It certainly looks like a pattern of some sort but I do not think it has to be truly deliberate. Keep in mind the way the Dragons granted humanity Practice was an accident so whatever distribution ended up happening could be 'deliberate' in the same way the fall-out distribution industrial accident is.
The Practice War [Complete]
- Thread starter Snowfire
- Start date
- Original Sci-Fi
It certainly looks like a pattern of some sort but I do not think it has to be truly deliberate. Keep in mind the way the Dragons granted humanity Practice was an accident so whatever distribution ended up happening could be 'deliberate' in the same way the fall-out distribution industrial accident is.
- Location
- Germany
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Are you sure, and if so, why?
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I mistyped, I meant to say that the manner in which they granted humanity Practice was accidental, they wanted to give it to everyone.
- Location
- Germany
- Pronouns
- He/Him
They did give it to everyone, but only a few have so much of it it's readily visible.
That is a technicality, only a small subset of humanity have Practice strong enough to be meaningful and the initial discussion was about whether seeing patterns in the distributions would imply some kind of wilful evolution.My point was that such patterns did not have to emerge with intent.
- Location
- Germany
- Pronouns
- He/Him
True, but given that Practice itself is anything but random, perceiving patterns that have to do with 'Practice' are worthwhile a closer look.
Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
This is very much not the case, by the text of the Metaconcert interlude - and the associated details in the AN for the section. This is the relevant section of the vision that Mary got from that Miracle:
I feel it states pretty clearly that the Dragons did not manage to do what they'd wished. The relevant sections of the AN post I made after the interlude also back this up, with the following:
Interestingly, you have not as yet isolated the other side of the equation talked about here. But then you've had other research priorities.
Turn 23 - Defining Synchronicity
Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
Amanda Hawk Personal Diary, 1st May 2128
With the Shiplords' return less than two years away now at worst, five at best, returning to work with the Two Twenty Three has started to transition away from temptation towards necessity. I'm confident in the unit, even with what Lina has started to distribute about the capabilities of Shiplord Regular craft, but I also refuse to fall into complacency. The Unisonbound took no losses in the Second Battle of Sol, with the worst injuries being minor ones. We were the darlings of human ingenuity and courage, having pitted our own Practice and technology that was then relatively untested against ships which had brought pre-Sorrows humanity to its knees, and passing through the gauntlet untouched and victorious.
This had been a good thing in many ways, humanity had needed that symbol, but it had come with downsides, too. One of the most present on our minds being that, despite all the work done on the Unison Platforms since, that we still don't know the consequences if one of us dies in the battle to come. And against Regulars, even with everything we've learnt since our first trial by fire, I can't imagine we'll be so blessed. Tribute Fleet ships are designed to lose, in the end. Regulars aren't, and though we'll still have the element of surprise that we enjoyed against the Tribute Fleet, I doubt it'll last anywhere near as long.
That was part of why I'd worked Arcadia so hard to unravel the mysteries of Unison Platform construction. We'd hoped to learn how their connection worked, and that we'd been able to get, but I'd also been hoping for at least a somewhat credible theory on how either half of a synchronisation pair would react if the other died. That, sadly, had met with failure. And what we'd succeeded in doing had, in some ways, brought only further problems. Reasonable ones, yes, but still there. And the nature of them, as well as the approaching deadline, mean that I'm going to be focused on them this year over training.
When we committed to rebuilding the synchronisation procedures for the Unisonbound last year, many of us had believed we'd understood what the process would entail. None of us were wrong when we'd made that assumption but translating what's needed into reality is rarely simple. Yet the nature of this problem, our own parts in creating it, makes it difficult. Physical factors are easy to judge, they always have been, and I know that we did our best with the mental tests that we put prospective Unisonbound through before they'd be allowed to attempt synchronisation.
