Funeral

_template/Makefile

@@ -0,0 +1,64 @@
+.PHONY: help
+help: ## This help.
+	@# This is ugly as hell and I hate awk
+	@awk 'BEGIN {FS = ":.*?## "} /^[a-zA-Z_-]+:.*?## / {printf "  \033[36m%-20s\033[0m %s\n", $$1, $$2}' $(MAKEFILE_LIST)
+
+.PHONY: final
+final: reset toc ## full document of the book for final print
+
+.PHONY: proof
+proof: engage-letter engage-frame engage-draft toc reset ## full proof document of the book with frames and watermark
+
+.PHONY: draft
+draft: engage-draft toc reset ## draft document of thebook with watermark
+
+.PHONY: fate
+fate: engage-draft
+	xelatex fate.tex
+	xelatex fate.tex
+
+.PHONY: bleed-images
+bleed-images: ## Swap in the full-bleed images for the printers
+	pdftk BOOK=book.pdf MERGE=assets/merge.pdf MAY=assets/may-bar.pdf \
+		cat BOOK1-22 MAY BOOK24-235 MERGE BOOK237-end \
+		output with-illustrations.pdf
+
+.PHONY: plain
+plain: ## full document of the book with no proofing marks
+	xelatex book.tex
+	fd -I 'aux' content/ -x rm \{\} \;
+	fd -I 'bak' content/ -x rm \{\} \;
+
+.PHONY: toc
+toc: plain ## full book with ToC re-rendering in case of page changes
+	xelatex book.tex
+	fd -I 'aux' content/ -x rm \{\} \;
+
+.PHONY: ebook
+ebook: ## render ePub file from LaTeX
+	pandoc book.tex -o ebooks/book.epub -t epub3 --wrap=none
+
+.PHONY: frame
+engage-frame: ## turn on frame marking
+	cp includes/_frame.tex includes/frame.tex
+
+.PHONY: engage-letter
+engage-letter: ## force letter paper
+	echo '\input{includes/_geometry-letter.tex}' > includes/geometry.tex
+
+.PHONY: draft
+engage-draft: ## turn on draft watermark
+	cp includes/_draft.tex includes/draft.tex
+
+.PHONY: reset
+reset: ## reset frame marking, draft watermark, and letter paper
+	echo '%' > includes/draft.tex
+	echo '%' > includes/frame.tex
+	echo '\input{includes/_geometry-trade.tex}' > includes/geometry.tex
+
+.PHONY: content
+content: ## build the markdown content into LaTeX
+	@echo "Are you sure you want to do this now?"
+	@echo "Remove the 'false' below to procede"
+	#false
+	fish fromzk.fish

_template/book.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,310 @@
+\documentclass[11pt]{memoir}
+
+\def\watermarkloaded{0}
+
+\input{includes/variables}
+\input{includes/draft}
+\input{includes/frame}
+\input{includes/packages}
+\input{includes/pagelayout}
+\input{includes/geometry}
+\input{includes/toc}
+\input{includes/font}
+\input{includes/title}
+\input{includes/secdiv}
+\input{includes/hyphenation}
+
+\newcommand{\Char}[1]{
+  \cleardoublepage
+  \null
+  \thispagestyle{empty}
+  \vfill
+  \begin{center}
+    \huge\TitleFont #1
+  \end{center}
+  \vspace{2cm}
+  \vfill
+}
+\makeatletter
+\newcommand*{\shifttext}[2]{%
+  \settowidth{\@tempdima}{#2}%
+  \makebox[\@tempdima]{\hspace*{#1}#2}%
+}
+\makeatother
+
+\begin{document}
+  \frontmatter
+
+  \thispagestyle{empty}
+  \null
+  \vfill
+  \begin{flushright}
+    \DisplayFont Idumea
+  \end{flushright}
+  \vfill
+  \cleardoublepage
+
+  \pagestyle{empty}
+
+  \doublespacing
+
+  \begin{center}\DisplayFont
+    \null
+    \vfill
+    {\Huge Idumea}
+    \vspace{1ex}
+
+    {\Huge ×}
+    \vspace{1ex}
+
+    {\Large A Post-Self story}
+    \vspace{2em}
+
+    \vfill
+
+    {\Large Madison Rye Progress}
+
+    with contributions from
+
+    {\Large Samantha Yule Fireheart
+
+    Krzysztof “Tomash” Drewniak}
+  \end{center}
+  \thispagestyle{empty}
+
+  \newpage
+
+  \input{includes/copyright}
+
+  \newpage
+  \null
+  \cleardoublepage
+
+  \onehalfspacing
+  %\doublespacing
+
+  \null
+  \vfill
+  \noindent\textbf{Note:} this book takes place in the Post-Self setting and touches on the plots of The Post-Self Cycle, as well as that of \emph{Marsh}. It is still a standalone novel, but might benefit from having read those works first. They are available as paperbacks, ebooks, and free to read in the browser, and you may find them and much more at \emph{post-self.ink}.
+  
+  \vspace{1cm}
+  
+  \noindent\textbf{Content notes:} brief description of sex, themes of self harm, suicide, and poor mental health.
+  \vspace{1cm}
+  
+  \noindent The section with Warmth In Fire on page \pageref{warmth} is a collaboration with Samantha Yule Fireheart.
+  \vspace{1em}
+
+  \noindent The section with The Dog and The Rabbit Chaser on page \pageref{thedog1} is a collaboration with Krzysztof ``Tomash'' Drewniak.
+
+  \cleardoublepage
+  \thispagestyle{empty}
+  \tableofcontents*
+  \null
+  \thispagestyle{empty}
+
+  \newpage
+  \singlespacing
+
+  \begin{center}
+  {\Large \DisplayFont \underline{Dramatis Personae}}
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+  
+  {\DisplayFont\underline{The Ode clade}}
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small Your Humble Narrator}
+
+  Dear The Wheat And Rye Under The Stars
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small The Woman}
+
+  To Pray For The End Of Endings
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small Her Friend}
+  
+  I Must Show No Hesitation When Speaking My Name
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small Her Therapist}
+
+  Where I May Ever Dream
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small Her Cocladist}
+
+  Should We Rejoice In The End Of Endings
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small The Oneirotect}
+
+  Which Offers Heat And Warmth In Fire
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small The Instance Artist}
+
+  Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small The Poet}
+
+  Where It Watches the Slow Hours Progress
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small The Musician}
+
+  Beholden To The Heat Of The Lamps
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small The Child}
+
+  And We Are The Motes In The Stage-Lights
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small The Narrator's Friend}
+
+  Time Is A Finger Pointing At Itself
+  
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small The Blue Fairy}
+
+  I Remember The Rattle Of Dry Grass
+
+  \newpage
+  
+  \phantom{\Large \DisplayFont \underline{Dramatis Personae}}
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\underline{Others}}
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small Her Lover}
+
+  Farai
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small The Dog}
+
+  Scout Among Weird Skunks With Good Kettlecorn
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small His Elder}
+
+  Tomash
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
+  {\DisplayFont\small The Rabbit-Chaser}
+
+  \fbox{\rule{1in}{0pt}\rule[0.2ex]{0pt}{1.1ex}} (called ``Scout Chasing Rabbits'')
+
+  \vfill
+
+  And, of course, you, my dear, \emph{dear} reader.
+  \end{center}
+
+  \mainmatter
+  \onehalfspacing
+
+  \pagestyle{empty}
+
+  \cleardoublepage
+
+  \null
+  \vfill
+  \begin{quote}
+People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.
+But you are life and you are the veil. Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.
+But you are eternity and you are the mirror.
+
+— Kahlil Gibran\label{prophet}
+\end{quote}
+
+%  And am I born to die?\\
+%  To lay this body down!\\
+%  And must my trembling spirit fly\\
+%  into a world unknown?\\
+%  A land of deepest shade;\\
+%  Unpierced by human thought.\\
+%  The dreary regions of the dead,\\
+%  Where all things are forgot.
+%
+%  Soon as from earth I go,\\
+%  What will become of me?
+%  \end{verse}
+%
+%  — Charles Wesley
+
+  \vfill
+
+  \cleardoublepage
+  \pagestyle{ourbook}
+  %\doublespacing
+
+  \Char{End Of Endings — 2403\par ×\par Rye — 2409}
+  \markboth{Idumea}{Madison Rye Progress}
+  
+  \addcontentsline{toc}{part}{Idumea}
+  \chapter*{×}
+  \input{content/001}
+  \chapter*{× ×}
+  \input{content/002}
+  \chapter*{×\\× ×}
+  \input{content/003}
+  \chapter*{× ×\\× ×}
+  \input{content/004}
+  \chapter*{×  ×\\×\\×  ×}
+  \input{content/005}
+  \chapter*{× × ×\\× × ×}
+  \input{content/006}
+  \chapter*{× ×\\× × ×\\× ×}
+  \input{content/007}
+  \chapter*{× × ×\\× × ×\\× ×}
+  \input{content/008}
+  \chapter*{× × ×\\× × ×\\× × ×}
+  \input{content/009} \input{graphomania}\normalfont
+
+  \newpage
+  \null
+  \cleardoublepage
+  \null
+
+  \vfill
+  
+  \begin{center}
+  \noindent\Huge ×\label{x}
+  \end{center}
+
+  \vfill
+
+  \cleardoublepage
+  
+  \backmatter
+  \pagestyle{plain}
+
+  %\singlespacing
+
+  \Char{Afterword}
+
+  \input{content/afterword}
+  
+\end{document}

_template/fromzk.fish

@@ -0,0 +1,14 @@
+for i in (fd '0.*' ~/sparkleup/zk/writing/post-self/motes/)
+     set o (echo $i | sed -e 's/.\+motes\///')
+     set d (echo $o | sed -e 's/[0-9b]\+.md//')
+     set t (echo $o | sed -e 's/\.md/.tex/')
+     echo "$o $d"
+     if not test -d src/$d
+         mkdir -p src/$d
+     end
+     if not test -d content/$d
+         mkdir -p content/$d
+     end
+     cp $i src/$o
+     pandoc -f markdown -t latex src/$o --wrap=none --top-level-division=chapter | sed -e 's/\\chapter/\\chapter*/' | sed -e 's/---/—/g' > content/$t; \
+ end

_template/includes/_draft.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,5 @@
+%%% Watermark for draft
+\usepackage{draftwatermark}
+\def\watermarkloaded{1}
+\SetWatermarkLightness{0.95}
+\SetWatermarkText{Patrons}

_template/includes/_frame.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+%%% Show frame around layouts
+\PassOptionsToPackage{showframe}{geometry}

_template/includes/_geometry-letter.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,14 @@
+% page sizes for letter with crop marks
+\usepackage[
+  letterpaper,
+  layoutvoffset=1.25in,
+  layouthoffset=1.5in,
+  layoutwidth=5.5in,
+  layoutheight=8.5in,
+  vmargin=0.5in,
+  outer=0.5in,
+  inner=0.75in,
+  includeheadfoot,
+  twoside,
+  showcrop
+]{geometry}

_template/includes/_geometry-trade.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,17 @@
+% page sizes for trade paperback
+\usepackage[
+  paperwidth=5.5in,
+  paperheight=8.5in,
+  layoutwidth=5.5in,
+  layoutheight=8.5in,
+  vmargin=0.5in,
+  outer=0.5in,
+  inner=1in,
+  includeheadfoot,
+  twoside,
+  showcrop
+]{geometry}
+\ifdefined\SetWatermarkHorCenter
+  \SetWatermarkHorCenter{3in}
+  \SetWatermarkVerCenter{4.5in}
+\fi

_template/includes/copyright.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,78 @@
+\null
+\pagestyle{empty}
+\vfill
+\singlespacing
+{\small\parindent0pt\parskip5pt
+\noindent Copyright \copyright\ 2024, Madison Rye Progress, Samantha Yule Fireheart, and Krzysztof ``Tomash'' Drewniak. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit \mbox{\emph{creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/}} or send a letter to Creative Commons, PO Box 1866, Mountain View, CA
+
+ISBN: \ISBN
+
+\textit{Idumea}
+
+Cover \copyright\ 2024, Voksa (vox-space.neocities.org)\\
+and Madison Rye Progress.
+
+\Edition\ Edition, \Year. All rights reserved.
+
+This book uses the fonts Gentium Book Basic, {\DisplayFont Gotu} and {\TitleFont Linux Biolinum O} and was typeset with {\usefont{OT1}{cmr}{m}{n}\XeLaTeX}.
+
+%Printed in the United States of America\\
+%\EditionsList
+}%\parindent0pt
+
+\clearpage
+\singlespacing
+\thispagestyle{empty}
+\begin{center}
+    \noindent {\Large\DisplayFont Post-Self books}
+    \TitleFamily
+
+    \vspace{2em}
+
+    {\large The Post-Self Cycle}\\
+    {\normalfont\small by Madison Rye Progress (as Madison Scott-Clary)}
+
+    \vspace{1ex}
+     
+    I. \emph{Qoheleth}
+
+    II. \emph{Toledot}
+
+    III. \emph{Nevi'im}
+
+    IV. \emph{Mitzvot}
+
+    \vspace{2ex}
+     
+    \emph{\large Clade — A Post-Self Anthology}\\
+    {\normalfont\small Various authors}
+     
+    \vspace{2ex}
+
+    \emph{\large Unintended Tendencies}\\
+    {\normalfont\small by JL Conway}
+     
+    \vspace{2ex}
+    
+    \emph{\large Marsh}\\
+    {\normalfont\small by Madison Rye Progress \emph{et al.}}
+
+    \vspace{2ex}
+     
+    \emph{\large Motes Played}\\
+    {\normalfont\small by Madison Rye Progress \& Samantha Yule Fireheart}
+
+    \vspace{2ex}
+     
+    \emph{\large Ask. — An Odist Q\&A}\\
+    {\normalfont\small Various authors}
+
+    \vspace{2ex}
+     
+    \emph{\large Idumea}\\
+    {\normalfont\small Madison Rye Progress \emph{et al.}}
+
+    \vspace{3ex}
+
+    Learn more at \emph{post-self.ink}
+\end{center}

_template/includes/draft.tex

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+%

_template/includes/font.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,12 @@
+%%% Font
+% Uncomment and modify to your font specs
+
+\usepackage{fontspec}
+\setmainfont{Gentium Book Plus}
+\newfontface\HebFont{FreeSerif}
+\newfontface\FeedFont{Alegreya}
+\newfontfamily\TitleFamily{Linux Biolinum O}
+\newfontface\TitleFont{Linux Biolinum O}
+\newfontfamily\DisplayFamily{Gotu}%{Linux Biolinum O}%{NovaMono for Powerline}
+\newfontface\DisplayFont{Gotu}%{Linux Biolinum O}%{NovaMono for Powerline}
+ \newfontface\CK{Noto Serif CJK JP}

_template/includes/frame.tex

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+%

_template/includes/geometry.tex

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+\input{includes/_geometry-trade.tex}

_template/includes/hyphenation.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,7 @@
+\hyphenation{
+% \AuthorFirst
+% \AuthorLast
+% \Title
+% \Subtitle
+Beholden
+}

_template/includes/packages.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,24 @@
+%%% Resets
+% memoir defines footruleskip, we want fancyhdr's
+\let\footruleskip\undefined
+\DisemulatePackage{setspace}
+
+%%% Hyperref warning suppression
+% I want math symbols, hyperref complains
+% must be before hyperref included
+\usepackage{silence}
+\WarningFilter[pdftoc]{hyperref}{Token not allowed in a PDF string}
+\ActivateWarningFilters[pdftoc]
+
+%%% Package imports not needing expansion
+\usepackage{graphicx}
+\usepackage[hidelinks]{hyperref}
+\usepackage{setspace}
+\usepackage{xifthen}
+\usepackage{verse}
+\usepackage{xltxtra}
+\usepackage{longtable}
+\usepackage{comment}
+\usepackage{pdfpages}
+\usepackage{paracol}
+\usepackage{marginnote}

_template/includes/pagelayout.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,44 @@
+%%% Headers and page styles
+\usepackage[pagestyles]{titlesec}
+\usepackage{fancyhdr}
+\setlength{\headheight}{15.2pt}
+
+% ourbook style with fancy headers and chapter headings
+\fancypagestyle{ourbook}{
+  % headers
+  \fancyhf{}
+  \fancyhf[FRO,FLE]{\TitleFont{\thepage}}
+  % \fancyhf[FRE,FLO]{\emph{Patreon Supporter Edition}}
+  \fancyhf[HLE]{\TitleFont{\leftmark}}
+  \fancyhf[HRO]{\TitleFont{Madison Rye Progress}}
+  \renewcommand{\headrulewidth}{0pt}
+  \renewcommand{\printchaptername}{}
+  \renewcommand{\chapternamenum}{}
+  \renewcommand{\printchapternum}{}
+  \renewcommand{\printchaptertitle}[1]{%
+  \linespread{1}\TitleFont\centering\huge ##1}
+  \renewcommand{\partnamefont}{\DisplayFont\huge}
+  \renewcommand{\partnumfont}{\DisplayFont\huge}
+  \renewcommand{\parttitlefont}{\DisplayFont\Huge}
+  \setlength{\parskip}{0pt}
+}
+
+% plain style with only page num
+\fancypagestyle{plain}{
+  \fancyhf{}
+  \renewcommand{\headrulewidth}{0pt}
+  \renewcommand{\footrulewidth}{0pt}
+  \fancyhf[FRO,FLE]{\TitleFont{\thepage}}
+  \renewcommand{\printchaptertitle}[1]{%
+  \TitleFont\huge ##1}
+}
+
+% single space after periods
+\frenchspacing
+
+% Attempt justification at all costs
+\sloppy
+
+% Widows and orphans
+\widowpenalty=9000
+\clubpenalty=9000

_template/includes/pretitle.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,12 @@
+\thispagestyle{empty}
+\null
+\vfill
+\begin{flushright}
+  \DisplayFont Qoheleth
+
+  \vspace{1ex}
+
+  {\footnotesize and other stories}
+\end{flushright}
+\vfill
+\cleardoublepage

_template/includes/secdiv.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+%%% Section divider
+% don't forget to \noindent the line after!
+% \renewcommand\rule[2]{$\star$}
+% \newcommand\secdiv{
+%   \begin{center}
+%     \rule{}{}
+%   \end{center}
+% }
+\newcommand\secdiv{
+  \begin{center}\DisplayFont ×\end{center}
+}

_template/includes/title.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,4 @@
+%%% Title page
+\title{\FullTitle}
+\author{\AuthorFull}
+\date{}

_template/includes/toc.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,15 @@
+%%% ToC munging
+% Remove ToC header
+\renewcommand{\contentsname}{}
+\renewcommand*{\cftpartfont}{\DisplayFont\large}
+\renewcommand*{\cftpartpagefont}{\TitleFont\large}
+\renewcommand*{\cftchapterfont}{\TitleFont}
+\renewcommand*{\cftchapterpagefont}{\TitleFont}
+\renewcommand*{\cftchapterafterpnum}{}
+\renewcommand{\cftdot}{\small{$\cdot$}}
+\renewcommand{\cftchapterdotsep}{3}
+\renewcommand{\cftsectiondotsep}{10000}
+% start toc at top of page
+\renewcommand*\tocheadstart{}{}
+\hypersetup{final}
+%\setcounter{tocdepth}{-1}

_template/includes/variables.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,20 @@
+\def\Title{}
+\def\Subtitle{}
+\def\FullTitle{\Title}
+\def\AuthorFirst{Madison}
+\def\AuthorLast{Scott-Clary}
+\def\AuthorFull{Madison Scott-Clary}
+\def\Illustrator{ILLUSTRATOR NAME}
+
+\def\Edition{First}
+\def\EditionsList{10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1}
+\def\Year{2024}
+
+\def\ISBN{978-1-948743-47-1}
+
+\def\Publisher{PUBLISHER}
+\def\PublisherEmail{publisher@example.com}
+\def\PublisherURL{example.com}
+\def\PublisherLocation{City, STATE}
+
+\newcommand\Partner{\rule[-1pt]{4em}{1.9ex}}

ask/book.tex

@@ -79,13 +79,15 @@
   \tableofcontents*
 
   \mainmatter
-  \doublespacing
+  \onehalfspacing
 
   \input{content/art-of-activism}
   \input{content/bay-of-color}
+  \input{content/bizarro}
   \input{content/cake-and-all}
   \input{content/despecialized}
   \input{content/fraught-devotions}
+  \input{content/funeral}
   \input{content/furthest-out}
   \input{content/impermanence}
   \input{content/intraclade-dating}

ask/content/bizarro.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,17 @@
+\cleardoublepage
+\begin{quote}
+\itshape\Large
+To Dear and May Then My Name: Have you ever thought about a Bizarro Universe scenario where you trade places with Codrin and Ioan, respectively? I find myself struggling to imagine it.
+\end{quote}
+
+\subsection*{Dear, Also The Tree That Was Felled}
+
+There are, perhaps, two readings of this. If you mean Codrin and myself switching places, and you are wondering what it would be like for me to date an Odist as a non-Odist, I think I would find myself maddening, and I would have dropped myself years ago. It is perhaps uncomfortable to admit, but there is no small amount of self-loathing in me. I have spent my time in a relationship with another Odist --- my close cross-tree instance Serene --- and\ldots well. I love her dearly, but she puts rather a fine point on all of the things that I loathe in myself, sometimes.
+
+If, however, you mean me switching places with May Then My Name and being in a relationship with Ioan, then, my dear, you have no idea how eager I would be to corrupt that poor, innocent soul, especially as ey is now. The Ioan who became Codrin was of a very specific type, but this Ioan? The one that May Then My Name has tainted? Oh, how delicious that would be!
+
+\subsection*{May Then My Name Die With Me:}
+
+Similar to Dear, I shall answer each in turn. If you mean me switching places with Ioan as ey is now, then I do not think much would change. I have absolutely ruined em for a life alone, and I think that ey would feel quite out of sorts if I were not around, just as I feel quite out of sorts when ey is not around. That said, I cannot ignore what happens when I overflow. Ey does not like it when I dissolve into tears and ask em to leave me alone for days at a time. It is a thing I dislike about myself, but am hopeless before. I think that it would hurt me far more to experience it from the other side. I think that I would\ldots well. I think we would risk a feedback loop of tears, and there would be days afterwards when we would struggle.
+
+If you mean me switching with Dear\ldots well, I like Codrin plenty. I think ey is lovely in many of the same ways that Ioan is. That said, I do not think that ey is necessarily my type, especially as ey is now, having been ruined by Dear. Could I love em? Of course! I do love em. But could we be in a relationship? I do not think so.

ask/content/funeral.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,93 @@
+\cleardoublepage
+\begin{quote}
+\itshape\Large
+A personal question, if there is an Odist willing to answer it: Was there a funeral after Michelle quit?
+\end{quote}
+
+\cleardoublepage
+
+\subsection*{A Finger Pointing}
+
+\subsubsection*{The short answer:}
+
+No, there was not.
+
+\subsubsection*{The long answer:}
+
+\emph{Not as such.}
+
+She brought us all together to the field in which she first dreamt up our dandelions. She did so because she had intended to quit for some months after Qoheleth's death, and because it was crucial to her that she understand each of us in as much depth as one can hope to understand oneself.
+
+When she received our merges and, in nearly the same breath, quit under the gravity of one hundred selves and tens of thousands of lifetimes, many of us were stunned. Some did not expect that the merge would be the moment of death; others saw the writing on the walls; others, still, knew well what it meant to take on so much experience at once, knew well that even the savviest of us could not bear such weight.
+
+So there was the flattened grass where only moments ago she stood, there was the warm breeze that always entertains this sim, and there was the shock and despair of ninety-nine Odists rendered unwhole for the second time. Unwhole and, now, disconnected, disjointed.
+
+We are no strangers to grief, but neither are we exactly comfortable with it. Many of us still struggle to tolerate the mere sound of RJ's name. We often speak about em in euphemism, as if our own little \emph{HaShem}. Even after Sasha's \emph{Ode}, we keep eir nickname to ourselves, covet it as a cherished secret as if for it to be known would be to drive the final nail into eir coffin.
+
+We stumbled through our grief as one in that field, held one another, cried our tears of anguish, suffered our collective misery for what would be the last time we ever joined so completely. And then, in ones or twos, we gradually diminished. There were fewer and fewer of us in that field, and though my muse was among the first to go with a fork of mine, I remained with Slow Hours and The Only Constant. We three lingered with what remained of the other stanzas, lingered well into an evening that the sim did not perform for us.
+
+There were the outbursts of crying, of bickering, the softness of cooing and silence. There was the rhythm of \emph{Kaddish}, though those of us most experienced with such were already at synagogue; the ensuing laughter as some dozen of us stumbled through a prayer few of us had ever seriously practiced was terribly hysterical, and at once crucial to relieving us of that direness we felt.
+
+We had no body to bury, my dear, and all the time in the world to dedicate to our grief. So our funeral was then and it was there.
+
+\clearpage
+
+\subsection*{What Right Have I}
+
+\subsubsection*{The short answer:}
+
+No, there was not.
+
+\subsubsection*{Longer answer}
+
+\emph{Not as such.}
+
+When Michelle/Sasha summoned us to her field, I was not expecting that which I received.
+
+I was expecting that perhaps she would seek input from us.
+
+We had heard so little from her over the years. She sought out Rav From Whence and I at one point to discuss her inherited faith, what it had to say about suffering, what it had to say about grieving. We spoke of Job and his woes, his wish to call God to account. Why was it that he was caused to suffer so? What, also, did the interpretations of this text have to say about what it was that he went through?
+
+She summoned more from the third stanza, those of us who delved deep into spirituality. We brought before her Unknowable Spaces, who spoke about grief and the ways in which it interacts with the soul, the spirit, and the self. Unknowable Spaces brought with her a friend who had been a doctor, phys-side, who spoke to the ways in which suffering interacts with the body.
+
+When she spoke of heaven of hell, of paradise and eternal conscious torment, I cried. Many of us cried! She looked only tired. Unknowable spaces recited for her a quote from Rabi'a al-'Adiwiyya al-Qaysiyya:
+
+\begin{verse}
+O God! If I worship You for fear of Hell, burn me in Hell\\
+and if I worship You in hope of Paradise, exclude me from Paradise.\\
+But if I worship You for Your Own sake,\\
+grudge me not Your everlasting Beauty.
+\end{verse}
+
+I cried yet more and spoke of the ways in which the Jewish view of the afterlife changed over the millennia, how originally there was \emph{Sheol,} that place of darkness and rest and eternal sleep, and then, as the Jews collided with other cultures, this began to lean towards thoughts of paradise, and with that thoughts of some cruel inversion. I asked her to consider Qohelet --- the teacher, not he who was a part of her --- and his gentle admonition to consider the ways in which one strove as well as the ways in which one suffered in the face of so much rest to come: \emph{Whatever it is in your power to do, do with all your might. For there is no action, no reasoning, no learning, no wisdom in Sheol, where you are going.}
+
+From Whence said, ``Strive with an eye to the betterment of all, and consider that, if you are \emph{b'tzelem Elohim,} made in the image of God, that includes \emph{you,} my dear.''
+
+And so when she summoned us that awful day, I expected other than what I got.
+
+I was expecting that perhaps she had words to say about Qoheleth, about his rise and fall, about how it was that \emph{she} felt about his assassination. were it someone within the clade who had organized this --- and none had ever come forward --- then ought we not find a way to discuss paths forward?
+
+I was expecting perhaps, in some roundabout way, reconciliation. Her with her clade, the clade with itself, all of us with the world in which we lived.
+
+How naïve I am! How foolish I was to hold such hope!
+
+So when she asked us to merge down, when I began to understand what it was that she was doing, I wept and tore at my garments. I tried to keep it to myself, but in the end, I collapsed to the grass, curled into as tight a ball as I could, with my snout all but tucked into the ground as though I could shield myself from what I knew must be coming.
+
+Rav From Whence bade me look up just in time to see her disappear once and for all from existence, and we said ``\emph{Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam, dayan ha'emet,}'' the announcement of a death, and returned to our synagogue.
+
+There we fought, and bitterly, as to whether or not this occasioned a funeral. Rav From Whence argued for yes, for the funeral was for the people, not for the dead, and I argued for no, because the funeral was also for the dead, and she could not be, for we lived on. This discussion was old and tired, for we had debated this for nigh on a century. Was the quitting of a cladist a death or something else if the clade lived on? Did the manner of quitting matter? If they quit of despair, was that suicide? If they crashed? If CPV claimed them? It was our evergreen \emph{halakha} to argue, just\ldots never in so immediate terms.
+
+I stepped away and did not return for thirty days, preferring to sit in my half-\emph{Shloshim} while wandering, overflowing, believing now that she was dead, now that she was not, feeling now a sense of spiritual ecstasy, now a sense of abandonment. I asked a million billion trillion times why we suffered, why \emph{she} suffered --- and whether or not God replied, asked a million billion trillion times again ``Look, I am worthless. What can I say back to You?''
+
+When I returned, I asked Rav From Whence to give me some space from the topic. I said my \emph{kaddish} and always put off the topic of the funeral until she stopped bringing it up. After all, as Wakefield put it,
+
+\begin{verse}
+There are ways around being the go-to person\\
+even for ourselves\\
+even when the answer is clear\\
+clear like the holy water Gentiles would drink\\
+before they realized\\
+forgiveness is the release of all hope for a better past
+\end{verse}
+
+I rely on the words of others because I do not know. If there was a funeral, I did not attend, and if all that had once been her did not --- or did not even \emph{know} --- did it truly take place?''

ask/content/terribly-tragic.tex

@@ -25,3 +25,26 @@ There are the families we left behind, and if we are not careful, they are gone
 Why did Rareș not join his sibling when the years began to take their toll? What life did he live so worthy of death? Did he set a headstone for Ioan when ey uploaded to fund his education? Did he mourn when his sibling did not write him as frequently as he would have liked?
 
 It is all so terribly tragic, but I do \emph{not} pity them.
+
+\clearpage
+
+\subsection*{Dear The Wheat And Rye Under The Stars}
+
+\begin{verse}
+Of course it is strange to inhabit the Earth no longer,\\
+To follow no longer the customs so newly acquired,\\
+To invest no longer with future humanity\\
+Such promising things as roses,\\
+\ldots\\
+And being dead is full of the labor of catching up,\\
+As one gradually acquired a sense of eternity.—\\
+But the living always make the mistake of too sharp a distinction.\\
+\ldots\\
+In the end, they need us no longer, those taken in youth.\\
+One gradually weans oneself from the earthly\ldots\\
+\ldots{} But we,\\
+Who need such great mysteries, for whom out of grief\\
+So often comes blessed improvement—: \emph{could} we be without them?
+\end{verse}
+
+— Rainer Maria Rilke

ask/src/bizarro.md

@@ -0,0 +1,13 @@
+"To Dear and May Then My Name: Have you ever thought about a Bizarro Universe scenario where you trade places with Codrin and Ioan, respectively? I find myself struggling to imagine it."
+
+"**Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled:**
+
+There are, perhaps, two readings of this. If you mean Codrin and myself switching places, and you are wondering what it would be like for me to date an Odist as a non-Odist, I think I would find myself maddening, and I would have dropped myself years ago. It is perhaps uncomfortable to admit, but there is no small amount of self-loathing in me. I have spent my time in a relationship with another Odist — my close cross-tree instance Serene — and...well. I love her dearly, but she puts rather a fine point on all of the things that I loathe in myself, sometimes.
+
+If, however, you mean me switching places with May Then My Name and being in a relationship with Ioan, then, my dear, you have no idea how eager I would be to corrupt that poor, innocent soul, especially as ey is now. The Ioan who became Codrin was of a very specific type, but this Ioan? The one that May Then My Name has tainted? Oh, how delicious that would be!
+
+**May Then My Name Die With Me:**
+
+Similar to Dear, I shall answer each in turn. If you mean me switching places with Ioan as ey is now, then I do not think much would change. I have absolutely ruined em for a life alone, and I think that ey would feel quite out of sorts if I were not around, just as I feel quite out of sorts when ey is not around. That said, I cannot ignore what happens when I overflow. Ey does not like it when I dissolve into tears and ask em to leave me alone for days at a time. It is a thing I dislike about myself, but am hopeless before. I think that it would hurt me far more to experience it from the other side. I think that I would...well. I think we would risk a feedback loop of tears, and there would be days afterwards when we would struggle.
+
+If you mean me switching with Dear...well, I like Codrin plenty. I think ey is lovely in many of the same ways that Ioan is. That said, I do not think that ey is necessarily my type, especially as ey is now, having been ruined by Dear. Could I love em? Of course! I <em>do</em> love em. But could we be in a relationship? I do not think so.

ask/src/funeral.md

@@ -0,0 +1,83 @@
+# A personal question, if there is an Odist willing to answer it: Was there a funeral after Michelle quit?
+
+## A Finger Pointing
+
+### The short answer:
+
+No, there was not.
+
+### The long answer:
+
+_Not as such._
+
+She brought us all together to the field in which she first dreamt up our dandelions. She did so because she had intended to quit for some months after Qoheleth's death, and because it was crucial to her that she understand each of us in as much depth as one can hope to understand oneself.
+
+When she received our merges and, in nearly the same breath, quit under the gravity of one hundred selves and tens of thousands of lifetimes, many of us were stunned. Some did not expect that the merge would be the moment of death; others saw the writing on the walls; others, still, knew well what it meant to take on so much experience at once, knew well that even the savviest of us could not bear such weight.
+
+So there was the flattened grass where only moments ago she stood, there was the warm breeze that always entertains this sim, and there was the shock and despair of ninety-nine Odists rendered unwhole for the second time. Unwhole and, now, disconnected, disjointed.
+
+We are no strangers to grief, but neither are we exactly comfortable with it. Many of us still struggle to tolerate the mere sound of RJ's name. We often speak about em in euphemism, as if our own little _HaShem_. Even after Sasha's _Ode_, we keep eir nickname to ourselves, covet it as a cherished secret as if for it to be known would be to drive the final nail into eir coffin.
+
+We stumbled through our grief as one in that field, held one another, cried our tears of anguish, suffered our collective misery for what would be the last time we ever joined so completely. And then, in ones or twos, we gradually diminished. There were fewer and fewer of us in that field, and though my muse was among the first to go with a fork of mine, I remained with Slow Hours and The Only Constant. We three lingered with what remained of the other stanzas, lingered well into an evening that the sim did not perform for us.
+
+There were the outbursts of crying, of bickering, the softness of cooing and silence. There was the rhythm of _Kaddish_, though those of us most experienced with such were already at synagogue; the ensuing laughter as some dozen of us stumbled through a prayer few of us had ever seriously practiced was terribly hysterical, and at once crucial to relieving us of that direness we felt.
+
+We had no body to bury, my dear, and all the time in the world to dedicate to our grief. So our funeral was then and it was there.
+
+-----
+
+## What Right Have I</span>
+
+### The short answer:
+
+No, there was not.
+
+### Longer answer
+
+_Not as such._
+
+When Michelle/Sasha summoned us to her field, I was not expecting that which I received. 
+
+I was expecting that perhaps she would seek input from us. 
+
+We had heard so little from her over the years. She sought out Rav From Whence and I at one point to discuss her inherited faith, what it had to say about suffering, what it had to say about grieving. We spoke of Job and his woes, his wish to call God to account. Why was it that he was caused to suffer so? What, also, did the interpretations of this text have to say about what it was that he went through? 
+
+She summoned more from the third stanza, those of us who delved deep into spirituality. We brought before her Unknowable Spaces, who spoke about grief and the ways in which it interacts with the soul, the spirit, and the self. Unknowable Spaces brought with her a friend who had been a doctor, phys-side, who spoke to the ways in which suffering interacts with the body.
+
+When she spoke of heaven of hell, of paradise and eternal conscious torment, I cried. Many of us cried! She looked only tired. Unknowable spaces recited for her a quote from Rabi'a al-'Adiwiyya al-Qaysiyya:
+
+> O God! If I worship You for fear of Hell, burn me in Hell  
+> and if I worship You in hope of Paradise, exclude me from Paradise.  
+> But if I worship You for Your Own sake,  
+> grudge me not Your everlasting Beauty.
+
+I cried yet more and spoke of the ways in which the Jewish view of the afterlife changed over the millennia, how originally there was *Sheol,* that place of darkness and rest and eternal sleep, and then, as the Jews collided with other cultures, this began to lean towards thoughts of paradise, and with that thoughts of some cruel inversion. I asked her to consider Qohelet — the teacher, not he who was a part of her — and his gentle admonition to consider the ways in which one strove as well as the ways in which one suffered in the face of so much rest to come: *Whatever it is in your power to do, do with all your might. For there is no action, no reasoning, no learning, no wisdom in Sheol, where you are going.*
+
+From Whence said, "Strive with an eye to the betterment of all, and consider that, if you are *b'tzelem Elohim,* made in the image of God, that includes *you,* my dear."
+
+And so when she summoned us that awful day, I expected other than what I got.
+
+I was expecting that perhaps she had words to say about Qoheleth, about his rise and fall, about how it was that *she* felt about his assassination. were it someone within the clade who had organized this — and none had ever come forward — then ought we not find a way to discuss paths forward?
+
+I was expecting perhaps, in some roundabout way, reconciliation. Her with her clade, the clade with itself, all of us with the world in which we lived.
+
+How naïve I am! How foolish I was to hold such hope!
+
+So when she asked us to merge down, when I began to understand what it was that she was doing, I wept and tore at my garments. I tried to keep it to myself, but in the end, I collapsed to the grass, curled into as tight a ball as I could, with my snout all but tucked into the ground as though I could shield myself from what I knew must be coming.
+
+Rav From Whence bade me look up just in time to see her disappear once and for all from existence, and we said "*Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha'olam, dayan ha-emet,*" the announcement of a death, and returned to our synagogue.
+
+There we fought, and bitterly, as to whether or not this occasioned a funeral. Rav From Whence argued for yes, for the funeral was for the people, not for the dead, and I argued for no, because the funeral was also for the dead, and she could not be, for we lived on. This discussion was old and tired, for we had debated this for nigh on a century. Was the quitting of a cladist a death or something else if the clade lived on? Did the manner of quitting matter? If they quit of despair, was that suicide? If they crashed? If CPV claimed them? It was our evergreen *halakha* to argue, just...never in so immediate terms.
+
+I stepped away and did not return for thirty days, preferring to sit in my half-*Shloshim* while wandering, overflowing, believing now that she was dead, now that she was not, feeling now a sense of spiritual ecstasy, now a sense of abandonment. I asked a million billion trillion times why we suffered, why *she* suffered — and whether or not God replied, asked a million billion trillion times again "Look, I am worthless. What can I say back to You?"
+
+When I returned, I asked Rav From Whence to give me some space from the topic. I said my *kaddish* and always put off the topic of the funeral until she stopped bringing it up. After all, as Wakefield put it,
+
+> There are ways around being the go-to person  
+> even for ourselves  
+> even when the answer is clear  
+> clear like the holy water Gentiles would drink  
+> before they realized  
+> forgiveness is the release of all hope for a better past
+
+I rely on the words of others because I do not know. If there was a funeral, I did not attend, and if all that had once been her did not — or did not even *know* — did it truly take place?"

ask/src/shapes.md

@@ -0,0 +1,4 @@
+"motes: some odists have been known to make rather extensive modifications to their appearance and shapes, and you're interested in play. aside from your usual shapes (big, little, etc) do you like to toy around with appearance and shape as a form of play?"
+null
+null
+"Oh oh oh! Yes! I like being a big frickin' werewolf! And then I go chase all of my friends and they find all the small places to hide and I cannot tag them. Sometimes I will be an otter for fun and because I can be all long and slinky. I have tried lots, though, over the years."

ebooks/Madison Rye Progress, Samantha Yule Fireheart, Krzysztof _Tomash_ Drewniak/Idumea/Idumea - Madison Rye Progress, Samantha Yule Fireheart, Krzysztof _Tomash_ Drewniak.opf

@@ -5,7 +5,7 @@
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         <dc:date>0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00</dc:date>
         <dc:language>eng</dc:language>
         <dc:subject>Post-Self</dc:subject>

ebooks/Progress, Madison Rye/Marsh/Marsh - Madison Rye Progress.opf

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ebooks/Rob MacWolf, Nathan _Domus Vocis_ Hopp, Madison Scott-Clary, Michael Miele, Alexandria Christina Leal, Thomas _Faux_ Steele, Evan Drake, J.S. Hawthorne, Kergiby, Joel Kreissman/Clade — A Post-Self Anthology/Clade — A Post-Self Anthology - Rob MacWolf, Nathan _Domus Vocis_ Hopp, Madison Scott-Clary, Michael Miele, Alexandria Christina Leal, Thomas _Faux_ Steele, Evan Drake, J.S. Hawthorne, Kergiby, Joel Kreissman.opf

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+        <dc:contributor opf:file-as="calibre" opf:role="bkp">calibre (8.7.0) [https://calibre-ebook.com]</dc:contributor>
+        <dc:date>0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00</dc:date>
+        <dc:language>eng</dc:language>
+        <dc:subject>Skunks</dc:subject>
+        <dc:subject>Post-Self</dc:subject>
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kaddish/Makefile

