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backdated to 04/27

While not generally a person inclined to lie to herself, Joy was not above being unaware of when her self-deception was in action.

Therefore she did not consciously register the fact that she was, perhaps, taking visitors with her so often to the Garde specifically because the idea of taking visitors was inexplicably unpleasant to her. There was a lingering feeling of wretched guilt which she chalked up to anything but the facts, which were - if she had chosen to examine them - that she still felt that sense of jealous possession over it, as she had when she had first taken Ekstrom during the storms.

(And if there were other reasons - if she was, in fact, in some distant corner of her heart disappointed to deprive herself of conversation with one whose conversation she still imagined herself to dread - she was even less conscious of these.)

So she was in a state of very determined smiling when she met with Encke and Viatrix in the streets of Destiny City, having cheerfully promised the former a riverfront view if the damned rain hadn't come back and passed along an eager reiteration of the invitation to the latter, with the caveat that she was perfectly welcome to lounge around on the rocks as well, and under no obligation to do any kind of work she didn't want to do.

It felt odd to be in uniform by daylight, as it always did when she was required to be, and even more odd to be schlepping a fairly heavy duffel bag in her continuing efforts to get as much Stuff moved over to the Garde as possible when she was able. She could not help but feel that a Glossier gym bag was sort of an unforgivable aesthetic clash with the knight garb, but such things were probably inevitable, living the life they did. She had, after all, stung up LED lights in a medieval chapel just two weeks ago.

She called out as she approached: "It would be nice if I could check the weather there. You know? But I brought hot toddy supplies, if little umbrella drinks are out."

Joy did not need a second invitation for anyone else to do something for her, ever. Without a bit of deferential hesitation or polite waffling she shouldered off the bag and extended it towards Encke, although in fairness to her she had been wanting to drop it anyway, to do what she now did: holding her arms open towards Viatrix, in what could be an invitation for a hug or could simply be a gesture of adoration.

"It's so, so good to see you," she said warmly. This was maybe a little bit rude towards Encke, especially since they'd just offered to help, but Joy - thoroughly a girl's girl in whatever form that took - had also not forgotten the first impressions made so deeply by their initial meeting. "Thank you for coming. Both of you," she had the good grace to add. "I hope you brought swimsuits in subspace, if that's your jam." As had also been alluded to in the invitation, vaguely. In truth Joy had not been quite sure how a cat, even in a human shape, might feel about getting in the water, and asking felt somewhat tactless. "Are we ready?"

"I heard you got more in tune with your magic too," said Joy, more pleased to praise Viatrix's advancement than dwell on her own.

Still, it had its benefits, such as her instinctive knowledge that it would be simple to take them both along with her, verified when she reached out and did so.

The weather had cooperated. They arrived under a mostly-clear sky, streaked with wispy clouds; a cool breeze rising off the river had the clean smell of water on it.

The place almost felt alive, in truth: treetops tossed in a gentle wind, with cicadas contributing a constant noise that blessedly displaced the usual oppressive silence of a young Wonder. They arrived on the remnant of a curtain wall that stretched in one direction towards the river and in the other towards the keep, which jutted up out of the trees largely intact, save for its empty or half-shattered windows. A pane here or there of colored glass, the empty poles that had once flown banners, the scraps of plaster and white stone still clinging here and there to the walls: all suggested a place that had one been bright and beautiful, its grandeur here subsumed by ruin and overgrowth, its vibrance displaced by stubborn green.

The worst part had to be gotten over. She knew it before she opened her eyes: knew that as he always did, by some instinct or magic she did not question, Gouvernail would already be standing there, waiting. And he was, his eye cast to the pair of visitors, first to Encke and then to Viatrix, his eyes wandering up to her ears. It was these that had him giving his first bow to her, rather than to Encke or Joy, as if mentally classifying her as a guest of especial eminence, deserving of extra respect.

He had the look you might associate with a place like this, and he was an odd contrast to the current holder of the Garde: she, blonde and opulent and soft and petite; he, a foot and some change taller than herself, lean and brown but with an aloof and somber carriage; a choppy haircut and a rough beard on a head that made it seem elegant; looking simultaneously like the soldier he had died and the titled man he had been born. Even his uniform - distinctly like hers, but utilitarian in every way that hers was queenly - seemed to back up the title of Guard as much as she backed up the title of Joyous.

Joy made her introductions hastily but politely - after beckoning for Encke to drop his burden - and then, in a bizarre little pantomimed gesture, she reached her hand towards the ghost of the Garde just as he extended his, and they enacted the make-believe of his bringing it to his lips. It was a formal, detached thing, without affection, and seemed in contrast to the businesslike half-bows he'd given to Viatrix and Encke - which had seemed like a soldier greeting esteemed colleagues - and also seemed so instinctive and habitual that it had to have passed between them many times.

"It is good to see the Garde welcoming visitors again," he said. "And good to know that the Garde continues to forge alliances." This, with another glance at Viatrix's ears.

At this he fell silent, but by now Joy was no longer caught flat-footed by his reticence among strangers. She spread an arm towards the river, and then towards the keep.