Yet looking back, I can see where we made a great many mistakes, on both sides of the line we were trying to draw. It would be easy to say that we were creating something entirely new, the statement is true, after all, and use it as an excuse. But failure is still failure, and I never paid enough attention to the matter to realise the mistakes. Only now, after the fact, are we able to see the truth of what we built. Functional, yes. But not right. The difference is so obvious now, and it matters in ways that I've always known.
When you go to war, you don't send the children to the battlefield. Anyone can kill, if they have to, but forcing someone into that situation is rarely wise. A person can grow stronger from that experience, but they can also break, and that's never been the point of what the FSN and its subordinate organisations were founded to do. They exist to protect, but that obligation and oath is to all humanity, not just those behind the line. A superior has a duty to those in their command, and to those seeking to join it. That's why recruitment is so careful. You can want to fight all you wish, but if you're not capable of making that awful choice between those behind you and those before, then you shouldn't be made to.
We thought that the basic recruitment outline, modified a little in line with the complexities of a Unison Platform, would be enough. We were wrong. The web that Vega created allowed us to skate past the edges in many places, to help those who chose to take up a Unison Platform to turn their Focus to war. At least there is some solace in that none of the Unisonbound blame me for it, and there is a commitment now, to meet the demands of what's needed to take its place.
That means tearing down everything and starting over, but we have one thing now that we never did then: the Unison Intelligences themselves. They can see the errors in ways we can't, because they were inside the process that created them and have been anything but shy in lending that experience to the matter. And nor have the Circles. They've dealt with the other side of what we're facing, helping those who have faced combat through the end of that experience, Jessica paying me back the trust I gave her yet again.
I can't say that what we're building here will be perfect, but perfection was never what Sidra and the other Unison Intelligences asked for. Just something right. We owe them far more than just that.
Valkyries: 78 + 33 = 111 Synergy Greater Success
Unison Training: 73 + 34 = 107 Solid Success
Mother of Circles: 51 + 33 = 84. Solid Success
(New recruitment protocols complete. Limited Unisonbound recruitment will begin next year.)
With the Shiplords' return less than two years away now at worst, five at best, returning to work with the Two Twenty Three has started to transition away from temptation towards necessity. I'm confident in the unit, even with what Lina has started to distribute about the capabilities of Shiplord Regular craft, but I also refuse to fall into complacency. The Unisonbound took no losses in the Second Battle of Sol, with the worst injuries being minor ones. We were the darlings of human ingenuity and courage, having pitted our own Practice and technology that was then relatively untested against ships which had brought pre-Sorrows humanity to its knees, and passing through the gauntlet untouched and victorious.
This had been a good thing in many ways, humanity had needed that symbol, but it had come with downsides, too. One of the most present on our minds being that, despite all the work done on the Unison Platforms since, that we still don't know the consequences if one of us dies in the battle to come. And against Regulars, even with everything we've learnt since our first trial by fire, I can't imagine we'll be so blessed. Tribute Fleet ships are designed to lose, in the end. Regulars aren't, and though we'll still have the element of surprise that we enjoyed against the Tribute Fleet, I doubt it'll last anywhere near as long.
That was part of why I'd worked Arcadia so hard to unravel the mysteries of Unison Platform construction. We'd hoped to learn how their connection worked, and that we'd been able to get, but I'd also been hoping for at least a somewhat credible theory on how either half of a synchronisation pair would react if the other died. That, sadly, had met with failure. And what we'd succeeded in doing had, in some ways, brought only further problems. Reasonable ones, yes, but still there. And the nature of them, as well as the approaching deadline, mean that I'm going to be focused on them this year over training.
When we committed to rebuilding the synchronisation procedures for the Unisonbound last year, many of us had believed we'd understood what the process would entail. None of us were wrong when we'd made that assumption but translating what's needed into reality is rarely simple. Yet the nature of this problem, our own parts in creating it, makes it difficult. Physical factors are easy to judge, they always have been, and I know that we did our best with the mental tests that we put prospective Unisonbound through before they'd be allowed to attempt synchronisation.
