718 Vhalar 26...
The first was true silence. It was the stillness of a summer’s evening. The quiet of a room just before drifting off to sleep. It was, most often, something peaceful and unhurried. A natural lull in life’s fleeting orchestra.
The second was loud silence. It was when no sound was made yet its absence screamed and beat its fists and clawed the walls. It was filled with tension, with fear, with pressure. There was always something, somewhere that should have been making noise of any kind - yet instead nothing. A void calling out, begging to filled, but never once receiving relief.
The third was forced silence.
And that was the silence that had descended over the breakfast table as the three of them had settled down to it.
A thin, watery broth that was alarmingly flavorful steamed in three delicately crafted ceramic bowls upon equally exquisite plates. Beside them was tucked a generous slice of pale, thick crusted bread. In the centre of the table was the rest of the loaf upon a stone cutting board, a knife, and two ramekins of oil and dark vinegar respectively.
Mathias dipped his spoon into the bowl, silently stirring the contents as he watched the faces of the two women on either side of him. Graciana had her gaze fixed on Fiona, her delicate fingers tearing at her bread and dipping it carefully into first the vinegar then the oil before popping it all into her mouth and chewing slowly and methodically.
His spoon clinked against the side of his bowl, and for the briefest of moments there was sound - but the silence returned shortly after, weightier than before. The faintest trace of ether could be felt in the direction of Fiona O’Connor, allegedly from some bygone country named Etzos, and the trace intensified when she picked up a slice of bread with her fork, examined it as if it were some foreign emean worm, and then placed it back down on her plate.
She had done it eight times. Sometimes she took a break from the fork to scrutinize the soup with her spoon instead. She had not eaten so much as a bite.
According to Graciana, Etherists had a reputation for being eccentric; self-involved narcissists, elitists who fancied themselves closer to Emea, artists with delusions of grandeur, and general oddballs who had delved so deep into the makeup of the world that they forgot how to behave. Fiona exceeded all those expectations and was building up her own legacy to add the stereotype of the Transmutator.
Finally and remarkably, it was Fiona who had broken the silence.
“Lovely house.” she said, not staring up from her plate. A compliment was not what he expected from her. In fact, it might have been the first time he had heard her say something nice about anything. Which made it very, very suspect.
“Thank you, darling.” Never once did Graciana look away. Whether Fiona could feel it or not, Mathias was acutely aware of the shackles that no doubt danced about the white haired woman, snapping forward each time Fiona did… whatever it was she was doing. “Not one for bread?”
“Not one for anything,” Fiona replied, stirring her soup with a complete lack of enthusiasm. “Food has never been a big part of my life.”
Graciana dipped another sensibly sized chunk of bread and uttered a polite, “Hm.”
Mathias drew a breath, but that was enough to draw a single flick of a glance from Graciana and, instead, he let the air out through his nose as he continued to stir his soup.
“So, Fiona,” She picked up her own spoon and dipped it into the broth. “What brings you back so soon?”
Mathias’ spoon clinked against the edge of his bowl once more.
Fiona turned towards him as if he had made some kind of weird social faux pas, before returning her attention to Graciana. “The lovely sights of Quacia, of course.” It was odd to see her so tame, so… polite was hardly the term, but she was as civil as he could imagine her to be. “I reconsidered taking another Rupturing jump-”
Graciana levelled an unamused suck of her teeth. “I am an abrogant, darling. I am well aware of what is and is not rupturing.”
“And I’m am an Etherist, Madam.” her voice raised just a tad above the bored, neutral tone she had adopted. “Sixteen Domains, a thousand variations between them. I would kindly ask you not to tell me what I am and what I’m not.”
Graciana blinked once. “And I would kindly ask you refrain from blatant lies, Fiona.” The emphasis suggested that she had no real issue with Fiona’s more flippant answers. “I am aware you and Mads have some sort of…” She waved a hand. “Little dreamer’s delight.” It was clear she had very little interest in what either of them did in Emea. “I am merely surprised it seems to have failed you in your hour of need.” She didn’t sound surprised at all.
“What can I say?” Fiona smiled that thin smile as she locked eyes with Graciana. “The Rupturing spark is fickle.”
