Carried lamps illuminate the interior of the structure. Nothing much has changed since Tasha's previous visit, and the six-armed, five-clawed dragon-serpent deity known as Ahriman glares down at the intruders from behind the pulpit. Or rather, his statue does, which is only slightly less intimidating. It is made of dark stone, instead of the gold, silver or copper of the main Trinity elsewhere in the temple. Eyes of ruby red glare, and the claws of each hand are coated in a different metal from the others. Inscribed on the statues belly in ancient Naga script is the phrase: Ahriman, Father of Night, The Revealer of Forbidden Truths.
"This isn't like any other wreck I've been in," Fringe notes. "Those were dangerous, but not so creepy."
Tasha stands before the statue, looking up at it and apparently undaunted. In truth she's very unsettled, and more so for knowing what else lurks within these ruins. But, it's not the first time she's been called upon to gaze in to the eyes of a god, nor the most horrible or mind-twisting of the deities she's encountered. What bothers her isn't the horror of its visage, but its apparent cruelty and malice. The Harrowers always truck her as too alien to show malice, or much of any emotion to the extent she felt they were passionate. Lord yama was judgemental and ominous, and malicious in a assessing way, yet unlike the statue. Tisiphone was distant, worn down by the years and barely 'there.' And there were others, each different; Abaddon being the worst of the lot, clearly hostile and deeply aggressive. The difference now is, Ahriman is supposed to be her ally -- or at least he is if she can ever find him and convince him to return.
But whatever else she may need of him, she can't help but find him unsettling. Part of her hopes the statue is an exageration, hyperbole born of faith and maybe projection of expectation. "Watch the shadows," Tasha notes in afterthought as she considers the statue, continuing to observe it and try to burn the image in to memory. "Fringe, see if you can find anything that might be a repository, or a direction of a repository. Shojo? Watch Fringe." And then the young woman pauses for a long moment before adding, "The rest of you? I need you. There's no need to hide, and save your malice."
Shojo and Fringe glance around. "Who else are you talking to?" the Vartan asks. Fringe hasn't moved much, but her head is scanning from side to side, and there is the high-pitched pinging of sonar.
"You'll see. If they're still here. They'll come eventually, if they are. They'll want to come -- if they ever hope to have their prayer's answered. If they want them to reach Him." Turning. Tasha looks at the warning-labeled secured briefcase for a moment before picking it up. With the artifact in hand, she begins looking around in case she can spot something.
The place certainly looks abandoned. There aren't even any signs of the dragon raid from centuries back. The only clear sign of disturbance is the floor slab that covers the access hatch into Lucifer, and Tasha disturbed that herself!
"You are expecting ghosts?" Shojo asks. "Are we searching for anything in particular?"
"Well, no use searching out here for too long -- they wouldn't have left their most valuable equipment out here. Not their records anyway." Glancing back, Tasha smiles an eerie sort of smile and nods. "Ghosts are exactly what I'm expecting, but this may be beyond their limits. Alright you two, I want you to continue looking around here for anything of use. In particular, I want you to look for everyting and anything about the figure of Ahriman," she points at his statue, "and record it in Standard or Vartan. Search for hidden recesses and other secrets. I'm going to get out my paints and get a rough of Ahriman here, then I'm going inside, alone."
"Inside the ship?" Fringe asks. "Will it be full of mummies?"
"Old corpses, mainly," is Tasha's answer. She sits down where she is, right infront of the statue, and fishes out her paint pots, brush, and a binder filled with canvas pages ready to record her findings. After selecting the right pigments, she also fetches her pallete and then gets to work. "You can come with me if you really want to, but you might be better off out here. It wouldn't be fair of me to drag you much farther than I have."
While Tasha paints, the Templars search the statue. This seems to be something the Citadel teaches, because they have a rote methodology about it. Although Fringe deals with the upper parts of the statue, which has lots of pointy-bits that Shojo might not react to in time.
Tasha holds a thumb up to the statue as she tries to capture Ahriman's malevolent expression. "Are you really like this, Lord Ahriman? I guess I should call you that, if ... " She pauses, then smiles. "Well, you know. And what's this 'Lord of the Night, Revealer of Forbidden Truths' they've given you? Not going to tell me, are you? Going to make me figure it out for myself? You're all alike." Shaking her head, the young woman continues to paint.
