Somewhere Beyond Chapter Three

Chapter 3: Other Perspectives

    Emerald awoke with light shining directly into her eyes from a skylight above. It wasn't particularly bright - light that originated from all points thankfully didn't send blinding rays right at you. Wow, I slept in bath all night, she thought. She raised her hand. Pruned as hell. Emerald chuckled, and thought, good to know that still happens.
    She stood up, and hopped out of the bath. She dried herself off, got dressed in her dry clothes, and wandered off to find Ian's library.

    When Emerald found the library, she found that Ian had been true to his word. Five books lay open on the table, several bolts of cloth and tools beside it. There was a small stack of thread, and a pile of clothing as well.
    "Sweet," muttered Emerald. She rifled through the clothing, pulling out anything she thought looked okay.
    She found an old style dress - something from the 1800s, it looked like, a modern skirt, a blouse, some underwear, a pair of sneakers and a pair of flats were all that she took, along with a couple of t-shirts and pants meant for guys, but would look okay.
    She lay them out on the table, and grabbed measuring tape.

    Ian found her there after he emerged several hours later. She making adjustments to the blouse so that it fit her, carefully pulling the material tighter with some thread.
    "Good afternoon. I trust that you found all that you needed?" Ian asked her.
    Emerald looked up, and replied, "Yes, thank you. Hi, too." She held up the blouse. "This was a bit big, but I've almost got it fitting. It'll be nice to be able to wear something different."
    "You are not having any trouble or anything?" Ian asked.
    "No," Emerald replied, smiling. "There's more than enough information in these books to help me figure out whatever."
    "Wonderful. If you are entertained here, then I shall head out and check the woods around my home for anything undesirable."
    "I'll be fine," Emerald said.
    "Have fun then," Ian said. "I shall be back later."

    Several hours later, once again, Ian returned. Peering into the room, he saw that Emerald had the blouse on, and was inspecting herself in the hand mirror he had left amongst the tools. He knocked on the door frame politely.
    "Oh, hey," Emerald said, looking at him. "I think I've finally got it right. It's kind of harder than it looks to adjust things just right, um, kind of unsurprisingly, really."
    "It took me a lot longer to get any sort of hang of it at all," Ian said, "Although I managed eventually. In truth, I learnt so that I could make and adjust my own clothing, and I still do from time to time. The materials oft used for clothesmaking here are a lot tougher than their living equivalents - though there are some that are not - and as such I need only repair or replace my clothing rarely."
    "Considering how long everyone is around, I'm not really surprised," replied Emerald. "Hm, thinking of things that wear away, how old are these books? They don't seem... Old, at all. But the paper - or whatever it is - feels a bit weird, kind of smoother than normal paper."
    "The books are between several hundred and tens of thousands of years old. They are printed on 'slicestone', a type of stone that can be burnt to leave permanent etchings - the words and images on the pages - and can be sliced incredibly thin and bends easily. There are several other paper replacements, but this 'stone' - though not really a stone, as such - is common and easy to print upon."
    "Cooool," said Emerald, dragging the o out. "What was it you were writing on the yesterday, then? Or, what were you writing with?"
    Ian smiled, and said, "I was writing with a 'heat pen', that works on a similar principle to the bath. Unlike the bath, however, the heat is concentrated to a point, allowing the stone to be burnt. The material is the same, of course, to preserve my notes."
    "Doesn't it smell when you burn it?"
    "The chemical reaction that occurs actually releases no gasses; the heat just changes the structure of the stone where applied - and changes its colour." Noticing that Emerald was looking confused, he said, "It is not really burning, as such, rather it is a chemical reaction induced by the application of heat."
    "Uh," Emerald said, staring off into space. After a couple of seconds,her eyes focused on Ian again. "I think I get you. I haven't ever studied chemistry, but, um, I'll just go with 'it doesn't smell or really burn, heat just makes the stone change colour'."
    "That is a far simpler, and accurate, description of what occurs. I apologise for my rather unfortunate use of jargon."
    "Don't worry about it, it was very science-y."
    Ian smiled, amused at Emerald's use of 'science-y'. "I think I will retire for the night. I shall see you in the morning, at which time I will like to give you a tour of the woods, if you are willing."
    "Sounds great," replied Emerald.

