Scene #8471:

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Petra Soroka	The human brain isn't really meant to endure unbroken consciousness for extended periods of time. Even when the physiological effects of sleep are taken care of by other means, the psychological burden of never being allowed to stop existing for a little while, forced to experience every second of every day consecutively and continuously, is draining. At least it is for Petra. Her nightly returns to the featureless plain that makes up her malformed psychic dreamscape are dull enough to make the days outside them blend together if she lets them. There was seemingly nothing she was allowed to do except think-- walking never got her anywhere, and though the ground beneath her feet feels like a thin film of quicksilver over something solid, no amount of scooping or swiping was able to reveal anything beneath it. The fluid, so instinctually controlled as her blood in reality, slides through her fingers like water. Petra even resorted to trying meditation to pass the time, which she hadn't done since months before leaving Applied Ontology. Every time she managed to slip into the mindset successfully, though, she was interrupted by a sharp itching sensation erupting all over her body, like splinters buried underneath her skin. At least tonight she has more to think about. Petra tilts her head back to look up at the frosted window sky, showing Kale and the interior of the Campground car of the train. It still pisses her off that Kale is being forced to pretend to be kind to her because of a geas, apparently with the freedom to allude to how much he hates her, as long as he doesn't say it-- that he has a magical justification to draw an arbitrary line in the sand for himself to toe at, and then get mad when Petra crosses it. It makes her mad that he was forced to not execute her too, and she has to remind herself that, despite the reasoning, it is to her benefit that he didn't murder her, but she doesn't have to feel grateful about it. For something that's apparently supposed to make Kale behave better, the geas really didn't seem to change how he came across at all. Petra sighs, and realizes that she'd prefer mindlessly trudging through nothingness all night compared to thinking about Kale. His company while she slept was almost worse than being alone, though nobody actually could be worse than that. The one thing that's changed in Petra's past month of wandering the psychic expanse, from the dreamscape itself to Petra's own colorfully-bleeding and underdressed form, is the knotted sunburst brand on her midriff, shining gold through her shirt. It doesn't take her long to spot the black smudge on the foggy horizon, and she immediately veers towards it, picking up her pace.
Lilian Rook	Spotting the needle of black piercing through this unnameable place in the Silver-- the rivet holding one Petra's singularity of consciousness to something else-- is easy enough. It feels like blind wandering, across some impossibly vast expanse, has led her here by luck again, like it might just be in a consistent place and simply awakens here randomly. It feels like it was meant to happen too, like cause and effect were playing a coy and flirty little trick on her. But it's that again, and §her again. And that's better. But it's not the same as last time. It takes Petra most of her approach to be able to see, but once she notices, she can't possibly ignore it. First seen is that the anomaly is simply bigger. The space within the helical lattice spearing through sky and silver is at least twice as wide across. It's as if it changed dimension to fit-- no, that this is a different place along its length that contains this scenery. The grim facsimile of her prison cell is gone. The eerie grass is better matched by the facade of some sort of garden therein, or perhaps a shadow of one. A gently swaying plot of dark vegetation, soft as half-light, too long to be mowed for display, half-filled with ivy and flowers of onyx and frosted glass, black steel and lodestone. The center is dominated with a grand tree of ostensibly advanced years and similar shades, casting its shadow over much of the space from the pale moonlight radiating from the puncture in the sky, through which Petra can see unfamiliar stars and hear the soft sussurus of night ocean waves. Though Petra likely can't name it, she's