Retreat, >> Joan

Monday, June 18th, 3572

Being a Neptunian, or being an assumed Neptunian, had its perks. While the oceanic planet was not at the top of the food chain, it was respectable in certain senses. Sure, it was at times the laughing stock of the planet, what with its people's ridiculous sense of self-pity, even in the face of what was, for others, unimaginable luxury. But it was also a planet loaded with talent and beauty. And who didn't love that?

As a result, they had the image of a group of people that were pleasant to be around, in that they provided something nice to look at, be it their bodies or their paintings, and at the same time, they were harmless. Presumably no real threat to the power of the more note-worthy.

It was for this reason that Palodir was granted the ability to travel so frequently, without question. No one bothered to background-check a handsome Neptunian who, like the rest of the men that shared his planet, probably liked to travel a lot in an effort to placate the ennui that gnawed at his very soul.

The truth wasn't too far off from that. Ennui? Not exactly. But there was a certain emptiness that came from leaving his home, his true home. It was a place that, to date, only ten living people above the surface knew about. It wasn't something he could share with others. And it was a place to which he could never return.

The closest he got was in his frequent trips to Neptune. On his second day back, during this particular adventure, he found himself wandering into one of the many piers, descending down from the sandwood infrastructure, meandering out into the white sand barefoot, jeans cuffed, hands tucked into his pockets.

He breathed the scent of salt water deeply, longing to feel it filtering directly through his lungs, instead of passing through the device embedded in his chest along the way.

But this would have to do.

Outfit!!

The lull of Neptune was as familiar as it was frightening. The feel of her old house, of the streets she used to walk to often, of the salty air... It was not something she could forget or ignore. It fueled the power of desire and longing in her, at once reminding her of the days when she had little more than a piano or a violin for company and how the drug seemed to alleviate that. This was not going to be an easy visit.

When she wasn't working on Alliance matters or reporting to the White Regime, Joan was sitting at one of her various instruments. Today, it happened to be the piano. Her fingers drummed on the keys, shaking with both need and desire. She recalled her old ballads easily, nearly as easily as she recalled the high. But her fingers shook and her mouth felt dry, every nerve telling her to experience the miracle of the drug once again, to feel it flowing through her veins like magic and pleasure, a lovely mixture that made her forget the world.

She needed a walk. A long walk. One that circled the far reaches of the beaches, never straying near the nightclub where she had received her hits before. Joan stood, trying to rid herself of the trembling before failing miserably, and then she walked out into the bright day, trying to clear her head. She couldn't act as she needed to with the thought of the drug swimming through her head like some sort of oversize minnow. Certainly not if she wanted the Alliance to remain in the dark about her more illicit doings. Getting high or giving into the shakes for just a minute might result in her cover being blown.

The sight of Neptune's mysterious depths was refreshing. It allowed her to focus on the beauty of nature instead of the longing within her body. She had always marveled at how nature could have created such a remarkable sight as that of Neptune's oceans and sandy beaches, especially at dawn or dusk, without the aid of a hand to paint the scenery. The flow of the colors, a beautiful circle of purple, blue, green, cerulean... It had been inculcated in her to appreciate this, Neptune's greatest artwork, since she was young. With a wry smile, Joan recalled how her tutor looked the day he finally gave up teaching her painting, declaring it to be impossible.

And then her eyes caught sight of a further distraction. Palodir. Pretty much the only person who ranked higher than she did in regards to Neptunian standings in the Alliance, and also the reason she was here instead of the New Moon. Truth be told, Joan did not appreciate the Lunarian way of decadence, so much more profound than the Neptunian, but it was better to live there surrounded by the whites and silvers and the nuances of politics than here, where she was constantly reminded of the drug and the loneliness.

Instead of ignoring the man's presence, Joan neared him, longing for the company of another. A further reason to ponder things other than drugs and memories of the past. She fell into place beside him on the pier, shielding her eyes from the light of the sun as she greeted him. "Good day to you, Palodir," she said. "I trust the day finds you in good humor?"

