sheep_game | day 11 mingle part 2

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day 11 mingle part 2

WHO: All
WHERE: Everywhere
WHEN: Day 11, evening to night

[don't you love the calm before the storm where a Weed becomes a Lily, gunshots are heard twice, a pyromaniac is back as a sheep and maybe possibly some experiments were conducted regarding Death without informing anyone

how are you on this perfectly normal evening]

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I...have something of an advantage. One of my own colleagues specialized in illusion; I draw on a little of her expertise now, with gratitude.

[the vision builds itself, stage by stage: the suggestion of a broad fortress wall of desert rock extending from either side of the gateway, first, and the hardy little patches of scrub and small greenery and spindly desert trees that persist, in the nooks and shadows of that wall.

the gateway itself fills, and almost immediately within, a section of the Calerian open market can now be seen: merchants at roofed or open stalls or seated on blankets with their wares, selling fruit and spice and weapons and trinkets and goods, some with the glitter of magic and much without. both they and the throng of clientele are a mixed bag in all ways -- robed and dark-complected Calerians bargain with others who clearly live in the city, or with soldiers in neat-cut blue uniform and steel helms, or with mercenaries far more eccentric in dress and bristling with weaponry. there's all ages and backgrounds of people in there, many of them fantastical. multiple bargaining individuals give off straight up videogame fantasy mage vibes, and there's a buff man with the full-on head of a mastiff somewhere in the crowd.

they're only seeing a portion, but here's the general vibe. it's not a rich city exactly, more of a rough-and-tumble trading hub in what's still considered a harsh place, but it's bustling, lively and colourful. the illusion's visual only, but he has a good memory. it's vivid enough you can almost hear the chatter of the crowd, and feel the dry wind in a kinder, less-depleted desert.]

[ He stands so as to be at eye-level with it all, staunching the urge to reach out and touch -- knowing the pointlessness of it. ]

In some ways it's familiar, but . . .

[ The sand, the sun -- but then he eyes the wares for sale, what seems to him an abundance compared to the bloody scraps for a few drops of water that defined No Man's Land. People living and not just barely subsisting. ]

Not at all, at the same time.

Mm. The little I've heard of your world is bleaker, indeed.

[he's correct. it's not perfect, but no one seems desperate enough to kill or wholly starved in that faraway scene. even if the desert spelled death, there would be plenty of other places to go.]

I'm assuming your planet had fertile lands to support the desert . . . it would be nearly impossible to grow all that food there.

Any world where people aren't fighting for the last scrap of food will be . . . kinder.

You're correct. The lands elsewhere are varied, but variously prosperous in natural resources. The conflict that pushes my own world to the brink is not quite so literal as yours, except perhaps when it does successfully reach its death throes. It is a different beast entirely we must wrestle on the way.

But it seemed meet, to show a middle ground. If the possibility of that no longer existed, you and Styx would not wish for home; you would wish to rescue your people another way.

[ . . . Dropping his voice ]

I'm not sure what Styx believes is possible. He's never known another world.

[ But what if he WOULD be happier, in a kinder world? Where he didn't always have to be so relentlessly sharp? ]

...

[he'll modulate his tone to match, but]

I don't think it's impossible for his viewpoint to change. But you both clearly have a deep attachment to where you came from. If it is not a lost cause, then...

[ With the conviction of an insane man who lost everything for this premise: ]

It's not a lost cause.

[glances up at Minuet at that tone, catching his eye directly. his own look is sort of neutrally opaque]

Then you should go back. Life requires purpose to sustain itself, at least for thinking creatures.

I haven't actually asked him if that's what he wants. I doubt he's even let himself think about it.

But if he had the ability to go elsewhere, and he could lay his burdens to rest . . .

[in the gentlest tone as he can manage, when all his tones have edges]

Fool.

What makes you think he'd leave you?

[ Maybe the part where he already did, Charon!!! ]

. . . Like I said, it hasn't come up.

It's a little too -- sore, right now, I think.

[it has come up, but...

shakes his head a little and hands Minuet another lily to put in the ground. the illusion's slowly folding down and fading; it's tiring to keep up one that complex.]

He's thought about it. But, peace. I understand the importance of time.

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day 11 mingle part 2

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