    A while after Ian had left, Emerald decided that she had finished for the night. The blouse fit her well, now, and she had resized a pair of gloves she had found to fit as well. The blouse itself was more or less a women's business shirt, rather than anything fancy, but that was a plus, as far as she was concerned.
    Emerald placed a pair of pants in the middle of her 'work area', and sat down on a chair to think for a bit. It's a bit weird to be here, and miss my friends and family, yet know they'll be here someday, and feel thankful for that... And realise that I'm thankful that they'll all one day be dead, she thought. It might be nicer if the ratio of time was the other way around; each day here a year for the living. Then I could go find my friends and family, and we could all... Spend time together. Although it might get a bit boring eventually.
    Emerald let out a soft "pfffft" sound at her musings. Instead I get to spend years, hopefully, before I meant anyone I know - and I have to find them, too. Then again, I could live near where they would be, and keep track of them by asking possible acquaintances and stuff... That'd work, probably. Bev'd be a bitch to keep track of, though.
    Sighing, Emerald stood and made her way to her bedroom. As she walked, she thought, I'll see them again, some day, with so many experiences under my belt, and new friends. Even if someone I know died in the next week, I'd have been here seven years, and it would take me far more to find them. So we'd both be very, very different; and in all likelihood they would be nowhere near as lucky as I have been.
    So I won't get to see anyone I've met in my thirty-eight years of life until I've lived more than I have lived already here. Fucking great. This place needs waiting rooms, or the internet, or something. Emerald huffed grumpily as she settled down to sleep, removing most of her clothes and pulling the fade cloth covers over herself.
    At least when I finally find someone I can amaze them with what I've learnt, or something.

    The next morning Emerald awoke to a faint wailing sound. It seemed to be coming from outside, so she rose and looked out the window.
    Far in the distance, in between the sparse trees, a series of wagons and caravans were slowly winding along, and a strange, large horn device that sat upon one, apparently the source of the noise. Huh. I guess these are the wanderers Ian talked about, thought Emerald. She watched them for a while, then dressed herself and wandered off to find Ian.

    Emerald found Ian in his kitchen, searching through a pantry. "Morning," she said, getting his attention.
    "Good morning," he replied, "Have you noticed the wailing?" She nodded, so he continued, "They're a group of traders that I convinced to resupply me from time to time. The wailing is actually their way of scaring off any bandits - or attracting stupid ones. There are two like myself in the group, along with fifty-odd well armed fades. They come through by here as my home lies just slightly off one of the optimal paths through to another city."
    Ian continued rifling around, and Emerald said, "What are you doing?"
    "Getting a welcome meal ready," Ian said, "Out of politeness."
    "Ah," said Emerald. "Cool. Can I help?"
    "There are some things you can do, yes," replied Ian. He pointed at one of the counters, on which sat what appeared to be bread, but not particularly corporeal. "Cut that into slices; there's a knife... Here that you can use."

