2021-02-02: Gwen Befriends a Primarch, Part 2
- Log: Gwen Befriends a Primarch, Part 2
- Cast: Gwen Whitlock, Setanta (posed by Scythe Riebaure)
- Where: In the Space of Dreams
- Date: 2/2/2021 (ICly before the Fire Thief scene)
- Summary: Gwen meets up with Setanta, not realizing that this may be one of the last times she would converse with her new fiery friend.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
The first meeting with Setanta was not the best, but that was due to them being just freed, and Gwen, newly cursed with Isiris's blessing. Which led to disturbing dreams for Gwen, of being a lantern consumed by the ember inside her, of dry throats that could never be quenched, of so much burning that Isiris's 'curse' became a blessing once again, depriving Gwen of her fear and caution.
... Which led eventually to Gwen and Setanta's second meeting, which nearly ended just as badly, if not for the two of them finding some common ground. Which led to many, many dreams of more fire, of not being consumed, but being of flame, kin to it in a way no human could ever truly be. Of lying near or in the beating heart of the ley, and waking up with tears on her face. Dreams of power, overwhelming, of shining pride.
Which, which, which, which.
They have likely had at least one meeting since then, talking, conversing, Gwen's curiosity and lack of fear making her the ever eager partner to chat. She is not the same as Luisa, not by a long shot, constantly burying her conflicts with the world under endless ideals of optimism, which has proven her defense against the occasional echoes of crow calls and deep water that occasionally intrude, leaving their space a heady source of light and hear against the cold unknown.
But it is her lie, as well, as Setanta had proven in their first meeting, the dissonance between her public personality and the intruding thoughts of crows that throw her in a confused mood, quick to jump away to other subjects. Like them, or stories of her days as a courier in the Badlands. Bustling cities, watching sandworms from a safe distance, surprising bandits, going through ruins, abandoned towns almost eated to dust, of lusher environments to the east.
But Setanta has never truly seen what she looks like aside from that first meeting, have they? She had always been in some form of flame, a symptom of their influence on her dreams.
This time, Gwen tries to do something about this, consciously imagining a place, a time, a being, her own body, with bones and muscle and skin, grey blue eyes and tousled short pale red hair, freckles splotched on her cheeks against blue-pink skin that reacted badly to the heat of the sun. She imagines her usual clothing, a white pressed blouse, a black vest, and dark pants, leather worn-in boots and gloves. A colorful neckerchief, covering her neck, and a pair of turquoise earrings, dangling from her earlobes. a hat hanging from a string by her neck.
She imagines the late evening, the sky thrown into beautiful gradients falling into the ink dark blue of night, a barren moon set to rise before long. A wagon, no Gulliver (it would be hard if she would to imagine a Gulliver only to have this experiment go badly), and a roaring fire, that would be usual to have this far into the Badlands, where sources of burnable debris can be difficult to come by.
A land stained red by a setting sun, barren of life aside from the lifeforms that have adapted to life here.
"... I think this will work." As long as she keeps mindful of herself, and who she is.
<Pose Tracker> Scythe Riebaure has posed.
The fire begins to rise, as if stoked by someone Gwen cannot see. Flames lick against the rocks encircling it, as if exploring and testing a boundary. The core of the campfire grows hotter and brighter until it's almost too bright to look at--it would certainly be too bright to look at, if this weren't a dream.
As always, Setanta takes the form of flame. Their body unfolds from the campfire, chiseled and handsome--their arms are crossed across their chest, and the flames that are their hair crackle in the desert wind. Blazing blue eyes lock on Gwen's, and the brow above them furrows slightly, as if trying to make sense of what they're seeing.
"Gwen," Setanta says. "Of all the forms you could assume, you choose this?"
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
The fire _is_ very bright. "... I guess the ember's influence has to show someplace..." the courier muses aloud, her body relaxing. Unless...
Ah. The campfire is as open a door as any, for a being of flame.
"Oh, uh, sorry, do you need me to move the rocks? Sorry about that, I could--" It may be a dream, but the brightness of the flames prompt Gwen to look away and shield her eyes with her arms, as if the sharp brightness could tear at her eyes.
And when she looks back, Setanta is there, manifesting from the campfire, chiseled from flame in a way that causes Gwen to look away again, her cheeks red.
"Welcome to... what life is like, for me, at least when I'm in the Badlands of western Ignas." Gwen recovers quickly, clearing her throat, about to say her greetings when instead she meets Setanta's blue, confused gaze.
