nexus_crossings | Cleaning up after chaos: A post Khan event question

Cleaning up after chaos: A post Khan event question

Not everyone who frequents the Nexus was unfortunate enough to be caught up in Khan's attack. Reynard had ended Winter in his own world and engaged in his usual annual seclusion that, as it always did, ended once he had run out of alcohol. The sight of an obliterated Nexus was not the pub crawling paradise he'd remembered it as. It seems that he's missed the action and stumbled into the aftermath. People are tired, disoriented, upset and in shock, or powering through their emotions by helping organise everyone else. Without much of a thought, Reynard falls into a group that is already working to set everything right again. Or as right as things can be set. As it turns out, an atmosphere of destruction and tragedy does wonders for a Spring-sick Winter spirit.

He looks as awful as he feels, and far more sober than he'd like to be. He's forgone his coat, but kept his gloves on and a makeshift mask for the work at hand. Reynard has volunteered for the grim task of working with the dead. In a shaded area he helps move bodies to rest side by side, covered in shrouds that have started to vary in colour as they run through their supplies. These are the ones who have not, or cannot, be identified.

It's been a long day, and it's been hard graft, and everything feels hotter than it is, especially with the cloth around his face. Reynard takes his gloves off, leans against the edge of a table, and pulls away the mask, revealing an unkempt beard. "What would you like to happen at your funeral?"

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It is unfortunately all too easy for Adia's thoughts to turn melancholic, even at the best of times, but Reynard's words and friendly touch ground her and bring the light back into her smile. "She did... and you're right, the baking isn't important. I don't think I've lived anywhere with a kitchen where I could have done it justice, anyway."

She's not trying to make it sound good, she just doesn't want him to think that she's drinking algae smoothies or eating bowls of green, goopy soup. But his laughter is infectious, and his story about salt has her giggling soon enough. "Salt we have plenty of. It's easy enough to make. I'm surprised you didn't have a literal heart attack, too much salt is bad for the cardiovascular system."

As worn out as he feels, it's not hard to smile back at the turnaround. That he swiftly helped her duck around her sadness makes him a little bit proud of himself. He'll keep that hidden, though.

"If Winter didn't do me the kindness of fixing me up every year I'd certainly be in a much worse state." There's a moment, just a flash, where he feels the vivid pang on loss and it shows, but he's forcing a laugh just as quickly. He pats his stomach and scratches the tangle on his chin. "A bigger belly, for a start, and greyer hair." Those wouldn't be the most striking differences, but they're much easier to laugh at.

That brief glimpse into his loss is difficult to witness. It's relatable and foreign to her all at once, and she hates to see her friend suffer. As much as he bolstered her mood, she wishes she could return the favor and replace his forced laugh with a genuine one. "You'd be better at playing at Father Christmas," she jokes, recalling one of their earlier conversations. "Or Dionysius."

She takes a sip of coffee, trying to think of something else light-hearted to say, but her curiosity over his renewed youth won't leave her mind. "Is that how it works?" she finally asks. "You're taken back to peak condition every winter? Or is it more gradual?"

The comparison gets a moment of consideration before he cocks his head to one side. "You know, I wouldn't mind being either of those. Maybe I'd prefer Father Christmas, a Winter spirit in his own right. And I'd get to share cake with you, rather than just fill your cup when you came to visit."

"It's instantaneous," he says with a flourish and a hollow smile. His eyes glaze over but his hands still gesture as he talks. "I can't help but be as strong as my Season. It cures all my ills, heals all my wounds... Sometimes it will leave scars. To build character. For me to remember, for me to honour that part of my life until I'm ready for it to go. It remembers every sickness and every wound I've taken. I've lost count of how many times it saved me."

"I don't know much about Father Christmas," Adia admits shyly. "I try to read up on Earth holidays when they're celebrated here, but there was too much information to get through. But if you prefer to be him, I won't argue on Dionysius's behalf."

