#yhelm 11

[autumnbrambleagain]

Yhelm p11 - readmore for full

Day fourteen.

Day fourteen of Drizzle's stay in Flyhhnemonia, day fourteen of constant, non-stop rains. A few dozen degrees ago--not that anyone could even see Ardet-Argent to measure the angle of time anymore--but a few dozen degrees ago, Princess Flyhh, Heir of Love and Indulgence, one of the creators of reality itself, had finally acted.

Outside was wild, now. A once-in-a-lifetime thing. Princess Flyhh had exercised some great secret of her divine nature. The rain still fell, but in deference to Flyhh's mastery of the world, it did not land. Or more, the raindrops were missing everything they aimed at. They missed the people who walked dry through the sheets of downpour. They missed the buildings. They missed the ground. On her way here, as far as Yhelm could tell, the rain just sort of… disappeared, right when it was about to hit anything.

This was one of those rare moments that everyone, surely, would remember for the rest of their lives, and Yhelm was far too distracted to even enjoy it. She thought that was the worst part of it, really. Whenever, decades from now, whenever anyone talked about the time it never stopped raining, about the time Princess Flyhh changed how rain worked for a day, all she'd have was "Yeah I was going through some stuff then, kinda distracted."

Afternoon Sale, the tall, lace-draped knicknack, was teetering on a single stilt-like foot over Yhelm's head.

"Most people seem to be outside playing in the rain," Afternoon Sale said. "The silly things are merely observing the transient work of a god, when they could be in here, instead, savoring a god's sacred craft with every intimate crevasse of their tongue!"

"Can you actually taste coffee?" Yhelm asked.

"Prim'ent Machato, can I taste coffee! Can I taste coffee! I do not taste coffee, I experience it on levels the mortal mind would not even comprehend. I would need to invent six new words for my six coffee-specific senses that allow me to understand the true nuances of coffee in ways that poor mortals such as yourself can only percieve the shadows of! Taste it indeed!"

Yhelm bite a laugh trying to break out of her muzzle. "You're really leaning into the heir of coffee role today."

Afternoon Sale threw a dramatic, oversized hand to her dainty face and mock-swooned. "Well I must entertain myself somehow! We're practically dead today. As for you! You!" She pointed accusingly at Yhelm. Yhelm just leaned back in her seat and watched. "You are waiting for someone. But no, not one of your regular companions… you are waiting for… someone new, isn't it? You're bringing someone new to me! Ah! Tell me my prognostications are correct and I will develop even greater love for you!"

"Yeah," Yhelm said. "All devotees should turn new worshippers to their god, shouldn't they?"

"You Jayce, but speak red all the same," Afternoon Sale chortled. "Meadoe but provide they arrive timely."

Corbis was a guild miniboss, being summoned by one of his subordinates, of course he'd show up when he damn well pleased, which ended up being who-knows-how-late. In he finally strutted, not walked but outright strutted, wearing tightly buttoned layers of red and browns that clung sleek to his lean runner's body, on all fours with boots and sleeves that went all the way up.

He threw himself into the seat opposite Yhelm with his perfect graceful lack of grace. Tossed his elbow onto the table, and let his head fall onto his paw, making a show of being half asleep. "Sup," he said.

On Hartlight's Ribbon Yhelm wasn't letting this display of sheer Style go unchallenged. Hooking her hoof around the leg of the table, she leaned back in her chair, tottering at dangerous angles, arms crossed, eyelids lowered behind her glasses. "Hey." Don't ever try to out-Style a daughter of Bad Boy.

Corbis' eyes glanced around the dark coffee shop. "Weird place, but all right."

"You haven't met the weird yet," Yhelm said.

Afternoon Sale arrived immediately as Yhelm said that. "Well well well this is a new one! I am sensing: workplace acquaintance! But no, I taste a seedier undercurrent, something deeper beneath the surface… oh my, oh my how scandalous!" Afternoon Sale covered her little pointed face with her thick lace fingers, leaving only beady little glass eyes staring down. "You are more than just workplace acquaintances aren't you! Well it is not to me to judge! You are both young and in the primes of your lives! It is merely mine to provide you with the coffee your soul needs, not to judge it!"

Corbis' eyes slid from Afternoon Sale to Yhelm with a sort of "What the fuck" kind of look, his Stylish composure completely broken. Hah. Yhelm'd won. One of the reasons she had him come here. Second reason was that Afternoon Sale's coffee was so damn good.

"Corbis, Afternoon Sale. Afternoon Sale, this is my--boss, sure. Manager. Whatever he wants to call himself."

"Call myself Corbis most of the time," he said.

