deernet | video; un: doublehedgedsword

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video; un: doublehedgedsword

[Fern is a bit nervous doing a video for the network. He usually prefers text, but he's trying to be a little more upfront about his plantness, and it's pretty relevant to what he wants to talk about. So here he goes!]

Hey, I'm Fern, if we haven't already met, and uh, as you can see I'm made of grass. I wanted to thank everyone for the help with the dirt last month, between that and the composting we've started and Varian improving his alchemical plant solution I should be okay.

[So that's taken care of! He grows a little more nervous before continuing, though, because this next part isn't easy for him to talk about.]

I wanted to talk about something else, too. I got tree senses now too, and I wanted to let people know, 'cause I kinda... picked up on what Cynthia's flowers were putting out. Not just that chill feeling, they, um...

[Geez, where does he even start with this? He runs an anxious hand through his hair.]

I grocked how they were feeling when they died. It was painful which, duh, they died. But they also felt really... sweet? Bittersweet's the word? Like they were okay with it. Fulfilled.

[He has to bite back a shiver as he remembers the punch in the face that was their feelings as the mass die-off happened.]

Anyways, that's a thing now. This works with other plants too, and mushrooms. Those new mushrooms that started showing up? They all feel pretty freaked out. It's - um, it's not great. It works on normal mushrooms too, so if you got some of those or plants or whatever and you wanna know what's going on with them, I can try to understand 'em for you. [He can't guarantee anything good, but it is what it is and the least he can do is try to help people with it.] I can grow stuff, too, like coffee or tea or whatevs. The growing part's easy.

[With that said, he straightens up a little.]

Also, for all you people I'm helping with fighting, we're gonna keep going with our lessons! This place is dangerous, so no slacking off. If anyone else wants to learn how to fight or defend yourself I can show you some stuff, I'm good with a whole bunch of weapons and my fists! [He raises a fist and determinedly punches the air.] I'm even thinking about building a whole new gauntlet here for you guys to test your skills! It'll be sick.

[Death trap obstacle courses are totally normal things to want to build! At any rate, he's said what he wanted to say, and switches off the feed.]

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A pity for them. Perhaps they will have to eat rocks from now on. Until someone comes along who knows how rocks are feeling...

[Inflicting suffering is the state of the world!!]

Oh? With all this you are doing, it hardly sounds like you have time to sit around. You built a gauntlet once before?

[A welcome, or a thank you. He makes a mental note to ask his other contacts more about the flowers.]

What is it you did for her? I have not heard this part of her story yet, in all that I have been learning about her.

That would suck so much. Rocks are too hard to chew.

[He would know about that at least, he had a habit of biting them as a small child.]

Yup, it was something my brother and I built back home sometimes. It's a good way to keep your skills from getting rusty.

[Oh, Cynthia's story is so complicated. He takes a minute to figure out where to start.]

So... she was the daughter of the Pthumerian Queen. She was pretty special, she was supposed to have a kid with a human and make the first human-Pthumerian person. Her and her kid, Julia, were basically used their whole lives. It was a whole mess, we were trapped in Julia's dream as she was dying, and Cynthia was already sort of dead? Or in this kinda limbo state that she hated. At the end of it we were given these eggs that represented us and her and Julia and some other people, and we had to decide what to do with 'em. Cynthia asked us to break hers so that she could be reborn into a better life. It looks like that worked, since she's the Moon Presence now.

Hmm. Perhaps if you start with a nice sandstone or a chalk, you might toughen your teeth enough to eat the harder ones. Or pound them into powder to make...rock flour.

[This is extremely dumb and that's exactly why he's doing it.

He keeps himself entertained somehow.]

This is so? Then I will visit this one when you are done with it. [To satisfy his own curiosity, if nothing else. His own methods for navigating a gauntlet might be politely called "cheating," if he used them.]

...Ahhhh. [Not a lot of words in the retelling, but that's--a lot to take in.] Much more becomes clear now. What became of the other eggs?

Rock bread. Not sure if that sounds rad or skronked.

[Would it be harder than a stale loaf?? Probably.]

Cool! It's gonna be great, you'll see.

[And it will be, since he already has experience with building these kinds of deathtraps.]

Well, some people smashed a bunch of theirs. Or all of them. Some of 'em didn't though, some of 'em got saved. It depended on the person and what they wanted to do with theirs, and I guess the majority was what affected Cynthia and the others.

To me, it sounds like a brick.

[So perhaps not a lot of improvement on, like, rocks.

But anyway, he's going to manfully resist the "no I won't see" joke here.]

Queen and Throne, their fates were by vote? [Somehow, he's not...entirely surprised, with what he's learned of the nature of the Dream.] This has not caused tension among you who came from the Dream, has it?

Oh. Oh yeah! It totally is.

[A bread brick, that sounds one tiny step above a normal brick and about a million steps below normal bread.]

