neramontagofficial

[neramontagofficial]

Nera does her best to round the corner quietly, cursing the ruffle of her skirts in the process. The view down the aisle isn't incredibly clear, but she can see the silver glint of external paneling on the floor a ways down the row and a flash of movement from.

Oh.

That's Postlimniae.

There are a lot of things Nera would like to claim she did here. She wants to say that she was rational, and approached in a measured way that ensured victory with minimal chance of anything bad happening. She would be happy to say that she said anything to the only other person here with a weapon, clearly drunk as he is, even if it was to get him to stop being an idiot and hand his saber to Ashlyn.

She doesn't do that. Instead all thought leaves her mind, replaced with rage, and she's running as fast as she can in this fucking dress toward her mech.

This is not an omninet post. Instead it is a party, an evening outdoor ball under an impossibly clear sky with wine that flows like water and a banquet table that never flags. It's still early in the night, the last rays of sunlight sitting violet on the horizon, and floating drone-lights sparkle over the high hedge gardens of the Montague estate.

The occasion doesn't matter but is ostensibly a minor feast day to the Celebrant, marked by the appearance of an auspicious comet in her constellation in the sky. The Celebrant sits high above Ispahsalar this time of year, although she is lower in the horizon on this part of the planet, and the shape of the stars is always somewhat skewed outside of Karrakis's system. Regardless, here the people celebrate.

Nera had arrived earlier to a chorus of titles, no amount of late being fashionable for the host family. She stands askew to the rest of the partygoers in her ornate gown, glittering silver jewelry adorning her neck and elaborate updo. At her hip is also a conspicuous cavalry saber, an accessory that may be oddly common for one more used to parties outside of the Concern.

For now she holds three glasses, having heard the herald introduce Ashlyn and Cal'yaa a moment ago, and watching for them through the crowd so she may be the first to introduce them to this pit of piranhas.

[neramontagofficial]

Nera doesn't look back as she now rushes to the hangar, pressing a button in one of her pockets to activate her personal kinetic shielding and placing a hand on her calvary saber. An impolite gesture to begin with, to gesture to draw like this at a formal gathering is on its own tantamount to a duel challenge, and a reckless one at that, but she makes haste regardless to the door.

It takes a minute to sign in, biometrics and a password required to open the door. She catches a glimpse of Strel behind her, half drunk but with his hand on his own sword, and opens the door.

The hangar is a massive structure with variously designed Mourning Cloaks sat in clearly labeled alcoves along the building's walls and in long aisles along the center. The frames themselves are clearly distinct, sharing the silver and marigold yellow livery of their company and house but each design and accent color bespoke. Sound echoes in here, but only the faint clank of metal on metal breaks through the faint hum of the dormant reactors, set to burn only enough for sustainence and not for excess power. The lights are dim but seem to grow brighter as people walk into the room.

The clank sits near the back of the hangar, out of sight from the entry point Nera chose. She takes a deep breath, then draws her sword as she begins to make her way around to the source of the noise.

This is not an omninet post. Instead it is a party, an evening outdoor ball under an impossibly clear sky with wine that flows like water and a banquet table that never flags. It's still early in the night, the last rays of sunlight sitting violet on the horizon, and floating drone-lights sparkle over the high hedge gardens of the Montague estate.

The occasion doesn't matter but is ostensibly a minor feast day to the Celebrant, marked by the appearance of an auspicious comet in her constellation in the sky. The Celebrant sits high above Ispahsalar this time of year, although she is lower in the horizon on this part of the planet, and the shape of the stars is always somewhat skewed outside of Karrakis's system. Regardless, here the people celebrate.

Nera had arrived earlier to a chorus of titles, no amount of late being fashionable for the host family. She stands askew to the rest of the partygoers in her ornate gown, glittering silver jewelry adorning her neck and elaborate updo. At her hip is also a conspicuous cavalry saber, an accessory that may be oddly common for one more used to parties outside of the Concern.

