Memento Egi
Title: Memento Egi
Story Continuity: Battle For the Sun
Flavors: Blueberry Yogurt 19: unfamiliar customs, Papaya 17: talking to myself, Mango 6: you go first
Rating: PG
Word count: 953
Summary: Cyprian and his snowbell arrive in Frutsmoarg, and Cyprian remembers.
Notes: Meme prompt: How Does Your Garden Grow: Cyprian and the snowbell, just after the war ends. So it follows the snowbell pocky from the HDYGG chain. Title translates to "remember that you shall live" in internet translator Latin.
The celebration of the Long War's end lasted long enough that the first town Cyprian stepped into, the snowbell in his hair, was still in the midst of a festival for the soldiers. They had arrived to see the tribute and celebration of the dead, to look at it. Ibis masks adorned the faces of many, bright and shining in the midday sunlight; others wore the golden sun masks that was of the armor of the goddess of victory. People bought little skull cakes and incense with tales of the fallen, their peacetime triumphs and miseries and aching little anecdotes that had seemed so ordinary until the teller had gotten their black letter. It was both the happiest funeral and the solemnest costume party Cyprian had ever witnessed.
"People are so strange," the snowbell said. "What is wrong with their faces? Why do they hide them?"
"Some of them are better off with masks, trust me," Cyprian said, "but there's nothing wrong with them. There are people who think it's...fun. Pretending you're not yourself. There are some people who think masks confuse the Emissary of Death, or he just passes over you. For whatever reason. Or it could be that this is a celebration, and people just wear stupid things during celebrations."
"This is a celebration? What are they celebrating?"
"Life and death and the end of the war, or one of those," Cyprian said. "Maybe something else, too. It's Frutsmoarg. They think of simplicity as a quaint theory here."
Cyprian's head was warm, and a good place to observe the celebration from. And there was so much of it to see. Frutsmoarg was not a small town, and most of the town was out tonight remembering. There were sounds, human voices only not, coming from all around. It was a little chilly, but there was a different kind of warmth here that shot through the snowbell like sunlight. It got the impression that the earth here would be just as warm a roost as Cyprian's hair, even if it was only for tonight.
"That child laughed," the snowbell said. "I haven't heard laughter since I was a bud. There were two friends talking about their brothers. Why do you never laugh like that?"
"Because I've been the punchline lately," Cyprian said. "You don't laugh at your own jokes, especially when you are the joke."
That wasn't really true, and the snowbell knew it. It didn't push the issue.
"This war," the snowbell said instead, "you were in it, weren't you? I don't really understand what it is, but it's a sad thing. You seem like you're always fighting with something. I can never tell what."
Cyprian considered a skull cake stand. He considered also a group of people who clearly were discussing among themselves what sort of voices he heard in his head, sighed, and lined up for a cake.
"I never knew what I was fighting for," Cyprian said, to kiosk attendant and flower both. "I could barely even keep the propaganda straight. I didn't really think about it. I followed my best friend into the war because I trusted him. Then we went our separate ways, like you do, and it was just the war and me."
The snowbell found itself leaning closer to the sound of Cyprian's voice even as the kiosk attendant leaned back in her seat.
"Caius was the youngest of the men I marched with after that. We were stationed in Belmond then. It borders both Sangrian territory and the Fair Country, and it's part of the Shadowlands. I've saved myself inestimable grief by assuming it was just founded by masochists and the desperately suicidal. Contemplating how much weapons grade, concentrated dumb it would require to build a town there on purpose, or even what that thought process and the ensuing conversations would be like, that's just something I don't think I could survive. There would be contact brain damage at the very least, I can promise you that. Caius grew up in Belmond. He fought as well as any of us ever did when the raiders came down. He loved that town and his family lived there, why wouldn't he? But then there was a great hush, like suddenly all of our vocal cords were snapped and all we were waving around were straws and candles. A warpdom had crept up on us."
"Warpdom?" said the snowbell. Cyprian's lips thinned. "I learned about warpdoms from old textbooks. The dictionary definition has that it's a noun, unexplained phenomenon of the Shadowlands; a temporary all-consuming hole in reality. They've opened for thousands of years, but nobody knows more than that. They may kill you, they may not, but nobody ever comes back when they're pulled in. You're not called missing when you've been pulled in, you're legally dead and buried. Caius ran off towards town when he realized what was happening. None of us could really stop him. He didn't really have a single chance to save anyone; the warpdom had yawned open in the middle of town. When we followed him after the warpdom closed, there was just dust. Seven years of my life spent fighting for someone I lost five years into it. I have nothing and nobody to return to, but I have more than Caius. I may be the only man who remembers he existed, and I live recklessly. Keep his memory safe for me. Please."
The kiosk attendant solemnly offered him a cake. A stick of incense speared a creamy eye socket.
"I am with you," the snowbell said. "You have me as long as I'm around to be had."
Cyprian accepted the cake. Even in spite of the lemons, it was sweet.
