INBOX ;

[tadpoled]

“Ah, this is Tav. Kindly leave your message.”

voice ; text ; action;

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[cozen]

[ Bastien shrugs. ]

I like to meet people, [ in general, but especially new colleagues, ] so you are helping me with that as we speak.

[ His spoon goes into the stew, but he's taking his time eating any of it. First he's breaking chunks of potato and carrots into smaller pieces, then searching about for a piece of meat. ]

How are you finding the Gallows so far?

[tadpoled]

[Tav’s smile widens; he loves conversations like these.] You’ve come to the right place; I also enjoy meeting new people.

[He allows Bastien to dig in, comfortable with the relative silence. The question catches him off guard but Tav sees no harm in answering honestly.]

A welcome respite. I haven’t slept this well in a very long time.

[cozen]

[ Many people—Bastien often included, accustomed as he was to bright colors and large windows before he came to the Free Marches—might start with complaints about the oppressively grey and brutal architecture, the lingering remnants of the place the prison used to be. So he looks faintly surprised, eyebrows going up, and then a little pleased.

Tav is a fellow bright-sider, maybe. Delightful to find one in the wild. ]

No kidding. On these beds?

[tadpoled]

[Tav gives a little chuckle and a nod.] I’m used to sleeping on whatever surface is available: dirt, stone, wooden tables. This is like an inn by comparison.

[cozen]

Stone and tables.

[ If Bastien had not put a great deal of work into making himself look like a man who's never in his life slept rough, he might commiserate. But he has put that work in. A project of years. So instead he is only thoughtful and interested about this clearly foreign concept.

Having assembled a perfect spoonful of meat, broth, and each kind of root vegetable, he raises it to eat, but pauses along the way—just before his mouth will be full—to ask, ]

Choice or bad luck?

[tadpoled]

It’s what we had available to us, else sleeping in a stream or the like.

[Tav is really enjoying this conversation and it shows in the warmth of his tone. This is what he loved about his travels, as well as his companions. Not the bullshitting and the diplomacy and fighting. But a comfortable bed under the stars.]

It was nice most nights.

[cozen]

I suppose that is something.

[ The only thing worse than sleeping on the ground would be doing it in the rain, surely. But if he sounds a little bit like he's trying to be polite about someone's bizarre hobby, it's in a friendly way. ]

Who is us? Your family?

[tadpoled]

My… companions. Friends I made on the way.

[He does not mention his real family and rather avoids the topic.]

I suppose they became like real family.

[cozen]

[ Bastien nods approvingly while swallowing a mouthful of stew. ]

That's the way to do it. [ He points at himself with his thumb before he explains, ] Orphan, [ to make it clear he isn't lobbing the accusation at Tav. ]

I'm sorry, though. You must miss them.

[tadpoled]

I do, quite a bit. They believed in me far more than I ever believed in myseld, I’m afraid.

[Tav leans back in his chair a bit, tracing the lines on the table with his finger.]

I can only imagine what they would say about me right now.

[cozen]

[ Bastien's mouth twists in sympathy for a few silent seconds. Then he leans a few inches closer—though not close, of course, the full table still between them—and grins crookedly. ]

Maybe they would be jealous of your bed.

[tadpoled]

[Tav can’t help it, he bursts out laughing. He covers his mouth an instant later but damn the gods if that tickle him.]

All the luxury the Gallows can provide.

[cozen]

[ Not much better than getting a laugh. Bastien grins at him and turns his attention back to his meal, halfway. ]

What was it like? Where you are from—similar enough to this? Blue sky, green plans, brown dirt?

[ You never know. But those seem to be commonalities, at least. ]

[tadpoled]

Mostly, yes. There is a place I’ve been where you exist among the stars. It’s strange.

[A shrug.] But yes mostly dirt brown, grass green, sky blue.

[cozen]

Among the stars–like in a ship? A space ship?

[ He's heard of those, although until seeing glimpses of rifter worlds himself he was not fully convinced they weren't a prank some of the rifters got together and agreed to pull on everyone else. ]

[tadpoled]

What’s a spaceship?

[Tav tilts his head to the side.]

We walked on chunks of rock in the stars. It was very odd.

[cozen]

That is odd. But not as odd, I think, as the—

[ He unhands his spoon and uses both hands to try to illustrate with gestures in the air as he talks. ]

Where some of our rifters are from they have ships made of metal, enclosed all around, because there is no air to breathe and people might float away. And they have—I don't understand how it works. But they have machines attached that push them forward, so they can sail through the sky, beyond the sky, until the whole world is a little speck behind them and eventually vanishes like an island left behind at sea.

[ His hands come back down to the table, his head back down to the earth. ]

We don't have them. We don't even have, uh, [ he snaps to himself to help recall the word, ] engines. And maybe our space is nothing like their space. Maybe it is like yours and we would walk on rocks. That sounds a little like the Crossroads.

[tadpoled]

[Tav watches the demonstration with great interest but most of it goes right over his head.]

Maybe it is like yours. I’m not sure how we could access it without a wizard.

[cozen]

Oh, and that is the best part, [ regains some of the same energy as his gesture-filled explanation, like a post script. ] In these worlds they did it all without magic.

[ Post script over. He tightens up again, reins the enthusiasm back in to standard happy-to-be-getting-to-know-someone levels. ]

Mais de toute façon. Have you always slept outside, or was it some kind of adventure?

[tadpoled]

[Tav mouths the word ‘how’ as he leans back in his seat. But then there’s thr question that touches on the subject of memory that makes Tav nervous.]

I… don’t know. I don’t have a lot of memories from before waking up on a beach alone.

[cozen]

Oh. Well, that is interesting.

[ Amnesia! Just like in stories. Maybe Tav is a castaway prince. ]

Was that very long ago?

[tadpoled]

I suppose it is.

[Oh if Bastien only knee.]

A month, maybe two or three. I’ve gotten some memories back, but they aren’t particularly pleasant.

[cozen]

[ Bastien inclines his head to one side, considering that while he chews through the gristle in some of his stew meat. His gaze is searching and curious. Of course he'd like to pry. But after he swallows, he doesn't ask. ]

One or two or three months–so in a way, you are kind of a baby.

[tadpoled]

[Tav grins again; he's growing to like Bastien and his sense of humor.]

Seems I am. Albeit quite an unruly baby.

[cozen]

In my experience, 'unruly' is the main kind of baby.

[ Not that he hangs out with a lot of infants. But a few, now and again. ]

I would ask how you could possibly be worse, but, you know. Word gets around. [ He knows about the murder thing. But he's not here to talk about it, so he doesn't let the statement linger before moving on. ] So, d'accord, one to three months. What have you learned you enjoy?