[ closed ]

[latkje]

Who: Byerly (vorrutyer) & Nash (latkje)
What: Magic!
When: After the conclusion of the disease plot.
Where: On the road from Wyver to Olympia.
Warning(s): 504 Gateway Time-out

[ The road from Wyver to Olympia is well-travelled and well-packed, the long stretches of monotony preventing Nash from enjoying the landscape. Travel was supposed to bring variety, he thought, new sights, new sounds— not the same thing, over and over. It was hard to tell how far they'd come, at least in the physical sense. ]

At least we're done with that awful humidity. [ He runs a hand through his hair— short and wavy, it had gotten unruly in the heat. ] I have a northern constitution, if you didn't know. [ And a northern fashion sense, as Harmonian clothes tended toward the dour and conservative. Nash was also in the habit of wearing gloves. He's wearing them now, in fact. ] There are some things I just wasn't made for.

[ That hangs in the air a moment, then he turns to actually look at Byerly. ]

But you wanted to talk about magic.

Comments

[vorrutyer]

Heaven preserve me. I'd sooner cut my own throat than be a king in truth.

[ He tilts his chin up towards Nash. ]

Be honest. Do you really think you were chosen by some higher power?

[latkje]

No. [ A shrug.] But I don’t know that I wasn’t. [ Maybe one day he’ll explain his whacked-out “108 Stars of Destiny” theory.]

What makes you think the Nathans meant to wake you up?

[vorrutyer]

And that it wasn't an accident? That I simply wasn't one of the healthy ones, like they say?

[ He shrugs. ]

My naturally suspicious nature, I suppose. [ Less glibly - ] There are a great many people in my world, and a great many people in yours. What percentage of them are spies and warriors and magicians?

[latkje]

You mean how almost everyone here has the look of a protagonist? Present company excepted.

It’s a point.

[vorrutyer]

[ Mildly: ] How rude.

But - after a fashion, yes. I skipped my lessons on mathematics - and demographics - but in my home, most people are farmers and laborers. The same in yours, I should think. Yet here we are, two devilishly useful men, plucked out of all the millions. The Orbiters are fighting a war, no? I shudder for our chances of winning if they're truly reviving their soldiers at random. They're idiots, if that's the case.

[latkje]

Byerly, you talk way too much to be a protagonist. [ He's seen them before, he knows the type. ]

If the Orbiters are trying to win a war, there are people they could've gotten that are more useful than me.

[vorrutyer]

Protagonists can talk a lot. Haven't you ever read Hamlet?

[ Then, with a shake of his head: ] Every key has its lock. The key does not know what it was forged for, no, but the blacksmith knows. [ A less cryptic translation: ] Take it from a drunken shambling fool who was made into a spy: sometimes others see your use when you do not.

[latkje]

[ He raises an eyebrow. ]

"There's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will." [ He couldn't tell you who wrote the play, though. These things just appear in random chests. ]

[vorrutyer]

Are you quoting Hamlet? That sounds vaguely familiar. I'll be honest, I haven't actually read it myself. Did see it performed once, though. It was when I was very high. Spectacular experience. Highly recommend it.

[ He laughs shortly, then gestures at the sky. ]

The locals here say they're gods, don't they? Perhaps they're the divinity shaping our ends.

[latkje]

My missus doesn't like it that I know poetry. Can't be helped, though.

[ Anyway, let's return to the more interesting part of that last bit. ]

Did you see the play before or after some darker power plucked you from drunken obscurity and made you into a spy?

[vorrutyer]

[ By waggles his finger at Nash. ]

Drunken notoriety, my friend. [ Then, with a sigh - ] But - before. I associated with many actors, opera-singers - undesirables of all sorts.

[latkje]

Like me. I am well-known to the theater-goers of the Zexen borderlands. [ Playing roles such as sheep, guard, and narrator. ]

But continue.

[vorrutyer]

Heavens. I knew you were a loathsome ne'er-do-well the moment I saw you.

[ But By shrugs. ]

The war they're fighting - if it is a true war, and not simply something to keep us docile - it's rather beyond our comprehension. To fight against a shapeless darkness. How can you know you're not of use?

[latkje]

You misunderstand. I'm an extremely useful person, with a wide variety of talents, and I'm a natural blond.

But if I've been figured for some divine purpose, then who's to say that any of that matters?

[vorrutyer]

Oh, talk theologically to me, darling Nash. Why wouldn't it matter?

[latkje]

We don't reveal our sacred rituals to outsiders.

But it's like you said. The key doesn't know what it is— the locksmith does.

[vorrutyer]

Yes, but I'm speaking here of real creatures with real plans, not vague theological nothings. No offense to your religion.

[latkje]

[ He rolls his eyes and tilts his head. ]

Okay, fine. But I'm a real person, with real plans, yes?

[vorrutyer]

So they tell me.

[latkje]

So my reputation does precede me.

Anyway, the reason I'm not the acting High Priest is because the High Priest speaks directly to God. This is something I do believe. [ Not just a ludicrous story of being a chosen hero. ] Do you understand it?

[vorrutyer]

Talking to God? Of course.

[ He gives a little wave of his fingers. ]

Grand-tante Vorrutyer did that. I think what devastated the family wasn't that she was mad, but that she turned out to be a theist. Truly the horrifying part of it.

[latkje]

I'm not talking about God. I'm talking about me. I'm only a little crazy.

[vorrutyer]

Just a little?

[ But he does lift his brows and answer semi-seriously. ]

I understand knowing that you're unfit to take on that mantle. Talking to God - who knows? But yes, I understand why you don't want to be that.

[ With a sigh - ]

But at times - one must.

[latkje]

Oh, but I can't. You think it's a— [ He shakes his head. ] I haven't got the proper equipment.

[ A pause, in which he does not explain. ]

This is what I mean.

[vorrutyer]

[ His eyes narrow very slightly. ]

Sorry - proper equipment?