A Picture on a Wall

It was perfect. Not a blade of grass was out of place, precisely as Rowyn remembered it. While everyone else spent their summers as little ones going to island paradises and theme parks, this had been her home away from home. Father had insisted. He was from another time, back when families did things together, dammit! The gnome woman allowed herself a little smirk at that particular memory. Yes, in many ways, her fond thoughts of that strange land only existed because her father had an itch to outdo all his friends and have a far superior summer vacation with his family. Normally such ventures backfired, but considering Rowyn was presently reliving the experience of her youth much as he had, she was pretty sure you could call it parenting well-done.

“Engineer Lilyfield?” She was shocked from her reverie by the electronic voice that seemed to emanate simultaneously from the trees and mountains and even the water. “Engineer Lilyfield? Are you well? Your vitals appear unchanged, but you have ceased communication. Do you require assistance?”

Rowyn sighed and allowed herself a bit of a tired smirk. Her hand rose and brushed some errant hairs out of her eyes. “No, SAIA, thank you. I was just lost in my mind for a moment. I haven't seen this valley in years and I suppose I spaced out for a moment. And please, you can just call me Rowyn when we're not on official business...”

“I don't comprehend the difference, Engineer...” There was a momentary hiccup, the mark of a product that was still in its early phases. “...Rowyn. We are considered on-call at all times, so it is always official business.”

'Poor SAIA,' Rowyn thought to herself. 'She was programmed to learn, and to want to be as accurate and useful as possible. She has a way of being childlike, elderly, and professorial all at the same time. But I suppose it has its charm, too.' The gnome often had to reprogram her own thinking in order to have a meaningful conversation with the artificial intelligence. Rowyn was really the only one on the crew who bothered to. For everyone else, she was precisely what her designation specified – a Shipwide Artificially Intelligent Assistant, a tool. But Rowyn had always had a habit of giving life to machines even when they had none. It was a common gnomic stereotype, and in this case an accurate one. So when she discovered that the ship she'd be spending the next few years on was a literally living machine, she was eager to get to know her. “Right. Well. Just for tonight, you can call me Rowyn, and then tomorrow we can discuss the finer points of how to identify casual situations.”

Presently, they were testing out the ship's lounge, which came equipped with a very basic holographic projector. When it came time to give the test-run, Rowyn knew just the place. And now here she was, staring at the most realistic image of the Shinar Valley known to anyone. But as the shock passed, Rowyn began to see the seams. “Dammit. The Uncanny Valley strikes again...”

“I thought it was called the Shinar Valley. Processing. Ah, the Uncanny Valley, a term used to define the difficulty in producing truly realistic technology.” Following SAIA's brief turn as a billion-dollar dictionary, there was a much longer pause. Normally SAIA liked to be polite and would punctuate her silences with words like 'processing' in order to keep those waiting on her aware that she was still 'present'. “...Ah...” Rowyn had spent a good deal of time with SAIA, and this was the first time that she ever thought about describing the voice as possessing emotions. In this case, sadness.

“Yeah, I'm afraid human senses are a little too finely tuned. This is a very realistic visual recreation, and the three dimensions do a lot to help. But...” The gnome pouted, fists on her hips as she looked about. “But they also make you so much more aware of all the missing details...” Rowyn, too, was becoming disappointed. Perhaps this had been a poor choice of test subject. Too close to home.

SAIA remained silent, her presence only made known by the occasional beep. Without the language to deal properly with how SAIA worked, you could only say that she was deep in thought. Because the voice was no longer vocally explaining her every move, Rowyn was becoming a little unsettled. Was the hologram program overloading her? Was she continuing to research Shinar, or maybe the Uncanny Valley? Every time the tiny woman thought she understood how SAIA worked, she went and proved her wrong.

The first thing Rowyn noticed was the noise, or rather the lack thereof. There should have been a consistent hum from the engines, the kind of thing you couldn't ignore and had to get used to. It was softer now, replaced by wind, rustling, water, and a million other noises you didn't realize you missed until you heard them again. Next was the temperature and the light breeze – or at least the simulations thereof. “SAIA...?” There was no reply, which was beyond unusual for the voice. Politeness had always been so paramount for her. Rowyn was becoming concerned, when suddenly a flurry of smells hit her nostrils, each one paired with some distant memory. Salt and pine and wild animals and so, so much more.

