Event Log: September, The Price of Revolution p1

[faileas]

Event Log: September, The Price of Revolution Part 1

I. The Freedom Festivities Behind the fortress-like walls of Dorchacht, what was once a gloomy, imposing city is lit up for the festivities to come. Septeril brings with it many mixed emotions for the citizens of what used to be called The Black City, though the overwhelming atmosphere is positive - this is a celebration of freedom hard-earned and prosperity hard-fought-for. The triple stars of the Resistance, now the current reigning party, feature heavily in decorations and in clothing: in pins, on hats, golden stars enchanted into fabric to dance merrily across skirts and cloaks. Stars light up the streets in decorative strings hung from lamppost to lamppost, flickering gently over the cobblestones. Mirrors, as well, feature into the decor, tiny round ones hung in multitudes from awnings and in windows like ornaments, catching the light and playing it across the otherwise-utilitarian architecture, lending it a sort of understated beauty. Much of Dorchacht has been rebuilt and repurposed by necessity since the uprising last year, and many new small businesses and restaurants are being featured at the festival - their goods or their foods on display in markets of street-side stalls or on the feast tables. Local handmade wares and crafts are out for sale for modest prices, and every sale helps out both the small business, many of which are started by former slaves, and helps the local economy, which is better these days but still recovering. The festivities go for six days, almost a full week, with feasting and bonfires every evening, and tours and tales of the city by day, as they display the changes for the better they have all made. And then, on the final evening, all are invited to watch a grand fireworks show that will be put on in the skies over Dorchacht, presided over by the Circle of Three themselves. Mirrorbound are welcomed warmly, whether they were present last year or not, and treated much like family - get ready to be pulled into activities and plied with food left and right. a. Join the Fun The children of Dorchacht are out by the dozens during the festivities, excited by all the freely-offered, special sweet treats and the magical sparklers and poppers being handed out by the fistful. The poppers explode when thrown to the ground in bursts of bright colors, completely harmless, and the sparklers are enchanted not to burn little (or big) hands if mishandled. Mirrorbound passing through may find themselves roped into elaborate pretend games of revolution by eager faces: the children name themselves either Resistance members or Mirrorbound, and 'do battle' with their magic fireworks against scarecrow-like constructions cloaked in dark bed sheets as 'the bad guys'. Depending on one's perspective, it may seem dark, but this is what these children have known very recently in their lives, and their caretakers or parents (there are more of the former than the latter, especially for the young Monsters) let them play as they will. If asked, they'll just explain that some of those kids even remember the fighting when it happened; this is just another way that they try to understand how the city has changed. More organized, family-friendly reenactment performances are also common, with several of the orphanage groups putting on small plays about the uprising, or moral plays about kindness and togetherness between Witches and Monsters. This includes a prominent set of performances by the Mirrored Hearts Home for Children - maybe you're helping out with their sets or costumes, or maybe you assisted with their scripts and songs. Those Mirrorbound volunteers will want to see the kids do well, right? They'll be heartbroken if you don't show. Of course, kids aren't the only ones doing reenactments. The newly formed Dorchacht Historical Society, dedicated to protecting Dorchacht's history going forward, puts on several - and may drag in passers-by to play different roles! Only the luckiest are begged to play the role of The Dragon, who valiantly rose up against their cruel former master, Morgana, and helped lead Dorchacht to where they are today. b. Forget-Me-Not While the overall air is celebratory, among the adults who are old enough to understand just what was lost as well as gained, there is an undercurrent of sombre remembrance. Many visit the burned-out Old Coven, left as damaged as it was when the fighting ceased, as a monument to how freedom fighters suffered and fought. Plaques dot the grounds and buildings there seemingly at random, until you realize that each metal plate bearing names is laid where someone died. To decorate these plaques, and homes and businesses as well, there are tables set up in the yard of the New Coven, heavy with a rainbow of small magical flowers called Forget-Me-Nots, and the supplies to make remembrance wreaths. In this new tradition, the flowers are chosen with a dead, missing, or simply absent loved one in mind, and woven together with glass beads, small wooden charms, and a spell written on a slip of paper. The enchanted fragrance of the Forget-Me-Nots allows whoever smells them to witness short, happy memories of the person the wreath was made for - whether they knew that person or not. The memories come from the wreath-maker, and are only short flashes (less than a minute long) or mere impressions, but all are pleasant or warming. With the spell woven in, they'll last for an entire year without wilting or losing their effects, a souvenir from the festival to take home. Mirrorbound are encouraged to join in, and make wreaths of their own, whether or not they lost someone in Dorchacht's uprising. It can be for someone who has disappeared from Geardagas, someone who died long ago, someone living they miss from home, anyone who is not currently with them.