The sand beneath them muffled the sound of approaching footsteps, faithfully absorbing the shock of vibration that each movement carried, burying it in the core of the planet beneath them. It was for this reason that he didn't hear another figure approaching, until the sound of a woman's voice reached his ear. Of course, he recognized it at once, before having to look at her.

Joan Pollux, his second-in-command. She had volunteered to come to Neptune with him, as an aid of sorts, though he couldn't guess why. He'd allowed it, though, without further questioning, expecting that they'd spend some time apart, each revisiting their home in the way that seemed most suitable to them.

Why Joan wanted to return was a particular mystery, given her history with the planet. Most Neptunians who escaped that way of life had little desire to revisit all the things that had once made them miserable human beings. But none of that was his business, he figured.

That was sort of the way their relationship was on a lot of fronts. There were things about her life, the way she behaved, that didn't quite add up. Of course, Palodir knew about the alcohol, knew that she had let it slipped back into her life, and that even worse, she was standing on the edge of an even sharper drop, struggling to control the urges for illicit drugs that, probably even know, were welling within her.

But he didn't say anything. What was there to say? He had no wish to get her into trouble, nor to dismiss her for her behavior. Life was hard, and people dealt with it in different ways. While he by no means condoned her brand of self-help, he also didn't condemn her for that particular weakness.

He offered her a warm, genuine smile. "I do," he responded. "It's good to be home. And you? Are you finding any enjoyment for yourself, here on Neptune?"

Enjoyment? Well, that was one way of putting it.

She pushed her hair off her shoulders, ignoring her shaking hands. If one called staring at old compositions as if they might make some sense a few years later, ignoring itches for an illegal drug, and trying to forget tattered memories of the past enjoyment, then she supposed she was having the time of her life. All sarcasm aside, though, she supposed in a way she was enjoying Neptune as much as she had been able. It wouldn't be possible for her to go running giggling through the streets as a born-again girl at any rate.

Returning the smile, she replied, "Who among us does not find some enjoyment in our homeland?" She didn't quite answer his question, but she let the answer hang in the air nonetheless. He didn't have any right to know her life story.

Shrugging, she wondered if she should make up some story. Tell him about reconnecting with some old friends. But that lie was too far from the truth. She had learned, during her time as a double-agent, that the best lies always had some basis in truth. That made them all the more believable, and gave you more room to fall back on in case someone discovered that not everything added up. The thought of visiting her friends from before, those who would have regarded her suicide with little more than a shrug, was repulsive. Visiting the order was more so. She could not allow them to see how far she had gone of the deep end again, or how much further she threatened to go.

"And how are your artistic pursuits faring for you?" This subject, as it was with all Neptunians, was safe. The thought of sleeping with Palodir, of enjoying his body against her own, had been a subtle hope that had long since died. She was quite sure that he was one of only a handful of people she had not come to experience, and one of even fewer people she had given up on entirely. After the second (or had it been the third?) rejection, she'd simply shrugged and given up. There was no point in pursuing something that was decidedly not hers.

And so she turned the conversation each Neptunian knew well enough about: artwork. It was a rare Neptunian who did pursue some talent in that area, and those were generally regarded as society outcasts. It was far more normal to kill oneself or cut off one's ear in the pursuit of art than to renounce the activity all together, as Joan knew well.

Deep blue eyes flickered down to her hands, the way the digits twitched outside of her control. And just as quickly, his eyes were up, gazing out at the ocean. Neptune clearly held some power over her yet, and not the same way that it did him. He hadn't seen her like this in sometime, though he had to admit, on some level, he was impressed by her level of calm decorum. As if nothing was wrong.

"Oh, I imagine there are many who don't feel as I do," he responded calmly, his voice a soothing, middle-range of easy rhythm. "No Martian loves the red planet. And I have known my fair share of Terrestrials, Venusians, Neptunians, and Plutonians who wanted nothing more than to escape the place of their birth." Whether they were contending with poverty, slavery, ennui, or iced-over isolation, there were a variety of unpleasant living situations across the galaxy.

Wasn't that, after all, why they were fighting? Too many never had a proper home to go back to, a place of love and warmth and comfort. He had chosen his way, but there were others who had not, who had never had the right to make a single decision of their own.

