deernet | accidental video; un: daughter-sea

Entry tags:

accidental video; un: daughter-sea

cw: pagan-esque ritual sexy times, assassination attempts, body horror, sea themed horror

[ The memory begins as one of revelry. Of a fire, great and bright, that illuminates the scene. On a beach, in the hundreds, people dance.

Not a polite courtly turn, but in wildness, in passion, they fling themselves to the full strength of their body. Their clothes a mix of simple, and yet, ornate. White linen, embroidered in red, blue and silvery threads. Their heads are crowned with huge wreaths of flowers, and like Gilia herself, they all have a grip of the sea on them. Made manifest at its strongest in this wild display of hundreds of bodies moving as one. Gills on their throats to let them breathe deeper for their movement, hair moving like they were submerged underwater, their skin shimmering with scales of the brightest of fish, their movements so quick, so effortless and smooth. A world that was far, far back, to anyone inclined to know such things, a time removed earlier from even the Trench. There are those not adorned in the ocean, but they are no less, horns, burning red eyes, legs more like a deer, tree branches growing through skin. No one particularly human amongst them.

That, yes, if inclined to look a little further, on the edges of the light, it was possible to see quite a different sort of dance, coupling between men and women, women and women, men and men, twisting limbs moving with an even older sort of fervor. The couples - or more, it seems - having no care for their display.

Between them, walks Gilia, tall with her form on display, beside another man, Nikolai, who was taller than her again at near 6'6 in height. It seemed, though his hair was dark and far looser curled, their eyes of sharp blue were the same. Siblings. That the murmur calls them for what they are. First-Child, Second-Child. The Co-Rulers of these people, and they are greeted with respect, the soft murmurs as they pass, behind them flanked by their staff and families. Two ladies' maids for Gilia, and what appears to be the elder brother's two wives, that dispense charity gifts on Gilia and Nikolai's behalf.

Though in time, they are both stopped, a younger woman bows deeply to them both and smiles brightly. ]

"Will you not dance, kunigai?"

[ She gestures the area beside the fire that people were already moving out of the way, for one of the royals to dance. Gilia looked to Nikolai, the silent question which of them should do it. But Nikolai had never had half the love of dancing that Gilia had - and he gestures her onwards.

Nodding her head, her ladies step forward as immediately, and go to remove her crown of flowers, at its great size, and let her long curly hair float free. Wildly floating around her head, spanning out even greater than the flower crown. She moves to the center of the circle, and takes the hand of a man from the crowd, as they throng forward for the chance, and stepping long into it, the dance begins.

It's a test of grace as much as strength. As she begins, and the man is at least able to match her. That his job is largely to lift her in a series of flinging kicks and encircles, whilst the crowd whistles, cheers, clapping their hands and raising their voices to the loud drums of the music. Louder, and louder, as Gilia is spun out by herself and she gains momentum, to begin to spin, heel striking the ground as flings her legs and goes into a series of jumping kicks. Over and over, and over, faster and faster. The world blurring in the memory, the music matching. The clapping takes up beat as she turns like a spinning top, like a whirlwind, the calls turning wild as their Queen does as she should, dances in holy action, to commend them all to the Sea-Father's notice.

This was first, last, and always, a holy space. A divine space. That to each note sung, each movement, every member here would swear to the great purity of this act.

Incensed, moved, deafened as they all are, no one, no one sees the man move from the back. Face half-hidden in the darkness of dancing firelight, behind a crown of thorns. His hand moved to his belt knife which is not so strange, many here carried a knife.

But to draw it? Like a wolf approaching as Gilia's head it snapping around with her movements in a blur, she never, not once, stood a chance.

Her foot landed one last time, as he snagged her around the waist. Dizzy from dancing, she fumbled, falling back - as the air shattered with a pitched scream as the knife was at last seen.

And the knife is plunged directly into her throat. Attempting to slice, but Gilia's lurching movements and the sudden lurch of the crowd, he cannot hit where he wants, and instead the blade slips and moves, a jagged back and forth where it skids over her collar bone, sinking in above it, and drags it up. Up, up, up to her jaw. Tearing the silvery, seafoam surface of her skin that is more like fragile glass than human sinew and bone.

In this holy, magic state, it's not blood that wells out as she opens her mouth and screams in pain.