Mathias spoke before Graciana could reply. “She will not stay here long.” This was to Graciana. He turned his focus to Fiona next, calm voice entirely empty. “It is only a matter of time before we… get her back home.”
Graciana raised a brow, though this time her surprise was entirely directed a Mathias. “I… see.” He’d only ever spoken to her without his customary masks and facades for the longest time. It was, most certainly, startling for her that he might do so with the sour little etherist at the table.
“I will not be a stray kitten begging for scraps, of course,” Fiona said. “I have some nel on me. If you need anything fixed, I will be glad to lend a hand, maybe a magic item. All I’m saying is that I will not be inconveniencing you-” she stared at Mads. “-and your mother -whatever she is, Maddy- for free.”
A vein twitched beneath the thin but well-managed skin of Graciana’s forehead. Fiona smiled her widest smile yet. It somehow reached her eyes. “Wonderful.” It was a bit forced. “Fortunately, I am in contact with an etherist who is a bit more… professional. I appreciate your offer, but Mads has assured me you will not be causing any trouble while you stay under this roof.”
She dipped the last of her bread in the oil. “That will be all the payment I ask of you, as it is far more valuable to me than your coin or whatever you think yourself capable of.” The politeness in her voice was precise, practised, and it masked whatever genuine feelings she might have felt for the other woman. She was, for all intents and purposes, the pinnacle of naivety and biting grace as she popped the bread into her mouth and chewed neatly behind a covering hand.
With was rudely interrupted by the air around Fiona exploding in a violent pulse of energy that stole all the colour from Fiona’s hair, eyes, skin, and clothing and replaced them with the deepest black. Jagged energy dancing across her skin… and then it all returned to normal. Fiona continued staring down at her soup as if it hadn’t happened.
Both Mathias and Graciana mutely blinked three times in rapid succession.
“If I may be honest,” Fiona said. “That would be my tummy rumbling. This?” She lifted up the fork with the bread. “This isn’t going to cut it. I will require one of your intricately made bowls.”
Mathias looked to Graciana who still stared at Fiona, only this time it was sharp and calculating. After several trills, she eventually nodded. “Top of the far left cupboard, darling.”
He nodded and rose from his seat, quietly padding across the floor and fetching a woodfired bowl that had shattered and been repaired with veins of gold. When he returned to the table, he set it down beside Fiona, the ceramic foot clinking against the smooth stone of the table’s surface. “Something like this?”
“It’ll do.” Fiona placed her on the sides of the ceramic bowl and closed her eyes… and opened them almost immediately. “Are you certain, Madam? This is old craft. Walnut wood ash, genuine gold, clay exclusive to Rharne and… someone else. Unfamiliar. Exclusive.”
Graciana sighed out through her nose. “As rude as you are, young lady, you are still my guest. It was presumptuous of me to assume your spark would not have had some hold over what it is you ingest.” She settled back into her chair, hands folded neatly over her lap. “Consider this an apology for…” She paused, shaking her head. “Well, consider it an apology.”
Another flicker exploded outwards from Fiona, wreathing her image in a crackle that made her look like a worn out painting. Both Mathias and Graciana’s eyes seemed to burn a bit brighter as they stared. “Don’t mind if I do then,” Fiona said, her hands digging into the sides of the bowl, the etherist ability known as corrosion turning her fingers into talons that ripped into the bowl’s interior. The same flicker took the bowl, bursts of color-robbing light that took the bowl in and out and in and out of reality as if the bowl itself was fighting her for its right to stay in the world… and losing badly.
As she removed her hands from the bowl, the flickering stopped… and the bowl was bleached white. No, not white. White was a colour. It was the same blank void he had seen in her dreamscape the one time he managed to find her. Wood, gold, clay - all taken away and some blank absence was left behind. The sides were cracked in such a way and pattern that he knew no craftsman, no matter how skilled, could ever salvage it. The holes she had dug into it, he noticed, were completely absent… but everything about it was subtly ruined. It felt oddly wrong to look at. It was completely reaped.
In unison, Mathias and Graciana both breathed a quiet, “Fascinating.”
