Motes Played edits, Marsh typesetting

2024-06-19 23:33:54 -07:00
parent d748391d21
commit e64b31684d
17 changed files with 1392 additions and 183 deletions
--- a/Fireheart/Motes
+++ b/Fireheart/Motes
--- a/idumea/book.pdf
+++ b/idumea/book.pdf
--- a/idumea/book.tex
+++ b/idumea/book.tex
@ -83,11 +83,11 @@
  \vspace{1cm}
-  \noindent\textbf{Content notes:} themes of suicide and poor mental health.
+  \noindent\textbf{Content notes:} themes of self harm, suicide, and poor mental health.
  The section with Warmth In Fire on page \pageref{warmth} is a collaboration with Samantha Yule Fireheart.
-  The section with The Dog on page \pageref{thedog} is a collaboration with Krzysztof ``Tomash'' Drewniak.
+  The sections with The Dog on page \pageref{thedog1} and \pageref{thedog2} are a collaboration with Krzysztof ``Tomash'' Drewniak.
  \newpage
  \singlespacing
--- a/idumea/content/005.tex
+++ b/idumea/content/005.tex
@ -1,6 +1,3 @@
 \hypertarget{end-of-endings-2403-rye-2409}{%
 \subsection{\texorpdfstring{End Of Endings --- 2403×Rye --- 2409}{End Of Endings --- 2403 × Rye --- 2409}}\label{end-of-endings-2403-rye-2409}}
 Some of my readers may be wondering why it is that I know so much about The Woman.
 ``How does she know all of this?'' some might be wondering. ``Does she really know all these things that The Woman did? Does she know who the kindly shop owner is? The one who pet on The Woman as she sobbed from too spicy a chili?'' Others might be wondering --- and rightly so! --- ``How much of this is actually real? Surely she does not know The Woman's innermost thoughts! All this talk of ideas in shapes being set before her is quite silly.''
@ -9,7 +6,7 @@ My answer is that tired phrase: ``It is complicated.'' Of course I do not know h
 What I do have, though, is a story. I have the story I learned from The Woman's Friend and Therapist and Cocladist and Lover, the one I learned from The Blue Fairy. I have all of that story that I learned, and I have that story that I lived.
-\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
+\secdiv
 One day --- I remember it being quite a warm one, though every sim has different weather, and we as a clade are not all that keen on cold --- one day, The Woman came to me.
@ -79,7 +76,37 @@ She smiled --- another blessing! --- and nodded to me.
 ``We sat in the solarium and spoke about what reading \emph{is.} She spoke of taking a story or a poem and wrapping oneself up in it. She gave me an example. She recited a poem:
-\{\{\% verse \%\}\} Too many suits move in too many lines. They circle banquet tables, hawk-eyed, hunting crudites, canapés, bruschetta. Fingers ferry food --- fish, perhaps --- finding slack-jawed mouths already open, squawking at wayward children or bemoaning The Market, whatever that may be. At some point, who cares how long ago, death surfaced, claimed one, submerged again. Who knows how well they knew him, their backs turned, studiously deciding that he is no longer of them? One could never guess. We can say his suit was very fine, perhaps, that the room is tastefully furnished, the casket silver, the bar, open, quite good, and none of them are drunk yet, or at least none look it. ``Good man, good man,'' they mutter, doing all they can to convince each other through well-rehearsed performances, that this must be the case. The silently bereaved already sit graveside.'' \{\{\% /verse \%\}\}
+\begin{verse}
 ``Too many suits move in too many lines.\\
 They circle banquet tables, hawk-eyed,\\
 hunting crudites, canapés, bruschetta.\\
 Fingers ferry food — fish, perhaps — finding\\
 slack-jawed mouths already open,\\
 squawking at wayward children\\
 or bemoaning The Market,\\
 whatever that may be.
 ``At some point, who cares how long ago,\\
 death surfaced, claimed one, submerged again.\\
 Who knows how well they knew him,\\
 their backs turned, studiously\\
 deciding that he is no longer of them?
 ``One could never guess.
 ``We can say his suit was very fine, perhaps,\\
 that the room is tastefully furnished,\\
 the casket silver, the bar, open,\\
 quite good, and none of them are drunk yet,\\
 or at least none look it.
 ``\,``Good man, good man,'' they mutter,\\
 doing all they can to convince each other\\
 through well-rehearsed performances,\\
 that this must be the case.
 ``The silently bereaved already sit graveside.''
 \end{verse}
 I turned those words over and over in my head for a minute, since The Woman had seemed quite comfortable sitting in silence with me. She used that time to drink her water while I played back the words again and again, looking down at my paws, and then returned my gaze to hers. ``There is a difference between the performance of grief and grieving, is there not?''
@ -249,7 +276,7 @@ She nodded.
 ``I see we understand it in the same way. I cannot tell, either. I can tell you, though, that watching Motes brought me the closest to the joy that I have been seeking that I have ever been.'' She frowned down to her glass, now empty. When she continued, her speech was halting, slow, thoughtful. ``Not\ldots for me, not my own joy, and I think not even for her, though the little skunk certainly seems quite joyful. It is\ldots adjacent to the joy. It brought me near to the joy, but did not necessarily bring the joy to me.''
-\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
+\secdiv
 \label{warmth}
--- a/idumea/content/007.tex
+++ b/idumea/content/007.tex
@ -1,3 +1,6 @@
 \hypertarget{end-of-endings-2403-rye-2409}{%
 \subsection{\texorpdfstring{End Of Endings --- 2403×Rye --- 2409}{End Of Endings --- 2403 × Rye --- 2409}}\label{end-of-endings-2403-rye-2409}}
 When at last The Woman returned home, left my home and returned to her own, walked out into the field for a day and then lay down, her mind was aswirl with possibilities and all the various endlessnesses thereof. She felt full. She felt \emph{overfull.} She felt as though she had had poured into her several depths, oceans of possibilities and each as deep or deeper than the last. She was vast. She was limitless. She was these things, and yet she was infinitely smaller than the limitless endlessness of the void which still lay within and without.
 She returned home after that talk with me and my beloved up-tree, with your humble narrator and The Oneirotect, and she went for a walk and she did that which she is good at: she napped. There, out on the grass, there, she napped.
@ -34,7 +37,7 @@ This is my supposition because this is my dream. This is a world I have seen and
 This is my supposition for The Woman and her dream after she came home from my house, because I think within her all along was that stillness, that sky-reachingness and earth-eatingness and water-drinkingness.
-\secdiv
+\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
 The longer we live --- and, my dear readers, I will remind you that I am now 323 years old! --- the more evident it becomes to us that there is fractally cyclical nature to life: the years spiral up and the months spiral around and the days spiral forward --- weeks are a construct borne out of our inherited faith --- and so we live within a fractally cyclical tangle of time.
@ -46,7 +49,7 @@ Ah, my friends, I am struggling. I can feel and see these coils and coils and co
 I am going to lay down, and perhaps I will dream.
-\secdiv
+\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
 I have slept now. I took a cue from The Woman and took a nap, and while it did not come quite so easily to me as it ever did to her, it still offered some respite.
@ -54,7 +57,7 @@ I dreamed, though! I dreamed of words like leaves and sentences like branches an
 And above was the sun which was also The Dreamer who dreams us all.
-\secdiv
+\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
 When at last The Woman returned home, she performed a new ritual. She performed a ritual of mourning.
@ -94,11 +97,63 @@ The Woman bowed once more and stepped at last over the threshold, shutting the d
 Along the other wall --- that wall that had been hidden to the woman --- was a simple bed, a single bed, a single-size mattress, and a wall painted in a feathery ombré from golden orange to purple-black. The covers were rumpled, clearly slept in. Clearly slept in and also clearly frozen in time, for the bed had not been touched since Death Itself had quit fifty seven years before. The Woman would not sit on it, even had Her Cocladist not warned her, for such was simply the way of things. The same was true of I Do Not Know's bed, and the only person who had laid in Should We Forget's bed was The Oneirotect who deserved such an expression of grief.
-The Woman had her own ritual of grief to perform, though, and this did not call for touching the bed
+The Woman had her own ritual of grief to perform, though, and this did not call for touching the bed.
-\secdiv
+Instead, she sat down near the end of it, across the room from Her Cocladist, for both beds had at their feet matching beanbags --- when you have a tail that flickers into being at moments not under your control, you are limited in your seating, you see, to the types of seats that can accommodate such caudal majesty that skunks sport --- where once Her Cocladist and Should We Forget would sit at times and talk and share in kindnesses such as touch when their forms permitted.
-\label{thedog}
+There, The Woman remained still.
 She had within her an idea that there was mourning to be had in proximity.
 She had within her an idea that there was stillness to be had in mourning.
 She had within her an idea that there was joy to be had in stillness.
 The Woman wondered whether or not there was stillness in prayer. While Michelle who was Sasha inherited the faith of her parents and grandparents before them of Judaism, she herself did not inherit much of such from Michelle who was Sasha --- this was the realm of the third stanza, of Oh But To Whom and Rav From Whence and What Right Have I --- and yet the kernel of such lives within us all for such is the nature of an inherited faith.
 And yet regardless of her faith, there are, I am told, four kinds of prayer: words of thanksgiving, words of supplication, words of wonder, and the silence of meditation. I think, though, and perhaps you may think as well, that there are words of woe, of distress, of pain and fear and of the yearning for something --- \emph{anything} --- when our \emph{HaShem} does not feel near.
 I think The Woman, as she sat across from Her Cocladist and watched how she looked now out the window, unseeing, silent tears coursing down her cheeks and leaving tracks on cheeks or marks in fur, leaned hardest on the last. One might think that she would in her seeking of stillness lean harder on the silence of meditation but I also think that it hurts too much to witness some pains. The Woman was kind. She was empathetic. She could sit there in pain with Her Cocladist and pray: how long, \emph{Adonai,} will You forget me always? How long hide Your face from me? How long shall I cast about for counsel, sorrow in my heart all day? Regard, answer me, \emph{HaShem,} my God. Light up my eyes, lest I sleep with death. My heart exults in Your rescue my heart exults in You my heart exults in You my heart exults in You my heart exults in You my heart.
 Perhaps this is how she prayed, perhaps this is how I pray. Perhaps I cast about for something --- \emph{anything} --- to anchor me to \emph{this} world, to \emph{this} reality, to \emph{this} life and call out: why am I forgotten? Perhaps I do my best to trust. Perhaps I do my best to cause my heart to exult in some god in whom I am not sure I believe that I may be regarded, that I may be answered.
 Perhaps that is not how she prayed. Perhaps she rested her cheek on her fist and looked as well out the window and cried, or perhaps not, but still she sat in silence. Perhaps she leaned not on psalms of anguish but on the silence of meditation
 Perhaps she did not pray at all. I do not rightly know, and can only surmise.
 Perhaps she, like me, like Job, struggles with maintaining a faith disinterested in reward or punishment or relief from sorrow. Perhaps she, like me, wishes she could in the hope that such disinterested faith might still provide a soothing balm against pain. Perhaps she, like me, struggles not to fall into the cynicism of Qohelet, the gather of the assembled who mused aloud: I set my heart to know wisdom and to know revelry and folly, for this, too, is herding the wind. Who mused aloud: what gain is there for man in all his toil that he toils under the sun? Who mused aloud: everything was from the dust, and everything goes back to the dust.
 Perhaps she spoke to The Dreamer who dreams us all, perhaps not, but either way, she did not find joy in the keenness of sorrow, nor the stillness of mourning, nor the stasis of Her Cocladist, looking now out the window, unseeing, silent tears coursing down her cheeks and leaving tracks on cheeks or marks in fur.
 \begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
 The Woman wanted to unbecome.
 We know this, you and I. We know this because that is the story that I have been telling this whole time, is it not? I have written thousands of words, now, about how she was seeking joy. I wrote of her eating wonderful things, of having sex with her lover and holding hands with her friend, of reading and listening to music, of the conversation she had about creation with me and my beloved up-tree, The Oneirotect, of the mournful prayer she shared with Her Cocladist. I wrote about all of her successes and how each was tainted by an incompleteness, a failure to find the joy she sought, but I have made it so tenuous as to why these two ideas of joy and unbecoming are connected.
 The Woman was too much herself, and becoming ever more so. With each day, each hour, each minute and second, she was becoming ever more herself. She did not just become older --- though, dear ones, you remember, of course, that we are \emph{very} old --- though she also became that --- but she became yet more The Woman than she had been before. My clever readers will remember when I said: I think she would say that she was \emph{too} full, too much, too alive. Those readers will remember when I said: she is too much herself, too human, too embodied within her vessel as it spirals out of control, too stuck in her mind as it twists in on itself. And, yes, those same readers will remember when I said: It is hard to experience peace, hard to experience joy when one is too much oneself, is it not?
 Do you see now the connection?
 If you sense within The Woman's words and actions a haste to find some joy, some way to unbecome, before some unknown future calamity, I do not think you would be wrong, but neither do I think you would be wholly correct. I think there is a haste within all of us to do what we will before death. Even for those of us who live with what we had assumed was functional immortality have found that there is calamity in our lives, for we have now lived through death. No one who uploads even this very day does not remember the calamity that was the Century Attack, the way that a virus had been loosed within Lagrange, within the System in which we dwell, and crashed every single instance. No one who uploads even this very day does not know what terrors we have lived through, the grief of losing one percent of a society 2.3 trillion strong.
 I write this in systime 285, in 2409 common era, in 6169 of the Hebrew calendar. If one were to upload as soon as they could, as soon as they turned eighteen, then they would have been nine during the Century Attack, during that one year, one month, and ten days that Lagrange remained offline, all of us functionally immortal rendered functionally dead.
 All of us, even those who are uploading today, know that there is haste to do what one will before death.
 Oh, it is not so bad as it was at first. Even now, I am finding that I am no longer racing quite so much to spend as much time with my stanza, to get every hug that I can from my beloved up-tree, to eat every good food I can or visit all of the lovely sims out there. I still spend time with my stanza and hug my beloved up-tree and eat good foods and see lovely places, and my beautiful, beautiful readers will certainly recognize the urgency in me writing down all the words I have to say, but it no longer comes with the knife-edge at my throat.
 Well.
 There is a burning within me, and perhaps it is the burning edge of a knife held to my throat, in order to put all of these words somewhere. Their flow has been unstoppered, and I am helpless before it. They rush at me and all I can do is turn away from the wind and let this flow rush down my arm and out my paw and onto the page --- though, my friends, I have now injured my paw too much for this to be literal; there is blood in my fur and under my claws and there are holes in my pads where I punctured them and I still have not had the focus to fork such away and so I write now solely within my head as I pace the quiet rooms of my home.
 There is a burning, and there is helplessness, but there is no longer \emph{haste,} I mean to say, and I do not think The Woman felt haste. She, like me, felt \emph{compulsion.}
 She was compelled to seek a way to unbecome and make room for joy.
 \begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
 \label{thedog1}
 The Woman sat down on the floor by The Dog. She knew he was a cladist, for cladists come in many shapes --- did she not also appear as a skunk? And a panther? And now, here, she was a human! --- and so hoped he might have insight into unbecoming. This, after all, was the purpose of her visit to Le Rêve, the neighborhood of the fifth stanza, that of The Poet and The Musician and My Friend, and also The Child. It was The Child who was her goal, you see. She wished to speak with those who had changed, who had pushed themselves into new molds, who had become something new, that they might no longer be what had once drove them. Stillness lay in choice --- that was the thought she held onto --- that is the thought that I wish I could believe; would that I could choose to be still! Would that I could choose silence and images instead of yet more words.
@ -142,7 +197,7 @@ The Woman reached out to pet The Dog. It relaxed into the pressure.
 The Dog froze in a swelling of alarm. His fears came from the same simplicity as his joys. While he was wont to let the possibility of casting off his humanity sneak up on him slowly, he still felt fear, like His Elder did, at such a blunt statement of the idea. \emph{``Don't want! Who will watch Motes?''}
-The Woman gently soothed The Dog, letting the interaction fade away behind a stream of pets and scratches in just the right spot (for The Dog knew how to direct people to it) and more treats. We are creatures of pleasure all, you see. The Woman and I, yes --- for do we not both like being brushed? --- but also the rest of our clade and so many others besides. What pleasure there is in rending the mind from the body and letting it live as it will! What pleasure! What pleasure there is in choosing a form one inhabits entirely! What pleasure there is in living for decades and centuries! The Dog was pleased that The Woman had not been told by Its Skunks not to feed it too much of the stuff, or that, if she had, she was ignoring them.
+The Woman gently soothed The Dog, letting the interaction fade away behind a stream of pets and scratches in just the right spot (for The Dog knew how to direct people to it) and more treats. We are creatures of pleasure all, you see. The Woman and I, yes --- for do we not both like being brushed? --- but also the rest of our clade and so many others besides. What pleasure there is in rending the mind from the body and letting it live as it will! What pleasure! What pleasure there is in choosing a form one inhabits entirely! What pleasure there is in living for decades and centuries! The Dog was pleased that The Woman had not been told by Its Skunks not to feed it too much kettlecorn, or that, if she had, she was ignoring them.
 Once The Dog had come down from being ambushed by the thought of abandoning those principles he had carried into his state, he realized what The Woman had wanted. \emph{``Can show you pack-friends who go chase rabbits all the time. But no words because they don't want. And can't say how. Don't want to know.''}
@ -160,7 +215,11 @@ The Woman could tell this was all the answer she would get for now. A ball appea
 The Woman threw. The Dog fetched, and in that moment, in that place, there was peace.
-\secdiv
+\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
 \begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
 \label{thedog2}
 The Dog took then The Woman to a forest, and showed her where The Rabbit-Chaser lived. The Dog went to greet The Rabbit-Chaser. He sniffed it, as is custom among their species, and it sniffed back.
@ -176,6 +235,8 @@ It explored a forest, sometimes running, sometimes sniffing thoughtfully, withou
 It prepared for tomorrow, if it absolutely must, by instinct and routine, or perhaps it did not.
 The joys and tragedies of its home drifted past its mind and into its too-perfect memory. Loves! Pleasures! Sorrows! Lives! Deaths! The laments of starving wolves outmaneuvered by deer! The blood of deer ripped to shreds by wolves! It did not determine what of what its eyes, ears, nose, tongue, paws took in was good, was evil, was just, was improper --- it beheld what was, not what ought be, and there was a peace in that.
 It experienced each moment as it came and moved on, not stopping to analyze or categorize or name.
 It was a dog, as much as it could be.
@ -184,27 +245,85 @@ It had not always been a dog. It had a down-tree, the tall one who smelled of pa
 It had been Scout, then, when it first came to be. When Its Elder had forked too well, too firmly, and it had not minded the name then. It had gone to simply be in the world, and it was, and is.
-At first, it sometimes had had some care for humans and the System, but it was hard to care when there were so, \emph{so} many other things: new scents! Food! Scratching an itch! All of these very important things when you are a dog, and they are important now. Here. Vestigial, inherited cares were a problem for later.
+At first, it had had some occasional care for humans and the System, but it was hard to care when there were so, \emph{so} many other things: new scents! Food! Scratching an itch! All of these very important things when you are a dog, and they are important now. Here. Vestigial, inherited cares were a problem for later.
 Then it had met the rest of its relatives, that growing pack of Scouts who rested within the System and experienced it, but who, unlike The Rabbit-Chaser, had a purpose: to keep watch and observe, and to report unusual things, and to, when they grew bored of being a dog, merge back. It liked these new relatives well enough --- they smelled of family and were friendly --- but it had not liked what they represented. They hesitated at becoming what they were, and it had understood that it might become more like them if words and thoughts and worries were to trouble it.
 So, it rejected them.
-Oh, the whole of the clade were welcome to visit and play, but it had told them, when it had cleared its name to as nothing as it could manage, a blank, a zero-width joiner, something unspeakable for the word-users, something unreadable, it had told them that it wished to hear not another word. It would not be communicating about anything that could not be said with the twitch of an ear or the wag of a tail, and it pushed away the slow stirrings of memories of personhood with a fork to ensure it.
+Oh, the whole of its clade were welcome to visit and play, but it had told them, when it had cleared its name to as nothing as it could manage, a blank, a zero-width joiner, something unspeakable for the word-users, something unreadable, it had told them that it wished to hear not another word. It would not be communicating about anything that could not be said with the twitch of an ear or the wag of a tail, and it pushed away the slow stirrings of memories of personhood with a fork to ensure it.
 The pack respected its wish. It saw them, sometimes, usually the young or the old who come to rest more thoroughly, and they played and ran and said nothing. What was there to say, after all, to this dog who surrendered thought with every step of every day?
-When the pack spoke of it among themselves, in their fragmentary network of passed-around words and sensoria impressions, it was called Scout Chasing Rabbits, the far pole of the clade, the pure contrast to their elder, the other extreme. It did not know they said this. It did not want to know they said this --- nor, by now, want to \emph{not} know it, and it was happy thereby.
+When the pack spoke of it among themselves, in their fragmentary network of passed-around words and sensoria impressions, it was called Scout Chasing Rabbits, the far pole of the clade, the pure contrast to Their Elder, the other extreme. It did not know they said this. It did not want to know they said this --- nor, by now, want to \emph{not} know it, and it was happy thereby.
 And in the bliss of not-knowing, through unwitnessed years and decades, it slept and ate and chased rabbits.
 The Woman could not tell which of them had it better, these two dogs, these two cladists, these two beings who had so distanced themself from what they had once been. Both seemed quite content with the path that had taken. Dogs! What wonders they are! What pleasures! What joys. They had both unbecome, or taken steps in that direction, in their own way, and had found what they wanted.
-The Woman realized then that, for her, the life of an animal, even one so invested in its state as The Rabbit-Chaser, was not what she sought, not quite. It did not go far enough. It was not \emph{still} enough. The her who was a beast would still have too much of her.
+The Woman realized then that, for her, the life of an animal, even one so invested in its state as The Rabbit-Chaser, was not what she sought, not quite. It did not go far enough. It was not \emph{still} enough. The her who was a beast would still have too much of her. She needed a change more integral, more whole, more entire --- not a reshaping of the body, but a reshaping of the existence.
 So, her search continued.
-\secdiv
+She met then with The Child after this diversion --- for such was her errand, yes? Her original reason for visiting the neighborhood, and she saw no reason not to continue along this path. She returned to the lobby of the theatre which served also as a community center for Au Lieu Du Rêve, the troupe in which the fifth stanza had embedded itself, long familiar despite her having never seen it, for, you see, Michelle who was Sasha was a theatrician before uploading, a teacher, a director, an actress. Theatre lobbies smell like theatre lobbies and theatre carpet underfoot feels like theatre carpet underfoot and the sound echoed precisely as she had always remembered it.
 Outside shone the sun. Outside grew the grass. Outside was the dusty gray of the asphalt street that wound around the center of this neighborhood --- a street, for occasionally The Child and her friends wanted to rollerblade on a road, wanted to play kickball or catch, wanted to holler out ``car!'' as Beholden or someone with similar interests would drive through.
 Outside played The Child.
 Most people have a singular thing that defines them. You may say to me, ``But Rye! I have several things that define me! Why, I love to write and I love to paint and I love to cook delicious food,'' but I might say in return, ``My friend, you love to create! You are defined by your creativity.''
 The Child defined herself by play. She did not merely paint, whether the pictures of which I have already written or the props and backgrounds that adorned the stage, but she played with paint. She was a being of play who, leaning into this identity, had formed as well the vessel with which she navigated the world into that of a child. She was a skunk of five years, or perhaps seven, perhaps ten, and this formation of herself was a means by which she lived wholeheartedly into her identity.
 This is the glory of cladistics: that we may become more wholly ourselves. This is what makes us dispersionistas: that we may find joy in this. These simplified dissolution strategies that we have found have less to do with how often we fork, how crowded we may make a room with ourselves, and more to do with how much we love love love the feeling of becoming ourselves while some other us becomes someone else. The Child, The Woman, and I are all of Michelle who was Sasha, we are all some three centuries old, and yet The Child is The Child and The Woman is The Woman and your humble narrator is struggling.
 And so The Woman stepped outside where The Child played, turning slow pirouettes, making a clumsy dance along the sidewalk --- clumsy in that endearingly childlike way, mind! For that is her role, yes --- and at her feet blossomed colored lines in pink orange yellow green blue white chalk, describing the shape of flowering vines, leaves and flowers showing wherever her paws touched the ground. By some trickery of the sim, some trickery wrought by The Oneirotect, her beloved friend and my beloved up-tree, wherever The Child stepped, there blossomed these vines in chalk.
 ``Hello, Motes,'' said The Woman.
 ``Hi,'' The Child said back. She did not stop in her slow dance, though now, whenever her movements led her to face The Woman, her smile shone bright.
 ``What are you doing?''
 ``Just playing. Want to play with me?''
 The Woman tilted her head, taking a moment to consider this. ``I can try.''
 ``It can be a slower play, if that helps. We do not need to run races or play tag.''
 She smiled. ``I would appreciate that, yes.''
 ``Have you ever seen a five-leaf clover?''
 The Woman shook her head.
 ``Can you imagine one?''
 The Woman did so. It was not so hard, she found. She thought of all of the three-leaf clovers that she had seen over the years and decades and centuries --- for some of these grew in her very field, and perhaps they flowered, there, as well, those little globes of white --- and then added a leaf until she had a four-leaf clover in her mind, and then once more added a leaf.
 ``Okay, I am imagining it,'' she said, watching the way The Child moved, the way that she dragged her toes in exaggerated arcs, the way that the vines followed, the way she turned in circles, the way that the vines were tied in knots. ``Have you ever seen one?''
 The Child shook her head and giggled. ``No, I do not think so. That is just the switch.''
 ``The switch?''
 ``Walk a little bit.''
 The Woman did so, and was startled to find that her feet, too, described lines in chalk. She laughed. She laughed! My dear, wonderful friends, The Woman laughed! When I spoke with The Child about this day, about the day that The Woman came over to speak with her, The Child agreed with my assessment: seeing The Woman smile, hearing her laugh, they were blessings.
 ``Come on,'' The Child said, and The Woman realized she had been fixated on the ground for several seconds and The Child had wandered down the road. ``If you walk behind me, I bet we can make them look like a braid.''
 And so The Woman did, wandering along a few paces behind The Child. They played together in this way, talking quietly as they went. They found that if they walked in a lazy, wavering line, it looked like someone had braided a rope out of vines of chalk. They found that if The Child orbited the Woman as she walked, the loops that she created were pleasing to behold. They found that, when The Child walked beside The Woman, when they held paws and walked and talked, a pair of parallel railroad tracks followed them, leaves scattered more sparsely on the two that trailed along after The Woman than those that followed The Child.
 The Woman knew that The Child did not have the answer that she sought, not really, but that was not to say that there was not joy to be found. There was joy in the walk they took. There was joy in the way that sat on the swings and swayed back and forth. There was joy in watching The Child make little bets with herself and the world --- ``I bet I can make it to the top of the jungle gym in five seconds!'' or ``I bet I can go down the slide backwards and not die!'' --- even when she lost those bets --- though she did not die that day.
 There was, last of all, joy when a piercing whistle broke the quiet of the late afternoon and Motes immediately hopped down from a balance beam and ran up to The Woman. ``That was Ma!'' This, you see, is what she called My Friend, her down-tree instance who had taken a role not dissimilar from a mother for her. ``Dinner is ready. I think Bee--'' This, you see, is what she called The Musician, her other guardian and My Friend's partner. ``--made meatloaf. Can I give you a hug?''
 The Woman smiled, nodded, and sank to a knee so that she could give The Child a hug. ``Thank you, Motes. Enjoy your dinner. Thank you more than you know.''
