at the threshold.

  Back in Thanatica, we fought for life. For the right to live. For a chance to… to never let death veto people.  

[inthanatica]

clara.

A musky yet pleasant smell hangs in the air. Scents of papers, leathers, dyes, and inks, all mingle together into something uniform. The smell of books.  It’s far more present here than it was in the Trammel- though, to be fair, the perpetual fog of cigarette smoke stifled any other smell that may have been there.

This smell was… pleasant, however, in a way she couldn’t quite place.

She carefully paces, scanning the bookshelves and reading the embossed letters on the spines. Titles of books- but there was no way to really tell what it was about until you opened them up.

“It’s like… a double surprise,” she whispers, picking up a burgundy title, “First, you get the gift- and you don’t know what’s inside, then it’s a book- but then, you also don’t know what the book is about! Double surprise.”

Waving her arm to punctuate her speech, “Carmilla, for one. I didn’t know that it was about a cursed lady vampire and her bad manners with her crush at all!”

She furrows her brow. It would take her days to read the contents of every book here to determine which ones would be good for the people back home.

Looking to Anatoly, she puzzles, “… Is there a quick way to try and find out what books would be best? I don’t think we have time to figure out which ones are perfect- do I just pick one and hope for the best?”

The shelves make a labyrinth, and Clara made her way through the halls with uncertain steps, holding onto Anatoly’s arm all the while.

“ Daniil let you borrow his copy of Carmilla? ”

There’s amused surprise in his tone as he walks with her, breathing in the air of an old bookshop. He’s frequented this one before, it seems, with how warmly he greets the clerk watching over the building.

“ A double surprise. Yes, that’s a pretty apt description. If you need assistance finding a specific type of book, then. . .well, I don’t mean to brag, but I am the second best book collector this side of the Diluvial, only behind our dear Dankovsky. So, if you tell me what you’re looking for, I can help you find it. ”

It’s a good way to spend the time after lunch. Peeking at the books, grabbing ones Clara can’t reach that he thinks would work well. Books about the local cryptozoological fauna, about survival tips. . .anything she’s looking for, he has a good memory for finding it.

They bring a hefty stack of books to the clerk to purchase once they’re done browsing, another thing to be arranged to send back to the manor. It means they should step back onto the road, but -- ah, the soldiers from before were back to patrolling. He shifts, tucking Clara’s arm tighter to his side.

“ Let’s. . .wait out here for a moment. Just until they pass. ”

[inthanatica]

clara.

Anatoly’s suggestions are wonderful, and encouraging. It reinforces that Clara has a good idea, so she doesn’t hesitate in looking. She has no idea what she’s looking for, per se, but she knows she’ll know when she sees something.

The boutique is bountiful, but a strange collection of scents mingles together. She looks at the perfumes and colognes, and marvels at the glass shapes. There were ducks, swans, a turtle-

Then she sees a glass lizard filled with an amber fluid, the tail curled up in a makeshift handle, and the stopper rested in the jaws of the creature.

Taking it in her hands, she shows it off to Anatoly, “Look at it! It’s perfect for Andrey!”

In the boutique, she amasses several things for the people in town. A snowglobe with a castle and a wizard and a dragon that had a music melody that was pleasing, but had some kind of German name that she didn’t know the meaning of… that would be for Vlad Jr. A furry pillow for Artemy, a silk scarf for Grief, some jewelry for Taya, a weird horse paperweight for Yulia…

She has most of her gifts settled by the end of their stroll through the boutique- the only thing missing are things for the bookish people in the Town.

Clara pays for a special delivery to Polina’s and continues on with her explanations, her reasons for choosing the things she did.

“So Yulia just seems like the kind of person who could make sense of those horse things. Nothing scares her at all- at least I think that’s the case.  Artemy just needs to learn to rest, I think sleeping on those creepy old beds doesn’t help- and the house needs better things anyways. I know, because I was the one that helped him clean it after the murder and the plague.”

She careens over to look in the window of the bookstore, all but pressing her face against the glass.

“Oooooh! Look! All of those covers look so nice and new!”

He ends up carrying a fair few things for her, carefully tucked under one arm while he explores alongside her. She has a discerning eye for things that seemed very nice for the people she planned on giving them to -- the cologne smelled nice when he held it up, the snowglobe was a small miracle of delicate glass and careful sculpture. . .

“ You’re very sweet, Clara, to get these kinds of gifts for people. They can be quite expensive. ”

He considers getting himself something, looking through the small gifts, before he pauses and plucks up a soft scarf in a sharp shade of red that reminded him of Daniil. The one he had was worn from the trip to the Town on the Gorkhon, so maybe it would be a good gift.

He keeps it tucked under his arm while she arranges for the gifts to be delivered to Polina’s, letting her do the arranging until she’s ready to keep walking.

She explains a bit more -- the name Yulia sounds familiar in some way he can’t quite place, and Artemy is -- the other doctor in town, yes, that’s correct. She told him that before.

“ The. . .murder? And the plague. My, an exciting set of days for all of you. ”

He snorts a bit, nearly pulled off his feet when she detours towards the bookstore while his arm was hooked with hers.

“ Ah -- yes, this place is a wealth of good finds. Come on, we’ll look in here as well. They have wonderful academic texts, as well as fiction. ”

[inthanatica]

dankovsky.

