needlessly ended lives. "I assure you, however, I am not weak––I don't enjoy what can result from a sword fight, but I will defend myself and those and that which is dearest to me. It's not the first means I will use, but I know enough to know when words will no longer suffice. The sword is just a bit more decisive than the pen, and can be just as permanent."

 

[Syntra]

"No," the pirate shook her head, looking some kind of outraged, "I did not steal it. I would never. It was a... a gift, I suppose. Yes, that is the most accurate word. Let's just say that certain people approved of what I did." Many others hadn't, but such was life, wasn't it? People weren't bees, and thus didn't share a hivemind-- sadly enough. How much of their issues would be solved in one fell swoop if they just stopped sacrificing so much on the altar of individuality? How many lives would be saved? ...probably as many of them as would be lost, ironically enough. "An absolute," Iskra repeated, her tone thoughtful. "Yes, that is a good way to put it. And the damage to your own soul... an interesting angle, indeed." Now that she thought of it, perhaps that was why they had broken them, over and over again-- and so casually, too, as if they were just using an instrument for its intended purpose. Once you reached the rock bottom, you couldn't sink deeper anymore, now could you? There was no other place for you to fall to, nothing that could shatter you further. Shards were shards, and that was it. ...souls, huh. What use did a soldier have for a soul, anyway? Puppets, that was what they had been, and a puppet with a will could only get in the way of her performance. 'Dance for me, Iskra,' The Holy Vessel in her mind said, and the pirate shuddered. Some memories could be very... hmm, how to say it... vivid, you know? Vivid, as in capable of dragging you into that moment-- even kicking and screaming.

(A series of images flashed through her head, sharp and colorful. There were veils, light and translucent-- much like a cloud in the summer sky, just the faintest hint of white in the endless blue. The steel, though? That felt, uh, way more tangible. Especially when it traveled down her skin, leaving behind these little trails of blood. ...rivers of red, they resembled those, definitely, and if they flowed some more, Iskra would drown, drown, drown-- No. Snap out of this. That's not what you're here for.)

And, indeed, that much was true. Keeping this fact in mind, Iskra managed to look away-- both from the carnage and the elegant, cruel curve of The Holy Vessel's smile. (It was thanks to Verity, Iskra new. With her standing so close, not paying attention to those images... well, it wasn't simple per se, because it never was, but it was possible, at least. The difference between giving yourself to the flames and walking on hot coals, really. Both hurt, of course, but only one of those killed you, you know?)

"I don't believe that hesitance is a mark of weakness," Iskra began, slow and deliberate. "Would you say that the carpenter who measures everything carefully because she cuts the wood is weak? No, surely not. She's being diligent, which is good. Diligence brings the sweetest fruits, as we say. But, Verity," she continued, and her expression grew somewhat sadder, "we are not carpenters. Being thoughtful and considerate will serve you well, just as well as it will in any area of life, but... sometimes, there is no good choice. No way to avoid bloodshed. Have you ever been forced to choose between evil and greater evil, Verity? Between numerous paths, each a different flavor of damnation? Because if not, that choice will come for you. I can guarantee that. It will come, and back you into the corner, and you will have to face it head-on no matter how much you'd like to look away. Can your soul withstand it?" What was she even trying to achieve here? Warn her so that she might prepare for the trials, or... what, talk her out of being a princess? That Iskra couldn't do, just like she couldn't talk the sun out of shining or the planets from turning. So, again, what was this? Some pathetic attempt to relate to her? As if that made any amount of sense! (Verity had been chosen for the role, chosen and polished into the shape of the finest diamond, while Iskra-- Iskra remained a piece of coal, only good for kindling. No, the very thought of comparing herself to the princess was scandalous! As scandalous as a dirty puddle thinking itself to be a sea, breath-taking and crystal-clear.) "I'm sorry if I'm being presumptuous," Iskra averted her gaze. "That idealism is charming, I think, but I cannot help thinking about all those implications. I do wish for you to be able to keep it, though. Such untarnished mind... that is a thing of beauty, truly."

The conversation flowed easily, as it always tended to with Verity, and so it felt like they had only been walking for a few seconds before they arrived to the designated duel spot. It was nothing fancy, of course-- just an area that wasn't being used for anything else, free of large obstacles. "This is where we will fight," Iskra announced, somewhat uselessly. "You've been trained before, so I see no reason to explain the basics to you. Rather than that, I'd like to see how you move. So, attack me! With the intent to kill. Don't hold back, Verity, otherwise I won't be able to give you any sort of feedback that would be valuable."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕
​

Iskra is poking at more diseased, uncared for wounds that ooze and reek. She often works to forget their screaming burns and ache and at this point she has only gotten used to the Pain. But these prodding questions do force her attention. Suddenly, this lesson isn’t so fun to the princess. Wanting to spend time with the pirate but agonizing in the same breath make it difficult for her to decide what to do—stay or run?

She stays, swallows the guilty lump in her throat, and then a few more times because it doesn’t want to leave. Iskra wouldn’t understand. And how could she? The choices a pirate captain have to make and the decisions a princess must make are the differences between a wave and a tsunami––one obviously has more devastating Consequences. Even as a soldier what could she have known about the choosing between evils? It doesn't sound like she had much authority then. Maybe the princess shouldn’t assume, but she knows, at least, she has been faced with those choices. And the blood on her hands is rich in familiarity. There had been no escaping that outcome, she knew and knows this, but the gashes that have been left behind and now fester are sore and suddenly she’s aware how feverish they make her.

“Yes, and I have failed to make the right choice,” she says in a decisive way she hopes will end the conversation there. Besides, the notion of her old qualities making her Beautiful... she’s had enough of that sage to last a lifetime. With Iskra’s encouragement, perhaps she should become something unforgivable instead. Maybe that unforgivable thing will protect her, because the rose colored lens only jammed shards into her eyes when they were removed. Too many decisions she made were suspended in Hope and the last shreds of it she has left must be protected. (The only reason the choice felt wrong has everything to do with it not feeling worthwhile now––sometimes it does feel all for naught and she does not know if her current pursuit will even help. Truthfully, all outcomes would have likely sat heavy with the princess––unless there had been a choice that kept everyone alive... and maybe there was a small moment where––'No. Not now.')

"Beautiful things are usually there to hide something uglier––whether its lipstick to draw attention away from your nose, a tattoo to draw attention to your favorite feature, or a sense of humor to hide suffering––are you not weary of Beautiful things? Maybe you are the idealist." Whether or not she is making any sense is her smallest concern. The more time the pirate spends trying to figure out what she means the less time she will have to look any closer at the pretty words Verity is using to hide all her secrets and all her shame. She has a talent for dancing around the truth and she has a talent for dancing around that which makes her uncomfortable.

When they arrive at this empty portion of the ship, she unsheathes her new weapon, her new friend. It gleams under the opalescent reflection of the ship's interior; already, she can feel a new relationship forming. "Iskra, is there a tradition of naming weapons where you're from? I believe it helps create a stronger relationship between wielder and the protector––but I suppose I should ask, does the blade already have a name?" Not that naming her last sword had helped her keep a strong grip on it; she might contest it had not been her fault in the first place that it is lost and traveling with some paladin or rogue. Ugh, as if she knows who's hand now holds it.