Something dark and far worse creeps out of her body. A bladed tendril of a place so dark, the light had never reached it thurst suddenly out. A creature from before there was life itself, of many eyes, no bones, sinks teeth into the hand that holds the knife, wrapping the tentacle around the arm to hold it, and rips the hand from the wrist with a vicious shake.

The crowd explodes into panicked screaming, stampeding as the cry breaks, the Queen is under attack! and the memory ends.

Gilia sits up, a silent scream, clutching the wound that is still open on her neck. The memory dragged up enough to activate the self-defense mechanisms of her other form, as seawater begins to drip out of the wound and she hastily tries pulls a blanket to it, trying to stop it. ]

Enough! Enough. It was bad enough to live it once than to share it with strangers!

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[ The memory is hypnotizing to watch. There's so much movement and beauty that Sharon can't help but watch it to completion. When the man attacks Gilia, Sharon gasps alone in her room and then shudders as something dark pulls forth from her wound and retaliates. Sharon knows what it's like for something inside of you to lash out, knows what it's like to have something dark inside. Dark and powerful.

She waffles on whether she should respond. The woman clearly didn't want others to witness it but she finally gathers the courage up to send a message. Her voice is soft with concern but there's curiosity in it, too. ]

You didn't die then, did you? That thing, it protected you, right?

[ Another time, perhaps the woman that had died that night, might have something milder in her tongue.

But someone had plunged that dagger deep, and killed that happy young woman, who danced and smiled, even when the world might be crushing her otherwise. Her words are ragged, exhausted, biting. ]

Despite their efforts, no, no it did not. Though it is not a thing, it is the Holy Patron of my Father, the divinity he grants us to be a fraction of his image. A blessing they forgot to count up, in their haste to see me spill my life-blood.

[ Sharon flinches at the sharpness of the woman's words but takes it in stride. She understands where she's coming from. It's not every day your worst memories are aired out to strangers. ]

I didn't mean to offend you. [ Sharon's words are much softer in turn. ] I'm glad you had protection from them. I know what it's like for people to try and kill you but underestimate your gifts.

[ It is not this woman's fault, she must remember. This woman is kind, this woman is giving. She has hopes and dreams and did not cause this.

But what betrayal will come? Is the quiet, dreadful whisper. She shuts her eyes and slows her breathing down. ]

You did not know. I am sure it seems quite fearsome to one unaccustomed. Forgive my shortness. [ She straightens herself, rubbing a hand against the back of her neck. ]

I am sorry you also have to know such things. No one should ever know this horror.

There's nothing to forgive. I'd probably be short with someone saying thoughtless things to me after that, too. [ Sharon can acknowledge where she's gone wrong in this conversation. She really should have been more careful and considerate, but she often blurts out her thoughts with no care for how they may come across. ]

It's the worst kind of pain, I think. That kind of betrayal and pain somehow manages to taint everything.

[Seeing the memory, and then seeing her with the same wound with the memory ends, sets off concern that this is a far more serious psychic attack than it seemed so far.

He's been concerned it's more than just an embarrassment, but now there's real cause to worry. So D has to track this woman down. Easier said than done, since he's never met her, but he is very good at his job even if he has to call on the abilities of his Left Hand to enhance his senses enough to find her.

Instead of being polite about it, D simply rushes in.]

[ He finds a proud woman, or the semblance of one, one who knows she should be, holding her throat closed, as she paces. The damp cloth staunching the rush of seawater to the surface of the wound. Her eyes closed, her head tilted back, a hand bracing on her lower back as she strides back and forth over her small sitting room. The fire embers burned low, a dim orange glow.

Far brighter, is the ebb of her form, that shimmer of bioluminescent lights that danced below the surface of her skin. A sign of how close she was to pushing back against her constraint.

Until he bursts in, brazen and bold, and she whirls. Immediately, as anyone would be, she is furious. Hastily, she clutches her shawl around her body, hiding her where she is dressed in only her shift. Her bare feet leave wet prints as she steps away from him. That tang of saltwater, that almost rushing sound against the back of the mind where she is deep in her gifts.

Scandalized, more than anything, once her shock takes a moment to settle and find words. ]

You dare enter the chambers of a lady with no announcement? Do you presume yourself my husband or wife?

[Despite the open wound and excess of salt water, there's no sign of any further attack or distress. Except that which D caused when he rushed in, thinking she would be under attack or in need of aid.]

