Perpetual Motion: Rituals

Every society, every culture has its own rituals; ceremonies, rites of passage, coming of age or passing away. Amarrian rites stand out as so very formal, Matari so passionate; they all serve this basic need that people seem to have, of marking changes. And everyone has their own personal little rituals, in their very own way.

Because, you know, those little rituals do help.

--

Age seventeen: Tash-Murkon Prime

"Miss Catherine."

"Yes?"

"Everything is ready, mademoiselle."

"Thank you, I will just need a few minutes."

I cut the comms and sighed. It was time to say goodbye.

I walked determined across the House until I reached the door to my bedroom and knocked, knowing there was no one inside. You know... to hear the sound just once more. I knew that door so well -its heft, how to push it exactly so it would not slam... or exactly so it would- how to listen to sounds muffled behind it, how to block it from House control. I opened it slowly and stepped in.

"Goodbye my bedroom," I said to the now empty space. The intricate golden ornaments of the household were there but all my things were gone. It looked smaller, somehow, without the furniture and stuff lying around. It used to be such a mess. And it felt weird like... someone else's already. Of course it wasn't mine: it was tidy.

I looked around as I slowly walked back, picturing every thing the way they used to look, posters, dresser, my backpack, holodesk. Coming out of the bedroom and through my personal quarters, I ran my hand over a massive wooden table that would have to stay. "Goodbye. I am sorry I cannot take you along." The texture of the wood felt so rich and smooth to the touch and the grain looked beautiful; along with the dark hue it had this sense of power, old power and secret deals. I have found similar in boardrooms since, but I bet they don't know half of what mine did of overnights and study, of friends and confessions, of breakfast, of passing out. "I will miss you, you know that."

The family chambers, right outside mine, were still full of the trappings of family life. Maybe a bit less, maybe a bit older now. It had been a family of four long ago, and then three. Now it would become a family of two. Maybe it was too big now. Or maybe dad would be transferred and it would be assigned to be the home to some other family and some other teenager. Well, that is the way it goes, is it not?

"Goodbye, my home," I said to myself.

The household staff were assembled by the door. They were a diverse bunch, gallies and takis, jin-meis and whatnot; from dad's embassy liaison, to the cook, to mom's nurse. Among them, they never found a single spy. Maybe there even was not one.

I said goodbye to each and every one, mentioning little personal details, sending regards to their families and presenting each with a small formal parting gift. Yah, one acquires some local customs after so many years. There were smiles and tears too, those were definitely imports.

I took a long last look at my home. Former home. The next time I came it would be as a visitor and I knew it would not feel the same.

I turned to the head of the household staff, "Mr. Asahir, I am ready."

The man in front of me made a quick gesture and I felt familiar hands fitting a cloak on my shoulders. We had always disputed that, I would insist on wearing the cloak myself, he would argue that it demeaned staff to be deprived of their rightful duties. Stubborn old man.

So for the last time I rolled my eyes at him, smiling.

"The transport will take you to the Consulate where your family awaits; they will then see you to the spaceport. Your luggage will be transferred directly to your new lodging in Luminaire. Will there be anything else?"

"Will you please take care of them."

The Nefantar smiled wryly. "Of course, Miss Catherine. You need not ask."

"Goodbye Hort," I said knowing how he disliked that nickname. "Thank you for everything you have done for us. For me."

"Goodbye mademoiselle."

"Goodbye everyone, take care."

Goodbye old life.

Hello new adventure.

--

Moving is always a painful occasion. Sometimes you do not understand the significance until much later. Sometimes you do understand and -especially when you have staid somewhere long enough to grow roots- maybe that makes it all the more painful. It hurts.

But you find ways to cope with it. Maybe moving was an exception not to be repeated and you find a bright future in your new home. Or maybe a new adventure which will last you all of fifteen minutes, until you have to move again.

So you come up with your own little rituals. Rites of passage for easing the pain, to remember what you used to love of your old life, or to embrace your new life with passion. For rituals mark change, and change is what you make of it. I choose change to be good.

Here is to good change. Cheers,

Q

Perpetual Motion: Hints

Age twentysix, Metropolis

Quin, wake up.

