[OPEN] funeral: humankind is united today

[carnem]

CHARACTERS ▶ All
LOCATION ▶ Throughout Zion
SUMMARY ▶ In the wake of terrible news, Zion rallies around the fallen, drawing from traditions old and new, Real and otherwise.
WARNINGS ▶ PG-13 for language and indications of death and violence
NOTES ▶ Following the Return to Harbour plot (conclusion here), the city gathers to commemorate and say good-bye to the soldiers of the four ambushed ships. Political unease cannot get in the way of paying respects.

▶ Mourning in Zion

It takes three days to prepare for a funeral of this magnitude.

Of course, some may say that the Council spends those three days doing more than running the logistics behind incense and flower supplies. However, whatever other activities might have been involved, all that the people of Zion saw were to be expected: Kamadeva rallying the cooks and the florists, Xolotl reviewing the perimeter defenses despite that it had been done for Truce Week so recently, and the Morrigan calling meetings with the more powerful economic forces of the city to ensure the importance of the occasion was understood. The city will not be brought to a halt, but nor will the Council allow the grieving time to be interrupted by day-to-day bustle and commerce.

So it begins: three days.

PREPARATIONS ◀

For three days, Zionites take turns volunteering or even time away from their work.

The work tables are immense. Flower blankets, that will either fade or burn with crisp and potent sweetness, must be woven by teams of dozens. The spiritual practitioners of the Temples welcome all help in this, but it’s children especially who tend to come and join, running spools of bright thread back and forth and perched on higher stools as they fit new blooms into the growing lattice. Each of the dead will wear one.

Artists work with paints and whittles to create dozens of tiny icons: of beds and tables, luxuries to carry into the afterlife, to burn with those of the dead who are designated for cremation. Other donations are real enough: fruit reaped from the harvest, unleavened breads out in dishes, rolls of herbs, soups, kebobs, and wines. These will be eaten afterward-- the final meal to share.

In dozens of homes and throughout the bazaar, people are otherwise at work. They dip incense, draw pictures of memories drawn from sims, build candles, soak rosewater, tell stories and make songs.

A sand mandala flowers slowly by the entrance of the great cavern, expanding under the patient precision of studied hands. For this work, few are invited, but all are welcome to look at the vivid pattern. Symbols of major religions feature on contrasting fields-- not only the faiths of Earth-that-was, but even of some known only to Matrixes, an artistic decision that perhaps the Council and ZDG officially disagree with but nonetheless do nothing to prevent. Elaborate vegetation-- or is it circuitry?-- and a spiral of birds cavort through the space, and here or there, a pale young man looks through breaks in the vivid pattern. Neo.

SPEECH AND DIRGE ◀

It’s understandable, that when Councilor Brutus arrives for the final ceremony, he draws a few looks askance. He has brought four attendants with him, but the security is implied rather than looming a threat en force. After all, much of the Defense Grid is present and they are expected to behave accordingly, as if anyone living in Zion might be sick enough a soul to foul the funeral with dissent.

Most of the time, the bodies are burned at the same time. But there had been a few Muslims, Christians and other groups. Some of the flower blankets arrive empty, symbolic of a soldier who has since been buried.

It’s not difficult to recognize their families, standing at the fore of the massive gathering. Sometimes it’s a husband or a wife who cries hardest, but it is perhaps the worst to see the children who do not cry at all.

It is Councilor Aries who steps out into the stony platform. Chiron comes with her, Orion by his side. However, the men remain silent as she turns to address the crowd, this time for an event much more somber than the last. “Humankind is united today,” is the beginning of her speech. It has the ring of honesty to it, her face hard with grief, but there are murmurs as she speaks. Little doubt, some in the cavern would disagree, but few will put words to it-- at least, until after Aries has said her piece and the funeral songs fade.

The survivor known as 'Proxy' remains conspicuously absent.

Comments

[halatinous]

Observant and careful as he is, Fenris would be hard-pressed to miss the familiar cadence of Hawke's voice. He takes an unconscious step forward in surprise--he can place the accent, but there's something more, too. The phrasing, the inflection. It strikes a chord, as though this is a person Fenris should know. But when he matches a face to the voice, he comes up short. He hasn't met this man--has he?

The more he listens, the more Fenris feels sure that he's met a man like this--except, she wasn't a man.

Fenris clears his throat.

"Pardon," he says, stepping a little too close. He wants to say more, ask questions, but he allows that he could be completely misconstruing the situation. Perhaps he's imagining things out of loneliness, or hope.

[forcemageure]

Hawke, having ended his conversation, turns a little over his shoulder to slide out of the way, intending to shrug off whatever imagined slight, and--stops, expression and posture echoing the spirit of Fenris', if not the letter. The voice is familiar, even in two small syllables, the set of shoulders in a sort of sideways sense even the face.

"No bother." Mostly just to have something to say, to give him another few seconds to scrutinize, but the easiness in his face and loose shrug are genuine regardless.