In all honesty, she doesn't think Iskra is serious when she tells her to attack her with the purpose to kill. She assumes it is a figure of speech and so while she does put effort into the attack, she does not do so with the purpose to cause lethal damage––though she knows from experience that Iskra is quick and maybe could avoid that outcome, there's more ingrained in her telling her to strike to kill only when she means it (and she would contest her previous strikes against the pirate were with the intent to kill––at the time she had not known of her opponent's resiliencies). Now, she thinks it would be excessive to use those same tactics. Though she does not follow instruction, her moves still show that she understands the sword as an extension of her arm and thus her reach. It shows her awareness of her body and her center of gravity––it also shows that she is maybe not taking this as seriously as is possibly intended in that she does do things such as needlessly balance on a leg (while balance is important to have, showing off in practice only results in showing off in play. How has she not learned this lesson already? It has been served so, so many times.)

 

[Syntra]

"How do you know?" Iskra asked, tilting her head aside. "Are you clairvoyant, Verity? When you look in the mirror, do you see the reflections of all the paths you might have taken, and judged them to be better? Of course, I won't presume to know your situation, but... well, perhaps you are exactly where you need to be. Here, with me." Ah, umm. Had she-- had she actually said that aloud? It had been an errant thought, one that lacked any direction, and yet it had slipped past her lips so easily-- almost as if it had wandered the cosmos for centuries, fully realized, and only chosen Iskra to be her vessel. (...yes, yes, it couldn't have come from her. Did she not know, after all, that desire was the shortest route to one's grave? A soldier couldn't want. Wanting was for those who could reasonably assume they'd see the next summer, or the next sunrise, even, and she-- she didn't have that privilege. Not in a way that would matter, anyway. Why, then, plant those seeds when they'd never grow? When they'd never break the soil, never bear any fruit? No, Iskra knew better than that. She had learned and learned and learned, thousand times over, and a single princess couldn't change that. Couldn't!)

"Ah. I-- I apologize," Iskra stuttered, her cheeks burning, "if I'm being too direct. I don't know what came over me. Nevertheless, a boundary was crossed, and for that, I am sorry." The litany of apologies might have gone on for much, much longer than that-- like a river that forever raced onwards, yearning to become one with the ocean. (And, hey, did Iskra not have as many excuses as there were drops of water in the sea? Oh, for sure, for sure! ...too bad, then, that they had never been able to put out the flames of The Holy Vessel's anger. What had she done wrong? Should she have been less? Just a leashed dog, dedicated fully to her master? A parrot repeating all those pretty words, without a hint of defiance? Perhaps, actually. Perhaps that would have been better for everyone, including her, but by the Shade, Iskra hadn't known how to do that! There had been no more space for her to retreat to, no more territory to give up-- just the abyss, cold and dark and gaping, and one more step would have meant being swallowed by it.) So, yes, Iskra's repertoire was rather impressive. When Verity began to talk of beauty, though? The string of her thoughts was broken, and the pirate had to start anew with a new thread.

"Hm. Do you truly believe that, Verity? Because that's such a reductive view. I won't deny the truth of your words-- it is a known fact, after all, that sweetness is often used to mask poison. But," she said, and somehow, all of her passion seemed to flow into that single word, "that's not all beauty is. Do you think that the stars are trying to deceive you by shimmering so softly, or that the nightingale sings in order to feed you lies? I don't. No, I think that some things just are, and also happen to be beautiful. There doesn't need to be any intent behind it. If there is, though, and you still fall for it? That doesn't make the beauty any less... well, beautiful. Any less worthy. So what if you want to draw attention to your lips? Perhaps they deserve to be perceived." And touched, and kissed, and teased by her tongue-- umm. Where was she going with this, again? Oh, right! "That tattoo isn't lying to you, either. The feature is still a part of that hypothetical person-- through it, they are only telling you to look there. It's like... like choosing your nickname, I suppose. And are the jokes any less entertaining just because someone forged them out of their own pain? To me, that only makes them more precious. Beauty born out of ashes is rare, Verity. It should be respected."

When they arrived, Iskra drew her own blade-- it gleamed in the darkness, reflecting the light of the stars above. (Could it hear their song, maybe? The same song that inspired poets throughout the ages, and that the pirate couldn't hear? Oh, how she would like to speak to her sword! To speak it it, and hear it answer.) "No," she shook her head, waking up from her strange trance, "no, we do not. I do not think it is sacrilegious, though, and so I doubt the blade would mind. In fact, maybe it chose you precisely because it yearned for a name. Grant it its wish, then," Iskra nodded. "It shall repay you that kindness, I can guarantee that. I have to admit, though, that I am curious. How do you choose a name for a weapon? Do you name it after traits you wish it to have, or is there some pattern to follow?" Because such an act must have carried great weight, Iskra was certain-- much like naming your own child. Surely they didn't just do it willy nilly, then?

That Verity didn't take it as seriously as she should have was obvious to Iskra from the very beginning, and no, she did not like it. Had her instructions not been clear enough? Just, from which rotten source had that misunderstanding sprung from? (From pride, the pirate supposed, for there was no way Verity didn't know what her words meant. No, not a single one. ...and that, naturally, translated into the princess needing a lesson. A lesson Iskra was more than happy to provide!) For a while, she played that game with Verity-- dodged and deflected, and performed her own attacks, so half-hearted that they mirrored hers. When Verity thrust the sword in her direction at one point, however? Something dangerous flashed in her eyes, and instead of dodging, Iskra stepped forward. Yes, forward, too meet her death, probably, except that no-- she stepped on the blade, firm and decisive, and pulled the princess towards herself as she did so. (The maneuver, of course, did two things. One: it ripped the sword out of her hand, so now it lay uselessly on the floor. Two: it sent the princess straight into her embrace, with their bodies pressed so close together they might as well have become one. ...which, uh, was an interesting side effect. So interesting, in fact, that the pirate wasn't in any sort of hurry to leave that position.) "Dead," Iskra whispered in her ear, brushing it oh-so-lightly with her lips. "This easily. Is that truly all you are capable of, Verity? Please, don't disappoint me like that. I know you are better."

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

“Yes, if myself and this blade are to become one, are to become family as she promised when she whispered to me... Then I think its entirely appropriate to invite her into my traditions,” she says with a nod. Already her mind thinks of names appropriate for this ocean weapon. “I shall have to think on it as names are not something to be trifled with,” at least for traditionalists. Those modernists in her homeland don’t take the craft as seriously and that’s how some names became aesthetics rather than blessings. “Names are of utmost important in my town. We have family names of sorts, but the first name is really the wish the ancestors have for us. Before our naming day, we are simply called sprites,” which seems silly to admit to an outsider and all the same she trusts Iskra’s curiosity is not with ill-intent. It never has been so far. “Usually this happens when we are between the ages of four and seven. It really depends on when our first ancestor comes to us along with her memories—she’s the one who gives our names.”

