Welcome to Gaia! ::

The external drawings of the Conservatory itself were finished on his prior visit. Left remaining the diagrams and architectural elevation of the external garden grounds immediately surrounding that matched as a discernable complex, and the internal structures, furnishings, and rooms if any remained. It was a lot to do- specifically a lot of precise drawing. Part experiment to see if any silver millenium knowledge, memories, or general senshi-based wisdom would come via exposure to a Homeworld (like his awakening had seemed to happen on mere witness of a transformation), part for seeing if a secondary presence had any appreciable effect on hallucinations, and part for joy of having the furbag along and present (probably padding all over everything, pooping in the petrified gardens and laying on his sketches), Quenton had scooped Faust up from his napping on a shelf at closing and brought him along. The puff weighed appreciably more after so many months of not just pate of chicks but regular dainties of salmon, crab, arctic char and mackerel.

Arriving on the asteroid-world was the same as always. The landscape was bleak and branched with silhouetted, petrified plant forms like thousand of alien arms reaching to a silent sky. “The camp site with our bedding and food is over here. I just need to grab the sketching equipment and keep up the log.”

He led to the stack of totes, hung water bags and survival tent and rummaged out the journal and camp gauges -

“Have you been to a Homeworld already? “ He looked over to the Kurilian, curious. Faust still had his independence, went out and awakened other senshi or aided them, without much report of his movements more than a grunt on return and falling asleep on the pillow like he’d had a hard 8 hour shift.

”Dayum, Thraen, this s**t all ******** up.” Faust had weathered the teleportation to homeworld with the same lazy annoyance that he manifested when being carried about the apartment against his will. Faust found no particular love or interest in the places - senshi worlds remained to him nothing more than power sources. The fact that Thraen bothered to visit his both perplexed the fluff and irritated him further - didn’t he know this s**t was a waste of time?

Faust padded toward a nearby tree, inspected it, and found it unfit for defecation - the bark looked stony, and the rest of the tree uncaring to his feline needs when squatting. In fact, the whole of Thraen shared that same unfriendliness that rendered it unacceptable to his traditional marking methods. No amount of spraying could make this dump look more inviting. Instead, Faust padded toward where Thraen rummaged through a makeshift camp and took a seat on a parchment that looked like a map. It felt cozy, at least, and crinkled when entrusted with the weight of his a**. “Ain’t never been to one of these places before, no. Never saw the damn hype. The fights way the hell out on earth, and I can’t even see that s**t right now.”

Faust sank into a loaf position while Thraen wrote his observations. “The hell you come out here for, anyway? Peace and quiet?” Faust found nothing worthwhile at a glance. Some stony building loomed in the distance, the trees looked useless as hell, and no part of the overgrown wilderness here looked inviting for feline romping. Faust was simultaneously certain that if he chewed on any one blade of grass here, he’d break his teeth.

“I never got the hype about the homeworlds. Sure, they your source o’ power, but you ain’t gotta pay homage to them or some s**t jus’ to get a power boost. They doin’ jus’ fine without regular visitation.”

“The fight may be on Earth, but there was an entire war here in the stars. One that senshi more or less seem to have lost, that every world so far visited is unpeopled and in some state of ruin. Because of reincarnation, parts of the knowledge and technology of that, or the magic, could be reclaimed. Things that could be built up from in combination with what we have on Earth, or with the Mauvians. There are whole sections of lore and ‘weapons’ missing. Royals unaccounted for- the legend told first is of the Moon Princess and Earth Prince, so how do Chronos, Castor, Iris and Polaris fit into that? Where were they and their crystals in the war then? Those crystals they wield can purify some. What else can they do? Can we find more? What about the Earth and the Moon crystal? What we seek on these planets is knowledge. Earth history doesn’t even record the Silver Millennium existing. Yet here we are, no spaceship, on a rock in the asteroid ring between Mars and Jupiter. “ Thraen gathered the wanted implements and drawing pad, then the loafcat was gathered and pushed up to shoulder.

“We’re going to go inside this building. “
“Or whatever is left of it. “ Thraen considered the ominous skeleton of metal, glass, and occasional fractures. Much of the intact glass had a wobbling, irregular optical effect as they passed. Gravity, what is left of it here, has distorted and drawn down liquid. Glass has no crystalline structure. Glass is a supercooled liquid. It is like antique windows touring in Europe. “Do you know if Mauvians are reincarnated? “

The dim light took time to accustom to, as usual. Walking in between pillars of stone in what could have been an entrance, a wall with screens, or open air portico, revealed the inside piece by dusty piece. There was wood and stone, various kinds, employed in the floor, the walls and the ceiling. Walking close, Thraen put on a cotton glove to brush at some of the dust and reveal patches here and there. Wood of a grain and density feel like camphor, zelkova, and Japanese cypress trees seemed predominant. Lacquered in black or clear varnish, the floor beneath the accumulated centuries had a mirror luster in the revealed patch. Stone tiles like fashioned clay, limestone, slate flagging, and others that he couldn't identify a terran analog to made patterns in the flooring and provided breaks or screens in walls, planters, statuary and benches. It was as it appeared to the mind from the outside- a conservatory that seemed to celebrate plants and art. Different symbols whorled in the surface of octagonal tiles set in both the wall and floors, some more worn indicating age or some ritual of touching? No, there was no darkening or lightening that would point to the oils of a hand.