I thought you might need immediate help.

[D gestures to her neck with his ungloved left hand, his gloved right hand still at his side but ready to reach for his sword at less than a moment's notice.]

If that's not the case, I apologize.

[Not for rushing in, because in his mind that's the correct response in such situations, but for the distress his response caused her.]

[ She watches him, and sees at last what has lead him to presume quite so much. Bursting in like this. His concern for her, is almost... sweet, if she were inclined to feel much that way.

How it might have made that girl swoon, once.

But they had put a dagger in that girl's neck. ]

It is not. You show your nobility in your care - but it is not. It is an old wound and one such that I will carry all my days. When things cut to the soul, they do so for life.

It will hold itself closed again when the pain fades again. See?

[ She takes only the one-stop closer, moving the cloth away from her neck to expose it for him to see.

A deep and dark and lovely place shows in the depths of that cut, that messy wound of now healed skin, yet no longer held together. Not bones and blood, no, but the ebb and flow of the life deep, deep below the waves. Of beautiful, colorful things, of foreboding things, and that in that place there is no separation.

Her fingers lift, and just coaxes them gently up the side of the cut, parting her lips. The note is long, held well in a simple rise as she brushes it like she would a child's tear-filled cheeks, and slowly, something emerges. A star-fish. Gently gripping as it peeks out, faster than an ordinary one, but still slowly as she sings a song of notes without meaning, and yet painfully sincere care. The starfish comes out of that wound in her throat, to grip like a living bandage, and begins to hold her throat closed, drawing her back together. Stemming the wash of the sea water, securing to her tighter than any lover has ever gripped her.

An ugly thing, she knows. She was never a beauty and now she does not care that even her general inoffensive pleasantness is lost. ]

There. No cause for concern.

[A soul wound. D has never seen any that weren't caused by a curse, but there are many things in the Trench that he has never encountered before.

The wound didn't cut into flesh and blood, it seems, but into something deeper and more primal. Whatever she is under the human shape, that's where she's wounded. The sea, it seems, just as that man is the night.

Was it the dagger itself, D wonders, or the person who wielded it, or something else entirely.

D isn't convinced entirely that there's no impending danger, that these painful memories aren't a prelude to a more dangerous mental attack. He lifts his left hand as if to reach out and touch, but doesn't.]

I see.

[But he has just rushed in on a lady who clearly wasn't expecting visitors. D turns away to offer her some privacy, able to see movement around her out of the corner of his eye but very pointedly not looking at her.]

You have an interesting idea of what's concerning and what's not.

[ He turns to give her privacy, and she goes to adjust herself. Removing her shawl as she walks to the corner of her bed and laying it out. The room is homely, she has begun to decorate it with practical though pretty things. Bold colours with flower patterns.

Her shawl is changed for a heavier fur edged robe that covers her far better. Then she takes a spare linen square and ties it around her hair and tucks the mass of free floating curls back underneath it. Far more modest now, as she clears her throat that he can look now.]

To you, perhaps. But the wound is old, to me. I have born it for many years. It did not kill me then, qnd unless you are here to finish the job? No. What's done is done.

As for the rest? This is how all my people are, as you will have seen.

[ The wild dancing, the power and the freedom of it.

By contrast, as she pours them both a glass of wine, and gestures to the two chairs by the fire, she is removed from any such display. Arranging herself like this humble setting was still the chambers of a Queen, and that they both would still afford each other deep courtesy.]

Edited 2022-05-30 02:17 (UTC)

[D would normally decline sitting, but it seems a bit too rude even for him after barging in. And he wants to stay and observe, in case there is in fact more to this than unpleasant memories being dredged up and soul wounds.

So he takes the glass of wine and sits in the chair and takes a sip. Any enjoyment he might normally take from drinking wine is overshadowed by the perpetual disappointment this month any time he swallows something that isn't blood.]

I've never seen a wound to the soul quite like that before. But I have seen wounds brought on by attacks on the mind, memories of being cut that leave one bleeding physically.

I am beginning to get that impression.

[Dry as could be, she sips slowly, watching him from behind her glass.

If the barging in suddenly to see if she was fine was anything to go by.]

I assure you that assassin's blade was quite a ordinary piece of metal. The difference was my state. It was a holy day, and I wore my soul freely in celebration with my people. I was as close as I could be with the Sea Father.