“Capable of… projection?”

He finally gives the courtesy of a more appraising look to his conversation partner. There’s the gaunt figure, the unhealthy deepness to the eyes, the burst blood vessels. All of that could be attributed to any number of mundane things, but not the bleak outlook. A bleak outlook and sense of foreboding is just as much of a physical indicator as any sort of visual information. And this outlook is… indeed edging on bleak. Anatoly lathers the honey on for polite conversation unnecessarily. 

“There is a formal request process if you’re interested in the testing and interviewing process. Ethics committees must be informed, and bureaucratic process satiated before admittance as a patient. That, or a terminal event brings you to the doorstep. For your health’s sake I do hope its the former. Anyways, I would like to schedule an informal meeting with you.

He finally turns around to see the scattering of things he brought with them mostly evacuated. He swears under his breath and fishes for one of the less used notebooks around stage props and dressing racks for less macabre events. People slip past him and some ask for his attention- In a moment, in a moment.

“Here, I will schedule a room in the University library to sit together and speak more on the subject. I can, likewise, bring the paperwork for you to complete and take it with me. Here are my times. I am an excess hand at the hospital at the moment while our building is experiencing the namesake of the Dilluvial and renovations.”

He sharply scrawls potential times, and dates down, forking the paper over for the selection. He jots his name and the address of Thanatica as a byline. It’s sharp, fast script with precise effort to keep it readable.

“Select two, or contact me if neither work. I do believe my colleagues are waiting for me.”

“ That, my good sir, will be for you to see in more private company. ”

It sounds like a jest -- or a flirtatious effort on his part. It’s neither, truthfully, but this kind of company demanded such things. Scientific minds both loathed and loved being held on the wire of next time.

“ I would prefer to avoid admittance as a patient, for the sake of my workload, but if that’s the only option. . .then we’ll see about it. Of course, I understand the brick wall that is the bureaucratic process, considering I’m often at some end of it. ”

They’re almost done clearing out, which means Dankovsky needs to make one more sweep of the place before he scurries out the door to chase the next lead. The scrawl of potential dates and times has Anatoly’s attention for a moment before he marks down two, each a week out and in the afternoon. Hopefully after the majority of their workload for the day, though he can’t say Daniil has a set schedule if he’s an excess hand.

There’s quiet murmuring between them before a day is settled upon and Anatoly smiles, tucks the note into his coat pocket and watches Daniil stand in a flurry. He considers joining him to bid him farewell, but the way the room sways when he tries tells him it’s a terrible idea.

“ I’ll be sure to see you then, of course. Right on time. ”

He stays longer than he should, even taking a lastly offered glass of wine to consider himself in until he should really be getting home. (He doesn’t end up as sick as he thinks, which is a blessing on its own.)

It’s a week of surviving the jabbing and questions of his coworkers, asking if the show had truly been an act of dark magics and the like, before he’s wandering his way towards the University. He’s of the sound mind to bring his chair this time, even if there’s one or two times he has to ask for help with it on the campus, and he arrives ten minutes early to nurse a cup of coffee and consider if this was really a good idea.

[inthanatica]

dankovsky.

Josephine calls over the affluent wine service with a snap of her fingers and a sharp word. Daniil asked a friend of a friend to send a letter to their distant relative, who had known someone else in the city that pulled their own stock from the vineyards. They were here, somewhere in the mix- the Vallakoviches three. The Vallakovich prodigal son was admiring a copy of his thesis in a creaking chair alone in the dark of backstage. Victor was a premium antisocial but he brought the wine.

Either way, there was wine enough to make it look like Thanatica had been sipping ambrosia with the gods. If the gods were romping in cheap plaster walls, flooding lower levels, and overcrowded wings in hospitals, perhaps. It was a fair vision of the gods of the twentieth century, and a bleak future catering to people with the tenacity of weeds.

Anatoly Zakharov collapses into a plush chair.

“You work with our neighboring districts and building then? Or do you work with the collective care units in the Capital? Have you explored the Underworld yet- not in the esoteric sense of course, in the literal sense. The network under much of the business district in the Dilluvial? The patient transport network in the busy streets has been a nightmare. I do wish they would use the cable cars- I digress. Yours is an admirable position, my friend.”

He doesn’t take a sip of wine, but he does hold it between his fingers.

“Ah! Absolutely- if you’d be so willing to submit your experiences, I’m always taking interviews and data collection at Thanatica. Informally, I’d like to hear your personal discoveries as well, fellow practitioner. The investigation of the potential of organic soul was initially an exploit into natural bioelectromagnetism. Actually, a study in energy inspired by a classmate of mine who was passionate about the same subject. I wouldn’t patent this exploration as too arcane in nature, either. Science creeps ever closer into the domains of creation. One year, man discovers the origin of thunder, the next, we explain quicksilver, disease, and the mind itself.”

He is busy entertaining. Josephine has crept off to manage his manic distribution of materials in all corners of the space. They’re technically meant to be leaving.

“But please- I am meant to be entertaining whomever speaks to me. In this case, you.”

The wine is good, make no mistake about it, but it makes him dizzy and nauseous. Getting home tonight is already going to be a struggle, let alone with more alcohol in his system.

