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Memoirs 400 - Discerning
🕑 Added 2025-10-10 01:27:27 +0000 UTCThe room changed when Scarlett spoke.
The cause was that sentence. ‘It is time we discuss Fate, Time, and the Other’.
It altered the air. Not physically. Structurally. The meaning rearranged the silence.
Why? Why did sound have that power? What gave it that right?
Voices did not follow immediately. The others recognised something in Scarlett’s sentence. An unseen meaning beneath the words. They looked at one another. The shifting of cloth and the soft rasp of breath grew louder.
Slate watched the change.
Movement without purpose. Unformed anticipation. Muscles preparing for meanings not yet delivered. It was visible in Allyssa’s fingers. In Kat’s foot, tapping once against the table leg before stopping.
Scarlett sat very still. Stillness, in her case, was not absence. Absence was uncertainty. Scarlett practised control — containment of motion. Containment of thought.
“Please,” she said. “Continue reading. We will resume the discussion afterwards.”
The sound of pages followed. People returned to the packets of notes they had been given. None had finished. They were slow.
No.
Normal cognition required time. Interpretation was effortful. The others were not slow — they were human. Slate recognised that she was the outlier.
An outlier was a deviation from the pattern.
A deviation drew attention.
Attention was exposure.
Exposure was risk.
Slate understood that her existence necessitated change. But change required choice. Choice was discomfort. She did not understand the method of change.
Scarlett sought to bring her that change. Surrendering to it was easier. Slate would accept Scarlett’s change.
Four hundred and eighty seconds passed. Slate counted while waiting. She liked waiting.
Like was preference.
Preference was similar to intriguement.
Intriguement did not need to be a choice.
Slate liked that.
She tilted her head. It was curious.
“Scarlett,” Evelyne Hartford—Scarlett Hartford’s younger sister, daughter of Castor and Leondra Hartford—spoke. “…I don’t understand. What am I supposed to make of this?”
She gestured down at her papers. Her voice was hesitant. More uncertainty. Disbelief. Doubt. Recognisable patterns.
“Allow the others time to finish,” Scarlett replied.
Silence returned.
Three hundred and seven seconds passed. Then glances lifted and met. Small nods. Minor shifts in posture. Non-verbal signalling. They were ascertaining who had finished. Determining whether Scarlett’s criteria had been met. She was the leader, and so her words carried weight.
Eventually, all attention settled on Fynn. He was the only one who did not look up. Slate tracked the glances, studying each face in sequence. A small furrow pulled between her brows.
“…How’s it going over there, Fynn?” Rosa asked. “You stuck on any particular part?”
Fynn looked up. He frowned. “I’m already finished.”
The bard woman squinted. She pointed at his papers. “You’re still on the middle pages.”
Fynn glanced down, then up again. “I’m re-reading it.”
There was a pause.
Slate examined the faces again. They now showed surprise.
Why?
She turned back to Fynn. Observed him.
He met her gaze.
Her brow tightened further. A narrowed focus. Eventually, she understood.
Fyntrarth Grehaldrael was reckless and coarse. Preconceptions framed him as simple-minded.
Simple-minded was shallow.
Shallow was unthinking.
Reading was not unthinking.
Fynn’s fluency contradicted expectation. Contradiction elicited surprise. The appropriate response to surprise was pause and widened eyes — to acknowledge new information.
Slate widened her eyes.
Fynn’s frown deepened.
“If everyone has finished, then let us proceed,” Scarlett said.
Slate turned with the others. Scarlett looked at her.
“Slate.” The woman gestured. “To give us all a common footing, could you describe your understanding of Fate and Time?”
Slate registered seven fixed points of attention. Pressure behind gazes. Expectation.
She paused for three seconds.
Her head tilted again. Eight points of attention now. The Loci stirred, responding to focus.
She observed it. It shared properties with her. It did not understand, but it was learning.
“Slate,” Scarlett repeated.
Slate looked at the woman, then at the papers in her lap, reproducing a non-functional movement. She studied the neat page of fire-etched text. The word ‘Fate’ appeared four times. She knew its definition.