    Emerald helped Ian out, handling some of the fade food. The servings were small, and had significant variety. There was quite a bit of colour in the meals prepared for the fades, where more solid edibles were mixed in or less colourful food was dyed.
    Ian and her laid them out on the table, and set it; and when all was prepared they opened the front door and stood outside, waiting. The wagons were close, and Emerald got a better look at them.
    The wagons themselves seemed to be made out of some kind of wood, although Emerald assumed that it was incredibly light itself, as she saw a fade pop out of a hatch on top of one wagon. They were simple, and practical, lacking the intricate carving of Ian's home.
    They rested upon wheels that looked as if they were made of metal, and were drawn by strange creatures. A pair drew each wagon, but each was different from the others. They seemed solid, and were white and hairless. They tromped on four or five legs, and had helmets over their heads.
    "What are those things?" Emerald asked Ian, curious.
    "Lesser beasts, that have been magically forced into servitude. That is what the helmets are for. Some a ridable, but for the most part they are used for hauling burdens," Ian told her.
    "They - they used to be human!" Emerald asked, shocked.
    "Yes; though not for a very long time," Ian said, apparently unphased. "They would, if not controlled, be killing or killed - so this is a better fate, marginally."
    "That's... Pretty creepy, Ian. How can only two of them draw the wagons? Aren't the wgaons really heavy?"
    "The wagons themselves, no," Ian replied, confirming Emerald's suspicion. "The contents often are, but there will be anti-gravity devices on the crates to reduce the load. It takes them a while to get moving, because getting the horizontal velocity going can take a while, but they can manage it."
    "Okay, cool. Heeey, is there anything I need to do when we greet them, to not piss them off?"
    "Do whatever you feel is appropriate. You won't be able to follow the conversation between myself and the fades, however, as they'll be talking in sign language. The two like me know English, however, so you may hold a discussion with them, if you feel so inclined."
    The wagons drew close, and Ian waved to a fade atop one. A solid - as Emerald had grown to think of them - stoodup, and yelled "Hey to the house! Ian, we approach! Hope ya've heard us, mate! We're about to arrive!"
    "Of course I have heard you!" Ian bellowed in return. "Now hurry up and get over here!"
    The wagons continued their approach, moving through the few trees that remained. They stopped in the trees, and a swarm of fades disembarked and began removing the reins from the beasts.
    Emerald was surprised at how hard it was to count the mass - all the fades sort of blurred into each other, their brown colouration and slight transparency making it hard to get a clear view of the mass.
    The two solids pulled a large crate out of the back of one carriage, and started hauling it over to Ian and Emerald. Three armoured - partially covered in some kind of silvery metal - fades walked up, one apparently the leader of the group, who wore a red and blue headband.
    The solids dropped the crate down, and Ian shook hands (overly gently, it seemed to Emerald) with the leader. He made several signs to the leader, who responded in kind.
    One of the watching solids said, "Ian just told us you're new here, hm, Emerald, I think? It is a rare word in the language, as there is no such gem here."
    "Yes," Emerald said, as loud as she could.
    "I've asked Darren to repeat what we speak of aloud for you," said Ian. "The other like me is Francois, who despite his name is the one with the Australian accent. The leader of this group is Mikhail Novgorodgi."
    Mikhail began making signs again, and Ian started to respond. "Let us return to business," said Darren, translating. "Most importantly, we have come here to inform you that Somerset has been destroyed. Ian's just done a slang exclamation, it means something along the lines of 'oh fuck damn'. Some sort of internal chaos. The route has become unprofitable. So this is the last time I will see you? Yes, my friend.
    "I hope you've brought the usual stuff, then. But of course. Excellent, let us head inside to discuss the price, I have prepared a small meal for all. Mikhail just used an expression along the lines of 'haha, yay, smile', although it's a bit more serious and less flippant than that sounds."
    "Thank you, Darren," said Ian. "Let us head inside."
    At a signal from Mikhail, the Australian, Francois, yelled out "Hey mates! Dinnertime!"
    "They like him for his loud voice, you see," said Ian as they went inside. Francois chuckled and slapped him on the back for his efforts.