T
here were three specific kinds of silence. The first was true silence. It was the stillness of a summer’s evening. The quiet of a room just before drifting off to sleep. It was, most often, something peaceful and unhurried. A natural lull in life’s fleeting orchestra.
The second was loud silence. It was when no sound was made yet its absence screamed and beat its fists and clawed the walls. It was filled with tension, with fear, with pressure. There was always something, somewhere that should have been making noise of any kind - yet instead nothing. A void calling out, begging to filled, but never once receiving relief.
The third was forced silence.
And that was the silence that had descended over the breakfast table as the three of them had settled down to it.
A thin, watery broth that was alarmingly flavorful steamed in three delicately crafted ceramic bowls upon equally exquisite plates. Beside them was tucked a generous slice of pale, thick crusted bread. In the centre of the table was the rest of the loaf upon a stone cutting board, a knife, and two ramekins of oil and dark vinegar respectively.
Mathias dipped his spoon into the bowl, silently stirring the contents as he watched the faces of the two women on either side of him. Graciana had her gaze fixed on Fiona, her delicate fingers tearing at her bread and dipping it carefully into first the vinegar then the oil before popping it all into her mouth and chewing slowly and methodically.
His spoon clinked against the side of his bowl, and for the briefest of moments there was sound - but the silence returned shortly after, weightier than before. The faintest trace of ether could be felt in the direction of Fiona O’Connor, allegedly from some bygone country named Etzos, and the trace intensified when she picked up a slice of bread with her fork, examined it as if it were some foreign emean worm, and then placed it back down on her plate.
She had done it eight times. Sometimes she took a break from the fork to scrutinize the soup with her spoon instead. She had not eaten so much as a bite.
According to Graciana, Etherists had a reputation for being eccentric; self-involved narcissists, elitists who fancied themselves closer to Emea, artists with delusions of grandeur, and general oddballs who had delved so deep into the makeup of the world that they forgot how to behave. Fiona exceeded all those expectations and was building up her own legacy to add the stereotype of the Transmutator.
Finally and remarkably, it was Fiona who had broken the silence.
“Lovely house.” she said, not staring up from her plate. A compliment was not what he expected from her. In fact, it might have been the first time he had heard her say something nice about anything. Which made it very, very suspect.
“Thank you, darling.” Never once did Graciana look away. Whether Fiona could feel it or not, Mathias was acutely aware of the shackles that no doubt danced about the white haired woman, snapping forward each time Fiona did… whatever it was she was doing. “Not one for bread?”
“Not one for anything,” Fiona replied, stirring her soup with a complete lack of enthusiasm. “Food has never been a big part of my life.”
Graciana dipped another sensibly sized chunk of bread and uttered a polite, “Hm.”
Mathias drew a breath, but that was enough to draw a single flick of a glance from Graciana and, instead, he let the air out through his nose as he continued to stir his soup.
“So, Fiona,” She picked up her own spoon and dipped it into the broth. “What brings you back so soon?”
Mathias’ spoon clinked against the edge of his bowl once more.
Fiona turned towards him as if he had made some kind of weird social faux pas, before returning her attention to Graciana. “The lovely sights of Quacia, of course.” It was odd to see her so tame, so… polite was hardly the term, but she was as civil as he could imagine her to be. “I reconsidered taking another Rupturing jump-”
Graciana levelled an unamused suck of her teeth. “I am an abrogant, darling. I am well aware of what is and is not rupturing.”
“And I’m am an Etherist, Madam.” her voice raised just a tad above the bored, neutral tone she had adopted. “Sixteen Domains, a thousand variations between them. I would kindly ask you not to tell me what I am and what I’m not.”
Graciana blinked once. “And I would kindly ask you refrain from blatant lies, Fiona.” The emphasis suggested that she had no real issue with Fiona’s more flippant answers. “I am aware you and Mads have some sort of…” She waved a hand. “Little dreamer’s delight.” It was clear she had very little interest in what either of them did in Emea. “I am merely surprised it seems to have failed you in your hour of need.” She didn’t sound surprised at all.
“What can I say?” Fiona smiled that thin smile as she locked eyes with Graciana. “The Rupturing spark is fickle.”
