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rainbowfic2026-03-25 03:47 pm
paradoxcase) wrote in rainbowfic2026-03-25 03:47 pm
Entry tags:
Bittersweet #2 [The Fulcrum]
Name: Return to the T'arsi Fair
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Bittersweet #2: Memories
Styles and Supplies: Canvas (I can use this here, right?)
Word Count: 1611
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Setsiana, Qhoroali, Liselye
In-Universe Date: 1912.5.4.2, Summer 1904
Summary: Setsiana and Qhoroali go back to the Fair.
It was a couple days into the next week when the clock that Qhoroali kept on the bookshelf in her living room stopped its ticking.
Qhoroali got up from the desk to look at it. “I could have sworn I wound this yesterday, but I guess I forgot.”
But that did not seem to be the problem; midway through winding it, the regular sounds of the metal ratchet terminated with a loud clunk and did not resume even though Qhoroali turned the key a few more times. She frowned at it mournfully. “I thought this one might be low-quality,” she said. “I bought it a long time ago when I didn’t know much about where to find good ones. I guess it’s time to replace it.”
“Where do you get them from now?” Setsiana asked.
“The 1904 T’arsi Fair, mostly,” said Qhoroali. “That guy really knows what he’s doing. Do you want to go there with me?”
It might be good to get out for some entertainment. Setsiana had been alternately anxiously worrying about how she would stop Qhoroali from following Cusäfä’s advice and going to the 22nd century to get some Nyecchea, and thinking back to Liselye’s advice about making a move with Qhoroali. She was tired of being paralyzed with indecision. “Sure,” she said.
“Great.” Qhoroali flashed her a smile. “You don’t have to come to buy the clock with me, there’s lots of other stuff to see, and I don’t think you’ve actually seen it yet.”
Heading outside, they met Liselye in the hallway. “Where are you off to?” she asked.
Qhoroali held up the broken clock. “1904 Fair,” she replied. “Got to replace this.”
Liselye sighed. “You know, I’m sure there are other people you can buy those from. Lots of them, in fact, right here in 1912. Or, you know, maybe you could go to the Fair in the present, instead of always going back to 1904. It’s past time for it this year, but there’s always next year. What do you say? Next year, let’s go to the 1913 Fair, when it’s actually running, not doing any time travel at all. You might even find a new favorite merchant there.”
Qhoroali considered this. “Alright,” she agreed, finally. “I’ll go with you to the Fair in 1913. But I really do need to go back to that particular merchant for this, I have a specific clock in mind that I want to buy.”
Liselye huffed a laugh. “Well, I guess that’s some progress,” she said. “Maybe some day we’ll have you going out to have brand new experiences all on your own.” She passed them and continued on down the hallway.
A short time travel in the circle of wooden posts, and it was once again the summer of 1904. As they made their way to the plaza before the port, Qhoroali said, “The Governor’s speech isn’t on this day, if you were thinking of watching it again. I’m trying to space out which days out of the week I come here. But the magician is here today, and there are some other performers. We can meet up afterwards to get food.”
They made their plans, and split up when they reached the plaza, Qhoroali pointing Setsiana in the direction of the performers that she’d said she was interested in. Setsiana walked towards the southern parts of the plaza this time, her eyes on the stages that had been set up for musicians and dancers.
“Hey,” said Qhoroali, from quite near to her left.
Setsiana turned in confusion; she’d left Qhoroali at the Fair entrance, and she’d been headed in the opposite direction, to the north. How could she still be nearby?
It was Qhoroali, but now that she thought about it, she was wearing a different color shirt. Setsiana stared at her in confusion, trying to understand what had happened, and Qhoroali did the same.
Eventually, Qhoroali said, “I’m sorry. I’m not sure if I know you, exactly. I saw you when I came here on my birthday, with a future version of me, and all she would tell me is that I would find out who you were four months in the future — which I guess is now, actually. Who are you, and why are you with me in the future?”
Suddenly, it became clear what was going on. This must be a Qhoroali visiting the Fair from a different time, who hadn’t actually met Setsiana yet. “It’s a bit of a long story,” Setsiana said, “but you are going to kidnap me in the future.”
