The ballroom is well lit, but the other dancers still seem little more than shadows. It doesn't bother Tasha though. Dressed in her formal uniform (and sporting some shiny medals of unknown origin), she twirls Tashly around the dance floor, the feline's many-layered skirts flaring out, while her tiara glitters with diamonds. The band is large, but unseen - like everything else, it's just something that's part of the background for the two dancers.
Tasha is proud of this moment, although she isn't sure why. It doesn't matter, not once she thinks about it; here and now it's all about the moment. "I didn't know you could dance so well, Tashly," she says with a hint of a self-deprecating laugh. "Aren't you afraid I'll mash your toes?" It's only a small truth, she'd learned to dance. Somewhere, sometime. It doesn't matter -- she's happy right now.
"I've always liked dancing," the Khatta claims. "It was the one thing that was mine, and could take me away from.. whatever was bringing me down." She gives a bit innocent smile, until a large taloned hand drops onto her shoulder. "Mind if I cut in?" Blackwings asks, then yanks the girl away from Tasha.
The cadet's face breaks from a warm, engaged smile to a flat and hateful stare in the turn of the moment. She steps forward quickly, taking Tashly's closest arm and placing the other on her shoulder as leans in and up towards Blackwings.
"You've had enough fun with the girls, I think," she tells the older woman. "I think you should find your own dance partner instead of stealing mine. Or, is that all you can do?"
"Ooo, Puppybird having her Growly Time?" Blackwings teases. "You got this one all warmed up for me. Don't you think she deserves to have some real fun?" The Vartan woman looks downright demonic the way she leers.
Tasha knows that leer; it pushes her on and reminds her of the cost of running away. "She does deserve real fun, that's why she's here. With me." She tries to step between Tashly and the towering pirate, elbowing in. "I think you forgot what real fun was, back when that old cat broke you. Maybe you should go dance with him?" Her ears perk up. "In his grave."
"Maybe you want a second chance, eh?" Blackwings says, releasing Tashly to grab Tasha's left hand. "How 'bout I make you more fun?" she says next, and brings up her leg to put a hoof against Tasha's stomach, then pulls on her hand while pushing away with her leg. Before Tasha can really react, there's a ripping sensation.. and Tasha finds herself on her rear on the floor. Except it's not really her rear - at least, not the one she grew up with. Blackwings is still holding onto her left hand - and the red Vartan attached to it that looks like a younger version of Desdemona. "Ah, that better! Take the puppy out of the bird!" Blackwings crows.
Stunned and reeling, Tasha watches as the world spins -- inside and out. She always knew Blackwings was a a powerful woman, but she had never tried to push and see how far she could go. Would go. A sinking fear had always gripped her, the knowledge Blackwings was capable of anything and everything. It was all fine to her, she knew to stay on her good side, then the terror was her ally. But times changed, and she changed, and she could no longer let Blackwings have her way.
Except even as the scenery, the people changed, the size of it changed, it all ended up being exactly the same afer all. All except for her, who changes when the world doesn't. Who is forced to changed, and who was forced to become ...
Nora-who-is-Tasha-who-is-Nora snaps out of the daze and pounds a fist in to the ground, then pushes herself to her feet. "You're not just scum," the Karnor woman growls, never taking her eyes off the other woman as she dusts herself off with intentionally nonchalant strokes, dismissive, "but you're a simpleton, too. You think the Vartan is the scary side of me? You think it's all strength? But I should expect as much," the canine lookalike goes on, "from a woman who forgot what it means to be a Vartan in the first place."
"Silly girl, I know you were weak because you mixed up," Blackwings claims. "Now you can be strong, yeah? Stronger even.. if I was your other half! What you say?" The woman goes from demonic to charming. "You and me, together.. ooo, what couldn't we do, eh? Who couldn't we have?"
This makes Nora-Tasha laugh, a barking condescending laugh of the educated mocking the simple. She spreads her hands, instructive. ""Through the fires of conflict are we made stronger, as the flame of the forge refines the metal,"" she quotes. Her hands fall and she stares at Blackwings with the contempt a professor reserves for foolish students. "First, you're dead. I killed you, you'd still be dead even if I hadn't. Just worse. We both saw where your judgement lead. Second, I alreadys have the best people in the universe and they didn't come to me because I was a murdering idiot. Third, what can you offer me that others can't? And fourth, when I trusted you you used me and threw me away. Now you need me. I'm not the naive girl you lead around with a bit of gold. I eclipse you, I could retire now and be famous."
