Tristran Thorn

"For all of our spontaneous worries," the star quips easily, deftly swatting the back of Tobias' hand as he tries to place more food onto her plate, grinning widely as he frowns back at her. She ate something. Granted, it was a rather unimpressive amount of something - but she never really eats an impressive amount of anything.

A laugh, flicking her fork against her plate absently.

"You never know what sort of trees will want to eat us this time around."

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"I would hope no trees would want to eat us," Tristran says, turning to look at the star with a slightly wide-eyed expression, eyebrows raised.

He's met one tree -- well, a tree-nymph sort of thing, anyway -- and she hardly seemed to have an appetite for humans or stars.

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"Don't torture young Master Thorn, glowworm," the cook shoots back lazily - shoving a forkful of food into the star's mouth when she opens it to squawk indignantly.

Ah, blessed silence.

"You won't get eaten by trees," he drawls, easily evading swift, glittery retaliation. "Pygmies, perhaps. But not trees."

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Yvaine simmers for a moment, chewing unhappily - and, perhaps, muttering something unfavorable about cooks and pygmies under her breath - before she swallows with a narrow-eyed glare.

"We won't get eaten at all," she replies, chin tilting.

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"Well, that's relieving to hear," Tristran manages to mutter as he has a drink. "It'd be just perfect if something decided to come along and eat us before we had a chance to get back to Wall."

It would ruin the entire quest, that's what it would do.

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"Nothing'll be eating the both of you," Alberic reassures them loudly, shaking his head with an amused sort of smile.

"Now enough about that and let's finish our dinners, aye? I think as this is your last night aboard the Perdita, we ought to do a bit of celebratin' as well."

He turns to his crew and booms, "Any suggestions?"

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The dining cabin is warm in the candlelight and suddenly alive with a tumult of jovial voices, all speaking at once, until it's the quietest one - Meggot's, of course - that gets its patient attention.

Calmly, reasonable among the madness, "A story, then. The young lady's turn."

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"Me?" Yvaine blinks, momentarily caught off guard - one hand pressing to her chest and eyes almost comically wide - before she rights herself. Stars, one finds, are things that shine - that, when called upon, are things that perform.

A roar of agreement and she raises a hand in acquiescence, "Very well, very well! What sort of story would you like?"

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While several of the crew begin shouting over each other for stories of: "War!"

"A great hero!"

and "Something dirty!" (which results in a sudden riot of laughter), in a similar fashion to Meggot, Tristran clears his throat. Quickly, the crew sobers.

"What about a story about love?" he suggests, not quite looking at her.

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"Tobias!" the star yelps as the man seated next to her lobs a particularly well-aimed piece of cutlery at the third voice, before the room quiets once more.

She swallows a bit thickly at the request, ducking her chin to mumble a quick agreement before she's all flutter and show once more. Fork reaching upward to twang loudly over the renewed din of voices.

"Now this is a quiet story, sirs," she reprimands - voice falling, changing to some fine, musical thing. "One for our smitten Master Thorn."

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There's a quiet, muffled, "Ow," from somewhere down the table and then nothing but obedient, if even a bit intimidated silence.

Let it not be said that the Lady Star does not get her way.

Especially when knives are being tossed.

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Yvaine restrains a snicker and glances amusedly at said knife-tossing pirate, sobering immediately at the utterly knowing smirk upon the man's face.

"Love," she murmurs quietly to herself and she can feel far too many eyes on her. "Very well then."

She clears her throat, straightens her shoulders, and speaks.

"In the beginning of things, back when the world was new - the clouds naught but fire and the seas naught but stone - the creatures of the world watched from two sets of eyes and walked upon two sets of legs."

It's an old story, one of the oldest - because everything has a beginning and her people know enough that the beginning is not so much a story.

"Their gazes had never met, but they never had to. They spoke in voices familiar as breathing and held on with fingers that had always fit together. They had always fit together. And though they knew nothing of loneliness, they also knew nothing of love."