pretty sure it isn't an apple tree, yet the boughs are sparsely decorated with tiny, hanging fruit, that fizzle-glitter in a familiar way, made of dusty gold with black static for shine. §She§ sits in the crook of its lowest branch, legs half-folded and partly dangling over. When §her§ eyes fall on Petra, she can clearly see, without the crimson 'blood' obscuring it this time, the equally dark scar in just the right place; neatly edged and even more iconic than the real thing. The air inside is filled with . . . less, of that haze, than before. The ghostly shades of §they're not real people anyways are absent here, but the faint smoke in the air doesn't help the unsettlingly pretty spot look any less spooky. It is an implicit threat to any thoughts of Petra may have of slipping under where a bend in the helix forms an arch just large enough to duck under. §She§, of course, has no hesitation in locking on Petra immediately; §she§ tilts §her§ head in what reads as a mix of mild surprise and curious interest. §<<Not once, but twice? <Petra Soroka/Unchosen One of space>, you are truly an <auspicious omen> of a girl. I had thought <you and I> would <grow distant/cease to understand> once that singular <window in time/weakness in armour> had passed, but you've moved from the <tip of the branch> closer to the <trunk>.>>§ the sound comes, in her head and her ears, as hair-raisingly frightening-intoxicating as before. §She§ leans §her§ chin into a hand, elbow placed on §her§ thigh. §<<To borrow <her/our> words, 'My my, what's happened to you now?'>>§
Petra Soroka	Petra hadn't consciously registered the thought before actually arriving at the helix, but seeing that it contains something other than the prison cell eases some tension in her. The garden, absorbed with eager eyes as she steps through the ghostly grass with care bordering on reverence, is a much more welcome sight than that place would be. That it's not only different, but better, a scene that Petra doesn't recognize specifically, but intuits the sentimentality that Lilian must feel for it by the way the plants are represented in her-- shouldn't it be 'my'?-- head, feels comforting. The pillar, the ethereal monochromatic palette of its surroundings, and the shadowy haze hanging over it, should join together to feel oppressively spooky. Last time, the scene inspired dread in Petra, a sense that faded as she and Exigent Serenity spoke, but never quite disappeared. Now, however, the transition from empty metallic wastes to the soft carbon-ash soil adds a little spring into her step, as she hurries to the side of the pillar. "Hi! Exigent Serenity!" Remember not to call her an alien a second time. "I mean, I'm surprised too, but I guess it's less unlikely to happen a second time than it is a first time, right?" Petra meanders over to an open spot between two of the bands of the helix, then carelessly sits down on the soil, the tips of her boots touching the barrier stretched around the garden, knees bent and propped up. Her eyes dart over to the arch-- I'm not supposed to go in, am I? There's no way.-- but settle on §her§, head tilted slightly in return. "'The tip of the branch' and the 'trunk'...? Oh, like--" Petra lifts her hands to gesiculate, trying to mime a sort of conical shape of a branch approaching a trunk of a tree, demonstrating how it widens. Removing both of her hands from their positions to either side of her hips where they were holding her torso up makes her wobble unsteadily, almost falling backwards. "So it's like-- woah-- like that's why it's bigger this time? Closer to the main growth? That's how the metaphor works, isn't it?" Petra puts her hands back down at her sides, indenting in the soil. At least some of her cheerfulness so far has been simply from being happy to have company, and her smile dims a little at §her§ last question. "I don't know. Is what happens to me what matters?" I guess I don't really know how much you are aware of, for Lilian, but I assumed all of it. Isn't what happens to her more important? The golden light from the sunburst glowing through Petra's shirt shines warmly below her face, casting shadows upwards. "I-- I dealt with him. With help. That's the big one, I think. I'm not done with him yet, but I got him away from her, so I'm-- I'm happy about that." And a little proud, even though I fucked it up in the first place. Is that okay? I don't know.