So as she spars, she thinks of names that will be appropriate for a thing that is both hers and its own entirely. Though her strikes are careless and not as polished, she is listening to the sound the sword makes as it sings through the air, the sharp notes of each clang, and the power it drives when she thrusts—and, oh. She might’ve assumed this outcome on her own, but when the blade is stepped on she feels its annoyance as she feels Iskra’s, who is so very close to her. The whisper in her ears sends a shudder to deep recesses and her heart echoes the sentiment. (Can Iskra feel that? She hopes so, actually.) She swallows hard, pulling just her head back slightly to look the pirate in the eye. (Though her eyes may linger on that pulse point on her neck, hungrily like that shadow that had latched onto her own.) “I—“ The discomfort is clear on her face, the scolding landing probably where it had been intended to land. “No, it’s not—“ she just hadn’t wanted to hurt the captain, somehow neglecting the fact that only one of them is in full armor. She decides to save her excuses.

Nodding her head, she steps back and rolls her shoulders out along with her neck. ‘Okay, she wants to see what I have,’ and it doesn’t even occur to her that Iskra could use this knowledge to defeat her later on, because she really isn’t thinking in that fearful, suspicious manner as before (for the time being). She picks up the sword from beneath Iskra’s boot and says a silent apology—one she owes to another blade as well.

With a deep breath, her eyes close and she recalls her lessons, her matches, the Hunts, the trials, the... well, many other things as if to remind her muscles and body what she is capable of. While there is some leftover sloppiness from a lack of recent practice and obvious ill-practice too, she actually is trying this time. Still, she is not fighting to kill but is at least sparring to win.

The match starts to numb her mind and brings her to places she thought she had closed away, but Iskra’s earlier inquiries and comments ring with powerful resonance in her ear and she feels heat flooding through her. Reminders of what she had done wrong, reminders no one can understand her and her strikes become more hot. While still not going for the kill, she is driving Iskra back. Even this fervent energy hadn’t manifested itself when they had dueled all that time ago.

At some point, she finds herself in a deadlock and at first she isn’t bothered and pushes back. Then, of course, she makes the mistake of looking into Iskra’s ocean eyes and finds herself drowning in them—not even fighting against the waves that pull her under. She falters and falls backwards. “Shit!” she exclaims before cover her mouth in shock at the expletive.

 

[Syntra]

"No?" Iskra raised her eyebrow. "Then show me, Verity. Show me the skills you've polished throughout the years." Because, no, the pirate did not believe that was all she had to offer. The girl who had accepted her invitation so bravely, and attempted to assassinate her on a ship full of her subordinates? That was a different person to the woman who was standing in front of her now, with her posture sloppy and strikes unrefined. (The contrast was like night and day, truly. Night and day, or perhaps a piece of coal versus a diamond. Still, diamonds were born out of coal, weren't they? And with some force applied at strategic spots, its true potential would awaken-- just like Verity herself, who had once shone so brightly it dazzled the captain. 'Do it again,' she encouraged her with her eyes, circling her in the same way a wolf might circle its prey. Every step of hers seemed elegant and deliberate, and Iskra reveled in the strange dance.) "I thought you promised to bare yourself to me," she uttered, with a small smile on her lips. "Do I not deserve the gift of truth? Verity." Verity, for whom her ancestors had intended... what, actually? To be truthful? To be someone's truth, like a torch in the darkness? Or to be true to herself? Oh, how many interpretations a single word could carry! So, so many it could break one's mind, if you insisted on unraveling the mystery. (Context, Iskra thought. More of it. That is what I need.)

And maybe, maybe some of that context could be formed by this very battle-- because, yes, it very much seemed that the pirate had been right. The Verity that emerged in front of her? It was as if someone had poured fire into her veins, and instead of it consuming her, it allowed her to rise. (A goddess of ashes, truly. Out of her own remains she had been born, and oh, what a sight it was! Beautiful, but also heart-rending-- kind of like one of the verses in her poems, now that she thought of it. Pretty words had been swapped for pretty movements, yes, but the elegance? The way she switched from one figure to another, seemingly guided by a thin thread of associations? It was the same, same, same! That, and the way everything felt so, so interconnected, in this blink-and-you-will-miss-it manner. Her movements told a story, too, you know? If you knew how to listen. It was a story about the sweat and blood she had sacrificed to reach this level of skill, and about those who had taught her as well, and Iskra-- oh, Iskra lapped it up. All of it, every minor detail!)

Their swords clashed endlessly, filling the air with the symphony of steel, and Iskra had to wonder why she had not initiated this sooner. What a wonderful, wonderful way to getting to know someone! (In a conversation, after all, you could hide behind your words-- they could disclose as well as obscure, and entrap your mind in all those silly assumptions. Your own perception could easily be turned against you, you know? For to the brain, conclusions were what honey was to wasps. The sword, however, revealed all. Timidness or boldness, stupidity or brilliance-- when walking on that thin, thin edge separating life from death, all came to the surface. And, oh, Verity. Verity, who once again took her breath away! What Iskra wouldn't give to know how her mind worked-- to look inside and discover just how she made her decisions, what led her to choose this course of action and not another. Fascinating, fascinating, fascinating!)

That wonder transformed into a light chuckle, though, when Verity... seemed to self-destruct before her very eyes? At least it looked that way to Iskra. Realizing just how offensive the reaction was, the pirate put a hand in front of her mouth and bowed. "I'm sorry. Please, don't misunderstand, Verity-- I wasn't laughing at you. More than that, I was... shocked, I suppose? Because you were doing so well." And, indeed, she had been doing very well-- Iskra's limbs felt tired, pleasantly so, and her forehead was glistening with sweat. Could there be a better proof of the princess's competence? She didn't think so! "But I suppose it's a good thing that this happened. You are skillful, just like expected you to be, though this incident showed me a weakness that you should work on." Lowering her sword, Iskra walked to Verity and helped her get back on her feet. "It's your mind. Or, well, your mind and your body. They are in sync, which... is usually helpful, or so I've been told. In a fight, though? You need a certain disconnect from what is happening. Thinking about what your opponent might feel when you cut into their flesh, or about whatever you thought when you looked at me--" What was it? What, what, what? By the Shade, the curiosity was killing her! "--is undesirable. It shall only distract you from your goal." How to train that kind of thing, though? Hmmm... An idea flickered through her mind then, wild and dangerous, but it was something, and the pirate reached for it with zeal.

"You should strive to become empty-headed in battle. And to that end... I suppose you know your drills, Verity? The movements you can practice even without an opponent, I mean." As she spoke, Iskra walked behind the princess-- her hands found their way to her hips, and she caressed her there, feather light. "I want you to perform them, as I touch you. As I speak to you. You must learn to ignore me." Once again, the pirate found herself almost unbearably close-- one of her arms wrapped around her torso, too, and she smiled in a manner that was... mischievous, almost? (If she was capable of such things, which she decidedly wasn't. Thus, it must have been something else!) "Difficult, I know, but all the paths to mastery are thorny. Can you walk this one, Verity?"

