deercountry | let me look at the sun

Entry tags:

let me look at the sun | open

Who: Paul Atreides, open
What: Event catch-all
When: Month of December
Where: Archaic Archives, streets of Trench, the forest's edge, memories
Notes: Go ahead and contact me at

terriblepurpose or by PM if you'd like to discuss any starters or suggest new ones! For tagging in your character's memories to Paul, feel free to start with whatever your preference is.

Content Warnings: Violence, body horror (lockjoint), death, religious extremism, extensive Dune spoilers, suicidal ideation, funerals, grief

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[The invitation catches Paul off-guard, even though it shouldn't. He'd do the same thing, falling back on courtesy when in doubt, and it's in fact exactly what he does as he nods to Lysithea, stepping out of the way of the door. He averts his gaze from her otherwise, not wanting her to feel gawked at while she composes herself.]

I won't impose on you long. [He folds his hands behind his back, self-consciously stiff.] There's no need to apologize. I knew the risks, and I'm unharmed.

[If anything, he feels as though he should apologize to her, an increasingly persistent guilt that grows with each one of these memories. Paul looks preoccupied as he follows Lysithea inside, his head slightly bowed.]

[Lysithea fumbles around in her pockets. Her movements are normally crisp and precisely, as Paul had observed on the battlefield. Now, as she unlocks the door, it is clear that her pale, white hand shakes as she fits the key. Ever prideful, she adjusts her body such that her unsteadiness is not so apparent.

Eventually, the lock gives way.]

Please.

[...A truly different world. Her bakery is not large, but the shelves are piled high with colorful sweet buns, confections, and pastries of all sorts. Conscious of the incongruity, Lysithea turns with an almost apologetic smile.]

I... gave up on the warfare, as you can see. This suits me equally well.

But this is the strangest way I've ever met someone. I almost feel as if I ought to reintroduce myself. No one here, you see, knew me first like that. A soldier of war. It is almost...

[She struggles to think of the right word. Not 'intrusive,' not 'shameful.' Simply...]

Exposing.

But in a way, I am glad. I am not that same person, but I would not forget where I came from, either.

Exposing. That's it.

[Paul gives her a faint smile intended to be reassuring, acknowledging the vulnerability of that exposure. She saw a part of Paul most people here haven't either. He thinks they both understand the value of discretion.

With that, he looks around the bakery. In its own way, it's almost as revealing as the memory, and Paul compares Lysithea to the other person he knows who set themself to artistry after a life of war. Paul will have to tell him - he refocuses on the sweet, comforting scent of fresh baking, breathing in slowly.]

I think it's an uncommon form of introduction for a reason. [Wry, almost a joke, but too strained at the edges to be funny.] So -

This is a beautiful shop. I'm glad to be meeting the owner.

Thank you.

[She smiles, perhaps for the first time without a trace of anxiety or melancholy marring the expression. One gets the sense she does not smile often.]

If I had nothing else to do with my life, this was always my secret dream...

[One also gets the sense that she had never imagined being in a situation where she had nothing else to do with her life.]

Well. Feel free to sample whatever you'd like. It's the least I can do to thank you - and to apologize for subjecting you to all that.

[...She slowly removes her winter clothing and begins to busy herself at the counter, tidying up odds and ends so as to have something to do with her hands.]

Did you... end up seeing him?

At the end.

[Seeing her smile relaxes a part of him Paul hadn't been quite aware was tense.

He's seen what Lysithea can do. He should think it's ridiculous that she's selling confections instead of using that power. Maybe it's the abruptness of the contrast between her misery in the memory and her ease here that keeps his mind from reverting to calculating pragmatism.

Instead, it's enough to make him wish she didn't ask the one question he was supposed to be here to answer.]

Which one is your favorite? [He turns to examine a display case, averting his eyes from her.] I did see it. I'm not sure how.

The purple flash - that was magic?

That's like asking me to pick a favorite child.

[Lysithea sniffs, in a flash of humor that hadn't been previously displayed.]

But... as parents frequently do have favorite children without ever admitting it, I must confess I have a fondness for the cream buns. To your right - up a little bit.

[When Paul responds to her actual question, the momentary levity is broken.]

Ah. So it wasn't just my imagination.

I could not say for certain. It was so distant -- but I think... None of this is relevant to you at all, but the crux of the matter is, that person was very important to me - to all of us.

After that day, he vanished. He's been missing for the last four and a half years. And now my unanswered question can finally be put to rest.

That was dark magic. So he really was -- killed in the battle...

[There is an odd intake of breath before she says 'killed'...]

[The cream buns to his right; Paul will have to remember that before he leaves. He's not sure he could taste one now.

Instead, he listens to the hitch in Lysithea's words, and looks at his eyes reflected strangely in a glass dome. Four and a half years ago, Lysithea would have been - what, his age? Younger? He's drowned in certainty; is not knowing like unquenchable thirst?]

I'm sorry.

[It's a simple condolence, spoken softly. He glances at Lysithea, his face drawn, but his mind catches on a thought and his brow knits.]

...is that what you saw?

I saw a flash of purple - some sort of spell. And then he was gone.

[She shakes her head.]

And he has not reappeared since. They tried to assassinate him before, you know. That time, there was some sort of... power that protected him.

[The Professor, she had realized after the incident with Solon, was an extraordinary person. Lysithea was no fool; it was clear that the Archbishop watched him with equal parts tenderness and... rapacity. There was something... divine in his nature.]

Well, thank you. Despite everything, at least I know now. I feel... as if I can lay that memory to rest. It wouldn't have been possible without you.

Truly, I wish I had stayed with him, but -- I know he would not have wished me in harm's way, either.

[Everything is part of something else. This is one of the basic laws of the universe, the principle of ecological composition. From that perspective Paul observes Lysithea where she stands, situated in her chosen environment, surrounded by things she has made. She's happy here, he thinks.

What does Paul know about magic? Next to nothing. He gave his word that he would help her. There's no more to say of it.]

You survived to remember him and his lessons. [Paul nods, a slight, solemn gesture.] That's all a teacher could wish for.

[Now seems the time to answer the question she asked of him in the memory. He looks at her directly when he speaks.]

There was nothing you could have done better. Differently, but not better. Retreating when you did was the only choice.

[Lysithea bows her head briefly in response. There is a feeling of... not relief, exactly. There is no real gain from this experience. It was a memory, a fixed point in time, something that could not be changed and marked the beginning of continental war for her home. Simply... release.

She could let it go.]

Thank you.

['There was nothing you could have done better.' And for Lysithea, who always needs to do everything perfectly, this is as much absolution as she can expect.

She suddenly feels very fatigued.]

Do stay as long as you wish. But I think I would like a moment with my thoughts.

[He is being (politely) dismissed. Lysithea hovers with her hand on a door leading to a back room.]

...You must tell me more about those suits sometime - and your world. You've seen far too much of mine.

[Paul was impressed Lysithea had made it as long as she did without collapsing in on herself. The drop in adrenaline, the impact of the memory, the effort of using magic - it was an ordeal compressed in a short, chaotic span of time.

He feels all right about leaving her here, better than he's felt about most of these journeys into memories. He smiles at her gently, tiredly, and bows once again.]

When we next meet. [It's a promise.] Although I would like to hear more of yours, all the same.

I'll leave you to your rest, Lady von Ordelia.

[With that, he'll go - but not before taking one of those cream buns, for the trip.]

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