@@ -0,0 +1,64 @@
+.PHONY: help
+help: ## This help.
+	@# This is ugly as hell and I hate awk
+	@awk 'BEGIN {FS = ":.*?## "} /^[a-zA-Z_-]+:.*?## / {printf "  \033[36m%-20s\033[0m %s\n", $$1, $$2}' $(MAKEFILE_LIST)
+
+.PHONY: final
+final: reset toc ## full document of the book for final print
+
+.PHONY: proof
+proof: engage-letter engage-frame engage-draft toc reset ## full proof document of the book with frames and watermark
+
+.PHONY: draft
+draft: engage-draft toc reset ## draft document of thebook with watermark
+
+.PHONY: fate
+fate: engage-draft
+	xelatex fate.tex
+	xelatex fate.tex
+
+.PHONY: bleed-images
+bleed-images: ## Swap in the full-bleed images for the printers
+	pdftk BOOK=book.pdf MERGE=assets/merge.pdf MAY=assets/may-bar.pdf \
+		cat BOOK1-22 MAY BOOK24-235 MERGE BOOK237-end \
+		output with-illustrations.pdf
+
+.PHONY: plain
+plain: ## full document of the book with no proofing marks
+	xelatex book.tex
+	fd -I 'aux' content/ -x rm \{\} \;
+	fd -I 'bak' content/ -x rm \{\} \;
+
+.PHONY: toc
+toc: plain ## full book with ToC re-rendering in case of page changes
+	xelatex book.tex
+	fd -I 'aux' content/ -x rm \{\} \;
+
+.PHONY: ebook
+ebook: ## render ePub file from LaTeX
+	pandoc book.tex -o ebooks/book.epub -t epub3 --wrap=none
+
+.PHONY: frame
+engage-frame: ## turn on frame marking
+	cp includes/_frame.tex includes/frame.tex
+
+.PHONY: engage-letter
+engage-letter: ## force letter paper
+	echo '\input{includes/_geometry-letter.tex}' > includes/geometry.tex
+
+.PHONY: draft
+engage-draft: ## turn on draft watermark
+	cp includes/_draft.tex includes/draft.tex
+
+.PHONY: reset
+reset: ## reset frame marking, draft watermark, and letter paper
+	echo '%' > includes/draft.tex
+	echo '%' > includes/frame.tex
+	echo '\input{includes/_geometry-trade.tex}' > includes/geometry.tex
+
+.PHONY: content
+content: ## build the markdown content into LaTeX
+	@echo "Are you sure you want to do this now?"
+	@echo "Remove the 'false' below to procede"
+	#false
+	fish fromzk.fish

kaddish/book.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,132 @@
+\documentclass[11pt]{memoir}
+
+\def\watermarkloaded{0}
+
+\input{includes/variables}
+\input{includes/draft}
+\input{includes/frame}
+\input{includes/packages}
+\input{includes/pagelayout}
+\input{includes/geometry}
+\input{includes/toc}
+\input{includes/font}
+\input{includes/title}
+\input{includes/secdiv}
+\input{includes/hyphenation}
+
+\newcommand{\Char}[1]{
+  \cleardoublepage
+  \null
+  \thispagestyle{empty}
+  \vfill
+  \begin{center}
+    \huge\TitleFont #1
+  \end{center}
+  \vspace{2cm}
+  \vfill
+}
+\newcommand\blfootnote[1]{%
+    \bgroup
+    \renewcommand\thefootnote{\fnsymbol{footnote}}%
+    \renewcommand\thempfootnote{\fnsymbol{mpfootnote}}%
+    \footnotetext[0]{#1}%
+    \egroup
+}
+
+\begin{document}
+  \frontmatter
+
+  \thispagestyle{empty}
+  \null
+  \vfill
+  \begin{flushright}
+    \DisplayFont Kaddish
+  \end{flushright}
+  \vfill
+  \cleardoublepage
+
+  \pagestyle{empty}
+
+  \doublespacing
+
+  \begin{center}\DisplayFont
+    \null
+    \vfill
+    {\Huge Kaddish}
+    \vspace{1ex}
+
+    {\HebFont\Huge ✡}
+    \vspace{1ex}
+
+    {\Large A Post-Self story}
+    \vspace{2em}
+
+    \vfill
+
+    {\Large Madison Rye Progress}
+  \end{center}
+  \thispagestyle{empty}
+
+  \newpage
+
+  \input{includes/copyright}
+
+  \newpage
+  \null
+  \cleardoublepage
+
+  \onehalfspacing
+  %\doublespacing
+
+  \null
+  \vfill
+  \noindent\textbf{Note:} this book takes place in the Post-Self setting and touches on the plot of \emph{Marsh}. It is still a standalone novel, but might benefit from having read that work first, as well as other Post-Self stories. They are available as paperbacks, ebooks, and free to read in the browser, and you may find them and much more at \emph{post-self.ink}.
+  
+  \vspace{1cm}
+  
+  \noindent\textbf{Content notes:} TBD.
+  \vspace{1cm}
+
+  \cleardoublepage
+  \thispagestyle{empty}
+  \mainmatter
+  \onehalfspacing
+
+  \pagestyle{empty}
+
+  \cleardoublepage
+
+  \null
+  \vfill
+  \begin{quote}
+Every reading of every poem, regardless of language, is an act of translation: translation into the reader’s intellectual and emotional life. As no individual reader remains the same, each reading becomes a different — not merely another — reading. The same poem cannot be read twice.
+
+The poem continues in a state of restless change.
+
+— Eliot Weinberger
+\end{quote}
+
+  \vfill
+
+  \cleardoublepage
+  \pagestyle{ourbook}
+  %\doublespacing
+
+  \markboth{Kaddish}{Madison Rye Progress}
+  
+  \chapter*{Prologue}
+  \input{content/prologue}
+
+  \Char{What Right Have I — 2403}
+  \input{content/001}
+  \input{content/002}
+  \input{content/003}
+  \input{content/004}
+  \input{content/005}
+  
+  \backmatter
+  \pagestyle{plain}
+
+  %\singlespacing
+
+\end{document}

kaddish/content/001.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,133 @@
+\hypertarget{systime-27841}{%
+\section*{systime 278+41 — \emph{Yom HaShichzur}\blfootnote{10 February, 2403}}\label{systime-27841}}
+
+
+The itch on my palms is not a real itch, and yet all the same, it demands to be scratched. I can scrub my paws down over my front or rub them over my thighs and gain momentary relief, but it will always come back when tensions run high.
+
+Many things will plague me when tensions run high. I will tic --- a jerk of the head to the side with a squeak or a yelp or a quiet grunt. I will pace in an abbreviated line, my steps spelling out an ellipsis. My stammer will get ever worse.
+
+I maintain that these are an integral part of me, just as is bearing the form of an anthropomorphic skunk, and that I will never strive to rid myself of them. I say to myself that I will never cease pacing, that my tics are a form of communication, that scrubbing my paws over my tunic or trousers is simply a part of the way that I live. I promise myself --- and you, whoever you are --- that I will not elide my stammering. When tensions are running high, these are cemented within me as a part of my existence.
+
+Tensions are running high.
+
+I am supposed to be calm. Relaxed. Professional. I am supposed to do anything other than scrub my paws over my front and fidget with the hem of my tunic or visibly restrain myself from pacing. I am not supposed to yelp or squeak in the middle of someone speaking --- least of all Rav From Whence! --- and I am definitely not supposed to scuttle off stage to go lay down on the cushion I keep beneath my desk for high-anxiety moments such as these.
+
+I explain to myself and to others that the entire reason that I exist is to outlive the part of me that speaks in should-statements. I am not supposed to do any of these things, but `suppose' is a `should' in disguise. Reframe it: ``I should not do--''
+
+No.
+
+I exist specifically to kill that version of What Right Have I. The whole reason that I \emph{am} What Right Have I of the Ode clade and no longer am I From Whence Do I Call Out is because Rav From Whence knew that at least some part of her, some \emph{version} of her should exist specifically to revel in unmasking.
+
+We are a revelrous clade.
+
+We are all hedonists, in our way. Conscientious hedonists, mind: we believe that \emph{all} deserve revelry in that which is good, but simply that we, too, are included in that `all'.
+
+Some revel in the hedonism of play, or the hedonism of creating, or the hedonism of food, of drink, of drugs. Some revel in the hedonism of naught: No Unknowable Spaces Echo My Words dreams of death and the lack of life, of mourning and loss, and to her, such is a joy. Unknowable Spaces's up-tree Before Whom Do I Kneel, Contrite dreams of the very lack of a sense of self, and to it, such is a joy.
+
+But consider: they are cross-tree from me. I bear in me very little of what makes them \emph{them.}
+
+No, my revelry lies in unmasking. I revel in the earnestness that one feels for oneself when one is truly as they should be. Michelle never had that. How could she? She was bound by capitalism, and capitalism does not particularly like catastrophically autistic nerds living their best lives.
+
+So she tamped it down, as did so many others, back phys-side, and lived the life of the slightly strange woman who taught theatre --- for what theatre teacher is not slightly strange? --- who loved her students and went home to pretend to be a skunk person on the 'net.
+
+And that was our life.
+
+For the first 31 years of our life, we were that slightly strange but nevertheless comfortably masking autistic woman, and even after we uploaded, even after we were surrounded by so many other strange people, we only relaxed partway, and it was not until Michelle forked into the first ten lines of the Ode clade that we had the chance to relax any further.
+
+For the first 38 years of our life, we were still slightly strange and nevertheless still masked. It was not for another six years until the first line of my stanza, the third, forked my down-tree, Rav From Whence, and while ours was the stanza that returned to the Judaism of our childhood, she was the one who dove wholeheartedly into it. Here, though, is where we took a step back, masked yet more, for as Rav From Whence was forked to lean harder still, she too began to find a place of leadership for herself, and so she remasked, and masked again.
+
+For the first 44 years of our life, we were strange, and yet making it work. We --- Rav From Whence and the me who was not yet --- found a synagogue. We made it through school. We founded our \emph{own} synagogue. We soon lost track of what it meant to be strange.
+
+That did not mean that we ceased having that strangeness within us. That did not mean that we ceased being autistic, nor even that we ceased talking about it. We just became something new. We became Rabbi From Whence. We became a visible, public representative of our clade, and we took that seriously.
+
+That tension piled up, the tension between our new selves and our inherent strangeness. Some 22 years later, I forked off from Rav From Whence. I was no longer her, I was What Right Have I. I was the version of From Whence who could return to strangeness. I was that of her that could not just present as an autistic woman, but the version of her that could revel in that.
+
+And so, for the first 66 years of my life, of all that time as Michelle, as Oh But To Whom, as From Whence, I was strange, but merely strange. I was restrained, and not wholly, joyfully myself --- and this is not to say that my down-trees were not whole or did not experience joy, but I was not them.
+
+On systime 28, 2152 common era, 5912 of the Hebrew calendar, I became me, and I had the chance to grow into what I would eventually become.
+
+And that is, apparently, a fidgety, anxious mess who is doing her best not to scuttle off the stage and go hide under her desk in her office on a glorified dog bed. I am beyond strange, now, and beyond old. I am 316 years old, now, though I have only lived a bit less 315 of those. That is why we are here, yes? That is why I am standing on a stage, ancient and anxious and weird, yes?
+
+I am wandering.
+
+``--know that the Century Attack was a deliberate effort, it is easy for us to reach to parallels in the past.'' Rav From Whence is saying. ``Death on such a scale is hard to imagine, as is loss of such magnitude, but we must remember that, until one year ago today, never before had such recovery of life been accomplished. We mourn our 23 billion dead, we celebrate the 2.3 trillion who are still alive. What Right Have I?''
+
+I tug my tunic straight and step forward to stand beside Rav From Whence. Then tug my tunic straight again, scrub my paws down over my sides, and tug my tunic straight once more.
+
+It is worth mentioning that it is not the crowds that make me nervous. Yes, I have certainly never spoken to an audience of \emph{thousands} before , just as I have never had my words broadcast over AVEC so that those back phys-side can watch, can hear my stammering voice, but I do not feel fear of audiences, of public speaking.
+
+Instead, I feel fear of myself, of so many intrusive thoughts.
+
+\emph{``Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu melekh haolam, sheg'molanu kol tov,''} I call out. I never stammer in Hebrew, and have never questioned why.
+
+The response comes from only a quarter of the assembled --- a mumbled, \emph{``Amen. Mi sheg'malchem kol tov, hu yigmolchem kol tov. Selah,''} that I cannot help but sound out in my head in time --- but it is enough to show that I am not speaking solely to politicians and bureaucrats (or whatever passes for such, sys-side).
+
+``I\ldots{} ah, I am What Right Have I of the Ode clade, member of the committee dedicated to\ldots{} ah, to this occasion,'' I say, bowing toward the assembled. ``It is, as my down-tree says, one year since the recovery from the Century Attack and\ldots{} ah, and thus two years, one month, and eleven days since each and everyone of us died. We died!''
+
+Silence, just as planned. I stifle a tic to keep that silence silent.
+
+``To the last, everyone present here-- ah, that is, everyone present sys-side, spent one year, one month, and eleven days in some hidden \emph{Sheol}. We were\ldots{} ah, I mean, to phys-side, we were your memories only, just as the dead have been since the beginning of memory. We missed our own Yahrzeit, yes? We slept in death, yes? We were late to the party?'' I shrug, wry smile on my face. ``We are\ldots{} ah, we are not sorry. We were dead at the time.''
+
+Chuckles, just as planned. Give an ex-theatre teacher a stage, and you will get gallows humor.
+
+``We debated celebrating our own Yahrzeit as an intentional holiday, and\ldots{} mm, well, and perhaps some of us do, yes? Perhaps on New Year's Eve, we recited our own \emph{Kaddish.} I did not. I argued from\ldots{} ah, from the beginning, that we hold instead \emph{this} day in our hearts. This is a day worth celebrating. This is the day we lived again. This is the day that we --- that the committee on\ldots{} ah, on the Century Attack at the New Reform Association of Synagogues --- have decided to dedicate our energy to. It is my honor to announce that\ldots{}''
+
+I turn to face west and, with timing on my side, need wait only some few seconds before the final sliver of the sun slides below the horizon.
+
+``It is my honor to announce\ldots{} ah, to announce that it is now \emph{Yom HaShichzur.} Today is the day of our restoration and\ldots{} ah, and the first celebration of our return to life. May we take this day every year, the 41st day, February tenth, to\ldots{} ah, that is, to not fast, but feast, to rejoice with each other that we are \emph{here,} that despite the wills of others who would have otherwise, we are \emph{still here.}'' I bow once more and gesture at the open space before the stage, cueing the oneirotects standing to the side to dream up the banquet that will be our first such feast. \emph{``Chag sameach.''}
+
+And now, I am free. I linger a polite five seconds on the stage before turning and stepping down the stairs, carefully making sure that I walk unhurried, to pad back to the synagogue, to my office, to comfort and softness and the dark beneath my desk.
+
+There will be merriment or tears. There will be feasting and chatting or small, awkward silences. I do not know. I do not care. I will not be there. This has been too much, and the tensions are high.
+
+The synagogue itself is a relatively small building built into the side of a hill --- the hill on top of which we had our gathering --- a sharp-gabled building that can easily be confused for a house from the front, but which rambles down the hill behind that facade in a sprawling complex of meeting rooms, community rooms, classrooms, and apartments for newly uploaded Jews who found themselves in need or want of a place to stay where they might be comfortable.
+
+It is a place that has become my home in so many ways, for yes, that is where my congregation meets, and yes, that is where my office is, but, like those newly-uploaded, it is also where I live. I have taken up permanent residence in a room beside my office. It is cozy and small, and consists of little else beyond a beanbag for reading on and a bed for sleeping on, but it is mine in what I feel is a very \emph{me} way.
+
+There are ways in which this whole sim feels like mine. Yes, I have had my paw in designing portions of it, of making suggestions or nudging those who have worked on it toward changes. Yes, I work here, both in my studies and in the occasional volunteer work, bettering by hand what I know how. Yes, I have stuffed myself into committee after committee, arguing and agreeing on matters of \emph{tikkun olam,} that we might give back, repay and repair.
+
+But also, I feel that I inhabit this space. I have imbued it with little bits of What Right Have I, from the tangible bits of shed fur, those skunk pixels that linger here and there, to the intangible fact that I have simply been a part of this community for centuries now.
+
+It is on these things --- these memories, these wonderings if ever my paws have tread the same spot twice --- that my mind lingers as I walk. My mind lingers on them to the point where Rav From Whence has to touch my elbow gently to let me know that she has stepped in beside me, has been walking with me for who knows how long and has been trying to get my attention.
+
+I squeak and skip a step to the side, tail bristling, before forcing myself to calmness. I bow to her.
+
+She smiles, nodding her acknowledgement. ``What Right Have I, do you have a moment more to talk? I have a request for you before you head back.'' She lifts a plate heaped with some known favorite foods of mine. ``Plus, I brought you some to take back with you.''
+
+It takes a few seconds for the request and the offer to click into place for me, and I realize I have been blinking dumbly at her for that time. I smile hesitantly in turn and accept the food. ``I\ldots{} ah, \emph{todah rabah.}'' I murmur. ``What is it you wanted to ask?''
+
+She nods, gathers her thoughts, and then stands straighter to speak. ``I would like you to reach out to some clades, both within the congregation as well as others within our clade, to get a better sense of our life a year later. I have a longer document written out about this to give you something in writing, but I wanted to get a sense of your feelings on the idea first.''
+
+My gaze drifts away, down to the plate of food in my paws, to the vegetables fresh and cooked, to the fried apple fritters and savory potato dumplings. I pick out a stick of celery to crunch on, knowing that something like that will give me more time to think. I do not chew prettily by some standards, but such was never the point, in my life. It comes with having a muzzle that borders on transgressively realistic. I chew noisily and, at times, quite messily.
+
+Let others cope.
+
+Once the bite is finished and a string of fiber from the celery nudged from between teeth, I sigh. ``This\ldots{} ah, this feels like a strange request to ask of me in particular, my dear.''
+
+An eloquent shrug. ``I have given it thought and stand by my decision. It is not a requirement, of course. You need not say yes.''
+
+``Why me, then?'' I smile faintly, gesture down at myself. ``I am this, yes? I am\ldots{} ah, I am a bit of a disaster.''
+
+``You work on rather a lot of committees related to this already.''
+
+``Yes, but in an advisory role. I\ldots{} ah, I am not normally one to talk to strangers, or even acquaintances, about these sorts of things.''
+
+She chuckles. ``I know, What Right Have I. That is, in part, why I am asking you, though. You will be a new face to many, and it will break the context of how many more already view you. It will show them that you are part of this world, too.''
+
+I realize I am scowling and do my best to soften my features. ``I see.''
+
+``Consider it a part of your ongoing work with the committee,'' she says, gesturing back toward the celebration, now taking the form of a long line snaking away from the feast table. I am reminded of tails, and have to work to dismiss the thought. ``A part of this restoration is that it is an ongoing process. We should learn \emph{how} people are restoring. Repairing the world is a never-ending process.''
+
+I work harder to keep the scowl off my face, all the more so for how much I have expounded on such, have said \emph{mitzvot goreret mitzvot}, have written on the words of the fathers, ``You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it,'' and how they fit within sys-side life.
+
+And so I sigh. ``Very well, Rav. I\ldots{} mm, well, I still do not understand why it should be \emph{me} who does this, but\ldots{} ah, but I will do my best.''
+
+She smiles most kindly and bows. ``Thank you, my dear,'' she says, then gives a shooing motion with both of her paws. ``Now, go. Eat. Spend some time restoring yourself, too.''
+
+I sigh, bow, and give my best thankful smile before padding in through the front door of the synagogue.
+
+From Whence is a past master at riding the line between condescending and genuinely kind, and even I know that the perceived condescension is a matter of tone, a matter of interpretation. It is easy for me to read in \emph{``Consider it part of your ongoing work with the committee,''} a sense of placation, of \emph{``Come now, What Right Have I, you know you should be doing this too.''} It is equally easy for me to see, however, that I am reaching a little for this, that I am finding ways to see how others are steering me as a parent steers a child.
+
+And yet she still is so often genuinely kind. She knew well that, when I stepped so calmly away from the gathering, it was to head to my hidey hole where I might seek rest in comfort and quiet, and so with that plate of food and that gentle nudge to send me on my way, she absolved me of any guilt for doing so. She knew. She knew, so she smiled and gave me that permission.
+
+Ah well.

kaddish/content/002.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,42 @@
+\hypertarget{systime-27842}{%
+\section*{systime 278+42}\label{systime-27842}}
+
+I have decided that I will work on this project I have been assigned longhand.
+
+It is a thing that I will go through phases on, the ways in which I work. Sometimes, I will work with a pen in my paw and paper on my desk, books all scattered around. At other times, my desk will bear a great screen and I will type on a keyboard adapted to work with the digger claws I bear as a skunk, all of my research in buffers and panes scattered across the view. Rarely, I will work solely in my head, words committed directly to an exocortex, sources bubbling up through my mind from the libraries at the heart of our System like so much fizz in a drink.
+
+These phases will last a year or ten, and then meld seamlessly into the next. That is where I am now. I am in the midst of a dovetail. I am coming off a period of working in my head, because my paw craves the weight of a pen.
+
+This is not strictly true, I think, now that I put it to words. I do not think this change is wholly natural. The world ended for some baker's dozen months and now I am unsettled.
+
+All of life comes in phases, overlapping and intertwined. It is a braid. It is a melody. It is a story that we tell ourselves from day to day about who we are.
+
+It is a braid and a story and there are phases within our lives, and yet there still exists the world around us, gently impinging here, wrenching us into some new reality there.
+
+We were wrenched. We were ripped from being and it was only through the tireless efforts of who knows how many engineers both embodied and embedded, that we were slowly mended, woven back into the fabric of life. When we crashed, all 2.3 trillion of us, we were all in the middle of \emph{something,} and now we must take into account that the universe continued without us for some time. We must take into account that, no matter what our \emph{something} was, it was interrupted.
+
+I had been working on an essay at the time of the crash. It took me nearly nine months to return to the act of writing, for even though it lingered there in an exo, I could not bring myself to write it. There was too much to do, and there was too much that was fraught with life, for we all, I think, had our worries that the apocalypse was not yet finished with us.
+
+I am now unsettled, because the world ended, and so instead of writing this report for Rav From Whence in my head, as I did for my last few papers, I will write it out by hand.
+
+But that is not my only project, is it? There is \emph{this} one, too. There is this story that I am telling you myself about who I am and who I was, and that is being written close to my heart. It will live in an exo and, if I am honest with myself, likely never see the light of day. I will write it in my thoughts in those moments between, the minutes before I sleep at night and before I rise in the morning, the slow walks I might take to clear my head. I will wrangle my thoughts, lasso them together, coerce them into words and then think them directly into my memory that I may draw upon them for\ldots whatever. I do not know what I might need these thoughts for, but I nonetheless feel compelled to note them down.
+
+My therapist has guided me towards journaling several times over the years to greater or less effect. When last we met, she did not bring it up, and yet hear I am, essentially journaling.
+
+I wonder why? Why is it that this project belongs to the ink of a pen, yet the journal I keep belongs in my thoughts? Is it that it is so much more private? Do I worry about committing these words to paper?
+
+Perhaps it is that there is some issue of privacy. Am I worried about my words being seen or read by another?
+
+I do not think so. With some projects, when I have worked long-hand, I have taken joy in the act of writing and then simply committed the words to memory and dismissed the written sheets themselves. It is not that the words might exist in some tangible form, but the act of writing itself.
+
+Perhaps it is that committing words to paper would mean that I would be setting them down in some way more concrete than simply thinking of them.
+
+In this case, it is the \emph{committing} that is the important part. Am I perhaps afraid of my thoughts on the Century Attack and on this assignment from Rav? Would seeing my words, unchanging, on the page, whining of this or that, be too much akin to pinning these thoughts specifically to those grumpinesses, bitternesses?
+
+This, I think is partially true. There is truth in the fact that, when writing by hand, part of the goal \emph{is} to pin down a meaning to a word. It is to write a thing into being. That is not the case with this journal, if journal it is.
+
+Perhaps, though, perhaps I am just embarrassed. Perhaps the feelings that drove me to start cataloguing these experiences are ones that I am merely too embarrassed to set to paper, too shy of what they might suggest. Am I really such a whiner? Do I really kvetch about every little thing?
+
+Apparently, and that is why I think this is the most true of these reasons yet.
+
+And besides, it is not as though I have any thought of publishing this work, and would not even if I were to write it out longhand or sit at my desk typing. To write as though that were the case would be to hem myself in, draw boundaries around these embarrassing thoughts and promise myself that they in particular will not see the light of day.

kaddish/content/003.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,218 @@
+\hypertarget{systime-28746}{%
+\section*{systime 287+46}\label{systime-28746}}
+
+I met today with a longtime friend of mine in the hopes that he would be the first among my interviewees. Why after all, should I not figure out the shape of this project through some known thing?
+
+For that is the problem I am running into, after all: knowing the shape of this project.
+
+Rav From Whence came to me with the vaguest of suggestions, and the proposal document that she offered the next day clarified little. Her suggestion was that I ought to interview those within the congregation first, then those without and yet who might have some thoughts on just what life after the Century Attack might look like. In particular, she was suggesting that I collect for her not just the interviews but also my very particular take on them. A Jew's take. An autistic woman's take. The take of this disaster by someone who might very well be called a disaster, herself.
+
+But why?
+
+Not just why me --- though also why me --- why is my down-tree interested in a project like this? Why does she want this thing from me? What purpose would it serve?
+
+I ran through the list of associations that I know she has.
+
+She is the rabbi here at Temple Beth Tikvah She is on several committees with the Association of New Reform Congregations, and heads up several. She was for several decades, the \emph{chair} of the ANRC. She is well connected. She is well collected. She is who I was. I remember being this person. I remember being the type of person who could change hearts and minds through this very Odist mode of interaction. She is the type like so many of us to speak in accidental five paragraph essays. She is the type to deep canvas without thinking, to show the world what it is doing to those within.
+
+None of this tallies with this project.
+
+I am to speak with people about this broad topic and pull together their responses and my impressions in a report. More than that, I am to be entirely myself throughout this process. I am to\ldots be seen? Is that it? Is that the subtext of what she told me in front of the shul? Her document told me that it was to be ``a chance for outreach as well as research'', which tells me precious little and yet which hints at much the same.
+
+I am to be seen. I am to remain this version of myself that is cherished by me and tolerated by others, and I am to place that self in from the bereaved and\ldots I do not know! I do not know. Why am I to be as myself as possible in front of these mourners?
+
+I asked, thus, this of my friend.
+
+``I imagine there are a few takes on that,'' he said. ``One is a strange sort of outreach like the proposal says. You go out and chat with the people and they see a skunk furry with a tic disorder and a double helping of anxiety.''
+
+``Yes, but\ldots{} ah, but what does that accomplish?'' I asked
+
+He shrugged, a wry smile on his face. ``No clue. That's where the supposition stopped. Is she asking you to do this so that the temple is viewed in a certain way? Is she hoping that you'll straighten yourself up in some way without realizing it? I really haven't the faintest.''
+
+I pulled a sour face and glared down at my coffee. ``Straighten myself up. She\ldots{} ah, that is, I cannot imagine what I would straighten up into. Would I stop speaking so immediately that my thoughts race ahead of my words? Would I look my interlocutors in the eyes? Would\ldots{} ah, would I fuss with my shirt less?'' I gestured down at myself.
+
+He laughed, waving his hands disarmingly. ``Like I said, no clue. You're all so\ldots so tricksy that--''
+
+I giggled. I could not help myself! I giggled and clapped my paws. ``\,`Tricksy'!''
+
+Once more he laughed. ``Yes! You always have all these schemes, planning things that have layer after layer of meaning. It's\ldots well, I was going to say it's a wonder you all can even keep it straight, but clearly it's an individual thing, rather than a collective thing, if you're this confused.''
+
+I like him, Joseph Chace. He can poke gentle fun at me and it feels like no cruelty is behind it. Doubtless myriads of such people exist but this one is my friend, and I am glad for it
+
+We met some century and a half ago when he came to visit an evening Shabbat. He, a Quaker, stated that he was interested in sorting out his feelings over a whole set of beliefs not his own, that he had plans to visit all sorts of congregations of all sorts of faiths, that he was out about about several times over that night doing just that.
+
+So ebulliently strange was he, so well read and delightfully weird, that he was nudged my way by From Whence. Strange, bookish man? Point him at the strange, bookish skunk!
+
+It was a good estimation, for we have been friends since.
+
+I am realizing as I set these words down that I must sound terribly bitter about my existence. I must sound like I resent my cocladist, or mistrust her, or suspect her of unfairly coddling me.
+
+I do not think this is the case. Not usually.
+
+There are times --- and perhaps with this project more than usual --- when this does seem to be the case, that she is looking down piteously at me and saying, as did a teacher in grade school, ``Ay, pobrecita\ldots{}'' The poor little girl cannot quite handle the world\ldots{}
+
+There are times when I feel she pities me, but those feelings never quite stand up against reality, and so I am left wondering where it is that \emph{I} am picking up such feelings. How is it that \emph{I} trust myself so little that I expect others, even those who are in some way myself, most feel this way about me?
+
+No one likes the feeling of being patronized, and yet the defensiveness within me prompts me to read such into every little interaction. It is a thing that am realizing perhaps I ought to watch out for, to approach consciously.
+
+But, ah--! I have lost track of the thread. I was speaking with Joseph today, and so I asked him, ``Well\ldots{} ah, would it be alright if I were to interview you, then? Perhaps there is some goodness that I may yet find in this project, and who better to seek that with than\ldots{} ah, than a friend, yes? Perhaps you may nudge my questions this way or that, that I may find more\ldots{} mm, I suppose edification in the act of asking.''
+
+While he often bore a slight smile on his face, the tenor of it was labile and his moods discernible through its intricacies. Now, it slipped closer to a smirk. ``Edification?''
+
+``Well, yes. That is what we are discussing, is it not? That\ldots{} ah, that perhaps From Whence has some ideas as to the fact that I might do this project for myself, rather than for the world.''
+
+``You're just being very \emph{you} about the whole thing,'' he said, laughing. He sat up, shooting imaginary cuffs and straightening imaginary tie. ``Alright. Ask away, What Right Have I.''
+
+``Very well. Can\ldots{} ah, can you tell me what you were doing on that New Year's Eve? The night of the Attack?''
+
+``You know, when you brought up this whole venture, I was imagining that'd be the first question you'd ask.''
+
+``Is it\ldots{} ah, perhaps I should change it?''
+
+He shrugged. ``It depends on the vibes you're going for. If you're looking to lead people into an interview where they can give the same answers they've thought of in their heads for a year now, it's a great one.''
+
+I frowned. ``Should I not, then?''
+
+``No, no, that's what I mean. That's valid and useful, too, because you can get the things that people have been cycling over for a year. That tells its own story.''
+
+``And the alternative?''
+
+He laughed, not unkindly. ``No clue, What Right Have I. You tell me.''
+
+I did my best to cover a tic, a release of slowly building anxiety, with a dramatic eye-roll. ``Humor me, Joseph.''
+
+``I really don't know, is the thing, because I don't know what you're going for. Are you going for making them cry by the end? Do you want them to express hope for the future? Are you aiming to rouse righteous anger?''
+
+Here, I must stop to put a pin in something. The conversation continued, and is worth recounting, and I \emph{will} recount it, but I have to put a pin in the final question there: \emph{are you aiming to rouse righteous anger?} Joseph's habit of alliteration aside, this was an astute question that raised my hackles in the moment, raises them even now as I put these words to memory.
+
+I must put a pin it to speak of later, because there is an essential anger in me that only at times feels righteous, and that is perhaps why, above all other reasons, I am undertaking this exercise.
+
+Now, though --- as I did at the time --- I must swallow that anger until I am through with the moment.
+
+``I am\ldots{} ah, in this, I am directionless,'' said. I knew that my tone was clipped, that my lips were threatening to curl, that my tail was bristled and hiked. I know that I have said that I exist to unmask, but I am not ignorant of the realities of communication, the little lies we tell, both verbal and non. I spent a moment quelling this sensation. I sat up straighter. I un-splayed my ears. I with a sweep of the paw brought my tail up into my lap that I might comb my claws through the stiff fur, there, brushing out imagined accumulated dust. Self-soothing. ``I am sorry. That I am directionless is\ldots{} ah, it is stressful, yes?''
+
+He smiled most kindly and nodded. He knows me well, Joseph, and I am pleased that he is in my life. Despite my abrasiveness, despite when I have at times snapped at him --- as any friend might after centuries --- despite the end of the world, he is still in my life.
+
+``If I were to perhaps\ldots{} ah, well, let us say that perhaps I switch it up with each interview, yes? Perhaps I wrong-foot some of those with whom I speak, and with others, I walk the straight and narrow path? Perhaps with some I will play twenty questions, yes?''
+
+``Twenty questions? Like the game where you have to guess what someone's thinking of, and you have twenty questions to do so?'' He raised his brows, an expression that somehow involved his whole face moving in opposite directions. It is quite charming. ``I hadn't considered that as an interview technique.''
+
+I laughed, waved a paw, and set back to the self-soothing grooming of my tail. ``No.~There was a time when\ldots{} ah, when Michelle was invited to play --- this was early on after uploading, you see, before our sensoria were locked into consensus --- and she had forgotten that such a game existed. She decided, instead, to offer twenty questions that pushed primarily discussion. We as a clade have\ldots{} ah, we have kept a list of such circulating.''
+
+``Oh? Like what?''
+
+``Perhaps\ldots{} ah, perhaps you may tell me this: what is your most treasured, and yet completely inconsequential memory?''
+
+He sat up straighter. ``\emph{In}consequential?''
+
+``Yes. What memory that\ldots{} ah, that others would find completely mundane and unimportant is a joy to you?''
+
+There was a moment of silence before he let out a baffled chuckle. ``You're all \emph{very} weird, you know that?''
+
+I smiled smugly, nose poking up in the air with a bit of haughtiness. ``I do, yes.''
+
+Where before he had raised his brows, now they sank in concentration, and once more, I was struck by the way that this involved his whole face coming together. ``Alright. Well\ldots I suppose that, if we're talking about the Century Attack, then I'll restrict my memories to around that.'' He settled back in his seat once more. ``I lost two up-trees in the attack, Epsilon and Mu. They--''
+
+``Do you then have no more than\ldots{} ah, then twenty-four up-trees?''
+
+``I only have thirteen.'' He winced. ``Had. There are eleven Josephs Chace now.''
+
+I nodded, silent.
+
+He continued, more slowly now. ``We lost Epsilon and Mu. And I say \emph{we,} here, deliberately. We may all be our own people, but we are also a unit all together. I'm Prime, and Epsilon and Mu were each their own, but we are still all Joseph Chace.''
+
+``Were.'' I winced as soon as I said it, though if Joseph felt any pain by it, he did not say so.
+
+``We're all together in being Joseph Chace, and we're all members of the same meeting. Some of us have fallen away from regular attendance of course, not everyone has maintained the same interest in Quakerism --- or even spirituality --- that I have, but we're all still members of the Brookside Friends' Meeting. First Days come around, and so many of us see each other there. Some First Days, we'll even get the whole clade there. You can tell at a glance that that's the case if you count the empty chairs.
+
+``I'm like you, you know. I'll always merge down to be singular for meeting for worship, if I can. I like the feeling of living life in parallel as much as any dispersionista, so it feels almost titillating that I take this time to live so singularly.''
+
+``I think that\ldots{} ah, that you may simply be a nerd.''
+
+He laughed, waved a hand dismissively. ``Pot. Kettle. Black.''
+
+I preened.
+
+``Anyway. The 11th was First Day, the day after we got back, and everything was so crazy that a bunch of us met at the meetinghouse, and that's where we learned that Epsilon and Mu were gone. Lots of tears, lots of big feelings. That was before we knew it was an attack; we just thought some huge crash had happened. Still, we all agreed that we'd meet on the 18th, the next First Day, and have an actual, honest-to-God meeting. We could figure out a memorial meeting later, but maybe we could actually just\ldots fucking\ldots pray.''
+
+He was getting heated. This was not new. He is a passionate man, and I have seen him soapbox gleefully and angrily both. This was not new, but what \emph{was} was a brightness to his eyes that I'd never seen before, and so out of place was it that it took me some few moments to realize that they were tears not yet shed.
+
+``The 18th comes around, and we all gather at the meetinghouse, and the mood is, obviously somber. We're all pretty fucked up by the ceaseless torrent of news.'' He laughed, and bitterly so. ``I don't remember the news cycle from phys-side with any fondness, but it was \emph{so} easy to fall back into. Checking the feeds every few minutes, just in case something new had come up. It was so easy\ldots{}''
+
+I was rapt by now, and my tics had ceased.
+
+He took a deep breath and continued. ``We were all messed up, and I was wondering how we'd be able to leave any room for silence. Surely we'd all be clamoring to speak, trying our damnedest to wait a minute or so between each message.
+
+``But no. We just\ldots sat there. Twenty-fucking-five of us, two clades, and we just sat there in silence for the whole damn hour.''
+
+He scuffed the heel of his palm against first one cheek, then the other.
+
+``That's not even that rare. Once every\ldots I don't know, fifteen, twenty meetings or so, we'll have a fully silent one. No messages. No speaking. We all just sit there like a bunch of fucking idiots and it'll be the most impactful thing to happen to us for months to come.
+
+``You don't really think of it, but fifteen weeks is a long time. More than a quarter of a year! And here we are, spending months thinking about sitting, silent, in a room for an hour or more. This is why I say idiots. You put it into perspective, and it seems so stupid.''
+
+``Inconsequential,'' I offered. I am ashamed to admit that there is a part of me that remains proud of this single word offered at just the right time.
+
+He smiled, and shakily so. ``Yes. You see? Eleven Josephs Chace sat in a room in silence for an hour and fifteen minutes. I haven't spoken with the Kanewskis --- they're the other clade at Brookside. I haven't spoken with the other Josephs. This is just my memory. Maybe it's also theirs, I don't know.
+
+``My most important, least consequential memory is sitting in a dead silent room with twenty people, counting empty chairs over and over again.''
+
+I bowed my head, both in thought and in politeness. The politeness ought to stand evident, but the thought was a picturing of the tableau that Joseph offered.
+
+I have been to two of his meetings for worship. The first was because it felt a fair exchange that, being his connection for a visit to Beth Tikvah, I also visit Brookside. Neither of the meetings that I attended were silent. In both cases, yes, we began in silence. There was a call to the egregore, in a sense, that we join together in prayerful silence until one of the members was moved to speak, to share some thought or feeling borne out of that of God within everyone, within those present. And, in both cases, someone stood and spoke. They shared an idea--
+
+Or --- and this is a point that I bear some shame over --- what felt like some \emph{head} of an idea. Some very beginning of a thought, with the expectation that we ought to simply fill in the rest.
+
+I will ever be as I am, though. If you provide me with an opening for anxiety, I will simply fill that opening with anxiety. It was not just a space that I might fill with anxiety over these half-truths, but an invitation to do precisely that.
+
+One of them might say, ``I was thinking this past week on the idea of community and the ways in which this has shifted to include our cocladists as well as those who are from other clades,'' sit down, and, five minutes later, I am fretting, ``Do I treat my up-trees with the respect owed any member of a community?''
+
+I am not built for this.
+
+Give me, instead, the pillowy comfort of ritual. Give me the mumbled and, at times, indistinct chanting in Hebrew. Give me the rising, the sitting, the lifting of my paws. Give me the silence only when it is warranted: when the hand of the rabbi drifts across the congregation asking us to recite the names of the living in need of prayer or the names of the dead in need of remembering. Give me \emph{L'cha dodi.} Give me \emph{Barechu.} Give me \emph{Maariv aravim, Ahavat olam, Shema, Shema, Shema\ldots{}}
+
+Ah, I grow overwhelmed. This bodes ill.
+
+And yet, I am not so bereft of mysticism that I do not \emph{understand} the draw of silence, of the egregore of such a space.
+
+So visceral is his telling that I feel it now, even some hours later, the sitting in silence, with tears held at bay or not, looking around the room and counting empty chairs.
+
+Our conversation wound down from there. There is little of note --- or what is of note is that which belongs between merely Joseph and me --- and soon we parted ways with a hug, as has long been our custom.
+
+I returned home, then, and sat for a while at my desk, trying and failing to read, and then went for a walk, where I sat beneath my Jonah tree until I started to feel warm despite the chill air, and then I returned to my room, where I languished in bed, which is where I remain even now.
+
+And, now that I have finished this telling, now that I have had some space from the initial memory, I may speak about anger without tears or that disgusting way in which I know my face contorts.
+
+There is in me, as I said, an essential anger which does not always feel righteous. We are all beholden at times to our frustrations, and oftentimes, this is the extent of such anger. I will grow frustrated at the world around me, at the way that I am treated, at the ways in which inanimate objects seem to at times disobey me or act counter to the way I think they ought.
+
+Most often, however, I grow frustrated at myself. I grow frustrated at my own anxieties. I grow frustrated at my shortcomings. I grow frustrated with the fact that I have leaned so hard into this identity of unmasking and that unmasking is not necessarily any more comfortable than masking. More liberating, yes, but not more comfortable.
+
+And yet sometimes that frustration rises to anger, and, at its most righteous, I find it often directed towards some inequity. How dare the world be so unfair? That is what I might say, yes?
+
+At its least righteous, that is twisted around into: how dare the world be so unfair \emph{to me?}
+
+How uncomfortable!
+
+Yes, the world is unfair, and yes, I am part of that world, and yet, whenever I find myself veering perilously close to `tantrum', there is a part of me that cannot help but watch, helpless, in horror. Why is the skunk \emph{crying?} What is she \emph{doing?} Why is she like this? What right has she to be so unaccountably upset?
+
+Seeing myself fuss and cry and hide away and leave interactions because of my own shortcomings, feeling that I was not being heard, that I was cycling through anxieties and wrapping myself up in them as though that would somehow give me comfort or greater room to process\ldots{} Well, it was uncomfortable.
+
+Worse, when I would latch onto some slight, real or perceived, and be unable to let it go: I loathe this about myself. Why is it that so often I fall into consternation with my down-tree? Rav From Whence loves me, and I love her. Why is it that we occasionally fall to snippy comments at each other? Why do we both wind up in tears, sitting in some courtyard or hidden room or the synagogue itself, litigating and relitigating and relitigating yet again the same misunderstanding, talking over and past each other? Even now! Even these decades and centuries later!
+
+Yes, we will always sort through our feelings. Yes, we will always return to our friendship, will hug and take the other's paw in our own and vow to be better. And yes, we will be better! We do better by each other every week and every month and every year.
+
+It is just that, yes, there is always some new thorn.
+
+Why, why, why, I ask myself. So many questions, and there are indeed so many answers.
+
+My therapist has brought up several over the decades. She has spoken of various ways to label these cognitive distortions and disordered thinking, and offered them not as some cruel diagnosis, but as frameworks through which I may understand myself and thus progress. My habit of relitigation falls out of perhaps some obsessive thought patterns, a ritual of attempting to say what I feel I must in the \emph{correct} way in order to be best understood, and so perhaps I might think of this as a form of obsessive compulsive disorder. Walk through the ramifications of this as a framework, consider how it fits, draw from it lessons but not a label.
+
+Or perhaps it is merely generalized anxiety. Perhaps I am more than just anxious, I am \emph{pathologically} anxious. Perhaps the anxiety is the type that ruins a life rather than the type that keeps one safe.
+
+Or perhaps this, or perhaps that.
+
+I worry that perhaps I have gone down some blind alley and gotten lost. I worry that I have made myself into not just someone who has relinquished her grasp on herself that she might revel in unmasking, but into someone who has lost control of herself and thus spirals. I worry that all of this anger is pointed inward, in the end, and that its effects merely radiate outward in waves.
+
+I have thought on anger a lot over the centuries, and yet it is this last thought that is new in these last three hundred seventy days.
+
+Do I merely hate myself?