    Emerald sat between Darren and Francois at the table, on Ian's left. On Ian's right sat Mikhail (now dressed in a colourful outfit) and his two second-in-charges, and the rest of the fades (bar a couple who remained outside guarding the caravan) were array along the table. Emerald was kind of surprised that such a huge table actually saw use.
    "Ian'sa clever one," said Francois. "You're probably still bursting with questions, yet talking to a bunch of fades who speak only one common language, that you don't know, would suck. So he sticks you between us! Hah!"
    "Frank, honestly," said Darren. "Let the woman talk if she wants. And after three days here, I think her questions are more likely to be about ourselves, and intent on garnering another perspective on this world."
    Francois rolled his eyes. "Ya're a grumbly old git sometimes."
    Emerald giggled a little, and said, "I do have a bunch of questions. The first one is, how come you guys remember Ian so well? From what he's said, he hasn't seen anyone in twenty years."
    "Ah, yes, the conundrum of how we all remember so many of those like us. It seems that our memories are a lot... Stronger, and lose less over time, here. Instead of faces fading over a lifetime of fifty years, they fade over a small eternity of fifty thousand. Ian travelled almost everywhere relatively recently, by our standards, so many, many remember him; and he remembers them," Darren replied.
    "Hey," said Emerald, dragging the y. "Can you tell me about him being used as bait? He didn't give a very detailed explanantion, beyond 'used as bait'."
    "Now that is a tale," said Francois. "Although I prob'ly shouldn't tell it myself, seeing as I was not around for most of it."
    "About four hundred and seventy years ago," Darren began, setting aside his fork, "A completely solid, four story high beast emerged. It had colour - mad splashed of rainbow all over it, shining scales and patches of bright and dull coloured fur. It stood on four legs, and had a long, spined tail. Its head dominated its body, a two story tall maw that swallowed structures whole.
    "After emerging somewhere quite far away from here, it rampaged through city after city, devouring entire empires. Us solids gathered together to fight it, but despite the greatest warriors amongst us fighting it, it killed almost everyone. So, the survivors hatched a desperate plan. They lured it to a science city, and told Ian and a group of fades that they were to draw it into a trap in the centre of the city.
    "They got the beast's attention, and it chased them, wreaking havoc in the city as it went. They drew it all the way to the centre of the city, where a great solidification machine was being constructed - a machine that was hoped to be twice as efficient in use of the red mineral, but required much more of it to be setup.
    "From what Ian said, he, and the few surviving fades leapt into the courtyard the machine stood in, and raced towards it, expecting an ambush to be launched upon the beast. But as they stood beside the machine, the beast smashing through the structure they had just leapt from, no such attack occurred.
    "Ian looked to the machine, and saw a note attacked to the start lever. It said, simply, 'pull'. Ian tells me that he knew what it would do as soon as he saw it, penned in the handwriting of the ambush's 'organiser'. And as the beast tore down upon him, he did it. He pulled the lever, and the machine's internals, underground, started to activate.
    "Being a beast that loved terror, it slammed his companions into the ground, flattening them, and looked Ian right in the eye, curious as to why he stood there, fearless. With a great rumble, the ground cracked beneath them, and the beast roared a final roar - for right then, the machine exploded. The entire city was destroyed, and now all that remains is a crater.
    "When the decision to completely destroy a city that housed roughly a million fades, a hundred uninvolved solids (though many more who were involved), and wealth beyond imagining proved unpopular in the following decades, the group made it out as if the ambush had been Ian's plan, and his plan alone. Ian spent a century cleaning up his reputation, and was incredibly pissed at those responsible."
    "Wow," said Emerald. "That's kind of... A dick move, really."
    "That's what I said," added Francois.
    "Francois and I joined the battle against the beast and were slain, so thankfully he has no grudge against us. Those he does have a grudge against directly he does not like at all," finished Darren.
    "Hmmm," said Emerald, returning to her food after listening intently, "Any other interesting stories?"
    "'bout Ian or just in general?" asked Francois, grinning.
    "Either, guys. Embarassing stories about Ian if any, but I'm not picky."
    "We don't really have any about Ian," said Darren. "Maybe a bit of malicious gossip, but nothing that's for sure. About this place, well, how much do you know about the fall of the warlords?"
    "Ian mentioned that a bunch of you guys used to be dictators and, like, oppress the fade masses and stuff like that. He didn't say anything specific, though."
    "Well, none of us - myself, Ian or Francois - have been around long enough to have actually been there. In fact, I've only been here since the nineteen seventies, and Francois since World War Two. What basically happened is that those of us who favoured individual freedom and felt that this should be a paradise, not a hell, grew to great enough numbers - and crafted great enough weapons - that we could defeat the armies.
    "Millions of fades served in thousands of empires, and kingdoms, and one by one they were dismantled. Those that ran them were captured, and are still all imprisoned. There are huge patches of land in this place that are full of empty and destroyed fortifications. Most who fought in it say that it was strange - as they went, it became easier and easier; and in the end all were free.
    "There were ideas of founding some kind of order to replace the kingdoms, but... Before that could happen, most of the former armies, cowed initially by the power of those like us, went rogue. The kill one thousand rumour - at that time not disproven - made the rounds, and... They killed each other. They let the solids pass, and the rare fade, but for the most part there was only death.
    "Apparently several nearby mad swarms came to the area as well, and... The place where the final battle was fought, where the last empire was overwhelmed, is now a mass of fades endlessly killing each other. Many did flee, and some completely gave up their warlike ways, but most are there still, slaying one another.
    "As for those that led them, they are imprisoned - hopefully forever - in a deep prison that spirals down into the depths of the world. They are buried, unable to move except to breath, in concrete, and most have long since gone mad. Or so legend has it. As far as I can tell, they were all killed about ten years later, when their armies were completely lost, and have mostly been stuck on the same level as the rest of us since."
    "Well, a few have tried to raise new empires, with a little success," injected Francois, "but most have not. And if they ever get to big, we stomp 'em down."
    "Wow, that's all... Kind of epic," said Emerald. "I have another question for you two, what are you doing working for a fade caravan? Shouldn't you be running it, or something?"
    Francois laughed aloud. "Mikhail is a cunning operator," he said. "We get paid more than anyone else on the caravan, only by a little though. We both like the travel, and having something to do, and Mikhail - and some of the others - are good company, so we hang around."
    "I am here for the same reasons. Unlike Ian, who travelled mostly alone, Francois or I would be bored to death walking all that way. We're more interested in meeting new people, like yourself, instead of seeing the land. The biggest reason we don't run it, though, is that Mikhail is really, really good at it. The man has been here for maybe seven hundred years, and the rumour is that he has enough red stuff stashed to almost half-solidify himself," added Darren.
    "That's a lot of... Wealth I guess," said Emerald. "Is there a proper name for the, uh, 'red stuff'?"
    "Not really," said Darren. "There are a couple of proper names, but they are hard to say and remember. It's like, solidification machines rather than anything sensible or cool."
    "Are there many of those, by the way?"
    "A few, but they rarely get used. There are perhaps, hm, fifty solids who used to be fades, out of about twenty thousand solids in all of this place, and billions of fades."
    "Okay," Emerald poked the remnants of her food for a little, and said, "There's a question I want to ask you guys that's a little awkward but I can't ask Ian because that would be really awkward."
    "Shoot," said Darren, at the same time Francois said, "Go for it, mate."
    "How does sex work here?" asked Emerald.
    Francois guffawed, despite Emerald's lack of embarassment. Darren sighed and gave Francois a you-idiot style look. "Quite normally, but without any children or pregnancy, for both fades and solids," said Darren, "Fade-solid sex tends to be kind of problematic and difficult, due to the, well, difference in solidness. One side barely feels anything, the other tends to get hurt. Socially, no one really cares much about what goes on, because all the hyper-religious and moral types tend to quieten up after they end up here (and are highly under-represented in those who send up here as solids).
    "As a specific case, Ian will not impose nor even attempt to flirt with you, as he acts like a gentleman all the time, which does get a little dull, despite it being good to have someone reliable around. If you wish to have some kind of liaison with him, you will have to make the first move yourself, although he will happily make subsequent moves - it's apparently gentlemanly."
    "Thanks," said Emerald. "But why do you know so much about how Ian... Works?"
    Darren smiled lightly. "He got really, really drunk last time we came through. Mikhail's fault, mostly, the canny operator that he is. Francois and I had had a little too much, and had gotten discussing how we met and, uh-"
    Francois laughed aloud, and Emerald said, "I could tell you two were gay, don't worry."
    "Cool, phew," said Darren. "Last time I dropped that casually about five different people freaked. Nothing they could do about it, being fades, but they were new and from some really religious group."
    "Exception to the rule, man," said Francois.
    Emerald jammed the last bit of food in her mouth, chuckling.

