guestservices | AUDIENCE FOR: Estelle

They're paying you?

[

they shrug ]

[????]

...... They're not paying you?

[ another shrug ]

We're fine, if you're worried.

Oh, good... [Yeah, she is.]

I don't know a lot about the circumstances of those who were in a similar position before, but it sounded like some of them had a really hard time...

[ they glance at her. ]

Yours was only a couple of weeks, right? No wonder this whole - [ they gesture at themselves. ] - thing must be pretty shocking.

It is a lot to get used to...

... but I'm kind of glad you're here.

[ ... aw. their voice softens like immediately. ]

... thanks, Estelle. Y'know, if there's anything we can do for you - anything I can do for you - I'd be happy to do it. Seriously.

[Her eyes light up; she's encouraged by those words.]

I'll remember that. Thank you.

[And then a breeze shakes the trees of the orchard, and a shower of stardust falls, bringing with it a tree-related memory.]

[ oh. what a lovely memory this is - there's a sense of gentleness and warmth that comes from it, like light washing over darkness. as it fades, aquila's silent, for a long moment, and then says, after a moment to compose themselves: ]

...Now that's the sort of thing people write poetry about.

[ Wow. ]

[Estelle's momentarily stunned at the memory, but not in a bad way.]

The Tree of Halure...

At the time, I had no idea that my power could do something like that... I just tried it, and... it worked...

Pretty incredible.

[ they sound impressed! ] Was Halure the place? Or just the name of the tree?

It's the name of the place, also known as the City of Blossoms.

It's... where I'd like to go, when this is over.

Hell, I would too, after seeing something like that.

[ the city of blossoms, huh. ] ... Reminds me of somewhere I lived, once. Always liked places like that. 's beautiful flowers in the Northwest, where I'm from.

[ and, well. they're going to say something else, but... there's another breeze, and stardust blows across the orchard one more time.

you are sick.

you have been sick many, many times in your life. as a child, you were too small, too scrawny - born one day after the luckiest day of the year to be born, surely a bad omen. if there is a fever, you have had it. if there is a sickness, it has consumed you. in late march, you find yourself on an escort mission, in the bitter cold of the mountain ranges, and your body, no matter how much you've fought and trained, is never made of iron.

despite the cold, it's too hot. the entire room smells like blood, and you don't help it, as a disciple of the doctor tries to help you up. you swat his hand away, double over, and vomit a pint of blood at the bedside. you can't sit up. you can't hear. you can't see. you can't eat.

all you can do is lay here. and you, really, have never been afraid of death. you're ready for it to come for you on a battlefield - not in a tent on the side of the road, sick with a fever. but, you find that when people bring you food, you turn your face away from it, because you can't keep it down. your throat is raw, your stomach is useless, and - you think, maybe this will be it.

(when animals are close to dying, they refuse to eat, too. it's not lost on you - maybe this is it.)

but someone comes to visit you, and that someone has something for you: a letter. it's a letter from home.

(a letter from a young man. you can almost hear him. "-- you're the best person to me in the world." he says, and in your minds eye, you can picture him, fourteen years old, baby fat in his cheeks, brown, curly hair and a smile on his face, as rare as a diamond as you've presented him with an iron wristband that shoots darts, as he clutches it to his chest.)

you barely have the strength to grab the letter, but you drag yourself out of bed. your hands are shaking so hard you can't get the container open. you can barely see it, but you manage to pop the letter free, spread it out in front of you, and you read it.

dear --,
since you left, there are no relatives left for me in this large capital city. there's only a piece of armor accompanies me, that i can talk to for comfort. i've got nothing beside me, just a piece of your shoulder armor.

the plum blossoms in the manor are about to wilt. i hope that you saw the flowers before you left; otherwise, its heart will be in vain for another year. even if it blooms every year past, none will ever be the same as this one.

the affairs of the military in the northwest are plenty. i shouldn't write to disturb you often, should i? you must be very busy. maybe you don't miss me... but i'm different.

the capital is so lonely. i have no one to miss, except you.

you read it once, twice, three times, and you think of how lonely you were, with no family to love you. how the two of you are - you're all each other have, as awkward and terrible as you are at it.

you can't die here.

you force yourself to sit up. you force yourself to start eating, voraciously. you sink your claws into life and you pull yourself up, and a week later, you're back on your feet.

you have to get home to him.

...oh. well. they seem a little surprised, as the memory clears. ]

[...

Estelle looks concerned; it certainly looks like they were on the brink of death. But in the end... there was hope, wasn't there?]

You were able to keep going, because of that person...

He must be very important to you.

[ they take a brief moment to compose themselves. blossoming trees, health, and hope; a matching memory for a matching memory. ]

... Yeah. [ aquila says, eventually. ] Can't leave family alone.

Your family...

[A soft expression.]

Can I ask what they're like?

Not much I can say.

[ that's a little apologetic, at least. they... stop for a moment, trying to decide how to word things, though, absently rubbing their thumb into their palm as they talk. ]

Stubborn. [ with a little laugh ] Always busting my - ass for no reason. Really good with a bow.

[She smiles a little at that.]

Really? Do you both have weapons training?

AUDIENCE FOR: Estelle

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