[D will still stand by his decision. Or more likely ignore any question about if he thought it was a good idea or not.]

I see.

[Her connection to the sea might be similar to D's own connection to Darkness. There are undeniable differences, though. Nothing D can do would make his soul vulnerable like that.]

To embrace that side of yourself is to be vulnerable.

[ As she settles again, no longer pacing furiously, her Omen finally creeps about out shyly from where it had hidden in her hair from her tempest. The delicate creature that a Sea-Dragon was, it merely drifts, until just its nose and head are visible.

Her hand lifts up absently to it, letting it curl more securely against her fingers. ]

Powerful, but vulnerable. My elder brother, Nikolai, dragged me to the water and prayed for my survival. I have always been a devoted daughter to our Holy Father, and he answered, sparing my life, though the wound will never heal as skin and bone would.

[ She doesn't relish revealing this, for obviously reasons. ]

I must warn you, I have become only greater in my gifts since then. If you try to do the same, I will take more than your hand in my defense.

[ It's not personal, she trusts him no more or less than any other stranger.

But after seeing that night, she doesn't think anyone would find it strange why she has a general assumptive distrust of people getting too close to her. ]

Merciful isn't something I'd associate with the sea, or any god embodying it, you're fortunate the sea father is more kind than any god reigning in my world.

[D merely nods in acknowledgement of the warning and takes a drink.]

I'm no assassin, but life takes people in strange directions. If we reach that point, you can be certain I'll keep it in mind.

[Not reassuring, but D won't hold back once he has decided someone needs to die. Man, woman, or child, he has seen all become monsters beyond redemption, and at that point they cease to be people in his eyes and merely become obstacles.

It's different here, where people can be brought back from being a beast or being corrupted, but that won't stop him from killing when he sees it as necessary.]

We say that the Sea is fair. Not merciful. It will give, and it will take. It is man kind's folly to look for one without the other. To ask and not expect to give. To want and to never share.

I gave my life, of every moment, in devotion to the Sea-Father. I never questioned nor turned away from his call upon my soul.

[ These are old lessons, learned at the knee of elders with grizzled fingers from weaving fishing nets. In another life, the life where her brother was not a traitor, where there was no war - she would have accepted that no one mortal should ever love her, and take the veil once and for all, and devote her life entirely to his worship.

She sees it briefly. That blissful, maddened, happiness. Where all mortal desires are beyond her. Perhaps she would have been granted the greatest of all gifts, to be taken and made to a sea-creature while still living. A being of scales and songs to serenade for all eternity. How wonderous. How pure.

Now - she is a woman of a scarred throat and an empty heart and more dead to her name than St. Loe himself, so many centuries ago. ]

I am all too familiar, how life will snatch all your plans away. But I do not want power over others, great empires, if that is what you are afraid of. I would not blame you. But I want as I always have, to live quietly and well. If I am left alone, I shall do my best to do the same with others.

That kind of folly isn't limited to humanity.

[That kind of devotion makes D a little uncomfortable because it reminds him of the kind of devotion offered to the Sacred Ancestor. The kind of devotion that allowed his rule over the world to persist for thousands of years after he no longer cared to reign.]

It wouldn't bother me if you did want that. Or even if you achieved it. There are curses that can make people cruel, unfeeling shells of who they once were; just as strong or stronger as they were but with no consideration of life, only a desire to kill to satisfy themselves.

[D takes a long sip of the wine when he finishes speaking. His concerns with the world have been very narrow for a long time, and that hasn't changed since arriving here.]

[ It isn't clear at first what's being broadcast over the network, but K recognises the newcomer, Gilia. The beach doesn't look like anywhere he's ever been in Trench, and the people don't appear to be Trench natives or Sleepers... He watches events unfold in fascination, getting the distinct impression that this is something that has already occurred. Far too late to stop it, now.

His suspicions are confirmed when the memory fades and the real Gilia appears in frame — evidently still injured? Normally he would respect her privacy by not acknowledging such a personal and obviously unintended broadcast, but the wound is concerning. ]

Lady Gilia. You're injured...? Are you all right?

[ She is not happy that this has been shown to everyone. Such weakness in her was given to everyone to see. She holds her hand tightly around her throat, trying to soothe the wound. ]

I am well as can be. [ It's strained, her voice a softened rasp, yet still curt, irritated. Trying to desperately hide her fear, the horror of that night. ]

... I was a stupid little girl, and now I carry this with me as a reminder, that is all.