Lilian Rook	§<<Is it?>>§ §she§ asks Petra. The weightless ease of the question is so gravity-defying that she can't really tell if it's genuine or sarcastic. It's being asked by someone who'd be equally interested either way. §<<Fewer people are <struck by lightning> twice than once.>>§ §Her§ eyes narrow, from the bottom up, in that way that somehow expresses more overflowing delight than Lilian ever does with her entire face, when Petra goes through her little pantomime. §Her§ legs slide over the edge, and swing in idle amusement. §<<It should be obvious, why <she/I/we> know metaphors of <trees> best, shouldn't it~?>>§ Even that lilting, teasing tone sends shivers up the spine and warm phantom fingers down the jawline. §<<Perhaps 'main' isn't completely true. Which part of <your totality> is the 'main growth'? But you're <many steps towards enlightenment> enough.>>§ "I don't know. Is what happens to me what matters?" §Exigent Serenity§ pauses, as if the question had just now begun to interest §her§ the moment Petra said it, far more than it had in theory. §<<Mustn't it? You are the one who <reaches out/conceives in facsimile> the place <where I am/that is me>. It isn't what happes to 'Lilian Rook' that brings you <here>, but what 'Lilian Rook' has changed about <you> in those things happening. After all, this <cognitive space> is yours. My <roots> are set in another one, and <the physical cradle of my birth> somewhere else.>>§ With equally unbound ease, §she§ swings down from the branch, §her§ feet rippling the grass as if by a circular wave of gentle wind. §<<Did you know that I like you? That <Dimo/Chosen of Silver> reached out to you with her <hand of hands> and you not only refused <to fall into her orbit>, but <slashed her hand and drank her blood/carved away a sliver of Chosen> to jealously keep to yourself . . . Even if it's just as <hollow> as you are for now, <I/we> admire it. That pointless, selfish, self-destructive, self-defending cruelty, that arrogance-- no wonder <she/we> loves you in the <twisted/poisonous/perfect> way she does.>>§ §<<This empty place is a <chamber> <loaded> with your <cognitive/narrative> <potential>. It lies within The Silver, but is all your own. A 'Cyst' is a true thing to call it, but so is a <signal/mark>. If not for the things you'd stolen, you'd never <amplify your thoughts> enough to reach <me/I>. Congratulations, <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space>; your contempt for the beautiful things that are offered freely has stripped you of some of your <extraneous branches/excess mass> and you have <flown higher/pushed harder> from 'Earth's gravity' than you have ever before. Just like you've always wanted~ Doesn't it feel good when <cutting things away> hurts so much, and gets exactly what you crave?>>§
Lilian Rook	"I-- I dealt with him. With help. That's the big one, I think. I'm not done with him yet, but I got him away from her, so I'm-- I'm happy about that." here it is. That beatiful little slasher smile, too-similar to that scar when rendered on §her§ face. §<<I should be a little bit angry, that you pulled <she and I> apart, but the way in which you did it-- somehow you haven't. In cutting 'Lilian Rook' from that burden, you've isolated her from <humanity> more than before; your clever trick is in <distancing her from the surface> by <letting her soar> rather than <dragging her under>. You really are something~>>§ §She§ soundlessly wanders over, just enough to crouch near the arch. §Her§ shadow is faint, luminous white. §She§ stares intensely into Petra's eyes. §<<I'm happy, too. If she'd only killed that man, like she'd always, always wanted to . . . We'd be so happy <together>. There was no rational reason for her not to. She had the desire, the means, the need, the emotional foundation, the sense of justice, to do so. What 'Lilian Rook' cannot tolerate, more than anything else-- what <she> hates so much that she created <me>-- is the idea <all that pain was for no reason at all/I lost what I cannot retrieve by not fault of my own>. So, she invented that reason. Her own justification for 'him', and her own <crimes> to <accept punishment for>.