Negotiating the Future (Anselm)

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on August 1st, 2012, 4:28 pm

82nd Day of Summer, 512 AV
(Early morning/shortly after sunrise. Follows the story Desperate Bargaining.)

Tock stalked through the marketplace, head down, eyes on the ground. Her chest was gripped in a vice, her hair and clothes even more disheveled than usual. Handy, her wooden hand Automaton, was perched on her shoulder, trying to smooth out her hair. She swatted at him in irritation, not being much in the mood today. He flinched and backed away for a moment, then crawled back across her shoulder and immediately resumed what he was doing. He wasn't smart enough to figure out she wanted him to stop.

"Not now baby!" she snapped in irritation, yanking him off her shoulder and holding him in her left hand. He slipped the leather belt that made his tail around her wrist, and intertwined his fingers with hers, so they were 'holding hands'.

She stalked right up to Anselm's tent with a determined stride. Her eyes were red rimmed from tears, with dark circles under them from lack of sleep. She looked wild, desperate, and untamed.

Without hesitation she pulled our a coin and slapped it on the table. "'Ow's I save a sick little boy?" she demanded. "Yer the fortune man. What's my fortune?"

Ledger-1 GM for Fortune Telling

by **Anselm** on August 5th, 2012, 12:29 am

He stared out at her from under the deep hood of his new burgundy silk robe. From where she sat she probably couldn't see the light blue silk sash that functioned as a belt of sorts, mostly for decoration. Anselm recognized it as a concession to his own vanity. A hint of peach hung in the air from the perfume Anselm had taken to using to try to cover over the every-growing smell of death that followed him wherever he went.

She was obviously distraught. Apparently over a sick child, presumably at the edge of the abyss that separates the living from the dead, about to cross over to the other side. Anselm had long ago thrown off the attachment to people that caused this kind of anguish. Mostly. But he understood the feeling. And he knew there was really nothing he could do for the child. Or for Tock.

“You will sometimes be tempted to try to 'fix' people,” Master Ahn said. “Do not succumb to this temptation.” There were six people in the room: Master Ahn, Anselm, and four other students.

“First, it is presumptuous to think that you have the wisdom to understand either what needs 'fixing' in another person or what should be done to 'fix' it. Only the gods have that kind of wisdom. Second, it is disrespectful to think that you have the right to tinker with someone else's life. All life is sacred, especially sentient life. You defile that sacredness when you try to redirect it in directions of your own choosing. Third, they will come to hate you for it. No matter now good your intentions, no matter how grateful they are that you are trying to help them, they will eventually come to hate you for it.”

One of the other students interrupted. “But master, how then can we help others?”

Anselm brought his attention back to Tock. A full chime had gone by without any acknowledgment from him of her presence.

“My dear Tock,” he said in his usual gravely voice. “You are in distress about a child who is dying. You know that I cannot tell you how to save him, so that is not why you are here. I will venture to guess that you are here because there is a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts and emotions inside your head, and you cannot find your way through it. I cannot help you with that either, but perhaps the words of the oracle can point you in the right direction.”

He reached into one of the pockets in his robe and took out the cloth bag that contained the tools of his trade. He poured the tiny bones into his right hand and held it out over the table. He turned his hand over, allowing the bones to fall on to the table with a clatter. He studied them for a chime, which probably seemed like a very long time to Tock, and then spoke the ancient words:

Thunder above, active. Wind below, penetrating.
Acting gently as the breeze, active yet serene,
Neither identifying nor detaching,
the mind steadfast and the will far-reaching,
It is therefore called perseverance.

“I hope this helps you,” he said looking up at her. “It is all I have to offer.”

OOC :

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on August 5th, 2012, 1:37 am

Tock stared at the Nuit, wondering why he wasn't saying anything. For all she knew, he was dead... like, for real dead. The way he held so still, not even breathing... it would have been unsettling, if Tock was the sort to get scared about pretty much anything. Instead she was just getting irritated, until he spoke.

His words made her shoulders slump. She hadn't expected he could just sit there and say, 'Here's the magic solution to all your problems.' But she had hoped for something. Yet he turned it around, made it about her. At least, that's what it sounded like he meant. Like she hadn't come here to find a way to save Mikey, but just to make herself feel better.

Her heart ached with guilt when he studied the bones and then gave her his answer. As with last time, she didn't understand most of what it meant. She looked at the bones, wishing she knew how they gave him answers. Part of her thought it was just a game, and the bones were meaningless. But she was desperate enough right now to try anything.

"Perseverance?" she asked, frowning. "Whazzat mean? Like, as I shouldn't give up?" She just felt more confused. "I ain't gonna give up! 'E's my friend... my family. I ain't fer gonna let 'im go! But..."

Tears fell from her eyes, her fingers scraping uselessly against the table. She didn't know what to do. Perseverance only helped her so much, if she didn't know what to persevere at.