[ The curtness immediately makes him feel chastised, but his concern remains. That it's the same injury seems odd, but, then, Gilia is very clearly not human. Perhaps she heals differently than they do. ]

I see. An old injury, then. [ And yet worry lingers in his expression and voice. It isn't his place to ask about the context of what he just witnessed, though he's dreadfully curious now. ] It was your memory? I'm sorry I viewed it, I didn't even realise... [ Shaking his head, he trails off. ]

[ She exhales slowly. Easy, daughter, easy, they are just men. They do not deserve the hurt of your heart. You know this. ]

It was. It is not your fault, I am sure. It was... [ Swallow, it's not funny but the laughter is dry. ] ... it was what happens to Queens. Nothing unusual there.

[ That's certainly grim. ]

I won't pry. But if talking about it might help you... [ He tilts his head in invitation. Probably not something she'd want to discuss with a relative stranger, he knows, but she seems so shaken by the memory that he figures it can't hurt to offer. No reason she should have to deal with this entirely alone unless she wants to. ] Or if there's anything else I can do for you — let me know.

[ How kind, and it makes her pause, inhaling, exhaling. Trying to find her calm, to stop herself broiling and rising, and fighting as uselessly as she had that night. ]

Tell me... [ Something, anything. ]

Do you have children? A lover? A spouse? Do you miss them?

[ Not to pry, simply, that she must distract herself if she is to contain it all. ]

[ It isn't often that he'll speak much of his personal life like this, not out of any kind of shame but simply because he tends to be a private person in general, when allowed to be. But he does catch on to her seeking a distraction. So. Fair enough. He offered. ]

I had a spouse once. And currently have a partner. [ There's a pause as he seems to be considering something — realising Gilia has possibly mistaken him for a human — then: ] I'm an android. A type of artificial intelligence, if you know what that is? I can't... produce children. Unfortunately. And haven't adopted any yet. [ It's said a little wistfully; he'd like to have children of his own. ] Though I do try to look out for the ones here.

May I ask the same of you? If you'd like to answer.

[ She can't understand in the end, machines are far, far different creatures to her to know what it might be to understand words like 'artificial intelligence. He seems real enough, what difference could there be?

But rather than ask anything insulting, she just nods her head, listening. ]

A husband, and thre- two, children. It is not a love match before you ask. Royals do not marry for love. [ It's flat, uncaring, if it hurt once she has buried it deep enough to seem simply pragmatic about it. ] I am thinking of sending for my husband's mistress, so they may marry into our family. It will do well for the children to have another mother about.

[ Oh... that correction makes his heart lurch with the implication. How terribly sad. He's torn between offering sympathy and not knowing whether it would be inappropriate — and bringing attention to it might just dredge up more unpleasant memories. The conflict is there in his expression, but remains unvoiced. ]

Arranged marriages like that aren't unheard of, where I'm from. But it is more common to be able to choose one's spouse out of love, at least for humans. [ And androids aren't (legally) permitted to marry at all, since they're not considered people. ]

Have you ever had a... love match? Or wanted one? [ Been allowed one? Though he hopes that doesn't apply. ]

That is usually how it is for common folk or for second or third marriages, and I have been lucky to have presided over many such marriages. They are grand things, more so than any royal marriage.

[ She clears her throat, he cannot know how it hurts. How much and how deeply all of it does. But this is what it means to have such power and this is what it means that she should live such a life. ]

One must love me for it to be a love match, and when I was younger and had such freedoms, I did not inspire that. Now? I could not trust the lips of those that would say such. They will only ever truly want my power. Best to be arranged, that way, then all parties are honest in their dealings and desires. Safer for everyone involved.

[ Is she saying that she's never experienced what it is to be loved, romantically? That, too, seems incredibly sad to him, that an arranged marriage she likely had no choice in might be her only experience with relationships. ]

Even in this place, you wouldn't trust it? Trench is very different from your home universe, I expect.

Where I'm from, I'd never be allowed the freedom that I've experienced here and in Deerington — that's the place some of us were in before Trench. My kind are property to humans. [ A pause. His gaze has drifted to something offscreen. ] Slaves. But not called that, because we aren't considered people. Just things. Machines.