If Thraeneans had oils in their hands? Were they mammalian? Or some space equivalent? Mammals...are what. Biology. Possession of hair, three middle ear bones, mammary glands, regulates body temperature and the circulatory system through the brain, and has the four-chambered heart. It is hubris to assume that what lived here, on this world, were just homosapiens as on Earth. Terran. Gaia. “What do Mauvians or did the culture of Mau call Earth? Or Earth people?”

Faust was certain Thraen had a point somewhere in that never ending train of questions, but Faust’s attention span didn’t stick around long enough to see it. The Mauvian glazed over roughly at the point of lore and weapons mentions, and was long gone when Thraen mentioned missing royals. Nowhere in Thraen’s discussion did he hear the words ‘kick’ and ‘a**’ used successively, which meant most of it didn’t concern him. And Faust didn’t feel the least bit bad about it.

“Mrrrfh.” Faust grunted while Thraen scooped the cat into adventure mode. Legs dangled uselessly in the air as they traveled, and his faintly curious gaze drifted from tree to bush to groundcover before circling back to some of the dilapidated structures. He knew very little about both flora and architecture, thus he drew little knowledge from the scene before him. Faust figured that Thraen knew some hidden cipher, some obscure secret to the place that lent him knowledge upon seeing it. Perhaps it was a magical affair. It had to be, right? How else was Thraen supposed to find any use for a busted up old ruin?

“Sheeit, I dunno. Kinda hard to say if Mauvians are reincarnated or not. I mean, I jus’ woke up outta the blue so maybe reincarnation’s down the right path. Or it ain’t so different from senshi. Didn’t put much thought into that before.” Not that he needed to - Faust considered his duties fairly clear, and none of them included introspection on the origins of Mauvians.

Faust wriggled from his companion’s grasp to scamper across the floor, which sent notable clouds of settled dust whirling. He leapt to one of the intact benches and sat upon the black lacquered surface where he was certain he’d blend in. He sneezed then, a minute chuff, from the settling dirt. “Earth people were jus’ people, as far as I know. I mean, I never remembered callin’ em anythin’ else. What’re you gettin’ at?” If Thraen asked, Faust felt certain he had a motive to do so.

“You pickin’ up what this place is puttin’ down? Cuz I ain’t gettin’ much from this place. Ain’t too broken down for me, but I don’t think it’s gonna meet your camping needs.”

The general architecture points so far to a similar biology to Terran humans. This is a different world- ”Enough science fiction and imagination can point to other things existing. Other species have families and names- Dolphins, Whales, Elephants, Crows. The ‘people’ of this world don’t have to be ‘humanoid’, or even mammalian. Mauvians seem primarily felid, taking a bipedal, human-form only sometimes and seemingly with no specific threshold to cross before you can. Thraen ‘people’... these doors are taller all than the more standard six-and-a-half to seven of modern Earth doors.” The laser measuring device took less than a moment to read out the numbers, which the eternal senshi jotted down on the pad for everything. Doors that, in an Earth-based location, looked meant for ceremony and occasion were predictably larger, matters averaging between 8 and 10 feet. “I can’t tell yet what Thraen-race or races were like. There doesn’t have to only be one prime sentient race like humans, really. “

The little sneeze was too cute, briefly interrupting the senshi to pause and -not smile-. He pretended to look at the floor, using his peripheral through his bangs to watch the buttfluff gather dust, and the creation of little paw prints on the bench. It’s dangerous to lean only on assumptions without data. But this looks like a Conservatory. Inside the remains are exactly like that of a conservatory. So these beings, or possibly more than one race of being, had mastered cultivation, stoneworking, glass-making, metallurgy, art- those are statues. It means there was probably municipality, society, though I can’t tell yet how stratified. “I need to make a closer look at the remains of any doors, not just the archways. It can tell us if they had opposable joints...or even just exposure to other cultures enough to have decided the opening and closing mechanisms looked good enough. The people of the Moon were enough like Terrans that the Palace might as well be any other ruin on Earth. Cassandra, through the mirror, looked ‘human’ enough. Migrations? Dimensions, space travel, and worlds. I don’t know. Magic makes all of this tricky. If Thraen beings had any useful science, materials, artifacts or designs, we’d want them. But how much or little can survive a thousand years...possibly a lot if it was all petrified from the start. Things we could use against our enemies or to prepare….against attrition. “

“And if Mauvians had contact here. Do you think you would recognize old Mauvian tech if it survived even in a broken form? “

"No, I suspect nothing alive will come through the doors save us."
Such sneezes, much cute. The image of adorable catness was all the more reinforced by the fact that his Mauvian companion seemed dead-set on touching his butt to every available surface. It makes it feel more like home, I suppose. What place could ever really be welcoming that had no feline presence. If we both die, another thousand years from now another senshi could stand here and find Faust's little footprints all over and know it was at least that welcoming. For at least a while, this rock had little sneezes, indignation and sass, whiskers and warm weight investigating every cranny.

