dark_light | we are not truly immortal

After Glass's party is over with, Amariah and Kas go home.

Amariah fetches down their alethiometers.

"It's about time I took care of Alethia's afterlife, whatever it may be," she says quietly. "What can the alethiometer tell you about what I'll find?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

lifes_sake

"Thank you," Cam says to the iconoclast harpy. "What's your name?"

From:

pythbox

"We don't have those," she says.

From:

lifes_sake

"Would you like a name?"

From:

pythbox

"...maybe," she says.

From:

lifes_sake

"I'll come up with one for you if you like."

From:

pythbox

"Names," another harpy mutters.

"Who needs names."

"Don't listen to these people."

"A name like what?" says the odd harpy out, hopping closer to the living people with a flutter of dark-feathered wings.

From:

lifes_sake

"You can narrow it down some if you want, but if you want me to suggest something, how's 'Calliope'?"

From:

pythbox

"Calliope," she says musingly. One of the other harpies lets out a disdainful snort.

From:

lifes_sake

"I think it's a pretty name."

From:

pythbox

"I think so too!" says Calliope, almost shyly. The other harpies shake their heads and mutter.

From:

lifes_sake

"Do any of the rest of you want names?" Cam inquires.

From:

pythbox

"Not a chance!" says one of the strident defenders of the old ways—the one who hit Calliope. The other three cluster around their proudly nameless comrade.

From:

lifes_sake

"Okay," Cam says. "That's fine, either way. Calliope, what would you want, if you could have anything?" Cam inquires of the friendliest harpy.

From:

pythbox

"I - I don't know," says Calliope, shaking her head. "I don't know what there is to have. I just know I want it. Something - something new. Something good."

From:

lifes_sake

Cam tries adding her to the brainphone; this doesn't require a separate wish, and works. "Do you want to hear another story? Just you; the others don't seem interested. I can tell you privately by magic so they can ignore me like they seem to want."

From:

pythbox

There is a rustling among the other harpies. "That's not fair!" exclaims one.

Calliope looks shining-eyed at Cam, and then casts a glance back at the rest of them.

"...I think... I think I'd rather you tell all of us," she says.

From:

lifes_sake

"Well, if you all want to hear," says Cam, with a dubious look at the rest of the harpies. And he picks up where he left off, after the Wizard's Oath and making Grace out of his notebook archive, to learning the Speech, and meeting the trees and goats, and the way the friendly tree's name felt, and talking to Iggy, and the way the world went still when it revealed itself. He doesn't skimp on the details - especially the sensory tidbits, sprinkled on like sugar for the hungry harpies - but he speaks slowly, drawing out the sentences from end to end like stretching caramel, and he watches the effect on his audience.

From:

pythbox

Calliope listens eagerly. The other ones pretend indefference at first, with varying success, but soon they are all drawn in.

From:

lifes_sake

Cam pauses, before saying anything about how his confrontation with Iggy went.

"I hope we're not overstaying our welcome," he says. "I remember one of you wanted us to go away and leave you alone."

From:

pythbox

The harpy who said that scowls and turns away.

"No, stay, stay," says Calliope. "Tell us what happened next!"

From:

lifes_sake

"Maybe you should vote," suggests Cam. "Or whatever it is you do to make decisions amongst yourselves. After all, you live here, and I'm a visitor."

From:

pythbox

"We don't do anything like that," says Calliope.

"I want to hear you," says one of the more neutral harpies.

"Me too!" says another.

They all crowd closer, leaving the former heckler perched in her tree, torn between offended dignity and hunger.

From:

lifes_sake

"That sounds like something very near consensus," smiles Cam, and he goes on with his story. He even does impressions of Iggy's dialogue, and then he gets to the part where there was an attempt on his life, continuing to speak in slow-caramel sentences and play for suspense.

He pauses, right before it is unclear if he survives the story or not. (After all, he's from another world, and the harpies are quite familiar with people continuing to exist after death.)

"Amariah," he wonders aloud, "how much time do we have?"