kaddish/content/004.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,166 @@
+\hypertarget{systime-27847}{%
+\section*{systime 278+47}\label{systime-27847}}
+
+I have rested, now, and thought yet more on my conversation yesterday. One thing I will say that Joseph and I spoke about is the moment of the attack. After all, he mentioned that the next day was Sunday --- First Day, as he called it, nerd that he is --- and so it was natural to all of him to meet, then, for worship.
+
+``I didn't notice anything had happened until nearly midnight,'' he said. ``I don't really do anything for New Years, after all. It's just another day for me. That's why I call it First Day rather than Sunday, right? It's the first day of the week, so why give it some special name?
+
+``I was just scrolling through the feeds, hunting down little artsy performances that people had recorded. Some sensorium plays, some comedy sketches. Just stupid, boring, late-night, turn-the-brain-off nonsense.
+
+``I got a ping from Delta asking where Epsilon was and why he wasn't responding. We thought he was in a cone of silence or something, blocking incoming sensorium messages, but then we got a message saying that Mu was missing, along with one of our friends. The rest of the night was spent just panicked, sitting on the edge of the couch at home, trying to get in touch with as many people as I could.''
+
+I told him at the time that my thoughts on that night were incomplete, and so now I am working through them here, that I may put them to words. I will write them down separately in a letter to send his way, as I have at times done.
+
+There is a part of me that wishes I had experienced in my entirety the moment the world fell apart. This part of me is the same part that dreams so often of death. It is the part that looks at finality and cannot look away. It is the part that wonders: will I cry out, in my final moments? It is the part that remembers when Michelle quit with wonder and replays that moment over and over and over again, that tries to peer through remembered tears and see the wonder and joy on her face - faces, for, by then, she was so split in twain that she was two more often than she was one - to perk remembered ears that were also numbed by the horror of those around and listen for the way she said, ``Oh\ldots oh\ldots{}'' and then disappeared.
+
+There is a part of me that wishes I had seen with my own eyes and heard with my own ears the moment the world fell apart. I was there, yes, and I survived, as this work attests, but I remember that moment only from the quiet of the basement and the eyes and ears of another instance.
+
+She, too, survived, this other What Right Have I. She survived and merged down within minutes, but me, I was in the basement in the quiet of a coffee break with Rav From Whence and Rav Sorensen, and so all of her memories are mixed up with that prayerful quiet. I do not have undiluted memories of the end of the world.
+
+There was a rhythm to it all. There was a rhythm to the movement of debate, to the back-and-forth nature of arguing about the way that life flows, ought to slow. It was and ever has been a wrestling with God. With each other, yes, for there was back-and-forth, but it was ultimately a show, a performance that took the form of a debate in order to wrestle with God, with Adonai, Elohim, El-Shaddai?
+
+That is what we are, is it not? The people of Israel? Not just that ancient state, \emph{Medinat Israel,} gone these long centuries. Not the land, \emph{Eretz Yisrael.} They were the people, \emph{Am Yisrael,} the people of Israel who was Jacob. Jacob, who wrestles with God, yes?
+
+And yet it is at times too close to that --- to actual wrestling --- for me. It was too contentious, too intense. I am, as I ever had been, brought along to provide the view of one who had read and reread and reread again all that I could, who had large chunks of the Tanakh memorized, who had buried herself in commentaries and commentaries on commentaries. I had memorized thousands of stories from the Talmud just as I had whole books from the Tanakh.
+
+And yet it was too much.
+
+I had long ago requested that these discussions take place in one of the smaller rooms of the synagogue, that they take place among soft cushions and softer wall-hangings, take place around a circular table with no corners to fiddle with, take place with enough space that I could pace.
+
+I needed that. It was not a want.
+
+I needed to be seen, to be perceived as an entire being who was an integral part of their ceaseless debates, and yet as someone who did not need \emph{accommodation.} I was an entire person, not most of a person for which they must find a way to fill in the rest. These were not accommodations that they needed to make for me to take part, they were a part of my participation that this might be some fuller experience, some work that still would have been complete if it had taken part in a noisy, brutalist hall or out in some park.
+
+Could I take part in those places? Yes. Probably. Could I have provided a completed task that would stand up to the test of time? Probably. Ish.
+
+But could I provide insight that would shine with the sages if they would only do this in a place where I could pace among soft things, where I could fidget and tic, where my little chirps and yelps and twitches would be at least glossed over and at best taken as a sign --- a rainbow! A raven! A plague! --- that the topic had veered or become mired in stress rather than remaining within the soothing track that we had laid out for ourselves.
+
+From Whence Do I Call Out, my down-tree instance, was tightly in control of herself. She was more tightly in control than \emph{anyone} else I have had ever met, never mind just among the Odists.
+
+I was sure that the True Name of yore had probably been yet more in control, and yet I had never met her. I had been no one. I \emph{was still} no one. I was that part of From Whence that needed out of the cage of control. I was the part of her that loathed the social interaction inherent in being a rabbi. I was the part of her that rankled when confronted with this desire to mask and thus appear a confident spiritual leader.
+
+I was that part of her set free.
+
+I was the part of her who could give up that life of leadership and sink down into the comfort of texts.
+
+I was the part of her that splashed about in that collection of neuroses that had been bundled up in Michelle Hadje, that collection of identities and desires that reached for ever more, the bits that had been left behind that had not been crushed to a fine powder by whatever forces within the Western Federation there were that had deemed us nobodies to have been transitively lost.
+
+``What Right Have I?''
+
+I squeaked and jumped at the sudden intrusion of words. ``Ah\ldots yes?''
+
+``You were chirping,'' my down-tree instance said to me, smiling. ``I was wondering if you had further thoughts, my dear.''
+
+I shook my head, then bowed to From Whence. ``My apologies. No, my thoughts had wandered.''
+
+``Do you think we have had enough of this topic, then?''
+
+I shrugged.
+
+``A verbal response would help me better move forward one way or another.''
+
+``Ah, sorry.'' I shook my head again. ``No, ah\ldots{} Yes. I am sorry, Rav From Whence, Rav Sorensen. I think we have had enough of the topic.''
+
+Both of them sighed, nodded, and reached their arms up above their heads in unison to stretch. I hid a secret smile at the synchronicity.
+
+``Fair enough,'' From Whence said, pushing her paw up through the front portion of her mane and ruffling out the already mussed white fur there. ``I could do with a little bit of silence, honestly. Or fresh air. Or something.''
+
+Erin nodded. ``Fresh air sounds good. We could start making our way up to the hilltop the long way around.''
+
+``Not the worst idea.''
+
+I felt stymied. We were \emph{here,} though. We were talking. We were working. We were pounding our fists against the divine and begging it to provide for us some sense of greater truth. We were pushing our way through reality at a constant pace and so learning --- learning or refinement or perfection or whatever it was that we were doing --- ought to proceed at precisely that pace, not stopped by walking up the hill.
+
+``What Right Have I?''
+
+I hid away any sullenness in my posture as I bowed to the two rabbis. Some small bit of masking did at times serve the purpose of merely letting me out of yet more interaction that I did not feel equipped to handle.
+
+``Very well,'' I said, and followed them out the door of this particular meeting room.
+
+The cool air of the night was a blessing. I had not realized just how warm the room had gotten, not until provided with contrast. We stepped out into a garden --- one of my favorites within the sim and a large part of why I preferred this particular meeting room.
+
+The cool air was a blessing, and the perpetually springtime scent of it a comfort. There was the sharp-sweet honeysuckle. There was the baked goods warmth of the day-closing dandelions. There was the floral chill of lilacs.
+
+The cool air was a blessing and the Jonah plant --- my most selfish of contributions to the sim --- was in full flush. When, at times, I was feeling particularly peaky, I would sit in the shade its leaves in the heat of the day, the shadows so deep as to not even be dappled, and then, knowing, by my weight on the bench beneath it, my presence, it would shortly wither away and I would be blasted by the full force of the sun, for even if it was not directly overhead, some trick of the glass on the buildings that formed the courtyard would ensure that this one location was always subject to those rays, and thus I would be confronted with the plight of Jonah --- poor, stupid Jonah --- who cared more about his comfort than the fate of a city so much larger than he.
+
+I was called away from standing still, snout pointed up in the air to take in the scents, that I might follow From Whence and Erin up the hill, this time and two or three times more. I do not know why I was surprised that I needed a break in context, nor why both of my interlocutors had recognized such before I did. Such things will never cease to surprise me, though, and I suppose one upside to this is that I will forever have reason to be thankful for.
+
+We wove our way up to the synagogue the long way around, never once entering a building, for there was a path, if you knew it, that let you go the whole way outdoors. You would step from this courtyard to that following some colonnaded walk or exposed breezeway, climbing stairs and ramps, walking through some ivy-shaded alley where one might touch the walls of the buildings to either side with both paws outstretched.
+
+The narrowest of these was the final path around the side of the synagogue itself, an entry to that alleyway that was hidden by some clever trick of the architecture and light. Here, one might even be tempted to turn sideways and edge, crablike, down the path, so close together were the buildings.
+
+And at last we stood outside the front entrance, the three of us simply breathing deep of the night air --- midnight not far off, now, and the sounds of bustle nearby from those preparing for the celebration. The exertion of the climb lingered with us, and to stop and stand still was a quiet comfort as the chill of the night began to fully set in.
+
+``Do you think\ldots{} ah, that is, shall I perhaps go get us some coffees? Some drinks? We can have a little bit of warmth, yes?''
+
+Both Rav Sorenson and Rav From Whence turned their smiles upon me from where they had been before pointed up to the stars.
+
+``That would be lovely, my dear,'' From Whence said.
+
+``Why not?'' Erin's smile grew all the brighter. ``Though a hot chocolate will do for me, I think.''
+
+I nodded, bowed, and forked.
+
+It was What Right Have I\#Coffee who stepped to Infinite Café, arriving on one of the designated transportation pads, one of those rectangles tiled in a gently glowing white where all collision was turned off, and from there stepped out into the comfortably cool air of the night, warmer than that of Beth Tikvah.
+
+This was notable in part because it was never night in Infinite Café. Or, rather, it was only night twice a year: New Year's Eve and Secession Day night --- eve and night by systime, which I suppose must be UTC or some similar standard --- and then only for the fireworks. When your entire world is a thin ribbon of land, a literal ring road surrounding a bright star, the meaning of `night' shifts.
+
+And so here they were, New Year's eve and it was well and truly night on this road that ran who knew how many kilometers long, a road lined on either side by so, so many cafés and coffee shops and delightful little stalls offering coffee and little treats. Above, no moon shone, but instead there were countless strings of fairy lights, strung with no discernible pattern, casting a warm glow on those below.
+
+It was well and truly night, and yet it was still busy. Crowds meandered under fairy lights and a dark sky that craved the diamond scars of fireworks etched across it. It begged for the blossoming lights that were promised by the evening.
+
+Half an hour away.
+
+The fairy lights drew a crazed pattern above her, etching dotted lines across the black of night. \#Coffee stood for some time, simply staring up to them, trying to draw constellations out of linear groupings of stars. There were more letters than there were animals, given so many straight lines, and so she spent some time trying to spell out words.
+
+Sweet scents still rode in her nostrils and clung to her fur. The cool of the night, just shy of chilly, still filled her body. The joy of the work contrasted still beautifully with the joy of the break and the re-grounding that followed. She was in love, at that moment, with the world, and it felt like the world was in love with her.
+
+There was time to feel this sensation. Time to tune down her hearing to lower the noise of the crowds to something a little more tolerable, and revel in the fact that other people exist, that this world was full of joy.
+
+Twenty minutes away.
+
+Coffee, though. That is why she was here. Warm drinks to stave off the slight chill of the hilltop at Beth Tikvah.
+
+She wandered down the path that was Infinite Café, eyes scanning the storefronts --- or perhaps store-backs, as many of them were --- until one caught her eye.
+
+The Bean Cycle advertised itself with a chaotic pile of bicycles bolted to the wall. It looked like ivy of some sort, or a sort of ooze that threatened to overtake the building itself. Bicycles, wheels, frames, gears and chains, all bolted to the wall or to each other, climbing up beside a door and then oozing up over the low roof.
+
+Why not?
+
+She stepped inside and immediately turned her hearing down further, shutting out the rattle-clatter of a smattering of cyclists riding stationary on sets of rollers before a scoreboard, the whine-howl of steam wands frothing milk, and the dull chatter of those who spoke over it. Halogen lights shone above, at once too bright and not bright enough.
+
+It was overstimulating, and yet all the more quaint and charming for it.
+
+Ordering the drinks --- a hot chocolate and two mochas with extra whipped cream --- went smoothly, and she even let herself be talked into three of ``the best croissants in this sim'', because why not. She was riding along joy, now, like a train on rails, letting it carry her forward.
+
+This --- not the coffee shop, not the noise, but her night, the debate and the walk, existing in the world --- was her joy. It was her calling in life to wrap herself up in the stories of old and then view the world through them like a kaleidoscope that she might then hold up a mirror to it through the lens of interpretation.
+
+Her drinks and croissants were set into a cardboard drink caddy, and at last she was free to step back out into the night air, away from the noise of the bikes and steam wands and halogen lights.
+
+Fifteen minutes away.
+
+Fifteen minutes away and, of a sudden, the crowd was reduced. Many of those who had once stood before her, this instance of me, in knots and gaggles of friends were simply not there. Not all; nor, perhaps, even most. Just many sudden absences.
+
+There was a shout that fell to a murmur, and which then rose to a quiet roar, a wash of sound that led What Right Have I\#Coffee to set her tray of cups and treats on the ground beside her and cover her ears in a rush as she stood outside of a coffee shop. She hurried to turn down her hearing the down yet further and stifled a yelp, a squeak, a jerk of the head.
+
+The words that made it through the pillowy softness of a sense running at 10\% were shouts and cries of alarm. They were names hollered out, presumably those of people no longer present. They were wide-eyed growls begging to know what the fuck had just happened.
+
+Fourteen minutes away, and What Right Have I\#Coffee realized she could not take it all in. Not all of this. Not here. Tray abandoned, she quit to merge back down.
+
+And yet I was dealing with my own worries, then, for at fifteen minutes until midnight, a din arose at the top of the hill, some fifty meters away, and it was as we were making our way toward the noise when the merge from \#Coffee landed on my mind with a startling sense of urgency.
+
+I incorporated the memories without a second thought, and then bolted towards the top of the hill, leaving Ravs From Whence and Sorenson calling after me in my wake.
+
+The scene at the yard atop the hill was much the same as that at Infinite Café: names were called out. Disbelief and shock were expressed. Voices were tinged here with anger, there with fear.
+
+I stood at the edge of the yard and gaped, where I was soon joined by the other two.
+
+I remember little else from that night. Or I remember it, but through a dream-fog of panic.
+
+I remember how Rav From Whence sprung immediately into action --- or, rather, how she was already a whirlwind of motion and emotion, there in the thick of it all, and how the instance beside me merged down as soon as she saw what was happening, and I remember how Rav Sorenson dashed into help. The both of them had soon forked several times over and were corralling the crowd into knots of smaller groups that they might speak more easily with them, working on the level of family, perhaps, or friend-group.
+
+I remember how I stood once more, just as What Right Have I\#Coffee had, gawking at the pandemonium
+
+I remember the first wail --- the first recognition of loss and the first wail of despair and pain that rang out into the night --- and the bright arc of a firework soaring into the sky, bursting, and then the sudden disappearance as the show was canceled.
+
+I remember hearing the wail, seeing the sparks and then sudden dark, and then stepping to my room to hide under my desk, letting flow tears of confusion, frustration, and terror.

kaddish/content/005.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,212 @@
+\hypertarget{systime-27850}{%
+\subsection{systime 278+50}\label{systime-27850}}
+
+The conversation with Joseph seems to be lingering in my mind, caught up in there like some bit of grit between the molars.
+
+I suppose it is not so surprising, all told. The conversation was full of moments heated and kind. We spent some few hours talking together, and have both even sent each other letters after condensing some thoughts that we did not get a chance to share, as is our habit. I wrote to him some more of my thoughts on the moment of the Attack as I set down here in this journal.
+
+We could simply meet up again for another chat, yes, but we have found joy in our letters, in the way they pile up in a folder as milestones of friendship.
+
+But, as is evidenced by the content of the letter that I sent, my feelings on the time immediately following the Attack are sticking to me like burrs in fur. I have been ruminating over those minutes, hours, and days that followed. Those first confused minutes were so full of movement, overwhelming activity, that I could not keep up with them, no matter how hard I tried, and so I stopped trying, and thus those first few hours were spent trying to hold at bay the overwhelm. I alternated between keeping myself hidden away, curled under my desk and under a cone of silence with all outside contact cut off, and opening myself up to the world that I might better understand. I responded to queries ensuring that I was still alive --- Oh, But To Whom contacted me to ask if I and any of my up-trees were still around, as did Joseph --- and filled out a survey that was put under my nose for consideration. I contacted some friends of my own, and found that, to my luck, none were missing. I first scrolled the feeds and then promised myself that I would not scroll the feeds anymore.
+
+I remained under my desk for two days straight, responding to queries with the barest ping of acknowledgment. I did my best to forget my body. I tuned my sensorium down --- nearly off, at times --- and removed hunger and thirst. I did my best to forget my existence in such a world as this.
+
+Throughout, within me there was an anxiety growing.
+
+I had seen them disappear. I had seen people \emph{disappear.} I had seen those around me simply cease to be. I saw them, and then I didn't see them. I remember their faces --- for my memory is as faultless as ever --- and that means that I remember their smiles, their joy, their little frustrations. I remember the barely contained tears of a woman who walked beside someone else. They were tears of disappointment, of a heart in the middle of breaking. I remember them unfallen, and then she was gone. I remember the unbridled joy of love, uncontained, unbounded, in the face of three lovers as the stood with their backs to a wall, postures subconsciously mirrored. I remember their excitement not at the night but at the presence of each other. I remember their glowing faces and then one of three was gone.
+
+I remember seeing the broken-hearted one suddenly gone with no resolution.
+
+I remember the trio reduced to a panicked and searching duo.
+
+Within me there was an anxiety growing.
+
+What if this was not over? What if there were to be yet more disappearances? What if I were to disappear? What if I were to be here within the world and then, with nary a blink, not? What if Rav From Whence and I no longer got to make up and hold hands after our arguments? What if Joseph and I never again got to meet up and talk for hours? What if there were no more papers or books or missives signed ``What Right Have I of the Ode clade''? Who would notice? Who would think of me? Who would remember me? Joseph? From Whence? And how many others? Who thinks of me \emph{now?} Joseph? From Whence?
+
+Within me there was an anxiety growing and I needed out. I needed to be anything other than laying, curled, beneath my desk on a glorified dog bed, all senses turned to ten percent and hunger and thirst flipped off like a light switch. What if I disappeared and no one noticed? How long would pass?
+
+And so I, without even bothering to stand up there in my room, slipped from the sim and was standing on the nearest arrival pad to The Bean Cycle.
+
+I slowly ratcheted up my senses five percent at a time that I would not be immediately overwhelmed, and even then the sun shining overhead was so bright as to make my eyes water as they adjusted, to leave the tingle of a far-off sneeze in my sinuses, to leave the taste of pineapple on my tongue.
+
+The Bean Cycle was muted, whereas two nights prior it was lively. The lights were dimmer and yet clearer, though perhaps that was because it was midday. It was quieter, as though the ratchet of the cycles was shy, the hiss of steam wand and compressed air bashful, unwilling to be piercing. There were people there, still, but more often they were quiet, speaking in pairs and small knots, and more often than not under cones of silence that blocked out any sound coming from within.
+
+I had not considered any steps beyond being in this place, this place where others might be. Now, here I was, and there was something I was supposed to do. I had to do something. There was something I needed to do. I supposed if there was one thing one did in a coffee shop that was also a bike repair shop when one does not have a bike, it must be to order a coffee.
+
+And yet, my voice had left me. I stood dumbly by the counter, and the tired-- no, \emph{exhausted} looking barista behind it, a woman whose skin was a joyous riot of tattoos and wrinkles, merely stared at me. The stalemate lasted nearly a minute before I realized the lock I had gotten myself in, and I lay my ears flat against my head. I brought my fist up to rub in a circle over my chest. My voice had left me.
+
+``Uh.'' The woman seemed started to awareness, and with that awareness seemed to come some more complex emotion. She sniffed, turned, and called out, ``Hasher?''
+
+Nonplussed, I watched as, without a further word, the barista and one of the bike mechanics switched places. She seamlessly picked up the work that this lithe, red-haired, red-bearded person had been working on, and they greeted me with a bow across the counter. ``Help you?''
+
+I signed an apology once more, followed by, ``Do you sign?''
+
+``Oh! Yes!'' A bob of his fist accompanied this.
+
+I sighed, then, in relief and cast a thankful gaze over to the woman who had swapped places with Hasher. She did not meet it.
+
+Hasher stomped a foot gently on the ground --- perhaps overloud for the room, but I could still feel the vibrations through the soles my feet, unclad as they were --- leading me to jump back to attention. I smiled sheepishly, signed, ``I can hear, just can't speak.''
+
+``Gotcha.'' They continued to sign as they spoke. I made no move to stop them. ``What can I get you?''
+
+``May I please have a mocha with extra whipped cream?''
+
+They were already sliding over to the espresso machine as they called out, ``Coming right up.''
+
+Where was his energy coming from? He hopped to with such readiness that a part of me wondered whether he might be a construct, an automaton, a dream of a person built to act as a person might in the role of a barista, but otherwise made solely of dream-stuff in a way that we were not, as cladists.
+
+But no, they had moved with an essential awkwardness that was so often left behind when oneirotects built up these constructs. They looked to me with curiosity and compassion. They looked excited, and for some very specific reason that was not just some attempt at customer service.
+
+I watched them as they worked, then, trying to puzzle out this little bit of reality after so many hours of mere surreality. They caught my eye at one point, smiled, and returned their gaze to their work. The smile lingered.
+
+The resultant drink was nearly a sphere. The mug was a wide bowl of a cup, a hemisphere in its own right, and yet the mound of whipped cream atop was of nearly the same volume, a fist-sized mound of airy white netted by a drizzle of chocolate sauce.
+
+This was not the fanciest, nor even largest, mocha that I had ever had. It was not the most whipped cream I had ever seen in one sitting. Nothing about it was special --- a hot drink in a cup with a mound of whipped cream.
+
+And yet, when Hasher set it down before me on the counter, I burst into tears.
+
+``Oh\ldots oh no,'' they mumbled and hurried around the corner of the bar, taking me gently by the elbow and guiding me over to the L-shaped couch in the corner of the coffee shop half of the building. Once I was seated, they ducked away to grab my mocha and set it on the low table nearby.
+
+It took longer than I care to admit for the storm to pass, and even then, there were false endings: I would stop crying and settle into sniffling and then some emotion that I did not have access to, could not feel directly, would wash over me like a wave, and I would be sent once more into wracking sobs.
+
+It occurs to me, now that I think back on that moment, that I had not cried until then. I lay, curled, beneath my desk and did nothing. I turned off as much input as I could for the vast majority of the time, and such often came with turning off as much output as I could, too. I stopped moving. I stopped eating and drinking. I never got around to venting emotions or shedding tears. I borrowed all of that from the future, and now that debt was being called due. Perhaps my voice had left me because it knew that if I were to speak, this would happen.
+
+And all the while, Hasher sat beside me, head bowed. They did not touch me, did not even talk to me, they simply sat beside me and let me work through this period without being alone. They witnessed this pain. They were present for it.
+
+\emph{If I were to disappear now,} I thought, \emph{if another wave of disappearances were to happen and claim me, at least this Hasher would notice.}
+
+It took nearly half an hour before I was first able to take a sip of my mocha, having thoroughly worn myself out and forked twice to ensure that I could breathe properly and was less of a mess.
+
+The tears, though, lingered just on the horizon, or perhaps just below the surface, and so I leaned yet again on signing. I knew that if I spoke, I would fall to crying once more.
+
+``This is very good.''
+
+Hasher smiled. ``Are you okay now?''
+
+``No, not really.''
+
+``I do not think anyone is.'' He looked over to the other half of the shop. ``Cosmia hasn't said anything other than names these last two days. She lost a few friends, and from her perspective, she lost whole portions of herself. I have told her to take off every time she comes in. I can just work both sides, right? But she just shakes her head and stays, and whispers all of these names.''
+
+I thought about this. I thought about myself. I set these two ideas of people next each other and compared them side by side. I looked over to Cosmia, who had set her hands on the workbench and bowed her head, shoulders hunched, mumbling to herself.
+
+``Maybe she needs the names heard by someone other than just herself.''
+
+Returned his gaze to me, curious. ``Did you lose anyone?''
+
+``No.~Yes. I do not know. No one I know, so many that I did not.'' I could feel that talking about this was shoving me towards yet more tears, but what else was there to talk about? Nothing. Would I talk about the coffee more? Would I talk about my work? Would I talk about what my plans were for the coming day? Week? Month? The tears returned, and I signed clumsily, hastily. ``Everyone always says we have three deaths: the last breath, burial, and the last time a name is spoken. If Cosmia is reciting the names of ones who never even had the chance to get buried, then maybe she is doing a \emph{mitzvah.} But who speaks the names of us? I was hiding and then I was worried I would disappear and so I came here so that if I \emph{did,} at least someone would notice, but what if everyone here disappears, too? What if Lagrange goes down again? Will someone speak all of our names? How long will God forget us? Sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.''
+
+At my outburst, Hasher had jolted back, though even as they relaxed their posture, their expression remained dire, and only got more so as I continued on and on past the point where I was staying anything sensible.
+
+I drew my feet up onto the couch with me and hugged around my knees. I could not sign another apology like that, and counted it as a blessing. I was made of apologies already. I was a being of `sorry'.
+
+After a moment of gathering themself, of wiping their nose on their sleeve, they signed, ``What's your name?''
+
+The prospect of spelling out my name exhausted me, a fact that always irked me in turn. I was so tired. I was so tired. I swallowed down yet more tears and ick, took a breath, and croaked, ``What Right Have I.''
+
+They opened their mouth to say something, hesitated, and their expression grew distant as, I guessed, they checked the perisystem directory. ``Ode clade?''
+
+I nodded.
+
+``Well, What Right Have I of the Ode clade, I'll be sure to remember your name,'' they said.
+
+I buried my face against my knees, snout tucked against my thighs.
+
+I remained there on that couch for an hour, then for two, and then, after a brief exchange with Hasher, for the night. The shop was open at all hours, and so I remained there for a day, a week, a month. I sat shiva for I knew not who for a week, sitting on that couch, a settled into shloshim.
+
+Hasher spoke with me every one of those days. They would sit on the couch and we would speak together and tell each other stories of who we had been before the Century Attack, and wonder together if we would be the same now, after. We shared coffee and we talked.
+
+They told me how they uploaded because someone once told them that there were endless open roads with no cars on which to cycle. They said that it sounded so beautiful, all that flat prairie and flat asphalt, the cool breezes on warm days, the intersections where cars would never cross, that they decided to upload here to Lagrange rather than remain phys-side or to pursue any one of the other other uploading options. They might enjoy life in Netspace, perhaps, and doubtless there were open roads on which to cycle there, too, but \emph{here,} here on Lagrange, they knew that there would be waiting for them open prairies and open roads.
+
+I told them how I uploaded because my dearest friend had given emself to build this place, to become a part of it, had become the world itself. I told them how I was so split after I had been locked inside my head by the cruelty of others that I could not stand the prospect of living longer than I had to in the embodied world, and had thus embedded myself here, back before it was called Lagrange, back before we all dreamed the same dream together. I told them how I, then Michelle, had first forked, and then Oh, But To Whom had forked, and then Rav From Whence forked. I told them how I became \emph{me} and not \emph{them,} and yet how I remained them in some integral way.
+
+We spoke daily, and for nearly a month straight. I still see them at least once a week, for a friendship borne out of tragedy is still a friendship at its core. A bond borne of trauma is still a bond nonetheless.
+
+I slept there, too. Mostly in little naps, where I would curl up on the ends of the couches or, when I was sure that there was little chance that anyone would need the couch, in the vertex, where two sides of me were surrounded by cushion and I could feel them against my back. I would curl there, at the ends or in the vertex, and I would block out the light with my forearm or a book or my tail, tugged around and draped over my face. The first sleep was on accident, but, after asking and asking again, Hasher and the others that I came to know there reassured me that I was welcome to continue. I had become a fixture of the place, they said, and they said that I offered a sense of companionship even when I was silent.
+
+Some three weeks after I had essentially decamped from my office and had begun living on on the couch at The Bean Cycle, I was visited by two of my cocladists, If I Dream and Slow Hours.
+
+You must understand: when I stepped away from my office to The Bean Cycle, I did not tell anyone. I did not tell\ldots anyone. I simply left, and now I am wondering what made me do that. What, among all of my anxiety around simply disappearing without a trace and not being missed, led me to disappear without a trace?
+
+And despite my fears, it is not as though I was not missed! I was within a few hours pinged by Rav From Whence, and I could tell from the anxiety that suffused this ping that she was worried. She was terrified. She was panicked that I was gone. She was worried! Her very on up-tree, the one with whom she got in the occasional spat, made up, and then held paws, the one around whom she could be the most vulnerable, the one who was \emph{of} her had vanished. She had disappeared, and this after so many disappeared. One percent! 23 \emph{billion!} So many disappeared, and now I was gone.
+
+Her ping was panicked and came with a sense of tears.
+
+I responded with soothing, but without words. It was the best I could manage, for I knew that, if I \emph{were} to respond with words, I would cry again, and I had so tenuously moved on from tears just half an hour prior.
+
+A few times a day for every day after that she would ping again, or send me worried-sounding sensorium messages --- once, she even sent me a letter --- and I would always respond with a gentle ping back, though I did not return home.
+
+And so instead, Rav From Whence begged If I Dream to come and find me, to ask me to return home, and If I Dream, perhaps intuiting some of my feelings about wanting to remain, instead brought along Slow Hours to merely have a conversation, one of the few within the clade outside of her stanza that she considered at least a fond acquaintance, if not a friend.
+
+I was not myself, then. Or I was too much myself, perhaps. I rode the edge of groundedness, sat at the precipice of ordered and disordered thinking. I spent so much of my time thinking in circles, as often I do in such times, that I often worked myself up into a tizzy, my words scattered and my tail frizzy. I was not myself. I was struggling with a disconnect, or a connection that had wrapped around me too tightly.
+
+And so If I Dream and Slow Hours and I sat on that couch and spoke. They visited as friends and promised that they would only bring back to Rav From Whence my current status rather than my location. They were there to make sure that I was okay --- Slow Hours explained that she was doing her best to meet up with as much of the clade as possible to ascertain their statuses --- and precious little else. We had coffee. We cried together. We spoke of some of the shared aspects of our past, that had, through their very definition as tragedy, brought us closer together, even if only for a time.
+
+We spoke also of our dreams.
+
+Slow Hours is known among our clade as one who dreams of things that will come. She is our seer and prophetess. She is our Delphic oracle. She will tell you your future --- or three of your futures, for she is as keen on hendiatris as I am --- and let you suss out which of the three is the lie in her little game of Two Truths and a Lie.
+
+She explains this readily, though: she has read enough --- more than enough --- that she can guess at the trajectory of one's life after hearing a story better than they could themselves. She is not scrying into the future, no, but reading the present and telling the rest of the tale as it might occur.
+
+She has, however, had four prophetic dreams. Truly prophetic dreams. Dreams that she could not have known would come to pass, and yet which all the same did. It was not surprising to us that she had had such dreams. Of \emph{course} she would have such dreams. She was \emph{Slow Hours.} That is just what she \emph{did.} She was our dreamer.
+
+But no, what was surprising to me was my own dream.
+
+It was not a prophecy, for it was about the Century Attack and yet it was a dream that I only had at The Bean Cycle. It was a dream about events that had already happened.
+
+What surprised me instead was the intensity and regularity of this dream, for I dreamed it several times while there. Granted, my sleep during that month spent essentially living in a coffee shop was not great. I would sleep for an hour or two on the couch or dozing in the sun out in Infinite Café nearby, spend some time speaking with Hasher or Cosmia or any of the other baristas and bike mechanics or patrons that I would come to know. I might then read for a while, or study. I would pull books from my collection via the exchange or the perisystem library rather than stepping back to my office. I would step out into the street outside The Bean Cycle and walk through the college campus it huddled up beside, or I would instead step out back and walk a chord of Infinite Café. And then, perhaps some four or five hours later, I would sleep for another two or three hours. It was not good sleep, and I was always tired during that time.
+
+For many of those sleeps, those naps or long rests, I dreamed the same thing:
+
+I was a non-entity. I was disembodied. I was not even a mote of a being. I was just an identity that existed in space.
+
+I was before a person, and no matter how hard I looked, I could not actually see their face. It was there, yes, and I am sure that they had the features that any face might, but it was always too bright or too dark or I had something in my non-eyes that made them blurry to me.
+
+I was before a person and they were weeping. They were laughing and they were weeping. Their breath came in great, heaving sobs, and with those breaths came so many tears that I was worried that they would fall to the ground and puddle around their feet. With those breaths came moans and whines and laughs and cries and prayers and prayers and prayers. I do not know what they were praying for. Strength, perhaps. They were not prayers that I recognized.
+
+I was before a person, and then, without warning, they dissipated into a cloud of black specks, and each back speck was a horrible, wretched thing. It was something to never touch. Stay away, it said. I am poison. I am death.
+
+And yet these motes of poison sought out others. They drifted along air currents or traveled along wires or simply shot from one person to the next. They would sometimes land splat against that person's forehead and melt down over their face in an inky blackness, or at other times they might burrow their way into the chest of that person and, though I could see it not, ramify through their blood vessels or wires or whatever that person had, and in both cases, that person would, too, dissolve into these specks of death, which would go on to affect hundreds or thousands more.
+
+And throughout, I remained a non-person, and so I was unaffected. With no transition, I would be in front of this person or that person and I would watch them die.
+
+My mind latched onto those that I knew had died and it would then show me their deaths, quiet or loud, agonizing or full of relief.
+
+I saw Should We Forget, that quiet woman from the tenth stanza who, in my dream, wore a secret smile as she died.
+
+I saw No Longer Myself, this person about whom I knew nothing, and in my dream she merely looked away, as though seeing something greater.
+
+I saw Beckoning, and in my dream, she had gone inside a house that I imagined for her and her beloved Muse, and her death struck as she stepped over the threshold, so that no foot of hers ever stepped inside.
+
+One by one by one by one. I watched death after death after death after death. I never saw the end of the dream, when the whole world is silent, but I imagine that such must have been the case.
+
+I know, of course, that I essentially dreamed the mechanics of the Century Attack. Someone uploaded with a virus that was designed to find everyone that a person had interacted with, sys-side, and then kill that person before moving on through that list of people in order to repeat the process until the entire System was dead.
+
+After sharing this dream with Slow Hours and If I Dream, though, it ceased visiting me, and I have not had it since, for which I am glad, as the most nightmarish aspect of it was that I felt nothing throughout. This non-entity that I was simply watched, dispassionate.
+
+Ah, but my thoughts are wandering. I am thinking in circles. I have gotten hung up on a dream that, yes, bears meaning and, yes, I did want to share, but the whole reason that I started to write this entry was because Slow Hours and If I Dream and I all spoke also about overflow.
+
+I spoke with them out of pain, at this point in our conversation, for I was in pain. I was aching.
+
+I know that for each of us, our overflow manifests in different ways --- as well it must, for I am not my cocladists.
+
+I know that Oh, But To Whom is overcome by intense spiritual doubt when she overflows. I know because I remember, and because often she has met with Rav From Whence and I to speak, to weep, to cry out that she does not know why it is that she had even bothered digging into this aspect of her past. Why have faith, now, here in this life after life? This was not the world to come. From here we could not repair the world below. If God was real, They had long ago abandoned us. Jews had lost their way, and good riddance, for Medinat Yisrael had so turned to evil that the idea of a promised land had become poisoned.
+
+These things and more she would say to us, would weep and cry out, and Rav or I would sit with her and pet her back and offer her sweet and mild treats and an ear to listen to. I know this also because I had \emph{been} her. I remember that weeping, and it informs my own overflow.
+
+I know that From Whence overflows at times --- not too often, but it does happen --- and when she does, she is full of doubt. Who is she to stand in front of others and teach? Who is she to lead? Who is she to meddle in the affairs of Jews on such a grand scale? Who is she to say yes, yes or no, no on this matter or that? Matters of halakha? Hah! What right had she?
+
+These things and more she would whisper to me, having joined me in my room to come sit beside me on the beanbag, leaning shoulder to shoulder, and I would brush through her mane or hold her paw and hold my tics at bay for the comfort of quiet. I know this also because I had \emph{been} her. I remember the doubts, and it informs my overflow.
+
+And so, with there being in my heart already two forms of overflow, I am left with a complicated mess of feelings. I am left with the spiritual doubt of Oh, But To Whom, yes, and the social doubt of Rav From Whence, but these have become all muddled together and mixed up with the particularities of what it means to be me, What Right Have I, all of those neuroses and all of that history and a healthy dose of self-loathing atop.
+
+What right have I indeed, I think, and yet it is not quite so simple, for at times this manifests as spiritual agony, and at times as spiritual ecstasy. I will be caught up in doubt. I will feel cut off from all that I hold dear. I will feel dull and stupid and ugly and unworthy. I will pray and all words will feel hollow to me. I will yearn to hear the still, small voice of \emph{HaShem} and hear nothing. There will be no still, small voice, no \emph{bat kol,} for how could there be? I am not \emph{b'tzelem Elohim} and so why would \emph{HaShem} deign to speak to me? My words are worse than ash, for from ash may still be brought lye for making soap. They are worse than dirt, for from dirt may still come clay to make some new pot. They are an illness. A pointless summer cold. A nuisance that does not make one stronger or hardier after, but which merely slows one down. To say that they are somehow an impediment to one getting further in life gives to them too much credit: they are an annoyance and a waste of time. There is no Divine Author behind my words, providing instruction, and no Artisan made me, and so I am nothing to the Divine. I am a vacuum, an empty space.
+
+\emph{Or} --- and this I think is very me and not From Whence or Oh, But To Whom --- I will be caught up in the glowing ecstasy of this identity, this inherited faith in God. I will more than just wrap myself up in it, all of these feelings of believing, of the push/pull of questioning that is also our birthright. I will instead wrap myself to the point of constriction. I will press and squeeze myself. I will choke myself. I will cut off circulation. All that I am will risk being subsumed by this rush of only one small portion of myself.
+
+Energy! Ecstasy! Engage! Engage! Engage! I will let this thing that I am become too much, will become more of myself than I really should be, because then I start to lose track of my boundaries, my barriers, my extents!
+
+It is not pleasant. It may sound pleasant, and at times it may feel pleasant, but it is akin to hypomania, perhaps: it is just depression at the speed of sound. It is feeling terrible, but because one is redlining. I will wrap myself up to the point of choking in that it means to be me, choke myself with my favorite adjectives, cut off circulation with words and words and words, but it will all be for nothing. My words will be for nothing at all. I will go back to see what it is that I have said or written, and it will be meaningless. It will be drivel at its worst. Nonsense. It will, at its best, have the seeming of correctness, but only the seeming, but at its core, it is built of crumpled up paper and twigs, not some more solid foundation.
+
+And so, I will swing slowly one way or the other, drifting and floating off-center until I fall into overflow for some days or weeks, and only after having gone through and come out the other side will I be able to recenter myself.
+
+I am drifting now. I am floating. I am seeing the world waver as my identity begins to fray. I am not myself. I am overwhelmed. I am overflowing. I am on the edge of overflow. My life is emptying out, my self is becoming hollow, and I am losing the sound of that still small voice, the feel of being made in the image of God. I am overflowing. I am on the edge of overflow. I was then and I am now.