Her only benchmark of this sort of thing is Cylon resurrection, and as she listens to his explanation, she finds it difficult to resist the comparison. A new body has no scars, but maybe reliving one's death is a way to build character. She shifts awkwardly in her seat before cutting herself another slice of cake. "Do you still feel pain in the Winter? Do the scars ever hurt?"

"If we all made that effort we'd be reading until the end of time." He leans in for a lopsided grin. "Father Christmas means I get to host mighty Winter feasts and give gifts to everyone. I'd be like a more popular version of who I am now."

Getting compared to the Cylons is the furthest thing from Reynard's mind as Adia continues her enquiries. The ache in his heart swells and he takes a deep breath before he answer, shifting in his seat, looking suddenly exceptionally tired again. "I don't feel pain in the same way mortals do. I feel it if I take a physical form, but it's numbed. What hurts, what actually causes me pain isn't physical attacks it's… spiritual ones. Ones on the same plane as me. I've never really figured it out. Seances agitate me, getting attacked with a stick of Beltane fire hurts…" Another deep breath. "Some scars hurt. Ones of deep wounds do. I once entered Winter with…" He thinks better of his story and lifts a hand to stop himself. "They ache in the way old scars ache."

Reading until the end of time doesn't sound too bad to Adia, which probably shows on her face. "That would certainly make you popular," she agrees, more thoughtful than amused. She likes him for who he is, flaws and all, but it feels too serious to say during a moment of light-hearted banter, so she takes a bite of cake instead.

The more Reynard explains, the more lost Adia feels. Not much like Cylons at all... not like anything at all, except maybe the myths she read as a child. She doesn't know what Beltane fire is, but that's something she can look up on her own... her questions are only reminding him of his loss, which is not what she wants for her friend. "Sorry for the questions... you aren't like anyone else I've met in the Nexus." She smiles faintly. "I promise I won't try to speak to the dead around you... I tried that once and it didn't work anyway."

The apology, combined with a compliment, gets a small smile from him and he nods. "It's all right. If you do decide to talk to the dead again, just be careful about summoning 'spirits'. It's people being vague that's the trouble."

He slices a shred of cake with his fork, but doesn't eat it, thinking instead. "You never struck me as the seancing type. Or did you use prayer? I could imagine you praying, but not huddled around a table listening to a gypsy woman."

His advice gets a serious nod from her, although the likelihood of her contacting a dead person again is incredibly low. (Unless one counts Harrowheart, which she does not.) "Has, um... has anyone ever tried to summon you?" She asks in a hushed voice, giving the question the solemnity it deserves.

"No, it -- it was in the Nexus. A friend of mine -- well, he wasn't my friend yet, but we became friends later -- he had a spell that let him contact the dead." She drops her gaze, a little embarrassed over what she says next. "I asked him to contact Caspar. I didn't know Cylons resurrected at the time, so... it didn't work, obviously."

"Not on purpose." Now that he says it, it seems a little strange. But then not many are in the habit of summoning Seasonal spirits. "I had an incident with a seance group where I... strongly expressed my disapproval. I might have scared them off of that hobby."

"Ah." He nods in understanding. "It was a fair idea. You're not the first to try to contact dead loved ones..." He shrugs then. "Maybe the first to contact a dead robot."

Adia cringes in sympathy, both for Reynard being summoned against his will, and the poor clueless spirit-enthusiasts who paid the price for it. "Good thing I can text you if I need to get ahold of you. Then you can reply at your leisure."

His understanding takes the sting out of her failed attempt to contact Caspar. She even smiles wryly at his final comment. "The first in the whole multiverse? I doubt it..." Flaking off a bit of ganache with her fork, she spends a long moment preparing another bite of cake. "When I told Julia that a Five released me from the detention center, she was very surprised. It's not in their nature -- or programming, whatever -- to do that. She didn't know why he'd make an exception for me."

That gets a laugh out of him. It's lower, deeper than his usual bark. "Technology has its advantages, even for spirits."