II. The Uninvited Guests On the 25th, the final day of the celebrations, the partying lasts all day. Food and drink are abundant on every corner, upbeat music is played by street performers and over the radios that can be found in nearly every household and shop, and the bonfires have been enchanted to let the flames take fanciful shapes. Drinking games and dancing, storytelling and general partying all last clear into the evening, but once dusk falls, everyone gathers in the center square of the city for the fireworks show. The Three are there - the Witches Bryn and Hilda, and the Monster known as The Dragon, Starlight, or formerly Fafnir - with Nessie and Mhairi as guests of honor, and Hilda is the one to set off the first enchanted fireworks, after a brief speech thanking everyone for coming out to celebrate a year of freedom and independence with them. It's with bursts of colorful light in the night sky behind her that she seems to appear from nowhere: tall, dark and imposing, a sharp-eyed Witch that exudes power. Morgana Drummond is not alone, either, flanked by a dozen rough-worn Witches and a host of others. The chaos that ensues is immediate and violent. "All of this for me?" Drummond sneers. Attacks bounce off her, no matter how powerful - even Nessie's considerable spells. Witches will be able to sense the strong barrier spell close-fit around her body, and the others around her will not let Monsters get close. It's The Dragon who speaks, voice rough from disuse but loud enough: "How dare you return here-" "I built this city in all the ways that matter. I was never going to let you have it. You burned away my Dorchacht, so now I will make sure there is nothing left of yours but ashes." a. To Sleep, Perchance Unreachable, Morgana Drummond's form limns in a sickly violet light, the circle of a spell forming beneath her feet, steadily growing as her power gathers. So much magic gathered in one spot is bound to be felt by all the Mirrorbound, Witch and Monster alike, oppressive in nature as if it could steal the breath from your lungs. Perhaps it truly was a fluke that she was driven from Dorchacht, a happy accident caused by a timely distraction. The spell circle spreads, glowing, until it envelops the entire city, and it pulses once, blinding, before it sears itself across Dorchacht's streets and buildings in burnt lines and symbols. The fireworks continue to pop and burst overhead, casting shadows that seem suddenly sinister. Nothing happens for just a moment - and then all the people of Dorchacht collapse in waves. Next to a stunned Nessie and furious Mhairi, Bryn, Hilda, and the Dragon fall into a heap as well, the final three bodies to hit the ground. Mirrorbound and citizens of Aefenglom do not fall prey to the sleeping spell despite being in its area of effect. It happens in the span of just a few minutes, and then Morgana is gone in the blink of an eye, leaving her people to sow terror on the sleeping city. b. Battle on the Streets While she brought with her only a dozen Witches from her former Coven, she's collected a force in the Wilde. Blank-eyed rogue necromancers, mind controlled the way the Monsters of Dorchacht used to be, storm the streets controlling in turn their dead Monsters and creatures. A few even have with them dead Nuckelavee, which will require multiple fighters to take out. Wilders from Dorchacht gone missing on expeditions in the last year bear the signs of mind control as well - the ones who aren't dead, shambling around the necromancers. Maybe you recognize them, maybe you don't. Maybe you can help them, or maybe you can't. The mind control enchantments can be dispelled with a lot of effort or with the specific spells used often by the Resistance a while ago, for those who still remember it. In the slums of Dorchacht, the people who were convinced of Morgana's return, those who want to return to the days of slavery and terror, break free from the now-sleeping guards and failing wards that kept them contained and join the fighting, manic in their glee. The spell that put the rest of Dorchacht to sleep seems to slip right off them, perhaps sensing their loyalty to terrible causes. It is chaos, as the insurgents set fires and attack at will with magic, claws, weapons, anything they have. Mirrorbound will soon realize that they and the visitors from Aefenglom are not the only targets. The sleeping people of Dorchacht are ripe for the killing, unable to react or defend themselves. The fighting will continue into the night until the invaders are all dead or captured.