But here... I don't have a human owner. I'm allowed to be a person, and to make my own choices. Have my own life to live as I want to. [ For him, this has been quite a speech; he isn't normally so talkative outside of text communications. But it's clear this is something he feels strongly about. His eyes return to the Omni screen now, to her. ] You're allowed the same freedom here.

[ Though she might have her reasons for wanting to avoid romantic entanglements here, he supposes. Still. At least she has the choice. ]

I am glad for you, you should always have such joy in your life and it grieves me if has taken so long for such happiness to come to you.

[ but there she has to press her lips together and try to... answer him.

Gently. He was being kind. He was attempt to find the best of the world to see true to that.]

The Trench may be different, and I am happy for all it may bring... but...

... for the power that is bound to my very breath, it shall remain the same as any other place.

[ K hadn't expected to convince her with words alone, so her response isn't entirely unexpected. She has her reasons to believe that, he's sure — perhaps it's cultural upbringing or something to do with her people, perhaps it's down to cruel experience teaching her not to expect better. He's intimately familiar with the latter himself.

Still, he retains hope that she might be proven wrong in time, for her own sake. ]

May I ask why that is?

[ It feels so strange to have to explain something that had always been understood to her mind. Strange and little... over grand, if she were to be plain. How to put it plainly, that did not seem like nobles waffling on with pretense of grandness?

Her lips press together. Humming on it exactly. ]

I can drown cities when I scream. I have, have drowned at least that many. I am She Who Sings the Ocean to Prosperity. Who Echoes With the Ceaseless Voice. Either a good man or woman, whom I wish would love me, has the sense to be scared of me, and I am a tyrant who would take advantage of that which makes them feel they cannot refuse me for fear of their own life, to soothe myself instead.

And if they are not afraid of me, it is because they have use of it for themselves instead. This kind of power builds Empires and topples countries, and forgetting that has led to so much pain, that I shall never forgive myself.

Yes, the Trench is different, its customs too. The land may look different. But your people in truth do not sound so different to my people. Scared, greedy and hungry. Needy, fearful things of mewling mouths and sad, lonely hearts filled with pain.

Everything may change, yet I find, no matter how far I have traveled now, people do not.

[ A great eldritch power. It reminds him uncomfortably of Jonathan Sims, who had been a vessel for such a being and, on more than one occasion, had failed to control himself — to devastating effect. Too often against the AI residents of Deerington in particular.

...Yet even such a human monster had found love. Sims's boyfriend, Martin, was one of the closest friends K's ever been fortunate enough to have. A story for another time, maybe. He doesn't wish to diminish Gilia's own experiences with such comparisons. ]

I'll be among the last to defend humanity after what they've done to me and my kind. They're exactly as you say, and it does seem to be universal across the multiverse. The native populace of Trench is no different, I'm sure. [ He acknowledges this with a slight nod. But... with all of that said. ]

I've met individuals who are exceptions to the rule. Maybe that's the best one can hope for. I can't say whether you might find the same here, but I hope you will. [ A moment of hesitation, then, quieter: ] That sounds like a very lonely existence.

[And to that, her point is made and she concedes to his point in turn with a brief bemusement that does not quite make her smile bit there is an uplift in the corner of her eyes.]

Well if you ever spy this magnanimous person who fancies themselves a scarred woman of plain features, by all means, you may make the play on my behalf.

[ But the dry soft laugh says to just how unlikely that is ever going to be.]

[ Is she... giving him permission to play matchmaker? He can't help but smile a little at the thought. He has no idea how to go about doing such a thing, but, well. If nothing else, maybe it'll net Gilia a few new acquaintances or maybe even friends. ]

Why such a low opinion of yourself? There's nothing wrong with having scars — I'm willing to bet anyone who's been here more than a week'll have some, too. [ And possibly worse. Trench could be exceedingly unkind, sometimes. ] And your features are too striking to be considered plain.

[ It's less of a compliment and more of an objective truth, as far as he's concerned. ]

[ She snorts, waving a hand off in amusement at his compliments. A familiar deflection that is as much self-protection against the sort of people that hang about a powerful woman, looking to gain favor. ]

Flattery, but I know you are being kind. Believe me, I know what the poets write of me and all the looks went to my sister.