The Karnor hesitates a moment, then her head tilts, her eyes squining unevenly. "You might make for a good bit of muscle, though. But I would never share power with you. I know how you use it." She admits it like it's a burden, an unplesant truth that none-the-less needs to be said.
She may as well have struck the Vartan, who looks shocked. "How you talk to me like that?" she demands. "I made you! Even if you throw it all away, you not have gotten where you are without it," Blackwings growls. "What ambition you have before me? What love? Before me, people not even see you. Just see a mistake of nature. And I a part of you now, Tasha.." The big Vartan points a talon, almost accusingly, at the Karnor. "I will always be a part of you. You can throw away what you were, but can't throw me away."
Tasha listens to this with an attentive, ears-forward expression best described as assessing. At the end she twists her muzzle, bites her lip, and then gives a little nod. "You're correct, of course!" It's all said in a cheery, accepting tone intended to irritate. Her brows raise and she spreads her hands. "My experience with you helped me become who I am. I know that now, it's a lot easier to see it without my emotion-blinded other half. I'm sure that part of me would ahve yelled at you about it, but even she knows it's right. We both feel the shame of it, but I know the truth better than she does: Just because your vicimization made me who I am dosn't make you my friend. Abaddon changed me too, I'm not about to let him tell me what to do. Except unlike him, I pity you, because you're an organic sentient and you're clearly broken. Tell me," the brows raise higher, "would you thabk who ruined you?"
"I killed the man who ruined me," Blackwings claims. And grins. "And you killed me. If he came back.. I'd kill him again. As many times as it takes. Can you do that, Tasha? Can you kill me again?" She then glances at the cowering Tashly, and back to Tasha. "What if she knew? That all the tricks you use to please her, you learn from me? Even if I gone... that still stays. But that good stuff, right? Good stuff doesn't count. So.. you not let me be your partner, then.. what? Just forget I here until you come back to Sinai again? Exorcise me? Try to get more information on Mister Bad Kitty? What you want for me, Tasha?"
"That sounds appropriately desperate of you. I can deal with that," Tasha mulls, arms folding and muzzle twisting again. "Do you want to keep my other half? No? No. That wouldn't work; it's a nice fantasy though. She gets me in trouble so much, and where we're going, I'm really the one who should be leading. Of course," and here the Karnor's expression falls, none-too-pleased, " ... she has the heart that I don't. "You're good at decisions from the heart, Tasha. Better than Nora." And what am I, if not a bad copy of Nora? Well, that's not fair either, but you understand. Which leaves us with you." She unfolds her right hand and waggles it at her other half. "Do you want to risk me making that decision, or all of me?"
Vartan-Tasha seems torn. But predictably she begins to gravitate towards the dominant personality - whish is now Nora-Tasha.
"Does it matter?" Blackwings asks. "Well, maybe it does - you gots to live with it, after all. Wouldn't want you to be mad at yourself, hmm?"
"Oh fine, hold on to her for a little while longer. She misses you, did you know that? Don't ask me why. Sentimental, like I said. But I suppose it did get us Gabriel and Katie, so I can't complain too much." The hand falls, tucking back in to her arm. "I'm sure I can guess her stance anyway. If you hurt her, though, I'll kill you. I have the power; see if I don't." It's stated plainly, matter of fact. "Who else do you think steps in to finish things? She cried for you, but I decided you had to die. And you're wrong about being the one to make me, you're just one of them. This face is the other. Nora. There are others, before and after you, too."
"But lets get to it. The other me would resent me forever if I just pushed you out, and it might just make me more like you. While I'm often mad at myself, there's a limit that's healthy. We know that now." The hand unfolds and she gestures again. "But the road has been hard on her, and even on me. It'll be harder yet. We could use people to stand with us, but only people we trust. Otherwise we must control you."
Blacking's feathers bristle at the term control. "I controlled by another growing up. I no want to be that child again," she claims. "And I no goods to you as just a slave anyway. So.. trust.." She still looks uncertain though.