That she grins makes him grin in turn, but he's equally happy to spend time taking small mouthfuls of cake in the silence. When Adia speaks up again, musing aloud, his eyes lift to meet hers. He watches her for a long minute and when he speaks it's with an earthiness, deep and honest but not disapproving. "I don't know what you want me to say." A second passes and he offers, "I could tell you that the people you call your enemies are still people, if you need to hear it aloud. That they think and feel like your people. But I think you knew that already. You always knew that."

She smiles around a sip of coffee, glad to hear him laugh. Truthfully, Reynard has been there for her when she's needed someone the most, but it's nice to know that he can be reached through modern means. "That reminds me, when did you want me to start teaching you about the sciences?"

Shaking her head, she swallows the bite of cake in her mouth. "No, I -- you're right, but that's not why I brought it up. I know that they're like us, but I... I don't think Julia does." She frowns, but it's without the fear, the grief that constantly dogged her musings about Cylons before. Time and distance have made her more thoughtful than afraid. "I don't think they understand themselves at all..."

The question makes him hum thoughtfully. "Good question..." His furrowed brow eases when he starts to rub his beard. "When I can make myself presentable again. A week, maybe two, then we can start."

He picks at his cake slowly as he considers this new thought, sparing a moment to feel grateful he doesn't have to explain uncomfortable notions to his friend. "Like children? Or 'teenagers' as they say. As though they gained their independence and rebelled against their parents without stopping to discover who they are or who their parents are."

"Okay, great." She beams, clearly excited for the opportunity, before tempering her enthusiasm and adding, "But take your time, of course. No rush."

The comparison has crossed her mind before, and she nods in agreement when he finishes. "Julia reminded me a a lot of a teenager, and not just because of that..." A pensive look crosses her face. "It'd be heresy to say back home, but I hope she's okay. I told Will what had happened, maybe he can pass that along to the military."

Her enthusiasm, while a treat to witness, is incredibly difficult for him to return at this point. Familiar as Spring's awful influence is, it grabs him with a melancholy that is troublesome to shake. Still, he tries to muster up some energy, lifting his brow and his voice. "Have you thought about where to start. I hear there's a science for everything. Well. Almost everything."

"The past is riddled with tales of naive children overthrowing their parents in fits of hubris. It wouldn't surprise me." A thin smile appears then. "The military taking your information into consideration, on the other hand. That would surprise me a great deal."

It's why she toned down her excitement, knowing that Reynard is still recovering. She's willing to wait until he feels ready. "I'd like to start with biology, if that's all right with you? It's what I know best. And chemistry is so closely related, I'll cover some of that as well."

"There's something... literally child-like about them, too," Adia remarks as she slices off another bite of cake. "The way they handle their emotions at times, or how hard it is to see things from someone else's point of view..." But that train of thought will have to wait, as Reynard's second comment has her blinking in surprise. "Really? Why?"

A grin curls a corner of his mouth. "I suppose you'll explain the infamous 'germs' that cause us so much trouble." He waves a hand, half shrugging as he does. "It makes no difference to me. I suspect biology might be my strongest area in science but that's not saying much."

The expression on Reynard's face is somewhere between surprise and amusement. "Because nobody wants the enemy to be relatable, to be 'human'. It's easier when they're not."

"Is that so? I knew there was a reason I liked you," Adia teases, although she's glad to hear that he has some knowledge in biology. "Just curious, but what do you know about germs?"

Her surprise turns to quiet dismay. "Oh... that's true, but I thought, um, that if the military knows that the Cylons don't all agree with one another... that, um, that at least one of them would kill another one to protect a human, then maybe they could use that information somehow..."

She trails off and take a bite of her cake, her cheeks tinged pink in embarrassment. Perhaps it was foolish of her to think that her little experience would make any difference to the military. Reynard was a soldier, he would know better than her.