Qhoroali actually looked genuinely alarmed. “Why would I do something like that?”
Why had she done it? Setsiana thought back to what Qhoroali had said to her when she’d originally asked that. She’d said… she’d said that it had been because Setsiana had told her to. At the Fair in 1904… Oh. This must be it, she realized. This was where she was going to tell Qhoroali to kidnap her in the first place.
Did she actually want to do that? If she didn’t, it would probably happen anyway, along some other timeline. She had thought for so long that there was no way she would tell Qhoroali to do this, there was no way she would set the events in motion for the terrible two months she’d experienced as a prisoner. But now that she was finally here, she thought back to what the result of that experience had been. Without her anger at being kidnapped, without her effort to push past her reluctance to employ violence, she wouldn’t have been able to rescue the Sohanke girl at Taleinyo. She wouldn’t have escaped the priesthood. She would have been confined in the temple, miserable about the slavery at best, and an active participant in it at worst.
And… her recent conversation with Liselye was making her hopeful. Maybe Qhoroali did return her feelings. Maybe sometime soon she could mean more to Qhoroali than just a research partner and devil’s advocate, and could get through to her about how bad an idea killing Sapfita was. Maybe that was the answer after all. Maybe that was truly what she was here for.
It was clear to her now. Qhoroali had to kidnap her. She had to endure that terrible experience, because without it, she could not be the person Sapfita needed her to be, to change Qhoroali’s mind. All of that — it had to happen.
“Listen carefully,” said Setsiana, to the past Qhoroali, who was watching her with curiosity and a kind of innocent adoration. “You have to kidnap me. You will find me in Syarhrít, at the temple of Taleinyo, in 1647, the second day of the second week of the sixth month, at 2 in the afternoon hours.” How had Qhoroali described the timeline to her? “The timeline looks like a T’arsi letter n — not the retroflex one, the regular one. I will be just inside the door to the west wing of the temple, which should be unlocked at that time.”
She thought back to what Qhoroali had told her all those months ago to get her to come with her — not something that had seemed plausible to her at the time, but rather something that had seemed enough like a trap that she had been convinced that it was the clearly wrong decision Sapfita had wanted her to make. “You’ll need to tell me that I’m somehow the key to resolving what went wrong in 2307.”
“But why?” asked Qhoroali. “Why kidnap you?”
Setsiana thought about that. What had Qhoroali said Setsiana had told her? “I have knowledge that you’ll need to realize your goal of killing Sapfita. Don’t worry too much about the kidnapping, we’ll become friends eventually, and all will be forgiven.” Friends, and maybe more. She wasn’t quite willing to voice that hope yet, though. “You’ll need to make me some clothes, too— here.” She fished a scrap of paper and a pen out of her bag and scribbled her measurements on it before handing it to Qhoroali, who still seemed puzzled.
“If you don’t know me yet in 1647, what reason do you have to want to help kill Sapfita?” Qhoroali asked.
“Oh, I won’t want to at that time,” said Setsiana, leaving out for the moment the fact that she still didn’t want to, “I still love her, then. It’ll take a while before I come around to the idea.”
Qhoroali looked down at the paper with her measurements on it, and then back up at Setsiana, nervously. “You’re sure?”
“Completely sure,” said Setsiana. “I’ve lived all of that subsequent time with you, since then. Trust me, that’s how it goes.”
Qhoroali looked back down at the paper again, pensively, and then pocketed it and wandered off into broader crowd of the Fair.
Setsiana resumed her search for the performers, but her mind kept returning to the conversation with the earlier Qhoroali. She had seemed so different than the one that had kidnapped Setsiana all that time ago, so much less sure. And most of what Setsiana had told her with such certainty wasn’t actually true, was it? She wouldn’t provide the information Qhoroali needed to kill Sapfita if she could at all help it, after all. Maybe if she made her Qhoroali aware of that, that this story had all been fiction, the Qhoroali of the present would return to that less certain, less driven state.