Maybe she hadn't asked the right question. Tears in her eyes, she swallowed a lump in her throat and asked him, "Ain't ya never 'ad nobody die on ya? Cause I ain't! Not what fer I could done nothin' 'bout it! When my Granddad..." She cut off in a choked sob, taking a deep shuddering breath. "I were sleepin' when 'e went. Fer the 'ole time. Ain't been nothin' I could does, an' 'e were gone 'fore I woke up. I ain't never 'ad no death, 'fore! I..."

She trailed off, knowing it was useless to pour her heart out to the undead man. But she didn't know what else to do...

by **Anselm** on August 5th, 2012, 2:43 am

O great, he thought as the tears began. Now she's going to cry all over the place. This is just plain embarrassing. Why doesn't she leave? I told her I don't have anything else to offer her. What does she think I'm running here? A grief counseling center?

Master Ahn had once tasked Anselm with close observation of a crocus petal – it's shape, it's form, it's attributes – in order to discover it's purpose in the world, which was to attracted bumblebees to the flower. Later they had returned to the crocus and found that the petal had fallen to the ground. Master Ahn had then tasked him with close observation of the petal's absence, from which he discovered that having fulfilled it purpose in life, it would now fulfill its purpose in death by returning its essence to the great cycle of life.

“Tell me Anselm,” Master Ahn said. “What have you observed?”

“I have observed that the crocus petal has a past, a present and a future,” he answered.

“That is so,” agreed Master Ahn. “We have observed a great deal, haven't we? We now know the petal's form, its function and its biography. But tell me, how did we learn these things?”

Anselm carefully replayed in his mind Tock's words about her grandfather's death and her reaction to it. He would have sighed if he had any breath with which to generate one.

“If I may, my dear, allow me to ask two questions, which you are free to ignore,” he said. “First, what would you have said to your grandfather if you had been at his side as he approached the end of this journey and the beginning of another? Second, What do you suppose he would have said to you?”

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on August 5th, 2012, 3:03 am

Tock frowned, scrubbing her sleeve across her eyes to wipe away her tears. She didn't understand what he was getting at, but she did suspect this was one of 'those' conversations. The kind where people asked her questions because they wanted to get her coming around to thinking about things they already knew. Which tended to irritate her; she'd much rather someone just told her what they meant, and got straight to the point, rather than making her think about it and work her way around to their point on her own.

But still, she thought about the question. She never really had before. For four years, she had regretted not getting to say goodbye to him. Not getting to see him before he died. Not even getting to see his grave, since he'd been buried in an unmarked mass grave along with countless other dead. She'd had no closure. But despite all the years of regretting that, not once had she thought about what she would have actually SAID to him.

In a timid little voice, not at all like the Tock most people knew, she said, "I'd 'ave asked 'im not ta go..."

Immediately, she knew that was selfish. But he was all she'd had. He'd been her whole life. When he'd gone...

She'd left that life. Fled Sunberth. Left it all behind and never looked back.

The second question confused her more. What would he have said to her? She had no idea... She thought back to all the times they'd spent together. All his patient lessons. Sniffling, she lowered her eyes, remembering all the times he silently comforted her. Granddad had been a man of few words. But she missed the way he used to hold her.

"I guess," she said, "'e'd jus' 'ave said nothin'... an' 'eld me..."

by **Anselm** on August 5th, 2012, 4:39 am

“Perhaps the real tragedy of your grandfather's death,” the Nuit said. “Was not that he died, but that he died alone. Let us hope that does not happen to a certain little boy for whom you seem to care a great deal.”

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on August 5th, 2012, 4:59 am

Tock stared at the fortune teller for a long moment, his words slowly sinking in. Then panic gripped her. He was right...

She shouldn't be here...

She should be with Mikey.

Without another word, she got up and started running for the infirmary. Regardless of whether she figured out what to do, she needed to be there with him. She needed to stay with him, and not leave his side for one moment. Otherwise, she knew she'd end up regretting it for the rest of her life...

by **Anselm** on August 5th, 2012, 5:09 am

Anselm watched the girl flee his tent. How fortunate that little boy is to have someone who cares enough about him to be at his side when he dies, he thought. He himself would most likely not be so fortunate when his time came to pass entirely from this plane. Nobody would touch him. Nobody would hold him. Nobody would mourn his passing. Nobody would even miss him. He gathered up his bones and put them away, and pocketed the gold coin. Then he folded his hands in front of himself and waited for his next customer.

by **Cascade** on August 15th, 2012, 12:34 pm

Adventurer's Loot

Anselm's Loot :

Tock's Loot :

It was a short thread but I do admire the introspection both PCs showed in it. Tock's situation made me sad, and Anselm's last post made me even sadder! So much emotion on both your parts. Nice job. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to PM me!