(no subject)

[myironeyes]

[Public, video]

[Marsh looks, if possible, even more grave than usual. He looks very tired.]

Kara Zor-El's door appears to have reverted to barge standard.

[His mouth pinches, and then he takes a breath, as though to say something else - but he doesn't. The silence stretches, for a few more seconds.]

I will be leaving the barge and returning to my own world. Shortly.


[Private to Luna]

I would like you to consider taking my place as Kitchen Supervisor for the dinner shift.


[Spam for Zane]

[He's there when Zane wakes, as they lurch and rumble and sail away from Karazhan. He couldn't go back, of course, not like Iris did, would be more a hindrance and a danger than any help, as much as he hated to watch her descend again. But Zane, at least, was here, safe. He makes tea with shaking hands, and keeps vigil like he once had for Kelsier. It feels like it was very long ago.]


[Spam for Cassel]

[A knock on his door, the day after their return.]

It's Marsh. I have. Something for you.


[Private to Jean]

[Heavily,]

Thank you.


[Spam for T'Pol]

[It's in the middle of one of their irregular - by barge necessity - sewing lessons, after they've settled into the rhythmic silence of practicing a new technique. Without looking up, or any particular emotional inflection, he murmurs,]

When we were small, you asked how I knew about allomancy, if it was supposed to be a secret.

My mother was skaa, but my father was noble. It was very illegal.


[Private to Dean]

I apologize for my actions.


[Private to Clementine]

When you are done here, I hope you will visit me. I think you might enjoy meeting my god.


[Private to Sylvanas]

I hope someday you find peace in a manner that suits you.


[Private for Iris, backdated to right after the Pacific Rim breach]

[The first few minutes, after the spikes come back to him, are alway a special sort of excruciating. He sprawls on his chair, tries not to shudder, tries not to whimper. Later, when the fog of pain retreats just slightly, clears a space for thought, the rest seeps in, Zane's baby toes and the white-hot meld of drifting and Iris, a life with Iris, in patches and screaming and tight knuckles holding on, the smell of her hair, the slow march of lines on her face and the way he knows each one. Knew. Knew each -

- it's something. And he doesn't know what to do about it at all. He opens a voice channel, because he loves her too much to let it make him a coward, has no idea what to say.]

Iris...

[It comes out raspy and tender at once, more than he meant it to. Did you win, he thinks, even though he was watching everyone's progress when the breach ended. They regaled each other so many times.]

Comments

[ Private : Voice ]

[surfaceshine]

That so?

[ Private : Voice ]

[myironeyes]

It is. I know it means very little.

[Nevertheless.]

[ Private : Voice ]

[surfaceshine]

Was it you?

[Private]

[forsaken_queen]

I don't need peace. I need freedom.

[Private]

[myironeyes]

As you say.

[Private]

[forsaken_queen]

Indeed.

[And that's all that really needs said. She just hangs up on him.

Bye Marsh.]

[leavetreadmarks]

Who? What does that mean?

...You're leaving?

[myironeyes]

She has been a warden here for sometime. We don't know what it means. She may return, or she may...not.

I am.

[leavetreadmarks]

What does that even mean, she may return or she may not?

[She knows she's being redundant. She doesn't care.]

[Spam]

[maytakecenturies]

[She glances up at him without pause, fingers working over the small stitches. She's dexterous enough that it comes easily, but if it wasn't for the notion of pocketing a needle now and then for her own use, she wouldn't bother with this archaic task.

It would mean another hour of anxious, empty boredom, but imagining how she'd while away the minutes if she weren't here would be illogical.

When she answers, her eyes are on her stitching again.]

Why are you telling me this now?

[Spam]

[myironeyes]

I've decided to leave soon.

It occurred to me that you had asked. And I'm not terrified, anymore.

[whatthewrackspurt]

Are you planning to come back?

[myironeyes]

I am not planning to.

Private

[fireincarnate]

[Jean doesn't answer right away. She paces round her room, blinking hard and taking deep breaths. It's been hard to focus much, since the port, hard to gather herself, but she knows that's not all it is.

When she answers, though, it's with a smile.]

Of course. Thank you. I - I'm so glad I got to meet you.

Private

[myironeyes]

I've been so afraid, Jean.

[voice > spam]

[routemistress]

I'm coming.

[Not can I come; Iris is already on her way to Marsh's cabin. She, too, is still sorting out her remembered life, reacquainting herself with the proper number of hearts and a brain that could steer three jaegers through a dance competition. Even competing against each other.

She knows how much worse it is for Marsh, and privately, as she walks the stairs down to level eight, she mourns his lithe whole body and the sunlit-sea blue of his eyes: privately and briefly, tucking it carefully out of sight before she reaches his door.

She doesn't knock. Iris is unwilling to make him have to move; luckily the door is unbarred and she flies to his side. Sergeant Marsh-Wildthyme would have flung herself into his arms; Iris coils herself around him with gentle mindfulness, and she strokes his hair and kisses his forehead.]

I'm so glad it were you, love.

[I'm sorry we had to come back.]

[voice > spam]

[myironeyes]

[From lips and fingertips, she flows through the cracks and chasms of his mind, pulled by the gravity wells Ruin carved, but the contact is like groundwater through bedrock, like the ocean flowing through the calcified skeleton-scaffolds of coral, symbiotic, sustaining, suffusing. He curls an arm up, rests his hand on one of hers, just - just to do it, warm and shaky, reaffirming, tailor's callouses instead of a soldier's. He is all ache and awe, grateful not to be alone in his head, even though hemalurgy and the loss of his last drift partner left him riven in different ways, even though it was done to him in this life.]

I'm glad it - was.

[Just that it was, all of it, that he had it for a while, that the life had him. He is not her husband and she is not his wife. But somewhere it was, and it was beautiful.]

spam

[patheticvillain]

[He opens up. Of course he does. He'll always open up to Marsh. Even if his eyes are shadowed with doubt and pain still, he opens up.]

What do you want? [It's as jovial as he can make it, as light as he can be right now.]

spam

[myironeyes]

To give you this.

[He's got a folded cloth bundle, a soft sheer grey that's silky but not silk - the base of it is the mageweave Sylvanas gave him for Christmas. It's held in front of him, easy enough for Cassel to grab it and retreat, but not distinctly proffered. Aster cheeps from his shoulder, a pleased greeting.]

And to come in, and talk, but that's up to you.

private

[visetvires]

Why?

private

[myironeyes]

He's very - particular. Morally opposed to bossiness.

[strangehistorian]

She - she's home, isn't she? She went to recover?

[myironeyes]

She was badly hurt in port. I. Didn't see her return.

spam

[godsays]

[ He wakes up with a snap, hands reaching for the knives under his pillow, the vial of metals on his nightstand. It takes him a moment to slow, to look up at Marsh.

Marsh, who didn't awaken him. ]

What day is it?

spam

[myironeyes]

Shhh.

[Soothing, rather than actually hushing. He offers a cup of water, one with a vial already mixed into it.]

You've been asleep for - almost a week, I think.

We were scattered in a port where time felt quite strange, and none of us could see the sky.