But after that conversation, Setsiana herself was becoming more sure that she would succeed in convincing Qhoroali to abandon her quest. She had a few ideas yet that she still wanted to try.
Story: The Fulcrum
Colors: Bittersweet #2: Memories
Styles and Supplies: Canvas (I can use this here, right?)
Word Count: 1611
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Characters: Setsiana, Qhoroali, Liselye
In-Universe Date: 1912.5.4.2, Summer 1904
Summary: Setsiana and Qhoroali go back to the Fair.
It was a couple days into the next week when the clock that Qhoroali kept on the bookshelf in her living room stopped its ticking.
Qhoroali got up from the desk to look at it. “I could have sworn I wound this yesterday, but I guess I forgot.”
But that did not seem to be the problem; midway through winding it, the regular sounds of the metal ratchet terminated with a loud clunk and did not resume even though Qhoroali turned the key a few more times. She frowned at it mournfully. “I thought this one might be low-quality,” she said. “I bought it a long time ago when I didn’t know much about where to find good ones. I guess it’s time to replace it.”
“Where do you get them from now?” Setsiana asked.
“The 1904 T’arsi Fair, mostly,” said Qhoroali. “That guy really knows what he’s doing. Do you want to go there with me?”
It might be good to get out for some entertainment. Setsiana had been alternately anxiously worrying about how she would stop Qhoroali from following Cusäfä’s advice and going to the 22nd century to get some Nyecchea, and thinking back to Liselye’s advice about making a move with Qhoroali. She was tired of being paralyzed with indecision. “Sure,” she said.
“Great.” Qhoroali flashed her a smile. “You don’t have to come to buy the clock with me, there’s lots of other stuff to see, and I don’t think you’ve actually seen it yet.”
Heading outside, they met Liselye in the hallway. “Where are you off to?” she asked.
Qhoroali held up the broken clock. “1904 Fair,” she replied. “Got to replace this.”
Liselye sighed. “You know, I’m sure there are other people you can buy those from. Lots of them, in fact, right here in 1912. Or, you know, maybe you could go to the Fair in the present, instead of always going back to 1904. It’s past time for it this year, but there’s always next year. What do you say? Next year, let’s go to the 1913 Fair, when it’s actually running, not doing any time travel at all. You might even find a new favorite merchant there.”
Qhoroali considered this. “Alright,” she agreed, finally. “I’ll go with you to the Fair in 1913. But I really do need to go back to that particular merchant for this, I have a specific clock in mind that I want to buy.”
Liselye huffed a laugh. “Well, I guess that’s some progress,” she said. “Maybe some day we’ll have you going out to have brand new experiences all on your own.” She passed them and continued on down the hallway.
A short time travel in the circle of wooden posts, and it was once again the summer of 1904. As they made their way to the plaza before the port, Qhoroali said, “The Governor’s speech isn’t on this day, if you were thinking of watching it again. I’m trying to space out which days out of the week I come here. But the magician is here today, and there are some other performers. We can meet up afterwards to get food.”
They made their plans, and split up when they reached the plaza, Qhoroali pointing Setsiana in the direction of the performers that she’d said she was interested in. Setsiana walked towards the southern parts of the plaza this time, her eyes on the stages that had been set up for musicians and dancers.
“Hey,” said Qhoroali, from quite near to her left.
Setsiana turned in confusion; she’d left Qhoroali at the Fair entrance, and she’d been headed in the opposite direction, to the north. How could she still be nearby?
It was Qhoroali, but now that she thought about it, she was wearing a different color shirt. Setsiana stared at her in confusion, trying to understand what had happened, and Qhoroali did the same.
Eventually, Qhoroali said, “I’m sorry. I’m not sure if I know you, exactly. I saw you when I came here on my birthday, with a future version of me, and all she would tell me is that I would find out who you were four months in the future — which I guess is now, actually. Who are you, and why are you with me in the future?”
Suddenly, it became clear what was going on. This must be a Qhoroali visiting the Fair from a different time, who hadn’t actually met Setsiana yet. “It’s a bit of a long story,” Setsiana said, “but you are going to kidnap me in the future.”