Her smile encourages his own, but the question has him squinting in thought. "Not much. They're quite a modern concept. About a hundred years ago people stopped talking about poisonous air and started worrying about the tiny, invisible 'germs'. There's a lot of talk about them now. About how hygiene and chemicals can get rid of them. About how there are different kinds that cause different illnesses, which is why people get so many vaccines. Animals too. Different ones live in different places, don't they? Water or blood or air."

The amusement in his expression vanishes, becoming more apologetic. He shifts awkwardly in his seat as he sighs. "Ignore me, Adia. I'm old and cynical. I don't know what your people will do. Modern warfare is a different beast to the one I know."

"Only a hundred years," Adia remarks, more thoughtful than surprised. Reynard's Earth has limited space travel and uses fossil fuels, it makes sense that their understanding of germs is relatively recent, as well. "You know more than you give yourself credit for. And yes, different germs live in different places. That's true for all microorganisms, but it's especially important for germs because it determines how they're transmitted."

She looks ready to say more, but pauses and reaches for her coffee instead. Always ready for a good talk about germs, she'd rather not bombard Reynard with information just yet. "I'm going to see if I can find a microscope that I can borrow... or at least some quality photos. Part of the fun is seeing what these things actually look like."

That makes her feel a little better, even though she shakes her head at his self-assessment. "No, you're... you're experienced and wise. I don't know anything about fighting or strategy."

It's high praise to hear Adia's approval of his knowledge and he can't help but smile. Some things he might not understand, but he tries to keep up with what's relevant. "I talk to my fair share of farmers, and they're all too happy to share their worries."

"I've seen some of them before," he chimes in. The idea that he's more familiar with these things than he thought adds a touch of enthusiasm as he waves a fork and talks. "They're colourfull blobs with tiny hairs and eyes, and speckled skin. Some are roundish and some are long. I've seen them on posters in hospitals and doctors officers."

Her compliment gets a chuckle. "That is a much kinder perspective." Then he sighs and tries for an encouraging smile. "We can't know what will happen. We can only hope our actions will bring about some good."

"It'd make sense for them to worry about that, domestic animals are prone to so many diseases... how come you're talking to farmers? It is because of where you live?" She's rather proud of Reynard for trying to stay relevant, especially for things that might not affect him directly.

But it sounds like he'll still need some education on the subject, because... germs don't have eyes. Or color, really, or... what is he talking about? She listens in confusion until he mentions that he's seen these creatures on posters, and then his description clicks. "Um... I think what you saw were... cartoons, maybe? An artistic license. Germs don't look like that."

She feels a little bad breaking the news, not wanting to dampen his enthusiasm. That's kind of adorable, though. She doesn't think him any less wise, at least. She nods thoughtfully at his advice. "I feel like the future is even more uncertain for me now, but... not in a bad way, if that makes sense."

"I like farmers," he proclaims. "They hardly change, and if you know one then you'll know their family and the newer generation is easier to understand. Besides, land and animals are familiar topics."

It's true, Reynard deflates into a frown when she corrects him. Why would posters in a doctor's officebe wrong? He sighs and shakes his head. "Maybe they don't know what germs look like in my world."

He nods in understanding, eyes glazing over thoughtfully. "They say change is good. It's certainly not unwelcome sometimes. "

Based on his description, she can see why he likes them. "I never knew any farmers," she admits. "Most of our produce was grown on Aerilon." She looks at him thoughtfully. "Have you ever tried to grow anything?"

Aww, that's a shame, to see him lose his zest for the topic. "They probably do, but they want the posters to attract people's attention..." She sets aside her coffee mug and pats his arm encouragingly. "I can show you photos of microorganisms that are more complex than germs. Tardigrades are my favorite. They have eight little legs with claws on the end and they can live anywhere, even in space."

"I'll be curious to see how the Nexus rebuilds itself," she comments quietly, his comment on change making her think of the destruction outside. "The Nexus is always changing, but not usually so dramatically."

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