"I don't like using the word control -- or the action -- any more than you do. I've known slaves, I saw what happened to the Savanite Empire. I've seen the Clients. It's disgusting. But I can't afford you stabbing us in the back. Not now, and really, not ever. The distrust was yours in the making, Blackwings. We loved you. You spat on that. You and you alone." The Karnor's face wrinkles again, a sigh escaping from her throat. She gives a slight shake of her head. "But we also know circumstances ruin people. Who would we have been, without a chance? You? Something worse? Are we now a good person because we're a good person deep down, or just lucky? Is there a difference? Does blame really exist? She-" another wave at her other half, "hates this question, by the way. But she fears it too. How can right and wrong exist if this situation does as well? And why is the world the same, no matter ho high you go? She resents the world as it is for failing her. That's why she wants you around, besid
es the sentimentality. To understand. To find the answer to the question I asked."
"Stories need villains," Blackwings says. "And we all the lead in our own stories. So I get to be villain, I guess."
"It's not that clear-cut. Stories are for books and holovids. Real people are complicated." Another inhale, another exhale through her black nose. Nora-Tasha unfolds her hands and holds out her hand to her other half. "Besides, yesterday's pickpocket can be tomorrow's hero. Who says a pirate can't be too?"
The Vartan-version of Tasha takes the offered hand. "You need advice of a pirate?" Blackwings asks, headed cocked with avian curiosity.
Nora-Tasha pulls Desdemona-Tasha beside her, then slings an arm around her shoulders. The two lean against each other, touching heads. "We want to understand what makes a person good or evil, in order to understand the world by understaning the person," the officer says, while the drover adds, "And sometimes we deal with hard things, yah? Terrible things. You, you a terrible thing who does terrible things. Helps to have an expert." "Besides," goes the first one, "she misses you." "I do," the avian admits, looking none-too-happy about it.
Blackwings grins. "Good and evil?" she asks. "Are you so sure those exist? You think I'm evil.. but my view is very different. Nobody thinks they evil."
"Like I said, I'm not sure what the answer is. We've been told many interpretations and provided many assumptions, even internally -- and I don't mean from the likes of you. Even as far as we've gone, we don't know. If anything it's become harder and harder to understand." The Karnor side shakes her head at it all, while the Vartan side reaches over and pats her on the head, then strokes her hair. "She try very hard, but I know it. I know she try to protect me from it too, but all the thinking, it not make you warm at night." Her head shakes as well, then she adds, "So we both try and work it out. Got to, maybe. Hard to wield power without knowing what to make of things. Hard to lead people, hard to know where to go. Easy to slip."
"Well, I hope I at least gave you one insight: evil is what other people do," Blackwings claims. "You? You always have a reason or an excuse for it - a way to.. uh rationalize.. the behavior. Hah, I can use your vocabulary too if I wants! What makes someone else evil is that you not know what their rationale is."
"Sometimes they become 'evil' even if you do. I knew Warloq's rational and even some part of the world he came from. I killed him because I could never trust him, and balanced on the scale, his life was worth less than the risk he posed," the Karnor woman explains even as her head is petted by her other self, who adds, "Came down to weight. Like merchant scale. Khattan death for Khatta, by me. Who more Khattan now? Who-" The canid head hakes its head sharply, eyeing her, and the Varatn cuts off. "What she means is, it's a mess. But we've said our part. Lets move on. Please. Are you ready to deal, or have we already come to an accord?"
"Deal imply I get something too?" Blackwings asks, cocking her head the opposite way now. "Name your terms."
The two sides untangle themselves, standing side by side now. The Karnor folds her arms, judgemental and assessing, while the Vartan frowns openly and fiddles with the edge of her dress coat.
"Don't assume too much," the canid officer notes, "we're not on equal terms here. We don't exactly trust you, based on your actions. You've done terrible things, things we think are vile well and truly beyond the scope of simply being part of survival. You did show us some kindness, but there are mitigating factors. We killed you because it was the best choice, but we still decided you had to die. Remember that."
"Ummm," begins the Vartan half, her fiddling hand stopping. "We still love you, we said so, but we have to say it again. Still think you a problem. But like other me said, we not like control. Not slave master, not unless no other choice. So we make deal to make it easier for both, good for both."
And the both nod. "So we'll offer this:" "You help us, give advice, tell secrets. We not force you or use you. Be like advisor, maybe teacher." "You should try to learn about the worlds and people we deal with, as your limited education will be a problem later." "In return we maybe do things you want if we stomach them." "And we have an addendum offer, though we cannot promise it. I can't stress that enough." "We know maybe way to bring back dead to life. Two ways, one limited and certain, other just a guess. Progenitors." "For life itself, we expect more. If we give you that chance, we want to see what Blackwings is like with it. Start over." "Try again, let go. Yah?"