I was curled up lying sideways in bed, with the duvet pulled into a nice cabbage around me. There is only one way to sleep, dear, and this is it.

Now leave me alone.

--

Quin, wake up.

My eyes were so puffy I could barely open them. You know how it feels when it is warm under the covers and everything else behind a slightly colder haze. You don't even want to move. At all. Maybe except your feet. I can stay for hours lying in bed, just slowly moving my feet and my toes. It's a gift.

So I did not even bother to open my eyes, wanting just five more minutes, five more.

Go. Away.

--

Quin, wake up.

"Oh please, make it stop."

Yup, because waking up can be ignored only so much.

I turned and stretched, yawning lazily. Nice bed. I opened my eyes and looked straight at... the ceiling, wondering where I had woken up, the baritone voice being about the only thing I recognised around me. I looked for clues, as usual.

After a second yawn I noticed the sounds, there was rain mixed with this incessant hum that could be air conditioning in the room, plus something vaguely industrial far away.

I rubbed my eyes. Ceiling, yes, as unrecognisable as the sounds, with a metallic yet unpolished look with a hint of rust. I spy... a Republic-style building?

Sounds of water. Not rain, coming from behind a door, so maybe a shower. Someone showering? Had I spent the night with...? Yah -you go ahead and laugh- I could NOT remember who I had spent the night with, or even if.

It had better been amazing.

Propped on an elbow, I looked for stuff. The clothes lying around were mine, as was the suitcase, so it was probably my place. Hotel room? No trace of whathisname's stuff, not even a shirt.

Ah, the shower. You know how it sounds different, like movement, when someone is in the shower but it sounds flat when no one is? The rain also sounds alive by the way but this one was flat, so the shower was likely empty. Either that, or there was a body in the shower, ha, ha. Ew.

Alone, bummer, and that was my wake-up shower.

Earrings, my last clue. I reached for my left earlobe and counted: one, two, three. Clone number three, in other words, Business Clone. Money Me.

So:

Republic hotel, by myself and wearing my business clone? I remembered, barely. I was in Teonusude for a marketing pitch, having clone-jumped and flown in on the previous evening for dinner and a whole night of sleep.

I am very good at sleeping, by the way. Not so good at waking up.

And I needed to be in top shape because, racer history would not matter. I had to show off my keen sense of market, the fact that I can buy my own expensive stuff and justify that yes, hiring the real deal would cost them dearly. They would not care how many Nomads I had plugged in some other clone, if my mind and my +5's right here were dozing off and wandering somewhere else.

Anyway, it was time to get ready.

"Mirror, mirror," I asked out loud, "Is there time for a bath today? And will you please find me an actual mirror?"

The baritone replied "Quin, you have a meeting scheduled in three hours. This room is not equipped with a holo mirror, although you may use the reflective membrane on the wall as per local custom."

Reflective membrane... a flat mirror?! How precious! Ever tried one yourself? I know it takes getting used to and you end up twirling and twisting your neck so you can not really look at yourself -which was the whole point of this mirror concept to begin with. But it is such a quaint thing, and the feeling that you have to use this ancient object in the same way they used to, in the old days. Like an Amarrian Holder Princess of yore, ha!

As I stood up I found what looked like a window into another room and saw... myself, looking back. A flat mirror, how cool! It had been years since I had used one but, you know how it is, once you learn how you never forget. Only last time it had been mounted on a proper golden frame.

Bath! Right. "Please cancel the shower and prepare the bath."

"Quin," the AI voice said, "the shower is currently in use."

Oh?

I turned around, surprised, and walked back towards the closed door, listening carefully for any extra hint. Clone jumping always messes my mind up, but maybe there was enough time to remember what I was up to last night.

"In that case," I grinned, reaching for the door, "please order breakfast for two."

--

You get used to it, and even come up with ways of coping. Ways of making it appear interesting or even funny, the fact that sometimes you may even not have a place regular enough to call home.

So you smile, you laugh. At every chance, every little thing you observe. The way people walk, or that silly monocle, or how the sun feels different or moves the wrong way. Because it is new, true or not, it should be exciting, and finding excitement in the little things, that makes all the big changes worth it.

And it keeps you going.