And somehow, their confusion is worth their light derision, Gwen smiling as she hangs one arm over a raised knee. "What, and have you thinkin' I deliver packages to people while on fire? Though, I admit, that *would* be interesting." She lets a soft chuckle at the mental image, her eyes glinting merrily. "The first time you saw me wasn't realllly how I prefer to look. Sweaty, burnt, clothing in tatters n' all that. If I walked in like this, all clean and kept, would you recognize me?"
Gwen pauses, realizing the question may not be rhetorical as she thought it may be.
"And besides, I was thinkin'... that's the way Luisa likely talked with you. Not as some wishful thinking, but as herself. Though I guess, by that standard, even this form isn't true to what I look like."
<Pose Tracker> Scythe Riebaure has posed.
"If you wish," Setanta says, with a rolling, lackadaisical shrug. "They could not contain me, but the gesture would be... meaningful."
The Primarch tilts their head back, looking up at the vast tableau of the desert sky. They do not breathe, but there's a definite sense of drawing-in--the fire that is their being consumes the oxygen in the cooling desert air. "So empty," they remark. "So cold. Your husk would quickly freeze, without flame to keep it warm." At least that's what they've gathered. Their knowledge of human physiology still seems to be patchy. "Is that why you have taken this form...?"
Gwen corrects them. "Perhaps," Setanta says, but the word is noncommittal. Their lips twitch at the mention of Luisa's name, but there's no great outpouring of grief or rage. "This, too, is false?" Setanta looks Gwen up and down, and the flame around and within them seems to dim, thoughtfully.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
"Well, that's a yes for me, then." As the brightness levels out to a manageable point, Gwen pushes off the palms of her hands, launching into a kneeling position in order to space out the orderly formation of the rocks. Setanta is right; the ring of rocks would be no match for them, her memory built on visions of pleasant fires that chased away the cold and cooked her beans, and nothing else beyond.
For a roaring hearth, it is nothing but an afterthought.
It feels odd, to be so close to a fire, and have the nagging worry of something being set aflame. "My skin gets sunburnt real easy too, but that's more a matter of my body's resistance to the sun's rays," she comments, amused, as she completes her task. "That's why we wear clothes. And why we build fires. During the day, this place gets just as hot, so it's a balance of keepin' cool during the day, and warm durin' the night." She sits back, cross-legged. "At least, in the Badlands. It's where it's the driest, in my experience. Cracked clay as far as the eye can see. But in the corners, you find life. Oasises, fields of flowers that bloom for a short while when there's a rare rainstorm, animals that hunt only at night. This is where I grew up and lived, for a majority of my life."
Is this why she took this form? Did they mean that she did this, to be close to fire?
And is it false?
Gwen bows her head, her cheeks red again. "I... would likely still be sweaty, at the end of a long day. Boots would be off. I'd likely have my gloves off too, if no one was around, and sometimes, I'd have to perform maintenance on my ARM. Even if it's the device that allowed me to steal that ember from you, it still needs care. My appearance is what I wish to look like, if all I had was what I usually had. So I make sure I look it, so people see an image of me I want them to see. Someone nice, friendly. Trustworthy." She frowns. "... Not likely to scare them."
<Pose Tracker> Scythe Riebaure has posed.
Setanta steps through the opening, a sort of regal magnanimity in their gait. They consider, for a moment, whether to sit where they are, on thin air--
And then they settle down on the earth next to Gwen. The clay and sand heat up instantly, but even this close, there isn't that searing heat. Perhaps they're seeing the fragility of Gwen's body, and taking care not to injure her... even if this is a dream.
"And why would I be scared of you?" Setanta says, smiling. "You stole only the tiniest spark of my essence. Or is it--other mortals, who would be frightened?"
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Feet clad in fire touch the ground, and Gwen has to momentairely turn her gaze away from Setanta once again, wishing to hide her open-mouthed amazement as the being settles down next to her.
She clears her throat, again, reflecting on how she hasn't just simply burst into flame, being so close.
Or how her heart doesn't race from fear.
"You, scared of me-- OH, yeah, other people. Not you. I doubt I could handle much more than what I took. As for other people, well." Gwen itches a finger thoughtfully at her chin, looking aside. "The ember isn't the problem. That seems to keep hidden, since I ain't never been the type to wield fire, let alone any kind of element." Not without a Medium, but that is a subject Gwen has learned to leave alone. "Differences can color a person's reaction to another person. Sometimes it can be positive, n' some people thrive on people bein' afraid of them. I don't. I... don't like bein' the one stared at, because someone is scared of me. Or finds me repulsive. I mean, a Primarch is one thing. Difference species, that's different too. Different views, idea, that sorta thing. When it's a fellow human being... it means I'm... not in control, I guess." She holds up her right hand, turning it over. "Even before I received this. But that... isn't as much of a problem for me, anymore. I have many friends. They've seen my scars, and my ARM. They don't find me scary, or replusive. I guess... does that make sense? It probably sounds strange, to put it so plainly."