For now she holds three glasses, having heard the herald introduce Ashlyn and Cal'yaa a moment ago, and watching for them through the crowd so she may be the first to introduce them to this pit of piranhas.

[neramontagofficial]

Do you owe your loyalty to an absentee ancestor merely because they donated to you your genetics? The children of the Ten were sent away from this home with the narrative that it was becoming a hostile place that would offer us no offer of shelter. It would not cradle us and so we would need to find another home. We did, we fostered new home-stars and new stories of our origin and yet those descendents of those who braved the Earth left behind insist to us it is our home too.

A matter of distance, perhaps. Karrakis has been the home of my people for longer than human civilization existed on Earth prior. That humanity evolved there has at best been an interesting factoid to me and at worse a rhetorical tool repeatedly used by those Cradleborn to insist that I owe their home some loyalty while they do not offer the same respect to mine. Do you understand why my response to this is so strong? Do you know who spends so much time historically insisting on our shared interest by nature of some humanity?

I respect your loyalty to Earth as I respect anyone's loyalty to their home-star but I won't allow that this framing is value-neutral. It is not, but since our first contact with Union it has always been expected that we bend to it regardless.

I gotta ask- why is it called “Cradle?”

The sentimental meaning is obvious, yes, but usually systems are identified by their stars. Alpha Centauri, Sirius, etc. Cradle’s star is Sol. The name is “first” enough(Sol means “Sun” if I remember right), which is how I would describe the feeling “Cradle” gives me, so that fits more than enough. So why do we call it Cradle and not the name of the star of the system?

[neramontagofficial]

Not everyone calls it Cradle— it is common for those who have found a new home-star to refer to it as Earth, but those Cradleborn who built Union invested in maintaining this value-laden name.

A Cradle is where you place children. We are all assumed to have come "from the Cradle," so to speak, and so I think they have used it to remind their children of where they point to as home. It is merely that many of us don't think of it this way, and so the name seems to bear a more paternalistic meaning. This is where you come from, it suggests, although I personally would place it low on the list of places I consider home.

I gotta ask- why is it called “Cradle?”

The sentimental meaning is obvious, yes, but usually systems are identified by their stars. Alpha Centauri, Sirius, etc. Cradle’s star is Sol. The name is “first” enough(Sol means “Sun” if I remember right), which is how I would describe the feeling “Cradle” gives me, so that fits more than enough. So why do we call it Cradle and not the name of the star of the system?

[neramontagofficial]

"Yes, I'm told the leftovers usually are as good as the feast," Nera says, still clearly distracted as she navigates through the maze of greenery and toward the hangar. The gardens themselves are designed to obscure, large hedges blocking vision between large sections. It makes for an easy escape, but a roundabout one. She knows the gardens well but some of the paths have her feeling guided by a ghost.

She should apologize. Explain what's happening. But some of her feels the gaze of those they just left behind in the main courtyard and knows that drawing attention here will lose her her opportunity. Instead she waits, and then starts to speak again when she knows they're out of earshot.

"Something came up. Someone is in the mech hangar that is not suppos—"

She stops dead from her frantic pace when she turns the corner and sees a familiar face, youthful and clad in silver with layers of draped gold silk atop his adornments, sat alone by a bed of daffodils.

"Strel?" Nera asks, momentarily thrown. She has a million questions, some starting to be answered by the wine bottle in his hand, but pushes them all back immediately. "Actually. I don't have time for this. Someone is in the hangar. Either come back me up or don't."

She moves to go again, then pauses. Actually, it might be a good idea to keep Cal'yaa at least out of harms way.

This is not an omninet post. Instead it is a party, an evening outdoor ball under an impossibly clear sky with wine that flows like water and a banquet table that never flags. It's still early in the night, the last rays of sunlight sitting violet on the horizon, and floating drone-lights sparkle over the high hedge gardens of the Montague estate.