"Life, eh?" Blackwings replies. "That's a big carrot. And if you're so big on trust, I have to assume you mean it too. So... genoh. I accept. You might have to dig deep to get to me though if you away from Sinai. Also.. you should get checked out while you're here."
"Oh what is it this time?" The canine remarks with the air of an overworked office worker, while her other half grimaces all the more and reaches over to pat her, watching Blackwings. "She just a bit tired. Hard to fight everything and whole universe and gods. Anyway, we accept, so good. Uh," she drops her voices and leans forward, waving Blackwings closer while the canine expression hardens, hand rubbing her muzzle in thought. "Tell me quietly, anyone else in here who want to bargain? Other ghosts? I handle it. So many, and she busy. Gears turning."
"None that I've run into," Blackwings says. "You must have eaten them all. But.. you back in the world of magic. And I knows enough - I don't know everything, mind you - but enough to know you affected by magic, and not just because I can talk to you."
"Hokay," whispers the Vartan who glances at her other half anxiously. "We do it, I see it done. She on vacation, kind of. Going to start smoking if I tell her now. Make big wolf crinle his nose." Her head shakes, though with none of the bitter stress. "Drink too. Can't do it. Got to focus." She then straightens and says in a loud and rather overdone tone, "HOKAY! All settled! We get together now. Dance with Tashly. Nice, yah? Everything okay. Everything okay now."
"Fine, fine," the Karnor goes, stirring from her thoughts. "I've had enough of this anyway. It's nice to have one problem settled."
"Settled?" Blackwings asks. "You just asked me to be a source of advice and information," the older bird points out. "All of which can lead to as many new problems as it may solve."
"Shhhhhh," the Vartan, while the canine looks over at Blackwings and frowns. Before the Vartan can calm herself, the Karnor says, "What I means and she is about to pad is that at least we know wheer we stand with you. And an uncertain ally is at least better than a bitter enemy. Compared to what we're dealing with, this is a breath of fresh air." "Um, yah," the Varatn half adds, awkwardly. Then they both look at Blackwings and in simultaneous fashion ask, "Ready to go?"
"Ah, of course," Blackwings says and grins. "Now, I gonna go find the memory of some bar you passed out in.." And with that, the ghost walks off into the shadowy background.
"What a pain," barks the canid half, who cranes her neck to the side. "Do you think we can sleep with her here? No, probably not." The Vartan half snorts a donkey laugh. "Ha, I wonder too. She pretty good for an old dead bird, and I was right, more to her than we thought." "You were. She not take us with her. She cared, for just a moment." "Ha, yah. Well, back to work." "Yah, back to work."
The two turn towards each other, and then step forward. What was sundered becomes whole once more.
Tashly tries to keep up with Tasha's pace, but has to keep lifting her skirts a bit to avoid tripping over them. The dress she wears is a nice enough one, but likely belonged to an older, taller woman originally. It's been patched by Desdemona, and brought in here and there so it won't fall off should the Khatta shrug at least. "What... what are we gonna do here, again?" she asks.
"I'm apparently supposed to get a checkup, but she wou-" Tasha pauses, both to look around and get her berrings and also to decide if she should tell her new adopted sister she has prophetic dreams and visions of dead people who negotiate with pieces of her. While many questions in her life have complex answers, this one settles on a firm no. After a split second of further silence as she leans down to check another hall, she explains, "It's a checkup. Mostly routine? It's, um, well we'll see what it is ... ah!" She points. "Sphere of Life intake office, medical services. This way. Don't trip!" And off she goes.
The office is as Tasha remembers it, only this time she is the patient instead of the Karnor Elites. The Rath'ani at the desk looks up, and only blinks once at Tasha. "Nohbakim-ism isn't a.. uh.. wait, haven't you been here before?" he asks. "With less clothes on?"
"It pains me that that is how I'm remembered in places," Tasha remarks back to Tashly with a despondent shake of her head. After closing the gap and reaching the desk, she puts her elbows on it and her head on her arms. "Yes, that was me. Mage Antlers's old project, only one of my kind, and so on. I'm here for a complete physical. A complete physical."
"Well.." the flustered young man shuffles papers around on his desk without actually looking at them - a Rath'ani nervous habit. "Mage Latania isn't available. But I can see who is on duty.. uh.. it would help if you could tell me why you want a complete workup though. Is it because of the.. eye and hand?"
