Resurrection Log: Ź̷̼͖ý̶̧̡̩̫͉͔͇̓̈́̋̎̽̌͐͛̈́̎̒́̐̍͠r̴̢͓̖̲͙̲̮͋̉̓̾͒̑͜͠ͅa̵̡̨̦͍͉̳͎͕̞͔̲̺̰̩̩̽͑̆̈̌́̏͝g̵̼͈̟̗͔͋́̈́̀͆̀̚ą̸̯̽̈́̑͒͑́ṙ̷͙̝̥͔̳̜̗͖̦͉͓͕͗̈́̇̇͂̐̍̒̍̔d̸͇̞̥͓̠̈́͒͋̌̐͝ ̶̨̧̛͔̲̻̖͚̠̣͔̻̰̫̒̇͐͜͠T̴̠͓͔̦̩̻̼̖̽͆̍͆̓̊̽̔̚͠ơ̷̶̵̸̸̸̡̛̛̬̖̰̦̦̮͚̗̞̻̻̞̻̙̘̘͈͈̭̲͙̪͍̭̭͉͚̤̅̾̽͋̀̑̋̆̍̉̇̉̈́̿͋͒̇̊̓̂̿̿̑̈́͆͑͌̂̌̑̆̉͘̚͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ţ̷̢̢̛͙̩͎̥͈̝̖̈̄͛̄͊̆̓̈́̊ͅͅȩ̸̠͍̱̖̺̣̖̄̉̔͜ņ̷̡͓̘̥̠̖̝̺͈̥͔̲͊k̴̛̯̫̪͑̽̔́̅͂̿̂͋̉̂̕͘͠y̵̟̟̰̪̻̼̖̌̽̇̓́̍̃͒̾̕̚͝͠r̵̢̨̠͉̼̲̲͛͒̂̽̄͐͌̏͘͘͝a̴̛̰̙̫͂͐̓̐ḿ̷̡̛̤͙͕̼̱̻͙̔͌̓̈̏͑̔̈́̓͘̚ą̸̧̧̯̺̫͈̞͎̻̤̫̂͐̐͘ņ̷̨̱̖̟͖͚̣̂͌͗̌̾̔́̕ ̶̨̨̲̘̭͚̣̝̞̲͔̦̽̾̏̄̒́̚͝K̷̖̻̘̣͐̽̀̅͛͜͜͜ṟ̴̛͇̺͈̲͉̤̰̰̥͉͓̜͑̈́͌̔̍̓́̕ą̷̼̄̾͊̓̽̾͊̈̒̍̍́̉̚͝l̸̨̞͇͈̖͔̘̜̱̦͈̊

Year 76,589 of the —Mother of Ruin—

M:6 D:18

Day 974 of Cycle 3

[transcribed memory/thoughtstream generated by Ṁ̵̢̘̭̬̙̘̦̳͓̺͈̪̒̂ǫ̵̨̛̠̫̻̐̋̓͗͗͗̏̎͂̿͌̕t̴̜̪͇͕͚́̓͐h̴̯͍̼̦̯̝̜̝̤͂͋͆͌͗͝ę̸͉͖͕̜̤̘͙͎͚̈́̏͒̒̄̏̃̋͘̕͘͜ȓ̸̢̨͍͉̱̮̞͔̋̇ ̴̡̛̱̳̘̠͎̫̩̪̦̠̦̣̀͒͛͊̚͠G̷̰̹̝͆̈͜į̸̧̟͙̰͖̳̯̈́̒͜͜g̶͉̗̹̻̟̰̞̭̠͉͙̈́͊̌̈̈̓̐̒̕ạ̵̧̧̘͖͔̟̝̳̅̇̂̂̅̓̇͛̓͋̊̏̇̕t̵̮̉͒̋̄̑̇̌̀̅͑̋͋r̶̻̟͗̋̀̆̿̃̔̄͒̎̊̈́̚o̵̪̦͇̫̾̋̊̾̋͗͗̊͊̄͜͠͝ḡ̵̛̰͎̇̐͒͋̊̀͝ẗ̶̡̮̠͈̗̗̃͛̈̊̾ḩ̴͍̖͖̥͈̻̪̖̤̰̥̣̋͌̚ř̵̝̤̩͈͎̤͎̯̤͔̝̬̖̓̏͐̀̿̊̂̈͋̕͝͝ĭ̴̡̡͙̺̪͕̻̺̥̫̭̜̺̳̃̂͊̓́̅̈́̎̀̽̀̚ͅṃ̵̨͇̺̪̤̄͜ȧ̵͓̟͖̞̩̤͙̩̖̠̝̣̔ź̶̡͇͍̝̳͚̱͖̳͖̬͓̋̂͜ ̸̢̺͚̍̎̈́̂͛̂̐͐̊̕̚͜͝͝Ȉ̵̢̹̜̞͆̃͗̅̈́̋͒̅͝Í̶̡͓͓̰̥̤̗̱̀͛́͆̒͋̂͠͝I̴̟̞̪̯͍̟̿̂̐̌͑̎̅̋͐͆̍́] [cont’d]

