[Thirteenth Meditation]

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[Thirteenth Meditation]

Daja: A portrait of each of her families - the one she was born into and the one she now calls her own - and a portable, compact forge. One compatible with her magic. I know you have the technology to manage.
Cambridge: Tickets to a live performance of his choice, in whatever realm, era, and with whichever performers he prefers. Ticket should include a +1 in case he prefers company.
Tommy: One of Briar's shakkan, shaped for cleansing and healing. A new waistcoat made by Lark, with protection symbols in the stitching.
Dean: A window herb garden, with plants for protection, healing, cleansing, and warding off bad luck.*
Beyond: A book detailing the most medicinally and economically important plants common across worlds, their histories and uses, complete with detailed botanical illustrations.
Jim Kirk: An aloe plant.* A book on travel and exploration from home.
Elise: A miniature rosebush shaped for protection.*
Furiosa: Prototype hardy groundcover seeds, designed especially for extremely harsh, dry conditions, with soil-building properties, and a promise of more to come.* A book on practical farming in harsh condition, with a focus on resource efficiency and improving soil conditions.
Aslan: A miniature garden, with plants focused on peace and tranquility.*
Jean: A trellised rose bush shaped like a bird*, and an invitation to tea.
Pounce: A holiday feast of his favorite delicacies.
Steve: A window garden with plants specialized for health and healing.* A book about theory and practice of meditation from home.
Bleu: A pot of grape hyacinths, spelled to thrive, in a mix of blues.*
Lark: An aloe plant, for healing.* A book on meditation theory and practice from home.
Gene: A rosemary bush, grown for protection.* A portrait of his family and one of his fellow soldiers, living and dead.
Snafu: A dwarf mandarin tree, in fruit.*
Victor Frankenstein: A rosemary bush grown specifically for warding and protection.* A book of magical theory from home.
Rohan: A set of highest quality, handmade brushes and a set of traditional Gyongxe pigments for painting.
Doctor: A book on the history of my world, both natural and human.
Orpheus: An ornate, quality, secure box set up like a mage kit with pockets and compartments, magically locked, with the key spell included for his use only.
Alec: A miniature herb garden, with plants for protection, healing, and cleansing.*
Leonard: A miniature herb garden, with plants mostly for peace and tranquility.*
Anya: A set of knives, made by Daja, with protection spells worked into the blade.
Barbara: Embroidered portraits of her children, biological or otherwise.
Iris: Same as Barbara, again, whoever she considers her children, by birth or otherwise.
Mewtwo: A decorative new pot for its flower, and a set of high-quality gardening tools.
Eggsy: Miniature fig tree, shaped for good fortune.*
Quentin: A volume of magic theory and history from home.

[OOC: *actually grown and delivered by Rosethorn, not the Admiral. All plants come with care instructions, and a note to ask her if there's any questions or concerns, and that she'll take any back/raise them in her cabin or the greenhouse if someone can't care for them. Gifts made by family members are extremely high quality, resist breaking, dulling, and getting dirty, worn, or stained.]

[Video; Public]

I just want to inform everyone that I've returned to my usual shifts in the greenhouse and infirmary. Despite... recent events, if anyone needs me, please don't hesitate to come see me. I assure you I'm quite recovered, and very much myself again.

[Filtered to Furiosa]

If you wish to talk about it- [Her voice is a little more raw, in private. A harsher edge, between anger and grief.]

[Filtered to Snafu]

Would you meet me at the Enclosure, please?

[Spam for Dean]

[Rosethorn just shows up one morning, like nothing unusual has happened this past week, like there's been no break in her routine.]

Are you coming to the greenhouse today?

[Spam; OPEN]

[Rosethorn is, indeed, back in her usual routine. She's easy to find in the greenhouse - which is still a riot of growth and a little more active than it should be - and infirmary, and dining hall, and deck on occasion. She's up late more often, taking walks in the snow and open air with a rustic jacket wrapped around her.

But even when she's home and available, the door to her cabin stays closed.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I am correct in that you have given me a tree?

[You have never seen a man so befuddled by foliage, I assure you.]

Rosemary is a bush, not a tree.

But yes.

[Everything is a tree.]

That's...very kind.

...

...

...what precisely do I do to it?