"It's 'Father of the Night'," Shojo corrects from where he's studying the podium.
"How do you father the night?" Tasha inquires of no one in particular. She's in apeculiar mood, irreverent with a touch of bravado. It's all the aftershocks of what Lord Yama revealed to her and the heavy burden it placed on her shoulders, the strain of realizing the scope and importance of her mission, and, the truth about her own nature. Which is worse, she still can't decide. And she never got her drink, and so now copes by being a bit on edge, and with an edge. "At least He-Who-Moves was clear. He moves things. The Seeker seeks. The Origin originates. I wonder if it's all hypebole?"
"The usual way I would assume," Shojo notes. "Or by raising and teaching and protecting the night. Although Night could be a person or group. The Night, Keepers of Forbidden Truths. What was this cult called?"
"'The Disciples of Ahriman,' so if they revere him as the 'Father of the Night,' and, 'Revealer of Forbidden Truths' then they must value that aspect of him more than others. So, we can deduce that they may have also been keepers of secrets -- secrets hidden by 'the night.' Or a veil. Obscured. There may be more to it, maybe a set of specific truths and teachings, or, revelations. The night may be more literal too, as Harrowers are occassionally described as Shadows or 'beings of darkness,' so there may be something like that." With a few more touches, Tasha completes her image. It's not going to win any awards, as it's just a busy and a smaller, rougher copy of the whole thing, but it's enough to trigger memory and give her the gist of things. "What I need is a holy book or an archive. Or a priest. A high priest. Someone who knows."
"We could collect remains," Shojo offers. "I have heard that the Spirit Mages of this world can summon the spirits of the dead if they have enough mortal remains."
"And may I borrow your halitool?" the Vartan asks.
"That's an idea, but I don't think we'll need to. I already met their ghosts, last time I was here." Rising, tasha bends over and puts her paints away, leaving her book out dry while she gets ready to enter the ship proper. During this she stops, walking over and holding her halitool up and over to the other Vartan.
"Thank you," Shojo says, and then swings the tool around to smack the podium with the bludgeon end. There's a loud crack and chunks of stone fall away. He does it again, then uses it to lever into the hole. With another final echoing crack, he pushes the top half of the podium over. There's a small space inside, with a rectangular black case in it.
"Good job, Shojo! I knew they'd be hiding something. They always think they're so clever about this, but it seems like everyone thinks of this." Tasha waggles her hand at the broken podium as she approaches, then she peers in to the hole a moment to check for any traps or other defense. "And if that's what I think it is, you've just saved us a lot of time."
"It appears to be a case," Shojo notes. "Your tool was useful, thank you for the loan."
"It is, isn't it?" Tasha says as she accepts her tool back with a hand, not looking at it. "So many times while on an expedition, I've thought: I really need a hammer. Or spreaders. Or a cutter. Something to pry this open. Oh, and a weapon. So I thought, why not put it all together? It was built for this." She peers a moment more, then reaches inand fishes out the box with her other hand. Standing, she blows on the mysterious container, then hols it up to the light so she can see it clearly.
The weight of it feels familiar, as does the seam. Any markings have been filed off though. But it should hold the interface nodes and injector tool for a Magi pilot.
Just to make sure, Tasha takes a moment to pry the case open.
There's a hiss as the seal is broken. But inside is just what Tasha was expecting. Four implant notes and the odd injector gun.
"Perfect!" The case is closed with a snap, then Tasha pulls out her roll of duct tape and, after some awkward juggling of halitool, case, tape and teeth, she's torn off several strips which she uses to both seal the seems and bind the case closed. Once that's done she stuffs the case away and then turns towards the hatch. "Alright then, unless you have other ideas, we're going down. If you want to, anyway."
"You've been down there before," Shojo says. "What do you hope to find this time?"
"Well, most of the Disciples were down below when they died. Their quarters and death sites may contain information. We might be able to locate a holy book or functioning data unit. But mostly? I intend to find them, and see if they will show me what I need," the commander answers.
The slab is moved aside easily with Shojo's help, and Fringe comes down from atop the statue to join them. "What did you find last time," she asks warily.
