bigapplesauce | Stellarum Salve [closed]

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Stellarum Salve [closed]

Once again it is quiet and lonely in the void of the Furthest Ring. Some time ago - inasmuch as time can be said to be a thing that exists here - Calliope had suddenly found herself in a very strange dream bubble. It had been quite frightening, but also nice, so nice, to not be alone for a while, and of course it was over far too quickly, leaving her to stew by herself in the dark once more.

Despite the brief respite from her miserable lot that the dream had granted her, she is soon overwhelmed by loneliness and despondency again, curled up at the center of her protective vortex and wondering how she is supposed to make a difference to all of Paradox Space. Being dead means irrelevancy, after all, and she has already been killed by her brother once before - quite rightfully, the more she thinks about it. So how can she hope to find the courage to leave her hidden sanctuary and go in search of the secret weapon of legend, capable of defeating the invincible reality-rending monster her brother has become? Hope is in rather short supply out here, she muses gloomily.

Just then, as though to prove her wrong, something changes. Calliope stares up in speechless shock as a pair of majestic wings appears in mid-air, getting larger and brighter and quite mesmerizing and then she feels like she's tumbling, the wings guiding her. It's a short tumble, at the end of which she finds herself sitting on smooth stone, looking up at the back of a winged human statue. There is water sprinkling down in front of her-- water? And trees?? And humans!!! With an undignified squeak, Calliope more falls than scrambles down the edge of the oddly round body of water and cowers at the foot of it.

What is this place? There are so many humans she doesn't know, and this really doesn't feel like a dream bubble at all, and she feels slightly cold... just about anywhere would be cold to someone who grew up beneath a massive red supergiant, but she's never felt much of anything in the void or in dreams. This is all too much to take in and so is quickly eclipsed by her usual paramount concern - not causing a panic among the humans with her monstrous appearance. Which is going to be rather difficult, as the round structure isn't hiding her well at all, and oh she's quite sure she couldn't bear it if they all started running away screaming. Too scared to care that this doesn't seem to be a dream, she squeezes her eyes shut and desperately wills herself to look more acceptable, imagines with all her might her trollsona's soft grey skin, pretty face and lovely curled orange horns. But for all her imagining, she's still too afraid to open her eyes again.

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This is very nearly too much for Calliope. The notion that she has somehow been granted another life, the revelation that she is now an actual troll, and this level of utterly unexpected compassion and protectiveness from what she knows are essentially still strangers, it's altogether overwhelming. These two have no reason to care about her, and actually quite a lot of reasons to want her gone very far away, yet here they are offering to reassure and even defend her out of the goodness of their hearts. There are rather a lot of emotions to feel at once and no good way to express them (since this is the wrong medium to be using emoticons in), so she ends up merely clutching the mirror to her chest and blinking against a few faintly green colored tears.

"That is unbelievably kind of you both," she manages to say, "and I could not have wished for more lovely and terrific people to encounter in this foreign place." She does, however, wish that she didn't have to refute their attempts at comfort and their optimism. Turning to Iman, she adds, "But this rift must be only one of the numerous cracks my brother's rampage is causing in the fabric of time and space. It isn't sentient, let alone interested in protecting me." Calliope looks as contrite as though that was her personal fault, before glancing up at the Doctor. "And while I have been able to determine that his deadly procession through any given universe is rather more restrained and rule-bound than his travels through the Furthest Ring, it is no less catastrophic. Perhaps I could hide within the infinite dimensions of your gorgeous box just as well as in dream bubbles, but I fear the end result would be just as inevitable..." She feels awful both for considering this and for doing what seems like ungratefully rejecting his offer of help, and so looks down at his shoes instead.

"I do not doubt that you are very brave and have oodles of experience with all sorts of dangers. But you do not know him like I do. He is no longer the spoiled prat I used to share a, a room with; he has reportedly become an exceptionally muscled and literally invincible monster! And I absolutely could not bear it if anything happened to either of you because of me..." So perhaps it would be best if she returned to where she came from. Though, selfishly, she doesn't offer that suggestion out loud.

What a downer. And yet Iman can't really blame her, nor is she so easily frustrated. Callie's been through a lot already, from the sound of it - talk of literal invincible monsters is sort of inappropriately funny, but Iman's going to give her the benefit of the doubt - and coming through the Rift is a hell of a lot extra to process. This is gonna take time, and she knows it. She smiles, faint and unconsciously sympathetic, and rubs Callie's back.

