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[necrosaint]

harrow

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early September, the Archives, a blob of eyes,

[unsheathedfromreality]

It is one of those strange twists of fate common in all small social groups that Illarion had somehow yet to meet Harrowhark Nonagesimus in person. He knew of her, even spoken to her in passing on the network--but not yet face-to-face.

His Omen recognizes the young Saint well, from time spent haunting the Emperor's house while her Sleeper was missing; she is thin and sharp-boned in that way humans called elfin and generous elves sometimes granted them. (Thin, sharp-boned, clad in black and bones--she'd make a better shrike than sparrow, to her credit.) Better, Iskierka was also fond of the young woman's Omen, who'd been her co-conspirator more than once during that same absent time.

Never Mind's got a bounty on meeting someone new, and Illarion could do far worse than someone he's already inclined to like (insomuch as he likes people, through memory and habit more than emotion). So when he's already at the Archives for such a purpose, and his Omen spots that familiar figure through the stacks (literally through--it's not a part of the Archives with a fourth dimension of its own), the shrike takes it as a pointed gift from the month's Patron to a faithful Disciple. He leaves off considering the other Sleepers nearby, crossing to where Harrow's at work, and stops at a respectful distance to wait for an opportune moment.

"You are the Reverend Daughter Harrowhark Nonagesimus, are you not?"

It's a centuries-old habit by now to have someone's styling and name correct before ever greeting them. Few were the cultures where proper protocol demanded less.

[necrosaint]

Of course shrouded darkness with a number of eyes profoundly higher than two—Harrow is not going to stop to count them—is completely normal for Trench's Archives, and would come up to her while she was reading Roethke's Sequence, Sometimes Metaphysical. Everything about this is utterly unremarkable.

(Who knows whether or not it actually is. Harrow's mind is on-and-off, with Gideon in a cocoon that she is not permitted to stay with every hour of every day. She is forced to do other things sometimes. She is forced to sleep sometimes. Her Omen is under the table licking her boot.)

"I am," Harrowhark Nonagesimus confirms, choosing one eye in particular to make polite contact with.

[unsheathedfromreality]

Illarion nods, satisfied he's gotten it right. The gesture's more grand where it ripples to his out-self, ruffling feathers like shards of starless void.

"We have spoken before over the Omnis, under the aegis of House Atreides. I am the one they are having trouble giving a name to." Having, ongoing, though they'd begun discussing a common use-name for him months ago--for he'd been somewhat less under the aegis of House Atreides in the intervening months, and stayed away from their discussions out of respect, and so didn't know whether that had ever resolved.

Certainly no one had told it had, but that was, perhaps, his own fault. "The foreign necromancer who is very interested in how you practice the art among the Nine Houses. Might we speak?"

[necrosaint]

Stasya makes whuffling sounds against Harrow's feet under the table, for all that they may be addressed at Ilarion or Iskierka. She is there, yes, hello. Harrow is pretending to ignore her in totality, but is ignoring her in action.

"Oh," she says, maybe a little surprised around all that. But with the impressiveness of his physical display, what could truly be a surprise? "Yes, of course. Do have a seat, if you like." Harrow says this instead of can you not give a name to yourself? because that would be rude.

[unsheathedfromreality]

"Thank you," he says, and does take a seat across from her at a suitable remove around the table.

"I am realizing, that while I have spoken to the--what is the term you use, the bone adept--I have not heard much of the woman. Nor of your House. The Ninth is among the smallest, yes? But no less in honor for it?"

Iskierka, released from acting as his eyes, promptly dives through the table with a high and maybe-even-cheerful gurgle to land beside Stasya. hello. she thinks in the other Omen's direction, not even in a word but an intimation of something like a greeting. Hello, her friend!

[necrosaint]

Harrow doesn't smile, really, because that would be beyond unusual and potentially uncomfortable—but she does look pleased, at such mentions of her House. "Correct," she says with a nod, putting a phalange into Roethke and closing the book. "We are the smallest in size and in number, both."

That is still true, even with five hundred new souls—five hundred new people—who she has never and likely will never meet.

"The woman is naught but her House, and proud to be such."

shortly after Kiriona shows up at Bone House, bc I have no chill, omen2omen

[unsheathedfromreality]

[It's very, very uncommon for Illarion to ask Iskierka to directly convey his words to another Omen--but the urgency also seems warranted in this case.]

Reverend Daughter, how do you fare?