"The structure is clearly sumergd and suffers from flooding in sections. Much of the superstructure, bulkheads, and other interior items have been damaged beyond repair, probably from planetfall. The crew eitehr died on impact or were killed by the Disciples in some sort of mutiny, but we don't know the specifics. The ghosts didn't like our being here, and attacked." Tasha lights her torch, then begins climbing down, still talking as she goes. "Have you ever fought a ghost? It's an experience. They're obviously not alive, so it's not like you can kill them with a sword, right? Except I've heard some vanish when hurt with one. These didn't. It's like fighting a shadow."
"Then how do you propose to fight them this time?" Shojo asks as he follows down the twisty ladder.
"I don't! Not that it wouldn't be educational, but this time they know me. And I know them, to a point. And together, well, we should be able to come to a concordance. After all, I think we need each other." Down she goes, down in to the dark. With her hand holding the torch, Tasha had to resort to slinging her halitool over her shoulder. She knows it'd be far mroe useful against the structrue than the ghosts, anyway, and the structure isn't going anywhere. "I can be very convincing when I want to be. I mean, they trusted me with thousands of credits, two Lancers and two Knights. Faith ... That's what it's about."
"Spirits require a focus," Shojo recites, once Fringe is with them (she refuses to be left alone with ghosts about). "Either a Mage, an enchanted artifact, or something related to their mortal form. If you must destroy one, you destroy whatever artifact they are bound too."
"Thats's how you destroyed the Abaddon spirit, isn't it?" Fringe whispers to Tasha.
"Unfortunately, most of those artifacts we either need or are made of Expedition Era materials, and beyond our ability to destroy with our current equipment. But, if they're not, well, you know what to do if they're hostile. From what I've seen, corpses can be foci, as can be objects of strong belief, or regret." Tasha leads the team deeper in to the ship, intending to head for the hangar section where the Magi was stored. She knows they could have entered from behind Caspar, but she didn't want to expose either party to the other unless it couldn't be helped. "Keep an eye out for signs of fighting and symbology belonging to the cult." She then pauses, but shakes her head. "Not exactly. We, uh, I mean we tricked him in to posssesing a physical form, and destroyed that. Since he was invested in it, he died along with it."
They pass the ruined sections and scenes of ancient battle, but the bits of dark armor belonging to the cultists don't have any noticeable symbols on them - other than the color itself. The partially flooded Titan hangar is as Tasha remembers last seeing it, except for the absence of the zombie-ghost-revenants. The giant weapon locker is still open, showing the twin scimitars that Caspar would have wielded, looking only slightly different from Balthasar's - the former resting place of the Nagai Marker.
"Not a single ghost," remarks Tasha with a hint of surprie. She looks around for a long moment, then shakes her head. "I guess they gave up the, uh, ghost once we took the artifacts we did. Well, the ship is massive and we don't have time to search every section in the hopes of finding what we need, and we don't have the space to haul back every datacrystal. We don't even have the means to test them here. Well ... Gather some of their armor, and search the bodies to see if they have anything. I'm going to check the locker," she waggles her hand back at the enormous container and its equally gigantic weaponr. "Fringe? We'll get your samples on the way out of the Zone. Hokay? Alright, lets get to work."
Shojo nudges a bit of submerged armor, only to have it rise up into the air, along with other bits - including swords. "We may have been premature in assuming they were gone," he remarks. "Disturbing the remains causes a reaction."
Tasha turns away from the locker in a quick motion, waving everyone towards her. "Get behind me. Weapons out. Fringe? Make sure our way to the exit is clear. Shojo? Keep an eye out for more. I'll deal with them."
Tossing her torch to the deck, the reddish woman then pulls the reinforced briefcase from her shoulder and kneels to begin unlocking it, wathcing the assembling ghost all the while and saying, "Disciples of Ahriman, I am the Bird of Hermes. And I possess the Three."
As before, the sight of the Origin Marker causes the spirits to stop and bow down in reverence. Behind her, Tasha can hear Fringe go 'eep' in surprise though. "There's one behind us!" she whispers.
Tasha doesn't look back -- she has enough of them infront of her as it is. "What's it doing?" She asks as she scans the kneeling, ghostly figures, holding up the Marker so that they can all see it -- and thus so can Shojo and Fringe.
