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[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

*A certain being is sitting with his back against the well, reading a book with a plain red cover. He's humming tonelessly to himself as he flips pages and in general he seems exceedingly bored. A better distraction than the interminable tome would be welcomed.*

Comments

[dee_lorean81]

Yeah, true. Seeing people actually treat each other decently here -- or anywhere -- must have been kind of a surprise then.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

Most surprising, yes.

Meanwhile in the Neath Wines is selling absinthe made with Vake blood again, because he thinks it's funny to label things you shouldn't drink 'absinthe' even when it absolutely isn't. The Northbound Parliamentarian tells me in her dreams about the half-people that watch her and won't talk to her. Someone's enlightening crabs for reasons of their own. Well-songs are being sent as Valentines to people the senders dislike. My Chapel has found a steady supplier of cabin boys. The mutants that live on the roof are plotting to steal a zeppelin. The usual.

[dee_lorean81]

Good surprise, I hope.

I would say something about it being a pretty weird usual, but I think being a DeLorean time machine who now can turn into a little girl, living with an alternate version of my inventor and his best friend who were kidnapped by faeries, the inventor's adopted Victorian-era son who briefly woke up a corpse bride before falling into a different reality, the son's Victorian wife who is literally the Alice from Wonderland, only her version requires her to occasionally slice creatures up, and their baby -- who seems completely normal so far but who knows for sure -- disqualifies me.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

A very fine surprise, I assure you.

Perhaps you ought to visit at some point. I doubt you would be easily hurt even by Neath standards, and even dear Alice's trip only saw the edges of the map. There is so much to see . . .

[dee_lorean81]

[she smiles] Good.

Maybe? I dunno -- I am fairly squishy in this form, and as a DeLorean. . .well, I'd probably be okay, but I'm not going to do well if somebody straight-up rams me. Not to mention, Dad would never let me go alone. Have to be a group endeavor.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

Yes, there is that issue. Perhaps the two of you together. *Wryly.* I'd worry more about him than you, in your place, but then I'm used to the hardy children of London who speak to Storm.

Currently there is no one amongst the Seekers proper who is sane enough to act as guide in London. Technically there's one, but she somehow managed to get herself a seat in Parliament and I intend to keep her there as long as possible. If that changes, or if you merely want to zail into the unknown, do feel free.

Would you like to hear more of my world's secrets? Of the Snuffers or the Stone Pigs, the Fathomking or the drinkers of Griswine? I wander through many nightmares and have spied on many dreams. I see, I know, I burn, I freeze.

[dee_lorean81]

[Dee grins] Dad can be too curious for his own good. . .but he's pretty tough, too. You have to be, when some asshole fae replaced most of your skeleton with steampunk stuff. I bet you he'd handle the Neath better than you'd think.

Really? Well, good for her! And I suppose we could look for another guide, if we had to. I dunno, this is the sort of thing I'd definitely have to talk over with everybody else first.

[Dee makes a few curious faces] It all sounds interesting -- I'm just wondering how safe it is to know any of those secrets. You know, in the "they mess with your head" way.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

That requires more than merely physical resilience, yes. It sounds like being filled with knives, and knives are a thing I know far too well.

Oh yes. Only fools rush in, and you are a bright girl with a functioning sense of self-preservation. Something I’m no longer used to in my personal interactions.

You should be fine as long as you don’t ask too much about the Correspondence—and if I were you I would avoid learning, say, how to acquire Cantigaster venom. Some things even Seekers are leery of.

[dee_lorean81]

The best part is, the fae made Dad design all the parts himself. [this is said with so much sarcasm the words are in danger from collapsing under it all] So yeah, Dad's curiosity is tempered with caution -- and the willingness to punch anybody who tries to drag him off somewhere for "experiments."

[Dee grins] I try not to be a fool! And yeah, I can imagine, given you mostly talk to Seekers and the like.

[that makes her blink] Oooh boy -- okay, yeah, avoid Cantigasters, whatever those are. Maybe we could talk about Stone Pigs instead?

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

Sounds like a lovely fellow, this particular member of the fae.

There is only one Cantigaster, for which we are all very lucky. No one would ever want to be a Cantigaster. As for the Stone Pigs, they are the great engine-beasts of the Bazaar and keeping then asleep is very important.