I'm always saying something, aren't I. So very troublesome a human, jamming up your little groove. For a few moments, Thraen broke off completely from the building around them. Thought and eyes warmly watched the husky Mauvian scramble and chuff near the object that looked like a fountain. "Can you look around at all the angles of the statuary and that fountain for signs of writing ? Public works are often embellished with plaques, and targets for graffiti. Either would be helpful to find to start a lexicon. Or confirm that they had written record. "

Thraen sat to catch down the lines and state of the space, mostly unspoilt but for cat prints, in watercolor active pencils and graphite. Colours were drab, but occasionally present in dim flecks. The Sun was so much further from Thraen than from Earth, and there were no candles, lamps or magical lights around them to make up the difference. The world was too small for day and night cycles, dwelling in a perpetual twilight or indiscernible dawn where edges grew witching and strange. If he and Faust were going to make headway, however, in finding anything, they would not be able to keep everything in the pristine, time-capsule condition of a thousand years ago. It had to be recorded, quickly, and then moved onward from.

A pattern?


Thraen stood, folded the implements he was using together to carry over. Faust's backside was adorably not black. Sure enough, he'd found one of what could end up being many plaques, but this first was enough to start with. It felt familiar, the placement and crouching near the space in a vague, far off way. Not even half remembered, compared to dreams, futures, wishes or wants. The dim atmosphere was too much for human eyes to make out anything on what must have been patina-blacked metal. "If its a material like Earth, it could be bronze. Or Copper, silver. I can't make out the marks, but a rubbing will solve that. "

A sheet of paper was pressed against the surface and sienna crayon began to reveal the concentric arches, wandering angles and blocks of glyphs around it. Beneath the seeming pictograph was the pattern Faust spoke of as though it were a subscript to the large image. "I think you're right, Faust. I'm sure you're right. It's definitely a pattern, and patterns in Math...space capsules and messages that governments have been preparing used math because its thought to be a universal of sorts. Numbers don't add up differently because a different language is used. "

So what is it to the picture. The eternal senshi sat back onto his heels, trying to force the big picture first. It the picture was a visualization of the pattern, did teh spacing have meaning? It was aesthetic naturally. Thraen pulled a blue pencil from the folio and drew a slow, precise spiral on the rubbing- it wasn't a match on all points to that third of the pictograph's branches. On the second third. On the third. The third section matched the spiral perfectly. "It is like the golden mean."

Like. Not wholly correct. It's an irrational number. "The Fibonacci Sequence is nature born along in a similar way. 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34 and so forth. But there's a glyph missing in the sequence there, and missing on the arches. If you added these two -"

Thraen held the rubbing up, then felt half-blindly along the dark surface to find the nodules prior to the missing space by feel with two fingers, then used his thumb to where the missing point should be, "it should show the another spot here. "

His hand tingled, and his head swam in that moment. Thraen's hand dropped, lifted to cup his face as all of him felt the room spin. There was grinding that filled all the dark space, echoing around the glass panes and fanned columns, and Thraen pushed up on unsteady legs to prepare to scoop his companion and run if the place started to come down. Only there wasn't any shaking of the ground beneath them. From the taller vantage, he could see the radiant striations of the fountain bed had started turning. Now sinking. It was like something from a adventure-spy movie with fake archaeologists and hidden chambers, and sure enough the sectionals sunk and locked one by one into place to form a stair down into some unknown place. "Not...what I was expecting. But a good find, Faust. "

How long will it stay open? Where does it go? If we explore, could we get trapped down in side? What was that feeling? Similar to being energy drained, only instantaneous. Will the stairs hold weight? "Do you feel up to exploring it? We could tie you off to me- if they hold your weight, they should hold mine, and if they don't, I can pull you up by the rope. " Thraen double checked having his senshi phone on him and available for an escape route in case the path closed with no way to escape. Likewise, he took a moment to alter a small, belt-attach sort of led flashlight to lantern mode. "It will be darker under ground. As long as neither of us looks directly at this, it should just help and not ruin our night eyes. "

The greatest tragedy of any day was a battle-ready puffing that went unappreciated because of actual danger or goings on. Thraen had hardly had time to appreaciate the increased puff or to actually assure that his partner was properly safe for exploring. God's Blood—

