[flashback] wait and hope. (poison)

[Dor]

It was clear that she agreed with the sad-eyed animator by the cant of her chin, too proud for so little a girl, so monstrous vivid a thing in this city of pallid elegance, long of limb and sharp of claw. The red bird continued to be coddled, cradled in her hands until she lifted it to a perch on the slope of a tea cup shoulder. Later, she would share her dinner with it. Duvalyon would be less than thrilled, but then, she thought, maybe he would love it. It was bright and littler than she, and it sang pretty, far prettier than she would ever be able to. It probably would not ask him a thousand and one questions either. Virates help her, Duvalyon might like the little bird better. The thought amused her enough to throw a startling smile across her mouth as she returned her attention to the animator and the little human he held. "How do you make them move?" She wanted to know. "Do you put pieces of your own soul into them? Does it birth new souls for them? Or do the gods give them souls after you make them? How does that work?" The tips of her fingers brushed the front of the girl figure, head tilting in a decidedly avian fashion. "You're free with gifts," she hedged at him. "Freer with souls." That last was half a question if one tangled it back into the nest of her others.

[Poison]

As Dor asked him how he made his creations move, the animator hesitated a bit. He was ware that magic wasn’t always well liked. Magic was responsible for what had happened five hundred years ago, and people were suspicious of his art. Besides that, would Duvalyon Hellebore appreciate it if he told his pet about animation? It probably wouldn’t be good if he told her too much about it, but on the other hand he could understand her thirst for knowledge. She wanted to be free, as much as the little bird on her shoulder.

„Magic“, he said and carefully watched for her reaction. His eyes met hers for a moment. „A magical discipline called animation. Have you heard of it? It allows its user to fill his creations with life. I don’t put pieces of my own soul into it. I create new souls and astral bodies and fill them with memories.“ Maybe, he thought, as he said this, it wasn’t entirely true that the bird lacked a soul, that there was nothing behind those black eyes. If a bird was a bird, no matter how it had been born, shouldn’t it be the same for souls? Was it right that an artifical soul was worth less than a real soul?

Did she understand what he meant? Could Dor understand the concepts behind Animation? He watched her as she touched the girl figure. Dor would notice that the tiny human had very soft hair. He had taken the hair of a Symenestra, attached it to the figure’s head and painted it. „I suppose I’m free with both gifts and souls“, he agreed. „But the world would be a sad place if nobody gave other people gifts, if nobody shared his creations, don’t you agree?“

[Dor]

“Where do you get the memories from?” The questions lined up like prayer beads in her mouth, each one complete unto itself but once strung together creating a greater complexity of theory for the Symenestra to fathom. The red bird twitched tail feathers while shuffling down the rounded curve of Dor’s shoulder. Instinct had her extending her arm in order to lengthen the bird’s exploration. “Are they already yours or do you make them up like stories to put inside their.. Their what? Astral body?” Confusion nettled her brow. That was not a term she had heard before. “What’s magic? A force? I’ve read books with poisoned apples and talking swords that Duv calls magic stories. About, though, not with.” She was talking herself into a tangled knot, all the while stroking a solitary finger down the soft hair of the little girl doll. A step forward was taken so that she could crouch down to be on level with the girl figure on the table, her arm still spread for the bird traversing it like a branch. They were starting to get strange looks. “How do you tell the difference between something that someone else has, um,” she struggled to remembered the strange words, “Put astral and memories into and something that was just born that way?”

[Poison]

„From here“, the animator replied as she asked where he got the memories from. He pointed at his head, at his temple to be exact. „They are all my creations. I make all those memories up, like a writer writes a story, only that I put my stories into a bird, a tiny glassbeak or even a doll that looks almost human. I’m not a very talented animator – there are probably others that can create much more complex things – but sometimes my creations turn out alright.“ He looked at the bird as he said this with a kind of quiet pride.

Her next question was harder for him to answer. From what he could tell her experience with magic was next to non existant, and he also wondered whether it was wise to tell her, whether her caretaker would appreciate it if he informed her about magic – again. He had already taken a risk when he had told her about what it was that he did. Unfortunately he had no idea how Duvalyon Hellebore would react. It was entirely possible that he preferred to keep his pet ignorant, innocent, that he didn’t want her to find such things out. Maybe it would be best if he ended their conversation soon, but at the same time he found that he enjoyed talking about his art to somebody that seemed to be completely without prejudice and possessed an almost childlike curiosity.

„Magic is djed“, he explained. „Djed is inside everything, inside you and me and them ...“ He gestured towards the other merchants, suddenly noticing the looks that some of the people in the market were giving them. He smiled at a particularly curious person, as if he wanted to tell them that he was just dealing with a somewhat unusual customer and that there was nothing out of the ordinary going on. „I’ve never heard of a talking sword“, he told her. „I’m not sure how that would work, but then I’m not a particularly experienced mage, and I focus on a single field of magic. Poisoned apples aren’t magic though. They are just poisoned apples. Everybody can poison an apple.“

„How do you tell the difference?“ he asked and smiled gently. „Take a look at the bird, a close look. It doesn’t breathe, and its heart doesn’t beat. That’s how you tell the difference. That’s the difference between my creations and living beings.“ He sometimes wondered if it was possible to take a real soul – to take his ailing daughter’s soul for example – and put it into an artificial body. Was that a way to cheat death? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to think about this further. It was a tempting, but it was also highly unethical. Right now he wasn’t willing to break any laws.

