songerein | [Open] The More Things Change...

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[Open] The More Things Change...

Who: Beatrix, You (yes, you!)
Which: Catch-All Log for June
Where: All over Reverein, and anywhere else one needs to be
What: Beatrix tries to keep a starfish alive, assaulted by starfish and stuck in a storm of them, a little dreamotion practise (the smallest of barriers!), and visits the garden to tend to the roses.
Warnings: Not expecting any, but will update as necessary.

01. Starfish in the Rain

[Even on a day that begins overcast, work remains a constant in Beatrix's mind. There are patrols to be done, the coliseum to check the condition of (especially with the change in weather as has been noted so far), training, and everything else that she has been most desperate to keep herself occupied with. In short, hopefully never a dull moment in Beatrix's preoccupied life.

She has a routine she follows and that's the way she likes it. She wants to be at certain places at certain times. Punctual, if not early. And in some ways, it feels as if every day is the same. She keeps her hands busy and offers but a sliver in the broad spectrum of her day for things aren't normally scheduled.

By the time she's made her way to the coliseum, the sky above is dark and churning. Wind whipping her hair this and that way. Beatrix eyes it warily, though thinks little of it save that she ought to put some pep into her step. This lasts until a well-placed plop winds up in her hair. And then another smaller one. A larger one right atop the shoulder, like a curl of weight she simply can't identify.

Hands lift and as she feels around with her fingers, she traces the arms of a starfish that's kissed the crown of her head and tries to wiggle her fingertips beneath it.]

You have got to be kidding me.

[This is not at all going according to plan. Needless to say, the starfish seem a bit attached to their newly-found friend. If only she felt the same way.]

02. Do you want to save a starfish?

[In retrospect, the act of keeping a starfish seems silly. An opportunity for revenge, she supposes, though Beatrix doubts that starfish have the high capacity for ideas like revenge and anger. If anything, they probably merely want to eat and sleep (if starfish sleep), and get on with their very leisurely lives. No need for subordinates or soldiers, listening to queens, or dealing with emotionally intensive conversations.

...Beatrix, for but a moment, tries to imagine what it might be like to be a starfish. It ends quickly. That is not the life for her.

She's eyeing the appropriately-sized jar (though in hindsight, perhaps bigger than it needs to be) that she's obtained, traipsing around in soft, moist ground beneath her feet. The starfish in question look different. Not necessarily like the ones that decided Beatrix was in need of an intervention. She finds one. Just one. A small little thing that she could have simply stepped on. As she's picking it up, she squints with scrutiny.]

One can barely see you. I cannot possibly understand the value in trying to keep you alive.

[But that's what was requested. What she'll get in return, she can't even say, but isn't this better than doing next to nothing? And who's to say when the next storm of starfish will come up?

She looses a sigh and with a healthy amount of Beatrix Disdain, she gently drops her very small starfish into her jar of water that is probably not salty enough.]

And now I am going to have to keep watch over you. Is that it.

03. Testing the Barriers

I would like to say I am improving.

[It's an observation, really. An assessment of her own skills. She still regularly makes a stop to the training grounds she first originally paid visit to when she was testing and continuing to refine her sword arm.

With hands spread before her, she presses fingertips up against the seemingly solid transparent barrier. As if it's glass, though when she touches it, it's distinctly cold. Unsurprising. It seems as if every time her dreamotion comes into play, it's all about ice and other related things.

Making a fist, she tests the durability of the barrier.]

Sturdy. Stable. Yet too small. We cannot protect Reverein with a plethora of these.

[But that's not really the point, is it? As she's staring at her hands, she's thinking about what's been brought to her attention so far. The nature of determining properties of dreamotion, its fluctuations, and how to make consistent use of something that seems so... inconsistent.]

A vessel strong enough to withstand dreamotion. Capable of harbouring it. He said a crystal, but how do we know one vessel will be able to hold all kinds of dreamotion? And how do we ask Reverein citizens to donate their own at the cost of themselves?

04. Everything's Coming up [Muggy] Roses

[The garden of roses has continued to be a warm and familiar presence to her. When she's surrounded by them, Beatrix can, for a breath or two, pretend that she's in Alexandria during the course of happier days. The more time she spends in this world, the more she's able to see a difference in herself. In the person she's become. Affected by those who have formed camaraderie with her. Friendships, though she doubts she's so comfortable using the term. Circumstance. Time. Not having the concept of war hanging over her as it has certainly done from time to time, chaining her to a responsibility that in the present, she's not sure why she was so willing to follow it.

The roses grant her time.

Casting a look upward to a sunny day that is a nice contrast to the odd storms that have come and gone. It's warm. A little too warm, honestly, she's thinking as she works hands beneath her hair to lift it for just a moment. Muggy. Uncomfortable.]

