morally dubious dirt man ๐ weir dredger (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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finalflight2023-06-26 11:54 am
fossick) wrote in finalflight2023-06-26 11:54 amEntry tags:
fossick) wrote in finalflight2023-06-26 11:54 am
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Is that all you have to say?
[Oh, he feels as though her judgement is already there, lingering in her eyes. He can sense her spirits stirring beneath her skin; surely they have their own opinions.]
It's easy to steal anything away when you might control both mind and body. One woman was a sorceress. Another was a bloody Needle -- an assassin. It was simple. And I left them behind in that god's corpse.
I didn't kill them, for what that's worth.
[is that worth anything, really]
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[Lucinda neither looks disgusted nor angry. Judgmental, yes. But it all makes sense now, perhaps at least 70% of it. Everything Weir has explained to her tracks with what kind of person he is. He's willing to do anything to make sure he alone benefits.
Now how to explain the changes?]
And is that how the world changed? You activated this Heart?
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He doesn't so much as flinch at her look, though admittedly it isn't as cutting as he thought it would be. Though he wonders how she might handle this truth after the fact; will she stay here? Or does the fact that he practically wiped clean an old world to make room for a new one still register as too distant to be relevant to a woman who hails from another dimension?]
Aye. The Polymath covets knowledge in all forms. [He can't help but wonder if that's why it possesses a brain-like shape.] And what better knowledge is there to hoard but that belonging to an entire world? So, yes, I activated the Heart, and I wished for a new world, with all the knowledge, experiences, and memories of the people from the old one to be ushered into the Polymath's consciousness. In that way, they live on. And I fulfilled his favor.
Beyond that? I requested only a remade world with no interest in proper, powerful magic. No interest in the Pit. And that life in this town would be nothing short of easy, if I were to live out the rest of my days here.
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[The weight of Weir's actions is unfamiliar, but it's something akin to the sound of rolling thunder in the distance. And for a moment, Lucinda is not sure how to feel. The world before is not something she knew anything about or could mourn but no doubt what Weir Dredger did was awful, driven by pure selfishness. This was the type of devastating change that the Collective would absolutely stand against. And she can imagine being told to take drastic action for the greater good.
But this is not her world.
There's no Esper Collective to impose their will and whose judgment she could follow.
She's just one medium with three spirit familiars, all alone in this idyllic Vale with an uncertain beyond.
Lucinda's been quiet, perhaps for too long. But slowly and steadily she stands up and smooths out the sleeves of her tunic. And her question may not be what Weir would expect.]
Do you have any candles I can use?
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And when she does speak, it's indeed not a question he expected. His own response is curt.]
For what? [Tartly:] Going to light a vigil for those lost?
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If she's surprised that Weir caught on quickly, she doesn't show it. She shrugs at him.]
Unless you've beaten me to the punch?
[She doubts it; from the way, he spoke about dredging and her firsthand experience with just one monster from the Pit, there's very little he would mourn.]
... I'm a medium, first and foremost. [Her voice is soft and reverent as she casts her gaze towards the darkness outside.]
Acknowledging the lost ones is the least I can do.
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It's not as though they suffer. It's simply as though they never... were.]
Fine. I won't stop you if that's what you want.
[He is a Ye Olde, living in a Ye Olde town. He has plenty of candles, and no doubt she'd have noticed several lit in the darker hours of the evening, but if she wants something fresh, he can offer it.
But-]
Is that all you have to say, then? You want to ask for candles?
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... Are you happy, Weir?
[Was it all, worth it, she wonders?
When she was confined, she had wished for her parents, their maids, and all the people who came to her to just... Be gone. Dead, but not in a way where their shadows would haunt her.
That artifact that changed this world, the Heart, would have sorely tempted her back then, to erase everything and start over, including herself. She wasn't needed and didn't want to be needed if it meant the living and the dead would cling to her until she felt nothing of herself any longer.
Lucinda takes one step closer to Weir and stops there.]
And when I'm gone, will you be happier?
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Surely he does not need to answer this question. Surely she is not so blind as to not observe his mannerisms in this town, how he treats people, how selfish he is, his somewhat distant calculating manner when considering what actions to take.
However, this is not a subject in which he wants to unravel with her of all people. He has already told her the truth of what happened to this world, the truth of his real background, shown her his abilities (when he tried to murder her). What more does she need? The rest is unnecessary and, more importantly, it is none of her business.
He responds only to the last question and unkindly.]
I would be less inconvenienced. I told you that already, didn't I?
[He turns away from her, returning to his desk, putting away the last of his things for the evening.]
But I am going to help you find a way to return to your world, so that my life may return to normal, and I might wash my hands of this. Is that not what you want?
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I'll be taking some candles then.
[She recalls where they are and retrieves them herself. Three small white candles are cupped in her hand (she already has a lighter, one of the few items from her world on her person). Before leaving she covers the cake with a straw basket and as she slips on her cloak, Lucinda spares him a few more words.]
If you were the one who changed this world, I wonder why everyone in the Vale is so kind?
Surely, there was something that could have suited you more.
[But she leaves before letting him answer her question, slipping away quietly like a ghost.]
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He has nothing to say to her as she leaves.
