#it IS TRUE that pathfinder is more dense in a lot of ways but a lot of it is actually in service of cleaning up the rules and making flavor

[unidentifiedfuckingthing]

people put way too mucj emphasis on content when talking about why ttrpgs other than dnd are cool. because the content is often cool, but you can just port content so easily. the thing that makes other systems interesting is the rules! systems will have different decision flows that encourage you to think different ways, or give more focus on different interactions or features.

the more obvious part to this is that sometimes you'll think something's done better than dnd, but thats secondary. whats important is that seeing the world through one system makes it really difficult to even identify when a choice is being made and the effect that has on the flavor and mindset a game provides, or understand how or why you would ever replace obvious core components like "rolling dice" or "having a game master". for sure *sometimes* it's just a clumsy exploration of the medium but there are a lot of games that are well tested and have good reasons to radically depart from convention, that give interesting opportunities for storytelling and playing.

even if you never want to play another system it can be fun and useful to find out other ideas people have come up with for the parts of a game you value, and how to play the games you want to play! i think online discussion gets uselessly fixated on trying to convince anyone that something is better or worse or worth the time it takes to check out and sometime you should just try looking up a rulebook for a game you think sounds weird. its fun

[aramis-dagaz-imaginarium]

25% of the reason why I’ve been so quiet for the past week

The other 75% of the reason is making custom rules for a Pathfinder campaign I’m going to GM, mainly rules for guns that shoot spells.

