tushanshu_logs | in the middle of the night

Solomon couldn't help but laugh. "That sounds fair. You probably gave him a headache. I wonder," he mused, "does that translate back to you?"

If kaa could have manifested bodies, were they physical enough for injuries and feelings to be separate from the rest of them, or would they translate back to the physical form of the person?

And what happened to all those who lost their kaa to those meant to protect them?

A question, Solomon decided, he wasn't sure he wanted answered.

"You don't know how you manifested him that first time, then?" he asked instead. He was curious, but it was a topic he hadn't been able to ask after until now. He'd used the khajbit himself, but now that he could open a portal--however small--would he be able to summon monsters himself? Or, if he had one, find his own kaa?

"That much didn't, though more serious injuries did," Bakura answered. "With other summoned monsters, when your ba ran too low, the summons just disappeared. But with your kaa, the wounds could stay with you."

The ghosts, which until this point had been so quiet they may as well have been asleep, murmured faintly at that. They remembered very well the day that Bakura and Diabound had met, the day he'd first returned to Kul Elna. How furious they'd been to discover a survivor and yet conversely, how relieved: they were not entirely forgotten.

The thief had paused to listen briefly, as if making sure they did not want something, before continuing to speak. "No. I didn't even realize he was part of me, at first. There was... a lot to take in, at the time and I wasn't very old."

That made far more sense than either-or; that level of connection couldn't go without some sort of feedback between the two. Again, Solomon wondered what the priests had done with the people they'd crippled in the name of national security, and then wondered why he was even surprised. Governments had been playing secret games and punishments all through history.

Solomon also chose to say nothing until the ghosts had said their piece, whatever it might be. "Understandable." But that did make it difficult to tell whether it was something Solomon might be able to utilise himself. He glanced out at the ocean, considering. "I have been wondering whether or not I'd have a kaa of my own."

And whether it would be wise to seek it out.

"By rights everyone who has a soul should have one," Bakura replied. "Just because they're from somewhere that doesn't think of things the same way doesn't change that. It's like believing in a different set of gods-- they still exist, acknowledged or not. Now that you've started dabbling with the khajbit," and that was something they hadn't fully discussed either, "there's little reason to think you couldn't also manifest your kaa."

The last time that had even been remotely mentioned it had been used as ammunition, so Solomon wasn't adverse to seeing how Bakura had taken that news now the man had calmed down.

"I've not been able to manifest a portal much larger than a pot," he said, "but as you've summoned creatures without any apparent need for a portal at all, I assume the skill is less in the portal and more in the summoning."

Bakura stretched his legs out so that his feet were in the surf, pushing them down under the sand and then leaning back, resting his weight on his hands. "You shouldn't go around opening large tears without having some way of stopping what might want to come through," the thief said bluntly. "Until you think of yourself as a duelist, and the creatures that live there view you as the same, there's no obligation for them to obey you if they decide they want to tear up this place and you tell them no."

To a certain extent; they couldn't exist indefinitely in this realm and in any case, the Ring would alert Bakura to any instances of that, but it was still something that Solomon should be aware of.

"Summoning here is a different skill than what you did inside the khajbit," he explained. "There, it's straight up strength of will. Will to call them, to get them to follow your commands, carry out your attacks. You can call on something there that might be useless, but it will still happen. That's how you got into trouble with those spawning skeletons, there was no direction. You just called and that's what you got. Here, outside of the khajbit, there's structure. The summon needs to fit the situation and while yes, you can stretch that a little with some creativity, using something like a Spell or Trap where it doesn't fit not only doesn't work, it backfires and sometimes, messily."

No obligation to obey him, Solomon noted, but that didn't reject the possibility that he could still defend against them using shadows in the event anything went untoward. Of course, using his shadows against them could well only make them angrier, rather than proving his worth.

"And here I thought it was because the khajbit objected to being controlled," Solomon said dryly. That was certainly what it had felt like: as though he was under scrutiny and the khajbit had sought any chink in his armour to strike back. How much of that had been the khajbit alone? How much the darkness in the Ring?

"How does one go about being accepted by the beings there?" he asked. It made sense, but it wasn't something that had occurred to him as necessary, though it should have. The khajbit seemed to depend on a distinct set of rules, most of which were bounded by willpower and respect.

"The khajbit is a contract with the duelist," Bakura stated matter of factly. "That's why it tests those who enter-- think of it as collateral. You don't lend someone ten times the amount of money than what they can pay back. Power works the same way."

He blew a few strands of white hair out of his eyes; the hot sun had him almost dry already. "I don't know that there's any single answer for that."

"In that case, I have to wonder whether I failed or succeeded." Solomon certainly had interrupted the battle before it was done; did that mean if he tried to enter the khajbit again it would react as if it was owed?

"Some tips for the novice to begin with, then," he suggested dryly. It was certainly starting to get warm enough, again, that the water looked almost inviting. Almost.

