tushanshu_logs | in the middle of the night

"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.

Tell us that's not true! Emily-Helen wailed and through her, Bakura was treated to the same mental image as the poor turtles were trying to reconcile the idea with terrible, awful visuals while Solomon was having a fit of hysterics. Bakura himself was hardly immune and having a good laugh at the hatchlings' expense, hoisting himself out of the water to lay across the back of Emily-Helen's shell.

"Humans are born much smaller than turtles," he finally offers between snickers. "Small enough that they cannot move around by themselves or talk at first. So they're still small enough to come out of their mothers without hurting them, but they need much more attention and care right away than turtles do."

That was probably as PG a version as one was ever going to get from the thief.

How small? Marcelon demanded. Solomon caught his breath and turned so he could lean comfortably in the space behind the turtle's flipper, resting on arm on that and one on the edge of her shell, and letting his feet drift. His black eyes were still laughing, and he didn't even bother to try and erase the grin.

He had needed that.

"About a foot long, more or less--twelve or so inches," he said. "There is a very specific organ in a woman's body, called the womb--analogous to where the eggs in a female turtle grows, I suppose you could say. It's very flexible, so when the baby grows inside her she grows large around the stomach without being harmed by the baby's presence."

He declined to mention the part about morning-sickness and the numerous physiological pains which tended to come with pregnancy, because Marcelon was considering his words seriously and calming down somewhat.

I suppose, she said dubiously. But it doesn't sound very comfortable, OR very practical. And how does the baby get OUT, if it doesn't hatch from the mother's belly?

"The mother's body pushes it out when it's ready," Bakura replied, absently wringing his hair and the cuffs of his pants out while sending a mental image along the link with Emily-Helen of a woman in labour. It wasn't explicitly graphic but it also didn't leave many questions where the infant was exiting.

Clearly Bakura thought that metaphors weren't necessary if the hatchlings were asking these sorts of questions and since they grasped pretty much everything else they were told with extraordinary intelligence, he didn't figure there was any point in obscuring the facts for their sensibilities.

From where? Marcelon asked in confusion, having not received the same mental image Emily-Helen had.

"From a place between her legs," Solomon said in a tone of utmost resignation. "There's a ... biological conduit leading up to the womb through which the baby can be pushed out. No, it isn't pleasant, for either of them."

Marcy huffed at having her statement answered before she could even make it, and instead asked the other pressing question on her mind. Her head craned over him, casting a shadow over his face and dripping water in his eyes. How does the baby GET there, then?

"If this is the sort of thing they're going to come up with when they're together, I think we're going to have to rethink their playdates," Solomon said to Bakura. He, also, had never seen much use for metaphors; neither his father nor Mistress Crow had bothered about them for him. But it was still a little difficult to explain human biological processes to turtles, particularly when he didn't know enough about turtle physiology to draw parallels.

"I'm certainly not the one who got them onto this topic," Bakura replied smartly.

"Though they learn fast enough, we could always find a nice looking kedan woman who is willing to help demonstrate for them. Then again, they do shapeshift so if you have a preference for what yours looks like," he trailed off, grinning at Solomon.

"You're the one who was offering to give me a personal mermaid," Solomon pointed out innocently. "Though I have to admit, I prefer a woman with a talent at knots over one with fins, thank you very much."

Why? What does that have to do with anything? Marcelon demanded, and Solomon laughed again.

"Never mind," he said. "The baby, as I said, is grown from an extremely small egg inside the mother, but before it can grow it needs a physical contribution from the father--as would be the case for your parents, too. That contribution takes of the form of a liquid offered when a man and a woman are together in an intimate fashion."

Like what? Marcelon asked, back to sounding vaguely confused, but still interested.

"Knots," Bakura repeated with an approving laugh. "Then I may have misjudged you and your tastes, and I'll own to that."

Then to Marcelon's question, even he was a little stumped as to how to portray that information without an unnecessarily crude visual, to which even Bakura drew the line since the turtles were, by technicality, still children. Also like Solomon, he wasn't 100% up on his chelonian biology and was worried that, as the hatchlings were won't to try things before thinking them through (see: eating blankets) he didn't want to be responsible for them trying to mate each other in the streets or some other spectacle.

"Something their bodies tell them to do," he said finally. "Like how yours will tell you when it's time to eat, or sleep."

in the middle of the night

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