The Firmament The Firmament is an endless void of silvery gray light.  Within this void are numerous motes of rock, dirt, and other substances upon which many nations and cultures build their civilizations.  Crisscrossing the Firmament are the Arcs, bands of intense energy that travelers use to voyage throughout the aether. In many ways, the Firmament is at the center of all of Existence, where multiple worlds and portals connect to.  As such, the Firmament teems with all manner of sapient species, and numerous cities and nations are melting pots of many different cultures and economies. Such travel and trade is reliant upon the Arcs, which form the pathways upon which ships travel from one place to another.  While it is possible for ships to voyage through the aether itself without the Arcs, such travel would take months, years, even centuries.  With the Arcs, these journeys take mere weeks at most, even though the exact path between any two given points won’t always be the same.  Navigating the Arcs is as much an art as it is a science. Resonances Matter may make up the physical body of the Firmament and everything in it, but Resonances are its very lifeblood and soul.  In its most simple form, a Resonance is simply an energy field, made up of heat, light, or other more exotic forms of energy.  At higher orders of energy, however, patterns begin to emerge.  As these patterns become more ordered and complex, Resonances stop merely existing and start actively interacting with its environment.  Some Resonances bond with matter, and at increasing levels of complexity, these Resonances become life, which in turn become minds, and finally, sapience. Therefore, sufficiently advanced Resonances are the spark of life.  In sapient creatures, many have referred to them as souls.  For those of immense power and consciousness, they are called gods. Like any pattern and energy field, Resonances can be observed, understood, and, more importantly, harnessed and controlled.  This is the basis of magic, which all sapient beings hold the potential of wielding, albeit some better than others.  Over the ages, mages have learned to control and manipulate existing Resonances, and even create new ones to serve various functions. In the Firmament, all living creatures, regardless of their physical composition, level of sapience or lack thereof, and magical power possess a Resonance that is their consciousness and very lifeforce.  Magic creates and manipulates Resonances, and sometimes is able to do so to a degree that it can create a Resonance of sufficient complexity to have an awareness of its own.  Resonances sometimes form spontaneously, especially in regions of powerful, uncontrolled forces or in the wake of gods, becoming aether ghosts or bonding with matter and forming elementals that are little more than wild animals.  Mages create Resonances that become autonomous spells, allowing them to perform rituals without their direct action or perform deeds that they would not be able to accomplish directly.  Some even go further and imbue these complex Resonances with vast arrays of heuristics, and even a bit of personality.  These constructed Resonances are bound to physical bodies, creating golems. And sometimes, whether they were artificially created or arose from the clash and churn of natural forces, these Resonances attain sapience themselves, and thus become their own being. Inpalav One of the many inhabited regions of the Firmament is Inpalav.  What sets Inpalav apart from many other places in the aether are the Asters, seven large structures of mysterious age and origin that slowly pulse with unknown yet powerful energies that give Inpalav heat and light.  This alone would make them the topic of study for many sages and scholars, but adding to the mystery is the fact that they are connected to massive chains trailing off into the void, giving them the appearance that they hanging from something, but whatever and wherever it is, it is far beyond the sight of anyone, mundane or magical.  If the gods know, they aren’t telling anyone.  Many expeditions have been made to discover the other end of these chains, but so far none were able to find out before being forced to turn back due to dwindling fuel and supplies. Below the Asters swirl the motes of Inpalav, upon which its inhabitants make their living.  The motes move in a circular pattern around an empty center below the centermost Aster, with “down” throughout the region generally being an undefined point far below them.  While this doesn’t affect anyone who happens to be traveling through the aether between the motes, it does make building structures on the underside of the motes more difficult, forcing the inhabitants to weather through the hazardous seasons of Dustfall and the Scouring. The primary polity of Inpalav is the Inpalavese Pact Republic, joining together most of the cities, regions, and societies into a single nation.  The Pact Republic’s capital is located in Telseranct, a city that completely occupies the hollow interior of its mote.  The Republic is nominally ruled by the Inpalavese Congress, whose members are selected by their regions’ citizens and pass the legislation that keep the government running.  However, the true power is wielded by a dragon known as Pethakharet the Kritarch, the supreme justice of the Republic.  Although she has explicitly stated that her role is to ensure that the laws of the Republic are obeyed and the rights of its citizens are preserved, only intervening when the laws passed by Congress impede on such rights and the founding principles of the Pact, the fact of the matter is that the Inpalavese Congress rarely enacts any legislation that hasn’t been reviewed and revised by the Kritarch, making her the true ruler of the Republic in all but name. As the political center and most populous city of the Republic, Telseranct is also its center of culture, trade, and magical and technological advancement.  Its citizens enjoy the highest standard of living, at least those who can afford it or haven’t fallen through the cracks.  The city also thrives on the energy trade, as the exterior of the mote is covered with biomechanical plants that convert the energy the Asters and Inpalav’s major Arc radiate into usable power for its shipyards and research universities.  Combined with the protection the city enjoys from the Dustfall and Scouring seasons due to being within the interior of the mote, Telseranct sometimes seems immune to the troubles the other motes face. Chalcauri is a rural mote that once fueled the economy of the entire region through the logging of the metallic trees that grow there, but changes in trade and industry elsewhere has pushed this region into the margins of Inpalavese society, turning it into an economic liability that most would prefer to ignore.  Farming, logging, and mining continue to be the mote’s primary economic activities, but they are a shadow of what they once were and are mostly continued out of stubbornness.  Most of the citizens living here feel neglected and abandoned, becoming increasingly disillusioned of the Pact that joins them to a seemingly uncaring Republic.  Only the continued protection of the Republic fleet guarding against the Sovereignties on the other side of the mote, a lawless wasteland choked with prolific krisweed and populated by outlaws and malcontents who preferred to live in a harsh wilderness than obey the laws of the Republic, are what keeps the citizens of Chalcauri from breaking ties entirely. Tithe Marghûlv is less a proper city and more a staging ground for adventurers, mercenaries, merchants, and others looking for quick coin in the Asterspire, a shattered conical mote that many believe used to be part of one of the Asters.  The very ground seems to support this theory, as there are many minerals and metals there that are found nowhere else in Inpalav or even elsewhere in the Firmament.  Before the Pact Republic was formed, the city of Tithe Marghûlv covered nearly the entirety of the Asterspire, rivaling Telseranct in size and influence, but a terrible war erupted, consuming the entire mote in violence, bloodshed, and devastating, alien magicks.  The conflict did not so much end as it simply died out, leaving behind terrible scars, desolate ruins and urban wastelands, horrifying monsters, and lingering, malignant magical energies.  Despite this, the denizens of Tithe Marghûlv are an optimistic lot, albeit of a gruff and dark humor.  For them, the ashes of the Asterspire hold many treasures, relics, and rare substances waiting for someone brace and tough enough to come and claim them.  As a result, many travel to the Asterspire to seek their fortune, but for every seron who finds vast wealth, there are countless others who either perish in the wastes or are trapped in inescapable drudgery. Located near the primary Arc that leads elsewhere to the Firmament, Port Nephatesh is a busy hub of ship traffic and trade and the center of worship for the dragon god of travel and commerce the city is named after.  Though still far smaller than Telseranct, Port Nephatesh is densely populated by shipcrews, dock workers, mechanics, merchants, harbor masters, and emissaries representing numerous trade ventures and international interests.  Of all of these, the two most prominent presences are that of House Segoril and the personal consortium owned Plutarch, another dragon god of wealth and trade.  Though the presence of two of the largest and wealthiest trade guilds in the Firmament as well as the ever-watchful guards and bureaucrats of Nephatesh’s primary temple keep the city’s never-ending bustle as orderly and congenial as possible, there are rumors that House Segoril or Plutarch are maneuvering to become the dominant faction in the city, not only supplanting the Temple of Nephatesh as the leader of economic and political matters, but also, in Plutarch’s case, in theological ones as well. Though the Pact Republic claims all of Inpalav as its domain, the truth is that there are huge regions that are not under its control or authority.  One of the most prominent is the Lasu Sea, a massive body of water and other, more esoteric liquids that takes up nearly a quarter of Inpalav’s space.  While most of the Lasu Sea is one single entity, the sea itself ebbs and flows in the Aether, forming massive bubbles of aether, swallowing up small, neighboring motes, and breaking up into a chain of smaller, intricate geometric bodies of water.  Numerous sapient species, both aquatic and not, call this region home, and a few of the motes near, on, and within the sea host small societies and loose confederations of nomadic tribes.  The Republic has invited many of these groups into the Pact, but thus far most have refused, preferring to tend to their own affairs.  For their part, the Republic has honored their decisions, pursuing friendly relations with their neighbors and enforcing such agreements against any who would seek to plunder this region at the expense of its inhabitants, but the Republic’s enforcers are only so many and the Lasu Sea has plenty of places for the bold to venture forth unmolested.  There are many tales telling of undiscovered or forgotten riches and wonders to be found, including a portal to the Realm of Dreams itself.