Slowly Rowyn sat down on what was undeniably little more than carpet and ran her fingers through the holographic projection of grass, allowing the illusion to become real in her mind. Finally SAIA spoke up. “There is a terrifying world where something becomes too like its creator and yet still too distant, and turns into a monster. Only by increasing fidelity can reality be attained.” Another pause, without explanation. “You're crying, Rowyn. Have I gone overboard? I have, haven't I? ...Dammit”

The engineer reached up and touched her cheek. Yes, she was most definitely crying. And what was going on with SAIA?? Insecurity, colloquialisms, rhetorical questions, cursing! And all these extra touches, attempting every avenue the computer had available to make Rowyn's experience as perfect as possible. Beyond all sense, SAIA was being thoughtful, and sweet. “No. No, SAIA, you're doing exactly what you were always meant to. You're experimenting and learning. We're strange, sometimes. We cry when we're sad, and we cry when we're happy too. You'll get used to it.”

“I'm glad,” said the voice, “I want to know more. I want to know everything. Maybe then I can understand you better.” There was a gentle hum as a vaguely humanoid figure appeared beside Rowyn, stretched out on the grass, staring at the sky. It looked over at her and smiled, though the process took a little longer than normal. But it was good to see SAIA smile, even if it was awkward. Slowly Rowyn stretched out next to her, staring at the holographic sky, unable to get the image of that holographic smile out of her head. “Maybe... it's not so bad, being in the valley. Just because it's different or unsettling doesn't mean it's not real. Just... different.”

And for once, SAIA found that she understood Rowyn's poetic manner of speech. SAIA could translate billions of words in a variety of tongues, but some words truly eluded her. Now she understood one of them.

Nice. This was nice.

Druidic Mayhem (WIP)

“Detective Krognuk.” The sarge called and he answered. It was pure reflex these days. Twenty years ago, it had been unthinkable to see someone like Lilybottom in a police station. Krognuk assumed her position to be the work of affirmative action, putting one of the fair folk in such a high rank. Then, he saw her arrest record, watched the way her eyes literally flared when she interrogated a suspect. She was terrifying, and neither a silly name nor waif stature were going to get in the way of that. From then on, the orc respected her more than anyone in the precinct.

“Yes, Sergeant?” In truth, Krognuk's attempts to show respect bordered on overkill for the first week or so. He would stand every time she so much as looked at him, saluting constantly despite the fact neither of them were soldiers anymore. For all that Lilybottom bucked the trend of faerie-kind, she wasn't entirely boring. She liked rules but hated pomp and circumstance. More than anything, she finally told him, you earn my respect by doing your damn job. And from then on, their working relationship only got stronger. Any time the two rode together on a case, everyone would get a betting pool going on how quickly they would get their collar.

Lilybottom motioned back toward the interrogation rooms with an amused smile. “You're up. I think our 'eco-warriors' are ready to talk, and I know you love to play good cop and bad cop at the same time.” The sarge said 'eco-warriors' the same way someone would call a three month old puppy a ferocious beast.

These kinds of things happened all the time. Some suburbanite kid would start talking to the shrubs in their front yard, they go and join a forum for baby druids, and next thing you know they're trying to stop a construction company from destroying more of Gaia's precious land, or gods forbid attempting to blow up a smoke-stack or something. Thankfully, these shrimps were small-time, all minors, and scared witless. They'd been caught sneaking into some big pharma company with nothing but spray paint and the determination of youth.

But not even Officer Armstrong's report did these little ones credit. As the orc strode casually into the room and shut the door behind him, he was able to get a much better look at them – while they, in turn, freaked out, convinced that this was their executioner. Krognuk sat down in a chair that was way too small for his broad frame and gazed at them evenly.