Perhaps it was something he shouldn't have been thinking about, here on Neptune, by the ocean... by his only escape. But it was a thought he carried with him always. It was part of him, now.

And then the conversation turned to a lighter note, and Palodir shrugged, offering her a small grin. "I am more of an observer than a pursuer," he admitted, as he often did to those who asked. "I've spent more time on Neptune fishing than creating, I'm afraid."

She shrugged at his comment on citizens' views of their home planets, offering no insight of her own. Mars was a hellhole of the most profound kind, to be sure, but she had known Martians as well who had held an inextricable link to their planet. There was something in everyone that connected them to their place of birth, no matter how small or minute. It was not always love, though. Who could hold love for a place of torture? Her life was no Martian girl's, but she could feel no love for Neptune's depravity. Not when it had driven her to suicide at seventeen.

She was glad that she had turned the subject to something lighter than how people regarded their place of birth. She did not feel like explaining her sentiments to anyone at the moment, let alone a man she might have to kill one day.

That notion felt heavier than it did. Afterthought though it was, it rather struck a chord within her. She hadn't really pondered killing the people she had truly gotten to know well within the Alliance. She had a killed one or two acquaintances, those who were mere annoyances in the grand scheme of things, but she supposed, given her position, she might well be the one assigned to kill those she had become close to. Thus far, those few had been killed by people whose only job it was to assassinate. As she still held a tenuous position within the Alliance, the most important aspect of her spy work was maintaining that position so that she could continue passing on information. But the fact still remained. One day, she might have to kill someone close to her, someone as close as the man standing next to her.

For a moment, Joan looked visibly uncomfortable, but she quickly erased the emotion from her face. It didn't matter. She'd sworn her allegiance to the White Regime, and she would stick by it. Even if they asked for her soul, she would gladly give it to them. But then, she idly supposed she already had.

She recollected her thoughts as Palodir spoke of his ways as an observer. Well, that was interesting. She wondered how she could have missed that in their time together. A Neptunian without art was like a fish without water. They simply didn't function properly.

"That is... strange," Joan returned after a moment. She wondered how her life would have turned out how it been an artless existence. Very different, she supposed. After a moment, the brunette grinned. "I imagine our countrymen do not know how to receive you," she remarked idly. She sighed, suddenly dreamy. "I could not imagine going through life without my instruments by my side."

Palodir couldn't help but feel that everyone deserved a place to call home. He had been fortunate in his upbringing, surrounded by the love of his family. Not everyone had that opportunity, and he had gained it only through the resilience and luck of his ancestors. Maybe, one day, every planet would be able to recover its former glory, its claim to happiness.

But it particularly pained him to see what Neptune had become. In some ways, it was no more his home than Venus. But in other ways, he was reminded that these people were as much descendants of Mara Cailleach as he was, and look what had become of them. On some days, he could barely stand to witness it. On others, he was just grateful to be in the place that was most like his own home.

Today was one of the latter days. In fact, next to her discomfort, which passed him by without notice, he even looked serene, as though he was just pleased t be one small part of this vast, oceanic planet.

Palodir couldn't help but laugh a bit, shrugging. "Yes, that's true. It's not something I usually advertise, if only because I prefer to avoid the same discussion about my lack of talent over and over again. Apart from being a top-notch swimmer, I really have little in common with our people." Our people. Even that phrase felt strange on his tongue, even after all these years of passing off that particular lie.

"What instruments do you play?" he asked as last, glancing at her as he dug his bare toes deeper into the sand. Here, it was safe to walk about without shoes or socks, as the sand did enough to cover the subtle webbing between his digits. No one ever noticed, at the beach. In that one small way, he was more free to be himself.

He was definitely different from the standard definition of Neptunian. Joan watched him carefully, wondering how he could have gone through life without tutors and schools and all the other heavy expectations of excelling at something left upon his shoulders. Neptunians simply didn't not have talent. They had it, they had it in spades. Joan raised an eyebrow at the man questioningly. Everyone excelled at least in one aspect of the arts, even if it were oil pastels or a single tune.