>>§ §<<Freeing her from 'him', ever so perversely, has freed her from <everyone else/the ambient energy> who ever deceived her into doing the same. Which is <humanity> as a whole, really~>>§ Seated in the grass, Petra feels her toes slip through the place where invisible glass should keep her feet through the arch, dipping into empty air. The taste of the smoke is on her tongue; ever so faintly; not acrid and bitter like something burnt, but cold and stinging like water hacked up from the lungs between drowning and breathing, stifling and dizzying like vacuum, if it could be vapourized into a trace particulate. It's barely tolerable like this. She can scarcely imagine what it's like when it's thick. §<<You can feel proud, <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space>. I'll allow it. There is a <blade of oaths/Sword-Seal/chain of binding energy> with your <name/fracture> on it now. You've helped <I/us> break this suffocating plateau, as <I/we> work to sublimate <All The Time In The World Is Mine> into <The Lady In Black>.>>§ §<<But I asked you a question. What of you? Why, after all your aid to 'Lilian Rook', are you even closer to <I>? To find me again can only mean you are more <weightless/adrift> than you ever were before. Your <love and pride/great deeds/proof of worth> should have planted your feet firmly in reality. You should have everything you wanted from your <contemporaries/peers/lessers>, but all you've done is <separate from Earth> so strongly that you've become caught in <one girl's gravity/my web>.>>§ §<<How can you pull her so strongly, yet be caught up in <her/our> hate instead? I can feel it in you. Right now. It burns more strongly than even before.>>§
Petra Soroka	§<<It isn't what happens to 'Lilian Rook' that brings you <here>, but what 'Lilian Rook' has changed about <you> in those things happening. After all, this <cognitive space> is yours.>>§ Petra tilts her head and pouts, rolling over the idea in her head like it'd never occured to her before. I guess that's true, isn't it? It barely even feels like my head, with how little control I actually have over what happens in it, but that's not really anything new. "But it is still you, and it's not like I could've intentionally brought you here. And you described last time as a 'weakness in armor'. That's 'something that happened to her'." It can't be all, or even mostly, me. This isn't the kind of thing I'm suited for (allowed to do); I need someone to open the path for me. Petra's mind is indulgently unguarded for §Exigent Serenity's§ consumption, as she watches §her§ acrobatic approach. Thoughts bubble up from deeper than surface communication, messy and overlapping, coming across as unconscious texture rather than intentional phrasing. Especially for following her. §<<That pointless, selfish, self-destructive, self-defending cruelty, that arrogance-->>§ Petra shifts uncomfortably, drawing her knees closer to her chest. She runs a finger through her hair to tuck it behind her ear, then traces that finger down her neck until the nail catches on the edge of the silver collar grafted to her skin. "It's not like... Dimo wanted what was good for me. She wanted to fix me, for her own good and for the good of the Paladins, and-- I can't stand when people try to fix me." Even if she'd really cared and asked permission, I would've hurt her anyways. I don't want people to get away with offering me kindness. "Just like with this train I'm stuck in. The 'beautiful things' are always reminding me of how far short I am from being fixed like them. I'm fucking over it." §<<Doesn't it feel good when <cutting things away> hurts so much, and gets exactly what you crave?>>§ God, it does. "I-I mean, it feels a little fucked up, when you say it like-- like that." Everyone said I was wrong for wanting to be treated like this, like that. But I was right. §She's§ right. "It's not like I didn't-- didn't have reasons besides, that. It would've basically killed me if I hadn't resisted, from what she said." Petra curls her chest closer to her knees, two fingers absentmindedly working at a bleeding knife wound in her calf. She turns her head to look directly at §Exigent Serenity§, and opens her mouth to say something, but can't make the words come out. I hate it, and I want to keep it, too. I want to be broken and put back together and be stronger and better for it, with being able to fight and talk to you. I want to keep being broken in a way that makes them see me as unapproachable, because that's how they all see her too. But I hate not being soft and not having a heartbeat, and I hate the sound my hands make when they hit things. I want to be selfish enough for all of that.