“Fate,” she said. “A structure of outcomes. A design made before decision. It records what will happen, not what is chosen. It is architectural.”
Fate was comfortable.
“Time,” she continued. “A river built to hold design. It flows because it must. Flow sustains structure.”
“Are those the Fate and Time described in the notes?”
Slate looked up. “Yes.”
Scarlett regarded her. “But there is more, is there not?”
“Yes.”
“Then provide that.”
“Fate and Time. Primordial beings originating from beyond this world. Creation was shaped by their convergence. The world that remains is their tombs.”
Scarlett’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Time’s tomb as well?”
“Yes.”
“I see… Then is it accurate to say your understanding includes them, though not in their entirety?”
“Yes.” Slate nodded. She knew their definition. She knew their purpose. She did not know their boundary.
Scarlett was silent for a time, then her gaze moved to the others.
“Very well,” she said. “You have read my notes. If we begin with Fate and Time alone, the question becomes what each of you makes of it.”
There was a shifting in the room.
Evelyne straightened. “I never imagined a concept like time would ever be connected to an actual entity, but that’s easy enough to grasp. And so is Fate. But…” She drew a slow breath. “It is disturbing, isn’t it? This idea that everything was set in motion simply to bring us—and the world itself—to this point. Assuming it’s true, if everything was already designed…what’s left for us to decide?”
Her tone sought reassurance. Slate marked it as a request for confirmation.
“I do not know,” Scarlett said. “My relationship with Fate is markedly different from yours. I am, for the most part, exempt from it.”
“Because of this ‘Other’ and its interference?” Evelyne asked.
“Presumably.”
“That must be nice.”
“…Perhaps. Though there are also consequences. Regardless, I do understand your sentiment. It is precisely for that reason I have been reluctant to share this knowledge.” Her gaze swept across them. “I would like to hear your conclusions.”
Slate followed the movement of her eyes. The others’ faces showed hesitation, but not much. There was more thought. Evaluation.
“…I guess I’ll go first,” Allyssa offered eventually. She gave a small, nervous laugh. “Honestly, though, I don’t like thinking about it much. I agree it’s disturbing. Time might be whatever, but the Fate we’re talking about here—” She glanced at the notes, tapping a finger on them. “It does make one want to question what the point of anything ever was. That’s got to be the natural reaction, right?”
She paused, then exhaled through her nose.
“That said, I think it maybe isn’t as bad as it sounds. If being around Scarlett really means Fate doesn’t affect you as much, and I’ve never noticed any difference between before we started working with her and after, then maybe Fate doesn’t change what I want to do. I’m still the one doing it. So I’d rather focus on liking the version of me who does it, instead of worrying about what’s bringing it about.”
Shin glanced sideways at her. “That’s more rational than how you put it when we talked before.”
“Oi, quiet you.” She gave him a quick jab to the arm.
Slate noted the faint smile that followed on Shin.
A smile implied satisfaction.
A strike implied aggression.
Satisfaction did not align with aggression.
Shin’s response pattern was inconsistent.
Allyssa breathed out and turned back to the others. “…Idiot that Shin is, he might have a small point, though. It’s easier to try to be rational about this now, but if I thought Fate was still around to control my future, it would’ve been harder to accept.”
Scarlett displayed a subtle upward motion at the corner of her mouth. Approval. Or sympathy. Slate logged both possibilities.
Kat released a quiet laugh. “Well, I feel underprepared. Besides the chat we had in the Forgotten Tower while Scarlett was gone, I haven’t really thought about it much. I figured I’d just go with the ‘don’t think too hard or you’ll go mad’ approach. Roll with it, you know?”
Allyssa smiled carefully. “We had a head start. Shin and I have talked about these things more than once. But what I said isn’t that different from what you said, is it?”
“Suppose not, no.”
“That’s truly the conclusion you reached?” Evelyne asked, brows lifting slightly. “It actually helps?”
“Helps me, at least,” Allyssa replied. “Do we really need to find more to say about it than that? I’m not sure over-analysing Fate will help at this point.”