"Well, you're here now," she says. "And whatever might happen in the future is going to happen. Right now you should probably pin your focus on getting acclimated. First things first: we gotta get you somewhere to stay."

Because she sure as hell isn't staying with Iman.

She stands up finally, her legs starting to cramp up, though she keeps a hand on Callie's shoulder. She turns to the Doctor. "What's the TARDIS?" she says bluntly. "Is that... this?" She makes a vague gesture encompassing their surroundings, looking around at the room in a little recurrence of awe. "Is this where you live?"

The Doctor looks shocked and appalled at Iman's vague phrasing and gesturing re: the TARDIS. "Ye-es," he says, which covers two of the three questions, neatly answering the third as well. He can see where Iman is going with this line of questioning, and although he'd already had the thought, he still bristles the tiniest bit at Iman just assigning his living space to a child. Who just comes into somebody's home and does that? But though he may find fault with the execution, Iman's got ahold of the only real solution. "The TARDIS has plenty of space, all the amenities." And is a sentient ship with whom he is on somewhat unsteady ground, who should probably be consulted, but isn't being. Anyway it'll be fine. "As well as some psychic capabilities which may offer protection on that front, too."

He turns his total, stern attention on Callie once more, and points for good measure, like he's delivering some kind of verdict. "You. You stay here for now. You can find something better later, if you like. But you can't just sleep on park benches until then, eating breadcrumbs like a pigeon," he preemptively argues. This is America. Bench-sleeping is probably highly illegal. And her other options are even worse. "Don't argue, it's settled." If she draws the attention of her brother, it probably won't matter where she's staying anyway.

Iman's and the Doctor's generosity must simply be as endless as this box, that's the only explanation for what is happening here. And Calliope hardly knows how to respond to it. Granted, Iman isn't offering any more reassurances after her regrettable arguments, but she doesn't blame her for that, and she does bring up an important and practical issue instead. It's a good thing she's thinking of this, because Calliope still has trouble grasping the fact that this isn't a dream bubble.

And it seems that the matter is decided as suddenly as it was brought up, before she could even begin to worry about it. She flinches slightly at the Doctor's stern pointing, but a second later it's obvious he is just doing it for emphasis, not because he is tossing her out. And his offer (or order) is once again hard to take in. Her, live here? She looks up at the shining, almost golden ceiling in renewed awe, marveling aloud, "Could there even be anything better?" The cheery chiming sounds that seem to come from the central column almost as though in response to her words are absolutely splendid too.

She still can't believe her good fortune, and is still so worried that something awful is going to happen, but far be it from her to argue again when she's been told in no uncertain terms not to. So she turns to the Doctor, still somewhat teary eyed but now with a shy smile on her face, too. "I do not know how I could possibly thank you enough. You won't notice I am here at all, I will be as quiet as a door mouse, I promise." Looking up at Iman, she adds, "And thank you, too. Will you visit?" It would be so sad to lose contact with a friend she's only just made.

Well, that was... easy? Iman wasn't trying to be so forthright as to suggest the Doctor adopt this kid, more like she was trying to establish his living situation and yeah, if he had a spare room, but if not, any ideas about alternatives, etc. But whatever, now it's resolved, before she could even blink.

And there's Callie, back to being enormously cute. "You bet, honey," she says, pleased to see her smiling again ~~ugh what is going on with her~~. "Good luck keeping me out of here." With that she looks up at the Doctor, folds her arms and stands with her hip cocked at an angle.

"Now." She unfolds one arm to make a slow, much more portentous encompassing gesture. "What is this?" she wants to know, and she thinks she's been impressively patient about this issue so far and it is now well past an acceptable time to address the big glorious dimensionally aberrant room elephant thank you very much.

And this day will forever be remembered as the day Iman twisted the Doctor's arm about sheltering an alien child. Not remembered accurately, but remembered nonetheless. And amazingly enough, Callie isn't arguing. See, if she were human, she'd be arguing, even though this is clearly the best course of action. Even better, the TARDIS seems agreeable despite his oversight. Probably helps a lot that these strangers have both been very impressed and polite, and in Callie's case, grateful. He has no idea how to handle Callie's gratitude, and unfortunately there's too much emotional responsibility in the air to just go and fiddle with the console until everybody leaves.