Each wore a dark brown hoodie, fabric of such uninteresting make that it no doubt came from some terrible polluting factory. The same could be said of the rest of their clothes. He casually picked up the evidence bag with the spray paint can inside. Chroma – a brand notorious for shoddy health regulations. The stuff in the cans could do, and had done, irreparable damage to the world. Just as slowly Krognuk set the evidence bag back down in front of the kids. One human, one elf, and one kid with the misfortune to have a gnome and a halfling for parents. He would never be taller than this moment right now. It was tragic, and his big orc heart was breaking.

“Do you kids know much about CleriMed?”

The human spoke up, a girl with unruly hair and glasses, freckles and braces – braces for crying out loud, her teeth weren't even fully formed yet! “They're a big business, what does it matter? They've got hands in every pot and that means they're as guilty as anyone!”

The detective pointed a finger at her and she quickly backed down. “First of all, you should consider a different line of work. You sound more communist than terrorist. Second, CleriMed has been on the Top 100 Green Businesses list since 'green' was a thing. They get their name because pretty much all their products come from clerical healing spells, not pharmaceutical science. If you're going to go after someone, it would be wise to do your research first...”

“A-Are you gonna call our parents...?” asked the tiny one. Oh, gods, they look so sad. Why the hell did Lilybottom have to give this to me? She knows I can't stand it when kids cry... He felt himself starting to soften more, his shoulders sinking, a sigh passing his enormous teeth. These were okay kids, they didn't deserve punishment, they needed guidance!

It was an odd age to be, where they were still terrified of their parents being called in, and yet giddy that they had actually been arrested trying (if failing) to do something for Mother Earth. Soften too much, too fast, and they wouldn't really get it. So he crossed his massive arms against his chest and glared at them, staring them down, double checking that each one looked sufficiently guilty and ashamed for being such... idiots!

“I know someone, goes by the name Stormy. Retired now, good cop. She's a druid too, mostly uses it to garden. Loves talking to sunflowers. I can call her to come get you, or I can call your parents. But I promise you, if you choose her, she won't go easy on you. You'll learn to tend to the earth the way Gaia intended, not the way some jackass in a forum tells you.”

The look passing between the youths was instantaneous, and soon they were all rapidly nodding their heads as the bespectacled girl spoke for them. “Call her! Call her, it's fine, w-we'll learn!”

Detective Krognuk chuckled and stood up from the table, heading for the door. “Good idea. But seriously, if you end up in here again, you'll wish I'd called your parents instead of Stormy. That woman...” He laughed again and headed for the phone.

//////////

It was windy up on the roof of the precinct, and it ruffled what few strands of graying hair Krognuk still had. He pulled at the cigarette between his fingers and released the cloud of smoke into the air. The sound of the door drew his attention, but he eased up again when he saw that it was Sergeant Lilybottom, pulling out her own pack and lighter.

“I sort of feel like I owe you an apology, Krog. What the hell happened back there? You're not the type to get rattled. Ever.”

For an orc, Krognuk was very good with silence, and he let the moment linger as he continued to smoke. “Kraal is getting to be that age. Sometimes I worry about her. Maybe she'll just get up to stupid shenanigans like trying nepenthe behind the high school or joyriding. Something relatively harmless. But for all I know, she'll be caught up in some hairbrained scheme, end up hurt or... Guess the kid with the braces just reminded me of her a little. Headstrong but desperate for a rudder.”

“Hey, you're a great dad. Isn't Krall like... a genius level alchemist or something? So maybe she accidentally sets something on fire, I think we both know she's not malicious enough to do anything bad. Just... do what you did in there. Talk to her like she's an actual sentient being. If you don't know a damn thing about alchemy, find someone who does.” Lilybottom bumped shoulders with Krognuk, and even if he was three times her size, he still stumbled.

Just a little.

Good Work if You Can Get It

“Explain to me again why we're having coffee at a hole-in-the-wall in Omaha, Nebraska.”

“I told you. I wanted to talk to you.”

“Let me fix my emphasis,” said El with a sigh. “Why are we having coffee in Omaha, Nebraska? We could get coffee... quite literally anywhere. Paris. Morocco. The moon, Lucy. We could be having coffee on the moon if we so desired. But here I sit, in Omaha, Nebraska. So I need you to tell me why it just has to be Omaha.”