The occasion doesn't matter but is ostensibly a minor feast day to the Celebrant, marked by the appearance of an auspicious comet in her constellation in the sky. The Celebrant sits high above Ispahsalar this time of year, although she is lower in the horizon on this part of the planet, and the shape of the stars is always somewhat skewed outside of Karrakis's system. Regardless, here the people celebrate.

Nera had arrived earlier to a chorus of titles, no amount of late being fashionable for the host family. She stands askew to the rest of the partygoers in her ornate gown, glittering silver jewelry adorning her neck and elaborate updo. At her hip is also a conspicuous cavalry saber, an accessory that may be oddly common for one more used to parties outside of the Concern.

For now she holds three glasses, having heard the herald introduce Ashlyn and Cal'yaa a moment ago, and watching for them through the crowd so she may be the first to introduce them to this pit of piranhas.

[neramontagofficial]

My sympathies. I have spent exactly two minutes speaking to your sponsor and came very quickly to the conclusion that he is a kind of exotic, previously undescribed social vampire. With luck you'll find yourself out from under his thumb in time.

I want to make my first post very clear. I am not legally allowed to change anything about the appearance or description of this account. I am, however, not disallowed to show my disdain for the multiple flaws present.

[neramontagofficial]

Very professional behavior here.

Addressing Allegations Surrounding the Karrakin Cavalry Ball

Contrary to the rumors, Lady Bryony was NOT drunk at the recent Karrakin Cavalry Ball. The claims that she was are unfounded and unsubstantiated. Lady Bryony would NEVER do such a thing and would certainly never cause problems at such an esteemed event. The Tamayo family is committed to their support of the Karrakin Cavalry College and hopes that you will see their commitment on this weeks episode of "Keeping up with the Tamayos" airing this Thursday.

[neramontagofficial]

Nera nods, letting them take the lead for where they're going, as she's unsure on the matter of food. She would expect them to go back to those tables, but it would be impolite to presume.

"I do think you would look lovely in some of the summery layering pieces," she says, the clause just kind of ending as she receives a notification on her dataplating. A swipe of the odd credentials that Asteria had authorized into the mech hangar, and a bit of camera feed on the edge of her vision showing someone she does not recognize stepping inside. She swipes the image away quickly and tries to pick up the conversational beat. "Perhaps not as a replacement for your other clothing but as a statement piece, no?"

She's clearly distracted now and has started walking back away from the gardens and toward the estate proper.

This is not an omninet post. Instead it is a party, an evening outdoor ball under an impossibly clear sky with wine that flows like water and a banquet table that never flags. It's still early in the night, the last rays of sunlight sitting violet on the horizon, and floating drone-lights sparkle over the high hedge gardens of the Montague estate.

The occasion doesn't matter but is ostensibly a minor feast day to the Celebrant, marked by the appearance of an auspicious comet in her constellation in the sky. The Celebrant sits high above Ispahsalar this time of year, although she is lower in the horizon on this part of the planet, and the shape of the stars is always somewhat skewed outside of Karrakis's system. Regardless, here the people celebrate.

Nera had arrived earlier to a chorus of titles, no amount of late being fashionable for the host family. She stands askew to the rest of the partygoers in her ornate gown, glittering silver jewelry adorning her neck and elaborate updo. At her hip is also a conspicuous cavalry saber, an accessory that may be oddly common for one more used to parties outside of the Concern.

For now she holds three glasses, having heard the herald introduce Ashlyn and Cal'yaa a moment ago, and watching for them through the crowd so she may be the first to introduce them to this pit of piranhas.