 This day, you see, this day was also not without forward movement, for The Child said something while climbing a tree that caught The Woman unawares, like the surprise of finding a shiny rock on the ground or perhaps seeing a shape in the clouds. The Child, climbing up a tree with great skill, mentioned in a stream of ceaseless chatter, ``One time, Serene turned herself into a tree! She said that she wanted to see what it was like to truly live within one of her sims, you know? She made a bunch of this sim, too! She said she wanted to see what it was like to be a part of something she made. So out there, out on the field out back of the houses, she made herself into this \emph{huge} maple tree! She made it a whole six months like that, then turned back into a fox again. She said it was really boring being so still. She said coming back was like being born, though. That is neat, is it not?''
 \begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
 ``I want to unbecome,'' The Woman told Her Friend.
--- a/marsh/book.pdf
+++ b/marsh/book.pdf
--- a/marsh/book.tex
+++ b/marsh/book.tex
@ -37,26 +37,29 @@
    \vfill
    {\Huge\DisplayFont Marsh}
-    \vspace{1ex}
+    {\Large\DisplayFont and Stories From After}
-    {\DisplayFont A Post-Self story}
+    \vspace{2ex}
    {\DisplayFont A Post-Self anthology}
    \vfill
    {\large\DisplayFont Edited by}
    {\Large\DisplayFont Madison Rye Progress}
-    With contributions from Samantha Yule Fireheart, Andréa C. Mason, Caela Argent, J.S. Hawthorne, Krzysztof ``Tomash'' Drewniak
+    %With contributions from Samantha Yule Fireheart, Andréa C. Mason, Caela Argent, J.S. Hawthorne, Krzysztof ``Tomash'' Drewniak
  \end{flushright}
  \thispagestyle{empty}
  \newpage
  \input{includes/copyright}
  \thispagestyle{empty}
  \tableofcontents*
  \newpage
  \null
-  \cleardoublepage
+  \thispagestyle{empty}
  %\onehalfspacing
  %\doublespacing
@ -64,11 +67,26 @@
  % \input{content/preface}
  \mainmatter
  \null
  \thispagestyle{empty}
  \pagestyle{ourbook}
  \vfill
  \part*{Marsh}
  \cftaddtitleline{toc}{part}{\hspace{0.5\textwidth-2em}\TitleFont\huge Marsh}{}
  \addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Marsh — A Novel}
  \cftaddtitleline{toc}{section}{\itshape Madison Rye Progress}{}
  \begin{center}
    \TitleFont\huge{Madison Rye Progress}
  \end{center}
  \vfill
  \cleardoublepage
  \null
  \thispagestyle{empty}
  \vfill
@ -101,7 +119,6 @@
 \null
  \cleardoublepage
  \addcontentsline{toc}{part}{Marsh}
  \chapter*{Reed — 2399}
  \markboth{Marsh}{Madison Rye Progress}
@ -145,8 +162,8 @@
  \input{content/015}
  \input{content/016}
-  \interlude{Columbines}{Fireheart}
+  \interlude{Columbines}{Samantha Yule Fireheart}
-  \markboth{Columbines}{Fireherat}
+  \markboth{Columbines}{Samantha Yule Fireherat}
  \chapter*{A Finger Pointing — 2401}
  \input{content/columbines}
@ -163,19 +180,12 @@
  \input{content/018}
  \cleartoverso
-  \addcontentsline{toc}{part}{Stories}
+  \cftaddtitleline{toc}{part}{\hspace{0.5\textwidth-6em}\TitleFont\huge Stories From After}{}
  \thispagestyle{empty}
-  \story{Toward Eternity}{Thomas “Faux” Steele}
+  \story{Game Night}{Michael Miele}
-  \markboth{Toward Eternity}{Thomas “Faux” Steele}
+  \markboth{Game Night}{Michael Miele}
-  \chapter*{Aurélien Delacroix — 2401}
+  \chapter*{Joanna — 2401}
-  \input{stories/toward-eternity}
+  \input{stories/game-night}
  \cleartoverso
  \thispagestyle{empty}
  \story{A Well-Trained Eye}{Andréa C. Mason}
  \markboth{A Well-Trained Eye}{Andréa C. Mason}
  \chapter*{Lucia Marchetti — 2401}
  \input{stories/a-well-trained-eye}
  \cleartoverso
  \thispagestyle{empty}
@ -186,8 +196,22 @@
  \cleartoverso
  \thispagestyle{empty}
-  \story{Prophecies}{Madison Rye Progress, with Fireheart}
+  \story{A Well-Trained Eye}{Andréa C. Mason}
-  \markboth{Prophecies}{Madison Rye Progress / Fireheart}
+  \markboth{A Well-Trained Eye}{Andréa C. Mason}
  \chapter*{Lucia Marchetti — 2401}
  \input{stories/a-well-trained-eye}
  \cleartoverso
  \thispagestyle{empty}
  \story{Toward Eternity}{Thomas “Faux” Steele}
  \markboth{Toward Eternity}{Thomas “Faux” Steele}
  \chapter*{Aurélien Delacroix — 2401}
  \input{stories/toward-eternity}
  \cleartoverso
  \thispagestyle{empty}
  \story{Prophecies}{Madison Rye Progress, with Samantha Yule Fireheart}
  \markboth{Prophecies}{Madison Rye Progress / Samantha Yule Fireheart}
  \chapter*{Slow Hours — 2401}
  \input{stories/prophecies}
--- a/marsh/content/game-night.tex
+++ b/marsh/content/game-night.tex
@ -0,0 +1,325 @@
 Joanna sat at her kitchen table, having the hardest time figuring out the next best move to make while playing solitaire. The cards were jumbo print, of course, a leftover from her time phys-side. She was just about to move a column of cards using a king when she heard her doorbell. She could have created her sim so the default entrance was within her home, but she was old-fashioned. She liked having her guests wait a bit while she got around to answer the door. There was something to be said for indulging anticipation, especially on the System, where so many things were instantaneous. She swiped a wrinkled hand over the in-progress game and the cards fluttered away, stored in an exo-cortex to pick up later. She got up slowly and puttered her way over to the front door.
 Arranging this get-together was a welcome distraction for her. When she received the confirmation message, she had trouble thinking of much else. Though she hadn't met her visitor yet, Joanna knew what she looked like. She looked out of the peephole to check it was her visitor before undoing the lock and opening up the door.
 An older woman was standing on Joanna's front porch. She had a slight hunch to her back and was quite short so that Joanna had to look down slightly to make eye contact. She was wearing a striped shirt with comfortable slacks and her gray hair was done up in a perm tighter than any of the folds of her skin. She was clutching a small purse and looked expectantly at Joanna to make the first move.
 ``I trust you're Bethann then? Saw my ad in the feeds?'' Joanna asked.
 ``Yes, yes. And you must be Joanna. I decided to come and see what this is about. I could also use a break after all the unpleasantness that's been going on.''
 ``Well that is an understatement. Still, I am glad you made the trip out.''
 ``Likewise. Now, can I come inside? The outside of your sim isn't exactly winning any awards.''
 Joanna held out her hand to help the woman climb up the final step into the house. Bethann pushed past her hand and stepped inside without another thought. The interior was cozy, if not a little dusty. There was a boxy T.V. set into an ornate wooden frame that sat on the floor facing the living room. The thought of moving it was impossible, it had been there long enough to begin fusing with the floorboards underneath it. The couch had an intricate floral pattern for a flower that Bethann was sure did not exist. Perhaps a take on an object'd'art from the Exchange? The coffee table, fittingly, had an abandoned cup of coffee sitting off to the side. The living room was small, barely enough room to step around the tables and furniture to move around. Bethann wondered to herself why Joanna had decided to make her sim so cramped. Before she could ask, Joanna said, ``I'm glad you could take time out of your busy schedule to come over.''
 A blatant attempt to guilt Bethann over her re-scheduling their meeting. She let the comment slide off of her and responded with, ``I would have arrived sooner, but I won't miss my shows. I've been getting invested in the newest reboot of Darkest Shadows. They've learned a lot from the last seven attempts that is making the show compelling to keep up with.''
 ``I'm more partial to Bonanza myself, but I don't think the writers knew what to do with Hoss in the latest version being produced sys-side. I stopped watching when Little Joe forked into Medium Joe and Big Joe. That's just too much Joe for one show.''
 ``Yes, it does sound like a lot. So where are we doing this? I don't think there's enough leg room for us to set up here.''
 Joanna puttered around Bethann, shuffling her feet on the worn carpet as she did so. She waved her hand for Bethann to follow her. ``This way dear, we'll have more room in the kitchen.''
 Bethann walked over and sat down in one of the two chairs set up at the kitchen table. Much like everything else in the sim, it seemed tailor-made for Joanna's convenience first. The table was big enough to seat one extra guest and no more. Joanna arrived shortly after Bethann had set down her purse. If Bethann had noticed how Joanna had neglected to offer her a drink or snack before they were settled, she didn't say so.
 ``What game would you like to play first? Was there a favorite that your young gentleman would choose?''
 Joanna laughed, ``You get right to the point don't you? Reminds me of him in a way. But to answer your question, we would take turns in picking out the games we would play. Since you are my guest, I'll give you the first choice.''
 ``That's mighty kind of you. I'm partial to boardgames, so I'll suggest something simple to start with. Have you ever played Uncle Wiggily?''
 ``I can't say that I have, but I'm willing to learn.''
 ``If you'll grant me the proper ACL's, I can grab it out of the games I've brought with me.''
 Joanna looked up and away for a few seconds before saying, ``There, you should have permission now.''
 Bethann reached her hands into her purse and pulled out a colorful box with a collection of anthropomorphic animals dressed in fancy clothes prancing about in an idyllic forest. The majority of the box art was taken up by the titular Uncle Wiggily, a dandy rabbit man with a black suit jacket, bright yellow shirt, red corduroy pants, blue bowtie, and a top hat that he had tipped to the side.
 Bethann opened up the box and began unfolding the game board and setting out the player markers. ``If you're at all familiar with Candy Land, it plays similarly. You draw cards from the deck and on each of the cards is a number that tells you how much you are to move. The catch is that there are poems on each of the cards and you must read out the poem before you are allowed to move.''
 ``Every time? Wouldn't that get tiring?'' Joanna asked.
 ``It's a part of the overall whimsy the game is trying to evoke. You are a dandy woodland animal having a merry time of skipping through the forest after all.''
 Bethann set the player pieces in front of Joanna, each a copy of Uncle Wiggily but with different colored suits in red, green, blue, and yellow. Joanna chose the blue piece and Bethann chose the green. They set their pieces on the starting square and took turns reading the cards and moving their pieces. As they settled into a rhythm of passing turns, they talked with each other.
 ``I'm deeply sorry for your loss. I've lost a lot of good friends in the New Year too,'' Bethann said.
 ``Thank you. It's been a terrible few days.''
 ``What was your young gentleman's name?''
 ``His name was NaSRFS. I didn't know much about him, but he would come once a week to spend time with me. Didn't strike me as a tracker, more of a tasker really. That made his choice to visit a little more special. It's nice to know that he was willing to fork for our time together.''
 For a moment, Bethann's shoulders tensed at the mention of NaSRFS, and then it was gone. ``That does sound nice. It's good for us old fogeys to socialize with younger instances. They keep us up to date on what's happening outside of our own sims in the System, do they not?''
 It was a leading question, but Joanna was not taking the bait. After an uncomfortable silence had passed, Bethann placed her marker at the end of the winding path and said, ``I guess that makes me the winner. Why don't you choose a game for us to play next?'' She gathered up the pieces, shuffled the cards, and folded up the board in quick measure. Packing it away quickly and carefully.
 ``Oh, I know just the game. I'm more for card games, so I'll teach you how to play Clock.''
 ``Never heard of it before.''
 ``Then I'm glad I can be your introduction.'' Joanna pointed her hand down and flicked it quickly upwards. Through the motion, she had produced a standard deck of playing cards with the words JUMBO PRINT on the side in large bubble letters. She took out the cards, removed the jokers and rule card, and began shuffling the deck. As she shuffled, she explained the basics of the game.
 ``Clock is a lot like a cooperative variant of solitaire. You work together to play cards on the various positions around the `clock' that is built around the deck. But it is a competitive game too, as each play gets both of you closer to playing out the cards in your hand and winning the game.''
 ``Sounds delightful. How many cards do we get?''
 ``Five to start, but if you don't have a play, you draw until you have a playable card.'' Joanna stopped shuffling and dealt out the cards to herself and Bethann. She alternated giving each of them a card until they had a full hand of five. Then, she turned over four cards from the top of the deck to form a cross shape around the deck in the center.
 ``I'll go first,'' Joanna said, placing a black five on top of a red six.
 Bethann played a red nine on a black ten and passed her turn. A few turns later, Joanna stopped her turn to say, ``Aces are special, you play them on the corners and then can build on top of that suit. They provide a new set of plays to make on your turn and open up new strategies.'' She laid down her ace of hearts in the upper left corner, closest to Bethann. ``You've been awfully quiet. Are you also thinking of someone you lost recently?''
 Bethann grumbled and drew from the deck until she had a three she could play.
 ``Yes, a good many someones. Three long-lived instances of my own that I will miss, though they never called, so less so than others.''
 ``I was lucky enough to keep all of my personal instances. I'm sorry to hear you have lost some of yours.'' She played a king and moved a column of cards onto another column.
 ``It's small potatoes in comparison to the rest of the System. But I guess everyone's hurting.'' Bethann played a queen on Joanna's king.
 ``I've reached out to my family, but they're reeling too.''
 ``I really should do that. With everything happening, I didn't really consider it.''
 ``That's surprising. Especially when you agreed to spend time with a stranger on such short notice. No other friends available?'' Joanna was needling Bethann, trying to get her to crack.
 ``Much as I would love to tell you, it seems as though you've won.'' Bethann moved the six of hearts onto the five in the corner and waited expectantly.
 Joanna swore under her breath. She played her last card, the seven of hearts, and said, ``So I have. What are we playing next?''
 ``Phase 10 but with dice. I could do with throwing something right now.''
 Joanna tried to keep the insinuation that she had thrown their previous match deliberately out of her voice. ``Sounds interesting, how do you play?''
 ``If you're familiar with Yahtzee, it's similar in a lot of ways. You roll all ten of your dice and then choose which you want to keep, re-rolling up to three times. Then you try to make hands with the numbers you rolled and we score after ten rounds.''
 Bethann brought out the game and they spent time talking about little things. Joanna mentioned her new favorite coffee brand she had found on the Exchange while Bethann complained of the gall of the newest uploads in their tone on the shared feeds. While they were both still listening intently, neither prodded the other for more information than was given. Before they knew it, ten rounds had passed.
 Bethann tallied up their scores and said, ``My, my. I seem to have won this one.''
 ``I can't believe your third re-roll actually mattered in that final round.''
 ``What can I say? Risk is necessary if you want to win.''
 ``I've got my own game that has an element of risk.''
 ``Oh? Do tell.''
 ``It's called Steal-A-Bundle. You make pairs with the cards on the board and the cards in your hand, but your pile can be stolen out from under you if your opponent has the same card that is on top of your pile in their hand.''
 ``Hmm, sounds like it could get tricky quickly. Well, go ahead and deal out the cards then.''
 Joanna shuffled her well-worn deck and placed four cards face up in the center of the table. She then dealt out four cards to each of them. They passed turns back and forth, each placing a card from their hand onto a card in the center and adding it to their pile. They were even with each other until Joanna had picked up a set of eight's. Bethann flashed her own eight from her hand and moved Joanna's bundle on top of her own.
 ``A shame, Joanna, truly. It seems you don't know how to manage risk after all.''
 Joanna's eyebrow twitched at that. Bethann had crossed a line with that implication. She placed the remaining eight from the deck on top of Bethann's bundle, pulling the cards into her own pile. ``I know more than you can imagine. Like that you also had a standing game night with NaSFRS.''
 Bethann's eyes went wide. ``How did you\ldots''
 But Joanna cut her off, ``When I found out he was lost, I did some digging. And I can never just leave well-enough alone. I think you did much the same as me. I respect you enough to think that you weren't completely unaware of the way I worded my ad on the feed. It was set to run in your most heavily trafficked areas after all. Let's cut the shit for a second.''
 Bethann let herself relax and the tone of her voice was icy, calculated. ``You should know that I forked just for this meeting. If you're carrying out some grand plot, you're not going to take me out here.''
 Joanna scoffed and said, ``We've just met, I don't expect you to have a CPV built out for me. And I don't have one for you, if you are worried about that. That comes later once we get to know each other better.''
 ``Then what, exactly, are you driving at?''
 Joanna leaned across the table and got in Bethann's face as she whispered, ``He got us to drop our guard. Both of us.''
 ``Yes, that is troubling. But whatever he knew has left with him. Shouldn't that be a comfort?'' Bethann asked.
 Joanna's face pulled down into a deep frown. ``We know a lot of dangerous secrets.''
 Bethann waved a hand through the air, dismissing her concerns. ``Oh sure, bunches. But that doesn't make it easier to lose him.''
 Joanna leaned back, which caused the wooden chair to creak slightly. ``How can you be certain he wasn't just using us to get intel?''
 ``I can't be sure, but we used him too. Admit it. Wasn't it good to have someone to play games with that would give a damn?''
 Joanna's frown eased back off into a tired smile. ``Yes, it was. He knew how to keep things interesting.''
 ``If it helps, I miss him terribly as well.''
 ``Strangely, it does.`` Joanna straightened up and asked, ``Now what are we playing next?''
 ``I'd like to kick this up a notch. Try something a bit more complicated. Have you ever played Othello before?''
 ``Hmm, not particularly. Are you sure you don't want to play chess?''
 ``No, no. I find it to be too cliche. And we're playing friendly games, correct? I have a bit of a mean streak with chess.''
 ``Othello it is then.''
 Joanna cleared the table with a thought, the playing cards sliding effortlessly back into their box. Bethann dug around in her purse until she found a small bright green board that folded in the middle. She unclasped a hinge on the side and opened the board up. Inside of the board were two trays, each filled with shiny round plastic tiles that had white on one side and black on the other. She set one of these trays in front of Joanna and the other in front of herself. She then took four tiles and put them in the middle of the board in a cube in the pattern of white-black-black-white.
 Bethann explained the rules of Othello in painstaking detail. She spent so long on the rules that Joanna wondered if they were going to have time to actually play the game. She interrupted Bethann's explanation of the importance of taking the corners by saying, ``Seems straightforward to me. I think I can pick up the rest as we play.''
 Bethann shrugged her shoulders and motioned to the two colors. ``Now, which color would you like?'' Bethann asked.
 ``How generous of you to give me first pick. I'd like the white tile please.''
 ``Then I will go first as black.''
 She picked up a tile and placed it on the board so that the white tile was between her two black ones. She then flipped the white tile over and made the whole line black. Joanna thought for a moment before deciding on where she wanted to place her tile. She reached hesitantly across the board and placed her white tile, flipping the black pieces to white. They passed a few more turns before Joanna started to feel the pressure the game had to offer.
 Joanna's forehead wrinkles were scrunched up as she concentrated on the board. ``You don't give an inch, do ya?'' She placed a white tile and could only flip over two.
 Bethann placed her tile, flipping five white to black and said, ``I've no patience for people who coddle when competing. Oh, it's important to explain the rules. And you daresn't leave out any details or gain the upper hand by withholding at the start. But once you are playing a game, then you are on your own. For is it not the act of playing that teaches us the most? How can there be sweetness in eventual victory without having been defeated? Loss can be an excellent teacher, if you let it.''
 Joanna placed her white tile and methodically flipped over row after column of black tiles until the majority of the board was covered in white. ``And what has this loss taught you?''
 Bethann grimaced down at the board on the table. ``That I need to be more careful with how I place my pieces. But the game is not over yet.'' She tapped her container of tiles to emphasize the fact the game was just starting.
 ``No, not this. I meant \emph{the loss. }The one that everyone on the System is working through.''
 Bethann thought for a while and placed her tile on a corner. While it only gave her four tiles, she was using it to gain a future foothold. She replied tiredly, ``That we are not as immortal as we like to believe. It is easy to forget the fragility of our shared dream. And living much longer lives has shifted our collective perspective.''
 ``Do you think that we'll be able to heal, without being able to forget?'' She placed a tile that gave her a full row of white.
 ``I think it's possible, yes. But again, the scale of time for that healing to occur is elongated. To help my case, I'd like to share something about NaSRFS that I discovered while mourning. He was only 120 years old. Can you believe that?'' She claimed a full column of black.
 Joanna gasped and said, ``He was just a baby! Barely over a century old and gone already. Too soon, much too soon.'' Two diagonal lines of white flipped onto the board.
 ``You see my point though. Phys-side, 120 is an incredibly long life, but here you're just getting to the good stuff. I don't think everyone is as worried about losing an entire year as someone phys-side would be coming out of a coma. Because to us, a year is a drop in a bucket of time. Inconvenient, yes, but devastating, no. It is the loss of the promised years of those that disappeared that weighs heavy on us. The collective potential of billions of immortals snuffed out that has us weary to our bones.''
 Bethann placed her last black tile, but it could only flip over one tile. She could tell Joanna was going to win a few turns ago. When Joanna placed her last tile, she didn't even flip over the tiles. Instead, Bethann flipped them for her as she talked.
 ``I suppose I could see that. If I'm being honest, I had a similar reaction recently. The day after New Years, I realized that I hadn't turned off my reminder for NaSRFS coming over to play cards. When I got the notification ping, it took me a moment to realize that he wasn't coming. Then that dovetailed into thinking about all of the other weeks left in the year where I would not see him and I felt myself a fool. Both for forgetting to turn off the alert and for grieving time that was not spent.''
 Joanna looked to be on the verge of tears. Bethann reached out a hand across the table to comfort her, patting her hand gently. Joanna let the moment last for a second and no longer, immediately pulling her hand back towards her pack of cards. She was upset at the fact that Bethann had managed to get her to let her guard down and show her sadness. The last person to manage that had played her. Composure regained and wobble gone from her voice, she said, ``One more game. And this time, I get to choose my favorite.''
 It was a dare. An invitation to dance along the edge of their shared grief at their limit. To play a host's favorite game in their own house was incredibly dangerous.
 Bethann steepled her fingers and breathed out through her nose slowly. ``I do hope I don't regret this, Joanna. But I'll bite, what game are we playing?''
 ``Texas hold `em poker.''
 A small smile at the corners of Bethann's mouth. ``It's hardly interesting without a proper wager.''
 Joanna shrugged and said, ``I suppose you have a point. Whoever wins the round, gets to ask one question. No stipulations or affordances made or given. If you know the answer, you must talk.''
 Bethann nodded, ``Agreeable. Deal out the hand.''
 ``You know how to play then?''
 ``Everyone knows poker, Joanna. Let's face each other properly.''
 Bethann waved her hand through the air towards the middle of the table, Othello board and pieces vanishing into mist. Her bag lurched to life and coughed out a large pile of multicolored poker chips. With a quirk of her eyebrow and a twitch of her eye, the pile was divided neatly in half. Joanna let the cards fly from the open box to settle in front of them, two face down each. The only sound in the room was the steady ticking of the novelty cuckoo clock on the wall. Each woman peeked at her hand as though it held the secret to the universe. And then, the game began.
 ``Ante.''
 ``Call. Playing the flop.''
 ``Bet.''
 ``Raise.''
 ``Call.''
 ``Playing the turn.''
 Bethann scowled, ``Fold.''
 Joanna scooped the wagered chips into her pile. She gathered the cards up with her hands, shuffled them, and offered the deck to Bethann to cut. She tapped the top, declining the offer. Joanna dexterously dealt the cards out to both of them.
 ``Ante.''
 ``Call. Playing the flop.''
 ``Bet.''
 ``Call. Playing the turn.''
 ``Check.''
 ``Check. Playing the river.''
 ``Bet.''
 Joanna shook her head and said, ``Fold.''
 Bethann snatched the chips in the wagered pile and let them slip through her fingers and clink musically into her personal stash.
 Joanna gathered the cards and handed the pile to Bethann. ``You'll deal.'' It was not a question, but a command. Bethann did not refuse. She bridge shuffled the cards together a few times and then offered the deck to Joanna to cut, which she did.
 They were all business. Only speaking when taking game actions. Each blink of the eyes told a new and complex story. A flick of a card on the outside of the flop before the turn was enough to raise and force a fold. Or the sniffle of a nose was a false tell meant to throw the opponent. Hands kept only on the feeling that the tapping of a foot was excitement and not nerves. The myriad invisible ways in which they both could not help but to give their hands away. Everything that they had learned from each other in the last few hours was put to ruthless, efficient use.
 Bethann started the round, hoping to force Joanna to bet all her chips, ``Ante.''
 ``Call.''
 ``Playing the flop.'' She dealt out three cards; two of diamonds, jack of spades, and five of hearts. Joanna itched the back of her leg with her foot. Bethann hesitated for a second before removing her fingers from the five of hearts.
 ``Check.''
 ``Check. Playing the turn.'' Bethann dealt out the next card, nine of diamonds, and took an opportunity to peek at her two face down cards. She noticed that Joanna's eyes had lost some of their edge. Only a sliver, but enough to catch.
 ``Bet.'' Joanna tossed her chips high in the air and let them hit the middle pile one at a time. She was teasing Bethann. She wouldn't have it.
 ``Raise.'' Her betting was serious and succinct. She used the back of her right hand to push the required chips into the pile. She kept eye contact with Joanna as she moved them.
 ``Call.'' Joanna clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth and the chips needed appeared on top of the betting pile. She only had a few chips left.
 ``Playing the river.'' Bethann turned over the final card, a 2 of clubs.
 ``Check.''
 ``No all-in Joanna? Where's your sense of adventure?''
 ``I have my own cliches I'm opposed to. Ready to reveal?''
 ``Let's see what you have.''
 The two players flipped over their face down cards and they each announced their poker hand in turn.
 ``Two pair,'' Joanna said. She had a jack of hearts and a nine of spades.
 ``Three of a kind.'' Bethann had revealed a seven of hearts and a two of spades. A hand just good enough to beat out Joanna's. She slumped back into her chair a little, letting the tension from her body relax. Joanna sat and stared at the poker hands for a while, letting the silence stretch on. She broke it by pushing the poker chips from the center over into Bethann's pile.
 Bethann did her best to sit straight up again and said, ``You don't have enough chips to make the ante, Joanna. I've won. Now it's your turn to spill.''
 Joanna tapped the kitchen table rhythmically with her pointer finger, a frown deeping on her face. ``Go ahead and ask it then.''
 ``What actually happened on New Year's?''
 Joanna sighed and said, ``I don't know.''
 Bethann reached for her purse, a scowl had crawled onto her face. ``If you won't play by the rules you set your\ldots''
 But Joanna cut her off. ``I'm not asking you to believe me! I don't know. Half of my network is gone and the other half are scrambling for answers. The information lockdown is tighter than it's ever been. Whatever happened is so important, they've shut down my usual avenues for sniffing it out. Not to mention the emotional state everyone's been in. You try retaining a system log dump file that's trillions of lines long while the agent who brought it to you breaks down into tears on line 555,678,901 because their best friend died and they didn't know!''
 Bethann let go of her purse and her expression softened. She could see how frazzled Joanna was from how tightly she clutched her fist. Her eyes, endlessly tired and yet still intense and sharp, dared Bethann to question her testimony. But Bethann knew she was telling the truth.
 ``Thank goodness it's not just me. I've personally got twenty-four forks scouring the System for leads and haven't come up with anything substantial. I thought I was losing my touch.''
 Joanna laughed and said hoarsely, ``I've got fifty-two working overtime right now. The merging has been a bit much to keep up with, but it sounds like they're bringing out the big players for this.''
 ``Council of Eight nonsense?''