"Honestly?" Bakura paused, then sighed. "If you can find your kaa, there'd be no stronger starting point. It'll defend you, no matter what."

Sensing that her papa needed a distraction, Emily-Helen sent a gout of water at the two men on the beach, her mental voice ringing with laughter. Too much talking! Come and play with us!

That didn't in the least bit tell Solomon how he was meant to go about finding his kaa, though it almost certainly couldn't happen without using the khajbit directly.

"Might I assume the best way to try and divine that is through duelling?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

He didn't get to hear the answer. Marcelon joined in with Emily-Helen, sending waves surging with her flippers until the waves came up to Solomon's knees and made him stagger. "Blasted turtles," he grumbled.

Solomon was right about his suspicion, but Bakura declined to answer as the hatchlings began clamouring for them to come into the water again. "Don't think so much about it," the thief replied. "Hathor's horns, you've spent more time thinking about the khajbit than I have, and that's saying something."

He got to his feet, deciding that one more swim would be fine -- the sun dried them so rapidly it was hardly an inconvenience. "Come on, waheh-maw. Indulge yours too."

"I'm a theologian. It's my calling." Solomon watched Bakura take a few steps deeper into the water and didn't move, and that fact didn't go unnoticed by Marcelon.

Pleeeeease? she whined, swanning closer. It's fun!

Solomon sighed. "I ... can't."

Can't what? Marcelon looked at him, her head tilted in what passed for turtle puzzlement.

"... Swim. Very well."

He may as well have said he didn't know how to breathe. You can't WHAT?

Bakura shrugged at the revelation, though there was little surprise on his expression at it. It was even with some mild humour that he replied, "Lots of people can't but I've yet to see anyone learn from the beach. Come into the water, I'll summon you up a Mermail to teach you."

"Because that's all I need," Solomon grumbled even as he took a deeply reluctant step into the surf. "A merperson teaching me how to swim. I have legs. They have tails. What could a fish possibly have to teach me?"

If nothing else the revelation encouraged Marcelon to hover, as far as a giant turtle possibly could. She stayed right by Solomon's side as he waded deeper into the water. The way that his heart started to pound once the water reached his chest surprised him, and he stopped.

It's okay, Marcy assured him, floating on the surface at a slight distance so she didn't hit him with her flippers. It's not deep. See, you can still touch the bottom!

For a moment Solomon stood there, half in surprise and half in the fear he hadn't even known he had, buffeted by gentle waves. The last time he'd been in the ocean, it had been during a storm and he'd almost drowned. Taking another step seemed, quite suddenly, to be beyond him, and he wasn't entirely sure what to do with it.

At least, not until Marcelon vanished with a flick of spray and dove under him, and swept him off his feet until he was forced to cling to her shell as she rose up again, heading for deeper water.

See? she chirruped. I can carry you!

"Blasted turtle," Solomon muttered again, and shifted so he sat more comfortably on her back.

Why can some people not swim? Emily-Helen asked Bakura privately. You can swim! Marcelon and I can swim! Why can he not?

Because it's something you have to learn or be shown, the thief answered. Like how to visit people in their dreams, or why not to eat blankets. And even after that, it's something that must be practiced.

I only did that one time! she huffed, indignant and embarrassed that he brought it up again. Are we showing him? Will he swim after this?

He might, Bakura replied, sliding into the deeper water to follow after Marcelon's path with languid strokes -- there was almost no current here, because what appeared to be the bottom was actually just the downward slope of Asti's shell -- with Emily-Helen swimming at his side. He had glimpsed the tension in the man's form before Marcelon had knocked him into the water and so let the remark about the Mermail pass unchallenged.

He caught up with them and rested a moment, crossing his arms on the edge of Marcelon's shell like one would on the edge of a boat or dock. "Careful, or all the other Foreigners will come around to tell you not to speak to your turtle that way," he smirked, having got several of those reproaches himself.

"However will I cope with the criticism," Solomon retorted, running his hands through his hair. At least his hands weren't shaking, or anything equally humiliating. He'd always known he wasn't particularly fond of water; he just hadn't realised those feelings ran as deeply as they apparently did. Even with the water as still as it was, looking into it made him feel nervous.

Nervous. It was ridiculous. Childish. Unconscionable. He hadn't even enjoyed being afraid of Vile, and Vile was far worthier of fear than some still water.

It's alright! I know he likes me. Marcelon craned her head to laugh at him with that barking chortle the turtles had.

"At the moment, that's up for debate." Solomon didn't like feeling as though he'd been backed into a corner, either, but the alternative was to back out, and it was far too late for that. He had some pride to consider.

So Solomon took a deep breath, reminded himself that shadows existed just as much under water as on land if he needed the help, and slid gingerly into the water, clutching Marcelon's shell. She very obligingly held her flipper under him so he had something semi-sturdy to stand on until he was properly in, and then the moment he had done so pulled away in an unexpected but lazy curve until he was left spluttering on his own.