[neramontagofficial]

[LOG://"FAITH"]

[U.UAD-HighGround.ARCHIVE.ACCESS=(Y)/// QUERY::FROM<@neramontagofficial>]

Query {"would you deny a pilgrim with the desire to learn?would you deny one seeking refuge?"}

YOUR QUERY HAS BEEN DEEMED TO COMPLEX TO BE ADRESSED VIA AMBASSADOR SYSTEM. IT HAS BEEN LOGGED AND WILL BE RELAYED TO{I will answer. They are kind people. They keep the Faith. You should have Faith in them. They will do what is right. What they do will turn out right. They have no secrets. They tell you what you must know. Persevere, and in Perseverance be Preserved.}

[LOGGED.AT."CHRONICLE.otx".BY.CC[PROXYibnHIKMATyFUENSANTA]]

[neramontagofficial]

[LOG://"REFUSAL"]

[U.UAD-HighGround.ARCHIVE.ACCESS=(Y)/// QUERY::FROM<PROXY>]

Query {"Why are we not like IT?"}

[Subjective Proxy <"[PROXY] y Fuensanta"> is RUNNING and TRUE]

[SOURCE::<"Teachings.otx">}

{It is known that we are willing to share much of what we know with those who do not. It is also known and clear that there are technologies and insights that we do not share with outsiders no matter the exchange.

Such workings we derive from odd currents in the Nonshape, twisting paths of time that cross in the Deep, where things skip back along the Gossamer as it grows loose. Our young will often interject when told this, hoping to have caught their elders in contradiction, as is their habit.

Does it not make us hypocrites? Are we not as the Host then, manifesting ideas that take possession of us at cost to our Law?

We are not, for the very same reason that we do not share these insights. We practice responsibility with these revelations, tracing in our long Chronicles at High Ground the history of each such technology as its slivers from the futures become known to us, so that we may ensure it comes to pass, preserving the Spine even when it grows twisted. This is why we cannot let this knowledge pass outside of High Ground, where those with less care would proliferate it, let it spread, and let it preempt its own creation, tempting La Pulga.}

RESPONSE:: "We are unlike the workings of the Flea, for we belong, even if distantly, to High Ground. Los Voladores will trace our history, and even if we grow crooked and self referential, they will ensure our place in the Chronicle as Lawful."

[LOGGED.AT."CHRONICLE.otx".BY.CC[PROXYibnHIKMATyFUENSANTA]]

[neramontagofficial]

{AHAHAHAA NOFIE FINALLY GOT TO BE IN A SITREP TY @thelancer27 :3}

[neramontagofficial]

Baron Montague smiles warmly, saying "No, it is good to meet you. It is not every day you meet a war hero."

At Ashlyn's withdrawal from the conversation, Nera approaches her uncle.

"Before we leave, lord Baron, a gift," she says, pulling a red envelope from the pockets of her dress and placing it in his hands. She watches his eyes widen at this, and continues. "For a favor, you understand." Then, in Karrakin, "But I do have a further small request."

"We will speak later," he replies in turn, and Nera gives a parting bow in response.

Then she makes to walk away, gesturing for Ashlyn to follow.

"You know," she says, "if you'd like I can take you out shopping in a more casual fashion later. Less for high ball attire, more for casual wear."

This is not an omninet post. Instead it is a party, an evening outdoor ball under an impossibly clear sky with wine that flows like water and a banquet table that never flags. It's still early in the night, the last rays of sunlight sitting violet on the horizon, and floating drone-lights sparkle over the high hedge gardens of the Montague estate.

The occasion doesn't matter but is ostensibly a minor feast day to the Celebrant, marked by the appearance of an auspicious comet in her constellation in the sky. The Celebrant sits high above Ispahsalar this time of year, although she is lower in the horizon on this part of the planet, and the shape of the stars is always somewhat skewed outside of Karrakis's system. Regardless, here the people celebrate.

Nera had arrived earlier to a chorus of titles, no amount of late being fashionable for the host family. She stands askew to the rest of the partygoers in her ornate gown, glittering silver jewelry adorning her neck and elaborate updo. At her hip is also a conspicuous cavalry saber, an accessory that may be oddly common for one more used to parties outside of the Concern.

For now she holds three glasses, having heard the herald introduce Ashlyn and Cal'yaa a moment ago, and watching for them through the crowd so she may be the first to introduce them to this pit of piranhas.