I imagine you are all just loving this.

[She's saying it to the flowers, who seem to be relatively in good condition. But that's why she's here. A watering can and pruning shears in hand, she's ready to keep herself busy.]

I have to wonder if anyone else is tending to you. Maybe it is just another form of this world's unique abilities. It could be as simple as wishing for your nurturing to make it possible. Defeats the purpose of manual work, however. There is nothing quite like tending to things with one's own hands.

05. Wildcard

[As written. Feel free to suggest something different, make a fusion of the above, or whatever else might be striking your fancy. I'm very happy to write starters for any interested parties. If you have any plotting ideas or questions, you can either PM me, contact me via Discord, or grab me on ofthesky.]

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Just a fistful of flakes will do! [ He closes Iris' photo back in the pages of his journal and flaps the whole book like a fan against the heat. ]

Come now, even a resolute general like yourself didn't emerge from the womb burdened with grim purpose. Surely you enjoyed a childhood in the interim.

[ His head cocks like a curious dog. Or a man who never fully grew out of his own childhood. ] How did the young Beatrix while away the idle days of her youth?

[Enjoyed. A. Childhood.

Well. She supposes she didn't hate growing up, though she understands most of her interest was in... exactly what she's doing now. Almost, anyway.]

I studied knights and soldiers.

[Her answer is straight forward and perhaps a little amused. Maybe he doesn't expect to hear just such a thing. Or... perhaps he does.]

If you were thinking I played with dolls and imagined sunshine and rainbows, could not be further from the truth. I suppose I imagined what it would be like to face off against dragons and great beasts, but I am familiar with that now. And I am no longer that child who has such dreams of grandeur.

[ The answer is unsurprising. As part of his professional practice, Sholmes has created (what he considers) a fairly accurate taxonomy of personalities: this includes the people who grope around for a purpose, and others who are born with it already in hand. The latter further splits in two: those who relish wielding such a clear destiny, and others who carry it like a burden.

Beatrix may have been born with clear purpose, but whether it's a gift or a curse ...? Sholmes is still gathering definitive data to verify his theory.

Either way, the image of such a severe little girl is actually quite charming. ]

What manner of dreams have taken their place?

Dreams. To dream is to imply that I may not be able to make it a reality. I would not say I have dreams. I have reachable feats that I refuse to let slip from my grasp.

[And that. Is arrogance. She knows it the moment she says it. Realistically, Beatrix will not win every battle. She will not succeed at everything she puts herself up against. But she also knows she will do everything within her power to accomplish something and she isn't afraid of death or whatever repercussions that might have to come out of it.

(Except vulnerability and weakness.)]

My primary concern is that I perform my duties to the best of my ability and offer appropriate guardianship to Her Majesty and my princess. Those are dreams. Those are reality. I am good at what I do. I have no reason to believe I will not continue to see that fulfilled.

Admirably pragmatic. But it seems terribly self-limiting—dare I say boring—to attempt only those "reachable feats" that you are good at. You never know, General, you could have a turn for beekeeping or basket weaving!

[ He raises his hat long enough to ruffle some of the heat and sweat from his hair. ]

What were we discussing before? Ah, yes! How far one can extend dreamotion! If the prospect of looking a fool troubles you, then here, allow me— [ Sholmes eagerly begins pulling more items from his pockets and tossing them into a pile: a spool of thread, a fistful of dice, a chalkboard eraser ... Presumably, each of them is draining some fraction of his energy. ]

Neither of those things sound particularly interesting to me. I enjoy working with my sword and I enjoy protecting my kingdom's people.

[She's trying to picture herself being a beekeeper. Or. Basket weaving. Neither of these seem like they would suit her in the slightest. She might help someone else once or twice with such a thing, but she has no interest in doing it herself personally. Not for anything extensive, anyway.

He continues and beyond his words, his very generous offer, he proceeds to make a pile of... nonsense. He makes it look so simple. Or maybe it's that she makes it so much more complicated on herself than it need be.]

I fail to see how this benefits me. If anything, it is only making you look more impressive.

And when you retire from service? What then? [ A book of postage stamps and a bottle of perfume are added to the pile. ] Or are you betting on a battlefield death—as glorious as it is untimely—and an afterlife spent in the tournaments of Elysium?

[ His brows twitch slightly upward at her second comment. This is impressive? Has she seen what the rest of the Reverein citizenry can do? Still, Sholmes says nothing to that effect, always happy to dazzle and delight. ]

Well, allow me to continue impressing you while I remain coherent enough to do so. [ A handful of toothpicks, a whistle, and a pause to give it a quick toot. ] Do let me know if I begin to grow incorporeal, will you?