"It's.. uh.. hard to see," Fringe admits. "Barely there, like an afterimage or mirage. It's a big one though, and.. uh.. it's taking something from around its neck and messing with the handle of one of the big scimitars."
"That's ... different," goes the hybrid, who slowly turns around to watch the spectre lest a quick movement rile the undead. Not knowing what it's doing, nor if she got through to the appiritions, she says, "I know of your failure. I know you came here seeking Him, or his teachings. I know why the Expedition had to die. And I think we can help each other."
The big shadowy Naga is definitely removing something from around its neck, and then doing something to the handle of the scimitar before putting the item inside. Then it falls and vanishes.. only to reappear and repeat the whole thing again.
"Shojo, Fringe? Move with me. Lets give him a hand, I think he needs help now." And so Tasha leads the others over as a group, making sure they stick close together so that they can watch all sides. Once they've reached the ghost, she directs her team to keep an eye out while she walks over and, slowly so the ghost can see clearly what she's trying to do, picks up the necklace and tries to complete the interlock with it.
There's nothing to pick up though - just like the Naga, the necklace is also a mirage. If it's not at the bottom of the locker.. then it must be inside the scimitar grip already.
Grasping thin air, Tasha shakes her head. She may see far, but she's just as blind as a human in low light. Turning now, she edges on to the tips of her hooves and peers inside the insertion point for a key, reaching in to feel it and, if she finds it, turning it.
There's an access panel. If the scimitars work like the shaard, there should be power-conduit contact points that link up with the Titan's hand in order to power the cutting surfaces. And inside the connection panel there's something shiny and black stuck between the power contacts.
Tasha is familiar with the connection, but never thought to search it for lost artifacts. She thinks it's a unlikely place, and decides that may be why it was used. Straining, she has to leans her body and stand her full, stretched height to reach in and make a garb for the object.
The lanyard that once held it is long gone, but with a bit of finger wiggling the object comes loose. It's a smooth black tooth or fang.
Dropping back on her hooves, Tasha peers at the tooth in the dim light. After a moment of puzzling over it, she looks up at the ghost expectantly.
The ghost hasn't altered its actions in any way, continuing to play out what may have been the last moments of its life.
Tasha watches for a moment, then turns towardsthe scimitar again and reachs to use the fang as a key, right wheer the ghost had tried to use it.
Nothing happens. It may be that the goal was to hide the fang inside.. near the Origin Marker.
Tasha leans back, then peers at the fang again. If it's not a key, then what's so special about a fang? She thinks back, wondering if she's seen anything like it throughout the Temple of Ahriman and within the ship itself. Her own Melchior didn't have anything like it that she's aware, and neither did Balthasar, though she knows that craft to have been significantly altered.
"It is about the right size for a data crystal," Shojo points out. At the very base of it are two sparkling points that might be for data transfer. Hiding things in sword hilts may have been a trend.
"So it is. Well, we'll know when we get back. I think we've found what we needed to, lets get going. Head for the exit -- and I'll have something to say to them before we go." Not wanting to overstay their welcome, Tasha decides to use the hangar bay exit and pass by Casper.
But before they leave, she stops and holds the Marker aloft, saying, "Disciplies of Ahriman. I know that you failed. But you haven't failed completely. And by guiding me now, by enduring, you have helped keep the mission alive. You have helped me. There is no longer any need for you to remain, and though you might regret, know this: I will carry what you have given me to Him. And if there is a message, I will deliver it. If tasks remain, I will take care of them! Be at peace. Though I am just the Bird, I forgive you. And as your task is now done, I think they, too, forgive you. Forgive yourselves, and rest."
The spectral warriors remain bowed and unmoving. They may not have understood.. or simply can't think at all anymore, locked into a final moment with preset actions. "The way is clear," Shojo says, after he and Fringe hack away more of the vines that have regrown over the tear in the hull.
"Well, I tried." Tasha watches the ghosts silently for several seconds, then shakes her head and turns to the others. "We're done here, lest give this place the rest it deserves. Time to head back." And with that she leads them out in to the swamp.