Perpetual Motion: People

At some point in your life you realize that it is not places but people that make you feel home.

So it is only natural that, as you leave places behind, you will want to bring your people along. A gift, a memento, a promise to write or to call, maybe visit. A social network link because, you know, you will also be chatting, talking, conferencing each other face to face across the chasm. Like being home.

Is it not great? Keeping in touch with people is so much easier than keeping in touch with places.

And maybe, if you are lucky, you will meet them again somewhere.

--

Age ten: Pator

Sitting on the rocks next to the beach, I was holding my knees to my chest while Taro basked in the sun, lying on his back with one leg dipping lazily in the water. The murmur of the ocean blanketed everything and was a lovely background to idle chat.

"Dunno. Journalist. An artist like Maman," I said, "something with people, definitely."

Taro chuckled "Like your mom? I hope not. She's fierce."

He had been one of my first friends back in Eram and one those who had left ahead of us. As it turns out when it had been time for my family to move out, dad's next assignment had been Pator. Down in Matar, actually.

Have you seen it? Of course everybody knows about Matar, the cradle of the Republic and everything, but have you seen it? From above it is this beautiful blue ocean world, with green dots here and there for people to live on. And on the ground, from the snowy mountain ranges to the plains and deserts to the jungle islands... oh, my favourite part used to be the islands. We lived on an island.

This is was where Taro's family had returned to. this was their 'home.' By some amazing coincidence we had ended up living on the very same island where they hailed from and it was cool because some of mom's old friends from Eram also were there.

Someday I would learn to do that, to arrange coincidence the way mom did. ;)

Anyway, funny how knowing someone from my previous life had helped so very much when I arrived... how long had it been, five years now? How time flies. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath of salty ocean air. It felt great.

I felt home.

I swear there must be this law of the universe that says whenever I start feeling at home, it is time to move to some other planet. I did not want to tell Taro. And besides that, there was much more to say but... I did not really feel like it. Somehow it just felt as if it would make things more difficult. So I just looked at the horizon and kept the small talk going.

"And what about you?"

"I want to be a soldier with the Marines."

"Oh, I see. How typical, you want to kill people," I teased, "you suck, y'know."

"It is not about killing, Kü, it is about fighting for my people." He replied matter-of-factly.

See, most in his tribe, the Brutor, feel different about fighting than the rest of us. For them it is usually about people and freedom, not about conquest, profit or sport. Fighting is Freedom. Fighting is Life. I knew that.

Maybe I could poke him with that.

"That's just an excuse, you know, so all of you can go and beat the crap out of each other like in the holos."

He just grumbled and pretended to ignore me.

Hey, maybe that is what I really needed, a good fight. A good break-up fight so epic that we would look back, remember this day and think good riddance! That way we would not have to miss each other terribly, every single day. We'd hate each other's guts, good. I could live with that. Half a universe away, that's what I would do.

In case you have not noticed, I am really good at fooling myself, sometimes.

So there, Newly Discovered Fact: Fighting is killing, fighting is crap. I hate you because you want to be a killer. 'Cause I said so. Just like that.

I pushed it. "No, really, must everything be solved by fighting?" now seriously enough for him to take notice. "Stupidest thing in the world."

"Sometimes you can't avoid a fight."

"I think there is always a way, if you really want to. And if you are smart enough."

He grumbled again and, in the corner of my eye, I could see him tensing up. I kept my sight on the horizon, thinking of how to tease him next. There is something not quite smart enough about trying to pick up a fight with an islander, boy or girl.

Oh, whatever. Keep poking.

"So, are you?"

"Am what?"

"Smart enough?"

Without actually looking in his direction yet keeping all my attention on that corner of my eye, I think I saw his head move. He was there allright, maybe he was wondering why I was suddenly hostile. Or maybe his tribal instinct was sizing me up for a well-deserved beating.

"Taro?"

"Hrmpf."

"I'm leaving. Dad got transferred..."

A movement, then stopped. I finally turned my head and found him propped up on one muscled arm, the other resting on his knee, curiously looking at me.

"Kü." He still called me that.

"It's Amarr."