Your cavalier has returned voluntarily to the Emperor's household and I mislike this as a portent.

[Your cavalier is dead and damned like me, and I also mislike that, to the point of slow-simmering fury, is unkind to say.]

[necrosaint]

[ Stasya's ever-present good cheer is a little bit wobbly, almost like it had been touched by something corrupting, but: not exactly. For the most part she's keeping her distance and providing simple relay, but there's definitely something a little bit wrong with Harrow.

Besides the fact that she offers a beat of contemplative silence before saying only: ]

I do not believe she is my cavalier any longer.

[unsheathedfromreality]

[There is an answering beat of silence from Iskierka's end. Illarion is no longer conversant with his own emotions, but his fluency in others' remains largely intact.

There is definitely something wrong with Harrow. It would do her no good to withhold his own knowledge and conjecture, nor bend the truth--but it must, he thinks, be told gently.]

I think it is too soon to tell that, shrikeling.

From my own experience, the first months of living death are alienating. All of what once mattered in life becomes disordered, inscrutable. Hideous. It is easy, in that confusion and hurt, to reject all you held dear. It's a long journey back to remembering what you still know is true.

She may have walked far from you now, but I don't believe she is lost forever on that road.

[necrosaint]

It seemed like she was anything but glad to see me. I would understand if she thought I cast her out, if she had no context on what I had done -

[ Harrow has not explained it, what she did. Not to anyone except Ianthe Tridentarius, who is not presently in Trench, though whether or not she was able to tell Gideon-or-Kiriona, Harrow does not know. Nor may she ever, since Kiriona didn't want to speak to her. ]

It went poorly.

[ stasya might whine a little. just a little. ]

[unsheathedfromreality]

[He considers that whine with the words and their intimation of something awful that passed between Harrow and Gideon. He weighs his next question carefully.]

What had you done?

If it will help, to unfold that to another.

[The question's Warlord-impassive, without judgment; only a gentle curiosity. It cannot be worse than anything else he's heard in his centuries, and even if it were, he has learned to listen to horrors without rushing to judge them.]

voice; misfire; un: gaiaonline

[lipochrome]

[ Big Boy, who is ever the helper, records the following snippet of a one-sided conversation. She doesn't mean to send it, honestly! ]

I mean, come on. I looked like I had wanted to be kissed, my ass. I just woke up from a nap, that's how you're supposed to look.

voice; un: boneadept

[necrosaint]

[ Stasya thinks this is great and makes sure that the response makes it back, even if she has no idea at all what is going on!

it takes Harrow a minute to recover, though, at which point she sputters out: ]

... oh, is it? I dare say I must be doing naps incorrectly.

[lipochrome]

[ oh. oh this is not who kiriona expected to be talking to, at all. time to course-correct. ]

Oh, yeah? Look at you, admitting that you can't do something. That's a first. Maybe try admitting that you're wrong, sometimes, next.

[necrosaint]

Sometimes? I am wrong frequently. My mere existence is the exemplar of wrongness.

[ Harrow wants to bite those words out, but she is doing her best to sound calm and collected. It is ... mostly working, because she has a ton of practice and she doesn't have to see someone who used to be her Gideon hating her. But if anyone can see through it--]

Late November | misfire | text | un: LEM2

[slightlytaller]

From the Notes of Lord El Melloi II

Preliminary Gift List for Christmas Winter Gifting Holiday

- Iskandar: I have given him my everything. What else can I give?

- Anna Amarande: what is a gift befitting a knight? I don't think replacing the sword I gave her would be a good move.

- Shouto Todoroki: offer to teach him how to cook a simple dish. Seek guidance from his friends on this-- what kind of meal would he know and like?

- Kaine

- Ortus Nigenad: an astute Bard deserves a worthy gift. I am neither. What would he like?

- My Landlady

- Duty (?) : Is it presumptuous to give him a gift?

- Jun Ushiro (?)

- Ozpin (?): Work contact, fellow professor, and magic user. Not from Earth, but he seems like he'd appreciate the folklore. Perhaps copies of the Illiad and the Odyssey?

- Abigail (?)


Others to prepare a small item for:

- Shouto's Friends.

How many are there? What do teenagers like? What would they accept from a teacher that doesn't even have a classroom?

- Himiko Toga

This girl is not the misunderstood hero I met some months ago, but they are two sides of the same coin. Honestly, she isn't much worse than Reines.