When it's clear that the ghosts are not going to follow them, nor that the hulk of Caspar is going to get up and eat them, Fringe takes a moment to catch her breath, and then asks, "Can I get some samples now?"
Tasha, meanwhile, fishes out a leather cord as she nods. "Get what you want. We can get a few more on the way back, if you see anything interesting to you. You might as well use up all of the containers, since we're not going to be getting anything from the primary." Once she's got her cord, she loops it around, ties it off, then hides her new fang necklace under her shirt.
Fringe avoids the Titan, but does take clips of the vines that grow around the hull.
"We need to be back before nightfall," Shojo notes. "Is there anything else we need to do here?"
For her part, Tasha keeps an eye on the surroundings and lets the view burn in to memory. She may never return here, after all, and it's a piece of Expedition history that should be remembered. "No, I think we're done. It's not wise of us to remain here any longer than we have to, anyway. Forbidden Zones are bad for your health," she answers.
The bartender is a six-armed Rokuga, which makes him fun to watch when preparing mixed drinks. The long bar is very clean and polished hardwood, and there are tables and booths and a currently empty stage. Given that most of the patrons are Savanites, it's also rather quiet despite the crowd.
Tasha enters alone, having given Shojo and Fringe leave to explore the city and popular amusement park, with Lily chaperoning. The smells of the bar hit her like a memory, and provoke a warm feeling in her - which is part of the reason she sought one out in the first place.
I was wrong, I do have a home -- and here it is! Tasha resists the urge to stretch, just as if she had walked in to her dorm or apartment after a long day. Instead she walks towards the bar and plops herself down, grinning in anticipation of getting lost in some suds, comforted by the thought that her home away from home seems to exist throughout the universe. "Hello bartender," she greets the man. "How's your selection? Rephidimite? Vartan favorits? Dagh take it, just show me a list!"
"You sssPeak Ssstandard very well," the barkeep notes. He looks her up and down, and flicks his tongue several times. "I did not realize Nohbakim could enjoy alcohol. What do you normally imbibe?"
"I don't know if they can either," Tasha notes, her grin turning lopsided. "Me? Just about everything. I've had drinks from Rephidim to Abaddon, but it's not what I drank that's important here: It's what I haven't. Oh! And I'll want a bottle of something -- for a friend. Lets see, and for me ... " One by one the young woman lists every liquor she always wanted to try, but either couldn't afford, couldn't find, or couldn't finagle away from her mother; If it turns out the drink is available, she gets a shot of it. Glass my glass, a small line begins to form, an army of alcohol awaiting their commander's inspection, all lined up.
After pouring the last shot glass, the bartender asks, "Are you ssSssure you are not immune to such things?"
"I'm immune to being lectured or questioned about my drinking." Then Tasha starts with the first one: Redeye Rum, the worst of the lot by far. It's popular because it's cheap, especially with certain airship crews, but Captain Eyeshine hated it with a passion that surely hid a story -- a story Tasha wanted to know and an interest that meant she never got to drink the rum. But now, she can.
"Ahhhh," goes Tasha. Not because the rum is good; She decides it's definitely not something she'd drink again, but being able to drink it makes it worth it. And since her old captain isn't here, she sticks her tongue out at the bartender instead. "Nohbakim! Pahhh!"
Since Tasha paid up front, the bartender doesn't press.. but does move on to the next customer.
This makes Tasha bark a laugh, and of course she's got the support of her army of drinks to back her up. "C'mere you," she tells the next one, which is decidedly blue. This one, she isn't at all sure what it is, save that she knows the name: Sapphire Sunrise. Or, well, that what it's called in some places: Mermaid Tears, Noble's Blood, the names go on. The reason she couldn't have it: It's expensive. Her little shotglass was a good few heavy coins. And when she has it, she decides it was worth it ...
So very worth it. She smiles serenly across the counter, in to space and beyond. Slowly, the worries begin to melt away.
The portrait of the Queen looks back at her from behind the bar. Given Jade-Eye's link to Abaddon, she may already know about Balthasar's fate. Or not.
"You'd be proud of him. Like a real warrior ... A Silent Warrior. To the end. Here's to you, Bal!" And so Tasha salutes the picture, but she really salutes her lost friend, the machine she killed to save a world. But at least now she knows, it's what he wanted anyway. What the world needed. She doesn't need to feel guilty about it; She does of course, but at least, not so much anymore. the blue liquid drains away in a flurry of decadence, all in the old machine's honor.