She considers. "Though that reminds me. There is a problem with one person. A person I'd now consider a friend, and I think I could maybe help them, since I have access to your knowledge. And I'm curious myself, in the answers, if you have any."
<Pose Tracker> Scythe Riebaure has posed.
Setanta listens as Gwen articulates her fears--fears that have haunted her for a very long time, even if Isiris' 'blessing' makes them seem all the more distant. The Primarch does not take long to come to a conclusion. "Anyone foolish enough to fear you for something so trivial is not worthy of your attention." They fold their arms. "After all, there are far greater reasons they should fear you, are there not?"
That... wasn't the point, but Setanta's standing by it.
And then--a problem. Setanta's eyes glow brighter. "It is only right and sensible that you come to me for aid--but what convinces you that I would aid another?"
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Setanta drops their take on the situation, and Gwen is stunned.
"I-- well-- but--" Setanta's response makes Gwen cycle through many attempts at a reaction, or a rebuttal. Eventually, overcoming her surprise through strength of will, she laughs. "... I mean, okay, you ain't wrong." She draws a hand through the curls at the back of her head. "I'd just prefer they see me as me."
They are trying, she can tell. And she appreciates it for what it is.
As for Setanta's next response, Gwen gives a small shrug. "I figured I'd leave it up to you, to be honest. It's a complicated situation, so I won't go into it, since, really, I got no idea either. But that's--" she raises a finger, grinning, "--where your choice comes in. I mentioned before that there was someone I met that I kept feeling a connection to, and I found out why. They somehow came into contact with Rahab, your sibling. Not in the same way as I did you, I'm assumin', but. This contact has somehow stolen their memories away, bit by bit."
Her confidence in her eventual request lags, evident in the way her finger, and then hand, droops. "I... don't know anything about Rahab. I had assumptions, but in getting to know you, I'm findin' those assumptions are faulty, at best. So I leave it to you, what you feel I should know, about Rahab. Or... anything, I guess. I know the person who was tryin' to free you, it was due to Rahab's influence. I think. That person definitely was angry to see I smelled of you, the next time we met."
<Pose Tracker> Scythe Riebaure has posed.
"...Rahab..." Setanta looks away from Gwen, staring up at the sky. They remain oddly silent for a few long moments, before turning back to their companion. "They always held great power over mortal minds. Far more subtle than my own, in many ways. I owe them my freedom."
Setanta's expression turns quizzical. "And you would... reverse this hollowing-out of memory?"
That's what Gwen just said.
"Why do you think I would aid this mortal at the expense of my own kin?"
Are they... stalling? No. Obfuscating? Maybe.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
"So that part of my assumptions was true." Gwen nods. "And the fact that they were tryin' to free you." She grins, slightly. "I mean, they're your sibling, so I guess that makes sense. When that friend and I are close, we feel a certain level of kinship."
It's probably best that Gwen doesn't explain the way Loren's... Lorenness complicates it all, but would it really be surprising?
And would she reverse this hollowing of Loren's memory?
"I don't know," she honestly answers, her earrings swaying with the shake of her head, even as Setanta's back is turned. "I'm there to keep that friend safe. If the memory loss is permanent, and they can't make new memories, me being there will make sure they feel safe. So far, though, it seems new memories are unaffected." She frowns. "It depends on what my friend wants. I'd be... sad, to lose this feeling of kinship, but maybe, Rahab wanted this to happen. For him to have a choice, I mean. I won't go into details, but. He's got a lotta bad memories."
Is she asking Setanta to aid this person, at the expense of kin they feel grateful for?
Her gaze softens, and she reaches a hand out tentatively, to try to touch Setanta's shoulder. If they look back, Gwen shakes her head again, now more slowly.
"... No. That's not the aid I'd ask. I want to understand. I don't know who they are, or even if it's their doing. This person is... real complicated. I could imagine it bein' for bad reasons, but it could also be good. Like, without their memories, they're completely different. More relaxed. I want to understand if--"
Her gaze lowers. "It's my selfishness at play again, but I wanna believe that, if people like Luisa and I are able to just sit and chat with you, maybe Rahab has their own..." Loneliness. "That they'd also wanna reach out. Honestly, I dunno how restoring his memories would hurt them. But that sort of ignorance can be bad, because I'd be thinkin' of them as if my actions couldn't hurt them. I don't even know if there is a way."
