Post by Vox Inzabash on Aug 29, 2024 10:33:26 GMT
But not all songs are sung, and no song is quieter than the song of the oppressed. The notes and music fit a minor key. The words, well - no word is enough, and any word is far too great a risk. -Alex
After Sweet Sorrows
“Did you get anything nice at the auction?” Itzal’s voice called from the back of their new house, probably in their dojo.
The house was still mostly bare, hence the trip to the antique show. Vox decided the staircase would have to do, and plopped themselves on the third step before calling back, “Yeah, a lovely house plant with a side of existential dread.”
Itzal’s soft footsteps made their way to the front of the house. “But you said thinking too deeply about things was going to give you wrinkles.” They quipped, seating themselves next to Vox.
“That was before I was reminded that I’m just a shell of a person running from my past.” Vox hoped a melodramatic response would cover their actual sadness, but Itzal was able to sniff it out like a bloodhound.
“What the hell is this about?”
Vox felt tears welling and fought against them. Just say it. Just be honest for once.“You know, when I was a kid, I never thought I’d see the ocean. My brother told me my mother was some pirate-”
“-Smuggler” Itzal interjected.
“Oh my god. Whatever.” Because the only people that actually cared about that distinction were pirates and smugglers. “ And I couldn't help but wonder what her life was like. What the ocean was like. I kept reading about it - crashing waves, salty sea spray, depths beyond imagining. But I didn’t think I’d actually see it. There’s so much I wanted for myself, it seemed hopeless.” Visions of a life in hell, a life of subordination, sent a crushing wave of hopelessness through Vox.
“But things have changed. You’re not that gangly, awkward, sad teenager anymore. You grew your hair out,” At this, Itzal couldn’t help but tug a few of Vox’s lilac dreads. Itzal still remembers Vox nervously asking for them, all those years ago, on the bow of the Opulent Fable. “You got yourself a girlfriend. You have a collection of weirdos, murderers, and fashionistas that call you friend. You’re free now.”
Vox scoffed at that. They were nearly losing the battle of holding back these fucking tears. “But not really. I am too afraid to even say my own name.”
Itzal but a comforting arm around her shoulders. “It’s been years. I doubt your father is trying to track you down.”
“That’s worse." Vox argued. "Now I’m disposable. My name. My soul. I exist at the whim of some cruel bureaucrat of hell. And I hate it.”
“So do something about it.”
What’s in a name?
The Pylaerion was exactly the type of devil who would buy her very existence. Cold, apathetic, greedy. Did he even know who she was? Did he even care? Slipping into old habits, groveling, self deprecation, just to face a devil that lacked the ability to care about her plight.
At least there were other people that were interested enough to help them. Digs and his fast hands were absolutely clutch. And despite her meek librarian facade, Calla was also a huge help. And Leonida is never less than supremely competent, and this mission was no different.
They collected the contract, and some other goodies. But the weight lifted off of her chest was indescribable. If her training hadn’t been quite so thorough, she might even cry.
The Aftermath
Sunny and Vox snuggled together in the porch hammock. Vox’s hair still had a slight whiff of brimstone, but Sunny didn't mind. “So why did you need that contract?”
Careful of her horns, Vox looked up at her girlfriend before sighing, “Did I ever tell you why I came to Kantas?”
“No, I don't think you have.”
It all came flooding back. The desperation. The fear. The uncertainty. The unfairness.
“Well, my mother died. But before that, I lived by myself in Zakhara. I made a living through gambling, odd jobs, and the occasional petty theft. It worked for a while. I was doing well.”
“So what changed?”
“Some merchant found out who I was. Likely bought my name off of my mother’s mutinous crew. He blackmailed me into doing one heinous job after the next. I felt like I was back home, working under the thumb of some dickhead.
And then I got a letter from Itzal, asking me to come here. It lit a fire under me, got me to actually think. I paid to modify my blackmailer’s memory and hopped on the first boat to Port Ffirst. No one here knew who I was, except the person I trusted most in the world. But there was always a chance this could catch up with me. So I fixed it.”
“And now you can be Voxovan. Or Vox. Whoever you want to be.” Sunny tightened her arms around Vox.
“Right now, I want to be the person laying in your arms.”
“That sounds nice.”
And maybe, someday, a song of freedom, sung at the top of her lungs.