Yet looking back, I can see where we made a great many mistakes, on both sides of the line we were trying to draw. It would be easy to say that we were creating something entirely new, the statement is true, after all, and use it as an excuse. But failure is still failure, and I never paid enough attention to the matter to realise the mistakes. Only now, after the fact, are we able to see the truth of what we built. Functional, yes. But not right. The difference is so obvious now, and it matters in ways that I've always known.
When you go to war, you don't send the children to the battlefield. Anyone can kill, if they have to, but forcing someone into that situation is rarely wise. A person can grow stronger from that experience, but they can also break, and that's never been the point of what the FSN and its subordinate organisations were founded to do. They exist to protect, but that obligation and oath is to all humanity, not just those behind the line. A superior has a duty to those in their command, and to those seeking to join it. That's why recruitment is so careful. You can want to fight all you wish, but if you're not capable of making that awful choice between those behind you and those before, then you shouldn't be made to.
We thought that the basic recruitment outline, modified a little in line with the complexities of a Unison Platform, would be enough. We were wrong. The web that Vega created allowed us to skate past the edges in many places, to help those who chose to take up a Unison Platform to turn their Focus to war. At least there is some solace in that none of the Unisonbound blame me for it, and there is a commitment now, to meet the demands of what's needed to take its place.
That means tearing down everything and starting over, but we have one thing now that we never did then: the Unison Intelligences themselves. They can see the errors in ways we can't, because they were inside the process that created them and have been anything but shy in lending that experience to the matter. And nor have the Circles. They've dealt with the other side of what we're facing, helping those who have faced combat through the end of that experience, Jessica paying me back the trust I gave her yet again.
I can't say that what we're building here will be perfect, but perfection was never what Sidra and the other Unison Intelligences asked for. Just something right. We owe them far more than just that.
Valkyries: 78 + 33 = 111 Synergy Greater Success
Unison Training: 73 + 34 = 107 Solid Success
Mother of Circles: 51 + 33 = 84. Solid Success
(New recruitment protocols complete. Limited Unisonbound recruitment will begin next year.)
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Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
This is pretty short, I know, but it's what ended up coming out today when I say down to write. I hope it does the job of showing where Amanda is in regards to this action and what's to come. I wanted to do a more narrative piece, but a diary entry is what she wanted to write, so I hope that's ok for people. Many thanks to @Coda for checking this for me.
The format worked great in my opinion. The fears and sorrow Amanda shows here feel like they should be quiet, private more than public, though of course the other Unisonbound would know and understand.
- Location
- Florida
This is looking good. 223 is getting up to par, from the looks of it. Now here's hoping they can put up a good showing.
- Location
- Ekaterinburg, Russia
This was rather informative. Still, looking into the past, I have a few questions.
On a scale of 1 to 10, where 1 is a complete mess, and 10 is that elusive perfect, and 5 is "can engage in battle":
1) What is the expected rating of future Unisonbound?
2) What would it have been with only a minor adjustment for the recruitment protocols - or without them at all?
3) What was the initial rating of 223 on recruitment?
4) What was the rating of 223 during the Second Battle of Sol?
5) What is the current condition of 223?
And this is two minor and one personal action covered. 2 Minor and 3 Personal Actions to cover, with 1 Answer and 2 Interludes.
Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
- You mean at initial synchronisation? Two to three on average, mainly because the new Unisonbound are going to get spun off into a new unit and they don't have Vega.
- Why, you might ask? Because the 223 are at a level of skill that could only be matched with a similar amount of time working together. The Web helps with that, but for what the 223 is likely to be doing during Third Sol, they can't afford weak links.
- Assuming an effective training regime (which there will be) and good teachers (which there are) you can assume that the new Unisonbound formation will be at a steady 5, with a few exceptions dragging them towards a low 6.
- You wouldn't have any given the Unison Intelligence decision, but assuming that had gone different, about the same with more in the 2/10 band.
- Wildly unpredictable. This is going to be much more stable.
