Debarre — 2350

The next few days after Ioan’s visit and brief explanation about what had happened with True Name were full of long walks and longer silences, and End Waking politely requested that Debarre remain behind for the majority of the walks.

There was a sense in the air that the skunk wanted to ask him to leave again, to fall back into solitude and, though he’d never use the word around him, moping. He’d still talk, still hold up his end of the conversations, but always there would be a slight pause before speaking, always a bit more distance than usual, always something out in the forest that called to him just that much more strongly than the weasel before him.

It was never comfortable to be asked to leave one’s partner. He knew the reasons, could understand the drive, but to build a relationship up over however many decades it was now, and yet still need to put it on hold for months or, on one occasion, years at a time.

He knew he had a temper, too. He’d spent the last centuries going all the way back to Cicero’s death working on setting that aside when he could feel it getting to be too hot within him. He always worked his hardest at that around End Waking. He loved the skunk, wanted nothing but the best for him, and although he knew that End Waking was one of the more resilient of the Odists, he had also known Michelle far longer than…well, just about anyone possibly could, now, unless some old friends uploaded on the first day, maybe. Two and a half centuries was a long time to understand just how the other person processes pain and trauma, and he didn’t want to add to any of the Odists’ burden, having spent so long with Michelle when she struggled.

Well, except perhaps True Name.

There were few enough people he hated in the world, though certainly a great many who grated on his nerves, but True Name and her ilk were universally among that number. He knew he could never hurt anyone, but he had his fantasies. He knew he should never wish harm befall anyone, but some people…

This latest development was putting this to the test.

He’d continue work on the cabin while End Waking went for his walks — they’d gotten the floor and stove in place, as well as the A-frame, but the canvas of the tent still needed to be strung, and he had a few ideas for improvements — and all the while, he’d swing steadily between the poles of feeling nauseous at the thought of one less fraction of his friend in the world, one more death of one of the lost, and wild fantasies of popping champagne upon hearing that her final instance had been destroyed.

Part of him wondered if End Waking was going through the same. He wanted to ask, but didn’t want to risk that pushing the skunk over into requesting that he leave.

So, Debarre just kept working, kept fantasizing. He’d gotten the last of the canvas lashed down over the sides of the frame and was working on the front wall of the tent, so at least there was productivity to lean on, even if he couldn’t lean on his partner at the moment.

He whirled around to face the clearing when two sensorium pings in short order. The first came from End Waking, the word ‘company’ muttered quietly, and the second was a ping of arrival from the sim itself.

With the new tent, End Waking had made the default entry point around a small rise from home, leaving it a short walk around or a shorter but much steeper dash up and over the ridge.

Debarre opted for the latter, nearly tumbling down the other side of the hill to where the form knelt in the clearing. His partner was just making his way through the trees on the opposite side, so they converged on the visitor at about the same time.

May Then My Name was sobbing. It looked as though she had been for a bit, too, judging by the tear-tracks in the fur of her cheeks.

There wasn’t much that he could think of to say, so he awkwardly shifted from a crouch to a kneeling position beside her, getting his arms around her shoulders and gently tugging her to slouch against him. Although he rarely had reason to be comforting to May Then My Name in particular, it was familiar enough from all the way back at the Crown Pub when Sasha’d come back from some break-up or another.

“I will get water,” End Waking murmured, leaving the physical comfort to someone better built for such.

Her cry must have been nearing its end before she arrived, as she’d settled down to sniffles by the time her cocladist arrived with an enamel mug of water and a damp rag.

“Can you drink, my dear?” he said gently.

She nodded and accepted the mug with both paws to hold it steady, taking a few unsteady laps of the water before simply clutching it to her chest. “Thank you both,” she croaked, freeing up a paw to accept the damp rag to wipe her face. “I am sorry for so dramatic an entrance.”

“You are fine, May Then My Name,” her cocladist said. “Everything sounded quite dramatic. Please take your time, and we can discuss it later.”

She nodded, slouched a little further against Debarre, and sighed shakily.

He shot a quizzical look over to End Waking, who sent a brief sensorium ping in return. She must have gotten in touch with him before arriving, then.

They sat like that for another five minutes or so, another few bouts of tears hitting the skunk while he tried to be as steady as he could for her, petting over her ears.

(( She explains what has happened with TN moving in, that she learned a lot about what Jonas did over the last few decades, and how it includes her in a roundabout way, but won’t elaborate. Needs to be away from home for a little bit, also torn like Debarre though her need to feel keeps winning out, whether she wants it to or not, making her frustrated with herself ))