It was, he found, substantially easier to keep his head above water when there wasn't a storm, winds and high waves involved; but when he paddled vainly in Marcelon's direction it was still obvious he didn't know much more than to keep his head above water for however many feet it took to get somewhere more stable.

You CAN'T swim, Marcelon said in a shocked tone, as if he'd been lying earlier, and Solomon glared at her, not daring to try to speak until he could take hold of her shell again.

Emily-Helen giggled a little at the exclamation but hastened to privately relay what Bakura had just told her about having to learn and practice, while the thief tread water a few feet away.

"A good first effort," he said, in a surprisingly kindly tone without any trace of mocking. "Try again, when you're ready. No one here is going to let anything go wrong."

Well, that's silly, Marcelon complained, but with enough wherewithal to do so privately. Being able to swim is a thing everyone should be able to do out of the egg!

But she grudgingly didn't try to move out from under Solomon's grip a second time, though she didn't try very hard to remain in one place; not that it was difficult, because the water was so still.

Solomon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was, he decided, remarkably humiliating to be at a disadvantage with a skill everyone around you took for granted; and yet still have no one pity you outright for it. Bakura's kindliness was by far the most unnerving of the reactions Solomon had received thus far.

"Any hints?" he asked, caustically out of grumpiness rather than any true ire.

I don't think they come from eggs, Emily-Helen returned thoughtfully, tilting her head at the two men as if trying to picture them contained within a shell.

Bakura is unaware his being cordial is eerie, which is probably for the best. He isn't offended by the brusque tone though and seems to be contemplating actual advice to give. "Hold onto the shell with one hand and let yourself float. People are more buoyant than they realize."

Whyever not? Marcelon objected. Eggs are warm and keep you safe until you're ready to see the whole world. Where else would they come from?

Floating. Of course. Solomon vaguely remembered floating, those few times he had swum in the stream when he was a boy--before he'd begun avoiding the place after Sean's death. He also remembered it being fairly simple.

With a deep breath Solomon pushed himself away from Marcelon, but within arm's reach so he could still clutch her shell, and shifted to lie flat. He realised, very quickly, that remaining tense did not help the 'floating' part, but it took far more effort than he wished to actually relax.

It wasn't easy, especially with the light in his eyes, but after a minute he did, in fact, manage to float, one hand shading his face and the rest of him ... actually a little soothed by the sensation. "Hm. So you do give good advice on occasion."

It comes out dry, but also relieved.

Emily-Helen wasn't entirely sure herself, other than she was mostly certain there were no eggs involved for their parents, but as for the other part, she had no clue. Perhaps they grow out of the ground... she suggested dubiously.

"Once in a rare while," Bakura answered sardonically, resisting the urge to shove Solomon's head under the water for that quip as that would likely destroy any further inclination to be in the water. Indeed, Emily-Helen gave a warning ping in his mind at the mere thought of it.

"Now you just have to remember to float when you're right side up," he said instead. "Can you ride a bike?"

Solomon eased himself back into a more upright position, splashing water on his own face to take the edge off the heat. "I've never ridden a bike," he said dryly. "They were invented long after I was born and I never saw the need to learn when I could shadow-walk where I needed to go."

Or ride a horse. Horses, in his opinion, beat nearly any mode of transportation, even though he hadn't ridden one in years.

Where do human babies come from? Marcelon demanded suddenly, craning her head around at them as though she'd been deep in thought and now desperately needed an answer to what was bothering her. Do they come out of the ground?

Solomon blinked and looked at Bakura, and was intensely glad he was no longer floating. "What has your turtle been saying to my turtle?"

He shrugged, swimming was like riding a bike in the fact that forward motion was required to make it easier. It had been an idle comparison (though Bakura preferred horses as well).

"How should I know?" Bakura answered. "She only talks to me when she wants something."

That's not true! Emily-Helen retorted, splashing angrily. And we are wondering, we want to know where our persons come from, and I thought they might grow like plants since we do not think they come from eggs like turtles.

Edited 2014-08-07 00:04 (UTC)

YOU did not think they come from eggs like turtles, Marcelon corrected. Everything has to come from eggs. Why wouldn't they?

"You're partly right," Solomon admitted, and Marcelon trilled, lifting her head in a smug sort of fashion. "Partly," Solomon emphasised, pulling himself closer to her shell so she didn't knock him away in her enthusiasm. "Turtles lay eggs and children are born from them after the fact. For humans, the children grow out of the eggs inside the mother and then are born live."

INSIDE the mother?! Marcelon squeaked, sounding horrified. There wouldn't be any room! You'd make your mothers explode! You'd-- Her mental voice dissolved into horrified images of Solomon and Bakura being birthed from the fragmented eggshell-like remains of their mothers (thankfully bloodlessly). Solomon put his forehead against her shell and laughed, and laughed.

It's not funny! Marcelon complained, flipping water up at him in a wave of spray.

in the middle of the night

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