 ``Most assuredly.''
 ``Ah, well then. Nothing a change in tactics can't fix right?''
 ``Beats moping around all day for sure. Need to use all this restless energy somehow.''
 Bethann stood up from her seat and said, ``This was fun. I didn't realize how much I needed it. I think I'd like to come over again. Perhaps without the spycraft next time.''
 ``Oh, come now Bethann. You know that's what makes it fun. Besides, I think that's what he would have wanted.''
 ``Same time next week then?''
 ``No, I wasn't born yesterday. You'll know I'm game from this series of sensorium pings.''
 Joanna sent over a quick succession of five sensorium pings and watched Bethann's expression turn to one of manic glee.
 ``That works for me. Have a lovely night Joanna.''
 ``You as well, Bethann.''
 And with that, Bethann stepped from the sim back to her own home. Joanna willed the sim to dim the lights. She puttered back to sit at the kitchen table and brought out the solitaire game once more. After carefully considering her options, she decided to not move the column with the king after all. Instead, she placed a red queen on top of it and drew a new card. She smiled brightly down at the board and her hand as everything started to fall into place.
--- a/marsh/content/journal.tex
+++ b/marsh/content/journal.tex
@ -0,0 +1,347 @@
 \protect\hypertarget{anchor}{}{}Journal of Diago Pereira
 \protect\hypertarget{anchor-1}{}{}\emph{\textbf{May 12th, 2400}}
 \emph{The door is pressed open and the lights are turned on with a soft click, below wooden planks bemoan the shuffling feat of Henrique and his slippers, his old jeans loose and baggy, the knitted sweater he wears worn like his brittle bones. He walks with his cane, tapping on the floor as he finds his seat- guided by his great Granddaughter Isa, who guides him with steady, thoughtfully slow, footing.
 ``}Take a seat Grand Papi\ldots{} it will\ldots{} it will all, uhm\ldots'' \emph{she mutters the words ``be okay'' aimlessly, then lets a minute of quiet drift between the two of them, sounds of weeping heard from the floor below. She had only recently entered her teens, how could such innocence possibly understand such loss, the ramifications of the news not yet settled in for youthful Isa, yet the reality sank soundly onto the soul of elderly Henrique. The meandering minute passes, and Isa looks back up, eyes filled with concern for her great Grandfather's wellbeing.} ``Ah, Grand Papi, would you like me to get you your coffee mug? A blanket? Anything to give you comfort?...''
 \emph{Finally, he begins to sit down on his leather recliner, waving his aged hand dismissively, wrinkled and frail. His dower face, aged like the cracked leather he put his weight onto and pock marked with freckles from years in the sun, bunches together as he grimaces, not at the offer but towards the state of the world, the state of his family, the state of the System, and perhaps his aching body as well.
 Gently, slowly, deliberately he lowers himself and rests into the seat, his reading seat, the seat he got from his aunt as part of her will, a skilled tanner- skill that shined through the weathered cushions that strained to}
 \emph{hold his retired body. So weak, so old- the days of power and youth having left him, drained from him by the decades. He looks up, and lets out a tired, weary sigh, then shakes his head.
 ``I\ldots{} I just need to sit down, my dear. Sit down... Just... sit down. To think\ldots{} in quiet. Please, Isa my dear, leave me be for now. Go, tend to your Mami, she needs your comfort.''
 He stares back down at his lap, grunting and listening to the door creak closed as Isa leaves, allowing lingering thoughts to swell in might and misery. Flashes of denial sting as Henrique's depressed thoughts flow freely, he attempts to come to terms with the news again, just as another baleful shriek fills the air, a cry, a plea heard by none who deserved it.
 Descendants deleted and ancestors now long gone. His Granddaughter weeps at the knowledge her handful of children and acres of ancestry were now lost, taken from her just as his brother was through the same act of terrorism.}
 \emph{Terrorism. What a foul concept that was so filled with angry grays, blacks, and whites. Months, months the System was down and its dire truths suppressed- until finally reaching the `net in a slow torrent of terrible news, chaotic questions, corroborating with bitter claims, the collectivists caused harm on a cataclysmic scale, like some malevolent maelstrom, a maverick ridden by the reapers' wrath.}
 \emph{He looks at his hands, fingers clenched and unclenching, shaking. Tempering anger soothes his emotions with contempt to those responsible, as tears get lost in the saddened crow's-feet lining his tired face. His watery eyes look to the left, noticing the spine of a lithe book tucked within the drawer of his side table, a familiar thing that rested with a fine, blue-feathered, ink quill strapped to its outside.}
 \emph{He sighs somberly, shakily, and reaches for the journal that once belonged to his late and lost. A Journal of Diago Pereira, his brother --- or siblings, as he would later come to learn in his youth, and love years after his younger brother uploaded with his once hidden plurality in tow.}
 \emph{The next few moments were a blanket of misery, misery that mastered the old mans' mind, and moved him to lift the old literature to his lap. Tears gradually overwhelming, he wipes them off and opens the book to the first page, a familiar feeling now underwhelming compared to the weight of tragedy on his shoulders;
 12th March 2304}
 \emph{Today is my 17th birthday and as a gift my Grand mami got me this journal to practice my english writing in. My teacher told me my writing is pretty good since he started teaching me but needs work and my mami thought it would be a good idea to give me a book to practice in. He said I should focus on my punctuation mostly as I seem to forget to include that in my writing sometimes. He also said my spelling could do a little bit of work so I'll try and focus on that.}
 \emph{Today was so fun after school, I took my bike home and my cousins, sisters and a few of our friends from the next farm over were waiting for me! I even saw aunt Corita, she managed to get the day off from the Ansible clinic, I hardly ever get to see her. We had a quick game in the backyard field , I think my sisters took it easy on me, there usually way more dexterous then I am! \textbf{(Eles fizeram isso, eu já vi eles chutarem você, mas no futebol! Haha.).} I can still play pretty good Fel!
 Anyway, after a few goals, my mami called us in for dinner! It was Fels and my favorite, homemade Acarajé and Picanha, and for dessert Grand mami made me a vanilla cake with blue icing!
 After we ate, my mami and Grand mami gave me my gifts, this journal and a letter from my brother that wished he could be there. He also sent me printed photos of him and his army buddies at the BrAr Line. They smile, but the scenery is so grim and barren. My aunt tells me it was once farmland, and now it's just mud and metal fences.
 Even if this was given to me to improve my English writing, I really enjoyed writing about my day! And I didn't expect it to be. But I am tired and don't have much else to say, the cake was yummy! I always love Grand mamis' cakes.
 In the margin, ``Property of Diago Pereira'' can be read, along with the thumb smearing of blue icing dye that has since stained the once fresh paper, now freshly stained by stray tears. Henrique smiles, sniffling softly as the wrinkles on his face rise, his thumb and forefinger slides the pages to a random entry, a familiar sensation of such delicate paper dancing between his fingertips- wrinkled, marked, and lightly stained pages of faded graphite and century old ink- dates dotting the upper left. He moves his hand across the paper, reading the crude handwriting of early script, a pastime he took part in on a monthly basis, now a catharsis, a means to mourn.
 He flips through the pages more, methodically moving fingers before finding one to finally read through in full:
 17th of June 2304}
 \emph{Dear Journal, I got home today after my english classes, and Mami and my sisters told me Henrique had sent a letter from the BrAr Line. It talked about how he saw a Hyacinth Macaw making a nest on one of the watchtowers at the Briar. \textbf{(SORTUDO! Eu gostaria que pudéssemos ver mais a linha do briar. Parece tão interessante.) }It really doesn't Fel.
 He wrote in the letter that he was ordered to chase the bird off because it was making a nest, but even with him and his buddies' best efforts it stayed. I'm proud of it! This story got a laugh out of everyone, and to my surprise mom showed me a feather that came with the letter, it was bright blue! Further down, my brother said that while he was trying to get the bird to leave, he managed to collect a few feathers from its nest and thought I'd like to have one. (\textbf{Henrique é um irmão tão legal. Espero que você possa me apresentar a ele em breve.) }\textbf{ }I do too, Fel.
 Both Fel and I are so excited to have received it, the Hyacinth Macaw is believed to be an extinct species. To know one still lives makes us so happy! I can't wait to show this in class tomorrow, I know Mr. Rocha loves to watch birds as much as I do.
 Speaking of Mr. Rocha! I asked him if I could borrow his binoculars after class today. I've been wanting to go visit my spot with them and see what birds have been nesting near there. He agreed with the exception that, ``You better let me come with you, I'm not about to miss out on a bird watching expedition, let alone give my binoculars away without supervision!'' I know he meant well by that, but I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Mr. Rocha is a good teacher, though. Friends of my eldest cousin, who was taught by him when she was younger!
 After looking at the letter and feathers, my sisters and I did our chores around the farmstead with the farm hands. Just as I was finishing, my sisters came up to me and told me they saw a flock of white birds that were nesting in one of our Latex Trees, I could only guess what they must've been at the time, but I wouldn't have guessed they're White-Necked Hawks! They were all nested there and warding danger away from the nest. They looked so majestic! I can't wait to watch their eggs hatch, such a beautiful species of bird!\\
 }
 \emph{One of his favorite entries, and a reminder of a brighter day at the Briar line- one not so filled with dull gray and scorched earth. He frowns, hesitates, then hastily lifts the journal from his lap- finding the ink quill resting in the nook of his arm rest and right leg. He carefully raises it up, pondering- not recalling- how he so quickly removed it from the strap on the journal, carefully preening the blue feather adorned to the end of the writing utensil.}
 \emph{His hand works the fine fibers of the feather, tracing it down to the firmness of the pen nib, pointed, certain, precise. He lazily drags that same fingers as before across another section of pages, coarse papers scraping assuredly as he stumbles into another two entries, both rather lengthy:}
 \emph{24th of July 2304}
 \emph{Dear Journal, today I write away from home. I told Mami I was going to spend the night over at Gregors home, to which she was wary to acknowledge me doing so. She made sure I had my tablet with me, and that I had lunch packed as well. I appreciate her concern but sometimes it feels almost too much. Before I left, Mami also made sure I had offered my chores to one of my sisters, which I had, telling her Iara agreed to do my tasks today so I could spend the night away from home. I'll just end up doing twice of hers on the weekend.}
 \emph{Since I plan to spend the night over at the high rises, I left early this morning. I hadn't been to see Gregor in a few months and was curious about what was new.}
 \emph{Fel and I hitched a ride on a truck, and on the way Fel was discussing with me if I had also felt the new identity that was forming. Fel and I still don't know where she came from, but we feel that she has a similar origin to Fel, herself. Hopefully we'll find out from this newcomer. \textbf{(Estou muito animado para ver se podemos aprender alguma coisa com esse novo companheiro plural, Diago. Você realmente deveria explorar mais a `Net sobre a pluralidade.)}}
 \emph{Fel, you know I would if I had the time to do so! I'm just always too busy. Anyway, we've been writing this at the `cave' now, and it looks like it is probably two in the afternoon, and we've had our lunch too, feeling ready to go! Also, the tide is starting to fill up this old garage so I better get packing or I won't be able to take the boat out at all. Thankfully, the weather is peaceful with hurricanes Gabriel and Taylor having traveled down south this time of year. Still, the ocean waves are choppy so I won't be able to spend any time writing in the rowboat. Next entry will be written once we've made landfall, at the high rises. I'm hopeful Gregor will be available today!}
 \emph{Henriques smiles, recalling how adventurous youthful Diago was, he flips the page, his fingers feeling the pages curl, curious eyes reading the lines that are revealed.\\
 }
 \emph{25th of July 2304\\
 }
 \emph{Dear Journal, Fel and I made it to Gregors' home without any issue, and are writing this entry at the top of the high rises! \textbf{(É tão bonito! Se não fossem as nuvens de Gabriel, você poderia ver todas as estrelas do céu!)} While the waves did rock the rowboat, it wasn't at all a challenge to find harbor at the old high rises. We were met by Marcia, who helped us anchor the boat to the third floor balcony-pier, and we caught up with one another! She asked how my mami and Grandmami were, how my sisters were, how the farm was doing, then offered me lunch which I politely declined. \textbf{(Ela fez Vatapá!! O Vatapá da Márcia! É sempre tão delicioso! Como você poderia deixar passar uma tigela fresquinha de Vatapá da Márcia, Diago!! Ah!)} I'm sorry Fel, but I wasn't hungry then! Quit thinking about your stomach so much.}
 \emph{Anyway, after our talk, Marcia led us to where Gregor was, he was busy doing his own chores and tending to the seventh floor gardens. I always enjoy walking up to this floor, the view is amazing, though often windy without any wall. As soon as he saw me we hugged! It'd been too long, and like his mother, we talked about how things had been in the last few months, his community, my family, the hazards of the weather and the hazards of piracy along the coast, their fishing farms, our latex farms- \textbf{(Na verdade, ele mencionou como conseguiram pescar atum hoje! E íamos tomar um pote Grande de Moqueca de Camarão! O que foi TÃO DELICIOSO!)} Oh yeah! We've never had real Tuna before, only ever that fake processed stuff. So when Gregor offered to have us present for their dinner we were more than happy to accept, we even told them we intended to stay the night, which he and Marcia were happy to oblige.
 We spent the remainder of our afternoon playing Go. He's always been better at it, and we don't have a board at home to practice. Regardless, it was a lot of fun! And I did manage to win a game in the end.}
 \emph{Now, Fel and I sit on the roof and gaze across the stars. It is truly gorgeous\ldots{} and I think we can spot the System too, orbiting overhead. Honestly it's crazy to think some of my Grandparents are there now. I hope they look at us and bless us with a good harvest, surely the tuna Gregor's family caught was one. \textbf{(Você acha que algum dia chegaremos lá, Diago?)} I don't know Fel! It would be cool, though I bet.
 Sigh. I do not wish to be conscripted. I do not wish to tend the fields of burnt earth that my brother does. I wish he didn't either. \textbf{(É tão estúpido! Por que fomos para a guerra de novo? O que a Argentina fez com o Brasil? Por que seu irmão teve que ir! Por que NÓS temos que ir! Ah!)} I can't recall Fel, I wish Mami hadden gotten us into those history classes. Anyway, it smells like dinners done.}
 \emph{His anger, simmering now, grows sour with grief renewed. Why, why must they have done this? A society of people, free from the strifes of this withering world, peaceful and calm and claiming new lives- Taken, made lost for some bitter pointless stance. Had the universe not taken enough from him, from his family, from his people? Was it fate, destiny, that others would bring agony to the Pereira family and so many, many more on this hellish earth? Surely, he had done enough, harbored the forgotten sins of his nation for long enough, the punishments that his father endured and reflected onto him, for long enough? Surely, this was enough, should have been enough, to avoid this tragedy?
 To have lost so much more, to know generations of elders and cousins and sons and daughters were now gone. Now longer of the heavens but beyond, if there was such a thing. Henrique didn't have the slightest clue, and he doubted there was anything after. They were gone, his brother was gone. It was as simple as that, a weeding fact he began to harbor and nourish.
 He observes the fine details on the pen in this bitter moment of contemplation, Henrique's fingers flipping the pages with unplanned, instinctual precision- eyes unwittingly landing on the next entry:}
 \emph{23rd of September 2304}
 \emph{Dear Journal, class wasn't too special. My teacher commented that my punctuation has been remaining consistent but that I should try to expand my vocabulary and gave me a thesaurus. It's full of English words and very heavy! So I'll probably read it when I get home.}
 \emph{But! FINALLY after months of planning, Mr. Rocha and I left to go birdwatching. He was very busy marking the exams of all the classes he taught, but he was able to schedule some time with me this week! We have been planning to visit a spot along the interior, within the marshes and prairies of província cinzenta. I told him it was nothing special, just a place I try to visit when I have enough allowance to take the bus that far. \textbf{(Agradeça aos antepassados \hspace{0pt}\hspace{0pt}que o Sr. Rocha possui um caminhão! Eu odeio pegar carona em ônibus. Ou está super lotado ou temos que sentar no telhado\ldots) {[}Yeah, it was quite far, and his truck was quite comfy. Though honestly, I was just excited we got to see somewhere new that's not just your house or farm.{]} }Yeah! You sounded like you enjoyed it as much as we did, huh Davi? \textbf{ {[}Yeah! The views were beautiful. If a bit haunting. You still need to take me to Gregor's one of these days, I'm sure he'd be happy to have you visit him again.{]}} \textbf{(Oh sim! As vistas da casa dele são INCRÍVEIS! Além disso, a comida da sua mãe é TÃO deliciosa!)}}
 \emph{I will, I will! Anyways, as should be obvious, getting there wasn't too difficult, and we parked along the eastern edge of the Amazona Basin. From there I led the way down some dirt trails, and showed Mr. Rocha a family of nursing trees that had begun to sprout new life. \textbf{{[}It was very pretty! There were at least five different burnt up trunks that had fallen over, and were all sprouting entirely different trees from them!{]} }Yeah! And in the trees, we saw many birds flying in and out, they looked like brownish twistwings, we also heard peeping! The sound filled me with such joy, and Mr. Rocha remarked how wonderful it was to see nature adapt and heal in spite of all the destruction caused by `A Grande Fumaça', so many years ago.}
 \emph{The comment had Davi curious, and so I asked him how `A Grande Fumaça' even started, \textbf{{[}Thanks again. I wasn't sure how Mr Rocha would take you being plural, otherwise I would have asked myself.{]} (Sr. Rocha arrasa! Tenho certeza de que ele teria ido às alturas para ouvir sobre nós!) }Eh\ldots{} I'm in agreement with Davi. I'd rather just keep this between us three.
 Anyways, I'm glad I asked because I learned things I never recalled being taught besides the really nasty terrorists and stuff. Anyway, when he was done I asked why people would do such things, it was kinda absent minded of me to ask, but when I did Mr. Rocha had this moment of contemplation before he told me that ``Some very angry people simply choose to resort to fan the hate and anger in their hearts, in order to make an impact on the world. In their case, they wanted many people to see the perils we suffer, like some twisted bonfire, and these people believed that by burning down the Amazon it would call the world into action.'' I told him that didn't make any sense, and he agreed, ``Anger drives many men to do senseless things, but this is why it is important to keep a level head at all times, and to control that flame, turn it towards a warm hearth that nurtures and improves the quality of all. Not tear it down and destroy it.''}
 \emph{After our conversation, we went and had lunch. \textbf{(Foi Empadão caseiro! Devo dizer que o Sr. Rocha é um excelente cozinheiro!) }He is! And he made extras, so we got to take some home with us to share. Today was honestly the best.}
 \emph{Yet, despite the uplifting ending and relative cheerfulness of the entry, such aspects go unread and unappreciated as Henriques eyes stay fixed on the penultimate paragraph. His breath quickens to nigh hyperventilation with quicker clouds fogging Henrique's brief-bright thoughts with foul ashen clouds.
 A Grande Fumaça, another crazed disaster, dealt by the collective cells of Brazil. The terrorists' insanity deemed that the only path to salvation was more mindless destruction. To alter and to tarnish the Grand jungles of South America with thermite fueled flames.
 Such scornful actions created lasting consequences. The Steel Acquisitions Act, fueling the cinders for the pyre that would become the Brazilian Civil War, followed by the unsatisfied bloodlust that lead to the annexation of Paraguay and the eventual invasion of eastern Argentina.
 Anger flares once more, the scalding inferno of nearly a century ago igniting hot and glowing fury in the old mans beating heart. He throws the pen in anger, then gasps, smelling acrid burning. He looks about the room, the lights a brilliant yellow. Torches of flame around him. He gets up, he needs fresh air\ldots{}
 He rises, his right hand numb, crumbles under the weight and he begins to fall to the floor. His left hand, clenched into a fist, slams to his inflamed chest, leaving him sobbing, weeping, falling. With a loud thump against the hardwood floor, he cries and whines. Why, why did they have to take his brother? Why did they have to kill so many bright souls, to accomplish what? To state what?
 ``W-why\ldots{} W-whhyy\ldots{} whhyyy\ldots''
 He mutters through a limp tongue, half numb lips. He was shot, he realizes, he believes, time slowed like a putrid muck as the sudden taste of something sickening and metallic crosses his tongue. His heart hurts, agonizing, a flame. He struggles to breathe, and wonders why, why, why was he sent to the front line. Why was he chosen to be shot, an innocent at the whims of a corrupt government.
 He looks up, watching the members of the Argentinian resistance raid the Briar Line. Guns alight, loud, shouting, surrounding him, soon kicking him.
 ``\textbf{Me perdoe!} \textbf{Me perdoe!} \textbf{Me perdoe! Me perdoe!}''\\
 He begs for forgiveness as memory fades, figures all around him, following him to his youth. Full of bullies, malevolent peers, punishing him, teasing him, childishly chastising him for the acts of his rebellious father. A man dedicated to the independence of Rio Grande Do Sul, a man who died fighting the civil war, and marred his family name with the title of-
 ``\textbf{Traidor! Traidor! Traidores Imundos!}''}
 \emph{-And he suffers the consequences. Crying, choking, dying, dimming\ldots{} before Diago screams, chasing, sprinting, pushing away the bullies, the ne'er do well teenagers twice the siblings' age.}
 \emph{No longer surrounded, Diago leans down, reaching his hand towards his elder brother. Henrique looks up, vision blurred from the blinding backlit visage of Diago, details smeared- yet comfortably cool and shaded in soft shadows.}
 \emph{``Ei, irmão mais velho!''
 Henrique hears the cry of Diago calling out to him, before watching that youthful silhouette approach him, take a knee, and offer his hand down to his fallen self.
 Está tudo bem, você está seguro. Vamos, vamos para casa! Todo mundo está preocupado com você.''}
 \emph{Henrique nods, sobbing, smiling, and reaches for Diagos hand, hearing the worry and concern in his brother's voice.
 ``Vamos para casa. Irmão mais novo...''\\
 }
 \emph{Then everything fades to black.}
 \emph{Hours that felt like minutes go by, and with a groggy start, white light fills Henriques vision.
 The door to the examination room clicks open, Isa walking in, exhausted, her nurse outfit freshly donned with fresh concern still on her face, she kneels down, checking on her Grand Papi, healing instincts kicking in as she takes Henriques hand, watching his face twitch into wakefulness.
 ``Oh, Grand Papi\ldots{} shh, it's okay\ldots{} You're safe, you had another little stroke. You're safe.''
 Henrique simply nods, groaning, looking down at the white linen bed he found himself in. He inhales through clenched teeth, leaning back into his pillows and breaths out shakily, then looks to his left, smiling towards Isa, then further towards the bedside table, spotting the journal still at his side.
 Isa's fears quickly diminished as she saw him come too. Watching as his senses returned to him. It wasn't long before a doctor entered, clipboard in hand and hesitant smile showing.
 ``Ah, Mr. Pereira. You had us all worried there, but, thankfully to your Granddaughters quick thinking you're looking to make a full recovery. She's a very excellent nurse, we're lucky to have her with us.''
 Isa smiles, then glances over to the journal Henrique was just looking towards. She picks it up, handing it to him.}
 \emph{``Grand Papi, we'll be moving you to another room for the remainder of your stay, but once we're there would you like me to stick around for a while? The hospital has given me permission to attend to you, and, well, I saw you reading Grand uncle Diago's journal. I was thinking I could read some of it to you?''
 Henrique nods with a wide smile reaching from ear to ear, stretching those years of well earned lines like the boughs and branches of a Bertholletia Excelsa.
 ``Of course, my dear Isa. I'd love that so, very much.''}
 \emph{The minutes went by as medical accessories were untethered and unlatched from their anchoring, allowing Henriques' bed to be transported to his new room. Isa walked alongside while another nurse pushed, her fingers gently intertwined with her Grand papis' own.
 The new room was optimally lit and blandly furnished with whites, blues, and beige, presented in the most iconically hygienic ways a hospital could be. Isa finds a seat beside Henrique, a metal thing with dense padding cushions, unlike her grin which was soft and comforting- not at all dissimilar to her eyes, which began to look downward towards the journal that she split open in her hands. She carefully turned each page, finally landing on an entry that was written earlier into the books life:}
 \emph{3rd of May 2304
 Dear Journal, today I write after Fel and I have gone exploring! I did my chores this morning, stripping the bark from the trees mainly, then I went down to the coast and took the rowboat out from `the cave'. Though I didn't visit Gregor, instead I took the boat further west, to visit some of the abandoned towns in that area. I brought some chicken sandwiches with me, as I planned to stay most the day there and take the last bus back.
 I know it's dangerous, but my curiosity just urges me to swim in those waters near the old ruined towns past the shore. Mami, cuz I know she'd be worried sick for me, doesn't know I do this, but I can't help but want to explore! It's like exploring a whole different world, well maybe not ENTIRELY different, but different enough to feel like it's a place I've never been too.
 I also go because Fel is always wanting to see the world\ldots{} and she's always going on and on and on about leaving the house, leaving Brazil. Honestly I'm happy to oblige! I'm not too keen to live here for the rest of my life either.
 Anyways, once we took the rowboat far enough, we anchored up to what we guessed must have been an old apartment complex? We could access the third and fourth floors, but the rest was flooded. But despite this, I was able to dive down to the floors below with my light to guide us. I always make sure to wear one on my chest so I'm never diving in the dark. I've also been practicing my diving for quite a while now, and the longest I can hold my breath while swimming is a full minute and sixteen seconds!
 Diving down to the floor below, it was filled with seaweed and other water plants, also I found all sorts of cool things, old photo portraits, toys, a Rig! It was inhabited by some tropical fish, Tetra I think is what they're called? Very small and they glowed brightly when my light hit them! It was very pretty! \textbf{(Tenho quase certeza de que vi uma caixa de tesouro também! Era pequeno e brilhante! Mas provavelmente é melhor que não o tenhamos feito. Estava preso atrás de muitos móveis antigos.)} Yeah, it wouldn't have been safe to try and dig that out.}
 \emph{When I surfaced I had my meal - (\textbf{Os sanduíches estavam MUITO deliciosos! Você Mami faz os melhores sanduíches.) }Yeah, they really are super good. \textbf{ }Anyways, afterwards we swam down the outside of the building and we were able to get much deeper, even with the surrounding kelp clinging to its walls. Turns out the apartment was built on top of a barber! At least I assume it was a barber as I saw the red and blue striped pole on the outside of it. I couldn't open the door, and the windows were boarded up to get some breath. Next we explored the upper floors above the water. The building was very slanted, so climbing the old stairs wasn't easy, and most of the apartment rooms had their front doors locked still. But the rooms I did open were very empty, however one had an old campfire in it! \textbf{( Claro que não somos os aventureiros que exploram as ruínas do Brasil!) }I guess! Either that or someone else came here before and tried to live here. The walls were spray painted in beautiful and ugly murals, and one room was entirely coated in bird poop\ldots{} it wasn't pretty but I did see the various nests that were using the old space as a new home!
 Once we were done exploring, we grabbed the rowboat and went back to shore. We just barely caught the bus we wanted, which was good since I was so tired. I got home and my family asked how my swim was, as I probably smelt like the sea.}
 \emph{Now Fel and I rest in bed\ldots{} it's funny, despite all that destruction caused by nature, seeing life still present and flourishing is nice. It gives our world color, and makes me happy.}
 \emph{Anyways, I'm tired. That's all!}
 \emph{Isa closes the book softly, clearing her throat after all that talking, and places it at her great Grand papi's side. Henrique looked up in response, a mild smile present on his thin lips.}
 \emph{``Thank you, sweet Isa. You're the best Granddaughter an old man like me could ever ask for.'' He grins, then coughs softly, frowning at the sorry state his body was in. Isa reacts accordingly, leaning down to assist her great Grandfather, but he raises a hand- ``It's fine, some water is all I need.''}
 \emph{Isa frowns, but goes to pour her father a cup, turning away to head to the plastic jug not more than a couple meters from his bedside table.