III. The Aftermath When the fighting ends, the work begins. An entire city deep in the throes of an enchanted sleep is a worst-case scenario that none of them could have predicted, even those who had a hunch Morgana didn't die out in the unexplored Wilde. Miss Nessie and Mhairi will remain on the scene helping to direct the aid efforts in the aftermath of the battle. Fires must be put out, corpses must be rounded up to be buried or burned, captured attackers must be secured and questioned, sleeping citizens must be whisked from the streets to safety and shelter, and buildings ensured to be safe in the meantime. Aefenglom's Coven are called in to assist, anyone who is available, and Mirrorbound help is more than welcomed. They will need everyone they can get to make sure not all is lost in this tragic attack. Nessie herself will ensure the Three are taken to safety in Aefenglom until the people of Dorchacht can be woken. Action needs to be taken quickly. Morgana needs to be found as soon as possible, and capable hands will be needed to search the Wilde far outside Dorchacht, the most likely place for her to go. More urgently, however, are the sleeping citizens. Nessie announces late the next evening, the normally-bubbly woman gone solemn and serious: "I believe I've found a counter-ritual for the spell that nasty woman used, I have. I will need your help, though, Mirrorbound. Volunteers only, of course, of course, as it's likely to be quite dangerous, though the Dreamers and I will take every precaution we can. Discuss among yourselves, decide if you're willing. Those who are, meet at the Coven at midnight on the 27th. It's not right to just leave them all like that, not right at all..."

Welcome to September's event log, Part 1 of The Price of Revolution! This event will continue in the TDM posted on the 21st, with a foray into purposeful dreamwalking. It will be a hybrid test drive and event that current characters will be allowed to top level on as well. Quests into the Wilde to search for Morgana will currently bear no fruit beyond small clues, but Part 2 in early October will deal with her whereabouts and her final fate. As always, direct your questions about the event HERE! And finally, for those who are wondering what's up with Dorchacht, we have a Setting update for you.

Comments

[braidmage]

[ Reynir sees the memory; he isn't aware of Onni witnessing it, too. He doesn't see the grown version of him in the memory itself, and he thinks perhaps he had done something wrong, not focused hard enough...

But all those concerns are swept aside as he watches the scene that takes place. Onni's grandmother is still a little scary to him--he's not sure if that is because he knows what she would later become or if she was just kind of a scary lady. Maybe it is a mix of the two.

She certainly seems to be, to Reynir's eyes, a very stern teacher. He watches as little Onni conjures a flame, and Reynir can't help but feel a small burst of pride. So powerful, even at that age.

He watches the family from a small distance, little Tuuri and her love for Onni and his love for her, Onni's mother, the warmth and belonging wrapped up in that memory. And then he is back at the inn, with Onni sitting beside him, looking... blank. Shocked. ]

No, it was- it was another one. You saw... little you creating a flame with magic, right? Your grandma was there and then she talked with your mom, and Tuuri was pulling on your hair?

[scowlish]

[The memory was intense, despite how calm and somewhat idyllic it had been. He isn't sure if he remembers that, though he's sure he knows how his grandmother had trained him, the way she'd pushed his hands around was intensely familiar, and he knows about her surprise at how much force and power his spells had had, even at that age. Thinking about Tuuri that young, about the way she'd dug her fingers into his hair and pulled and babbled at him leaves him feeling twisted up and sad all at once.

But abruptly, he does remember that.]

Yes. That's what I saw. And...I'm sure that I remember that. Tuuri did that all the time, with my hair. She would pull on it when she was little, and then when she got older she would try to comb it or braid it...

[His throat feels suddenly tight, and he swallows hard, looking down at the wreath.]

