- 25th of Winter, 518
Madeira had spent the better part of two days tucked into the corner of the bedroom in a strangers house, scribbling in her notebook and pretending she didn't exist.
People she did not know were gathered around an enormous canopied bed making soft, distressed sounds at the frail old man drowning under it's covers. What little of him Madeira could see from between their elbows described a man with bells left to live. He had the deflated look of a well fed man who had lost weight quickly. There was too much sallow yellow skin hanging off his old, brittle bones and the hollow planes of his face. Too weak to sit up unsupported, his body was propped up by a tower of pillows to ease his chest, which sluggishly struggled to pump his blood. Of course, they said he was on his final bell several days ago. Either the nurse from Ionu's Mercy, who denied him use of his pipe and doggedly fed him broth with a sponge on a stick, was very good at keeping him alive, or the man was keeping himself in the mortal realm through the sheer power of spite. Madeira guessed the latter.
"I won't sign any of your petching forms, you greedy little asshat. The company can jolly well die with me. Oh, don't give me that. I never liked your little bastards anyway."
Madeira was impressed with the robustness of the ill Master Keaton’s voice. Though there was a whisper of the death rattle in his powerful tenor, he could work up some hefty volume.
"The house? The house? Ionu petch this house. I hope it rots around your ears."
In her notebook Madeira had drawn a snake into an ouroboros, and was considering how best to fill the circle. She had begun this exercise some time ago as a way to both keep her mind sharp and pass time. It was a hypothetical game, where she would develop Malediction circles to use on the corpses of her friends and relatives. Having grown up in the lap of death and magic, the fact that this was an incredibly creepy thing to do was completely lost on her.
This one would be for Ssanya, her Malediction teacher. But for which part of her body? She tapped the ink stick against her lower lip. What trait of Ssanya's she would want to bring out of her body after death? She was strong, of course. Resilient. But to prioritize physical prowess felt like such a waste when her mind was the part she admired most. So she narrowed it down: what was it about her personality and mind that she wanted to draw out? Her loyalty, perhaps? Maybe she could cut the Dhani to pieces and hide her preserved body in the walls of a house, so all who lived in it would be loyal to each other? Ugh, no, that’s so wrong... Cutting her to pieces would diffuse her body's power to fractions.
Around the bed, the old man's relatives clucked like chickens. Their voices were persistent and gentle, as if reasoning to a very small child. Even from her perch in the corner of the room Madeira could see the insincerity behind their dewy eyes and sympathetic smiles. They were pushing papers into his lap and pens into his hands, asking if he would please, please, sign them. Money needed to be distributed, power had to change hands, debts had to be settled. They never used such indelicate language at the dying man’s bedside, however. It was set in code, they called it 'inheritance' and 'legacy' and 'affairs'.
"I don't petching care. Throw my gold into the streets and my body into the Divine Legacy. Except my middle finger. Give that to Howard and tell him to sick it up his ass."
No, Ssanya's faith had to be resurrected, Madeira decided, smiling to herself. That unflinching reverence for death. She would take Ssanya’s tongue that had never spoken a word against Dira and tattoo the charm on it's bed. Madeira began gleefully planning her circle.
People she did not know were gathered around an enormous canopied bed making soft, distressed sounds at the frail old man drowning under it's covers. What little of him Madeira could see from between their elbows described a man with bells left to live. He had the deflated look of a well fed man who had lost weight quickly. There was too much sallow yellow skin hanging off his old, brittle bones and the hollow planes of his face. Too weak to sit up unsupported, his body was propped up by a tower of pillows to ease his chest, which sluggishly struggled to pump his blood. Of course, they said he was on his final bell several days ago. Either the nurse from Ionu's Mercy, who denied him use of his pipe and doggedly fed him broth with a sponge on a stick, was very good at keeping him alive, or the man was keeping himself in the mortal realm through the sheer power of spite. Madeira guessed the latter.
"I won't sign any of your petching forms, you greedy little asshat. The company can jolly well die with me. Oh, don't give me that. I never liked your little bastards anyway."
Madeira was impressed with the robustness of the ill Master Keaton’s voice. Though there was a whisper of the death rattle in his powerful tenor, he could work up some hefty volume.
"The house? The house? Ionu petch this house. I hope it rots around your ears."
In her notebook Madeira had drawn a snake into an ouroboros, and was considering how best to fill the circle. She had begun this exercise some time ago as a way to both keep her mind sharp and pass time. It was a hypothetical game, where she would develop Malediction circles to use on the corpses of her friends and relatives. Having grown up in the lap of death and magic, the fact that this was an incredibly creepy thing to do was completely lost on her.
This one would be for Ssanya, her Malediction teacher. But for which part of her body? She tapped the ink stick against her lower lip. What trait of Ssanya's she would want to bring out of her body after death? She was strong, of course. Resilient. But to prioritize physical prowess felt like such a waste when her mind was the part she admired most. So she narrowed it down: what was it about her personality and mind that she wanted to draw out? Her loyalty, perhaps? Maybe she could cut the Dhani to pieces and hide her preserved body in the walls of a house, so all who lived in it would be loyal to each other? Ugh, no, that’s so wrong... Cutting her to pieces would diffuse her body's power to fractions.
Around the bed, the old man's relatives clucked like chickens. Their voices were persistent and gentle, as if reasoning to a very small child. Even from her perch in the corner of the room Madeira could see the insincerity behind their dewy eyes and sympathetic smiles. They were pushing papers into his lap and pens into his hands, asking if he would please, please, sign them. Money needed to be distributed, power had to change hands, debts had to be settled. They never used such indelicate language at the dying man’s bedside, however. It was set in code, they called it 'inheritance' and 'legacy' and 'affairs'.
"I don't petching care. Throw my gold into the streets and my body into the Divine Legacy. Except my middle finger. Give that to Howard and tell him to sick it up his ass."
No, Ssanya's faith had to be resurrected, Madeira decided, smiling to herself. That unflinching reverence for death. She would take Ssanya’s tongue that had never spoken a word against Dira and tattoo the charm on it's bed. Madeira began gleefully planning her circle.
x