- Without Amanda's Heartcircle? High 5s, low 6s. With it, they were pretty close to a 7.
- In terms of rating? 8 trending 9. The 223 have had a lot of time to train, and they also have more than one Speaker now.
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Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
Next interlude is well underway, if all goes well I'll have it up tomorrow - but we'll see how reality cooperates with that hope. Somewhat to my annoyance, I've been finding inserting vote points of any kind into these sections rather difficult, so...sorry about that. I know they usually create more in the way of engagement, but there just isn't the basis for them in these sections, and I can't force the world to write what isn't there.
Turn 23 - The Unconscious Void
Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
28th July, 2128
"We're going to start at the end, this time," you told Aya, as the two of you rode the elevator towards the top of the Spire, prompting a look of confusion from the young woman.
"But I thought the point of an Artefact was that they were built for a purpose?" She said after a moment, the question drawing a smile. With her Focus essentially stabilised since last year, and her using a catchall of Unity to describe it, you'd moved into the teaching of use of Practice on objects around midyear.
She hadn't taken to it like you'd hoped, but in some ways that hadn't been a bad thing. Aya had soaked up what you'd taught her the year before with such ease because it had been what she'd needed to properly understand the nature of her Focus. There were always places like that, in any education, but handling them after a poor start was important.
"Mostly they are," you replied approvingly, "but there's knowing that, and there's understanding it." Aya squinted at you and sighed, deliberately adding weight to the sound.
"This is one those things Iris warned me about, isn't it," she complained, and you chuckled warmly.
"I guess it might be," you smiled as the elevator came to a stop, several hundred stories up. The doors swung open, and you led the way along the path that you'd both become used to over the last year and half.
"But," you continued, your smile widening unconsciously at the memory of your daughter, "she wouldn't be who she was without those little things, you know."
"That's…true," Aya admitted after a moment, her eyes flicking to one side, and you only barely restrained your instinctive reaction. Here, you knew, it wouldn't help. The girl's inferiority complex wasn't as bad as she thought it was, to be fair, but working with it was taking time. And you needed to work her through it. Someone with as much power as she was going to have in the future needed to be confident in their skin, and she still wasn't there. But then, she'd have time, just like everyone else. You'd promised yourself that.
"Aya." You weren't chastising, simply gentle. She was still so young. The doors to the suite you'd repurposed slid open with barely a whisper, and as you led the way in, you reached into your pocket and retrieved the object that had given you the opportunity you had today. You held it up, a black crystal that seemed to devour the light of the day beyond the windows instead of reflecting it, and then tossed it to your apprentice. She caught it automatically, then froze into near total immobility as she registered what you'd thrown so casually.
"This-" You weren't surprised she knew. Your Artefacts, even this one, weren't hidden in any way in the public record. Of course, only a few people actually knew what you were about to tell Aya. "You've never been seen using. Not ever."
"No," you gave her another smile, though this one was more wistful, taking a moment to glance out the floor to ceiling windows that showed Mytikas below, Mars beyond, and the sky stretching so far above – that was still the subtly wrong shade of blue. So strange, how much could change between a few hundred million kilometres. "I made that almost forty years ago, Aya. And I still don't know why. It was just…an experiment, that we never thought would produce results."
The look of confusion on Aya's face was enough, but she put it into words anyway. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because sometimes," you replied, turning back to face the young woman who had given of herself so many times more before choosing to become your apprentice. "What matters isn't about pursuing what you want to create. Sometimes, it's just about taking things on faith. Believing that no matter how mad or impossible the task before you seems, that you can do it."
Aya shuddered, but you kept talking. "Not because of those around you, or those relying on you. I didn't make that for any vast purpose. But because you trust your power, and yourself to wield it."