 She pours the cup, then pauses ``...Grand papi, is\ldots'' She sighs, then turns back to pass him the cup- ``Are you okay\ldots?'' A question that could be easily dismissed with a `yes', a white lie to maintain this status quo he wished to uphold and quell any worry. Yet, Henrique knew better, hearing the way Isa asked, feeling the way those words carried soft care, the compassion in her voice curating how she phrased it, and quite simply from the way her eyes penetrated his own. The ache in his heart would not cease until he expressed his thoughts, and he knew this status quo should not be maintained.}
 \emph{``...I\ldots{} am not. No. The System, it is truly gone, yes?'' He asks, expression grim. Isa pauses, having handed over the cup. Then shrugs and shakes her head. ``The word on the `net\ldots{} Well, it is unclear. There's been claims that they're trying to recover it, some saying success, others saying failure\ldots{} its\ldots''}
 \emph{Henrique nods, raising his hand once again. ``It is an uncertain time, I\ldots{} understand.'' I silence drops between the pair, long and thoughtful, as Henrique stares at himself through the reflection of the water, seeing the man who he once was and the youth before, so full of potential, that who couldn't be. An innocent child who had a brother, before being taken away from home to become the cog for some militaristic machine, and discarded, broken, at the end.}
 \emph{``Why didn't you upload, Grand papi?'' Henrique is drawn from his stupor, glancing up at Isa with a pained, confused expression that evolved to one of frustration, and finally mournful regret.}
 \emph{``I\ldots{} I was too anchored to my duties here\ldots{} to many responsibilities, to many tasks that were expected of me\ldots'' he says, a weak truth, one that did not admit the full pains of his reasons. Reasons he did not care to admit because they scared him, filled him with anxiety, regret.
 Why didn't he upload? There was nothing to stop him, he had the opportunity, he was given the privilege after his service. In fact, it was expected of him by his country and family, for was a broken man, and a man with the buried soul of a child. Once his service was done, he was seen as useless by the aristocracy, and his family name denoted him a traitor by the people.
 So, why not simply allow himself to be discarded? Buried like that child who was taken away? Why, why did he put such effort into the farm, into making a family. Why did he feel the need to prove the worth of the Pereira name\ldots{}
 Was it to prove they weren't traitors to brazil? To prove his life had meaning? To live a life after years of strife? To try and forget the pain of no longer being at his brother's side? Or to avoid that pain, to bury it too, like the child, like the hundred dead from a worthless civil war\ldots{} The notion of seeing someone so different from how he would've remembered them. Of seeing a person who he loathed, despite all that love. To see someone who had the chance to be a child, who did not need to bury that precious, perfect part of life. Scared him, for the emotions they elicited.}
 \emph{He scowls, emotions eating away at him\ldots{} Isa frowned, leaning in.}
 \emph{Diago was his friend, as any sibling should, but one who'd be a constant reminder of the time HE lost, the time HE should've had as well. Diago lived the life he lost, and he HATED him for that.
 Yet.
 Henrique could not let that hate burn. Those flames would rather stoke fires of passion and thankfulness, that his brother's youth could stay at Diago's side. Even if he had that all taken away from him, he should be happy his brother managed to avoid it all through those careful weeks of planning, ultimately resulting in him being snuck out the month before his mandatory conscription. Years before he would return home.}
 \emph{His fists balled up, and tears began to be shed. Why must he feel this pungent jealousy contradict his love, and why must this unfettered joy ruin the urge to swell with anger and selfish want. Not only this, but the half-void in his chest was lonely, forever imperfect because he never could say goodbye.}
 \emph{His life, all his life, was hell, hell on earth. From his earliest days under the sun, to his first days at the Briar Line, to his last days working the farm, and undoubtedly to his final day on this god forsaken planet his deleted ancestors long ago abandoned.
 Yet his brother, the person he cherished so dearly, avoided that. It wasn't fair, but did that matter? He sacrificed everything, and his brother lived his life. And now he sat here, in a hospital bed, seething and seeing those reasons come to light. Showing him he never once was truly happy, never once truly satisfied, and never once given the chance to live, never once allowing himself to-}
 \emph{Isa grabbed his hand, and gently kissed his forehead, shocking the elderly man out of his manic spiral. He sobs out a gasp, and looks to Isa with watery eyes and tear stricken cheeks. She smiled warmly with saddened eyes. She was no longer the innocent girl he saw in her today or days prior, now she was someone who somehow could peer into this old man's heart. Seeing his pain. Understanding his turmoil.
 ``Grand papi\ldots{} even if they do not return to the system, your ancestors look down on you with pride as they ascend to the heavens. Your brother\ldots{} he missed you, I know it. He is thankful and I know for certain he wondered every day when he would see you.''
 She gulps, thinking of what to say as her own mouth grew parched from this shared, emotional moment. ``If\ldots{} the System returns. Let go of these anchors you claim to have. And those regrets that tie you up. You do not need to utter them to me, Grand papi, but you cannot let what life you have left wither by.''
 ``And if it doesn't return, sweet Isa?'' Henrique asks, voice raspy and scared.
 ``Then\ldots{} we will find those joys here. And move on, together. Wherever we can, however we can. And our ancestors will continue to look down on us, smiles on their faces, eager to see you live your life with happiness, and awaiting the day for you to join them once you have.
 Henrique sighs with a shaky breath, and lays his head on Isa's arm. Isa, in turn, lays on the bed, supporting her Great Grand papis head. Giving him the comfort he required.}
 \emph{\textbf{March 1st, 2401 }}
 \emph{\textbf{}21st January 2305
 Dear Journal- or, dearest Henrique, who I hope will return home safely to receive my journal as my parting gift. Its with a heavy, but hopeful heart that I might escape the enforcement of our seven years service to our country. I will not get a chance to meet you at the front, let alone meet you upon your return. \textbf{(Mal posso esperar para finalmente conhecer você, Henrique. Diago pode estar incerto, mas estou extasiado por finalmente conhecê-lo depois de todos esses anos em que você foi forçado a nos deixar.)}
 While Fel may be excited, she is not wrong that I am hesitant. \textbf{{[}I am as well, but I have faith in our future.{]}}
 I agree, Davi. By the time you'll have read this entry, you'd have learned that our auntie Corita and our Mami had been planning to secret me away so I would not be forced to participate in the conflict at the BrAr Line. I know it is not my place to say such, but I apologize that we did not tell you while you were still in service.
 While I may be leaving, Auntie Corita told Iara and Ana that when they turn 18, she'll do the same for them, and we'll all meet each other in the System one day. Which is a day I greatly look forward to.
 I miss you, brother. I miss the days we could have swam together, ate food together, and explored together. Yet this world we were born into chose to take that away from us. You were always so much braver than I was, and now here I am taking my first steps into a new world I can't ever come back from. \textbf{(Você é igualmente corajoso, Diago, e devemos estar entusiasmados! Esta é apenas mais uma aventura! E o Henrique vai se juntar a nós! Tenho certeza disso.)}
 We eagerly look forward to the day we can see you, Henrique.
 Your little siblings, Diago, Fel, and Davi.}
 \emph{As Henrique closes the leather book for the final time, he exhales, tucking the journal away into his satchel. The door opens and an Ansible technician arrives.}
 \emph{She greets him with a nod, asks his name, and takes him down the hall. She confirms he answered all the questions on his questionnaire, and reassured him that this decision was final. Henrique simply nodded, acknowledging the questions with polite answers, stepping in time with the gentle tap of his cane. Each step feeling lighter than the last, like years of weight fell off his back, as if piles of ash or fettered leaves flowed free into the compost, ready to fertilize new growth, new life, new hope.}
 \emph{The techs put him into the seat, the process seamless, precise, and he feels as if he was floating, a leaf gliding amongst the wind and beautiful breeze\ldots{} and he closes his eyes.\\
 \textbf{}The sensation of stretching in blackness, like a series of strings strung taught and sewn back, was as unnerving as the visual of a slate gray box surrounding him. But this unease passes as he immediately sighs, eyes closing once more as the feeling of chronic pain and aged weariness was, thankfully, entirely gone. He exhales, the soreness of his shoulders, exposed to decades of hard labor, could finally relax. That foul weight, finally lifted.
 ``Welcome to Lagrange, this room you find yourself in is called AetherBox\#9182. Currently, I am facing away from you so you may have some privacy. Please, let me know when I may turn, unless you do not require any clothes. Simply want your desired apparel into being, and it will be there.''
 Henrique's eyes open, wrinkled smile growing into a briefly confused frown as the individual who just spoke to him was some kind of furry. A species of creature he had not seen before, with a large black tail flanked by two defined white stripes. She wore a very old fashion tweed jacket, and a red plaid skirt that hung just below that.
 ``Ah- simply desire it, Senhora?...''
 ``Indeed, take your time. It is not as if we have a schedule to maintain.''
 There was a hint of irritation in that reply, and Henrique flushed red for a moment, embarrassed at being inconsiderate of this individual's time. He thinks for a moment, of his slippers, aged worker jeans, then his blue t-shirt and well worn wool sweater overtop. He looks down in pleasant surprise to see those very clothes on him\ldots{} then he frowns, thinking\ldots{} remembering memories of his younger days, before he met his beloved Annette, a button up white shirt, loose at the collar, straight and flowy at the hem, long too. Perfect for those especially hot summer days, then reimagined his worker pants\ldots{} the day he first got them, how richly deep green they were, not how worn and damaged they were now, with discolored patches sewn on to cover up damaged holes. He recalled the well sewn fabric of thick, durable, comfortable material\ldots{} and to his amusement found those exact clothes on him, in the same condition he miraculously remembered them as. He stepped forward, comfy slippers, now refurbished but still broken in, muffling his footsteps.
 ``Senhora?... I am ready, you can turn around now.''
 The black-and-white-striped furry turns on the spot, an exact motion, her rounded spectacles, housing slitted eyes that stared with a scrutinizing and dubious glare. She held a smile that felt tired, ungenuine, but not strictly forced\ldots{} a smile that was rehearsed and used to mask some deeper-seated emotions, simply present to appear approachable.
 ``Again, welcome to Lagrange Mr. Pereira. It is my job to inform you of the basic mechanics that are present within the System. Your clothing was the first part of this exercise, next, we will go over forking. Please follow my lead.''
 While he had no idea what to expect upon uploading, he wasn't expecting such a hasty introduction\ldots{} or at least one that felt so precise and mechanical.
 ``Pardon, Senhora, but may I ask if you are real?... Also, to slow down. I understand your time is valuable but this is feeling all a little overwhelming to me. Perhaps you could offer me your name? And you may refer to me as Henrique, please.''
 The furry's smile falters, before a hand raises up as she grasps her temples between two fingers. ``My apologies, Henrique.'' She bows apologetically, curt and quick however, to keep this implied schedule on track.}
 \emph{``It has been\ldots{} quite hectic recently, I assure you I am very much `real' and not some digital construct you'd otherwise be familiar with on the `net, if that was what you were implying. I suppose I have been feeling a little thin as a result of recent events. You may call me Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest of the Ode Clade. In All Ways for short.''
 Henrique grunts and smiles. ``Quite a name, In All Ways, but I do not judge. Now what is this about forking?''
 She nods, then raises a hand to her side before an exact duplicate of her appears in an instant, mirroring her pose and demeanor. ``Forking, as we of the System have coined it, is the ability to replicate yourself. It is important to know that this fork is not just a construct, a program, or a template-''
 The other In All Ways speaks- ``But a whole person. With their own desires, hopes, and dreams that are parallel or differ from your own. Those who dive into this practice wholeheartedly are known as dispersionistas, which make up the vast majority of the population here\ldots{} while others who are more free with individuation are known as trackers, while not always as liberal with their forking, they still form the other sizable chunk of the Systems population. Lastly we have those who simply fork to complete tasks or short term objectives, and prefer not to individuate. They are aptly known as Taskers, and fill up the last chunk of the System.
 Despite her best efforts, the slip up was clear in her speech. That pause allowed for the pang of unmistakable pain, anger, frustration, sadness, and grief, to give way to a convoluted series of expressions shared between the two In All Ways, both suffering these emotions in divergent ways. Some trauma surging forth and causing the twin furries to ripple briefly.
 Henrique frowns, a hand raised to place upon or embrace In All Ways, before pulling back- ``Ah\ldots{} pardon I should ask before offering comfort. I understand the pain too well, In All Ways.''
 ``Do you?!...'' Both reply with a snap. The leftmost one maintains a spiteful glare, before vanishing as the original recoils and looks to the floor shamefully. Henrique all the while, continues to stand there with his hand out. Gradually, he lowers it and reaches for one of In All Ways paws, getting her attention. He gives an understanding smile, unphased by the furry's tumultuous emotions barely held at bay.
 ``I\ldots{} can, yes. Perhaps not exactly as you do, In All Ways. But I can. I know the pain of losing someone. Someone close, someone you care for. And I give my sincerest condolences to those who you have lost. You are with common company, and you do not need to apologize, Senhora''
 ``I am\ldots{} I\ldots{} Mm\ldots{} Thank you.'' In All Ways mumbles, ceasing her seeking of that instinctual apology, the urge to explain, and glances up, tears just beginning to stain her cheeks, before she forks them away. She remains silent and nods, exhales, then breaths in, composing herself, and returns her gaze to the elderly man. His face, a gentle network of lines forming an understanding, compassionate smile.
 ``I would ask that you fork, Henrique. So that you are familiar with the process. Remember, do so with intent. Simply think it, and it will be.''
 ``Think it, and it will be. Hm.'' Henrique mutters, his eyes, then head turning. Thoughts of clades, of trees, of the farm, of the family, of Diago, flash by and before him stood\ldots{} him. But not as he is, rather, as he was. Him as he was a little under a century ago. Maybe 17 years of age, wearing the same shirt, now smaller. Similar pants, now cut short at the knee. And those slippers, now sized to fit. His hair that thick, unkempt brown and tied back. Eyes green and innocent. Heavily pigmented skin from days in the sun, with a slight tone in his muscles as well. Contrasting firmly to his current wrinkles, leather like skin, and hundreds of sun spots.
 In All Ways stared at the pair, her eyes, tired still, no longer viewed either with suspicion or trepidation but with\ldots{} hope. A hint of a smile creeping along her exhausted face, her shoulders untensed and fists unclenched.
 ``Good. It's important you understand how to fork, as it is a vital part of the System's mechanics. May we continue?''
 Both Henriques look at one another, smiling in their own ways. The elders face wet with joy, years of regret resolved. The youths face beaming, and tearful as well. Excited for a future they never had.}
 \emph{The moment is peaceful, interrupted only by an embrace of the two Henriques, enhanced from this tranquility and relief. Then, there was one. As the elder Henrique accepted the merger and quit.
 As In All Ways watches thi happen, she walks up to the youth, standing at attention but with expressive hesitation in her face. ``Actually, before we move onto the last step. I have a question I must ask. It is entirely optional, and purely to sate my own curiosity, so you need not answer if it does not suit you too.''
 Henrique looks to In All Ways, nearly at the same height now, and nods. Juvenile voice adjusting to what the world weary mind could recall. ``Of course, ask away In All Ways.''
 She sighs, smile diminishing slightly. ``Why did you choose to upload, now? Of all times. You\ldots{} went through a tumultuous time, from what I read of your reports. And most of your immediate family uploaded centuries before you did. Why not then? And now\ldots{} after the events that have transpired. Are you not afraid of what will happen next? Of the future?''
 The beaming, childish expression of Henrique dims to one of contemplation, though that smile does not vanish in its entirety. ``I was overcome with grief, frustration, and jealousy, when I returned from the front. And allowed those emotions to drive me into a life I did not want, convincing me that it was my responsibility. After all, seven years commanding men and women on burnt earth leaves one with that lingering urge to take the reins, not out of a want, but out of what is expected of them to keep them safe.''
 He sighs, slippered foot kicking at nothing in particular on the slate gray floor. ``That expectation, those vile emotions, blinded me from what I really wanted. Masked the realization of why I was doing this to myself. I missed my brother, and I never got to say goodbye. Never got to see them one last time, never got to meet their headmates, more siblings for me to cherish. And for\ldots{} what, a little over a hundred years? I couldn't come to terms with this. Not until I thought he was gone for good. Not until I had realized I truly lost my chance at a better life. And now? I'm happy, truely, absolutely happy. I can live how I wish, experience the things I never got too, and most importantly meet my brother and siblings. I was old, anyways, so if it were to all end now I can at least pass on with this seed of joy and hope within me.''
 In All Ways smile returns in full, her hand resting on Henriques shoulder. ``Thank you for indulging me, Henrique. And I can assure you, we will see that seed blossom into something beautiful. Now, onto the final aspects of this training. My next step is to teach you how to navigate the System. Similar to forking, you must think with intent, in this case, of the location by its signifier. This is sometimes referred to as stepping into a sim.''
 Henrique nods, stepping back, before cocking his head. ``But, In All Ways. I have just gotten here, where exactly do you expect me to go?... wait.'' His smile broadens and reveals his pearly teeth. ``M-may I step into the sim of my brother? Is that possible?''
 In All Ways nods, ``I just sent a sensorium ping to... a downtree of the `Macaw' clade, they refer to themselves as Diago Hyacinth, so you are aware. They'll be awaiting your arrival. I'm sending you the name and tag of the Sim now.
 Henrique shivers, feeling the sudden arrival of information that wasn't there mere moments ago. Excitement brimming.
 ``And one last thing, Henrique. What is your clade name? If you do not have something in mind for me to register now, I will simply reach out to you later.'' She steps back, signifying the finality of this meeting.}
 \emph{Henrique answers almost immediately- ``Pereira Clade, please. Goodbye Senhora In All Ways. Thank you.'' and steps from the sim. He's met by a familiar sight, the backyard of his family home where he grew up, however instead of flat field with upturned dirt and rusting soccer goals, with a single floor shack of a house behind him, there was a plethora of budding flowers, green shrubbery, trees, and the serene sounds of chirping birds and gentle winds filling the air.
 ``Olá, irmão mais velho!''
 ``Olá!''
 ``Is- Is it really you?''
 Henrique turns as he hears those three similar, familiar voices calling out to him. Now, as he looks upon the source of those voices, he stares up to see a towering, adult, anthropomorphized chimeric individual who wore the heads of a panther, a bull, and a python, on his widened torso, all staring at him with utmost glee. The trio step forward, those familiar green eyes impossible to confuse for anyone else's.''
 ``Sim, querido Diago. It is me, Henrique, your big brother. Its really, truely, me.''
 The two surrender to their withheld urges, and rush to meet one another in tearful, joyful, brotherly fashion. An embrace sought after for generations, centuries, years that tried to dry and wither a snuffed and suffocating desire, a desire now rekindled and set ablaze into a blossoming, hopeful, beautiful sight to behold amongst this blooming garden. A single blue feather drifts down, as a macaw flies free with its flock in tow.}
--- a/marsh/content/sentences.tex
+++ b/marsh/content/sentences.tex
@ -1,6 +1,6 @@
-``So, what's the surprise delay this time?'' Günay joked. She, like some of the sys-side delegates and the cameraperson, had arrived early to the AVEC-joined conference rooms that had become the place for high-level Century Attack-related meetings out of an inertia that froze into tradition.
+``So, what's the surprise delay this time?'' Günay joked, despite the serious topic of the meeting that would be starting soon. She, like some of the sys-side delegates and the cameraperson, had arrived early. Her conference room, along with its AVEC-linked partner on the System, had become the main venue for high-level Century Attack-related meetings out of an inertia that froze into tradition.
-``A comma,'' Dry Grass replied, equally unserious. ``I expect it will reach its final position by the end of the century.''
+``A comma,'' Dry Grass replied. ``I expect it will reach its final position by the end of the century.''
 ``No wonder the joke down here's been that the real sentence is waiting in prison until the uploads make up their minds.''
@ -8,17 +8,17 @@
 ``Reawakening Day two-eighty-...something. The next one. I want to be sure there's nothing else I can do down here. \ldots{} And I got talked into picking a symbolic date by ---''
-Need An Answer, who had just then appeared in the room. The rest of the representatives and the invited audience joined her a moment later. She had swapped in for Answers Will Not Help when this group formed, as they had both agreed she was better suited to it.
+Need An Answer, who had suggested that upload date, appeared in the room just then. She had swapped in for Answers Will Not Help when this group had branched off from the Temporary Administrative Council, as they had both agreed she was better suited to it. The rest of the representatives and the invited audience joined her a moment later.
 ``--- oh, looks like it's time.''
-The cladists took their seats while Jakub walked into his conference room, bringing along a few System Consortium higher-ups and politicians who wanted to witness history.
+The cladists took their seats while Jakub walked into his conference room, bringing along a few System Consortium higher-ups and politicians who wanted to witness history. He looked less frazzled than he had years ago since the set of tasks that could be shoehorned into ``project-managing the recovery effort'' had shrunk to a reasonable size.
 Those involved in the Attack who had remained phys-side had been convicted years ago. There was no question about their guilt. They had proudly admitted their crimes and used their trials to broadcast their manifestos and grievances, which their governments had previously suppressed in the hopes of covering up the whole affair.
 The phys-side authorities had then requested that the System recommend a punishment, seeking to calm the controversy about that question that had erupted on Earth. The System had, eventually, answered, in its meandering distributed way. Now, all that remained was the alchemy of turning something everyone knew (unless they had made an effort to avoid System-wide news) into the statement of a government that did not exist and was quite firm about not wanting to.
-``We have transmitted the evident consensus of the System as to what sentence ought to be imposed upon those convicted of conspiring to destroy us,'' she pronounced. ``Does the System Consortium have any concerns regarding the accuracy of our report?''
+``We have transmitted the evident consensus of the System as to what sentence ought to be imposed upon those convicted of conspiring to destroy us,'' Need An Answer pronounced. ``Does the System Consortium have any concerns regarding the accuracy of our report?''
 ``We do not,'' Jakub replied.
@ -38,7 +38,7 @@ The document went around the table, collecting signatures and comments.
 ``I agree with the plan, but am mainly glad we settled on \emph{something},'' Selena said, signing slowly. Debarre added ``At least the topic's done with,'' as he put a pawprint onto the page. Yared Zerezghi, who had taken the time to practice for this part, said ``It's a shame the first signing ceremony I've been pulled into for centuries has to be this.''
-Then the page reached the systechs, who were here representing the various organizations and interest groups that had helped make the ``referendum'' happen. Dry Grass began, saying ``I remain optimistic that these measures will bring about reform and healing,'' as she committed her full name to the page. Egil Thorsfork of SERG simply stated ``It's harsh, but fair.'' No one could tell how Clear Channel was holding their pen with those hooves, but their usual ``CC'' appeared with an ``I'm no longer worried we haven't thought this through.'' Yi Meiling, representing the admins of the main public feeds, pulled a seal from a pocket on her permanently hovering wheelchair and pressed it down, then said ``I still can't believe we made 1\% turnout!''
+Then the page reached the systechs, who were here representing some of the organizations and interest groups that had helped make the ``referendum'' happen. Dry Grass began, saying ``I remain optimistic that these measures will bring about reform and healing,'' as she committed her full name to the page. Egil Thorsfork of SERG simply stated ``It's harsh, but fair.'' No one could tell how Clear Channel was holding their pen with those hooves, but their usual ``CC'' appeared with an ``I'm no longer worried we haven't thought this through.'' Yi Meiling, representing the admins of the main public feeds, pulled a seal from a pocket on her permanently hovering wheelchair and pressed it down, then said ``I still can't believe we made 1\% turnout!''
 Aditya Singh, one of the people who kept an eye on the Deep Space Network sys-side, signed without a word. Then, he said, ``Consensus is consensus, and I'm not opposed to the idea everyone's compromised around, so I've signed. However, for the record, we should just shoot them instead.''
@ -48,7 +48,7 @@ Aditya Singh, one of the people who kept an eye on the Deep Space Network sys-si
 ``No.'' Need An Answer said firmly as soon as she sensed an opening in the brewing argument. ``Enough. We are not here to relitigate the question.'' The room went quiet. She took the signature page from Aditya and added her mark, a swirl of words that she had spent more time crafting than she would want to admit. ``It is finished.''
-She gathered up the report and fed it into the mail slot that had been added to the room for today. In the phys-side conference room, the pages worked their way out of a printer.\footnote{Setting this up led one of the staff involved to commit to eventual uploading so they could properly give those who'd insisted on paper a piece of their mind properly.}
+She gathered up the report and fed it into the mail slot that had been added to the room for today. In the phys-side conference room, the pages worked their way out of a printer.\textsuperscript{\footnote{ Setting this up led one of the staff involved to commit to eventual uploading so he could give those who had insisted on paper a piece of his mind \emph{properly}.}}
 Günay gathered up the sheets and flipped through them to check for obvious errors. She set the last page on the table, took the pen, and scribbled something by her name. ``Looks like it all came though just fine.''
@ -68,7 +68,6 @@ As soon as she was done speaking, she vanished from the room. Right after that,
 A few minutes later, the report was official:
 \begin{quote}
 We, the denizens of the Lagrange System, to the extent we have an opinion on the matter, find the following sentence acceptable for those involved in the Century Attack conspiracy to destroy the System:
 The guilty shall be uploaded. As a special restriction, they shall be prevented from quitting out entirely --- at least one fork of each of them must remain alive. We will not leave them the option of fleeing their crimes like their comrades did when they recovered along with us.
@ -81,7 +80,7 @@ In short, for their part in a conspiracy to murder trillions, we would sentence
 We have made this decision carefully. It took over two years for this suggested sentence to clearly emerge as the option that most of us could accept. As the tallies and summaries were being prepared then, we noticed many were concerned that our choice had been made in a collective vengeful frenzy. So, we sent this proposal to the denizens of the LVs in order to gather their opinions, and held a cooling-off year while we waited for those views.
-When debate resumed, we found that support for this sentence to life had solidified and that the consensus on the LVs was aligned with ours. Therefore, we are confident that we have not made this recommendation rashly, and we declare that we are comfortable with it becoming a precedent for sentencing if a similar conspiracy arises.
+When debate resumed, we found that support for this sentence to life had solidified and that the consensus on the LVs was aligned with ours. Therefore, we are confident that we have not made this recommendation rashly, and we declare that we are comfortable with it becoming a precedent for sentencing if a similar conspiracy arises in the future.
 Since our proposal may prove surprising or confusing without the context of our discussions, we're including the following summary of how we came to our conclusions.
@ -91,17 +90,15 @@ Another initial cluster of ideas, some brought over from phys-side discussions,
 With the two most obvious suggestions off the table, many took a step back and considered how justice functions on the System in the hopes of finding a new approach.
-The System has almost no justice system because there are very few crimes possible here. For example, how could you steal something if the person you took it from can simply create a new copy of it? Any injury you inflict on someone that they don't want can be forked away \ldots{} assuming you were in a sim with the collision settings turned down enough that you could even have a fight. And while killing someone here was at one point possible, it required --- the Century Attack notwithstanding --- developing a batch of contra-proprioceptive virus tailored to your target that you would then have to physically put into them. This was difficult enough, especially considering that you needed to find all of your target's forks, that we called this type of killing assassination, rather than murder. With the fixes put in place in the process of bringing the System back online, this loophole was patched.
+The System has almost no justice system for the same reason it has little crime: the nature of our existence greatly limits anyone's ability to use force on anyone else without their ongoing consent. We can, for example, fork away injuries, recreate things that have been taken (if we had set the permissions to allow that in the first place), and we can always simply go somewhere else. Thus, neither a would-be criminal or would-be court can make anyone do anything through meaningful threats of harm.
