update from sparkleup
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Madison Scott-Clary
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<h1>Zk | 009</h1>
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<article class="content">
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<h1 id="ioan-balan-2325">Ioan Balan — 2325</h1>
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<p>If, Ioan thought, there was a version of Dear’s sim, that sprawling, unending shortgrass prairie, that had gone for trees instead of grass, it was this place.</p>
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<h1 id="ioan-balan-2325">Ioan Bălan — 2325</h1>
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<p>If, Ioan thought, there was a version of Dear’s sim — that sprawling, unending shortgrass prairie — that had existed to perfect trees instead of grass, it was this place.</p>
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<p>May had told em that Serene had designed this sim, just as she had Dear’s prairie, so it made sense. It felt much the same; if Serene had any hallmarks of design, it seemed to be a focus on wind and weather, an unerring attention to plant life, and a focus on the fractal textures of the ground. It was easy enough, ey had found, to design with right angles, flat planes, level ground. As building was something more akin to daydreaming, it was natural landscapes that were the hard ones to get the details correct.</p>
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<p>It was no surprise that this sim had been designed for another Odist. Where Dear had fallen in love with the endless prairie and Michelle the flowing fields of dandelion dotted grass, Do I Know God After The End Waking had fallen in love with trees.</p>
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<p>When ey first arrived, ey had done so outside of a smallish A-frame building, more tent than anything, for it was built of rough-hewn planks set into the classical shape with a waxed canvas draped over it to create the walls. Even the floor was made of those rough planks, though it appeared to have been worn smooth after countless years of foot — or paw — traffic.</p>
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<p>Peeking inside revealed a simple cot made of more canvas stretched over a frame and a pillow of some sort of bundle, a battered roll-top desk with a low stool in front of it (Ioan found emself desperately wanting something similar upon seeing it), and a small wood-burning stove in the back where the far wall had been created using rammed earth instead of more canvas.</p>
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<p>Peeking inside revealed a simple cot made of more canvas stretched over a frame and a pillow of some sort of bundle, a battered roll-top desk with a low stool in front of it (Ioan found emself desperately wanting something similar upon seeing them), and a small wood-burning stove in the back where the far wall had been created using rammed earth instead of more canvas.</p>
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<p>Ey immediately fell in love with it, and hoped that ey’d like End Waking well enough to visit again.</p>
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<p>He was nowhere to be seen, though. The rundown of his appearance from May was of a skunk like herself, male, and heavily committed to the ranger vibe, “cloak, hatchet, bow, the works”.</p>
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<p>He was nowhere to be seen, though. The rundown of his appearance from May was of a skunk like herself, male, and heavily committed to the ranger aesthetic, “cloak, hatchet, bow, the works”.</p>
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<p>Ioan sat on the steps in front of the tent and waited, hoping perhaps that ey had simply arrived too early for the scheduled meeting. It was a pleasant wait, at least, and a welcome break from the increasing tension that ey had been feeling within as more and more information about the Odists had come to light. Eir own interviews, as well as news from the Codrins and Dears had left em anxious more often than not, and even though ey did eir best to keep that feeling away from eir interactions with May, there was still no denying that she was an Odist as well.</p>
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<p>The skunk’s arrival was something of a surprise, as what ey had initially taken to be one of those wandering breezes fingering ferns and branches slowly resolved into a humanoid form walking silently between the trees.</p>
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<p>“Mx Balan,” the form murmured, tugging back the hood that hid most of its face to reveal End Waking. “Sorry for keeping you waiting. I was exploring.”</p>
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<p>“Mx Bălan,” the form murmured, tugging back the hood that hid most of its face to reveal End Waking. “Sorry for keeping you waiting. I was exploring.”</p>
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<p>Ioan stood and bowed politely. “No problem. Exploring, though? I would’ve thought that you’d know the area around your home fairly well by now.”</p>
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<p>The skunk smiled. His features were undeniably those of an Odist — at least those of the skunk variety — while still being unique. They were more masculine in a way that ey could not place. More rugged. Dirtier. Certainly more exhausted. “One never truly finishes exploring a forest. I was climbing the trees.”</p>
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<p>“That sounds enjoyable, at least.”</p>
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@ -54,7 +54,7 @@
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<p>“May I ask why?”</p>
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<p>“You may, but give me a second to consider my answer.”</p>
