deercountry | (open) all some children do is work

Entry tags:

(open) all some children do is work

Who: The Operator and YOU!
What: The Operator tries to win back their stuffed animal collection at the Boardwalk carnival.
When: Late February
Where: The Boardwalk

Content Warnings: References to children handling firearms

i. take aim, children, take aim

[ Just like last month, the Operator spends much of February’s arrival period at the Farther Shores and the Boardwalk, watchful for any familiar faces among the newest Sleepers. They maintain a cautious sense of hope; even if it’s unlikely that they’ll find anyone they know, it’s certainly not impossible. They wouldn’t even be the first Sleeper to be reunited with someone from home—far from it, from what they’ve been told.

Yet, the last thing they’re expecting is that familiarity should come not in the form of a face or voice, but in that of an inanimate object—of many inanimate objects. ]

Those—those are my floofs!

[ This, exclaimed as they stare in utter astonishment at the wall of prizes in one of the many carnival game booths lining the boardwalk. To any observer, the ”floofs” in question look like any other stuffed animals at first glance: soft, colorful, and kid-friendly. Yet, the longer one looks at them, the more evident it becomes that they don’t represent any earthly creatures. Some may look vaguely rodent-shaped or canine, but with odd features like protruding spines or horns. Some defy comprehension entirely.

The attendant, dressed in a striped red-and-white suit, only grins—and hands them a pellet gun. This is a shooting gallery after all. Paper targets whirl and dance on the far end of the booth. Standing there with the toy gun in their hands, the Operator looks between the attendant and the weapon, momentarily uncertain. Then, they brace the stock firmly against their shoulder and take aim at the targets. Their first few shots are shaky, but once they get a feel for the pellet gun, their aim improves at an alarming rate.

One thing becomes abundantly clear: this is not the Operator’s first time using a gun—far from it. ]

ii. knock, knock?

[ Unfortunately, not all of the Operator’s floofs can be won at the shooting gallery—and, as they’ve found out, not all the booths are free.

The Operator runs out of jokes to exchange for plays at the ring toss very quickly. Most of the jokes they know come from Ordis and most of those only work if you’re a Cephalon. Which is how they come to approach a stranger, preferably one who looks like they might be particularly good-humored. ]

Excuse me, [ they say, their stiff, formal posture at odds with the youthful embarrassment in their voice. ] Could you, um… tell me a joke?

iii. this, the song of sons and daughters

[ Meanwhile, the attendant at the dart-throwing stall had asked for a different price: a song. Under normal circumstances, the Operator might have balked at the request, but these are not normal circumstances. In fact, this attendant’s wall of prizes holds their most cherished floof: a large, humanoid doll with a pair of wings, holding a large pink heart.

They’re not going to let Ticker down.

The Operator sings… about how you’d expect a teenager being made to sing in public to sing: red-faced, stiff-shouldered, and practically under their breath. It takes a lot of urging from the attendant for their voice to become easily audible. ]

...and we’re all adrift together, together. Through the cold mist, ‘til we’re lifeless together, together…

[ As the song comes to an end, the Operator glances up at the attendant, only to get a half-skeptical, half-pitying look in return. The Operator scowls. ]

You didn’t say it had to be a happy song!

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[The serpent's den had been reminiscent of the blood-glutted court of the Countess too much for Junia to bear, a thing only reinforced by the...incident...that had stricken her erstwhile companion. This revel is a thing much more familiar to her. It recalls the fairs and holidays she remembers, full of raucous peasant amusements and games. So it is tolerable, even if she remains, of course, stoic and above all such -]

Yes!

[She clenches her gloved fists in front of her chest as Cedar knocks out another target with unerring precision, her eyes bright.]

Go on, another -

[ The Operator cannot help but laugh at Junia's enthusiasm, and the red hue that steals across their face is not entirely unwelcome. They themself are surprised at their own aptitude; they've handled firearms countless times, but never in this form. Like hand-to-hand combat, it had been something they'd always thought of as belonging strictly to the purview of Warframes—as if they'd only hurt themself if they fired a gun as they are now.