[dee_lorean81]

Yeah, Andrew was -- something. Not that the guy who took Marty was much better -- ever hear of a musician having to do days-long concerts on his guitar? -- but at least he's still got all his own bones and stuff.

Oh, good -- so hopefully pretty easy to avoid, then. And I see. . .I assume they're big enough that, if they wake up and go for a little stroll, it's gonna knock down most of the Bazaar at best?

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

Somehow I imagine that 'Andrew' was not his real name. The difference between 'my name is' and 'I'm known as' is a vast gulf for the unsuspecting to tumble into.

And devour half of London into the bargain, I imagine--assuming they don't wake up something worse in turn. Storm, perhaps, or the full might of the Presbyterate. That Bazaar has plenty of problems as it is, although I always love seeing more.

[dee_lorean81]

Oh yeah, we're all pretty sure of that. Just Dad never actually learned what other names good old Andy went by. I'm not sure Fae even have real names -- just a bunch of fake ones they swap out as the mood takes 'em.

Right, pigs are opportunistic omnivores. . .and yeah, I wouldn't be surprised if they ended up causing a chain reaction that took down most of the Neath in one go. [pause] Given what you're after, maybe you should send somebody to prod them.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

They certainly wouldn't tell anyone.

The Bazaar has them drugged with lacre on a regular basis, otherwise I would. It would be of interest to see what effect hungry Messenger-engines would have on their surroundings in the full force of their waking.

[dee_lorean81]

Not without five million different layers of not-quite-deceit layered on to keep their secrets. [she sticks out her lower lip] Fae suck.

I assume that's like some sort of super-sleep drug down in the Neath. And I bet it would be -- interesting. [she tips her head to the left thoughtfully] You keep calling them engines -- what exactly do people use them for when they're asleep? Are they like, giant clockworks? Do they have lava inside you can leach the heat from? Does their breath power wind turbines?

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

Lacre is strange in multiple was, but that is one of the things it can be. As for the pigs, they are not of use when asleep--many people don't believe in or even know about them. They are space engines, suitable for the High Wilderness, and that alone makes them a danger. *Imagine booster rockets in the street and you will . . . be absolutely wrong, but the principle is similar.*

I used to know how it all worked, but that along with so much else has been lost. Someday they too will forget. We will ensure it, my Seekers and I. All the Bazaar's creatures shall forget themselves as I forget myself. I have such ambitions of bringing pain.

[dee_lorean81]

Ooooh, I see -- so they're used for when the Bazaar is traveling around between stars and such. Yeah, okay, I can see how that would make a giant mess. [she knows they can't be like traditional rockets -- not in Eaten's world, not in the Neath -- but she figures the chaos would be similar to a spaceship taking off in the middle of a city. ...she's also trying very hard not to giggle at the mental image of pigs with rocket butts all this has given her]

[Eaten's comments on forcing the others in the Bazaar to forget themselves kills any humor she had in her right quick, though] Forgetting yourself is a pretty painful way to go.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

Yes, it is. That much one can never forget. The electric sense of irrigo is the last thing ever to be forgotten. Down into the well we go, daggers in our backs and we don't have time to drown--no, just me. Not we, I am not riding you, you are not a candle. You are not part of the Name.

[dee_lorean81]

[Dee holds up her hands, shaking her head] Nooo, all electric stuff here. No candles. And the only name I've got is my own. [which is TECHNICALLY her model as a car, but details]

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

Only a few people have ever truly been part of the Name; St. Gawain's Candle is not to be taken lightly. In Seeking, as in the Correspondence, there is little difference between 'A path unmarred by obstacles' and 'A future consumed and forgotten.'

[dee_lorean81]

I don't think any of the candles are to be taken lightly, from what you've said. And yeah, I can bet. . .best way to have a path with no obstacles is to have them all consumed. But then, what kind of path is that?

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

Saint Gawain’s makes its possessor inhuman, in one way or another.

It is a path easy to walk, but not to a pleasant destination. It was my destination and they repeat it.

[dee_lorean81]

[pauses] Which I technically already am. . . [holds up her hands] but I get the feeling it would mess with me in a different way, so staying away.

Over and over again, until the end?

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

English is such a limited language . . .

Until the very end.

[dee_lorean81]

Yeah, it's hard putting some concepts properly into words. I don't think I could ever accurately describe time travel with it. . . Though I guess to someone like you most human languages would be pretty limited.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.