Logs:Of Pasta and Psychopomps (Or, Do-Overs)

Of Pasta and Psychopomps (Or, Do-Overs)
Dramatis Personae Gaétan, Kavalam, Spencer	2020-09-13 "How is that comforting?"
Location <XAV> Conservatory - Xs First Floor
Tall panes of glass and a many-gabled glass ceiling protect this large indoor garden from the elements, while welcoming in sunlight to keep it warm year-round. Adjoined to the southern face of the venerable mansion and surrounded by more conventional gardens beyond, the conservatory is all Old World elegance from the outside. Within, however, it is lush and green and in certain corners--whether despite its careful tending by the groundskeeper or because of it--seems practically wild. Footpaths and a burbling artificial steam wind through the space, connecting its disparate parts. Benches are scattered throughout, thorough soft grasses or mosses under certain trees also invite rest. The outside wall is lined with tropical and subtropical plants. The ferns and cycads and epiphytes are kept moist by artfully hidden misters that also give the place a sort of magical ambiance, dense foliage wreathed at times with drifting patches of mist. Nearest the building is a desert in miniature, with a few impressively sized cacti as well as palo verde and other trees adapted to arid climes. Between these, and by far the largest section, is dedicated temperate zone plantlife from around the world, the beds growing more carefully manicured and the pads less winding as one approaches the center, where a clearing with a small ring of seats is a popular spot for some teachers to hold court. It's probably still suppertime by some standards, but the crowd in the great hall has dispersed now. The rec room is teeming and plenty of students are still outside on this lovely late summer evening. Spence had brought his supper in here and taken quite some time to work through it, his plate still half-full of spaghetti with marinara sauce, about which he doesn't look too enthusiastic. Dressed in a pale blue t-shirt that reads 'Shalom, Y'all!', black cargo shorts, and gray sneakers, with a rainbow fractal kippah perched on his head, he's sitting on one of the benches by the central clearing, one leg bouncing restlessly. "The problem is I don't want to take any of them to the Evergate," he's complaining, "why can't we all just live on my awesome Spiritfaring boat together?" Sitting beside Spencer, Gaétan has made up for the other boy's lack of appetite by tucking into his own spaghetti (with meatballs) voraciously, most of his sides (peas and corn, garlic bread knots) nearly finished as well. He's dressed blandly, jeans and black sneakers and a blue v-neck tee with a white band across the chest."It's rough," he agrees with a small frown pulling his brow inward. "After the first one I tried just having my own little floating city of the dead out there but you can't get too far that way." "Do you think they exist?" The question materializes out of Nowhere, Really, much like Kavalam himself; crouched by the side of a path idly examining a large fern nearby. He's in brown leather sandals, jeans, a plain red polo. "Perhaps not in a houseboat. But after you die. Some sort of guide -- or is it just as confusing as this world, maybe." Spencer looses a quiet "eep" when Kavalam appears, his eyes going very wide. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, concentrating, and then settles back with relief when he doesn't disappear. "Oh, hey there," he says brightly, studying Kavalam with obvious interest now that his surprise has passed. "Um, I believe there's an Angel of Death. But maybe there's all kinds of other guides, too like -- depending on your faith?" Gaétan twitches, dropping his fork into his spaghetti. He huffs out a quick breath, then looks back down at his plate. With a small grimace, he picks the fork out of the sauce, licking the handle clean. "I dunno. There's like, a million lines of thought on that, right? I kind of hope it's just -- nothing. A lot of the other options sound exhausting." "Nothing sounds very tedious, to me," Kavalam admits, "-- but I guess once I don't exist, I won't be bothered by it. But just -- nothing? No more people, no more anything, forever?" A faint shiver runs through him. "What is your Angel of Death like?" "I mean I figure the nothing is what comes after the Angel of Death, right?" Spencer is trying and failing to sound light-hearted. "I dunno. I mean all our angels are pretty terrifying so realistically they probably have like fifty thousand eyes or something." He shrugs, twirling his fork slowly through the noodles. "What do you think?" he asks Kavalam suddenly. "Please. Sleep is great why wouldn't more sleep be extra great?" Gaétan twirls some noodles onto his fork. "I don't want some creepy eyes-and-wings monstrosity messing with me like dying isn't enough to deal with already." He starts to lift his food to his mouth but adds, before eating it, "-- I'm Gaétan, by the way. I'm not sure we've met." "I know. We have." Kavalam is cutting Gaétan off pretty immediately into this introduction. "I'm meant to believe we come back. I don't know if that idea is a horror or a comfort. I suppose that depends very much on the day." "Yeah, we don't like him much, either." Spence seems to be warming a bit to the subject now. "But I dunno, reincarnation and nothing don't seem all that different, if you don't remember anyway. Oh and I'm new here, my name's Spencer." A flash of confusion crosses Gaétan's expression, and he studies Kavalam a little more intently. "Wait, are you kidding? Reincarnation's way different than nothing. Like if you have amnesia do you stop being a person? I don't think so. Even if you don't remember the last life -- having to do all this over? How is that comforting?" "I know." Kavalam sounds more resigned, with this repetition. "It is comforting." He wraps his arms around his shins, seeming comfortable enough where he still crouches on the walkway. "What if you mess it all up, one time? Only leave terrible memories? Leave no memories? If you get many tries -- somewhere along the way someone must remember you well. Some you. Some time." Spence frowns, glancing at Gaétan. "Oh, sorry..." He sounds perplexed, looking back at Kavalam closely. "Does that happen to you a lot?" He chews on his bottom lip. "Ok, you both have good points." His mouth twists to one side unhappily. "I think it'd be hard to always mess up, all your life." He blinks. Looks down at the spaghetti he's no longer even pretending to eat. "But that is kind of comforting, maybe." "Well, hey." Gaétan's smile is a little brittle. He's looking more at Spencer's untouched plate of food than at either of the other two. "All you have to do is never die and none of that'll be relevant anyway, right?" "There is probably some mutant out there with that power." Kavalam's eyes travel toward the plate as well. "You know," quiet, musing, "for all that, I don't think I envy them."