Completing the loops used to be difficult. The concept made an intuitive sort of sense, but intuition alone doesn't get stable time loops fulfilled. Her childhood frustration is long dead by this point, however. The loops are just an everyday thing.
Yet the loop for this day's job leaves a knot in the Girl's stomach. Her task for the day is simple enough, but it hits close to home. It is the loop that started it all. The feeling is weird and it annoys her, but the job has to be done either way.
She steps into the Woman's hive hmphing at the fact that a door was left unlocked. Young as the Woman was it was to be expected. Of course she'd be less mature and less cautious, but really an unlocked door was ludicrous on Alternia. Even in such a secluded part of the planet it could get you killed. Granted, a locked door wouldn't stop a truly determined foe, and it damn sure wouldn't stop the Girl. Still there's a line between knowing that a measure is mostly useless and foregoing it entirely like an idiot.
The hive is quite the sight to the Girl. Despite knowing the Woman for sweeps this is the first time she has ever seen the hive. She hasn't even heard much about her home, the Woman talks so little of her life prior to the caverns. The hive's design is horrendously bright. The manse is decorated with a sickening lime green that burns at the eyes, but at the very least it was just one good, solid color. As the Girl looks about the Woman's hive she sees an abundance of color. Here and there are reds and greens and blues and oranges and more colors still. The color is all carefully coordinated, yes, and it doesn't offend the eyes quite like the manse, yes, but the effect is overall thoroughly untrollish. Which is nice, really. In its own odd way. The Girl grins.
She chases that thought away as best she can and forces her mouth back into a frown. There is a job to do, nothing more. A book is to be dropped off. Sentimental musings about some jadeblood's hive were inappropriate. Inappropriate and useless.
Her job is the book. The Book, in fact. She carries it in her left hand, though she could store it in her sylladex. It's a dumb thing, another sentimental gesture that should be quit. The damned book is worth it though. Even if it was crucial in the birth of her weak point the book was special. It introduced her to her passion for poetry, after all. Her delights were precious few in number, and the few that were needed to be cherished. At least somewhat.
She stalks through the hive silently, looking for the Woman. How old would she be right now? About seven sweeps. The same age the Girl herself had been when she received the book. A lot of time loops are silly pairings together of the circumstantially simultaneous. Which honestly isn't that fascinating a thing. Or at least it shouldn't be. Such a commonplace thing feels weirdly intimate at the moment, though. Quite like the feeling that arises when the Girl thinks back on that first meeting so many sweeps ago, or so many in the future from the Woman's perspective. This little convergence of ages seems so very important when it honestly shouldn't be. Not personally.
Block after block is searched through with no sign of the Woman. Signs of her living here stand out though. In one room a pile of pillows has been disturbed. A single cushion lies away from the rest of the pile; probably kicked away when the Woman stood up. For what the Girl didn't know and it didn't matter. The point was the hive was lived in. The presence of that silly Maryam girl could be seen. In another block a book rests on a desk. It lays face down, its spine being stretched. The Girl sighs and flips it over, closing it. Just a simple maid duty, nothing more.
Which is all this is, and the Girl pushes back her musings about the hive. Her hive. This is just another small maid thing to get done so that the universe doesn't fall apart. So she thinks as she steps into a block filled with rolls upon rolls of fabric. In the back of the room is a desk and at it the Woman sits.
She is curled up over the desk and scrawling something out. Probably a design for one of the outfits she makes, used to make, will make. It's a silly thing that brings to mind an equally silly memory. The Girl sitting with her back to a cave wall as the Woman's son sleeps on. She talks, talked, will talk about how she used to sew. How she missed it. Which was, is, will be a shame. The Girl still had her passion, slave or no. So should the Woman.
The Girl walks up to her quietly, as always. If she felt like having to clean up a mess and having to take a beating she could just kill the Woman now. There'd be no chance for a fight with her so young and so unaware. Which is a stupid thing and the Girl won't do it, not in this timeline. She thinks that, in a way, it would be preferable for the Woman to just die now though.
Instead the Girl leans forward, somewhat amazed by the lack of reaction from the Woman. Not a single tensing of the muscles, or even a nervous inhale. There's no foreboding felt by her at all seemingly. Amused the Girl lingers for a moment. She is giving her one last chance to notice and the Woman fails at it entirely. "Boo," the Girl says.
Hopping back, she watches with satisfaction as the Woman jumps out of her seat with a shriek. She turns around, pale as a sheet, and brandishes her pencil. The end is dull and nubby, just like the horns of her son-to-be. It'd make for a shit weapon whoever her intruder was. Fun. The Girl says nothing though and simply stares on at the Woman, waiting for a reaction. What will you do now, Porrim? Balk in terror? Hiss and pretend you're a big girl now? The possibilities were actually few in number, but each was amusing in its own way. Partly because the Girl could guess at them. The Woman bares her fangs and lets out a sharp hiss, at which the Girl smiles. It's cute in a way, for all its impotence. As well as what it speaks of for the future. "What the hell are you doing in my hive!" the Woman shouts. It's less an inquiry and more a panicked demand for the Girl to leave, she notes.