Mathias spoke before Graciana could reply. “She will not stay here long.” This was to Graciana. He turned his focus to Fiona next, calm voice entirely empty. “It is only a matter of time before we… get her back home.”
Graciana raised a brow, though this time her surprise was entirely directed a Mathias. “I… see.” He’d only ever spoken to her without his customary masks and facades for the longest time. It was, most certainly, startling for her that he might do so with the sour little etherist at the table.
“I will not be a stray kitten begging for scraps, of course,” Fiona said. “I have some nel on me. If you need anything fixed, I will be glad to lend a hand, maybe a magic item. All I’m saying is that I will not be inconveniencing you-” she stared at Mads. “-and your mother -whatever she is, Maddy- for free.”
A vein twitched beneath the thin but well-managed skin of Graciana’s forehead. Fiona smiled her widest smile yet. It somehow reached her eyes. “Wonderful.” It was a bit forced. “Fortunately, I am in contact with an etherist who is a bit more… professional. I appreciate your offer, but Mads has assured me you will not be causing any trouble while you stay under this roof.”
She dipped the last of her bread in the oil. “That will be all the payment I ask of you, as it is far more valuable to me than your coin or whatever you think yourself capable of.” The politeness in her voice was precise, practised, and it masked whatever genuine feelings she might have felt for the other woman. She was, for all intents and purposes, the pinnacle of naivety and biting grace as she popped the bread into her mouth and chewed neatly behind a covering hand.
With was rudely interrupted by the air around Fiona exploding in a violent pulse of energy that stole all the colour from Fiona’s hair, eyes, skin, and clothing and replaced them with the deepest black. Jagged energy dancing across her skin… and then it all returned to normal. Fiona continued staring down at her soup as if it hadn’t happened.
Both Mathias and Graciana mutely blinked three times in rapid succession.
“If I may be honest,” Fiona said. “That would be my tummy rumbling. This?” She lifted up the fork with the bread. “This isn’t going to cut it. I will require one of your intricately made bowls.”
Mathias looked to Graciana who still stared at Fiona, only this time it was sharp and calculating. After several trills, she eventually nodded. “Top of the far left cupboard, darling.”
He nodded and rose from his seat, quietly padding across the floor and fetching a woodfired bowl that had shattered and been repaired with veins of gold. When he returned to the table, he set it down beside Fiona, the ceramic foot clinking against the smooth stone of the table’s surface. “Something like this?”
“It’ll do.” Fiona placed her on the sides of the ceramic bowl and closed her eyes… and opened them almost immediately. “Are you certain, Madam? This is old craft. Walnut wood ash, genuine gold, clay exclusive to Rharne and… someone else. Unfamiliar. Exclusive.”
Graciana sighed out through her nose. “As rude as you are, young lady, you are still my guest. It was presumptuous of me to assume your spark would not have had some hold over what it is you ingest.” She settled back into her chair, hands folded neatly over her lap. “Consider this an apology for…” She paused, shaking her head. “Well, consider it an apology.”
Another flicker exploded outwards from Fiona, wreathing her image in a crackle that made her look like a worn out painting. Both Mathias and Graciana’s eyes seemed to burn a bit brighter as they stared. “Don’t mind if I do then,” Fiona said, her hands digging into the sides of the bowl, the etherist ability known as corrosion turning her fingers into talons that ripped into the bowl’s interior. The same flicker took the bowl, bursts of color-robbing light that took the bowl in and out and in and out of reality as if the bowl itself was fighting her for its right to stay in the world… and losing badly.
As she removed her hands from the bowl, the flickering stopped… and the bowl was bleached white. No, not white. White was a colour. It was the same blank void he had seen in her dreamscape the one time he managed to find her. Wood, gold, clay - all taken away and some blank absence was left behind. The sides were cracked in such a way and pattern that he knew no craftsman, no matter how skilled, could ever salvage it. The holes she had dug into it, he noticed, were completely absent… but everything about it was subtly ruined. It felt oddly wrong to look at. It was completely reaped.
In unison, Mathias and Graciana both breathed a quiet, “Fascinating.”
