nexus_crossings | Why people don't like spirits

Why people don't like spirits

The weather has been irritatingly unpredictable this year. Sunny one day, a blizzard the next. It's almost impossible to plan for. Today Reynard has made sure the Nexus is smothered in a thick blanket of snow, and it's nearly perfectly smooth. The Nexus might as well be a different landscape. It's hard to tell what a person is stepping on until they take the chance to wade in. Bins, boulders, benches, street curbs are all probably the most normal things a traveller might find themselves cracking shins and toes against.

At a very strategically chosen point however, some poor people find themselves in a bit of a bother. After getting this far all it takes is one step and they find themselves chest deep in the snow. Struggling will only testify to how packed tight the freezing blanket is. Digging themselves out might be possible, but slow.

It doesn't take long before a sing-song voice comes through the air.

"A house for a five headed creature,
A tool that carves rock and earth,
A measure against misadventure,
A gift often owned from birth."

Reynard walks on top of the snow with his usual confident stroll. He crouches in front of his unfortunate victim, tilts his head and asks, "What am I?"

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His hands pause in their efforts when he feels himself sink down another inch. He is at Reynard's mercy, and the thought fills him with a profound disgust. But after a slow breath in and out, he resumes digging. So long as he can retrieve his PINpoint, he can leave, but he's not going to give the winter spirit the satisfaction if he can help it.

"No, thanks," he says evenly. "I've been getting along with others just fine. In fact, the only people who seem to have a problem with me are you and that little green alien who calls himself Shark. So you're in great company."

Reynard watches Caspar struggle and talk with a smile that looks pinned on his face, half forgotten. When the cylon is quite done he says, "I don't have a problem with you. I didn't make this for you, you know. Taking it personally, or badly, or in good spirits, is your choice."

"Of course, while you're here you could always pass the time with a riddle or two," he suggests casually.

Caspar looks up, an eyebrow raised incredulously. Doesn't have a problem...? "I'll keep that in mind," he replies tightly, his gaze returning to the task in front of him. Reynard is not acting as he expected; he'll have to be more careful with his words.

Riddles. He wrinkles his nose at the thought. He never liked riddles, they were a distinctly human pastime, a puzzle that could not be solved by formula or brute force. Much like the snow in front of him, which doesn't seem to be lessening, despite how many handfuls he pushes aside. "Will you get me out of here if I play along?"

Caspar puts forward his proposition and Reynard considers it, turning his gaze thoughtfully to the snowy trap. After taking a little longer than he probably should to think about such a simple agreement, he looks to Caspar again.

"I'll be a gentleman, and I won't let you sink any deeper. Does that sound fair?"

Caspar continues to dig while Reynard thinks over his offer. He's barely making progress, but what's important is to keep enough of his chest clear so that he can reach his PINpoint if necessary.

It does not sound fair, but he'll take what he can get. "Fine, it's a deal." He tilts his head expectantly. "Can you repeat the riddle for me?"

Reynard is not the only one who knows how to stall.

"A house for a five headed creature,
A tool that carves rock and earth,
A measure against misadventure,
A gift often owned from birth."

Reynard gives him a moment to take all of that in before finally asking, "What am I?"

It's the same stupid riddle as before. He digs at the snow, blank-faced, while he tries to come up with a plausible answer.

The immediate word that comes to mind is "gloves", but it makes no sense with the final line. A hand is not really a house, either. Is there a literal five-headed creature out there somewhere? His jaw tightens in annoyance. He'd clench his hands, too, except they're starting to ache from the chill.

"A fist?" he finally guesses, because that's what he'd like to make right now.

Reynard watches Caspar dig, patiently waiting for an answer. He can see the cylon making slow progress, but he's in no rush to stop him just yet.

"No." He lets a moment pass before asking, "Do you want an easier one?"

Oh, so sad, he guessed wrong. Whatever. At least Reynard has kept his word and he isn't sinking any deeper into the snow.