“ I work a little in both. Helping to distribute the yearly budgets and keep the hospital running with money coming in and out. I don’t explore much, Underworld or not, on account of my poor stamina. ”

He gestures to himself. He knows the figure he cuts: easily exhausted, gaunt and pale as Death, like he might be on his deathbed any day. He’s heard all the jokes about them in the past, they don’t phase him at all anymore.

“ Formally, yes, I’d like to consider this an offer to give you more data on your subject of choice. Informally, it’s a subject that cuts close to home, considering I’ve been capable of the trick you performed on stage since I came of age. ”

He leans back into the chair a moment, drumming his fingers. They’re supposed to be leaving, he knows, but he might never get another chance to speak with him like this.

“ Your work has my eye with a keen interest in the way you’ve treated some of the people at the hospital who have no real future prognosis. You’ve yet to treat me, but that’s because winter isn’t yet in full swing -- I’m counting my hopes on it being a light one again this year. ”

He tips his head to listen to a man pass them by before bringing his attention back to Daniil. The man has all the manic energy of an illicit substance in his veins, but his speech is clear. It’s just the energy of go, go, go, go.

“ I’d like to see your work succeed, truthfully. If it would be better for us to speak privately, I’d very much enjoy getting a time and place to meet with you. ”

[inthanatica]

dankovsky.

It’s an absolute farce of a scientific exploit, which was the first reason why he was furious with the setup. Far be it for him to be some kind of temperamental actor behind the scenes, Josephine was tired of hearing him complain about the “disingenuousness” of performing like circus animals for fattened pockets.

I’m an academic, not an acrobat.

You’re our Houdini, though, she said, re-adjusting her bottlecap-shaped goggles. Josephine 

He’s a scientist, not a show pony from the races. She’s heard all of his arguments while he continued to work, cursing and sorting through an ungodly amount of paperwork. She once told him she has no idea how he managed to keep pulling the attention of investors. She likewise has no idea how he has the energy to write more grants than the foundation partners of the University. Hell, Telman with all of his connections couldn’t seem to pace with Daniil who just kept moving. 

Josephine, on multiple occasions, has cited his limp and inability to stop moving as shorthand running to outpace the war. The war, indeed, made Utopians of them all and revolutionaries out of the quietest people. Which war? It didn’t matter. They had been in too many too close together. One year blurred into the next and there was yet this backbeat of war, war.

He doesn’t see the connection to the theater performance though, closing his attaché case and rubbing antiseptic on the injection site in the crook of his elbow. A show pony he may not be, but he certainly had no problem catering to an audience when they were desperate for money. 

“We wouldn’t- no- shouldn’t have to debase ourselves to performing for the boxes in the Old Town-” he says to her, as the help they collected for the entire event moves gear back onto coaches to take back to the hospital. They have to work out of the hospital, for now. Their building was being renovated.

People filter in to speak with him, and he has Josephine pour wine to keep the lips loose, taking his for show and keeping a jovial attitude while speaking with the fortune bearers of the district. It’s not enough to make him hopeful. A thin man, with very gaunt features among them, though, eventually files through the crowd. 

He extends a hand as he did all the rest of his peers, “Hello, pleasure. Daniil Dankovsky. I hope you enjoyed the-…” he would never say “show”, “demonstration… Please, have wine and seat yourself. I’m sure you have interests, concerns, or scintillating thoughts to share about the subject– I am calling it Psyche, after all, which draws the consciousness fanatics and surrealists to the forefront of social pictures. Are you one, or the other? You look a bit out of place with either-” he holds a hand up before the man even speaks “-so let me guess, a pragmatist with a quiet taste for the unusual?”

There’s too many people here. The packed quarters make his heart race, which drains the flush from his face and makes him feel faint. If anyone notes the absolute death grip he has on his cane, they say nothing, because no one here knows Anatoly and so no one tries to make his acquaintance.

The people here are investors, not scientists. People clamoring to get a taste of the macabre and forbidden to sate their noble interests for another fortnight until something new swept into town. Last time it was spiritualists and their seances. This time, it seemed, it would be the local necromancer and his showtunes.

He’s handed a glass of wine in one hand as he approaches to finally speak to Dankovsky, and he drinks deeper of it than he should before he abandons it on a nearby table. If someone took it from him, he wouldn’t be fussed.

Dankovsky moves quickly and speaks quicker, and Anatoly laughs, genuinely laughs, at the state of it all. The woman beside him looks like someone Anatoly might have known and age and a half ago in schooling, and he offers his hand in turn when Daniil steps into his space.

“ Anatoly Zakharov. The pleasure is all mine, good Dankovsky. A pragmatist with a taste for the unusual is the best description I’ve been given in years, I’ll admit. I heard about your work and wanted to come see it for myself, truth be told. ”

The offer of a seat is taken very, very quickly. He sinks into a cushioned chair with all the grace of a newborn deer, his exhale coming out as a mix of a groan and a sigh as the room finally stops spinning.

“ While I lack the medical training history that you seem to have, good sir, I work closely with the financials of the hospital and the surrounding clinics. That isn’t why I’m here, though -- you have utterly enraptured me with the idea that you’ve managed to isolate a soul. That show out there today? I’m dying to know your thoughts on your discovery, and if you’d be open to the thoughts of. . .hm. An individual with experiences not quite unlike it. ”

His eyes dart around the room before settling back on Daniil, pulling his cane to lay it across his lap.