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity, of course, does not mind the chuckle. She actually thinks it's quite cute, even if at her expense. It does some to erase her frustration with herself––for getting lost in her opponent's eye. It's not as though she thinks she really would do that in battle, and honestly has yet to do that in battle, but she believes that she had been getting close to taking some form of advantage during the match. Her expletive had been a show of that disappointment and of course even saying it, she had been disappointed in herself––especially when there were better words to use! In any case, the laughter lifts her spirits and she bears a grin at the pirate as she accepts the hand to help herself up. "I don't mind laughter at my expense––my ego is not so fragile. Besides, it was... adorable." It's a song she'll listen to for a while.

For no reason in particular, when Iskra calls her out on the moment where she had faltered, her heart thunders. Just what had she been thinking? Nothing––that is the problem. She had gotten lost in the sea and seemed more than happy to drown. Those eyes are dangerous and Verity notes to not look into them while they are sparring; not if she wants to prove herself to the pirate. After all, a flirty student, sure, but she also enjoys the praise Iskra has given about her skill. And while she critiques her weaknesses, she listens dutifully without defensiveness. It's not one she had been aware of before and if it had been something her prior instructors had pointed out, they had not called it this. The idea of not thinking seems like an impossible obstacle for her, because the princess practically lives in her head.

She is about to ask how this can be accomplished, but Iskra soon offers an answer. One she had not even expected and she is grateful that the pirate is behind her now, because her cheeks are so bright they are probably being mistaken as a star on some distance planet. Even with the armor as an extra layer between themselves, Verity is sure that Iskra can feel her heart. She almost thinks it might put a dent into the armor she wears. "Oh? Is this... Is this how you learned?" This makes getting out her head even harder––how does Iskra expect her to turn her brain off? Surely, she must know her effect on the princess by this point––sweet Sages, the woman stripped in front of her! And true, Verity may have done that for a number of different reasons, but when she had performed for Iskra it was a full display of her desire for the pirate.

"I think so––I'll try at least," she says, taking in a breath and holding it. Maybe that will numb her senses (of course, it's hard to ignore the hands on her hips that send waves of electricity through her system or how the arm around her torso only makes her want to lean backwards). With her sword raised once more, she begins going through the drills that her muscles remember all too well. Or they should know them. Instead, she ends up imaging their last dance and wondering if there will be another opportunity to dance again. She wonders, too, when they'll end up between bedsheets as she thinks that's on the horizon; it must be what with all this caressing and subtle flirtations. That thought causes her to slip. Ugh, this task is challenging. Would she compare it her trials for the crown? Yes, but only to be dramatic.

She gathers herself, however, and does not quit. Taking her stance, she starts again and tries to ignore the pirate. "You know, you're quite difficult to ignore. I mean, I'd personally rather not ignore you," she remarks as she goes through a drill Halen had taught her. It's not stiff per se, but certainly something full of technical strokes and precision. It had been devised to help her with some of the often missed nuances of swordplay. Somehow, thinking about that makes it easy to ignore Iskra, but she is still in her head thinking about that lesson in her past. She crashes again. "I think my brain likes being on too much." That does not mean she is giving up. Quite the opposite. She becomes more determined even with the mounting heat in her belly––while she suspects she'll never have a fight that leaves her with this specific feeling, it is a powerful one to ignore so she does think this is a potent way to learn.

Again, she lifts her sword. Again, she goes through the motions her muscles know better than her mind. "Be as distracting as possible, Iskra, I want to get this. Help me soar."

 

[Syntra]

It was, uh, interesting, to touch the princess like that. Very much so. Many times, Iskra had wondered what it would be like-- usually at nights, when her thoughts had wandered there without her permission. They had done so on their own, as if steered by some powerful current, and resisting it had only dragged her deeper, deeper, deeper under the surface. Like a whirlwind, you know? Whirlwinds, too, used your own strength against you, and... well. It had felt as if her own body was betraying her, in this peculiar way. Whenever she had closed her eyes, they had been there-- the images of Verity, burned into her eyelids. (Verity, smiling. Verity, slipping out of her silky robe. Verity's lips forming this delightful 'o' as she made her gasp. Verity taking her hand into hers, and leading her to her bed, and... and what? What then? Always, without fail, the fantasy had ended there-- much like a film whose reel had caught on fire right before the climax, or as if someone had put a blindfold over her eyes as fireworks had illuminated the sky. Now, usually, this didn't bother Iskra. That was the way of things, wasn't it? The tax for her existence, really. Fragments were all she was, fragments that had been shattered again and again, and those fragments only held together thanks to these vague, mysterious associations. Exactly where she stood? Oh, Iskra had never known. She had thought and suspected and guessed, but certainty... certainty was a concept that remained out of her reach, in the same way a horse could never get that carrot on a stick. So, yes, she was used to this. What she wasn't used to, however, was waking up with her body all tingly, and her throat parched-- yearning and yearning and yearning, for some kind of comfort she had never known. ...if this went on, the madness would destroy her, Iskra knew. It would destroy her, and she didn't even know if she hated the idea.)

And why was she remembering it now? Because the madness, somewhere inside of her, began to stir. With each touch, it grew more and more restless-- like a wicked beast that had tasted blood for the very first time, and only now understood just how thirsty it had been. You couldn't miss what you didn't know, right? "No," Iskra whispered, her hands moving lower and lower at a speed that was agonizingly slow, "I did not learn in this way. My teachers had other methods in store." Methods such as, you know, offering the recruits to the Shade-- since not thinking proved to be a surprisingly easy task when you were and weren't yourself, and repeating the drills endlessly was the only thing that made you feel as if you were still there, sort of. Your only anchor to reality. "I figured you'd enjoy this more, though. Do correct me if I'm wrong." Experimentally, Iskra squished her thigh, and, um. Alright, that feeling was interesting as well. (All of this was, in general. The pirate, of course, knew what touching bodies felt like-- she owned one as well, and often had had to inspect herself for injuries and such. Dressing and undressing herself also involved touches, inevitably. So, this couldn't be that different, right? ...except that handling herself had never filled Iskra with such fire. There had never been the desire to explore more, to caress her till her hands remembered her shape, to make her whisper her name. Oh, how she needed to hear that! In this soft, almost reverent tone Verity sometimes used for her. She would make her repeat it, to the point it might as well be the only word she knew, and then-- wait, what? By the Shade, this was a lesson! A lesson designed to allow her to understand the intricacies of combat, and not... not whatever this was.)

"If it wasn't challenging," Iskra said, her voice hoarse, "then it wouldn't be a proper training, now would it? I have to push your limits, just a little bit." Now, the real question was: why did it feel like music to her ears? Verity not being able to ignore her, that was? It was the very opposite of the intended goal here, and a student's failure always, always reflected badly on her teacher as well! ...maybe, just maybe this wasn't about the training anymore, though. Not fully, anyway. (Verity was a chalice, and oh, how Iskra wanted to drink from her! To finally, finally wet her lips. Desert had been her home for such a long time, and the sand in her eyes hurt so much-- so, didn't she deserve to find her oasis by now? To have more than this?) And, by the Shade, it seemed as if the princess heard her thoughts, for she only egged her on. Fine, then!