"Kütral, listen," he slid closer and drew me in. I felt his arm gently pushing me closer, firmly across my shoulders, and I nested my head against his chest. I did not hug back.

"It's Amarr, Taro, it's fucking Amarr. I am going to live in the Empire now."

You know what some people say, right? Only two kinds of people live in Amarr: slavers and slaves. Even in this day and age.

Yah, yah, I know, and already knew back then it's not like that... but how about everyone else? Did my friends know? What would they think, what would they say? I was moving to the Empire. What would he say, what would he think of me?

And I did not want to go but, what can you do? Sometimes there is just no alternative but going wherever it is comes next.

"So what? We will always be friends," he whispered to my ear, "You are one of my people."

WTF? Hello? I was trying to break up and he was coming up with this? And why was that, genius, to make things more difficult? Put me through the grinder and make me hate even more already what I was about to go through? I mean, was it that hard to figure out that we were over anyway, whether we wanted or not. Take a hint, you obtuse, uncaring and simple-minded idiot. I am going anyway, so let me.

Why bother? He has never been good at hints, even today. I pushed him away slowly, deliberately.

"Goodbye Taro." So much left unsaid.

I stood up.

"N'de rendape ajuta," he said to my back as I turned around.

Yah, right, I thought, I would love to see that. Ten-year-old crosses the universe to be with friend, news at ten.

I did not run, I walked... and I did not look behind, I just stared ahead all the way home. No running, no looking back, no crying. Hey, two out of three, not bad.

Only halfway my sore feet reminded me that I had left my sandals behind.

I did not care. Wish it had been only sandals.

--

Now by the second time you move, you have already learned it doesn't quite work the way you expected. There is always something in between: distance, timezone, time apart, the fact that no matter how many times you call each other, the nuisance of a call will never feel the same as sitting in front of each other for drinks. Or a hug. Or a kiss. And then you start drifting apart.

So it does not work, and it turns out that you do leave friends behind, as much as you may want not to. But you expected this already, right? I mean, you learned that the very first time you moved.

One thing though. Maybe, if you are lucky, you will have good friends; they will keep you in their hearts, the same as you keep them in yours. And the day you see each other again, it will be like you were never apart.

For good friends, those are forever.

Perpetual Motion
Previously: Places

[OOC] Do-over

Lights check, ears check, eyebrows check, do-that-is-not-from-Lazytown...

Check.

With an aprés-pod look too.

There :)

[OOC] Face Time

I have been rather busy lately.

See, I saw Myrhial's post and then I had to look for myself. That pic over there is a first go at what I would look like in Sisi.

I liked the sculpting tool, although I felt that it is sort of limited in range. I mean, you can move the cheekbone a bit but not too much, the jaw a bit but not too much, there is no control over the shape of your head -which limits the kind of hair you should be legally allowed to sport- but you can control the shape of your temples tho, and the corner of your eyes (WTF? "wow, did you see the temples on that guy?"). Yay. I guess that this has been done this way to get a more realistic look and, anyway, they do achieve that in spades.

It would seem that cartoonish pics are no longer that easy to create, whereas the classic pic maker made it more challenging to create verosimile ones. Way to go!



Sorry, you gallies all look the same to me.


I wonder what will be the implication though, maybe we will transition from people that look all cartoonishly the same, to people that all look realistically the same? Then again, I have not played enough with this to build radically different faces within the same bloodline.

Maybe it is possible. We shall see.

Then again, maybe that's ethnicity at work, people looking alike. I remember that ethnicity did limit some of the choices you could make before, like no red-headed Amarrians, Brutor being generally more tanned and the Lonetrek facelift -that weird tight hairdo- only being only available to Civire and Sebiestor.

No such limits this time but again, test phase and we shall see. It would be cool if choices were ethnical (hair, eyes, tan) and some location-based (hairdo choice wherever you re-cast a character)



Fashion emergency


Regarding clothing you get the basics from what I guess are each race's designs of one piece of each top, pants, jacket and shoes. You can mix and match, and I happen to think Matari boots work surprisingly well with an Amarrian tunic :)

Designs are indeed gorgeous and very detailed; from a heavy-looking ornate tunic to a running tank-top. I can only imagine what the CCP wardrobe design department will be coming up with.. and I can't definitely not imagine all the many different ways that people will use them.