Nah, not really. A couple people tried to tell everyone what to do but they mostly got ignored and everyone just did their own thing. I really only know what my friends did with their eggs.

Edited 2021-11-16 22:16 (UTC)

[That...seems like it could be a buried problem waiting to happen. Or not; Illarion will be months more studying out the bonds the original Sleepers from Deerington shared with each other. Even by the end of it he knows he won't be an expert, but--

It feels like a buried problem.]

Do you mind speaking more of your choices with me, or is this a thing you would rather not have discussed? [A pause.] And how many eggs were there, for whom?

[Fern has tried not to think too much about the eggs since Deerington broke down, but it's only fair that people here know the whole story. Trench seems to have been impacted by the decisions with the eggs, so to try and keep a lid on that seems wrong to him, regardless of his discomfort.]

Um, sure, dog. There were a bunch. Each Sleeper had their own egg, so I had one for myself. Plus Cynthia, her donkus husband, and Julia. Then there was an egg for this nice guy called the Dog Keeper - uh, Doug. And Ramona, who was... less nice. Aaand then there was Mother Superior, who was a huge wad. I smashed all of them except Doug's.

[Useful information. Illarion takes mental note, matching each of the eggs up with what he knows of their subjects' eventual fates. Cynthia was the Moon Presence, and Koz of the Orphanage was said to be her husband; the Dog Keeper "Doug" was still among them and still watching out for Sleepers. And then there was the False Patron...

The shrike gives a thoughtful little "hm".]

You have said you have no real knowledge of what most others did with their eggs, but if you had to guess, what would you say happened for each of these? Most of them smashed, or most of them spared?

[Fern is doing his best, here. He isn't the kind of person to have recorded any of this, and he isn't very analytical or... super observant, but he hopes this all helps.]

I think just about everyone would've spared Doug's. He was a really good guy. And Mother Superior probably got most of her eggs smashed, 'cause she was a huge wad constantly trying to kill us. Cynthia... most of us would've smashed hers, 'cause that was what she wanted and it's a matter of respect, y'know? Julia was probably the same, even though it was... not the right thing to do.

[Those are the easy ones. He hums a little, thinking about the remaining eggs.]

Not sure about Ramona, honestly. Or the Mayor.

[First-hand accounts, even if they're not highly analytical, were always worthwhile. Illarion definitely appreciates it.

And isn't shy about saying so.]

Thank you; these are useful suppositions. They begin to untangle how those from the Dream came to be who they are, here and now. [If he had to guess on a very, very slim pattern, he'd put the Mayor's eggs as mostly smashed.

But that's thin supposition indeed. On to something else.

His tone softens on the next question.]

Why do you think what was done with Julia was not the right thing to do?

This is not a question you need to answer, if you do not wish it. [Many of the Sleepers were deeply troubled by her fate; he doesn't know if Fern is one of these.]

They do? [He's surprised to hear that. He isn't the best at explaining things, especially complicated things like Deerington's whole deal, so it's good to hear.] Glad I can help.

[Ah, Julia. She's the most complicated part of Deerington. It still hurts, thinking about what happened with her. His voice softens, the guilt coming through.]

It's okay. I just... I think it was wrong to kill her. She didn't deserve that, she was just a kid. She should've had the chance to live a life that wasn't a hole big pile of suffering.

They do. [Illarion won't lightly forget that sitting around being useless comment.

He's respectfully silent as Fern answers, and a little after--taking in both the words and the obvious emotion behind them.]

She did deserve far better, [he agrees, at length.] Though I do not know any of you can hold so much blame for her fate, when she was already dying.

Was there another way?

Um. Good. Great.

[He's still a little bewildered, particularly since he can't see why Illarion would lie about that. But he's done such a terrible job of explaining it all - that thought keeps circling around in his head, so here he is. Hooray, self-loathing.]

Just 'cause someone's dying doesn't mean their dead. Maybe if we had left her egg alone she'd be here, or - or in some new form, like her mom. [His brain is so full of 'maybe's that he's sounding stressed.] Maybe if we hadn't completely screwed things up she'd be okay! Maybe she'd be happy here, somehow.

[Mmhm, yes, that sure is a pattern of stress Illarion recognizes. Goes hand in hand with the self-loathing, from very personal experience. ]

This is a very great flock of "maybes" you are letting roost in your eaves, and not a one will give you any eggs. [Maybe that's not the best metaphor in context, but. He's gentle enough about it.] It is wise, in its place and time, to worry about the justice of such decisions--especially made for one who had so little control in her life. But to be just to yourself, you cannot judge on knowledge you did not have.

What did Julia ask you to do?

[Illarion isn't wrong. These are a lot of hypotheticals Fern is twisting himself into knots over. He can't help it though, they screwed up so badly with Julia. Even if they didn't have all the information they needed to make a smart decision with her wellbeing, he still hates himself for choosing so poorly.