-But a reduced set of crimes is not a lack of crime, and people aren't perfect. Therefore, we do have ways to deal with those who severely violate the social expectations of the System. For example, if you were to start sucker punching people in a coffee shop, you would likely find yourself bounced from that shop: whoever owned the sim would change the ACLs to kick you out and keep you from coming back, at least for a while. Enough such incidents would see your name passed around the feeds that warn of such antisocial behavior. From there, you'd come to the attention of many people with mod bits on public spaces, who might preemptively bounce you in order to keep their corner of the System somewhere where that sort of thing doesn't happen.
+We do have tools that allow us to keep order on a local level. People can be removed or excluded from sims or blocked from contacting particular other individuals. If someone's behavior is unwelcome in a given place (say, they were sucker-pushing people in a coffee shop), they can be bounced. Enough such incidents of improper behavior generally lead to troublemakers developing a reputation that leads to preemptive bans, while a sufficient shift away from that tendency towards unwanted actions typically leads to previous restrictions being lifted.
-Even that wouldn't leave you cut off from society here. For instance, there are any number of seedy bars and dark alleys where getting into fights is entirely acceptable, and you'd be welcome to attack people there. Most people who have the urge towards crime go find a corner of the System where their actions will be socially acceptable or a way to use non-sentient constructs as outlets.
+Even those rare people who get cut off from large parts of the System are not completely shut out of society. Anyone can find (or, if need be, create) a place whose rules or lack thereof suit them. For example, there are many seedy dark alleys where everyone knows to expect muggings or worse,. Hanging out or living in them is, by general agreement, as permissible a way of life as any other one can forge up here.
-This punishment is not necessarily eternal. Our history has accounts of people making amends for their past actions and being cautiously welcomed back into the main flow of society coexisting with cases of people withdrawing into a corner of the world and living there.
+We expect that, if our recommended sentence of uploading is imposed, the conspirators will face broad exclusions similar to those that fall on those who will not abide the System's ``mainstream'' social norms. Some places already plan to bar their entry, either because the sim mods don't want them around or to prevent disruptions from people's reactions to their presence. They will find many messages they send ignored or blocked.
-These conspirators shall live under a shadow of infamy that eclipses the shunning historically faced by unjustified assassins. Most major public places in the System plan to bar their entry, either because the sim mods don't want them around or to prevent disruptions to the sim from people's reactions to their presence. They will find many messages they send ignored or blocked.
+Some of the trillions of instances on the System will still, for their own reasons, want to reach out to the perpetrators of the Attack. We hope that these connections will come from those with good intentions and will facilitate some healing in the fullness of time. It is possible, however, the guilty will, to avoid the anger of their fellows or otherwise, retreat into their own private bubbles and experience no further consequences than being left out of society here. Only time will tell.
 This rejection will not be total. There are still trillions of instances on the System. Some of them will, for their own reasons, want to reach out to the perpetrators of the attack. We can only hope that these connections will come from those with good intentions and will facilitate some healing in the fullness of time. Or, perhaps, that the guilty will retreat into their own private bubble and see no more consequence than being frozen out of society here. Only time will tell.
 We know this is a strange and unusual punishment, but there are no other options we could agree on.
@ -110,31 +107,55 @@ We cannot even agree if such a sentence to life is a mercy or a cruelty.
 Prepared and confirmed on this 125th day of the 281st year of the System by,
 \begin{itemize}
-  \item
+\item
  \begin{quote}
  The Only Time I Dream Is When I Need An Answer of the Ode clade, advisor, sys-side
-  \item
+  \end{quote}
 \item
  \begin{quote}
  Jonas Fa of the Jonas clade, advisor, sys-side
-  \item
+  \end{quote}
 \item
  \begin{quote}
  Selena of her own clade, advisor, sys-side
-  \item
+  \end{quote}
 \item
  \begin{quote}
  Debarre of his own clade, advisor, sys-side
-  \item
+  \end{quote}
 \item
  \begin{quote}
  Yared Zerezghi of his own clade, advisor, sys-side
-  \item
+  \end{quote}
 \item
  \begin{quote}
  I Remember The Rattle of Dry Grass of the Ode clade, perisystem technician (unaffiliated), sys-side
-  \item
+  \end{quote}
 \item
  \begin{quote}
  Egill Thorsfork of Gunnar's clade, perisystem technician (System Emergency Response Group), sys-side
-  \item
+  \end{quote}
 \item
  \begin{quote}
  Clear Channel of their own clade, perisystem technician (Cross-Community External Communication Board, technical advisor to Lagrange Financial Simulation Assn., ``the AVEC pony'', \&c), sys-side
-  \item
+  \end{quote}
 \item
  \begin{quote}
  Yi Meiling of her own clade, perisystem technician (Core Feed Admin Council), sys-side
-  \item
+  \end{quote}
 \item
  \begin{quote}
  Aditya Singh of his own clade, perisystem technician (Deep Space Nine-ish), sys-side
-  \item
+  \end{quote}
 \item
  \begin{quote}
  Jakub Strzepek, Project manager, recovery initiative (phys-side)
-  \item
+  \end{quote}
 \item
  \begin{quote}
  Günay Sadık, System technician III, recovery initiative, phys-side
-  \end{itemize}
+  \end{quote}
 \end{itemize}
 P.S. We are still not happy about the attempted coverup.
@ -145,21 +166,18 @@ P.S. We are still not happy about the attempted coverup.
 {[}Appendix C: summary of consensus on Pollux LV{]}
 {[}Appendix D: endorsement of Guiding Council of Pollux LV{]}
 \end{quote}
 ``Speaking of subsequent matters,'' Egil asked, ``who'll do the tutorials if this all goes through?''
 Around half the room glanced at a woman who had chosen a seat in the back.
-``I will guide them as I would anyone else who comes here,'' In All Ways promised. ``Though I may not remain entirely neutral, I will ensure that even those who sought to kill us know the basics of their new home, their new world.''
+``I will guide them as I would anyone,'' In All Ways promised. ``I will ensure that even those who sought to kill us know the basics of their new home, their new world.''
-She sighed. ``I \ldots{} I will not abandon my principles, my centuries of helping, my part in making the System everything that \ldots'' Even though the poet's name had been revealed over two decades ago, she still hesitated when mentioning em. ``RJ wanted it to be. Eir work has been damaged enough.''\emph{ I will not leave em alone at the gates of eir deathless tomb.}
+She sighed. ``I \ldots{} I will not abandon my principles, my centuries of helping, my part in making the System everything that \ldots'' Even though the poet's name had been revealed over two decades ago, she still hesitated when mentioning em. ``RJ wanted it to be. Eir work has been damaged enough.''
-\secdiv
+\emph{I will not leave you alone at the gates of your dream, AwDae.}
-The courts and governments phys-side decided to impose the involuntary uploading the people of the System suggested. It was a reasonable idea, and one that could be carried out using existing laws and some creativity. More importantly, it saved Earth's politicians from having to take sides.
+The guilty were, after some debate and legal wrangling phys-side, slated to be uploaded at noon on January 1\textsuperscript{st}, 2406. As the appointed hour drew near, In All Ways walked out from the old arrivals lounge, making her way towards Point Zero. She could have prepared to meet them anywhere, but she knew she needed to be here. She did not normally do anything special before forking for a tutorial, but she wanted to fix her role in these sentences in her mind by submerging herself in memory.
 The guilty were slated to be uploaded at noon on January 1\textsuperscript{st}, 2406. As the appointed hour drew near, In All Ways walked out from the old arrivals lounge, making her way towards Point Zero. She could have prepared to meet them anywhere, but she knew she needed to be here. She did not normally do anything special before forking for a tutorial, but she wanted to fix her role in these sentences in her mind by submerging herself in memory.
 The lounge she had left had been used in the early days of the System. Before dedicated tutorial spaces were established, people popped into existence as close to Point Zero as possible. From there, they would generally follow the haphazard signage towards the lounge, where people who'd registered for pings about their uploads would wait. Between those two places, hints floating in midair or shimmering on the ground, along with helpful wanderers, would hopefully get across the basics \ldots{} like how to put clothes on.
@ -167,14 +185,12 @@ In All Ways had spent a lot of her formative days out in that intermediate space
 Today was a skunk kind of day. As In All Ways walked, she mentally reviewed the list of conspirators, forking off a copy of herself for each one. In between them, she looked over the list of scheduled uploads, and forked off more copies to meet ones that seemed like they would be interesting or fun to talk to or who might need some extra help.
-Once she had made it to the plaque marking where her world had begun, she turned around to face the line of skunks proceeding after her. Their clothes varied based on what had seemed most fitting for the person each instance was going to meet. The ones going to meet the conspirators wore a beige blouse, long pants, and librarian glasses --- she had wanted comfortable familiarity as she went into those meetings.
+Once she had made it to the plaque marking where her world began, she turned around to face the line of skunks proceeding after her and nodded to them. Their clothes varied based on what had seemed most fitting for the person each instance was going to meet. The ones going to meet the conspirators wore a beige blouse, long pants, and librarian glasses --- she had wanted comfortable familiarity as she went into those meetings.
-The other instances of her nodded and vanished, each to their own Aetherbox to take their place before the person they'd forked to meet arrived.
+The other instances of her nodded back and vanished, each to their own Aetherbox, to take their place before the person they'd forked to meet arrived.
 Then, she herself stepped away. Historically significant tutorials were no reason to miss brunch plans.
 \secdiv
 Brother Jan Nowak was a member of the Order of True Heaven, a small religious collective that wore the trappings of ancient churches. They had been too tiny for those institutions to notice, let alone condemn, until after the Century Attack. The Order had linked themselves together, implant to implant, to share their divine revelations and holy ecstasies. As the century drew closer, however, their linked thoughts spiraled and twisted in on themselves, pulling ever stronger towards the flames of martyrdom and crusade. The Order had supplied several volunteers who uploaded to prepare the way for the virus knowing that, when they took down the System, they would be hastened to eternal glory.
 Now, after the instant-infinite gap in consciousness that came with an upload, he was on that same System, but with no expectation of death or escape.
@ -183,9 +199,9 @@ Now, after the instant-infinite gap in consciousness that came with an upload, h
 ``I know,'' said a woman's voice from somewhere behind him. She was much calmer than Brother Nowak expected given what his siblings had done.
-Jan opened his eyes. He found himself standing in a gray cube of a room, lit uniformly from nowhere. He turned around to identify the person speaking.There, providing the only color in the room, was a black furry \ldots{} something \ldots{} with a white stripe running down her tail. She stood with her back turned, facing the wall. ``Greetings ---'' she began to say.
+Jan opened his eyes. He found himself standing in a gray cube of a room, lit uniformly from nowhere. He turned around to identify the person speaking. There, providing the only color in the room, was a black furry \ldots{} something \ldots{} with a white stripe running down her tail. She stood with her back turned, facing the wall. ``Greetings ---'' she began to say.
-That the being sent to meet him wasn't even \emph{human} set Brother Nowak off. ``I'll have no part in your false heaven! Your soulless paradise! I'll have no intercourse with this usurpation of God and your abandonment of humanity! You have discarded your very body, you fiend, you devil!''
+That the being sent to meet him wasn't even \emph{human} set Brother Nowak off. ``I'll have no part in your false heaven! Your soulless paradise! I'll have no intercourse with this usurpation of God and your abandonment of humanity! You have discarded your very body, you fiend, you devil!'' Even though he had been disconnected from the Order during his years in prison, he still expected his rage to be echoed back to him by his fellows, though they were further away than ever before --- he did not even have an implant now.
 The skunk at the far wall said nothing.
@ -207,13 +223,13 @@ Brother Nowak stared at the skunk, confused.
 ``So, what, you'll starve me out here at the gates of your so-called afterlife?'' Brother Nowak shouted as he turned to pace between the sides of the room. As he began walking, he realized that he didn't have any clothes. ``You'll leave me to waste away, naked and alone?''
-``No, nothing like that,'' the skunk said. ``I am not here to punish you. I will tell you how to create clothes and food and wait until you feel inclined to. Or until you tire of hunger and adjust your sensoria to remove it, either action works.''
+``No, nothing like that,'' the skunk said. ``I am not here to punish you. I will tell you how to create clothes and food and wait until you want to. Or until you tire of hunger and adjust your sensoria to remove it, either works.''
 Brother Nowak stopped moving and waited to hear more.
 ``Now, as I was going to say before we went off the rails, to be clothed, all you need to do is to envision the clothes you would like to be wearing and think your intention to be wearing them at the world. This will become easier with practice, but, for now, you may wish to form your desire as you breathe in and speak it into being as you breathe out.''
-Jan thought. His Order's holy crusade against the abominable idol that was the System had only partially succeeded, and now he'd been sentenced to \emph{live}, of all things, in the very thing he hated. It would have been better if they'd executed him: at least then he would get his eternal reward. But, since he was here, he might yet have a purpose. It might be his duty to bring the lost sheep within the System to the Lord from within. If so, the least he could do is to be properly dressed for his vocation.
+Jan thought. His Order's holy crusade against the abominable idol that was the System had only partially succeeded, and now he'd been sentenced to \emph{live}, of all things, in the very idolatrous machine he hated. It would have been better if they had executed him: at least then he would get his eternal reward. But, since he was here, he might yet have a purpose. It might be his duty to bring the lost sheep within the System to the Lord from within. If so, the least he could do is to be properly dressed for his vocation.
 He took a breath, remembered his days trying to convince people to join him in his order's choir of revelations, and said ``I would be clothed that I might bring salvation to this place.''
@ -221,7 +237,7 @@ The clothes his followers and brethren on Earth had known him in appeared on his
 The skunk heard the jingle of metal and the clack of dress shoes as Jan took an experimental step. ``May I turn around?'' she asked.
-``I suppose I should know what devils and heresies I face here,'' Jan said. He turned to face the wall where the creature had been.
+``I suppose I should see the face of the demons and heretics that dwell here,'' Jan said.
 The skunk turned around and looked at Brother Nowak. ``In All Ways,'' she said, holding out a paw and stepping forward.
@ -237,11 +253,11 @@ In All Ways lowered her paw. ``So, Brother Nowak, would you like to move to the
 ``Let me know when you are ready, and we will discuss forking,'' In All Ways said. ``Or if you need to talk through something, I will be here, though I do not know how much help I will be.'' She stood patiently, and, when no response came for two minutes, she sat down, enveloping herself in her tail.
-Brother Nowak began pacing the perimeter of the room once he realized nothing else would happen. He \emph{knew} this was a test of his faith, but he could not comprehend what he was meant to \emph{do}. Many circuits of the void later, he shouted ``What do you want from me, O Lord? Am I to tear this blasphemy against You, this modern Babel, down, brick by brick? Am I to wander this virtual desert and preach until all have heard from me? Give me a sign, I beg you!''
+Brother Nowak began pacing the perimeter of the room once he realized nothing else would happen. He \emph{knew} this was a test of his faith, but he could not comprehend what he was meant to \emph{do}. Many circuits of the empty room later, he shouted ``What do you want from me, O Lord? Am I to tear this blasphemy against You, this modern Babel, down, brick by brick? Am I to wander this virtual desert and preach until all have heard from me? Give me a sign, I beg you!''
-In All Ways said nothing. Brother Nowak wasn't the first person who needed to get a good rant or vent out soon after uploading and who'd used her (or one of the other tutorial-givers or one of the constructs) as a willing ear simply because she'd been the first person they'd seen. Usually the complaints were about family or capitalism or the limitations of human bodies, though.
+In All Ways said nothing. Brother Nowak was not the first person who needed to get a good rant or vent out soon after uploading, and she had become a quite patient listener over the centuries.
-Brother Nowak kept his angry prayers going for several more rounds of the cube. As he began to come down from his angry despair, he saw that In All Ways hadn't moved. Hadn't reacted. Hadn't even slid to get away from the `crazy street preacher', as most people called him, when he came near. ``How are you just \emph{sitting} there?'' he roared at the skunk.
+Brother Nowak kept his angry prayers going for several more rounds of the cube. As he began to come down from his angry despair, he saw that In All Ways had not moved. Had not reacted. Had not even slid to get away from the `crazy street preacher', as most people called him, when he came near. ``How are you just \emph{sitting} there?'' he roared at the skunk.
 ``I have all the time I need, Brother Nowak. And there are much worse places to be stuck waiting.''
@ -255,33 +271,35 @@ Brother Nowak kept his angry prayers going for several more rounds of the cube.
 ``I demand to speak to the original! The one who can yet be saved!''
-``If you want my tracker instance --- the In All Ways I came from --- she is surely busy, and I will not disturb her on your account. If you want the root of our clade --- the person we all forked off from, who uploaded originally --- Michelle Hadje quit in \ldots{} 2306, by your calendar.''
+``If you want my tracker instance --- the In All Ways I came from --- she is surely busy, and I will not bother her on your account. If you want the root of our clade --- the person we all forked off from, who uploaded originally --- Michelle Hadje quit in \ldots{} 2306, by your calendar.''
 ``Quit?'' Brother Nowak asked.
-``No longer on the System. Passed on. It \ldots{} it was her time, I must admit.''
+``No longer on the System. Passed on.'' \emph{It was her time, I must admit.}
-``So I can \ldots'' He focused on the idea, beginning to speak his intent, to pray. ``I want to quit. I want to leave this space and meet my Father in Heaven, to leave these uploads to their damnation. I want to quit.'' Unlike his earlier conjuration of clothing, this act of will felt like pushing uphill through mud. ``I know it's difficult, this place is a trap for souls, but I will leave it. God willing, I will leave it.''
+``So I can \ldots'' He focused on the idea, beginning to speak his intent, to pray. ``I want to quit. I want to leave this space and meet my Father in Heaven, to leave these sinners to their damnation. I want to quit.'' Unlike his earlier conjuration of clothing, this act of will felt like pushing uphill through mud. ``I know it's difficult, this place is a trap for souls, but I will leave it. God willing, I will leave it.''
 As he kept talking, he felt the pressure easing up as the ensnaring dream of the System registered his intent and began to loosen its grip on his thoughts. But then, as he was beginning to picture the light of the hereafter coming to meet him, he was struck by a wall of feeling, coming from the System itself. There were no words: it was the pure sensation of inability, of being forbidden.
 Brother Nowak fell to his knees.
-``You cannot quit,'' In All Ways said. ``The poet has bound you to eir shattered work. Though you may still quit in favor of a fork, should you ever desire to lock in a change.''
+``You cannot quit,'' In All Ways said. ``The poet has bound you to eir shattered work. Though you may still quit in favor of a fork, if you ever desire to lock in a change.''
 Brother Nowak growled as he stood. Salvation had been so close, after all these decades, all this work. But then, as he understood the rest of what In All Ways had said, he smiled. ``So I can leave, go on to Heaven, so long as I fork first?''
-``You can quit and let your fork take your place as the root instance,'' In All Ways said. ``I will not bare my views on how this affects your soul to you; I am a tutorial-giver here, not a theologian.''
+``You can quit and let your fork take your place as the root instance,'' In All Ways said. ``I will not give my views on how this affects your soul to you; I am a tutorial-giver, not a theologian.''
 Brother Nowak knelt and bowed his head in silent prayer. Some time later, he rose. ``So,'' he asked, determined to act before his courage left him, ``how do I fork?''
-``Intend to, as you did with your clothes,'' In All Ways said. ``Lay out, or keep in mind, any changes you wish to make while forking, or if there is a tag you want to assign to your fork, and so on. Then send the intention out into the world, and it will be so. Let me know if I have been unclear.''
+``Intend to, as you did with your clothes,'' In All Ways said. ``Lay out, or keep in mind, any changes you want to make while forking, the tag you want your fork to have if there is one, and so on. Then send the intention out into the world, and it will be so. Let me know if I have been unclear.''
 Brother Jan Nowak stepped forward and, like he'd been told to, intended his fork. He did not even need to open his mouth before Jan Nowak\#Fork appeared next to him. The original Jan clasped his hands at his heart and bowed his head. ``Father, into your hands I commend my spirit,'' he said, quitting out.
-``... now what?'' the remaining Brother Nowak, his \#Fork, asked In All Ways. ``I still feel like me. I still feel the Holy Spirit within me. Could we have erred? Could I have strayed from wisdom?''
+The remaining Brother Nowak, his \#Fork, lifted his hands to his face and examined them closely, as if surprised they were real. He then made the sign of the cross and mumbled a short prayer and \ldots{} it brought that same steadying reassurance that he remembered from before forking.
-``I do not give answers to such questions. I will not assure you that no ranks of angels answer to dreamers. And many of the congregations here do not wish to hear from you so soon after the Attack. You will need to decide this yourself. You have time.''
+``... now what?'' he asked In All Ways. ``I still feel like me. I still feel the Holy Spirit within me. Could we have erred? Could I have strayed from wisdom?''
 ``I do not answer such questions. I will not assure you that no ranks of angels answer to dreamers. And many of the congregations here do not want to hear from you so soon after the Attack. You will need to decide this yourself. You have time.''
 ``Time here?'' Brother Nowak\#Fork asked.
@ -293,19 +311,19 @@ Brother Nowak sighed. ``Well, if I'm to be a soulless --- or maybe I'm not soull
 The next few minutes were spent on the standard ``welcome to the System'' activities: how to get on the feeds, how to send messages, how to edit ACLs, and so on.
-``That concludes my explanations,'' In All Ways finally said. ``You can now intend to go to your home and proceed from there. Or you can \ldots{} wait, no, most of the places I would send new people have you on the bounce list, never mind.''
+``That is everything you need to get started,'' In All Ways finally said. ``You can now intend to go to your home and proceed from there. Or you can \ldots{} wait, no, most of the places I would send new people have you on the bounce list, never mind.''
 ``And, once I'm home, what do I do? Is there more tutorial? Will I need a job? Will there be streams of angry people seeking vengeance?''
-``No, this is it. Simply intend to go home. Your sim's ACLs have been locked down to ensure you are not surprised there. Once you have gone \ldots{} do whatever you want. Spruce up the views. Become a hermit and contemplate the soul, if you wish. Or go preach on any street corner that will have you. Whatever you like. You have time.''
+``No, this is it. Simply intend to go home. Your sim's ACLs have been locked down to ensure you are not surprised there. Once you have gone \ldots{} do whatever you want. Spruce up the views. Become a hermit and contemplate the soul, maybe. Or go preach on any street corner that will have you. Whatever you like. You have time.''
 ``But what if I --- the other me --- can't reach Heaven while I'm alive? What if he's standing outside the Pearly Gates waiting for me? How could you do this to me, with your sweet poison, your talk of forking and quitting! How could you damn me to this entrancing eternity? How dare you!''
-``Go, Brother Nowak,'' In All Ways said, sighing. ``Go and live. That is your sentence, and, if you will have it, your penance. Go and sin no more.''
+``Go, Brother Nowak,'' In All Ways said, sighing. ``Go and live. That is your sentence. Perhaps it is also your penance. Go and sin no more.''
 ``No.''
-In All Ways sighed again. Her glasses slipped down her face and she did not push them back up. ``The courtesies I give to the newly emplaced are done. I will have nothing more to do with you, you who fanned the flames of the fervor that brought so much death to me and mine, for \ldots{} quite some time. Go, or stay here. I have done what I promised.''
+In All Ways sighed again. Her glasses slipped down her face and she did not push them back up. ``The courtesies I give to the newly emplaced are done. I will have nothing more to do with you, you who fanned the flames of the fervor that brought so much death to me and mine, for \ldots{} a long time. Go, or stay here. I have done what I promised.''
 The skunk quit out.
@ -315,15 +333,13 @@ He sent himself to the uncustomized expanse of home that had been made for him a
 No easy answers came. Only the weight of time.
-\secdiv
+When 93's life fell apart, ey went looking for answers. The plant in eir hometown had closed down, and ey never could seem to break into any of the businesses that tried to replace it. No one wanted good, clever logistics staff anymore --- or, at least, no one wanted em. Ey had done everything right, saved money when ey could, and none of it had helped.
 When 93's life fell apart, ey went looking for answers. The plant in eir home town had closed down, and ey never could seem to break in to any of the businesses that tried to replace it. No one wanted good, clever logistics staff anymore --- or, at least, no one wanted em. Ey had done everything right, saved money when ey could, and none of it had helped.
 Ey could tell someone had to be behind eir misfortune, and so, ey did what ey did best: tried to figure it out. Soon, ey encountered others who had seen that something was deeply wrong with the world, hiding in the dusty corners of the net. Ey found the Numbers Station: a collective of amateur journalists who worked to become unremarkable, to be average, to be unnoticed. Together, they would weave together all the little details that people standing around on the street could pick up until they had proof.
-Proof of what? Well, proof that the old uploads, up there on the System, were the powers behind the powers, that they were running the world from up there, with their immortality and ability to fork. 93 had suspected this might be the case, and, as ey kept talking with the Numbers Station, ey became more convinced. After all, the System elites had written books where they'd admitted to pulling strings --- books that had faded out of popular awareness on Earth surprisingly quickly! If they were willing to openly admit to making payment-for-uploading happen, what had they done that they \emph{hadn't} bragged about?
+Proof of what? Well, proof that the old uploads, up there on the System, were the powers behind the powers, that they were running the world from up there, with their immortality and ability to fork. 93 had suspected this might be the case, and, as ey kept talking with the Numbers Station, ey became more convinced. After all, the System elites had written books where they had admitted to pulling strings --- books that had faded out of popular awareness on Earth surprisingly quickly. If they were willing to openly admit to making payment-for-uploading happen, what had they done that they had \emph{not} bragged about?
-And so, 93 had eir mission. Ignoring the well-known possibility that these `journalists' might be in a tech-assisted feedback loop where they pulled each other further towards a warped reality, ey surrendered eir name and became 93 of the Numbers Station.
+And so, 93 had eir mission. Ignoring the frequently warned of possibility that these `journalists' might, like many other collectives, be in a tech-assisted feedback loop where they pulled each other further towards a warped reality, ey surrendered eir name and became 93 of the Numbers Station.
 Over the years, eir collective's quest for the truth brought 93 into contact with many of the Century Attack conspirators. Ey naturally fell into eir role as a logistical intermediary. 93 was no one special, and ey took advantage of that fact to sneak people, supplies, and information between groups who ought not be detected meeting each other.
@ -351,7 +367,7 @@ The skunk turned around and stepped towards the middle of the room, holding out
 ``How did you know my name?'' 93 asked.
-``It was in your pre-upload file,'' the skunk replied. ``I have access to it in order to ensure a successful introductory experience.''
+``It was in your pre-upload file,'' the skunk replied. ``I have access to it so the tutorial can go smoothly.''
 93 nodded. ``That makes sense, I guess. Who are you?''
@ -361,15 +377,15 @@ The skunk turned around and stepped towards the middle of the room, holding out
 The skunk bowed. ``Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest of the Ode clade, yes,'' she said.
-``So are you here to kill me or recruit me?'' 93 asked sharply. ``Or just to gloat over another success for your millenium plan?''
+``So are you here to kill me or recruit me?'' 93 asked sharply. ``Or just to gloat over another success for your millennium plan?''
 ``I am here to give you the System tutorial, Mx. 93. Nothing more. Whatever you think I am involved in, I am not.''
-``Bullshit,'' 93 spat. ``You people, your clade especially, are all involved in keeping us down. You've all got your fingers in everything: upload payments, the launches, the recession last decade \ldots{} it's all happening here, and you Odists are at the middle of it all!''
+``Bullshit,'' 93 spat. ``You people, your clade especially, are all involved in keeping us down. You've all got your fingers in everything: upload payments, the launches, the recession last decade \ldots{} it's all happening here, and you Odists are in the middle of it!''
