3 - open spam, gift list

[exnihilo]

[Open spam]

[Mira spends a lot of time in the greenhouse. She's barefoot, shoes dangling from magnetic straps from two fingers, enjoying the organic feeling of soil beneath her soles. She is so bored, and so still. She doesn't know if she wants it to stop or not.]


[Private to the Admiral]

This isn't my tradition.

Fine.


For Iris, if there’s anything she’d want to remember, all things considered, if she knew she’d forgotten it – don’t tell her. Just…give her a clue, so she can be her own puzzle.

Please give Harvey a white poppy boutonniere. It's a sign of peace.

...what the hell. Give Two-Face a carnival mirror. Really warped. The right thickness to shatter in a satisfying way, if that's how he takes it.

Wherever there are public religions, there are people that mock them, loudly or quietly. If you would, please give Arthas a collection of satirical jokes made by people in his world about any gods he believes wronged him.

Give Cassel a conductor’s hat and a train whistle.

Comments

[fireincarnate]

It's amazing. It's not - it can't be real, but it feels like it. [And that means something, when you can feel the world itself pulsing around you.] It can be anywhere, anywhere natural any of us has ever been.

[exnihilo]

[There's a flare of emotion from Mira, a warped surge of hope/hunger/bitterness. It doesn't show on her face.]

Can you choose where?

[She expects nothing. She isn't sure what she'd want if did - but she doesn't. It's just a question.]

[fireincarnate]

Not exactly. [Her brow furrows, a bit.] But it - we shape it, I think, with our minds.

[exnihilo]

What do you shape?

[fireincarnate]

[A sad, soft smile.] The grounds. At home, I lived in - a mansion, a school. And we had acres of just - trees and flowers and sunlight.

[exnihilo]

You're from Earth, right? So many people here are.

[fireincarnate]

Yes. It's strange, isn't it? The universe is... [Her gaze goes distant, for a moment.] Not limitless, not really, but... [She shakes her head; it's hard to put into words.]

Where are you from?

[exnihilo]

[There's a psychic flinch, like pressing on an old bruise, like putting weight on a twisted ankle. There's emptiness there, something broken and wrong, and it doesn't - hold. But outwardly she just shakes her head.]

I traveled a lot.

[fireincarnate]

[Jean feels it, of course, but she's good at not reacting to things unsaid; her expression doesn't change as she nods.]

It must be strange, then, being stuck in one place.

[exnihilo]

Not yet. I spent a lot of time on spaceships.

Maybe it will feel strange, after a few more ports. Coming back to the same one, with the same people.