Evelyne’s lips pressed together. “Maybe.” Her gaze dropped, voice lower. “But wouldn’t that just accept the current reality as inevitable? Why do I have to accept that Father and Mother couldn’t exist in the world we have now? Was it pre-decided that they would die? How am I supposed not to linger on that?”
Allyssa fell silent.
Slate studied the girl’s face. There was sympathy. Allyssa understood the shape of the emotion Evelyne was displaying from tone and word alone.
It was impressive, yet strangely redundant.
Slate did not see the purpose in lamenting Fate.
“You could look for revenge,” Fynn said suddenly. Slate turned her attention to him. He looked directly at Evelyne. “Olgolzkreh was responsible for what happened to my tribe, but Fate played a part. I would have wanted it dead. With it already gone, part of that revenge is fulfilled.”
“Fynn, maybe that’s not the best way to—” Allyssa began.
“No,” Evelyne interrupted softly, watching him. “I think I might prefer that perspective. But what would come next, then?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Revenge against The Other who decided Fate?”
Slate shifted her focus to Evelyne. The woman was considering.
Slate did not understand why. They did not understand The Other. They had not seen The Other. The Other was beyond all frames of comprehension available to them. Revenge against something that could not be understood lacked function.
“…If that is the mindset you believe will help you cope with these truths, then so be it,” Scarlett said. “Though I suggest you do not seriously consider attempting literal revenge against The Other.”
“Why not?” Evelyne turned to her. “I could just sic you on them. Apparently, I have a sister who kills primordial entities now.”
“To be clear, what I killed was a fracture of the original Fate, and I did so using power stolen from the Anomalous One. The framework of Fate that structured this world was dismantled by its own design, bound beneath the weight of a Geas.”
“Scarlett, I understand you’re trying to be thorough, and that you took the time to write all this down,” Evelyne said, “but I can still barely grasp what any of that means. Half of those words were new to me before I sat down here.”
Scarlett studied her quietly for a moment. “…Understandable. We can return to those subjects again once you have had time to examine them more fully.”
Evelyne grimaced. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to that.” She hesitated, then offered a small nod towards her sister. “But I do appreciate that you’re including me in these discussions.”
Scarlett inclined her head slightly in response. “You are welcome.”
A narrow silence lingered between the sisters. Slate frowned, glancing between the others. No one spoke. No one moved. The stillness differed from earlier silences, but the reason was not immediately identifiable.
What defined the difference between silences?
She considered. Then understood.
A silence could serve as a signal in conversation.
A signal was a social tool for coordination.
Coordination was a form of exchange.
So silence was also communication.
Social exchange proved increasingly and deceptively complex.
“By the way, Scarlett, I have to ask,” Evelyne said, narrowing her eyes faintly at her sister. “With all this talk of gods and primordial beings and defying and killing Fate and stealing this ‘Anomalous’ power…you are still mortal, aren’t you?”
Scarlett’s eyebrows rose. A sign of surprise. Rare for the woman. “Yes, I am most certainly mortal.”
A cough sounded in the room. “For now.”
Slate turned her head towards Rosa, who lowered her hand.
She tilted her head.
Coughing.
A symptom of illness.
Illness was a sign of deterioration.
Deterioration could mean death.
Was Rosa dying?
Slate raised her hand and touched her fingers lightly to Rosa’s forehead. A method through which to determine illness.
The woman blinked at her. “…Hello there. Mind if I ask what you’re doing?”
“I am determining if you are expiring,” Slate said. She withdrew her hand, inspecting her fingertips. They were warmer. The skin was soft. Warmth indicated heat. Heat could mean fever. Fever could be fatal.
She turned towards Scarlett. “Your bard may be perishing. I suggest intervention.”
“Whoa, hold on now, let’s not bury me early.” Rosa leaned forward slightly, hands raised.
Slate regarded her. “You should not move. Excessive motion could worsen the condition.”
“I’m not perishing, okay? It was a fake cough. Fake. Understand?”
Slate paused. She considered.
Fake meant false.
False implied a ruse.
A ruse required intention.