- Ortus' immediate contacts

Lady Harrowhark Nonagesimus

Gideon Nav Kiriona Gaia

What would young adults from space that don't recognize microscopes like? Are bones redundant to a necromancer?

Kairi would have the answer. Gray might, too. Pity neither are around.

Further Notes:

- Investigate Winter Holidays in Trench

- Christmas is not a universal holiday on my Earth, why would it be here? Check to see if everyone on the list is all right with a secular gift giving holiday in the winter. See if additional holidays, traditions, rites, or rituals need to be respected.

[necrosaint]

oh, you don't need to get me anything.

It would probably be fine to give Duty a gift though.

un: LEM2

[slightlytaller]

It glitched again didn't it?

Is this Lady Nonagesimus? A gift would be an act of courtesy: Ortus has become a friend, and it seems amiss to give him something but not something for the rest of your household.

I am not sure how gifts and holidays operate in your culture, but I don't wish to misstep or cause any problems.

Also: I have no idea what sort of gift to give Duty.

[necrosaint]

This is she, yes. It seems to be one of those times with the Omnis , whether or not there's some secret intent to how they are doing it and why--technological error or ghost in the machine?

Not that I expect you have an answer any more than I do. I will admit I have never received a gift of any kind and so I am not sure myself. The Ninth's holidays are all focused on prayer and meditation.

However I can promise you that an unusual weapon, even one that doesn't even work, will satisfy Duty. Who may or may not then attempt to repair it.

[slightlytaller]

Or a symptom of the Tower's illness. If the town is part of his body, why wouldn't the Omnis be part as well?

If you have never received a gift in your life, then perhaps this is more important. There's a certain magic in intentions, after all. I am regularly borrowing someone from your Household, without even properly knowing you. There's clearly an imbalance we have to fix.

Also, thank you for your suggestions with Duty. I've been meaning to try my hand at enchanting another weapon.

somewhere nebulously in the Jan-Feb AU zone

[unsheathedfromreality]

[It starts with a note in Restoration's hand, delivered by Restoration's Omen.]

Little sister,

[--and it's a measure of his great affection that she is that and only that in salutation,]

I've found something you might be very interested in, out in the woods around Ache. Iskierka will lead you to it--say the word.

Your older brother

[And indeed, once she's delivered the note, Iskierka is happy to wait on Devyata's convenience.]

[necrosaint]

[ Devyata has been trying eagerly to get to know Harrowhark's work and research and the schedules therein, and has just determined when she receives this note that she isn't going to. They don't make any sense, which she tells Iskierka all about as she puts bloodstones back in little boxes with labels she can't yet read. ]

Finally, that's—sorted—I hope—shall we?

[ Some people might find it odd to see an individual that looks almost exactly like Harrowhark Nonagesimus vibrate a little in anticipation. Devyata is managing to make it classy. Even if she's still doing it by the time she reaches her brother-Prince, and hopefully no one else who might laugh at her. ]

[unsheathedfromreality]

[Said brother-Prince is--fortunately, maybe--alone when they find him out in the woods, and quite easy to spot. Not for him Illarion's drab Hunter garb; Restoration's muted reds and high-violets stand out among the snow and leafless trees like a fallen piece of sunset.

Even so, he doesn't eclipse the strangeness of the little sapling he stands beside--a bone-white tree that, at second look, is made of actual living marrow-hearted bone.

Restoration tips his face up from inspecting this prodigy as his Omen and sister draw near, favoring both with a smile.]

One of the Moss King's gifts come unseasonably early, I believe. It wasn't here a week ago.

[necrosaint]

Oh.

[ Devyata unabashedly stares, wide-eyed, and hesitantly reaches out a finger. The little tree's life-force practically magnetizes her fingertips, and she's unable to resist touching a leaf. She's so gentle, though, it scarcely seems to notice and doesn't even move. ]

Very much a gift indeed. I will be sure Stasya does not bother it.

[ stasya would never bother a tree on purpose but she absolutely would sniff it too much and accidentally bend it a little. ]

[unsheathedfromreality]

[He laughs quietly at that; Stasya's enthusiasm is, as ever, a delight to be reminded of.

The little tree's leaves have their own pulse, discrete corpuscles moving visibly through their delicate veins.]

Does it seem to you more an animal or a plant? [he asks, with genuine curiosity.] I can't decide myself from its looks, [inside and outside, as a shrike perceived things,] alone.