Harrowhark the Ninth (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
we_bring_hell) wrote2020-09-13 05:21 pm
we_bring_hell) wrote2020-09-13 05:21 pm
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Harrowhark is in the bar, wearing the style of facepaint known as the Vanitas, with no lower teeth and sharp angular edges. It's good to be back in her makeup, even if the consecration was a greater undertaking than anticipated.
Although she is formally painted from the neck up, she is wearing some of the more informal clothes her room had supplied; soft trousers and a hoodie all in black. She is not wearing gloves today, because her palms are wrapped in bandages, but it is the kind of wound she is used to dealing with and it is healing quickly. The pinpricks of pain around her lips are worse, if only because it's been a very long time since she underwent the ritual of the Sewn Tongue.
She is diagramming spirals on paper, working in ink rather than blood right now. She can't spare any blood currently. She has refreshments to share, if you like faintly cucumber-flavored water and very bland, crumbly biscuits.
Although she is formally painted from the neck up, she is wearing some of the more informal clothes her room had supplied; soft trousers and a hoodie all in black. She is not wearing gloves today, because her palms are wrapped in bandages, but it is the kind of wound she is used to dealing with and it is healing quickly. The pinpricks of pain around her lips are worse, if only because it's been a very long time since she underwent the ritual of the Sewn Tongue.
She is diagramming spirals on paper, working in ink rather than blood right now. She can't spare any blood currently. She has refreshments to share, if you like faintly cucumber-flavored water and very bland, crumbly biscuits.
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A thought crosses her mind, and she reaches for her journal while still holding the handkerchief to her nose with the other hand. "Moiraine Sedai, you have a wide-ranging field of knowledge and have been in this bar for a long time. I found this message on a garment the Bar chose to give me, does it make sense to you?"
Written in the journal (in plaintext, although Harrow has been at some pains to imitate some very tacky fonts), it says
𝕮𝖍𝖎𝖛𝖆𝖑𝖗𝖞 𝖎𝖘𝖓'𝖙 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖉
𝓈𝒽𝑒'𝓈 𝒶 ＢＵＴＣＨ
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It has been some time since she has been this glad of it, where cultural context is concerned.
"I see," she says, and gives Bar a long, steady look before turning back to Harrow.
"You spoke of chivalry before, as I recall, when we were discussing Warders, so I will presume you have knowledge of that term. In the historical usage of it, in some worlds, there is an assumption that chivalry is a predominantly male behavioral code. There was a saying for a while in some worlds, due to a presumed or perceived dearth of politeness, that chivalry was dead and its tenets no more."
She taps the page in Harrow's journal.
"In these same worlds, 'butch' is a term for a lesbian woman, one who loves other women--"
Her Cairhienin upbringing attempts to strangle her to prevent her from speaking of such private affairs, but she suppresses it, although her color may be slightly heightened.
"--and who chooses to adopt fashion and mannerisms that might be more commonly observed among men."
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"I see," she says, in a slightly strangled voice.
"It appeared in my closet when I took up residence in my room, along with the more standard items."
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"It may be a message of some sort, or simply a joke. Usually, however, her jokes are meant well."
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She sighs. "Well, it's not wrong."
That's not the point, of course; the point is that wearing such a garment is an advertisement that either one is such a chivalrous person, or is fond of one. Perhaps in search of one.
"If the Bar thinks Gideon Nav is ever far from my thoughts... it is wrong."
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"Do not let it trouble you, if you can."
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"When I return I will have to face her," she says in a low voice. "And tell her the things... the things I am afraid to even tell you. She may kill me. If she chose that penance, I don't..."
"I don't think I would stop her. If anyone has the right, it's her. And if I have to die I hope it's someone I love. Not a construct or a trap or a traitor. She is the one I choose to die beside."
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"There is a saying," the Aes Sedai murmurs, after several seconds of silence. "In the world where I was born. 'Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain.'"
"I shall not gainsay you, Lady Ninth. I shall instead hope the best for you, and for Gideon Nav. Light illumine and protect you both."
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"A axiom worthy of the Ninth," she says. "I thank you."
She looks at the notes on the table. "And whatever happens in my world, I have contributed something here, I hope."
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