Qhoroali actually looked genuinely alarmed. “Why would I do something like that?”
Why had she done it? Setsiana thought back to what Qhoroali had said to her when she’d originally asked that. She’d said… she’d said that it had been because Setsiana had told her to. At the Fair in 1904… Oh. This must be it, she realized. This was where she was going to tell Qhoroali to kidnap her in the first place.
Did she actually want to do that? If she didn’t, it would probably happen anyway, along some other timeline. She had thought for so long that there was no way she would tell Qhoroali to do this, there was no way she would set the events in motion for the terrible two months she’d experienced as a prisoner. But now that she was finally here, she thought back to what the result of that experience had been. Without her anger at being kidnapped, without her effort to push past her reluctance to employ violence, she wouldn’t have been able to rescue the Sohanke girl at Taleinyo. She wouldn’t have escaped the priesthood. She would have been confined in the temple, miserable about the slavery at best, and an active participant in it at worst.
And… her recent conversation with Liselye was making her hopeful. Maybe Qhoroali did return her feelings. Maybe sometime soon she could mean more to Qhoroali than just a research partner and devil’s advocate, and could get through to her about how bad an idea killing Sapfita was. Maybe that was the answer after all. Maybe that was truly what she was here for.
It was clear to her now. Qhoroali had to kidnap her. She had to endure that terrible experience, because without it, she could not be the person Sapfita needed her to be, to change Qhoroali’s mind. All of that — it had to happen.
“Listen carefully,” said Setsiana, to the past Qhoroali, who was watching her with curiosity and a kind of innocent adoration. “You have to kidnap me. You will find me in Syarhrít, at the temple of Taleinyo, in 1647, the second day of the second week of the sixth month, at 2 in the afternoon hours.” How had Qhoroali described the timeline to her? “The timeline looks like a T’arsi letter n — not the retroflex one, the regular one. I will be just inside the door to the west wing of the temple, which should be unlocked at that time.”
She thought back to what Qhoroali had told her all those months ago to get her to come with her — not something that had seemed plausible to her at the time, but rather something that had seemed enough like a trap that she had been convinced that it was the clearly wrong decision Sapfita had wanted her to make. “You’ll need to tell me that I’m somehow the key to resolving what went wrong in 2307.”
“But why?” asked Qhoroali. “Why kidnap you?”
Setsiana thought about that. What had Qhoroali said Setsiana had told her? “I have knowledge that you’ll need to realize your goal of killing Sapfita. Don’t worry too much about the kidnapping, we’ll become friends eventually, and all will be forgiven.” Friends, and maybe more. She wasn’t quite willing to voice that hope yet, though. “You’ll need to make me some clothes, too— here.” She fished a scrap of paper and a pen out of her bag and scribbled her measurements on it before handing it to Qhoroali, who still seemed puzzled.
“If you don’t know me yet in 1647, what reason do you have to want to help kill Sapfita?” Qhoroali asked.
“Oh, I won’t want to at that time,” said Setsiana, leaving out for the moment the fact that she still didn’t want to, “I still love her, then. It’ll take a while before I come around to the idea.”
Qhoroali looked down at the paper with her measurements on it, and then back up at Setsiana, nervously. “You’re sure?”
“Completely sure,” said Setsiana. “I’ve lived all of that subsequent time with you, since then. Trust me, that’s how it goes.”
Qhoroali looked back down at the paper again, pensively, and then pocketed it and wandered off into broader crowd of the Fair.
Setsiana resumed her search for the performers, but her mind kept returning to the conversation with the earlier Qhoroali. She had seemed so different than the one that had kidnapped Setsiana all that time ago, so much less sure. And most of what Setsiana had told her with such certainty wasn’t actually true, was it? She wouldn’t provide the information Qhoroali needed to kill Sapfita if she could at all help it, after all. Maybe if she made her Qhoroali aware of that, that this story had all been fiction, the Qhoroali of the present would return to that less certain, less driven state.
But after that conversation, Setsiana herself was becoming more sure that she would succeed in convincing Qhoroali to abandon her quest. She had a few ideas yet that she still wanted to try.