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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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- ?

[ The Operator watches, eagerly, as Junia picks up the gun. How had the Operator learned to handle firearms? Truthfully, they don't remember. Perhaps they never really learned at all; like many other things, it's possible that they simply absorbed the skill from their Warframes. In any case, it means they're not well-equipped to be a teacher. How do you teach something that you can only ever remember being an instinct?

Fortunately, Junia doesn't seem to need much help. Her form is quite good for a beginner—so much so that the Operator wonders whether this might not be her first time after all. They nod encouragingly as she lines up a shot—

and fires her first round directly into a target. The Operator has to stifle a cheer, burying the lower half of their face in their floofs, though the excitement in their eyes is plain to see. ]

I saw, [ they say, grin peeking out from their stuffed companions. They're trying and only partially succeeding at keeping their voice down. ] And that was your first shot!

[ One upside of not remembering their own ballistic education: seeing someone else learn is terribly novel and exciting. They shift the floofs in their arms and take a deep breath, trying to contain themself so they don't distract Junia. ]

Okay, [ they say, quieting down, though there's a clearly detectable smile in their voice. ] Steady... Let's see if you can do it again.

[Junia's smiles almost never show her teeth. They flash now, pale and just a little crooked, as her mouth curves in a small, fierce grin. It transforms her face entirely, drawing out the young woman so often buried underneath the holy one. She bobs her head and turns back to the targets, exhaling with a carefulness born of long hours spent in meditative contemplation.

She's not shamed to take instruction from Cedar, child-like though they are. If anything, it may be easier to listen to them, giddy and youthful - to trust their enthusiasm overlooks her errors. Though she hardly thinks of mistakes, as she lines up her next shot, which is nearly as unexpected as her first shot hitting true.]

I was blessed by the Light's clarity [she says, humbly, and then, not quite so] and I witnessed your fine efforts.

[Junia knows battle well enough to know that her success here has little bearing on how she would perform on a true field of trial. A brightly lit carnival with a level footing and targets that stay obediently placid are not like any fight she's ever been in. She pictures a horrid skull chattering regardless.

The next shot misses. Undeterred, Junia reloads, a more familiar grit of determination coming to the set of her obstinate chin. Another shot pings off the edge of the target, and a third strikes center.]

What manner of creatures do these floofs depict, Cedar?

[ The Operator watches, fascinated, as yet more of Junia's shots strike true. Perhaps servants of the Light should use firearms more often. Judging by Junia's performance, they's be more than up to the task. For all that a carnival game may be a far cry from an actual battlefield, this first attempt is at the very least promising.

Quietly, beneath the Operator's enthusiasm, there is also a sense of relief. If Junia can win without their help, it will make the next stage of their plan much easier. Something tells them that she'll more readily accept a gift if she feels that she's done something to earn it. ]

They're animals, [ the Operator answers, ] from the Plains, the Vallis, Deimos... [ They trail off as they remember that such names likely mean little to anyone not from the Origin System. They attempt a different tack, looking down at the floofs in their arms. ] This one, [ they say about a teal-and-purple maned canine, ] is a kubrodon, a pack hunter. This one, [ a fox-like creature with a split head, ] is a vulpaphyla, of the Grey Strain. And this one, [ a fat little owlish creature, ] is a Sawgaw, a bird of prey.

[ They look up at the booth's prize wall, spotting the final remaining floof to be won there. ] And that one's a kuaka, a burrowing mammal from Earth.

[ They describe each with the casual familiarity of one discussing what is, to them, ordinary wildlife. Still, they can't help stealing glances at Junia as they speak, looking for any signs of recognition. It's difficult to know what commonalities might exist between the Origin System and the homes of Trench's other inhabitants—though, previous observation seems to suggest that it's very little indeed. ]

[The names and forms of the animals go over her head, as well as the names of places. This is not surprising to her, as she is often unfamiliar with such things. What does surprise her is that instead of being irritated at the lack, she finds herself faintly wistful for it. Perhaps it has to do with those fleeting glances from Cedar, she thinks.]

I am not - well-traveled. [A soft confession; she misses another shot, but that is no matter.] You shall have to tell me more of them. I would not care to go about in ignorance.