    The group happily chatted through the second, third and fourth rounds of drinks, and all went to bed rather drunk. Ian and Mikhail, who had not been drinking, moved to a study of Ian's to continue their discussion.
    Emerald crashed into her bed, barely managing to take off some of her clothing, and chuckled innerly at her ability to 'accidentally' pour a half glass of the booze being consumed, instead of a fifth.

    The next morning Emerald awoke feeling surprisingly well. I guess hangovers are another thing I no longer get, she thought. Pretty cool! I wonder if it's the same for solids.
    Emerald got up, and put her clothes back on. After tidying herself up a bit, she left her room to go see what was going on that morning.
    From the top of the stairwell she spotted Ian overseeing stream of fades heading in and out, moving things on trolley wheels. "I have had to do a lot of trading now that I intended to do in the future," called out Ian. "So there's a lot of moving stuff around being done!
    "Mikhail said he wanted to take you on a walk last night during our discussion, so if you want to you can go find him! I am going to be quite busy for a while, unfortunately, though you may entertain yourself otherwise if you wish!"
    Emerald walked down to stand beside Ian, and said, "Alright, where is he?"
    "Mikhail!" called out Ian. To Emerald, he said, "He speaks English perfectly fine, as well as several other languages. He says he found it useful in his early days, without Darren or Francois to act as an interpreter."
    Mikhail emerged from a corridor, once again armoured. He leaned close to Emerald, and said, "You have agreed to accompany me?"
    "Yes. Do you know much about these woods?" replied Emerald.
    "Quite a bit. Ian and myself, we have traded knowledge of this place a great deal. I travel through it often, and he lives within it. It is a natural, and beneficial, trade."
    Ian focused on the pair again, his attention having been redirected to the bustling fades. "You may as well head off now, I've got this mess handled," said Ian.
    "I hope so, my friend," said Mikhail. He held out his arm for Emerald. "Take it if you wish. I am not terribly up to date with modern customs."
    Emerald rolled her eyes at Mikhail, and started walking towards the door. "Some how I doubt that, Mikhail."
    Mikhail, catching up and walking beside her with ease, said, "Mike, please."

