breathoflight | ♕ 012 text/spam

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♕ 012 text/spam

private - Admiral.

Dear Admiral, For Alex, I ask that he be given a blade balanced for him and a shield with his family coat of arms painted upon it. If one does not exist for his family, then I would request that one be designed for him. I should also ask that he be given a symbol of faith. So that he might remember to always believe in himself. For Peter I would ask that he be given leather armor. It should be something light, but sturdy so that he may still move about. Although Chris and I have not spoken much of late, I would also ask for him to be given armor that would be suitable to his preferences. I believe that the Lady Morgana should be given dresses and garments more befitting a woman of her station and some jewelry to match. For my inmate, Marquis de Carabas, I ask that he be given a pocketwatch. I also ask that he be given a rat or two. I am not certain of what to ask for Dean, so I suppose I will leave it up to your discretion. I should like for him to receive something that reminds him of home in a pleasant way. Sincerely, Snow White Queen of Tabor

spam.

[Snow can be found just about anywhere on the Barge. But typically she can be found keeping her skills with a blade sharp in the CTS, wandering the Sanctuary of Tabor in the CES, praying or sitting quietly in the chapel, or sitting out on the deck.]

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[He finds her in the chapel. He was not actually looking for her - honestly this time, he wasn't, just wandering - and though he's loath to enter any place of worship, because of Reasons, he finds himself walking down the aisle to lounge in the pew across from hers.]

You believe in God, my lady?

[Her expression seems to indicate so.]

[Snow often wonders why de Carabas insists on ask questions he already likely knows the answers to. He would be, no doubt, condescending should another ask similar questions or make obvious statements, but it never stops him from beginning that sort of line of questioning himself. Snow doesn't really suppose the answer to that wondering really matters in the end. He is a man of his own making and doing, through and through.]

[She does not look over in his direction when she answers him though she is not defensive. Snow has never felt as though she must defend her faith to anyone and she has no intention of starting now.]

I do, de Carabas.

[It's not that he wants her to defend it. It's that . . . well, in honesty, he doesn't really know. He requires some understanding of faith in something great. He knows God is there, or was, but faith in the other, even the greater, requires a measure of trust he's never considered himself capable of. Hoped himself incapable of.]

[He tilts his head at her slightly.]

Forever?

[Snow looks over at him upon his second question. It's unusual and not one she's heard before.]

Do you mean to ask if my faith has ever faltered?

I mean if you were raised into it - faithful from birth - or if you came across faith on your own.

But I'd like the answer to yours, too.

To answer yours, both my mother and father were pious and I was raised to believe.

But being raised to believe does not guarantee faith.

Then what guaranteed yours?

Survival.

[After the murder of her father and Ravenna throwing her into a dungeon for ten years, watching the tens of hundreds of girls go by to have their youth and beauty drained from them, she needed to believe there was something still good out there.]

Survival . . .

[Of course. She is far more practical than most would give her credit for. Than he gave her credit for initially; he's willing to admit that. If one must believe in goodness in order to survive the worst of times, one must believe in goodness unseen.]

[He nods.]

Your belief is palpable. Not just here. Everywhere. It's a strange thing to witness.

I know God exists, but I am not faithful.

[Snow smiles a little at the comment on her belief. She tries to avoid being overbearing when it comes to her faith. She knows it can rub some individuals the wrong way or seem pedantic, so she tries to avoid that as much as she tries to avoid explaining or defending her faith. But it is good to know that it has a presence of its own.]

[She's ultimately not surprised by his lack of faith in God, nor does she blame him for it either.]

We have little choice when it comes to knowledge. We can choose what knowledge we expose ourselves to, but sometimes we do not even have that much. And ultimately, we cannot change fact no matter how much we may like to or how many attempts we make.

But faith is something we do have choice in.

We can choose to place it anywhere we like. We can choose to believe in anything or anyone. Belief can be changed and augmented by others, by knowledge, but it cannot be taken away from us. It can adapt. It can be moved. But we must choose to make it so.

You have faith just as I do. You just simply do not place it in God.

You speak like a queen.

[He isn't entirely aware, nor entirely unaware, of the smile on his face now. What he's fully unconscious of is its honesty, the lack of predatory promise between his teeth; it's just a smile. He wouldn't like that, if he knew.]

Who do I place my faith in, my lady? If not in God or his servants - tell me who.

[He knows. He can't un-learn what he's learned. In people, specific people; he has put too much of his soul in other human beings, and now he can't seem to get it back.]

[She makes no comment to his smile or his compliment (what she interprets to be a compliment anyway given his smile). It is a refreshing look to see upon him.]

That is not for me to tell you, de Carabas.

[But Snow knows who and looks away with a smile that says as much without being smug about it. Simply pleased for him.]

[Well. He's a little pleased for himself. Which is odd for a number of reasons, not least because usually he's pleased with himself. He watches her even after she turns away, crossing one leg over the other.]

It doesn't disconcert you? Knowing what you do about Islington. What it did.

[She is silent a moment. Thinking of how to explain though there does not seem to be any easy way to do so.]

No.

To be sure, what Islington did was cruel and despicable. But I do not believe that it was acting upon the desires of God. It was acting upon its own desires much in the way mortal men do. Wickedness is something we all have the capacity for because it is a hazard of free will. It is a choice like so many things.

Islington, unfortunately, made the choice the way it did. It embraced madness and allowed for that sickness to consume it.

[This unfortunately makes sense. It also explains why the marquis thought him so weak - why he was so weak; he allowed himself to fall victim to the weakness of his own insanity. Where the marquis is so starkly sane he laps himself to insanity, Islington was only ever crazy. Monomanical. Unequivocally evil, with no space for nuance.]

[A disappointment. A frustration. An enemy, and someone to fear.]

[The marquis sighs lightly and folds his hands on his knee.]

Does the Admiral want me to forgive him? Because if so, we may both have a problem.

[An interesting question.]

[Snow is not certain how much forgiving Islington would really benefit de Carabas, however. Putting it behind him, if he is still stuck upon it, may be of greater value than forgiveness.]

I honestly could not even begin to tell you what is the on the Admiral's mind or what he would intend for you, de Carabas.

But even I realize that some transgressions are beyond forgiveness. It is neither my nor the Admiral's choice whether or not you forgive Islington.

Whether it's the Admiral's choice or not, he's my jailer; you aren't. But if he wants that out of me before I can go home, you'll abandon this place long before I get to leave.

[He seems strangely at peace with this fact. At least for a minute, and then:]

Which will make his life terrifically difficult in the long run. I'm not good at locked up. Could always crash the ship into Big Ben. I never liked Big Ben.

Big Ben?

[Snow looks over at him questioningly.]

A landmark of London Above. Great big clock tower. It tells the lie of linear time.

That and it's an eyesore.

[Not sewery enough.]

[Snow won't even pretend to fully understand.]

I don't imagine that anyone will allow you to crash the ship into a landmark.

Not unless I make them.

But I don't think I'd make a good brutal monster. Subtlety is strength. It would be a last resort.

[Snow nods.]

It would be wise to stick to your strengths. But I might suggest you use them for more productive things than the destruction of property or persons.

You've advised me as much before.

[He doesn't sound particularly perturbed by it this time, though. There's something noticeably different about him. More contemplative, less stubborn. Though not by much.]