#joirse

They said some things weren’t the same when they came from Saoirse’s explanations. Some things, when they came to people, had to come from them. 

“Besides,” they added with half a shrug, “language without understanding of the culture will always be incomplete.”

For reasons Julianus wasn’t about to question the Pirate Queen opened her mouth to tell the rest of the story. 

It hadn’t been easy, nor the idea had come automatically to them. After that first kick, the Queen’s Lawyer took the habit of asking her about her tribe, their customs and their language from time to time — always making the disclaimer that Meredith could say no, and Julianus would not get offended. They understood, in their own way, what it was like to speak of a place that was gone; a place that should’ve been home but wasn’t. Even if some Laochra survived, scattered to the winds like Diaspora does to the spores of new and old life, the tribe as Meredith knew it was lost forever. 

Much like the Altazor that should’ve-been was for Julianus. 

Meredith seldom said no, to Julianus’ surprise. Sometimes she did, of course, but sooner or later she’d come around it, calling out to Sanlaurento (it startled them every time) to tell her whatever bit of information they had asked about and she didn’t want to part with at the moment. They never asked anything extremely personal, not about what it hurt. Sanlaurento didn’t interrogate, it was more like they weaved the stories they were told, unweaved them, and weaved them again. Tale and Language, Myth and Truth Recorded, one by one, Julianus ended up with a handful of constellations about a people they had never met. 

Naturally, they began to write it down. Lists upon lists of details and worldvisions, of idiosyncrasies, scathology, legends, customs and everyday life. More than once Meredith even surprised herself by giving some of that information to Sanlaurento without request; she shared them just because (or for reasons she never stated out loud). One day, she said out loud to the room that she didn’t understand how someone could care that much, just for the sake of caring. 

She didn’t expect Saoirse to reply: “Julie’s like that. They see all of us as stories worth being told.”

Meredith’s cheeks turned a furious red, her frown deep and her mouth curled in an annoyed snarl. She dropped the subject immediately. Trust Saoirse’s annoying bastard of a partner to have crept like that under her skin. Meredith would defend them at gunpoint if someone soured their day, that was her job and her job only. 

Saoirse smirked at Meredith like she knew, and Meredith shot them a death-stare, even if she knew the Quartermaster would never even flinch.

* * *

The idea came to them out of nowhere, while they were lying in theirs and Saoirse’s bed. 

“What if I write it?”

“Hm?”

“I know enough of both languages to write a bilingual version.”

They didn’t need to specify, Saoirse already knew what they were talking about. With tenderness, they grabbed their hand and began kissing their fingers. “You could even write a dictionary too.”

Julianus’ smile was radiant like the stars on a clear night. “Maybe I should.”

* * *

Two years, four months and six days later the first version of the manuscript of The Tales and History of the Laochra Tribe of the Snowcap Mountains was complete and fully transcribed in Saoirse’s handwriting, as Meredith did not understand Julianus’ half of the time. JC hadn’t even asked Saoirse to do it, they had taken to it on their own during their many free hours with the original excuse of there being a copy of it, just in case, and their Julie not having the time to do it. Or the fatigue-free tendons. 

The manuscript was long enough that only advanced printing presses, like those in Zadith, some cities of Prakra and Balkovia, and maybe Vesuvia (if the rumours of modernization of the City-State under the Countess’ and her Consul’s rule were true) print them. Printing, however, wasn’t up to them — Julianus hadn’t needed to say it aloud for the nature of the Tales to be understood: it was a gift for Meredith, so it needed Meredith’s revision and approval. They were prepared to argue their case though, as they had learnt to be. They wanted to print it after it was revised so people would not forget, so the Laochra could still live on, not just through Meredith but through her words. Words now written in magically sealed ink. 

Words that would not fade away, so if the chain of life sustained in the memories of others ever broke, Meredith’s people would still live on. When Sanlaurento dropped the hundreds of pages long manuscript in Meredith’s desk they told her as much, despite their racing heart. 

“I didn’t actually plan to finish it for your birthday, that was just a coincidence.”

Meredith’s usual annoyed scowl had softened as Sanlaurento explained what she had in front of her, after her initial “What’s this supposed to be” and “I’m in the middle of something, Sanlaurento,” even though she wasn’t really busy. Saoirse would know, and Julianus asked Saoirse before going to see Meredith personally. As they explained, they had begun to flip on the parchment papers of the hand sewn manuscript and even trace the lines of a map that had been inserted in the manuscript through a transfer spell. 