"You," Afternoon Sale pointed a finger down at Corbis, "will have, oh, let me guess, let me understand. Oh, really, a liquor-tea, this early in the day? And with a bravan leaf! You do not yet know that you want that minty flavor, but when you have your first sip you will understand the depths of my craft! And Yhelm! I believe… something less bitter than usual, isn't it? Yes, with sugar even, I can see it in how the skin around your eyes holds itself, you are in need of some relief from dark matters! Well! I will go prepare your prescriptions and leave you to your business!"

Corbis mouthed silent confusion as Afternoon Sale spun her way around tables and chairs and to the mass of coffee preparation devices that waited for her touch.

"Yeah she does that," Yhelm said. "I'm not sure if it's knicknack whimsy or if she has some actual Knowing-element power or something. I've honestly never had better coffee though."

"She's a knicknack, though," Corbis said. "What does she know about taste?"

"I'm to understand she has six coffee-specific senses that allow her to experience the nuances of coffee in ways we cannot understand. You'll get it when she brings it out."

Corbis lifted his head lazily off his paw, twisting his wrist with an audible pop. "Speaking of bringing out, why are you bringing me up here for? Is this a date? Normally people go on dates before they start fucking. We going backwards?"

Yhelm huffed. "This isn't a date. I wanted to talk, and I didn't want to do it in your bedroom."

"What's wrong with my bedroom?"

"There's no seats."

"There's a bed."

Yhelm sharpened her eyes. "Yes. Exactly. And I need your mind out of the bedroom."

"Pfft. You know I can have more than just Flyhh's ass on my mind right? What's up?"

She let her chair back down onto all fours. Resting her entire shoulder against the rough stucco wall. And sighed. "You've been in the business a long time, right?"

"You're doing it uh," Corbis paused to think, "roundabout," and twirled his finger in the air to give the words more context. "That's not what you really wanna ask. I've been inside you we don't gotta play coy."

Yhelm grimaced. It was a full tongue-out grimace, like she had a bad taste sensation come over her. "You don't gotta say it like that so bluntly."

"Yeah but I'm asking you to say what's on your mind bluntly."

Blunt. She could be blunt, fine. "Don't you think what happened with Lastsong was fucked up?"

Corbis shrugged. It wasn't even a very committal shrug, it was the laziest shrug Yhelm had ever seen. One of his shoulders barely moved. "I mean, gaitsbird, you know? You beat a gaitsbird at a game enough times sometimes they snap."

"I meant what happened to her. After."

Corbis' big, gold eyes stared at Yhelm, holding time in place for a long, suspended moment. "She almost killed a guy. She got almost-killed herself. That's not fucked up, that's fair. That's as fair as you can get."

"She was locked in a room--"

"Okay, I get it," Corbis said, that irreverent, cocky bravado dropping and a more reluctant maturity poking its head out, eyes blinking, so unaccustomed to the light. "That's why you're asking how long I've been in the business. Because college girl can't deal with the realities of guild life now that she's had to get her hands a bit dirty."

Yhelm's lips raised in a wordless growl that she directed away to the floor. She couldn't be that angry if he was right.

"So guess I can answer the first question then. You know who my dad is, right?"

Yhelm shook her head.

"That might as well be Belham Pio. I was given up real early. Pio took me in, raised me up in the life. So yeah, I'm the person to ask about this. Lemme guess. College girl is used to golden justice, criminal gets to sit in a cell eating dry bread for a year and then they're let out, problem solved right?"

"I guess?" Yhelm admitted.

"The guilds are old, Yhelm. And this is an ooooold city. All this, these lawizards, these courts, that's all extra stuff Aiax tossed on top of Law. You know that? Primal Law's a lot more simple. It's the reason the scale of justice is a sub-symbol of Law's antler. Direct balance. Catharsis." Yhelm hid her surprise Corbis knew that word and could pronounce it right. "The aggrieved party is tendered resolution directly upon the offending party." That was a lot more big words than she thought Corbis could use, wow. What was happening. "Big golden justice gives you, well, the system did its job, hurray for the system, which is great for people the system doesn't fuck. But most of us guild, we're poor-ass cobblepounders. Not even the Is give a damn when a background H-lights. We can't all afford the big lawizards. We can't afford the keys to the doors to get around golden justice. Gold's pricey, college girl, and red's the real color of Law anyway."

… this was all supremely more well thought-out than Yhelm had, had ever even expected Corbis of being capable of. Corbis was usually yelling or posturing and while he was sometimes right he was never articulately right.