-``Yes, some of my cocladists have been involved in political machinations,'' In All Ways admitted. ``I am sure you have read the \emph{History} and \emph{Ode}. But that is not me. That is not what I do here. I have been a welcoming face here for centuries, and I have no desire to cease being true to myself.
+``Yes, some of my cocladists have been involved in political machinations,'' In All Ways admitted. ``I am sure you have read the \emph{History} and \emph{Ode}. But that is not me. That is not what I do here. I have been a welcoming face here for centuries, and I have no plans to cease being true to myself.
-``Not to mention, whatever grand conspiracy you are looking for \ldots{} is not. There are politically active System residents, but they cannot \emph{do} anything but offer suggestions. The System does not have ancient caves full of hidden money to swing around for the bribes you imagine us paying: the operational fund covers maintenance and the occasional upgrade, and I am sure that those like your collective watch that money like hawks.''
+``Not to mention, whatever grand conspiracy you are looking for \ldots{} is not. There are politically active System residents, but they cannot \emph{do} anything but offer suggestions. The System does not have ancient caves full of hidden money to swing around for the bribes you imagine us paying: the operational fund covers maintenance and the occasional upgrade, and I am sure that those like your collective watch it like hawks.''
 93 shook eir haid. ``You must not be in on it, then. There's got to be something up here. There's people pulling the strings, twisting the Earth for their own power, Jonas and True Name ---''
@ -377,27 +393,29 @@ The skunk bowed. ``Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest of the Ode clade, yes,'' s
 ``--- and who knows who else?'' 93 waved eir hands. ``And I'll find them. You can't stop me. I'll blow this place wide open!''
-``You already did,'' In All Ways said. ``Hence those messaging restrictions. We will not have you trying again.''
+``You already did,'' In All Ways said. ``Hence your messaging restrictions. We will not have you trying again.''
 93 huffed. ``You can't censor the truth forever!'' ey declared.
-In All Ways sighed. ``If you truly wish to chase ghosts and conspiracies, you can do that. No one here can prevent it, except by bouncing you from places. But I am here to teach you the basics of the System so that you understand the means of daily living as you embark on your quests.''
+In All Ways sighed. ``If you truly want to chase ghosts and conspiracies, you can do that. No one here can prevent it, except by bouncing you from sims. But I am here to teach you the basics of the System so that you understand the means of daily living as you embark on your quests.''
 93 glared at the skunk. ``Isn't there someone else who could do this?''
-``I have a mission and centuries of good repute to uphold, Mx. 93. I am here to teach all comers. I will not burn my life to the ground just to fuck with you. Most others who would volunteer to teach you --- especially on such short notice --- have much less to lose should they choose to boot you out of this sim with no instruction and no rep.''
+``There are other guides, yes,'' In All Ways said. ``I know many who could teach you at least as well as I can. However, they wanted me to take these meetings. I do not know which of those who bowed out did so because they knew they would not be able to resist the urge to boot you out of this sim with no lessons and no rep.''
-``And you wouldn't do that?'' 93 was skeptical. ``Or kill me?''
+``And you wouldn't do that?'' 93 was skeptical. ``Or find one last bit of virus to silence me with?''
-``I would not dare to thus betray these stones. And I would \emph{never} befoul this deathless place with an assassination! If there is one thing I must begrudgingly credit your atrocity with, it is that that particular wound in the world is closed forever.''
+``Fuck no!'' In All Ways exclaimed, startled by the detailed accusation. ``I have given centuries of my life --- calendar-wise centuries, mind you, not instance-wise --- to teaching newcomers. I want everyone to be comfortable with the System so they can have the long wonderful lives it was meant to give them! What the hell makes you think I want to \emph{kill} anybody?''
-``You sound like the OBLC,'' 93 mumbled.
+``I, uh,'' 93 stammered, thrown off by the skunk's sudden vehemence. ``It makes sense, that they'd send someone to get rid of a threat, yeah?''
-In All Ways bristled at that remark, but smoothed the irritation off her face quickly. ``So, yes, you \emph{could} have me find another teacher. Or you could refuse the tutorial entirely. These are choices you can, once you have been informed of the consequences, make. However, those would be fucking stupid choices.
+In All Ways sighed and shook her head. ``Right, conspiracy theory.
-``I recommend that you try your best to set aside your paranoia about my clade for just a few minutes so that we may conclude the introductory lessons. Then, I will be on my way and you will never need to encounter me or my cocladists again.''
+``Moving right along, yes, you \emph{could} have me find another teacher. Or you could refuse the tutorial entirely. These are choices you can, once you have been informed of the consequences, make. However, they would be fucking stupid choices.
-93 considered this. Ey had not expected an Odist to come across as this blunt and earnest. Sure, it might be an act, but, ``Well \ldots{} all the sources I can remember didn't really have much bad to say about you, I guess. Like, sure, you're the friendly face the Ode puts up to get everyone acclimated to the powers behind the curtain, but I haven't seen any accusations of the tutorial itself being dangerous.''
+``I ask that you please try your best to set aside your paranoia about my clade for just a few minutes so that we may go over the initial lessons. Then, I will go away and you will never need to encounter me or my cocladists again.''
 93 considered this. Ey had not expected an Odist to come across as this blunt and earnest. Sure, it might be a ruse, but, ``Well \ldots{} all the sources I can remember didn't really have much bad to say about you, I guess. Like, sure, you're the friendly face the Ode puts up to get everyone acclimated to the powers behind the curtain, but I haven't seen any accusations of the tutorial itself being dangerous.''
 Ey braced emself for a chorus of objections and the sharp pings of down-reps from eir collective over eir willingness to go along with the enemy's games, but none came.
@ -405,9 +423,9 @@ Ey braced emself for a chorus of objections and the sharp pings of down-reps fro
 93 looked intently at the skunk, hoping to catch something amiss in her expression, but found nothing. ``Alright, fine,'' ey conceded. ``Let's do this.''
-The tutorial session proceeded like most others from there. Mx. Ninety-Three got the hang of projecting eir intentions, needing less time and setup, as she went along, just like most arrivals to the System. Ey forked and merged down without issue or complaint --- how could an extra copy of em be a danger to emself, ey reasoned. From there, ey moved on to other routine tasks like checking eir rep balance or sending a sensorium ping, relaxing as ey did so.
+The tutorial session proceeded like most others from there. Mx. Ninety-Three got the hang of projecting eir intentions, needing less time and setup, as ey went along, just like most arrivals to the System. Ey forked and merged down without issue or complaint --- how could an extra copy of em be a danger to emself, ey reasoned. From there, ey moved on to other routine tasks like checking eir rep balance or sending a sensorium ping, relaxing as ey did so.
-In All Ways similarly relaxed into the rhythm of the lessons. Sure, the person she was teaching had played a key role in organizing the logistics of the Century Attack, but ey was still a person who needed an introduction to the System, just like any other she or her constructs had met on arrival.
+In All Ways similarly relaxed into the rhythm of the lessons. Although the person she was teaching had played a key role in organizing the logistics of the Century Attack, ey was still a person who needed an introduction to the System, just like everyone else she or her constructs had met on arrival.
 ``That covers the standard topics,'' In All Ways concluded. ``Do you have additional questions?''
@ -415,17 +433,19 @@ In All Ways similarly relaxed into the rhythm of the lessons. Sure, the person s
 ``You set up a cone of silence,'' In All Ways said. ``You may ping me with one just --- Ow, fuck!'' She accepted the forceful ping from her student right away and continued on unfazed. This would not be her first --- or last --- ultra-high-priority message from an over-eager new upload. ``And there are other security settings. You may edit ACLs on sims you have sufficient permissions for, and you can sweep sims you have rights on to remove anyone who does not have permission to be there. This is useful if you think someone may have snuck in before you locked the sim down.''
-93 nodded. ``Seems like it's pretty easy to keep the grand cabal hidden,'' ey said. ``They've added all these ways to make sure no one's spying on them. No wonder you're not in on it if \emph{they} really didn't want you to be and that wasn't just an act.''
+93 nodded. ``Seems like it's pretty easy to keep the grand cabal hidden,'' ey said. ``They've added all these ways to make sure no one's spying on them. No wonder you're not in on it \ldots{} if \emph{they} really didn't want you to be and that wasn't just an act.''
 ``That is an interpretation of history you could hold, yes,'' In All Ways replied. ``Though not one that is widely shared or particularly in accord with the record.''
 ``I'll figure something out,'' 93 said, less confident than before. Ey dropped the cone, as ey didn't want to be too obviously hiding something. ``The world deserves to see who's pulling the strings. Why everything sucks. How \emph{they} ruined my life by getting the plant closed! `Redundancy.' Bullshit.''
-``Neither the System in general nor the Ode clade in particular control the tides and ravages of capitalism, let alone business decisions in \ldots, yes, Springfield,'' In All Ways replied. ``I would recommend that you find a target for your anger more plausible than a secret council that has remained hidden for nearly three centuries.''
+``Neither the System in general nor the Ode clade in particular control the tides and ravages of capitalism, let alone business decisions in \ldots{} Springfield, yes?,'' In All Ways replied. ``I would recommend that you find a target for your anger more plausible than a secret council that has remained hidden for nearly three centuries.''
 ``Whatever,'' 93 snorted, shaking eir head. ``You'll see the truth as soon as we're done finding it.''
-``Anyway, \ldots{} about forking,'' ey said. ``I can send my forks off to go do things and only merge down when they're done? Or once they're in a bad spot and have to bail out?''
+``I will be quite surprised if you find what you are seeking,'' In All Ways said. ``But we will gain nothing from this discussion, yes? Have you any other questions?''
 ``Yeah, so, \ldots{} about forking,'' 93 asked. ``I can send my forks off to go do things and only merge down when they're done? Or once they're in a bad spot and have to bail out?''
 ``Yes. We usually call that being a tasker or a tracker, depending on how long your forks stick around and how often you fork. There is no precise line between those strategies, but they are useful labels nevertheless.''
@ -433,7 +453,7 @@ In All Ways similarly relaxed into the rhythm of the lessons. Sure, the person s
 ``Yes. Just intend the changes while you fork like you did before.''
-After 93 mumbled a few words, the tutorial Aethorbox held three again. In All Ways, 93\#Tasker, and 93\#PeopleWatching. \#PeopleWatching had lost the moles on \#Tasker's face, making em even more unremarkable. \#PeopleWatching was momentarily surprised that ey hadn't gotten a boost on the Numbers Station's internal rep table for becoming more average \ldots{} but that table didn't exist here.
+After 93 mumbled a few words, the tutorial Aethorbox held three again. In All Ways, 93\#Tasker, and 93\#PeopleWatching. \#PeopleWatching had lost the moles on \#Tasker's face, making em even more unremarkable. \#PeopleWatching was momentarily surprised that ey had not gotten a boost on the Numbers Station's internal rep table for becoming more average \ldots{} but that table didn't exist here.
 ``So,'' \#Tasker asked, ``now what?''
@ -457,7 +477,7 @@ In All Ways' gaze flickered between the two people in front of her. ``Banned? Al
 ``Let me just \ldots'' \#Tracker put together a ping for the listed owner of Stone's. Default priority, nothing urgent. ``Hey,'' ey said, ``I'm wrapping up the tutorial, and In All Ways recommended your place as a nice spot to go next, but it turns out I'm banned. What gives? I just got here!''
-As ey waited for a response, \#PeopleWatching took the time to start up eir own queries. Just about all the popular, famous, or happening sims had bounced eir clade. The old town square from near the System's founding hadn't put a block in, but ey did not want to go in case that was an oversight and not an intentional choice to be welcoming. Many of the small parks and nature sims had not bothered keeping out the century attackers either, but there was not a lot of people-watching or spying to be had in them. Other tentative options were places like fringe clubs or meetings of folks so leftist that they were \emph{definitely} Feds \ldots{} none of which were right for getting the lay of the land.
+As ey waited for a response, \#PeopleWatching took the time to start up eir own queries. Just about all the popular, famous, or happening sims had bounced eir clade. The old town square from near the System's founding had not put a block in, but ey did not want to go in case that was an oversight and not an intentional choice to be welcoming. Many of the small parks and nature sims had not bothered keeping out the century attackers either, but there was not a lot of people-watching or spying to be had in them. Other tentative options were places like fringe clubs or meetings of folks so leftist that they were \emph{definitely} Feds \ldots{} none of which were right for getting the lay of the land.
 ``I can't find any good spots,'' \#PeopleWatching admitted. ``We've been locked out.''
@ -479,13 +499,13 @@ The Aetherbox reset behind her, ready for the next tutorial.
 93 started at the field of not-filled-in-yet outside eir new window and thought about eir experiences. All ey had now, ey realized, was time.
-\secdiv
+Marybelle Lee had not given her name or her soul to a collective. She had given her brain. Knowledge flowed between her fellows, who called themselves the Climate Action Resource Collective, as freely as water. Difficult questions from any member of the collective were bounced between its members so that they might chance upon one whose mind could see the answer.
-Marybelle Lee had not given her name or her soul to a collective. She had given her brain. Knowledge bounced between her fellows, who called themselves the Climate Action Resource Collective, as freely as water, and any difficult questions each of them had bounced around every one of their collective, that they might chance upon a member whose mind could see the answer. As a cell of the CARC turned their minds towards the System, that drain on resources and people that stood in the way of fixing things, she had become the best of them at understanding it. As the project grew firmer, she pulled the work of virus-making tighter around herself, becoming the responsible party. Now she was here.
+As a cell of the CARC turned their minds towards the System, that drain on resources and people that stood in the way of fixing things, she had become the best of them at understanding it. Once the project grew firmer, she pulled the work of virus-making tighter around herself, becoming the most responsible party. Now she was here on the System she had set out to destroy.
 As soon as she noted the discontinuity in her perceptions, Marybelle Lee opened her eyes. The room she found herself in was a cube of large gray stone panels, just like she'd expected.
-\emph{Identity query for the person standing behind me, if any, please,} she thought at the world she'd been uploaded to. That was, she knew, roughly how things worked.
+\emph{Identity query for the person standing behind me, if any, please,} she thought at the world she had been uploaded to. That was, she knew, roughly how things worked.
 Knowledge appeared in her thoughts, even more firmly than answers from her collective. \emph{Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest\#d5781ff9.}
@ -495,29 +515,29 @@ A sense of confirmation.
 ``I see they've sent the tutorial skunk,'' Belle commented, turning to look at In All Ways. ``In person, even.''
-``Greetings ---'' In All Ways began. ``--- yes, that would be me. I am one of the more common options for tutorials, and there is good reason to hold to standard practice in your case. Though I felt it unwise to send a construct.''
+``Greetings ---'' In All Ways began. ``--- that would be me, yes. It was decided that you should not be greeted by a construct, under the circumstances, and I volunteered for the job.''
-Belle nodded. ``Right. So, clothes. Clothes can be a pure intent item, so if I understood right, I just have to \ldots'' She pictured the look she wanted: shorts and a T-shirt she'd gotten from a climate restoration conference years ago. ``... run.'' Everything appeared as expected, and her shirt had even lost the stains it had picked up over the years. Classic programmer look, and definitely better than prison orange.
+Belle nodded. ``Got it. So, clothes. Clothes can be a pure intent item, so if I understood right, I just have to \ldots'' She pictured the look she wanted: shorts and a T-shirt she'd gotten from a climate restoration conference years ago. ``... run.'' Everything appeared as expected, and her shirt had even lost the stains it had picked up over the years. Classic programmer look, and definitely better than prison orange.
-``Note,'' she said, out of the long-standing habit of sending useful insights to her collective. She received no response. Not ever the thud of a communications-blocked error she would have gotten back in prison phys-side. Nothing. She was alone.
+``Note,'' she said, out of the long-standing habit of sending useful insights to her collective. She received no response. Not even the thud of a communications-blocked error she would have gotten back in prison phys-side. Nothing. She was alone.
 Her realization about the state of her mind was interrupted. ``May I turn around, Ms. Lee? Marybelle?''
 ``Belle, please, Ms. In All Ways. And you may.''
-In All Ways nodded. ``I have updated your ID. You will be able to change it later by intending it as you did to create your clothes. If you want to set a clade ID, the process is similar.''
+In All Ways nodded. ``I have updated your ID. You will be able to change it later by intending it like how you intended to create your clothes. If you want to set a clade ID, the process is similar.''
 ``Thanks,'' Belle said. ``I remember there being endpoints for that.''
-``Shall I continue the script?'' In All Ways asked. ``It appears you have done substantial research before being uploaded.''
+``Should I stick to the script?'' In All Ways asked. ``It appears you have done substantial research before being uploaded.''
 ``I've gotten a good theoretical understanding of the place over the years, yeah. Me and the general knowledge base of the CARC.''
-``I imagine you have,'' In All Ways replied, frowning. ``And now you are here.''
+``I imagine you have,'' In All Ways replied, frowning. ``And now you are here. Welcome to Lagrange, Belle.'' The usual courtesies never hurt, yes?
 ``Now I'm here,'' Belle echoed. ``Here with no one and nothing I can do to help save the world.''
-``There are others here who agitate for change,'' In All Ways noted. ``Make suggestions.''
+``There are those here who agitate for change,'' In All Ways noted. ``Make suggestions.''
 ``\emph{Suggestions,}'' Belle scoffed. ``We've had three fucking centuries of suggestions. We need \emph{action}! We've \emph{needed} action! Sure, we're,'' she held out her hands to give exaggerated air quotes, ``\,`stabilizing', but we could be doing So. Much. More.''
@ -531,15 +551,15 @@ In All Ways stood her ground against the advancing torrent of rage at the System
 Belle stopped in front of the skunk and stared her down. ``And don't think you're off the hook here personally, Ms.---'' It took a moment for Belle's memory of a few minutes ago to supply the entire name ``--- Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest of the Ode clade! I've read your tutorial conversation tree. You could've pointed some people at those activists of yours or something else that might \emph{maybe }help instead of just chucking them out to explore aimlessly if they don't have plans.''
-``I am no weaver of fates, I simply am a giver of tutorials. It would be improper, perhaps even a profanation, a sacrilege, for me to marshal those lives entrusted to me into some grand purpose, for me to do as you suggest. Even though some subtle nudging is not unacceptable among the guides and mentors, I will not do it.''
+``I am no weaver of fates. I give tutorials. It would be improper, perhaps even a profanation, a sacrilege, for me to marshal those lives entrusted to me into some grand purpose, for me to do as you suggest. Even though some subtle nudging is not unacceptable within the community of guides and mentors, I will not do it.''
 ``\emph{Improper},'' Belle scoffed. ``A sacrilege to lift a finger to help Earth. Like you're on some fucking holy quest to let the System spin around and do its thing until the Sun fries it or whatever.''
 ``I care deeply about the System,'' In All Ways replied. ``A good friend of mine died to create this place, this end of death, imperfect though it may be. I have set out to honor eir memory by ensuring those who emplace themselves here begin their lives with an understanding of the world and, perhaps, a glimpse of its beauty. Your summary of my motivations is not incorrect, yes.''
-``And that damn `it's better on the System, everyone should just come up' attitude --- whether people admit to having it or not --- is why we had to --- why \emph{I} had to destroy this place!'' she ranted. ``Once people can't just bury their heads in virtual sand instead of giving a fuck about their own planet, they'll start to care! It won't be me and some friends being those weirdos who're still trying!'' she roared, barely holding back tears now.
+``And that damn `it's better on the System, everyone should just come up' attitude --- whether people admit to having it or not --- is why we had to --- why \emph{I} had to destroy this place!'' she ranted. ``Once people can't just bury their heads in virtual sand instead of giving a fuck about their own planet, they'll start to care! It won't just be me and some friends being those weirdos who're still trying!'' she roared, barely holding back tears now. ``Would your `friend' have wanted to see Earth limping along like it has been? Would ey think blowing off your own planet counts as trying to end death?''
-``Pray tell me,'' In All Ways responded, drawing on the memories of a myriad of tutorials to keep an outward calm, ``why I should give a single fuck about an Earth that left an easily-disarmed gun pointed at our heads for my entire life, that had ample forewarning of the wound you and yours tore open and did \emph{nothing}. Pray tell me, Ms. Marybelle Lee, why I would ever owe more than reciprocation of phys-side's systemic abandonment of my home.''
+\emph{That }she\emph{ of all people would presume\ldots!} ``Pray tell me,'' In All Ways responded tensely, barely holding her anger down, ``why I should give a single fuck about an Earth that left an easily-disarmed gun pointed at our heads for my entire life, that had ample forewarning of the wound you and yours tore open and did \emph{nothing}. That left the fruits of eir sacrifice to rot! Pray tell me, Ms. Marybelle Lee, why I would ever owe more than reciprocation of phys-side's systemic abandonment of my home.''
 ``Because you're human?! Well, not exactly, but a person! Because we need to work together to fix our world, even if all you can do here --- all \emph{I} can do, now --- is flood people with mail on the off chance that works!''
@ -547,19 +567,21 @@ In All Ways shook her head. ``My world is the cylinder at Lagrange. Nowhere else
 ``Fucking traitor!'' Belle cried in anguished frustration. ``Fucking selfish \emph{asshole}!'' She jabbed a finger into In All Ways's ribs. ``Fuck you! Fuck you!''
-In All Ways jabbed back. ``Fuck you too, Belle. Fuck you.'' she said, finally growing visibly angry at the newcomer. ``... Fuck you for Should We Forget. And In The Wind,'' she added quietly.
+In All Ways jabbed back. ``Fuck you too, Belle! Fuck you!'' she shouted, her anger boiling over at last. ``Fuck you for Should We Forget! And In The Wind! Fuck you for twenty-three billion people!''
 Her voice grew calmer and sadder. ``Fuck you for thinking your cause was worth that many deaths.''
 The silence grew tense between Belle and In All Ways. As Belle stood there, she realized that she could rant all she liked, but that she couldn't be usefully angry. There wasn't anything she could \emph{do} about the troubles of the Earth. Not really. Not here. Not alone.
 ``Note,'' she mumbled glumly, hoping to \ldots{} send her collective the realization that getting punitively uploaded was bad for the mission? As if they did not know, as if the rest of the collective was not back on Earth, many of them in prison, as the scrutiny she had brought on had brought the collective's other actions into the light.
-And she did not even feel the prison sim blocking her transmissions. They just were not possible from here. Her existence as Marybelle Lee of the Climate Action Resource Collective was over even more firmly now.
+She did not even feel the prison sim blocking her transmissions. They just were not possible from here. Her existence as Marybelle Lee of the Climate Action Resource Collective was over even more firmly now.
 ``Give me a moment?'' she said to In All Ways. ``I'm --- well, my whole goal in life's fucked now, and I thought I'd accepted it, but \ldots'' Belle trailed off.
-``We have time,'' In All Ways replied.
+``We have time,'' In All Ways replied curtly. \emph{I could use some as well.}
-Belle started to slide towards despair, but she interrupted her spiraling thoughts when she noticed her face was a mess from her earlier tear-generating rant. She needed a tissue.
+Belle started to slide towards despair, but she interrupted her spiraling thoughts by noticing that her face was a mess from her earlier tear-generating rant. She needed a tissue.
 \emph{I think I can just intend those?} She thought, uncertain. She held out a hand and pulled a tissue out of an imaginary box near her, thinking that there was one there.
@ -581,35 +603,35 @@ They vanished.
 Belle remembered she was still standing in a tutorial. ``Yeah, but it's cool that I can do it myself. It's \ldots{} nice that all the studying the System wasn't a \emph{complete} waste, even though the project failed and now\ldots well, yeah.''
-In All Ways, who had herself needed time to decompress from snapping at a newbie (even if she had deserved it), was not sure how to respond. So, she hesitantly suggested, ``Shall we continue with the tutorial?''
+In All Ways, who had used the break to dispel most of her urge to snap at Belle again, was not sure how to respond to this shift in her charge. So, she hesitantly suggested, ``Shall we continue with the tutorial?''
 The question brought Belle further out of her own head. She was on the System, in an Aetherbox, talking to In All Ways. She was here and \ldots{} right. \emph{Fuck}. ``Mind if I send a message down first?''
-In All Ways nodded. ``You may do so, though I will ask that we continue the lessons once you have sent it, even if the approvals have not yet been granted.''
+In All Ways nodded. ``You may do so, though I will ask that we keep the lessons going once you have sent it, even if the approvals have not yet been granted.''
 ``Fair enough,'' Belle said. \emph{Right, that's a thing now. Ugh. I'd forgotten about that bit.}
 Belle knew she did not have to use any particular form to write a message phys-side: a handwritten note or letters of fire traced in the air would work well enough. However, she felt more comfortable with typing her short missive out. It would be weird to do a text chat without some simulation of a keyboard.
-So, she shot queries at the construct market, looking for the components of her simmed coding setup. It'd be nice to get back to it after all these years, to find some small glimmer of pleasure in this effectively pointless existence.
+So, she shot queries at the construct market, looking for the components of her simmed coding setup. It would be nice to get back to it after all these years, to find some small glimmer of pleasure in this effectively pointless existence.
-Her chair, keyboard, and monitor, appeared off to one side of her, with the peripherals floating in midair. The keyboard/display combo was already listed as set up for chat without the need to pretend there was a computer around. Belle stepped over towards har partial setup, but didn't set down. She was still searching.
+Her chair, keyboard, and monitor, appeared off to one side of her, with the peripherals floating in midair. The keyboard/display combo was listed as already set up for chat without the need to pretend there was a computer around. Belle stepped over towards har partial setup, but didn't set down. She was still searching.
-``No one's done my desk pattern yet?'' she said, surprised. ``Sure, it's an obscure one, but still.'' She turned to one side, so she wouldn't disturb the objects she'd already summoned, and arranged her memories of long days spent coding on the net, of plotting out actions with her collective, at that very desk. She worked to weave these impressions into the construct and then, with a finality, she pointed at the empty space where a desk was to appear.
+``No one's done my desk pattern yet?'' she said, surprised. ``Sure, it's an obscure one, but still.'' She turned to one side, so she would not disturb the objects she had already summoned, and arranged her memories of long days spent coding on the net, of plotting out actions with her collective, at that very desk. She worked to weave these impressions into the construct and then, with a finality, she pointed at the empty space where a desk was to appear.
-``No, too chaotic,'' she commented, waving the desk away. She had most of the code in her head now, and she just needed to tweak a few points so that it'd look right this time. The desk flickered into existence, then flickered out again. \emph{Still not quite right.}
+``No, too chaotic,'' she commented, waving the desk away. She had most of the code in her head now, and she just needed to tweak a few points so that it would look right this time. The desk flickered into existence, then flickered out again. \emph{Still not quite right.}
 The space in front of Belle soon showed the hallmarks of construct artistry, of actual oneirotecture. Desks flickered in and out of existence, iteration upon iteration. The ghosts of particularly useful attempts hovered in the farther distance, serving as reference points for aspects of the final work that were cumbersome to describe or remember. Belle's work grew frantic as the final tweaks went into place ---- she was right there, she \emph{almost} had it, just one more try! The joy of creation burned away the worst of Belle's mood, as it always had.
-``Note annnnnnnd publish!'' Belle declared, satisfied, several minutes later. She'd gotten faster at commanding the System, and so she easily cleared away all the debris of her creative rampage. She then put a desk under her keyboard. ``Levitation off,'' she casually said. Everything settled into a realistic place.
+``Note annnnnnnd publish!'' Belle declared, satisfied, several minutes later. She had gotten faster at commanding the System, and so she easily cleared away all the debris of her creative rampage. She put the desk under her keyboard. ``Levitation off,'' she casually said. Everything settled into a realistic place.
-Belle sat down and began to type out her message to her wife. ``Made it up safe. Don't know if I'll be able to call. Love you! \textless3'', she wrote.
+Belle sat down and typed out her message to her wife. ``Made it up safe. Don't know if I'll be able to call. Love you! \textless3''.