"If that is your command," Iskra said, "I have to deliver. Brace yourself, then." ...hmmm. How to do that, though? It wasn't like the pirate knew what would destroy the princess, nor did she understand what she was doing-- more than anything else, this resembled fumbling around in the darkness! Like a blind woman, trying to find her way desperately. What was too much? What was too little? What was exciting, and what was bland? ...perhaps she could take her own advice, actually. You know, the one about not thinking-- since thoughts could be treacherous, similar to quicksand that pulled you down, down, down, straight into the cold embrace of death.

And, in the end, Iskra did just that. Led by some instinct, the pirate leaned closer-- so close that Verity could feel her breath on her skin, in fact. (For a while, she wavered, suddenly uncertain. Was that as far as Iskra would go? Did all those implications scare her, as well as the air charged with electricity? ...they did, so, so much, but a promise was a promise. Turning away from it would have been cowardice! And a coward she wasn't, no, no, no. Many things she was, though not that.) Inhaling sharply, Iskra licked the princess's ear, so lightly it might as well have been a dream. The way she began sucking on her earlobe, though? That was, uh, anything but that.

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

Verity has come to two very important conclusions: (1) there is no way that Iskra is this oblivious––despite the rumors and almost story Ylna had told her, she refuses to believe that the captain is this clueless and (2) by the end of this 'lesson' she is determined to capture the pirate for herself. These conclusions are not hard to draw given the way the captain smooths her hands expertly over Verity's figure; when she slides her hand down to her thigh, she is not subtle about the way she parts her legs just a little more than necessary––absolutely failing to ignore her as instructed. Though she is half convinced that Iskra doesn't want to be ignored. Not with touches and caresses like these. These demand responses and her body, not even a traitor, responds so willingly to these slow hands.

Really, under Iskra's ministrations her blood has turned from fire to lightning; it takes all the concentration in the world to keep herself from spinning. It's easy enough to pass the rapid rise and fall of her chest to the efforts of her practice, but that is not the truth at all and she is not necessarily even trying to hide the reasons. Of course, she has wondered and agonized over what the pirate may feel like on her body brushing her skin with her fingers (or, better yet, her lips) and the reality? She wishes that these prison clothes were off so that she can truly know what Iskra's warmth feels like. Her mind is hardly on swordplay anymore and she isn't even sure she's actually going through any motions at all or if she has simply stopped and become lost in these carnal fantasies. Where had this Iskra been when she all but offered herself to her? (Never has another woman had such an effect on the princess––surely some had tried and surely she had hoped others would, but this is entirely its own thing; a new experience though the dance is familiar. She isn't sure what makes Iskra so different, but she would be a fool to deny her connection to the pirate is so, so different from any other person in her life. And perhaps that is the answer! The difference of the pirate is so tantalizing to the princess that she must savor it like a rare candy––only hoping it gets stuck in her teeth for some sweet surprise later. Would Iskra savor her? Or devour her? She cannot even decide which idea excites her more.)

Without much warning her sword falls from her hands and she doesn't even hear the clatter. The mouth on her skin, Iskra's mouth on her skin just barely giving her a hint of what could be devastates the princess and maybe would even bring her to her knees if she were not supported by her partner. Something between a squeak and a moan elicits from the princess's throat as the pirate latches onto her earlobe. This is no longer a sword fighting practice, Verity decides, because she is far more interested in a different lesson. The one where she uses Iskra's body like a canvas and paints a holy image with her tongue. She places her hands over Iskra's and begins to guide them, placing them exactly where she wants to be felt. Eventually, she turns, twisting herself in the captain's arms to face her. "Do you want me, Iskra?" She leans a little closer, pressing her lips to the shell of her ear and whispers a promise, "Because I ache with want for you."

Her hand lands on the nape of Iskra's neck, gripping her firmly––as if daring her to question or doubt her words. Knowing exactly what she wants and determined to let nothing get between her and her conquest, she pulls her forward. Their lips, so close to touching that Verity can feel the electricity zinging through her body she wonders if she might accidentally shock Iskra. Soon there will be no walking back––whatever is happening between them will be undeniable. Of course, just as Verity can almost confirm the flavor of Iskra's fire, a tall statue-esque woman bursts into their not-so-secret stage and interrupts them. Verity pulls away, somewhat annoyed and extremely frustrated––though she is hardly bashful about being nearly caught and her irritation is plain on her features. If the woman's urgency did not seem so important she might have thrown hands instead of settling for a glare.

"Captain––uh, sorry to interrupt," she smirks, "But there is a situation we think you should be aware of––uh, some friends want to speak with you."

 

[Syntra]

'You are not paying attention,' some part of the pirate wanted to say. 'Dropping your sword is the exact opposite of what you need to be doing! And, also, your footing is all messed up. Do you wish to fall?' That, and various other thoughts, were racing through her mind-- Iskra could hear them, see them, even, but when she tried to actually voice some of that criticism? It, uh, didn't work out. Mostly because Verity turned around! She turned around, and looked at her like that, and in that moment, it hit Iskra that she was lost. (Lost in what, though? The princess, or the strange desire growing in her belly? The impure, wicked thing that expanded, expanded and expanded, until it felt as if she was going to burst? Ultimately, that mattered very little-- kind of like a choice between a vial of poison and a blade, really. One might be more pleasant, yes, but if you ended up dead all the same? Pointless, pointless, pointless!)

And, make no mistake, Iskra knew she was dead. She was dead, or something very close to it, the second Verity touched her-- the second she professed her want for her, as if it was the most natural thing in the world and not... not an abomination. Something forbidden, in the eyes of both gods and men. (What, after all, happened to those that grasped for stars? The fools burned, for stars knew no mercy. They were to be admired from afar, and looked at for guidance-- anything more than that was death sentence, plain and simple. ...still, perhaps it could be worth it? To have the most beautiful thing in the entire universe, even if only for a few heartbeats. To touch her, and be touched in return. Had the dandelion felt like that, each time it had decided to press on? Each time it had come to the conclusion that, yes, the warmth was worth turning into ashes? ...maybe Iskra understood it now, a little bit. That understanding hurt, like thousands of needles lodged under her skin, but-- well, it was something. Something as opposed to nothing, which was always a rare gift. A victory in this doomed war, truly.)