[neramontagofficial]

ooc: btw for some timeline cleanup everything that I post right up until the party timeline ends will be pre-party for what will be obvious reasons. might withhold asks abt this but i promise i'll get to everything eventually

[neramontagofficial]

It is. I have known some who experience a longing for the Firmament, but it is not an experience I have personally had. It seems to me to be an experience common to those who would retreat to those better worlds, where the appeal of utopia is as a place you can visit and not a thing you build with your hands. My theory is that its appeal is for the religious and the fantastical, or perhaps those who do not feel its rejection keenly.

It may be different for those more attuned to it, or those who have delved more deeply than I. Regardless, it has never been a place that has troubled me.

I wonder.

When you slip into the firmament,

Do you too feel it wash over you? The sense of unreality slowly creeping into you?

And when you slip back out, do you too feel that something is missing?

That with each step into it, that you begin to feel more at home in it than reality?

That your body feels... Less than whole?

Or is that just me?

@the-wailing

The Firmament sings of light, its endless possibility an open question that it does not seek for us to answer. It is liminal, yes, but it is easy to see why the Aun consider it holy.

What I feel most of the Firmament is its rejection of me. I sit in a chassis fielding the most sophisticated tech for cutting into it and finding a home there that SSC can muster (although the RKF seems to be ahead on that one,) and can still feel the way the place pushes against me, as if I were a flea on the hide of a great creature. For the Firmament to take there must first be a part of me that leaks onto it, I think, and this is not a feeling I have felt. No, my steps into the Firmament feel less like it is taking away from me and more that I am sullying it, if that is possible, like I am standing on holy ground to a religion I do not practice. It is the same reason I have no desire to visit Earth, I think. I already frequent enough places that I defile just by standing.

I could see myself wanting to live there, in another life, but I have always been one to want to stay with the trouble, as it were. The romance of the Firmament has no such appeal when what I seek is found in the dirt and the drek.

But if I were to empathize with your experience it would be with my encounters with the blink. The dark erodes at your edges, I've found, my situation against nothing finding strange bedfellows and stranger conceptions of self. The nothing cracks me open and consumes what leaks out, and I have seen no indication that one gets better at facing that kind of ontological consumption.

You spend a long time feeling empty after a close encounter with the blink. When you reconstitute yourself your relationship with reality is never quite what it once was.

[neramontagofficial]

I wonder.

When you slip into the firmament,

Do you too feel it wash over you? The sense of unreality slowly creeping into you?

And when you slip back out, do you too feel that something is missing?

That with each step into it, that you begin to feel more at home in it than reality?

That your body feels... Less than whole?

Or is that just me?

@the-wailing

The Firmament sings of light, its endless possibility an open question that it does not seek for us to answer. It is liminal, yes, but it is easy to see why the Aun consider it holy.

What I feel most of the Firmament is its rejection of me. I sit in a chassis fielding the most sophisticated tech for cutting into it and finding a home there that SSC can muster (although the RKF seems to be ahead on that one,) and can still feel the way the place pushes against me, as if I were a flea on the hide of a great creature. For the Firmament to take there must first be a part of me that leaks onto it, I think, and this is not a feeling I have felt. No, my steps into the Firmament feel less like it is taking away from me and more that I am sullying it, if that is possible, like I am standing on holy ground to a religion I do not practice. It is the same reason I have no desire to visit Earth, I think. I already frequent enough places that I defile just by standing.

I could see myself wanting to live there, in another life, but I have always been one to want to stay with the trouble, as it were. The romance of the Firmament has no such appeal when what I seek is found in the dirt and the drek.

But if I were to empathize with your experience it would be with my encounters with the blink. The dark erodes at your edges, I've found, my situation against nothing finding strange bedfellows and stranger conceptions of self. The nothing cracks me open and consumes what leaks out, and I have seen no indication that one gets better at facing that kind of ontological consumption.

You spend a long time feeling empty after a close encounter with the blink. When you reconstitute yourself your relationship with reality is never quite what it once was.