"Mage Latania is on Abaddon not getting enough sleep." Tasha cocks her head to the side, looking no small amount of dubious. "Are you really the one to talk to? But no, it's not the 'hand and eye' thing. Those are fine. There may be something else, my, um," she glances back towards Tashly, momentarily frowning before looking back, " ... my source said it was a good idea. I'm not, um," she glances back again, " ... sure but it may have somethingtodowitheatingghots or with being effected by magic in a non-standard way!"
"Oh.. well.. uh.." the raccoon stutters, and finally selects a piece of paper by touch apparently. "Ah, the schedule," he says. "Mage Bruce is available for diagnostics.. do we already have any medical history for you? What was your name again?"
"It would surprise me if any doctor between Sinai and Abaddon didn't. I'm Aldara Tasha Argentine. This is Tashly," she gestures back at the girl helpfully, "my little sister. She used to be a Vartan but you know how things go." And then she waves at her face, grinning lopsidedly.
This makes the boy's eyes go wider. "Does.. does she need to be examined too?" he asks. Tashly looks a bit ill at the notion, claiming, "I'm just here to.. to.. make sure Tasha gets home afterwards."
"And to put up with me. I can be difficult." The last offered in a conspiratorial whisper to the clerk.
"Here," the clerk says, scrawling something on a piece of paper. "Take this is to building 3," he says, holding out the slip. "I'll have whatever records we have sent along."
"Thank you." Tasha accepts the paper and then pushes herself up. "You can bill our standard account, if you handle that sort of thing." She glances at the paper and then nods. "You've been a big help." Stepping off, she waves Tashly on as she begins to walk down the hall. "C'mon Tashly, time to explore the old cultural center of magic and distract students."
"You have an odd effect on people," Tashly notes. They pass a few empty buildings before finding the one on the paper. There are loud snores coming from inside when they arrive.
"Well, time to have an odd effect on someone new," Tasha tells Tashly in a low voice as eyes the door. Lifting a hand she raps the knuckles of her taloned hand. Once, twice, three times before calling inside, "Cadet Argetine, patient, here for a complete examination by direction of the front desk." That's left to hang a moment as Tasha turns to her new sister and explains, "The first few knocks is to wake them up, the second so they know they're not dreaming, and the third for dignity. The you should explain everything as precisely as possible so they don't appear unprepared."
"Whah?" comes a voice, a snort, and the sound of a chair falling over. Then the door is opened by a sand-colored Khatta who must be in his seventies. "You want what? It's nap time, don't you know?" He adjusts his thick spectacles and looks his visitors up and down. "You aren't my grandchildren, are you?" he finally asks.
"I don't think so," Tashly replies.
Tasha's ears flatten and she replies in a careful, deliberate tone. "I am Tasha. I am here for a physical. You are supposed to help me. Read note." The note is held up where it can be read easily, then held very close where it can be read easily by a seventy year old man with heavy spectacles.
"Ahhhhh, yes.. yes I see," the old mage says, and taps the side of his nose. Then pulls out a handkerchief that is probably older than Tasha and blows his nose. "This way, this way my girl," he says, waving a hand wildly in the air. His robes look suspiciously bathrobe-ish, and he shuffles when he walks. "Here, carry this jar for me, would you?" he also asks, pointing a very large, very murky stoppered jar on a table.
Familiar with strange jars and their stranger contents, Tasha decides not to ask in the face of having a plate full of anxiousness already. The jar is summarily scooped up and wedged under her left arm as she follows along. "Have you ever see magic at work, Tashly? Been to the College, or met a Mage?" Talking helps her nerves even as it satisfies her curiosity. "I thought maybe that you're from Olympia."
"I saw a man in the Bazaar do tricks with cards," Tashly admits, seeming to hide behind Tasha the entire time. They enter a nearby ritual room, which has a magic circle carved into the stone floor. "Diagnostic, diagnostic. Die, you gnostic.." Mage Bruce mutters as he creakily bends to place candles and small jars at specific points with in the grooved circle. "Can you open that jar, young lady? It's too tight for me.." he beseeches Tasha.
Even as she holds her arms well away Tasha answers, "Absssoluuutely," the drawn out words matching the pace she moves the jar far from her body. With a grip and a twist she puts her muscle in it, which are hardly inconsiderable, even as she tries to lean her head as far back as inhumanly possible. She has experience with mysterious jars.
The heavy cork pops loose, releasing a foul odor of.. pickled kyootcumbers. "Ah, yes, yes.. pour the brine into this groove here please," the mage says, tapping a groove with his cane.