    They walked into the woods, following a straight path away from Ian's home. "So is there any particular reason for asking me to accompany you on a walk?" Emerald asked Mikhail, breaking the silence.
    "A couple, in fact," replied Mikhail. "Firstly, I enjoy a walk, and more so when accompanied by a beautiful lady."
    Emerald chuckled, and said, "Really? It's not really surprising. What were you in life, a merchant prince?"
    "A poor Russian man, with little money, a useless degree, and an intense interest in the merchant prince of old. I have only been here for seven hundred years! I died perhaps only two years ago, in the place the living live."
    "Are you having the time of your life here, then?"
    Mikhail grinned broadly, "Of course I am, my new friend." Mikhail's grin faded, and he continued, "But the second reason I have for speaking to you is to ask whether you wish to come with my caravan, to civilisation. Ian mentioned that you may be interested, and I thought away from the chaos was the best place to discuss it with you."
    Emerald was quiet for a little while, and then she said, "I'll stay here, I think. I know that travelling alone would be suicide, and that I won't get an opportunity to go anywhere for a very long time, but... Well, unless Ian's sick of me taking advantage of his charity, which he might be I guess, I've got a good deal here, really. Ian is incredibly nice, really."
    "This is, more or less, how I would act in this situation. I know Ian better than any other in my caravan, and I can tell you that he does not resent giving charity. I also know that he will appreciate having someone to talk to; initially he intended to have a fully staffed mansion, but he realised that he could not pay anyone so he abandoned the idea.
    "In truth, it is a nice enough place that I am sure several would live there, especially if he mentioned his research's goal. I should probably tell you that only a few know of what it is about, as he does not wish it spread far and wide. Of the two solids, only Darren knows, as he does not tend to boast or foolishly spread tales when drunk."
    "Why speak about it to me out here then? I mean, if I was silly enough to not remember that I'm going to be stuck here for years I might have gone 'oh wow' and slapped my forehead, but it's not really... A big secret or anything."
    "To avoid embarassing Ian, really. The man has trouble - in a fairly old school way - dealing with being discussed. Once he said 'It is ungentlemanly to hear oneself discussed so frankly!'."
    Emerald smiled. "Are others like him, from that period and older, also a bit weird?"
    "They have values that come from years ago, combined with values they have gained here, and values brought by those who have come more recently. They're pretty strange for the most part, to be honest, except those from the past seventy years ago or so. Same goes for those like you and I, actually, although we tend to be more modern - those who died recently greatly outnumber those from millenia ago, and quite a few from older times have lost their minds in a swarm. Eventually we'll be the strange ones, mind!"
    "That's so long in the future I can't be bothered thinking about it. Hey, can I ask you some questions that bug me a lot? I mean, for Ian they don't apply so much, but you died two living years ago and maybe you're still thinking about them? Um, it, I meant, but-"
    "I know what you mean, Emerald. Those left behind. Should we search for them? I feel the urge, sometimes, yet I know that most of those I would seek out likely live still. Perhaps if I become rich enough, I will one day setup a network so that we may all find one another. But there is time yet, I think, for me, and for you."
    Emerald shook her head, and looked out at the terrain surrounding them. "I- I hope I don't forget them."
    "Don't get killed, and you won't have to worry about it. I, myself, have never died here, and I do not intend to. I remember my mother, my father, my sisters, my brother, my cousins, my aunts, my uncles, and my grandparents. Perhaps one day I shall run into them, and have them join me - or perhaps merely know where they are. Despite wishing to see them again, there were none so close to me that I could not spend time apart from them."
    "Same here, actually," said Emerald, almost sighing. "My living life was a bit of a mess, and a waste. I never settled down, really. But I was almost ready to."
    Mikhail looked at her, quizzically. "You don't look old enough to be that world weary. What are you, early to mid twenties?"
    "I was thirty-eight when I died, but I never really though of myself as that old. Ian said that's why I look that young here."
    "Hm," muttered Mikhail. "I had head of people who first appeared different from how they were in life, but I've never met one. There are many, actually, who learn of how this works and then kill themselves, believing they will come back as they want to be. It works sometimes, but only because they believe so strongly that they will come back in such a way; to do it properly you need to reimagine yourself completely - which is pretty hard."
    "H-How could you kill yourself, knowing what would happen? That you'd start forgetting everything, and lose part of who you are!"
    "They desire to look as they have always wanted to, or desire items they see as extensions of themselves. Some even do it in despair, or as a means of escape. Actually, from what I hear, if you live for long enough between, despite losing parts of yourself you are never completely lost; you, in a way, grow back to fullness."
    "I don't want to forget my friends, or my life. Ever."
    "Then don't die, and find a way to become solid. This is what I intend myself, and shall hopefully accomplish."