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<p>A moment was spent sipping tea in silence, only the muffled crackling of the fire in the stove and the breeze testing at the flaps of the tent.</p>
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<p>Eventually, the skunk spoke up once more. “From what May Then My Name and others have said, the Balan clade and the elements of the Ode clade working with them have already reached certain bits of knowledge, so I will be up front about this.”</p>
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<p>Eventually, the skunk spoke up once more. “From what May Then My Name and others have said, the Bălan clade and the elements of the Ode clade working with them have already reached certain bits of knowledge, so I will be up front about this.”</p>
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<p>Ioan nodded.</p>
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<p>“I was forked in order to help influence financial policies phys-side to encourage certain attitudes toward the System.”</p>
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<p>Ioan attempted to keep eir face impassive, but ey must have let some of eir reaction show, as End Waking laughed tiredly.</p>
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@ -77,36 +77,38 @@
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<p>“I never heard anyone–“</p>
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<p>“This is what I mean by subtle. It was not something anyone really talked about. It was simply a convention that formed over time, and for everyone who followed it, the idea seemed to come to them of their own accord.”</p>
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<p>“But it didn’t. It came from you.”</p>
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<p>The skunk winced. “Yes, from me.”</p>
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<p>The skunk winced. “Yes, it came from me.”</p>
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<p>Ioan sighed and, seeing nowhere else to put it, set eir mug on the floor by the bed.</p>
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<p>“I feel compelled to repeat that I am not at all proud of what I did. This–” He gestured around. “This is my penance. I live my life in solitude in a place that does not know money, does not know the subtle machinations of politics, and should either of those enter, would not care about them. People think of forests as fragile areas of land, and while this is true, they are also giant — truly enormous — singular entities that do not give a single fuck about you and your schemes, your thoughts, or even your emotions. I have fallen into ravines. I have had dead branches fall on me. I have learned the hard way which plants are safe to eat. I hesitate to say that the forest hates me, but it comes perilously close, sometimes. This is my penance.”</p>
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<p>“I feel compelled to repeat that I am not at all proud of what I did. This–” He gestured around. “This is my penance. I live my life in solitude in a place that does not know money, does not know the subtle machinations of politics, and should either of those enter, would not care one bit about them. People think of forests as fragile areas of land, and while this is true, they are also giant — truly enormous — singular entities that do not give a single fuck about you and your schemes, your thoughts, or even your emotions. I have stumbled into ravines. I have had dead branches fall on me. I have broken my arm. I have bled on the land. I have learned the hard way which plants are safe to eat.” There was a long pause before he continued, “I hesitate to say that the forest hates me, but it comes perilously close, sometimes. This is my penance.”</p>
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<p>They sat in silence for several long minutes while Ioan digested this and End Waking did whatever it was that the penitent architect of eir entire existence here on the System did.</p>
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<p>“Let’s walk,” Ioan finally said.</p>
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<p>End Waking visibly brightened and nodded. There was a small unwinding of the previous ritual, where the fire within the stove was banked, the mugs rinsed clean and replaced in their spot, and his cloak donned once more.</p>
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<p>They stepped out into the cool, clean air of the onrushing evening, and the skunk led the writer along a narrow trail worn in the undergrowth, saying, “This is the way that I take to get water when it hasn’t rained in a while.”</p>
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<p>He walked silently, thick tail held high enough to stay above the plants that lined the path, and while Ioan tried to be as graceful as ey could, ey was still a far sight clumsier and noisier than End Waking.</p>
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<p>“Why do you like this place?” ey asked. “If it is close to hating you, I mean.”</p>
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<p>“Why do you like this place?” ey asked. “If it’s close to hating you, I mean.”</p>
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<p>“Do you remember the stanza of your cocladist’s parter?”</p>
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<p>Ioan dredged up the Ode that was the basis for all of their names and recited slowly:</p>
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<div class="verse">That which lives is forever praiseworthy,
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for they, knowing not, provide life in death.
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Dear the wheat and rye under the stars:
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serene; sustained and sustaining.
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Dear, also, the tree that was felled
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which offers heat and warmth in fire.
