Thank you, Klak.
I guess the ending was a bit oblique, but that's by and large how I want this story to progress, for now.
Here is Chap. 3.
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Chap. 3
Once Vi has woken up from her slumber, she comes to the kitchen. After fighting me away from the cooking equipment, declaring that she needs to repay favors done her, Vi sets to work making coffee. She's obviously never seen the kind of brewing devices that are set out. The arrays of brass pipes and crystal vials catch her off-guard, but she's eventually muddled through on the memories that seem to trickle back to her, and manages two mugs of coffee without causing any fires or fumes.
Now that she's gotten it brewed, I have to say, she fixes an outstanding cup of coffee. Though she couldn't avoid drawing just a smidgen of bitterness out of the brew, Vi makes up for it by instantly going for what I affirm to be the spice cabinet. She retrieves a deep sienna powder which, upon its vial being opened, fills the room with a faint, but pleasant aroma of sweetness tinged by a hint of earthen spiciness. She sprinkles just a tiny bit over both mugs of coffee, hands one to me, and begins to sip at her own. It's only now that I realize I haven't said a word to her since she's arrived. I know that I no longer have anything to fear of the silence being broken, but it still takes a few sips of coffee for me to find my voice.
"Thank you for the coffee, Vi," I manage. She nods in recognition, before taking another fortifying drink. It would appear that both of us are in need of help to get ourselves talking. Working up my nerve with the warm, fragrant coffee's help, I finally ask one of the many questions nagging at me: "What do you remember, past what's been blocked out by amnesia?" I know that I can remember some vague moments - Fighting monsters with indistinct allies, crafting armor and sewing clothes for them, stolen moments taking naps in green fields when we weren't so, so busy...It's my sincere hope that Vi can recall some things like that, too.
At first, it seems she doesn't want to answer. The way Vi bites the inside of her cheek makes me worry that I won't like what she has to say. But when she speaks again, I'm relieved to find it must have just been focused recollection. "I was a shipwright," she says at last. "I made wooden sailing ships, airships, and spacecraft. My main ship was originally a fishing trawler that a former police officer renovated. I did a proper overhaul on the thing, and it turned out to be a reliable ship." She takes another sip of coffee, then stares into the mug as she swirls the contents around. I can tell she's wrestling with her thoughts. "When I came to, here," she continues after a few minutes, "I was just outside of a crashed ship. But something about that fighter...I don't know. It didn't
fit with my own memories, scant as they still are. Something about it was just off.
"All I could remember at the time was my name," Vi goes on, now on a roll. "But as I got to walking, I just thought to myself:
That ship is not right. It's not mine. I still don't think that ship belongs to me. Hell," she says, voice sharpening and fingers tightening on her mug, "I don't even think I
made it. The hull was way too advanced for the crap instruments inside, and those little pea-shooters attached to it were too awkwardly orientated to even hit anything. I don't remember much, but I know that ships weren't just my profession, they were something I
loved and put
thought into." She huffs quietly. "I know I wasn't the kind of person who would allow someone to make me fly that shoddy clunker, because one of the first things I remembered was that I had three years training in survival and combat." She seems to realize that our coffee is going cold, and quickly finishes hers off. "Sorry," the young woman says with a sheepish undercurrent (One that's almost comically out of place in her rough voice), "I didn't mean to go on a tirade. Anger issues - I remember having those, too." Vi reaches out for my mug, and I become aware that her monologue was more riveting than I could tell in the swing of it. I've downed my entire mug in rapt attention; death by a thousand cuts, or rather, emptied by two-dozen sips.
I hand her the mug, and she moves to the sink. She takes both of our mugs and begins scrubbing at them. Something about her every movement is fascinating. I can't tear my eyes away as her slender, strong, and most certainly dextrous fingers run a sponge over and within the mugs. No matter how mundane the task - And compared to our respective memories, I will say myself that washing dishes is what I find the epitome of a mundane, if draining and potentially agonizing activity - I find that watching how another goes about it seems to be so outstandingly compelling. I watch how Vi fills the mug with water and empties it twice before giving it a thorough scrubbing with soap, then repeats for the other, and I wonder why she does it that way. What led her to start rinsing twice? Why is she so focused and attentive, watching for stains like a hawk watches for its prey? Did she have to wash dishes as a job in life, and learned to be so thorough out of necessity? My thoughts are cut off as Vi finishes giving the mugs a drying off, and sets them up-ended on the counter. She takes her seat across from me once again and gives me a curious look. Though her eyes themselves don't change, once again, Vi raises her eyebrows in that odd fashion she has. Arms crossed, she asks me, "I don't think I asked you your name. Can I hear that, and some things about you?" She leans in slightly, arms still folded. I resist the urge to ask her to take her elbows off the table - That's hardly worth the time, in a world whose a population is thus far confirmed to consist of two partial amnesiacs.