<Pose Tracker> Scythe Riebaure has posed.
"We were used," Setanta says. The flame that composes their body flares brightly, edging towards the hotter end of the spectrum. "Discarded. Imprisoned. Our makers saw us as monsters. That kinship is the one thing that has--" They clench their fists. Their eyes burn the brilliant blue of the hottest, brightest stars.
But there's no getting around the real issue, is there?
"Your friend is irrelevant to me. Rahab, I--I promised them. I will not fail them again."
"They are your friend, yes? You decide. You determine if this hollowed-out wretch deserves a past."
The mention of Luisa again, though--
"Rahab never had that chance," they say, and that is all.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
The left hand Gwen moves to touch Setanta catches fire as their rage stirs their heat. But it is a dream, and in this dream, she is a shell housing an ember from the same source. So, it ignites as she insists on keeping that hand there, her eyes wincing shut as the brightness of Setanta's rage increases further.
And at the edge of it, Gwen's voice, soft. "Then you answered my question. Though..." She turns her gaze downwards, towards the ground, glazed from their heat. "I guess I didn't know how to ask it, really. 'Who is Rahab?' They are someone you care for. They freed you. They have the ability to access people's minds. They freed you. They are someone you feel indebted to."
Setanta will not fail them again. ".... Again?" She hastily adds, "'Course, you don't have t'answer that part, if you don't want to. I'm not here for that."
The fire travels up her arm, hungrily expanding the zone of where flesh and fabric turn orange hot, then black, then whirling flame in the same shape. "I can't promise what'll happen, but if my thinking is right, I want to believe it was the same for them as it was with us. That Rahab might've meant it as a punishment at first, but then, as they learned more, they meant it as their blessing." Tears brim in her eyes, glittering into steam. "I want to believe Rahab got that chance now."
She blinks, amazed, as the fire licking up her shoulder like a brilliant shawl. "... I was hopin' it'd be a little longer before I let myself catch on fire, but." She gives a shrug. "I admit, nowadays, I see the beauty in it."
<Pose Tracker> Scythe Riebaure has posed.
Setanta's rage dims as they look down at Gwen's hand. They hadn't meant for that to happen, but it's... oddly comforting, all the same. "As do I," they murmur. "As do I."
A small, earnest smile crosses their lips. "Truth. You're beautiful, when you let it take hold of you. Your fire is so very different from hers, but... no less so for it."
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
There's an intentional speed to how the fire passes to Gwen, in a way that would be impossible outside of the dream. The point where she accepts it is where it passes down her hand, no pain or caution on her face.
"...!"
Shock at Setanta's compliment turns into merriment as the flames sweep over her in an instant wave, her flames carrying her surprised smile. "Coming from you, I take that as the highest compliment."
"You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself, when I'm able to look," Gwen says, bowing her chin low. "By that, I mean..." The transformation completes itself with an unfurling of long hair of flame, drawing her attention outwards.
She hops back, spinning in the sky, no longer tethered to the normalcy of the campfire and the need to huddle close for warmth. They are neither fragile, neither empty, they burn. "I hope you'll see my flame, even when this time is over. I'll find a way to shine it to you, just you wait. Then, you won't feel alone!"
A mayfly's flame is still a flame, and in this moment, her warmth amd cheer is as clear as any star or moon in the sky.
<Pose Tracker> Scythe Riebaure has posed.
'Easy on the eyes'? There's a metaphor Setanta hasn't encountered before--they assume it's a compliment, but it seems... at odds with a significant part of their nature. But they don't dwell on it. A fierce, proud smile lights up their face as Gwen finishes transforming, and leaps into the sky.
Setanta leaps after her, the wind bearing them up like sparks from the bonfire. "I hope you do," they say. They reach out to her, taking her hand, if she'll allow it--a gesture that could easily be seen as the prelude to a passionate embrace if this were literally anyone else. Instead, it's... companionable. Warm. With her like this, they can touch her without fear of burning her to ash. She is fire, not fuel.
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
It would, indeed, to think of anything to do with Setanta as 'easy', or for that matter, something that could be viewed for someone else's liking.
Offering her hand to Setanta as they reach out a hand to take it, Gwen gently pulls them along, free from the constraints of the bonfire, of barely defined wagons and scuffed dirt. The fire conforms to her, filling her shape instead of weigh down on it. With the ember, she is flame, as they are, with little reaction to touching hands as to two flames coming into contact with one another.
She turns away, with another step, her feet touching the ground, excitement worn in the beat of her fire.