[How do you tree.]

[Sigh. She's glad her plants are spelled to thrive under all but the harshest conditions.]

Put it somewhere it gets light. Give it water when the soil feels dry. If it seems to be ailing in any way, let me know.

Electric light?

[You are perhaps unaware of Victor's living conditions.]

...they prefer natural light, typically.

Please tell me you have windows.

I...have a very small window. I cannot claim that light comes through it, exactly.

[S i g h]

Have you considered requesting a larger one? Natural light is healthy for people as well as plants, you know.

[NO IT BURNS.]

No, it's my room. And we are on a space craft: it isn't as though there's really anything outside of the windows.

Whatever the source of the light on board, it seems to make the plants as happy as natural sunlight.

If you'd prefer, I'll keep it in the greenhouse, but the protective properties won't be as useful there.

That isn't necessary. I'm sure I can manage it.

Just water, then?

Yes, just water when the soil feels dry. If you notice it faring badly, let me know.

The frustrating part is there's nothing to say it won't happen again.

I know. Everyone says there's nothing we could have done, but I'm still more disgusted with myself for letting her do that to me than by her actions.

There will always be people in the world who can force others to do things. Thinking you should have magically been able to overcome them by will is poisonous thinking.

I suppose it's one of my failings. My mind is one of the few things that's always been my own.

Furiosa, how do you-

[She pretends she's handling this, for Tommy's sake, and Daja's, and those wardens and inmates who've come to lean on her, one way or another. But Furiosa both understands... and doesn't need her.]

I think about it happening to him, and him coming after me.

I'd forgive him.

[Immediately, without question.]

But that's different.

Why? Are you stronger than him? Smarter?

It's not that. I-

I've spent so many years training myself, keeping my mind disciplined and organized. Not just for the sake of my craft, but so that I don't become a danger to anyone else.

But when someone tried to take that from me, I could do nothing to stop it.

And so has he, in his own way, and so have I. We were all equally ill prepared to face T'Pol and her abilities. So. If she did to you what she could have done to any of us, why is the expectation on you higher?

I-

[But as soon as she opens her mouth, she closes it again. She doesn't have an answer - not one rooted in logic. In frustration, yes. Disappointment in herself, and shame over the shadows that eat her from the inside daily.

She tries again, more quietly.]

I rarely forgive myself.

[The words sound odd, spoken out loud. A little hollow, as she gives the truth form for the first time, outside her own head.]

My boy once asked how to handle it, the terrible choices we have to make with the power we have in the face of danger and injustice. I told him we do all the good we can, so we can set that against the nightmares.

I never spoke about forgiveness.

[Why hadn't she? Lark would have, Lark always knows about the fine points of human nature that seem forever out of her reach.]

My mother always taught me that self-recrimination for pain was something that I wasn't allowed, because it meant disrespect for the ones before me, and the ones who would come after. We don't always control what happens to us. Believing that if we had just been a bit smarter, a bit stronger, that it wouldn't have happened- but that's magical thinking, so let it go. Let it go.

People are hurt sometimes, people are overcome. Like my arm. I was already a fighter when they took my arm, but losing it never meant I should hate myself for failing.

Remember how alike the rest of us you are, Rosethorn. Things will continue to harm and overpower you. Imagine if you didn't spend what you spend now on the self-loathing? Imagine if it were just... alright that you weren't untouchable.

[She imagines, staring numbly into the middle distance as she turns it over in her head. But the truth is, the idea frightens her. She's not sure she could let herself be that vulnerable, open herself up to the constant dread she lived with as a child.

If she'd been hurt because of a choice she'd made, because she'd walked into danger knowingly, because she'd stood in defense of another, she could accept the consequences more easily than this.

But people being willing and able to hurt her simply because they can, because it's convenient-

This isn't home. She's not protected by her status as Dedicate, or by being among the most powerful mages alive. Not when everything's so unpredictable, works so differently than it does at home.

She thought she was done feeling like Nivalin when the flood ended. When she looks down, she hopes Furiosa didn't catch the fear and uncertainty in her eyes.]

Your mother was a wise woman. I don't know if I have the... the strength to take her advice to heart. Maybe once this isn't so sharp.