[Dor]

That falcon girl straightened with a tousle of flame colored hair, a bright splash in the constant gloom of Kalinor. The red bird was brought closer by the simple expedient of a surprisingly elegant gesture of one arm. Pale fingers curled down, elbow out like a dancer's as she gaze widely at the little bird roosting with all apparent content on the curve of her wrist. Her regard was dark and unblinking, eyes that had been made to bespy tiny creatures from great heights rustling in the undergrowth intent. "It doesn't breathe," she mused, fascinated by this discovery. The tip of a finger pressed ever so carefully against the soft feathers at the bird's breast, lingering there for a long minute. No heartbeat. That had Dor's eyes lifting startled back to the Symenestra. "Can you teach me?" She wanted to know, abruptly eager.

[Poison]

The animator watched fascinatedly as she straightened her hair. He had hardly ever seen a woman with hair like that before. The Symenestra had white or silver hair. Sometimes it was also black, but it was never such a vivid shade of red. It made him think of fire. For a moment he wished he could reach out and touch it, to find out if it was hot like a fire, but of course that would be inappropriate, and thus he let it be.

„No, it doesn’t“, he confirmed as she stated that the bird didn’t breathe, and then he fell silent. Of course he could teach her, theoretically at least. He had never had a student before, but he still remembered his own mentor and what he had said to him. He was not the best animator in Kalinor, but he knew how it was done. Would it be a good idea though?

He wondered what Hellebore’s son would say if he found out - again. She was not an independant, young Symenestra woman, but almost like somebody’s possession. There was not a doubt that the man could make his life fairly unpleasant. Still, he found her hard to resist. Nobody had ever asked to learn from him before. The thought of it made him smile, and by Viratas, there hadn’t been many reasons for him to smile recently.

He looked at the other people in the market, then back at her, and finally he answered, „I can teach you, but not here. The market is not the right place to learn magic. I can teach you at my house. Do you think the man that takes care of you will mind?“

[Dor]

"You mean Duvalyon? He won't mind," she said quickly. It was too quick, likely, but there was nothing of guile in eyes reflecting the dull glow of opalgloams illuminating the market. A smile chased across her mouth as the red bird on her wrist bobbled as if in agreement with her assurance. Duvalyon Hellebore very likely would mind and mind very much; but his "pet" was in a stage of youthful struggle for independence, especially since the hour he had denied the crying need within her for a bond mate. Poor physician had been finding out what it was to have a fierce and stubborn teenager underfoot and overhead. She rocked up to the balls of bare feet, eager for take off into this new realm of knowledge. "Do you need help closing down your stall?" She wanted to know, Symenos spinning off her tongue as if communication was not a most plaguing issue. The animator had shown her more attention and patience than Duvalyon had in weeks and she could sort his things, take care of his business -- oh, the list went on and on with what she could do. It was unfortunate that those things which she could do well was stunted in comparison. "I can help you if you want. "Or do you mean later to teach me? I could help you sell things." Sell souls. Yes, she could do that. She jittered back to flat fleet, expectant. Waiting. Hoping.

[Poison]

As Dor told him that Duvalyon wouldn’t mind, the animator looked as if he doubted her for a moment, but then he nodded his head curtly, accepting her answer. She just seemed to eager to learn from him! As she smiled at him, he couldn’t help but smile back at her. There was something about her that lightened his mood.

„I’d appreciate it if you could help me“, he answered. „Packing all my creations away takes some time.“ He looked at the collection of tiny figures in front of him. „Do you think you can help me carry them home as well? They aren’t particularly heavy. We can start your lessons right now. I don’t think I will make any more sales today.“

He sighed a little as he said this.

„Maybe you can help me sell my things after you have learned a bit – if Hellebore is alright with it.“

[Dor]

“Yes,” was her instantaneous agreement with all the animator proposed. Yes, she could help, would help. Packing, carrying, selling. The sheer prospect of it bubbled excitement in her veins, leaving her smile glowing in Kalinor’s gloom as she twittered and bounced about his stall, the red bird still roosting on her shoulder. “Do they stop?” She wanted to know while lifting a squirming, miniature Strider with four, flailing, painted hooves. “Go to sleep? You’d think they’d kill each other crated up together at night.” In her mind’s eye she was picturing a vast campaign between all the races of Mizahar of which she had read in books, but on tiny scale. The Akalak waving his curved, false blade at her when she dropped him into a box only worked to support this theory. “Do they eat?” It suddenly occurred to her. “Or just magic?” The thought struck her as wholly amusing and a giggle sounded, young as she actually was. If they did not have heart beats or lungs requiring air, how would they eat? But then how did they move at all? Magic, the animator had explained. Animation. Dor was certainly animated, having been given tasks and companionship. “Have you named any of them? What’s your name?”

[Poison]

„I don’t think they ever stop“, the animator murmurred and scratched his head. „I’ve never really thought about what they do after I’ve put them into their boxes for the night. They aren’t exactly living beings, so I don’t think they need to rest.“

He remembered that his daughter had asked some of the same questions. She had always been interested in what his creations did when nobody was watching. She had once crept into his workroom at night and tried to find out, but she had fallen asleep before too long.

„You would expect that they kill each other, wouldn’t you? But when I take them out of their boxes in the morning, they are still in perfect condition.“ He looked at the tiny Akalak and shook his head. „They don’t eat either. They don’t have any internal organs. I could probably make them put things into their mouths, but they wouldn’t be able to digest anything, and the food would just sit there and ... well, let’s just say it would be fairly unpleasant and might damage them in the long run. It’s all magic, more or less. Magic and whatever memories I put into them.“

He took a few tiny animals and put them away. „I don’t usually name them“, he replied. „That’s up to their future owners. You can name the bird if you want.“ He put the rest of his creations away, closed the boxes and smiled at her. „I think we are done here. My house isn’t far. It’s just around the corner.“