“ Unless you’re particularly busy entertaining? ”

[inthanatica]

@afoelikedeath

It was supposed to be a show of a complete lunatic, if the literary and scientific circles Anatoly frequented were to be believed. Arseny, a man of the upper circles of management, had handed off an invitation to Anatoly and told him to enjoy the show in the backhanded way of noting Anatoly’s interest in the macabre as unnatural.

He had neglected oh so kindly to mention that the invitation was for a seat on the upper boxes of the amphitheater. It’s by a stroke of luck that he can trade the ticket for one of the lower boxes, which has him seated in a spot near enough to the stage that he can hear the whispers of the stagehands.

A performing arts stage turned into a medical theatre. There’s a joke there that he doesn’t have the energy to make when he leans back in his seat and folds his hands over the head of his cane.

The man speaking today is wiry from a time spent piling resources into his future, with an animated way of speaking that said he was very, very good in front of crowds. Anatoly had been following some of his progress, this D. Dankovsky, as he rose into the attention of the people of the Capitol with one lofty goal in mind: to defeat Death itself.

Of course they thought Anatoly was morbid and insane for believing him. But -- well, sometimes you had to grab onto whatever hopeful ideas struck you at the time.

The demonstration is mostly explanatory, something he nods along to for a little while, until the man on stage says he’ll prove his point in a moment. It’s then the entire show gets everyone’s attention, because he proves exactly his point -- by seemingly dropping dead on the stage.

Anatoly knows the signs of this. He’s done it himself. And Daniil proves his point further by interacting with things prepared around the stage for this exact reason, until he stepped back into himself and stood, unharmed except for what must be some very bruised knees and elbows.

Which is precisely why Anatoly finds himself waiting to be admitted to speak with him backstage, hoping to catch the man before he scurries off to his next appointment.

[naaoyaa]

ㅤ — Dishonored (10/10)

[inthanatica]

clara.

The glass of water Anatoly passes over to her, she thankfully drinks, wincing momentarily as the cold temperature agitate the already sensitive nerves in her teeth… but he’s right. It does help.

Too much sugar. As a concept, it doesn’t initially make sense to her, because she and all the other kids in town craved sweets… but now, looking at it, most of the kids in town didn’t get to that point- because there wasn’t a lot of sweets to be had to begin with.

Nodding to herself as she reasons with Anatoly’s suggestion, she walks back up to the counter, requesting cake boxes, and writing the address of her aunt’s place to have them delivered- tipping generously to have it be done.

As they head out back into the cold to go shopping, Clara excitedly begins by listing all of her friends that she wanted to get something for.

“So, Rubin? He’s a giant- no joke, he’s like… eight feet tall!”

She stands on her toes and outstretches her arms to get the point across.

“He’s so big- and he needs a lot of food- but he’s also really smart too- he was helping Daniil with making vaccine things. Oh, and there’s Peter- he’s kind of sad all the time, and he wears a blanket like a coat… Aspity- she’s real mean- but she’s helpful too… most of the time. She and Daniil like to yell at each other a lot, but she let us sleep at her house so… eh?”

She shrugs. Then resumes her rapid fire descriptions of people so that Anatoly can help with gifts.

Taya is the sweetest bossy kid he’ll ever meet, she likes her authority. Sticky loves myth and legends but also wants to be a doctor. Murky doesn’t talk a lot, but she’s knowledgeable about bugs and nature and enjoys the odd things. Capella takes responsibility seriously, but has no hobbies. Khan is authoritative, but broody with a passion for fiction. Notkin likes to be taken seriously, and is Khan’s rival. He also likes animals and being in the wild. Grace is adopted by Peter, and she can hear the dead- she was the cemetery keeper.

Artemy runs around all the time and was the person who saved the town. Yulia was the only person that seemed to make sense and knew what was going on. Lara is kind of lonely, but loves books and the idea of helping people. Bad Grief has the best fashion sense and is one of the best “shopkeepers“ in the town, as well as knowledgeable- she points out that when she had to leave home for a little bit, he looked out for her, like Daniil did.

Andrey’s vain, and likes lizard motifs- he also yelled at her for mentioning God in his bar, but she insists that he’s decent… enough. And Vlad Jr, she stresses, is kind of a shut in, and likes trying to learn about people- though is kind of useless interacting with them.

“I already know what I’m bringing home for father,” she says, near the end of her spiel, “He misses mother a lot. I’m bringing home some of the pictures of her that Aunt Polina has hanging up. Father doesn’t really need or want any gift things- and they had to leave those behind.”

It’s a lot to follow when she starts explaining the townsfolk, but his mind has never failed him before. They walk with their arms linked, side by side and in step with each other, as she continues talking.

They all seemed like a uniquely strange set of people she knows, though it means he knows what to expect when he comes to town with them. At her descriptions, he suggests a few shops: a boutique nearby with things like perfumes, colognes, and accessories for the people who might like them, a bookstore not far from it, and beyond that, a handful of places to find handmade gifts.