"I," Aya blinked down at the small gem of cut night, and her fingers twitched as if she wished to smash it on the ground. "I'm not sure how," she whispered, pain close to agony shuttering her words to make them small. "I don't, Amanda. Maybe-"
"No." You put presence and power into that word, not enough to invest it truly, but enough to make it stick. "You are a Potential, Aya. You have awoken to power that, one day, will allow you to shape the very world. But you've always given more of yourself than taken from others to support it, and I know what that can do to a person."
She muttered something, too softly for anything but enhanced hearing to decipher. You had that, but right now, she didn't need a Unisonbound, or a teacher; she needed a guide. In truth, she needed more than that, but you'd done all you could to fill that void, and maybe that made you at fault too. If you hadn't, it was possible she would have found herself before now. But you could have no more ignored her needs as a child than you could have stepped back from the Second Battle of Sol.
"But I couldn't just," Aya began to protest, then fell silent, her mouth moving as she tried to understand what you'd said. You hadn't told her not to give, after all, and though you hated to be direct like this, it was necessary. The slim girl swallowed hard, pinprick tears sparkling in her eyes.
"No," you said, much more gently, "you couldn't. But you never accepted that you were worthy of what that help gave you. You brought people together, of course, but there was so little of that which you kept for yourself. Was that balance, Aya?"
"Well," she struggled with the word, "I thought that," she stopped, something shifting inside of her, and you beckoned her forward to the windows.
"You are much more powerful than you think," you dropped the words into the silence, letting them build in strength before adding the next as she shuffled forward slowly. "Even before your Awakening, you saw the world in a different way. You made yourself be better, be good enough, and for a while that was enough for you."
You looked over, and gently plucked what you and Mary had called a Void Crystal from your apprentice's hands. She didn't try to hold on. "But you aren't as different from your sister as you think." A nod directed her attention down at the city below, and your Practice spread into the room around you, reacting to subtle need. "Tell me what you see. No Focus, no Web, just look and speak."
Aya's gaze dropped down, locking onto an old park that had still not been retaken by those coming to recolonise. "Loneliness."
She blinked, but you didn't let her stop. "And there?" You directed her to another area, wide enough to have many different possibilities. She oriented on it, eyes stopping short on a strange patchwork of buildings steadily growing over an area.
"Family," something shrieked in the heart of that word as she spoke it, the pain below the surface that she'd never properly let herself feel rising through in moments of unconscious truth. A few short words turned her attention again, spinning it away from that moment as your own Focus guided you. She still needed a map, but you could give her that.
Minutes stretched as the sun fell, one hour, then another, on and on as you spun her attention between the world that she had chosen to make hers, but not for herself. A place can't be a home unless you want it to be one, and that goes deeper than wanting somewhere homely.
Lights kindled far below the spire as shadows lengthened and the sun began to set. And as it did so, you began to ask Aya about what was beyond Mytikas, the rim where you knew she and her sister and Iris had gone for picnics. Your daughter wasn't blind; she'd seen the same things you had, but she had lacked much of the knowledge you possessed. In the end, you were glad, really. This wasn't something you'd have wanted her to have to do to a friend.
"What about up there?" Aya's head tilted back, staring up at the darkening sky and the stars both manmade and natural scattered all across it.
"Unity." The word came without pause, and yet it was cold compared to many of the others. Somewhere along the way her hands had started moving, and you'd slid a small table into place just within reach. Her hands still moved, but she didn't seem to feel them, Practice flickering between connections as something took shape.
"Now there." You pointed, the first time you'd done so, and her eyes followed your finger down to a triangular building that linked three towers. You both knew the place.
Aya froze.
What followed was barely a whisper, and this time you did listen for it. Someone needed to hear her say this.
"Home?" There was something terribly lonely in that statement, and her hands tightened on the object between them, before springing open as her mind realised that there was something inside of them, almost flinging what was inside away.
Aya lurched forward as the world snapped into what had to be almost painful clarity around her. One of your hands, moving far swifter than any normal human's could, caught her before she fell; the other snatching up her nascent creation. More than just something improved with Practice, she'd taken parts and fitted them together into something of entirely a design of her own, guided by her own unconscious focus.