What he wants is to be out of this snowdrift. He doesn't care if the offer is a slight at his intelligence, although the fact that he's going to be asked another riddle does not ease the tension in his jaw. But what choice does he have? He hasn't quite got to his PINpoint yet. "Sure," he says, not bothering to look up as he continues to dig. "Humor me."

"I am known of, but not known,
When I am answered, I die.
What am I?"

His eyes remain on the snow Caspar digs through as he talks. Where before the snow was soft and fresh, now it seems to be freezing in places, becoming harder on the fingers trying to pull it away. The fresher snow on the surface, however, sees no issue with falling back down into the hole when it can.

He can feel the snow hardening against his fingertips as he is suddenly struggling for another handful. Frak. A bit of fresh powder dislodges from the surface and dusts his wool coat. The bastard is making it more difficult for him to dig himself out.

Mimicking a shiver, he shoves his hands into coat, pretending to warm them. The truth is, he can handle more than this, but he would prefer not to. He digs deep into one pocket, fingertips just brushing his PINpoint. If he can pull at the lining, then maybe he can jostle it free...

His expression is serious. Stone-faced. The riddle is only easier in that it is two lines to puzzle over instead of four, but he's still unsure of the answer. "Is it a question?" he asks. He wishes the answer is "Reynard" because he would not mind the guy dropping dead right about now.

"A question is a perfectly acceptable answer," he says after some thought. "Not the one I was looking for... but we don't always find what we're looking for, do we?"

He looks Caspar over then. "How are you doing there? Making progress?"

"Hooray for me." He cannot keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "That's the problem with riddles. There is always more than one answer, but that spoils your fun, doesn't it?"

He worms his hand deeper into the lining of the pocket and manages to secure his touch on the emergency teleport button. "Is that another riddle? Because I think the answer is pretty obvious to you." He frowns. "You told me not to take this personally, so that means any old schmuck could have fallen in here. What are you getting out of this, then? What's the point?"

With an escape in place, he should leave. He should press that button and leave right now. But he can't quite bring himself to until he gets an answer of his own.

Reynard inhales and exhales slowly as he looks at the brilliant white scenery around them. The silence is heavy, interrupted by distant, muffled sounds and the slight crunching of the snow around Caspar's small motions. Finally he looks back to Caspar.

"Do you think you'll remember the day you got stuck in a hole and had to dig yourself out? The day you were stuck listening to me pester you with riddles that you got half-right?"

Caspar stares at him, unblinking, his only movement a more careful grip about his PINpoint. The small bag of groceries he dropped earlier is a lost cause, but at least he can blame it on Reynard. That makes him feel a little better, and keeps him from outright sneering at the winter spirit's reply.

"I have the memory of a machine. I'll remember this as well as I remember anything else." He licks his lips; they're getting a little chapped in the brisk air. "You're telling me that you did this for the memories? The notoriety?"

"Good."

Reynard's grin widens. There's a strangely soft edge to it, even if there is a mischievous glint in his eyes. He can't resist it. He knows Caspar won't understand immediately, if at all, but he still can't resist it. Where's the fun in being straightforward? "I did it for love."

Reynard's answer sounds like another riddle, and like the ones before, he hasn't got a clue. Not at first, anyway. The wheels in his mind turn as he thinks over what he knows about the Winter spirit. What Adia has told him, and what he now sees for himself.

"And this..." He gestures with his chin to the snow around him, his hands still firmly planted within his jacket. "This is how you show your love?"

"This..." Reynard gestures around them with a large sweep of his hand that finishes with his finger drawing a circle in front of Caspar. "Is how I show my love."

"I see."

Caspar's eyes narrow, briefly, as if seeing Reynard for the first time. And then he bares his teeth in a vindictive smile.

"I'll remember that, too."

He presses the button on his PINpoint and teleports away. The powdery surface snow lazily slides into the vacated space, leaving only the spilled coffee and the bag of sundries.

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Why people don't like spirits

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