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update from sparkleup

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Madison Scott-Clary 2021-10-19 22:25:09 -07:00
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writing/post-self/toledot/launch/launch/Codrin-castor/004.html
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<p>Eir Dear: <em>I am&hellip;ashamed. Many of the first lines&hellip;well, no. I will not elaborate now.</em></p>
<p>The Dear on Pollux: <em>You could interview any one of us about the entirety of our story, even me, and we would tell you, but we would also resent you for that.</em></p>
<p>Eir Dear had said, <em>&ldquo;You will doubtless tease it out of me, bit by bit, you tenacious fuck.&rdquo;</em> But given what both May Then My Name and Dear#Pollux had said, ey no longer wished to try.</p>
<p>And so here ey was, sitting in a dark field, looking up at the stars. Very dark. Well and truly dark, beyond almost anything Ioan had experienced before, even after uploading. There was a purity to that blackness, just as there was a purity to the red-filtered flashlight that Tycho Brahe (not his real name, but he had requested the pseudonym) used to guide them both to the top of a &mdash; yes, pure &mdash; grassy hill.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I come out here on nights when I am depressed,&rdquo; the old man had grumbled. &ldquo;And that has been most nights, of late.&rdquo;</p>
<p>And so here ey was, sitting in a dark field, looking up at the stars. Very dark. Well and truly dark, beyond almost anything Ioan had experienced phys-side, or even after uploading. There was a purity to that blackness, just as there was a purity to the red-filtered flashlight that Tycho Brahe (not his real name, but he had requested the pseudonym) used to guide them both to the top of a &mdash; yes, pure &mdash; grassy hill.</p>
<p>&ldquo;I come out here on nights when I am depressed,&rdquo; the old astronomer had grumbled. &ldquo;And that has been most nights, of late.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a beautiful place.&rdquo;</p>
<p>&ldquo;Isn&rsquo;t it? It reminds me of a trip to the west coast that I took long, long before I uploaded. This grassy hill in the middle of a wide ring of firs. You can&rsquo;t see it, but the grass is not actually grass, but a sort of moss. When it&rsquo;s freshly dried out after a rain, it&rsquo;s delightfully soft, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;</p>
<p>Codrin nodded, then, realizing that ey could barely see Brahe next to em, murmured, &ldquo;Almost cushy.&rdquo;</p>
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<p>Eventually, even Codrin lay back in the grass. Lay there with Tycho Brahe in all his sadness and happiness and wisdom and romanticism. Lay there, and looked up at the stars. Ey knew not for how long.</p>
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