kaddish/content/prologue.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,35 @@
+I am returning to write this prologue having already written the work from start to finish. I have lived these days. I have lived this year. I lived, and now I have won for myself another day in this life.
+
+I am returning after having written the work, having gone back and read it, and I see an insufferable person. I see someone I would not like to be around very much --- and I know this to be the case because I do not often like spending undirected time with my own up trees --- and I cringe.
+
+The thing about this feeling, though, is that it is borne out of improvement. I look back at this last year and do not like the person who I was at the start of it as much as I do the me of today, and so that comes with the corollary: I like the me of today more than the person who began this year.
+
+This is the kernel of joy within that pain. This is the sweet to go along with the bitter. This is that careful balance that has become a core to so many of our tricentenarian lives. When we look back at who we were and cringe, that is the us of today looking back and recognizing the shortcomings we had which we no longer have. We have changed and grown as people: affirming. We might come up with all sorts of quippy advice, promising ourselves that we will not kill the part of ourselves that is cringe but instead the part that cringes, and yet overapply this sentiment to all aspects of ourselves.
+
+I cringe at who I was not out of some irony-poisoned sense of superiority, but out of a recognition that I \emph{like} who I am now.
+
+Is that a spoiler? Am I spoiling for you, O imagined reader, one of the core conceits behind this work? It is woman against self, and the woman, she who has been a hero since birth, prevails, as all heroes must?
+
+Perhaps.
+
+I do not feel like a hero, no matter my words. I feel like a tired, old woman who lived through the end of the world and came away from the experience wishing she were other than what she is.
+
+And now, here I am: other than I was.
+
+I have chosen for the epigraph to this memoir a quote by Eliot Weinberger that I think stands more poignantly than some silly bit of mistranslated Heraclitus, because Weinberger speaks \emph{specifically} to the act of reading --- or, more specifically, translating --- a poem. It is not a statement on personal growth. It is a statement on active engagement and the ways in which engaging changes us.
+
+There is, curiously, too much placidity in Heraclitus' philosophy in this particular context.
+
+This world is not static.
+
+I am not static.
+
+Change is not happening \emph{to} me.
+
+I am an actor in this world, and I have within me agency, and I have within my grasp my own destiny. Though my forward momentum may be slow and meticulous, I have time. I have lived 317 years and I will continue to aim for ever greater change over the next 317, not simply allow change to wash over me, for more precious is one hour working toward positive change in this world than all the life of the world to come; and should my life once more cease, and this time for good, then so be it: more precious is one hour of the tranquility of the world to come than all the life of this world.
+
+\vspace{2ex}
+
+\noindent --- What Right Have I of the Ode clade\\
+\phantom{---} 17 Sh'vat 6163 / 10 February 2403 / systime 279+41\\
+\phantom{---} \emph{Yom HaShichzur}

kaddish/fromzk.fish

@@ -0,0 +1,14 @@
+for i in (fd '0.*' ~/sparkleup/zk/writing/post-self/motes/)
+     set o (echo $i | sed -e 's/.\+motes\///')
+     set d (echo $o | sed -e 's/[0-9b]\+.md//')
+     set t (echo $o | sed -e 's/\.md/.tex/')
+     echo "$o $d"
+     if not test -d src/$d
+         mkdir -p src/$d
+     end
+     if not test -d content/$d
+         mkdir -p content/$d
+     end
+     cp $i src/$o
+     pandoc -f markdown -t latex src/$o --wrap=none --top-level-division=chapter | sed -e 's/\\chapter/\\chapter*/' | sed -e 's/---/—/g' > content/$t; \
+ end

kaddish/includes/_draft.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,5 @@
+%%% Watermark for draft
+\usepackage{draftwatermark}
+\def\watermarkloaded{1}
+\SetWatermarkLightness{0.95}
+\SetWatermarkText{Patrons}

kaddish/includes/_frame.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+%%% Show frame around layouts
+\PassOptionsToPackage{showframe}{geometry}

kaddish/includes/_geometry-letter.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,14 @@
+% page sizes for letter with crop marks
+\usepackage[
+  letterpaper,
+  layoutvoffset=1.25in,
+  layouthoffset=1.5in,
+  layoutwidth=5.5in,
+  layoutheight=8.5in,
+  vmargin=0.5in,
+  outer=0.5in,
+  inner=0.75in,
+  includeheadfoot,
+  twoside,
+  showcrop
+]{geometry}

kaddish/includes/_geometry-trade.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,17 @@
+% page sizes for trade paperback
+\usepackage[
+  paperwidth=5.5in,
+  paperheight=8.5in,
+  layoutwidth=5.5in,
+  layoutheight=8.5in,
+  vmargin=0.5in,
+  outer=0.5in,
+  inner=1in,
+  includeheadfoot,
+  twoside,
+  showcrop
+]{geometry}
+\ifdefined\SetWatermarkHorCenter
+  \SetWatermarkHorCenter{3in}
+  \SetWatermarkVerCenter{4.5in}
+\fi

kaddish/includes/copyright.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,82 @@
+\null
+\pagestyle{empty}
+\vfill
+\singlespacing
+{\small\parindent0pt\parskip5pt
+\noindent Copyright \copyright\ 2025, Madison Rye Progress. This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License. To view a copy of this license, visit \mbox{\emph{creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/}} or send a letter to Creative Commons, PO Box 1866, Mountain View, CA
+
+ISBN: \ISBN
+
+\textit{Kaddish}
+
+Cover \copyright\ 2025, \Illustrator.
+
+\Edition\ Edition, \Year. All rights reserved.
+
+This book uses the fonts Gentium Book Basic, {\DisplayFont Gotu} and {\TitleFont Linux Biolinum O} and was typeset with {\usefont{OT1}{cmr}{m}{n}\XeLaTeX}.
+
+%Printed in the United States of America\\
+%\EditionsList
+}%\parindent0pt
+
+\clearpage
+\singlespacing
+\thispagestyle{empty}
+\begin{center}
+    \noindent {\Large\DisplayFont Post-Self books}
+    \TitleFamily
+
+    \vspace{2em}
+
+    {\large The Post-Self Cycle}\\
+    {\normalfont\small by Madison Rye Progress (as Madison Scott-Clary)}
+
+    \vspace{1ex}
+     
+    I. \emph{Qoheleth}
+
+    II. \emph{Toledot}
+
+    III. \emph{Nevi'im}
+
+    IV. \emph{Mitzvot}
+
+    \vspace{2ex}
+     
+    \emph{\large Clade — A Post-Self Anthology}\\
+    {\normalfont\small Various authors}
+     
+    \vspace{2ex}
+
+    \emph{\large Unintended Tendencies}\\
+    {\normalfont\small by JL Conway}
+     
+    \vspace{2ex}
+    
+    \emph{\large Marsh}\\
+    {\normalfont\small by Madison Rye Progress \emph{et al.}}
+
+    \vspace{2ex}
+     
+    \emph{\large Motes Played}\\
+    {\normalfont\small by Madison Rye Progress \& Samantha Yule Fireheart}
+
+    \vspace{2ex}
+     
+    \emph{\large Ask. — An Odist Q\&A}\\
+    {\normalfont\small Various authors}
+
+    \vspace{2ex}
+     
+    \emph{\large Idumea}\\
+    {\normalfont\small Madison Rye Progress \emph{et al.}}
+
+    \vspace{2ex}
+
+    \emph{\large Kaddish}\\
+    {\normalfont\small Madison Rye Progress}
+
+    \vspace{3ex}
+
+    Learn more at \emph{post-self.ink}
+\end{center}

kaddish/includes/draft.tex

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+%

kaddish/includes/font.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,12 @@
+%%% Font
+% Uncomment and modify to your font specs
+
+\usepackage{fontspec}
+\setmainfont{Gentium Book Plus}
+\newfontface\HebFont{FreeSerif}
+\newfontface\FeedFont{Alegreya}
+\newfontfamily\TitleFamily{Linux Biolinum O}
+\newfontface\TitleFont{Linux Biolinum O}
+\newfontfamily\DisplayFamily{Gotu}%{Linux Biolinum O}%{NovaMono for Powerline}
+\newfontface\DisplayFont{Gotu}%{Linux Biolinum O}%{NovaMono for Powerline}
+ \newfontface\CK{Noto Serif CJK JP}

kaddish/includes/frame.tex

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+%

kaddish/includes/geometry.tex

@@ -0,0 +1 @@
+\input{includes/_geometry-trade.tex}

kaddish/includes/hyphenation.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,7 @@
+\hyphenation{
+% \AuthorFirst
+% \AuthorLast
+% \Title
+% \Subtitle
+Beholden
+}

kaddish/includes/packages.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,24 @@
+%%% Resets
+% memoir defines footruleskip, we want fancyhdr's
+\let\footruleskip\undefined
+\DisemulatePackage{setspace}
+
+%%% Hyperref warning suppression
+% I want math symbols, hyperref complains
+% must be before hyperref included
+\usepackage{silence}
+\WarningFilter[pdftoc]{hyperref}{Token not allowed in a PDF string}
+\ActivateWarningFilters[pdftoc]
+
+%%% Package imports not needing expansion
+\usepackage{graphicx}
+\usepackage[hidelinks]{hyperref}
+\usepackage{setspace}
+\usepackage{xifthen}
+\usepackage{verse}
+\usepackage{xltxtra}
+\usepackage{longtable}
+\usepackage{comment}
+\usepackage{pdfpages}
+\usepackage{paracol}
+\usepackage{marginnote}

kaddish/includes/pagelayout.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,44 @@
+%%% Headers and page styles
+\usepackage[pagestyles]{titlesec}
+\usepackage{fancyhdr}
+\setlength{\headheight}{15.2pt}
+
+% ourbook style with fancy headers and chapter headings
+\fancypagestyle{ourbook}{
+  % headers
+  \fancyhf{}
+  \fancyhf[FRO,FLE]{\TitleFont{\thepage}}
+  % \fancyhf[FRE,FLO]{\emph{Patreon Supporter Edition}}
+  \fancyhf[HLE]{\TitleFont{\leftmark}}
+  \fancyhf[HRO]{\TitleFont{Madison Rye Progress}}
+  \renewcommand{\headrulewidth}{0pt}
+  \renewcommand{\printchaptername}{}
+  \renewcommand{\chapternamenum}{}
+  \renewcommand{\printchapternum}{}
+  \renewcommand{\printchaptertitle}[1]{%
+  \linespread{1}\TitleFont\centering\huge ##1}
+  \renewcommand{\partnamefont}{\DisplayFont\huge}
+  \renewcommand{\partnumfont}{\DisplayFont\huge}
+  \renewcommand{\parttitlefont}{\DisplayFont\Huge}
+  \setlength{\parskip}{0pt}
+}
+
+% plain style with only page num
+\fancypagestyle{plain}{
+  \fancyhf{}
+  \renewcommand{\headrulewidth}{0pt}
+  \renewcommand{\footrulewidth}{0pt}
+  \fancyhf[FRO,FLE]{\TitleFont{\thepage}}
+  \renewcommand{\printchaptertitle}[1]{%
+  \TitleFont\huge ##1}
+}
+
+% single space after periods
+\frenchspacing
+
+% Attempt justification at all costs
+\sloppy
+
+% Widows and orphans
+\widowpenalty=9000
+\clubpenalty=9000

kaddish/includes/pretitle.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,12 @@
+\thispagestyle{empty}
+\null
+\vfill
+\begin{flushright}
+  \DisplayFont Qoheleth
+
+  \vspace{1ex}
+
+  {\footnotesize and other stories}
+\end{flushright}
+\vfill
+\cleardoublepage

kaddish/includes/secdiv.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+%%% Section divider
+% don't forget to \noindent the line after!
+% \renewcommand\rule[2]{$\star$}
+% \newcommand\secdiv{
+%   \begin{center}
+%     \rule{}{}
+%   \end{center}
+% }
+\newcommand\secdiv{
+  \begin{center}\DisplayFont ×\end{center}
+}

kaddish/includes/title.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,4 @@
+%%% Title page
+\title{\FullTitle}
+\author{\AuthorFull}
+\date{}

kaddish/includes/toc.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,15 @@
+%%% ToC munging
+% Remove ToC header
+\renewcommand{\contentsname}{}
+\renewcommand*{\cftpartfont}{\DisplayFont\large}
+\renewcommand*{\cftpartpagefont}{\TitleFont\large}
+\renewcommand*{\cftchapterfont}{\TitleFont}
+\renewcommand*{\cftchapterpagefont}{\TitleFont}
+\renewcommand*{\cftchapterafterpnum}{}
+\renewcommand{\cftdot}{\small{$\cdot$}}
+\renewcommand{\cftchapterdotsep}{3}
+\renewcommand{\cftsectiondotsep}{10000}
+% start toc at top of page
+\renewcommand*\tocheadstart{}{}
+\hypersetup{final}
+%\setcounter{tocdepth}{-1}

kaddish/includes/variables.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,20 @@
+\def\Title{Kaddish}
+\def\Subtitle{}
+\def\FullTitle{\Title}
+\def\AuthorFirst{Madison}
+\def\AuthorLast{Progress}
+\def\AuthorFull{Madison Rye Progress}
+\def\Illustrator{ILLUSTRATOR NAME}
+
+\def\Edition{First}
+\def\EditionsList{10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1}
+\def\Year{2024}
+
+\def\ISBN{978-1-948743-47-1}
+
+\def\Publisher{PUBLISHER}
+\def\PublisherEmail{publisher@example.com}
+\def\PublisherURL{example.com}
+\def\PublisherLocation{City, STATE}
+
+\newcommand\Partner{\rule[-1pt]{4em}{1.9ex}}

marsh/book.tex

@@ -49,7 +49,7 @@
 
     {\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}
 
   \newpage
@@ -77,6 +77,7 @@
   \cftaddtitleline{toc}{part}{\hspace{0.5\textwidth-2em}\TitleFont\huge Marsh}{}
   \addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Marsh — A Novel}
   \cftaddtitleline{toc}{section}{\itshape Madison Rye Progress}{}
+  \cftaddtitleline{toc}{section}{\itshape with contributions from Samantha Yule Fireheart}{}
   
   \begin{center}
     \TitleFont\huge{Madison Rye Progress}
@@ -210,8 +211,15 @@
 
   \cleartoverso
   \thispagestyle{empty}
-  \story{A Well-Trained Eye}{Andréa C. Mason}
+  \story{The Party at the End of the World}{Krzysztof “Tomash” Drewniak}
-  \markboth{A Well-Trained Eye}{Andréa C. Mason}
+  \markboth{The Party at the End of the World}{Krzysztof “Tomash” Drewniak}
+  \chapter*{Scout at The Party V — 2401}
+  \input{stories/party}
+
+  \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}
   
@@ -232,7 +240,7 @@
   \cleartoverso
   \thispagestyle{empty}
   \story{Journal of Diago Pereira}{Nat Mcardle-Mott-Merrifield and Sarah Bloden}
-  %\markboth{Journal of Diago Pereira}{Nat Mcardle-Mott-Merrifield and Sarah Bloden}
+  \markboth{Journal of Diago Pereira}{Nat Mcardle-Mott-Merrifield / Sarah Bloden}
   \chapter*{Henrique Pereira — 2400–2401}
   \input{stories/journal}
 
@@ -245,9 +253,9 @@
 
   \cleartoverso
   \thispagestyle{empty}
-  \story{Millwright}{Andréa C. Mason}
+  \story{Millwright}{Andréa C Mason}
-  \markboth{Millwright}{Andréa C. Mason}
+  \markboth{Millwright}{Andréa C Mason}
-  \chapter*{Andréa C. Mason\#Millwright — 2403}
+  \chapter*{Andréa C Mason\#Millwright — 2403}
   \input{stories/millwright}
 
   \cleartoverso

marsh/content/001.tex

@@ -6,7 +6,7 @@ I laughed and bumped my shoulder against Hanne's. ``A sales pitch?''
 
 ``You're a nerd. You realize that, right?''
 
-``Tell me why I should be a nerd in the year 275. Next year we can decide on systime 276.``
+``Tell me why I should be a nerd in the year 275. Next year we can decide on systime 276.''
 
 I scuffed my heel against the pavement of the street. New Year's Eve, and everyone was still inside. Bars: full. Restaurants: packed. There were a few scattered couples or groups around, but they were all walking with purpose. Champagne called. Canapes. Crudités.
 
@@ -44,13 +44,13 @@ I stumbled to the side, laughing. Our own champagne from earlier added a pleasan
 
 ``Is that so bad?'' I asked. ``Alternatively: am I not allowed to be a bit maudlin? It's fucking New Year's, Hanne.''
 
-``\,`Maudlin'? Is that even the right word?''
+``\hspace{1pt}`Maudlin'? Is that even the right word?''
 
 ``What? Uh\ldots{}'' I hunted down a dictionary on the exchange, prowled through it. ``Oh. Mawkish, that's the one. Or saccharine, maybe? I don't know. Maudlin still kind of works, doesn't it?''
 
 She tilted her head at me.
 
-``\,`Extremely sentimental', it says. Pretty sure that fits.''
+``\hspace{1pt}`Extremely sentimental', it says. Pretty sure that fits.''
 
 Hanne rolled her eyes, grinning. ``Okay, yeah, that fits you to a tee.''
 
@@ -102,7 +102,7 @@ I laughed. ``So many questions tonight.''
 
 She grinned, shrugged.
 
-``Well, I think half of it was that there was just too much pressure at the time. Like I said, the WF was swinging conservative, so there was this push to assimilate, and we internalized that pretty hard. We felt pushed to just shut up and be a man, just disappear --- that or become a woman, have kids, let the first upload for the payout --- and always felt that we fell short despite all we did to try, but on Lagrange, we could do that right off the bat.''
+``Well, I think half of it was that there was just too much pressure at the time. Like I said, the WF was swinging conservative, so there was this push to assimilate, and we internalized that pretty hard. We felt pushed to just shut up and be a man, just disappear—that or become a woman, have kids, let the first upload for the payout—and always felt that we fell short despite all we did to try, but on Lagrange, we could do that right off the bat.''
 
 ``So they went back to being trans--''
 
@@ -118,7 +118,7 @@ The shadow of her shoulders relaxed again in the dark of the night. ``Even after
 
 ``Is that why you forked, too?''
 
-I grinned. ``I forked for fun. Even if it's still a tender spot, I think I'm still way more relaxed than Marsh is, though it's been a while since we talked. There may be a bit of that in Tule, I guess. He's still pretty happy being a guy --- he's the only one out of all of us, come to think of it. Rush is as ve is of vis own choice, though, and Sedge is pretty much us pre-transition.''
+I grinned. ``I forked for fun. Even if it's still a tender spot, I think I'm still way more relaxed than Marsh is, though it's been a while since we talked. There may be a bit of that in Tule, I guess. He's still pretty happy being a guy—he's the only one out of all of us, come to think of it. Rush is as ve is of vis own choice, though, and Sedge is pretty much us pre-transition.''
 
 Hanne looped her arm through mine. ``Well, I still like you as you are.''
 
@@ -138,9 +138,9 @@ Hanne looped her arm through mine. ``Well, I still like you as you are.''
 
 She shrugged. ``Sure. But either way, they were somewhere in the middle, maybe. There was this big push from the liberal side on the climate, and this big push by the conservatives on the financial side. They said they could cut costs on services if there were fewer of us. Dad was with them, mom was with the libs. It was one of the few things they could agree on. They said they'd miss me, but they weren't exactly sad when I went the Ansible.''
 
-``\,`Went the Ansible'? Is that what you called it?''
+``\hspace{1pt}`Went the Ansible'? Is that what you called it?''
 
-``\,`Uploading' sounds so sterile,'' she said, nodding. ``\,`Went the Ansible' just made it sound like moving away from home.''
+``\hspace{1pt}`Uploading' sounds so sterile,'' she said, nodding. ``\hspace{1pt}`Went the Ansible' just made it sound like moving away from home.''
 
 ``Well, I'm glad you went the Ansible, then.''
 

marsh/content/002.tex

@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-Champagne tinted evenings faded, as they do, into brandy-colored nights. Amber nights and fireplaces for the hell of it, me and Hanne settling in for a little bit of warmth for that last hour, not quite decadence and a ways off from opulence, but still a plush couch and a fire and snifters slightly too full of liquor.
+Champagne tinted evenings faded, as they do, into brandy-colored nights. Amber nights and fireplaces for the hell of it, me and Hanne settling in for a little bit of warmth for that last hour, not quite decadence and a ways off from opulence, but still a plush couch and a fire and snifters slightly too full of liquor. We tucked ourselves in under a whole-house cone of silence, one tuned to block incoming sensorium messages so that our New Year's Eve was ours alone.
 
 We shared our warmth, sitting side by side on the couch, and we continued to talk, talking of the year past, of years past beyond that, and of however many we decided were ahead. A hundred years? Two hundred? Only five? I made an impassioned argument for five more years of life, then laughed, changed my mind, and said I'd never die. Hanne said she'd live for precisely two hundred, give up, and disappear from Lagrange. She'd fork at a century and never speak to that version of her again, and should that instance decide to live on past two centuries, so be it, but she'd decided her expiration.
 
@@ -34,7 +34,7 @@ I shook my head. ``That's not on me, you know that. We have a one-way relationsh
 
 ``But they're your down-tree instance! You're patterned after them. You talk every year \emph{at least} once, right? You'll talk to them later tonight, right? You have for the last hundred.''
 
-``No, probably not. If I hear from them directly, anything more than just a ping, I'll know something's gone horribly wrong.'' I leaned back --- carefully, what with her head resting on my shoulder. ``Like I say, it's a one-way relationship. All I do is live my own life, right? I stay in touch with the rest of the clade to greater or lesser extent, but Marsh has their own life.''
+``No, probably not. If I hear from them directly, anything more than just a ping, I'll know something's gone horribly wrong.'' I leaned back—carefully, what with her head resting on my shoulder. ``Like I say, it's a one-way relationship. All I do is live my own life, right? I stay in touch with the rest of the clade to greater or lesser extent, but Marsh has their own life.''
 
 ``They have several.''
 
@@ -94,11 +94,11 @@ Hanne laughed and shook her head, standing from the couch to go get herself a gl
 
 With a rush of intent, I forked, bringing into being beside me a new instance of myself. Exactly the same. \emph{Precisely}. Had such a thing any meaning to an upload, we would be the same down to the atomic level, to the subatomic. All of the memories, all of the personality, all of the history.
 
-For a fraction of a second, at least. From that point on, we began to diverge, each remembering things differently. The Reed that still sat on the couch heard Hanne in the kitchen from \emph{this} angle, yet the one that stood beside the couch heard her from that. The one that sat on the couch felt the fire on his cheek, the one standing felt it on his back. I watched this other Reed --- a new instance of me without these demanding memories, one who would not have the shared memories of my up-tree cocladists --- wander off to the bedroom to presumably stay out of the way while I processed.
+For a fraction of a second, at least. From that point on, we began to diverge, each remembering things differently. The Reed that still sat on the couch heard Hanne in the kitchen from \emph{this} angle, yet the one that stood beside the couch heard her from that. The one that sat on the couch felt the fire on his cheek, the one standing felt it on his back. I watched this other Reed—a new instance of me without these demanding memories, one who would not have the shared memories of my up-tree cocladists—wander off to the bedroom to presumably stay out of the way while I processed.
 
-I closed my eyes to turn down one of my senses, setting the sweet-smelling glass of brandy aside to rid myself of another as best I could. I sat and spent a moment processing, savoring the memories. Rush had merged down first; ve had split off a new copy of verself, and then the original had quit. On doing so, all the memories ve'd formed over the last however long fell down onto me, ready to be remembered like some forgotten word on the tip of my tongue: all I needed to do is actually remember. Clearly, Tule had already forked and merged back down into Sedge, as their combined memories piled yet more weight on me. Three sets of memories --- two from my direct up-tree instances and one from a second-degree up-tree instance --- rested on my mind, ready for integration.
+I closed my eyes to turn down one of my senses, setting the sweet-smelling glass of brandy aside to rid myself of another as best I could. I sat and spent a moment processing, savoring the memories. Rush had merged down first; ve had split off a new copy of verself, and then the original had quit. On doing so, all the memories ve'd formed over the last however long fell down onto me, ready to be remembered like some forgotten word on the tip of my tongue: all I needed to do is actually remember. Clearly, Tule had already forked and merged back down into Sedge, as their combined memories piled yet more weight on me. Three sets of memories—two from my direct up-tree instances and one from a second-degree up-tree instance—rested on my mind, ready for integration.
 
-There'd be time for Marsh to do their full perusal and remembering later. It was rapidly approaching midnight, and I needed to get the memories sorted into my own, interleaved and zippered together into as cohesive a whole as best I could manage, all conflicts addressed --- though with as separate as their lives had been until then, there was thankfully quite little in the way of conflicting memories --- so that, shortly before midnight, I could quit and let all those memories --- those of Rush, Sedge, Tule, and myself --- fall to Marsh to process, savor, and treasure for themself, while that new copy of me, off making the bed or simply taking some quiet, lived out the next year with Hanne, with all their joys and sorrows.
+There'd be time for Marsh to do their full perusal and remembering later. It was rapidly approaching midnight, and I needed to get the memories sorted into my own, interleaved and zippered together into as cohesive a whole as best I could manage, all conflicts addressed—though with as separate as their lives had been until then, there was thankfully quite little in the way of conflicting memories—so that, shortly before midnight, I could quit and let all those memories—those of Rush, Sedge, Tule, and myself—fall to Marsh to process, savor, and treasure for themself, while that new copy of me, off making the bed or simply taking some quiet, lived out the next year with Hanne, with all their joys and sorrows.
 
 After so many New Years Eves, this had all become routine. Some years, I kept the memories, some not. It had been a nearly a decade since I'd bothered, and there didn't seem to be any reason to do different this year.
 
@@ -149,7 +149,7 @@ She rolled her eyes. ``\makebox[0pt][l]{\hspace*{1pt}\raisebox{-0.5pt}{\includeg
 
 ``Right, sorry. Still, uh\ldots still fifteen minutes.'' She grumbled and rubbed at her face. ``Sorry if that came off as rude. I guess it's just outside my understanding.''
 
-I scooted up onto the couch, myself, sitting cross-legged to face her. ``It's okay. It's not wrong, come to think of it, I just don't think it's wholly right, either, you know? It's more a matter of intent. Our intent is to live our own lives doing as we will rather than as they would, and it's their intent to let us do so --- and by not interfering, even with communication, \emph{force} us to do so --- and yet still be able to experience that almost like a dream. They forked us off a century ago, me, Lily, and Cress, and we've been doing it ever since, and it's worked out well enough since then. They're more than just Marsh, now. They're Marsh and all of us. If all this--'' I waved around the room, feeling the gentle spin of drunkenness follow the movement, ``--is just a dream, if we're all doing our best to dream in unison with each other, then I think intent may be all that we have, right? However many billion or trillion people have uploaded are all trying to dream the same dream together, all mixed up and poured into the same System, we have to form what meanings we may on our own.''
+I scooted up onto the couch, myself, sitting cross-legged to face her. ``It's okay. It's not wrong, come to think of it, I just don't think it's wholly right, either, you know? It's more a matter of intent. Our intent is to live our own lives doing as we will rather than as they would, and it's their intent to let us do so—and by not interfering, even with communication, \emph{force} us to do so—and yet still be able to experience that almost like a dream. They forked us off a century ago, me, Lily, and Cress, and we've been doing it ever since, and it's worked out well enough since then. They're more than just Marsh, now. They're Marsh and all of us. If all this--'' I waved around the room, feeling the gentle spin of drunkenness follow the movement, ``--is just a dream, if we're all doing our best to dream in unison with each other, then I think intent may be all that we have, right? However many billion or trillion people have uploaded are all trying to dream the same dream together, all mixed up and poured into the same System, we have to form what meanings we may on our own.''
 
 ``I think we broke two trillion instances a while back. I don't know how may uploads, but I don't think it's hit a trillion yet.''
 
@@ -167,11 +167,11 @@ With a press of will, I forked, bringing into being beside the couch a new insta
 
 For a fraction of a second, at least. From there, we began to diverge, each remembering things differently. The Reed that still sat on the couch heard Hanne rummaging in the kitchen from \emph{this} angle, and yet the one that stood beside the couch heard her from that. The one that sat on the couch felt the fire on his cheek, the one standing felt it on his back.
 
-I closed my eyes to turn down one of my senses, taking one more sip of the sweet-smelling brandy before setting it aside to rid myself of another two as best I could. I sat and spent a moment processing, savoring the memories. Rush had merged down first; ve had split off a new copy of verself then the original had quit. On doing so, all the memories ve'd formed over the last year fell down onto me, ready to be remembered like some forgotten word on the tip of my tongue: all I needed to do was actually remember. Clearly, Tule had already forked and merged back down into Sedge, as their combined memories piled yet more weight on me. Three sets of memories --- two from my direct up-tree instances and one from a second-degree up-tree instance --- rested on my mind, ready for integration.
+I closed my eyes to turn down one of my senses, taking one more sip of the sweet-smelling brandy before setting it aside to rid myself of another two as best I could. I sat and spent a moment processing, savoring the memories. Rush had merged down first; ve had split off a new copy of verself then the original had quit. On doing so, all the memories ve'd formed over the last year fell down onto me, ready to be remembered like some forgotten word on the tip of my tongue: all I needed to do was actually remember. Clearly, Tule had already forked and merged back down into Sedge, as their combined memories piled yet more weight on me. Three sets of memories—two from my direct up-tree instances and one from a second-degree up-tree instance—rested on my mind, ready for integration.
 
-There would be time for full perusal and remembering later. It was rapidly approaching midnight, and I needed to get the memories sorted into my own, interleaved and zippered together into as cohesive a whole as I could manage, all --- or, at least, almost all --- conflicts addressed (though with as separate as their lives had been until then, there was thankfully quite little in the way of conflicting memories), so that, shortly before midnight, I could quit, myself, letting that new copy of myself live out the next year with Hanne, with all their joys and sorrows, while my original instance quit and let all those memories --- those of Rush, Sedge, Tule, and myself --- fall to Marsh to process, savor, and treasure for themself.
+There would be time for full perusal and remembering later. It was rapidly approaching midnight, and I needed to get the memories sorted into my own, interleaved and zippered together into as cohesive a whole as I could manage, all—or, at least, almost all—conflicts addressed (though with as separate as their lives had been until then, there was thankfully quite little in the way of conflicting memories), so that, shortly before midnight, I could quit, myself, letting that new copy of myself live out the next year with Hanne, with all their joys and sorrows, while my original instance quit and let all those memories—those of Rush, Sedge, Tule, and myself—fall to Marsh to process, savor, and treasure for themself.
 
-After so many New Years Eves, it had all become routine. Some years, I kept the memories, some not. It had been a nearly a decade since I'd bothered --- I always checked with Rush, Sedge, and Tule before keeping their memories --- and there didn't seem to be any reason to do different this year.
+After so many New Years Eves, it had all become routine. Some years, I kept the memories, some not. It had been a nearly a decade since I'd bothered—I always checked with Rush, Sedge, and Tule before keeping their memories—and there didn't seem to be any reason to do different this year.
 
 I heard Hanne return, heard her climb back onto the couch before me, felt her press a cold glass of water into my hand.
 
@@ -209,7 +209,7 @@ Then frowned.
 
 I held up a finger and closed my eyes. Once more, I thought to myself, \emph{I'm ready to quit}, then then willed that to be reality.
 
-Rather than the sudden nothingness --- or sudden oneness for Marsh --- that should have followed, I felt the System balk. Resist. I felt an elastic sensation that I'd never felt before. There was a barrier between me and the ability to quit. I felt it, tested it, probed and explored. It was undeniably present, and though I sensed that I could probably have pressed through it if I desired, it was as though Lagrange desperately did not want me to quit. It didn't want the Reed of now to leave the System.
+Rather than the sudden nothingness—or sudden oneness for Marsh—that should have followed, I felt the System balk. Resist. I felt an elastic sensation that I'd never felt before. There was a barrier between me and the ability to quit. I felt it, tested it, probed and explored. It was undeniably present, and though I sensed that I could probably have pressed through it if I desired, it was as though Lagrange desperately did not want me to quit. It didn't want the Reed of now to leave the System.
 
 ``I can't.''
 
@@ -231,7 +231,7 @@ I frowned, pinged Hanne.
 
 ``What?'' she said, her frown deepening.
 
-``Hold on, one more sec.'' I nodded to my new fork, who quit; I declined the merge. This would just have to be a year where I kept the memories. Something was wrong. I could work it out with my up-trees later.
+``Hold on, one more sec.'' I nodded to my new fork, who quit; I declined the merge. This would just have to be a year where I kept the memories. I wanted to keep the feeling of being unable to merge down, to know it viscerally. Something was wrong. I could work it out with my up-trees later.
 
 00:02.
 
@@ -247,7 +247,7 @@ Pinged Cress, the other fork. Asked, \emph{``Cress? Can you--''}
 
 00:04.
 
-Cress arrived almost immediately along with Tule --- they shared a partner, so it made sense they'd be together for the evening --- leading Hanne to start back on the couch. ``Reed,'' she said, voice low. ``What is--''
+Cress arrived almost immediately along with Tule—they shared a partner, so it made sense they'd be together for the evening—leading Hanne to start back on the couch. ``Reed,'' she said, voice low. ``What is--''
 
 Lily arrived next, dusty and dishevelled from her day in some mountainous sim, already rushing forward to grab my shoulder. ``You can't either?'' she said, voice full of panic.
 
@@ -259,7 +259,7 @@ The rest of the clade looked to me as well, and I quailed under so many gazes. `
 
 00:07.
 
-Silence fell thick across the room. The clade --- Marsh's clade --- stared, wide-eyed. Their expressions ranged from unsure to terrified. I couldn't even begin to imagine what expression showed on my face.
+Silence fell thick across the room. The clade—Marsh's clade—stared, wide-eyed. Their expressions ranged from unsure to terrified. I couldn't even begin to imagine what expression showed on my face.
 
 ``Okay, no, hold on,'' Hanne said, shaking her head and waving her hand. She appeared to have willed drunkenness away, much as I had, as her voice was clear, holding more frustration than the panic I felt. ``Did they quit? They couldn't have, right? You just pinged them earlier today.''
 
@@ -323,7 +323,7 @@ At this, both Vos and Pierre took a half-step back, looking startled.
 
 I spent a moment composing myself. I stood up straighter, brushing my hands down over my shirt, and nodded. ``Right. I'm sorry, hon. When midnight hit, I forked and tried to quit as usual. I couldn't, though. The System wouldn't let me.''
 
-Cress and Tule's partner, I Remember The Rattle Of Dry Grass of the Ode clade, stood up stock straight, all grogginess --- or perhaps drunkenness --- from the party fleeing her features.
+Cress and Tule's partner, I Remember The Rattle Of Dry Grass of the Ode clade, stood up stock straight, all grogginess—or perhaps drunkenness—from the party fleeing her features.
 
 ``That's only supposed to happen when quitting would mean the loss of too much memory, though. The root instance can barely quit at all in the older clades--'' Dry Grass winced. I did my best to ignore it and continued. ``--because the System really doesn't like losing a life if it won't be merged down into a down-tree instance.''
 
@@ -337,7 +337,7 @@ I frowned. ``Perhaps not all that, but it certainly felt like I was trying to pu
 
 ``Like death,'' she muttered again. Pierre began to cry. ``Marsh is not on the System, then, no.''
 
-``So are they\ldots is Marsh dead?'' Pierre whispered, his voice clouded by tears. Vos towered over him --- over all of us, really --- and had always seemed as though she could weather a storm better than any stone, but even she looked suddenly frail now, fragile in the face of the loss they were all only talking around.
+``So are they\ldots is Marsh dead?'' Pierre whispered, his voice clouded by tears. Vos towered over him—over all of us, really—and had always seemed as though she could weather a storm better than any stone, but even she looked suddenly frail now, fragile in the face of the loss they were all only talking around.
 
 ``They are not on the System,'' Dry Grass and I echoed in unison.
 
@@ -377,7 +377,7 @@ Dry Grass bowed once more, forked, and the fork stepped from the sim to, I suppo
 
 ``Hey, uh,'' Sedge said into the uncomfortable silence that fell once more. ``Has anyone checked the time?''
 
-Everyone looked up almost in unison. It was more a habit than anything, hardly a required motion --- the time certainly wasn't written on the ceiling --- but the habit that Marsh had formed so many years ago had stuck with all of the Marshans throughout their own lives.
+Everyone looked up almost in unison. It was more a habit than anything, hardly a required motion—the time certainly wasn't written on the ceiling—but the habit that Marsh had formed so many years ago had stuck with all of the Marshans throughout their own lives.
 
 Systime 277+41 00:17.
 
@@ -457,7 +457,7 @@ She made a show of regaining her composure, movements overly liquid as she strai
 
 An awkward silence lingered, overstaying its welcome. Eventually, Dry Grass's shoulders slumped. ``You do not need to apologize. The messages will only affirm your feelings about my clade. The eighth stanza continues to manage the flow of information in--'' She cut herself off and dug her hands into her pockets, an oddly bashful gesture. ``I should not be telling you this, understand. I am not even supposed to be in contact with them, Hammered Silver would have my head if she knew, but Need An Answer has been in contact. Please do not share any of this.''
 
-``\,`Eighth stanza?','' Hanne asked.
+``\hspace{1pt}`Eighth stanza?','' Hanne asked.
 
 ``Yes. One hundred of us, each named after a line in a poem broken into ten stanzas,'' she said. ``The eighth is--''
 
@@ -471,7 +471,7 @@ Lily pointedly looked away.
 
 ``Wait,'' Cress said. ``So they're saying that there's a problem with the DSN and the station? How do you mean?''
 
-``There are few --- surprisingly few --- messages from over the last thirteen months, but they are queued up as though they have been held until now. There has been no contact between the LVs or Artemis and Lagrange.'' There was a pause as Dry Grass's gaze drifted, clearly scanning more of those messages. ``Most messages have been locked in a way I cannot access\ldots only a few from the Guiding Council on Pollux plus the Council of Ten Castor\ldots have been let through\ldots outgoing messages are gated\ldots{}''
+``There are few—surprisingly few—messages from over the last thirteen months, but they are queued up as though they have been held until now. There has been no contact between the LVs or Artemis and Lagrange.'' There was a pause as Dry Grass's gaze drifted, clearly scanning more of those messages. ``Most messages have been locked in a way I cannot access\ldots only a few from the Guiding Council on Pollux plus the Council of Ten Castor\ldots have been let through\ldots outgoing messages are gated\ldots{}''
 
 ``There's a bit about that in news from phys-side, actually,'' Sedge said, looking thoughtful. ``Communications failure on the Lagrange station. Something about aging technology. The DSN was also having problems so a few new repeaters were launched. Some from the station, even.''
 
@@ -485,7 +485,7 @@ Both Sedge and Dry Grass shook their heads. ``There isn't actually all that much
 
 ``Why?'' Lily asked. While there was still an edge to her voice, genuine concern covered it well.
 
-``\,`Information security and hygiene'. At least, that is what they would say were I to ask. Even if the messages were to fall into the wrong hands, sys- or phys-side, they would not show anything else having happened. I am of them, however. I can read some of the words that were not written.''
+``\hspace{1pt}`Information security and hygiene'. At least, that is what they would say were I to ask. Even if the messages were to fall into the wrong hands, sys- or phys-side, they would not show anything else having happened. I am of them, however. I can read some of the words that were not written.''
 
 ``But Sedge said that news from phys-side says the same thing,'' Rush said.
 
@@ -495,7 +495,7 @@ I stole a glance at Lily. She looked to be spending every joule of energy on kee
 
 There had been an enormous row within the clade when first Cress, then Tule, had gotten in a relationship with a member of the Ode clade. Most of the Marshans had largely written off the stories of the Ode clade's political meddling as overly fantastic schlock, yet more myths to keep the functionally immortal entertained. Even if they had their basis in truth, they remained only stories.
 
-Lily, however, had had an immediate and dramatic reaction, cutting contact with the rest of the clade --- including Marsh --- for more than a year. She had even refused to merge down for years until tempers had settled.
+Lily, however, had had an immediate and dramatic reaction, cutting contact with the rest of the clade—including Marsh—for more than a year. She had even refused to merge down for years until tempers had settled.
 
 Hanne spoke up. ``Listen, can we maybe give this a bit to play out? I need to sleep, and if Reed doesn't take a break, he's going to explode.''
 
@@ -545,7 +545,7 @@ How could I stand, knowing as I did that the clade had become unmoored? How coul
 
 I sighed, nodded dully, and let her pull me to my feet.
 
-I swayed for a moment, feeling reality shift unsteadily beneath me. Once I straightened up, I followed Hanne off to our bedroom. We'd spent the previous night, as we often did, sleeping in two separate beds --- I always got too warm sleeping next to someone --- but any grounding force feels welcome now, so, with a gesture, the two beds slid together, merging seamlessly into one.
+I swayed for a moment, feeling reality shift unsteadily beneath me. Once I straightened up, I followed Hanne off to our bedroom. We'd spent the previous night, as we often did, sleeping in two separate beds—I always got too warm sleeping next to someone—but any grounding force feels welcome now, so, with a gesture, the two beds slid together, merging seamlessly into one.
 
 A hollow feeling bubbled up within me. The two beds merging into one was an image of something now well beyond the Marsh clade. I was thankful I'd already cried myself dry.
 

marsh/content/003.tex

@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-As expected, sleep did not come. Exhaustion pulled at me, exerting its own gravity, but too many emotions crowded it out. Too many emotions and too many thoughts. I spent a few minutes chiding myself --- shouldn't I sleep, if only to be more refreshed for the next day? --- before giving in and letting my mind circle around each of those emotions, each of those thoughts. I have no idea how long I cycled.
+As expected, sleep did not come. Exhaustion pulled at me, exerting its own gravity, but too many emotions crowded it out. Too many emotions and too many thoughts. I spent a few minutes chiding myself—shouldn't I sleep, if only to be more refreshed for the next day?—before giving in and letting my mind circle around each of those emotions, each of those thoughts. I have no idea how long I cycled.
 
 There was the faintest brush against my sensorium. Vos.
 
@@ -64,9 +64,9 @@ I thought of Marsh, their laugh, their words, their open expression, the way the
 
 Hanne rolled away from me and I took that as my chance to at least no longer be laying down. I forked a new instance standing beside the bed and then quit, just in case the motion of me getting out of bed might wake her.
 
-I needed out of the house. Nowhere public --- I didn't want to see what others in the System were dealing with right then. There would be time for that later, but for now I needed out and away from everyone.
+I needed out of the house. Nowhere public—I didn't want to see what others in the System were dealing with right then. There would be time for that later, but for now I needed out and away from everyone.
 
-The sim I wound up in was simple and bucolic. There was a pagoda. There was a field, grass cut --- or eaten, I suppose, given the sheep in the distance --- short, stretching from stone wall to stone wall. It was day --- it didn't even seem like the owners included a day/night cycle --- and foggy. Cool but not cold. Damp but not wet.
+The sim I wound up in was simple and bucolic. There was a pagoda. There was a field, grass cut—or eaten, I suppose, given the sheep in the distance—short, stretching from stone wall to stone wall. It was day—it didn't even seem like the owners included a day/night cycle—and foggy. Cool but not cold. Damp but not wet.
 
 There was a bench in the pagoda, at least, so I made my way there, trudging tiredly up the whitewashed wood of the steps to sit on the well-worn seats. Whoever made this place seemed to have put more effort into the pagoda than the field. Fog like that was usually the sign of a border of a sim of limited size, so it was clearly just this single paddock, the grass and sheep and stone walls likely purchases from the exchange.
 

marsh/content/004.tex

@@ -4,7 +4,7 @@ At some point while I'd slept, Hanne had once more split the bed into two separa
 
 Coffee and chicory, nearly a third oatmilk by volume. Perfect.
 
-I was two sips in when the weight of what happened hit me once again. I didn't quite know how it was that they had escaped me in those minutes after waking, but a pile of `how could I' questions started to hem me in again --- how could I possibly forget, when this is the biggest thing that has happened to our clade ever? Never mind sys-side or phys-side; ever.
+I was two sips in when the weight of what happened hit me once again. I didn't quite know how it was that they had escaped me in those minutes after waking, but a pile of `how could I' questions started to hem me in again—how could I possibly forget, when this is the biggest thing that has happened to our clade ever? Never mind sys-side or phys-side; ever.
 
 I forced myself to sit up in bed and drink my coffee. I set myself the goal of sipping until it was finished. I stared out the window for a bit. I cried for a bit. I drank about half my coffee before the wait became unbearable.
 
@@ -30,7 +30,7 @@ There was mirth on the other end, some barely-sensed laughter that didn't quite
 
 \emph{``I'm feeling like shit.''} I laughed, shaking my head. \emph{``I mean, of course I am. I'm some awful mix of mourning Marsh, hopeful that there's some solution, kicking myself for mourning them maybe preemptively, kicking myself for not doing more, and just plain confused.''}
 
-The Odists were an old clade --- far older than any of us, having been born decades before the advent of the System --- so it was no wonder that Dry Grass was far more adept at sensorium messages than anyone else I'd met. It wasn't that I saw her lean back in her chair, nor that I felt the act of leaning back myself, but the overwhelming sensation that I got from that moment of silence was of her sighing, leaning back, crossing her arms over her front. I had no clue how she managed to pull that off. \emph{``There is little that I can say to fix any one of those, and anything else would ring hollow. All I can do is validate that, damn, Reed, that is a shitload of emotions. There is a lot going on, and I do not blame you for feeling confused.''}
+The Odists were an old clade—far older than any of us, having been born decades before the advent of the System—so it was no wonder that Dry Grass was far more adept at sensorium messages than anyone else I'd met. It wasn't that I saw her lean back in her chair, nor that I felt the act of leaning back myself, but the overwhelming sensation that I got from that moment of silence was of her sighing, leaning back, crossing her arms over her front. I had no clue how she managed to pull that off. \emph{``There is little that I can say to fix any one of those, and anything else would ring hollow. All I can do is validate that, damn, Reed, that is a shitload of emotions. There is a lot going on, and I do not blame you for feeling confused.''}
 
 \emph{``Thanks,''} I responded, feeling no small amount of relief that she hadn't tried to dig into any one of those feelings, nor even all of them as a whole. \emph{``How are Tule and Cress holding up? Hell, how're you holding up?''}
 
@@ -42,7 +42,7 @@ The Odists were an old clade --- far older than any of us, having been born deca
 
 I finished my coffee in two coarse swallows, winced at the uncomfortable sensation that followed. I took another moment to stand up and start making the bed again. As I did, I asked, \emph{``What on? I saw a ton of forks.''}
 
-The sense of a nod, and then, \emph{``Several things. One of me is still keeping tallies on how many are missing based on reports, which appears to be some few million so far. Another of me is collating the varied types of posts on the feeds --- wild supposition, unchecked grief, confusion, and so on. Another is speaking to a member of the eighth stanza, even though--''}
+The sense of a nod, and then, \emph{``Several things. One of me is still keeping tallies on how many are missing based on reports, which appears to be some few million so far. Another of me is collating the varied types of posts on the feeds—wild supposition, unchecked grief, confusion, and so on. Another is speaking to a member of the eighth stanza, even though--''}
 
 \emph{``This `Need An Answer' you mentioned?''}
 
@@ -64,7 +64,7 @@ I hesitated, halfway through smoothing out the sheets. \emph{``Oh, uh\ldots alri
 
 She sent the address of a public sim, to which I sent a ping of acknowledgement and a suggestion of five minutes' time.
 
-Hanne sat at the dining room table, coffee in her hands, staring out at nothing, a sure sign that she was digging through something on the perisystem architecture. Probably poking her way through the feeds, looking for news. She had her own friends, after all, her own circle of co-hobbyists, those construct artists --- oneirotects --- who shared her interest in creating various objects and interactive constructs. She had her own people to care about that weren't just me, weren't just the Marshans.
+Hanne sat at the dining room table, coffee in her hands, staring out at nothing, a sure sign that she was digging through something on the perisystem architecture. Probably poking her way through the feeds, looking for news. She had her own friends, after all, her own circle of co-hobbyists, those construct artists—oneirotects—who shared her interest in creating various objects and interactive constructs. She had her own people to care about that weren't just me, weren't just the Marshans.
 
 I chose to make us another pot of coffee instead, letting a cone of silence linger above me so that I didn't disturb her, even though her eyes did flick up toward me once or twice, joined by a weak smile.
 
@@ -150,11 +150,11 @@ I frowned. ``You mean someone's keeping her from doing so?''
 
 ``It is a hunch. Perhaps her implants limit her by NDA. Perhaps our communications are being monitored, and she is being instructed to limit the topics or to act in this way. While talking with Need An Answer, she suggested that this is also what the eighth stanza is used to doing, but they are the political ones.''
 
-I dredged up what history of the System I had learned, all of those sensationalist stories about the few old clades steering the direction of the lives of however many billions of uploaded minds and their instances --- certainly well over two trillion, if one counted the two launch vehicles, Castor and Pollux that had been sent zooming out of the Solar System at incredible speed seventy five years prior. More, if what Hanne said was right.
+I dredged up what history of the System I had learned, all of those sensationalist stories about the few old clades steering the direction of the lives of however many billions of uploaded minds and their instances—certainly well over two trillion, if one counted the two launch vehicles, Castor and Pollux that had been sent zooming out of the Solar System at incredible speed seventy five years prior. More, if what Hanne said was right.
 
 ``And they'd be sneaky like this, too?'' I asked.
 