Luckily Iman spares him with her curiosity. And yes, he'd rather assumed she would turn up again, like a stray cat once it's been fed. Pretty understandable, really, she's hit the dimensional physicist jackpot. "This is the TARDIS." He's established that already, but now it's almost an introduction. "A ship that travels in time and space." Only not so much, currently. "I'd give you a demonstration, but there's some compatibility issues with the new universe. Everything else works, though." Mostly. He shrugs. What more could she want to know?

It's good to hear that Iman is so enthusiastic about visiting, and Calliope musters a bigger smile for her in response. And it's wonderful to hear a little more about this place that is apparently going to be her home for the time being. A home for her, nothing like the empty bleak nothingness of the void that lingered beneath everything even when she tried creating more comforting settings for herself. And how good of the TARDIS to be a space and time ship in addition to what very much seems like a whole extra universe unto itself.

She wants to ask how the Doctor managed to get so much space into the comparatively small box - is he perhaps a Hero of Space, as well? - but she can tell by Iman's expression that more over-her-head talk is imminent. And as fascinated as she is by the TARDIS, and as excited as she would be if the Doctor shared her aspect, she feels like she's already been talking far too much, as usual, and could do with a break from everyone's unbearably kind attentiveness. So she opts to stay quiet now, instead looking at herself in the mirror again. The image is still reassuringly a troll, and she does her best to let that cheer her, rubbing the green tears away and trying to push aside her anxieties regarding her brother.

So fortified, she looks up at the big imposing column again and finally wanders the three stairs up to it to examine it more closely. She's immediately charmed by the vibrant green illumination and the complicated mechanisms under the transparent bits of the panels, and by the way she catches glimpses of her own reflection in them. There's soft humming too, and things that whir and click rhythmically. Leaning against the edge of the panels, she reaches out with one hand to a spikey round little bit that's periodically spinning around its own axis, but dutifully doesn't touch anything without permission.

Yes, what more could she want to know, apart from EVERYTHING. "A ship?" she echoes, frowning thoughtfully. "A ship shaped like a phone booth? How does it go? What kind of technology is this, even, is this - are you from the future, or... Wait, are you even human?"

Sorry, Doctor, she's basically going to need an entire dissertation on this. She strays toward the apparent console but refrains from touching anything, only with immense self-restraint. She smiles fondly at Callie, examining everything with endearing curiosity.

"How does all this fit in here?" she asks, slower and more thoughtful. "Is it a pocket dimension, or is it something actually constructed, like this really, definitely exists here, within a smaller finite space? Fuck, is it that?" She's almost overcome by how beautiful that would be. She looks back at the Doctor, calmer, hoping for a straight answer. The more this sinks in the more she's sure this is the most incredible thing she's ever seen.

Everyone is drifting towards the console now apparently, and the Doctor follows behind in their wake, with a slight huff. "It's Time Lord technology, because I'm a Time Lord," he says querulously, ignoring about a dozen or so other questions in favour of the ones he deems closest to relevant. "Transdimensional engineering." That probably answers everything on the technological front, right? He circles around the console, all defensive eyebrows, threatened by Iman's enthusiasm. He's traveled with people who didn't ask this many in-depth TARDIS-related questions in the course of years, much less a few minutes. "The phone booth is just a disguise. Or possibly the longest running inside joke in the history of anything. TARDIS humour is a rarefied art."

Callie, too, seems quite taken with the TARDIS, and she's not even a dimensional physicist. Though she is, or was potentially, a muse of space--whatever that means. He should probably get that clarified at some point, it might be meaningful, though it hadn't sounded like a species. Then again, Time Lord doesn't really either, and that's never stopped anyone. "Shame we're grounded, or I'd really show you something," he says wistfully. Iman is a great target for being impressive, and Callie could probably use a distraction more than anything.

Calliope is certainly plenty distracted, admiring all the dials and levers while listening to Iman's enthusiastic questions. Personally, she would think that this place being a 'pocket' dimension and also really very much existing within a smaller space aren't mutually exclusive the way Iman's wording makes it seem, but then this isn't her wondrous ship, and the Doctor probably enjoys explaining things, so she keeps her thoughts to herself.