I know that my grandmother would teach me about magic on the front porch, and I know she was surprised that my spells came out that way. I don't remember it, but it seems right.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir is glad that he has his hand laced with Onni's; he gives it a squeeze, feeling the tide of sadness and confusion coming upon Onni. It might not have been intentional, but maybe it was a good thing, that they hadn't seen the memory Onni was bracing himself for. Sweet as it had been, there seemed to be more substance to this one.

When Onni mentions Tuuri's habit of playing with his hair, Reynir smiles, sad and quiet. ]

She was really cute. You both were.

[ He swallows, wondering how Onni would react if he asked to play with his hair. It's something Reynir has thought about. A lot, actually. He had assumed Onni would scoff it off out of indifference, but now he's worried that it might actually be painful for him. Bring up memories that had once been happy but are now layered over with a fog of grief.

Nodding along as Onni explains his memory of magic lessons, Reynir explains: ]

I have memories like that. Like... I remember my father taught me to knit, but I don't remember specific times when that happened or how long it took or what age I was. That's totally normal.

[ It seems important to reassure Onni that other people haven't got perfect recall of everything from when they were young, either. Just to give him a kind of baseline, for comparison. ]

She seems like she was kind of a harsh teacher.

[ Reynir makes the comment lightly, hesitantly. He's got a bit more to say about it than just that, but he treads cautiously. Family is a precarious topic. ]

You were so powerful. Even at that age...

[scowlish]

[When Reynir says they'd both been cute, Onni exhales a soft sigh, eyes sinking shut. They had been, yes, but most children are pretty cute, but he's not sure why that seems notable to Reynir. Maybe just another way that their worldviews are different. But he can feel the fondness from Reynir just as clearly as he can see it on his face, and it leaves him feeling...strange. He's not used to being the object of most of the things Reynir feels about him or the way he treats him. It isn't that Onni has never been loved or cared for, but he's not sure if it's ever been quite like this.

When Reynir tells him that he has memories like that, where he knows that his father taught him to knit but he doesn't remember any specific times, or when it was, or how old he'd been, and says that that's normal, Onni blinks and nods. That's a bit of a relief, though he still thinks that he probably remembers less than most people do about what had happened before he was 15.]

I see. Well, that's a bit of a relief.

[Frowning a little, he looks down at the wreath again, pale lashes shading his eyes while he considers it, tries to work out how he feels about all of it. He can't get the image of Tuuri, so small and clumsy and sweet, digging her fingers deep into his hair and pulling at it, trying to comfort him, and he misses her deeply, profoundly, achingly, like part of him has been lopped off and ground up. Squeezing his eyes shut, he takes a few short shaky breaths and tries to push it down.]

Ah. Um, yes. My grandmother...

[The change of track is a little difficult, but he takes a few more breaths and uses his focus on the talk of magic and his grandmother to try to distract himself from the yawning pit of grief.]

She was...practical. She wanted us to do it the right way. She was born just after the Rash appeared, she grew up in the worst of it, so she always had this attitude of needing to survive above everything else. If I didn't know how to do the magic properly, I couldn't defend myself against a Beast or Troll, and I would die.

[Exhaling again, he shakes his head, his mouth quirking just a little at the corners.]

It was surprising when they worked out that I was able to do what I could do. But in the end it didn't matter much. She stopped training me when Lalli turned out to be a mage too, but Immune.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir waits patiently as Onni speaks, letting him take the time he needs to gather his thoughts and choose the right words. His eyes are hot with unshed tears from the intensity of Onni's grief seeping through the bond. He shifts, moving close enough he can tilt his head and rest it against Onni's shoulder as he speaks. Being close to Onni, having contact with him, is such a calming, grounding thing. Some of that is the Bond, and some of it is just Reynir's fondness for physical closeness.

Once Onni is done speaking, Reynir chimes in, quietly: ]

So... not that practical, after all. She should've trained you both.

[ He doesn't make his criticism any more direct than that; he is still talking about Onni's grandmother, someone who had been very important in his life. He wonders, but would never ask, if Onni had ever blamed his grandmother for the mistakes that had led to the destruction of the village. Was he still angry at her? Sad for her? ]

And you turned out to be the most amazing mage I've ever met, despite all that.