[ellebeebee]

2.537

Part Nine

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Epilogue

Phrixus Jaril, 13, moves to the Citadel at a delicate age: namely, the peak of his teenage angst. He doesn’t expect much from these rich Citadel kids. But then he meets the Ryder twins, and all their friends, and realizes that he may have been a wee bit wrong about things. His relationship with Mira Ryder evolves over the years, and he never expected things to end up the way they did.

3951 words, Female Ryder|Sara Ryder/Original Male Turian Character, teen rating

AO3

-

They hadn’t met face to face in seven years.

That last glimpse of her as he boarded the ship for boot camp. Her golden brown face, frozen as she turned to watch him go. The messages caught on her tongue and in his omnitool logs, promises to wait. Things hadn’t turned out like they’d thought it would, and maybe that’s what the fear in her eyes knew back then.

But now, she stood at a corner of a busy lane in Silversun, looking at her tool and not realizing yet that he was nearby. She’d dressed up, heels. Not the running gear he remembered from those Arena days, and the messy house parties, beer everywhere. He smoothed down the front of his clothes and approached her.

She glanced up, and then did a double-take. Breaking into a grin, she straightened.

“Phri,” she said, arms going out for a hug.

A knot in his stomach he hadn’t even been aware of loosened at her reaction.

“Mira.”

He had to stoop a little (well, a lot) to comfortably get his arms around her. Released, she stumbled back on her heels, a hand going to her mouth.

“When did you get so tall?” she laughed.

“When did you get so short?” he returned.

She bit her lip, looking down. He watched, and then cleared his throat to look around. The holosky above had cycled into the dark period, the alleys and storefronts gleaming with neon lights and glittering advertisements. Hover vehicles hissed overhead, laughter and loud indistinguishable voices bouncing around the narrow valley of the building fronts. A dense traffic of every species in the galaxy sped around them.

“And when did this place get so small?” he asked.

She tucked a curl behind an ear. “It does seem different, doesn’t it?”

He looked back at her. Their eyes met, and the look made them both glance back away, laughing nervously.

“Um, sooo,” she said. “You hungry? There’s this new sushi place that’s supposed to be great.”