Lucy motioned with a finely manicured hand toward the counter at a girl who couldn't have been older than 18 with dark skin and darker eyes and a beautiful smile.

“Crushing on a human, Lucy? Tsk tsk... And so young. I thought you were better than that!” Of course, El was being facetious, but when you had a good opportunity to get digs in at your ex, you went for the jugular without remorse. It didn't matter if you were divine, anyone could be bitter.

“Emily Demirci. First generation kid of Turkish parents. Makes – and I mean this quite literally – the best cup of coffee in the world. So that, Mx. Ridiculous, is why we are in Omaha, Nebraska.” She huffed and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Like you're even one to talk. Knocked up some poor teenage girl and didn't even have the decency to do it physically. You act as if doing it by way of magic cloud is somehow better.”

“Jealous because we never had magic cloud sex? All you had to do was ask...” A look of legitimate pain crossed Lucy's face and El immediately began to regret even coming here in the first place, much less letting their old, vengeful side come out like this. “I'm sorry. You said you had something you wanted to talk about and here I am with my claws out already.”

Lucy allowed herself a smile, but it was hard-earned. “Flaming sword. You have a flaming sword, I have the claws, with the pitchfork and the little spiky tail thing. And it's not as if both of us haven't earned some serious ribbing, all the crap we've pulled.”

“You wouldn't think it, talking to some of my people. They have this whole complicated biography about me and still come away somehow thinking I'm perfect. I destroyed entire cities, I turned a woman to salt. I threatened Moses, of all people, with death if he so much as looked at my face! Everything terrible just gets dumped onto you instead.” Right on cue when the both of them were looking their most pathetic, Emily Demirci came over with two perfect cups of coffee and set them on the table before quickly leaving, deciding not to say anything to the charming woman who always came by, and her friend.

The two drank in silence for a moment. It really was perfect, even the cream and sugar ratios were exquisite. Lucy was the one to break the quiet to continue their conversation. “That's what happens when you break up. The story changes so that you're the hero and they're the enemy. Mine do the same thing, often because of what yours do. They paint me as the innocent, wronged party, and paint you as this sociopathic megalomaniac. It's become this endless cycle.”

“I can't exactly say that's a comforting thought. But I suppose I see what you mean. Every time I think that maybe they're finally getting it in their heads that they need to be better, they go and screw up something new. It's a bit exhausting...” El drank the coffee slowly. It demanded being imbibed with patience, even from a god, even from God.

Here Lucy got a new look on her face, her brow knitting together, her lips pressing together tightly. It was inscrutable, even by the one being that knew her well. “That's... actually... why I wanted to talk to you.” El's head canted to the side slightly, and it took a good deal of concentration for Lucy to not admire their face. “It's... I... I miss you. Oh, not... No, I mean I miss you. What I'm trying to say is that Hell is literally just a place where you don't exist. And at first that was amazing, because we had just broken up and I was bitter. And then it sucked, because I started to get lonely, even with all the people showing up. But recently, it's like... I see what you're up to these days, and I remember how you used to be.” Dammit, she could see El getting progressively more angry and confused the longer she spoke, but she was on a roll now and couldn't stop herself.

“If you've got a point, Lucy, you had better make it soon or I'm walking out of here and leaving you with the bill and your creepy human-crush.”

“You've given up, El! Two thousand years it's been, since they killed-” Lucy cut herself off, not wanting to put too fine a point on it. “And ever since, you've been completely uninvolved. These poor humans have been stuck with wars and famine and destruction, lost and alone in a cruel, uncaring void. Is it any wonder so many have turned away from you? You... You set the world spinning, gave them a couple big miracles, and disappeared.” Her perfect mug of perfect coffee was forgotten and cold now as emotions took over. “When I say I miss you, I mean I miss the creative, hopeful El who threw a bunch of potential at a floating rock, poking and prodding until things crawled out of the mire. You played with dinosaurs for a while, experimented with drastic global weather, gave humans the faith to call down firestorms and split seas. One crucifixion and you just give up??”

The fire was building in El's chest as Lucy continued. “So you, what, called me up just to tell me how pathetic I am? To make fun of me for having a difficult time? I don't understand what you want from me!” Things were getting more tense, and neither of them wanted this to turn into an actual fight – since the consequences could be destructive.