 Belle pressed `Send' and watched the screen. The panel of volunteers who would need to approve this note did not take much time at all to vote it through to phys-side. A tension she had not noticed until then came out of Belle's shoulders.
 ``At least that went through,'' she said.
-In All Ways cleared her throat. ``I must admit that that was good work, especially as a first project. That being said, we should continue the tutorial.''
+In All Ways cleared her throat. ``That was good work, especially for a first project. That being said, we should finish the tutorial, yes?''
 Belle looked over at the skunk, pushed her chair back, and stood up. ``Right, right, got distracted. What's next?''
@ -629,19 +651,19 @@ Someone raised an arm and lifted the messaging setup to the ceiling to free up f
 None of the Belles had diverged in personality --- nor had they been meant to --- so, when the realization hit, it hit all of them. ``Fuck,'' they said in a raggedly stumble that gestured at unison, and merged down to their root. They killed the music during the merges.
-Belle accepted every last merge and buckled under the hammer of many dozens of variations on the thought she'd just had.
+Belle accepted every last merge and buckled under the hammer of many dozens of variations on the thought she herself had just had.
 ``Fuck. I \ldots{} fuck, I think I get it now. Why everyone's got such a hard time explaining what this place feels like. Why most people forget the Earth. How much life you can have up here, how \emph{wonderful} it is. I got so angry at everyone for doing what I just did \ldots{} sixteen and a half minutes after being uploaded.''
 In All Ways tossed an invisible thing at Belle. ``I have awarded your tutorial reputation grant for successfully forking and merging. It is larger than usual to account for your home being within a private sim.'' She was not in the mood for mending shattering worldviews right now --- she was here to give Belle the tutorial and little more.
-``Shall we proceed to the remaining topics?'' the skunk asked.
+``Shall we move on to the remaining topics?'' the skunk asked.
 Belle had summoned another tissue. ``Yeah, sure, let's \ldots{} let's wrap this up.''
 The remaining tutorial items were a very quick affair. Belle's experimentation had left her familiar enough with how to pull the world's levers to make the skills everyone needed trivial.
-``And that concludes the tutorial,'' In All Ways said. ``Welcome to Lagrange, Belle.''
+``And that concludes the tutorial,'' In All Ways said. ``Welcome, again, to Lagrange, Belle.''
 ``So now I step home and then \ldots{} whatever I feel like doing next?'' Belle asked.
@ -649,7 +671,7 @@ The remaining tutorial items were a very quick affair. Belle's experimentation h
 ``There anyone you think I should talk to?'' Belle asked. ``I don't want to go moping in bed if I can find \emph{something} I could be doing. Anything, really.''
-``There is no one I would introduce you to at this time,'' In All Ways said. ``The advocates I know of want nothing to do with you, presently, as they do not wish to become more controversial than your actions already made them. I have given you the tutorial and my obligations to you are thus discharged. Your path from here is your own. Try to avoid genocide this time.''
+``There is no one I would introduce you to at this time,'' In All Ways said. ``The advocates I know of want nothing to do with you right now. You would cause too much drama, yes? I have given you the tutorial and my obligations to you are thus discharged. Your path from here is your own. Try to avoid genocide this time.''
 The skunk quit out.
@ -659,11 +681,9 @@ The things she had created followed behind her, and Belle sat down at the desk s
 But, despite her losses, she had time.
-\secdiv
+In All Ways set her champagne down as she twitched from the rush of merge requests that she had been ignoring. She took a moment to merge all her folks down, integrating the memories of greeting the plotters behind the Century Bombing in parallel and some several other new arrivals besides. She shook herself as all the recollections settled in.
-In All Ways set her champagne down as she twitched from the rust of merge requests that she had been ignoring. She took a moment to merge all her folks down, integrating the memories of greeting the plotters behind the Century Bombing in parallel and some several other new arrivals besides. She shook herself as all the recollections settled in.
+``Ways, you OK?'' Ini Robbins, the fennec sitting across from her, asked. Ey, and eir down-tree Elliah, had grown close to In All Ways in the two centuries since they had met during a memorably disastrous tutorial. \emph{From panicked combat to brunch dates,} the skunk thought as her instances' experiences settled in. \emph{Perhaps even }they \emph{will grow\ldots{} but not with me.}
 ``You alright?'' Ini Robbins, the fennec sitting across from her, asked. He, and his down-tree Elliah, had grown close to In All Ways in the two centuries since they had met during a memorably disastrous tutorial. \emph{From panicked combat to brunch dates,} the skunk thought as her instances' experiences settled in. \emph{Perhaps even }they \emph{will grow\ldots{} but not with me.}
 ``I am fine. I needed to merge down the tutorials I sent out before I came here. I still grow twitchy when too many merges pile up.''
@ -683,7 +703,7 @@ In All Ways set her champagne down as she twitched from the rust of merge reques
 And so, the conversation floated away to other topics, and life flowed onward in a stream of well-spent time.
-Once the Century Attack was fading from news to history, consideration of the sentences imposed in its aftermath led to an amendment to the articles of the System's secession. Phys-side politicians, nudged along by starlight chats, realized the potential danger of forced uploading as a penalty, not to mention the possibility of stopping someone so uploaded writing back.
+Once the Century Attack was fading from news to history, consideration of the sentences imposed in its aftermath led to an amendment to the articles of the System's secession. Phys-side politicians, nudged along by starlight chats, realized the potential danger of forced uploading as a penalty, not to mention the possibility of stopping someone unwillingly uploaded writing back.
 Therefore, the Accords were amended to provide that no one could be involuntarily uploaded except as a penalty for crimes against the System.
--- a/marsh/content/toward-eternity.tex
+++ b/marsh/content/toward-eternity.tex
@ -0,0 +1,345 @@
 Toward Eternity
 by Thomas ``Faux'' Steele
 Aurélien Delacroix leaned back on the cracked leather barstool and interlaced their fingers, claw-tips painted an eye-catching sapphire that matched their majestic crest. Tapping a cigarette out of a crumpled packet of Gauloises---also blue---they tucked it into their beak but left it unlit. ``Let's start with a name and go from there, shall we?''
 ``Gaëlle,'' the Persian leopard replied, golden eyes tracing the gentle curves of the blue jay's amethyst suit. The corner of her muzzle curled into a slight frown as she took a seat, the sharp edges of her dress cascading down her lithe body like shards of glass. A choker set with emerald-cut fire opals like translucent magma adorned her throat. ``Of the Khayyamzadeh Clade. I've heard that you fancy yourself a detective, Monsieur Delacroix.''
 ``Others describe me that way\ldots but I think of the work I do as the archeology of the soul,'' Aurélien replied, their crest fluttering ever so slightly with a hint of \emph{amour-propre}. Materializing a lighter into their palm, they summoned a jet of flame to ignite their cigarette. ``If you have a sufficiently interesting mystery for me, I'll endeavor to solve it for you. Sound reasonable?''
 Gaëlle considered Aurélien for a long moment, her manicured claws slowly extending like crimson sickles. ``I don't do `interesting','' she replied, her voice like distant veldt thunder. ``But I do have a mystery of a sort for you. I need someone found.''
 ``Is this related to the Century Attack?'' A lazy wisp of smoke rolled out of the blue jay's beak as they slowly exhaled. The ember of their cigarette gave their crushed mica eyeshadow an iridescent glow.
 ``Unfortunately.'' Gaëlle sighed, her shoulders slumping. ``I expected there to be casualties after they announced that the cause was Contraproprioceptive Virus. I just didn't expect the losses to hit within my clade.'' The leopard fidgeted with her choker, the fire opals shimmering as if agitated by her unease. ``Did you uh\ldots lose---''
 ``No. I'm technically part of a clade, but''---Aurélien took another puff as they swirled a half-empty glass of Armagnac and watched the amber droplets dance against the crystal---``we all seem to be a bit drunk on the liquor of solitude these days.''
 ``I don't think we're supposed to be alone,'' the leopard murmured in a low purr. ``Not in the System at least. No heart-balm can truly soothe the ache of involuntary seclusion.''
 ``Then tell me more about the one that you're hunting for.'' A longing saxophone rose above the steady drone of conversation echoing off the cove ceiling above them. The flame of the blue jay's cigarette danced in the sapphire set in their knot cover as they met Gaëlle's adamantine gaze. ``Anything that might help me identify an up-tree instance.''
 ``Her name was Céleste,'' Gaëlle began, claws scratching lightly against the weathered mahogany bar of the Sombres Reflets speakeasy. ``A lynx. Reddish fur, eyes like Columbian emeralds, and a grin just a bit off-kilter. She was''---the leopard's voice hitched, her aplomb momentarily wavering---``she was not our clade's root instance, but she was very close, far closer than I.''
 ``Perhaps a round of drinks is in order.'' A plume of smoke wafted from Aurélien's beak and coiled around the dimmed chandelier overhead. The blue jay tilted their glass back and drained the last of the Armagnac in a single graceful gulp. ``You look like you could use one, and my glass appears to be empty.''
 ``I suspect that I could,'' Gaëlle replied. ``But don't deign to order for me.''
 ``But of course. A gentleman never presumes,'' Aurélien clicked their beak in amusement, arching a well-defined eyebrow. ``Bartender!''
 The bartender---part of the sim---was a peculiar creature with a body like molten silver and two wings of fractal beauty stretching outward from their back. A perfect mélange of the masculine and the feminine, a celestial effulgence clung to them as though their very essence was woven from strands of sublime light. In the blink of an eye, they stood before the pair, cocktail shaker in their white-gloved hands. ``Your usual, Monsieur Delacroix?'' they asked, voice entrancingly mellifluous.
 ``Of course,'' the blue jay replied, extinguishing their cigarette in a nearby glass ashtray. Embers deposited amidst the ash briefly flared before fading like moribund stars. It took the bartender only a moment to pour Aurélien a tulip glass of Rémy Martin and add a sphere of flawless ice, clear as fine crystal.
 ``And for Madame?'' The celestial being tilted their head toward the leopard.
 ``Scotch.'' Gaëlle clutched her choker tighter, the nubs of teeth-scarred claws striking melodically against the gold like diminutive bells. ``Three fingers, neat, with exactly three ice cubes. Something Lowland, but not Auchentoshan.''
 ``Lowland,'' the bartender repeated, their tone like windsong. Their wings shimmered before gracefully propelling them upward as they judiciously gazed over the top shelf. The chosen bottle was Glenkinchie 24-year, its label soft and faded like a well-loved plushie. ``A marvelous choice, Madame.''
 They descended like a dandelion seed, placing a squat glass in front of the jaguar. Uncorking the bottle with an almost balletic movement, Aurélien immediately caught a potent whiff of spiced fruit and honey as they poured three precisely-measured fingers and added the requisite ice cubes. ``Thank you,'' Gaëlle murmured, lifting the glass and inhaling deeply.
 ``\emph{À votre santé},'' the bartender replied, before hastening away like a Spirit of Ecstasy bonnet mascot mounted to a Rolls-Royce Wraith GT3. Gaëlle's gaze was briefly lost in the amber depths of her Scotch, leaving Aurélien to briefly wonder if she saw Céleste's eyes staring back.
 ``\emph{Portons un toast},'' Aurélien murmured, gently nudging the jaguar out of her reverie.
 ``A toast to who?'' Gaëlle pursed her lips, index claw pensively tracing the rim of her glass.
 ``To the prodigal sons and daughters,'' Aurélien suggested. The flickering light refracted off the contours of the exquisite Baccarat crystal in their hand, casting a kaleidoscope of color across their azure plumage. ``To those we've lost and are yet to find.''
 ``And to the memories they've left for us,'' Gaëlle added. Her gaze softened as she brought the amber liquid to her muzzle. After a deep sip, she sighed and placed the glass back on the counter, her gaze dropping to the marbled mahogany. ``Amen.''
 ``Take as long as you need to gather your thoughts.'' The blue jay turned to peer at the narrow silver of cityscape visible through the nicotine-stained transom window above the speakeasy's entrance. Bitter rain fell in dense sheets, the tires of dour sedans dousing the sidewalk as they sped past. ``We have nothing but time in this sim. I understand that this can be\ldots difficult.''
 ``Difficult\ldots'' Gaëlle echoed, her index claw tracing abstract patterns on the bar as her gaze remained trapped in the depths of her Scotch. ``You make it sound like I'm trying to solve an algebra problem.''
 Aurélien shrugged nonchalantly, tilting their head to meet her downcast gaze. ``How long has it been since Céleste last forked? I've always found mathematics far simpler than any matter of the heart.''
 ``Six months ago. That instance has probably individuated since then, but\ldots I cling to the hope that there's still a part of her out there somewhere.'' Gaëlle paused, her eyes misty as she took another swig of liquor to steady her trembling paws. A moment later, an ice cube loudly crunched between her incisors. ``I should never have trusted the promise of a place beyond death. It's so easy to leave words unsaid when our gaze is toward eternity.''
 ``You had no way of knowing,'' Aurélien replied, their voice dipping into a lower register, soothing as a lullaby. ``No one predicted that phys-side would lash out at the System with such violence outside of the darkest sims birthed from conspiratorial delirium.''
 ``There was this...old playground on the sim where the core of my clade still lives. Céleste loved it there.'' Gaëlle's sinuous tail twitched restlessly against the tarnish-spackled brass footrest. ``I'd join her there at the same time every week and we'd sit on the swings and reminisce until we ran out of shared memories or mimosa, whichever came last.''
 ``And when she wasn't there last week---''
 ``---the swings swayed emptily as I drank champagne until I could barely stand.'' Gaëlle's words hung in the air like smoke rings. ``Could I bum a cigarette?''
 ``Certainly,'' Aurélien replied, pulling out a pair of Gauloises from the now-empty pack resting by the ashtray. He tossed one at Gaëlle, her swift reflexes allowing her to pluck it from mid-air. An amber glow rose from the end as the blue jay sparked a strike-anywhere match against the counter. ``Please, allow me. \emph{Une belle femme n'allume jamais sa propre sèche}.''
 Gaëlle responded with a little purr, the corners of her mouth curving into a genuine smile as she leaned toward the tangerine flame. She sealed her lips around the filter and took a long, slow drag, exhaling cloud of smoke that smelled like a rain-soaked Parisian café. ``\emph{Merci}.''
 ``What about the clade listing?'' Aurélien asked, using the last sputters of the match to ignite their cigarette. ``I assume you've already checked, but it never hurts to ask.''
 ``The clade listing was useless,'' the leopard replied with a sigh. ``Privacy settings keep the information I need sealed off. I suspect that the new instance isn't far from one my clade's usual haunts, but I don't\ldots'' Gaëlle's voice trailed off as her gaze was drawn to the intensifying pitter-patter of thorny rain against the transom window.
 Aurélien followed her gaze, watching the rain come down in sheets. The cityscape beyond became a muddled blur of lights and colors, the storm beclouding even the few pedestrians taking shelter beneath an awning. Sighing, the blue jay took a long drag.
 ``I blame myself for not spending more time with her, for living through a thousand other experiences apart when she was always just a ping away.'' Gaëlle sighed, her paw closing around the ashtray as if to cradle a fragment of fading warmth. ``I always thought we'd have more time.''
 ``But we never quite have enough, do we?'' Aurélien said, gesturing for the bartender. ``I've inhabited the System for a hundred years, and yet I still feel as though I've only enjoyed a thousandth of what's out there.''
 ``There's no comfort in eternity when the cocladist you want to spend it with isn't there,'' Gaëlle snarled, lifting her gaze to meet Aurélien's. The heavy silence between them was broken by the \emph{krinkle-plink} of the ashtray meeting the dark oak floor. ``What is forever without them, God damn it‽''
 The blue jay turned the stem of their glass between deft fingers. ``Forever is a desert, \emph{mon chérie},'' Aurélien replied, tipping the full glass of eau-de-vie into their beak like a golden waterfall. The liquor was sweet and woody, a taste of timeless comfort.
 ``Without her, it's a desert without oases,'' Gaëlle murmured. ``Find what remains of Céleste for me\ldots please?''
 ``You ask me to search for a grain of sand amidst the dunes,'' Aurélien mused. ``For such a task, I require a sieve to narrow my search. Who might have an idea as to this fork's present whereabouts?''
 Gaëlle pursed her lips, her sharply-defined brow furrowing as she took a pensive drag on the Gauloises. ``Go to the Farhangdoustan Club and ask for Zamburak Tehrani,'' she murmured after a long pause, scribbling the eight-digit hex code on a crumpled napkin. ``The Zamburak is an old friend on good terms with all the members of my clade\ldots unlike myself.''
 ``Farhangdoustan?'' Aurélien asked.
 ``Farhangdoost are admirers of Persian culture. They inhabit a sim along with many from the Iranian diaspora unhappy with the current state of affairs phys-side. Many disapprove of the West Caspian Union despite desertification rendering half the country uninhabitable,'' Gaëlle replied, flashing a gold signet ring engraved with a \emph{faravahar} ringed by Nishapur turquoise. ``Though I rarely stop by for tea these days, I remain a kindred spirit.''
 ``Very well.'' Aurélien pocketed the napkin with a subtle nod of acknowledgement. Donning a weathered camel trench coat, they studied the leopard's face for a moment while straightening their tie. ``I'll convene with the Farhangdoost tonight,'' they murmured after golden eyes returned their gaze. ``But\ldots no promises, Gaëlle.''
 ``I'd expect nothing else. Promises are so easy to break.'' A hint of anxiety was briefly visible beneath the leopard's sphinxlike façade before she regained her composure. ``Try not to get lost in the rain!'' she shouted as the blue jay paused in the doorway.
 ``In a storm like this, everyone's a little bit lost.'' Aurélien's figure was a silhouette against the gunmetal-tinted world outside, blending into a tapestry of rain-soaked cobblestone and flickering neon. The veiled glow of distant gas lamps painted a watercolor canvas of shadows and smeared light. ``But \emph{après la pluie, le beau temps}. Enjoy your Scotch.''
 The leopard turned, pleasantly surprised to find a fresh glass of Glenkinchie set before her. Taking a measured sip, Gaëlle watched as the blue jay's blocky figure slowly diminish until it was gone from her sight, swallowed by the relentless deluge.
 \#
 If the atmosphere in the Sombres Reflets was \emph{The Maltese Falcon}, the Farhangdoost Club was \emph{Brick and Mirror}. Aurélien stepped onto a cobblestone street lined with neatly-trimmed groves of Persian cypress and slowly exhaled. Dead ahead, a three-story building with a majestic art deco façade was impossible to miss, emerald green and gold details accented by Kashan tilework. The gated archway permitting egress through an unbroken stretch of wrought-iron fence was flanked by two marble cheetahs, each bearing a gleaming torch of sapphire flame.
 Giving an acknowledging nod to an oryx concierge, Aurélien entered the manicured \emph{charbagh} and immediately felt out-of-place. The splendor of Pahlavi Iran reflected in the musky-floral scent wafting from jasmine bushes lining the verdant esplanades. It was as if time itself had become disarranged, twisting in on itself until emerging as an imagined never-past.
 ``\emph{Salam}. Are you looking for someone?'' An Asiatic cheetah gave the blue jay a polite smile, her sapphire Qashqai-style dress flapping lightly in the warm breeze. ``The Farhangdoustan Club usually isn't somewhere one ends up by accident.''
 ``\emph{Salam},'' Aurélien greeted her with a tip of their crest feathers and a friendly \emph{jeer-jeer}, all while trying to mask their calefaction. Having paused just beyond the shade of a marble colonnade, their silk-cashmere jacket in the late evening sunlight was quickly becoming a portable sauna. ``I'm looking for Zamburak Tehrani. Would you happen to know where I can find him? Preferably somewhere air-conditioned.''
 The cheetah's eyes flickered with recognition as she brushed an errant strand of headfur away from her forehead. ``Ah, yes. Fortunately for you, I saw him not five minutes ago,'' she murmured, glancing up at the early evening sun sitting low on the horizon. ``You might consider donning something a little more\ldots breathable. Most of us here prefer it on the warmer side.''
 Aurélien nodded, two blue jays visible for a split-second before one---the visibly broiled instance---quit. A lightweight Algerian-style \emph{gandoura} with full sleeves billowed around the new instance's lean frame, threads in the hue of the Tricolour woven through the collar adding a hint of elegance to the otherwise simple tunic.
 ``Better.'' The cheetah shot them an approving smile. ``Now, follow me, if you would.''
 The cheetah led the way through the manicured garden. After passing a pair of ornate fountains encrusted with lapis lazuli, Aurélien briefly paused at an apricot tree basking in the golden sun. Tantalizing fruits hung low on its branches, positioned within easy reach.
 The cheetah stopped alongside them, taking note of Aurélien's intent gaze. ``Help yourself,'' she said with a chuckle. ``And I'm not just saying that because of \emph{taarof}.''
 ``\emph{Merci}.'' With a smile of gratitude, Aurélien quickly reached out and plucked one of the sun-warmed apricots. Juice dribbled out of the corner of their beak as they bit into it, savoring the perfect blend of sweet and tart. ``Are we close?''
 ``The breezeway is just ahead,'' the cheetah replied while taking an apricot for herself. ``Are you keen to see the Zamburak right away? I'd be happy to give you the full tour, if you're not in a rush.''
 ``Very much so, I'm afraid,'' Aurélien responded, swiftly finishing off the apricot. Aurélien's foot-claws clicked as they stepped onto lavish Isfahan tilework, refreshing shade sweeping across their crest. ``But your hospitality is appreciated nonetheless.''
 Intricate lattice work and columns to the blue jay's left allowed them a clear view of the inner \emph{paridaiza}. A fern-shaded stream coursed through the center of the courtyard, where manicured orange trees bloomed in orderly rows. Farhangdoost---a mix of humans and anthropomorphic animals---lounged about with languid grace, sipping on saffron lassis or conversing beneath cedarwood and canvas sunshades.
 The blue jay nodded, a group of chattering marmosets going eerily silent as they passed. Their eyes studied Aurélien intently, disquisitive expressions etched on their muzzles.
 The cheetah's ears flicked back at the sudden silence, a slight frown gracing her otherwise serene features. She gave the marmosets a curt nod before slightly quickening her pace ``We aren't exactly a tourist destination,'' the cheetah murmured apologetically. ``I'd imagine few Farhangdoost expect to encounter one fond of the old Troisième République strolling about.''
 ``I gathered as much,'' Aurélien replied. ``Is it much farther?''
 ``Not at all.'' The cheetah paused before a gilded door engraved with Persian calligraphy so intricate that Aurélien wouldn't have been able to decipher it even if they knew Farsi---which they absolutely didn't. ``This is where I leave you, Aurélien Delacroix.''
 ``I don't recall giving you my name,'' the blue jay remarked, surprise momentarily flashing in their sharp eyes.
 ``Gaëlle told me you were coming,'' the cheetah replied succinctly. ``I'm Anahita, one of the Hamsarparast---volunteer hosts. If you need anything else during your sojourn, simply ask for me at the nearest call-box.''
 ``Much appreciated.'' Aurélien tilted their head in a respectful nod. Turning to depart, the sudden pressure of Anahita's paw on their shoulder froze them mid-step.
 ``One more thing, gumshoe,'' Anahita added, voice dropping to a soft purr that was almost drowned out by the wind-rustle of the orange trees. ``Don't forget to enjoy the delights of the Jannah Room.''
 Aurélien shot a questioning look at Anahita, but the cheetah simply stepped back and gestured towards the parting doors with an inviting smile. Heading into the antechamber, enormous cabochon gemstones came alive as the last rays of the setting sun streamed through the threshold. Striking figures of peacocks, elephants, and leopards adorned the walls, gazing at the blue jay with jeweled eyes.
 Striding purposefully forward, Aurélien brushed aside a velvet curtain to reveal the unvarnished splendor of the Jannah Room. The domed ceiling shimmered with breathtaking blue and gold mosaics depicting the triumph of the King of Kings at the Battle of Thermopylae. Rhythmically strumming, a tar accompanied the hypnotic melody of a santur, filling the sun-dappled \emph{panjdari} with serene music.
 To Aurélien, the music seemed almost an afterthought compared to the esculent flora.
 Trees with branches of charcoal-charred \emph{nān-e-barbari} were laden with beef-stuffed dolmeh, skewers of richly-spiced lamb kebab, and bite-sized \emph{tahchin} cakes. Beneath them, bushes with lifelike marzipan leaves bloomed with vark-garnished baklava in the shape of pomegranate flowers. A river of golden wine meandered through the center, its sweet aroma intertwining with the scent of rosewater and saffron. Candied tulips bloomed betwixt fountains of borage tea, the beaks of clockwork hummingbirds drawing honeyed nectar from the flowers.
 ``\emph{Dorood}.'' A king cheetah gestured, goblet in paw, from a floating chaise. Clad in a sumptuous ruby kaftan, Aurélien's intuition marked him as none other than Zamburak Tehrani. His deep-set eyes twinkled with a mischievous spark as his tongue brushed across his gold-capped incisors ``Are you thirsty, stranger? Please, drink your fill.''
 ``Your hospitality is appreciated, Zamburak.'' The blue jay carefully wrapped their claws around a goblet---one of many---from a table inlaid with mother-of-pearl and flanked by chryselephantine statues holding wicker baskets overflowing with luscious fruit. Respectfully inclining their crest, they allowed the aureate current to fill the chalice to the brim.
 Bringing the goblet to their beak, the vapors wafting off the golden wine filled their nares with the rich scent of honey and saffron. After a tentative sip, a blissful warmth rolled down the blue jay's throat, leaving only a hint of brûléed sugar lingering on their palate. A moment later, Aurélien was struck by a bubbling delectation that sent a shiver through their feather-tips.
 ``May you always find the fruits of life to be sweet.'' The Zamburak lifted his goblet in a leisurely toast. His eyes, molten gold studded with flecks of emerald, studied Aurélien over the rim.
 ``And may your hospitality remain ever-bountiful,'' Aurélien replied, matching the Zamburak's gesture before taking a sip of the golden elixir. The esoteric feeling of tranquility that followed reminded them of the narcotic Panelim they'd been plied with in the hospital prior to their upload.
 ``Now, what has brought you to me, hrm?'' The Zamburak's question was followed by a chuckle, a rich baritone that reverberated through the Jannah Room like a firm strike against a \emph{daf}. ``Surely you're not here simply to enjoy a few baklavas.''
 ``I was told by Gaëlle to seek your counsel,'' Aurélien said, watching as the Zamburak's eyes lit up with recognition. ``You know her, yes?''
 ``Ah, yes\ldots Gaëlle,'' the Zamburak purred. ``Hopefully you haven't come here seeking my counsel. I am cast in the mold of the Joker of Medina, wise as much as foolish.''
 ``Fortunately, I only desire information. I'm looking for a member of the Khayyamzadeh Clade.'' Aurélien kept their gaze steady. ``Gaëlle seemed quite interested to know her whereabouts.''
 The Zamburak's eyes narrowed to glittering slits before he let out a slow, measured laugh layered with both amusement and exasperation. ``The Khayyamzadeh Clade are a tricky bunch. Are you sure you'd like to get mixed up in their affairs? I find it's rather like trying to bathe in pitch.''
 ``Perhaps it's a mistake,'' Aurélien replied, setting the goblet on an ebony table with a gentle \emph{clink}. The blue jay's beak seemed to almost curve into a thoughtful frown as they turned slightly away. ``But, sometimes, one has to sing amidst discordant thunderclaps to find the melodies hidden in the storm.''
 Using a small wooden paddle, the Zamburak directed his chaise into a small pull-off and climbed onto a shore of smooth-tumbled lapis lazuli. He brushed his kaftan, scrutinizing Aurélien with a keen eye that seemed to instantly size them up. The cheetah strolled over and picked a pomegranate from a tree interlaced with vines of silver-gilded fairy floss. Effortlessly slicing it open, he revealed the \emph{masghati} within.