-A snort of laughter and she nodded. ``Sneaky is one way to put it, yes. They shape interactions by second nature, for which a portion of the clade has distanced themselves from them. We --- Hammered Silver's up-tree instances --- are not supposed to be speaking to any of them, but there are a few that I like plenty, and given our current status, I have begun interacting more openly with Need An Answer.''
+A snort of laughter and she nodded. ``Sneaky is one way to put it, yes. They shape interactions by second nature, for which a portion of the clade has distanced themselves from them. We—Hammered Silver's up-tree instances—are not supposed to be speaking to any of them, but there are a few that I like plenty, and given our current status, I have begun interacting more openly with Need An Answer.''
 
 Wary of letting the topic drift too far, I said, ``Have they gotten anything else from phys-side, then?''
 
@@ -204,7 +204,7 @@ She nodded.
 
 ``Oh, absolutely,'' Dry Grass replied, turning and leaning over to give Cress a kiss on its cheek. ``How are you feeling, loves?''
 
-``Terrible,'' Tule said cheerfully. They had apparently collected Rush and Sedge before arriving, as all four stood in almost identical postures, each holding their coffees in their right hand --- just, I realized, as I was doing. ``All my emotions are wrong. I'm jittery and tired and I want to get another few hours of sleep but feel guilty every time I lay down.''
+``Terrible,'' Tule said cheerfully. They had apparently collected Rush and Sedge before arriving, as all four stood in almost identical postures, each holding their coffees in their right hand—just, I realized, as I was doing. ``All my emotions are wrong. I'm jittery and tired and I want to get another few hours of sleep but feel guilty every time I lay down.''
 
 I laughed. ``Yeah, that sounds about right. I keep feeling like I'm having the wrong sort of reaction to all of this.''
 
@@ -212,7 +212,7 @@ I laughed. ``Yeah, that sounds about right. I keep feeling like I'm having the w
 
 A moment of silence followed.
 
-``We as people have fallen out of the habit of dealing with crises,'' she continued when we all averted our gazes. ``Do not be hard on yourselves. We --- the Ode clade --- have more experience with crises than the vast, vast majority of the System, and even we are reeling. We are struggling to internalize something this big.''
+``We as people have fallen out of the habit of dealing with crises,'' she continued when we all averted our gazes. ``Do not be hard on yourselves. We—the Ode clade—have more experience with crises than the vast, vast majority of the System, and even we are reeling. We are struggling to internalize something this big.''
 
 ``Have you lost any?'' Cress asked, and I thanked it silently for getting to the question before I worked up the courage to do so myself.
 
@@ -228,13 +228,13 @@ All of the designs seemed to feature the New Year, now that I was able to pick t
 
 I turned away with a hollow feeling in my chest, wondering just how many of those couples were still couples.
 
-The town, while no less visually chaotic than the beach, was at least more heartening to look at. Everything --- \emph{everything;} the walls of buildings, the roofs, doors and window shutters, even the roads --- was covered with a blindingly colorful mosaic of tiles.
+The town, while no less visually chaotic than the beach, was at least more heartening to look at. Everything—\emph{everything;} the walls of buildings, the roofs, doors and window shutters, even the roads—was covered with a blindingly colorful mosaic of tiles.
 
-``\emph{To Limáni Ton Khromáton} is nearly two centuries old,'' Dry Grass explained as we started trudging up one of those streets. ``When you enter, you are given a single tile --- if you check your pockets, it should be in there.''
+``\emph{To Limáni Ton Khromáton} is nearly two centuries old,'' Dry Grass explained as we started trudging up one of those streets. ``When you enter, you are given a single tile—if you check your pockets, it should be in there.''
 
 Sure enough, when I dug my hand into my pocket, I found a cerulean tile, a little square of porcelain about three centimeters on a side. The rest of the Marshans dug in their pockets and pulled out tiles of their own, all one shade or another of blue.
 
-``Unless you hold a color in your mind when you enter, you are provided with your favorite,'' Dry Grass explained. She pulled a golden yellow tile out of her own pocket and flipped it up in the air like a coin. ``All of this --- all of the mosaic --- has been placed by visitors.
+``Unless you hold a color in your mind when you enter, you are provided with your favorite,'' Dry Grass explained. She pulled a golden yellow tile out of her own pocket and flipped it up in the air like a coin. ``All of this—all of the mosaic—has been placed by visitors.
 
 ``Set No Stones told me about this place.'' She smiled wryly. ``Because of course she did. We are consummate pros at living up to our names. You may place your tile wherever you like, and so long as it is touching the edge of another, it will stick. You will not be able to remove it after, so make sure to place it carefully.''
 
@@ -250,7 +250,7 @@ We walked past buildings that depicted animals, some that depicted people, some
 
 If the small town sim had been relatively quiet, this one felt all but abandoned. Perhaps all such sims with a singular purpose would be like this today: if your friends are missing, if other versions of you were missing, then an attraction would doubtless lose some of its draw. We passed only a few tilers tramping up the hill with determination, ready to place their colors for the day.
 
-Finally, Dry Grass led us down an alleyway, dim and cool, and gestured to a wall. The scene was of two figures sitting at a bar. Given the scale, it was impossible to make out any detail on the figures, though they seemed to be furries of some sort --- one tan and one black and white. Each had a drink, and before them, a wall of bottles stood, still in the process of being built. Dry Grass stood up on her tiptoes and touched her tile to the edge of a bottle, adding a bright glow to a fledgling bottle of whiskey.
+Finally, Dry Grass led us down an alleyway, dim and cool, and gestured to a wall. The scene was of two figures sitting at a bar. Given the scale, it was impossible to make out any detail on the figures, though they seemed to be furries of some sort—one tan and one black and white. Each had a drink, and before them, a wall of bottles stood, still in the process of being built. Dry Grass stood up on her tiptoes and touched her tile to the edge of a bottle, adding a bright glow to a fledgling bottle of whiskey.
 
 ``Here,'' she said, gesturing us to grab a crate that had been stacked nearby. ``All of these are just props to help people reach higher. You can probably add your blues to the edge of the lamp. They are not quite the right color for green lamps, but I do not care.''
 
@@ -286,7 +286,7 @@ I startled back to awareness, smiling sheepishly at Sedge, accepting the hand th
 
 ``It is okay,'' Dry Grass said, smiling gently to me. ``The next sim that we are headed to does not have a very large entry point, so please huddle in closer. It will also be quite warm, so, fair warning.''
 
-The entry point --- a platform of wood slats set upon stilts above stagnant water --- was far smaller than I had anticipated, and my foot rocked against an uneven plank set along the rim of the platform, forcing me to lean against Sedge. One edge of the platform led into a narrow, somewhat rickety wooden walkway that headed out over the water in a straight line until it came upon a tall patch of grass, where it turned a few degrees to the right to make its way to another. It appeared to meander in this way from island of vegetation to island of vegetation in an uneven zigzag toward a copse of trees --- the word `banyan' floated to mind, though I wasn't sure if that was actually the case --- where it disappeared into shadow.
+The entry point—a platform of wood slats set upon stilts above stagnant water—was far smaller than I had anticipated, and my foot rocked against an uneven plank set along the rim of the platform, forcing me to lean against Sedge. One edge of the platform led into a narrow, somewhat rickety wooden walkway that headed out over the water in a straight line until it came upon a tall patch of grass, where it turned a few degrees to the right to make its way to another. It appeared to meander in this way from island of vegetation to island of vegetation in an uneven zigzag toward a copse of trees—the word `banyan' floated to mind, though I wasn't sure if that was actually the case—where it disappeared into shadow.
 
 That shade looked delightfully appealing as the humid heat pressed in around us.
 
@@ -296,13 +296,13 @@ That shade looked delightfully appealing as the humid heat pressed in around us.
 
 If it had been intended to be a joke, it fell flat. We remained in silence for a few awkward moments.
 
-She sighed. ``My apologies. It is still important to me, however. It is-- Ah, there she is.'' She raised an arm and waved to a figure crouched at the edge of the walkway just before the next platform. With the heat-haze and mugginess, their form was somewhat indistinct. They wore a frowzy white dress, along with some sort of hat --- or perhaps a rather tall hairstyle. As we walked toward them in single file, she explained, ``This sim was designed by Serene; Sustained And Sustaining, whom you shall meet in a moment. She is my cocladist from the ninth stanza, and one of my favorite people in the world. I asked her to meet us here.''
+She sighed. ``My apologies. It is still important to me, however. It is-- Ah, there she is.'' She raised an arm and waved to a figure crouched at the edge of the walkway just before the next platform. With the heat-haze and mugginess, their form was somewhat indistinct. They wore a frowzy white dress, along with some sort of hat—or perhaps a rather tall hairstyle. As we walked toward them in single file, she explained, ``This sim was designed by Serene; Sustained And Sustaining, whom you shall meet in a moment. She is my cocladist from the ninth stanza, and one of my favorite people in the world. I asked her to meet us here.''
 
 As we got closer, the strange hairstyle that I had noticed on the figure resolved into a pair of tall canid ears, and what I had assumed was a mask of some sort turned out to be a short, pointed muzzle. Serene stood up and stretched, smiling wanly to us before bowing in greeting.
 
 ``Serene, this is Tule and Cress, my partners, as well as a few more of their clade: Reed, Rush, and Sedge.''
 
-The fox --- a hunch confirmed by a quick check of the perisystem --- nodded. ``Of the Marsh clade? How droll,'' she said, that smile veering perilously close to a smirk. ``Welcome to my own little marsh.''
+The fox—a hunch confirmed by a quick check of the perisystem—nodded. ``Of the Marsh clade? How droll,'' she said, that smile veering perilously close to a smirk. ``Welcome to my own little marsh.''
 
 ``What \emph{is} this place?'' Rush asked, a note of wonder in vis voice. ``Other than a swamp, I mean.''
 
@@ -316,7 +316,7 @@ Serene nodded and started strolling down the path toward the next patch of grass
 
 ``I would like to hear what you are seeing.''
 
-The fox --- a fennec, the System told me --- nodded slowly. ``I am seeing quiet chaos. I am seeing most of my sims emptying out. Few are out for walks or adventures. I sent forks to each of them when I noticed my own missing instances to ensure that they all still existed, as well. Thankfully, sims seem to be unaffected.
+The fox—a fennec, the System told me—nodded slowly. ``I am seeing quiet chaos. I am seeing most of my sims emptying out. Few are out for walks or adventures. I sent forks to each of them when I noticed my own missing instances to ensure that they all still existed, as well. Thankfully, sims seem to be unaffected.
 
 ``The ones that are not empty, however, remain dreadfully quiet. Most of those who are out and about have set up over themselves cones of silence.'' She hesitated, took a deep breath, and then continued. ``Those who have not, though, are decidedly not quiet. More than one silence has been broken by weeping and wailing.''
 
@@ -406,7 +406,7 @@ The other category seemed to be made mostly of furries of some sort. These, at l
 
 I nodded and started to reply before cutting myself off as a few more Odists showed up in quick succession. Another skunk, looking far more prim and proper than the others, arrived and shot Dry Grass a quick glance. I couldn't quite read her expression, but she certainly didn't look happy. If she was this Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest, it perhaps made sense, as the next Odist to arrive was a human introduced as The Only Time I Dream Is When I Need An Answer.
 
-From what I gathered both from my knowledge of the history of the System that I'd picked up over my years on Lagrange as well as the memories of Tule's relationship with Dry Grass, there had been a schism within the Ode clade some fifty years back surrounding the political elements of the clade --- of which Need An Answer was one --- and those who disagreed. This included the stanzas to which both Dry Grass and In All Ways belonged. Beyond those such as Lily who held resentment, even some Odists mistrusted --- or hated --- some of their own.
+From what I gathered both from my knowledge of the history of the System that I'd picked up over my years on Lagrange as well as the memories of Tule's relationship with Dry Grass, there had been a schism within the Ode clade some fifty years back surrounding the political elements of the clade—of which Need An Answer was one—and those who disagreed. This included the stanzas to which both Dry Grass and In All Ways belonged. Beyond those such as Lily who held resentment, even some Odists mistrusted—or hated—some of their own.
 
 I just hoped they'd be able to set that aside for now.
 
@@ -416,9 +416,9 @@ Scattered mumbling.
 
 ``Dry Grass, you have been taking point. Would you like to begin?''
 
-``Yes,'' she said, stepping out in front of the loose crowd that had gathered. All turned to face her. ``At midnight on January first, 2400 --- that is, systime 276+1, but some are speculating that the phys-side date is related for reasons that I will get to --- a disruption in the software underlying the System occurred. This led to a discontinuity of approximately one year, one month, and ten days.''
+``Yes,'' she said, stepping out in front of the loose crowd that had gathered. All turned to face her. ``At midnight on January first, 2400—that is, systime 276+1, but some are speculating that the phys-side date is related for reasons that I will get to—a disruption in the software underlying the System occurred. This led to a discontinuity of approximately one year, one month, and ten days.''
 
-More muttering --- darkly, this time.
+More muttering—darkly, this time.
 
 ``There have been more than two hundred thousand instances of downtime throughout the history of Lagrange. Most amount to a few seconds or minutes, with the longest being approximately three weeks, which took place during the Lagrange station's insertion into the L5 orbit in which it currently resides. We usually do not notice any downtime unless we are specifically paying attention to systime. However, in this instance, when the System returned to functionality, several instances were missing--''
 
@@ -426,7 +426,7 @@ More muttering --- darkly, this time.
 
 ``--several instances were missing. At current count, the missing instances number about one and a half billion, though that number continues to climb.
 
-``I have re-acquired my systech credentials through an expedited process, which has led to me talking to a phys-side tech on the Lagrange station named Günay Sadık. While she appears to be somewhat restrained in what she is willing --- or able --- to tell me, she was at least able to confirm or deny guesses as I made them. She has confirmed that the missing instances are due to corrupted data, that Lagrange experienced full downtime, and that phys-side engineers were finally able to get it running at full capacity just last night.''
+``I have re-acquired my systech credentials through an expedited process, which has led to me talking to a phys-side tech on the Lagrange station named Günay Sadık. While she appears to be somewhat restrained in what she is willing—or able—to tell me, she was at least able to confirm or deny guesses as I made them. She has confirmed that the missing instances are due to corrupted data, that Lagrange experienced full downtime, and that phys-side engineers were finally able to get it running at full capacity just last night.''
 
 Dry Grass paused, taking a deep breath. ``Here are the things she was not able to confirm, but which I do not believe were outright denials. She was not able to confirm the reason for the downtime and did not respond to any of my guesses. However, as this discussion took place over AVEC, I was able to see her as she spoke. I asked if there was any physical damage to the System hardware: no change. I asked if there was any permanent damage to the System internals: no change. I asked if there was any trouble phys-side that led to the downtime: she looked down to her hands on the desk. Finally, I asked if this downtime might have been intentional, whether there might have been malice behind it: she looked off-screen, her expression appearing tense, perhaps frightened. I suspect an NDA block on her implants. I have heard these are uncomfortable at best.''
 
@@ -490,7 +490,7 @@ At this, Beholden let out a cry and burst suddenly into tears, eventually rollin
 
 ``Do we have enough information to ask about whether or not they'll be recoverable?'' Cress asked. ``Serene said we'd need some questions answered first.''
 
-Dry Grass tilted her head thoughtfully. ``None of my forks have reported any success along that front. Most, however, are still processing. When I asked Günay, she simply shrugged and said,''I do not know. Perhaps there is something that can be done with more hands sys-side, but best efforts were made in recovering lost data.''\,''
+Dry Grass tilted her head thoughtfully. ``None of my forks have reported any success along that front. Most, however, are still processing. When I asked Günay, she simply shrugged and said, ``I do not know. Perhaps there is something that can be done with more hands sys-side, but best efforts were made in recovering lost data.''\hspace{1pt}''
 
 ``Are any of your forks working on that, love?''
 
@@ -498,7 +498,7 @@ Dry Grass tilted her head thoughtfully. ``None of my forks have reported any suc
 
 She nodded. ``Several of us are working on that, yes, and from across the stanzas.''
 
-One of the gathered, From Whence Do I Call Out, began to pray. ``\emph{Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha'olam, dayan ha-emet.}''
+One of the gathered, From Whence Do I Call Out, began to pray. ``\emph{Barukh atah Adonai Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam, dayan ha'emet.}''
 
 Dry Grass lowered her head as several of the other Odists joined. After a moment, she forked and gathered the Marshans around her, setting up a cone of silence above us.
 
@@ -528,9 +528,9 @@ Another long pause, and then a sense of a nod.
 
 A few moments after I sent her the address of the sim, she popped into being beside me, looking freshly showered. Her expression was flat and motions stiff as she walked with me to join the rest of the clade in the pagoda. Even as the rest of the Marshans greeted her, she simply nodded, saying nothing.
 
-If I'd been expecting us all to jump into conversation, I was disappointed. However, there was still relief when we fell back into silence, each thinking our thoughts, looking out over the pasture at the fog and the shadows of sheep. The only sounds were those of the sim --- a hint of rain further out on the grass, another tinkle or two of a bell --- and my own breathing.
+If I'd been expecting us all to jump into conversation, I was disappointed. However, there was still relief when we fell back into silence, each thinking our thoughts, looking out over the pasture at the fog and the shadows of sheep. The only sounds were those of the sim—a hint of rain further out on the grass, another tinkle or two of a bell—and my own breathing.
 
-Once more, questions bubbled up within me. What could I possibly do in the face of such enormity? How could 48 billion people just disappear? What was phys-side doing about all of this other than hiding the details they doubtless had? More 'how could I's dogging my heels --- how could I be sitting here in silence? How could I have stepped away from Dry Grass, the one person I knew who was working hardest on this? How could I not have looped Lily into this whole conversation?
+Once more, questions bubbled up within me. What could I possibly do in the face of such enormity? How could 48 billion people just disappear? What was phys-side doing about all of this other than hiding the details they doubtless had? More 'how could I's dogging my heels—how could I be sitting here in silence? How could I have stepped away from Dry Grass, the one person I knew who was working hardest on this? How could I not have looped Lily into this whole conversation?
 
 ``So,'' Lily said. ``What's up?''
 
@@ -552,7 +552,7 @@ She shrugged. ``Not none, I'm sure.''
 
 ``Ye-e-es,'' I allowed. ``So maybe it was a virus or something. CPV that affects everyone doesn't exist, does it?''
 
-Silence and headshakes around the pagoda. The contraproprioceptive virus --- the one sure way to kill anyone on the System --- only seemed to work when tailored specifically to an individual's sensorium, disrupting their sense of proprioception until they either dissipated and crashed or quit out of agony. Not only that, but, from what I'd learned from the stories that came out surrounding it a few decades back, it had to somehow pierce the skin, to breach that sense of physical integrity, before it could do it's awful job of unwinding a person entirely.
+Silence and headshakes around the pagoda. The contraproprioceptive virus—the one sure way to kill anyone on the System—only seemed to work when tailored specifically to an individual's sensorium, disrupting their sense of proprioception until they either dissipated and crashed or quit out of agony. Not only that, but, from what I'd learned from the stories that came out surrounding it a few decades back, it had to somehow pierce the skin, to breach that sense of physical integrity, before it could do it's awful job of unwinding a person entirely.
 
 ``Well, if this\ldots attack or whatever was deliberate and we don't know anything about \emph{how} it was done, do we know anything about who might have done it?''
 
@@ -562,7 +562,7 @@ Sedge leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. ``There's always been a b
 
 ``I'm not sure they think of us as people.''
 
-Lily snorted. ``\,`Not as people','' she sneered. ``Sorry, Sedge, I know it's not on you. You're probably right. I'm just feeling like shit now.''
+Lily snorted. ``\hspace{1pt}`Not as people','' she sneered. ``Sorry, Sedge, I know it's not on you. You're probably right. I'm just feeling like shit now.''
 
 Rush smiled faintly. ``I think we all are.''
 

marsh/content/005.tex

@@ -33,7 +33,7 @@ Stick with just your clade, and just the ones you know are missing. You can chec
 \item[What percentage of your clade is missing?]
 Total up the instances that are missing, then divide that by the total number of people in your clade that you know of from before Lagrange went down and multiply it by 100. Once we start collecting enough of these percentages, we'll be able to average them out and get a rough estimate of how many on Lagrange are gone. The more we get, the more accurate that estimate will be.
 \item[List any friends you're missing.]
-Please give their full signifiers --- name and tag both as they appear in the clade listing --- so that we can weed out duplicates. These will be added to the list of missing, which will help others search for friends and family.
+Please give their full signifiers—name and tag both as they appear in the clade listing—so that we can weed out duplicates. These will be added to the list of missing, which will help others search for friends and family.
 \item[Do you remember anything out of the ordinary?]
 If you remember anything that seems weird, write it up in as much detail as you can. Maybe some people will wind up remembering something from before the end, as all of our memories stop just before midnight. Many of us mentioned a sense of déjà vu, though that may be a side effect of the System coming back online.
 \item[Any news that might help?]

marsh/content/006.tex

@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-The rest of the day was largely spent hunting for friends and tallying losses. The Marshans and a few of their assorted partners --- minus Dry Grass --- set up camp in Marsh's study, widened slightly by Pierre, who also held ownership permissions over the sim.
+The rest of the day was largely spent hunting for friends and tallying losses. The Marshans and a few of their assorted partners—minus Dry Grass—set up camp in Marsh's study, widened slightly by Pierre, who also held ownership permissions over the sim.
 
 It raised a question that dogged me for a few minutes, cropping up now and again as I got in touch with more of our friends. What happened to objects and sims owned by individuals who had disappeared? If what Serene had said about her up-tree instance held true, the sim that she'd been working on remained. ``When an instance quits, all of their items disappear,'' she explained. ``But should an instance crash, that is not considered quitting. They remain in a core dump somewhere. That the sim remains indicates that she did not quit, but the ownership record is now invalid. I will need to file to have it revert to me.''
 
@@ -8,7 +8,7 @@ This new study was expanded to include a few more desks and tables. Hanne and I
 
 For each person we managed to contact, we asked them a set of questions that Sedge and Dry Grass had come up with. Finding out how many of their cocladists had gone missing, as well as any friends or loved ones that were now unreachable. We collected some of that information for ourselves, building a better picture of how our friends group had been impacted, but all were directed to the official survey that had been set up by the Odists.
 
-Truly official, as well. Dry Grass had had her systech privileges restored --- as was evidenced by a floppy, felt witch hat she would occasionally summon, a physical token of her official capacity --- but she had also taken on a leadership role in this project beyond simply being a tech. She had pulled some strings to leave their post pinned to the top of several of the largest central feeds. Responses were already pouring in as more and more people woke to the realization that missing friends and family. While Dry Grass assured us that such had been done in the past, none of us had ever seen such a thing before.
+Truly official, as well. Dry Grass had had her systech privileges restored—as was evidenced by a floppy, felt witch hat she would occasionally summon, a physical token of her official capacity—but she had also taken on a leadership role in this project beyond simply being a tech. She had pulled some strings to leave their post pinned to the top of several of the largest central feeds. Responses were already pouring in as more and more people woke to the realization that missing friends and family. While Dry Grass assured us that such had been done in the past, none of us had ever seen such a thing before.
 
 ``It is a part of the long peace that your lives are so boring,'' she had said with a sigh. ``Or at least were.''
 
@@ -62,7 +62,7 @@ I nodded, quiet.
 
 ``Well, alright,'' I said after a moment's silence, gently disentangling myself from the embrace. ``Let's at least focus on something else for a bit. What sorts of things can we take care of from start to finish that have nothing to do with\ldots all this?''
 
-She laughed. ``\,`All this' is a hell of a way to put it.'' She shook her head as though to dislodge the thought. ``But you're right. Uh\ldots well, I've had too much coffee, I think. It's a bit early, but maybe we can make a drink or something? I also wouldn't mind inviting some others over just for some noise, otherwise I'm going to sit and stew up in my head.''
+She laughed. ``\hspace{1pt}`All this' is a hell of a way to put it.'' She shook her head as though to dislodge the thought. ``But you're right. Uh\ldots well, I've had too much coffee, I think. It's a bit early, but maybe we can make a drink or something? I also wouldn't mind inviting some others over just for some noise, otherwise I'm going to sit and stew up in my head.''
 
 ``What, am I not enough to distract you from that?''
 
@@ -74,7 +74,7 @@ She snorted. ``No.~I love you, but you'll just wind up reminding me of it. Any f
 
 We both spent a few minutes puttering about, getting ourselves some water and poking through the exchange for a bottle of wine to have ready for when others arrived.
 
-\emph{If} others arrived, it turned out. There were a few maybes, with Sedge saying that she wanted to focus just on the work and not split her attention any. Both Pierre and Vos declined, saying they would rather stay together and focus on their own problems --- certainly understandable. Few of my friends sounded appealing to have over, which also held true for Hanne, who wound up only pinging Jess and Warmth In Fire out of her circle of construct artistry friends. Both gave a definite maybe.
+\emph{If} others arrived, it turned out. There were a few maybes, with Sedge saying that she wanted to focus just on the work and not split her attention any. Both Pierre and Vos declined, saying they would rather stay together and focus on their own problems—certainly understandable. Few of my friends sounded appealing to have over, which also held true for Hanne, who wound up only pinging Jess and Warmth In Fire out of her circle of construct artistry friends. Both gave a definite maybe.
 
 Of those I pinged who surprised me by saying yes, Lily was at the top of the list.
 
@@ -96,9 +96,9 @@ The next to arrive were Warmth In Fire and Jess, both of whom launched themselve
 
 I'd met Jess a few times before at dinner parties or the like, and she definitely shared Hanne and I's fondness for snarky banter, and was just as prone to falling into witty repartee as we were.
 
-For some reason, though, I'd yet to actually meet Warmth In Fire beyond the brief introduction we'd had in the field. Despite Dry Grass's average height and soft build, Warmth In Fire was quite short and wiry. Where Dry Grass was comfortable to move through life at a steady pace with measured speech, the skunk was spunky and energetic, speaking quickly and smiling readily, quick to hug --- I received my own after Hanne --- and quicker still to fork to accomplish such affection. They seemed to live in a pleasant sort of transgression, from the constantly shifting pronouns to the almost childlike performance that nonetheless seemed to be performed with a wink and a nudge, as though ey knew just how subversive such kid-like vibes could be.
+For some reason, though, I'd yet to actually meet Warmth In Fire beyond the brief introduction we'd had in the field. Despite Dry Grass's average height and soft build, Warmth In Fire was quite short and wiry. Where Dry Grass was comfortable to move through life at a steady pace with measured speech, the skunk was spunky and energetic, speaking quickly and smiling readily, quick to hug—I received my own after Hanne—and quicker still to fork to accomplish such affection. They seemed to live in a pleasant sort of transgression, from the constantly shifting pronouns to the almost childlike nature that nonetheless seemed to be performed with a wink and a nudge, as though ey knew just how subversive such kid-like vibes could be.
 
-Hold My Name, in contrast, stood tall and confident. She leaned more on Dry Grass's steady nature, though seemed perfectly content to keep up with Warmth In Fire's speedy intensity, at one point scruffing an instance of the skunk --- who was nearly a meter shorter than her --- to pull it into a bearhug. She was also visibly and effortlessly transfeminine in a way that I attempted to live into in my own trans identity. I liked her immediately.
+Hold My Name, in contrast, stood tall and confident. She leaned more on Dry Grass's steady nature, though seemed perfectly content to keep up with Warmth In Fire's speedy intensity, at one point scruffing an instance of the skunk—who was nearly a meter shorter than her—to pull it into a bearhug. She was also visibly and effortlessly transfeminine in a way that I attempted to live into in my own trans identity. I liked her immediately.
 
 Last of all, nearly an hour after we started, most of us a few drinks in, Lily stepped out onto the patio. She moved stiffly, awkwardly, and only nodded a greeting, wordlessly picking out a few of the \emph{hors d'oeuvres} and pouring herself an over-full glass of a sweet wine.
 
@@ -116,25 +116,25 @@ Dry Grass bowed. ``I assure you, it is appropriately atrocious. It comes straigh
 
 Lily rolled her eyes, nodded.
 
-``Alright. A horse walks into a bar, flumps down onto a stool, says to the bartender,''Whiskey and a beer.''\,''
+``Alright. A horse walks into a bar, flumps down onto a stool, says to the bartender, ``Whiskey and a beer.''\hspace{1pt}''
 
 ``A bar joke? Really, love?'' Cress asked.
 
 ``I told you it was awful,'' she said, laughing. ``Anyway, the bartender sighs, pours a shot, and sets that and a shitty beer down in front of the horse.
 
-````Might as well leave the bottle,'' the horse says.
+``\hspace{1pt}``Might as well leave the bottle,'' the horse says.
 
-``The bartender reluctantly sets the bottle down as well, saying,''Hey man, you are in here every day. Every day you mow through a few beers and a few shots. You alright?''
+``The bartender reluctantly sets the bottle down as well, saying, ``Hey man, you are in here every day. Every day you mow through a few beers and a few shots. You alright?''
 
-````Of course I am fucking alright,'' the horse grumbles, downing his shot and chasing it with a glug of beer.
+``\hspace{1pt}``Of course I am fucking alright,'' the horse grumbles, downing his shot and chasing it with a glug of beer.
 
-````I dunno, man. You think you might be an alcoholic?''
+``\hspace{1pt}``I dunno, man. You think you might be an alcoholic?''
 
-``The horse says,''I do not think I am,'' and then disappears with a \emph{poof!}''
+``The horse says, ``I do not think I am,'' and then disappears with a \emph{poof!}''
 
 There was a pause, during which a few of us smiled, vaguely confused at the apparent punchline.
 
-``You know, because''I think therefore I am''? And he did not think he\ldots oh, never mind.''
+``You know, because ``I think therefore I am''? And he did not think he\ldots oh, never mind.''
 
 At this, there were a few dry chuckles. ``You're right, that is atrocious,'' Lily said.
 
@@ -144,7 +144,7 @@ At that delayed payoff, the rest of us laughed in earnest. Warmth In Fire, halfw
 
 ``Okay, okay, I'll give you that one,'' Lily said, still grinning. ``That was pretty good. Still atrocious, but at least the good kind of atrocious. I'm sorry for the other night.''
 
-``That was only last night, my dear. We do seem to be living at a high skew, do we not?'' Dry Grass bowed to her. ``I appreciate it, Lily. I cannot apologize for my clade, but I will all the same do my best to live as a counterexample to the stories you have heard that rankle so much.''
+``That was only last night, my dear. We do seem to be living at a high skew, do we not?'' Dry Grass bowed to her. ``I appreciate it, Lily. I cannot and will not apologize for my clade, but I will all the same do my best to live as a counterexample to these stories you have heard that rankle so much.''
 
 ``Yeah, thanks,'' Lily said, more down to her glass of wine than to Dry Grass. ``I was thinking, actually, and part of the reason I wanted to come over and see you on\ldots uh, neutral ground, I guess, is that I had a question about your clade.''
 
@@ -164,7 +164,7 @@ I tightened my grip on my fork, leaving it stabbed into a pile of salad. ``I've
 
 Dry Grass nodded. ``Precisely that, yes.''
 
-``I got super angry,'' Hold My Name said, her comfortable alto dipping back into a tenor, as though the mood demanded less of her transfemininity. ``Like, \emph{really} angry. I had to move back into my own place for a while after, I was so mad. How could she do that? We --- the rest of the second stanza --- were already unmoored by Qoheleth's assassination only a year before, and now Michelle had quit, too. It stranded all the stanzas, leaving behind ten brand new clades.''
+``I got super angry,'' Hold My Name said, her comfortable alto dipping back into a tenor, as though the mood demanded less of her transfemininity. ``Like, \emph{really} angry. I had to move back into my own place for a while after, I was so mad. How could she do that? We—the rest of the second stanza—were already unmoored by Qoheleth's assassination only a year before, and now Michelle had quit, too. It stranded all the stanzas, leaving behind ten brand new clades.''
 
 The Marshans winced, suddenly understanding the same of ourselves.
 
@@ -174,21 +174,21 @@ I glanced surreptitiously at Lily, who was keeping herself still, tightly under
 
 Another glance at Dry Grass showed her watching Lily warily in turn.
 
-The moment of tension passed uneasily, as Warmth In Fire spoke up next. ``I will say as I always do, my dear: your anger is based around a memory that does not fit the reality of the situation. I have met Sasha through my friendship with the fifth stanza, who ever stood up for her, even when she was True Name. I have eaten dinner with her. I have watched the way she smiles. I have watched the distance at which she holds herself from time to time. I have seen the flashes of regret-tinted understanding when topics of the past crop up. She is not who she was, but neither was she who you say she must have been. I cannot even linger in discomfort around her.''
+The moment of tension passed uneasily, as Warmth In Fire spoke up next. ``I will say as I always do, my dear: your anger is based around a memory that does not fit the reality of the situation. I have met Sasha through my friendship with the fifth stanza, who ever stood up for her, even when she was True Name. I have eaten dinner with her. I have watched the way she smiles. I have watched the distance at which she holds herself from time to time. I have seen the flashes of regret-tinted understanding when topics of the past crop up. She is not who she was, but neither was she who you say she must have been. There was no wickedness in her, and I cannot even linger in discomfort around her.''
 
 Hold My Name sighed, tired gaze level on her partner. This carried the cadence of an old argument, one had dozens or hundreds of times before.
 
 Lily only gripped her glass tighter.
 
-``She is no murderer. Not of Qoheleth, and certainly not of Michelle,'' Warmth In Fire continued confidently, the gravity of their words held in tension with the ineffably childlike openness of her expression. ``Yes, you may hate her, and yet I cannot. Yes, my down-tree, Dear, loathes her, and yet I do not. Yes, my down-tree, Rye, has complicated thoughts, but on one thing she and I agree: she is no longer who she was. We are both suckers for character development. I am Dear. I am Rye. I am Praiseworthy, and Michelle too, but I am also my own person.''
+``She is no murderer. Not of Qoheleth, and certainly not of Michelle,'' Warmth In Fire continued confidently, the gravity of their words held in tension with the ineffably childlike openness of her expression. ``Yes, you may hate her, and yet I cannot. Yes, my up-tree, Dear, loathes her, and yet I do not. Yes, my down-tree, Rye, has had her complicated thoughts in the past, but on one thing she and I agree: she is no longer who she was, and even who she was is obscured by careful fictions. We are both suckers for character development. I am Dear. I am Rye. I am Praiseworthy, and Michelle too, but I am also my own person.''
 
-``I know, Bean,'' Hold My Name said, voice as tired as her gaze --- and, perhaps, the argument. ``You have said this countless times before, and I appreciate the balance that brings, but I am also my own person separate from you. I hate her, you do not. We are allowed to not be alike.''
+``I know, Bean,'' Hold My Name said, voice as tired as her gaze—and, perhaps, the argument. ``You have said this countless times before, and I appreciate the balance that brings, but I am also my own person separate from you. I mistrust her, you do not. We are allowed to not be alike.''
 
 The skunk nodded, waiting for her cocladist and partner to continue.
 
 ``I did not even like Qoheleth all that much. I thought he was a putz who had lost his marbles,'' she said, smirking. ``But Michelle--''
 
-Warmth In Fire waved its paw jerkily, a flash of despair washing over eir features. ``Michelle was murdered, yes, but the act of violence took place at the root of her trauma. Of \emph{our} trauma, My.'' The skunk was crying now, quietly and bitterly. ``The act of violence that led to us being so fucked up --- beautifully, wonderfully fucked up --- and which led to the creation of the System also destroyed someone centuries later because she was never given help. It was her right to quit as she did, leaving us ten clades and not one, but her murderers were all of us who did not help, not some wicked machinations of only one of us.''
+Warmth In Fire waved its paw jerkily, a flash of despair washing over eir features. ``Michelle was murdered, yes, but the act of violence took place at the root of her trauma. Of \emph{our} trauma, My.'' The skunk was crying, quietly and bitterly. ``The act of violence that led to us being so fucked up—beautifully, wonderfully fucked up—and which led to the creation of the System also destroyed someone centuries later because she was never given help. It was her right to quit as she did, leaving us ten clades and not one, but her murderers were all of us who did not help, not some wicked machinations of only one of us.''
 
 At the sudden force of their words, Hold My Name's expression shifted to one of alarm, and she reached out to take up one of her partner's paws. Dry Grass did much the same.
 
@@ -210,7 +210,7 @@ Sniffling, Cress nodded. ``I've been worried about the same. All of my friends,
 
 ``Few have,'' Dry Grass said. ``We almost did, back before the founding of the System, but the whole Lost saga interrupted that.''
 
-Jess, who had been fairly quiet up until that point, asked, ``\,`Lost saga'? Like, all that stuff about people being disappeared by the government? Didn't they all die?''
+Jess, who had been fairly quiet up until that point, asked, ``\hspace{1pt}`Lost saga'? Like, all that stuff about people being disappeared by the government? Didn't they all die?''
 
 ``Oh, heavens no,'' she said, chuckling. ``We were among the Lost. \emph{Michelle} was Lost. That is the trauma Warmth In Fire spoke about. That is part of why she was so fucked up.''
 

marsh/content/007.tex

@@ -32,7 +32,7 @@ The scene was much as I had left it previously, expanded and cleaned with desks,
 
 ``Ah, Reed!'' an instance of her said brightly as I entered. ``Welcome to the madhouse. We're having fun!''
 
-``\,`Fun'?''
+``\hspace{1pt}`Fun'?''
 
 She smiled all the wider, an expression lacking earnestness. ``Isn't this fun for you? Billions dead and us having to make up answers on the fly?''
 
@@ -88,11 +88,11 @@ I shrugged. ``I'll send a fork, sure. Don't want to leave Hanne in a lurch if sh
 
 Sedge laughed. ``Fair enough. You have good timing, though. It starts in\ldots uh, five minutes, actually. Come on.''
 
-I stood up and forked, my root instance stepping back to the house while my new fork followed along after Sedge --- or at least one instance, her down-tree remaining in the chair, kneading her palms against her eyes.
+I stood up and forked, my root instance stepping back to the house while my new fork followed along after Sedge—or at least one instance, her down-tree remaining in the chair, kneading her palms against her eyes.
 
 The headquarters room beyond the boundaries of Marsh's study proved to be much larger than anticipated, stretching out to either side, where it was ringed with glass-walled conference rooms, many already populated with `politicians', as Sedge had called them.
 
-``They've got a bunch of people working on different aspects of this. Jonas, of course, and a lot of the Odists --- don't tell Lily, but I'm starting to really like them --- plus some folks from way back. The black guy is Yared Zerezghi, who wrote the secession amendment. The weasel is Debarre, who was on the Council of Eight. The blond woman--'' She nodded over towards a huddle people matching that description. ``--is Selena something-or-another. I never did catch her clade name. She seems neat, though. Ex-System Consortium. Well connected.''
+``They've got a bunch of people working on different aspects of this. Jonas, of course, and a lot of the Odists—don't tell Lily, but I'm starting to really like them—plus some folks from way back. The black guy is Yared Zerezghi, who wrote the secession amendment. The weasel is Debarre, who was on the Council of Eight. The blond woman--'' She nodded over towards a huddle people matching that description. ``--is Selena something-or-another. I never did catch her clade name. She seems neat, though. Ex-System Consortium. Well connected.''
 
 ``So are you, seems like,'' I said, grinning.
 
@@ -148,7 +148,7 @@ Need An Answer interrupted, and there was danger beneath the calm in her voice.
 
 There was no response for several seconds. The tension, even across the AVEC feed, was palpable. Eventually, he bowed. There was a moment of fiddling with something we could not see before he said, ``Günay, you may carry on.''
 
-The systech nodded slowly, looked off into space for a moment --- consulting something on her HUD, I imagined, after some NDA or another had been lifted --- before sighing. ``We only have an estimate, but yeah, our estimate is 0.977\% of the total instances on Lagrange were lost or corrupted.''
+The systech nodded slowly, looked off into space for a moment—consulting something on her HUD, I imagined, after some NDA or another had been lifted—before sighing. ``We only have an estimate, but yeah, our estimate is 0.977\% of the total instances on Lagrange were lost or corrupted.''
 
 A low mutter filled the room, this time from those sys-side.
 
@@ -158,7 +158,7 @@ Another pause, longer this time, before Günay spoke. ``We aren't sure, yet.''
 
 ``I do not believe that,'' Dry Grass said, smiling and bowing toward the stage. ``And I mean that in all kindness, Günay. The phys-side news feeds are being slowly ungated, and the tone is not one of questions with no answers.''
 
-The tech wilted under the cold kindness. ``Well, okay. There is some suspicion of malicious actors, yeah. I say `suspicion' in earnestness, I promise.'' She winced as a wave of discomfort washed over her face. ``A lot of what you see --- or will see, I guess --- on those feeds is gonna be speculation, and I can promise that that's all I can--- that's all I've got, too.''
+The tech wilted under the cold kindness. ``Well, okay. There is some suspicion of malicious actors, yeah. I say `suspicion' in earnestness, I promise.'' She winced as a wave of discomfort washed over her face. ``A lot of what you see—or will see, I guess—on those feeds is gonna be speculation, and I can promise that that's all I can--- that's all I've got, too.''
 
 Jakub, apparently unable to restrain himself any further, stepped back to the center of the stage and bowed curtly. ``Dry Grass, if I may.''
 
@@ -278,7 +278,7 @@ Her expression far more subdued, the systech nodded. ``Yeah, we trimmed about fi
 
 Selena lifted a hand and, when Dry Grass nodded to her, said, ``We seem to be talking around what \emph{actually} happened. Jonas said we're talking about either an attack or gross incompetence. I'd really love it if you'd tell us what actually happened.''
 
-Günay looked nervously back to the audience of administration and technicians behind her --- many of whom I suspected outranked her --- and stammered, ``Uh\ldots well, I mean\ldots{}''
+Günay looked nervously back to the audience of administration and technicians behind her—many of whom I suspected outranked her—and stammered, ``Uh\ldots well, I mean\ldots{}''
 
 ``Günay, please,'' Dry Grass said, her voice quiet, earnest.
 
@@ -286,9 +286,9 @@ Günay looked nervously back to the audience of administration and technicians b
 
 Towards the end of her statement, she had to raise her voice to speak over the upwelling of murmurings and gasps that showed through sys-side. Holding myself separate from the whispered exclamations being shot around the table at which I was sitting, I watched as the representatives up near the AVEC stage scanned the audience.
 
-``\,`Was released' implies a deliberate action,'' Selena said once the room had quieted enough. ``Do you have any confirmation on that?''
+``\hspace{1pt}`Was released' implies a deliberate action,'' Selena said once the room had quieted enough. ``Do you have any confirmation on that?''
 
-``Uh\ldots{}'' Günay clutched her tablet in her hands. ``Even if I knew anything --- and I'm not on that team, promise --- I'm \emph{really} not qualified to talk about this. Mr.~Strzepek only just lifted the inhibitor.''
+``Uh\ldots{}'' Günay clutched her tablet in her hands. ``Even if I knew anything—and I'm not on that team, promise—I'm \emph{really} not qualified to talk about this. Mr.~Strzepek only just lifted the inhibitor.''
 
 Jonas Fa raised a hand to silence any further questions. ``No, you're right. Much as I hate to say, it's probably not the best time to talk about this.''
 
@@ -358,7 +358,7 @@ Everyone on both sides of the AVEC link stood and bowed. Some, I noted, more cur
 
 When the transmission ended, the noise in the room rose to a low murmur, and then a quiet chatter. Several instances quit or stepped out of the sim entirely while many more streamed back out into the ballroom-sized workspace. A few lingered, though, little knots of conversation in a still-dim room.
 