You hadn't been sure it would work at all, let alone this well. But something had pushed you towards it, and you'd learnt to trust those feelings. This was your Focus, and Practice had never once steered you wrong when you'd learnt to follow the instincts it had given you. Or maybe those you'd given yourself, in the end it mattered little now.
"Aya?" The dark-haired girl was frozen where she was, wrapped around your supporting hand.
"What," she breathed, raw emotion in her voice, "what was that, Amanda?"
"Your truth," you replied. "Nothing less."
"My truth?" She started to ask, before something caught in her memory. "There was something in my hands. What was it?" Her eyes flicked around the floor wildly, trying to find it until you brought your other hand into her field of view. "What's that?"
"This," you said, wiggling the work-in-progress carefully, "is what you made whilst we were talking. I'm not sure what it's for, but then," you offered her the oddly shaped box, "I thought we could work that out together, once it's done."
She stared at the system, at you, and then you saw, in that moment, something in her thoughts change. She tried for a smile, and got there after a few attempts.
"I think I'd like that."
You never really had time to work on your own Artefact after that. But for you, it was worth it.
Blackbody Mystery: 15 + 47 + 20 (Mender's Eye) = 82. Failure.
Mentor -NO ROLL-
"We're going to start at the end, this time," you told Aya, as the two of you rode the elevator towards the top of the Spire, prompting a look of confusion from the young woman.
"But I thought the point of an Artefact was that they were built for a purpose?" She said after a moment, the question drawing a smile. With her Focus essentially stabilised since last year, and her using a catchall of Unity to describe it, you'd moved into the teaching of use of Practice on objects around midyear.
She hadn't taken to it like you'd hoped, but in some ways that hadn't been a bad thing. Aya had soaked up what you'd taught her the year before with such ease because it had been what she'd needed to properly understand the nature of her Focus. There were always places like that, in any education, but handling them after a poor start was important.
"Mostly they are," you replied approvingly, "but there's knowing that, and there's understanding it." Aya squinted at you and sighed, deliberately adding weight to the sound.
"This is one those things Iris warned me about, isn't it," she complained, and you chuckled warmly.
"I guess it might be," you smiled as the elevator came to a stop, several hundred stories up. The doors swung open, and you led the way along the path that you'd both become used to over the last year and half.
"But," you continued, your smile widening unconsciously at the memory of your daughter, "she wouldn't be who she was without those little things, you know."
"That's…true," Aya admitted after a moment, her eyes flicking to one side, and you only barely restrained your instinctive reaction. Here, you knew, it wouldn't help. The girl's inferiority complex wasn't as bad as she thought it was, to be fair, but working with it was taking time. And you needed to work her through it. Someone with as much power as she was going to have in the future needed to be confident in their skin, and she still wasn't there. But then, she'd have time, just like everyone else. You'd promised yourself that.
"Aya." You weren't chastising, simply gentle. She was still so young. The doors to the suite you'd repurposed slid open with barely a whisper, and as you led the way in, you reached into your pocket and retrieved the object that had given you the opportunity you had today. You held it up, a black crystal that seemed to devour the light of the day beyond the windows instead of reflecting it, and then tossed it to your apprentice. She caught it automatically, then froze into near total immobility as she registered what you'd thrown so casually.
"This-" You weren't surprised she knew. Your Artefacts, even this one, weren't hidden in any way in the public record. Of course, only a few people actually knew what you were about to tell Aya. "You've never been seen using. Not ever."
"No," you gave her another smile, though this one was more wistful, taking a moment to glance out the floor to ceiling windows that showed Mytikas below, Mars beyond, and the sky stretching so far above – that was still the subtly wrong shade of blue. So strange, how much could change between a few hundred million kilometres. "I made that almost forty years ago, Aya. And I still don't know why. It was just…an experiment, that we never thought would produce results."