"If you feel the need to broaden your horizons into music, I would be glad to assist you," she offered emphatically. "Art, such as painting or drawing, is something in which I can offer little advice. It, along with singing, has never really been my forte." She shrugged, recalling the long hours she had spent with a pencil in hand or belting out scales as one of the unhappier moments in her childhood. Creating art on paper or singing a tune had never really moved her as had the use of her instruments.

"I... do not know how to swim." Wow, that was a lot more embarrassing than it ought to have been. Joan wished she could hide the blush, but there wasn't much she could do with her trite Lunarian skin. She shrugged at herself. Swimming, while often a pursuit of normal Neptunians, had never really been taught to her. Her father had deemed it an unnecessary skill, and when she was old enough to demand it herself, she was too high for such lessons. Thus, she had never come to learn one of the most common Neptunian pastimes. She was glad when he asked after her instruments. It offered her a moment to express something she was good in, not something expected in which she was sorely lacking.

"I play..." She thought silently in her head, counting them up as the image of each instrument came to her. "The piano, the harp, the flute, the organ, the clarinet, the harpsichord, the cello, the violin, and recently I have completely mastered the lute." She had no idea why the Lunarian court adored it so much, but to each their own, she supposed. "It isn't much. I had hopes of being an opera singer when I was younger, but the talent wasn't mine to share."

She shrugged, wondering why she was conveying so much to him. She had never once told anyone how disappointed she was when it became obvious that opera was not her chosen field, nor how she was unable to swim. She wondered if she should leave. If she kept spilling out secrets, at this rate she'd inform her of her doings with the White Regime.

Palodir's apparent lack of talent in any of the arts wasn't the only strange thing about him. His demeanor was also, overall, wholly un-Neptunian. In place of the angst and the inner isolation and the desperation was a calm, tranquil spirit with generosity and kindness to share. Indeed, apart from his coloration, it was difficult to see how he could be Neptunian at all.

Which, of course, he wasn't. Not the way that everyone thought he was. But he was content to let them think he was. Hoped they continued to do so, in fact. After all, he didn't really belong anywhere, or not anywhere that the people he knew could relate to. He would always be a stranger in a strange land, so why not a stranger from Neptune?

He smiled warmly. "Thank you for the kind offer. I'm afraid I wouldn't be much of a student, though. In addition to what is likely a thorough lack of talent, I also haven't the time. Between busy work and things of actual importance, my days are already quite full."

It seemed a sad commentary, actually. But it was the truth - so devoted was he to the cause that he didn't have time for artistic pursuits, even if it were possible that he might be good at one of them.

His smile remained, and he allowed her to pass quickly over her admission of an inability to swim. "That's quite a list! You must have dedicated many hours to practice and mastery. I'm sure they have brought you much joy, even if your life didn't quite go in the direction you anticipated."

She watched the waves while he spoke of his lack of time. Her understanding of the situation forced her to nod. They all lacked time, really. It was a wonder how she could sleep with so many people given her engagements on either end of the spectrum. But he was probably even more strapped than her, even if he wasn't a double agent. She wondered why she felt kind of depressed, then, at his refusal. She shrugged at both herself and in response to his words, feeling ridiculous. She had no close relationships with anyone, really. To desire a close mental relationship with anyone, especially those in the Alliance, was really selfish of her. If she desired anyone, it should be the likes she saw in the Lunarian Court, those of whom her father would approve. She could not see him approving of this man.

When he said that it was quite a list, she had to laugh. No wonder he wasn't into arts... "Actually..." She giggled a little harder before at last sobering. Really, now. "Nine is very few. There are a good many more artists than me who can play at least a dozen or so, in addition to composing their own music." She shrugged again, thinking of her years developing her skill. That certainly wasn't anything to laugh at, but it was the norm for the likes of Neptune. No one studied an instrument for less than fifteen years before their skill was introduced into society, unless it was like Joan's case and they had to master another instrument at the White Regime's request.

After a moment, she nodded. "There is a certain pleasure in some instruments that almost cannot be rivaled." She eyed him before turning away again. "It moves the soul to a higher transcendence than nearly everything else is capable.