...Well, maybe a fully upgraded Tigris Prime would still knock them onto their backside. But this little pellet gun proves no challenge at all. ]

You're going to make me miss! [ the Operator chides, though it's quite clear they're fighting a grin. They fire another shot, knocking down another spinning target. Their eyes flick towards the Vestal, just a hint of mischief on their face. ]

You should try this after me, Junia—I think you'd like it.

[With anyone else, Junia would be bracing for the mockery sure to follow in the wake of any laughter around her (always at her expense, surely), the trick contained in the seemingly friendly offer.

With Cedar, her eyes gleam with battle-keenness, a ghost of an answering smile pressed flat in the twitching line of her mouth.]

I have thought- [This time, she bites her tongue while Cedar pulls the trigger; she does know better, despite her outburst.]

- I have thought such weapons ought to be more used, in the service of the Flame.

[Because of the tiny explosions, you see.]

Don't see why not, [ the Operator replies breezily as they line up another shot. ] They've always served the Tenno well.

[ They squeeze the trigger and yet another target goes down. A bell rings. The Operator lowers the pellet gun, turning eagerly toward the attendant. He motions towards the wall of prizes—and holds up three fingers. ]

Um... [ There are four of the Operator's floofs on the wall. They'll have to play again for the last. Their expression grows contemplative as they decide which ones to take first. ] The kubrodon, the vulpaphyla— [ They catch the attendant staring blankly at them. They point. ] That one, that one, and that one.

[ The attendant fetches each of the floofs in turn, depositing them into the Operator's waiting arms. They turn towards Junia with their not-so-hard-won bounty, unable to keep the smile from their face. ]

Look! These are all from my Orbiter. [ Floofs may not be the most practical of objects, but it's exciting just to have something show up from home. And the Operator would be lying if they said they didn't feel some amount of fondness for the toys; they were gifts, after all. ] I wonder how they got here?

Witchcraft, no doubt.

[The dismissive sniff paired with the declaration has only a fraction of Junia's usual prickliness. She looks at the 'floofs' with poorly veiled fascination, reaching out tentatively as if to touch one on its oddly shaped nose - but she stops just short. They are such fine looking craftworks, made of such luxurious materials, that she finds herself nervous of somehow doing them harm.]

What is the purpose of these 'floofs'?

[She smiles back at Cedar with that faint uncertainty written in the wrinkling of her brow, but she is making an effort (almost despite herself) to be, if not pleasant, at least not unpleasant.]

[ Seeing Junia's interest, the Operator holds the floofs out to her, letting her take a closer look. They'd had a similar reaction to seeing one for the first time. The bright colors and soft textures had fascinated them, unaccustomed as they were to either on the Orbiter they called their home. Yet, the toys had evoked an odd sort of familiarity as well—sense memories of another life, distant and dreamlike. Now, the fact that they're the one remnant of home the Operator has in this place makes them all the more precious. ]

Um... [ Their gaze darts away at Junia's question, slightly embarrassed. ] Toys, I guess. But... back home, people sometimes gave them to me as gifts for helping them—along with more practical things.

[ Weapons, components, relics... The Business had been the first to offer them a floof for their help on the Vallis, perhaps because he had little else to offer them. There was only so much a man dedicated to the preservation of life could give to a Tenno—and so he'd thanked them with a toy instead of a gun. Looking back, the Operator has the strange sense that it was somehow a brave thing to do. After all, when they'd first stood before The Business, there'd been no trace of a child there—only of an alien mind encased in metal flesh. Yet, The Business had seen through them all the same. Master Teasonai was right when he said that the man had a greater understanding of people than most could aspire to. ]

I keep them around my Orbiter as decorations. [ They look down at the floofs in their arms with a small smile. ] They make the ship feel a little less empty.