A cloaked figure takes the stool next to Tasha, likely drawn by the curious collection of drinks before her. They sign something to the bartender, who quickly brings over some sort of fizzy orange drink.. with a reed straw and a slice of fruit in it.
Too lost in her reverie, in thoughts far, far beyond this place even as it brings comfort to her, Tasha tells the figure, "Did you know how far forever stretches? How long we've been ... and the others ... And here. Here, it was always here. The beginning and ... The end." And she chuckles, like it was all a huge joke, except she reaches for her next drink and throws it back like a starving woman. She thinks it's was Chronotopian, a fruit wine. Apples and rain.
The figure uses a free hand to sign, "Yes."
"That's good," goes Tasha, who looks over long enough to read the sign before looking back to her drinks. "It's good to know ... Good to know. Can't do anything if you don't know, you just ... Just live your life, never knowing ... never knowing ... Can't grow up though. Can't win if you don't know." She moves to the next in line, which is a very orange drink, a brandy. Katherine's the one who got her in to brandy, and she decides it's probably her favorite. It used to be she thought brandy was for fops, Gallee, decadent captains and other sorts that had nothing in common with her -- now she suspects she may be one of those people who has nothing in common with her. The idea gets her to snort another laugh. "Bottom's up!" And down it goes.
"Not knowing is the normal state of things," the other bar patron signs. "You learn as you go. Or fake it."
"Uh-huh," goes the cadet and soon to be captain. "Unless ... you die before then?" Her right hand reaches out, her pointer pushing the shot glasses in various patterns, forming symbols and other things with them, some nonsensical, some just aproximations of things she remembers, and her fears, in configurations that only she understands. "No, depressing." Her head shakes, the shots get reconfigured, thought it's just as likely she meant herself. "Can't get depressed. I can't. I have too far to go. My dream will come true, and ... and ... I can't. Everything I wanted. Just not how I wanted it. But maybe I was always wrong. Maybe it never was what I could have. Maybe not anyone. But i can't ... I can't go to it regretting. So ... so ... Step forward, Mr. Brandy. Finish your duty." And gone goes the brandy.
"You chase your desires," Tasha's bar-buddy signs. "Hard to know them, sometimes. When everything else falls on you, they are hard to keep hold of too."
"Isn't that the truth," Tasha conceeds, holding her next shot in a hand and swirling it as she glances over, "Sometimes it's them, and sometimes it's the world, but most of all, it's you. You're always running. You think you're a big hero, then you find out you just run. Too, or from, everywhere and beyond. And even when you realize it, you still want to go. And you know, you hate yourself for it?" She turns her gaze downward, looking in to the ripples of her shot -- also a brandy but this one made from plums -- "Isn't that right?" The contents go down. She doesn't even know its name; She identified it as 'plum brandy' and let the bartender do the rest.
"Sometimes you rise up to the challenge, despite being naive and unprepared," the Savanite signs. "Sometimes you are more prepared than you realize. And you always owe someone for getting you there, and you always owe those that came before you, or could have done it all better but didn't get the chance." This time the feline turns towards Tasha enough that she can see a Silent-Ones mask - although a style she's never encountered - naming the woman as Ebony-Yellow. The eyes of the mask are covered with mirror-lenses though, hiding the person's eyes completely.
"Winged-Gift," Tasha signs back when she sees the mask, then she smiles and gives her drinking partner a little salute with her next shot. By this point she knows she's at her limit for avoiding being tipsy, and so she turns to give her array of drinks a pained, longing look. She had intended to get plastered until the memories fade. But, they refuse to go -- and the stars are calling. What has to do yells in her head, louder than she can yell back. After heaving a sigh puts heIt seems like she may have forgotten the woman beside her, but at length she says, "It always seems there's someone better. I know there is. Was. Will be? Gone now, though. Stolen away from her. But ... you know ... she never really had a chance anyway. And so ... so the next in line steps forward. Here's to you, Nora." And so Tasha sips her whisky, the next in line.