The Girl ignores that demand, however, instead asking, "You know who I am, correct?"
Silence speaks volumes at the best of times, and the Woman's was especially vocal. Oh, she knew all right, and just as she should she lived in fear of the Girl. The Woman purses her lips and grips tightly at the desk behind her. She's probably wondering if she could grab the scissors on her desk before the Girl kills her. Her not reaching back says that, quite sensibly, the Woman guesses that the answer is no. Being trapped breaks many, but it seems to bolster the Woman. Enough to speak at least two words, "I do."
"You seem a bit tense," the Girl says in a deadpan tone. It's meant to be a joke, and it's one the Woman doesn't get. She might later on in life, but for the time being this all seems so deadly serious to her, given the look on her face.
"Astute judgment," the Woman says, her pencil still raised oh so fearsomely, "So. What are you doing in my hive?"
"What do you think?" the Girl says coldly.
The Woman draws in a deep breath. She's growing frantic, and it shows in how her eyes nervously dart about. All the Woman can say is, "Oh. That."
At which the Girl laughs. To her this is one big joke. A cosmic fuck you that will forever bind the two of them together. The Woman is terrified even when she has no real reason to fear. None at all, though she doesn't know it. "Good guess," the Girl says, "It's not on the mark though."
Even with that comfort laid out the Woman does not calm down. She remains tense, probably due to not trusting the Girl. Which is best and honestly she should have kept it that way. "Then?" the Woman asks.
"Then what?"
"Then what are you here for?" the Woman asks, a hint of exasperation in her voice. Good. Even when pissing her pants Porrim had a backbone. Enough to get fed up with her shit.
"I'm here to make a delivery," the Girl says while holding out the book, "Nice book of verses. Translation's a bit clunky here and there, and I can't say I care about the subject matter much. Religion just isn't quite my passion. Has a decent enough sound to it though."
The Woman finally loosens up some. She looks at the Girl with disbelief, eyes wide and a brow quirked. "What?"
"Yes. The book's going to kill you," the Girl says flatly. That joke is half true, really. In a way the book will kill her, if not directly. It's the first step, so far as the Girl knows presently. The first step the Woman takes down their acquaintanceship, or "friendship" as the Woman will demand it be termed. It'll be one that damns her.
Still, the Woman doesn't know that. All she knows is that the Demoness herself has arrived to be a sarcastic shit and give her a book, as far as the Girl can guess. "So you came to bullshit. Great," the Woman says, her voice still small and wary. If she says too much she'll die and if she says too little she'll die. That's probably what's running through her mind at the moment, the Girl thinks. It's the response that the Girl has been training her kind to have on the command of that cueball headed asshole. The cueball headed asshole who was always right.
"I came here to give you a book, Porrim. Take it," the Girl says curtly.
Dropping her name like that works. The Woman reaches out and snatches the book from her hand. It gets tossed back on her desk along with the pencil. Her eyes never leave the Girl's the entire time. And she's glaring. Fun. "How did you know my name?" she asks.
"How do you think?" the Girl asks. She's curious about what sort of answer the Woman will give. What bizarre theory she would craft to rationalize this. How far off would she be? Amazingly far, probably.
"Ok. So you stalked me. I'm not sure how that factors into killing me, or giving me this book for that matter. But we'll just put that aside and laugh it off. It's a joke. Ha-ha funny, whatever," the Girl says. She's still fearful. Has a spine but she's afraid. Which is good. The bigger issue is how stubborn she's being.
The Girl rolls her eyes and says, "I'm not here to kill you. Don't need to anyway."
"What?"
"Don't you know you're already dead?" the Girl asks, not feeling like offering up a clear answer nor a lie. There's definite truth behind the Girl's question but it's not one the Woman will guess at. Not likely.
"Yeah, I do actually," the Woman says defiantly. Curious reaction, enough to make the Girl wonder. Huh. Maybe she's not so clueless. The Woman continues, "However the simultaneous and yet also unreal nature of time isn't the issue. Not from my perspective anyway. My present concern is why you of all trolls are in my hive."
Ah. Religious answer. The Girl had forgotten about that, really. Theology and cosmology haven't come up much recently. A bit funny to forget though, given the content of the book. The curious jadeblood look on time and space shows up in most of their writing. This all makes the Girl nostalgic in a way. Springs up a small bit of curiosity too. Maybe she'd ask more about this sort of thing in the future.
No. That's dumb. Of course she won't because that isn't fucking work. She frowns, more at herself than the Woman. "I've already told you. Delivery. Now that it's done I've got to get going," the Girl says as she pulls out the music box, "Busy you know. Got trolls to murder for no reason." She winds the music box while drinking in the perplexed fear emanating from the Woman. It's funny. Smart too. If only she'd keep her sense. She won't though, the Girl knows. As she lets go of the small key she gives a, "Bye." The Woman won't see her again for another two sweeps from her perspective. Not so from the Girl's.