Oh, well. If he's wrong it will only be awkward for a second; it's not as if neither of them can plead running off with valid things today. Everyone has something, today. "Fenris?"

[halatinous]

Fenris's eyes widen.

"I ..." he begins; clears his throat. "Yes, that's my name. And you. You are --"

He knows what he wants to say. Hawke is there on his tongue, but he just can't quite voice it, can't quite believe it. This isn't the Hawke he knows--is it? The body is all wrong.

Fenris's own body isn't exactly what he expected, but all the fundamentals were there, at least.

[forcemageure]

"Hawke."

There's a smile in his voice - albeit a cautious one - if not on his face. "But I suppose we're all a little unrecognizable."

What he actually means is the lack of beard and escaping curls, running a hand unconsciously back over his still short-cropped hair. Fenris looks all kinds of different himself, naturally, but--well, he would, wouldn't he? The bearing and posture and speech cadence are all still the same; those feel--well, like home. Even if it's not supposed to be home anymore.

[halatinous]

The revelation doesn't topple him. He's taken aback, he's unbalanced--but he's lost his equilibrium both literally and figuratively ever since waking up here. Fenris can't say nothing is a surprise, but the list grows shorter by the day.

"You are not as I remember you," he admits. He shifts his weight from to to foot, rubs the back of his neck. He doesn't look at Hawke when he adds, with a slight cough, "You were a woman, for instance."

[forcemageure]

In turn Hawke gives the returned revelation far more wobble than it's actually due, mostly so he can overbalance and rock back again.

"Do you have a very strong preference for having this conversation exactly where we are?"

All Hawkes, everywhere, do that singular raised brow. Not that he was longing for a reason not to be at the funeral, but this is ...well, certainly a reason to be more like 'hovering without shouting distance.'

[halatinous]

"No," he says, half-smiling. This isn't precisely the Hawke he recalls, but the humor is there. The bearing, too. Always carefree, at least at the surface level. At least in public. "Lead the way."

[forcemageure]

That's a phrase he hasn't heard in ...a while, though up until just now hadn't particularly missed, either. Or hadn't thought about missing it, or--he doesn't know, whether this encounter makes him feel more or less like himself, so funnily they're on roughly the same page there.

He hasn't been established in Zion nearly long enough to qualify as anything like a guide, but he did have the benefit of everywhere Anders could already navigate, so at the least he certainly knows where to get what uh, passes for a drink, at least. Most people today are probably too preoccupied to be much listening in on the walking conversations of strangers, but Hawke sincerely doubts, regardless, that this is the weirdest thing most of them have heard even today:

"Important questions first. Was I pretty?"

[halatinous]

Fenris is all too glad to go wherever Hawke takes him. He has some understanding of Zion's layout by this point, but it's not particularly robust. However, he does recognize the little bar where they eventually stop--a place to sit and drink anonymously remained a priority for everyone, apparently.

He half-smiles into his cup.

"Oh, yes. You were the belle of Kirkwall."

[forcemageure]

"Ooh." As he slowly fills his nonsenseometer before reaching the point of addressing anything like, real. "Your Kirkwall must have been a lot more upscale than mine if it had belles."

Right. Yes. Sobriety, which ironically he will reach mentally a lot faster as he passes out of that particular state physically. "We, apparently, have the distinction of a Matrix...Matrixes? - search me, I've had it explained but after a while a man's got to beg off before his head explodes - Anyway, that sort of difference seems to be common."

Speaking of.

"I was a mage, before." His expression is ...complex; on someone else it would be guarded, but not Hawke. "Are we still friends?"

[halatinous]

Someone had explained that to him, too. The knowledge had sat at the back of his mind, concerning but irrelevant; he hadn't honestly expected to meet any familiar faces here. A foolish conclusion, founded more on hope than belief: who wants their friends to wake up to such a world, to deal with such a staggering blow to their sense of self--of reality?

Fenris downs his drink in one long swig; sets it down; lifts his hand for another. He's not trying to keep Hawke in suspense. He just wants to find the right words.

"She was a mage, too," he says, once his cup is full again, "But she--you--was also the first person I could truly call my friend."

[forcemageure]

If Hawke could read narrative he would be so relieved to know he doesn't need to explain more of it; imagine the saying 'it's all Greek to me,' but from a person who has never heard of Greece. That person is Hawke. Eventually he'll get it - because he won't stop poking at the information until he does - but lately things like 'Maker, I can almost lift a pillow now!' have taken precedence.

In the face of that piece of information, the rest of what they're meant to be detaching from seems less important anyway. Hawke breaks into a 1000 watt smile, reaction much less conflicted than Fenris's. "Glad to hear it. It was hard enough to win you over the first time. I was all set to resort to bribery, assuming you had any great need for whatever's in my pockets. Mostly lint."

[halatinous]

Fenris raises (the dark ghost of) an eyebrow, but he's smiling back nevertheless.

"This place doesn't seem to accept lint as currency," he says. "I'll pass."

He lifts his cup, which is, of course, empty again. "However, if you're truly in a bribing mood, I wouldn't say no to a refill."