"I think the clerk is trying to get revenge on me," Tasha asides to Tashly as she carries the jar at arm's length, pouring the contents as indicated. "And I pray some day for magic on Abaddon."
"Abaddon?" the old mage says, as he watches the fluid flow through the grooves.. and turn aside at the various dams he's placed. A courier arrives then, a Kavi girl in a cute little uniform, brandishing a bunch of papers. "Mage.. Bruce.." she pants. "Medical.. rec.. rec.. stuff.. on.. crazy.. bird-dog.."
The Mage takes the packet in one hand, and rummages in a pocket with the other. He retrieves a wrapped hard candy, which he gives to the Kavi before sending her off. "Ah, yes.. Abaddon.." he mutters as he reads.
"Desdi gives me candy sometimes," Tashly whispers to Tasha.
"Why am I the crazy one?" Tasha asks no on in particular, but turns to Tashly in askance anyway. "I'm a respectable member of an ancient organization. With medals. And a mask!" Her head shakes at the unfairness of it all.
"Hmm, yes, unfortunate," Mage Bruce notes, and looks up over the tops of the papers at Tasha. "Are you currently wearing any foreign material?"
"You mean from off-planet?" Tasha inquires, turning back from the judiciously silent Tashly to the mage. "Yes. I also have several ... " Another glance towards Tashly and Tasha wonders just how conspiratorial she seems to her new sister before answering, " ... studs in my head that cannot be removed and connect to my brain. The rest can be removed. You're worried about the Sifran Probability Field interference of foreign objects not logged locally, especially metals?"
"What?" the Mage asks. He reaches into the jar and plucks out a pickled creen egg, which he pops into his mouth and shuffles into one of his cheeks, so he can suck on it. "Don' know about all that.. just means you have to put your clothes into the chest with the green stars on it. But not the silver comets! Just the green stars. You can put the jar down and get to that, if you please."
Tasha nods and proceeds towards the chest with the green stars, knowing it always comes to this. She's glad she's wearing her old clothing and not her complex armor, with just her undersuit hidden -- in parts and pieces -- under her clothes. Otherwise she'd be undressing and dressing for quite some time. She begins to strip, which mainly means removing the undersuit -- effectively her underwear, and dropping it in. Once done she turns back, glad she's dealing with an old man who can barely see and not a classroom of students gawking. It also makes her think of Hakeber. "I'm ready," she says with a put upon air.
"Stand in the center then, that raised bit.. can't miss it," Mage Bruce says while sucking on his egg. From what Tasha has experienced in the past, she expects to be standing there for quite some time, especially without any gawking students to help with the ritual.
Like a pawn, Tasha is moved by the hand of magic to once against stand uncomfortably on the board. She then sits herself down crosslegged, tugging her long tunic top -- much like the pauper's version of the minidress -- down as far as possible. "Tashly, you might have heard that magic is exciting and spectacular? Well it is, but it's also long and boring with a lot of sitting around. You should get comfortable, or maybe wander the grounds? We'll be here for hours and I suspect others mages will be showing up, so maybe even longer."
"Really?" Tashly asks, just as Mage Bruce makes a single gesture and utters something vague, causing the candles in the circle to all ignite. And burn blue. A few more gestures and mutterings, followed by a snap of his fingers, and the brine filling the circle (or sections of it) also glows like neon. It's the fastest magic Tasha has ever seen.
"Do stand up, girl," Mage Bruce chides. "I did say to stand in the center didn't I?"
Tasha even gives a little yelp when the candles flick alive, it's certainly the fastest magic she's seen. "Orrr," she begins, cut off by the glow which also causes hr brows to, as if by magic, rise and seem to try and escape her head, "it can be very rapid?" She then straightens when chided, back ridgid, before hurrying to her feet. "Yes sir. My apologies."
"I keep telling the others to use magically infused pickle juice, but they just smile and nod and ignore me," Mage Bruce laments. Then he switches the pickled egg over to the opposite cheek, and makes more gestures and mutterings, which conjure up a glowing hoop that rises from the floor and then changes to conform to Tasha's shape, given a few extra inches. It's green, and the tattoos under Tasha's fur glow in response as it makes its way up her legs.
"I forgot to mention the tattooes," Tasha adds in the quick mannr of a student or recruit hoping to stave off the worst of an expected critisim over a detected failure. "I see them so little it's easy to forget they're there."