-``I am fucking exhausted,'' Dry Grass --- or at least the instance that lingered with us --- said, slouching down in her seat. ``Less than an hour, and I am fucking exhausted.''
+``I am fucking exhausted,'' Dry Grass—or at least the instance that lingered with us—said, slouching down in her seat. ``Less than an hour, and I am fucking exhausted.''
 
 ``Weren't you exhausted before the meeting even started?'' Sedge asked.
 
@@ -382,7 +382,7 @@ Sedge's expression soured. ``We can't just ask?''
 
 ``Why promote Günay, then? She looked really uncomfortable getting stuck in the middle of that.''
 
-She shrugged. ``I am guessing, here, but I think that that was intended to say to phys-side,''What is most important to us right now is the `what', rather than the `why', except inasmuch as the `why' might help illuminate the `what'.'' It is a way of saying, ``We will have talks on whether you fucked up or we were attacked soon, but not until we know the full status of the System.''''
+She shrugged. ``I am guessing, here, but I think that that was intended to say to phys-side, ``What is most important to us right now is the `what', rather than the `why', except inasmuch as the `why' might help illuminate the `what'.'' It is a way of saying, ``We will have talks on whether you fucked up or we were attacked soon, but not until we know the full status of the System.''\hspace{1pt}''
 
 I shook my head. ``None of this makes any sense, but neither did all of the politics stuff in the \emph{History}, so I guess that's par for the course. You certainly seem to know plenty, even if it's not your area of expertise.''
 

marsh/content/008.tex

@@ -4,7 +4,7 @@ We arrived back in Marsh's study quickly enough, finding it far more full than w
 
 Lily, of course, refused almost immediately. Although she appeared to have made the decision to reconcile with Dry Grass, that didn't mean that it'd be easy for her. She still had her anger, her resentment for what she felt that the Odists had done in their shaping of the System and its history, their role in Marsh uploading in the first place, and for that, I could hardly fault her. I'd had my own share of feelings over the years that had lingered, that I had bathed in helplessly, struggling to escape the odd comforts of depression or angst or anger. I could hardly expect her to climb free immediately.
 
-``I do not blame her, either,'' Dry Grass had said when I voiced these thoughts. ``It is not comfortable, to be clear. I do not like that she hates me. My role --- the role of my whole stanza --- is to revel in feelings of motherhood. I saw myself as mother to the System on a very real, very mechanical level, back when I was working as a systech. To have a citizen of the very System I love hate me is perilously close to having a child hate me. Everyone wants to be liked.''
+``I do not blame her, either,'' Dry Grass had said when I voiced these thoughts. ``It is not comfortable, to be clear. I do not like that she hates me. My role—the role of my whole stanza—is to revel in feelings of motherhood. I saw myself as mother to the System on a very real, very mechanical level, back when I was working as a systech. To have a citizen of the very System I love hate me is perilously close to having a child hate me. Everyone wants to be liked.''
 
 Sedge had was the next to turn down the invitation.
 
@@ -46,7 +46,7 @@ Both my cocladists had a blank look on their face before Tule fell once more int
 
 ``Yeah. It was a confusing night, you merged down before I'd forked my new instance, then my spare instance quit,'' I said. I slouched down in my seat, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks as I watched both of my cocladists laugh while Dry Grass sat, smiling earnestly at me. I knew that smile well, knew it from nights and nights together, from Sunday brunches and afternoons lounging in the sun. I shook my head to clear it. ``You really want to talk about this now?''
 
-She nodded. ``I would like to talk about anything --- \emph{literally} anything --- other than what we have been talking about for days, and I will never turn down the chance to talk about feelings.''
+She nodded. ``I would like to talk about anything—\emph{literally} anything—other than what we have been talking about for days, and I will never turn down the chance to talk about feelings.''
 
 ``It's not a bad idea, Reed,'' Cress said, still grinning. ``If you want to, I mean. I imagine it's gotta be weird as hell.''
 
@@ -80,7 +80,7 @@ She snorted, shook her head. ``Do you see the guff I must put up with, my dear?'
 
 ``Don't listen to her,'' Tule said. ``She's just being a dramagogue.''
 
-I laughed. ``I remember that, too,'' I said. ``And I guess that's sort of the problem. I remember what it is about you that drew Cress and Tule --- or, at least what attracted Tule --- and I'm as much a Marshan as they are, so here I am, feeling awkward about being around you because I remember those months of hyperfixation, and then the comfortable normal that you settled into afterwards.''
+I laughed. ``I remember that, too,'' I said. ``And I guess that's sort of the problem. I remember what it is about you that drew Cress and Tule—or, at least what attracted Tule—and I'm as much a Marshan as they are, so here I am, feeling awkward about being around you because I remember those months of hyperfixation, and then the comfortable normal that you settled into afterwards.''
 
 All three of them smiled, all three looked a bit bashful.
 
@@ -88,7 +88,7 @@ All three of them smiled, all three looked a bit bashful.
 
 Dry Grass gave a hint of a bow. ``We do try, I believe.'' She reached forward to the box of empty skewers and tapped it against the edge of the box, cycling through options until she wound up with another set of sliced lamb to drop into the bubbling broth before her. ``Are these memories of us, of Tule's relationship, clashing with your lived experience to date? And how about those of Sedge and Rush?''
 
-More food sounded good, if only for something for me to do, so I tapped through options until I came up with a skewer of fish cakes --- Dry Grass having requested we skip my usual choices of thin-sliced pork or shrimp for her own dietary restrictions --- which I let slip into the bubbling pot. ``Since Sedge's merge-down fork incorporated Tule's memories wholesale, they weren't exactly tainted. And besides, they mostly tallied with what Sedge, Rush, and I know of you already.''
+More food sounded good, if only for something for me to do, so I tapped through options until I came up with a skewer of fish cakes—Dry Grass having requested we skip my usual choices of thin-sliced pork or shrimp for her own dietary restrictions—which I let slip into the bubbling pot. ``Since Sedge's merge-down fork incorporated Tule's memories wholesale, they weren't exactly tainted. And besides, they mostly tallied with what Sedge, Rush, and I know of you already.''
 
 ``That does not quite answer my question,'' she said gently, lifting her skewer and nudging the slivers of meat onto a bit of rice in her bowl. ``I am pleased to hear that there was no great clash up against what you know of us. What I would like to know, however, is how memories of being in a relationship with someone you already know are fitting in with your lived experience of \emph{not} being in one with them. We have met, yes? Attended the same dinner parties? We have seen each other here and there, chatted now and then. Throughout all of that, I have just been that weird old woman that lives with Cress, and then with Tule, and now some part of you remembers, I suppose, loving me.''
 
@@ -112,7 +112,7 @@ Tule looked aghast. Cress, laughing, shook its head. ``Oh my \emph{god,} Reed.''
 
 ``\emph{Love!}'' she echoed, laughing and leaning over to kiss his cheek. ``This is the future we have found ourselves in, and it is a future entire, not some clean story stripped of references to gross anatomy and base desires. Reed, please continue.''
 
-The exchange had led to a flush of embarrassment of my own. I had been talking about emotions when I said ``all that goes with that'', but I suspected that Dry Grass was right to bring the topic of sex up sooner rather than later. That she had done so so adroitly, with humor and not a shred of bashfulness about her, certainly helped to ease the humiliation that I felt brush past me. I was able to master it for the time being --- or at least ignore the burning in my cheeks --- in order to continue on.
+The exchange had led to a flush of embarrassment of my own. I had been talking about emotions when I said ``all that goes with that'', but I suspected that Dry Grass was right to bring the topic of sex up sooner rather than later. That she had done so so adroitly, with humor and not a shred of bashfulness about her, certainly helped to ease the humiliation that I felt brush past me. I was able to master it for the time being—or at least ignore the burning in my cheeks—in order to continue on.
 
 ``There's a part of me that remembers everything, but it still feels just like that: memories,'' I said. ``I could dredge up any one conversation, but none in particular stick out to me in the same way as a conversation that I'd experienced directly would. The memories are there, and I'll be reminded of them, but they're not at the forefront unless something happens to bring them up.''
 
@@ -156,9 +156,9 @@ And the other Reed made the explicit decision to step back. It would have to be
 
 Dry Grass had truly left me two forks in the road of equal value. There was no `winning' or `losing', no better or worse. The only path that felt unequal was to continue trying to ignore these feelings. Not just unequal, it felt inaccessible to me. She'd forced the topic out into the open, for better or worse.
 
-Better, I suspect. She knew the clade well enough to read those signs of discomfort in my words --- no great feat; ``I can even mostly ignore it'' sounded like an equivocation even to me --- that she had nudged me toward some more complete understanding by talking it out. She did so before anyone got hurt, too.
+Better, I suspect. She knew the clade well enough to read those signs of discomfort in my words—no great feat; ``I can even mostly ignore it'' sounded like an equivocation even to me—that she had nudged me toward some more complete understanding by talking it out. She did so before anyone got hurt, too.
 
-I --- that me who had his own memories and not Tule's --- could certainly see what had drawn my cocladists to her.
+I—that me who had his own memories and not Tule's—could certainly see what had drawn my cocladists to her.
 
 Setting down my tea and reaching forward to snag the ladle in the broth alerted the others to my return to the present. I focused on the task at hand, filling my half-full rice bowl with broth before sitting back once more. ``Thanks for talking this through with me,'' I said. ``I think you're right, that it'd just be uncomfortable for me to keep trying to ignore it.''
 

marsh/content/010.tex

@@ -22,7 +22,7 @@ I nodded. ``Not denying that, just that I think Tule had\ldots well, it's not th
 
 ``Except for Cress?''
 
-``Yeah, except for Cress. He thinks of it all the time. He really loves it. I'm old enough to remember the taboo around intraclade relationships, but it's also been a few decades since that fell apart --- I think close to six now --- and a few years since Cress, Tule, and Dry Grass formally made it a triad, so I'm used to it by now.''
+``Yeah, except for Cress. He thinks of it all the time. He really loves it. I'm old enough to remember the taboo around intraclade relationships, but it's also been a few decades since that fell apart—I think close to six now—and a few years since Cress, Tule, and Dry Grass formally made it a triad, so I'm used to it by now.''
 
 ``Well, fair enough. Everything else was just boring, then?''
 
@@ -48,7 +48,7 @@ I spent the rest of the evening at home, lounging on the couch while Hanne slouc
 
 Sedge had gone to sleep for a bit, but as she woke up, she caught me up on news from when she'd been dozing. The politicians had drafted a letter explaining what had happened on a technological level to post on the largest of the perisystem feeds. Much of it was information that we'd gained from the AVEC session with the phys-side techs, explaining that nearly 1\% of the System had been wiped out and deemed unrecoverable, that there had been a mass crashing event, that the world was assumed stable and the issue had been patched.
 
-Conspicuously missing was any mention of CPV, any mention that everyone --- all 2.3 trillion of us --- had crashed, or that messages were being gated and censored. Sedge explained that the last had included some gentle untruths. Rather than this being a political effort, this had been phrased as ``slowly bringing Lagrange up to full capacity''. It wasn't wrong, \emph{per se,} they really were working on bringing the feeds up to full capacity; it's just that the problem was political rather than technical.
+Conspicuously missing was any mention of CPV, any mention that everyone—all 2.3 trillion of us—had crashed, or that messages were being gated and censored. Sedge explained that the last had included some gentle untruths. Rather than this being a political effort, this had been phrased as ``slowly bringing Lagrange up to full capacity''. It wasn't wrong, \emph{per se,} they really were working on bringing the feeds up to full capacity; it's just that the problem was political rather than technical.
 
 Dry Grass, in our own conversations, explained that there were already rumors flying about, and that these were being subtly steered by Odists, Jonases, Selena, and, to a lesser extent, what she called `the opposition party', a group of clades led by Debarre who had settled into an uneasy truce with the others some decades back. Rumors were being nudged away from ``an attack by the Artemisians'' and towards ``solar flares or a power failure''.
 
@@ -64,7 +64,7 @@ There was a shrug, felt rather than seen. \emph{``I guess not. It's just hard fo
 
 \emph{``Well, Sedge--''}
 
-\emph{``I don't mean the logistics, Reed.''} I could hear the smirk in her words. \emph{``Or not} just \emph{the logistics --- Sedge has been keeping me up to date, yeah --- but just keeping up with the rest of you. Cress and Tule are glued to her side, which, fair enough. Sedge has found her in with the rest of the politicians through her. You've been hanging out with her through Sedge. Rush is off gallivanting with some other Odist\ldots``}
+\emph{``I don't mean the logistics, Reed.''} I could hear the smirk in her words. \emph{``Or not} just \emph{the logistics—Sedge has been keeping me up to date, yeah—but just keeping up with the rest of you. Cress and Tule are glued to her side, which, fair enough. Sedge has found her in with the rest of the politicians through her. You've been hanging out with her through Sedge. Rush is off gallivanting with some other Odist\ldots``}
 
 I sighed, steeled myself. \emph{``Well, yeah, fair enough. I've also been spending time with her because I got pulled into being a bit of management for everyone else, and because I kept Tule's merge.''}
 
@@ -116,13 +116,13 @@ She nodded. ``Yes. I am pleased you are here; I would like the Marshans well rep
 
 She shrugged. ``What happened. What to do. What to ask for.''
 
-I frowned. ``\,`Ask for'?''
+I frowned. ``\hspace{1pt}`Ask for'?''
 
 Dry Grass guided the two of us through the workroom, picking up more instances as we went with a gentle tap to the shoulder. ``I do not mean to speak of reparations, though that may at some point come into play. What we might ask for are reassurances. We might want fixes. We may want greater visibility into the day-to-day running of the System. Harvey from SERG may request--''
 
 ``SERG?''
 
-``System Emergency Response Group, one of the many, \emph{many} groups of systechs. He may request greater access to the lower levels of the System's functionalities.'' She smiled faintly, tapping one last person --- Debarre, as it turned out --- on the shoulder. ``I am having to ramp up on all of this quite quickly. I stepped away from my role as systech a long, \emph{long} time ago, with a long-lived up-tree taking over my role.''
+``System Emergency Response Group, one of the many, \emph{many} groups of systechs. He may request greater access to the lower levels of the System's functionalities.'' She smiled faintly, tapping one last person—Debarre, as it turned out—on the shoulder. ``I am having to ramp up on all of this quite quickly. I stepped away from my role as systech a long, \emph{long} time ago, with a long-lived up-tree taking over my role.''
 
 ``They can't merge down?''
 
@@ -140,7 +140,7 @@ I'd had little to do with sim manipulation beyond simply expanding or reducing b
 
 ``Alright,'' she said, flumping down into one of the chairs across from the AVEC stage. ``I think we are all here. While I would obviously prefer you stay, it is not a requirement. If you need to duck out, feel free to do so. We are just waiting on Günay and we can get going.''
 
-About twenty people had shown up. It didn't seem to be twenty clades --- there were two Odists, after all, with Dry Grass and another from the eighth stanza, Why Ask Questions When The Answers Will Not Help --- but the audience remained diverse. Only about half appeared to be human of some sort, with the Marshans, Odists, and Jonases accounting for most of those. I suppose it made sense, given the Odists' social circle, but that didn't quite tally with what I knew of Jonas's role in the leadership of the System. He didn't strike me as a furry.
+About twenty people had shown up. It didn't seem to be twenty clades—there were two Odists, after all, with Dry Grass and another from the eighth stanza, Why Ask Questions When The Answers Will Not Help—but the audience remained diverse. Only about half appeared to be human of some sort, with the Marshans, Odists, and Jonases accounting for most of those. I suppose it made sense, given the Odists' social circle, but that didn't quite tally with what I knew of Jonas's role in the leadership of the System. He didn't strike me as a furry.
 
 When asked over a sensorium message, Dry Grass replied, \emph{``The eighth stanza has been slowly tamping down on Jonas's role over the years. He has not been nearly as grounded as he once was. Prime quit in grand fashion some years back, and the rest have long since recognized that.''} She cast a slight smile in my direction, adding, \emph{``Too singularly focused, perhaps. All work and no play makes Jonas lose his fucking marbles.''}
 
@@ -192,11 +192,11 @@ The systech chuckled nervously, nodding. ``Well, alright. Then yeah, Jonas has i
 
 ``And who is this `someone'?'' Selena asked. ``The phys-side feeds are being ungated, but it's a firehose of information to sort through to try and find anything of use.''
 
-``Yeah, I think they --- the System Consortium --- clamped down pretty tight. I'm just learning about this myself, since I just got access to the files a few hours ago and news from Earth's been censored. Let's see\ldots{}'' She frowned, continued in the tone of someone reading aloud, ``Okay. The Our Brightest Lights Collective claimed responsibility for the attack exactly thirty seconds \emph{before} it occurred via a message to every executive on the System Consortium board, as well as several major feeds, all of which were censored before being made public. The OBLC named the mechanism, provided a detailed timeline of events, and offered a list of names of individuals --- or''individuals'', I guess --- and their roles in the execution of this plan. All one hundred members of the collective have been apprehended, though in the past year, two have managed to end their own lives.''
+``Yeah, I think they—the System Consortium—clamped down pretty tight. I'm just learning about this myself, since I just got access to the files a few hours ago and news from Earth's been censored. Let's see\ldots{}'' She frowned, continued in the tone of someone reading aloud, ``Okay. The Our Brightest Lights Collective claimed responsibility for the attack exactly thirty seconds \emph{before} it occurred via a message to every executive on the System Consortium board, as well as several major feeds, all of which were censored before being made public. The OBLC named the mechanism, provided a detailed timeline of events, and offered a list of names of individuals—or''individuals'', I guess—and their roles in the execution of this plan. All one hundred members of the collective have been apprehended, though in the past year, two have managed to end their own lives.''
 
 Answers Will Not Help spoke up during a break in the recitation. ``Is there more information on this collective? Are they conservatives? How tight is their integration? Do they mimic clades like the old-style collectives?''
 
-``Oh, uh, one moment, I'll look that up once I'm finished,'' Günay said. ``It goes on to say that, through investigation, members from some other collectives and several individuals besides were implicated and were also detained. During one of the System restarts between the Century Attack --- as we've been calling it --- and now, this information was confirmed by having an investigator sys-side fork rapidly to gather information and take action where needed. They were provided with emergency global ACLs and, once they found the perpetrator, they locked them in an unpopulated airlocked implementation of the System.''
+``Oh, uh, one moment, I'll look that up once I'm finished,'' Günay said. ``It goes on to say that, through investigation, members from some other collectives and several individuals besides were implicated and were also detained. During one of the System restarts between the Century Attack—as we've been calling it—and now, this information was confirmed by having an investigator sys-side fork rapidly to gather information and take action where needed. They were provided with emergency global ACLs and, once they found the perpetrator, they locked them in an unpopulated airlocked implementation of the System.''
 
 ``The System was restarted more than once?'' Debarre asked, taken aback.
 
@@ -230,13 +230,13 @@ Günay, like many of the rest of us, had pushed herself away from whatever table
 
 The systech stared, mouth open, for a moment, then slowly pulled herself back to her desk. ``Uh\ldots right,'' she mumbled, hiding some complex emotion by taking another long drink of water. ``The OBLC describe themselves as fundamentalists, in the sense of returning humanity to its fundamentals, and pride themselves on very tight integration.''
 
-``\,`Integration'?'' Debarre asked, tilting his head, a particularly animalistic gesture on his musteline features. ``I haven't kept up on collectives at all. They don't make any sense to me.''
+``\hspace{1pt}`Integration'?'' Debarre asked, tilting his head, a particularly animalistic gesture on his musteline features. ``I haven't kept up on collectives at all. They don't make any sense to me.''
 
 ``Groups of people who aim to live as a hive-mind of sorts,'' Selena explained. ``They use tech from their implants to force alignment in ideals, or even just nudge complete thoughts into place for everyone. It's almost a religious thing for them.''
 
 ``It \emph{is} a religion thing for many,'' Answers Will Not Help added. ``The ideals they try to live into tend to be high-minded conceptualizations of God or life or the way things `should' be. It used to be that they would try to mimic clades in terms of structure, but their idea of what a clade is was batshit insane.''
 
-Selena nodded, picking up once more. ``The clade analogy was far more common before AVEC. Answers Will Not Help asking that is a way of asking''are they old and batty or young and insane?{}``\,''
+Selena nodded, picking up once more. ``The clade analogy was far more common before AVEC. Answers Will Not Help asking that is a way of asking''are they old and batty or young and insane?{}``\hspace{1pt}''
 
 Günay, who had been watching the explanation with something akin to amusement, said, ``A lot of that is borne out of just not having a clue how things work, sys-side. I'm a systech, and you don't make sense to me at all.''
 
@@ -262,7 +262,7 @@ An uncomfortable murmur interrupted her.
 
 Dry Grass smiled kindly. ``Of course, Günay. What did they say in return?''
 
-``To us? A lot of panicked messages requesting as many updates we could give them. Of course, by then, the messages were eight months out of date, and we'd been sending them hourly updates on the status of Lagrange for quite a while. They were broken down into buckets based on content: personal, political, technical, and vague threats.'' She smiled wryly. ``I only really know all of that because I was privy to the technical bucket. Systechs on both of the LVs teamed up and started throwing ideas at us as fast as they could. They were mostly not any help, given the delay, but some of them were useful --- especially the Artemisians. They brought casualties down from 15\%.''
+``To us? A lot of panicked messages requesting as many updates we could give them. Of course, by then, the messages were eight months out of date, and we'd been sending them hourly updates on the status of Lagrange for quite a while. They were broken down into buckets based on content: personal, political, technical, and vague threats.'' She smiled wryly. ``I only really know all of that because I was privy to the technical bucket. Systechs on both of the LVs teamed up and started throwing ideas at us as fast as they could. They were mostly not any help, given the delay, but some of them were useful—especially the Artemisians. They brought casualties down from 15\%.''
 
 I started to do the math in my head, but Harvey blurted out, ``345 \emph{billion!} Holy shit! You've gotta be fucking kidding me.''
 
@@ -288,13 +288,13 @@ Dry Grass smiled proudly over at us. \emph{``Our finest trait, my--''}
 
 She cut off as Günay cleared her throat. ``Alright, I have a list of changes'', she said, and began reading off a list that appeared in translucent letters against the front of the AVEC stage area. ``CPV was patched out; ACL permissions were hardened for sim isolation, allowing for locking cladists \emph{in} sims as well as out of them; storage was optimized; some physical components were replaced, no clue which; AVEC improvements; Ansible improvements; merging improvements; and systech tools refined. There's a slew of others we're waiting on confirmation from you all before implementing: improvements to perisystem clade listing that would provide better statistics on who all is extant, which I guess has privacy ramifications; a solution for splitting the physical components of the System hardware was successfully tested, but that will mean production and deployment time, as well as downtime; limited per-sim Artemis-style skew; and some political tools to reduce anarchy.''
 
-``\,`\emph{Reduce} anarchy?'\,'' Jonas Fa said, snorting. ``Fuck off with that.''
+``\hspace{1pt}`\emph{Reduce} anarchy?'\hspace{1pt}'' Jonas Fa said, snorting. ``Fuck off with that.''
 
 She held up her hands defensively. ``Hey, like I said, it's just a change, and I'm just a tech.''
 
 ``I am sorry, Günay,'' Dry Grass said. ``You are right that that is a conversation for another time. Tell us about these ACL improvements and merging improvements. Those are likely to be the most relevant to everyone here.''
 
-``Right,'' she said, frowning. ``Well, the ACL improvements allow locking cladists within sims. We needed this to contain the perpetrator as quickly as possible, but left it in place. We came up with a suggested protocol with the ethics committee, though, that would mean a two step approval process --- phys-side and sys-side --- as well as a mandatory waiting period. It's disabled for now, but we can re-enable it whenever.
+``Right,'' she said, frowning. ``Well, the ACL improvements allow locking cladists within sims. We needed this to contain the perpetrator as quickly as possible, but left it in place. We came up with a suggested protocol with the ethics committee, though, that would mean a two step approval process—phys-side and sys-side—as well as a mandatory waiting period. It's disabled for now, but we can re-enable it whenever.
 
 ``The merge improvements involve finer-grained conflict management, which is more just an efficiency thing; we're told nothing changed subjectively. We also enabled cross-tree merging.''
 

marsh/content/011.tex

@@ -1,6 +1,6 @@
 The next two days passed in relative peace.
 
-There were a few more meetings with phys-side, usually with just Günay, but sometimes Jakub or another administrator peeked in. They all seemed to be rather cowed by the sys-side administration, such as it was. I chalked this up to the fact --- later confirmed by Dry Grass --- that there had been other talks beside between the latent Temporary Administrative Council and the System Consortium. Talks which had been far more tense.
+There were a few more meetings with phys-side, usually with just Günay, but sometimes Jakub or another administrator peeked in. They all seemed to be rather cowed by the sys-side administration, such as it was. I chalked this up to the fact—later confirmed by Dry Grass—that there had been other talks beside between the latent Temporary Administrative Council and the System Consortium. Talks which had been far more tense.
 
 Although phys-side remained in control of a few aspects, they had quickly ceded the rest to us once more, including ungating communications between Lagrange and Earth.
 
@@ -18,7 +18,7 @@ On hearing this news, she disappeared for nearly twelve hours, all of her instan
 
 She and I also started spending more time together, with the next two lunches being just the two of us together. While I had memories of learning all about her through Tule, she was keen on learning about me in turn. She wanted to know what my take was on why Marsh had uploaded, explaining that both Cress and Tule had differing thoughts on the matter. She wanted to know why it was that I had slipped back into that transmasculine identity. She wanted to know how it was that Hanne and I had found each other, had fallen in love.
 
-I mostly wanted to know --- though I never asked --- how it was that I --- that part of me from before the merge --- was falling so rapidly for her in turn. I turned that question over and over in my head, leaning on it for comfort whenever thoughts of Marsh struggled to overwhelm me.
+I mostly wanted to know—though I never asked—how it was that I—that part of me from before the merge—was falling so rapidly for her in turn. I turned that question over and over in my head, leaning on it for comfort whenever thoughts of Marsh struggled to overwhelm me.
 
 When at last the group of representative clades met up again, we were joined by yet another Odist, I Cannot Stop Myself From Speaking, a bobcat furry who moved silently on soft-padded paws, whose voice was quiet and yet demanding of attention.
 
@@ -72,7 +72,7 @@ Smile unwavering, en4 said, ``We have no comment on that decision at this time.'
 
 Nods around the table.
 
-``2.3 trillion lives, then. 2.3 trillion lives that were taken from us here on Earth. 2.3 trillion minds in almost 40 billion uploads that might have lived full lives here among us phys-side. We resent that they were, and yet our only recourse is --- \emph{must be} --- to keep them alive, to ensure that they at least remain among the living in some form or another.'' Their gaze drifted to the three present Odists. ``We, too, desire nothing but the stability and continuity of the System, just for different reasons. This instance of us is an ISO specifically to live up to our own principles.''
+``2.3 trillion lives, then. 2.3 trillion lives that were taken from us here on Earth. 2.3 trillion minds in almost 40 billion uploads that might have lived full lives here among us phys-side. We resent that they were, and yet our only recourse is—\emph{must be}—to keep them alive, to ensure that they at least remain among the living in some form or another.'' Their gaze drifted to the three present Odists. ``We, too, desire nothing but the stability and continuity of the System, just for different reasons. This instance of us is an ISO specifically to live up to our own principles.''
 
 All three of the Odists nodded, expressions varying from serious to vaguely disgusted.
 
@@ -88,7 +88,7 @@ All three of the Odists nodded, expressions varying from serious to vaguely disg
 
 They shrugged eloquently.
 
-``Despite these lies,'' Speaking continued, ``I was able to glean plenty through apophasis and aposiopesis. All I needed to do was assume that every statement was false. ISO en4 confirmed much of this from the LCNZ's view. They --- the OBLC --- differ from the LCNZ in the sense that they believe each of those lives is a life lost, rather than a life preserved. They believe that the lives here on the System are, and I quote,''shadows and negations of souls''. They believe that clades are negations and that up-tree instances are shadows.''
+``Despite these lies,'' Speaking continued, ``I was able to glean plenty through apophasis and aposiopesis. All I needed to do was assume that every statement was false. ISO en4 confirmed much of this from the LCNZ's view. They—the OBLC—differ from the LCNZ in the sense that they believe each of those lives is a life lost, rather than a life preserved. They believe that the lives here on the System are, and I quote, ``shadows and negations of souls''. They believe that clades are negations and that up-tree instances are shadows.''
 
 ``Yes,'' en4 said. ``They believe that each of these negations negates a life phys-side, and thus the only way they could even bring into balance, much less overcome, the negation offered by the System is to destroy it. They hoped that by destroying you, they would give those who remained phys-side a chance at heaven.''
 
@@ -106,7 +106,7 @@ They shook their head. ``Not at all. Many of them struggled with the effects tha
 
 ``Yes, but hasn't much of that changed thanks to the Artemis data dump?'' Boiling Maw dos Riãos, another of the furries sitting at the table asked. She was some sort of mustelid, though larger and far more thickly-furred than Debarre. A fisher cat, the System informed me through a whiff of distraction. I pushed it down in an attempt to focus. ``Most of that effort took place sys-side as well.''
 
-``I will answer, but after this, we should return to the topic of the Century Attack,'' en4 replied. ``Many of these collectives --- of which the LCNZ is one --- believe that this is a side effect of the Artemisians' convergence, rather than any effort from those who uploaded in order to help. We would say,''Are we to rely on aliens to solve every problem? Ought we not also work ourselves?{}``\,''
+``I will answer, but after this, we should return to the topic of the Century Attack,'' en4 replied. ``Many of these collectives—of which the LCNZ is one—believe that this is a side effect of the Artemisians' convergence, rather than any effort from those who uploaded in order to help. We would say, ``Are we to rely on aliens to solve every problem? Ought we not also work ourselves?''\hspace{1pt}''
 
 ``That's not--'' Boiling Maw started, anger painting her face. She paused, took a deep breath, and settled back into her seat, sulking. ``Right. Moving on.''
 
@@ -129,5 +129,3 @@ Dry Grass frowned. ``Are you sure that that is wise? Does the entirety of Lagran
 ``So,'' I said after the conversation drifted into silence. ``What do we do now?''
 
 ``Mourn,'' Dry Grass said. ``Work and mourn.''
-
-\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}

marsh/content/012.tex

@@ -28,7 +28,7 @@ The cores were insubstantial spheres, ghostly, translucent. Little double handfu
 
 All except one.
 
-Right before the platform sat one core more real than the rest, a matte \emph{Eigengrau} with a faint blue haze around it. The platform drifted forward until the sphere rested at the center before Dry Grass at chest level, us Marshans --- along with Pierre and Vos --- parting to make way for it.
+Right before the platform sat one core more real than the rest, a matte \emph{Eigengrau} with a faint blue haze around it. The platform drifted forward until the sphere rested at the center before Dry Grass at chest level, us Marshans—along with Pierre and Vos—parting to make way for it.
 
 As the platform came to a stop, the blue haze disappeared and one more chime of acknowledgement sounded. ``Marsh of the Marsh clade,'' an androgynous voice spoke. ``Crashed via CPV January 1, 2400, 00:00:03. Core deemed corrupt and unrecoverable by automated process, confirmed by an instance of In The Wind of her own clade, systech ID \#88aa6e70.''
 
@@ -46,7 +46,7 @@ As the platform came to a stop, the blue haze disappeared and one more chime of
 
 She hesitated, a wave of grief, of frustration and sorrow, crossing her face. She bowed unsteadily, and then moved to stand by Cress, Tule, and I. Whether intentional or not, she stood so that Lily was blocked from sight by the three of us.
 
-It had to be intentional, and that fact, seeing her cowed for the first time in my memory --- mine and Tule's --- had me bristling. Both Tule and Cress appeared to be biting back responses of their own.
+It had to be intentional, and that fact, seeing her cowed for the first time in my memory—mine and Tule's—had me bristling. Both Tule and Cress appeared to be biting back responses of their own.
 
 For her part, Lily remained tense, standing rigid and still. Even as she began to cry, she did so without moving, without making a sound, tears simply welling up and coursing down her cheeks. ``Rush,'' she croaked.
 
@@ -114,7 +114,7 @@ My guess was correct, as there she was, already whirling on me at the notificati
 
 I slapped her across the cheek. Hard.
 
-I think I regretted it even in the moment. I regretted it as soon as I felt my hand move. As soon as I felt that reaction bubble past any boundaries within me and take control of my body, I knew that it would cause nothing but pain --- physical, yes, but also emotional and personal pain.
+I think I regretted it even in the moment. I regretted it as soon as I felt my hand move. As soon as I felt that reaction bubble past any boundaries within me and take control of my body, I knew that it would cause nothing but pain—physical, yes, but also emotional and personal pain.
 
 I certainly regretted it as soon as she yelped and stumbled back a half-step.
 
@@ -132,7 +132,7 @@ I followed after her as she stomped into the kitchen, watched as she grabbed a g
 
 ``Fuck the other books,'' she said, more to the faucet than to me. ``Fuck the Ode clade, and fuck you too. Fuck you and fuck Cress and fuck Tule. It's really fucking sad, watching you three get taken for a ride, the same manipulation that fucked us all.''
 
-Her anger still burned hot, I knew, but not as much as it had when first we'd arrived. I just needed to outlast it. Doing so by parking myself in my own anger probably wasn't the best way to do it --- I could feel yet more regret building below the surface of my anger --- but it felt too good, too cathartic to let go of. ``We're not getting taken for a ride, whatever that means. We're just grown up enough to realize that a bunch of actors did what actors do and pretended.'' I scoffed. ``They \emph{pretended,} Lily. That's just what they do.''
+Her anger still burned hot, I knew, but not as much as it had when first we'd arrived. I just needed to outlast it. Doing so by parking myself in my own anger probably wasn't the best way to do it—I could feel yet more regret building below the surface of my anger—but it felt too good, too cathartic to let go of. ``We're not getting taken for a ride, whatever that means. We're just grown up enough to realize that a bunch of actors did what actors do and pretended.'' I scoffed. ``They \emph{pretended,} Lily. That's just what they do.''
 
 ``So it's just a game, then?'' she shot back, though I could tell she was flagging. ``Just a game that led to a bunch of fucking psychos killing billions of people?''
 
@@ -206,9 +206,9 @@ I chuckled, feeling some of the pressure in my chest fade. ``Right, yeah. Manage
 
 We all laughed.
 
-We drifted away in small clumps after that. Pierre and Vos returned to Marsh's home --- their home, now --- along with Sedge, who said she was going to head back to work. Rush nudged Lily off to a bar, stating that it was high time at least some of us got roaring drunk.
+We drifted away in small clumps after that. Pierre and Vos returned to Marsh's home—their home, now—along with Sedge, who said she was going to head back to work. Rush nudged Lily off to a bar, stating that it was high time at least some of us got roaring drunk.
 
-The four of us who remained --- me, Cress, Tule, and Dry Grass --- stood in silence for a while. There seemed to be little point in saying anything as we processed this impromptu funeral. All that needed to be said had been said, or if not, then it had at least been put on hold in the face of our overwhelming emotions.
+The four of us who remained—me, Cress, Tule, and Dry Grass—stood in silence for a while. There seemed to be little point in saying anything as we processed this impromptu funeral. All that needed to be said had been said, or if not, then it had at least been put on hold in the face of our overwhelming emotions.
 
 I thought of the stages of grief, of Lily's anger, of the sadness so many of us lingered in, of the bargaining that I knew we all held within us. Perhaps there was some way to get Marsh back. Perhaps there was something we could yet do. Perhaps some combination of the core that remained and all of our memories could lead to some solution. Perhaps this new cross-tree merging held some promise after all.
 
@@ -218,6 +218,6 @@ I blinked, standing up straighter. ``Me?''
 
 She nodded. ``If you will have me,'' she repeated, voice small.
 
-I thought of so many complex emotions that had plagued me over the last few days --- the memories of love, the way they clashed with my memories of distance, the memories of Lily burning up with hatred --- and, finally, nodded. ``Yeah. Let's see In The Wind's core, and then get out of here. Anything to help out after all this will be good.''
+I thought of so many complex emotions that had plagued me over the last few days—the memories of love, the way they clashed with my memories of distance, the memories of Lily burning up with hatred—and, finally, nodded. ``Yeah. Let's see In The Wind's core, and then get out of here. Anything to help out after all this will be good.''
 
 \begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}

marsh/content/013.tex

@@ -1,12 +1,12 @@
 I followed Cress, Tule, and Dry Grass back home.
 
-The three of them lived in a narrow brownstone of sorts, full of the dark wood and plush carpets that I knew well from Marsh's house, though the walls were lined --- in some places all but completely covered --- with paintings. The vast majority were of landscapes skillfully done in watercolor or acrylics, but each of which was interrupted with a shape of black so deep that it seemed to eat any and all light around it. Beyond just reflecting zero light, it pulled greedily at light that even got close.
+The three of them lived in a narrow brownstone of sorts, full of the dark wood and plush carpets that I knew well from Marsh's house, though the walls were lined—in some places all but completely covered—with paintings. The vast majority were of landscapes skillfully done in watercolor or acrylics, but each of which was interrupted with a shape of black so deep that it seemed to eat any and all light around it. Beyond just reflecting zero light, it pulled greedily at light that even got close.
 
 Also spaced out through the house were various \emph{objets d'art} I recognized from Hanne's work. Dry Grass explained that both paintings and art were from her cocladists Motes and Warmth In Fire. ``My little ones,'' she called them, which fit well, given what I knew of Warmth In Fire.
 
-She sounded proud of them, as a mother would of her children, which took me a minute to piece together. There were no shortage of family dynamics within the System --- after all, old and young alike upload, and upload dates can be decades or centuries apart --- though it was relatively rare that they were so strong within a clade where everyone was by necessity the same age. What guardianship we Marshans felt over Cress, the smallest among us, only barely seemed to scratch the surface of the depth of Dry Grass's feelings over And We Are The Motes In The Stage-Lights and Which Offers Heat And Warmth In Fire. We were protective of Cress; she was hanging artwork on her fridge door and walls.
+She sounded proud of them, as a mother would of her children, which took me a minute to piece together. There were no shortage of family dynamics within the System—after all, old and young alike upload, and upload dates can be decades or centuries apart—though it was relatively rare that they were so strong within a clade where everyone was by necessity the same age. What guardianship we Marshans felt over Cress, the smallest among us, only barely seemed to scratch the surface of the depth of Dry Grass's feelings over And We Are The Motes In The Stage-Lights and Which Offers Heat And Warmth In Fire. We were protective of Cress; she was hanging artwork on her fridge door and walls.
 
-Proud, yes, but the overriding exhaustion --- physical and emotional --- kept her expression muted and heavy, and she soon requested that we lay down as we had planned.
+Proud, yes, but the overriding exhaustion—physical and emotional—kept her expression muted and heavy, and she soon requested that we lay down as we had planned.
 
 The bed up in the second-storey bedroom was already wide, but Cress and Tule pulled on either edge to stretch it out by another half meter or so while Dry Grass all put faceplanted onto the mattress. She elbow-crawled her way up until her head was at least resting on a pillow before letting out a muffled groan.
 
@@ -18,7 +18,7 @@ I stood awkwardly by until Cress chuckled and gestured at the open space beside
 
 ``Right,'' I said, forcing a chuckle of my own as I awkwardly clambered up onto the bed, leaning against the headboard and hugging my knees against my chest.
 
-We sat --- or lay --- in silence for a while other than the occasional small noise of contentment from Dry Grass.
+We sat—or lay—in silence for a while other than the occasional small noise of contentment from Dry Grass.
 
 Even as we stayed in silence, and Cress and Tule doted on their partner, this woman I had such strong feelings about foisted upon me out of nowhere only a few days prior, I struggled to disentangle my thoughts on the events of the day.
 
@@ -38,7 +38,7 @@ Dry Grass was the first to break the silence, mumbling into her pillow. ``In The
 
 ``That was my up-tree instance, yes? In The Wind? I remember the rattle of dry grass in the wind.'' She turned her head and laughed, choked and hoarse. ``A full sentence snuck into a poem. I picked that up from Louie. Eir clade, os Riãos, did much the same: a poem expanded upon from within. I thought I was \emph{so clever.} I thought I had gotten all of my grief out that second day. I thought I could move on, limping, until I heard of the work she'd done, that she made it so far and still did not make it to the end. Until I saw her core.''
 
-Tule, more flexible than I, bent down and kissed her on the cheek. Cress gave her own kiss after. Both of them glanced briefly at me, looking a little sheepish. I couldn't quite piece together the reason for their looks until I pieced together their confusion --- our confusion, since I shared in it --- of how I must feel about her.
+Tule, more flexible than I, bent down and kissed her on the cheek. Cress gave her own kiss after. Both of them glanced briefly at me, looking a little sheepish. I couldn't quite piece together the reason for their looks until I pieced together their confusion—our confusion, since I shared in it—of how I must feel about her.
 
 The compulsion to echo that gesture was certainly there, too. I knew from countless memories the softness of her skin against my lips, I knew what even the briefest touch would mean to her as she worked to process her own loss.
 
@@ -52,7 +52,7 @@ After a long moment's pause, she nodded. ``She was the part of me who remained a
 
 Both Cress and Tule nodded, though the statement largely went over my head.
 
-Perhaps guessing at such, Dry Grass continued, ``Each of our stanzas focused on something different. I am sure that much is in the stories you have doubtless read, if Lily's reaction is anything to go by. She fusses at the eighth and their politics, perhaps the first with their habit of spying, but mine, the sixth, wound up with all of Michelle's --- our root instance --- all of her dreams of and desire for motherhood. Motherliness. Caring and cherishing. That is why I have all of that art on the walls: it is all cherished, all lovely creations from Warmth and Motes, the clade's little ones.''
+Perhaps guessing at such, Dry Grass continued, ``Each of our stanzas focused on something different. I am sure that much is in the stories you have doubtless read, if Lily's reaction is anything to go by. She fusses at the eighth and their politics, perhaps the first with their habit of spying, but mine, the sixth, wound up with all of Michelle's—our root instance—all of her dreams of and desire for motherhood. Motherliness. Caring and cherishing. That is why I have all of that art on the walls: it is all cherished, all lovely creations from Warmth and Motes, the clade's little ones.''
 
 ``So In The Wind was the one who stuck with that moderation?'' I asked.
 
@@ -76,7 +76,7 @@ She rubbed the back of her free hand against her eyes. ``I will mourn the loss o
 
 He nodded, working on a careful extraction from his role as pillow, replacing his lap with another pillow from the bed as he slid from beneath her. He stretched his arms up over his head, winced at a quiet pop from his neck, and then shifted to lay down beside her instead, arm draped over her front. Cress followed suit, laying down beside Tule and hugging around them both.
 
-I chose to remain sitting for a while, idle gaze settling on the triad beside me, while I thought of the ways in which Dry Grass talked about In The Wind. I tried mapping that onto my own clade. Thinking of Lily like a sister, of Cress like our clade's own little one, felt right in a way that I didn't expect. While it was difficult to think of Tule as in any way that much younger than me, despite being my second degree up-tree instance, but perhaps that was due to his lingering similarities to me. After all, Sedge had forked him off shortly after I had forked into her. It was part of the package deal: Sedge went back to exploring femininity while Tule returned to cis-masculinity; ditto Rush and a further queering of gender. Both of them remained siblings --- younger siblings, perhaps, because I was their progenitor. Cousins, maybe.
+I chose to remain sitting for a while, idle gaze settling on the triad beside me, while I thought of the ways in which Dry Grass talked about In The Wind. I tried mapping that onto my own clade. Thinking of Lily like a sister, of Cress like our clade's own little one, felt right in a way that I didn't expect. While it was difficult to think of Tule as in any way that much younger than me, despite being my second degree up-tree instance, but perhaps that was due to his lingering similarities to me. After all, Sedge had forked him off shortly after I had forked into her. It was part of the package deal: Sedge went back to exploring femininity while Tule returned to cis-masculinity; ditto Rush and a further queering of gender. Both of them remained siblings—younger siblings, perhaps, because I was their progenitor. Cousins, maybe.
 