The restaurant sat up in one of the nicer high-rise buildings, looking over the vista of the dazzling neon and the writhing crowds below. Across the lane, another nice high-rise with a bar pulsed with music and dancing figures. The restaurant was pretty aggressive about showing you how fresh their food was; several aquariums divided areas of the dining floor, chefs occasionally coming out to scoop up the next order. Nice music and well-to-do waiters; it certainly wasn’t the greasy smoke and rickety, cheap aluminum tables from years ago.

After being seated in the dappled shadows of one of those aquariums and ordering drinks, (and after a great deal of nervous glances and smiles) Mira cleared her throat over the menu.

“How’re your moms?”

“Good,” he said. “They miss you.”

She smiled. “That’s sweet.”

As they waited for the bar to send over their drinks, they worked out their mutual nerves with catch-up smalltalk. Calix and Domera. Forta and Alec. Aela, N’tessa, N’kae, all the old faces. A little about their postings, Ena Mar and Mars.

The waiter came back around for their orders.

“Oh, umm. You go ahead,” Mira said, looking back down at the menu.

Phrixus ordered, and handed his menu back, eyeing her as she hummed and mumbled. The waiter waited with sardonic impassivity.

“Should I order for you?” Phrixus drawled.

She glanced up at him. Her eyes twinkled and she handed her menu to him, propping her head on her hands so her eyes could twinkle at him, full-force.

“Go ahead,” she said.

Phrixus reeled off an order, and then some. He went down the menu, picking out a good portion of the levo offerings. The waiter stared at him, their fingers flying across a datapad and face expressing nothing beyond a spot of boredom. Across from him, Mira’s brow was rising.

As the waiter walked off, she leaned toward him. “What are you doing? How am I supposed to eat all that?”

He gave her a look. “The reason you were always so indecisive is because you wanted all the food, right?”

“What? That’s not true,” she huffed, biting at a grin.

He gave her a look.

“Okay, maybe a little true,” she snorted.

“So,” he said, tilting his head. “Let’s get all the food, then.”

Smiling, she looked down and shook her head.

As the drinks arrived, he sipped at his glass and considered her. She was different. Her face wasn’t like he remember, but then, nothing is ever as you remember. Older, more… streamlined? More real? More itself? Not fifteen anymore, but neither was he.

He put his glass down. “Okay. Seven year ice is broken. Tell me about the Andromeda Initiative.”

Running a finger through the condensation of her own glass, Mira considered her words.

“Well,” she said. “It’s a colonization venture. A hundred thousand colonists and personnel, with about equal percentages of the major Milky Way races. Dad is what they’re calling a ‘Pathfinder.’ Spearhead of the exploration once we get there. Forta and I are part of his team.”

“So this was all your dad’s idea?”

She nodded. “He’s actually been a big part of the part of the project planning. He’s made a contribution that’s, well, become essential.”

She hesitated, and leaned forward and lowered her voice. “It’s an AI.”

His mandibles jerked out and tucked back. What in the– something seemed strange here. AI research had long been illegal in Citadel space, and since when had Alec Ryder been doing such work? He thought back to those afternoons spent in the Ryder apartment. All of the terminals and boards with formulas. And. Surely the travel to an entirely new galaxy had nothing to do with… an AI. Right?

He cleared his throat. “But. Mira. Cryo sleep for six hundred years, traveling all those light years?”

“I know,” she said. “They have all this trial data and test analyses. It’s all going to be very safe.”

“That’s reassuring, but not really what I meant,” he said.

Her eyes shot down.

“…I know,” she murmured. “I mean. Honestly– I’m a little terrified.”

She stared aside at the teeming fish in the aquarium beside them, to lessen the impact of her words. Blue light played across her features. It didn’t make sense. He could logically think, in the very near future this person will no longer exist. She will be far and away, encased in icy air and falling through dark space. That the next time she wakes, the next time she ‘exists,’ he will no longer exist. Not his children, or his children’s children.

It didn’t make sense. Not Mira Ryder. Not the girl who… well. It was as if his whole being, from his mind down to his spirit, wanted to reject that thought wholly and totally.

“There’s still time, right?” he asked. “I mean, you don’t have to…”

She was shaking her head at him before he finished. “A month. Well, more like a little over three weeks now. But, no, I do have to.”

He shifted, brow plate drawing down. He found himself staring at the dance of water’s prismatic shadows across her short-bridged nose as she continued.