"I... I do want you," Iskra said, despite all the voices that screamed 'no, don't do it' and 'you know better than this, you stupid, stupid girl.' (And, hey, so what if she did? All her life, she had followed reason-- every decision had been calculated, with pros and cons weighed obsessively. Measure twice, cut once, you know? ...except that none of that careful measuring had ever done anything for her, not once, and every single time Iskra had touched something, it fell apart like house of cards. Perhaps spontaneity would serve her better, then!) "I, um, I'm not sure what that means," though the pirate had a feeling she was about to find out, "but I do. I do want you, Verity." And, oh. Was she-- was she getting even closer? Iskra hadn't thought it possible, but she was, oh, she was, and the magnetic field that surrounded her drew her in, and--

Serrin. It was Serrin, unmistakably. Iskra could recognize that voice anywhere, you see? (Normally, she was glad to hear it, too-- Serrin had a gentle sense of humor, one you wouldn't expect from a woman like her, and conversations with her were a delight. Right now, though? For some reason, Iskra was tempted to draw her sword! ...flirting with the thought was the extent to which she allowed this impulse to go, though.) "Ah. Um. You are not interrupting at all, of course," the captain said, ashamed of the dark place her mind had retreated to. (Had the Shade claimed so much of her already? Had its tendrils pushed its way through her brain, binding her more effectively than chains ever could? That had always been her fate, Iskra knew, but this felt soon, soon, way too soon!) "Lead the way, then. Verity, I'm-- I'm sorry. This is urgent. We can talk later." ...talk, right. Why did it sound like a lie, even to her own ears?

Urgent it truly was, as it turned out-- urgent enough for her to have to devote most of her attention to this, uh, diplomatic problem. If Iskra was into conspiracy theories, she would say that the Shade itself appeared to have a vested interest in keeping her and the princess apart! It didn't succeed fully, though, for the pirate still made sure not to neglect her. Every day, they talked-- about the universe, each other, and, yes, even about poetry. Her fascination with the concept of playing with words grew by the day, you see? To the point she actually composed the sock poem!

(In this place where
Used to be two
Emptiness gnaws,
Razor-sharp teeth
Against my skin
Tearing
Ravenously
Greedily
Desperately
With no solace in sight
No hero to slay the beast
For I am alone)

Either way, time raced onwards, and sooner rather than later, they found themselves arriving to the spot the coordinates had marked for them. Inure landed softly, and when they set their foot on the ground? Immediately, Iskra noticed another pyramid in the distance. This time, the structure seemed to be made of pure crystal-- it shone in the sunlight, so much that it almost blinded her, and colorful sparks danced across the sky like thousands of fireflies.

"Wow," Iskra gasped. "I... guess you can call this dedication to the theme. Do you have any idea what that might mean, Verity? The pyramids, and... I don't know, the lights. The translucent material. Does it ring any bells?" It certainly didn't for her, but the pirate assumed that someone connected to the culture, and on such an intimate level, too, would know better.

They walked and walked and walked, and, um. "Is it just me, or are we not getting any closer?" Because if Iskra's observations were true, then this was... rather concerning, so to speak.

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

In the days that follow another one of their almosts, another most unwelcome interruption, Verity occupies herself in a similar manner as she always has with some new additions to her daily routine. While she most looks forward to seeing her pirate and conversing with her, she does take time to continue getting to know the other pirates occupying Inure and winning some more hearts. For the most part, she tries to never be alone and thus rarely frequents the same secret rooms as she had before––really only returning to the pooling chamber to speak with her ancestors with more ease. Other than that, alone time is kept to a minimum. She finds that when she is alone that is when her thoughts are nastiest. That is when the seeds of doubt are watered and she does not want them rooted in her heart––because she doesn't doubt the pirate. She has no reason to doubt the goodness of her heart. What she doubts most is the ability for them to both succeed in their missions––whether or not Iskra has thought to assume that Verity has not given up on her own people is yet to be determined. Though she would hope that the captain is strategic enough to hold that worry––otherwise that makes her somewhat... stupid. Nevertheless, it rarely comes up during their meetings and she also actively avoids topics that bring her too close to home.

Where Verity used to worry she'd run out of topics to talk about whenever she meets a new person, regardless of whether or not she wants them as friend or something more, with Iskra the concern has never once walked her mind. The captain is an endless waterfall of ideas and impassioned words. And each one she cherishes like a perfect shell found alongside coastal shores. There is even more to cherish and hold as they have added poetry to the list of activities that they do together––to go along with the rare moments where they are able to practice more sword fighting along with walks through the garden. And the poem that Iskra offers her? Well, she hadn't expected the pirate to take her request so seriously or to even compose a poem so serious about the plight of socks at all, but hearing it? Knowing it's hers? Knowing she is engaging in something because Verity likes it? Her heart dances. She repeats the verses to herself sometimes.

When it finally comes Time for them to land, Verity, again, ignores the worries that eat her if she is alone for too long. If anything, she clings to the excitement of seeing what these trials look like and the best strategy to win. Though she doesn't exactly know how closely these trials will mirror the others she has completed, she assumes her knowledge of her people will be her greatest advantage. So as they walk towards the crystal pyramid and Iskra asks about the possible significance of the details, she debates an answer. "My people do love their themes," she chuckles as they continue forward without much progress on the forward. "Though, all of these structures and trials must have been built before our current times so..." She lets the implication that she doesn't know hang in the air. It is true that since these are older structures she might not know what is going on, but she does have some fairly educated guesses that are likely to be accurate.

She assumes, for example, that the use of gemstones are materials from the first world––maybe the last of what they were able to mine before the planet collapsed. The pyramid shape is new as even the oldest structures in Celestia, the founding country on the new world, are not triangular at all. The popular shapes are domes or spheres––something about the endless and cyclical nature of the Divinities, reminders of constants, if the people cared to learn such things (which Verity has, because of her extreme curiosity and want to take advantage of the education provided in being a princess. It is the finest education, after all––though still not as complete as a sage sister's education). 'Well, they're pyramids... Triangular, obviously, perhaps a representation of the three Divinities?' Yes, that makes sense to her so she quietly goes with this assumption. Lights have always been associated with their essence or soul or spirit or whatever one may wish to call it so she is not surprised to see more here either. But, again, these are all things she keeps to herself. (Does she feel guilty about withholding information? Not if she thinks of Iskra as competition. Though if she thinks of her as something more... Then yes, she does.)

As they march forward without progress, she has the same concern as Iskra and when the captain voices her question, Verity sticks an arm out to halt her in her tracks. "Stop––you're right, we aren't getting any closer. I suspect this is part of the trial," or a lesson they are supposed to learn. "Continuing forward is pointless and may only drive us mad." Perhaps the trial wants them to go mad, or perhaps this is a test to see how far they will go to chase something that will never get any closer to grasping. As she thinks, her brow knits together in deep contemplation and she somewhat stares off––unfocusing her eyes from the unattainable object in front of them.

In front of her, the crystal pyramid seems to shift now that they are no longer pressing forward. It shifts as if it were a draped sheet or like she is looking through the heatwaves coming up from the ground on a hot summer's day. Her brow arches upward and she reaches her hand out; though she had meant to grab onto something, like a veil, she ends up smacking her palm against some hard, smooth surface. "Iskra..." Then without much more warning, she draws her sword (which she has since named Telós) and uses the pommel to crack the illusion. "It's been in front of us this whole time––here, help me with this."