[neramontagofficial]

Baron Montague glances over at the banquet tables as Ashlyn speaks, then laughs.

"Oh, I see what you're saying. This is not an appetizer spread, Master Sargent, it is what we usually serve for these festivals to the Celebrant," He says.

"It is meant to allow you to dance and eat at the same time," Nera adds, "To honor the Celebrant on Ispahsalar is to allow for smooth flow from one joy to another."

She nods over to a small stage at one other end of this courtyard, where a number of people seem half-drunkenly reciting poetry.

"If you are still hungry later, do visit the kitchens," Baron Montague says, leaning in as if telling a secret, "You'll find me there as well. I never do find enough time for eating at these things."

This is not an omninet post. Instead it is a party, an evening outdoor ball under an impossibly clear sky with wine that flows like water and a banquet table that never flags. It's still early in the night, the last rays of sunlight sitting violet on the horizon, and floating drone-lights sparkle over the high hedge gardens of the Montague estate.

The occasion doesn't matter but is ostensibly a minor feast day to the Celebrant, marked by the appearance of an auspicious comet in her constellation in the sky. The Celebrant sits high above Ispahsalar this time of year, although she is lower in the horizon on this part of the planet, and the shape of the stars is always somewhat skewed outside of Karrakis's system. Regardless, here the people celebrate.

Nera had arrived earlier to a chorus of titles, no amount of late being fashionable for the host family. She stands askew to the rest of the partygoers in her ornate gown, glittering silver jewelry adorning her neck and elaborate updo. At her hip is also a conspicuous cavalry saber, an accessory that may be oddly common for one more used to parties outside of the Concern.

For now she holds three glasses, having heard the herald introduce Ashlyn and Cal'yaa a moment ago, and watching for them through the crowd so she may be the first to introduce them to this pit of piranhas.

[neramontagofficial]

The Baron shakes Ashlyn's hand without hesitation, his grip firm, if gloved.

"So I've heard," he replies, "I'm glad that we could give you a respite from all the excitement you've seemed to have recently. If there is anything you need while you're here, don't hesitate to ask."

Nera, on the other hand, seems content to let this conversation play out on its own, taking the moment to drink from her wine glass. It's the first time either of them have seen her touch it all night.

"I'm quite fine," she replies to Cal'yaa, voice low, "It was a continuation of a conversation we've been having for a while. It will be resolved soon, but it would be uncouth to speak of it openly here."

She watches her uncle glance at her and wonders if he heard her speak- she can see the glint of silver jewelry on his ears and jaw, dataplating just like her's, and capable of picking her up at a distance if he chose to listen in. No matter, she decides. She's done nothing wrong, and has his victory hidden deep in one of her skirt pockets. A thing to shift the battlefield, she's decided, to a place she can more easily win.

This is not an omninet post. Instead it is a party, an evening outdoor ball under an impossibly clear sky with wine that flows like water and a banquet table that never flags. It's still early in the night, the last rays of sunlight sitting violet on the horizon, and floating drone-lights sparkle over the high hedge gardens of the Montague estate.

The occasion doesn't matter but is ostensibly a minor feast day to the Celebrant, marked by the appearance of an auspicious comet in her constellation in the sky. The Celebrant sits high above Ispahsalar this time of year, although she is lower in the horizon on this part of the planet, and the shape of the stars is always somewhat skewed outside of Karrakis's system. Regardless, here the people celebrate.

Nera had arrived earlier to a chorus of titles, no amount of late being fashionable for the host family. She stands askew to the rest of the partygoers in her ornate gown, glittering silver jewelry adorning her neck and elaborate updo. At her hip is also a conspicuous cavalry saber, an accessory that may be oddly common for one more used to parties outside of the Concern.

For now she holds three glasses, having heard the herald introduce Ashlyn and Cal'yaa a moment ago, and watching for them through the crowd so she may be the first to introduce them to this pit of piranhas.