Rin cleared her throat, seeming to realize she’d been silently staring only several seconds into the act.

“Um,” she began, gaze skirting away from me again, hands clasped before her and twisting together. “I’m sorry for, uh, how I was. Yesterday.”

“There is no need for apology. It is common among your species to respond irrationally to criticism, and owing to factors which we have previously discussed, you cannot help what you are.”

Rin’s eyes stopped darting around at that, settling on a spot just to my left. Her lips pulled into a thin line, and she drew in a long breath through her nostrils.

“Be that as it may,” she said after a moment. “The best of our species is always trying to better ourselves. To surpass our…er, shittier tendencies. So. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” I replied, pleased to have the opportunity to engage in another bizarre human ritual.

She looked up at me again, a smirk curling her pink-glossed lips. “Ready to go schmooze with snobby rich people?”

I searched Fools for “schmooze” and came up blank.

“What is schmooze?” I queried.

Rin laughed—a light sound which would have distressed me once, but which I now found quite pleasing. Leading me from the room to join the others, she explained the concept at length.

By the time we reached the banquet hall, I felt certain I’d a thorough grasp of it.

I was ready to schmooze.

The Selva family banquet hall was nearly as grand as the Griffin’s main concourse, though on a smaller scale. The first level had tables and seating lining the outer ring, as well as an open central space where humans milled about beneath a chandelier of luminous viridian crystals. But upon our party’s entrance, we were shown at once to a second level that circled the hall and looked down upon the first through a series of wrought-iron archways. The tiles beneath our feet had the quality of dark frosted glass, and the lumicell panels resembled peaked windows, displaying an artificial view of Earthen foothills, lush with rainforest greenery. On that level there was only one table—the grand table, seat to the matriarch, her immediate family and her most honored guests.

I found myself placed nearly at its end, the one opposite Maye Selva herself and her favored. Shosho was in a booster seat beside me, and Tursa sat across from me. If Punjibar had been in attendance, I imagine they’d have been relegated to our grouping as well. I recognized some of those in the places immediately surrounding us as Indri’s cousins. Rin, unfortunately, was given a spot well away from me.

Upon taking my seat at the table, a drone supplied me with a glass of water and another of champagne (or sparkling wine—the correct term varies depending on the human you consult). I drank the champagne and put the glass back down. Ignoring, for the time, the many eyes pointed at me, I directed my attention to the display panel set into the table, perusing the menu and making my selections.

From the head of the table, a clinking sound issued. Maye rose from her seat, her champagne glass in one hand and a fork in the other.

“Good evening, my wonderful friends, family, and colleagues. Tonight we celebrate, of course, the arrival to Elysian of our grand vessel and ancestral home.” Red-painted lips pulling apart in a rigid smile, her eyes traveled from one to the next of her nearest human guests. “But it is also a very special evening for myself and my immediate family. The homecoming of my lovely daughter, Indriana!”

She raised the glass in the direction of the daughter in question, smiling.