[These are toys fit for the children of an emperor - or indeed, a blessed young saint such as Cedar. She softens, ever so slightly, as Cedar explains the nature of the stuffed creatures in a fit of uncharacteristic shyness.]

They're very fine looking.

[She does not know how to proceed. Her hesitation lingers, until she reaches for the glove of one hand and picks it off, finger by finger. The toys are as soft as they look when she brushes a touch across them, tentatively, as if approaching real and wild animals.]

...we will find a place for them in our church.

[They do not seem unwholesome, and they were gifts made to a holy servant. It is not unheard of to display such boons where they may be seen; it would also surely impress the prestige of Cedar's august self on any visitors, to see such precious things in places of honor. Junia nods to herself, authoritatively.]

Perhaps they may oversee the brazier, when not in your care. [She hms, another hesitation, and-] I had a little doll, once. She was made of straw, and a bit of cloth. She had a head of clay, 'til I dropped her, and we made another from a turnip--

[Now it's her turn to be embarrassed, which is, to her continual frustration, a much more common experience.]

We ought to free the rest of your floofs, then.

[ The Operator watches, contentedly, as Junia examines the floofs more closely. Far from making them possessive, the preciousness of their collection only makes the Operator more pleased to have someone to share it with. Though they may have graciously accepted such gifts back home, it wasn't as if they could have displayed them too openly. The Tenno had a reputation to preserve. And so the Operator's floofs had remained hidden away in their Orbiter, unseen to all but themself and Ordis. They're not even sure if the Lotus had known of them.

Thus, they are only too happy to hear Junia's approval—all the more so when she mentions finding space for the floofs in the church. ] Thank you, [ the Operator says, beaming. For all that Junia calls it "our church," they know that the building—and its decor—means more to Junia than it does to them. That she'd choose to display the floofs rather than hide them away feels like a kind of honor.

Yet, as pleased as the Operator is, their face falls when they hear the fate of Junia's own childhood toy. They aren't sure what a "turnip" is, but they can at least understand the dismay of losing the original and needing it replaced. No wonder she had taken such care in inspecting the floofs... ]

You don't need to worry, [ the Operator says, voice firm and reassuring. ] These ones won't break so easily.

[ Still, their thoughts linger on Junia's lost doll for a few moments more—long enough that when she mentions winning the rest of their floofs, an idea occurs to them. ]

Well, [ they say, looking between their armful of floofs and the one that remains on the shooting gallery's prize wall. ] There's only one more here. [ A smile. ] Why don't you try to win it? It might be good practice.

[ She had said she thought servants of the Flame should use guns more often. Here's her chance. ]

[I wasn't worried is nearly at the tip of her tongue before Junia swallows her reflexive defensiveness. She was worried, but if Cedar insists...her next attempt at petting them is steadier, if still awkward. She even manages a returned smile, though it is but a candle flame next to Cedar's radiance. Yet even a candle can flare, and this one does when they offer her a chance to be of some use.

It has taken Junia some time to bring herself to believe that Cedar trusts her. They should not - few others ever have - but she finds herself aspiring to emulate one who would be deserving of their faith.]

I suppose. For the sake of practice.

[She leaves her glove off as she picks up the gun, attempting to hide her hesitance and doing a surely miserable job of it. She is not wholly unfamiliar with such weapons, but she was never permitted to handle the muskeeter's, nor did she do more than observe the barking weapons of the brigands wherever they fell. Still, the concept is not unknown to her.

She imitates Cedar's stance, sighting along the barrel of the pellet gun, and tries to remember the particulars of an argument between the muskeeter and the arbalest about the timing of breath.

Junia takes her shot, certain she will miss, so it's only by the second shot (which does, in point of fact, veer wide) that she realizes the first struck home. Her eyes widen as she looks to Cedar, bright and startled and warm.]

I hit it! Did you see- ?

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