[ And he had survived, he had helped Tuuri and Lalli to survive. That was more than many would have managed, at Onni's age. Reynir swallows, not sure he should ask what he wants to. But... Onni seems like he is doing okay. This isn't breaking him, and he is opening up, little by little. So... ]

What was your mother's name?

[scowlish]

[When Reynir says that she hadn't been that practical after all because she hadn't trained him, Onni just shrugs.]

Not necessarily. She needed a scout, someone to take over for her once she couldn't do the job anymore. I was scared a lot and gave in too easy to the voices of the Trolls when I was young, I wouldn't have made a good scout without a lot of work. Lalli is Immune, and you know how he is. He's good at it.

[For a moment, he's quiet, and then he glances up at Reynir again. The change of topic is making it a bit easier to tamp down the grief that still sits in him as he remembers that scene with Tuuri digging her fingers into his hair - he can almost feel it, a tactile sort of memory that makes his chest ache. At Reynir's comment that he turned out to be the most amazing mage he'd ever met despite his grandmother handing over his training, he makes a small scoffing noise.]

I'm decent. And it isn't like I was never trained after that. There were other mages in the village who were more than willing to take over my training. Hilja was one of them.

[It's brisk and matter-of-fact, and he moves on from it quickly, not wanting to deal with that along with what he's still feeling about Tuuri. The question about his mother catches him a little off-guard, and Reynir can probably tell that's so, he thinks, from the way his body goes slightly tense. Reynir is holding his hand still, he's leaning against him with his head on his shoulder and the contact is comforting, but also leaves him feeling very exposed because he knows how clearly the emotions translate through the bond with this kind of contact.]

Her name was Anne-Mari. My father was Juha, he and my uncle, Lalli's father Jukka, were identical twins. That's why people always think Lalli is my brother, I think.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir listens to the excuses Onni makes for his grandmother without commentary. Perhaps it comes down to cultural differences; in his village, there was no skill that was taught to only one person. It had been a long time before Reynir had understood why the adults in the village always insisted on there being three young people who knew each craft, each important building technique, each traditional instrument... it was so there would be back-ups. So that if someone left for the city, if someone died... there would still be at least one person in the village who knew what to do when a sheep started bleeding and wouldn't clot, or who knew the recipe for the spiced cakes they made for a particular holiday.

And he knows that his own bias is, perhaps, clouding his judgment, here. Reynir recognizes that he has some bitter feelings about non-Immune people being pushed aside and shut out of opportunities that Onni might not share. ]

Decent?

[ That startles a soft, breathy laugh from Reynir, and he lifts his head, twisting around so that he can meet Onni's gaze, eyebrows raised. He shakes his head, mouth open in surprise, and curling at the corner into a warm smile, so very fond. Even if his face didn't give him away completely, his opinion on that would be all too obvious from the sudden rush of affection inside him, filling him up. ]

You really don't see it, do you? How incredible you are?

[ Reynir sighs through his nose, and settles his head in against Onni's shoulder once more, cuddling in a bit closer. At this point... he's not really doing it to comfort Onni. He just... wants to be near him. But there's nothing wrong with that, is there? ]

Well, you don't look all that much alike. But you do have lots of the same mannerisms, though. And you're both way too fond of sweets.

[ Reynir's cheerful voice trails off, a little seriousness creeping back into the conversation as he hesitantly asks: ]

That was okay, right? Seeing that, and... remembering?

[scowlish]

[It might not be cultural differences, exactly, because there had been other scouts besides Lalli, would have been other scouts besides him even if he'd been trained. There wasn't any special reason to train him to be a scout, and he knows as well as his grandmother had that he wasn't suited to it.

Practical.

The entire train of thought is derailed, though, when Reynir suddenly looks at him and starts radiating fondness and affection, smiling at him like a human ray of sunshine. Reynir asks him if he doesn't see how incredible he is, and Onni snorts, shaking his head.]

I'm not. I'm just me.

