15: Silver and Steel

Alexa lay the luxurious blue gown on her bed and sat beside it. Removing first one boot, then the other, she held it to the light to see the strange thin coating of charcoal and dirt that had gathered like frosting across the surface. The half-elf asked so many questions every day. Inconsequential questions, ones that ultimately only involved her, or the party, or their current situation - but this?

She ran a finger through the fine black dust and rubbed it between her fingers.

This…

Was this Progress?

Another question she kept asking that had no good, no satisfying answer. She was coming to terms with the complexity of the world, with the difficulty involved in making rules that could not be adhered to. She’d spoken to Vee about killing before they left home and had categorically stated she never would and yet…not a month into their journey and she had broken that rule. Of course, she hadn’t intended to, but the rule was a rule and as much as she showed her displeasure when they did not work in her favour, Alexandrie appreciated their simplicity and the intent behind them. Many of them, anyway.

“If you’re going to murder someone, do it intentionally.”

‘Rachel Grey’s’ words had cut through her reverie like an axe through wood. She didn’t know much about Lounkon, and to have the lionine woman state her view on life and death so simply both frightened and intrigued the teenager. She’d never outwardly discussed these things with anyone but Chevalier and despite the jarring experience of hearing Rachel’s words, she understood (wasn’t sure she agreed with, not quite, but understood) the point of view: It was not possible to please everyone, so make a choice about who you were willing to hurt and do it. There was an element of honesty and self-respect in such a view which Alexandrie appreciated, but she didn’t agree with the idea that it was necessary to hurt someone because they disagreed with you. She was coming to realise that many lived under the opposite assumption, however. Nothing (to her) was that simple. 

Staring at the remains of a destroyed culture, she wondered how far Rachel’s point of view could extend: La Chanson had told her The Progress was the reason for her charred fingers, the reason a halfling was without family, the reason Aquideon sought to buy a mill and an army, the reason the Lizardfolk were in danger the reason people near Breezy Point Bay had died, the reason they’d been hired, the reason they could get here at all…how much - really - was The Progress responsible for?

She was well acquainted with the concept of Silver and Steel. The Progress Confederacy was built on it. Buy, destroy or take, either way, the Progress would get what it wanted.  It was about expediency. Progress marched on. For those of existing cultures, she’d been taught that it was simpler (less destructive) to give; and the rules their new society followed - the ones she had been steeped in and shaped by - extolled the promise that one would receive what they deserved and give them the time to let go of what they’d believed before. The Progress wanted a world where every person got the chance to prove themselves. Where they and they alone held their destiny, rather than depending on generational privilege. Nobles were entitled, handed what they lived on through luck of birth. Sinrou-Mirrotoucretez earned what they had. They earned, they shared and they gave for the greater good.

Adjusting the evening gown, she looked in the mirror, appraising what she saw. Opera - a beautiful, controlled form of creativity. She had heard Remiki sing before - had appreciated the music, though there had been a lot of gossip about the Ebon Elf (as there was about anything, really). Despite her beautiful voice, the Sinrou of Shining Capital had seen her words, her beliefs, her use of the form (her existence it seemed) as an affront to the values the Capital held. Her phrasing was deliberately (so some said) subversive to the genre. Some questioned whether it was opera at all. At the time, Alexa hadn’t considered all this…she’d been a young teen and getting to hear someone with such colourful rumours sing had been, in itself, exciting.

Tiny gold plate, rippling across the bodice of the gown, glittered in the candlelight as she sighed. She was well acquainted with rumours, too. Despite the philosophy she had been raised on, Grandmère was as alien to Shining Capital as Remiki. She hadn’t “shared” Chevalier and so she hadn’t shared all the riches she’d returned to the Capital with. And that had resulted in rumours, extensively cruel ones about both she and he that had softened over time, but still carried weight. Grandmère’s reasoning was obvious to Alexandrie: Chevalier to some was a “thing”, not a person, a friend, a family member - cousin - and they’d wanted to tear him apart. They probably still did. They didn’t see what the Donadieu family saw; they didn’t want to. They simply wanted to destroy what existed to build something new, learn something new. No matter the cost. Even if the cost was family.

And that, perhaps, was the point here. The entire New Town of Glitter Delta Cove was built on the graveyard of existing families, existing friends, beliefs, traditions, hopes, dreams, possibilities. The festivals and culture of Glitter Delta Cove was like nothing Alexandrie had ever experienced. The people had long memories and the Confederacy had razed their home and installed the culture she knew (and loved?) on the ruins of what existed.

Worse: The Progress Confederacy had tried to snuff the culture itself out completely.

For what? Why? Rachel had said it wasn’t the killing but what came after that defined a person. 

What had The Progress left behind? What had it done next?

And how responsible were its people to make sure it was held to the ideals Progress proceeded on?

Placing her boots neatly in a corner, more of the fine black residue caught on her fingertips. As she wiped clean her fingers upon a white handkerchief, a black smudge darkened the pale fabric. It didn’t help. Her fingers still felt the grit, and in her mind’s eye she saw down through the floor, out the window, in the air she breathed: the fog of death.

Shaking her head, she dropped her hands to her sides and looked in the mirror once more. The dress was beautiful and sat well. She refused to embarrass the Ebon elf she was about to meet: part of her hoped to match the operatic presence Remiki clearly brought to the city with her own. The dress had been expensive, but she hadn’t really thought about it as she’d handed over the money.

As she looked, she frowned, rubbing her fingers together, imagining the grit of death. Here in Glitter Delta Cove, was she Sinrou or nobility? Were they just as bad as each other? Was she both?

The Progress destroys culture…

The Dash’em’ali try to take it back…

A cycle of ash and pain that she knew the bulk of Shining Capital didn’t see - or didn’t want to.

Alexandrie grimaced slightly and turned to collect her purse for the evening.

No, this was not Progress.