"What do you say? Drinks? Swimming? A tour? I'm at your disposal."

At this turn of phrase, an expressive movement flickered across her ghost's face, as if in skepticism of the idea of Joy's being at anyone's disposal.

She led the way, then - with the good grace to carry the bag herself again - and seemed momentarily startled when Gouvernail fell into silent step behind the party, apparently having expected him to either abandon them or remain where he was. But she said nothing, aside from desultory description of the place as they made their way into the cool darkness of the keep’s main hall.

Some time had clearly gone into both clearing it and cleaning it: it was aired by the unglazed windows and entirely free of debris, although equally free of furnishings. The exception made for a large spiderweb seemed more of a concession to life than a neglect of it, as its single occupant was clearly moving, going about her tiny spider business as they entered the room. The walls were ranged with evidence of Joy's ongoing work: tidy piles of supplies, a flashlight here and a broom there. She made use of a ledge running around the room to procure cocktail supplies from subspace as she talked, and if she was forced to use red solo cups, she at least did, in fact, have little umbrellas.

“- and the trophy room, there,” she continued, gesturing vaguely at an open doorway through which a fair mountain of debris was visible, consisting apparently mostly of antlers and horns half-overtaken by ivy crept in from the open windows, “is one of my next projects. It's easier to work above ground for now.” She glanced at Gouvernail, who had taken up a watchful post by the entrance as if in habit now unnecessary in a place where there was no one, friend or foe, to ever again arrive unannounced and unexpected.

The walls and even the ceilings bore scattered remnants of painted plaster, most of it fallen away and what little remaining suggesting scenes of hunting and romance. The latter was perhaps a bit incongruous with the somber ghost of the former Garde and a current keeper who had said she was no friend to love, but was in keeping with the single intact pane of glass in the hall, which depicted a pair in chaste embrace.

“You can see the ocean from the roof,” she finished, distributing drinks - of the approximate quality one might find at a sorority bender - and thoughtfully making sure that Viatrix got a purple umbrella and Encke a pink one. “If you'd like to see, although it's not much to look at and the stairs are sort of terrifying. I got the whole stairwell up cleared out, but the stairwells down and underground are still pretty choked - there's some rock falls I can't crawl over, and I can get it eventually, but I've been trying to focus on the easier things first.” A pause, and another glance at Gouvernail, as if she expected him to contradict her although he said nothing. “And I blow a lot of my time swimming,” she conceded, over her own drink. “Hard to resist, when the weather's nice.”

What was notable, then, was how much Joy did not look towards the ghost, who was, in fact, giving her a very strange look - too wrestled-back to be very legible, but sharing shoulder room with anger and incredulity and a kind of fascination all at the same time, spurred apparently by Encke's comment about loving the place and Viatrix's comment about it liking her back.

"Let's go to the water then," Joy agreed, a little unsteadily. This seemed to necessitate rapidly draining half her Solo cup before she turned to lead them right back out and under the blue sky, back along the curtain wall and down towards the riverbank. Broad and pebbled, its clear water swept down between heavily-green banks towards the unseen sea, its jutting rocks seeming ideal for lounging around - as promised to Encke.

"We can swim, if you like - if you want to change - there's a lot of trees and I'm a woman of honor, I'm not gonna go peeping Tom on anyone," she said, somewhat vaguely. It had occurred to her that she ought, perhaps, to have offered up her makeshift bedroom for that purpose, but it was too late to backtrack now. "I wish I had more to show you but there's still so much of it that's underground that I can't get to, and the rest is just - oh, just woods, you know. Apparently there's a - a pretty big complex down underneath, with -"

She paused, and seemed a little startled when Gouvernail spoke, still trailing behind them as if in the post of a bodyguard they did not require. "Archives and crypts, among other things," he said.

"I think he thinks I'm afraid of them and lying about it," she said, with forced lightness, "but he's wrong. I'm a former goth kid. A team of wild horses couldn't have kept me out of a bunch of thousand-year-old crypts fifteen years ago, but there's a bunch of half-collapsed passageways, and I guess those will, for now. And anyway, they don't really go with the whole 'little umbrellas and swimsuits' vibe, you know?"

Encke and Viatrix had, of course, never met Joy in her civilian form. But she certainly did not seem to broadcast much of a goth vibe now, and did, in fact, fairly radiate "lying around on the beach" energy most of the time.

She spread her arms as they arrived, encompassing the view. "The cicadas help," she acknowledged.

Joy, apparently less inhibited than either of her guests or perhaps only more impatient, took herself immediately into the trees to change, although she kept talking, only lifting her voice enough to be heard. Gouvernail, for his part, turned his back on her with an automatic politeness that suggested that there was some routine here, as well.

"I didn't bring Encke here to work any more than I brought you here to work," she said, although she snorted a little laugh when she did. "But if Encke wants to go make use of having biceps to fling some big rocks around, I'm not opposed to it."