"How did you fare on Neptune, growing up?" she asked quite suddenly. To be honest, Joan wondered if his life had been the constant pull of angst and depression that everyone else felt, as if they had been thrown into a whirlpool of conflicting emotions. He could sidestep the question if he so chose, but Joan had to assume that for such a man without art to exist, he must have had a very different upbringing.

He shrugged offhandedly, grinning sheepishly. "I guess it's a lot for someone who can't manage even one," he responded, in a lighthearted, self-deprecating sort of way. "I should wonder how those with even longer lists eek out any kind of quality performance, with their time so divided." It was an uncommon slight, though it mattered little, as it wasn't even directed at anyone he actually knew, let alone anyone in their present company. It had the feeling of being a compliment to her supposed inability, rather than a slight against others.

"Oh, I have no doubt about that. It's what some philosophers call a higher pleasure. It's a cultivation of the mind, and therefore of the spirit." Putting it that way, perhaps it seemed silly, as if he had perhaps not cultivated his own mind and spirit. But he was well-read, and enjoyed observing others in their own performances. That had to count for something, right?

The question about his boyhood, though, took him aback. He had a whole series of lies about his past, though most of them were founded in at least some truth. "Very well, actually. I was well-loved. I liked adventures and exploring. I developed a love for reading and learning. I had many friends. I never wanted for anything."

There, that was actually entirely the truth. Not a single lie in there. He had no need to lie about his past to a great extent, only when more details were asked for. Overall, though, it sufficed to say that he loved his childhood. And it gave people something to think about, for how could one fare so well on Neptune, when it seemed so few others did?

"Did you have other pursuits, besides your music?" he questioned, his tone tentative. He wouldn't have been surprised if she didn't. She had every mark of someone who had been miserable much of her life. A singular devotion seemed to have that effect on most people.

"There is not time for much other than art and self-harm on Neptune," Joan said bluntly. She sighed, eying her shaking hands. She knew if she felt her elbow, she would sense the invisible scar hiding there from the last time. She turned to look at him. "Is there subculture of people without artistic talent?" she asked suddenly. She could not very well wrap her mind around this man knowing so little about the grim realities of their planet unless there was. It would explain a lot. But maybe what she had seen had been only a fraction of the planet's society? It was entirely possible. She had always been a member of the rich elite. It could very well be that the poorer classes did not put such weight in all things artistic. All manner of things were possible.

And then he spoke of philosophy. To be honest, even though the White Regimists she entertained loved to debate the subject, Joan did not know it half as well as her own talents. But the way he spoke, it made sense. She nodded as she listened. "That does have a ring of truth to it. I can't see learning music as not being a cultivation of the mind, as you put it. It is nice way to express oneself from time to time... Instead of other outlets." She left it at that.

It was a nice release, putting forth her efforts and thoughts into her music. It allowed her to forget the world and everything in it... most of the time. When she was on Neptune, however, it seemed to have the opposite effect, opening her up to the world when she'd prefer to shut it all out.

She was beginning to hate being here. It made think about things she'd rather forget. She liked the uncertainty of the Moon far more. Where she could run for the next pleasurable item as a kid runs for candy. Somehow, she was unable to do that here. She rather felt it was because she was exercising all her restraint from the call of the drug, but it was really anyone's guess.

Then he spoke of his childhood, painting a picture that other children often dreamed about. Joan had to admit that that the information was a bit of shock for her. She blinked several times, trying to return her expression to a blank state, but it was incredibly difficult. It was hard to imagine caring parents were even possible on Neptune... When suicide and the pursuit of higher art was more important than one's offspring, how could it be? She had been content in the knowledge that her childhood, growing up in the wake of her mother's suicide as a way to escape the pressures of being a mother, were normal. But this questioned that deeply held belief to its very core. What if she was different? What if her mother's reaction to her birth wasn't normal?

She bit her lip, refusing the current of emotions. She would allow them precedence over distraction. Maybe later, when she was alone in her room with a large bottle of Jovian liquor, but right now she would give it the time of day. Right now, she just wanted to forget it. Forget everything to do with it.