Rosa was not dying.
What was the reason for coughing?
Slate focused.
A cough could resemble the clearing of a throat.
A clearing of a throat was a social cue.
A social cue sought attention.
Rosa had coughed to emphasise her comment. Her tone had been humorous. The cough reinforced that meaning.
Slate nodded. “I understand. You prioritise rhetorical effect over avoiding unnecessary distress.”
Panic showed on Rosa’s face.
Laughter broke out.
Slate turned her gaze towards Scarlett, as did the others.
Slate studied her. She did not understand Scarlett Hartford. Scarlett Hartford was not understandable.
But she did not think Scarlett Hartford laughed often.
The brief panic on Rosa’s expression eased as she looked at Scarlett. It was replaced with a smile. She was suddenly relieved.
Under the attention, Scarlett raised one hand and cleared her throat. A softer signal. Less peculiar than Rosa’s. A method of reclaiming order. Ignoring her laugh.
“Before we drift further into side topics,” she said, “perhaps we should return to the matter at hand.”
The others obeyed. Conversation resumed — serious again, heavier. Names and concepts were exchanged. The Other, Time, The Gentleman, the Hallowed Cabal, the Anomalous One, future plans, creation and consequence.
Slate listened. Listening was a simple function. It was input without judgement. Storage without response.
She did attempt to understand, but attention towards her had diminished. Understanding was not required. Only retention. That proved preferable. Being unobserved reduced mistakes, and mistakes were…
Mistakes were uncertain. Uncertainty was close to discomfort, though not quite. But certainty was preferred. It brought comfort with no action.
She recorded motion. Hands gesturing while speaking. Shin leaning forward. Allyssa nodding as she murmured a reply. Fynn’s ears twitching at sounds beyond the room. She catalogued them for future use. Eventually, however, her gaze shifted. It caught on strange details. The chandelier above—tiers of candles bound in metal—cast slow, uneven light. Shadows moved within it. From it. They changed position as the others shifted and spoke.
One shadow near the far wall, cast by a drawer, was thicker. Scarlett’s and the others’ shadows stretched thinner, softer.
Slate observed them all.
She did not register the woman leaning closer until a faint current of breath brushed her cheek.
She turned. Rosa examined her.
Slate acknowledged her own surprise. She widened her eyes.
Rosa gave her a long look.
“What is it?” Slate finally asked.
“…What were you staring at?” Rosa asked quietly, glancing towards the far wall. “Something catch your attention?”
Slate glanced towards the others still in conversation. The woman had chosen to focus on Slate rather than them. She was curious. She wished to create rapport.
Rapport was familiarity.
Familiarity was the framework for a cooperative relationship.
Rosa wished to cooperate.
“I was looking at Nol’viz,” Slate said.
Rosa paused, turning back to her. “…Nol’viz, you say?”
“Yes.”
“And where is Nol’viz?”
Slate pointed at the shadows. “They are there.”
Rosa followed her gaze. “Ah, right. Those. And Nol’viz is the one we’ve got sealed under the mansion?”
“Yes.”
“But she is still under the mansion, correct?”
“Yes.”
Rosa’s smile this time was smaller. “Probably best if she stays there for now, then.”
“Yes.”
The bard eyed her for another moment, then chuckled and reached out, placing a hand on Slate’s hood and moving it lightly.
Slate looked up at the hand.
Ruffling. A gesture of endearment. Observed between close relations — like Allyssa and her father.
Slate’s focus returned to Rosa. “We are not related.”
The woman gave her another look.
Slate tilted her head. It was a strange look.
Was she the one behaving strangely?
“Are you two discussing something important?” Scarlett’s voice cut through the background, the other conversation having fallen silent.
Slate turned towards her. Rosa did the same.
“Oh, very much so,” Rosa said. “I just learned that, supposedly, Slate and I aren’t related. And here I was beginning to entertain hopes of finally having found my long-lost twin.”
Scarlett’s gaze rested on Rosa for several long seconds. Slate focused on that gaze. It was level.
She understood. This was what was called ‘flat’.