There it was. Her people’s history as she had told her, as others had documented it too, complete with a note of thanks and dedication to her. She didn’t understand. She, of course, knew Sanlaurento cared, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that Julianus did, that their entire life was an exercise on caring, of weaving, of telling, of doing, simply because they cared. Yet one thing was having someone who listened to her, from time to time. Someone who was asking her to correct any mistakes they could’ve left unnoticed so the story of Meredith’s people could be told, was something else entirely. 

Her eyes stung. Julianus had never seen Meredith crying but they didn’t say anything, afraid the Queen would quick them out. 

“Why can’t Saoirse correct it?”

“They did, here and there, but that was mostly editorial and of form, not of content. If I wanted Saoirse to do it, I would’ve asked them to.”

“But why? Why don’t you want them to do it, you let Saoirse do anything?”

“Because this isn’t Saoirse’s story.”

Against all precedent, the Queen, no, Meredtih Gwynsdottir, stood up to hug Julianus. When they told her they could add, at the end, a list of all the names from the tribe that she remembered or could be recorded, she hugged them tighter. 

Eight months later The Tales and History of the Laochra People of the Snowcap Mountains was a printed book.

* * *

The Laochra believe that the stories of the world and the people who live in it are sustained by the Collector (Bailitheoir) and the Storyteller (Seanchaidhe). The former is believed to live at the end of the world, where it is always dark, except for the aurora borealis. The latter is unknown in origin, many accounts believe it is the veneration of the first person to record the Laochran language, others believe it is the conceptualisation and deification of the base concept that unifies them as people: that each member of the tribe is a collection of memories. That is to say that each person doesn’t just have a story, but the person is their story.

Be it as it may, as it will be discussed aplenty in the respective chapters, the Laochra believe that the Seanchaidhe records the stories that the Bailitheoir, darkness of the world and reaper of the dusk of the souls of their people —that is why they send them South on boats when they die— tries to communicate with the Storyteller, who guards and writes the lives of the Laochra on the stars in the sky.

Words have a capital importance for the Laochran culture and religion, with everyone’s First and Last words being recorded by the rest of the tribe...

This wasn’t the first time Meredith had watched Saoirse dip their feet in the ice-cold water at the end of the world. They stayed behind this time, out of the water, knowing that in their silence, their Quartermaster knew she was there. 

“Julie believes I might have been, or supposed to be, the one you call ‘Bailitheoir ’.”

“What?”

“I think I remember. I remember… I remember Death.”

“Saoirse, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I believe humans call them Death Itself, I didn’t need to call them.”

The atmosphere shifted as Meredith watched Saoirse’s human-like guise blur in real time. The heavier it felt, the brighter the aurora borealis lit up. 

Saoirse’s voice was almost distorted. Almost. “You could meet them, but you’d have to go to Vesuvia to do that, and you hate Vesuvia. 

Before Meredith could ask why would she want to meet Death or whoever it was Saoirse was talking about, whatever vast and incomprehensible thing that whomever Saoirse was talking about was, her Quartermaster spoke again:

“‘Seanchaidhe’ is an apt epithet, don’t you think?”

Maybe Saoirse did know, but they were too busy observing, too busy playing a cacophony of things they noticed. All the apparent to anyone, the ones which only had meaning to them, and the ones only Saoirse themself could notice. Things like heart rates, or other likewise shifts; things like eyes as dark as Julianus’ overriding so many memories in Saoirse’s mind. 

If it meant getting lost in their storm-chaser, Saoirse didn’t mind getting lost in their mind as much. Though whatever Julianus was up to, required their full attention. 

Saoirse opened their mouth before Julie’s lips met theirs. Not going unnoticed, Julianus stopped a hair too fair from Saoirse’s lips, them feeling the ghost of their smile on theirs. Both of them knew Saoirse would undo that distance without effort, or that they could turn the tables with, also, no effort, but Saoirse didn’t want to. Saoirse was having fun. 

“Did you follow me here?” Saoirse said, amusement in their voice and their eyes on Jules’ lips. 

“Did you lead me here?” Was the cheeky reply they got.

It was a fair thing to question, and Saoirse said as much, but before the sentence was done, Julianus’ lips were on them — plump, soft, ever tended for, with that fuller bottom lip that was honey for the flies. The kiss was deep, but with pause, each of them savouring the moment. One, of having Saoirse, Saoirse, against a wall in a secluded corner of the ship. The other of the sensations that came with it. As Saoirse’s hands slid down Jules’ side and onto their bottom, they wondered if they should’ve kissed them sooner. 

But the Saoirse who met them would’ve never guessed any of this would happen. Change was a strange thing—

“I can hear you thinking from over here.”