And then the thought of tracing a path to her drug crossed her mind. There was only one way she could truly forget the pain building inside of her.

His words interrupted the confused flow of her thoughts once more, asking what other pursuits she may have had growing up. Joan held her hands firmly together, ignoring the shaking. She could do this. She could. She might have to excuse herself in a minute, to return home so she could down every bottle of alcohol in the house, but she could retain this front of normalcy for now, or all her skills as a spy were useless.

"They wanted me to sing," she said abruptly, trying to force her tone slower, more at ease. Really now, she was acting like a lunatic. She need to gather her thoughts, bury the ones that weren't relevant. "And draw... I did so for years, but I was never very good at it. Lyrics and paints were never my thing... So I worked harder... in other things." She shrugged again.

Why was he making her feel this way? She really should have expected that answer. Joan frowned at herself, eternally frustrated, eternally annoyed. She wanted to remove herself from the pain she herself had caused. Maybe... maybe the drug was the only way.

Somehow, her response took him by surprise. Sure, he had known that these were essentially the two pursuits on the oceanic planet, and few deviated from this holy equation of angst. But to suggest that it was due to a lack of time? That it was all they could do?

But maybe it made sense. The children here were forced to work with tutors for hours and hours, especially those of the upper classes. And when they were at last left alone, they were left with little more than their own malcontented thoughts. In the wake of calloused fingers and all-consuming sorrow, what time was there to pursue anything else? The people here were trapped in their own minds, extracting only by the commands and expectations of others.

Palodir's heart sank at the thought. Somehow, though he believed he understood Neptune well, he had never quite thought of it in those terms. He supposed it was just another reason to keep fighting, to free these people - his cousins, in a sense - from what ailed them.

"Sure, I think so. Those who haven't the time or money to cultivate natural talents, or those who have none, go into other professions. The seafood delicacies that so many enjoy have to come from somewhere, right?" He paused, absently scratching the beard that was growing in across his cheek. "We import a lot of foreign people to do this, but sure, there are enough Neptunians to work the docks, too."

That was what he had ended up doing, before being picked up by the Alliance. He had found out the hard way just how little room there was for someone who couldn't please others, who didn't meet the most basic, but narrow expectations.

When at last she spoke, it was a far cry from his own easy responses. Her hands were visibly trembling, and her spoken pace was quick, unsettled, despite her best efforts to the contrary. He frowned, his brows knitting together. "I'm sorry, I've upset you," he remarked. He reached out, gently placing a gloved hand on her shoulder. "It was a stupid thing to ask."

She was so frustrated with herself. This was why she never came to Neptune. On the New Moon, it was so much easier to hide the more painful side of her from herself. Here, she was constantly reminded of it. She breathed slowly, forcing herself to ignore this for now, to return to the easiness that the conversation had taken before. She could handle this. She could, for now at least.

"No, it wasn't," she replied firmly, shaking her head. "And... that wasn't it. I'm sorry. I'm only upsetting myself." It was certainly true. She should have known that there were alternatives to her own upbringing on Neptune. There always would be. She shrugged at herself, feeling as if she were hitting her head against the wall. Would it always come to this? Back to Neptune, where everything started? Was it a cycle of her making?

She wasn't sure, but it had a ring of truth to it. She sighed at herself, taking a step back from him. Normally, she would enjoy the physical contact, but she didn't want it now. Not at all. Right now, all she wanted was to escape the pain. She was so close, and yet so far away. She could feel the choices pulling at her - decide to take the drug and forget, or be strong as she learned to be so long ago in the order. She knew what the right answer was, to be strong. To overcome this. To refuse to give in to temptation. But she also knew what the easier answer was, the answer that would circumvent every step she had ever taken since she was pulled off a street barely hanging onto life.

"I think... I think I should go." She shrugged, feeling so disappointed with herself. Strange how one thing someone could say could send her over the edge. So many people had offered her a string of illicit substances on the New Moon, but nothing had ever been so weighty as this. Would it really be that bad, she wondered, giving into the drug again? What if she hadn't been plucked off that road so long ago? How would things have changed?

Not by much, she admitted. Her life was returning to the same way it had been before.