“And as if that wasn’t enough, our very own Deputy Prime Minister Haldeman has graced us with his presence! And him only just returned from another lengthy stay landside.”

At that the attention turned to the middle-aged man who sat to her right. The man in possession of the second-highest rank in what remained of human political hierarchy. A man with pale skin, sand-colored hair and a strange sort of ephemeral sheen to the air immediately surrounding him. Beyond his Warp, there was something else…different about him. But I could not be sure exactly what.

For a third time, Maye raised her glass high.

“In the darkest of times, it is more important than ever that we come together to celebrate the light we find in our love for one another. And so please, everyone. A toast! To Arrival Day, and to homecomings!”

All present raised their own glasses, clinking them together as they echoed the last few of her words. I had forgotten to account for this particular human ritual, and so was forced to clink with an empty glass, putting it up to my mouth and pretending to drink.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

With all of that done, the time for the schmoozing had finally come. I perceived my surroundings. Most of the humans had resumed the conversations they’d been carrying on previous to the toast, most of which pertained to the Benefactor’s recent edicts. As I scanned for one who was not already engaged in discourse, I met the eyes of the red-haired woman sitting beside Tursa. She’d shoved her chair as far as she could get it from the huntress without bumping up against the person at her other side, and was watching me with widened eyes.

“Hello,” I said. “My name is Zyr. What is yours?”

Her gaze darted from side-to-side, as if she thought perhaps I was speaking to someone else. When she realized that I was not, she seemed to struggle for words.

“R—Rebecca Monroe,” she said. “Maye’s first cousin once removed.” She added the last bit as though it were a justification of some kind.

“It is lovely to meet you, Rebecca Monroe, Maye’s first cousin once removed,” I said, doing my best to sound jovial, which from what I could tell involved speaking in a booming voice. Several more pairs of eyes turned to fix on me. “Are you aware that you are looking absolutely ravishing this evening? I declare myself entirely ravished.”

“Oh, um…” the woman shifted in her seat. “Thank…you?”

“You are slaying in that dress,” I went on, employing more wisdoms from Real Domicile-Mates. “I would seek to acquire a copy, but I could never pull it off. Tell me, Rebecca. What it is your occupation?”

“I, uh, I need to use the lady’s room,” replied the human, shoving her chair back and vacating the table. In her spot beside the emptied seat, Tursa leant back and narrowed her eyes as she observed me. I ignored her, turning my attention to the human at the other side of the unoccupied chair.

“Hello, sir,” I boomed. “I am called Zyr. May I make your acquaintance?”

The human, who’d only just stopped staring at me a moment before, turned his eyes back to me.

“Matthew Selva,” he said, his tone clipped. He looked away again.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mathew Selva,” I said. “The hair around your lips is exceedingly full. Well done!”

He acknowledged my praise with the slightest dip of his head, lifting his drink to his lips.

“If you have mates, they are a very lucky individuals. I am certain they take great pleasure in the copious hairs of your face. I know that I would, were I so lucky as your mates.”

The human did a thing which I have since learned is called blustering, which is to say that his face turned red and he made a number of incomprehensible sounds. The drones began to arrive with our food, then, and I directed my attention toward its consumption. Rebecca returned, very careful this time not to point her eyes at me.

After siphoning another drink from my refilled glass of champagne, I began to devour my food—cherry-glazed duck, roasted potatoes, and fiddleheads. [the sprouting fern, that is, not the components of musical instruments. The human tendency to use one name for multiple things continues to baffle me.]

It was all delicious, though a part of me regretted ordering meat despite my body’s cravings for it. It felt rather too much as though I was mirroring the hateful predator who sat across from me, observing my every interaction with some combination of judgement and amusement in her eyes.

Obnoxious creature.

When the meal had been consumed, the music shifted, building from a subtle ornament in the background to a more lively melody. Conversation grew increasingly more boisterous as well, and several at the table stood, gesturing to drones for refills of their drinks or new ones. Down in the first-level central space, a number of couples began to dance.