"We throw Lastsong to gold justice and the people she hurt, they just sit there and assume price's paid. Trust in a system that ain't even theirs to do it for them? She comes out a year later a few actions proscribed and what, she's still walking around, you assume she got hers but do you know? Anger's still there. Clear it through tables, and now everyone's squared. It's a problem of abstraction, and we cut through it to the red, hard. Lastsong'll be fine in time. Pyrene, gallowc she fived on, she's quiet under Argent well knowing Lastsong got hers. Feud's done. Gold justice works if you let everyone be a rational actor, but you can rescue a princess if you think you'll keep her."

Yhelm shook her head. The basis of academagic was treating reality as a work of fiction. A spell was just a literary essay debating one aspect of it, manipulating it, reframing it. Academages by their very nature had to keep their minds open to new arguments, or their magic didn't work. As a professional academage Yhelm should allow Corbis' argument to stand on its own merits instead of just brushing it aside with a sweep of her emotions. "It's fucked up," but she did it anyway.

Corbis scratched at his chin thoughtfully. "Let's say someone kills Madrigal. Just, doesn't like them being a phanteasel, whatever. Stabs them in the streets, blood cold on the dirt. You find out about it, you're upset, you're angry. Rose Knights collect the killer. Give him a jail cell. Felicity and Falina lock him down so he can't attack anyone anymore. He's let out a year later. Harmless now, the officials say. Learned his lesson. You pass him in the street. Think he survives walking past you?"

"I--"

"Because you're still angry, you didn't get a single paw in on the deal. Someone else did it. You're taking it at someone else's word he's been punished. You didn't see it, you didn't know it, you're full Figments on it, does he survive walking past you."

This wasn't a fun thought experiment. "Probably not."

"Law can't just paint something red and call it red. You have to dye that cloth so it won't flake the moment Drizzle shows up, speak of the lunar," Corbis added a gesture out the window, where the rain fell silently on the dry city. "How long you been guild?"

"A few years?" Yhelm ventured. She hated when Corbis had the better footing than her. "It's hard to say when I exactly--"

"By the Captain I know I've sent you out to rough people up sometimes. You've stolen shit. You've gotten in a few fights. Why this one?"

"Because of how clinical it was!" Yhelm said, forcefully, finally having an actual opening! "Because when I rough people up it's drunks at the gambling loops or people stealing from the guild, or, or! We aren't--we're not the good guys but we're not the bad guys either. I--I thought we weren't the bad guys."

Corbis' eyebrows raised, slowly, showed no signs of stopping until they reached his antlers. "You're wearing a traditional Bad Boy jacket. You worship a literal god named Bad Boy."

"What do you know about adversaries," Yhelm growled.

"I know I might as well've been born one," Corbis growled back. "Freepeople weren't born with a destiny but we sure can inherit it. I inherited Bad Boy's. I try not to be a villain but if guild life's too rough for college girl Trackless built a big old world."

Afternoon Sale, at that exact moment, arrived with coffee. Yhelm's was a burnt, deep orange this time, rather than the usual Void-black. Corbis' was almost clear, faintly green-blue, with a single, multi-bladed leaf floating at the top. It was enough of a distraction the argument fell apart between them as they blew on their cups and sipped their drinks.

Yhelm's was sweet. Vaguely cinnamon. Hint of citrus aftertaste, more in the nose than the tongue. Bitterness and sweet fought in her mouth and neither was winning. Corbis looked suspicious of the leaf but after two sips he'd downed half his cup already.

"This isn't coffee," Corbis laughed. "This is like, a tea--"

Afternoon Sale Yhelm-swore-to-Aiax full-on teleported behind Corbis she moved so fast. "It is in fact made with a glass cultivar that has very little bitter flavor but retains ample caffiene quantities, mixed in equal measure with salaja imported from the Rebant colonies. The bravan leaf denies the more acidic taste of the salaja liquor and grants it a minty kick! It is a very sophisticated blend and also has an inordinately high alcohol content, mitigated by the small cup size. Tell me you do not like it, I challenge you to this very thing."

Corbis shook his head. "Dad taught me never take a bet you've already lost."

"A very wise man to have a very wise saying, and moreso wise are you to use it!" Afternoon Sale said. Satisfied in another conquest, she traipsed about to the next set of customers in need of her expertise.

"It's funny," Yhelm started over, "how it works like that. I was born into a freeperson's life. I choose adversary. I say 'chose,' I'd argue being yourself isn't a choice, but, all the same. You're a freeperson, but you were born adversary. It's a curious parallel. I think I should like you less than I do, but for it. You're an abrasive dick half the time--"

"Oh," Corbis interrupted, smiling, "oh you love that about me though. You choose every time to get into fights with me and goad me on. It feeds your duldge, Fig me not."

