As she stirs, it's almost immediately clear to Petrana that she isn't where she belongs. This is not Riva, nor any of the bedchambers she's most accustomed to occupying there or elsewhere. She considers this new development in her situation with slightly more tranquility than might be expected of her, her hands folded on her stomach as she regards
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"It's not often that death is a good sign. How may I help you, Lady?"
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Startled at being addressed, Petra nearly drops the tablet momentarily. (When she's got a grip on it again, she starts picking through the controls to figure out how she made that happen in the first place.)
"Well, first of all you may tell me where the devil I am."
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"I am Uther of Deadhouse Doul and the Lady Petrana I know has hired me as a mercenary. Should you need me, the contract still stands."
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"A mercenary! The more things change, the more they stay the same- but in a moment. Do you mean to speak of other worlds?" Petra is accustomed to some strange methods of communication already, so she merely waits for him to come back into view without fussing too much about why he isn't there.
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"Breathe," Petra suggests companionably, still trying to figure out how this damn thing started broadcasting. "And who might you be?"
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Very funny. I know it's been a while since you've even bothered to talk to me, but...
[switches to visual. He's a little rumpled, like he just got out of bed.]
Better? Wait a minute, what happened to you?
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"Ah," she says, wryly amused, "I take it you are not a friend of the 'Countess'. Doul tells me this is a temporary state of affairs, but I think you're asking after my scars, aren't you?"
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Morgana is trying to sound calm when she speaks, but it's clear she's worried. "Countess Petrana, is everything all right?"
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For a moment Petra merely stares back at Morgana, but the resemblance to Veda isn't that dramatic, just enough to make her pause and then she goes on.
"Lady Petrana," she corrects, not unkindly. "Doul tells me that my visit here is the result of a glitch, and in due time the Countess will return and I will go home to Riva. Are you a friend of this woman...?"
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"A glitch?" She's heard of them, and seen the results in the case of the revenant Angelus, thus she's concluded they cannot be good for anyone. The very least they can be is not harmful, which is still a long way from good.
Morgana is slow in remembering her manners, as she's had enough changes of late, and one more is definitely past her limit, "I have great affection for the Countess." Friend does not seem like the right word to use here. "She has been exceptionally kind to me."
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Titles by marriage, though, may never be acquired in the first place if one marries elsewhere. (Martel would've made her a margravine, if he hadn't had his stripped from him with his knighthood. In Riva she is simply the Lady, and sometimes 'the Witch'.)
"As Doul explained it to me, sometimes this place trades a person for another life they might have lived; so the Countess is a glimpse of my own paths not walked, and in turn, I am the same for her. In due time we'll trade back, apparently. I'm hoping for sooner rather than later, and I suspect from your expression that you will agree with me there." She's a little wry- and a lot more open than the Countess, with a younger face and older eyes.
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"Only in that I seem to be in quite the wrong bloody place," Petra sighs, adjusting the robe and tucking her feet up next to her on the settee. "But that, I am assured, is quite temporary. I suppose you, too, are expecting a Countess?"
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"Well, it doesn't feel sudden at all from where I'm sitting, milord...?"
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Showing up unannounced was okay the first time; she wasn't going to push her luck when the routine of introduction had already been established.
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Visitors. Of course. Petra is a little reluctant to receive her alternate's guests, but she comes down in one of the Countess's own light white lounging dresses and is waiting for River when she's led in.
"I'm sorry you've come all this way for the wrong Petrana," she says, mildly. "Do sit."
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(There's fire and ash, all of the parts of the world that crumbled without a second thought into too many cells and kelodial tissue. Vineyards grow up behind her, overrun and withered flourishing but broken promises make bitter wine and he won't be coming home again. Of course, neither will she, shrouded in 'if's and 'maybe's. Maybe they should put up green later, to not ruin the surprise.)
"I saw," River says, sounding distracted and confused. Then her staring dips down to Petra's stomach before bouncing up to her eyes. "You're new."
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It's everything Petra can do not to instinctively cover- not the scar, the scar she wears like a medal of honour for what she suffered to get it, but her abdomen, where the baby she's yet keeping a secret is still barely more than a glimmer.
"Temporarily, so I'm told," she says, carefully. "My name is still Petrana, but I'm the witch of Riva. Advisor to King Belgarion and Queen Ce'Nedra. Tell me your name?"
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