Rin, Allico, Marah, Indri and Grayman were drawn into this ritual with varying flavors of reluctance—some dour, others drunken—while the babies were held hostage by doting relatives. Jack C had retreated to brood near one of the false windows, avoiding all contact, while Lore and V quickly paired up to escape the activity as well. Tursa and Shosho, for their part, took their drinks to the upper level’s outer edge, where they proceeded to observe and comment upon the exploits of the humans below.

“Ah,” I said, perceiving a passing Rebecca. “May I have thi—”

But she just continued on past me, eyes diverted the whole way.

I received much the same response from every other human I approached. Worse, I noticed before long that Tursa had begun to glance over, observing my attempts and no doubt taking satisfaction in my failure. After a time, I gave up my efforts, taking what remained of my beverage over to the railing to experience vicariously what I could not engage in directly.

I sensed her approach, of course, but chose not to acknowledge it at first. And then she tapped me on the shoulder. Briefly I pointed my eyes her way in acknowledgement before turning them back to the spectacle below.

Tursa cleared her throat.

“Would you care for a dance?”

Slowly, I turned again to look at her. Met her narrowed eyes and narrowed my own as well. Like Rin, she was dressed in shimmering black—a sleeveless garment which sheathed her torso but split at the hips. The front panel draped between her legs—which were similar in structure to those of humans, but with raised heels that gave her fluid, stalking gate which I could not help but admire. The back panel had an opening for her fluke-tipped tail, which swished slowly behind her as she awaited my response.

I was certain that she thought I would refuse. But I would give her no such satisfaction.

“Yes,” I said, accepting her still-outstretched hand, though she had just begun to withdraw it. “Let us dance.”

Dozens of pairs of human eyes, if not more, followed us as we descended the grand stair and joined the dancers in the shifting green glow of the chandelier. I had perceived enough human media at that point to have a vague idea of what I was doing, and Tursa surprised me by being quite adept in the act. However, with my hands on her waist and hers on my shoulders, with our bodies so close that I could feel the heat rising from her flesh, I was overwhelmed by her scents of sea-salt and musk and mint. No…not by the scents themselves…but by my body’s response to them.

And all the while her hateful, glimmering eyes were locked to mine, a small smile baring her fangs and raising her whiskers, as though she knew exactly the effect she was having on me. From the movies I had perceived, I expected us to engage in an intense exchange of banter. However, it was all I could do to compose myself, to prevent my feet from stamping on hers or my tentacles from brushing up against some important human figure or another.

The latter was perhaps the most difficult of my challenges, as there were a great deal of such individuals in attendance. And as the song wore on, we drew ever nearer the most significant of them all. Deputy Prime Minister Haldeman and his dancing partner spun closer and closer, and I could not help but fix my attention on him.

Or perhaps I could have helped it—but I wished to look away from Tursa.

The deputy prime minister was one of the very few Warped humans I had seen aboard the Griffin outside of those of my own party. But his was a more subtle Variation, almost…uncanny valley. There was a sort of sheen, even a glow to his skin which, if one focused on it too closely, vanished from perception.

What’s more, he blinked only sparsely, seeming always to stare outright at everyone he pointed his eyes to. And yet none of them appeared to find this offputting. His dancing partner at the time—one of Indri’s aunts—showed every sign of being genuinely delighted with the man.

The music was quite loud, and so I leant close to Tursa’s ear to speak to her. As my face brushed against hers, I felt a shiver pass over her body which I took for disgust.

Good. Let her suffer.

{There is something off about the deputy prime minister,} I informed the huntress as I peered over her shoulder at the man.

She followed the direction of my gaze before staring back up at me once more.

{He is Warped,} she replied, her tone dubious. {But—}

{No, that is not what I mean.} I was frustrated that she didn’t at once perceive what I had, yet before I could explain further, the song drew to a close. Many of the dancing partners began to break apart, including the deputy prime minister and the Selva aunt.

I seized my opportunity.

Striding up to the human man as he exchanged parting words with the aunt, I extended my hand.

“Deputy Prime Minister Haldeman. I am Zyr. May I have the honor of this dance?”