“This is Dad’s– dream, I guess. It’s his life’s work. And Forta– you should hear him go on about all our potential colony sites and all the ‘adventure’ he’s planning on having. Exploration and all that. They both want this. And after Mom… I can’t lose them. I couldn’t…”

She smiled a smile that wasn’t a smile. “I mean, if it was Domera and Calix, could you just stay here and watch them go?”

He couldn’t.

“No,” he said.

Silence stretched between them. Then the waiter came around again, with another waiter, each shouldering great platters of little sushi plates, slices of orange and red and yellow and white fish. Translucent and fresh. Brilliant little piles of roe, gleaming and shiny. It was a wonder that the table didn’t sag under all of it. Mira gazed at it all, the dampness about her eyes giving away to a small smile.

“Well,” Phrixus said, picking up his eating sticks. “I guess we should eat.”

She coped him, and tilted her head. “I guess we should.”

The Initiative was put aside for the moment as they ate. And even though she protested an inability to consume all that fish, she made a point of trying everything. And telling him about every morsel, complaining about his dextro-ness coming between him and trying everything, too.

They finished eating and left, walking along the main lane of Silversun and not saying much of importance. Remembering, mostly. This or that place they got kicked out of. That spot where a really good ice cream stand used to be. They came to a stop in front of Armex Arsenal Arena.

Mira sighed. “Too bad we don’t have a full team. I could work off all these calories.”

Phrixus hummed. “You know, we lost the last match I was in? If I’d thought about it then…”

“Did we?” she mused, staring up at the radiating sign above them.

It surprised him how hard it was, walking along the old places with her. Her shoes clicking and their hands not meeting, holding the way they used to.

He turned to her. “You still a half-decent shot?”

She gazed up at him, a smirk at the corner of her lips. “Are you sure you want to find out? Don’t want to embarrass the Hierarchy and all.”

“Gun range, it is.”

They chose a VR range; they’d had one drink each, and a ton of food besides, but they were being responsible. Or something like that. And she was still a half-decent shot. Tossed off her shoes and wielded a rifle like another limb. They shared targets, and he suspected that anything he hit was only because she left it for him. Much more than a half-decent shot. It was a wonder that the Alliance had her stuffed away doing peacekeeping for some Prothean researchers, even if she did enjoy it.

That certainly wouldn’t fly in the Hierarchy. Someone’s a good shot and their potential isn’t utilized? That’s on their commanders for failure to strengthen the whole. Well. That’s how things should be, anyways.

“You remember that big fight I got into with Aela?” Phrixus asked her, outside of the gun range and strolling down the main avenue. The couplet-declaiming elcor was still at the same corner, probably still working through the same play.

“How could I forget?” Mira smiled. “My wild and colorful youth wouldn’t be complete without it.”

He laughed. “I was a kind of an ass, wasn’t I?”

“A little,” she said. “But so was Aela.”

His mandibles flicked. “Well. I was just thinking. I was a bit naive back then. Maybe still am. But still, even if things weren’t perfect in this galaxy…”

She paused, her feet stopping. The bass rippling from a club nearby brushed against them, with a wash of gold and orange. She looked up at him.

“Even if things aren’t perfect, I’m glad people still expect it to be,” she said. “I’m glad that you do.”

One of her hands reached out, on instinct, out of deep-buried habit maybe, toward him. It dropped halfway, though. She swallowed and looked away.

“This galaxy isn’t perfect,” she said. “And the next one won’t be either. But I guess– I guess we still should keep hoping, though. Right?”

He looked down at her. His head swam with dizziness of unknown origin. He’d only had the one drink hours ago, and he didn’t get VR motion sickness. What was he supposed to say? It still didn’t make sense to him, that she was shortly going to cease to exist. That was an exaggeration, but– deep down, he’d thought that even if they didn’t speak every day, even if years went in between seeing one another, even if they weren’t meant to be together– even then, he’d thought he’d always know she was out there, somewhere. Living her life, being happy somehow, with someone else.

“I guess,” he managed.

They walked on. A Thing was walking with them. It egged them on, prevented them from stopping. Kept them a certain distance apart. This Thing was a composite: the years between them, all the unsaid things, the frightening things ahead. And– she knew about Naea. He’d told her, some months ago, and he knew she wasn’t seeing anyone. Still, neither one of them was saying anything about it. They were on a date, no point being coy about it, but neither of them would say anything.