One thing though: no accessories yet, but these are promised for the future. I want backlaces!




Full freckles ahead!

You have many different face options, from hair to eyebrows to makeup and eye colour, no tattoos allowed. Sculpt sensitivity is weird, it takes some time to figure out what happens when you pull features in different directions with up/down/wide/narrow being an easy guess and smile/smooch/frown/sneeze being not so intuitive.




Eyebrows do not really work well on Gallentean faces yet and with my freakishly huge in-character ears, I guess I will be sticking with the bob for the time being.

Oh by the way? The round sliders are not that difficult to work, if you hate sliding it is possible to just click on any position and voilà, it slides by itself.


Express yourself!



After sculpting, I was surprised to find that you can make faces. I mean, you can smile or frown or squint, which is not the same as -and trickier than- pulling your mouth up or changing the size of your eyes from the previous phase. Range is again a bit conservative (see if you can tell wide-eyed smile from squinting smooch above and... yes, wide toothy smile was possible but I rather not). The pre-set poses look natural and are a much better starting point than the old ones.

What is cool is that the pic is alive as it is posing! Slight movements, eyes that wander here and there, light changes in expression... you get the idea. Which also means this is only the tip of the iceberg: come Incarna, I think you will find your avatar fidgeting, frowning or making faces you may not have intended and well beyond the control of the posing environment.

Which, I think, is a good thing.

And this is where the game is -'cause character creation is a game, did you not know?- in making a character that looks lifelike, real. Someone you could be talking to on the holo, or an ID card snapshot, or a realistic expression of happiness, anger, sadness, vengeance or whatever background history your character has. And it is still as challenging as it was before because, even if you get all these aids like the pre-sets and limits, the entire process from head to toe has now so much more complexity, that it still leaves you lots of room to come up with something unique, genuine and yours.




All things considered, I am quite impressed. It shows that there has been a lot of care and hard work done on Incarna, so I would like to send many thanks and kudos to CCP.

Also, thank you for allowing us to see this!

-Q



PS: I tried the Deteis and they look stunning already, just by pressing "continue" all the way. They sorely need to look uglier. Really. Lots. Nerf please!

PPS: I can see a meme calling. So, what do you look like in Sisi?

Perpetual Motion: Places

Age five: Eram

I was six the first time we moved. I guess I should have seen it coming.

Funny. As far as I can remember, there has been a steady trickle of people disappearing from my life. You can't imagine how tough it is to realize, as a kid, that friends are only temporary.

At first it was my friends from the crèche moving out. Thierry, Cathy Q, Taro. But new kids would move right in so there were always people around. They would stay just long enough to cease being strangers... and then would go.

Vanish, rinse, repeat.

Angèle was one of my best friends. Not only had we known each other since forever, we had also witnessed together the curious acts of disappearance by friends and schoolmates. We used to talk about that sometimes and afterwards I would pepper mom with questions about them, where had they gone, why had they gone and when were they coming back.

Apparently there is some mysterious time when grownups "must go" somewhere. And when it comes, they drag their family along. Stupidest thing in the world.

Then it had been Angèle's turn.

How predictable, you must be thinking. Right. I'd love to see you explain 'predictable' to a five year old.

Mom always did, she would explain with infinite patience and something like "She went back home, Quin, where her family is. When people have their home somewhere else, sometimes they want to return."

Okay, I was beginning to understand going back 'home.' Gallente kids went back home to the Federation. Caldari kids went back somewhere else called the State. Some had returned home to Pator. Blah blah. Apparently they would not come back on Monday nor the rest of the week and, unlike going back home for vacation, once they returned home... they were gone. For ever.

"Oh, no, not forever. All of these places are faraway stars in the night sky and, see, each one is actually an entire world full of people. They are so far, far away that it is difficult to attend the same school or to even visit, but maybe one day..."

So, 'home' was this place you had never seen in your life, huh? Full of strangers and empty of familiar faces or places. Any place else could be home.

Except, of course, the one where I had been born. Where I had been brought up, where I learned to talk, walk, made my friends, knew everyone in the neighbourhood, climbed every tree... where I lived. The one place that was mine yet, somehow, was not my home. 'cause home is elsewhere.

