worm_dancer | letters from a dead woman [closed]

Sheeana was becoming uncomfortably acquainted with the mistakes of Jessica Atreides. In a way she'd been doing this most of her life, but in the past couple months it had been increasing in pace exponentially until she felt herself overwhelmed by her world's distant past.

This was what she thought as she regarded Alia Atreides over her bowl of goo. Blue-within-blue eyes met like ones as she gulped the disgusting stuff. She could have taken it to the sensoriums of course, fooled her senses into thinking it was the finest slig stew and spicebread.

That was not the Bene Gesserit way though. They were here, conscripts and refugees in an interdimensional war, not dining in the finest halls of [Arak]Keen, not sorrounded by the scent of incense and the whispers of courtesans. This organic yet utilitarian cafeteria was their reality now.

She put the bowl down on the bonelike table and grinned up at the imposing Atreides. She was sure Alia knew that. The woman was known for the lovers she took. She had other ways of distracting herself, ones even the best simulations could not truly provide.

She waited, drawing out the tension to see what she had to say.

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Alia's face was calm, even. Her eyes seemed to look past everyone around her. What ever was going on here, she was determined to not lose her composure, holding onto to her Bene Gesserit training for the power to maintain such a lofty air.

The girl that sat with her now was a strange beast. She unnerved Alia deeply, this girl that knew things that she did not.

It was obvious the girl was waiting, toying with her.
Fine.
Alia would play back.
Lowering her eyelids, and raising her chin gracefully, Alia looked to cast her eyes down at the Fremen girl, and make her scrutiny obvious. Only her distaste and irritation showed in her expression.

This could go on for quite a while. Sheeana thought. Two stubborn Reverend Mothers could theoretically be there for days, engaged in a contest of wills that were already sharpened instruments.

"Have you come to test my waters, Alia Atreides?" That haughty look...I will not call her Womb of Heaven.

"I have come for nothing." She said sharply, Alia's words as sharp as a crysknife.
It did not need to be said that she was here against her will.
"And even if i had some choice in the matter, do you think i would leave matters of state in someone else's hands simply to test the waters of someone like you?" Alia broke a chunk from her bowl but made no move to eat it. What ever it was, Alia knew she would have to be very hungry to submit herself to...this.
Inside she still raged. The sting of her brother's last kiss was lingering in her heart, and now... now she was here, with nothing but confusion and alienation to comfort her pains.

"Do not think me naive." Sheeana too had sharp words at the ready. "You could have sat with anyone else. I can make educated guesses at your motivations...Maybe you want to hear about the five thousand years of history you've missed, about your nephew's Golden Path...or maybe you wanted something from Ghanima, failed, and have come to me as the second choice. But i'd rather hear it from you instead."

"Fremen are never naive." And then the venom seemed to melt from her words.

"Familiarity perhaps. Are we not both desert creatures? Or perhaps Fremen of your time have less hospitality for diplomats than they did in my time. There are those that would be honored to share a... meal -if that is what they call this- with sister of Muad’Dib." Pushing the bowl away, Alia folded her hands in her lap, regaining her footing in this strange power struggle.

"But you've made it quite clear you are not one of those."
Inside, her mind raged. The voice in her head screamed, but one stood up above the rest, in the turmoil of her inner storm.
Take her water for her disrespect... You are the emperor's regent... don't let some deep desert trash talk to you like that!

Little more than a slight twitch of her mouth gave away the abomination that was slowly growing within her mind's walls. Alia begged silently for them to stop.

Sheeana had to give due credit. Had this been a level playing field, Alia would have been a match for her. But Stacy's vagaries had conspired to give her an advantage.

She doesn't know what I know about her. History has given me the upper hand long before I was born.

She caught that twitch like a thirsty man caught the first drops of water in his catchpocket.

"I am Fremen as well, Saint Alia of the Knife...But I am also Reverend Mother Superior." She decided to let the big one go. She bet her youthful appearance and seemingly preternatural knowledge would be enough to unsettle her. How deeply ironic, if it works.

Fierce words and anger boiled her Fremen blood. To name ones' master was but to wear its leash.
In her mind the voices screamed for vengeance, except one...

In her mind one presence pushed to the front of her consciousness, silencing the other around him, his bulky visage appearing faintly in Alia's vision, floating just across the table.

Oh granddaughter, force won't work with this Bene Gesserit whore... and she could teach us so much... let this little one live, appeal to her maternal Bene gesserit nature, learn what you need from her. After all, some where, she knows where the spice is...

Why where his words so calming? They extinguished the fire in her fury, and melted it away. He was right of course.

With one last fierce flash of her eyes, Alia gave up the fight.

" I a 'saint' and you a 'mother', let's not let titles of the past drive us so far apart now. Forgive me." Her pride singled a little as she feigned surrender, lowering her head appearing perfectly innocent.
"Until I understand this place better i hope that you will have the mercy to guide me in this new terrain." She bowed her head in a motion of respect and waited for an answer.

In her mind her grandfather's fat finger stroked her hair, calming her, whispering plans into her ear till he disappeared back into the whirling vortex of her mind.

Sheeana considered. She felt a welling from the mothers in her past crash at her, a response to Alia's obvious vulnerability.

There were doubts, but her internal committee was mostly voting for mercy. She sighed.

"You are right. We are the last of our kind. We can't squabble like the Padishah Emperor's courtiers. If you'd liek to see Shai-Hulud...and your nephew...follow me." And Sheeana turned and left.

And Alia followed.

letters from a dead woman [closed]

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