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☩ ００２． ｔｅｘｔ
[ She has not slept. Shutting her eyes brought figures out of the darkness: a cardinal with eyes as crimson as his robes, her brother bleeding out of his own portrait and another figure who often visited her in her nightmares, a dead prince reaching out to her without being able to voice a word. She wept and screamed until she began to fear she might be going mad with grief.
Her mother once said that half of Lucrezia's illnesses come from her heart, not her body. Now, her heart is broken and she is certain she is ill. She reaches for her firefly; the second time she addresses the network could not have been more different than the first. ]
If one dreams of another who has died and he
in the dream, the one who died tries to speak and is unable, he is mute even though he spoke words as pretty as poetry when he lived
does that mean he passed without having said something he wished to?
does it come to imply that she who dreams of him has not listened well enough when he lived? that she had not been sweet enough of a friend?
was it her fault
Will he remain thus forever? desperate and mute in her dreams?
I do not think I can bear it, I
is there a physician abroad this ship? I fear I have fallen quite ill.
Her mother once said that half of Lucrezia's illnesses come from her heart, not her body. Now, her heart is broken and she is certain she is ill. She reaches for her firefly; the second time she addresses the network could not have been more different than the first. ]
If one dreams of another who has died and he
in the dream, the one who died tries to speak and is unable, he is mute even though he spoke words as pretty as poetry when he lived
does that mean he passed without having said something he wished to?
does it come to imply that she who dreams of him has not listened well enough when he lived? that she had not been sweet enough of a friend?
was it her fault
Will he remain thus forever? desperate and mute in her dreams?
I do not think I can bear it, I
is there a physician abroad this ship? I fear I have fallen quite ill.
[text]
solidarity in weariness
but! real world it is
indulge me and answer a question more: what is your favourite sort of weather
[text]
Spring. When it is warm but not too much so and the sky are clear. Your own? I shall dare and wager it is summer.
[ he is a summer boy to her, Sirius, warm and elusive. ]
[text]
SUMMER yes absolutely summer
all the time in the world to yourself
long long days in the sun
or if not, the finest thunderstorms
but spring! you are a girl of spring
i could have guessed that
i'm practicing weather you see
think i can manage spring?
[text]
A man of such talents can manage long summer days in which no other shall brave to go out in fear of the sun and autumn days, breezy and dyed in gold and cold winters when the sky is as white as the ground.
And spring.
[text]
even if i couldnt manage before id be able to now
based on your faith alone
you are an inspiration, miss lucrezia
and so: spring is yours
which level are you on? 9 or 10?
[text]
Ten. Why do you ask?
[text]
then go to the kitchens on your level
and your spring will be there waiting for you
[text]
But will you be waiting for me as well or will your presence continue to be as mysterious as that of Cupid to his Psyche?
[text]
me and you and spring in the kitchen sounds very lovely
i'd be much preferred to that eventuality
if that is what you want
[text]
[text - > action?]
[...but the kitchens will first look empty, though there will be the smell of flowers, as if a bunch are just laying around somewhere out of sight.]
[ action]
[ action]
And then suddenly it springs open (springs, ha ha), and out spills flowers. Every flower imaginable, actually, flowers upon flowers, all colours and sizes--and as they scatter across the floor, they almost seem to take root, so it isn't just a load of decapitated flowers, but flowers with bodies and stems and leaves--and there's grass filling in between them as well, until the kitchen is a veritable meadow of flowers. And there's a breeze, too, a breath of warm spring air that smells slightly of a pleasant sort of rain.]
If you stay a bit, I think it might actually rain. Fair warning.
[Sirius is sitting on one of the countertops, and he greets Lucrezia with a wave.]
Welcome to your springtime, miss.
[ action]
I mind not the rain. But you - you are a magician!
[ he most be and most cardinals will call it blasphemous but what can possibly be blasphemous about spring coming to life in the middle of a ship that sails the sky? ]
Sirius Black the magician, I should have guessed this riddle before. After receiving my Ball of Reflections!
[ she is so giddy, it's not even funny. ]
[ action]
Wizard, miss. I'm a wizard, there's a world of difference between us and magicians--but it's a common mistake. It's just that our magic is better.
[He waves his wand, carelessly--the breeze dies down a bit, just ruffling the tops of the flowers.]
Is it spring enough for you? I'm only practicing, as I said, I don't have it all perfect just yet--anything missing? You're the expert, after all.
[action]
[ a small grin as she looks around himself. A man of magic, Sirius Black. And a charmer, too, certainly. She picks a few of the flowers, begins to make a crown from them. ]
The song of birds. But there are no birds aboard this ship.
[action]
[He makes a great show of rolling up his sleeves--first shaking out his arms, as if to stretch them, and then carefully turning up the cuffs of his sleeves, neatly rolling them up.]
Birds, for Lucrezia. Let's have one blue bird, at least, blue would suit you--
[There's a cup standing on the countertop beside him--a blue cup, it might be noted--and Sirius picks it up and considers it for a few moments, before he raises his wand. Gently, he taps the side of it with his wand, and draws a line down its side--the cup shivers, and then he removes his hand from it entirely, but it remains in the air, hovering, and as he draws his wand back up again--a wing springs from its side. At first it's made of hard plastic, but slowly it begins to soften, to take on feathers, and then the other wing, as he repeats the motion on the other side--
By the time he's done, it's a proper bird, though its feathers are much darker a blue than any bird of nature. It hovers a few moments longer--and then begins to beat its wings, slowly, as if growing used to the sensation--and as it does, it begins slowly, too, to chirp.]
That one's specially made. Shall we have a flock next?
[action]
Or the most loathed one.
But Lucrezia chooses celebrating over loathing. It is a bird and one cannot loathe this sort of a thing. One can only admire it. ]
Can you make everything out of anything?
[action]
[He grins at her awe, as the bird steadies itself--a few flaps later, and it looks more like a normal bird might; it flies up toward the ceiling, and then darts down, fluttering near Lucrezia's shoulder as it chirps away.]
There's restrictions, of course, but I won't bore you with 'em. Cups to birds, that's temporary--but it lasts long enough to enjoy. Flowers are easy, flowers can last forever. I can make flowers from anything.
[action]
[ she thinks about it for a moment and smiles ]
Then at least this shall last.
[ here, Sirius, she'll place the flower crown on your head, giggling all the while. ]
[action]
What the hell is this!
[action]
[ giggling like a madwoman, she is. She's very pleased with herself. ]
Kings often think these were meant to be made from gold and jewels but once, every God and emperor had a crown of flowers or leaves.
[action]
[He sits up a little straighter, with something of a regal air.]
In that case, I think I must thank you, my lady. Only you could have made it slightly manlier.
[action]