I got to stay while all of my friends had to go. Maybe I was just lucky.

All of my friends. All. of. them.

Lucky? Maybe I am looking for a different word here.

But... certainly not Angèle? She had been there all my life and my party, she was supposed to come to my sixth birthday party in a couple of months. Unfair!

"Why did she have to leave?"

Mom had heard so many of these questions before. "Why?" "Because people miss their home, sometimes very much so." "Why her?" "Because everyone has a home."

"Why do all of my friends have to leave? All of them? That's unfair. Must everyone go?"

"Because..."

"Why me?"

Yes, mom, why does this happen to me? Why?

She just looked at me and -you know how it is, to look at someone's face right that very moment they can't hold it back any more?- her eyes began to water. Looking away, she brought the back of her hand up to cover her mouth.

My, oh my, oh my, oh my, did I do something wrong, am I in trouble? Did I just hurt her? What did I do? I must have said something terrible, I did not mean to!

She began to weep quietly. Suddenly I saw it was not just me... it also happened to her. She was also losing friends, places, roots. It was not my fault. So I hugged her, we cried together and, for a couple of minutes, my mother and I were the same.

We were friends.

I really should have seen it coming. We moved a couple of days after my sixth birthday.

Perpetual Motion
Next: People

First Kill

Sometimes you find yourself in a situation you never intended to. You may have done something terrible, hurt someone, disappointed people... What do you do in this situation? What do you do when you disappoint yourself?

You deny, of course.

--

My father's forehead has these deep wrinkles, telling wrinkles.

We talk once in a while, by holo. Last time, I was having breakfast at my place in Clermont and he was having his after-dinner brandy somewhere in Mies. There is something funny about having a guest sitting in an armchair, in your kitchen, eyes level.

Back to the wrinkles. I can read those, you know. No one can read his mind but I will settle for the closest thing, his forehead. You would imagine that after years, no, decades in the service he would have perfected his poker face.

Well, he did and it does work with most people... but not with me. I am dad's girl.

Right there, three horizontal. Question.

"You know I look at the killboards once in a while, Catherine," said his holo across the table, "and I must say I was surprised to find your nom de guerre on the killing side last week."

Oh, merde.

I just looked back at him while I munched on my granola. I did not want to lie and besides, he almost always caught me.

He can read me right back.

--

It was a 0.0 roam with NOX, the first for me in so many ways. First outing in months. First time flying a Taranis. First time in fleet with Redkiwi as FC and the first time I ever heard many of them on vent, although Loras was a voice I knew. First time I had gone looking for trouble.

In my defense, I thought I was only looking. I had wanted to bring a Covops.

I have so many more excuses like those, if you ever want to hear.

Oh well, my Hell Hath was scout for the fleet and had just landed on the gate at the same time as a neutral Rifter. I was alone, two systems away from the nearest friendly and unsure about what to do. I was sure he was looking at me and I just looked back at him for a moment... Not wanting to shoot, I burned towards him and started orbiting.

What was I supposed to do?

He decided to lock me and that is when I freaked out. I am not sure who fired first, I simply flipped every single module I had and then waited for a quick death. Did I mention he targeted me first? He did.

And then it was over... as quickly as it had begun.

His ship had exploded, I found myself in half armour, my MWD turned off and warping away on instinct.

A minute later, I was warping back to the scene of the crime, to the sight of the NOX fleet inspecting the wreck and the sound of their voices cheering my kill. Again, a first in so many ways.

My first kill.

My first solo kill.

I felt great.

--

I felt awful.

You get some perspective when the rush is over. A week had passed and I was not done having a guilt trip. Lots. Of. Perspective.

Dad's holo was looking at me. What was I supposed to say? Sorry, Papa, it was an accident? I freaked out and shot the guy? He was threatening me?

Oops?

Sometimes, maybe it is best not to answer. "I think it speaks for itself, Papa."

Wrinkles again, two vertical. A frown of concern... annoyance? Yes, you will have to take it from me.

"I am not saying you did anything wrong, I just want to understand what you were doing in 0.0 and flying with Atlas. I know you realise that by taking sides -any side- you are closing doors to yourself in the future, so I will not try to..."

