Mcmolly

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

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The beauty and curse of living in such a small, tightly-knit community was that everyone knew everyone, and hardly anyone got away with anything, especially skipping out on payments. Of course, that wasn’t to say there was any unpleasantness about it; the reality was much simpler—people took their business on faith. Why hold someone’s feet over the fire for forgetting their purse, when you could be safely sure they’d get you what you were owed right away, or at least the next time they saw you. Mio couldn’t recall the last time there’d been any serious disputes over something like that, and certainly not at the smithy.

This wasn’t the first time Haruhi had downpaid with faith, and she always delivered, often with edible insurance. In her experience it was always well worth the trade, and Mio wondered if she pulled them from her own plot, unaided with Signs.

She would have been happy to take down a small estimate to clear with master Tetsu—chipping off a bit to account for the leeks and such—and leave it at that. But Haruhi mentioned the festival and, despite that she was literally sweating, she shivered.

“Ah, no…” she said. “I won’t be.”

It had been almost ten years since she had. She spent them at the forge, mostly, since her home was too close to the woods to be comfortable on nights meant to venerate the kami. Besides, a time for the celebration of new beginnings, of mending broken relations—she was ashamed to admit it made her just a bit bitter, which was healthy for no one. And who wanted someone like her lumbering around, blocking the spectacles? No, she’d do better here, quietly handling whatever orders came in. With so much going on, something was bound to need fixing.

Speaking of.

She resisted the urge to smile. People seemed to like that even less than when she looked them in the eyes, and she didn’t want to make Haruhi uncomfortable.

“It was a simple fix. I could speak to master Tetsu but I suspect he’ll waive it,” she said, changing the topic. “We’ll be square when the leeks come in. Is that alright?”

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Interactions: Haruhi @Lemons

Amygdala Circuit

“‘Course not,” Besca hummed quietly, draping her arms back over Quinn with the rest of what she quickly realized was dwindling energy. That surprised her, and left her just a little bit disappointed with herself; used to be she could truck through a whole week of terrible shit without more than three packs of cigarettes and a gallons of coffee. They weren’t even a few hours out of this mess and already she wanted a nap.

But, well, everyone wanted things. She wasn’t fresh off fighting a handful of Modir.

For now, she’d just have to imagine the coffee. Peeling herself off of Quinn, she ran a hand through the girl’s hair and gave her a smile. “Look, hun, right now isn’t the time to be hard on yourself. You haven’t earned anything like that. What you have earned is rest, and believe me when I tell you that you need to take that whenever you can.

“So here’s what we’re gonna do. Deelie and I will sort all this out for now. I want you to go back to the dorms, and I want you to turn the news off. If anyone calls that isn’t me, you don’t pick up, you’re not available for anything but downtime right now. You’re gonna lie on the couch, or on your bed, and you’re not gonna think about whether or not you messed something up. Instead you’re gonna think about the fact that you just beat a whole lotta monsters, and came home. You’re gonna think about how you get to wake up tomorrow, and you’re gonna wake up the next day too. Hey, okay?”

She planted a small kiss on top of Quinn’s head, then nodded to the door. “Go out that way, should be quieter. Anyone comes up to you, you ignore them—you tell’em Commander Darroh gave you orders. Deelie’s gonna do one more call with me, then I’m sending her down too.”

“Besca—”

“That’s an order too. No buts from either of you.”

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

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Years spent alone, meditating, learning how to block out all external agitators so that she could focus on the internal ones, had leant Mio the ability to wrestle even great duress into stillness. In the work of a few moments, her heart was steady, her breathing was even, and her hand clutched the hammer in a white-knuckle grip but, well, it wasn’t shaking. Little steps.

The downside to such intense focus was fairly obvious. She had somehow managed to miss one of the loudest presences in the valley until it was quite literally tapping her on the shoulder. It was only due to so many years of intense discipline that she did not jump like a startled cat, or shriek like she was eleven years old. Instead, with a small jolt, she released the deathly grip on her hammer and turned around.