The mention of bringing the photos back to her father makes him smile as he turns his head to watch the people in the streets near them. A mother nearby scolds both of her children for running ahead, while a man leaning against one of the other buildings flips the page of a newspaper idly. The soldiers they see pay them no mind -- hell, they hardly seem to be paying much attention in general.

“ That’s very thoughtful for you to bring those back. I know people who don’t care much for gifts, but things like that are always nice, even if they don’t like gifts. ”

He nods a little bit, though his eyes continue scanning the streets. He’s. . .anxious about something. He’s not sure what, but there’s a force of presence in the city nowadays.

“ We’ll find what you need and send back anything that we can’t carry to the house. How’s that? ”

[inthanatica]

clara.

The smell of a bakery is a miracle in and of itself. It has the quality of warming the cold straight out of the body through that sensation alone.

Coffee is a familiar scent too, but instead of smelling acrid and bitter like she normally expects- here, at least, it seems to balance out the honeyed sweet smell and the nostalgic scent of bread.

The most vexing thing about the situation is that there are so many choices- different kinds of pastries, stuffed pastries, pastries with circular stuffings, various chocolates, pralines…

Clara assesses her choices and comes to the conclusion that the only logical solution it to get one of each- and split it with each other- save the candies. She would get two of each candy to try.

The shopkeep looks incredulous at her orders, but then the look of incredulity of the expression changes to uninterested acceptance when she pays for everything in full.

She eats with Anatoly and, as expected, it is entirely too much food. She cuts into a treat that is brown as molasses and spongey, with a hint of ginger for the taste. It looks as if it’s been stamped with different shapes, which makes it as artistic as it is delicious.

“The pryanik is so fun! I love the little stamp shapes- mnnn…” Clara grimaces as she suddenly gets a sharp sting in the back of her mouth, “My teeth are starting to hurt- is that normal?”

She sets down the pryanik, and looks at the haul of goodies.

“This is the most food I’ve had in… well, ever. I’m not hungry anymore. Stuffed actually.“

She leans her head against her hand and smooshes her cheek, trying to massage the pain away from her teeth, “Do you think Daniil likes these things? We should bring some back to him.”

He picks something simple to pick at with a cup of coffee while she hmmms over what to get. Eventually she chooses. . .a little of everything, which is how they get some eyes on them as they settle at one of the back booths of the bakery, out of the main space of people staring.

It also meant he had a good spot to watch the room, keeping an eye out for anything that might leap out to him as dangerous. Clara enjoys her sweets, picking out her favorites by which ones she tries more than once -- ones that didn’t get her approval got one bite out of them and then pushed over to his side to have.

“ We can take some back to the house with us, yes. We’ll get them packed up into cake boxes and share them with Gurina and Daniil. ”

He smiles a bit, sipping at his coffee for a moment as he eyes the door out of habit, his fingers drumming on the table.

“ Your teeth likely ache because you aren’t used to eating so much sugar -- and so much at once. It’ll pass soon enough, though drinking some water will help. ”

He slides her glass of water closer to her, careful not to tip it over, and folds his hands in his lap.

“ So, gift shopping next. ”

[inthanatica]

clara.

Browsing through the gardens, Clara observed so many different biomes, and marveled at the shapes that plants could take, how they adapted. Earth really was beautiful.

She even saw plants that ate animals- and that boggled her mind!

It made her appreciate the steppe a little bit more. It wasn’t empty- just full of small things. Everything was different. Grasses, twyre, moss, lichens… The trees that craved blood.

She misses home.

Anatoly mentions food- and she suddenly becomes hyperaware that she only ate in passing, and headed out.

To be fair, she was used to eating on the go during the outbreak- but since living in the Rod consistently, and having scheduled meals…

She was hungry.

“Ah!” Clara exclaims, “Food sounds good- what kind of sweets? Candies? Pastries? Both?”

Clapping her hands together, she grins at Anatoly, “Can I buy the food? Please? You already got the tickets for the garden- I’d like to get the food! No one let me in their stores to buy food back at home- cause they thought I was my sister- so I’d like to buy something since you’ve been so nice to me!”

A break would be nice- truth be told, she was getting a little overwhelmed just by how much there was to do and see.

The carnivorous plants had been Clara’s favorite -- and his own as well, coaxing a fly into the maw of a venus flytrap that clutched itself closed around the offering.

They walk a while longer, until Clara’s stomach rumbles and he laughs at the mention of food. They should get moving anyways.

“ They didn’t let you buy food. . .because of your sister? ” It strikes him as incredibly strange, though he doesn’t say she can’t buy the food -- he’s fine with letting her pay. She had shown she had quite the stash of coin, considering her boat fiasco.

They duck out of the gardens and back into the cold, though they avoid taking a carriage to simply walk down the busy sidewalks and streets. There are newsboys hawking newspapers, and street stalls that have yet to pack up and leave despite the cold.

The bakery sits quaintly at the corner, smelling of warm bread and sweets, and Anatoly finds himself sighing in quiet, nostalgic joy. There was something wonderful about it, honestly. It was a place that served coffee (though the prices had risen dramatically in the last weeks) and baked goods and a small selection of candies as well.

“ Get whatever you want -- and I’ll get whatever I want, but if it’s too much, I’ll get my own. ”

[inthanatica]

clara.