A very belated write up to two different sessions. Big thanks to Alex for your poetic writing that inspired Vox. And to willemf for letting my girl get her name back
After Sweet Sorrows
“Did you get anything nice at the auction?” Itzal’s voice called from the back of their new house, probably in their dojo.
The house was still mostly bare, hence the trip to the antique show. Vox decided the staircase would have to do, and plopped themselves on the third step before calling back, “Yeah, a lovely house plant with a side of existential dread.”
Itzal’s soft footsteps made their way to the front of the house. “But you said thinking too deeply about things was going to give you wrinkles.” They quipped, seating themselves next to Vox.
“That was before I was reminded that I’m just a shell of a person running from my past.” Vox hoped a melodramatic response would cover their actual sadness, but Itzal was able to sniff it out like a bloodhound.
“What the hell is this about?”
Vox felt tears welling and fought against them. Just say it. Just be honest for once.“You know, when I was a kid, I never thought I’d see the ocean. My brother told me my mother was some pirate-”
“-Smuggler” Itzal interjected.
“Oh my god. Whatever.” Because the only people that actually cared about that distinction were pirates and smugglers. “ And I couldn't help but wonder what her life was like. What the ocean was like. I kept reading about it - crashing waves, salty sea spray, depths beyond imagining. But I didn’t think I’d actually see it. There’s so much I wanted for myself, it seemed hopeless.” Visions of a life in hell, a life of subordination, sent a crushing wave of hopelessness through Vox.
“But things have changed. You’re not that gangly, awkward, sad teenager anymore. You grew your hair out,” At this, Itzal couldn’t help but tug a few of Vox’s lilac dreads. Itzal still remembers Vox nervously asking for them, all those years ago, on the bow of the Opulent Fable. “You got yourself a girlfriend. You have a collection of weirdos, murderers, and fashionistas that call you friend. You’re free now.”
Vox scoffed at that. They were nearly losing the battle of holding back these fucking tears. “But not really. I am too afraid to even say my own name.”
Itzal but a comforting arm around her shoulders. “It’s been years. I doubt your father is trying to track you down.”
“That’s worse." Vox argued. "Now I’m disposable. My name. My soul. I exist at the whim of some cruel bureaucrat of hell. And I hate it.”
“So do something about it.”
What’s in a name?
The Pylaerion was exactly the type of devil who would buy her very existence. Cold, apathetic, greedy. Did he even know who she was? Did he even care? Slipping into old habits, groveling, self deprecation, just to face a devil that lacked the ability to care about her plight.
At least there were other people that were interested enough to help them. Digs and his fast hands were absolutely clutch. And despite her meek librarian facade, Calla was also a huge help. And Leonida is never less than supremely competent, and this mission was no different.
They collected the contract, and some other goodies. But the weight lifted off of her chest was indescribable. If her training hadn’t been quite so thorough, she might even cry.
The Aftermath
Sunny and Vox snuggled together in the porch hammock. Vox’s hair still had a slight whiff of brimstone, but Sunny didn't mind. “So why did you need that contract?”
Careful of her horns, Vox looked up at her girlfriend before sighing, “Did I ever tell you why I came to Kantas?”
“No, I don't think you have.”
It all came flooding back. The desperation. The fear. The uncertainty. The unfairness.
“Well, my mother died. But before that, I lived by myself in Zakhara. I made a living through gambling, odd jobs, and the occasional petty theft. It worked for a while. I was doing well.”
“So what changed?”
“Some merchant found out who I was. Likely bought my name off of my mother’s mutinous crew. He blackmailed me into doing one heinous job after the next. I felt like I was back home, working under the thumb of some dickhead.
And then I got a letter from Itzal, asking me to come here. It lit a fire under me, got me to actually think. I paid to modify my blackmailer’s memory and hopped on the first boat to Port Ffirst. No one here knew who I was, except the person I trusted most in the world. But there was always a chance this could catch up with me. So I fixed it.”
“And now you can be Voxovan. Or Vox. Whoever you want to be.” Sunny tightened her arms around Vox.
“Right now, I want to be the person laying in your arms.”
“That sounds nice.”
And maybe, someday, a song of freedom, sung at the top of her lungs.
A very belated write up to two different sessions. Big thanks to Alex for your poetic writing that inspired Vox. And to willemf for letting my girl get her name back