Uh, say what? Something did not fit there...

He went on "... red to CVA, the Empire and possibly also..."

"Wait, did you say Atlas? I do not think the guy I shot was from Atlas..."

Wait... busted. It took him ten seconds and a freaking mindtrick. Yes, so I did shoot someone.

But he did not expect me to be genuinely confused. To be honest, neither did I.

"No, no... that is not what I am saying. Ah, take a look at this, Catherine. Help me understand it."

He made an off-holo movement and a two-month old killmail popped up and hovered over my table. Sure enough, Atlas had killed a Thrasher in N-RAEL.

Somehow I was listed as the top damage dealer. Was it a joke? WTF?

"Oh, what? I had no idea," I replied, which was completely true. "N-RAEL? I remember two months ago, this guy podded me at a bubble camp there. I was on my way back from an expedition with Amarrian acquaintances, if that makes you happy. Of course I shot back! I wish I had got him, at least... are you telling me I did?"

"It was self-defence, of course," he asked-without-asking, "Do you need any help? We stand behind you, all the way."

"You bet it was. I woke up on a clone half a cluster away. Maybe this bozo managed to get himself killed by Atlas later. So yah, I am glad I shot him up, at least a little."

I was still surprised about having that kill and about not knowing for months. And I was angry.

How did that idiot dare to get killed? I had perfectly clean hands, no kills in almost three years of flying. I had just wanted to get away but, no, he had to go and get me on a killmail. Come to think about it, it was his fault and not mine that my record was ruined now. Once CONCORD has you on a killmail, eveyone knows. His fault.

And then there was Dad, subtly running damage control. Wondering if I had ruined my career. Or his contacts. Or his expectations? I did not even want to know.

Oh, I was angry and upset allright.

So upset in fact, that Dad had the tact to not ask about the Rifter kill. Nor about the Broadsword kill after that. And he would not know of that Dominix, because the stupid killmail never arrived.

Three, maybe four kills. A freaking spree.

What am I supposed to do?

--

In the end, it turns out that you can get away with a terrible deed. You just deny it and may even be able to fool some people, some of the time. But there is someone that already knows, the one person that really counts. Yourself. Can you pretend not to know?

And for just how long do you think you can try to fool yourself?

Gossip

It was October, YC 91.

I still remember Eram on my skin, sunlight warm and nice, a big green garden full of grass and trees and a pergola in the back. I was born there.

It was dad's first senior diplomatic assignment as an expert-technical-advisor-whatever-attaché to the Fed consulate to the Sebiestor tribe. We used to live in the expat district among so many foreigners and well-to-do Matari. My first memories are of stuff so alien to most that, well, it is just funny. Like people driving everywhere - sure, you can walk around at ground level but, it is so warm and things so far apart that by the time you get there, you need bug-bite cream and a clothes change. Airco rules. Or, playing with Paul in the mud, actual mud, in our garden without grownups yelling at us. Or, iguanas on the roof basking in the sun - mom once asked what could be done about those and was given a stew recipe, ew.

Totally alien, I tell you.

Anyhow, Paul and I attended this school nearby, the International School of Eram, where all the snobby kids like us would go wearing our little uniforms, learn boring stuff like reading and would go play out once in a while. I met my first friends back there, most of them Matari like Taro and Reba and Fred, and some expats like myself. On days off we would get together, sometimes at my place, sometimes at theirs.

By age four I had noticed something funny. Not a single one of the local kids was coming to my place. There was nothing wrong with the place, mind you. We had a room full of toys and dolls and holos and stuff, and my big brother even had that cool Capitaine Chasseur and the Fed Patrol set. But other than my Gallentean friends, no one else would ever show up. The strangest thing was, everything was nice and happy when I went to their places.

"Maman, why won't they visit with us?" I asked mom once.

She smiled. Did she suppress a giggle? Kids do notice, even if you do not think so "Oh, Catherine, do not worry about that, it is just a silly thing. You can always go play with them at theirs, if you want."

"But, I want to show them my stuff! Like this here my doll Anne and her friends, she never gets to play with my friends. And Taro has always wanted to see Paul's toys, but he will not come over and..."

