Difference between revisions of "Outworld/The Porcelain Garden"

Revision as of 23:04, 19 September 2017

Sunset

Author: Gatling

It was easy to see that The Garden had once been beautiful. Every inch of the floating island was covered in some form of life, each flower hinting at the once-vibrant colours that had patterned the ground and walls, drawing the eye to the city at its very core and the stark white building that was held within. The denizens had been diligent in their care, enough that patches of rich red still remained within the rose fields, clear blues shone in the pools and ponds, and the crisp trees still stood proud against the grey sky. But not even their attentive tending could fill cracks in a breaking heart and each day that passed took a fraction more colour with it.

She sat where she often did, at the Wailing Ridge, overlooking the endless sunset of the Liberated Skies. A heavy cloak trimmed with midnight furs and icy white buckles did little to protect her from the bitter wind that gave her sanctuary its name (for no matter which way it blew in the endless sunset, it howled like a wolf to the moon). Nonetheless, she pulled it tighter around her shoulders. In the far distance, she could just about make out the islands bathed in the golden warmth of endless dusk.

“Raise up for freedom, The Infinite Dawn…” The tune tasted acrid on her lips. “Trust them to forget the name of our very mission.” A simple sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Below her the air stretched for miles. All it would have taken was a shift forward and she’d be lost to the skies forever, tumbling down through cloud and wind for eternity as far as her eyes could tell. No ground below to catch her. The danger of it all felt almost like home.

Almost.

She flinched as her thoughts were shattered by the chilling whine of a siren, its continuous shifting note haunting and hollow. Impossible to ignore. Gingerly she eased herself up off the ledge and turned her back to the view.

The sight of a waiting messenger very nearly put her care to waste.

Her footing slipped. The horizon jerked. She shut her eyes and felt the wind swell around her.

His hands found hers with impressive speed and a single sharp tug was enough to carry her forward to firm ground.

“Apologies for starling you comrade-- ”

“I told you to stop calling me that,” She interrupted, snatching her hands out of the elder’s steading grip and causing an awkward pause to linger. Even on death's doorstep, the old rank still made her twitch.

“Apologies, Gatling, but you seemed deep in thought. I did not wish to disturb.” The tired looking ex-libcorp waved a dismissive hand, still failing to look the other in the eye as she passed him by. She couldn’t remember when she last looked at anyone directly, just that the gaze had been swimming in disappointment. She heard the other - a rugged looking man, with sharp, perpetually furrowed eyebrows - jog to catch up to her. She tried desperately to ignore how easily the two of them fell into marching step, side-by- side. Somethings, she guessed, would take more than just time to forget.

Her eyes started to scan the horizon, the siren growing louder as they made their way towards the center gardens. It took her a long moment to catch sight of the ship cresting over the skyline behind the palace but when she did her breath caught and her heart stopped. Was this it? Was today the day? Was it finally over?

“Com-- ” He managed to catch the word just as her sharp brown eyes pinned him sideways, annoyance breaking through the questions that the encroaching arrival conjured in her mind.

Which one of them, she wondered, had they sent to do it? Axel would have the most benefit, she supposed, but Barrage would probably demand it was someone else. Her heart shuddered again, pit of her stomach sinking. What if it was one of the Persistence?

“Jet sent for you.” Back at the Inner Assembly that would have been enough. Someone wanted to see you? You went. No questions asked, no hesitation allowed. Now Gatling waited for more information, matching closer to the town at the heart of her world. To whatever awaited her when the ship docked at the trading post. Eventually, the man continued. “She, she said something arrived for you. A letter?”

All at once everything seemed to slow down. The siren didn’t matter anymore, no longer cracking through her mind's eye, ship casting a shadow over everything. Even the cutting wind seemed to stop.

Isolation is a funny thing. It can bring about complete serenity, mind spread open and accepting, leaving every inch of you free to explore the infinite possibilities of the world and everything in it. Or it can nore at the mind instead, forcing you to focus on one event, over and over until it defines you and you forget that anything else ever existed.

That the rest of the outworld ever existed.

“You’re Welcome!” The messenger shouted with a roll of his eyes and a wry smile, watching the shaper running towards the center of the island. The smile faltered, however, as his eyes flicked to the ship slipping out of sight and into the docks.

-

The pages might have well have been gold dust, the way her fingers barely grazed them as her eyes drank in every word. The script was so familiar - despite her only ever having seen it maybe 3 times in her life - and the key in her hand cold and solid, grounding her.

Reminding her why she did what she did.

“Jet, you are in charge for a bit. I have a journey to start.”

-

The docks were the hive of business and commerce, the west wind ushering in the busiest hours of the day. Now Gatling used the hood to shield her face from view rather than the winds bitter bite. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what the rev corps did to instil their ideology when biscuits were no longer enough, and the docks? They were Valve's, through and through.