    They walked in silence for a time, bar Mikhail's occasional comments about the trees and bushes. The vast majority were useless, but the occasional copse of trees - barely different from the others - was a different, useful species. One was obviously a kind of spectral, fade-esque wood, another useful for its strength, weight, and ability to burn. Some bushes had edible berries upon them (that, more importantly, could be brewed to create strange drinks).
    "I believe it is time for us to turn around," said Mikhail, after they had been walking for roughly an hour.
    "Will all the hustle bustle be done by the time we get back?" asked Emerald.
    "Likely," replied Mikhail. "I should hope so, anyway." He winked at Emerald. "Or we could make a little stop out here in the woods?"
    "No," said Emerald, "I'm sure you have some tail in your caravan that's perfectly fine, Mike."
    Mikhail grinned. "Not even tempted?"
    "I may have been a party girl in life, but I wasn't a slut. I usually ended up to fucked to remember what I'd done; but I almost always woke up at the party in a heap, not in a stranger's bed. And I never tarted around in the parts I can remember, either."
    "But surely you're a refined modern woman, perfectly capable of choosing to have sex if she wishes?"
    "And she doesn't wish to, Mike," Emerald said, staring right at Mikhail, "She doesn't wish to."
    "Ah well," said Mikhail, "Maybe some other time."

    They walked back jovially, Emerald mostly cracking jokes at Emerald's expense as he flirted with her. As they drew close to Ian's home, Emerald could see that the wagons were once again packed, and everyone - including Ian - was waiting outside.
    "Perhaps we shall meet again, milady," said Mikhail, inclining himself with a smile.
    Emerald curtsied in response, and said, "Perhaps, Merchant Prince. Perhaps."
    With a chuckled, Mikhail split off from Emerald to head to his wagons, while Emerald veered off towards Ian. As she reached him, he said, "I hope Mikhail did not try to seduce you," said Ian, "He is, as they say, a smooth operator."
    "He did try, and he didn't succeed," said Emerald. "He's not very good at seduction, for all that he might be a terror commercially. Kind of cute acting, and obviously pretty powerful, but he's not a heart-melter."
    Ian looked at Emerald with a slightly surprised look. "For once, I do not think I fully understood you! But, well," Ian paused, looking embarassed, "What you do with yourself in such a manner is your business."
    Emerald punched Ian in the arm as hard as she could (as she remembered her weakness). "Don't fret about it, Ian. I don't mind," she said.
    Ian smiled, slowly. "Modern women are... Strange, to me," he said. "As are quite a few modern values. But I try to keep an open mind."
    Emerald grinned broadly, and giggled. "Good man!" she said, noticing that Mikhail was approaching.
    "Time to say our goodbyes," said Ian.

    Ian and Emerald walked over to where Mikhail stood, flanked by his guards, Francois and Darren. "If you would please, Darren, speak so that Emerald knows what is going on," Ian said.
    "Alright," said Darren. As Ian started making signs to Mikhail, Darren said, "I will see you again some time, Mikhail, though it may be a long time. I'll visit you eventually, Ian, but likely without my caravan. A sort of nodding/acquiesence expression, and then Ian says good luck, and a safe journey to you all. Mikhail laughs, and says good luck sitting around here all day, and good luck to green sto - oh, Emerald, right."
    Mikhail saluted Emerald, and turned around with his guards. "See you later, Ian and Emerald," said Darren, aloud.
    "Next time, mates," added Francois.
    "Goodbye and good luck!" said Ian, as the pair turned to follow Mikhail.
    "See you later," said Emerald as loud as she could, waving. The wailing sound began again, as the wagons began to move. Emerald and Ian stood, waving, until the last wagon blurred in the distance.
    "Lunch?" Ian asked.
    "Sounds nice," replied Emerald.