 

[Syntra]

"Ahh. That makes sense, I suppose," the pirate nodded, her expression solemn. "The tides of time certainly do distort our perception. I have always thought that reading a book that was written centuries ago is... well, rather like looking through water. If you're lucky enough, you can see the bottom, but what it is that you're really seeing? The bottom itself, or some twisted reflection of it?" (The real question, of course, was whether what they were seeing could be considered an accurate representation of reality at all. The eye could be tricked so, so easily! Much like the brain, it, too, despised vagueness-- and so it often edited the landscape, in the same way a painter would remove blemishes from her canvas. So, knowing all of that, what could they trust? Amidst the chaos, where was their crutch to lean on? Did such a certainty exist, even? ...aside from the cold, gentle embrace of death. Still, that was a conversation for another time, so Iskra let the thought go. There were other issues to concern herself with-- the trial that had already begun, for example.)

"A dead end, then," Iskra whispered, observing the pyramid as it gleamed in the distance. (A diamond, that was what it resembled. A beautiful, beautiful thing. ...then again, what was it that had Verity said about beauty? That it only served to draw your eyes away before plunging a knife into your heart? A cynical thought to be sure, though Iskra couldn't deny that it held some merit. Even the sailors of old knew not to follow a siren's song-- because a chain made of promises could cut your throat easily, with lesser resistance than, say, a blade. Most people dodged instinctively when the blade approached, you know? But promises, oh, promises. Promises were honey, and the scent of a crisp winter day, and a scenery painted in pink-- sweet, sweet words whispered into your ear, chosen oh so carefully. A piece of future that your heart desired so badly, with a bow wrapped around it. Who would reject that? Who could reject that? ...the same principle, really, as with flytraps. In the end, weren't they all slaves to their instincts? To their desires, made of the same darkness out of which they had been formed?) "Madness, huh. Madness is a dangerous guide. It will bend you, break you, even, all the while making you think you've been granted enlightenment. Tread carefully."

It seemed that the princess needed not her advice, though, because she knew how this game was played. (With illusions, apparently. And, hey, what were illusions if not broken light? Somehow, this sort of thing seemed appropriate-- another puzzle piece that fit perfectly, even if the pirate still didn't know what kind of picture would be born of their effort.) "Stand aside," Iskra said as she reached for her own sword. The steel flashed, briefly, and then? There was this keening, almost agonized sound-- someone's heart shattering, perhaps, and it sent a shiver down her spine. When silence fell on them again, though, there was a... hole in the wall, barely large enough for a child to enter. Crawling it was, then! "Let me go first," Iskra muttered and fell on her knees, not caring in the slightest that the position was, uh, less than diligent. Onwards she moved, one hand following the ther-- the walls hugged her tightly, like a lover's arms, though with not one iota of a lover's thoughtfulness. The tiny stones that scraped her clothes, and tore at her skin? Oh, she wouldn't miss those! (...perhaps that was blood sacrifice as well, though. An offering to the gods, meant to prove that arrogance ruled her no longer. Was it not meaningful, after all, that to get the wayfinder, you first had to drop on your knees?)

It felt like hours before she could finally stand up again, though realistically, it must have been minutes. The deeper they went, the darker it got, and by that point, total darkness had enveloped them-- darkness richer, more complete than anything Iskra had ever seen. (Maybe a little bit like anthracite? Anthracite and the essence from which nightmares had arisen, back when the universe had still been young.) The comparison turned out to be more accurate than Iskra had expected, too-- because, as the sound of their footsteps echoed throughout the cavern, the walls surrounding them caught fire. The sparks connected into garlands, with fiery flowers of blooming in their midst, and they grew and grew and grew, in a way only flames ever could. Shocked, Iskra jumped aside, but... huh. The fire... didn't actually seem to produce any heat? This hypothesis of hers got confirmed when she proceeded to touch the wall, fearlessly, and felt nothing. "How curious," the pirate mumbled. "Is this just the local lighting system, activated by us entering? I have never seen anything like that, I have to admit. Is this even fire, Verity? How does it work?"

The question seemed a lot less important, though, when Iskra noticed what, exactly, Verity's ancestors had deemed so important for them to see-- a long rope bridge without fencing, so narrow two people couldn't walk on it beside one another, hanging above an abyss. (An abyss full of lava, hissing and sizzling beneath. Uh oh. Not even the Shade could save her from this one, now could it? Because regenerating tissue was kinda impossible when there was nothing to work on in the first place. ...what a strange, strange flavor of discomfort, to have something to lose. Then again, would it matter if she plummeted down now? Sooner or later, it would be her fate regardless.)

"Well," Iskra gulped, the tiniest hint of discomfort in her voice, "I suppose that this bridge will lead us to our goal. Come, Verity. Slow and steady." And, yes, 'slow and steady' seemed to be a motto they should adopt for a while-- because even the most careful of steps made the construction creak in a way that did not fill Iskra with confidence. Calm down. It will be fine. Just... don't look beneath. There, fixate your gaze on the other side. You're halfway there, you see? The good news was that that was, indeed, true-- despite the breath that had gotten stuck somewhere in her throat, Iskra advanced steadily. The bad news, though? The guardians of this cave must have seen that as well, and, um, apparently they didn't like it. Why else would the fires have gone out, once again plunging them into the darkness? "Verity! Verity, are you alright?" the captain shouted.

 

[starboob]

♕ PRINCESS VERITY (EXILED) ♕​

None of this is particularly surprising to the princess. Of course there is meaning packed into each task they complete and whether they pick up on the architect's intended meaning is not the point, because the lessons they would learn going forward would be assigned personal meaning through their own interpretations. There is no right or wrong––though wrong may very well end in Death, it seems. While the flames that lick the walls and ignite the room are harmless, the lava down below seems less than fake. Verity tests this by dropping a single spike into the pit below and watches as the molten earth eats the offering. Still, the bridge doesn't necessarily inspire Fear––she feels reasonably confident in, well, her own ability to balance on this bridge. After all, there is a reason she had so thoughtlessly balanced on Inure's guardrails. It doesn't occur to her to remember the stories of hubris and how it usually only results in cutting yourself when you cling to its pretty sparkles.

Whatever lessons she had learned on hubris are forgotten as she follows the pirate's lead. Somewhat... She actually doesn't cross the bridge at all and instead waits at the start as Iskra ventures out alone. There is a reason for this, because as she sees it why should two people advance at once? Clearly the bridge is only meant for a single occupant and given its less than sturdy structure, it seems as though two people on it will only result in total annihilation. Since she is not in the mood to die, it makes sense to wait and cross once Iskra has. It will be easier to find her center of balance too if she knows to only watch for her own weight and does not need to worry about the skittishness of another person. Not that she thinks the captain is skittish per se, but there are more gymnastics to work through with two people on what is essentially a tight-rope walk.