She closed her fingers around the key at her neck and tugged the hood further over her face.

Of course, in all the rush of excitement, she had completely forgotten about the siren and the incoming ship. His face was so familiar - even if it felt like a lifetime since she had last seen it - and his words carried effortlessly through the noise of the crowd.

“Hello, Gatling.”

The journey would have to wait just a little longer, it seemed.

“Hi.”

Blue-White Collar Integration

Authors: At Dawn and At Dusk and "Ten Count" Markowitz

Perhaps it was because, up until now, At Dawn and at Dusk’s day had been so abhorrently normal and the universe felt that she needed some excitement in her life. Perhaps it was Karma rearing it’s ugly head, having decided now was the appropriate time to call in one of the dozen or so debts she owed. Perhaps it was simple random chance. It didn’t especially matter to the newly-graduated Penitent - what did matter was that the sun was setting rapidly and yet she could still hear voices somewhere in her Garden.

The Garden was by no means meant to be forbidden or out of bounds, so voices in and of themselves wouldn’t ring any warning bells, but Dawn’s petitioners had proven very good about respecting her wishes for occasional privacy. It was understood that the dawn and the dusk were her times to be alone and until right now, that line had not been crossed.

“…the wonderful thing about being part of the organization, you really gain an appreciation for excess.” There was an unpleasant snorting noise and a deep sigh as Dawn took a careful step onto the wet grass, not entirely sure why she was sneaking around her own home. “Now you try.”

“Is it safe?”

“Safer than anything I’d do to myself,” said the steadily-becoming- less-of- a-mystery man with a laugh. “If it’s too much for you, I promise I’ll Shape you back to health. Same goes for the rest of you, my lovelies, the Margin Drivers never let a quality asset expire.” Dawn stepped around the blackberry bushes screening the hot spring and sighed, because of course it was him, surrounded by her people like he was starting a harem. Shapers came and went in Outworld as they pleased, but who else would turn up and start a sales pitch?

Backlit by the setting sun and a theatrical breeze, a tiny part of Dawn wondered how it would look in the propaganda shots; that instinct was getting quieter by the day, even if it might never completely die. “Markowitz.”

“Dawn!” cried Ten Count, smile stretching wider than ever. “I was beginning to think I’d have to stop having fun and go find you myself, how’ve you been?”

“I always thought you Opportunists had an odd idea of fun. I’d personally call it more of a death wish, turning up unannounced to a former Combine Liberator’s territory, attempting to sell danger to said shaper’s petitioners.” She raised an eyebrow at him, face plastered with skepticism. Still, the corner of her mouth tugged upwards as much as she tried to hide it behind a glare. Behind them both, the mob of monochrome and maroon clad onlookers looked between their god and the would-be salesman. Dawn held out her hand. “Come on, hand it over.”

Sealing the plastic baggie back up, Ten Count tossed it lightly over, Dawn catching it effortlessly in one hand. “I would like to have it on the record that I feel hurt and offended by these accusations,” he said, pointing at the vivid orange dust. “I gave your wonderful people my word - on my honour as a Margin Driver and don’t you dare laugh - that I would take total care of them. Besides, that stuff’s barely narcotic, it’s designed for people who’ve never indulged before.” Spreading his hands wide, he added an extra half-inch to his grin. “See? Completely safe.”

“Are you asking me to trust you?” Her tone carried her smirk as she turned the baggie over in her hand. “Nothing this shade of orange can be considered safe, Markowitz.” With a measured twist of her arm, the baggie was sailing back through the air towards the Opportunist.

“Rude,” Ten Count replied without rancour, snatching it back and putting it to his chest. “See? It’s the same colour as my shirt, and that’s entirely safe.” One or two of Dawn’s smarter people were taking the opportunity to sidle away, just in case the scene went sour. “I don’t understand why you and your mob have such an aversion to chromatology.”

“Shirts are only as safe as the people wearing them,” Dawn rallied, “and need I remind you the one letter I have received from you was covered in blood.” She turned to smile at her people, gently encouraging the dispersal. “What is there not to be averse to? It's… it's chroma- chromo-- they’re bad!” “Yes, but it wasn’t my blood.” Ten Count gently squeezed the shoulder of the woman who’d been at his right hand earlier as she passed. “Come find me at the Nexus if you’re still feeling adventurous. I’ll introduce you to the genius who actually makes this stuff.”

Dawn could only shake her head in despair. “Did you really come here just to flirt with my people? Or is there an actual reason for...whatever this is?”