He stepped over the ledge of the fountain to the stairs and descended faster than he would have liked. Left to luck or providence, and successfully so as he didn't fall in a heap of collapsing stone and ancient engineering, his personal safety in order to catch up and ensure the protection of the plush Mauvian. The stairs held, without groaning, grinding, or even wobbling. No immediate pressure plates or poison darts, crushing ceilings or pit traps seemed to be swallowing up the Puff. The truth of Faust's words took the moments of Thraen's own eyes adjusting to the even lower light levels, but finally the dim curves of furniture, and whorls of decorative framing on the walls, resolved from the overwhelming dark. "Whatever time did to the woody plants in the gardens, petrifying them and preserving them ...it must have happened here. Wood doesn't easily survive a thousand years. "

There didn't appear to be any less or more dust than there was upstairs over the whole surface of everything being-made. Thraen carefully approached a chair and hooked fingers around it to lift. What still looked of wood was predictably many times heavier, denser. It was as stone as the roses. He thought he could hear the drag of fabric and the light pad of bare, calloused feet against the smooth floor. It wasn't cat feet. It wasn't his own trailing skirt-form or boots. It sounded like pacing. He looked up, trying to follow the sound, and traced it around near the walls where it paused sometimes by sections open and framed by the tracery all the way to the floor, recessed in gradual, and carven stone surfaces. More geometric than the walls, but still fit together an odd asymmetry that mirrored the stone vines climbing the iron and glass in the building above. "There are doors...Faust...Are you hearing anyone walking? I'm either hallucinating from some mold, infrasound, or other effect...or I'm having some auditory memory-vision that we're supposed to get on our homeworlds. I don't suppose there's a way to distinguish?"

Maybe the Mauvian would spontaneous remember some advice form his own reincarnation. Maybe he'd just keep being puffy and say something adorably insulting.

Well, it probably didn't used to always crack about seven pounds ago. But you're so pleasant to hold hefty. And you're fur has gotten so plush with eating whole foods and the winter coming on ....for practicality sake, and quick retreats, it might be better if more branches could hold him for a quick escape...how sad. The rest of the tirade, with colorful references to Alois which were all accurate, kept the mood lighter. A memory of fish recipes couldn't be out of the complete purview- there were no guarantees he'd ever found that memories of past lives had to be useful or pertinent. Beings had to eat or somehow consume energy to continue existing- ostensibly with tables and chairs the past Senshi of Thraen that once walked there ate. maybe they cooked. Maybe they even cooked mundane, Terran-type dishes like fish and chicken. Start listenin'
I miss you, 'damned loon.'


Thraen closed his eyes reluctantly to the little, annoyed paw shakes. He listened. The footsteps continued. Swish and drag went the fabric, then the intermittent brush of what must have been a crinolette in a careless or too agitated turn by the chairs, the wall, the doors.



It wasn't English. As soon as he tried to focus hard enough on the sounds of the words they went away. There would be no memorizing them. No learning the sounds to speak with the words of the dead.



Annoyance drew his lip up in a snarl, and Thraen opened his eyes to the dim. Easy for you to say. Whoever you is. What is there anymore but reaping. What a pretty sentiment.

The voice was gone, the steps faded. A handful of seconds and the sounds of chuffing and familiar scufflings let him know Faust was still somewhere near. Thraen followed it to find the black backside at the bottom of a thin opening. He held the lantern high, and pressed it to the crack to create a slim beam that wasn't directly in either of their eyes, "Can you see if there's more furniture beyond? Another room?"

Thraen waited patiently for the report, uncertain what to make of it when it came. "Maybe a dressing room? Bedchamber? Why else have a dressing screen....these could be personal living apartments. Living chambers through a 'hidden' door in a fountain? Was the fountain always empty then? Unless there's drains in this floor...we haven't really had a chance to check. Was the green house public or private? It would be like living in the basement of a museum if it was a public conservatory. Time could have changed purposes. Hotels turn into apartment housing— a conservatory could become something else and privately owned. "

He crouched while talking, then knelt insomuch as his boots ever allowed him to do so. While Faust was squeezing his last try at opening the door, the eternal reached forward and puffed the ample, dust-covered black pantaloons. Then he settled to trying to hear the pacing or the voices. Or anything at all. I shouldn't have broken focus maybe. I wonder if I can get it back.

It didn't take long, with so many months on months of practice in the corpse art, to reach actual meditation, but nothing came. Minutes passed while his heart beat slowed and lungs drew deep and long at the stale air. Thraen opened his eyes after seven minutes. "No. Nothing, now. Maybe tonight, if I keep at a meditation. But let's not stay here for that. We don't know the open or close mechanism on this side, compared to that plate on the fountain. Let's go back to camp."