The look of confusion on Aya's face was enough, but she put it into words anyway. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because sometimes," you replied, turning back to face the young woman who had given of herself so many times more before choosing to become your apprentice. "What matters isn't about pursuing what you want to create. Sometimes, it's just about taking things on faith. Believing that no matter how mad or impossible the task before you seems, that you can do it."
Aya shuddered, but you kept talking. "Not because of those around you, or those relying on you. I didn't make that for any vast purpose. But because you trust your power, and yourself to wield it."
"I," Aya blinked down at the small gem of cut night, and her fingers twitched as if she wished to smash it on the ground. "I'm not sure how," she whispered, pain close to agony shuttering her words to make them small. "I don't, Amanda. Maybe-"
"No." You put presence and power into that word, not enough to invest it truly, but enough to make it stick. "You are a Potential, Aya. You have awoken to power that, one day, will allow you to shape the very world. But you've always given more of yourself than taken from others to support it, and I know what that can do to a person."
She muttered something, too softly for anything but enhanced hearing to decipher. You had that, but right now, she didn't need a Unisonbound, or a teacher; she needed a guide. In truth, she needed more than that, but you'd done all you could to fill that void, and maybe that made you at fault too. If you hadn't, it was possible she would have found herself before now. But you could have no more ignored her needs as a child than you could have stepped back from the Second Battle of Sol.
"But I couldn't just," Aya began to protest, then fell silent, her mouth moving as she tried to understand what you'd said. You hadn't told her not to give, after all, and though you hated to be direct like this, it was necessary. The slim girl swallowed hard, pinprick tears sparkling in her eyes.
"No," you said, much more gently, "you couldn't. But you never accepted that you were worthy of what that help gave you. You brought people together, of course, but there was so little of that which you kept for yourself. Was that balance, Aya?"
"Well," she struggled with the word, "I thought that," she stopped, something shifting inside of her, and you beckoned her forward to the windows.
"You are much more powerful than you think," you dropped the words into the silence, letting them build in strength before adding the next as she shuffled forward slowly. "Even before your Awakening, you saw the world in a different way. You made yourself be better, be good enough, and for a while that was enough for you."
You looked over, and gently plucked what you and Mary had called a Void Crystal from your apprentice's hands. She didn't try to hold on. "But you aren't as different from your sister as you think." A nod directed her attention down at the city below, and your Practice spread into the room around you, reacting to subtle need. "Tell me what you see. No Focus, no Web, just look and speak."
Aya's gaze dropped down, locking onto an old park that had still not been retaken by those coming to recolonise. "Loneliness."
She blinked, but you didn't let her stop. "And there?" You directed her to another area, wide enough to have many different possibilities. She oriented on it, eyes stopping short on a strange patchwork of buildings steadily growing over an area.
"Family," something shrieked in the heart of that word as she spoke it, the pain below the surface that she'd never properly let herself feel rising through in moments of unconscious truth. A few short words turned her attention again, spinning it away from that moment as your own Focus guided you. She still needed a map, but you could give her that.
Minutes stretched as the sun fell, one hour, then another, on and on as you spun her attention between the world that she had chosen to make hers, but not for herself. A place can't be a home unless you want it to be one, and that goes deeper than wanting somewhere homely.
Lights kindled far below the spire as shadows lengthened and the sun began to set. And as it did so, you began to ask Aya about what was beyond Mytikas, the rim where you knew she and her sister and Iris had gone for picnics. Your daughter wasn't blind; she'd seen the same things you had, but she had lacked much of the knowledge you possessed. In the end, you were glad, really. This wasn't something you'd have wanted her to have to do to a friend.
"What about up there?" Aya's head tilted back, staring up at the darkening sky and the stars both manmade and natural scattered all across it.
"Unity." The word came without pause, and yet it was cold compared to many of the others. Somewhere along the way her hands had started moving, and you'd slid a small table into place just within reach. Her hands still moved, but she didn't seem to feel them, Practice flickering between connections as something took shape.