[ The great detective, replaced by a pile of imaginary trash. What an ~~appropriate~~ ignominious end. ]

[Retirement. Beatrix has never even considered such a thing, which Herlock picks up on almost immediately. She doesn't have any thoughts about Elysium or any other afterlife, which likely means she hasn't thought much about that either, but...]

I would find more honour in dying on the battlefield.

[There's no reason for her to hide that. What use is there in being a soldier if she... suddenly could no longer fight? She's been on this particular road long enough that she doubts she could just do something different.

Instead of arguing it, however, she watches him add to his ever growing pile of rubbish and Beatrix shakes her head.]

I do not think that is necessary, Master Sholmes. Have you not made your point clear? Not to say that the imagination is infinite, but that clearly our ability to create and develop things in this very... innovative way is not something that ought to be undervalued. [Or underestimated as he has so expertly demonstrated.] I was serious when I said I did not wish to put you in harm's way. It is very likely that everyone has a different threshold for the amount of dreamotion they can use. You must use yours frequently to make all of this seem so effortless.

There's a certain romance to being cut down in one's prime, isn't there? Better than becoming a doddering pensioner, I suppose. [ He shrugs noncommittally. Maybe because he's not a lone bachelor anymore and at least a handful of people would prefer that he live to a ripe old age. ]

And you're quite right. We need a much larger sample size to glean any useful information from this dreamotion business. Perhaps I can design a proper experiment ... [ And maybe, you know, have Dr. Mikotoba on stand-by if anyone passes out. Sholmes throws a last hair brush on the pile. A few of the bottom items have since popped out of existence, leaving the others to roll and settle.

He gives a low, thoughtful hum. ] In regards to your own dreamotion ... Maybe it's a matter of adrenaline? You've trained yourself to think quickly, creatively in the heat of a fight? This [ A wave at the quiet grounds. ] does not activate your deepest instincts.

[Romance is not how she would put it, but it’d kind of hard to argue against that. There are no shortage of stories in Alexandria about knights dying in glorious battles. That glory is very much the reason many people enlist in that kind of servitude, after all. Given how finite life is back home, many simply wish to leave their mark on the world. Beatrix is hardly any different in that respect, even if she might not necessarily openly admit to that.

She thinks to address his idea of a ‘proper’ experiment, whatever he might be considering such. Mostly to ask if he’s capable of devising just such a thing. Before she gets far enough to even insert a word about it, however, his ever-fluttering mind is off onto the next theory. That too is almost impressive. She too is a thinker, though perhaps not nearly as much in the same way.

He gestures to the grounds and there’s logic in his theory. Her best thinking comes from being in the heat of a situation. It is not that Beatrix cannot strategise. She can. But feeling is something that comes from a reaction to something else. It stands to reason that she would have difficulty simulating the experience when she has little to compare it to. These quieter moments are nothing in comparison to a more drastic circumstance.]

That is a possibility. I had not considered it previously. You are right that in moments like these, the more ‘peaceful’ moments we have, the situation is different. Devising a tactic for handling something is a great deal different.

[It is also entirely possible that Beatrix overthinks and she would be very willing to buy that she’s the one standing in her own way of progression on the dreamotion front.]

It may well be that you are best served by throwing yourself into terrible danger, General! [ This is declared with fresh glee. ] There your dreamotion may truly blossom.

[ Sholmes' fickle concentration is neatly derailed by this new train of thought, as evidenced by the shrinking pile of trinkets. ] Would that I could conjure up a bit of trouble for you, but I doubt I could pull such a thing from my pockets. Besides, the most compelling peril is naturally-occurring. Organic.

[ He rocks on his heels, and considers all the danger the dream world has to offer. Noctaere, noctasers, all manner of nightmares. Plenty of fodder for her practice. ] Given time, Songerein will surely provide, and I've no doubt you'll rise to the challenge.

I do have an appreciation for danger.

[It's something she'll have to consider. When faced with adversity, Beatrix doesn't have the ability to simply stop and think, or overthink, or analyse excessively. She can only act and sometimes that is most beneficial for dreamotion, given it's a moment she can't stand in her own way. Perhaps that applies to other avenues of her life as well.]

I was not expecting you to simulate any danger, admittedly. Even if you had, it would not be effective. The thought, however, is... appreciated. [No matter how awkwardly she might express that gratitude.] Still, you are not wrong. Whether I want it or not, this world will provide us dire situations. I will be sure to let you know what I find out, Master Sholmes. Although, what you have shown me today has been educational and enlightening. Think you will be interested in helping me some more in the future?