“Oh, you’re going to meet everyone,” she says, matter of fact.

She’s excited to bring him back. She thinks about who would get along with him- who wouldn’t. She thinks most everyone would like him. She thinks Bad Grief would irritate him though.

She’d still try to introduce him. Who knows if Anatoly would ever need contraband.

Though… she wasn’t certain what would or wouldn’t be contraband with her father solely in charge now. There was a lot of uncertainty.

The royal azaleas spill out on the walkway, and petals fall as the tree-like shrub sheds. Clara stoops to pick up a pink bloom, edges slightly browned from being disconnected.

She senses a kind of melancholy coming from her guide. He stares at the shrub, as if he’s trying to memorize it.

Clara gazes at the petals as well. They’re soft in her hands, and she turns to Anatoly to put a single bloom into his lapel.

She stands there a moment longer, and then guides him through the rest of the building, and the auxiliary greenhouses, taking in the green, the flowers, the bastion of warmth against the winter cold.

“ I’m quite excited to meet everyone. ”

He nods slowly, his attention taken by the plants around them, as she stoops for some of the blooms. After a moment, she tucks them into his lapel and he blinks, before he offers a small, genuine smile to her, and lets her walk them towards the other greenhouses.

“ Apologies. I’m letting myself get caught up in thoughts that -- I don’t have much time for, really. ”

He shakes his head, though he brushes his fingers against the flowers. There’s a quiet thought there, and the pressure around them changes -- holding the blooms in a small stasis until he could get them back home to be pressed in his things.

“ You’re a very sweet girl, you know. After this, we can go shopping -- I know a few places that are near a bakery with the best sweets on this side of the Capitol. We can stop there for a break. ”

He pats her hand gently, explaining quietly the blooms he knew the names of, and facts about where they were from, what they could be used for -- anything he thought might interest her.

[inthanatica]

clara.

“Well…” she thinks, “There’s a bar in town- the Broken Heart- but that’s about it. Andrey runs it, but he also gets into a lot of fights, so he doesn’t get a whole lot of guests.”

What else was there?

“We have a theater too, but no one goes there because Mark’s creepy. Other than that? That’s it. Rent’s bad too- or at least it was. Prices for food got real bad too.”

She shrugs, “Most of the town just… works. There’s the people in the Factories, there was the people in the Abattoir… and other than my Father’s people in the patrolmen and in Town Hall- there’s no other jobs. I mean, the Kains and Olgimskies had mercenaries too, but… that’s- hm.”

Clara thinks about all the tension in town and Georgiy’s orders, and the conflicts that the Governor had to deal with constantly.

“… It didn’t make anyone happy. Probably less happy too when father had to disband all of them.”

Clara looks over to Anatoly, “It’s not great there- but I’m trying to think of ways to make it better.”

They walk beyond the corridor, leaving the rush of water behind, and pass by a few other exhibits, but Clara has to pause to look at a tree-like shrub with a multitude of speckled pink flowers.

“Oh! That’s pretty. Ah, I think Grace would like this plant! Grace is my best friend. She watches the Cemetery, but Peter takes care of her now! Peter’s Andrey’s brother. They’re twins. Andrey looks after my other friend, Khan!”

It devolves into Clara informing him of who lives with who and who is related to who and by what means, before she pauses.

“… Oh I’m pretty sure half the town is adopted by now- but I’m not sure what Capella and Notkin are going to do… I don’t think Vlad Jr.’s well- and Notkin doesn’t like the adults other than Artemy. He’s as bad as Khan.”

“ Well, let’s keep a few of the sights we see in mind for things to bring to your little town. ”

He nods slowly as she keeps talking, and their discussion of recreation turns into explaining the entirety of the social circle of the kids she knew as they find his favorite part of the exhibit -- the royal azaleas that were wider than he was tall, almost spilling into the walkway.

Grace was her friend, who lived with. . .Peter, who was the brother of Andrey. Andrey cared for Khan, who was friends with -- maybe friends with? -- Notkin and Capella, none of whom like the adults in town.

There’s a moment where he wishes he had a notebook, but he knows his steel trap of a mind would hold the information for him.

“ I see. I can’t wait to see who you introduce me to first when we arrive. ”

It’s something to think about. The fact that he was, indeed, considering leaving the Capitol with them. Not even just considering, but actively planning for it. He couldn’t stay here.

Ah, he might not see these gardens ever again. It has a tinge of melancholy come over his face as he looks up at the flowers, letting Clara guide them to whatever piqued her interest next.

[inthanatica]

clara.

“Oh wow! The babies get really, really big then.“

She makes one last ‘glub’ back at the fish, and starts to walk alongside the fencing, slowly. Making their way to the waterfall at the very end of the room. Clara steps one foot in front of the other, counting the tiles it takes to make it there.

The roaring water prompts her to speak more loudly as they get closer.

“…Seventy-four… seventy-five… That’s a lot of steps!”

She hums, thoughtfully- even though she can hardly hear it aloud.

“I like this place,“ she declares, “I like all the plants, animals, and people being brought together- I should tell Father about it- maybe we can get something like this- in the town!”

Clara’s thoughts drift back home. How dismal everyone seemed to be. A lot of apathy and sadness…

It doesn’t have to be this big, she decides, just big enough that other people can enjoy it. People are sad and unhappy because there’s… nothing to see or play with.