Her little corner was smoggy and dark, and what firelight reached her did not lend her a gentle appearance. She was a hulking shadow smeared with soot and sweat, and she would not have held it against Akiyama Haruhi if she turned tail and ran away.

Instead, the girl thrust out the broken blade of a farming tool and smiled like she couldn’t see her.

“I hit it on a rock!”

Mio took the hoe from her gently, inspecting it up close. Snapped at the socket, and not a clean break either. The thing was utterly mangled.

“So you did,” she agreed.

Most people weren’t happy when they needed something fixed, which, frankly, made them easier to deal with; she couldn’t ruin someone’s day if it was already ruined. Haruhi, however, seemed incapable of bad moods, and if she hadn’t always been that way, Mio would have suspected she was playing some kind of Keiko-level joke on her. Instead she was just confused, and it made accepting the girl’s genuine nature difficult. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, and the longer it took, the further it had to fall.

Realizing she was staring, Mio cleared her throat and turned back to her table. She tried not to make eye-contact often—people told her it made them uncomfortable. Even if she didn’t quite trust Haruhi’s kindness, she didn’t want to repay it by being unsettling.

“Well, lets see,” she said, sifting through the small stack of craft and repair orders she’d yet to get to. Those, combined with helping out with whatever Tsubasa was working on, would probably see this delayed to the evening.

Ah, but, this was different, wasn’t it? This wasn’t a busted doorknob or a cracked spare axle. The Akiyamas were farmers, their tools helped keep the village fed. Haruhi especially would need hers, considering her bizarre aversion to Signs. Putting something like this off would be…well, it would be irresponsible.

With a nod she said, “Just one moment,” and cleared a space on the table, before setting the hoe down. After Mending so much that morning, she had planned to handle the rest of the day’s orders by hand, but, with the break being how it was, she wasn’t confident in a slap-fix, and without magic she might have just recommended the girl buy a new tool altogether. What else were Signs for?

So, she took the snapped blade and shaft in one hand, closing her fingers around them so that they appeared as a single unbroken piece. With her other hand she made the familiar Mending Sign, and under her breath she muttered its words. A faint glow, not unlike the waking stokes of the forge, emanated from her palm, seeping deeply into the metal. She kept her focus, tried not to think about the girl who had taught her this Sign being so close by, and squeezed her hand tight around the tool. Jagged metal poked her skin, but she’d been a blacksmith for almost ten years, it would take more than that to draw blood from her hands.

Eventually she let go, and allowed herself a small smile at her work. Small, and brief, and gone when she turned back to Haruhi and held out the tool with both hands and a bow, now perfectly whole.

“I believe this will do,” she said, eyes still downturned. Part of her was tempted to ask she be more careful in the future, but not only did the idea of advising others horrify her, this hadn’t been a terribly difficult task. Besides, a little break from the monotony now and then didn’t hurt.

Instead she said, “Thank you,” which felt somehow worse and more awkward. Thank her for what? “For…the work,” she finished. Yes, much better now.

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Interactions: Haruhi @Lemons

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

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It was still dark when Mio stepped out of the house, small box in hand. She had been quiet, surreptitious, so as not to wake her parents, but as she shut the door behind her, she realized she was not alone on the porch.

Her father sat in an old chair, pipe between his lips. The frayed awning cast him in shadows, but when he puffed, the tiny flare of embers showed his eyes. They were tired, and unkind, and looked away before the scant light vanished. He didn’t hide from her like her mother did; sometimes he would even put himself in her way, like now, as if to prove that he was not afraid of his own daughter. She hoped he was convinced.

“Good morning,” she said, like he was still asleep and she was still trying not to wake him.

“What is that?” he asked, gesturing to the little box she held.

“An offering.”

He puffed again, the glint saw his eyes downcast. “Why?”