And I have a certain knack for finding danger. [ Much to the chagrin of his associates. He rubs his chin, muttering: ] Or perhaps it finds me? The data is still inconclusive.

[ He gives those lingering shields another rap of his knuckles. ]

But please do let me know of your discoveries! It's always fascinating to see precisely how dreamotion evolves in the individual. And we would all be well-advised to know the strengths of our fellow citizens—it may prove most valuable in times of trouble.

[ Or this is just another excuse for him to be nosy. ]

[She wonders if he is proposing that he ought to play bait for her. It isn't something she'd ever ask of someone. She's told him already that she won't put him in danger for her benefit. Not him. Not anyone. Not intentionally anyway, even if it's for the sake of her dreamotion.

It's just not worth it.]

I will keep you informed. I agree with you. It is important that we know our strengths and weaknesses, as a union and as divided individuals. Not simply for the guard I wish to establish, but for other reasons as well. Thank you for your assistance today. Now that I am done using you, what do you intend to do with that hard-earned free time of yours?

[Using. At least she's honest about what it is.]

If I'm correct in reading your qualms, let me specify that I'm proposing a more symbiotic relationship. You're welcome to dispatch the danger that inevitably follows in my wake!

[ Back in London, he was reasonably well-prepared for the human threats it had to offer, but here in Songerein, he's a bit more out of his league. Conjured clutter and his improvised nightmare deterrents only get him so far.

He tips his hat at her gratitude. ]

It was my pleasure, General! And as to my free time, that may not be entirely accurate. I suspect there's an appointment I've made and entirely neglected. [ This is declared without a shred of remorse. ] I think I shall take a stroll and try to recall where and with whom it was.

[She raises an eyebrow as she turns his words over in her head. What is he really saying when he makes such a suggestion? Perhaps he means to say she's welcome to protect him. Not purely for his benefit, naturally. Dispatching will cause her rely on her dreamotion skills eventually. And if danger follows him so willy-nilly, then surely it's only logical that she ought to play her role to the utmost.

When he continues, she issues a scoff. Or is that a laugh? How can one possibly tell the difference betwixt the two?]

Perhaps you ought to work on improving that. Write down your appointments, lest you disappoint others you stand up. Or impress with such audacity.

[She has to admit that before him, she's never been stood up for anything.]

No wonder you have danger following you. Do try to keep yourself alive. Your are of more practicality to me like so than the alternative.

Write them down, you say! And leave a paper trail? [ He echoes her scoff, waving a hand in front of his face as if to fend off something noxious. ] Then everyone will come to expect me to be punctual, and I simply cannot operate effectively under such strict social contracts.

[ Sholmes takes a rocking step back, barely avoiding what remains of his pile of dreamotion garbage. ] Regardless of whether you take me up on my offer, you needn't worry, my dear General—I've managed to evade countless attempts on my life. What are a few nightmare bogeymen dogging my heels?

Oh, what a horrendous expectation to have of someone.

[The sarcasm is strong with this one, though Herlock seems little more than a man who cannot be tamed by the social construct of time and expectation. In a way, it must be nice to live so freely. Does she admire him, or is it envy? Perhaps a touch of both, though she'd likely never admit as much.

A part of wishes he'd trip over his pile of rubbish, which doesn't actually happen, but just catching him a touch satisfies her.]

I never said I refused. [She replies somewhat dismissively.] If you need assistance, I will provide it. When you need it. I will not allow anything to happen to you. Anything that you do not want, that is.

[Because Beatrix gets the feeling that a part of him enjoys the danger. In his own way. Perhaps not so different from the way she does.]

[ He smiles at the allowance for welcomed danger. Clearly, she's coming to understand the kind of person he is. ]

In that case, I'll make it abundantly clear when I'm tempting fate for the sport of it. [ He can't help but punctuate this with a wink. ] Until then, do try to relax a bit? Enjoy some fun for a change?

[ He finally stops walking backwards and turns just in time to hit the low fence bounding the training grounds. She might hear a few muttered oaths as he climbs over it, then a louder, more pointedly dignified: ] Au revoir, General!

["Enjoy some fun for a change?"

Oh, yes. She'll get right on that. Which is to say, she won't, of course. Probably. Most likely.

He turns, collides with the low fence, and lifting a hand, Beatrix pinches the bridge of her nose. How can he, in some breaths seems so graceful, and such a hapless fool in ones following only shortly after? It's almost more dangerous to give that man any kind of responsibility.

Since waving seems far too casual and there are few other alternatives Beatrix is comfortable with, she meets his words with a stiff, half-bow at the waist. Acknowledgement, at the very least. An idiot of some kind, she concludes. What else could he possibly be.]

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[Open] The More Things Change...

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🎀 - I love him. ♥