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--- sessions:worldbuilding:2023-08-05 [2023/09/18 15:05] – external edit 127.0.0.1
+++ sessions:worldbuilding:2023-08-05 [2023/12/23 18:19] (current) – shyriath
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 {{wst>pinkgothic|"Not yet," he confessed, feeling mildly but justly chided. "Just... too much on my mind," he said, as though it needed saying. There was indeed much on his mind - it was a full-on Kaean mess of thoughts, engaged with the strange environment, Ilirith's wound, Ilirith's well-being in general, Ferleth's rattled and slow integration, the revelation of Citadel politics, and the fight they'd been drawn into, all across the background anxieties of being on the literal run for a while now, uprooted, and rather not used to rugged living. What maintained his sanity the most was the relentless march forward, the finite and obvious goal and the opportunity for self-discovery the Citadel and its culture represented... and Ilirith. Ilirith was brightening his outlook considerably.}}
+{{wst>shyriath|There was a pause while Ilirith ate some of her stew - despite being dreadfully hungry, scarfing it all down an an instant was probably bad for her and definitely embarrassing, so she forced herself to take her time, occupying herself with a study of Demarath's mind. She wondered how anyone - including, apparently, an entire half of the Chosen population - could manage with such a tangled mess of thoughts, though in all fairness he was dealing with a lot - as was she, albeit in a very different fashion.
+The feeling of dislocation was especially strong, to the point that even though she was lying here recovering from being wounded and crammed into a shelter with strangers with what seemed like surprisingly little to do, she was glad just for the temporary reprieve of having a place to stay, to stop moving, to feel at home. Under other circumstances, she might have considered asking to stay for longer than they would likely be permitted to. If nothing else, it was a nice, hidden, cozy place.
+She was also surprised, and quietly pleased, that her presence seemed to be such a comfort to him - and, indeed, that she seemed to be occupying as large a proportion of his thoughts as she evidently was. She hoped to encourage that.
+"Demarath," she said finally, "have you ever thought about... well, what kind of life you'd want? In this Citadel of theirs?"}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|The question crinkled Demarath slightly. Had he ever thought about what kind of life he'd want at all? He'd dreamt about many back when he was 'employed' as a means of cooling supplies, but never with any real expectation that they might come true, and so never with any real attempt at making them at all realistic. When, then, in the time since his flight from there and the hardships they'd been stringing themselves through, was he supposed to have come up with some kind of aspiration?
+The thought made him resentful - not of Ilirith, but of himself. Still only an escapee, then, now with blood on his hands. In his mind's eye, he remembered the battle, then Ilirith's wounds. The blood, soaking through the mud. The grimace deepened and he cast his gaze aside deliberately. "No, not really."}}
+{{wst>shyriath|Ilirith grimaced. That wasn't the direction she'd intended for him to go in. She shook her head and, reaching out a hand, put it on his arm. "Don't blame yourself," she said, gently but firmly. "What happened was not your fault - you understand? It wasn't. Things happen in battle, and you weren't the one to start the battle."}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|Right, mentalist. He wasn't embarrassed for the thoughts as much as frustrated that he was exposing her to them this way. He put a hand of his own on hers. "I understand," he said. There was enough truth to it to not make it a lie. "But I hope we don't have to do that again. I don't want you getting hurt. Or Ferleth, or Zadireth, for that matter." He smiled, but it was a somewhat scrunched expression all the same. "I guess that rules out border guard," he joked without much passion. "How about you?"}}
+{{wst>shyriath|She sighed ponderously. "Sometimes," she said, "it's necessarily to kill, in self-defense or in defense of some other person or cause. I'll do it if I have to, and I'm good at it. But - yes, if I can manage it, I'd prefer not to have to." Her eyes grew distant. "I've wondered, you know, what else I could do. I imagine I could make a good librarian or something - I can read and write, I'm good at spotting when things are out of place. I like books. I don't know if they have libraries there, of course, but if they do it might be worth a try."
+She took another sip of the stew, which by now was nearly gone, and added, "But in truth, I think I could put up with a lot of things, as long as it was enough to get me somewhere of my own, where I could settle in - a little cozy place, even. I had rooms before, but they were the Matriarch's to let me use - having some that no one can evict me from would suit me better.}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|The notion that Ilirith had lived in rooms that she could have been evicted from felt wrong to Demarath. It wasn't that the concept was foreign to him, or that he struggled to imagine Ilirith in such a situation, per se - it was that he'd spent enough time with her to think she deserved better, inherently, and it insulted him that others had disagreed.
+He didn't raise the subject, though. Instead, realising that he wasn't sure, he asked: "What does a librarian do?"}}
+{{wst>shyriath|Ilirith wondered how sheltered Demarath had been. He'd grown up in a noble house, hadn't he? Did it not have a library of its own, or just had it just been small enough that no one had needed to be around to manage it?
+"Er, well," she explained, "The more books there are lying around, the harder it becomes to find the one you want unless they're kept in some kind of order. A librarian's job is to know what books are there and where they ought to be kept, and to find them and make sure they're put back when not in use."}}
+{{wst>pinkgothic|There was a pause after she finished, the silence filling the void that Demarath had expected to be filled with something more. When nothing was forthcoming, his confusion resolved - it just wasn't a particularly //interesting// job, about as mentally engaging as his task as a glorified refrigerator. He couldn't imagine liking such a job - was this another one of those differences Zadireth had mentioned, or just an Ilirith idiosyncrasy? The thought of the latter brought a smile to his face. "Then I hope they have enough books for you," he grinned encouragingly.}}
+{{wst>shyriath|Ilirith got the feeling that Demarath wasn't entirely impressed with the idea. But at least he wasn't dismissive - and, in any case, being a spy and assassin had already given her enough excitement, which would undoubtedly only be added to during a trip across half a continent. She could do with some calmness in her life after all that.
+"And if not," she said aloud, "I'm sure there's something else. I could even fall back on herding, if I had to, like my parents did - I think I remember enough about how it was done." She gave a wistful smile. "One of the things I've found out from watching peoples' heads is that most of them don't get to do jobs that are all that wonderful, you know. They have to find their fulfillment in their own time."}}