That is, until the Doctor casually reveals something awfully familiar sounding. She immediately ceases her examination of the console to stare at him in astonishment and a smidgen of involuntary dread, barely refraining from cutting him off until he stops talking for a spell. "Do you mean to say that you are a Lord of Time?" she rushes out, because it's both very important and very intimidating. Realizing that she sounded more concerned than there is surely any reason to be, she hastens to add, "Only I, well, I would have expected fitting an infinite structure into a much smaller box to be the purview of those who bear the Space aspect. Not that there is anything wrong with being a Hero of Time! Nor with being a Lord, I suppose..." Except for how she can't think of anything nice to say about that class just now. Oh bugger, she shouldn't have said anything at all.

Transdimensional engineering is maybe the most beautiful pair of words she's ever heard, 'cellar door' can go fuck itself, this right here is the linguistic be-all-end-all. She blanks out for a moment, staring around at the wondrous ship enjoying the phone booth explanation as well as anything, more questions bubbling up slowly. She needs to know everything about this. It's so wonderful. Are there manuals she can read? Can she live here? Is-

Wait, Time Lord?

She's about to let out a crack about that being the most ridiculous species name in the history of ever, if that's in fact what it's supposed to mean, but Callie's jumped on it first, and her line of questioning seems more... significant, somehow. Iman goes quiet, looking at the girl in mild bewilderment, and then looks at the Doctor with an expression of mingled are you getting any of this and well?

Nope. He thought he was getting it, and then it took a sharp turn in the direction of not getting it at all. He looks back at Iman just as bewildered, before turning a more cautiously baffled look on Callie. "I'm not sure that's what I meant to say at all, mainly because I have no idea what you're talking about. That's what I am, it's, it's all one thing. My people are Time Lords." Kinda. Some of them. Look, none of that would help right now. "It doesn't mean we can't do other things. Time, dimensions, space, telepathy," cosmic bigotry, catastrophic universe damaging wars, genocide, stupid outfits, "Time Lord stuff." He shrugs. "Nothing to get so up in the air about. Is this about the muse thing?" Thing of thing, she sure does like that construction. Wonder what that's about.

So it's... his species, not his role? Why would a species be named after a master class? Especially since he doesn't seem to be familiar with mythological roles at all, or any of the lore on Paradox Space, really. So either he is from a universe that isn't destined to bear a session, or he isn't one of the heroes in it, but that can't be right. Even in the short time that she's known him, he has very much struck her as someone who would be granted the great privilege and burden of having a large impact on reality. So if he doesn't know his class and aspect yet, it's definitely time someone helped him figure it out. And perhaps it would turn out that he isn't a Lord at all, though even if he were, it would be silly of her to be concerned, wouldn't it?

"'The muse thing', as you somewhat naively put it, is part of a complex arrangement of classes and aspects that describe the manner in which one has the most meaningful impact on reality, as well as that facet of creation which one has the greatest understanding of and natural affinity with." Sharing her knowledge and considering how best to present her favorite set of rules are having a rather comforting, bolstering effect on Calliope, and she takes on a somewhat lecturely tone that she didn't know she had because she's never gotten to explain this stuff out loud. "There are twelve aspects of reality and twelve classes, plus two master classes. But one's class and aspect mustn't be understood to be limiting! You could still possess great talent in your interactions with other aspects as well, or you may have not immediately apparent potential in your aspect that you are meant to hone as you grow."

Naturally, she magnanimously shares her lecture between the Doctor and Iman, spicing it up with fairly incomprehensible gestures meant to represent all of creation in some way. Though, even in her excitement she can't keep missing their baffled faces forever, so she eventually comes to a somewhat awkward halt. "Blimey, I, erm, did not mean to distract from your conversation about the TARDIS," she apologizes sheepishly to Iman and then glances at the Doctor. "I suppose I was a wee bit up in the air for... personal reasons. Nothing to fret about, really."

Iman watches Callie throughout this unexpected burst of exposition, and makes a mild flapping gesture at the end of it. "Don't apologize," she says. "I want to know more about you, too."

Especially now. What the heck was all that, it sounded like a video game, but having impacts on reality? Her brow furrows and she crouches down again, back to eye level.