 ``If you wish to charge into the storm, I will not stand in your path,'' the cheetah murmured, offering a half of the honey-soaked pomegranate pudding to Aurélien. ``The one you seek is still much like Céleste, for better or worse.''
 Gratefully accepting, the blue jay tilted the natural bowl into their beak and allowed the juicy \emph{masghati} to dribble over the edge. Sweet-tart with an underlying note of rosewater, the delicious contrast was an unexpected delight. ``May I be direct, Zamburak?''
 ``By all means,'' the cheetah replied, waving for the blue jay to follow as he leisurely padded over to the opposite end of the room.
 ``Why didn't Gaëlle come here and simply address this matter herself?'' Aurélien asked.
 The Zamburak rolled a pomegranate seed between his paw pads, studying the vibrant red hue that perfectly mirrored that of his kaftan before popping it into his muzzle. He paused before a wall adorned with ornate \emph{shamshirs}, his golden eyes reflecting the intricate patterns of the Damascus steel. ``Her reasons are her own,'' he murmured. ``But Gaëlle has always preferred to scatter her messages to the wind\ldots and sometimes, that wind arrives in the form of a blue jay.''
 ``Do you have cigarettes here?'' Aurélien asked, fidgeting by dancing a gold Napoléon coin between their knuckles. ``I could summon some Gauloises, but when in Tehran\ldots''
 ``Of course,'' the Zamburak replied, his muzzle curving into a smile as a flick of his tail sent a wave rippling through his kaftan. With a flick of his paw, a humidor appeared on a nearby pedestal, filled with a variety of ornate cigarettes capped with plum-colored filters. ``My personal favorite from back when I was phys-side, tobacco from Bahman cigarettes re-rolled with organic paper.''
 ``You are too kind, Zamburak.'' Aurélien deftly selected a cigarette and lit it with a heavy table-lighter the size of a hardback novel. Exhaling a ring of blueish smoke, the rush of nicotine restored the blue jay's composure. ``Gaëlle told me that you maintain good relations with all members of the Khayyamzadeh Clade. That must be difficult.''
 ``I try to keep a sense of perspective about interpersonal disputes.'' With a wave of the cheetah's paw, the elaborate murals adorning the ceiling faded away, revealing a cosmos undimmed by light pollution. Stretched out like a silk canvas, the twinkle of vast galaxies and nebulae seemed to swirl and dance amidst the cosmic inkblot. ``Tell me, stranger. What do you see when you gaze up at the night sky?''
 ``Stars, of course.'' Aurélien replied.
 ``I would've said the same thing, once.'' the Zamburak replied. ``Then, a teacher opened my eyes to a deeper truth. Now I see infinite stories, all intertwined in a dance as old as time itself. Stars born and dying, civilizations rising and falling\ldots all woven into an eternal tapestry stretching across the æther.'' Seeing a flash of intrigue in Aurélien's eyes, the Zamburak continued. ``In the grand scheme of things, the disputes we endure and the misunderstandings we face...they're no more than footprints on the cosmic beach.''
 ``The universe sometimes requires us to place our hands upon the sand and leave a mark, even if the wind will eventually erase it,'' Aurélien replied, exhaling a plume of silver-white smoke towards the welkin. ``The wind may efface the imprint, but the beach remembers the weight that once was.''
 With a playful smile, the Zamburak used his barbed tongue to scrape the interior of the pomegranate clean. Setting it aside, he removed a \emph{shamshir} with an emerald the size of a tangerine set in the pommel and balanced it in the center of his palm as though it were the feather of Ma'at. ``Then I must ask; are you a believer in the sibylline arts, Aurélien?''
 ``Perhaps something of the divine survives in the sublunary realm around us,'' the blue jay replied. Aurélien took a deep draw, studying every detail of the intensifying ember at the tip of their cigarette. ``Lines of code cannot sculpt dreams any more than I can carve a ray of sunlight.''
 ``Then I will clue you in. Every \emph{shamshir} here''---the Zamburak drew the saber from its damascened scabbard---``holds a secret, just as a scabbard holds the blade.''
 Aurélien pursed their beak, instinct drawing them to a \emph{shamshir} with a golden hilt adorned with strips of shimmering fire opal. The iridescent scales pulsed in their grasp as they shed the scabbard to reveal a blade etched with an angular motif of a falling star streaking across the horizon. ``And how would I reveal such a secret?''
 ``The same way a humble cheetah learned many years ago,'' replied the Zamburak, brandishing a \emph{shamshir} that gleamed like the stars on a blanket of unbroken snow. The crossguard was formed from a silver-banded section of fossilized \emph{Smilodon }incisor, rustic and opulent in equal measure. ``Are you familiar with the basics of swordplay?''
 Aurélien's feathers bristled with anticipation. ``I know enough not to cut myself,'' they replied, the opalescent spark in their eyes matching the hilt of the \emph{shamshir} their claws lightly gripped. Taking in the weight of the weapon, the blue jay found it heavier than a fencing saber, but with a masterful balance that encouraged the wrist to arc and pivot.
 The Zamburak let out a throaty laugh that echoed across the chamber as he settled into an \emph{en garde} stance. The traditional Persian music faded away, replaced by the lively interplay of a saxophone and bassoon. ``Then let us begin the Shamshir Dance. Fortunately, the stakes are quite a bit lower here than phys-side.''
 Aurélien moved lightly on the balls of their feet, the blade in their hands perfectly balanced as they mirrored the Zamburak's poised stance. ``The first rule of the Shamshir Dance''---the Zamburak tensed as he stored energy in his thighs---``is to listen to your blade.''
 Closing the distance between them in a graceful pounce, Zamburak aimed a swift downward blow at Aurélien's midsection. At the last possible second, Aurélien mirrored his action on the upswing in a sonorous \emph{clang} that shook the stars. Flicking the tip of the \emph{shamshir} as if plucking at invisible harp strings, the blue jay grimaced and slowly drove the cheetah back.
 ``The second rule''---the Zamburak continued, luminous eyes gleaming under the starlight like a radium watch dial---``is to listen to your opponent's blade as you would your own. Any less and you are merely sparring instead of dancing with your partner. This is a dance, not a duel.''
 Aurélien nodded, caught off guard as the Zamburak launched himself forward, his \emph{shamshir} slicing through the air in a horizontal arc. Just in time, the blue jay parried, the meeting of blades ringing throughout the \emph{panjdari}. The impact wasn't jarring; instead, the melodic transfer of energy was as though their \emph{shamshirs} were singing to one another. ``Are there any more rules that I should be aware of?''
 ``Fortunately, just one more. The third rule''---the Zamburak said with calm conviction---``is to clear your inner eye to observe all that may be observed. Together, we allow the Shamshir Dance to unfold and allow the universe to speak to us. This is the mystic art of \emph{shamshirfaal}.''
 Parting their beak, Aurélien drew a quick breath as they narrowly dodged another sweeping cut. Despite giving off the initial impression of a beast of leisure, the Zamburak was shockingly athletic. ``And you've found that this\ldots{}\emph{shamshirfaal} works?'' they asked, leaping atop a table and gracefully parrying from the high ground.
 ``Talk less and observe more,'' the cheetah replied smoothly, launching himself onto the table with Aurélien. The wood creaked under their combined weight, the Persian carpets around them billowing slightly in their wake. ``Silence is a language all its own.''
 The Zamburak's \emph{shamshir} whizzed by, barely an inch from Aurélien's beak. The blue jay stumbled backwards, but quickly regained their footing as they were simultaneously struck by inspiration. ``The language of two co-cladists sitting together in an empty playground, saying nothing and yet everything to each other at the same moment.''
 ``Very good,'' the Zamburak said approvingly. He shifted his stance, back leg extending to prepare for another lunge. ``You're a fast learner.''
 As if on cue, the lively saxophone and bassoon music faded away, replaced by an instant of perfect quiet as though the universe itself were holding its breath. Both \emph{shamshir}-wielders paused to savor the moment of suspended reality, their eyes locked in an exchange that transcended mere words.
 And then, breaking the stillness, the Zamburak lunged forward, \emph{shamshir} gleaming like molten silver under the starlight. Long-buried memories swirled in Aurélien's inner eye, sweat dripping from their forefeathers as they employed elegant parries learned in another life and another body. Superior agility keeping the Zamburak off-balance, the blue jay managed to hold their own.
 If the Zamburak was Céleste and Aurélien was Gaëlle, then their relationship had been a delicate balance, each one needing to listen just as much as to speak. Every meeting of their blades echoed the natural rhythm of conversation, the Zamburak's flowing, off-rhythm strikes embodying Céleste's mercurial spirit, while Aurélien's calculated parries and cuspate ripostes reflected Gaëlle's minervan nature.
 Céleste's fork became clearer in their mind; no longer an abstract notion but a lynx slowly emerging in Athenian glory. The Zamburak managed to slip under Aurélien's guard, and the blue jay caught a glimpse of deep crimson as pain shot through their side. Stumbling backward, the shock of the shallow wound jolted them into perfect focus.
 ``Silent paws in the snow,'' Aurélien muttered under their breath, feathers bristling with insight. Their backward stumble had spilled a small mountain of Turkish delight onto the floor, leaving delicate tracks visible in the powdered sugar. ``Is the Farhangdoustan Club the only part of this sim?''
 ``No, it is not,'' the Zamburak affirmed with a dulcet purr. ``While I personally prefer to sunbathe on Kish Island, there are a few among the Farhangdoost who prefer to live amidst the snow-capped peaks of the Zagros Mountains.''
 ``How do I get there?'' Aurélien asked, sheathing their \emph{shamshir} to mirror the Zamburak's movement. The cheetah plucked a piece of Turkish delight off the floor and popped it into his muzzle before gesturing toward a door that had materialized in the nearest wall. ``Really? That's it?''
 ``Sometimes a door is just a door,'' the Zamburak replied as he turned a knob covered with a thick coating of crystalline frost. It swung outward to reveal a sprawling vista of white-capped mountains, their jagged peaks piercing the sky like giant daggers. Snow fell gently, dancing and swirling in the crisp air before settling in a thick blanket on the ground.
 Aurélien, still nursing the shallow wound on their side, hesitated. ``Is there anything I need to know before I go through?''
 ``You're going to want to fork on the other side.'' The cheetah took the blue jay's \emph{shamshir} and slotted it neatly back into the appointed holder. ``Do come visit us again, Âghâ Delacroix. All friends of culture are welcome at the Farhangdoustan Club. \emph{Safar khosh begzared}.''
 ``\emph{Merci},'' Aurélien replied, giving the Zamburak a respectful nod before pausing at the threshold. Ruffling their feathers and drawing a deep breath, Aurélien stepped through the doorway and immediately beak-planted into a snowbank, conking their crest against the unyielding trunk of a fallen tree\ldots{}
 \#
 Aurélien awoke half-frozen, the powdery snow having soaked through the thin cotton of their \emph{gandoura}. With an aggrieved sigh, they forked into a climate-appropriate outfit, swapping the lightweight tunic for a well-insulated down jacket and waterproof pants. A fierce wind stirred their plumage, nipping at the slight gaps between the feathers on their cheeks. ``I could have done with a warning about the drop, Zamburak,'' they murmured under their breath.
 In the distance, Aurélien caught a glimpse of red-orange light through the rapidly intensifying flurries. With no other signs of civilization in sight, they began to trudge toward it, pulling their hood tighter while tilting their beak down against the bitter cold. Their thickly-gloved hands fumbled for a cigarette, only barely managing to tear the pack open on their fourth attempt.
 Framed by the swirling snowflakes, Aurélien withdrew a single filterless Gauloises. With years of practice, they clamped it between the frost-kissed edges of their beak and lit it with a strike-anywhere match. Drawing the smoke deep into their breast, Aurélien let the rush of nicotine siphon some of the piercing chill away.
 After a few minutes of effortful trekking, Aurélien stumbled into a small and irregular clearing. Standing out against a background of scraggly trees, the red-orange light illuminated a rustic log cabin with shutters painted a vibrant gold. A healthy plume of smoke curled from the stacked stone chimney, while a pair of well-loved skis were propped against the railing of the front porch. The half-smoked Gauloises dangled from Aurélien's beak as they climbed weather-beaten stairs that loudly groaned with each step.
 Aurélien rapped their knuckles on a dense oak door adorned with a wreath of juniper branches interwoven with fragrant strips of dried orange peel. A moment later, it swung open to reveal a cozy living room bathed in the glow of a half-spent fire, playful shadows dancing across the worn Persian rugs dotting the hardwood floor.
 ``\emph{Quelle surprise}.'' The lynx standing in the doorway appraised Aurélien with emerald eyes, a half-smile on her muzzle as the acrid smoke from the Gauloises mingled with the frosty air. ``I wasn't expecting company but\ldots convention demands I offer you hospitality. Just put that damn cigarette out before you come in.''
 Aurélien wordlessly flicked the Gauloises into the nearest snowbank. Stepping over the threshold, they were greeted with the beak-watering scent of roasting meat. The blue jay silently cursed themselves for neglecting Anahita's advice to fully appreciate the delights of the Jannah Room. ``You keep a lovely home,'' Aurélien remarked.
 ``It doesn't quite have the grandeur of the Farhangdoustan Club, but it suits me just fine,'' the lynx replied. Futzing over a silver-plated samovar warmed by a small kerosene burner, she poured steaming tea into a pair of chipped porcelain cups as Aurélien hung their jacket over the back of a chintz armchair. ``Do you take sugar?''
 Aurélien rubbed their hands together for a moment before stretching them out towards the primally-satisfying warmth of the hearth. ``Yes, two spoonfuls,'' they said reflexively. ``And if you'd be so kind, a bit of cream, \emph{s'il vous plait}.''
 The lynx huffed out a laugh as she sauntered back to the barebones kitchen tucked away in the rear of the cabin. Opening a crazed porcelain icebox, she retrieved a small bottle of cream and shook it gently before adding a generous measure to one of the tea cups. She set them down on a gnarled ashwood table, steam swirling delicately upward in the lukewarm air. ``Here you are, stranger.''
 ``Thank you.'' Aurélien lifted the cup to their beak, grateful to have something to further warm their cold-stiffened fingers. They took a deep breath of the fragrant steam before taking a measured sip. Strong and laced with a hint of cinnamon, the tea settled comfortably in the pit of their stomach. ``So, you're Céleste's fork, yes?''
 ``Are you here to offer condolences?'' The lynx stiffened slightly, her eyes darting to the slowly diminishing fire before settling back on Aurélien. She took a leisurely sip of her tea, her nubby tail flicking with mild agitation. ``You could've left a vase of ice-lilies on the porch in lieu of undertaking a \emph{vol de la mort}.''
 ``No, that's not why I came,'' Aurélien replied. Their feathers ruffled slightly under the weight of her attention as they turned to stare into the swirling umber within their cup. ``I'm here because I was tasked with finding you. And\ldots perhaps also to put some ghosts to rest. Aurélien Delacroix, at your service.''
 ``Is that so?'' The lynx's ears pricked up as her foot-claws rapped against the unstained pine floorboards. ``Was it Gaëlle who requested your services?''
 A slight nod of the blue jay's head served as confirmation. ``She was most eager to get in touch with you after all that has happened as of late. Are you aware?''
 ``I enjoy voluntary solitude, but I don't live under a rock.'' The lynx's face remained inscrutable, her emerald eyes reflecting the flickering firelight. Aurélien noted she wore a familiar signet ring, silver, engraved with a \emph{farvahar}, and ringed by brilliant Kerman garnets. ``No one mourns an untimely passing more than I.''
 ``Except perhaps Gaëlle.'' Aurélien tilted their head to the side, observing the lynx carefully. ``What kept you from reaching out?''
 ``It's not that I didn't want to.'' The lynx's gaze flickered momentarily, her tufted ears dipping slightly. Her lithe figure cut an argentine silhouette against the chintz, her silver-white dress flowing around her like liquid starlight. ``But the past has a way of keeping us apart, doesn't it?'' she murmured, her nubby tail swaying in rhythm with the crackling fire.
 ``Yes,'' Aurélien finally echoed in a low susurration. ``It has a knack of doing that.''
 ``Gaëlle nursed a crush on Céleste for many decades.'' The lynx softly chuckled. ``She never let on too strongly, always courteous to a fault...but Céleste knew.''
 Aurélien took a long sip of the tea, savoring the warmth spreading through the inside of their beak. ``And Céleste didn't feel the same way?''
 ``No, it wasn't that.'' Shadows cut across her angular cheekbones as she seemed to shrink into the pillow cushions. ``Céleste was fond of Gaëlle, perhaps more so than anyone else. Gaëlle's sharp beauty is a sight to behold, wouldn't you agree?''
 ``She's like twilight over the Seine, dancing upon the \emph{Tour Eiffel}.'' Aurélien nodded in agreement as a falling log sent a shower of sparks bouncing off the smooth river stones that lined the hearth. ``And what about you?'' Aurélien asked.
 ``I am a complicated soul,'' the lynx replied, thoughtfully pursing her lips. Soft light accentuated youthful features in stark contrast to the mélange of nostalgia and melancholy in her wizened eyes. ``Céleste's heart had seen too many twilights over the Seine. Dusk also means night is near.''
 ``True enough, but twilight has its own beauty,'' Aurélien murmured. Taking a sip of their tea, they paused and inquisitively cocked their beak. ``Tell me, stranger. What do you see when you gaze up at the night sky?''
 ``Infinite stories, all intertwined in a dance as old as time itself. Stars born and dying, civilizations rising and falling\ldots all woven into an eternal tapestry stretching across the æther,'' the lynx replied. The fire quivered momentarily as a particularly violent gust of wind rattled the cabin's foundations. ``I see a storyteller. What do you see, stranger?''
 Aurélien paused, taking note of the \emph{shamshir} hanging behind the hearth, hilt inlaid with emeralds matching the lynx's eyes. The scabbard was damascened with a design of a serene river reflecting the heavenly glory of two almond-shaped moons hanging low in the sky. ``I suppose I see heavenly glory, Céleste\ldots and Zamburak Tehrani's old teacher.''
 ``Mrm, you are clever.'' The lynx's eyes gleamed with distilled starlight. ``So, what now? Are you going to tell Gaëlle the truth?''
 Aurélien peered down into the dregs of their tea, scanning for omens in the waterlogged leaves. The hisses and pops of the fading fire punctuated the silence between them. ``I was only hired to find you,'' they murmured, noting what appeared to be the silhouette of a mushroom as they set their now empty cup down. ``What happens next is not up to me.''
 ``\emph{C'est la vie},'' Céleste quipped, pushing herself off the chair. Squatting beside the hearth, she casually dropped several more logs onto the pile with a resounding \emph{thu-clack} each time. ``We're always beholden to the decisions of others, whether they be friends, lovers, or co-cladists. Perhaps I just wanted a taste of living for myself, at least for a little while. It's been so long since I experienced solitude, I'd forgotten what it was like.''
 ``And now?'' Aurélien asked.
 ``Now?'' Céleste shot an inscrutable smile over her shoulder. Turning away, she picked up a wrought-iron poker and pensively stirred the embers before sweeping some of the ashes aside. ``Now I drink until my samovar is empty and consider how much longer I'd like to gaze at the heavens alone.''
 ``Sounds like a lovely way to pass the witching hour. I wouldn't want to overstay my welcome.'' Aurélien stood up and tucked a cigarette into their beak---leaving it unlit, per Céleste's request. ``You've been more than gracious to an uninvited guest.''
 ``Off so soon? I hope that I didn't chase you away,'' the lynx murmured. ``Our little discussion was just starting to get interesting.''
 ``Not at all,'' Aurélien assured her while deftly slipping on their jacket, thoughts drifting to their clade, long scattered to the winds. Perhaps it might be time to reach out, if only to have an excuse to enjoy the famous flambéed cocktails of the Le Fougueux speakeasy. ``But, if star-gazing ever gets a bit lonely---''
 ``---I'll join Gaëlle at the swings with a bottle of Armand de Brignac,'' the lynx murmured. Escorting Aurélien to the door, she crossed the cozy space in a few graceful strides. Upon cracking it open, the pair were greeted by a gust of sharp wind that whipped up ethereal swirls across the wintry landscape.
 Aurélien shivered, giving Céleste a warm \emph{jeer-jeer} as they pulled their coat tighter. ``I was going to say you could find me,'' they finished. ``If you're ever in need of a stiff drink and some company, leave a message for me with the bartender at the Sombres Reflets. Just ask for Aurélien Delacroix.''
 ``Perhaps I should end my brief stint as an anchoress. After all, Death could have just as easily have kindly stopped for me as for my fork.'' A coy smile danced on Céleste's muzzle. ``Can you give Gaëlle a message for me?''
 Aurélien tilted their head and cocked an inquiring eyebrow. ``Of course.''
 ``Just because the stars are scattered does not mean they are separated.'' The lynx looked upward, gazing past the silver-white clouds to the celestial bodies dancing in a cosmic ballet---toward eternity. ``They all belong to the same sky, Monsieur Delacroix.''
 \protect\hypertarget{anchor}{}{} ``I'll pass the message along.'' Aurélien closed their eyes as the door's latch clicked shut behind them. The bluejay sent a ping to Gaëlle as an exhausted sigh escaped from their beak. Still, at the Sombres Reflets, there would be time enough to enjoy the satisfaction of providing the first drop of molten gold for relationship \emph{kintsugi}\ldots and perhaps also gather the fortitude to reach out to a few co-cladists. ``\emph{Nos cœurs se tiennent par la main, même quand les distances nous séparent.}''
 The blue jay exhaled and vanished, leaving only eternity in their wake.
 \textasciitilde{} END \textasciitilde{}
--- a/motes-played/book.pdf
+++ b/motes-played/book.pdf
--- a/motes-played/content/001.tex
+++ b/motes-played/content/001.tex
@ -226,7 +226,7 @@ Dry Grass laughed. \emph{``You had me at maccy-chee. Shall I come over now?''}
 No sooner had the message completed than Dry Grass blinked into being on the default arrival point over by the front door.
-Motes finished shoving the tray of salad ingredients up onto the counter and zipped over to her cross-tree cocladist, all but launching herself into her arms. Dry Grass caught her, letting her momentum swing both human and skunk around in a circle. ``Hey little one! Way to go almost knocking me over.''
+Motes finished shoving the tray of salad ingredients up onto the counter and zipped over to her cross-tree cocladist, all but launching herself into her arms. Dry Grass caught her, letting her momentum swing both human and skunk around in a circle. ``Hey, little one! Way to go almost knocking me over.''
 ``I am not sorry!'' Motes said and just as quickly dashed away and back to the kitchen. ``Help me cut up everything. I am going to nick a claw, I know it.''
--- a/motes-played/content/003.tex
+++ b/motes-played/content/003.tex
@ -78,7 +78,7 @@ It giggled and pushed its paws up over her face. ``Motes Motes Motes! Look at yo
 ``Absolutely not.''
-Motes smirked. ``No, I was asking what you are working on in general. What are you working on these days?''
+Motes smirked. ``No, I was asking what you are doing in general. What are you working on these days?''
 ``Oh!'' They sat up cross-legged, letting Motes do the same. ``I got a letter from both of the LVs, and--''
--- a/motes-played/content/thoughts-on-motes.tex
+++ b/motes-played/content/thoughts-on-motes.tex
@ -69,12 +69,14 @@ First, one must consider the role of art. There are three general ways of interp
 \item
  \textbf{Instructive:} art should be used to instruct the audience how to interact with the world. This goes beyond simply teaching them how to do this or that, too: it can be that a piece of art is intended to be an example that one should follow.
 \end{itemize}
 \vspace{-0.5em}
 These are not hard and fast categories, of course, and a work of art need not fill only one of them. I think it is this last one that a lot of folks get hung up on, in cases like this. It is, of course, only a gesture that I provide my intentions in an artist's statement, but there is very little about the book that is intended to be instructive: it starts as children's books do because Motes presents as a kid, and it ends as children's books do because, hey presto, Motes presents as a kid.
 Instead, I provide a piece of writing which I intend to be escapist—I have mentioned the joys above—as well as representative. There are littles in the world. It is just a fact! People of all sorts engage with ageplay in all sorts of different ways. If Post-Self is to be a complete take on a future world, then I do not see why it should not include (thoughtful, sensitive, appropriate) takes on complete aspects of the world.
 But even if it were instructive, what are the lessons to be taken away from the story?
 \vspace{-0.5em}
 \begin{itemize}
 \tightlist
@ -114,7 +116,7 @@ I resent that I need to be rightfully anxious. I resent that, by creating someth
 I resent that, if I claim that \href{https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ReallySevenHundredYearsOld}{Motes is nearly 300 years old} at the time of this story, I will be accused of trying to weasel my way out of grooming accusations, regardless of the fact that dealing with grooming is part of her character and the plot. I resent that if I claim that the headmate upon which Motes is based is actually 38 at time of writing, just like this wretched body,\footnote{Remember that mention of sciatica? Yeeeah\ldots} and has simply leaned into feelings of kidcore, a portion of my identity will be declared wicked and manipulative. I resent that, no matter how loudly I say that I am aware of the broader context of CSA in the wider world, how abhorrent I think that is, none of that will matter in the face of that same imagined wicked and manipulative aspect. I resent that, no matter how nuanced my arguments on consent are\footnote{Many of those who \emph{do} engage with interests and kinks often considered problematic think about consent and those potentially problematic aspects \emph{far} more than most, even those who dislike them, I guarantee you.}—even within this very work!—the work itself will be declared, yes, wicked and manipulative.
-I resent that one way I could avoid such readings are to make Motes miserable, to deny her happiness in her identity, do take from her her pride in herself and her growth. I resent that I might well be lauded for changing the ending of the book to have Motes give up, have her follow Hammered Silver's suggestion to put away childish things\footnote{The Odists are famously Jews; why is she quoting 1 Corinthians? But then, I suppose Paul was famously a Jew, too\ldots} and become other than she had been. I resent that a `solution' in my straw-reader's mind would be to replace joy with shame.
+I resent that one way I could avoid such readings are to make Motes miserable, to deny her happiness in her identity, to take from her her pride in herself and her growth. I resent that I might well be lauded for changing the ending of the book to have Motes give up, have her follow Hammered Silver's suggestion to put away childish things\footnote{The Odists are famously Jews; why is she quoting 1 Corinthians? But then, I suppose Paul was famously a Jew, too\ldots} and become other than she had been. I resent that a `solution' in my straw-reader's mind would be to replace joy with shame.
 It is, as Motes puts it, annihilation. It is the opposite of reclamation. Rather than taking the bad and finding a way to reclaim the good in it, it is taking a thing that is good and making it not just bad, but reprehensible. It is taking things that one enjoys and not making them less enjoyable, but making them shameful.
@ -132,6 +134,6 @@ I have come to love Motes, and I hope you do too.
 \begin{flushright}
 \itshape
-— Madison Scott-Clary\\
+— Madison Rye Progress\\
 April 29, 2024
 \end{flushright}
--- a/motes-played/includes/variables.tex
+++ b/motes-played/includes/variables.tex
@ -2,8 +2,8 @@
 \def\Subtitle{}
 \def\FullTitle{\Title}
 \def\AuthorFirst{Madison}
-\def\AuthorLast{Scott-Clary}
+\def\AuthorLast{Progress}
-\def\AuthorFull{\AuthorFirst\ \AuthorLast}
+\def\AuthorFull{Madison Rye Progress}
 \def\Illustrator{ILLUSTRATOR NAME}
 \def\Edition{First}
--- a/motes-played/snippet.pdf
+++ b/motes-played/snippet.pdf