 But Marsh? Were they a parent? Were they also a sibling? Some great-grandparent, perhaps? Or were they simply my root instance? All fit to greater or lesser extent.
 

marsh/content/014.tex

@@ -1,6 +1,6 @@
 We lingered in silence for the remainder of the evening, the four of us piled into a bed now stretched to fit all of us. Two of my cocladists and their partner, and now me. Who knew what I was? There was the friendship that we had built over the last few days. There was the camaraderie that we had built through work. There was the acquaintanceship that had been there from years prior.
 
-And now there was more. I didn't have words for it --- latent romance? A crush? --- and Dry Grass was asleep for much of our time together. It wasn't the time for conversations, it was time for just resting, something I realized I dearly needed as well. We all did, as we napped off and on for some time until the clock hit one in the morning, at which point I stepped back home to spend the rest of my night with Hanne.
+And now there was more. I didn't have words for it—latent romance? A crush?—and Dry Grass was asleep for much of our time together. It wasn't the time for conversations, it was time for just resting, something I realized I dearly needed as well. We all did, as we napped off and on for some time until the clock hit one in the morning, at which point I stepped back home to spend the rest of my night with Hanne.
 
 She was already in bed, curled around a body pillow, though not yet asleep.
 
@@ -38,7 +38,7 @@ I kissed on her nape. ``Yeah, we'll see. It's a weird way to come about a relati
 
 ``Mmhm. It's really weird talking about this now, though. All this stressful stuff going on, and we're talking about relationships.''
 
-``We talked about that a bit, actually,'' I said. ``Tule suggested that it was a bit of focusing on the good things, but Dry Grass said it might be more like a `protective measure'. Something about trauma bonding.''Building more relationships to pin ourselves down after so many were broken''.''
+``We talked about that a bit, actually,'' I said. ``Tule suggested that it was a bit of focusing on the good things, but Dry Grass said it might be more like a `protective measure'. Something about trauma bonding. ``Building more relationships to pin ourselves down after so many were broken''.''
 
 ``That's a kind of cynical way of looking at it.''
 
@@ -76,7 +76,7 @@ We lay in silence for a while, and I found myself lingering on the thoughts of h
 
 ``You were talking about 2399,'' she said, then laughed sleepily. ``I asked you to sell me on the year. You made a pretty convincing argument that it was a good year.''
 
-``I stand by that,'' I said, grinning. ``But yeah, we were talking about the past, asking about life back phys-side. I said,''Am I not allowed to be a bit maudlin?'' I was being really sappy.''
+``I stand by that,'' I said, grinning. ``But yeah, we were talking about the past, asking about life back phys-side. I said, ``Am I not allowed to be a bit maudlin?'' I was being really sappy.''
 
 ``You should've said that instead.''
 
@@ -108,7 +108,7 @@ She furrowed her brow. ``I thought that's what you'd done, actually.''
 
 ``How, though? It's not like hormones do anything here.''
 
-I shrugged. ``I met up with a bunch of other folks doing the same thing --- actually surprised I didn't run into Hold My Name in the process --- and we all talked about the various ways we could go through the process. Some hunted down doctors who had uploaded and were willing to do things like help act out the process. I mostly just forked once a month from that cis body into what I am bit by bit. I let my voice change, bound my chest, added surgery scars, each bit step by step.''
+I shrugged. ``I met up with a bunch of other folks doing the same thing—actually surprised I didn't run into Hold My Name in the process—and we all talked about the various ways we could go through the process. Some hunted down doctors who had uploaded and were willing to do things like help act out the process. I mostly just forked once a month from that cis body into what I am bit by bit. I let my voice change, bound my chest, added surgery scars, each bit step by step.''
 
 ``That's wild,'' she said. ``What's this got to do with Marsh, though? Feeling maudlin over gender?''
 

marsh/content/015.tex

@@ -40,7 +40,7 @@ Once we stepped off the train, still holding hands both out of affection and so
 
 I laughed. ``You were loud, opinionated, and politically obnoxious?''
 
-``Do not be ridiculous, Reed. Of course I was,'' she said primly. ``It was our friend that made this place what it was, yes? Ey was the one who became the template for this world, yes? But all the same, it became a cherished place. We uploaded in the System's second year, as soon as we could afford to, and even then the System was a mess. Consensual sensoria had yet to be implemented, building and object creation had yet to progress to where it was today, the ability to eat --- eat and feel sated --- was not added until the fifth year --- this is all before systime was even a thing, remember, so this is \emph{very} early --- so those who uploaded hungry remained so for years at a time. I loved it all the same.''
+``Do not be ridiculous, Reed. Of course I was,'' she said primly. ``It was our friend that made this place what it was, yes? Ey was the one who became the template for this world, yes? But all the same, it became a cherished place. We uploaded in the System's second year, as soon as we could afford to, and even then the System was a mess. Consensual sensoria had yet to be implemented, building and object creation had yet to progress to where it was today, the ability to eat—eat and feel sated—was not added until the fifth year—this is all before systime was even a thing, remember, so this is \emph{very} early—so those who uploaded hungry remained so for years at a time. I loved it all the same.''
 
 ``You still do, sounds like.''
 
@@ -48,9 +48,9 @@ She laughed. ``Of course I do! It is more than just a love of life, the System i
 
 I listened, rapt, as she grew more animated and eloquent; watched as she sent out an instance to fetch us some of our favorite plates of plain-yet-filling food.
 
-``We all played our part. I dove into tech, Warmth coaxed the System into letting em make weirder and weirder objects and more and more delicious foods, True Name and her stanza guided it as might any parent. Even if her methods came off as unsavory, I believe her --- believe Sasha, I mean, who she became --- when she says that her goal was only ever the security of our existence.
+``We all played our part. I dove into tech, Warmth coaxed the System into letting em make weirder and weirder objects and more and more delicious foods, True Name and her stanza guided it as might any parent. Even if her methods came off as unsavory, I believe her—believe Sasha, I mean, who she became—when she says that her goal was only ever the security of our existence.
 
-``I feel like my baby has stumbled. The System stumbled and fell, knocked its head, forgotten some of what it knew. I feel like our existence stumbled, as some group or another got so frustrated as to trip it up. When I dump my energy into all of this work, I am doing my best to nurse it back to health. We all are. I am working the tech angle. The eighth is working the political angle --- you have seen Sasha has poke her nose in once or twice, yes? She is still striving.'' She smiled fondly, adding, ``Even the third stanza is there with us, sitting \emph{shiva} and praying as they will.''
+``I feel like my baby has stumbled. The System stumbled and fell, knocked its head, forgotten some of what it knew. I feel like our existence stumbled, as some group or another got so frustrated as to trip it up. When I dump my energy into all of this work, I am doing my best to nurse it back to health. We all are. I am working the tech angle. The eighth is working the political angle—you have seen Sasha has poke her nose in once or twice, yes? She is still striving.'' She smiled fondly, adding, ``Even the third stanza is there with us, sitting \emph{shiva} and praying as they will.''
 
 We sat back as her ephemeral instance set down a few pot pies and a plate piled high with hash browns in front of us before quitting. Dry Grass sectioned off a large portion of the hash browns to start dousing it in hot sauce.
 
@@ -64,7 +64,7 @@ I nodded, getting a few bites of my own (less heavily spiced) share in. Horn \&
 
 ``You use a lot of family language when you talk,'' I said once I'd washed the hash browns down with coffee. ``Which makes sense from what you've said, of course, but it got me thinking last night about what Marsh was to us. Couldn't decide whether they were a parent or a cousin of some sort.''
 
-She nodded, already starting in on her pot pie, breaking open the lid to let the steam escape. ``It is not a dynamic that works for everyone. Even within our own clade, it is complicated. Hammered Silver, my down-tree, \emph{hates} that. She disowned me for some time over these thoughts. Tt does not make sense in some cases. Motes and Warmth are my little ones, but while A Finger Pointing and Beholden --- Motes's guardians --- feel like siblings to me, Dear, Rye, and Praiseworthy --- Warmth's down-trees --- definitely do not. They are friends, Rye especially, perhaps, but little else.''
+She nodded, already starting in on her pot pie, breaking open the lid to let the steam escape. ``It is not a dynamic that works for everyone. Even within our own clade, it is complicated. Hammered Silver, my down-tree, \emph{hates} that. She disowned me for some time over these thoughts. Tt does not make sense in some cases. Motes and Warmth are my little ones, but while A Finger Pointing and Beholden—Motes's guardians—feel like siblings to me, Dear, Rye, and Praiseworthy—Warmth's down-trees—definitely do not. They are friends, Rye especially, perhaps, but little else.''
 
 ``Yeah, and I guess that's been coloring my feelings on the whole idea of cross-tree merging.''
 

marsh/content/016.tex

@@ -28,19 +28,19 @@ Günay, looking baffled, asked, ``Why's that terrifying?''
 
 She shook her head.
 
-``So there's this person who's effectively dead, right? You can bring them back to life, presumably stuck in a default sim, and they're going to immediately go crazy because they're suddenly all alone thinking it's fifteen minutes before their plan was to go down but it's not,'' he continued, ticking points off on his fingers. ``CPV doesn't work, they can't quit, their plan was only 1\% successful --- if you even decide to tell them that! --- and it actually made Lagrange loads safer with fixes and new features. Oh, and don't forget, literally trillions of people hate them now.''
+``So there's this person who's effectively dead, right? You can bring them back to life, presumably stuck in a default sim, and they're going to immediately go crazy because they're suddenly all alone thinking it's fifteen minutes before their plan was to go down but it's not,'' he continued, ticking points off on his fingers. ``CPV doesn't work, they can't quit, their plan was only 1\% successful—if you even decide to tell them that!—and it actually made Lagrange loads safer with fixes and new features. Oh, and don't forget, literally trillions of people hate them now.''
 
 Günay looked helplessly over to Jakub, who nodded. ``That's an ongoing conversation to be had sys-side,'' he said, sounding as though he was choosing his words very carefully. ``We can bring the DMZ back up whenever you would like, and you will retain full control over transit to and from the DMZ--''
 
 ``Can you prevent 8-stanza-1 from entering the rest of Lagrange?'' Debarre asked. ``I'm with Harvey in that it's kinda terrifying, but I also don't exactly want them over here, either.''
 
-Jakub bowed. ``That's already been implemented, though if you want to lift it in the future, you will need to consult with phys-side. That's how it was designed on the LVs, after all. For this reason and for our sake, I'd like to ask that you keep us --- phys-side and the System Consortium --- up to date with whatever decisions you make regarding the DMZ and 8-stanza-1.''
+Jakub bowed. ``That's already been implemented, though if you want to lift it in the future, you will need to consult with phys-side. That's how it was designed on the LVs, after all. For this reason and for our sake, I'd like to ask that you keep us—phys-side and the System Consortium—up to date with whatever decisions you make regarding the DMZ and 8-stanza-1.''
 
 Debarre shrugged. Harvey scoffed. Jonas Ko grinned, leaning back in his seat, saying, ``Sure thing, Jakub.''
 
 After a moment's uncomfortable pause, Need An Answer asked, ``What can you tell us about the CPV device?''
 
-Günay, who had been slouching further and further down in her seat as the discussion had drifted away from the technical, sat up straight once more. ``It was one of those things that was really clever and all the worse for it,'' she said. ``They uploaded a few months before the attack and went out to big public sims and met a bunch of people. When they set the bomb off, it hit them first, but before it did, it used their access to the perisystem clade listing to look up everyone they'd interacted with to go infect them and their cocladists after looking up everyone \emph{they} knew about, and so on. This would have gotten more than 99\% of the System, especially once it hit the new upload assistants, who have probably met more people than anyone else, including those who never talked to anyone else since. Once the number of uninfected cladists fell below a threshold --- I think one billion? --- the clade listing allowed access to a full listing of everyone sys-side, and the virus just mopped up from there.''
+Günay, who had been slouching further and further down in her seat as the discussion had drifted away from the technical, sat up straight once more. ``It was one of those things that was really clever and all the worse for it,'' she said. ``They uploaded a few months before the attack and went out to big public sims and met a bunch of people. When they set the bomb off, it hit them first, but before it did, it used their access to the perisystem clade listing to look up everyone they'd interacted with to go infect them and their cocladists after looking up everyone \emph{they} knew about, and so on. This would have gotten more than 99\% of the System, especially once it hit the new upload assistants, who have probably met more people than anyone else, including those who never talked to anyone else since. Once the number of uninfected cladists fell below a threshold—I think one billion?—the clade listing allowed access to a full listing of everyone sys-side, and the virus just mopped up from there.''
 
 ``What was that threshold even for?'' Selena asked. ``I thought it was part of the privacy policy that no one be able to just look up everyone on the System.''
 
@@ -56,7 +56,7 @@ Jakub shook his head. ``We don't think so. They were the only one from Our Brigh
 
 ``We are working on it,'' I Cannot Stop Myself From Speaking, who had until this point in the meeting been silent, replied. The bobcat's expression remained impassive, but it was hard to miss just how sharp her fangs were with the anger evident in her voice. I was happy to see that she at least looked away from Debarre as she said this; the anger seemed instead to be directed at no one in particular, or perhaps the world as a whole. A world that would permit such people to exist. It was an anger that veered well into vindictiveness.
 
-Need An Answer, perhaps sensing the tension this inspired, moved smoothly down her list. ``The next point that we would like to discuss is the sentiment that has crept into the System based on the news of an attack. I must admit that we found it frustrating to hear just how much phys-side knew in comparison to what we had been told. Günay said,''There is some suspicion of malicious actors, yeah. I say `suspicion' in earnestness, I promise.'' Mr.~Strzepek stated that certain data were to be withheld from both sys-side and phys-side.'' A smile, condescending, curled the corner of her mouth. ``And here we learn that news of the attack was released some weeks ago, phys-side.''
+Need An Answer, perhaps sensing the tension this inspired, moved smoothly down her list. ``The next point that we would like to discuss is the sentiment that has crept into the System based on the news of an attack. I must admit that we found it frustrating to hear just how much phys-side knew in comparison to what we had been told. Günay said, ``There is some suspicion of malicious actors, yeah. I say `suspicion' in earnestness, I promise.'' Mr.~Strzepek stated that certain data were to be withheld from both sys-side and phys-side.'' A smile, condescending, curled the corner of her mouth. ``And here we learn that news of the attack was released some weeks ago, phys-side.''
 
 Günay wilted in her chair, looking down at her desk, wherever she sat.
 
@@ -84,7 +84,7 @@ Jakub stiffened. ``Which is precisely why we tried to control the release of inf
 
 ``Is not here. You are,'' she retorted. ``Someone is getting their head bitten off, may as well be you, yes?''
 
-I frowned, they were goading Jakub, pushing him repeatedly into anger. I couldn't figure out why. I could understand \emph{their} anger --- I was feeling much the same --- but attacking the phys-side admin, some random middle-manager, felt like a strange and petty move.
+I frowned, they were goading Jakub, pushing him repeatedly into anger. I couldn't figure out why. I could understand \emph{their} anger—I was feeling much the same—but attacking the phys-side admin, some random middle-manager, felt like a strange and petty move.
 
 I sent Dry Grass a quick ping to ask, and she replied, \emph{``It is my guess that they are pushing blame onto him because they want him gone. They want the Consortium to replace him with someone they have more control over. That, and they wish for Günay to feel better.''}
 
@@ -98,7 +98,7 @@ A hint of a smile touched her face. \emph{``Do you not, my dear?''}
 
 ``There are joint commemorations already in the works,'' Abd al-Latif, one of the representatives, was saying. ``Serene; Sustained And Sustaining has volunteered an unfinished sim that was under construction by one of her lost instances as a memorial, and has been talking with a docent phys-side about a permanent AVEC channel open with one of their memorials.''
 
-``That would be lovely,'' Dry Grass said. ``The loss affects both worlds, does it not? Every loss up here represents someone who once lived phys-side, who left behind family and friends. Will there be a posting of these commemorations? I know of many --- myself among them --- who would attend as many of them as possible.''
+``That would be lovely,'' Dry Grass said. ``The loss affects both worlds, does it not? Every loss up here represents someone who once lived phys-side, who left behind family and friends. Will there be a posting of these commemorations? I know of many—myself among them—who would attend as many of them as possible.''
 
 Abd al-Latif bowed from where they were seated. ``There will be, yes. We'll work with you and Sedge to get that posted and pinned.''
 
@@ -106,7 +106,7 @@ Abd al-Latif bowed from where they were seated. ``There will be, yes. We'll work
 
 ``Of course,'' Need An Answer said. ``And on that note, all messages from the LVs have been ungated, but, in order to prevent individuals from being flooded with all of them at once, they are being maintained on a request basis, and instructions will be posted to the feeds for how to access them\ldots now.''
 
-I sat up straighter --- as did several around the table --- and checked the feeds. Pinned at the top of several of the larger feeds were instructions for accessing messages. It was close enough to accessing an exo that I was able to access mine almost immediately.
+I sat up straighter—as did several around the table—and checked the feeds. Pinned at the top of several of the larger feeds were instructions for accessing messages. It was close enough to accessing an exo that I was able to access mine almost immediately.
 
 Two from Reed and Hanne on Castor, three from Reed on Pollux, several from friends. Plus eight from Marsh\#Castor and five from Marsh\#Pollux.
 
@@ -144,7 +144,7 @@ Still grinning, she nodded. ``It started as part of the information we gained fr
 
 ``Thank you, my dear. Can you give us a better precis of the current state of this library?''
 
-``Oh, um,'' Günay started, frowning. ``I guess. Systechs on both LVs have come up with their own procedures and manuals and stuff, and they sent us all of those, plus a bunch of suggestions for things to try as we worked, so it's got all of that information in it. We also had a few teams going through the Artemis library searching for instances of crashes in all of the civilizations they've encountered --- the four races on board and the two who didn't join. There was a bunch in there that we just grabbed wholesale and started sorting through.''
+``Oh, um,'' Günay started, frowning. ``I guess. Systechs on both LVs have come up with their own procedures and manuals and stuff, and they sent us all of those, plus a bunch of suggestions for things to try as we worked, so it's got all of that information in it. We also had a few teams going through the Artemis library searching for instances of crashes in all of the civilizations they've encountered—the four races on board and the two who didn't join. There was a bunch in there that we just grabbed wholesale and started sorting through.''
 
 ``And what of us?'' Dry Grass asked.
 
@@ -226,7 +226,7 @@ Answers Will Not Help leaned over and socked him solidly in the shoulder.
 
 ``Later, children,'' Jonas Ko's new instance said, reaching out to take Fa's hand in his own.
 
-After a moment's look of concentration on both of their faces, the new Jonas Fa quit. Jonas Ko --- now tagged Jonas Ko/Fa, though whether by him or the System wasn't clear to me --- immediately stumbled to the side, clutching at his head. We all looked on, startled.
+After a moment's look of concentration on both of their faces, the new Jonas Fa quit. Jonas Ko—now tagged Jonas Ko/Fa, though whether by him or the System wasn't clear to me—immediately stumbled to the side, clutching at his head. We all looked on, startled.
 
 ``Jesus Christ,'' he mumbled, kneading at his temples. ``Felt like a normal merge, but\ldots weird. So fucking weird.''
 

marsh/content/017.tex

@@ -248,7 +248,7 @@ I swallowed dryly and nodded.
 
 She finished her advance in two long strides, hand already winding back, and struck me across the face hard enough to knock me to the side against the wall. I crumpled under the sudden rush of pain, winding up in a jumbled heap on the floor at the base of the stairs. New Marsh darted back as the rest of the clade cried out.
 
-````I'll see you in a few, beautiful'','' she spat, tears coursing down her cheeks. ``That's what they said, you awful piece of shit.''I'll see you in a few.''\,''
+````I'll see you in a few, beautiful'','' she spat, tears coursing down her cheeks. ``That's what they said, you awful piece of shit. ``I'll see you in a few.''\hspace{1pt}''
 
 ``Vos, I--''
 

marsh/content/018.tex

@@ -14,7 +14,7 @@ As the play drew up to the climax, as the attacker was convicted and condemned t
 
 We were once more dropped into utter blackness, treated to nearly five minutes more of wails and screeches, giggles and sobs, laughter and half-words, all slowly fading to silence.
 
-The analogy was clear --- almost ham fisted --- and it left my stomach churning. It left a lump in my throat and a hotness on my face. It left me sobbing. Me and so many others in the audience, from what I saw when the lights came back up. Each seat had a cone of silence above it, preventing me from hearing anyone else. Beside me, Dry Grass had started crying from the beginning and hadn't lifted her head from her arms folded on the small table before us throughout the entire performance.
+The analogy was clear—almost ham fisted—and it left my stomach churning. It left a lump in my throat and a hotness on my face. It left me sobbing. Me and so many others in the audience, from what I saw when the lights came back up. Each seat had a cone of silence above it, preventing me from hearing anyone else. Beside me, Dry Grass had started crying from the beginning and hadn't lifted her head from her arms folded on the small table before us throughout the entire performance.
 
 The auditorium, full at the start, was half-empty by the end, so many of the audience members having left in disgust or pain.
 
@@ -40,7 +40,7 @@ Dry Grass took the chance to wipe her face with a napkin swiped from the table.
 
 ``You would have hated the original! Ioan wrote it so that the body was supposed to stay on the stage instead of just the blood. When I said I wanted the part, ey changed it to be just the blood so there was not just a kid's body laying on stage, even though it took some creative work with gravity.''
 
-I glanced back to the stage, realizing that it was actually canted toward the audience by about fifteen degrees. Enough that we could clearly see the surface of the stage --- back to a blissfully clean matte black instead of the blood-stained parquet that had been there before --- without it being so unnerving as to make us feel like we were going to fall towards it, or that the actors were going to fall into the audience.
+I glanced back to the stage, realizing that it was actually canted toward the audience by about fifteen degrees. Enough that we could clearly see the surface of the stage—back to a blissfully clean matte black instead of the blood-stained parquet that had been there before—without it being so unnerving as to make us feel like we were going to fall towards it, or that the actors were going to fall into the audience.
 
 ``You are right,'' Dry Grass was saying, straightening out Motes's shirt and overalls, both of which were thoroughly stained with paint. ``I would have hated that even more. I did not even see the rest of the play, skunklet. I put my head down and turned down my hearing.''
 
@@ -50,7 +50,7 @@ I glanced back to the stage, realizing that it was actually canted toward the au
 
 ``No, I will read it on my own at some point when I am calmer.'' Dry Grass nodded toward the stage. ``But look, A Finger Pointing and Beholden.''
 
-The two Odists --- one tall, slender, and human, the other a shorter, softer skunk --- made their way far more sedately toward our table. They walked arm in arm, leaning affectionately against each other, each carrying a drink in their free hand and paw.
+The two Odists—one tall, slender, and human, the other a shorter, softer skunk—made their way far more sedately toward our table. They walked arm in arm, leaning affectionately against each other, each carrying a drink in their free hand and paw.
 
 ``Reed!'' A Finger Pointing began, reaching out with one arm to offer me a hug. ``I am pleased you made it.'' She glanced at Dry Grass with a rueful smile. ``I hope we did not traumatize you \emph{too} much.
 
@@ -90,14 +90,14 @@ I laughed, nodded.
 
 A Finger Pointing leaned down to her Motes's ear. ``My dear, could you--?'' she cooed. The little skunk leaned up, dotted her nose affectionately to her cheek, and then quit. ``Please, Reed; I am \emph{intensely} curious what they have to say about all this.''
 
-Beholden seemed focused on brushing out Motes' mane --- perhaps a little more than could be expected, as though working to distract herself --- though she nodded all the same.
+Beholden seemed focused on brushing out Motes' mane—perhaps a little more than could be expected, as though working to distract herself—though she nodded all the same.
 
 ``Alright, thanks. I'll just read it to you, it's fairly short.'' Feeling a little silly just staring off into space to read, I summoned up the letter on a sheet of paper and began to read.
 
 \begin{quote}
 Reed,
 
-Words cannot express how glad I am to hear from you! Over the last few weeks, we've heard that they were finally on track to start bringing Lagrange back online, and then we finally got the notice that the System had finally come back up and that they'd gotten the non-recoverable losses down to 1\%. We had a small party here with all the Marshans here --- there's a new one, by the way, Hyacinth. They'll write you their own letter.
+Words cannot express how glad I am to hear from you! Over the last few weeks, we've heard that they were finally on track to start bringing Lagrange back online, and then we finally got the notice that the System had finally come back up and that they'd gotten the non-recoverable losses down to 1\%. We had a small party here with all the Marshans here—there's a new one, by the way, Hyacinth. They'll write you their own letter.
 
 We weren't the only ones, either. Every one of us was invited to no less than three other parties celebrating the news. You may be out of reach for those of us on the launches, but we do still love you all, and deeply. Thinking we'd lost you for good was one hell of a way to prove that to ourselves.
 
@@ -105,7 +105,7 @@ Over the next week, we started to hear from more and more people as news of thei
 
 Our anxiety began to grow without hearing from you. We knew you were busy, at least: news of Sedge working as hard as she was reached even us in those first days. Still, I wish you'd written sooner.
 
-To finally get a letter that said that I was dead, however, made me feel in a way I can't even begin to describe. I was sad, because of course I was --- someone I knew and talked with with some regularity was now dead. I was stunned, because of course I was --- the disaster was now very immediate and real, affecting my own clade.
+To finally get a letter that said that I was dead, however, made me feel in a way I can't even begin to describe. I was sad, because of course I was—someone I knew and talked with with some regularity was now dead. I was stunned, because of course I was—the disaster was now very immediate and real, affecting my own clade.
 
 But what am I to do with the knowledge that it was specifically \emph{me} that was dead? You live on, as do Lily and Cress, Rush and Sedge and Tule, but the root of your clade is now gone. You're now six instead of seven. You're now a clade without a root instance. \emph{We're} a clade without a root instance. I exist, sure, as does Marsh\#Pollux, but our down-tree doesn't. We came from them, didn't we?
 
@@ -122,7 +122,7 @@ Marsh\#Castor
 
 When I finished reading, our little crowd sat in silence, each thinking their own thoughts.
 
-My eyes were drawn to A Finger Pointing, to the pensive tapping-together of her fingertips. ``I have been looking forward to the opportunity to speak with you about just that, Reed. About this cross-tree merge, I mean. About Anubias.'' She glanced at Beholden, who nodded, though her own gaze remained distant, then went on. ``We, too, are without our root instance. We are without our Michelle Hadje, she who became ten, who became --- nominally --- one hundred.''
+My eyes were drawn to A Finger Pointing, to the pensive tapping-together of her fingertips. ``I have been looking forward to the opportunity to speak with you about just that, Reed. About this cross-tree merge, I mean. About Anubias.'' She glanced at Beholden, who nodded, though her own gaze remained distant, then went on. ``We, too, are without our root instance. We are without our Michelle Hadje, she who became ten, who became—nominally—one hundred.''
 
 Dry Grass carefully nudged Motes out of her lap so that she could straighten out her blouse. The little skunk bubbled up with the instance in Beholden's lap; letting her up-tree quit so that she could merge, then taking her place.
 
@@ -130,7 +130,7 @@ Dry Grass carefully nudged Motes out of her lap so that she could straighten out
 
 I looked down at the paper, just as I had done for much of the day already.
 
-``I would like to hear how you feel, too, Reed,'' Dry Grass said. ``We all have our thoughts on the matter --- we are Odists, of \emph{course} we do --- I am sure, but before we taint yours, tell us how you feel.''
+``I would like to hear how you feel, too, Reed,'' Dry Grass said. ``We all have our thoughts on the matter—we are Odists, of \emph{course} we do—I am sure, but before we taint yours, tell us how you feel.''
 
 I sighed, eventually folding up the letter and returning it to my pocket. The physicality of it made it feel more real, focused my mind in one particular spot. Getting it out of my hands gave me, somehow, permission to look up and speak directly to the others.
 
@@ -150,7 +150,7 @@ She sniffed, sighed, then went on. ``--in Death Itself and I Do Not Know, but al
 
 Motes drew her legs up onto the chair with her and buried her face in her arms.
 
-``I never did keep that final merge,'' Beholden said quietly. ``It was too much, too fast, too soon. It was all far too close to the Century Attack, and it was so much time in one merge that I was worried I would lose who I was. \emph{This} me --- the one that loves Boss--'' She nodded over to A Finger Pointing. The affectionate hypocorism got her a smirk in return. ``--and Motes in the way I do --- would not exist anymore. Not quite.''
+``I never did keep that final merge,'' Beholden said quietly. ``It was too much, too fast, too soon. It was all far too close to the Century Attack, and it was so much time in one merge that I was worried I would lose who I was. \emph{This} me—the one that loves Boss--'' She nodded over to A Finger Pointing. The affectionate hypocorism got her a smirk in return. ``--and Motes in the way I do—would not exist anymore. Not quite.''
 
 There was a quiet whimper from the smaller skunk in her lap, which gained her a kiss atop the head from her guardian.
 
@@ -160,13 +160,13 @@ There was a quiet whimper from the smaller skunk in her lap, which gained her a
 
 Beholden rolled her eyes, but the hidden smile there was genuine. This was, it seemed, a particular discussion that had lost much of its sting. ``She quit and left behind only memories, I mean to say. It is all we had when people died back phys-side, and it is all we have here, now, cases such as these.''
 
-``I do not \emph{like} it,'' Beholden added with a bitter chuckle. ``I think I actually \emph{hate} it, that she could do that --- that \emph{any} of them could do that. One more thing to be anxious about after months and months of anxiety.''
+``I do not \emph{like} it,'' Beholden added with a bitter chuckle. ``I think I actually \emph{hate} it, that she could do that—that \emph{any} of them could do that. One more thing to be anxious about after months and months of anxiety.''
 
 A Finger Pointing watched Dry Grass carefully while Beholden spoke, turning her gaze on me only after some silence lingered between us. ``I do not believe this premonition, of course, that we are doomed to quit, but you can see how it affects each of us. There is enough death in our clade to make us wonder, yes?''
 
 Dry Grass nodded, perhaps a bit warily.
 
-She spent a moment doting on Beholden before straightening up, brushing out her blouse with a sigh. ``There is, perhaps, some of my longing for Dear in this --- it is the instance artist of our clade, now no longer on Lagrange, and instance artistry has held my interest since I met it --- but I have been gradually reaching out to each of my cocladists in the hopes of creating a synthesis of our clade --- our own Anubias, if you will --- named Ashes Denote That Fire Was. We both have our beloved naming schemes, yes?''
+She spent a moment doting on Beholden before straightening up, brushing out her blouse with a sigh. ``There is, perhaps, some of my longing for Dear in this—it is the instance artist of our clade, now no longer on Lagrange, and instance artistry has held my interest since I met it—but I have been gradually reaching out to each of my cocladists in the hopes of creating a synthesis of our clade—our own Anubias, if you will—named Ashes Denote That Fire Was. We both have our beloved naming schemes, yes?''
 
 I laughed, nodded.
 
@@ -178,23 +178,23 @@ Motes lifted her head and, despite the tear-tracks in the fur on her cheeks, smi
 
 ``For a bit, kiddo,'' she said, laughing.
 
-``I do not know that we will resolve disputes so dire as that with a mediating instance,'' A Finger Pointing said with a soft chuckle. ``Although I have occasionally done such within the fifth stanza --- even before this business with cross-tree merging --- what I am really interested in is how it might give us a more complete picture of the Ode clade at large. We have occasionally been accused of idolatry, of placing the \emph{idea} of the clade above the community that it comprises, but now I think our community is all but dead, and in desperate need of some unifying identity lest we ever remain shattered.''
+``I do not know that we will resolve disputes so dire as that with a mediating instance,'' A Finger Pointing said with a soft chuckle. ``Although I have occasionally done such within the fifth stanza—even before this business with cross-tree merging—what I am really interested in is how it might give us a more complete picture of the Ode clade at large. We have occasionally been accused of idolatry, of placing the \emph{idea} of the clade above the community that it comprises, but now I think our community is all but dead, and in desperate need of some unifying identity lest we ever remain shattered.''
 
-Dry Grass smiled wryly. ``I was surprised at just how willing Hammered Silver was. She cut off three entire stanzas --- and, briefly, me --- and I expected that would mean that she would be rather opposed to the idea. I am curious to see how that goes, in the end.'' Turning to me, she continued, grinning, ``But you also dealt with that with Lily, yes? You punched her, even.''
+Dry Grass smiled wryly. ``I was surprised at just how willing Hammered Silver was. She cut off three entire stanzas—and, briefly, me—and I expected that would mean that she would be rather opposed to the idea. I am curious to see how that goes, in the end.'' Turning to me, she continued, grinning, ``But you also dealt with that with Lily, yes? You punched her, even.''
 
 A Finger Pointing looked wide-eyed at me, leaning back. ``Reed?''
 
 I laughed, sheepish. ``It was hardly a punch! I slapped her in the heat of an argument. Don't worry, I got that and more from Vos,'' I said, shaking my head. ``I still feel awful about that. It's\ldots well, not really something I thought I had in me. Everything was just so stressful around then. It was less than a week after the attack.''
 
-My words didn't seem to reach her, or perhaps they weren't convincing enough. She looked warily to Dry Grass, then back to me. ``Grief in the wake of the Century Attack has caused a great deal of pain; and it did not stop with the loss of our loved ones on New Year's Eve, did it? Muse quit a week later out of despair --- her and so many others in her position --- and now I learn the Marshans and their beloved are \emph{hitting} each other!''
+My words didn't seem to reach her, or perhaps they weren't convincing enough. She looked warily to Dry Grass, then back to me. ``Grief in the wake of the Century Attack has caused a great deal of pain; and it did not stop with the loss of our loved ones on New Year's Eve, did it? Muse quit a week later out of despair—her and so many others in her position—and now I learn the Marshans and their beloved are \emph{hitting} each other!''
 
-Any lingering mirth I felt quickly died. What had since turned to a source of humor between me and Lily --- at least on the occasions we \emph{did} talk --- was suddenly brought into contrast with the rest of our lives. ``No, you bring up a good point. I stand by the fact that it felt awful at the time, and it stung for a long while after. I don't see myself as a violent person, but clearly I have it in me. Vos remains no-contact, so I can't guess how she feels, but she didn't seem the type to lean on violence, either.''
+Any lingering mirth I felt quickly died. What had since turned to a source of humor between me and Lily—at least on the occasions we \emph{did} talk—was suddenly brought into contrast with the rest of our lives. ``No, you bring up a good point. I stand by the fact that it felt awful at the time, and it stung for a long while after. I don't see myself as a violent person, but clearly I have it in me. Vos remains no-contact, so I can't guess how she feels, but she didn't seem the type to lean on violence, either.''
 
 Dry Grass, looking between her cocladist and I with an expression more of curiosity than anxiety, said, ``You do not strike me as violent either, but it does have me wondering just how much that remains after the fact.''
 
-``I should hope he does not strike you at all!'' A Finger Pointing quipped. She looked to me with a disarming smile, and I felt at once the dialectic couched within her words. This fighting --- though unconscionable --- was no isolated event; more than one of my friends had similarly lashed out, and the feeds were filled with cladists hunting for therapists.
+``I should hope he does not strike you at all!'' A Finger Pointing quipped. She looked to me with a disarming smile, and I felt at once the dialectic couched within her words. This fighting—though unconscionable—was no isolated event; more than one of my friends had similarly lashed out, and the feeds were filled with cladists hunting for therapists.
 
-I snorted. ``I have not, nor do I plan to. It has me watching my actions like a hawk, and while I'm sure the anxiety over the fact that I'm capable of such things will fade, I doubt I'll ever forget about it --- really, truly forget: it'll stay in the forefront of my mind whenever strong feelings come up.''
+I snorted. ``I have not, nor do I plan to. It has me watching my actions like a hawk, and while I'm sure the anxiety over the fact that I'm capable of such things will fade, I doubt I'll ever forget about it—really, truly forget: it'll stay in the forefront of my mind whenever strong feelings come up.''
 
 Dry Grass nodded. ``I would not want you to remain in anxiety, of course, but I am pleased to hear that it is something you are cognizant of.''
 
@@ -208,7 +208,7 @@ Beholden smirked. ``I know Slow Hours and I have had our spats from time to time
 
 ``--\emph{often}, so the cross-tree merging has given us another tool to mediate.'' She rolled her eyes, adding, ``\emph{When} we decide to actually use it.''
 
-``Well, huh,'' I said, sitting back in my chair, arms crossed. ``I hadn't actually made that connection --- that cross-tree merging could be a deliberate form of mediation rather than some accident of Anubias.''
+``Well, huh,'' I said, sitting back in my chair, arms crossed. ``I hadn't actually made that connection—that cross-tree merging could be a deliberate form of mediation rather than some accident of Anubias.''
 
 ``You would have to commit, yes? The both of you would.''
 
@@ -224,9 +224,9 @@ A Finger Pointing tilts her head at Beholden. ``You want to kick Ioan's ass for
 
 ``I want to kick eir ass just in general,'' she said primly. ``It just seems like it might be fun.''
 
-``Oh, it \emph{is},'' she mused, before turning her gaze on me once more. ``So let that be my request to you, Reed. I want you and Lily to talk about this, to consult with Anubias, and to tell me how that goes. I am sure Dear would have a heyday if it were here to explore cross-tree merging, but seeing as it went the Ansible --- I am \emph{very} much stealing that turn of phrase --- I think I would like to collaborate with you three on this new form of reclamation.''
+``Oh, it \emph{is},'' she mused, before turning her gaze on me once more. ``So let that be my request to you, Reed. I want you and Lily to talk about this, to consult with Anubias, and to tell me how that goes. I am sure Dear would have a heyday if it were here to explore cross-tree merging, but seeing as it went the Ansible—I am \emph{very} much stealing that turn of phrase—I think I would like to collaborate with you three on this new form of reclamation.''
 
-With that, we fell into, at first, silence, and then comfortable chatter about the small things. Drinks were summoned --- warmer and more comforting --- while Motes slipped out of Beholden's lap and dreamed up some chalk to start drawing on the black-painted-concrete floor, an image I recognized as the dandelion-ridden field where I met the Ode clade that first morning after the attack, so long ago and yet also so recently. Dry Grass and I cozied up together, as did Beholden and A Finger Pointing.
+With that, we fell into, at first, silence, and then comfortable chatter about the small things. Drinks were summoned—warmer and more comforting—while Motes slipped out of Beholden's lap and dreamed up some chalk to start drawing on the black-painted-concrete floor, an image I recognized as the dandelion-ridden field where I met the Ode clade that first morning after the attack, so long ago and yet also so recently. Dry Grass and I cozied up together, as did Beholden and A Finger Pointing.
 
