babies | SALTBURNT INBOX.

Participate next time or don't come.
Don't need an audience.

Do you know who I am?

[It's a silly question, in light of how Alia has known Jessica's presence in this house since the instant she arrived, like an eclipse blotting out the sun, like the moon cracking in the sky. She feels it in every breath, every movement, the presence of her mother more all-consuming, even, than Paul's presence -- if only because she has never existed without Paul's. Jessica's, though...

Do you know you bore me, birthed me, raised me, left me, unable to bear the sight of what you'd done, the daughter you were charged to bear, born into a world without Leto, a mirror of you only, your miniature? You had matching veils made until I was seven, mother. You kept me close until you could bear me no longer, and then you left for the stars and I watched our son, our brother, our messiah wander into the desert to die alone. Do you know me?]

I fear this message has come quite late, but I wished to convey my gratitude to you for quite the sporting match of chess during the faire. Hopefully, should the house (and your interest) allow it, we may indulge in a rematch soon.

[Only the day itself marks this deposit outside Jessica's door as anything more than a sudden, spontaneous overture of alliance. In Alia's scrawling hand, written on lined notebook paper: an account of the political maneuvers and notable galactic battles over the last twenty years, with a timeline of Muad'Dib's supremacy of the known universe. It ends with:

The Holy War ended when I was seventeen. Your task is finished.

- Alia Atreides

Most notable of all, though: the account is written in an extinct code of the Sisterhood, only still in existence through the shared consciousness of Reverend Mothers. Jessica may deny the fact of what she had done, what she had turned her daughter into, but Alia will show it, again and again.

There is also a business card for Sol and Scroll, because promoting your gf's small business is a full-time job.]

( by comparison, alina and alia were almost simple to shop for — what does one get their extremely pragmatic, dignified mother, on a holiday essentially built for excess, luxury, and unnecessary things? none of the knickknacks at the market seem suitable. jessica is almost entirely bereft of sentimentality, or at least she urges to seem so in homage to the mothers and sisters before her. the entire bene gesserit sisterhood is seemingly built of the presumption that your mind is your greatest weapon — what do you give to a woman, who needs little else than her body to survive? who thinks only in terms of survival, and not in terms of living?

it is not benefited by the fact paul is cross with her. it is also not exceedingly relevant — he'll love his mother to the bitter, burning end, until the last star in space obliterates itself, until paul himself is dust and dirt. jessica is the mountain by which paul's entire life centralizes, ever looking for that crossing point to reach the peak. it is also not benefited by the fact paul knows she is cross with him, too — he wants to do a good job, find the gift that redeems him in her eye, that makes her accept alina and alia as they are, in what they mean to paul.

what he knows about pragmatism: lady jessica is always intentional, always cunning about the image she strikes. bene gesserit by training, fashionable by her own beauty. on caladan it was always pale, bright blues and waspy fabrics like waves. on arrakis, before they were shrouded in yawning necessity, it was yellows, oranges, head dress. the lady jessica always makes a striking first impression — and what does the impression of saltburnt demand? paul thinks about the zebra print mini dresses he's seen on rosie balfour at times, and cringes. that's not it, not for his mother. he can't even think of a singular color, really, at the heart of it. his mother has an eye for these things, he does not. what he does have, is an affinity for research, and a son's deliberate intention to make mommy proud. in a day, he's a fashion expert up to the early 2000s of england, and can at least check that box, if not the one of his mother's personal taste.

nobleman dignity means he doesn't ignore the meeting face to face. paul would leave it at her doorstop if the motion of it didn't rankle him, as if he has something to hide from his mother — as if he's too anxious to face her and her scrutiny head on. it's the day before christmas that he knocks on her door, expression lined with his perpetual brand of seriousness, a reflection of jessica in that particular way. he gives her a nod. )

Mom. Merry Christmas.

( in his hands (still gloved around her), he hands off three wrapped packages. in the first is a dress, with matching earrings in the second. as for the other gift, it's smaller than the rest and less grand, hiding a vial necklace, sealed permanently shut. inside is a vague watery substance, but jessica will be able to sense the twisting double helix of dna inside — paul's dna, the water from his body, specifically the sweat from his brow. a short collection after daily sparring rounds with alia, paul's life force in the physical sense, the evidence of hardwork. proffered to his mother: i have not gone soft. )

un: boltcutters

un: coan_tean

✉️ text — un: ev.

delivery; christmas eve 12/24

🎁 delivery.