Probably neither of them ever would. They’d just let it be this Thing between them.

The street wound around, pushing them past the dark shops and the bright arcades and bars and restaurants, deep into the quieter parts of Silversun. “Quiet” being a relative term; there were still drunks at the food stands, gangs of kids hooting about nonsense.

Mira slowed down beside him, and moved into the shadow of a closed storefront. She leaned against the black glass, and lifted an ankle to her fingers.

“Sorry,” she told him. “My feet are killing me. What I get, I guess. Wearing these things.”

He shifted under the darkness with her. Her neck, lined with a soft red glow from somewhere, turned toward him.

“Listen,” she said softly. “Phrixus. I just wanted… well. When I messaged you, I wanted to say that you’ve always been there, in the back of my mind. I’ve always hoped… that you were happy. I know things ended up like they did with us, but I never stopped, you know– caring.”

“I…” he started. “Me too. I really never expected this. I thought for sure someday you’d be… I don’t know. In love and happy somewhere. I had hoped so, anyway. I’m sorry about back then. I wasn’t there for you. You deserved more. You still do.”

He could vaguely make out the way her expression loosened. “I’m sorry, too. I was so– immature and clingy.”

He shook his head. “Mira, you were lonely. You were a lonely girl with a sea of friends doing her best to make herself feel better.”

She sputtered with a wobbly laugh. “Wow. Not pulling punches, huh?”

“I thought we were being honest.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Then– Phrixus, you’re a good person, you know that? You deserve more than just duty and the Hierarchy. You should be happy. But you’re not going to be unless you let yourself have it. Stop putting yourself last. It makes the people that love you sad.”

He was silent. He deserved that, he supposed. His eyes could distinguish her better now: the way she bent back into the glass of the storefront and her face turned up to him. She shifted from foot to foot, probably dying to get off her feet.

“Anyway,” she sighed. “I– I don’t know. There’s a lot that I wished I knew how to say, but– well, you know. I needed to say goodbye, and… Thank you. For letting me say it.”

His heart stuttered. Because it didn’t make any logical sense. How could she say it already– it was too soon, there hadn’t been enough time. She was saying goodbye, and not just goodbye, but goodbye. As final as it comes. Because in less than a month she would be pulled from the same plane of existence that he lived in. She would somewhere he couldn’t reach, couldn’t even message. Not Mira Ryder. Not the girl he’d…

“Wait,” he said.

He reached out and took her wrist.

“Wait,” he repeated. “Mira, I’ve thought about it. And I’ve regretted a lot of things I said back then, but what I hate most is what I didn’t say–”

He took her other hand, his chest tight and pounding, his head swimming.

“I never told you I loved you.”

She inhaled, and he took another step closer.

“I never said it,” he said softly. “Not back then, when we actually…”

And she blinked furiously. “I didn’t either. Back then…”

And then he was slipping a hand around her waist, pulling himself into her. And he was looking into her eyes for a confirmation, seeing himself outlined in soft red light like her. And then he was crashing into her again like he’d done so many times before, and it was nothing like it had been and far too much like before.

Their foreheads tapped, harder than before, and rolled, much more quickly than before, and their mouths searched for each other– much more painfully than before. And she gasped, the way that used to drive his fourteen-year-old self bonkers when he remembered in the middle of chemistry. He clutched at her, pulling her by the small of her back up into him, and her hands flew up across his neck, seeking that tender flesh underneath his mandibles.

And then their chests met, pushed against one another (equal and opposite forces), because he was pulling and clutching and her feet may have left the ground, he couldn’t be sure. Her wet tongue, so unlike his, swept and sought the soft spots, toying and cloying. That hair, curling and falling everywhere, washed him in something sweet and floral. Old colors floated through his head: lavender and peach. She mumbled his name into his mouth, and that set him aching and thrilled him. Shot him full of adrenaline and heat. Pierced his heart. He had his hands slipping beneath her, pulling her up and yanking at her skirt.

An abrupt, loud, and sharp wolf-whistle shattered the quiet.

“That’s not protocol for interspecies cooperation!”

