Pulse of the Imperium

When their blinfolds could be removed, they became exposed to the wonder of harmonious coexistence of man and rainforest that was the Muadh village.

Efren was shocked more than the others. What the Bene Gesserit called adab, the demanding memory, the flood of awareness straight from the subconscious or the depths of the genome, hit him. He knew this place. He now remembered it again, having erased it once. It were images, not words, but everything a two-year-old could reasonably recall.

The Muadh in the village showed curiosity, but Yar Zell discouraged them from approaching. He led the group to the largest and most shaded treehouse, followed only by the feathergivers who had apparently assumed some responsibility for Layla and Hadrian.

Efren followed Yar Zell closely as he waked through the river of memory and present. The faces flashed between now and then. The feeling of the past and now overlayed one another as he continued on towards the center of the village… and the center of his mind.

Hadrian followed as well. His curiosity apparent in the way he examined faces and architecture both. Attempting to glean any advantage he might be able to for the coming talks. But his observations ran a tad deeper. How long might a stare last before the other feels threatened? And when they do feel threatened how do they respond? How disarming is a smile to the Muadh, for both men and women? Does humility in a gesture carry more weight than ignorance and placation? He observed both with calculated precision. And he naturally took note of how differently the other two were treated as opposed to Laila and himself. He tailored his energy accordingly and waited patiently for the moment he might begin learning this strange new language. Begin forging these new connections. And ultimately profit from the effort.

Laila didn't do social nuances terribly well, but the general air about her as she took in her surroundings was one of relief... with a ghost of disappointment about her that the most perceptive would have picked up on.

The tension between finding a community she would never in a million years want to attack coming up against the part of her brain trained for and thriving in violence.

Just another really nice place that wouldn't ever be home.

Chaperoned in a way that made it plain that wandering off wasn't a great idea, and not being able to speak with any of the locals anyway, she decided on a different course of action.

She reached out for Hadrian's hand.

This wasn't Cidrit Town, it wasn't anywhere that "unprofessional" gestures were likely to carry much weight.

So it was time to try being human.

The winding staircase led them up to the hut, giving them an even more resplendent view of the waterfall from the elevation. Yar Zell stopped by the door cover and pulled it aside, but didn't enter. Neither did any other two, taking position on the other side of the doorway.

"Come." A crone's voice speaking in broken Galach called them from the inside.

Efren heeded the voice and moved past the partition.

Kiran looked around, taking in the differences between what they knew and how these Muadh live.

Laila left the bag of weapons outside of the hut- adding her knife to the pile. And, after a moment, her shield as well.

Inside, it was pungent with rainforest aromas, just very concentrated, in racks of drying plants and hanging skin containers.

Two women were sitting there. One, clothed so plainly that Yar Zell looked like king peacock in comparison, was as old and wrinkled as her voice had foretold. She was gazing in their direction with milky eyes, maybe seeing them, maybe not. Her ears were extensively stretched down my some ceremonial weights.


The other, younger though still likely in her early 40s, had a flower necklace. She was beautiful, though no longer youthfully so. Her eyes were transfixed on Efren. Both recognised each other, how could they not. Even though she looked like it was very hard for her to contain emotions, for now she remained silent.


Both women could be related.

"You found us." The crone stated. "I am the Old Mother."

Efren stopped as he caught the gaze of the younger woman… and everything seemed to stop around him.

How would anyone respond when someone knew to be dead… simply wasn’t?

His eyes widened in surprise as the world slowly began its natural course once more. He looked between the two women and tried to gather his thoughts…

All he managed to say in response was, “Yes… we did..”

Laila Bridger wrote: ↑

Sun Aug 04, 2024 7:55 pm

She reached out for Hadrian's hand.

If half as much study was being paid to him as he'd been paying to the Muadh, a great deal could have been gleaned from this gesture. First it would have become apparent that his guard had in fact been up this entire time. The surprise, his reaction, the look on his face - all made plain in the moment. Then as quickly as the veil had dropped it would have been replaced. And for that briefest instant in the space between one final tell would present itself: a quizzical look, then a ray of hope before the adjustment's made. Now dons the facade one might liken to that of a tourist. A mask of oblivious wonder and fascination rather than cold calculation and cunning.

He laced his fingers with Laila's and grinned. His mask said, 'isn't this fun?' His energy said,'isn't this exciting?' His pulse, his grip, and his palm said, 'Should the shit hit the fan, it's just you and me.'

Kannon wrote: ↑

Mon Aug 05, 2024 5:09 am

Snip

He entered behind the others still observing and cataloguing all with wonder and interest. He waited patiently for Efren to make the introductions, giving a reassuring and knowing nod should their eyes meet.

"What reason." The Old Mother said, slowly. Speaking Galach was very removed from her everyday experience. "If you wanted to come back, Eph Ren, you would come alone."

For her part, Laila didn't figure either woman had much to say to her, so she simply held her postion.

And Hadrian's hand.

She was quite calm, however, on the logic that if these people wanted them dead, there wasn't a hell of a lot to be done about it and they probably would have tried by now.

The Old Mother’s words brought him back from the world of shock and amazement to some degree.

“We came looking for our friends. Found bodies of your… our people… by the shore and were worried for you. We came to seek your help and see if we could give help to you.”

There was a mournful yelp and then silence before the Old Mother spoke again.

"What is your help."

“If we know where the men who do these things to our people are… We can remove them.” He replied.

"We can tell you where they come from but we will never agree to harm. We live here and you live there because your ways are not ours. We do not have warriors, only hunters. And they apologise and repent for any life they take to feed us. If you kill in our name it is as if we killed. We will not offend God's will by cutting the vines they weave." The Old Mother replied calmly.

“There are many ways to remove a threat that do not include murder. These men are heartless… they will kill any and all of you. Like a beast that threatens the village they must be directed elsewhere. Their workings bring death to the forests, the creatures that live in them, and the creatures throughout the world.”

He looked down to the floor as he remembered the face of the man from the day before, “They cannot be allowed to continue in this course.”

"A nonlethal approach will be a challenge, but not an insurmountable one," Kiran noted, crossing their arms. "A test of our cleverness rather than lethal force. It might help avoid the destruction we endured in our lands, as well."

The Old Mother repeated a mournful yelp hearing of the destruction in the lands of other Muadh. Her milky eyes were facing the aylonit when she spoke again.

"God makes choices, their people abide. We can only plead for change. What you suggest."