“What can I say? I’m always on the outlook for attractive people who might be open to a little more sensation in their lives, it’s what I do.” Stowing away his latest vice in the ubiquitous tactical vest, the Margin Driver walked past Dawn and plucked a leaf off the blackberry bush. “I’m a natural bad influence. Do I get a tour, or…?” He left the sentence hanging and popped the leaf into his mouth.

Dawn’s exasperate sigh was only a little softened by the begrudging smile as she twitched her cloak closed. “Well, since you asked so nicely,” she muttered, mostly lost to the winds. A mischevious look broke through the surface for a second and she added, “I wouldn’t eat those, if I were you.” “Why not? Tastes nice,” mumbled the Margin Driver, picking a second leaf for the road.

“Yes,” Dawn said, almost as an afterthought as she strode off. “Most poisons do.” Ten Count spat the leaf out, too quick to hear her teasing laughter and register she was teasing.

-- -

“...and this is the Wailing Ridge.” A good hour and varying levels of small talk later, Dawn stood at the edge of her little world, hands on her hips and looking out at the ocean. The winds of Horizon paled in comparison to those she’d endured in the Liberated Skies, but if one listened closely it was possible to still hear the cries of it rushing in and out of the caves deep below.

“Cheerful place,” said Ten Count, sitting down on the edge of the cliff and letting his aching feet dangle free. “Really captures the spirit of the Order.” Dawn snorted.

“Quite, I've nearly fallen off this cliff more than once.” She carefully tucked her skirt up under he knees and sat herself on the ledge as well. “It’s a shame we missed the sunset, the view is something quite spectacular, but if I’m right...any second now…” As her words trailed, the stars began to blink gently into life, first a handful of bright pinpricks in the dark velvet sky that grew into a twisting band of colours that danced and twined around themselves. Quietly - so quietly it seemed ethereal, the music you heard in your head and couldn’t say for sure whether it was real or not - the wordless song of the exodus rose up. Dawn couldn’t help but look on in pride. “Best light show this side of the breach.”

The silence sat for a few moments before Dawn realised she wasn’t imagining the whistling noise; Ten Count was gazing out, transfixed by the dance of the aurora, and whistling a strange tune. Whether he felt it she couldn’t say, but the change in tone over the last hour made for an awkward air. “Where we’re from,” he murmured, maybe not even for her to hear, “the lights paint their pretty songs. And there’s always music in the air.” Unwanted or not, the Margin Driver was still a guest in her home and it felt rude to Dawn for her to interrupt his reverie; nevertheless, she was glad to see him snap himself out of the strange little trance. “Sorry about that. I was miles away.”

“It is breathtaking,” Dawn said, offering a convenient excuse. “I’ve lost hours before staring at the bridge. You can see the whole town from here as well,” she added, pointing back the way they’d came. “Those are the old air docks, the apple tree was where a gun emplacement used to be and...I’m going to put Soar’s lake just there.”

“Soar made you a lake?”

“Yes, at the last Nexus. I didn't have the chance to place it due to-- well, you know how it is.” She shrugged, kicking the heels of her boots back against the chalk and watching the flecs get caught up in the wind “But he said he wanted to tweak it anyway, so I guess it works out.”

“You were lucky. All he did with me was break in and adjust my desk chair.” She chuckled while Ten Count took another pinch of the sickening orange dust and sniffed heavily. “Are you sure I can’t offer you some? It’s relatively mild.”

Dawn’s eyes narrowed at the sand like substance, nose wrinkling ever so slightly. “Relative to what exactly?” In spite of her expression, the words held no contempt, no disdain, just the tiniest note of curiosity.

“Relative to the gear I normally deal in,” Ten Count replied, dodging the question adroitly and grinning cheekily. “This is Vitamin Glee, the tutorial version, designed for people who want to make the world sparkle but aren’t anywhere near as desensitised as I am. But, if you’re scared by it...”

“No!” Dawn cut in, surprising herself with how quick off the mark she was. “No, that’s no...that’s not what I said, what I meant.” She bit her lip for a moment, worrying the flesh to a sharp red before speaking up.

“Do you have to...y’know…” she sniffed loudly, doing her best to mimic Ten Count a few moments before.

“It doesn’t really seem like...well, like it’s very pleasant.”

Ten Count waved a hand airily. “Is that all you’re concerned about? That’s the beauty of Vitamin Glee, it’s completely indiscriminate. Snort it, swallow it, smoke it, syringe it, it all does the same thing. Tell you what,” he added, tossing the bag back once again, “keep it, we’ll call this a trial run. You did always look like you needed cheering up.” Dawn caught it once more with ease, saying nothing as she held his stare - his smile didn’t touch his eyes.

“Thanks, I guess.” She said quietly.

“You’re most welcome.” Ten Count turned back to the cliff edge, breaking eye contact first, and coughed.

“I’ve been here for hours and you still haven’t asked why.”