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Tristran settles into his seat, one hand resting at his side, while the other one was in easy enough access to his drink.

It's a pretty start for a story, and he glances at the rest of the crew for their present reaction. Most of them remain passive, some even slightly dreamy.

He turns back to watch the star.

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"The gods watched them for some time," she pauses and her nose wrinkles thoughtfully for a moment. "Gods being a relative term, I suppose, depending on what one believes in. Well, at any rate, they watched and the strength of their children became a source of great worry."

The pause is longer this time and her fingers come up to rest along the edges of the table, motions slow and purposeful.

"'Defiant creatures,' one hissed in a voice like flames," her head cocks dangerously, eyes narrowed to fine slits and her own voice a harsh slide of words. "'We shall have to kill them all, start anew.'"

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The Captain is seated grandly in his high backed chair, seated like a king at the head of the table. His eyes survey his men - enthralled and completely silent for once - with interest until they alight on the boy - similarly caught up in the tale.

It's not a story that he's heard for some time.

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The star continues on, heedless of any and all attention now that the story is started - it may not be the same as a song, but she knows it well enough that she can nearly make it one.

"There was great dissent among the gods, because as powerful as the creatures had become they were still their children. Built from pieces of the gods themselves and there is a certain sort of love - for gods know all things, even those that have not yet begun - that comes with creation. So it was decided to split them in half, for each to see the world with their own eyes - to walk upon their own paths, to seek forever and possibly never find."

The words belay a pain, the start of a pain, "Which may have been, in the end, a far crueler fate."

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A far crueler fate indeed, Tristran thinks, distantly wondering where Yvaine may have picked up such a tale.

He doesn't make any sort of comment, merely continues to listen.

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"Great winds blew, mountains shook, the clouds of fire wept vast waves over the rocks and the creatures of the world - taken and trapped by some strange new emptiness - were scattered to all ends of every place."

The words come faster now, as if caught up in some spectacular storm - lost somewhere, frantic and searching.

"To the skies and to the seas, over tall hills and across the greatest of distances. Some grew tails, some grew wings, some swallowed magic like air, and some - some just simply were."

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The earlier smirk has eased - replaced by the same quiet fascination as the rest of the crew.

No one raises a voice to interrupt - there are no questions or the familiar remarks that the Captain's stories garner. Just silence and the slow shift of breathing.

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"It was then they say that love began and love was no sweet, soft thing. Love was a pain - a vast, hollow space that when filled is the sweetest, softest of things," her hand raises to her chest unconsciously, fingers pressing at the space. "It is finding the one you belong to. Finding what has been missing and trying to fit yourselves back together, as close as you can manage. To become one thing again."

Her cheeks flush mildly at the insinuation, eyes rising, sharp and caught when they meet Tristran's across the table.

"My mother says -" she swallows. "My mother says that you know love when your fingers fit like a reflection, when you look in someones eyes and you find yourself there - when you can see no parting from them."

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Someone -- a feminine someone -- breathes a dreamy sigh. Several heads turn to see Meggot leaning forward, elbows upon the table's surface, watching the star intently with a faint smile upon her lips.

"Well, that's poetry," she says, voice soft.

"Are there characters to this story?" another voice takes the opportunity to ask -- while there's an interruption.

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Tristran swallows uneasily, from his spot, picking his drink up and taking a much needed sip.

He tears his gaze away from the star's, face feeling uncomfortably hot, and slowly (and silently) nods.

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The star's gaze flickers almost gratefully in her direction, fingers knotting together in front of her, then glances further down the table.

"Well, that is where we're going, of course," she replies, voice bright with ~~forced~~ cheer. "Off to impress a beautiful, wonderful girl. There are always characters to every story - one true love and all that."

"So is that what it is for you, i-is that what you see? Forever in someone else?" she doesn't quite glance back at him. "Though I could be wrong, it is just what I have been told."

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The pirate asking for characters nods.

"'At's good. I always like characters," another says. "Makes the stories more interestin'."

In another whirlwind of movement, many heads turn their attention on Tristran.

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