 It was, I decided, our own reclamation, just the five of us. The stress of the play was behind us. The stress of the Century Attack could be set aside. For tonight, we were here together, with all our love and affection. For tonight, Motes could doodle on the floor of the auditorium without a care, Dry Grass could tease me about my tickly stubble when I kissed her cheek, and Beholden and A Finger Pointing could exchange looks of devotion of an intensity I rarely saw.
 

marsh/content/a-well-trained-eye.tex

@@ -1,279 +0,0 @@
-The rain against old glass panes and the sways and bumps of the car on the rails ready the air for conjurations. Lucy sits on the bench 6th from the back, on the right side, a sketchbook open across her knees. Today she's trying charcoal. Feels right with what happened a week ago.
-
-This lonely train through the valley and the mountain is her chapel and now her hermitage in the wake of the bombing. There are plenty of churches and other religious retreats across the System if she wanted, but none of them have ever felt a fit for this work. She thought about skipping this week, and told herself if the train wasn't running, she'd pick up again later, but even with no passengers save her, the engine pulls its empty tail along the countryside. So, as she has done every week for the past 250 years, she has gone to her locker in the station, pulled out a fresh sketchbook, and boarded.
-
-Lucy conjures in her memory their faces.
-
-She can only recall 63 of the 68. It is true that the System means she cannot forget anything now, but it merely preserves in amber what the memory held at the moment of upload. It cannot restore the faces she lost to time. Even a number of the faces she recalls are not complete memories. Those she has filled in over decades, extrapolating or iterating on them until they are whole enough for her to feel it completes them. Over 260 years, her hands have become capable of incredible art, both through endless repetition and boundless study. When she is not here in her railcar-sized confession booth, she enjoys a life as an artist, known for bittersweet paintings and sculptures, happy to teach and happier to learn, a lover of life and a bringer of joy.
-
-Of the five lost, two faces she cannot recall because they were unexpected complications on a job. One face was sent to kill her, but wasn't good enough. One face jumped her in an alley to rob her, or perhaps worse, but couldn't have picked a worse target. She doesn't recall her first kill's face, because there was a bag over his head and a gun loaded with both bullets and an irreversible choice was pushed into her hand.
-
-The 69th face is the most vivid to her, but Lucy has never felt the need to draw her. After all, she let that last one go, and every morning after she wakes, Lucia Marchetti hopes that poor girl listened to her and got far far away. She hopes that woman lived a full life and that the family never caught up.
-
-The clack-clack of the wheels on the track sets a rhythm for her vigil, her penance. The weather in the sim varies based on algorithms and set patterns both, stable enough to make maintenance easy, unpredictable enough to mimic weather phys-side. Today the rain is quite heavy. She welcomes it. The inside is dry, but the wood of the train car has a slight moist smell, a beautiful attention to detail. The lights in the car flicker a little more than usual, the train is a bit slower than usual but the ride is if anything less smooth. She likes the rougher rides, because it adds a challenge to her work, one she is well accustomed to after centuries but nonetheless welcomes. The rain fills in the silence where passengers would chat and shuffle and cough and rustle newspapers and make all those sounds living people make. She wonders how many of the usual riders died in the bomb, and how many are just afraid to go out, unsure, mourning, or just needing time alone.
-
-Some art critics and fans throughout the System have pointed out that the left eyes in many of her portraits have fantastical details, often drawn as flowers, or the root of vines, or sunsets woven into faces, or in her sculptures become caves, grottos, tidal pools, library alcoves, hidden urban alleys. Many speculate on the symbolism of that, and her favorite theory is the one that she lost an eye to cancer, and her obsession with art and color is due to the way cancer distorted her vision, and that her art was a reclamation of what it had taken from her, a final spite to the disease that forced her to upload. Even though it was wrong it was very romantic, and even now she did very little to fight it, and on occasion coyly encouraged it.
-
-A bullet through the left eye had been her professional calling card. Left hand on the top of the head, barrel of the silencer to the eyelid. She had taken so much from the world through left eyes, and she put back as much life and beauty through them now as she could. It would never be enough. More than a few of the faces she could only conjure with the bloody hole in a lifeless head, but she has never rendered it in sketches. She recreates and restores them as they were before, using decades of study to fill in what she destroyed. Even as styles and methods and tools change in her hands, she gives the dead that. Owes them that. The only real Liberty she takes is with the hair above the faces, refusing to give hair any semblance of being pushed or held down by anything.
-
-The piece of charcoal snaps in her hand, and she realizes there are tears staining the current sketch. She wipes her eyes, takes another piece of charcoal from her satchel.
-
-The bomb dwells on her mind. The Century Bomb, detonated at midnight, the start of the 25th century. 2400-01-01. 276+1 systime. In a digital world so removed from death, suddenly a toll on an incomprehensible level. Mechanically, it was a contraproprioceptive virus, launched at an astounding scale, wiping 1\% of the System's current instance total by interrupting their code irreversibly. Functionally, it was a bomb that killed billions and scared shitless a trillion more. She wonders why they did it. She doesn't want to know, but she wonders. She wonders if it was just a job. She wonders if it wasn't. She wonders if they can remember all the faces of the people they killed. She wonders if they died in the bomb themselves. She hopes they did. She snaps another piece of charcoal, but if there were tears, they burned off on the heat in her face. It takes several breaths to unclench her fist, and she grabs another piece of charcoal.
-
-This is the longest stretch of the track. It's between the third and fourth stops, and it's where she starts sketching every time. Some weeks, depending on her mood or free time, she waits for the train to finish looping through the five stops and the station before picking up in her usual place. This time she doesn't wait. The calm she needs comes as soon as the engine lurches into motion from the station, and she lets the sounds and motions balm her weary heart.
-
-Charcoal means no color, but it lets her play with shading techniques. The more recent the face, the more realistic it becomes on the page, whereas older faces come out impressionistic, sketchier, or strikingly simple. Once she did them in chronological order. Then by age, alphabetical by first name, then last, then by height or by estimated weight, by location, by time it took to complete that dirty work, until now she's run out of categories and just lets them queue their own order, double checking periodically who is left and who isn't.
-
-She feels a low impulse to include some of the regular passengers who are missing today, but cannot bring herself to break 250 years of rite and ritual. She decides tomorrow she will come back with separate sketchbooks or maybe some other medium, sit in a different place on the train, and sketch as many of the regulars as she can remember. Those she will not keep hidden away, and those she will let her sys-side self take care of.
-
-Most people would send a separate fork for this, she figures. She always leaves a fork at her home sim, and when she gets back to the studio that fork will merge down to her. It is important to her that this continuous (as much as one can be here) version of herself be the penitent one. She thinks other people would understand that, it's not something that really needs explaining, but she has never told anyone directly what she does, and those who know about her train rides know better than to ask.
-
-She wonders how many of them survived, and how many of them died or quit. She wonders how many will quit or crash from the grief. She chides herself for getting distracted. She sketches.
-
-She long ago learned the art of faking motions. She trained herself to glance up and stare at random points in the room, usually where other passengers are, to give the illusion she is not doing this from memory. It is a performance for the comfort of others, and the comfortable ask less questions. She almost always got left alone anyway. She wonders how she must look from the outside. Short, black hair, in a layered bob that tapers into her neck, pale skin, wispy and thin. Her outfit for the train is always the same, a plain, thin white blouse with short sleeves and dark blue buttons down the middle, a pair of dark blue slacks with a very high waist, a tasteful pair of flats, tented teal triangles for earrings. The train is based on its early middle twentieth century ancestors, and she commits fully to the part as well. She never asks anyone if she pulls it off, or asks for a picture.
-
-It takes her a while to notice there is someone else in the railcar with her.
-
-One of those upward glancing motions registers some bright color on her left, but it takes four more motions before it actually clicks that it's an arm in a jacket. She stops mid-sketch and turns to the other passenger.
-
-Across the aisle from her seat is a bench against the left wall of the train, and despite years of riding she cannot say for sure if the bench was always present or a new addition. Other than that it does not stand out, as all the upholstery, cushions, wood, metal, and design choices fit perfectly with the rest of the compartment. It might have been there the whole time. It might have appeared there seconds ago. It alarms her how little her memory has charted the left side of the aisle.
-
-The other passenger is a woman who is also a skunk. She is tall, broad-shouldered, portly, covered in earthy green fur, with a mess of curly hair that is swept to the side and bleached blond. She wears an orange canvas bomber jacket, a beat up white tank top, grayish cargo pants, and heavy boots. Her arms are spread out on the back of the bench. One of her legs is crossed over the other, bouncing on it. She is grinning. Something about the fur pattern near the skunk's left eye unsettles Lucy, but it is obscured by the dark round sunglasses the skunk is wearing. How the skunk's tail seems to be at an impossible angle to her body while sitting down Lucy chalks up to the benefits of the System.
-
-The skunk's grin widens when her presence is acknowledged. Lucy looks at her but lets the other woman make the first move. The skunk gladly obliges. ``You know, it took me longer than I'd like to admit to realize you haven't been drawing other passengers.''
-
-Lucy chews her tongue before responding, turning back to her work but not letting the stranger from her sight. ``Who's to say I wasn't before?''
-
-The skunk shrugs. ``It's possible, but I've seen you here every week for decades. It didn't click until about 6 years ago that the styles change but the faces don't.''
-
-A regular, then. There are other cars, and Lucia only rides the train once a week. So many different bodies and species exist within the System, and with the weird prevalence of skunks among that, not recalling this one's face didn't feel too strange. Old instincts warn her that her visitor could be banking on that, but she dismisses it with a stroke on the page.
-
-Lucy sighs. ``Well noticed. What else have you observed?''
-
-The skunk tilts her head and chews her tongue a little, tapping a claw. ``More a hunch than an observation, but you don't draw the living.''
-
-``Correct again. Not here, anyway. Elsewhere I do not restrain myself so.''
-
-The skunk gives a bobbing nod. ``People you lost?''
-
-Lucia speaks plainly. ``People I killed.''
-
-The test is laid. How will the examinee respond? Fear? Nervous laughter? Anger?
-
-The skunk raises an eyebrow. ``Appearances can be deceiving, but you don't strike me as a soldier.''
-
-``Metaphorically, maybe, but never literally.''
-
-The skunk's claws tighten into the wood of the bench at either end of her arms. ``Not a cop, I hope?''
-
-Now there's a measure of character. Lucia genuinely laughs, and the skunk's grips relax. There's that bobbing nod again, and the mephit says, ``So, ah, contract work.''
-
-Lucy cannot decide if the animal's cavalier nature is charming or cause for alarm. Her heart wants to believe the former. A gut trained on a former life tells her the latter. Both are anxious to see how this plays out. ``I would call it familial obligations, but they did pay me for it, and friends of the family would throw me work now and again as well.'' She pauses. ``You know how family can be.''
-
-The skunk gives a sad smirk. ``Half of mine disowned me for being queer. Don't think it's quite the same but I can sympathize, at least.''
-
-Lucy stops sketching for a second, and makes eye contact with the skunk, or as best she can through the other's sunglasses. Even without the eyes, there's a topography of emotion in the snout and cheeks and brow. That pattern of fur around her left eye, it's rough. Aesthetically it interrupts the face. An interesting choice. Panic surges just a little again.
-
-Lucia blinks and shakes her head, turning back to her sketch. ``Well, good thing we both got out.''
-
-The skunk looks out the window behind her. ``And yet the past never stops trailing behind us here. It's like this train, never moving forward, on an endless loop that carries us in circles. Even if we step off at a stop, it will be back around to pick us up again.''
-
-Lucy sees no reason to add anything.
-
-The skunk turns back towards her. ``These pieces you do fascinate me. They all lack your signature.''
-
-``What need to autograph them? They are for me and the dead. Other than the prying eyes of those like you who see my process, they are never shared.''
-
-``That is not the signature I mean.''
-
-She tenses. ``Ah, a stylistic one, then. Do you mean to say I am an artist beyond these sketches? Who do you think I might be?''
-
-``I know exactly who you are.''
-
-Everything goes quiet and the light dims. Somewhere in the conversation Lucy missed the whistle for the tunnel, and as the trains slips into the darkness the driving rain no longer fills silence. Even the wheel-clacks sound quieter. The bulbs along either side of the car have dimmed, and the one on the skunk's right has gone out completely. The skunk has taken off her sunglasses, and is wiping the lenses in the cotton of her tank top.
-
-It is not a pattern in her fur, Lucia realizes. It is a scar. A scar that starts north of the brow, runs most of the way down her cheek, and in the middle, crosses her eye. The left eye itself is clouded over, with only a hint of the pupil beneath. The other eye is a striking hazel, untouched.
-
-A million possibilities run through Lucia's head. This is someone here to blackmail her. The family finally sent an assassin. Somehow one of her targets survived and has found her for revenge. The System isn't real, and this is Purgatory, or worse, Hell, luring her into a false sense of security to strengthen her damnation. All of these could be true at once. She does not know. She finds she cannot quit, or leave the sim, or even move, paralyzed in pure fear, an emotion she has not felt in centuries.
-
-Meanwhile, the skunk is saying, ``You are Lucia Marchetti, renowned artist and sculptor. One of the most distinct in the System, in fact, and if I'm not mistaken, the unintentional pioneer of three major art movements of the last two centuries. Most intriguing is your lasting fixation on the left eye, present on almost every one of your pieces with a living thing in it. There's a lot of theories, but no one really knows why you do it. Except I think I do.''
-
-Lucy resigns herself. 260 years was a good run. More than any of her targets got sometimes by a factor of ten. She should have trusted her gut and bailed. She should have run. She shouldn't have said so much. But she did, and she tries to make peace with having to face the music. It's not really working, but she still cannot bring herself to flee. They say that no one can force you to stay in a sim, that it is impossible to truly hold anyone anywhere in the System against their will, but none of them ever account for the pressure one can exert on oneself. So, if this is the end, she decides, even if she cannot accept it, she will not fight it. ``You're here to kill me, aren't you?''
-
-The skunk laughs. ``Kill you? Why would I want to kill you?'' She holds her sunglasses up towards one of the light fixtures, checking the lens for smudges. ``You might be the only person on the System who understands me.''
-
-Lucia has the brief vivid image in her mind of an engraved lighter and a carousel tearing itself apart. The skunk across from her must be some sort of fanatic, perhaps another professional killer, or worse, unprofessional. Someone unmoored from reality, perhaps. Madness is more prevalent in the System than anyone admits. Lucy decides she would have preferred if this stranger was here to kill her, then chides herself for this self-destructiveness.
-
-Still the skunk speaks, and taps next to her damaged eye. ``For most of my life phys-side, I would now and again come down with migraines that always started behind my eye. Most of them were mild, but some of them would put me down for a whole day. Once or twice I even had visual aberrations, and I couldn't even see out of it. It'd be like static, visual white noise. For some reason, after I forked off my root instance, I started having the migraines again sys-side. The pressure is there, and the hurt is sometimes there, but now I hallucinate. Vividly, and only through that eye. My right eye is locked on reality, and the left eye ranges from minor distortions to things that even our more adventurous chemical days never came close to. I've never met anyone else that gets migraines here like mine. But then, I see your work, and I finally think for a second that maybe I'm not alone.''
-
-``I'm not totally convinced you are not here to kill me.''
-
-The mephit shakes her head. ``I swear I'm not. I mean, you've been here---the System, I should say---for a long time?''
-
-``Centuries.''
-
-``When did you upload?''
-
-``Why should I tell you?''
-
-``So I can prove I'm not sent by your `family'. Just want to know the year.''
-
-Lucia mulls it over before saying it. ``2140.''
-
-``Which was 31 years before my root instance was even born.''
-
-``Doesn't mean that you aren't---''
-
-``You have to believe me! You have to, and you have to experience something like I do. It has to be the reason!'' The skunk's face is a patchwork of frustration and desperate need.
-
-``I never in my life before this place or after had a single headache.''
-
-The stranger is on the verge of tears. ``Then why?''
-
-``It's where I put the bullets.''
-
-The skunk's eyes go wide, and the rain slams against the rail car as the train leaves the tunnel again.
-
-For the first time in all her years of penance, Lucia wishes she could stop drawing these faces, and instead in this moment sketch the creature across from her. The surprise in the mephit's features decays, like a flashbulb in a camera after it's gone off in those ancient movies the Don loved to watch. Lucy wants to capture this moment as hope withers and understanding winds vines slowly into the visage of the woman. She can see her piece together what that means, why these faces must never bear that mark, a million questions banished to the aether with one simple, ugly, answer. It is Lucia's opinion that art is better left unexplained, and this is why. If it weren't for the storm outside she would have heard the poor thing's heart break. There is a biting of a lip, there are tears, there is a bobbing nod of understanding, and a single, deep sob. If she could raise a hand, a brush, a chisel, these minutes would turn into her finest work, she would capture the death of a hero as seen through a mirror. She mourns it as the emotions pass, as the traces of them evaporate off the skunk's muzzle like morning mist in the sun. To capture what she saw in the moment would be a blasphemous vanity. She tears herself away from staring, and continues her sketches.
-
-It is a while before either can speak. The skunk speaks first. ``I think knowing that, somehow, makes your art\ldots more beautiful to me?''
-
-Lucy snorts. ``That's unfortunate.''
-
-``Do you regret it?''
-
-She rolls her eyes at this. ``No, I have sat on this train every week for 250 years drawing the dead because I have nothing better to do. What a stupid question.''
-
-``Did you upload because you got tired of killing?''
-
-``I uploaded because I was tired of being a man.'' She looks up to see that the skunk has put back on her sunglasses, but they cannot hide her surprise again. Lucia sets down the notebook and the charcoal on the seat next to herself. ``The family gave me an address and a man's name. They did not tell me what he had done, usually they did not, but they spoke with such vitriol I assumed his trespasses were high. The family back then overlooked my dalliances with other men, as men were easy to pay off, and I suspect I was not the only one in the family `wandering from the path' in that way. Something about the venom in the request made me wonder if someone in the family had been spurned, and I was cleaning up loose ends. No matter. I had given up long ago on caring about my targets. A job is a job, and the family always found me work.
-
-``I broke into the apartment, and in the dim light of the living room was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She was like polished stone, you could tell she was made more beautiful by the things she endured. It took me a moment to remember what I was even there for, and I wondered again if this wasn't business but personal affairs. She noticed me, and panicked, pulling a blanket to herself even though she was clothed. I did not yell, I did not shout, I did not strike in my work. I used a level voice, moved calmly and deliberately, and made no sudden movements. People feared that more than an angry man, and it meant there was a lot less cleanup involved. I did not hide that I had a gun. She asked me who I was, and I said I was strictly here on business, and she didn't need to know. She said she didn't trust me, and I told her very simply that if I intended to hurt I would not have waited for her to see me. I told her that all she needed to do was answer me a question, and then she could leave safely. As a show of faith, I stepped out from between her and the door. She weighed her options. She was taller than me, a bit stockier, but I was a man with a gun in my hands. She relented, and with a sigh told me to ask. I told her all I needed to know was where I could find my target. I told her the name.
-
-``Perhaps you are smart enough to know where this is going, but I mistook her panic for loyalty. She became defensive, refusing to give any information and demanding of me explanations. I told her she need not be loyal to him again and again, that it was not worth her life to defend him, and that all I needed to know is where he was. She offered bribes. She offered violence. She offered a great many things I dare not say. I do not know how long our exchange went exactly. Easily 15 minutes, likely more. I grew impatient and finally asked her why his life was worth so much more than hers, and that regardless of what happened to her I had a job and that man had to die.
-
-``She wailed, falling to the floor, and told me with absolute despair that she was the man I was looking for. Only then do I begin to inspect my surroundings carefully. I take notice of the decorations, the aesthetic choices, the recurring theme of rebirth. There was a jacket, hung on the back of a dining table chair, with a flag on the shoulder, a flag of stripes and three colors. Such a jacket was not uncommon among younger generations of my country, but the flag was not the flag of Italia of old, nor any of the new flags of the many states my homeland became under the Western Federation. No, this flag is the standard of a country with no land, abstract territory, yet one I---and, I highly suspect, you as well---reside within. Three colors, yes, but the stripes of the flag are horizontal, not vertical. Five stripes, not three.
-
-``No doubt you have heard the tales of old about those Lost in the sims, in the days before the System. In that moment, like them, I became lost within myself. I was not old then, but I had lived a very long life. I tumbled down through memories, emotions, places, times, lovers, imaginations. This woman before me, born something else, but made beautiful by change, was she as me? Pulled unwilling into the affairs of the family? Forced into shapes preordained, melted down and poured into a mold, cracked upon the altar of tradition, to fit needs or to ornament the mansion walls? Did she break the mold, or melt again to make herself anew? Could I do the same? My lovers were all overlooked or bought off, but in the eyes of those who shaped me, I was property who could buy a place at the table in time but never my own freedom. This Angel before me was an epiphany, and to the gospel of my employers I fell apostate in a moment. In my head and only in my head I begged mercy and forgiveness from her, that I might forever fall to her feet and serve to atone for my trespasses. She was living proof that my resignation to my fate was an act of cowardice, that for years I had been lying to myself. A thousand versions of myself in my head ran to every corner of my mind and pulled together a new self, an eternity of hands falling over themselves to construct some possible way to let this woman go without getting both her and myself killed. No markers lay for how long I was lost in my head, and when I pulled back to the reality before me, I have no idea if I had been gone a second or an hour. The woman before me still wept. I made up my mind. It was made from the moment I saw her jacket.
-
-``I told her to look at me. She did. I told her the man I had come to kill was clearly already dead. She stared at me for a long time. I asked her if her identifications had her old name or her new one on them, and when she said new I cemented a plan. I told her I had no intention of killing her, but that I could not promise the same of my employers. I set my gun on the table. I sorted out for her an impressive sum of money that I kept on my person, as even as late as the 2130s hard currency opened far more doors than brute force. I knelt down beside her on the floor. I pressed into her hands a marker, something that would grant her safe passage anywhere she showed it, an agreement of families and organizations that preceded us by centuries. I told her where to go, what places my family would never tread, and what she needed to say to get there. I told her to wait 20 minutes after I left, pack as little as she could, and leave immediately. She sat there stunned, and only as I got to the door did it grip her that this was real.
-
-``She asked me why I was helping her. I could not lie. I told her that killing her would make her a man again and I could not stand to take such beauty from the world. Manhood is not a problem if it is choice, but I was never given one, and I would not force anyone to reconsider their own decision. I do not know if she understood me, but she nodded. As I departed, she asked if she would see me again. I told her no, I was already as dead as the man I had been sent to kill, and left before she could delay me further.
-
-``I do not know what happened to her. I don't know what happened to the family. I do not know what happened to the cats left in my apartment. I do not even know if the sun set the next night. I moved quickly, using the weight my name had gathered over the years to get me quick passage to Roma. Uploading was still new then, expensive and still a mystery to most, but Roma had an Ansible clinic. I arrived in the city just before dawn, and caught the staff as they arrived for the morning. I drained my accounts and gave them each enough to fund the clinic for a year, to upload me and to strike my name from any records. They asked me what to do with my body. I told them to burn it and toss the ashes into the Tiber. When they objected, I handed them even more money, and finally they gave way.''
-
-Lucia looks up, and out over the countryside rolling by the windows of the train car. How far, she wonders, does it go? Does it end a small ways from the train? Are the mountains on the other side of this valley merely a trick of sensoria? Or has someone rendered them, crafting the walls of stone as they rise from low earth, etching little runs and outcroppings for a thousand meters upward? Does the sim stretch beyond the mountains, an uncanny mirror of the alps that she had traveled phys-side often enough, mostly for business, only very rarely for pleasure? She knows most of the stops are fleshed out, but she has no idea if all the land in between them is. She briefly sees the faint orange reflection of the skunk's jacket in the window, and tries not to think about how long she might have been silent.
-
-Still, as she speaks, it is a few moments before she turns back to the other passenger. ``There is nothing more to tell. The killer for hire died on the Ansible table. I do not miss him. I mourn those whom he took from the world. I carry them on eternally here, as I have since the first day I ever rode this train.''
-
-The skunk smirks. ``I wonder if the riders know they're in your rolling mausoleum.''
-
-Lucia frowns. ``It is not a mausoleum!''
-
-The mephit's lip twitches. ``Right, my mistake, if it doesn't contain any remains, it's called a cenotaph, isn't it?''
-
-The frown turns to a scowl. ``That is not what I mean.''
-
-The skunk leans forward, resting her forearms upon her thighs. ``A confessional, then. Do you say your `hail marys' as we ride along these chancel rails? Quite a trick to use a train to transit the stations of the cross, but with only 6 stops instead of 14, you may find us lacking.''
-
-Lucia turns to her, meaning to scald the other woman with a glare. ``Do not mock me. Those traditions were antiquated before I was born, much less you. I ask nothing of a god I do not believe in. So too the dead are the dead, they feel nothing. Hear nothing. Give nothing. I do this for myself, I grieve. I regret. From what authority do you speak? What right have you to judge?''
-
-The skunk raises her paws in defense. ``I'm not judging.''
-
-Lucia bares her teeth. ``The hell you are not. You speak harshly, think me a sinner.''
-
-The skunk crosses her arms before herself. ``Listen, I am not in the business of \emph{salvation} or \emph{absolution}.''
-
-``Then what, pray tell, are you in the business of?''
-
-The other woman furrows her brow, and leans back. Then, slowly, smugly, she grins. ``\emph{Joie de vivre}.''
-
-Lucia finds herself genuinely unsure how to respond to that, so she doesn't. On she sketches, ignoring her spectator as best she can. A stop comes and goes, the fourth, and neither debark. No one gets on either. Riders. A thread lies untraced in Lucy's mind. She pulls it.
-
-To the skunk she says, ``You asked earlier if the riders know what I do, as if you did not number among them.''
-
-The skunk's face isn't just grinning, there's some anticipation around the edges of it. This stranger has been waiting for this question. ``Not usually, no, not by a traditional count.''
-
-Lucia squints. ``Yet you said before the tunnel that you have observed me here for decades.''
-
-The skunk looks up, and taps a cheeky claw to her chin. ``Yeah, weird, I wonder how that could be?''
-
-``Do you spy on the passengers?''
-
-The skunk tilts her head disappointedly, and lets the silence answer for her.
-
-``Neither then, some small animal, like a mouse or an insect living on the train.''
-
-A shake of a head. ``Construct or instance, I'd consider them passengers, too.''
-
-``And you observed me directly, yes?''
-
-``This is a fun game! Yes, I have countless times.''
-
-Lucy doesn't like this game. She hates the feeling of missing something simple. Perhaps it isn't simple. ``You\ldots you are the train we are riding in, and you have watched me all these years, and forked to something that could speak to me.''
-
-The skunk laughs, and slaps her knees. Lucia turns red, scowling. Wiping humorous tears from her eyes, the skunk says, ``I love artists so much. Creative! Very creative, but a few problems. One: I was born after you uploaded. Two: I only forked and individuated from my root instance in 2357, and Three: the System is capable of many incredible things, but that's a little too fantastic.'' The skunk gave a little head bob. ``I guess in a metaphorical way you could say I speak for the train, but no, I'm afraid as long as I've been around in this sim, I've just been a skunk.''
-
-Lucy looks out the window, and says aloud, ``I do not like this game.''
-
-The skunk laughs again. ``I'm having a blast. Do you want me to tell you?''
-
-The artist glances back only briefly, and shakes her head.
-
-``Do you want me to give you a hint?''
-
-Now Lucia turns to look at her, and when the skunk raises an eyebrow, she relents. ``Fine. Fine! Yes!''
-
-The skunk slips her left paw into her jacket pocket. ``Your hint is: rider and passenger are passive roles.''
-
-Passive? If riding a train is a passive state, what would be an active---
-
-Lucy nearly throws her sketches to the floor, gesticulating angrily. ``You are the engineer. You drive the train.''
-
-``Correct!'' The mephit holds up three clawed fingers on her right paw. ``Beyond maintaining the sim, I wear three hats. One is engineer. The second is stationmaster. But neither of those explain seeing you in this car, do they?''
-
-Lucia's turn to raise an eyebrow. The skunk pulls her left paw from her jacket pocket, and holds up a ticket puncher. Lucia buries her face in her hands. ``Conductor. And now I am the asshole for not even remembering you.''
-
-The skunk scoffs. ``I'm not hurt! Think of it this way, you and this sim have been here for 250 years. I've only been `on board' for about 35. I dug through our personnel records recently, and there have been well over 100 conductors, never mind several active at the same time. You've been focused on your work, faces change, and at some point you stopped paying attention to who was coming around to check for fares. Hell, I've met other regulars in other sims who don't recognize me right away. Same goes for the 15 years I've been stationmaster, and have you ever actually been to the engine? Did you realize it has to be crewed? I'm proud of my work whether it gets seen or not, but often it isn't.''
-
-Lucia finally finds the other end of the thread. ``Do you own this sim?''
-
-The smile fades from the skunk's face. ``As of a week ago, yes.''
-
-``Was it the Century At---''
-
-``Mr. Nguyen had been planning to retire for some time. He'd given full access controls and permissions of the Sim to me a few months back, and after 275 years, he planned to retire at midnight, right as the century rolled over.'' The furred woman bit her lip and looked away. ``I\ldots I don't know if he died in the Attack. The way he was cleaning up his affairs by the end he might have quit the big one. Either way, he's gone.''
-
-A grief settles into Lucia. She realizes she does not know the attendants of this sacred place. If it is half as intricate and complex as she thinks, this sim takes a great amount of work and dedication to keep running. The System's curse of eternal memory meant nothing if she did not bother to take notice of someone in the first place. Dozens of faces. Hundreds, likely. On top of this, layered like a dusting of ash or snow, is the suspicion that now this skunk and whatever forks of her there may be are the only ones left. Both the skunk and Lucia herself were lucky. How many sims now sit empty, with no owner? How many empty homes and shops and cities and wildernesses and worlds wait for occupants, like pets who do not yet know the loss of their caretakers, or worse, cannot understand it? Does the System reclaim them? Should it? Should they stand as cenotaphs, markers of a terrible loss few people can yet truly wrap their heads around? Or like a home in a vibrant neighborhood, should the next inhabitants move in, so that life can go on for the living? She doesn't know. Answers are beyond her, she is the rain that falls from the sky and her eyes in equal measure. She rolls off of resolution or closure, like droplets off the panes of the glass of the traincar.
-
-Her tears soak into the paper of her sketchbook, and that tugs her to reality again. She cannot change the past, but she can change the present, the future. She wipes the water from her eyes hastily. ``I did not know his name. Nor yours, though you clearly know mine.''
-
-The skunk straightens up a little. ``My name is Seras. Seras Frame.''
-
-Lucia nods. ``Seras. I will remember it.''
-
-Seras shrugs. ``You can't forget it.''
-
-Lucia says, ``language is an art, not a science. When we say forget and remember, they can mean many things. I will say your name, Seras. I will speak it aloud and address you and not take you for granted again.''
-
-The train begins to slow as it reaches the fifth stop. Seras looks out the window, then back to Lucia. ``I'll be getting off here, but before I do\ldots'' her voice trails off, and she holds up the ticket puncher, clacking it a few times. Lucia smiles. She pulls the ticket from her pocket, as she has every week for hundreds of years.
-
-Seras stands up and takes it, looking it over. ``Honestly, I was worried we'd lost all our riders. It's hard to say who's just too overwhelmed to show up, and who's gone. If you're here, I'm sure I'll see other old faces soon enough.'' She punches the ticket, and pauses. ``Have you killed anyone since uploading?''
-
-The train comes to a stop, and something deep inside Lucia tenses. She snaps at the skunk. ``Why? Worried I'm going to start up again?''
-
-Seras rolls her eyes, and hands Lucia back her ticket brusquely. ``Just curious.''
-
-The skunk walks away swiftly, headed for the back of the car. She's just about to leave when Lucy finds her voice again. ``I didn't even know you could kill someone here until the bomb went off.''
-
-Seras stops dead in her tracks, but doesn't turn around. Lucy keeps talking.
-
-``I heard rumors of people being assassinated, but I never looked into it. How could you kill someone in a world like this? It all stunk of conspiracy, and you know how people are here. I thought I finally found a world without violence, and for a time I had such a world. Then the bomb devours billions, like an earthquake rending the ground into a maw of Hell. I am brought so close to the jaws of death I remember why I was glad to leave that world behind.'' Lucy feels like a child, small, afraid. Even after transitioning it is a feeling she has rarely felt, and her usual guard falls away. Words tumble from her before she can stop them. ``And I do think this is confessional. I do my penance in this public place, an anonymous sinner, because it must not be done alone. I apologize for my hostility. I do not like to be so plainly and nakedly seen by a stranger, and you frightened me like I haven't been since the Ansible table.''
-
-Seras turns. The two women watch each other for a while. Lucia speaks first.
-
-``Do you think I've done enough? Held this Vigil for enough lifetimes? Should I keep going?''
-
-The train's whistle blows. Seras shakes her head. ``I told you before. I'm not in the business of Absolution or Salvation.'' She walks to the back door. As the railcars start to lurch into motion, she adds, ``I'm just happy to see someone's still riding the train.''
-
-Then she's gone, and Lucia pushes herself over a few seats to the window. She sees the skunk laughing and pulling the back of her jacket over her head. As the train pulls away, she's stomping her boots through the puddles on the platform as she runs for the shelter of an awning.

marsh/content/afterword.tex

@@ -23,7 +23,7 @@ Madison Rye Progress with contributions from Samantha Yule Fireheart
 Nat Mcardle-Mott-Merrifield and Sarah Bloden
 \item[``Millwright'']
 Andréa C. Mason
-\item[``Sentences'']
+\item[``The Party at the End of the World'' and ``Sentences'']
 Krzysztof ``Tomash'' Drewniak
 \end{description}
 

marsh/content/game-night.tex

@@ -1,325 +0,0 @@
-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.

marsh/content/home-from-the-game.tex

@@ -1,121 +0,0 @@
-She hadn't seen them in\ldots{} well, in years. And yet, here they were\ldots{} sitting on her couch. She swallowed, awkwardly, and took another step closer.
-
-She was never really \emph{comfortable} around her own forks, even one as sufficiently\ldots{} What was the word again? Right, as sufficiently \emph{individuated} as this one. Hell, they lacked everything she considered \emph{herself}. The brown hair tied back in a scruff was gone, replaced with a shaggy mane shot through with a green streak. The ridiculous clothes, plated with bulky metal and accompanied by a cape.
-
-Oh, and of course, the fact her fork had turned into a \emph{massive hulking wolf-person.}
-
-She watched it as it sat on the couch, massive snouted head hanging low, the creature that used to be just like her in every way. They stared glumly down into a space somewhere on the floor. Deep brown fur, almost matching the tone of her skin, was gently ruffled by the breeze of a fan.
-
-She took a deep breath. ``So\ldots{} um\ldots''
-
-``I'm sorry.'' The creature's voice was a low rumble, its head raised up to look at her. ``I know\ldots{} especially with everything that's been going on regarding the attack\ldots{} it's hard to put up with an unexpected guest\ldots''
-
-``Yeah. Well\ldots'' She shrugged. ``I mean\ldots{} It's good to catch up!''
-
-``I just\ldots'' The wolf swallowed. ``I need to be around people. And you're the only person I know outside of\ldots''
-
-She nodded as her up-tree's sentence tapered off. ``The game.''
-
-The single-page announcement lay on the arm of the couch, where her fork had left it.
-
-\begin{quote}
-\begin{center}
-\textbf{Forbidden Sector to Close For the Foreseeable Future}
-\end{center}
-
-Hey all. Devteam here.
-
-No doubt by now you've heard the news; a significant number of our fellow uploaded instances here on Lagrange have permanently crashed from a large-scale terrorist attack inflicted on system architecture. In the wake of the ongoing crisis, we have seen fit to shut down the sim for the foreseeable future.
-
-All instances will be removed from the sim. Do not worry; your character data will be safe. We are cooperating with systechs and the Council to address what damage, if any, has been done to the game and the toll of those within. A memorial will be constructed in the Sky Palazzo at New Terra, in remembrance of those who are now gone.
-
-The game will reopen soon enough. Until then\ldots{}
-
-Stay safe. Keep each other close.
-
-\emph{— Forbidden Sector Dev Team}
-
-\begin{quote}
-What Gifts We Give, We Give In Death (Ode Clade)
-
-Simon ``Clank'' Knight (Tarot Clade)
-
-Caela Argent (Tarot Clade)
-\end{quote}
-\end{quote}
-
-Sadie had first played it\ldots{} oh, back in the 2320s. Close to a century ago, shortly after she'd uploaded. It was the sort of space-action-adventure sandbox game every sci-fi nerd dreamed of. Not that she'd ever admit to being a sci-fi nerd, of course, but there was a time when Sadie played it obsessively for a month, and decided to waste no more time on it after one character she played met a spectacularly \emph{explosive} end.
-
-As a condolence to herself, she created a \emph{single} fork, the only one she would ever create, and told it to have fun while it played, and return once its character had died.
-
-And, clearly, it had lived and died as many characters, each time returning to the game without merging down. Each death, it rolled a new one.
-
-Until it became whoever it was in front of her. A\ldots{} the name of the species sat on the tip of her tongue.
-
-\emph{Loup-Garou!}
-
-The Loup-Garou were fictional, and absolutely nothing like the species of Artemis encountered a near-century after their creation. Instead, they were a species of anthropomorphic wolves, A concept Sadie found more than a little embarrassing and frankly ridiculous.
-
-Given that all three of \emph{Forbidden Sector}'s designers had been furries, it was only natural that there would be a species of strong, muscular wolf-people.
-
-So of \emph{course} the fork of herself she left there would evolve into\ldots{} into \emph{this}. She'd try different techniques for each character, moving to a different strategy or build if the last one failed. Eventually she landed on one character that would survive, after failure after failure, and for some reason that just \emph{had} to be the shaggy-haired wolf person.
-
-And now that wolf person she'd become was sitting here. In her house.
-
-She turned back to her bowl of cereal, took a bite, then swallowed. ``So\ldots{} Not that your company is unappreciated, but\ldots''
-
-``I'll be out of your hair soon enough.'' The fork rubbed its eyes. ``Just\ldots{} need a few days.''
-
-``Good. Good. I'm\ldots{} I'm glad.'' Watching the wolf person's head turn away, she realized that her phrasing was probably not the kindest.
-
-``I was just\ldots{} well, apologizing for not really having enough accommodations for you.'' She scooped up more cereal, gulping it down.
-
-``Mm. It's fine. I lived in a \emph{spaceship}.'' The wolf chuckled. ``Leg room is kind of at a premium there, y'know?''
-
-``You had a ship of your own? Wouldn't that mean you'd have\ldots'' She feebly thumbed through her memory to try and find the exact game parlance, before giving up and settling on what came immediately to mind; ``A\ldots{} a guild? Why not try rooming with them, I'm sure you'd prefer it over--''
-
-The whine that escaped the wolf's lips, (\emph{her} lips?) sent a shiver down her spine. Watching her fork's ears fold back was like a cold knife in her chest.
-
-``Crew's gone, Sadie.'' The wolf shook her head. ``All of them.''
-
-``All of them?'' Sadie blinked.
-
-``Vax and the Scrap-Breaker were both taken by CPV. Aska crashed from grief and Charles merged back down with his Root. It's me and Miller left. And Miller\ldots{} won't answer my calls.''
-
-``Oh. Oh jeez, I--''
-
-``I'll move out by next week, I just\ldots'' The wolf sniffled. ``I just need to be around somebody right now. I know I'm not the most\ldots{} familiar person to you, despite--''
-
-``I understand.'' Sadie laid her bowl of cereal down in the sink, immediately rushing over to comfort her alternate self. ``Seriously. I do.''
-
-As she sat beside the her-that-wasn't-herself, she idly reached over to scratch the ears of their massive lupine form. The wolf shrugged, nuzzling into the gesture. It at once surprised her, and yet made total sense; with enough perisystem manipulation, you could emulate the senses of anything. Even an alien species, with senses of taste, smell, \emph{instinct}, radically different from that of a human.
-
-Even a Loup-Garou from \emph{Forbidden Sector}.
-
-And of course, next to her was a version of herself that had embraced that, while she'd rejected it. And of course, even through individuation she could still see the little threads of herself in the wolf. Her fork's dark brown fur was the exact tone of her skin, she still bounced her leg when bored, and she still tapped her index finger against her thumb when she was stressed.
-
-All this time, she'd thought of the game as a waste of time, something that her fork would tire of eventually. Little did she know that this fork had been forming connections and making friends, just as she herself had, and that those fragile connections were just as easily severed as hers.
-
-And now, at the turning of the century, after a terrorist attack that had taken the lives of so many\ldots{}
-
-Her fork was here.
-
-She was still alive.
-
-``I'm sorry.'' She leaned over, gripping the wolf. ``I\ldots{} I've made a total mess of things. I never even thought to ask if you changed your name.''
-
-The wolf blinked. ``Oh. Oh drek, I'm sorry. I'd completely forgotten you don't know me.'' She squeezed her eyes shut in laughter. ``I\ldots{} back in the game, I'd become somewhat infamous. Pirate Queen, you know. Everyone knew me.'' She thrust out a paw. ``Mistress Lissa, at your service.''
-
-``Sadie\ldots{} I mean, you knew that\ldots'' She sighed. ``Sorry, it's hard getting used to--''
-
-``I know.'' The wolf chuckled awkwardly. ``It's awkward for me, too.''
-
-She stared into Lissa's eyes. Her own eyes. ``I really should have sent you a sensorium ping or\ldots{} or something. I\ldots{} I'm sorry for never checking up on you.''
-
-Lissa shrugged. ``Hey. That cuts both ways. I guess I was scared that you'd see \emph{this} and think\ldots{} Well, I dunno.''
-
-``I'm\ldots{} I'm just so glad you're still here. I wish we could have met—\emph{properly} met—in different circumstances.''
-
-Lissa wrapped a paw around her Root Instance, tugging her closer. ``We're here now. No point in looking back, right? We've got each other, no matter what happens.''
-
-And so they sat, wolf and human, fork and root instance, together.

marsh/includes/copyright.tex

@@ -9,7 +9,7 @@ ISBN: \ISBN
 
 \textit{Marsh}
 
-Cover \copyright\ 2024, Iris Jay --- irisjay.net
+Cover \copyright\ 2025, Iris Jay --- irisjay.net
 
 \Edition\ Edition, \Year. All rights reserved.
 

marsh/includes/variables.tex

@@ -8,7 +8,7 @@
 
 \def\Edition{First}
 \def\EditionsList{10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1}
-\def\Year{2023}
+\def\Year{2025}
 
 \def\ISBN{XXX-X-XXXXXX-XX-X}
 

marsh/stories/a-well-trained-eye.tex

@@ -240,7 +240,7 @@ Lucia finally finds the other end of the thread. ``Do you own this sim?''
 
 The smile fades from the skunk's face. ``As of a week ago, yes.''
 
-``Was it the Century At---''
+``Was it the Century At--''
 
 ``Mr. Nguyen had been planning to retire for some time. He'd given full access controls and permissions of the Sim to me a few months back, and after 275 years, he planned to retire at midnight, right as the century rolled over.'' The furred woman bit her lip and looked away. ``I\ldots I don't know if he died in the Attack. The way he was cleaning up his affairs by the end he might have quit the big one. Either way, he's gone.''
 

marsh/stories/game-night.tex

@@ -1,7 +1,3 @@
-\textbf{Game Night}
-
-\textbf{2401-Joanna}
-
 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.
@@ -78,9 +74,7 @@ It was a leading question, but Joanna was not taking the bait. After an uncomfor
 
 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?''
 
-\begin{quote}
 Bethann grumbled and drew from the deck until she had a three she could play.
-\end{quote}
 
 ``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.''
 

marsh/stories/home-from-the-game.tex

@@ -1,7 +1,3 @@
-\emph{In which a Tracker's long-lost fork comes back after a grievous accident.}
-
-\emph{\textbf{Sadie Amara -- 2401}}
-
 She hadn't seen them in\ldots{} well, in years. And yet, here they were\ldots{} sitting on her couch. She swallowed, awkwardly, and took another step closer.
 
 She was never really \emph{comfortable} around her own forks, even one as sufficiently\ldots{} What was the word again? Right, as sufficiently \emph{individuated} as this one. Hell, they lacked everything she considered \emph{herself}. The brown hair tied back in a scruff was gone, replaced with a shaggy mane shot through with a green streak. The ridiculous clothes, plated with bulky metal and accompanied by a cape.
@@ -22,25 +18,31 @@ She nodded as her up-tree's sentence tapered off. ``The game.''
 
 The single-page announcement lay on the arm of the couch, where her fork had left it.
 
-\emph{\textbf{Forbidden Sector to Close For the Foreseeable Future}}
+\begin{quote}
+\begin{center}
+\textbf{Forbidden Sector to Close For the Foreseeable Future}
+\end{center}
 
-\emph{Hey all. Devteam here.}
+Hey all. Devteam here.
 
-\emph{No doubt by now you've heard the news; a significant number of our fellow uploaded instances here on Lagrange have permanently crashed from a large-scale terrorist attack inflicted on system architecture. In the wake of the ongoing crisis, we have seen fit to shut down the sim for the foreseeable future.}
+No doubt by now you've heard the news; a significant number of our fellow uploaded instances here on Lagrange have permanently crashed from a large-scale terrorist attack inflicted on system architecture. In the wake of the ongoing crisis, we have seen fit to shut down the sim for the foreseeable future.
 
-\emph{All instances will be removed from the sim. Do not worry; your character data will be safe. We are cooperating with systechs and the Council to address what damage, if any, has been done to the game and the toll of those within. A memorial will be constructed in the Sky Palazzo at New Terra, in remembrance of those who are now gone.}
+All instances will be removed from the sim. Do not worry; your character data will be safe. We are cooperating with systechs and the Council to address what damage, if any, has been done to the game and the toll of those within. A memorial will be constructed in the Sky Palazzo at New Terra, in remembrance of those who are now gone.
 
-\emph{The game will reopen soon enough. Until then\ldots{}}
+The game will reopen soon enough. Until then\ldots{}
 
-\emph{Stay safe. Keep each other close.}
+Stay safe. Keep each other close.
 
-\emph{Forbidden Sector Dev Team}
+\emph{— Forbidden Sector Dev Team}
 
-\emph{What Gifts We Give, We Give In Death (Ode Clade)}
+\begin{quote}
+What Gifts We Give, We Give In Death (Ode Clade)
 
-\emph{Simon ``Clank'' Knight (Tarot Clade)}
+Simon ``Clank'' Knight (Tarot Clade)
 
-\emph{Caela Argent (Tarot Clade)}
+Caela Argent (Tarot Clade)
+\end{quote}
+\end{quote}
 
 Sadie had first played it\ldots{} oh, back in the 2320s. Close to a century ago, shortly after she'd uploaded. It was the sort of space-action-adventure sandbox game every sci-fi nerd dreamed of. Not that she'd ever admit to being a sci-fi nerd, of course, but there was a time when Sadie played it obsessively for a month, and decided to waste no more time on it after one character she played met a spectacularly \emph{explosive} end.
 
@@ -112,10 +114,8 @@ She stared into Lissa's eyes. Her own eyes. ``I really should have sent you a se
 
 Lissa shrugged. ``Hey. That cuts both ways. I guess I was scared that you'd see \emph{this} and think\ldots{} Well, I dunno.''
 
-``I'm\ldots{} I'm just so glad you're still here. I wish we could have met --- \emph{properly} met --- in different circumstances.''
+``I'm\ldots{} I'm just so glad you're still here. I wish we could have met—\emph{properly} met—in different circumstances.''
 
 Lissa wrapped a paw around her Root Instance, tugging her closer. ``We're here now. No point in looking back, right? We've got each other, no matter what happens.''
 
 And so they sat, wolf and human, fork and root instance, together.
-
-\emph{\textbf{FIN.}}

marsh/stories/journal.tex

@@ -1,3 +1,7 @@
+\begin{center}
+  \footnotesize\noindent \emph{Note:} This story utilizes different fonts to represent different members of a plural system.
+\end{center}
+
 \noindent\textbf{May 12th, 2400}
 
 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.
@@ -27,7 +31,7 @@ The next few moments were a blanket of misery, misery that mastered the old mans
 
 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.
 
-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! \emph{\textsc{(Eles fizeram isso, eu já vi eles chutarem você, mas no futebol! Haha.)}.} I can still play pretty good Fel!
+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! \emph{\textsc{(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!