indispensible | six. list & private & spam. hail the pages turning.

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six. list & private & spam. hail the pages turning.

This is rude.

➽ Ben: Comfortable, dressy shoes to dance in
➽ Alana: A slim knife, with a note that I’ll show her how to use it if she likes.
➽ Nathan: Memorable smells from my home – the beer and liquor of our hideout, the perfumes of the balls, ash beaten into a Mistcloak, the smell of metal shavings suspended in liquid. A locket with a picture of her in it.
➽ Beatrix: A glass dagger.
➽ Megamind: A music box, with music and steps from home, if you can do that.
➽ Morgana: A comfortable gown with space in the sleeves for weapons, and a simple circlet.
➽ Kelsier: A gold pocket-watch, with a picture of Mare inside.
➽ Marsh: Fabric, as much as he wants and any kind he wants.
➽ Zane: Things to touch. Pieces of coarse furs, or soft leaves, lamb’s ear, rough bark. Things to remind him who he is when he gets upset.
➽ Stark: A koloss sword
➽ Arya: Ways to conceal weapons – thigh straps, arm straps. Thin, light mail. A key to my cabin, in case she ever needs me.
➽ Dean: Ten pies. They have to stay good until he wakes up and be next to his bed when he does.

private } arya

I want to talk to you.

[Because she feels weird and confused about this holiday, and she wants to beat it up.]

spam } stark

[Vin sends Clifford after Stark, not to monitor his behavior exactly, but to essentially bother him until he gets fed up with it and comes to find her. She has a question, okay.]

open spam } library

[She's looking for information - she's even writing it down. Not about the holidays, all of which frighten and annoy her in ways she can't even begin to articulate, but about dance. She starts with a history, gets frustrated with it, manages not to throw it across the room, and finds a book with more pictures and less history. Reading is still relatively new to her. She doesn't understand why it's harder when she's upset.]

[This is her gift to herself, if everyone is meant to get them: a search for movements that mean as much to other people as hers mean to her. Different ways of learning to speak.]

[Soon enough, she's surrounded by piles of books and half-crumpled papers, with her childish handwriting scrawled across it.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Feelings are hard. And confusing. Arya doesn't care for their complexities.]

Where are you?

My cabin. But we could go to the CES.

[To run, or fight, or just sit.]

The CES. Nymeria should hunt.

There, then.

[She cuts the feed abruptly and fairly runs there. When Arya arrives, she'll find Vin hopping swiftly from one dropped coin to another, rising treetop-height on each leap and being followed by a forlorn and put-upon Clifford.]

[She doesn't have too long to wait: Arya wrenches the door open and Nymeria races in, pausing when she smells Clifford. It only takes her a few seconds to decide she's not interested: then she's off, hurtling away toward the woods. Arya's not concerned: wolves aren't pets, direwolves least of all.

She runs instead toward Vin and Clifford, squinting up into the sky to spot the former, ignoring the latter.]

[Her landing isn't as graceful as it usually is - she doesn't stumble, but she does have to take a few steps to steady herself. She looks at Arya critically, Clifford trotting up behind her.]

Do you celebrate something? In winter. Where you're from.

I've never seen winter. [One of too many sweet summer children: they all learned soon enough what the Stark words really mean.] Autumn was ending when I was brought here.

Oh.

Do you. Do you celebrate anything? We never really did, before.

[She shrugs, peering up at Vin a little curiously.]

Name days. And people celebrate harvests. And there's Maiden's Day, and the other Seven. Why? You don't celebrate anything?

The skaa never did. Not until Kelsier died, and then they celebrated that.

[It was super dumb, Arya. She pulls a coin out of her pocket and shoots it at a tree trunk.]

[A shrug.] People celebrate dumb things.

[It's a good thing to know, but she keeps that part to herself.]

You're upset.

It doesn't seem right.

[She's at a bit of a loss to understand why it doesn't seem right. At least not understand it in a way that she can explain it. It's the same as at home, in a way: everyone else had their beliefs, but she'd known the men those beliefs were based on. And some of them were based on her.]

[She shakes her head.]</small. I can't get away from it.

It'll be over, soon. [It's curious to her: the celebrations she remembers best were feasts in honor of kings, in honor of uncles or brothers or sisters. They celebrate differently, in the north. And in the east, all she celebrated was death.]

Winter only lasts a few months, here.

[This is incredibly strange to her.]

[She can last through it, then. Easy enough. And she should stop complaining, she supposes; at least there's no endless winter here. Endless reminders of Kelsier's alleged godhood.]

[She forces her shoulders to relax.]

A short cycle. That's good. New things will come.

[In theory.]

[She can only shrug at that; after three years on the Barge, 'new' is definitely a relative term.]

How long is winter, in your world?

Not that long. But everything gets confused, even seasons, with the mists.

. . . Got confused. The mists are gone.

Why are they gone?

They were killing the land. The people. We had to get rid of them.

But you're still a mistborn?

I'll always be Mistborn. Their presence or absence can't change that.

[She nods, digs the toe of her boot into the ground.]

Why were they killing things?

It's . . . complicated. The gods, the real gods, each had power. Preservation had power over the mists, but Ruin was gaining too much power, too. Everything was out of balance.

Was Ruin your god of death?

[It's the only god she knows, now, the only real god at the end of the day. Death is the only god to answer prayers, and she can pray to him with steel and poison and blood. Better than praying at the trees the old gods held close.

(She doesn't even feel like she's betraying her father by abandoning his gods, not anymore.)]

In a way. The god of endings and destruction. But without Ruin, Preservation wouldn't have been able to make anything live. There wouldn't be anything but . . . pieces of life, floating around, not doing anything. It wouldn't be any good.

Sazed always said they weren't gods really, just - shards of power. Can't have one without the other. In the end, Preservation didn't really have a mind at all.

[Her brow wrinkles. Gods without minds, gods who are just bits of power to wield, she doesn't understand it, not entirely.]

Ruin had a mind?

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private ➥ spam;

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spam; this may be inaccurate but i'm too lazy to check >_>

spam; WORKS FOR ME

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