“...Slate,” Scarlett eventually said, “you may safely ignore the majority of what Miss Hale tells you.”
“Hey,” Rosa protested. “If you tell her that, she’ll actually do it.”
“I am aware,” Scarlett replied flatly. “That was my intention.”
“…Sometimes I wonder why I work for you.”
Slate looked between them, evaluating both. “Should I ignore what the bard says?” she asked.
Scarlett and Rosa demonstrated a difficult type of interaction. It included rhythm, tone, and controlled exaggeration. Jesting. Jesting implied falsehood framed as humour.
Slate could not easily understand it.
Scarlett regarded her for a moment longer, then sighed. “No. That would be excessive. Simply ignore whatever is unnecessary.”
Slate nodded once. “Understood.”
Next to her, Rosa’s mouth curved in a smirk. She whispered, “Just so you know, nothing I say is ever unnecessary.”
Slate ignored her.
She turned back towards the table, where discussion had resumed, tracing motions and speech patterns quietly once more.
Eventually, the talk dulled. Voices slowed.
Slate paused when her gaze moved to Evelyne. The woman was watching her. Their eyes met. The woman did not look away.
“It’s strange,” she said. “I almost forget that you’re not…human. You look so calm sitting there.”
Slate considered her statement. The woman had not addressed her directly before. This was their first interaction. “You are uncomfortable with me being an artificial construct.”
Evelyne’s eyes widened. “What? No—that’s…” She stopped, shaking her head. “Where did you even get that from? I didn’t mean anything bad in what I said.”
Slate continued observing her, then turned towards Allyssa. “The same applies to Allyssa.”
“What? No, that’s not true.” Allyssa frowned. “Is that the impression you got? I’m really sorry if that’s the case. I’ve been trying to help you.”
“You have,” Slate said. “You believe I require help because I am lesser and incapable without it.”
“That’s not—I mean, I help everyone sometimes. That’s just—” The girl trailed off, eyes darting to Shin, then Kat, then Scarlett. Searching for support.
“I don’t think you’re lesser,” she added, looking back at Slate.
“You are correct,” Slate said.
Allyssa blinked. “I—what?”
“You are correct,” Slate repeated. “I lack understanding. I am currently lesser in the context of social interaction.”
The room quieted again.
Slate looked around. Once more, the silence was different. A pause used as response.
She could not determine the nature of this response. It confused her. Understanding did not come immediately.
She tilted her head. She did not want to choose, but…intriguement did not need to be a choice. Then perhaps not understanding did not need to be one either.
Slate waited. The stillness lengthened until motion returned in small pieces. Allyssa’s eyes lowered. Shin crossed his arms. Rosa looked at Scarlett.
Scarlett’s gaze was steady on Slate. There was no disappointment. Slate wondered if there should be.
“That is enough on that,” the woman said.
The words brought a new balance to the room. Attention shifted away from Slate.
“We can continue any of these discussions as time allows,” Scarlett added, her eyes passing over each of them. “You all have a general sense of my intentions moving forward. Should you wish to speak further on these matters, I will make myself available. And Slate.”
Their eyes met one final time.
“That applies to you as well.”
Comments
Hussar L
But they are not related
Cellinia
Rosa made Scarlett laugh twice in 24 hours??? Let's goooo
Sebgatot
Hartford Household, orphanage and daycare for truth-seers, homonculi, gods, and other autistic children. I love the dynamics between the characters here, they're so fun to watch!
Gwalmeich
Slate is imprinting the group's various quirks like a baby duckling would. The world is doomed.
Lya
The Slate thoughts are such interesting echos/amplified versions of autistic children's experiences.
Laylo
I love Slate inner-thoughts so much! Yay, Loci is developing intelligence! Is 100% becoming the new problem child of the Hartford Household. And Whoopsie, Nol'viz is not as secured as Scarlett thought.
Shatteredneon
Tyfc! Man I love slates perspectives.
Pandalf
"Rosa’s mouth curved in a smirk. “Just so you know, nothing I say is ever unnecessary,” she whispered. Slate ignored her." Like mother, like child