The solemnity in his tone was biting. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly brave, he could wind himself saying things he knew would hurt her—it wasn’t a very difficult task. Today though, all he did was say what was on her own mind, and it was enough. Why, indeed.

She set the box down on the porch and left for town without saying goodbye.

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The smithy smelled like booze, and looked like how she imagined the Crane’s Roost did after a busy night. Master Tetsu must have gone a little deeper into the bottle than usual, or perhaps he was just particularly happy about something. Either way, it wasn’t the first time, or the worst.

Mio picked a cup off the ground, shook it, sniffed it, and reeled from strong stench of the sake left over. She tossed its contents into the forge, and the fire drank it gratefully. She shrugged her coat off and got to work while budding warmth spread throughout the room. It wasn’t unusual for her to be this early, cleaning the shop and prepping the forge before Tsubasa and—if sobriety was in season—master Tetsu arrived.

When it was done, and the smithy smelled more like fire than spirit, she turned her attention to the tasks of the day. The forge was usually very communal, nothing segregated or cordoned off to any of them. Even still, Mio tended to work in the back, out of sight. It was stuffier and the soot clung to her more readily, but, it was for the best.

An assortment of items lay on the table, some large as farm tools, some small as door hinges, all broken in some fashion or another. Layovers from the previous days—things seemed to break so much more often this time of year. She’d Mend as many as she could before Tsubasa arrived, so he could focus on the real work. There was no shame in repairs of course, in fact, she found a sort of calmness in putting things back together, but Tsubasa was such a helpful sort and she knew if he saw a pile like this he’d throw himself at it with her, then he wouldn’t get to spend nearly as much time making things. He was quite good at that.

So she worked diligently until the sun was up, and when Tsubasa did finally arrive, the broken things were, for the most part, now fixed things. He got to work almost immediately. It was nice having him in; he worked right up front with the forge, in the open air, and passersby seemed happy for it. He was popular, and no one thought twice about entrusting him with their orders. She smiled whenever she heard him talking to someone—the conversations were always pleasant and if she closed her eyes, she could imagine she was part of them.

Today, of course, was different.

“You lookin' for someone, pretty boy?”

Mio reflexively began counting down from ten. She shirked into the dusty darkness as she heard Keiko hop onto the table, and said a silent prayer to the kami that she’d gone unnoticed. Then, because the kami were evidently insulted that she’d reached out, they were soon joined by Takamori’s niece, Fumiko. Perhaps the village master himself would make an appearance, and she’d finally find the resolve to throw herself into the forge.

She didn’t understand most of what they said, ears clogged with the sounds of the fire, mind an anxious haze. However, she did catch that Tsubasa was being beckoned away. Guiltily, she was relieved—so long as he took the girls with him. She had no place being anywhere near the Takamori family, and Keiko made her feel spiritually unwell.

No one was likely to bring by any new orders with only Mio there, but, on the bright side, at least that meant Tsubasa wouldn’t be missing anything. She saw the work he’d left by the forge, maybe she could help him out with that while he was gone.

Amygdala Circuit

Besca was quiet for a few moments, which was probably not what Quinn wanted in response to a question like that. In her defense, it was a tough question, and more complex than someone in such a state could likely realize. But, that was alright; it took her a bit but she did eventually figure out her answer.

“It’d be easier,” she said. Dahlia looked at her like she’d just burst into flames, but she motioned her down. “And a heck of a lot simpler, but neither of those are the same as ‘better’. Cause you know what? It would have been easier for you to have just refused to be a pilot. It would have been easier to have just killed Roaki. God, it’d been easier for me to have given up after Hovvi—just throw my hands up and walk away from RISC, and Deelie, and you. My life would be simpler,” she came around and crouched down in front of Quinn, eye to eye. “But not at all better.