Lucy shrunk away and hugged herself slightly. “I think it's time you start over – time we start over. It wouldn't be that hard, you know. Just wipe the slate clean and build something new. No more Earth, no more Hell, you could even trash Heaven if you wanted. Just you and me and a canvas waiting to be filled.”

The world held it's breath as God decided what it was they wanted. Suddenly, inexplicably, every soul on earth felt anxiety wash over them, sure in the knowledge that at any second a void would open and swallow them whole.

“NO.”

And just like that, everything returned to normal, and everyone laughed and assured themselves it was nothing – just a dip in atmospheric pressure or a lunar shift or something equally ridiculous. They weren't going anywhere. Everything was just as it had always been and always would be.

El's eyes were glowing now, and it took a good deal of concentration for them to go back to looking vaguely human. “...no, Lucy. Ethically, morally, theologically – no. I could, if I wanted to, you're right. And... a part of me does want to. But...” They reached out and picked up their coffee mug. Instantly the brew was hot again, and they sipped it slowly. “Emily Demirci deserves to get out of Omaha and share her gift with the world. Both her amazing charcoal drawings - yes, I keep track of them too - and her delicious coffee. Donnie Crenshaw in Cape Coral has been teaching dance courses for forty years to bored housewives, and occasionally schtupping them when their husbands have passed. He's one of yours, y'know, but he's still earned the right to keep right on teaching and... whatever else he wants to do in his free time.”

El finished their coffee and tossed a hundred dollar bill on the table. Eyes full of wonder, Lucy got up and followed them outside into the fresh air. “There are monks with such intense control over their bodies they can control physiological processes that I designed to be completely autonomic!” A little ways down the sidewalk was a large fountain, which El immediately hopped up onto. “People have developed new abilities and properties I didn't even dream of, and I'm omniscient! They're thinking up cures to diseases they created, solutions to crises that are their fault. They're gonna be living in space, full-time soon...”

A light shone in El's eyes, one that Lucy hadn't seen in millennia. “Aliens. They're gonna need aliens...” They hopped back down from the fountain's edge and hugged Lucy tightly. “Thank you.” When they pulled back, Lucy flashed her signature grin and shrugged. “You were... The thing!! You did the thing! Dammit, Lucy, you haven't played Devil's Advocate in so long, I forgot how good you are at it.” Now came the awkward question that she was pretty much expecting from the moment she called El up in the first place. “Did... was any of it... Do you actually miss me...?”

Lucy rubbed the back of her neck, looking pretty much anywhere but at El. “Well, yeah. The best lies are the ones that contain an ounce of truth. I couldn't have helped you find your spark if you didn't believe what I had to say. Give yourself some credit, El. You're amazing. You just needed a reminder, the only way I know how.”

“You know, I could always make Hell self-sustaining, put someone else in charge. It doesn't have to be... I mean...”

Lucy held up her hand before El got any further in their speech. Too much generosity and she might actually take them up on it. “Every party needs a DJ. Just hold onto that little nugget of information, okay? For when you're having a bad day. Just tell yourself, 'Even the Devil loves me and wants me to do better.'” Lucy turned to go, then stopped herself and offered one last smile to her old flame. “But if you ever did want to have coffee on the moon, well, you know where to find me.”

Pieces

I still remember so vividly the first time I met you. You walked into my shop a lovesick young pup. Admittedly it wasn't my shop yet. And I was, as it turned out, only six months older than you. You wanted a love potion you could give to the boy who had stolen your heart. With a glimmer in her eye, my mentor directed you to speak to me first. It was obvious she had no intention of selling you such a concoction. Not the soundest business strategy, but witches are practical not capitalistic.

I wished to give you horrible advice. I thought you were pretty and you smelled like vanilla and I wanted to see you look at me the way you did when you talked about him. But witches are practical; they do not give in to their base emotions so easily. And so we talked, and I advised that you speak to your boy first, that you ought to get to know him. If he turned out to be more than you thought of him, your love would bloom naturally. If he proved to be a fool, you would not be burdened with a foolish paramour.