[No one is better than anyone else, really, at least as far as he's concerned. Everyone has talents. Reynir leans against him again, presses himself in against Onni's side again and rests his head on his shoulder, their hands still together. Reynir mentions that he doesn't think Onni and Lalli look too much alike, that they have the same mannerisms and like sweet things, and Onni feels that pang of sadness again. He misses Lalli. Not in the same gut-wrenching end-of-the-world way that he misses Tuuri, but he misses him all the same. Lalli is difficult sometimes, but Onni knows he's difficult himself sometimes, and even for all his difficulties, Lalli is a good boy who works hard, and Onni loves him.]

There's no such thing as being too fond of sweets.

[Very matter-of-fact, and yet his voice has the faintest tremble to it, because he misses Tuuri and he misses Lalli and he misses his mother and father and grandmother and aunts and uncles and even Hilja.]

I don't know. I wouldn't say it's okay. I miss them.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir makes a small, wordless mhm at that response from Onni, as if he was precisely proving Reynir's point. Which he is. Onni sees himself as no different from anyone else, but Reynir thinks his own perspective is a little more objective. He'd met other mages, at the Academy. Professors, skilled men and women, and though Icelandic magic was inherently different to Finnish, it had been all too clear that none of them were anywhere near Onni's level. ]

Yeah, you're just you... the most powerful mage I've ever met.

[ But he doesn't push it any further than that; it's not worth it to argue with Onni about that, when there are much larger fish to fry.

He hears the shake in Onni's voice, as he admits that he misses them. His family, his community. It's a loss that Reynir can't even imagine... even if he did try to imagine if he heard all his village had been wiped out, it's not the same and he knows it. Onni had been at such a fragile age, and he'd had so many years for those scars to heal badly.

With infinite care, he runs a thumb across the back of Onni's hand and says: ]

Alright. Then it isn't okay. It's... it can be not-okay.

[ Very gently, neither encouraging nor discouraging: ]

Do you want to see another?

[ He's done trying to convince Onni; he'd made his argument and now it's on Onni to choose whether he's ready to see more memories, whether his desire to connect with his past outweighs the potential fallout. ]

[scowlish]

[It's a good thing that Reynir lets it go, because the only response he can muster to that declaration is a deep sigh. It isn't worth arguing about, not when there's so much more going on in his mind, so much more that he's having intense feelings about.

His gaze shifts to rest on Reynir's hand, where his fingers are threaded between his, where his thumb brushes so gently against the side of his hand. It's such a strangely affectionate and comforting gesture, and Onni abruptly feels his eyes filling with tears. It doesn't make sense that it would hit him the way it does, that little bit of kindness. Isn't kindness supposed to comfort? It's completely illogical that the more Reynir's thumb moves against his hand hurts, makes his ribs go tight enough that he can't breathe, his gut twists, his throat aches, and his eyes sting with tears. It's stupid.

Reynir says it can be not-okay, and the tears well up more. Onni lifts his hand and scrubs it over his face, both hoping that Reynir won't notice and knowing that he will. Even if he doesn't see what's happening, he's sure to feel it through the Bond. Onni's grief, his confusion, his hurt, all of it is being transmitted directly to Reynir, he's sure of it, and suddenly he knows why people don't want to get Bonded. It's so much more complicated than he'd anticipated.

For a long few moments he's quiet, mostly because he can't speak with his throat closed up, but then he finally does, his voice rough from holding back tears.]

Yes.

[braidmage]

[ Reynir at least has the good sense to pretend not to notice, when Onni begins crying; he just keeps rubbing a thumb across the back of Onni's hand and lets himself feel the reverberations of Onni's sadness. It's not as simple as he might have expected - he can't tell what it is coloring that feeling of vulnerability and sadness, but there is some element to it that is so unfamiliar to Reynir. He isn't sure Onni could even put a name to it if he asked, and of course, he will not ask.

He is a little surprised, when Onni says he does want to see another memory. In truth, Reynir had expected a vehement no, for Onni to pull away from anything that uncovered all the pain he'd buried deep inside himself.

So he gives a little nod, shifting so their legs are pressed directly against one another, thigh to thigh and knee to knee. He settles his temple against Onni's and holds up the garland, drawing in a deep inhale and breathing in the scent.

This memory is bright, and vivid. Reynir blinks against the blinding summer sunshine, and takes a moment to take in the bright colors of the decorated village square. There's music, too, lively and lilting with a quick beat and countless people clapping along. People are dancing, young and old, and judging by how dressed up everyone is, it must be a holiday or wedding or something of the sort.