“I’m observing.”

“Should I leave you to it, or should I give you more things to observe—?”

“Yes.”

Another smile ghosted over Saoirse’s lips but Julianus’ mouth did not return to them. Instead they moved to the corner of their mouth, to their cheek, to their jawline. There, they left a trail of kisses over it, one of them with a playful hint of teeth. As Julianus moved to Saoirse's neck, pressing their lips against it, they could feel Saoirse’s hands tighten around their clothes. They could still feel them thinking, very loudly, but they didn’t ask them to stop — it was Saoirse’s way to feel things; Julianus would be lying if they said this wasn’t the biggest confidence boost they’ll have in a while. 

Some kisses where just pressed lips against where Saoirse’s tendons or pulse point would be if they had one. Others had teeth, others had their mouth sucking against their neck and leaving a mark that only appeared because Saoirse wanted it there. They moved over to their shoulder line and their collarbone. Their hands began undoing Saoirse’s clothes as they pressed kisses against their skin; hands that trailed down against Saoirse’s side and stomach, until they stopped to toy with their waist band. 

Julianus pressed a kiss to the middle of their chest, where their heart would be if Saoirse needed one (they didn’t, not inside of them, not when Julianus existed). 

“You know, if you wanted to keep observing, all you need to do is flip a coin inside that head of yours and choose which would you like to see more, when I get on my knees,” they paused, their hands now on Saoirse’s hips, pressing them against the wall. “Because I don’t think I’m done having my way with you.”

Saoirse carried Julianus on their shoulder, making them taller than everyone else in the hallways and impossible to miss; it made more than one head turn to them, and more than once Saoirse turned their own head to press a kiss or a soft bite against their thigh. 

Halfway into the night, they stumbled into an empty ballroom. It was smaller than the Palace’s main one, much smaller. It seemed to them that it might have not been part of the event — while it didn’t look dusty, it certainly looked abandoned. 

Saoirse watched Julianus as they walked to the centre, quickly lighting the chandelier above them with magic. 

“What do you think this room was used for?”

Jules turned over themselves in circles, watching the patterns on the ceiling, taking in the general feeling of the room. It had some furniture under blankets —furniture Saoirse was inspecting— but it was mostly just an empty dance floor and a wall full of mirrors, probably to make the room seem bigger than what it was.

“I’m not sure,” Saoirse said, coming to stand behind Jules, their arms over their shoulders, “the furniture were not very indicative of anything other than a ballroom.”

Jules sighed, leaning against Saoirse. “I wish there had been dancing, I love dancing.”

“I don’t think a Palace’s concept of dancing and your concept of dancing are the same.”

“That’s not the point. Ballroom dances can be fun, and if Vesuvians are one thing, it’s unhinged.” 

Saoirse turned them around, placing their hand on their ribs and taking the other one. They danced on deck all the time, to the folk songs of the crew, sometimes to fancier tunes or diverting music someone played. They didn’t see why they couldn’t dance now, and they told Julie as much. Julianus would never say no to dancing with Saoirse. It didn’t matter if there wasn’t any music. They moved together with ease, lost to each other, in their own private party within another one.

Eventually, Saoirse lifted Jules, and they took the opportunity to kiss the quartermaster. They didn’t go back to dancing: instead, Jules wrapped their legs around Saoirse’s waist, Saoirse holding them by the thighs, and taking full advantage of their inability to get tired.

When they first got together, Saoirse was worried they’d find dating someone, and engaging in any kind of physical intimacy on the daily, would get repetitive. Not that they would really affect them, but at the same time, they didn’t want to unnecessarily hurt Julianus’ feelings. Human feelings might seem like a blink within the vastness of time to them, but they still were part of the crew, and looked like they could at least be good friends. 

Saoirse had been mistaken. Their interest in it only grew, and they guessed it was on them for underestimating Julianus. Or rather, that humanity was less predictable than most beings like them thought. Still, Saoirse felt they had to give some credit to their thunderlike lover — so incredibly human, so alike humans, and yet so unlike anyone they had ever met. 

All aspects of humanity interested Saoirse, but before their Julie, there was some detachment to them still. At least in this regard. Not any more. It was hard to be detached when there was warmth between their thighs and they kissed them like a storm in open waters. 

“Here, I want you here. Our room doesn’t have this many mirrors, does it?”

“Oh?” 

“What? You don’t think I’ve noticed you like to watch, Saoirse?” 

Saoirse kissed them, their hands running up their corselette dress as they gently put Jules back on the floor, with perfectly controlled strength. “I have a very clever love, don’t I?”