We made no sale that day, but you gave us a generous tip and went on your way.

It was many years before I would see you again. The shop had been passed to me and I ran it just as my mentor had, and her mentor before her, and so on. I gave people what they wanted, not what they needed. It is not a line of work that earns one much money. But it was satisfactory, and very enjoyable.

I was a young woman then, and you were still six months younger. Your wedding was approaching and you were hoping for a good luck charm to wear. You laughed and told me that it was most definitely not the fool from when you were young. We went over several options for charms and you eventually chose one you told me had a good energy. While checking out, I told you in no uncertain terms that hoping for too much good luck would likely cause the reverse instead.

How I wanted to sell you some gaudy trinket and give you bad advice. But I could not. My brain would not allow my heart the opening.

As you left, you asked whether witches still acted as midwives, provided some day you and your lover had a child. I tried to stop myself from laughing too hard as I explained that you were more or less correct. Witches have to be multitalented, and we could be brought on as doulas. I gave you my number and told you to call me if you ever needed someone. And I tried desperately to not think too hard about the significance I wished the moment held. But it was a business recommendation, nothing more.

You left me a large tip that day too.

It didn't take you long to call me back. The wedding was a massive success and the honeymoon had been, to quote you, 'eventful'. I didn't want to hear any of it, naturally. But I was excited to hear that you were expecting because it meant I would get to see you again. I would be able to spend time with you, to talk with you, to be intimate with you in a way not even your husband could. I suppose that made me a fool, just like the boy who wasn't enough for you. I suppose that was why...

It's unusual to begin working with an expectant mother so soon. But I was eager, and it seemed as though you were too. I taught you everything I knew. I practiced breathing with you. I held your belly and felt your baby kick. I noticed with dismay that your husband was never around, and sometimes I wondered about that.

It's pretty much expected that you will get a call in the middle of the night in my line of work. And signing on to be your birthing assistant doubled the likelihood of such a call. I've never told you this, but I still fear to this day that it was all my horrible negative, jealous energy. After so many beautiful, pleasant days, it seemed somehow just, like the universe was teaching me a lesson at your expense.

The baby was gone, and with no heir, so was your husband. I had thought you were calling to tell me my services were no longer needed. Instead you told me with a cracking voice through ragged sobs that you wanted to see me. That you needed me. My mind was blissfully empty of selfish thoughts, focused entirely on being there for you. I made it to your home in record time, potentially breaking several laws in the process, I don't remember perfectly. You answered the door looking relatively composed, but by the time my arms were around you, all composure was gone once more. I said little, if anything. You spoke when you needed to, and there were other moments of intense silence.

Only when you had passed out there with your head in my lap did I allow myself the time to wonder where this could lead. I regret my timing, but not the love I felt, as I sat there stroking your hair.

Though I was glad for the time we spent together during the coming weeks, I was less grateful for the reasons. Sometimes we would find reasons to laugh until our cheeks hurt. But there were still those moments where you would stop and stare into the middle distance, full of longing and sadness. We never talked quite like we did those first nights, though I wished that you would. But I also knew that you were experiencing something I might never know.

It was months before I finally attempted to tackle the subject. There was wine and some terrible movie playing on your television for little more than background noise. I had barely gotten out the words 'a therapist or support group' before I felt your lips on mine. It was so unexpected that I actually shoved you back. In retrospect, I shouldn't have been so aggressive. I was as angry with myself as I was surprised by you in that moment. “Didn't you hear what I said??” What began as an attempt to gently nudge you toward healing became an argument.

I had tried all my life to avoid fights, to the point that when I was in the middle of one, I had no idea how to behave. We both spoke our minds plainly, perhaps too plainly. The venom in your voice when you finally told me to get out will likely never leave my memory as long as I live. That was the end of things. My poor decisions, my selfishness, my love. I knew I would never see you again after that night.

And yet.

And yet here you are now in my shop. My heart is pumping so hard I can feel it in my every vein. I tried to be cordial and calm. I fear my words have come out too harshly instead. “What can I get you?”

And yet.

And yet you tell me you went to a group therapy session the other week. You tell me I am more than my missteps. You tell me you'd like to get tea some time.

I love tea.