Reynir turns and sees Onni, and his heart gives a little hiccup when he notices how similar this Onni looks to the one he'd seen in Lalli's memories. It wasn't long before his village would be destroyed, before all these people would be dead...

Onni is with Tuuri, sitting on a crate a little ways off. Tuuri still has her long braids. The two of them sharing some kind of powdered cake. Reynir smiles, seeing them both, body language mirrored, grinning at one another with sugar on their mouths, when someone comes up to them. A nervous-looking boy with shiny brown hair swept to one side and skin tanned from working outside. He speaks, voice cracking in a way that confirms he must have been around Onni's own age. ]

Hey, Tuuri. Hey, Onni. So, um. Onni. I was- I was thinking- if you- when you're done with that maybe we could- um, well, I'm not very good at dancing but if you wanted-

[ The boy's cheeks are flushing a deep red, and Reynir has no question in his mind that, whoever this is, his crush on Onni was clearly despetate and all-consuming in the way that only teenage crushes could be.

But the memory ends before he can see Onni's reply; the last thing he sees is Tuuri's delighted look, as she understood what was happening. ]

Ah. That was- who was that?

[scowlish]

[It was something of a snap decision, Onni's choice to look at another memory with Reynir. The first one had affected him deeply and he's still feeling it, he's still fighting with his instinct to cry, and feels swamped with sadness and homesickness that can never be rectified because there's no home to go back to. But still, his first instinct was to look at another. Maybe it's Reynir's presence that makes the difference, because he never would've looked at a single one on his own, let alone more than one or another after the way that first one had hit him.

This time, it's in the village square instead of Onni's childhood home. He doesn't remember this moment at all, though he vaguely remembers festivals like it, weddings and harvest festivals usually, where there was dancing and food and music. Watching his younger self share a cake with Tuuri, the way they'd smiled at each other only serves to increase his sense of homesickness and sadness, and for a moment he feels as if he'll be washed away in it.

The boy that comes up to the two of them serves as some distraction. Onni remembers him, he thinks maybe he was the butcher's son, has an impression of the two of them playing a little when they'd been younger. Väinö. That was his name. While Onni is old enough and savvy enough to know what was going on in this scene in hindsight, it's obvious that the younger version of Onni in the dream barely recognizes the invitation to dance. He can see the dawning of some realization in Tuuri's mind, though, watches her little round face split into a wide grin, and he can't tell whether it's because she's happy for him or intends to tease him about it later. Probably the teasing.

Another wash of grief, and just when he thinks he can't tolerate it anymore, the memory fades away and Reynir is asking him who the boy is.]

Oh. Väinö. The butcher's son, I think. We were around the same age and we played together when we were kids. Usually looking for blueberries, or I'd skip rocks while he fished.

[It escapes him that he's recounting actual memories now, real images that he can see in his mind. Maybe it's something to do with the lingering scent, or maybe his mind is just in the habit of accessing those parts of himself now. Whichever it is, it's spared Onni's overthinking because he just doesn't notice.]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir doesn't ask if Väinö had died when the kade infected the town. Of course he had died. Everyone had died. But it's awful in a new way for Reynir, thinking of someone that young, someone who had just been starting out in the world, gone so senselessly. His mind shies away from that; Onni's got enough on his plate without Reynir adding any sadness into the mix.

Quietly, he says: ]

He seemed really nice. [ A beat, and then, unable to resist, Reynir adds, with warmth and half a laugh in his voice: ] Really infatuated with you.

[ He hesitates a moment, swallowing. There is no right thing to say, in a situation like this. Onni has lost so much, and there's not any words in any language that Reynir could string together to change that. He can't really make that loss any better. But he wants to at least avoid getting any salt in the wound. ]

...Your village was a beautiful place. I would've liked to have seen it.

[ He had seen it, of course, but just the ruins. Just the empty broken shells of buildings, and the tombstones, and the vegetation growing wild. ]

[scowlish]

[It isn't often that Onni thinks about individual people who were lost when the kade came, at least beyond his own family. He thinks about his mother and father and grandmother, his aunts and uncles, but he doesn't usually think about his friends or classmates. It doesn't hurt as much as thinking about his family, but there's still a sense of loss and displacement that comes with having lost his whole community.