“The fact is, Quinn, you cause problems. You don’t think the way most of Illun does; you certainly don’t think the way I do about a lot of things, especially piloting. I still think that’s a good thing. I still think every time you step into that cockpit I end up learning a lesson about how to be better. You make me better.”

“Me too,” Dahlia quietly agreed, taking Besca’s place behind Quinn, hands squeezing her shoulders.

“So, no, hun. No, my life wouldn’t be better. I said I wouldn’t rather you be any other way. I meant it.”

Amygdala Circuit

Besca knew the signs by now. A part of her was proud of that; years spent as just about the only human connection pilots had after they took this job had prepared her, but Quinn was unique and she’d still managed to learn a lot of her tells quicker than she thought she might. Of course, that pride was soured somewhat by the fact that she’d learned them as a result of the girl being absolutely miserable for most of her life on the Aerie.

Part of her felt guilty. She knew it was her own attitude that was doing this to Quinn, and regardless of what had led them here, she was still just a kid. That said, the absolute maelstrom of shit raging in her head, throwing panic around at the idea of what was waiting for her as soon as she left this room, made it hard to muster herself.

“I don’t hate you,” she said softly, finally picking her head back up. “And I’m not mad, I promise. You learned this from the duel, right? Doing the right thing isn’t always easy? We both did. And I gotta support you when you do it. But, uh, y’know, I’m not a pilot. I’m not so resilient to it all, sometimes it takes the wind outta me.”

She got up, but rubbed a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. Keep contact, don’t leave her alone. Let her work herself through it. Show her there’s an end to what she’s feeling.

“I know it sounds like I’m upset but I promise I’m not. Not with you, anyway. I’m working on it, I know it’s taking a bit, but try to have a little faith in me in the meantime. I wouldn’t rather you be any other way.”

Amygdala Circuit

There was waiting silence again, as if the anchors hoped beyond hope that Quinn might suddenly burst out laughing and claim she was joking, that of course she’d had everything under control on her own and there was no way some Euseran vulture could be owed any of the credit. They were on the brink of losing their union with Casoban forever, and surely, surely right now, Quinn would know better than to hand them a reason to trust Eusero over Runa.

Of course, they waited in vain as Quinn’s silence extended far past awkward, and the producers evidently had nothing ready to parry her comments with.

‘Oh god,’ Besca thought. Was it possible to get double-fired? She had a feeling she’d find out soon.

Dashing over, she came up behind Quinn and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, she said into the camera, best PR face on. “Miss Loughvein is needed for secondary debriefing. Any further comments will come from RISC directly in the next few hours and days.”

“Thank you for—” the anchor started, only for the screen to cut off. Across the room, Dahlia got the signal and started to bring her own statements to a close.

Besca slouched, forehead touched to the top of Quinn’s head, and sighed. “Okay…” she mumbled, eye squeezed shut. “I feel like you know why that probably wasn’t the best thing to say, so, lets just…take a moment. Lets just take a moment.”

Dahlia eventually came over, puzzled look on her face. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“We’re taking a moment,” Besca said, still leaned against Quinn’s head. “Considering our actions, and reminding ourselves how much we love each other.” Her hands came up, weaving fingers gently into Quinn’s hair and taking hold before softly shaking her head. “So much. So much more than our well-intentioned mistakes.”

“I don’t get it,” she said, coming around to Quinn. “What’d you say?”

“She gave rightful credit to Axan Dane for saving her life and helping her close the singularity,” Besca answered for her, tone flat and just a little bit pained. “Because it’s what happened and it was the right thing to do, and I don’t want you to think I would ever be disappointed in you for doing the right thing.”

Dahlia went wide-eyed. “O-oh. Oh. You thanked Eusero?”

