milliways_bar | (no subject)

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The last time Tavi was in the Bar, he was in a better mood than he had been in at least a year.

That did not last. In Alera, it barely lasted a few hours.

Today he’s rather paler, though at least steady on his feet. When he sees the Bar, some of his determined, confident expression fades into unutterable weariness; the careful eye might notice him lightly rubbing his side from time to time. The state of the Bar—all the costumes—clues him in that it’s another one of those days. “If you do anything ridiculous to me, I will set this place on fire,” he says out loud, if half-heartedly, as he makes his way to his table.

Though he is picking idly at his meal, energy, grief, fascination, excitement, dread, and resolve war for dominance over his expression as Octavian’s attention is fixed almost unhealthily on the Window and the endless destruction outside it.

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"You don't mean that", Gavroche says easily, settling beside him.

"Who says I don't?"

Gavroche, at least, knows he's not serious about it. He's just tired today, that's all.

"I do, 'cause I know you. You going to take the chance for some sleep?"

He hasn't missed whatever's wrong with Tavi's side, either.

"Yes." And Tavi means it, and was already planning on it. Especially now. "After I've finished eating, at any rate."

What's wrong is that he was skewered by a three-edged sword made of chitin and which was also incidentally poisoned. He nearly died, in fact.

"Good", he says simply. "If you tell me you've been healed of whatever you're rubbing at there, too, I'll take your word for it."

"I have. Dorotea and her healers did a good job." For a moment his eyes darken. Foss--crows take the Vord Queen.

Or he plans to see such happen in the next forty-eight hours, anyway. "It's just a little sore. Some rest and I'll be good as new."

"Good enough", he says, satisfied. "And I hope whatever did it won't be doing it again."

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

His voice is quiet but utterly unyielding--and he's not really looking at Gavroche again. The Window's got his attention today.

Gavroche follows his gaze.

"...thinking about endings?"

The question is enough to pull him away from the Window slightly.

"And, with luck, beginnings," he admits after a moment. Mostly endings--but it has been pointed out to him he's never really satisfied that a job is done.

"Can't have a beginning without something ending", he agrees. "Is the war really almost over now?"

"Yes." Tavi sighs and takes a long drink of juice--no alcohol today, although given that he plans to sleep it couldn't hurt. "Other than the inevitable clean-up after."

"And that always takes a long time", he says quietly. "But at least you won't be dealing with more damage happening while you're trying to clean up."

"Oh, there will be damage," Tavi notes sourly. The next winter will be hard, the planting and harvesting seasons not as productive as they should be and needing to make up for huge portions of lost arable land, what was done to some of the lands will take time and serious effort to reverse, there will still be Vord to clear out--

And none of it matters if he can't kill her in a day and a half. "But within manageable limits." I hope.

"You've got your crafting to help. Won't just be depending on what the land can give you on its own."

"Crafting has its limits." Tavi sighs. "And even now I can't do everything myself, or with Kitai's help. I can do more for a while, but..."

But Alera is falling apart, he can't save her, and he wants to keep her as long as he can. Strain will hasten that dissolution.

"But with the war over, people will be able to go back to their lands as we clear them out. Hopefully it'll get enough crafters distributed that the boost will let them get the work done."

Gavroche nods.

"It'll be a start, at least. What will happen to the Vord when they lose their leader?"

"I really don't know."

And this, this is one of those things that stresses him out more than a little. But he doesn't have time to spare worrying about that.

It has to happen, one way or another.

"If you're lucky, they'll be lost."

"I doubt I am quite as lucky as that."

And he has to admit, he has fairly abominably good luck, on the whole.

"At least for a little while, so you get a window to mop them up."

Tavi pauses mid-bite of food.

"If by lost you mean disoriented and without direction, then yes, I will likely be that lucky. Not lucky enough for them to just drop dead." He scowls. He could really use that.

Gavroche snorts. "Wouldn't be much good for the species if that happened every time they lost a queen."

"Quite," Tavi replies sourly. "And the Vord are nothing if not the masters of working for the good of their species."

"Which means they'd take over your whole world, given the chance?"

"It's what they do. The Marat tell stories of them doing it elsewhere--likely on other planets."

"How did they get to yours? Can they move through space?"

"That is a very good question." Tavi chews his lip thoughtfully. "I'm not entirely sure. Most races on Carna seem to have accidentally fallen through to it; the Marat might have done otherwise, as as far as I know only they and the Vord had contact prior to Carna. So perhaps they could, once--but it's not a capability Carna-born Vord seem to have."

For which he is very grateful.

"They must have, if they've got legends about the Vord. Or they must have met another species who had contact with them, a long time ago... trouble with legends is they never tell you the details."

The comment draws Amascut's attention, and after she is done eating the pudding that whoever is behind the Łukaszewicz Foundation provided her, she wanders toward the strangers table, wine in hand.

Due to Bar's Halloween costume shenanigans, her normally red hair is raven black and she wears the ridiculous outfit of Force-Captain Catra, foe of the mighty She-Ra. But, her skin is still the sunkissed brown of almost all dwellers of the Kharidian desert.

"Nice view..." she says. "Maybe next year I will also threaten to burn this place down; these costumes can be horribly uncomfortable. May I sit?"

Tavi looks up. "If you like," he says with a shrug. He's not in a bad enough mood to turn strangers away, though he's not as out-going as he can be in the Bar.

"I doubt the threat had anything to do with it, honestly." His green eyes turn back to the Window, briefly, expression darkening--and then he smiles wryly, almost lightly. "The Bar's always been rather gracious about not pulling totally irrational stunts when it would truly anger me." He thinks maybe she likes him; then again, he's always happy to bartend, so maybe that has something to do with it.

"I wish I could get on her good side. But maybe I already am. Or she isn't afraid of my moods."

Probably it is because Amascut has hasn't really hurt anyone yet. Burned things, broken tons of glassware, sure. Had a tantrum and tried to restart the apocalypse that happened here. But so far, the information the patrons here carry is still potentially more valuable than ...

She's given Bar enough time to figure out that she's harmless. The frustration almost makes an appearance in her expression, but she chases it away. She's not harmless, she tells herself, just waiting.

"Are you thinking about something? Not many like staring at the abyss for this long." She doesn't mind staring out the Window much, but she dreads the end of the show, only because she knows that it won't end, truly. The way the universe pulls itself from the brink at the last moment is still very uncomfortable for her.

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