The cicadas did make it less eerie. She did not mention that among the things she'd brought over this time, among the more practical additions were a couple of windchimes. The lack of noise made her skin crawl, even if it was much more bearable now than it had been at first.

"There's some stuff down there I apparently need to get hands on at some point," she continued, "but apparently nothing I can use yet, anyway. So I've been trying to make the place a little more livable." She hesitated. "It would - I'm so sorry; I have no idea if this is rude, please forgive me, darling -" this nickname, apparently directed at Viatrix "- but if you can shimmy down there in cat shape - I don't know. Maybe some of it's doable that way. But not if it's unpleasant for you, or whatever."

She emerged bikini clad and shameless, with a rolled up towel in one hand that she tossed towards Viatrix, in case she wanted something more comfortable to lay on. Sorry, Encke, cat gets dibs. For herself, she made a beeline for the water.

"But let's figure it out later," she decided, opting for fun now and business at a future point to be decided, steering the conversation away from the Garde itself for a little while.

She had a lot of questions for Encke, but they were offered in so desultory and convivial a fashion, between little dips under the surface and occasional dives to grab some interesting looking stone off the bottom of the river, that they seemed less the pressing of an urgent appeal and more the friendly inquiries of personal curiosity, broken up by her emerging once or twice to make another drink. Viatrix, of course, was welcomed to her share of the conversation and also to the water, when done sunning herself.

It was pleasant - cool but not cold, with almost perfect clarity, under a sky that was blue but shaded with enough clouds to hold back any oppressive heat or glaring sun. There were dragonflies hovering here and there but otherwise the lack of any creature in the water made for all the joy of an outdoor swim with none of the unpleasant surprise of something unknown brushing against your leg. Joy, for her part, seemed able to carry on a conversation and swim at the same time with the comfortable ease that suggested she was someone who might spend a lot of time outdoors with friends, in her normal life - or had, at some point.

Gouvernail kept himself posted in his useless watchfulness, and although he did at times turn his eyes towards them - and primarily towards Joy - he seemed primarily to look outwards, towards a horizon that no longer bore boats towards the Garde. Only here and there, when directly applied to for information, did he ever speak - and then briefly, politely, detached. Apparently sociability was a task relegated to Joy's undertaking, or perhaps she was just better at it.

How exactly it shook out this way being a matter of, as Jane Austen put it, “insensible degrees,” this somehow led to

Odd Couple, or the Adventures of Viatrix and a Cranky Frenchman

while Encke and Joy continued to soak up the water and the sun, and possibly to compare thirst trap photography strategies.

Gouvernail was not any chattier than he had been before as he - with an acquiescence to Joy's suggestion that might have had the whiff of the word obedience if she'd thought of it, which she hadn't - led Viatrix back along the curtain wall and down an old stairwell, where light came in fitfully from windows high above. How exactly he interacted with physical space remained a bit enigmatic even to Joy, but his insubstantiality seemed sufficient to let him navigate where a corridor had once been, even if it was now a pile of debris, less heavy (and requiring biceps) than simply formidable in its tangle.

Twice, he moved as if to instinctively offer her support as they navigated down into the dim, only to silently withdraw his useless hand without comment.

He spoke, at last, in the same tone of quiet deference which suggested that whatever angry tirades he normally had, he had the decency to keep private from visitors: “The path opens beyond this point,” he said, indicating an opening hopeless for a person but simple for a cat, beyond which the space widened into some larger and more empty chamber, where slits near the high ceilings let what was barely enough light to see by - and the only thing to see was more of the same elaborately painted plaster, albeit more intact and more fantastically grim in tone, with peaceful pastoral hunts swapped for hounds with bloody mouths and demure peacetime embraces swapped for dying in a lover's arms - with a selection of open doorways to choose from, all much alike. He added, in his longest speech so far: “You are kind, to help us. Please know that you have my gratitude as well as hers. I do not know what can be done for this place, as you have all been describing. But your work anywhere is important, and I honor it, and you for the doing of it.”

He joined her on the other side of the debris, this apparently being no obstruction to himself, and he made a respectful gesture, barely seen in the extremely dim light, as if to ask her to follow him - almost apologetic, in fact, that he had to walk in front of her.

“If you will permit me. I believe that L-”

He paused, having apparently just been about to use a name that Viatrix would not know, as he appeared to deliberate for a moment before landing on something else with visible discomfort.

“ - Joy - mentioned your having some ability to make a map of the structure, unless I misunderstood her meaning. But either way, if you would be willing to carry some small things back to her, I am sure she would be indebted to your goodness.” And then, with a creeping touch of dryness - almost sarcasm - that was the closest thing he’d shown to any actual personality: “More than she already is, I mean to say, which is a great deal more than she acknowledges.”

After a half a beat of hesitation, he added: “If you are willing to walk in the dark, I believe you may also be of service to her in opening another door, barred from this side, if it pleases you.”

What exactly might be his general motivation or idea of her - or Mauvians in general - might be was hard to say, but he was still speaking to her with a sort of respectful deference, as if hovering around honorifics he wasn’t using aloud.