When Reynir says that he seemed nice and really infatuated with him, Onni lets out a soft huff of breath, and nods.]

He was nice. And I suppose he did have a crush on me. I didn't realize it at the time.

[Ducking his head, he sighs a bit, rubs at his face for a moment and nods.]

It was beautiful. It would've been nice to show it to you. I suppose you saw it in Lalli's memory as well, before everything happened.

[The homesickness is back again, when he says that, a twisting sadness in his chest and belly, and he swallows hard, glancing over at Reynir again. Now, having seen all of these memories, thinking about it, he's pretty sure he's remembering more things, like his father teaching him to fish or being in the little schoolroom learning math.]

I think I'm starting to remember more, now.

[braidmage]

So I'm not gonna hear any more comments from you about how nobody could ever possibly fall for you?

[ His voice is light, teasing, but there's a sadness behind it, too. How different would Onni be, now, if he'd realized it at the time. If he had gotten a chance to explore that side of himself before everything went so disastrously wrong. Maybe it wouldn't have made any difference. Or maybe it would have. There's no way to know, now. ]

Yeah, I did see a little, in Lalli's memory.

[ Reynir feels it, too; an aching for a place that is gone, that can't be returned to because it doesn't exist any longer. It's so different, from the kind of homesickness that he feels for his own family and village. Quietly, he asks: ]

Do you want to tell me about it? Some of the stuff you're remembering?

[ Reynir carefully sets the magical wreath on the bed, which leaves both his hands open. He takes both Onni's hands between his own, holding them there. It's not much, but it's all he can really do for his friend, when he's hurting. ]

If you want to, I'd like to hear. I talk to you all the time about growing up and stuff. But- but there's also no rush. If you don't want to talk, that's okay. You've done a lot, today, and - and I'm proud of you. For being brave.

[scowlish]

[At that, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head a little.]

I suppose, if you take a fourteen-year-old boy's crush seriously. Besides, I was different back then.

[His voice is a little sad when he says it. It takes a few moments, but he gathers himself a little, and rubs at his face again, blinking slowly. Glancing over at Reynir, he looks at his face, the sad way that he smiles at him, the way that he can feel the longing suddenly emanating from the younger man, that same homesick feeling he has, and it startles a huff of breath from him.

Often, Onni finds himself thinking about how different he and Reynir are, but moments like this remind him that there are a lot of things they have in common as well.]

I remember my father trying to teach me how to fish when I was quite young. I tried at first, but I realized pretty quickly that I hated it, and completely refused after that.

[It doesn't make sense for Reynir to be proud of him for looking at the memories and for bringing up a few others, but he doesn't comment on it because he can sense it'll just end up with another disagreement. Not an argument, maybe, but a disagreement, and he doesn't want that right now.]

[braidmage]

[ Reynir thinks that the crushes of fourteen-year-old boys are a very serious thing, indeed. And a part of him wants to protest that Onni is still the same person, deep down. But he has a feeling that will only set Onni on a path of thinking how much he's changed, and perhaps, given the sadness in his voice, that might not be the best path to go down. Not tonight, not after he's already dredged up so much grief.

He listens as Onni tells him about a scrap of a memory - nothing in detail, just a hint. Quietly: ]

Okay, so hypothetically... let's say I've never been fishing in my life. What sucks about it?

[ It's true that he hasn't been fishing - Mikkel had handled all the fishing during their current expedition, and Reynir hadn't lived near to any bodies of water with fish in them. So part of him really is curious. And also... he wants Onni to keep talking.

So Reynir carries on like this, asking little prompting questions - nothing too immediately painful, though of course there is pain threaded through all of it. He keeps keen attention on the Bond tying him to Onni, and on Onni's face, for signs he's straying too near to something too painful. But he coaxes a few more little harmless memories from Onni - details about his schooling, chores he hated, misunderstandings between him and Tuuri, scandals from the town.

It's not all that much, maybe, from an objective viewpoint... but it is a start. ]