"Now there." You pointed, the first time you'd done so, and her eyes followed your finger down to a triangular building that linked three towers. You both knew the place.
Aya froze.
What followed was barely a whisper, and this time you did listen for it. Someone needed to hear her say this.
"Home?" There was something terribly lonely in that statement, and her hands tightened on the object between them, before springing open as her mind realised that there was something inside of them, almost flinging what was inside away.
Aya lurched forward as the world snapped into what had to be almost painful clarity around her. One of your hands, moving far swifter than any normal human's could, caught her before she fell; the other snatching up her nascent creation. More than just something improved with Practice, she'd taken parts and fitted them together into something of entirely a design of her own, guided by her own unconscious focus.
You hadn't been sure it would work at all, let alone this well. But something had pushed you towards it, and you'd learnt to trust those feelings. This was your Focus, and Practice had never once steered you wrong when you'd learnt to follow the instincts it had given you. Or maybe those you'd given yourself, in the end it mattered little now.
"Aya?" The dark-haired girl was frozen where she was, wrapped around your supporting hand.
"What," she breathed, raw emotion in her voice, "what was that, Amanda?"
"Your truth," you replied. "Nothing less."
"My truth?" She started to ask, before something caught in her memory. "There was something in my hands. What was it?" Her eyes flicked around the floor wildly, trying to find it until you brought your other hand into her field of view. "What's that?"
"This," you said, wiggling the work-in-progress carefully, "is what you made whilst we were talking. I'm not sure what it's for, but then," you offered her the oddly shaped box, "I thought we could work that out together, once it's done."
She stared at the system, at you, and then you saw, in that moment, something in her thoughts change. She tried for a smile, and got there after a few attempts.
"I think I'd like that."
You never really had time to work on your own Artefact after that. But for you, it was worth it.
Blackbody Mystery: 15 + 47 + 20 (Mender's Eye) = 82. Failure.
Mentor -NO ROLL-
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Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
This update brought to you by The @Snowfire Reads @Baughn's Mind Fund. No seriously. This is apparently a thing I have done. It amuses me greatly. Aya's had this stuff in the works for a while, and Amanda just needed the right thing to toss at her (literally a little) to get it across. Many thanks got to @Coda and @Baughn for betaing this for me. I am aware that this is doing some serious digging into mental spaces, and that isn't for everyone, but I hope you can all find at least a little enjoyment in this.
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- Location
- Florida
Well that was... interesting. I'm glad Aya's issues are being worked through, even if I lack the understanding of the source material that served as her character's inspiration.
And it looks like what Aya Practiced wasn't described? That has to be intentional, right?
And it looks like what Aya Practiced wasn't described? That has to be intentional, right?
Snowfire
Polyglot of Chimera
- Location
- Wordcats
It's more that it's just a somewhat boxy shell with a bunch of random (at this point) components stuck inside it. It doesn't work yet. It'll also drive her sister up the wall when it just starts working down the line due to Practice being bullshit.
It amuses me. Greatly.
Yeah, I refuse to be defeated that easy.
Again. And again and again until you give up your goddamned secrets.
Frivking black box bullshit.
Have you ever thought that it might literally be the concept of a black box? As in it's entire point is it'll never be figured out no matter what.
Honestly I'd love that. Screwing SV at large over their obsession to SCIENCE! everything would be an amusing way to go about it.
Baughn
Healing-type writer
- Location
- Dublin
Aya, at this point, is so much like her sister that it hurts. They're both deeply focused people, even if only Aya has anything describable as a Focus. They're both giving to a fault, and then some. She'd give up anything and everything if it helped those she loves, but she might do the same even for total strangers. It's a good thing she has Amanda there to moderate that impulse.
There is, of course, plenty of source material. Mostly for Nei, but -- as I said, they're very similar.
She gets called Ion here. Oh, but don't worry -- Nei is definitely from Earth.
- Location
- Somewhere.
Apparently, the dice sayeth that it is not yet time.