Story Continuity: Battle For the Sun
Flavors: Blueberry Yogurt 19: unfamiliar customs, Papaya 17: talking to myself, Mango 6: you go first
Rating: PG
Word count: 953
Summary: Cyprian and his snowbell arrive in Frutsmoarg, and Cyprian remembers.
Notes: Meme prompt: How Does Your Garden Grow: Cyprian and the snowbell, just after the war ends. So it follows the snowbell pocky from the HDYGG chain. Title translates to "remember that you shall live" in internet translator Latin.
The celebration of the Long War's end lasted long enough that the first town Cyprian stepped into, the snowbell in his hair, was still in the midst of a festival for the soldiers. They had arrived to see the tribute and celebration of the dead, to look at it. Ibis masks adorned the faces of many, bright and shining in the midday sunlight; others wore the golden sun masks that was of the armor of the goddess of victory. People bought little skull cakes and incense with tales of the fallen, their peacetime triumphs and miseries and aching little anecdotes that had seemed so ordinary until the teller had gotten their black letter. It was both the happiest funeral and the solemnest costume party Cyprian had ever witnessed.
"People are so strange," the snowbell said. "What is wrong with their faces? Why do they hide them?"
"Some of them are better off with masks, trust me," Cyprian said, "but there's nothing wrong with them. There are people who think it's...fun. Pretending you're not yourself. There are some people who think masks confuse the Emissary of Death, or he just passes over you. For whatever reason. Or it could be that this is a celebration, and people just wear stupid things during celebrations."
"This is a celebration? What are they celebrating?"
"Life and death and the end of the war, or one of those," Cyprian said. "Maybe something else, too. It's Frutsmoarg. They think of simplicity as a quaint theory here."
Cyprian's head was warm, and a good place to observe the celebration from. And there was so much of it to see. Frutsmoarg was not a small town, and most of the town was out tonight remembering. There were sounds, human voices only not, coming from all around. It was a little chilly, but there was a different kind of warmth here that shot through the snowbell like sunlight. It got the impression that the earth here would be just as warm a roost as Cyprian's hair, even if it was only for tonight.
"That child laughed," the snowbell said. "I haven't heard laughter since I was a bud. There were two friends talking about their brothers. Why do you never laugh like that?"
"Because I've been the punchline lately," Cyprian said. "You don't laugh at your own jokes, especially when you are the joke."
That wasn't really true, and the snowbell knew it. It didn't push the issue.
"This war," the snowbell said instead, "you were in it, weren't you? I don't really understand what it is, but it's a sad thing. You seem like you're always fighting with something. I can never tell what."
Cyprian considered a skull cake stand. He considered also a group of people who clearly were discussing among themselves what sort of voices he heard in his head, sighed, and lined up for a cake.
"I never knew what I was fighting for," Cyprian said, to kiosk attendant and flower both. "I could barely even keep the propaganda straight. I didn't really think about it. I followed my best friend into the war because I trusted him. Then we went our separate ways, like you do, and it was just the war and me."
The snowbell found itself leaning closer to the sound of Cyprian's voice even as the kiosk attendant leaned back in her seat.
"Caius was the youngest of the men I marched with after that. We were stationed in Belmond then. It borders both Sangrian territory and the Fair Country, and it's part of the Shadowlands. I've saved myself inestimable grief by assuming it was just founded by masochists and the desperately suicidal. Contemplating how much weapons grade, concentrated dumb it would require to build a town there on purpose, or even what that thought process and the ensuing conversations would be like, that's just something I don't think I could survive. There would be contact brain damage at the very least, I can promise you that. Caius grew up in Belmond. He fought as well as any of us ever did when the raiders came down. He loved that town and his family lived there, why wouldn't he? But then there was a great hush, like suddenly all of our vocal cords were snapped and all we were waving around were straws and candles. A warpdom had crept up on us."
"Warpdom?" said the snowbell. Cyprian's lips thinned. "I learned about warpdoms from old textbooks. The dictionary definition has that it's a noun, unexplained phenomenon of the Shadowlands; a temporary all-consuming hole in reality. They've opened for thousands of years, but nobody knows more than that. They may kill you, they may not, but nobody ever comes back when they're pulled in. You're not called missing when you've been pulled in, you're legally dead and buried. Caius ran off towards town when he realized what was happening. None of us could really stop him. He didn't really have a single chance to save anyone; the warpdom had yawned open in the middle of town. When we followed him after the warpdom closed, there was just dust. Seven years of my life spent fighting for someone I lost five years into it. I have nothing and nobody to return to, but I have more than Caius. I may be the only man who remembers he existed, and I live recklessly. Keep his memory safe for me. Please."
The kiosk attendant solemnly offered him a cake. A stick of incense speared a creamy eye socket.
"I am with you," the snowbell said. "You have me as long as I'm around to be had."
Cyprian accepted the cake. Even in spite of the lemons, it was sweet.