He makes a noise akin to a sigh, trying to calm down a little.]

She didn't ask us to do anything. We all just decided when we shouldn't have.

What, do you think, influenced the others' decision? What evidence did you weigh for yours?

[Part of this, of course, is Illarion's own need to understand how his new--well--home came to be.

But this is also not the first postmortem he's conducted with a child--or a subordinate--tormenting himself over a choice that ended with someone hurt or killed.]

[Fern rubs his temples, trying to remember back to that situation.]

I guess... people talking to each other? And we could talk to the people who had eggs, like Cynthia. That's how we all learned she wanted us to smash hers. They all kind of had something to say, except Julia, because I guess she was already mostly dead by the time this happened.

[Which doesn't make him feel any better, of course.]

[Of course. Mostly dead wasn't wholly dead, and with that came an illusion of hope.

That you could later bludgeon yourself with.]

Did she have something to say on her daughter's fate?

[Fern did so much bludgeoning with that tiny scrap of hope!!]

Not really, no. But she was also real messed up after everything, so I guess I don't really blame her for not having anything to say.

[It's a real mood Illarion can empathize with.]

Hmm.

[He considers for a moment or two whether there's anything else he wants to ask--and whether that's a kind thing to do, given the person he's asking is so distressed by recollecting on it.

Finally,]

Would you accept an outsider's judgment on the matter?

[Fern makes a noise like a sigh.]

Sure, dude. It can't hurt, right?

[And since he's always getting caught up in his own head that getting some external perspective has to help.]

Edited 2021-12-04 01:11 (UTC)

That is the hope, [he says, gravely.

His tone is not quite dispassionate as he continues, but very deliberate, very careful, as he lays out his reasoning.]

I do not now believe there was any way to save Julia. Even now, centuries after her death, the half-Pthumerians do not live long or happy lives--and that is even among people who know a little of Julia's story. They are creatures of two kinds, two worlds, that do not mix easily with each other, and many seem to suffer greatly before their deaths. If, indeed, they even can die.

Further, if there had been a way to save her, I do not believe it was by keeping her egg intact. An egg does not exist for itself: It exists for the chick inside, and if it does not break, the chick dies. Yes--the chick may also die if it breaks too early, but of the others whose fates you decided, none of them died.

Of them, two we know surely had most of their eggs broken--Cynthia, and she who is now Mother Mercy. These were reborn in new forms, with new chances. I suspect he who is now Koz was likewise broken of his old identity, likewise hatched.

It was likely too late already for Julia to hatch. Death may have been the only change left to her. In that light, you made the best choice you could.

Sometimes there are none that will save everyone. [More gently, he adds:] I am sorry that it came to that.

[Fern would love to take the easy route and just believe Illarion, that Julia was doomed anyways so nothing they did would have helped. But there's that endless nagging guilt at the back of his mind powered by his self-loathing and insecurities - that he didn't do enough for her, that of course he didn't do enough, he always was and always will be a huge failure at helping people.

Besides, just because she was from two worlds that don't mix doesn't mean her life had to be endlessly terrible. Maybe it's his empathy - he knows what it's like being two things that struggle to function as one being - but he wanted there to be more for her. She deserved a happy ending.

... He does have a point about the eggs, though. This is the first time he's really hearing about Mother Superior and the Mayor, and there's a sharp wave of anger at the back of his mind upon hearing that those two jerks were reborn. When he responds he's sounding frustrated.]

I hate that. Those two didn't deserve a second chance. All Mother Superior did was try to kill us all all the time, and the Mayor didn't even want Julia. He couldn't stand his own daughter!

[There's an edge to Fern's voice - he's more than a little sensitive when it comes to neglectful fathers.]

Julia deserved a second chance. Not them.

[Long, long experience with insecurity--both suffering and assuaging it--has taught Illarion not to expect any miracles from what he's said. It was lovely and poetic and vanishingly rare to be the stranger who stepped in to lift a sufferer from despair with a word. Most often change came in increments through the help of a trusted friend.

He'd offered his own analysis of the situation, and that was enough. None of his self-worth was tied up (any longer) in what people thought of the job he did.

...Still, he could wish for better. What a miserable situation to be as young as Fern (and Varian, and so many of the other children who'd survived the Nightmare) and to feel the whole weight of Julia's death as if it had been yours to prevent.

He makes a note to keep his ears open for more of this. And another note on the vehemence of Fern's retort, with its particular pattern of stress. (Ah, if only these things were as clear-cut as children thought they should be...)]

It does not seem fair, does it? That an innocent should die, while those who committed great evil should live on.

Have you been to Koz's Orphanage?

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sorry about the delay! got busy IRL all of a sudden and a little overwhelmed with tags

noooo problem

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