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[Unprompted, a message suddenly shows up on Inigo's phone, containing a poem and nothing more:]

Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went
Thro' my garden bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall
Stole the seed by night.

Sow'd it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
'Splendid is the flower!'

Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
Call it but a weed.

Edited 2025-04-09 02:47 (UTC)

[ A relatively quick answer - about as long as it might take someone to read the poem once and think about it for a few moments, but not much longer than that. ]

Did you write that? A poem about a flower?

[ Apparently the fact that there is so much more to it than a flower is going right over his head at first.. Inigo's got flowers on the brain too much.. ]

I did not, but I thought you might like it regardless.

What do you think of it?

[ There's a pause. It's likely that Inigo went to reread the poem a few more times, like he's fully trying to gather his thoughts here before he replies.

.. even if the reply is pretty simple once it does come. ]

I guess I'm curious why those people called it a weed. Especially since they seemed to change their mind about it really quickly later on.

Edited 2025-04-20 15:23 (UTC)

Unfortunately--and I think the author would agree, many people are of a fickle nature. They care only for what is useful to them, covet things they don't have; and when they do have them, they tire quickly. The author seems to imply that beauty and novelty are a kinds of usefulness, but those are not immune to decay.

Rare is the person, like our author, who appreciates a weed for the flower it truly is.

[ .. huh. But, wait-- ]

Do you feel that way too? I mean, do you feel the way the author feels, or do you feel the way the people the author describes do?

[ Because Inigo is having kind of a confusing realization here - and asking this is practically his own way of trying to test the nature of said realization. ]

My opinion aligns more closely with the author's, though my perspective differs.

Do you disagree?

No, I don't disagree with the way the author thinks of the flower.

I suppose it's just a little confusing to me, since I feel like it's natural to think of it as something important, rather than a weed. That thought being rare feels strange. I've never thought otherwise. And since you feel the same way.. don't you think maybe the author is wrong in their view of people as a whole?

I do not think they are wrong on that point, no.

Do you know of the flower described in the poem?

[ He's looking back at the poem now!! This truly is poetry class.. Inigo doesn't think he's ever read over a poem this many times.

(And yet he's going along with it anyway, like he doesn't mind doing so as long as it seems important to Blue. He isn't even complaining about it.) ]

I'm not sure. Not much is said about the flower itself, right? Just that it's a tall flower, though that could mean anything.

[She can tell by the pauses how studious he's being, pleased to know that it's for her sake, though she can't know how much.]

Tall, and wears a crown of light.

It reminds me of a dandelion.

[ A dandelion.

Inigo has to think for a moment, considering he didn't even really learn the actual names of most plants until he started helping out at Basil's shop in this place, but then it seems to hit him. ]

The yellow ones, right?

[ .. okay, maybe there's a lot of yellow flowers, but it's just him indicating that he thinks he knows what Blue - and the poem - is talking about. ]

Crown of light.. Is that just because of the color? They don't glow or anything, do they?

They do not, though yellow is the color of both gold and sunlight.

I'm sure the author had other allusions he intended to make, but we can leave those aside for now.

[The religious allegory, he's unlikely to understand, and just as well since she has no interest in that facet of the poem. The flower is for her and her alone.]

[...And for him now, as she shares this small piece of herself.]

At any rate, my perspective aligns most closely with the flower. We share a kinship. A hardiness. A restlessness.

You're right. There's another perspective in the poem. I didn't think about it that way at all..

[ He's still new to this, after all! Of course he's mostly going to think of the perspective that's most obviously here. But now she's got him thinking.. ]

I think you and the flower are different though. I can't imagine anyone calling you a weed.

Not in so many words. There are other names that I answer to.

[Dandelion. Tumbleweed. Epiphyte. Those weren't names she gave herself, though she could see the truth in them. She had molded herself around them, buried the barb so deep that she hardly felt the sting of it. She traced over the scar it left with something closer to fondness these days. They were hers, both the names and the wounds they left, as much a part of her as her own limbs.]

At any rate, it hardly matters now-- Except that I found this, and recalled your desire to know more about me.

[ To know more about her.

It's true - he wants to. It means that he doesn't want to fully back off here, though he's also hesitating. This feels like such a delicate thing to ask about. Maybe she can only tell him through offering up a poem like this, like it's some sort of shield, but--

It's fine, he tells himself. He'll just steel himself in turn to answer any question she might ask about him here. Then it's a fair playing field, right? ]

Why would you answer to names like that? You deserve better than that.

[ This Blue, yes, but also the little girl he came across one day. ]

I imagine you're talking about things from back home.. But if anyone is mean to you here, you have to let me know! You know I'd protect you, right?