"When I was young, I had to keep out of the sun. The burns I got when I was little... it took forever for them to heal. Grafts, things needing to be cut as I grew, infections, scar tissue... I was a surly little thing, in hand-me-downs. I knew I was going to die one day, likely sooner than most of my friends." It's weird to reflect on this, looking at how her arm is coated in the same stuff that took away her childhood.
"When I got my ARM, I remember, after the surgery, when I was strong enough to walk... I went outside, and saw a sky, like this." Her hair carries the upward motion of her head, as she glaces to the colored sky. "I never realized how beautiful it all was until I figured out that I had more time, just to see it all."
And then in the core of her self, something stirred, wanting to fly.
"When I felt the beat of the ley in my dreams, it brought me back to those dark days, when my own heart sounded like that. It was hard, thinking of something so big, n' so beautiful, could feel so fragile."
<Pose Tracker> Scythe Riebaure has posed.
Gwen steps forward, and Setanta follows, magnanimously allowing the young mortal to pull them along. Their grip on her hand is strong, firm--perhaps they're aware that the dream could end at any moment, leaving the both of them alone again. As Gwen speaks of her childhood, the Primarch's eyes dim, ever-so-slightly.
"Mortal husks are so frail," Setanta says. There's something knowing there, that wasn't there at the start. "Isn't it so much more liberating to be flame itself?"
But then Gwen brings up the Ley, and Setanta's eyes dull to orange-hued embers. "This world will die without our aid," they say, and the words cut them to their core. "The Guardians do nothing."
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
"..." Gwen's grip slackens, seeing that spark of _knowing_ there, in Setanta's eyes. "It's liberating because it's here. I'd... hate to never be able to eat delicious food, or touch a flower." She opens her arms wide. "Or what it's like to eat crushed ice, with syrup! Or, on a chilly night, feeling safe under a woven blanket, feeling lost among the stars... It would be fun if you could feel that, too, instead of me just talkin' about it."
"And it *is* liberating. It's new, and I feel... I feel incredible! I'm not scared, and it's great, just being here, experiencing things I've never felt before." Her fire dims, slightly. "But I can't be like this for long."
Then, that gentle, also teasing grin returns, as Gwen reaches again for Setanta's hand, to clasp in her own. "So I'll enjoy it, as long as I can. We're the flowers that bloom in the desert! We bloom for ourselves, we live for ourselves! Take that away, and we'd just be a boring flower. But see us, standing in adversity, _in spite of it_..." She holds out her hand, and her memories flood the land with petals, of a carpet of tiny flowers, miniature and delicate, but so many that they paint the land a vivid magenta. "And you... are able to live long enough to see not only this one, but so much more."
Talk of Guardians are left to the side, Gwen turning her head, considering it, her head bowed. "It feels weird, to say anything on it. I've never thought of Guardians as gods. Just beings, some've us have called gods."
<Pose Tracker> Scythe Riebaure has posed.
"...Small comforts," Setanta says. Their face pulls into a pensive frown--perhaps considering how best to handle this when they still have secrets to keep. "I am... glad, that you've learned to take them where you can. Mortal existence would be a parade of misery, otherwise."
Gwen takes their hand again. Setanta squeezes it firmly. When Luisa talked to them, they were sealed, unable to so much as touch her. The contact feels... welcome. Gwen will not be consumed by it. It's comforting.
The Primarch glances down as Gwen paints the desert earth with flowers. They look so fragile--and yet, they survive on this barren, dying world. "I... do not wish to speak of them now." That's a first. Setanta has never passed up a chance to badmouth the Guardians. "Instead... I would prefer to see more sights like this."
<Pose Tracker> Gwen Whitlock has posed.
Gwen's lips turn up in a mischievous grin, an invisible motion translated into the way the fire in her curls and dances. "It's all in the framing. And making the best of things. And being open."
Setanta grasps her hand, and Gwen leans in close, pondering whether or not it would be right, to--
If Setanta shows no displeasure, Gwen gently falls in close to their body, encircling them in a hug. Innocent, almost, for all the blushing she may have done, earlier.
It was about being open to things, even like this, and not being afraid. But maybe, she could learn it for real, when Isiris's curse ended?
..... what would be the end, anyway...?
Somehow, this thought comes and goes, passing like a spark into the night air.
She, like Setanta, has her own thoughts she'd rather keep away.
Their time is so short.
She steps back, her hand still in theirs, burning bright from joy. "I'll show you, Setanta, the imperfect beauty in this world, through my eyes." She floats up the air, her long banners of curled hair flowing in a breeze of petals. "Welcome to the Filgaia I see."