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trans_92009-07-04 03:29 am
worm-dancer.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92009-07-04 03:29 am
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What do you hate? [Locked to Ghanima Atreides]
A Crysknife, of course. Sheeana hadn't batted an eyebrow at the beautifully inlaid blade that had awaited her in the possessions chamber. Intricate spiral inlays and some of the last remaining pieces of hagal quartz glimmered in the hilt. She remembered yanking the tooth from the big one she'd called in her eleventh year. She'd used Ixian power grips, and those sycophantic Rakian priests had fallen all over each other to call in the most expensive smith they could afford and had it set thus.
Then there was the Van Gogh. She'd spent so many hours staring at it for inspiration, feeling it draw out that wild thing within her, the thing the Sisterhood feared and yet needed most. Order bled away at the end of the cottages and things became smudged and vibrant. It resonated somewhere inside her.
Her own artwork, the sculpture she called The Void was nowhere to be found. Oh well.
That had been on the bonelike shelves within the dim claustrophobia of the possessions room. The room seemed as if it were designed specifically to provoke awkward encounters, unwanted contact as people shuffled past each other in the narrow spaces to retrieve the things precious to them.
Sheeana had simply waited until everyone else had taken their things.
The next chamber was even narrower, straight and down two paths. It was like a locker room in any other educational facility, like the one at Chapterhouse where the acolytes had enacted their youthful parodies of sisterhood politics and made fun of the old proctor-teachers (what they thought was) away from supervising eyes and ears.
Doors like the shells of great beetles occupied most of the space. It was uncomfortably humid, but she found her beetle-door anyway, touched her palm where it was indicated. The beetle-door swung open with a hiss.
Inside she found only a single black container, granular textured, shaped like an egg and made of the same stuff. She pulled it out, finding it very heavy even for her trained musculature, and set it on the bony bench. She sniffed experimentally at it...Again no poisons, but it carried the cinnamony smell of Spice~.
Inside something kicked, and the egg bobbed side to side...
(The man was awakened inside a dark chamber. His feet were numb but he could just barely feel sand underneath them. The temperature was so mild as to be completely unnoticeable. A total absence of light. And of clothing. Everything was dull, numb, hazy. He felt insubstantial, like a wind trapped in a jar, a potentiality, a tendency imprisoned within a psuedo-body...
His mouth was dry and raspy. He felt as if he'd slept for millenia...He could recall no names, not even his own. Only phrases (Did I say this?).
...My skin is not my own.
...a lesson their bones will remember...
...safe path leads ever downward to stag...
...I have achieved Siona...
Each time he would venture to the edge of his chamber, he would feel his feet touch water (just as mild as the temperature, only distinguishable by the change in texture and that..).the pain shot up bare shins.)
Sheeana froze. She knew that motion, that sound. "It'sss you!" She hissed, angry, triumphant, terrified in the same breath.
Then there was the Van Gogh. She'd spent so many hours staring at it for inspiration, feeling it draw out that wild thing within her, the thing the Sisterhood feared and yet needed most. Order bled away at the end of the cottages and things became smudged and vibrant. It resonated somewhere inside her.
Her own artwork, the sculpture she called The Void was nowhere to be found. Oh well.
That had been on the bonelike shelves within the dim claustrophobia of the possessions room. The room seemed as if it were designed specifically to provoke awkward encounters, unwanted contact as people shuffled past each other in the narrow spaces to retrieve the things precious to them.
Sheeana had simply waited until everyone else had taken their things.
The next chamber was even narrower, straight and down two paths. It was like a locker room in any other educational facility, like the one at Chapterhouse where the acolytes had enacted their youthful parodies of sisterhood politics and made fun of the old proctor-teachers (what they thought was) away from supervising eyes and ears.
Doors like the shells of great beetles occupied most of the space. It was uncomfortably humid, but she found her beetle-door anyway, touched her palm where it was indicated. The beetle-door swung open with a hiss.
Inside she found only a single black container, granular textured, shaped like an egg and made of the same stuff. She pulled it out, finding it very heavy even for her trained musculature, and set it on the bony bench. She sniffed experimentally at it...Again no poisons, but it carried the cinnamony smell of Spice~.
Inside something kicked, and the egg bobbed side to side...
(The man was awakened inside a dark chamber. His feet were numb but he could just barely feel sand underneath them. The temperature was so mild as to be completely unnoticeable. A total absence of light. And of clothing. Everything was dull, numb, hazy. He felt insubstantial, like a wind trapped in a jar, a potentiality, a tendency imprisoned within a psuedo-body...
His mouth was dry and raspy. He felt as if he'd slept for millenia...He could recall no names, not even his own. Only phrases (Did I say this?).
...My skin is not my own.
...a lesson their bones will remember...
...safe path leads ever downward to stag...
...I have achieved Siona...
Each time he would venture to the edge of his chamber, he would feel his feet touch water (just as mild as the temperature, only distinguishable by the change in texture and that..).the pain shot up bare shins.)
Sheeana froze. She knew that motion, that sound. "It'sss you!" She hissed, angry, triumphant, terrified in the same breath.
no subject
"Well it is now," Ghani murmured ahs she turned it slowly in her hands, getting a better look at it. At the moment she's completely ignoring Sheeana.
Holding the container firmly in her hands, the young Atreides sank down on the bench and set the container carefully on her lap. With a calm, steady breath Ghani slowly lifted the lid off of the container and peered inside.
Her expression grew confused and she looked over at Sheeana for a moment before quickly turning her attention back to the inside of the 'egg'. She felt her breath hitch and her grip on the container tightened for a moment.
"How is this possible?" She whispered, her bottom lip trembling slightly. While the small worm inside was obviously not her brother, she recognized a small him within it.
"Leto?"
no subject
For a moment there was terror. Her eyes went wide for a fraction of a second before her Bene Gesserit control could clamp down on it. The wormlet was looking eyelessly and expectantly up at her.
"Go back to her." And so it did and curled up around Ghanima's feet. She sighed. "I tried to tell you. This is the end of his Golden Path. Each of these are his revenants. A bit of himself, endlessly dreaming in each."
She'll help me...but then she'll try to revive him somehow. Dangerous decisions. I hinge on the edge of so many probability attractors...Must pick the right one.
no subject
She swallowed, slowly leaned over and ran a cautious finger over the worms dry skin. "How is this...How did this happen?" She asked, her eyes welling up with tears.
no subject
Her voice was tightly controlled, almost strained. She wasn't letting any stray bits of emotions out. "You're a Fremen. Think back to the games of your childhood." Fremen kids would play a game with sandtrout, the sandworm's larva. They'd allow the creatures to mold themselves around their hands and admire the 'glove' thus formed. Normally the little creature would drop off after a while but for someone super-saturated with Spice, a product of the sandworm...
The little worm trilled happily at her feet.
no subject
While she still remembers the games, this... This worm makes no sense to her stull. Her brother was part of it. "How did it come to this... How did..." She trailed off for a moment until she was sure her emotions were under control.
"How is it that Leto is part of this worm?"
no subject
no subject
Ghani hesitated for a moment before speaking as she thought over what had been said to her. It did make sense, but... There was something under Sheeana's surface that Ghani felt she had to know before continuing on with their present conversation.
"Why does this... creature trouble you so??"
no subject
Sheeana inhaled deeply, clearing herself of her internal emotional debris. "Your brother...ate my village."
no subject
"Your words ring truth," she finally spoke, her voice soft, yet at the same time firm. "You claim my brother became a product of a sandworm. If that is so, how can you remain angry at him? Surely his basic instincts would have slowly become that of a worm as well."