[Protect her? She grins at her phone, despite herself and despite everything else. He really does say the funniest things...]

Will you be my knight? Slay my monsters to keep me safe?

[She almost says 'dragons', but remembers in time to avoid that misstep. His efforts have still earned him the teasing, though--if he even recognizes it as such. She doesn't need a protector; she can slay her own monsters or dragons or whatever will be. What she would rather have is someone who sees her.]

It wasn't meant unkindly. It was simply truth, and there was no reason for me not to answer. I am a dandelion seed, dislodged easily with a breath, rootless and wandering. I do not rest in one place for very long. There is not much that I consider home.

[ He almost answers honestly, not even realizing that she's teasing him..

.. until that next sentence follows, and it's only then that Inigo realizes what she meant. Sorry, Blue, it definitely does make him slump a little bit. Fragile as a peach, and all that. Even if Blue is being sweet about it, it does feel like a squeeze right on top of a sore spot.

Thankfully it's very easy to not show it over text. He wouldn't want her to feel bad, anyway. Especially when she's going out of her way to point out she didn't mean it unkindly. ]

Would you ever want a place that is like home to you? If you could have it?

[ There, that's easier. The less attention on him, the better. He's proven right once again in that regard. ]

[She couldn't possibly know that her teasing has been so misplaced, though she did warn him once that she would make him cry. No matter how gentle she tries to be, he's still far more fragile than she knows how to handle.]

[But what he asks feels equally wounding, and her grin fades away entirely as she silently ponders a response.]

More than words can describe.

Edited 2025-05-12 13:23 (UTC)

[ The next reply that arrives is relatively simple.

.. or, well, the wording is. The question itself might not be so simple. ]

What would be necessary for you to have one?

[There is one thing that comes to her mind immediately, though she hesitates to say it. Instead, she pivots another direction.]

It's funny that you ask me that. Vaeros never did, yet he claimed to be able to provide it for me.

Is that what you wished for?

[ It only occurs to him now that he never asked - though partially on purpose, because Inigo fears that asking about wishes is a little too personal. It's not like he'd like to share his own with just anyone..

But with Blue saying this, it feels a little safer to ask. Even though the idea of this is kind of heartbreaking to him for so many reasons. Blue... ]

For a home?

[Blue has never shied away from telling anyone her wish. The specifics change each time she ruminates on it, thoughts blended together in a whirlwind, a kaleidescope of desires. She imagines a patio with an iron wrought table, two teacups and a plate of scones. She imagines clockwork gears that keep time, chimes calling out the hour with delicate peals. She imagines sights and smells and tastes--so many tastes, she would have to make sure--and no single facet is more cherished than another...]

[Except for one. There is one constant that she omits in each telling, lifting a teacup in that idyllic garden, winding the clockwork that keeps their time, tasting each dish prepared for her. Home, for her, is not a place but a person.]

Not in so many words, but yes. It was more a feeling. A desire that I've known for a long time.

I still enjoy travel; I don't think I'll ever stop. But I would like a place (figuratively) to unfurl, like rose petals at dawn. A trellis to stretch out upon, to reach my vines out and up towards the sky. A shared place, where I am both seeing and seen.

[ ... ]

It's so cruel that he would abuse a wish like that.

[ Because even though this is just text, Inigo does like to think he knows Blue well enough to be able to tell that what she's laying out here is so genuine - that it's something she truly wants.

And Vaeros was dangling it in front of her, likely without any intention of ever actually giving it to her. That's awful. No one should do something like that. Especially to Blue, who seems to have so little if this is something she can only dream of. ]

It's not like you were asking him for much. That is something everyone deserves to have.

[Something everyone deserves to have...]

[Blue's thoughts trail like vines from herself to Red to the other agents that scurry ant-like across the strands of time, up thread and down thread, laden with direction and driven by purpose... Even the most exceptional of them (herself, and Red) aren't exceptions to the machinations of war. The promise of victory always lingers just out of reach, a mirage of an oasis in a desert of violence.]

[She wonders if any of the others have ever felt too tired to care, too in need of a place to rest that doesn't hinge on usefulness to a Sisyphean war. She wonders if Red has ever shared this thought of hers, the way she had mirrored so many unspoken words before. The thought that she might, or that she might not, is a knot that winds itself endlessly through her heart.]

[But in the end, she is left knowing only what she knows.]

I agree.

But I never asked for his help, regardless of his insistence. Even before his death, his promises were only noise to me, as I'm sure you remember.

If there is a home to be made, then I will make it.

That said... I'd like to show it to you. One day.

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