Amygdala Circuit

The anchors nodded along with her, never interjecting even in the extended silences. That was by design, of course; soundbites of pilots discussing political matters were premium currency in the news world, not just to the station who snagged them, but anyone with the means and measure to use them. Besca could recall a forty-five second clip of one of Westwel’s pilots mentioning offhandedly how he’d gotten pulled over in Eusero once on vacation making the rounds in every country on Illun for four weeks. Tourist regulations shifted almost overnight, and there were calls to bar all travel from Westwel to Eusero and all of its territories.

Quinn defending Dahlia was a no-brainer, would have been right inline with the Board’s script. Problem was, every Casobani and Euseran article would say she was insinuating a conspiracy on their part. 'Quinnlash Loughvein and the RISC think you’re a liar!' More fuel for the fire.

Only when it seemed like Quinn was well and truly finished answering did the anchor jump back in, still nodding along with her. “I think that’s exactly right. Dahlia St. Senn isn’t just a Runan hero, she’s an international hero. And you are, too, of course. In fact, you’ve had a record for helping out across the globe since your first rodeo, so I’d like to hope that your words carry a little more weight there.

“Speaking of, we’re just floored by the footage of you today. Six Modir faced down all on your own. You must be feeling like quite the warrior right about now. Did you feel prepared for that? Do you think RISC’s training helped you be ready for such tough odds, even on short notice like that?”

The Shattering of Aegis

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Lilann tensed when Ceolfric announced himself, ready to…well, do whatever she might be able to with just a rock. For as long as she lived she’d regret throwing her sword at the wretched creature. Between being caught out by the necromancer’s wolves, and now this, she was sorely lacking any meaningful measure of defense. More importantly, it made her look unprofessional.

When Eila hissed to her she nearly jumped despite herself. Soft-footed for a bookworm, or maybe Lilann was just too focused-in.

“Yes,” she answered just as quietly. “But unless you’d like me to stand in front of her and shield her knees from harm, I believe I best serve that priority by preempting trouble. Just…not as forwardly as our acquaintance.”

Eila was right, it was like Ceolfric wanted to fight. She suspected he carried that likeness with him into most aspects of his life. And while that had been frustrating at more or less every juncture so far, right now she was more than happy to let him just be his merry self. Ermes joined him as well, pulling himself from the shadows like a black cat in the night. The two of them interrogated what appeared to be a drunken man and his exhausted handler, or at least a convincing enough cover of them.

There wouldn’t be any guesswork though. Ceolfric lowered his sword, but when he demanded answers from the more vertical of the two, Lilann knew he’d answer as readily as if he’d had the blade to his throat.

_@Hero

Amygdala Circuit

“Well, I’m sure everyone watching shares those sentiments. Runa has always adhered stringently to the Accord, even when others haven’t.” The anchor smiled, but there was something in his tone that, having watched her fair share of news channels, Quinn might have picked up on quite quickly. A political angle that made the trajectory of the conversation clear. “There are already reports coming in from certain Casobani and Euseran sources claiming that your fellow pilot, miss St. Senn, may be somewhat to blame for the loss of Chateau.

“Of course, I and I’m sure every level-headed person watching can agree that’s ridiculous. Dragon’s efforts up until we lost video feed were as astounding as ever, and frankly, we don’t believe the ESC has any place to cast aspersions on what happened today. As someone who works closely and often with miss St. Senn, do you believe there’s any justification to the claims that she abided Chateau’s loss, intentionally or otherwise?”

Even if she’d have been able to see it coming, the topic swerved into political unrest so quickly, how could she possibly have avoided it? She hadn’t been back an hour, and already there were people trying to tear down what RISC had done.

Besca stood aside, frowning. For all the work the pilots did in defending Illun, they were weapons foremostly on the international stage. Hammers with which to bludgeon home certain stances, and savagely beat away others. There was no winning against something like this. If she answered, she’d be playing the game the same way everyone else did—right now she would be defending Dahlia, and Runa, but what about next time? What about a month from now? A year? But the fuel that refusing to answer would throw onto a fire like this would be devastating.

Quinn had to say something, and it wasn’t going to stop there.