Ebony-Yellow raises her drink as well, but doesn't sign anything. A silent toast for a Silent-One.
Tasha smiles for her partner's effort in honoring Nora. Next she shifts to rest her head and arms on the counter, staring through all the colors of inebriation. "Here I am, On Sinai. And you know, maybe I won't be back for a while? Maybe not back for ... For a long time. Never, you know? And I'm in a tavern. Drinking. Like I always did, and do. I should be doing more, but ... I don't want to. I don't want to say more good-byes, or think about what they mean. If I don't say them, then, it's not a good-bye, isn't it? And I can always come back. What's a little space and time to me?"
"Coming home is always comfortable after being away," Ebony-Yellow signs. "The stars have teeth. You don't know who to trust, and the things they get up to.. are terrifying."
"Teeth ... and eyes ... and more colors than we may ever know, for all the time in the universe ... and the times beyond. I wonder if they sit about thinking of us?" The young woman's head shakes as she reaches over and pokes a very think and brackish shot, looking more like tar than anything someone would drink. And thought it looks horrendous to her, the mixed drink was quite expensive. She stares at it, intimidated -- both by what it is and what it means. She prods it several times, then simply states, "Bal's dead. It was a good death. Noble. Heroic. I killed him. For a good cause."
"You seem to have sacrificed a bit of your own flesh in the process," Ebony-Yellow signs. "I almost handed over our world to a false god, just because I so desperately wanted to believe. Because then I wouldn't have to deal with the responsibility anymore. Someone would tell me what to do, just like it had always been. Perhaps I just missed my old master. Third-Vision saw through it all, but I swallowed the hook."
"It's hard not to want to believe. It's so easy, just ... Just do what they ask and you're promised everything will be fine. Not that it was like that for me, they wouldn't let me. I tried to believe, but they wouldn't let me. And when I had the chance to believe, to let go, to let him tell me ... I killed him." Reaching over again, Tasha uses her pinky of her taloned hand to slide her third brandy towards the women, offering it to her. To Tasha, it seems like she needs it more right now. It's made from some sort of hard-shelled nut, from a beach she's never seen. "Took big a price. It was too big a price. Like for you, for me. A false god to destroy the world, and everything will be okay."
"And you know ... if you turn it down? What a traitor you are. False. Hypocritical. Blasphemous. And then your faith is gone," Tasha adds, head shaking slowly, as if in confusion at it all.
Ebony-Yellow adds the contents of the shot glass to her own drink, and takes a sip. "I still have my faith," she signs. "I could not go on without it. I know that I am flawed and weak, but others help me. Correct me. If I were alone, I would collapse."
"Really?" Tasha looks over, ears perking as she studies the mask for a moment before laying her head back down again. "I lost mine. I lost my face, too. My Balthasar. My promise. My confidence. Time ... I can't even drink all of this. That's gone, too. But I still have my Gabriel, and, Katie too. Eli and Remiel. Mr. I. Necessity. Frane ... " She draws in a deep breath, then exhales, clouding the side of a glass. "I don't need faith, I think? I chase the gods but don't have faith ... Isn't that rediculous? I just have people. And me. And that's been enough. And soon ... soon I'll have the stars."
"Have faith in people then," Ebony-Yellow signs. "They are more reliable than gods. I am happy knowing the stars are far away, and few of them know the ways to reach us. They don't know how to deal with us out there, you know. The great empires never had to deal with nations. With shared worlds. We are unique."
"Being unique isn't always good," Tasha notes, reaching over to tap herself on the nose. "This Nohbakim knows for sure. But it's not always bad, either. It is what it is. It's what we make of it. We people, like you said." Then she rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "I hope home will be okay. But, it's scary here, too. So much scarier than anyone else knows, except maybe a few. Maybe we're safer out there. But this is our home, even if we just inherited it. Or stole it." Deciding she's waited enough, the young woman lifts her head to drink down another shot, this one a beer, and smiles for it. "But I have to deal with them, whatever they think. I have to go. It's for the best, the colonists don't need someone looking to the stars. They need someone with their eyes straight ahead, and to the ground. I'll do my running where they won't be bothered, and it's for a good cause, you know?"