There were playgrounds, sure. Several of them. And before it fell, there was the Polyhedron, but only the children could play with those. Now that she thought about it- what did the adults have? Chores, constantly. Work.

“… Anatoly, what do grown-ups like to do? Are there other things adults are supposed to do when they grow up other than…” she thinks of a phrase she heard Saburov say, about life’s certainties.

“…taxes and dying?”

She counts the tiles and he walks behind her a few feet, careful to tread far enough from the edge that the water on the floor won’t trip him up. The roat of the water over them isn’t enough to drown her words out, but it is enough that they have to speak up once they get closer.

“ It’s lovely, really. With the right facilities, it isn’t even that hard to set up, so perhaps bringing one to the town is a good idea. . . ”

She gets thoughtful for a moment as she seems to consider something about the gardens -- and the question that pops out of her makes him think as well, even if he’s trying not to laugh at the way she phrases it.

“ Ah, it depends on the person, but generally. . .I like going out to eat, getting fresh air. The gardens are a good place for me because there are plenty of places to sit if I need to.

Some folks go to the bars, some simply go on walks. . .sightseeing, going to the museums -- there are a lot of places here in the city. ”

He considers a moment longer before he offers his arm to her again.

“ In your town, however, I’m not sure what all there is to do. And that’s not to say that there aren’t people who work all the time here. The industrial districts are packed with people who really only work. ”

There’s a frown to his face as he leads them away, so they can speak quieter.

“ The prices around here are abysmal. Rent is high in a lot of places, so high that you can’t do much else. ”

[inthanatica]

clara.

“Ooooh…“ she croons in quiet wonderment, “They look soft too! The only other white plant I’ve seen is white whip- it’s a kind of twyre on the steppe- and it’s got tufty things, but you gotta be careful picking it, because some of the leaves are sharp- and it’s poisonous.“

The sound of running water, like a river seems out of place inside this building, but as they round the corner, Clara sets her eyes toward the source of the sound and stares in awe.

A massive room, filled almost entirely with water, with only a small walkway around the large rectangular space was before them. At the far wall were jagged and layered rocks  of slate and granite, where water rushed and tumbled down, roaring with its motion.

Strange, circular green shapes covered the quiet surface of the water nearest to her, each as big around as she was tall, and also sported a giant white bloom. Beneath the odd plants, she saw very big, colorful fish- spotted golden, white, red, and black with tiny whiskers by their mouths.

There were other plants too- some that looked like floating heads of lettuce- some that looked like someone had spilled a can of peas over the top of the water, some that had stalks that shot straight up out of the water, alongside grasses with brown bulbs at the head of it.

She points at the big circles, “Look! I could sit on that! It’s really big! Oh. look at the fishies! They’re really pretty! The ones at home are just… brown. Or dead.“

She says it offhandedly, and runs up to the fence to lean over and get a closer look at everything.

The slate, stacked rocks of the waterfall held different mosses, lichen, and a few draping plants, but her attention was captivated by the colorful fish now, that bobbed to the surface and opened it’s frowning mouth with a small ‘glub’ sound.

She tries to imitate the motion of its lips and the sound in turn.

“ They are quite soft to the touch -- the locals of where they normally grow, up in the mountains, use them for medicine. I’ve heard them called the bellyache flower because they can be used to soothe abdominal upsets. ”

They stop there long enough for a breather before Clara all but guides him towards the source of the running water -- an indoor pond space that made the air humid and cool, but no where near the cold outside.

Fish darted beneath the plants, consisting of massive lily pads, local crocus plants, and all manner of things taken from abroad to grow here. There were lotus plants growing among them too, the broad seed heads bending low like they were taking a bow.

He’s happy to let her run to the fencing, following behind her to set a hand on the railing and lean over to watch the fish. Some came close, expecting to be fed, and he laughs quietly when she repeats the sound back.

“ The largest of the lily pads could probably hold your weight, actually. Some places use them to make floating walkways, but it takes years and years to get to that size. ”

It’s nice to be here. It’s good, because it gets him out of his thoughts a bit to wrack his brain for information to tell her instead of lingering on the reasons he came out to get away from what had happened only a few days prior.

“ These fish start out quite small -- you could have held them in your palm to start, but look at them now. ”

[inthanatica]

clara.

Clara takes his elbow, careful not to lean too much into him and throw off his balance.

It seems like, despite everything, humanity here tries to cling on to a sense of normalcy. The botanical gardens were a truly neutral area- even if the old rulers started the place, other people came here to enjoy it too.

Tickets paid for, Clara and Anatoly cross the threshold into significantly warmer spaces. Voices of quiet conversation muffle together and echo through the chambers.

Patterned granite and marble tiles lined the floors, with some spaces opening directly to the ground so that trees could thrive inside- blocked only by fences.

Clara’s fascinated by the incorporation of nature into the buildings… how the trees lived on their own, tended to only by the water provided by the attendants, and the sun shining through the glass roofs… Vines crawled up trellises and columns, hanging far overhead.

Flowers, of all colors and shapes that she couldn’t even conceive of, coexisted with the very human structures.