She frowned a bit "Look, sweetie, there is this little thing called gossip. Do you know what it is?" I shook my head. "Gossip is when one talks to friends and then one's friends go and talk to their friends about the same thing."

I understood at once. "Okay, so the gossip lets us all stay in touch!" :D I had just found a new and very powerful means of communication. I wondered whose friends I could reach with this and all the new people I would meet, cool! I just needed to get myself a gossip and I'd be set.

Mom rolled her eyes. "Well yes and no."

She was being shifty, I knew, she wanted to hide this from me becausethegossipisagrownupthing or youarenotoldenoughforasubscription or something. I put my best face, smiled but stood my ground. "How so? Why? Can I have a gossip too? Please? Please?"

"A gossip is not something you have, it is something you do Cathi," -nobody called me Quin, yet- "You go and gossip with friends of yours, and they will go and gossip with theirs. It is fun but sometimes... it is not as fun."

So that was the problem. Mom then told me how she had learned from her friends, who in turn had learned from their daughters, that Reba had heard a story that went something like this:

They put something weird in the water supply at Gallente homes, so kids grow up to be dopeheads just like their parents.

And Reba was in a position to know. Her father, a chief at the waterworks, sometimes mentioned a mysterious Gallentean-sounding substance called 'Fleury' that went into the water. Our water.

Mom explained that it was called fluoride, silly, and it prevented your teeth from falling out when you grow up; that if parents sometimes acted funny, it was normal. As for the dopehead thing, our great nation is a free nation and people grow up to be dopeheads on their own, if they want to.

"So is Reba right? Is there something in our water?"

"No no, Cathi! There can only be good stuff in the water."

"Then why is Reba lying?"

"She is not really lying, she is just... mistaken. People make mistakes sometimes. She just does not know any better."

Now I know all these things, but back then it was heartbreaking. My friends would keep distance because of something I just knew not to be true. Reba never asked me directly before spreading the story, nor did any of the other kids. I wanted to scream my lungs out at her -I am not a dopehead!- but then screaming is not the most un-dopey thing there is. So instead of screaming, I talked to her the next time, to dispel her fears. Big mistake. She just took it as further confirmation that there was 'good stuff' in the water. How do you talk to people that do not want to hear? Anyhow, although we continued to be friends, she never visited chez moi.

That is how I became acquainted with The Gossip Monster. It bit me and hurt me, and there was nothing I could do but watch. But I would learn to tame it in years to come, oh yes I would. Gossip would never become an obedient pet, nor have I given to every one of Gossip's whim. But we have learned to respect each other.

I hope Reba is OK. It has been ages since I left Eram and we have not kept in touch. I hope she marries a dentist. ;)

Stay tuned. Q.

Hi, I am Catherine Delorois and I am a racer

(Sorry about that, haha, I guess I just had to do it ;-)

My friends call me Quintrala or just Quin.

I graduated from the University of Caille Business School with the class of 108 and, two years on, I am having a blast in space. I am still at UC doing graduate study on the rest of the stuff like, shooting straight, flying fast, research, also being captain of the University racing team -I will tell you all about that later- and trading here and there. Running, mostly, but definitely not in a hurry to join the corporate world outside...

Before? I was a "diplo-brat," we moved with dad's posts outside the Fed here and there so I have been around. I grew up in Matar -born there, actually- and Amarr space -teen hell if you ask me- and can still speak some of the local dialects. Mbae tekó, chera'a? Mom & dad are retired and well (no, they have not been mercilessly murdered by pirates - although I would strangle them myself sometimes) and living at a nice safe distance.

I like people and fun. Love the colour red, things that red-shift -things that go very very fast for you doppler-blind,- fast bikes, fast cars, fast spaceships, slow food (Achura food, mmm), fine wine. Red, please, or maybe a glass of Auvergne. Planetside? An occasional holoflick or an interesting read, dancing, biking, open water diving, skiing, sightseeing, meeting interesting people.

And now? Blogging. I read other people's blogs, capsuleers mostly, drop a note or two once in a while and, well, it is about people and fun! Why not try it myself?

So here I go. Happy 111 everyone, and see you around! -Q