So she stays and observes––not that she had told Iskra of this plan at all. She might have, had the captain actually thought to ask her opinion on how they should cross, but apparently she thinks it's wise to try and go together. 'Foolish,' she hums in her head with an arm crossed over her abdomen as she watches. Certainly, she believes this is the best course of action (inaction) and this is how they can best ensure that they cross safely. (Some dark part of her wishes that the captain will fall... A dark part of herself that she chokes and suffocates with enough concentration. It is concerning the thought came up at all. Even more so the effort it took to quash that foul beast.)

Unfortunately, just as she gauges that Iskra is half-way across, the flames, faster than light, go out––it seems a punishment for something. Though what? The princess does not know. Only the soft orange glow from below lights the room, but she notices that glow is dying too (yet the heat from the lava still remains. Curious how her ancestors figured out how to remove the light from lava but none of its danger.) "Um, I'm fine," she calls back to the pirate, maybe a little sheepish that she isn't behind her as Iskra had requested. 'Shit, shit, shit––' Okay, she doesn't want to leave the captain there in the dark. "S-stay still––the lava is still no less dangerous than it was before, I'm coming over to you."

Why it seems logical to now join the other, despite all her prior calculations, is beyond her––the heart does funny things to the brain when its scared of for its paramour. Maybe it feels if she is closer she can protect her. Now, the only issue is that before balancing would have been simple, but without lights she only has herself and her feet to trust as she inches forward, less confident than she would be if the flames were still lighting up the room. Her heart thunders too, thinking of the danger that Iskra is in––she is hardly thinking about the danger she is crossing this narrow bridge. Just one slip and she––

'Oh––' Which leaves her mouth as a scream, her foot falling through one of the wooden (?) planks on the bridge; this, of course, shakes and twists the rickety structure in a most unhelpful way; she isn't really sure what happens in this flurry of movements, but she finds herself somehow still clinging to the bridge once it has settled a bit. Another thing she knows, is that she is hanging upside down. And if that were not enough she can hear the angry fibers of rope threatening to snap. She calls to the other in warning, "H-hold on––it's going to break!"

 

[Syntra]

"No!" Iskra shouted. "Don't go. I can-- I can hug the bridge and crawl to the other side. That's the safest way. You stay where you are, Verity!" That the princess hadn't actually been following her? It came off as a surprise to the pirate, who had been far too concentrated on not falling into the fiery depths to notice such a thing, but a welcome one-- kind of like discovering gold nuggets in your pocket, really. The Shade had granted them a chance! Why, then, did the princess insist on throwing it away? Was she that desperate for the kind of rest you could only ever find in a grave, as worms burrowed into your flesh? (Surprise, surprise, Verity! You wouldn't even get that here-- one shaky step, a moment of hesitation at the wrong time, and down you went, down, down, down. Down, right into the dragon's belly! ...steam was all that would remain of them, truly. Steam, and the stench of failure, and unquiet ghosts.)

Please, Iskra prayed, her mind's eye focused on the large, ink-colored stain in the back of her head. (A spider, that was what it resembled. A spider weaving a web, in its own corner of the room at first, but slowly claiming more and more and more-- and with each inch of conquered territory, its appetite only grew. ...like cancer, really. The hunger was written in its genes, in its very essence, and so it devoured endlessly, for it knew no other way to exist. Now, would you blame a wolf for hunting a doe? A vulture for feeding on corpses? No, of course not, and so Iskra didn't blame the Shade, either. It wasn't its fault, after all, that she happened to be the corpse it had sunk its claws into. The shard had been blameless, as a god had to accept the gifts they had been given-- graciously, without complaining, ever steeped in humility. ...was it satisfied with her? Sometimes, Iskra wondered about that, and couldn't think of a single reason as for why that would be true. A puppet who moved on its own was useless, useless, useless! A pitiful abomination, stuck between two extremes-- not a toy anymore, but not quite human, either. A chimaera, chasing its own tail.) Please, show me the way. Dispel the darkness, and guide me to Verity. (Did the pirate think this would work? As in, that the Shade would literally provide light? Not necessarily, but reaching for that piece of familiarity did calm her breath-- it wrapped her in comfort, even if that comfort was just the sound of shackles closing around her wrists. Still, that could be relaxing as well, you see? If the shackles matched your scars, carved into your skin over and over and over.)

But suddenly, there it was-- a miracle! As soon as Iskra whispered her plea, the flames returned. Once again, the room was bathing in fire, and it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and... oh. Oh no. At once, her relief morphed into fright-- with the same air of inevitability that surrounded a chrysalis' transformation into a butterfly, but much less charming. (Damn. Damn, damn, damn! Her heart was somewhere in her throat, it must have been, and its panicked 'thud, thud, thud' felt deafening. It seemed as if some foreign force had ejected her from her own body, too, because Iskra couldn't feel her limbs; couldn't tell how much time had passed; couldn't think, even. ...there was just the horror, embedded into her very bones-- horror so potent it could snap her in half, as if she was but a mere twig. How was she to find her footing? How, how, how?! She had to get to the princess, quite clearly, but by the Shade, she'd fall! She'd fall, like a stone thrown into the air, and... huh. What if falling was the answer?)

There was no time. The ropes groaned under their weight, and with each passing second, they were getting closer to their limit-- closer to signing their death sentence, as it was. (The contract had already been written, it seemed. It had been written, and their names were on it, too. Fate's hand hovered over the last line, hesitating, and Iskra... Iskra knew there would be no more chances, no more mercy. 'Act or die,' she heard. 'Act or die.')

And, as always, 'act' it was. So, what did the pirate do? She ran. The bridge screamed in pain now, but Iskra ignored it-- just a few more steps, she thought. Just a few more steps, and everything would be... well, not fine, definitely not fine, but at least not completely fucked. Those few steps separated her from Verity, after all! And Verity-- Verity was all that mattered, now and forever. (Her guiding light, her very sun.) Ah. Almost there! Except that, in that moment? Iskra could hear the ropes snap, like guitar strings under pressure. Without thinking, she jumped-- and, thankfully, one of her arms wrapped around the princess's waist. "Hold tight," she said, and maybe it was some brand of madness talking? Because they were falling to their fiery deaths, and the embrace would change nothing about that! No more than a damp piece of cloth could prevent a burn victim from dying, anyway. Except that then, then Iskra pushed something, and... ooof. Suddenly, they were being pushed towards one of the walls at a great speed-- a speed so great, in fact, that the impact left her breathless. (Ouch! Were some of her ribs broken? The ominous cracking sound implied that, though honestly, it was a small price for survival. Iskra would pay it over and over, and gladly!) "You... ahh... you okay?" she asked, clearly in pain. "Grappling hook," the captain explained. "It's, ah, a pretty useful gadget. I have two of them, so with some luck, we'll get to the other side." 'With some luck' usually wasn't the kind of preface Iskra approved of, but, you know. Beggars couldn't be choosers! "Can you hold on some more?"

Sadly, Verity's (in)ability to do that wasn't the biggest of their issues. Uncomfortably close below them, the sea of lava sizzled and hissed-- even more aggressively than before. "What's happening down there? Can you look for me?" Because, yeah, with her face practically planted in the wall, Iskra didn't have the best view.