“Your clever love has another an idea, too.” 

Saoirse raised an eyebrow at Jules, who beckoned them to lean down until they spoke against the shell of their ear. 

“Fuck me like you did in Ethari.” 

It didn’t take long for Jules to feel Saoirse shift. Saoirse was there, they could feel it, a tendril of their physical form still — kissing their neck and sinking their fingers into them. Yet, Saoirse was also everywhere in the room. 

Saoirse outside of the form they chose to inhabit was incomprehensible. The best way the crew of the Ruby had to describe it was “a void with eyes”. Most of the time, them and other people registered that form, that entity that had existed for as long as time itself, perhaps longer, by what could be felt as a presence. 

Sometimes, when Saoirse looked at people, they couldn’t help but to feel like something was just off enough, suddenly invaded by a feeling of existential dread that came out of nowhere. Others, if they stood too close to you, people could feel a smothering presence, an aura of sorts that made them feel small, very, very small. 

There were other times where people truly tested Saoirse, and while it didn't completely shake their physicality, it became less tethered, the entire atmosphere changing. 

However, it was hard to explain Saoirse in the same way it was hard to explain what people felt when they realised they were completely alone in the middle of a mountain range, or the forest, or the sea. It was hard to explain in the way surviving a near death experience was. It was hard to explain like all those things the poets spoke of as “sublime” were. You felt it or you didn’t. Julianus loved that feeling.

Jacqui had once said that it took a special kind of someone to take the existential dread Saoirse could induce simply by existing to bed. 

As soon as Saoirse became more eldritch being than person, they could feel Saoirse everywhere. Moving against their neck, their ‘kisses’ like soft velvet on their neck. They could feel Saoirse against their skin, pinning them into place in the middle of the empty ballroom, kneeled on the floor with their legs spread, their outfit riddled up, one strap falling down.

They could feel Saoirse against their mouth — just as if they were kissing it, just as if they were pushing their fingers into it for them to suck. They could feel Saoirse behind them, they could feel them underneath them, they could feel them in front of them, and they could feel them inside them. 

They felt everything at the same time, watching themselves in the mirror as they made eye contact with Saoirse’s clear eyes, the one thing that remained. Julianus lips were parted, and they could see the building pleasure on their face, just like they could feel it on the small of their back, or between their legs. 

Saoirse moved, and they felt more inside them than before. 

“I didn’t know you liked getting cock-warmed.” 

“I like doing most things with you,” Saoirse said, their voice coming everywhere in the room.

“Why don’t you do them to me?” 

They could feel Saoirse smirk. They undid their corselette, leaving Julianus half undressed as they focused on their chest. The way Saoirse felt from behind made them tumble forward, having to keep themselves up with their arms.

Jules could feel Saoirse running up and down their thighs,before pushing into them. Saoirse felt undulating, harder than a tongue but less dense than a hard  dick, as they moved in and out of them. They could also feel Saoirse against their clit, like if they were sitting on their face, while they still felt like Saoirse was fucking them. 

Because they were. With this form, Saoirse was less constrained, less obligated to do more or less one thing at a time. Like this, Saoirse could do them all, building up and slowing down so they could watch their Julie come apart. 

If Julianus concentrated enough they could hear Saoirse instructing them, telling them what to do for them, like opening their mouth to put it on them, or accommodating the angle so Saoirse could fuck them, or touch them this or that way. 

It felt like being fucked like multiple people at once, but it was all Saoirse. 

They told them to change positions, asking them to lie back on the floor with their legs spread for them, and to prop themselves up so they could also watch themselves getting fucked, as that familiar prickling sensation of Saoirse’s presence left goosebumps on their skin. 

In the mirror, they could see their own slickness; they could see themselves opening up to take Saoirse, and their eyes fixed on them. They looked a little like a mess, but who wouldn’t when you could feel everything at once? 

“Saoirse, I need to come.”

They felt the void shift, almost like Saoirse was pouting. “But I’m having fun watching you.”

“I didn’t say we had to stop.”

It didn’t take them long to come after it, their voice echoing in the walls of the mostly empty ballroom. Saoirse slowed down only a little as they rode their orgasm, though it was hard to say Saoirse could slow down. It was more of a flash of their presence being less overwhelming before it began building up again. 

Julianus’ skin was warm, their legs twitching, and soon enough they began fully feeling Saoirse again. 

“Are you alright, mo ghrá?” They asked, the tenderness in their voice making Jules feel even hotter. 

“Yes, yes, just don’t stop, mo ghrá— don’t stop.”