"Does everyone have these where you come from?" she asks curiously. "What do you mean by impact on reality?" Really, she could listen to both of them all day. Someone ought to start writing this down.

Callie's enthusiasm for lecturing is respectable, if completely unintelligible to him and, by the looks of it, to Iman as well. And even if it's not a very accessible subject, it seems to be a cheering one for her. A chalkboard would have done wonders for that explanation on his end, though. The 'personal reasons' he will let pass for now, even if it is rather difficult to discount his species as a factor entirely. ~~This can probably be blamed on Rassilon in some way.~~

Iman's questions are pretty spot-on, but he's not gonna waste an opportunity to tack on a couple of his own. "And what does it mean to be a muse of space? Space I get," he waves demonstratively at their current surroundings--Callie had had a point, after all. But what is a muse in this context? "And how is it decided?" All that 'meant to' talk, doesn't sound like she picked it herself.

Oh dear, they're really properly interested in hearing more about this, aren't they? Even though all this likely doesn't directly affect them. She really hadn't meant to dominate the conversation again, but if her explanation has inspired such curiosity, far be it from her to spoil such a fortuitously educational opportunity for them. Gathering her thoughts, she sets down the mirror on the seat by the stairs and then turns to Iman. As flattered as she is by the Doctor's particular interest in her role and life, she feels it will make more sense if she gives some background information first.

"Well, technically the class-aspect matrix could be applied to anyone, but roles are only officially assigned to those destined to play the game. If you ask me, this may be because the game is uniquely geared towards personal growth and has the potential to award god-like powers to its heroes. I fancy it is a wee bit easier to find one's serpentine path through destiny with the helpful direction of one's title! Also, all other inhabitants of a planet that bears a session are sadly slated to be obliterated during the Reckoning, anyhow." Which is tragic, of course, but it wouldn't make much sense to give someone a mythological role who is only there to set the stage for the thrilling adventures of the heroes.

And that was the easiest part to answer, as she's not sure how much clearer she can make the concept of having an impact on reality without giving too much away. Although, on second thought, if they're not going to enter a session, she doesn't actually have to be mindful of how much she tells them. How splendid! "The heroes have a very literal and direct impact on reality because the ultimate purpose of each session, through all its rises and falls and at times interconnected iterations, is to breed a new universe!" She's always thought this is one of the best parts, and delivers it with the corresponding amount of cheer. "It is Paradox Space's means of cosmic propagation, creating new universes out of the genetic makeup of successful heroes and their sessions, bearing all their hopes and flaws alike, offering them peace at last. I cannot think of a more noble pursuit than this!"

She's practically beaming now, cheek swirls flushed with excitement and enthusiasm. But she hasn't forgotten the Doctor's questions and turns her bright smile on him. "The game assigns the roles, based on the players' inherent inclinations and affinities. Perhaps it is even Skaia itself that, in its infinite sunny wisdom, sets the players on their quests towards self-awareness and self-actualisation. I myself had hoped to learn more about my own role and explore my potential during my session of the game, but... I suppose I never shall, now." She'd managed to forget about that for a moment there, so the realization that everything she's just fawned over is unattainable for her hits pretty hard, and she visibly deflates. "To be quite honest, I know very little about the role of the Muse... It is one of two master classes, the most passive of the lot. The opposite in every respect being, erm, the Lord." And now she's back to that, how grand, well done her. She's rather run out of words though, and merely glances up at the Doctor uncomfortably to see what he thinks.

Edited 2014-12-23 00:40 (UTC)

Iman did not know exactly to expect when she asked for elaboration but it wasn't this.

That's a huge amount of information, and she feel her expression slackening slowly and her eyes getting bigger as it goes on. Callie is doing a pretty good job explaining what seems to be a really massive amount of information in a reasonably succinct and... well, mostly straightforward manner, albeit she's using a lot of the words she's also trying to define in the definition, but one has to start somewhere. What is this, though, a whole contained multiverse within the multiverse? That pretty much seems to be what's being described.

And she doesn't know how to respond to any of it. She wants more, charts, diagrams, detailed explication, but this is just so much, and is this the time for it? Probably not.

She ends up resting back and exhaling slowly, not quite managing any words but letting her expression shift from blankly astonished to impressed. She reaches out and rests a hand on Callie's shoulder, comfortingishly, picking up on the little dip in her mood at the end of it, but holding off on a real response, twisting to look up at the Doctor as well.