She was very, very strong. And she died, trying to save me from something that happened to me the moment she was killed. I think of her, too, whenever I find myself feeling as though I might be weak, because I have failed. No one who knew her could ever think that of her.

She'd have liked you. She'd be better about picking you up than I am- she knew how to do it with a little more sugar.

I don't doubt that; I'm sure I'd like her, as well. But I can hear what I need to without sugar. [...maybe she needs a little sugar, sometimes. Maybe that's why her Lark is so dear to her, as sweet and kind as she is. But she wouldn't ask that from anyone here.]

I do appreciate it, Furiosa. This isn't- I don't believe you're weak in the slightest. I have expectations of myself that are... perhaps more realistic at home than they are here.

[Where she understands how things work more, where there are fewer surprises. And where she is powerful enough that very little can touch her.]

Perhaps some aren't realistic anywhere. I just don't know right now.

Take some time to think it over.

[She proposes, quietly.]

It's a lot to unlearn.

I hadn't even realized I'd learned it to begin with.

[More to think about. This has been a difficult month.]

Thank you.

[He thinks about protesting, or just ignoring her, but hell. Why not? He's been having dreams lately - nightmares like he hasn't had since Pavuvu after Gloucester, not every night but some of them - and he's looking for distractions.]

Up here smokin' on deck already. You happen to come by an' I guess I'll tag along.

I'll be up in a couple minutes. I take it you're already dressed warmly, then?

Yes ma'am, I'm bundled up as snug as a fuckin' bug.

[And he is, in a thick woolen sweater and a new winter coat. Thanks, Gene.]

Good.

[And when she arrives, she's not in her usual earth-green habit, but in practical traveling clothes. Warm, fleece-lined, well-made.]

I never will get used to this cold.

[When she approaches Snaf's just finishing up a cigarette, flicking the butt out over the side, his breath clouding with a combination of the smoke and the cold air. He eyes her for a moment before answering, collar turned up against the chill.]

It don't get cold like this all that often back in Louisiana either.

Summersea winters tend to be more wet than snowy. A benefit of being on the coast, if you ask me.

[She jerks her chin towards the Enclosure.]

I thought I'd show you Gyongxe.

[It's one of the few times Dean is actually awake and moving around on his own, no other visitors in the room, no wardens keeping him on his feet. He'd been roused by the arrival of things in the room he's actually cognizant enough to notice more or less, and present enough to investigate.

His eyes are clearer than they've been in months, and when he glances over as the door opens, it's not on his standard foggy delay. The sleep has done him good. It's also outlined all the other things that haven't: the several days growth of beard and messy hair, the way his clothes hang on him more than they did when he cornered Anya in Zero, the way he may be more present but his eyes are still glassy and shallow.

He raises an eyebrow at her because he may have been out of it, he may still be staying off the network, but he knows it's been several days since he's seen her.]

Where've you been?

[She looks him over, an odd combination of proud of how much better he looks and dismayed at how far he has yet to go, before he bears resemblance to the man her younger self met.

The lines around her mouth deepen a little more than usual.]

I brought breakfast.

[She holds up a little package, just enough for two.]

And I've been... compromised.

[Better he may look, but he still barely glances at what's in her hands. Then his attention returns to her face.]

Anyone ever told you that you get into a lot of trouble?

[This is dry, and it's difficult to tell by his tone whether or not it's a joke. It would be an ironic one if he were; with the exception of the times he spends barely moving at all, he's notoriously magnetic for trouble.]

[She shakes her head and steps inside. Even if most of the Barge knows the rough details, she'd rather not have this conversation in the hall.]

Yes, well. Things are mostly straightened out, but I've spent the past couple days in the infirmary's power-suppression room.

[Dean has long since stopped inviting people in; they come in if they want to and stay out of they don't. He hasn't cared in months either way, and now is no exception.

He just gives her a mildly curious look, turning around more fully from where he's inspecting the additions to his little window garden.]

That sounds ominous.

[She sets out the breakfast on whatever flat surface is easiest to clear off, sausages and biscuits with cheese. Nothing fancy.]

T'Pol attacked me. Got into my head, and turned me... violent towards Thomas Shelby. Made me hate him. I very nearly killed him.

[Her voice has a rough edge to it, now, and she fusses with the food so she doesn't have to look at Dean.]

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