[Which is not true, or so she thought. Ignorance is a fine and blessed state of affairs, when so much that can be known is horrid, sinful, or both. But here, she wishes to know - and surely, it is harmless.

She lines up another shot, and again it sails true. The attendant claps their hands, their smile wide in congratulations until Junia fixes them with one of her most witheringly dire looks.]

Return the kuaka to us at once, gaoler.

[ The Operator shrugs, faintly disappointed, but not surprised. There do seem to be some similarities between Junia's world and their own—but hoping they might share any of the same wildlife was always a longshot. ]

It's okay. Your home probably has animals I don't know about either. [ Or animals they've only heard about tangentially, in figures of speech. Like dogs. They'd only met a real one for the first time a few weeks ago and they'd found it a much more noble creature than the insults imply.

As the attendant scurries to the prize wall to fetch the kuaka in question, the Operator feigns distraction. The truth is, they aren't well-versed at giving gifts. Offerings, perhaps, formal and calculated gestures of goodwill and aligned purposes, given to those powerful enough to warrant an alliance with the Tenno. But not like this, not as themself and certainly not to a friend in the midst of a bustling carnival with the expectation that they themself might actually say something. They vacillate for a moment, wondering if they should just hurry them to the next booth the second the floof is in Junia's hands. Perhaps they might just "forget" to ask it back from her.

But no. Inexperienced or not, the Operator is not the type to give in to cowardice. As the kuaka is handed to Junia, they smile, a touch awkwardly. ]

Congratulations. That was well-won. [ They nod towards the floof. There is a moment of hesitation, of searching for words—and then they seem to make up their mind, eyes suddenly bright with resolve. ] You should keep this one. The church isn't as empty as my Orbiter so I don't need as many to keep me company. And you won it yourself.

[ With the earnest determination in their voice, it's almost easy to forget they're talking about stuffed animals. ]

None of them would be so pleasing to the eye.

[Junia is mollified, but even the most improbable of the stuffed beasts is more handsome and shapely than the least horrific of the sorts of foul animals that she has not found the like of here - though some bloody beasts do resemble them.

Such are her thoughts when the kuaka is set in her hands, before Cedar makes their offer, and then she finds it quite suddenly pressed to her chest, as if some poultice she must firmly seal against an opening. The alacrity of this action baffles her, for she intends to defy this offering at once. She is a woman grown, and she has no need of soft, companionable things. Cedar misunderstands the nature of the game, or the weight of it, or perhaps her, herself - and while she tumbles through her thoughts, her mouth moves on without her.]

Are you certain? [She finds herself saying, to her consternation.] It is - very soft?

I am, [ the Operator says with a nod, smile taking on a note of relief as Junia holds the floof close. To them, it is a sign that she accepts the gift—that they did things right. ] It's good to have a few soft things. And I already have more than enough.

[ Some might say too many. Still, the Operator feels that, when considered against the far more expansive list of decidedly not-gentle things held on their Orbiter—Warframes, firearms, and melee instruments, to name just a few—it more than balances out.

Junia's church isn't nearly so fearsome. And, like they'd said, it isn't empty like their Orbiter. In such circumstances, of course the Operator has floofs to spare.

Their gaze turns to the other stalls and then to the floofs already held in their arms, clearly calculating how many more they can carry. Satisfied that they can fit at least a couple more with careful balance, they look back at Junia. ]

Maybe we can win a few more before we go home?

[It's good to have a few soft things, Cedar says, as Junia's fingers sink both reverent and lost into the softest thing she's ever held in her own hands. From the mouth of babes, it's said; and are not angels messengers? Twice assured, Junia, at last, allows for herself to nod.]

Thank you. That is - most kind of you. I will care for it well.

[As if it will need much tending, being a toy. She has no idea what she'll do with it, besides set it among the others, and know that it is her charge.

But perhaps it is the gesture that matters, the giving and the accepting. Either way, she feels a curious buoyancy as she moves the kuaka to the crook of her elbow and nods, firmly.]

We shall stay as long as it takes to liberate all of their comrades. We would be poor adventurers if we did not.

And we must provision ourselves. [Impulsively:] Perhaps with pies, if there are any honest bakers to be found.

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(open) all some children do is work

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