Well that sure did happen a lot. And why is everyone looking at him now? Normally that's exactly what he's trying to achieve, but Callie's emotional rollercoaster of a lecture is hard to take in and even harder to respond to meaningfully, and he'd just as soon be passed over in the face of that. Iman, for her part, isn't offering any visual guidance either, she mostly looks floored and expectant. He feels unexpectedly betrayed. Isn't the other adult in the room automatically assumed to take responsibility for any emotional occurrences he doesn't understand?

And of course he can't voice his actual response. Universes creating new universes out of the genetic makeup of heroes. Rubbish! The game assigns the roles, and obliterates everyone else. Nonsense. Well, it probably isn't, in her universe. But it's definitely total bunk here. And as dejected as she seems at being reminded of that fact, it really sounds like a good thing that that's the case. Still, it looks like not saying any of that out loud is the right choice. His opinion, as much as he'd like to voice it, isn't really relevant to her past life. And it is certainly past. With impressive restraint, he remarks, "That sounds fascinatingly bizarre, though I still don't understand what exactly makes you call it a game. But I'm not a master whatever. I'm not...helping create any universes." Creating universes in the image of a Time Lord, let's just not and say we did. What would it mean to be the opposite of the most passive category? The most meddlesome, obviously. It's a bit ironic actually, paired with the policy of non-interference. But if you disregard the majority of Time Lords (and you should) it's a much less ironic and more apt designation. Whether Rassilon or the Doctor is being used for the archetype. That's unfortunate. Perhaps thinking of all the ways Callie's system doesn't work with his reality was a bad idea.

Mental digressions aside, he once again has no idea how to handle Callie's emotional state. If it were him, being alive and not part of some kind of apocalypse/universe breeding program would be the optimal outcome, the very most optimal. But she clearly feels that she is missing out, and pointing out exactly what it is she's missing out on, as fortunate as it seems to him, would probably be a misstep. "I think there's probably plenty of exploring and self-actualising to do here, without that. If at any point in my incredibly long life I'd been given a role, I would have rejected it outright. And I've done fine."

It is quite a relief to see that the Doctor doesn't seem to take offense to what little information she has on the Lord class. Especially since he has already shared with her some of his own dissatisfaction with his species, and she would hate to add to it. Maybe, if she's lucky, it hasn't even occurred to him that she has involuntarily made some unsavory associations between him and her brother. She would prefer to keep it that way, and to quit being unreasonable, while she's at it.

"I do not doubt that someone as knowledgeable and courageous as you would have no trouble finding their way without the assistance of knowing their role," she ventures kindly. "And someone who is not meant to enter a session may not require it at all. But the role isn't externally imposed, it encompasses what you were always intrinsically going to be. Rejecting it would be like rejecting your very own self. Besides, it is such fun to analyse a character in these terms!" she adds towards Iman, attempting to be a little more cheerful. The nice lady has thankfully taken on a much less looming height again, and it seems to her that they are both trying to be encouraging in their own ways. She wouldn't want that to go to waste.

"I do look forward to exploring this place. I'm sure it is going to be terrific," she reassures them. Though there are probably no expository quests to be had here, and no universe-propagating purpose, according to the Doctor. Nor will she be able to meet all her friends, and her brother is still a horrible threat. She's putting on a brave face, but her nervous fiddling with her cufflinks betrays her dejection. Better to point the conversation elsewhere, so she asks Iman, "Would you like to have a class and aspect? I'd be delighted to offer my services in helping you work them out."

Well, the Doctor's small contribution is right on the money, though Iman suspects he's having an even harder time swallowing all this than she is. Good for him keeping a lid on it. She turns back to Callie, smiling at her reassurances. She's trying to work out something to say about all this, though she feels herself gravitating toward platitudes about how Callie is the master of her fate or some bullshit - this much personal and worldly freedom must be a hell of a culture shock for someone who has straight-up game mechanics built into her life story - but then Callie heads her off with that perplexing but adorable question.

Iman feels herself smiling, more genuinely than she usually does. Goddamn this cute friggin space kid.

"Um - yeah, sure!" she says, because how are you even going to say no to that. "What are the, um, what are the options?"

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Stellarum Salve [closed]

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