Depending on when she returns (if she chooses to), the lodge will be quiet when she returns. Little more than the crackling sound of the fire blazing in its nearby hearth.]
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The flowers are arranged in a circle with the candles placed in the middle and then they are lit. She sits on her knees, closes her eyes, and presses her hands together in prayer.]
I'm sorry. I'm not the best person for this at all.
[Could you even pray for people who aren't part of reality anymore? It's been a while since she's done something akin to this. Ironically, Lucinda only occasionally takes up medium-centric work but on a much smaller scale. The Collective saw her more fitting as an enforcer these days.
And she was selfish too. The weight of people's desperation, the high of being reunited and then apart, pulls at the seams of her person and it threatens to bring her back to that place where she was at her weakest.
Maybe she wasn't as outraged by Weir's actions because of that similar self-centeredness within. Her hands squeeze even more tightly.]
If you're suffering I can only pray you aren't alone. If you're lost, I pray that this light can send you on your way.
And since you're not here at all, I'll hold onto that weight.
[The difference between her and Weir is though she struggles with regrets and what-ifs, she would not change her world if presented with the opportunity. It would mean that her new parents, River and his family, other espers, and most importantly of all, their Mother, would cease to be. Lucinda's burdens let her know that she is strong enough to move forward whether here, there, or when she finally passes on.
She pinches the flames of each candle, stands up, and heads back in. Weir, wherever he is, can hear some distant singing as she comes up on the path and to the door.]
Moon river
Wider than a mile...
[It goes on like that after she opens and closes the door behind her, takes off her cloak, and takes a chair to sit in front of the fire. Oddly enough, she's not going to sleep yet.]
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So, instead: he is a dark silhouette cast against the fire blazing in the hearth, haloed in amber tones. Heโs seated himself in a plain wooden chair beside it to keep warm in the chill of the night, taking a whetstone to his knife. He murmurs under his breath to a voice only he can hear.
But her melody floats in long before she opens the door. He doesnโt bother to cast a glance at her, not that she might be able to tell if he did in this lighting.]
So did it make you feel any better?
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[She acknowledges his question but doesn't commit to answering. Lucy pulls one leg up to rest her face on her knee as she gazes into the embers.]
... I should sing better songs for vigils.
[And yet the first thing she thought of was Breakfast at Tiffany's and Audrey Hepburn. Some sendoff, she scoffs at herself but it could be worse.]
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So what was that, then? Something unsuited?
[He does not know it; the tune is strange, but she is from another world. The music must all be strange to his ears.]
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Lucinda tries to recall the details about Breakfast at Tiffany's and the context of the verses. And then decides to keep it simple.]
A song about love. Like so many songs are.
[Because some people want to fill the world with silly love songs. Thank you Moulin Rouge (2001).]
Specifically traversing its path, to see what's beyond. It may or may not end well.
[Maybe she thought of the song because she imagined spirits traveling down a moon river. Who knows?
There's another moment of dark but comfortable silence. She starts murmuring another song, something, something, California. You know, just something that wasn't a love song.]
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He listens to the next one, though her murmuring lyrics do give him pause this time, stilling the whetstone against the sharpened edge of the knife and knitting his brow.]
You're getting him riled up over your California again.
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Has he been bothering you every time I mention it?
[Lucy thinks she should tread carefully if an otherworldly creature shows interest in her world. But on the other hand, it is kind of funny that he's bothering Weir about California.]
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He scoffs, and this time, his look does shine clearly in the firelight.]
The Polymath covets knowledge, as I said. Of course he would want to know all about a world he doesn't truly understand.
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It also just occurs to Lucinda (and she chastises herself for not realizing this sooner), that her presence as a hapless otherworldly visitor would make Weir's life more difficult because of the creature's appetite for knowledge. He must have been bothering the ex-Dredger a lot during their conversations especially where her world is concerned.
Not that it makes him any better. Additional context doesn't change sinners to saints.
Well, she can't promise that she won't whet the Polymath's curiosity. The medium was about to say she could sing something else but tiredness blankets her mind. Instead, she asks:]
The upcoming festival. Do they have music?
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Aye.
[A beat, almost warily-]
Why? Want to sing for the whole of the town?
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... No. Not unless there's a request. I'd be more than ready if asked.
[After she sleeps and rests maybe she can have some fun the following day before considering her options other than this place with Weir.]
I just want to know what their music sounds like. I'm thinking of going to the festival.
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He actually isn't certain. He goes back to sharpening his knife.]
It'll be the first time I'll see it. [The festival. They didn't have such a thing in the old Turner's Vale, dreary place that it was.] I'll be dragging back game from the forest the day afore the festival. These people want their feast, and the meat for it.
[So even Weir, too, has agreed to participate. If barely.]
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Lucy keeps that to herself. Now is the time for sleep. So she moves to stand up and when she speaks, her voice sounds like it's coming from the dark.]
I'll see you tomorrow then. Later, since you'll be busy.
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But good luck broaching that subject with him anytime soon.]
Ah, running off already? Not quite yet. [He stops his sharpening and waggles his dagger's hilt at her, and the gesture is casual, meant to indicate more than to actually threaten.] So you've decided to remain here despite what you've learned? Is that what I'm to take from this?
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