In her head, she had always separated nature from human settlements. It seemed odd, alien even, to have them all sharing the same space and benefiting from it. The gardens weren’t a house to protect from nature, but it also wasn’t a house to protect the plants from the humans.

“… Murky would love this place.”

Clara turns to look up at Anatoly, “How many different kinds of plants are there? Which ones are your favorites?”

He pays for their tickets quietly, slipping into the murmur of the gardens around them. It’s warm in here, to keep the flowers from curling from the cold, and he untucks his scarf a bit as they walk into the main area.

There are trees growing to brush the top of the domed buildings, with flowers scattered in clusters around the room. There’s a waft of perfume from the flowers, stronger from the paler flowers than the more brightly colored ones.

It’s a place to relax -- and he adores it here. He truly does, relaxing instantly as he pats her arm and guides her around. It’s good. If what he had heard was true, then this would be Clara’s first experience with flora outside of the Town on Gorkhon.

He walks them around the central part of the room, to one of the smaller greenhouses nearby. There are only a handful of people here, ladies in their day gowns and men dressed in warm wool coats, and he stops them near a number small white flowers.

“ There are nearly a hundred different species here, I think. Perhaps a handful more. My favorites are. . .hm. ”

He thinks for a long moment, leaning his weight on the cane for a moment.

“ There’s a royal azalea bush deeper in the building that is bigger than both of us, but I don’t think it’s flowering at this time of the year. And these -- ”

He tips his head to the white flowers beside them. The plants were squat and quite fuzzy actually, almost like they had donned wool coats themselves.

“ These are edelweiss flowers. The white ‘petals’ are actually modified leaves. The small yellow clusters between them are the actual flowers. ”

[inthanatica]

clara.

Clara looks at the soldiers they pass, shrinking back a little bit from view. The Fourth Army never made it home, but she still can’t forget the General’s offer to put her on the frontlines. To have her judge who was worthy enough to live, and control the disease.

It sat wrong. She never wanted to kill, even though she had killed.

Everyone deserves to live, yet some must die.

That voice again. She bats it away, and focuses back on Anatoly.

“Hm? Oh I’ve never been on a picnic,” she confesses, “because  there was a plague, and then after the plague it got way too cold.”

She shrugs, “It seems fun- but what’s a picnic really? You just eat outside with a blanket- anyone can do that anytime.”

Leaning back in the seats, she pauses to think on it further, “I guess you normally eat inside, though. So I can see the appeal.”

The carriage draws to a close as they arrive near the botanical gardens. Clara is stunned when she steps out, and looks over to see a broad building that reaches as high as the Crucible, and smaller buildings that look as if they are made of glass.

“Oh! Are those glass houses for the plants?”

Clara sinks down into her seat and Anatoly offers a hand out to her to comfort her. The soldiers make him very nervous as well -- his health kept him out of the war, but it meant he was following it constantly from the news they were fed.

They were losing. They had lost, if the newest turn against the government was anything to go by.

She asks about picnics, however, and he smiles at how she explains it.

“ I suppose that makes sense. It’s more of a relaxation thing, to come out and enjoy the sunshine along with your lunch. ”

He laughs at how she kicks back into the seats again before he offers an arm out to her when they step out of the carriage. The gardens outside of the buildings are wilted, but the greenhouses are flourishing with bright blooms inside.

“ Yes, the glass houses are for the plants! They keep things inside warm and humid enough for the plants to grow in ideal conditions when it’s too cold to continue growing outside. Come along, I’ll show you my favorite flowers. ”

He offers his elbow to her, as if she were a proper lady he was escorting about the town.

[inthanatica]

clara.

Clara nods at his explanations, satisfied with the itinerary for the day. He’s very patient with her questions as well, even with her inability to focus on just one thing.

The horses don’t scare her as much now, even with their massive size and odd proportions.

Inside the carriage is nice and covered from the snow. Signs of turmoil still sat outside, but people were always going to be people- and try to carry on with a normal life, regardless of the situation.

“Oh warm inside gardens sound so nice! I wanted to play around in the snow, but now I’m almost tired of it. I’d like to see grasses and trees and flowers again.”

She wistfully leans her head against her wrist, propped up at the base of the carriage’s window.

“… are they all from this place? Or all over? Or is it a surprise?“

“ It’s a collection of botanicals from all over. Most of them are native to the region, but many are brought over from other places. Our rulers. . .er. Our former rulers were very fond of them. So, they collected them. ”

He says it quietly, laying his cane across his lap and watching the buildings pass outside once they started moving. It was. . .nice. It reminded him of the trips he took with Daniil to lectures or presentations.

“ It’s one of the few buildings still standing despite the upset, which surprises me. I suppose everyone has come to like them, and the city would be in even more disarray if something happened to the gardens. ”

There are people outside in caps and coats trying to ward off the cold as they walk from place to place in the city. The entire place might be at war with itself, but the people of the Capitol were nothing if not resourceful.

“ I think you’ll enjoy it. It’s always been a treat to visit whenever I did, even if I’ve been too busy the last few years to do so. ”

He frowns a bit -- there are soldiers outside, huddled together and discussing something. They’re dressed down, not actively on duty, but they’re still soldiers.

Ugh.

“ This place is very lively in the summer -- the garden district in particular is absolutely full to bursting with people having picnics. ”