[Maul watches the proceedings in the memory, feeling a bit entranced by it all. There's a wildness to these people on the screen, something that reminds him of the Nightkin of Dathomir, the feral, fierce, proud nature that his people come by through their long lineage of living in a place where the Dark Side of the Force rules, stretching out over an entire planet. It's hard for those who are human to understand sometimes, that there is a complete sense of otherness to different species that makes them far more alien than their mere looks can imply.

He sees Gilia and her dancing again makes him think of a wild creature, something not tame at all in her graceful leaps and bounding movement. This is only reinforced when the man tries to assassinate in her and whatever he glimpsed inside of her at the beach is brought forth to the surface. It takes him a while after the memory has ended to respond to it.]

What name do they call your people?

[There's much more he wants to ask but that will do for starters.]

[ It is at least enough time that she can swallow down her panic, her fear, the pain, Spirits the pain that never left echoing from that night to have a calmer voice.

Her people, her people who made all of this misery worth it. Who she would always sacrifice everything for. ]

We are the Children of the Sea-Father. The St. Loe. [ Or as she says it, not at all how it is written: Sin-Lao. ]

This Sea-Father? Is he your god? Does he grant his children power then?

[It was both terrifying and yet there was almost a strange sense of beauty to what he's just seen on the screen.]

[ It still feels strange that anyone might not know who the Sea-Father is, so old and great and important as he is to everyone, not just her people, specifically. ]

Spirit. One of the Greatest, indeed, we call him a Great Spirit, though there are others.

He is the Father of Creation, he and the Land Mother nurtured us all, so all beings share some connection to him, as we do one another. Indeed all other spirits are connected to him too.

But long ago, to save all his creations, he chose my ancestor, St. Loe himself. He took him into the ocean's embrace and shared his soul as halves with him, to give him these gifts. Since then, we have been blessed this way in a sacred ceremony done when we are infants. From commoner to the king.

But as a member of the royal family, and a direct descendent... my gifts are greater as you can see.

[He listens with rapt attention. Part of it is the thirst for power in him, not innate but still ingrained deeply into his mind all the same by his master, but another part is that natural inquisitive nature that has come from living in a galaxy with so many different species, cultures, and planets on them.]

So these spirits, they created your world, and all are found throughout nature then? And as a member of royalty, are you prescribed to do his will then?

[ And she certainly has power, doesn't she? Terrifying and deep. At this point, it is almost expected. For self-preservation, as she had told K, if nothing else. Men or women, they do not want her, care for her, love her. They want the power. They will always just want her power.

At least she gives a dry laugh. His will. Oh, the Sea-Father's will. ]

Not his will. He is a being from when the earth was new. He has no will as you or I would know it. No desires. No interests. Only care of his followers, in the sense that we are Him and He is Us.

How to... have you ever felt the blood in your body sing? Writhe. Twist. Like... how it feels I am told to make passionate love. But deeper. Until you feel your whole body alive from the inside out?

Ah. He is so old and so powerful as to be above such things. Sometimes I feel that is a better way to be than anything else

[His eyes brighten up when she asks that question.]

Yes. That is what it feels like when I can feel the Dark Side of the Force flowing through me, when I am closest to it. I feel connected to everything and everyone around me.

... Ah. The force? As what Master Obi-Won Kenobi shares?

[ She clears her throat. ]

That is what it feels like when the Sea-Father speaks. It is power, old and deep and true, beyond any definition. It takes Nuns years to decipher his augurs.

Yes, though he follows one discipline called the Jedi which focus on the Light Side while I am a Sith, which delves into the Dark Side.

[He nods again, still that eager look on his face in having someone who can relate to similar experiences as he has felt in the Force. Aside from those in his own galaxy, he hasn't run into too many here in Trench who can.]

Yes, that is much like the Force. While there is light and dark in it, at its core, it simply is, without thoughts of good or evil. It runs through all beings whether they can fell the presence of it or not.

[ Dark side, light side. Some queer term she cannot fathom entirely. ]

For us, any may form these kinds of bonds. We simply call ourselves the bonded and the unbonded.

Why do some choose not to bond with your patron spirit?

[Maul can't really fathom the idea of not wanting to bond with something that could give him more power, but then, he's been indoctrinated since he was a young kit to think that way by Darth Sidious.]

It is not common, but some choose to break from their families or alliances.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

accidental video; un: daughter-sea

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apologies on how late this is; I'm in the process of moving states

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