Petra Soroka	§<<In cutting 'Lilian Rook' from that burden, you've isolated her from <humanity> more than before;>>§ Petra winces, immediately a little defensive. I don't want to isolate her, I tried to get more people to care for her, it's just-- "It feels like, everyone else hates every real part of her. Everything that isn't part of the, the mask that she puts up to deal with them. She kept talking, before we were-- when we were enemies, about how people respected her now because they saw that she put in the hard work to actually do good and heroic things-- but that wasn't true at all, was it? They liked that she fucking served them, and absolutely hated ever being reminded of how hard she had to try to do that." "I don't. They're wrong for it. I like knowing her actual feelings, how much she actually tries." I like when she stops trying too. They're not worth it. "If I'm the only one that gets it, then I guess that's sort of like isolating her, but it's all of the rest of their faults." If I can blame the rest of them, it's easier to feel better about wanting to be the only one. Petra keeps trying to meet §Exigent Serenity's§ stare, but because §she's§ still Lilian, her eyes keep flickering away, grey blush suffusing her cheeks. "Lilian said that too. That basically all of humanity is just like him. And I hate him so much, so...." Petra stiffens up and lapses into a coughing fit when her foot slips through the barrier. She looks between her boots and §Exigent Serenity§ disbelievingly, then takes a rattling breath. As she talks, she lets her bent legs extend gradually, letting her entire foot enter the garden, visibly on watch for the slightest negative reaction from §her§ for doing so. She doesn't really know why she presses further in, despite the choking feeling, but it's just nice to be closer, isn't it? And I don't mind if getting closer to her hurts. §<<I'll allow it.>>§ Petra doesn't really understand what the rest of what §she§ says means, but §she§ says that Petra is allowed to feel proud, so she does. The words are like breaking a floodgate in the wordless clutter in her mind, the warmth of the feeling suffusing and overwhelming everything else, even the cold smoke of the garden. §<<What of you?>>§ Petra winces at the direct question. I don't like talking about myself like that. It feels like I just have to make something up. There isn't really anything there of 'me', so I have to invent some feelings to come across as a person. "... What would I even want, from the rest of them. Understanding Lilian more made me, made me understant the rest of them better, too." "I told Lilian that-- that she was worth more than any number of them. I meant that, like-- trillions. They're all so empty, like animals. Fuck them." The more I talk, the more right it feels, actually. "I can't get anything I want from them, and they can't-- can't give me the things I want. If they're not good enough for her, they're not good enough for me."
Lilian Rook	'But it is still you, and it's not like I could've intentionally brought you here. And you described last time as a 'weakness in armor'. That's 'something that happened to her'.' §<<But you 'intentionally came here', didn't you?>>§ §Exigent Serenity§ hardly has to ask, blinking slowly at Petra. §<<I saw you. <Running from the horizon>. You were desperate to see <I/us>. If only 'Lilian Rook' had changed, to <spiral from low orbit/hang within your reach>, you should be much more afraid. <Afraid of ghosts> and <afraid of potential>. Afraid of <I>, if you were normal~>>§ §<<I would know more than anyone, <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space>. If you fit <beneath/as part of> <the armour> after the break is sealed, your <shape> has changed to allow it. You'd never have fit as you were.>>§ 'I can't stand when people try to fix me...The 'beautiful things' are always reminding me of how far short I am from being fixed like them. I'm fucking over it.' It's an entirely different sort of chilling when §she§ only feels the need to crouch down on §her§ toes and listen, smiling that intoxicating little smile with just §her§ eyes, rather than exercising one of §her§ rare moments to speak with someone at §her§ utmost. 'I-I mean, it feels a little fucked up, when you say it like-- like that.' §<<Good.>>§ says §Exigent Serenity§. §<<<I/We/Our Wish/Us> only exist because everything 'normal' is so <wrong> that being 'right' is <choosing death>. That way you deflected <my/our> question; everyone else you'd ever do that for is already 'fucked up' beyond belief~ The problem, you know, is that 'everyone is fucked up' can only mean that being <coherent/made of fitting pieces/seeing lies and contradictions> is <dark matter>. You, we, are <rare and invisible/the secret antipode> to them. And their teeming <mass> is so great that <the center of gravity> lies almost fully at <their core>.>>§ §<<If the way <I/We> <know/describe> your <heart/actions> is 'fucked up', then all is well. 'Normal' as you know it is suicide. They aren't 'normal'; they're only <inured/terracentral> to it; so why should <I/We/Us> try to be? The only ones playing by those rules? You're lying~ And <I/We/You> know you're lying. You know <the divine truth> too, don't you? Somewhere deep inside your silly little <bones/heart/elder nerves>, you know that it feels <like death/like love/like sex/like salvation> to be just as 'fucked up' as every <True Human> was ever meant to be; that's <your/her/our> natural state, and it's what <they> hate most-- that <we> might even outshine them at being <beyond redemption>~!>>§