"Can't take those off anyway," Mage Bruce notes. They do tingle when the hoop passes over them though. As it goes higher, it passes her Vartan-regenerated hand, and that tingles as well, on the verge of itching. So does her left eye, but by then her entire skull seems to be buzzing as the probe does something to the implant wires. Then it all happens again, in reverse, as the hoop traces back down from Tasha's wingtips to her hooves.
It's about this time that Tasha has the 'I wonder if it will explode' concern that always comes to her whenever she plotsa trip back home. So many of her technical gadgets aren't stable on the surface of Sinai, or even on the sky islands, leaving her to spend half an hour of planning simply checking all of her equipment and asking herself or her fellow Joint Expeditionary Members, "Will this explode?" Except right now, she's wondering that about her body. It doesn't make the process any easier.
When the hoop has finished its passes, there are still lingering glows on Tasha's flesh. The one she can see easiest is the transition zone between her Karnor and Vartan bits of her left arm. It's possible that the flesh around her left eye is likewise glowing. Mage Bruce enters the circle, and despite his old-man shuffle and sweeping robe he doesn't disturb any of the candles or crystals. "You weren't born with this hand," he notes to Tasha as he takes her arm and examines it. "How did you come by it?"
Tasha glances at Tashly again, but she realizes that the time when she can evade uncomfortable questions and worrying facts about her life and survival is done. Dithering will only endanger her, she knows, and possibly others who depend on her. "I was severely injured engaging a Sifran defense AI -- a spirit I think -- on Abaddon. Because my hyrbid body is difficult to repair with Abaddonian and Expedition-era medicine, I needed to rely on a donation from another Vartan so that the replacement could be crafted. My Karor appearance is surface level and isn't as easily used as a base."
"Hmmm," the old man mutters over the sounds of egg sucking. "Your mother is a Vartan? Do you know of any unusual circumstances pertaining to your.. conception? Such as a spirit possession of one of your parents?"
"I believe the Doctor used a process called cloning, and genetic hybridization, but that's the extent of my understanding. I wasn't concious during it and his medical expertise is well beyond my training," the hybrid elaborates more. Lost is the easy going tone of at ease, if anxious, assertiveness. Tasha has become all business, her tone clear, protecting, professional. She doesn't even glance at Tashly this time, pressing in to uncomfortable areas now that the decision to do so has been made. "My mother was posessed by the spirit of an ancient Karnor -- excuse me, a 'Jupani' as we call them here at home. My father is unknown." Inwardly, she dearly hopes Tashly favors secrecy over revelation, though she can't fault her for any loyalty to her mother.
Tashly is wide-eyed and attentive, but she's been like that the whole time.
"Well.. this may be proof of the 'morphic field' notion that came out a few years ago," Mage Bruce says. "Basically.. there may be a sort of 'body spirit' that also determines how a being looks and develops. Never thought it would apply to a normal.. well, relatively normal.. person though. You've got cellular.. activity.. where the old tissue meets the new. Since your body is influenced by a spirit, it may be the source of your morphic field. As such.. the more exposure you have to magic, the more it will reassert itself."
"You're saying the more I'm exposed to magic, the more I'll return to my original form?" Tasha asks, eyebrows raising all over again. She suspects somewhere Doctor Eli Remiel Caravelli is looking up, his nose scented to new and exciting medical discoveries. She decides to tell him as soon as she can. "That, um, that's fairly good news, isn't it? I'd been considering having myself put back together, although I thought it might be to vain and a waste of our resources, so I've tried to be happy with being alive and, um, a Nohbakim." She then tilts her head and asks, "Is that it then, is that the worst of it?"
"Well.. it all depends on how the 'new' flesh reacts," Mage Bruce says. "It's rather unprecedented. The original theory was concocted to explain how homogenous cells lacking any sort of genetic material could form a body. However, what this process may only do is end up replacing the feathers and avian scales with fur. I doubt it would go as far as growing an extra finger on your left hand. And it does not appear to be rapid. It would be faster on the surface, and possibly faster yet near a Forbidden Zone - fast enough to feel, maybe. Otherwise.. it might take years at normal exposure levels."
"Well, it's still something. Interesting, even. Our Doctor will won't leave me alone until I explain the details to him." Tasha reaches up and risks rubbing her nose, wondering if even the thought of Abaddon makes her nose itch now. "Risking standing in a Forbidden Zone might be a bit much, but I'll consider that too. I know of likely candidates. Otherwise, well, it's an excuse for a vacation." She offers a little smile, thinking of a nice trip to somewhere sunny, humid, and warm. A beach. Gabriel wanted to go to a beach, she recalls. "And here I thought it was going to be something bad."