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What praise we give we give by consuming,
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what gifts we give we give in death,
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what lives we lead we lead in memory,
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and the end of memory lies beneath the roots.</div>
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<blockquote>
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<p>That which lives is forever praiseworthy,<br />
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for they, knowing not, provide life in death.<br />
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Dear the wheat and rye under the stars:<br />
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serene; sustained and sustaining.<br />
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Dear, also, the tree that was felled<br />
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which offers heat and warmth in fire.<br />
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What praise we give we give by consuming,<br />
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what gifts we give we give in death,<br />
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what lives we lead we lead in memory,<br />
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and the end of memory lies beneath the roots.</p>
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</blockquote>
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<p>End Waking nodded. “I sometimes…no, I often think that I belong to the wrong stanza. This is where I belong. I like her plenty and do not begrudge her the name that she owns, but I wish, sometimes, that I were And The End Of Memory Lies Beneath The Roots.”</p>
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<p>Ioan looked around at the trees, the ferns, the carpets of periwinkle and spots of mint and horsepepper and mint, the epiphytes climbing trunks, the moss on stumps.</p>
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<p>Ioan looked around at the trees, the ferns, the carpets of periwinkle and spots of mint and horsepepper and balm, the epiphytes climbing trunks, the moss on stumps.</p>
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<p>“I do not think that the author of the Ode meant literally,” the skunk said, laughing. “But you share my views on it. While it is not strictly possible on the System, I do hope that one day, the end of memory, that memory of all that I did, lies dead beneath the roots.”</p>
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<p>A few minutes of silent walking followed as Ioan was guided through a section of, yes, thick roots that threatened to entangle eir feet.</p>
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<p>Once they were past that, he continued. “It is important to me that there be something other than political machinations in the world. I spent so much of my existence shaping the world around me to some grand scheme, and now I am completely and utterly beholden to the world, and it feels relaxing.”</p>
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<p>Once they were past that, he continued. “It is important to me that there be something other than political machinations in the world. I spent so much of my existence shaping the world around me to some grand scheme. Now that I am completely and utterly beholden to the world in turn, it feels relaxing.”</p>
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<p>“May said something like that,” Ioan said, panting. “That there was freedom in staying behind in a world where not staying behind is the default.”</p>
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<p>“May Then My Name is the only one of my entire stanza that I like, and certainly the only one that I trust.”</p>
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<p>Ioan smiled, nodded.</p>
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<p>“So many of the Odists are built to manipulate in such complex ways. I am sure that you two have talked about that already. Even May Then My Name is manipulative in her unfailingly kind way.” The skunk stopped and stepped aside to let Ioan come stand beside him before a creek at the bottom of a ravine. “It is a very difficult habit to break. Serene is manipulative. This place is built to be loved in spite of its antipathy towards intrusions. Dear is manipulative. Its life is one lived bending the experiences of others to its whims in ways far beyond any those of any prior artist. I am a repentant manipulator.”</p>
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<p>“So many of the Odists are built to manipulate in such complex ways. I am sure that you two have talked about that already. Even May Then My Name is manipulative in her unfailingly kind way.” The skunk stopped and stepped aside to let Ioan come stand beside him before a creek at the bottom of a ravine. “It is a very difficult habit to break. Serene is manipulative: this place is built to be loved in spite of its antipathy towards intrusions. Dear is manipulative: its life is one lived bending the experiences of others to its whims in ways far beyond any those of any prior artist as it plays its games. I am a repentant manipulator.”</p>
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<p>“How so?” ey asked.</p>
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<p>End Waking laughed earnestly. “Are you impressed with my earnestness? I hope that you are, because I strive to be earnest. Are you impressed with the silence with which I move through the landscape? I hope that you are, it is borne from practice. Were you amused by the absent minded way that I made tea? The way I just puttered around, doing this, then that, as though I kept remembering that I needed first wood, then water, then mugs?”</p>
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<p>Ioan tilted eir head. “I suppose.”</p>
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@ -121,7 +123,7 @@ and the end of memory lies beneath the roots.</div>
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<p>The skunk grinned. “I will not resent you, Ioan. I am trying to shake that habit, and I like you. I just may not answer.”</p>
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<p>Feeling strangely bashful at the compliment, ey shrugged. “Just that you mentioned your short- and mid-term goals for meddling with finances. What were the long-term goals?”</p>
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<p>“Critical mass.”</p>
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<p>“Critical mass?”</p>
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<p>“Critical mass? What do you mean?”</p>
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<p>Rather than answering, End Waking took Ioan by the elbow and guided em back to the trail. “Let us get you back so that the berries are still fresh for May Then My Name.”</p>
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</article>
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<footer>
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