Yhelm rolled her eyes dramatically enough that Corbis could see it in the dimmer light.

Corbis' drink was already near-empty. The leaf sat at the bottom, a thin layer of green coffee swirling atop it as he gestured with his cup. "So what is all this, you're doubting your life in the guild now?"

"I've been reconnecting with my family lately. And I had--something of a talk with the Arbitrator. And she--I guess she made me feel bad about some of this? I guess?"

"… shit, okay, I see where this is," Corbis said. He drank the last of his coffee and ate the leaf right out of the cup, grimaced at the mint overload, and forced himself to finish it anyway. "You're not looking to go straight, are you? You got reminded some of the bad parts of the life you need me to remind you of the good, that's it, right? You want me to talk you out of quitting."

Yhelm answered with a drag of her coffee.

"Well, okay, here's the baculum of it. I'm gonna give it to you, nice and peeled."

"Ugh."

Corbis waved away her disgust. "If you really liked college you'd be there. Having your paper fights in the greenlight. But that's polite and fake and you know it. It's fake and you're an adversary. Guild is real. You don't have to fucking, wear six masks and swap 'em out depending on who you're talking to. You got a problem in the workplace you don't, I don't know, have to worry about your grant money and your advisors and whatever they have in college. You don't sit there and go, humdeedledee. Fuck I don't know how publishing works but you aren't arguing with your, what do you greenlights get, magic editors? Publishers? You're an adversary. You have a problem you fix it. Someone disrespects you they pay for it. People don't respect you 'cause a piece of paper you bought, they respect you because you have power. And you have power. And all of that is how an adversary wants to live. You can trust me in that, because with all the freedom Meadoe gave me I choose to be her boyfriend's child instead. And now here's the real good stuff, the top shelf I'm holding out on, I'm gonna reach on up and take it down just for you, okay?"

"Okay."

"Most of the guild is just poor people trying to fucking survive this mess Flyhh dumped us into. And we ain't Apat, we ain't building a party-dome to die in, when a guild in good standing's in trouble, needs something, we play the heroes the Rose Knights pretend they are. That's really why you're guild, cutie. Because you're a hardcore servant-in-the-biblical-sense. You don't have to play games with anyone. And now and then you get to do some good too. So. Dad has me go around to retired guilders who did enough guildshare for a lifetime. Drop off their pension. Make sure they're alive and healthy. Keep them from getting lonely. So you'll be taking that over for me for a bit. How's that sound?"

Yhelm finished the last of her coffee. There was a thin, too-sweet sludge at the bottom of the cup she licked up in a single slurp. It made her fur stand up and it was great. "You want me to go keep old people company."

"Aiax's folly Yhelm you're complaining you had to see something too rough to sleep through and I'm offering you some feel-good work. Take it."

"I will. Thank you. You're not the worst boss, Corbis."

"You're not the most useless enforcer I have to babysit," he said gracefully.

Yhelm spun her cup on its plate, by the handle, in counter-clockwise circles. "You know, I honestly didn't expect you to be so well thought-out."

"Pfft. I'm the boss. You think I can get away with just shouting a lot I have to know what things are." The smirky grin so well worn into Corbis' face eroded a moment. "You ever read Murmur's writings?"

"Murmur. You mean Figments' Servant, Murmur?"

"A person as a fixed crystal."

"Since when the fuck do you know phil--" Yhelm started, and then considered what Murmur, Servant of Figments and God of Philosophy, had actually written 5,000 years ago, and stopped. "We appear differently to different people because of the angle they approach us from and how their own structure reflects light onto us."

Corbis pointed at her with a 'I got you' look. "I have to be in charge. And you have to be full of stupid ideas and go around fucking up all the time. So I have to yell at you and be an ass. I don't think life's so complicated you have to spend your whole life sitting around thinking about it, but that doesn't mean I haven't done my thinking on it already either. Come at me from an angle other than bratty know-it-all college-girl-turned-thug I can give you other angles of me too."

Purely because it would be an appropriate and useful way to delay responding, Yhelm wished she had more coffee to sip. "That's fair. I think I prefer this angle over the Corbis who makes me wait for him to finish jerking off before he tells me what my job for the day is."

"Oh that's too bad, college girl, that Corbis you're gonna see from every angle. Can't help it. Just how your light reflects onto me, you know? That's my way of saying you're too hot to help it."

Yhelm sunk in her chair. "We've fucked already, dude. You can stop hitting on me."

"Unless I'm not trying to get you to fuck me," Corbis said, leaning over, "but just trying to make you miserable, 'cause it's funny to me."

"Sonofabitch."

"And you make it so easy, too!"