"Now, the downside.. could be cancer," the Mage goes on. "Maybe. Or an immune response leading to rejection. I know that Abaddon has magic now, but it isn't clear if it is the same magic that we have on Sinai. This effect will definitely occur on this world, since you born here. It may go much slower on Abaddon or not at all."
"It all depends on if a 'morphic field' is properly magic or something else entirely," the old feline says with a shrug. "Want a pickle?"
"Alright," goes Tasha in a tone of suummary and the verdict of bad, " ... that was the bad news I was looking for." Regeneration or cancer and collapse; she'd just as soon have neither and decides she may have to limit her returns to her home world after all. It was a risk she had accepted with her implants, though she never thought it'd be due to a risk similiar to what the Karnor Elite had to deal with. "Um, no thank you. This menas I should consider avoiding magic, I think. Limit my time returning, or else consider removing the replacements." She bites her lip; another problem to deal with. "I'll need to tell my mother and my superiors."
"What? Oh, yes, yes.. but it would take years of exposure," Mage Bruce says. "For a Vartan.. hmm.. probably five years. I think that's the replacement rate for their cells.."
"I'll try and avoid frivilous exposure then and inform my doctors," the hybrid modifies. She then cocks her head the other way and asks, "Is there anything else? Do you know anything about ... spirit eating? I've had it, um ... " she runs a hand back through ehr hair, having reached a kind of internal limit on the amount of potential problems and things-to-scare-her-new-sister-with revelations. "Well, eating ghosts? Do peopel on Sinai naturally eat ghosts that aren't there own and that aren't potent enough, when they occupy their body?"
The mage's bushy eyebrows rise up. "Well.. that's more of a Spirit Magic question, I'm afraid. Or possibly Mind Magic," Mage Bruce notes. "Do you hear voices in your head?"
"I did emphasize complete physical," Tasha remarks, inwardly regertting not tacking on the detail in clearly language. She dithers a moment, which she had hoped to avoid, but pushes on with the complete openness decision. "I hear voice. I see visions, some times, and speak to the dead. Not all of them, but just a very few. Some of them have been quiet for a while now, others are new." She delinerately avoids looking Tashly's way during the explaination. "One of the mentioned my 'eating' the others. It reminds me of something I'd, well, I heard of. She said that the other ghosts and spirits, who don't speak, might have been consumed."
"Clearly, you are not talking about possession," Mage Bruce says. "Yes.. you would need to consult a Spirit Mage, I'm afraid. I'm very good and diagnostic Life Magic.. but I can't help with those other questions. I've no idea if the whole morphic field thing is real or not either."
"The universe is full of mysteries," Tasha agrees in a tone of sympathy. She's certainly been there. "Well, I should see about a Spirit Mage then. Do you have any recommendations for someone on campus? Can you provide the referal?"
"I think Faust is still pecking about, but he can be ornery," Mage Bruce notes, looking thoughtful. "Most of us left here are old-timers, except for.. Stebbins? I think it was Stebbins. Or Stubbons. Something like that. Spends all his time in the library. Or her time. Hard to tell with Naga. Always felt it was rude to ask outright."
"I'll see if I can find either of them. Thank you for your time, Mage Bruce." She inclines her head to the man, then turns and walks towards the chest to retreive her clothing. As she dresses she calls over her shoulder. "Tashly? Are you alright with seeing the other mage? If you're bored you don't have to wait on campus, I can give you some money."
"I'm not going anywhere without you," Tashly squeaks. "This is very interesting and terrifying and I don't understand a half or a third or.. I know how to make change, but I don't know the terms well.. it's all very confusing."
"If it helps any, that's how I feel all the time." Tasha checks herself in a nearby mirror, brushes her hair in to place, then turns back around. "Lets go find Mage Faust or Mage Stebbins. Stubbons? The Naga."
Tashly nods, relieved to be leaving the pickle-scented chamber. "And after, can we get ice cream?" she asks.
Tasha turns and grins at the younger woman. "Afterwards I think I'll need an ice cream. It's still morning and I've already had to deal with ghosts, cancer and the threat of my body parts falling off -- and we're not even done yet!" She barks a laugh, then slings an arm around the Khatta and tells her, "Thank you for coming, Tashly. We haven't known each other very long, but already I can tell we'll be just fine. It's nice to have a voice of sanity in this insane world."