"Don't let them seduce you with shinies," Ebony-Yellow signs while sipping her drink. "We are better than them, for all our limitations. We are their treasure. Hidden away, buried and guarded by dragons."
"Dragons. Don't listen to dragons. They speak the truth, which is what makes them dangerous. Good people who live good lives, they shouldn't listen to dragons. Don't listen to those that talk to them either, if you don't want nightmares." Tasha gives a snort, then licks the inside of her last shot, which she decides is cheating against her limit and then she decides that her critical voice needs to shut it. "But you know, I kind of like them, the ones out there. It seems like some of them could be my friends. Maybe understand me. Treasures should be cherished, right? Protected. But something has to protect it, and something has to be risked, so, why not the ... the ... " She almost said 'worthless,' but stopped herself. Even as she is, she knows it's too harsh. "Other things. Airships aren't made from treasure, they're made from wood and metal. Treasure is priceless, but wood and steel get things done."
"'M not sure I want to be 'better'," Tasha then admits after trying to lick the inside of her shot again. "Better's rough. I think I like being worse. It's easy. I can't be better and be me."
"I prefer diplomacy myself," Ebony-Yellow signs, a bit mirthfully. "I learned how the games are played when I worked in the Temple. It always pays to have someone who knows how to play that game at your side. That is my advice."
"It's good advice," Tasha agrees, nodding appreciatively. "It's what I was going to do, if I can. When in new territories, you buy map. Even in the old. A map. The best you can get, always. Accurate. And then you know how to manuver. Maybe the squeaky fish will help me? Or someone else ... I'll have to find them. Going to need a crew. Shouldn't bring Katie, that was a mistake." She eyes the drinks before her, source, as they are, of so many bad decisions.
"The game is the same everywhere, so that person should not be hard to find," Ebony-Yellow notes. "They always land on their feet, or seem to be in control. Confidence. Confidence enough to sell any lie, charm any skeptic. And confidence to stab them in the back when it is necessary. That sort of person frightens me, but they are essential."
"Sounds like Mr. I. Or me, if I was good at it and more ruthless. Which I'm not." Tasha makes a face, uncertain if what she just said is a compliment to herself, or an insult. Or both. "But not the squeaky fish. Not sure who ... not Bumper." She snorts at the idea of a Titanian diplomat. "Not ... Anyone I know. Not yet. But maybe other squeaky fish. The doctor, she would be good. For ... being the doctor. A good doctor. She had a priceless mystery, an answer ... And destroyed it for her people's safety. A good doctor. There's the other too, but, he's too deep in his own game. Moraeu. Maybe I'll help him if I can, then he can help me."
"So long as YOU can trust them," Ebony-Yellow notes, and finishes her drink. "My attendants will find me soon, so I must move on. Fare well, Winged-Gift, and know you are not alone."
"That's always the question. I've become kind of suspicious lately, so, mayeb I'll be fine?" Tasha rises, sitting up to see Jade-Eyes off. "Good luck," she bids her, then offers her another salute with a new, filled shotglass. "We should talk again some day."
"It will give you an excuse to come back," the disguised Queen (who really isn't any older than Tasha herself) signs as she gets up. "Give my regards to Strength-of-Stones."
"He will be upset I didn't throw you against a wall as well, and that I am playing favorites. Ask him, it is a good story you can hold against me if I ever take myself too seriously," Tasha insists with a wink, then she smiles and adds, "I will."
After watching the ruler depart, Tasha turns back to her line of shots and stares at them for a long, sobering moment -- both literally and figuratively. A partof her urges her to drink it all down. Indulge herself. Forget. Old Tasha, still hanging on, still trying to run to all the wrong places for a hint of comfort and security. But as she stares, she knows that her old self doesn't want to go where she's going. That she wants to stay here, in this tavern, with these people and her easier, simpler world. Old Tasha dreams of being the captain, but old Tasha never could be -- she loves the dream more than the reality. And so, Tasha comes to a decision. She pushes herself up from her stool and looks down at her shots, still half-full. "They're all yours. This is good bye, Tasha. You stay here. I need to get going." She puts the emptuy glass in her hand down, staring at it thoughtfully before turning to the bartender. "Looks like I won't be drinking at all. I need to get back. I'll leave them for my ol
d friend, she'll appreciate them more than I do."