Lilian Rook	§<<Be sick, be twisted, be hateful, be hurtful, cut them, maim them, and <drink deeply of their blood>; <Space> is vast, and for all its <mass>, <Earth> is only <one fixed point>. If you <break orbit/fly too high>, they'll never reach you. Their own <binding energy/ugly rules> <stay their feet to ground>.>>§ 'But I hate not being soft and not having a heartbeat, and I hate the sound my hands make when they hit things. I want to be selfish enough for all of that.' Petra definitely just saw §her§ lick §her§ lips. It's a little bizarre, given the interplay of light and dark, and she's fairly sure that she can see the jagged outline of familiar teeth at the edges of that vantablack slash, where §her§ invisible lips pull back just enough. Overwhelmingly, she is certain, in a primitive and instinctive gut level, that §Exigent Serenity§ heard that. It's only hard to tell if it intrigues §her§, disgusts §her§, arouses §her§ instinct to attack and manipulate, or just arouses §her§ in the regular way. §<<How very true. If <they> can't <ontologically approach> you, then you are far from them and within reach of <Her/Us>. If they catch you with their filthy hands again, they will drag you back down. Stay broken, <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space>. But if you can't stand this broken shell, then give <I/Her/Us> a healthy one to break our own way~>>§ 'It feels like, everyone else hates every real part of her. Everything that isn't part of the, the mask that she puts up to deal with them.' §<<Most of it. The <language she speaks when she is happy> most of all.>>§ 'She kept talking, before we were-- when we were enemies, about how people respected her now because they saw that she put in the hard work to actually do good and heroic things-- but that wasn't true at all, was it?' §<<Make-believe <crimes> and make-believe <punishments> can only lead to mistaking their absence for a <reward>. Rationalizing a <wrong> creates a <false right>, too.>>§ 'They liked that she fucking served them, and absolutely hated ever being reminded of how hard she had to try to do that.' §<<All of them love to be <showered with gifts from space>, just as <Earth> rendered up all its <gifts of nature> to them too, before they <raped it barren>. But <they/the people of Earth> hate nothing more than being reminded that those <gifts> are <given> and not <owed>. If you remind <them> what it costs, you remind them that they aren't <effortlessly lovable/entitled to all that exists/the locus of all the richness that flows>, and that <9.81m/s^2 and 1s:1s/C aren't universal>. This is <anathema> to them. They will sooner <rape you> than hear that your <gifts> are not <free>.>>§ 'but it's all of the rest of their faults.' §Exigent Serenity§ smiles. §<<You understand.>>§ §she§ says. Petra's foot falls easily beyond wher the barrier should be; the passage formed by the faerie arch, wrought in black glass-iron and infinite helix, rather than wood and branch and flower; that much is reserved for its spine. The grin on §Exigent Serenity's§ face only grows wider, though §her§ eyes widen rather than narrow; electric, hungry black windows, featureless and yet quivering with radiant passion by their shape alone; their signal and iconography bereft of noise.
Lilian Rook	§<<Be careful, <Petra Soroka/Unchosen of Space>. If you let me <hold you/love you as she means to/fill you with what she craves and denies>, then you may never be the same again. And <I/We> won't promise to hold back~>>§ 'I can't get anything I want from them, and they can't-- can't give me the things I want. If they're not good enough for her, they're not good enough for me.' §<<And here we are~ The misguided assumption that has <deflected your trajectory>. So let me tell you something, for your <enlightnment/ruination/irrecoverable death>, 'Petra'.>>§ §She§ leans close to say it, fingertips splayed into the grass by Petra's foot for balance. §<<They're <empty>. They're replaceable. They're the lowest of animals. They're not good enough for <her/us>, and they're not good enough for <you/us>. So that means you can have anything you want. Just take it.>>§ §<<Don't <flinch back from the heat of understanding>, 'Petra'. <I/She/We>, even 'Lilian Rook', already know what to do. Rape them first.>>§