Phrixus and Mira jerked, and she slid down from his hands. He whirled. Four kids stood meters away, holding in giggles and staring.

“Say that again you little fuck,” Phrixus stated, low and flat.

“Fucking spirits, run!” one of them shouted.

And off they went, running for their lives and shrieking with laughter. Phrixus didn’t even bother with a single step after them; he turned back to her. She looked at him. And they burst into laughter.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe–”

“Shit–”

She raised a hand to her red face. “I guess this is a public area”

They stood, giggling and slightly breathless and dizzy, in the dark recess of a storefront. The lane was quiet, with only a few passerby; the most sound came from the distant music and crowds of the main strip, and the ringing of a food stall owner’s cooking utensils a block away. But even so, even with the interruption (which had floored him and made him wonder if some other kid would remember the way he had), they didn’t make an effort to move. She shifted, pushing back down at her skirt with the heel of a palm.

“Mira,” he said, his hand brushing her elbow. “Don’t go tonight.”

She stared up at him, her voice going small. “You sure?”

He nodded. When her expression didn’t change, he reached for her hand. “You didn’t think this might happen?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know– I guess so, maybe. It’s not like I could have made the first move, though.”

“I’m sure,” he said. “Are you?”

She squeezed his hand. “Yeah.”

-

Hours later, in the hotel room, she leaned across to the nightstand and fished around in the little bag she’d had.

“Do you care if I smoke?” she asked, her smooth back turned to him.

“You’re still doing that?” he asked.

She settled back, and a little flame lit her face as she clicked a lighter.

“When I can,” she said, exhaling white into the deep blue darkness. “Ship regulations are so strict, and so are most military buildings. Whole planets, even.”

As she considered her hand, he put an arm around her, and she leaned into it.

“This is my very last one, though. Can’t bring a habit like this across two-point-five million light years.”

The smell, harsh and unsympathetic, brought back the image of her bare back, from before, turned to him. Things unsaid and fear sitting between them. When was that? Just before he left, it must have been.

“Your last one, with me?” he murmured. “What an honor.”

Softly, she laughed. “You’d be surprised. Generally, people say they hate it. The smell and all. Cancer. But when I do this, they remember.”

“So this is one of your moves,” he said.

“Yeah,” she grinned up at him. “It is. And you were the first I used it on. Did it work?”

He moved his hand up, gently sweeping sticking curls off the side of her face. “Yes. But you didn’t need a move to make me remember.”

Her smile changed from playful teasing to something softer. “Sorry. Just–”

Pausing, she went for another inhale and exhale. His fingers toyed with her hair. That was one thing he missed: the feathery feeling of curls between his fingers.

“Sorry, Phrixus,” she whispered. “I really just wanted someone here to remember me. I’m the one going ahead, I know, but I’m scared I’ll…”

She pulled up and turned around to face him. “I just need to know someone here will remember me. Really remember me. And you were– the first for so many things for me. You…”

“I know,” he said. He touched her cheek, lightly grazing with a soft talon. “I won’t forget. Some things are permanent.”

-

But before that, a pharmacy had to be hunted down (and then came the jokes about getting high not being the objective that night) and the hotel found. They chose a new one, not one of the ones they used to sit outside of and watch the pairs (and sometimes then some) pay by the hour.

There was a Thing between them. It was the years, the long silences, the hurtful words, and the good things left unsaid. It was other people, other responsibilities, their own assholery in going this far. It was the future, and the finality of what tomorrow would bring.

But there was also a Thing that tied them. Equal and opposite. All the firsts, all the smiles, all the shared tears. As fragile and ephemeral as they seem, imprinted as they are in their finite, fallible memories– some things are permanent.

When the room’s door hissed behind them, she held him, arms reaching up and grasping desperately. The hateful shoes slipped off and his clothes peeled away. He was fourteen again, discovering someone anew, becoming vulnerable. The way he clutched her to him and the way he ran his hands over her warm skin– it was new and old. The way she fell back and pulled him under– it was strange and familiar.

It was overwhelming, the feeling that overcame him as they shuddered together. It was too much, and yet–

Not enough.

What more could be said, though?

Some things were permanent.

-

She left in the morning without saying anything. He pretended to be asleep as she leaned over him, and ran light fingers over a mandible.

Just over three weeks later, the Andromeda Initiative launched.