Hands folded on the table politely, I begin. "My name is Mia," I begin. "I've managed to gather from my dodgy memories that I lived here with two or three others, and that I was an armorer and a tailor." As I say that, I'm forced to pause. Memories are sprouting up, blooming like flowers after rainfall...Yes, cold winter nights, staying up late to finish inscribing the runes on a piece of armor. Memories of devoting hours through mild, sunny spring days, the kind I loved to spend outside with my yet-unremembered friends, to perfectly adjust the enchantments to
his raiments; sewn into the fabric of robes like the careful, loving embroidery done in his beloved turquoise color. I can identify with Vi's all-consuming passion for the matters of a shipwright's craft - I can't remember who it was that I made my best work for, but I do know that money was not what fuelled it. My friends deserved only the finest armor and robes, and thus, the finest is what I learned to produce.
It's only Vi's hand brushing over my knuckles, garbed in a fingerless glove just as mine is covered by a full leather one, that breaks me out of my revereé. I must have been silent for a minute or two. "Apologies," I say awkwardly, "I just recalled some things from my life. It seems that my love for the crafting of armor and robes matched your passion for building ships." Vi gives me a little smile, the first I've seen from her yet, and waits patiently for me to sort through my thoughts. Once I've gathered myself, I'm able to continue: "I can also remember a great deal of combat. Monsters of every color, shape, size, and order of strength. Together, we dispatched minor pests for neighbors, and took down Marks that threatened entire villages." I stop right there. What is a Mark? Determined not to let this memory get away, I calm myself and let it meander its way back to me. It almost feels like I'm coaxing it to reveal itself to me. Yes, a Mark - A beast that is unique, or a species whose population can typically be counted on the fingers. They're often made the targets of bounty hunters, experienced trappers, or even just travelling warriors.
The memory unfolding makes me think of something. "Yes," I whisper to myself, "One of them, she was...A trapper. She always wanted to come along so she could gather meat, hides, everything needed from Marks. What was her name?" I look up to Vi. Eyebrows quirked upward once again, she's giving me an interested look with her head angled to the left. "Um," I intone lamely, still a bit stunned by the strange form of recall I'm becoming acquainted with. "I'm regaining memories at a quicker clip, it seems." I can't help but smile.
For the first time, I hear a little chuckle out of Vi.
--- --- ---
Later, we head outside and look around.
Still, there's no sign of any other life in this world but us. As the sun climbs into the sky and the land heats up, I'm forced to discard my gloves and boots. Likewise, Vi takes off her own fingerless gloves. We eventually set to inspecting the local flora, out of sheer boredom.
Most of what we see is just variations of tall grass. Yet Vi draws my attention to a small group of trees, which she spotted on her walk to my home. We're lucky not to end up stuck in the rank water and mud. This part of the area seems to be turning into swampland, and the dense foliage above us prevents much of the sunlight from getting through. I find myself gazing into my feline reflection in the murky water - Barely visible as it is - Before I turn to catch up to Vi.
There, I see her kneeled before a dense patch of weeds. She's carefully digging around, trying to pry something out. Silently I watch, eager to see what she's got. At last, Vi removes the object - A fist-sized chunk of mineral, somewhere between rock and metal. Not even attemtping the futile task of looking for a way to clean her hands, she walks the chunk of odd ore back to me.
Expressionlessly, she places it in my hand. "I thought it might be useful," Vi says plainly. "I'm not sure, but it looks like it might have some use making armor. I figured it would give you a bit of distraction." For a long while, I'm not able to come up with an answer.
I just look at her blankly. Everything about this woman is rough. I don't just mean her decidedly coarse fur and her strong hands, toughened by a life of hard work, either. She's quiet; she's given me displays of a very opinionated, temperamental nature; I've only seen her smile briefly while I've 'known' her, and I've seen her laughter even more briefly.
All the same, Vi's kind, and she's proud of who she is and what she's done, without making a spectacle of it every minute. I consider letting her know how glad I am that I met her, but for now, I just smile and close my fingers on the chunk of ore.
"Thank you," I say calmly. I don't know if Vi can tell how many things I'm thanking her for.