“You mean you aren’t here to get me hooked on narcotics?” She bumped her shoulder against his, her tone light and teasing as she tried to clear the air. His smile had left a rock in her stomach. Dawn looked back out across the ocean. “I figured you’d tell me when you needed to.”

“Are you happy, Dawn?” Ten Count felt the Penitent freeze beside him and gave her a sideways look, his smile gone. “When your people leave you, when the sun goes down and you’re all alone, are you happy?”

“I have happy moments. I was happy when I graduated into the Order. I have laughed with my people and I’ve… I..”

Ten Count smiled sadly. “I didn’t think so. You broke out of the Combine’s bonds, walked into the loving arms of the Penitent Order and neither of them have actually done a damn thing for whoever it is in there.” He gently put a finger to Dawn’s forehead. “Not At Dawn and at Dusk and not Liberator Gatling.”

“Maybe so. But have you ever considered that maybe it’s not about us? But about them?” She turned to look over her shoulder and back to the town. By now the lamps were lit and the townsfolk were slowly starting to disappear into their homes, the streets reflecting the colours above. “I feel like I am in the right place to help them now. Even if it means only having moments.”

“A laudable attitude. Thing is, who’s going to help your kind and sweet townsfolk when you’re a burned- out wreck of a human? You’ll govern this wonderful utopia, this city of peace and harmony where nobody goes hungry and everybody is happy, and you’ll sit there, in your salt palace, and…well.” Ten Count put two fingers under his chin. “Boom. You can’t pour from an empty glass, Dawn, and you are emptying out.” Dawn’s eyes traced the silhouette of the salt palace in the darkness, its shape melting a little more each day and shook her head. “So what would you have me do? Get high? Smile with the same emptiness you have behind your eyes? When was the last time you were truly happy, Ten Count?”

“I have my moments.” He was throwing her words back in her face. “But truthfully, I’m pretty happy even when I’m off the Glee. I’m a simple man, I have simple pleasures and like I told you before, I’ve learned how not to give a single shit about what anybody else thinks of me.” Ten Count paused, then verbally backspaced. “Almost anybody, that should be. You’re trying to save the world, I’m just here to have a good time.”

There was a pause - not an awkward one, this time, more akin to the lull in a firefight when both sides need to reload, neither sure which one of them would break the silence first.

“Why do you care whether I’m happy or not?” The whisper was only just loud enough to be picked up over the ayra from below, but Dawn knew he would hear it.

“I’ve already told you once.” Ten Count said, short without being curt, and looked quickly at his wrist. “And much as I’d like to, I don’t have the time to go back into it. Take this,” he added, pressing a small package into her unresisting hand.

Dawn stared at it, curiously and with more than a little confusion. “What is…” she started to ask, before realising Ten Count was gone, coat flapping in the crosswind as he strode off. He had every appearance of a man who enjoyed verbal sparring; Dawn was at a loss to explain the sudden change in mood. Still gripping the tiny pouch of Glee, she awkwardly picked apart the paper until she uncovered a not unreasonably sized, unassuming black box with two small silver hinges. Prying it open, the ever shifting lights of the bridge caught and glinted on the silver with in. Dawn found a silver necklace laying innocently on the crushed velvet cushioning - a twisted silver loop surrounding what looked to be a flaming circle.

Resting just above it was a note.

The fires of dawn burn strong. Remember that, will you? - 10C

With only the wind left to keep her company, the Penitent stared at the unexpected gift with wide eyes, fingers gently rubbing the cool metal as if not quite believing it real. Questions flooded into Dawn’s head - questions that now, infuriatingly, were going to be without answers for some time. Why had he given her something like this? What did it mean? Was it expensive?! Optimistically, more out of hope than legitimate expectation, she cast a look over her shoulder but Ten Count was long gone. Besides, even if she asked she doubted he’d tell her.

It was… pretty. Tasteful. Less gaudy than she would have expected from a man who seemed to have decided to dip himself in paint since their last encounter. Her lip caught between her teeth once more and her fingers found a small brass key where it currently hung, low around her neck. All it took was a short, sharp tug for the chain to come loose and she pulled it away. With a little deft work, she fixed the cool silver in it’s place. “I’ll sort you later,” she muttered, wrapping the key and chain around her wrist and tying it into place. Just one last thing…

The little bit of orange still lay in the grass, standing out almost malignantly among the natural colours; stooping, Dawn plucked it from the ground and let it dangle from two fingers, regarding it in the light of the moon and the dancing stars.

“Are you happy, Dawn?”

The power didn’t feel rough between her fingers like she had expected it too, but instead soft and somehow smooth. It tasted like fire on her tongue. Smiling to herself, Dawn closed the baggie once more and headed back towards the town.