Shatterverse Continuity: Pre-Arrival
"Sor', are you sure about this? Don't vacations cost something?"
"Not," says Ensorra smokily, leaning in and gesturing with her wineglass, "to people like us, ma belle cherie."
"I'm not like you." Sighing, Anna (Dreamer, she has to remember to call herself that, using her live name is a sign she can't let go) runs a hand through her hair. "I'm not famous. I'm not special. I'm just another girl like any other."
"No, no, no." The shorter woman shakes her head emphatically. "Dreamer, ma chère, you are a contractor."
"You're not."
"Bien sûr, but I was once. That's all that matters. Kiazhriel will let you go anywhere, if once you've taken the knife for another."
Anna (Dreamer, dammit, Dreamer) snorts. "Right. Cherie, you're too damn poetic for me sometimes, y'know that?"
Ensorra shakes her head.
---
Arm-in-arm, the two women walk under a stone archway, laughing.
"And this really is a vacant planet? A dead Earth?"
Nod. "Oui."
"Ouais," Dreamer echoes with a twist of a smile.
Ensorra pokes her gently in the ribs. "We are going to have to do something about that accent of yours."
"Montreal is a perfectly legitimate birthplace."
"Birthplace," Ensorra sniffs. "You sound like a liveling. Repeat after me: je suis dans le pays des rêves qui vole les yeux--"
"--Enchante les lèvres," continues Dreamer softly, "et les fait tomber amoureuses. You really love that poem, don't you."
"And just like this place, it's perfect to celebrate your ascension to contractor. Just think - you wear the crescent now, and you're damn well a better fit for it than half the yokels who pretend to the title."
"So what if nobody's found my limit yet? It takes a while with some people, is all." Snort. "Besides, wearing our badges went out of fashion a thousand years ago, way I heard it told. And everybody says I hardly count until I've got something between the points."
"The pair of dice in the centre mean nothing to you? Nobody passes exams set by titled torturers. Nobody. It's unheard-of." Playfully, Ensorra shoves the taller woman away. "Pshh. Va-t-en. Get your crazy talk away from me; you know you're--"
There's a bright noise and a roar of sharp white light, and Dreamer never gets to hear her lover finish that sentence.
"Not," says Ensorra smokily, leaning in and gesturing with her wineglass, "to people like us, ma belle cherie."
"I'm not like you." Sighing, Anna (Dreamer, she has to remember to call herself that, using her live name is a sign she can't let go) runs a hand through her hair. "I'm not famous. I'm not special. I'm just another girl like any other."
"No, no, no." The shorter woman shakes her head emphatically. "Dreamer, ma chère, you are a contractor."
"You're not."
"Bien sûr, but I was once. That's all that matters. Kiazhriel will let you go anywhere, if once you've taken the knife for another."
Anna (Dreamer, dammit, Dreamer) snorts. "Right. Cherie, you're too damn poetic for me sometimes, y'know that?"
Ensorra shakes her head.
---
Arm-in-arm, the two women walk under a stone archway, laughing.
"And this really is a vacant planet? A dead Earth?"
Nod. "Oui."
"Ouais," Dreamer echoes with a twist of a smile.
Ensorra pokes her gently in the ribs. "We are going to have to do something about that accent of yours."
"Montreal is a perfectly legitimate birthplace."
"Birthplace," Ensorra sniffs. "You sound like a liveling. Repeat after me: je suis dans le pays des rêves qui vole les yeux--"
"--Enchante les lèvres," continues Dreamer softly, "et les fait tomber amoureuses. You really love that poem, don't you."
"And just like this place, it's perfect to celebrate your ascension to contractor. Just think - you wear the crescent now, and you're damn well a better fit for it than half the yokels who pretend to the title."
"So what if nobody's found my limit yet? It takes a while with some people, is all." Snort. "Besides, wearing our badges went out of fashion a thousand years ago, way I heard it told. And everybody says I hardly count until I've got something between the points."
"The pair of dice in the centre mean nothing to you? Nobody passes exams set by titled torturers. Nobody. It's unheard-of." Playfully, Ensorra shoves the taller woman away. "Pshh. Va-t-en. Get your crazy talk away from me; you know you're--"
There's a bright noise and a roar of sharp white light, and Dreamer never gets to hear her lover finish that sentence.