Work Text:
When she was first approached by that little group, she simply adjusted the bag she was holding ane put on her most professional face.
Gestrals were, arguably, her best customers- she frequented in their villages for that exact reason. Pictos trade had been an exhilarating adventure, and she'd lie if she pretended as if she didn't keep copies of her findings for herself.
But for once, they did not seem interested in trade. One of them pointed at her with what she assumed was meant to be an assertive motion.
"You. Come with us!"
She felt nervous, at first. She hadn't done anything worth being kicked out for, had she? They had never had problems with her before and nothing should've changed to make that happen.
But when she did follow her confusion only grew as she was lead nowhere near the Chief's house. Instead, she was routed to a small hill on the side of the village, where she was presented with what appeared to be an attempt at planks piled together so they could stand.
She took a moment to try and understand the view before the Gestral that had talked to her first spoke up once more.
"We want to make those things you make. For remembering those who are gone. Help us do that."
The assertive tone did not match the words whatsoever. They might as well have pleaded.
With that information, she took in the planks again.
A memorial. They were attempting a memorial. But its use still eluded her.
"I thought Gestrals reincarnated in the Sacred River."
"Not Gestral, stupid." They shook their head ferociously, their bristles waving along. "Human."
It clicked, then, why she had been dragged here. They had just grabbed the nearest human they could find for their little project.
"You know how to make these, right?" Another member of their group spoke up, a smaller one.
She had never worked in a cemetery, nor knew the details of making a grave, but there were currently a number of expectant masks turned towards her, so she supposed she could pull from common knowledge. And hey, technically it was a memorial, not a grave.
"Well," She began, stepping towards the planks to examine them way more thoroughly than necessary, "what shape were you thinking of making it in?"
Her question resulted in shared looks amongst the group.
They hadn't thought of anything. Time for suggestions.
"You can do in the shape of your friend."
"Difficult." A sound almost like a frustrated sigh followed that. "Can't see him to make him."
She nodded in understanding. Him, and no body to bury. They were completely dropping the idea of a grave, then.
"Something he liked?"
That seemed to get a little more thinking going. The younger members of the group appeared perplexed with that one, and she wondered how long it had been since they had returned. How long had they gotten with their human friend before he died?
"Us." One of them confidently announced.
"The station." Another interrupted. "He liked the station a lot. Or the trains. Or both."
"Those little blue animals that fly in the waters."
"No, no, that big loud instrument! That black and white one he'd tap on!"
Once again the Gestral that seemed to be some kind of leader in the effort turned to her.
"We will do that and we will find you again."
It would've sounded like a threat under any other circumstance, but she found herself smiling as she departed, their chatter of possibilities still ongoing without her.
-
They did, in fact, find her again.
It was not too many days after that she felt a tug on her sleeve, looking down to meet a Patate eagerly awaiting her response. It made her ongoing job a little difficult, admittedly, having them repeatedly tug on her clothes to try and get her to follow, but she managed to close off a decent deal and go back towards that hill with her pouch a little heavier.
There she was met with their new creation. The planks had been repurposed into a small stage, now centered in the middle of the hill, and on top of it was-
"The sun?"
The Gestrals looked at her weirdly. Or so she assumed.
"It's Esquie." One of them pointed out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
And in hindsight, she could see it. The collection of stuffed sacks forming what she had first thought to be the sun made a decent imitation of Esquie's face. Admittedly, it was missing some eyes, but she chose to call it an artistic liberty.
"Why Esquie?"
She still had to ask.
"Because they were best friends." The leader of the group spoke up with pride. It seemed they might've been the one to suggest it. "And best friends stay together for centuries. He's kinda here if we make him a thing here, right?"
She reached out and brushed gently over the rough surface of their chosen memorial. None of them stopped her, seemingly awaiting further directions.
It took her a moment longer to answer. Something got in her eye, that was all.
"I think he'd like that."
She wasn't ready for the cheer that erupted, although it was short as one of them bounced towards her.
"What else? What else? What else do you humans put?"
She took another look at the stage for a moment. This was not her forte- but she stuck to the basics.
"Flowers?"
That one seemed to confuse them.
"Flowers?"
"Humans like to give those they love flowers." She nodded. "It's a nice gesture."
Somehow that appeared to be enough explanation to get heads nodding. This time she took initiative to leave by herself when it became obvious the mumbled planning no longer included her.
-
When the leader Gestral appeared to fetch her next time, she was ready. It appeared they had settled on a pattern of about two to three days before looking for her, and she had to admit their work ethic was impressive to be done so quickly.
She was impressed yet again when she returned to the hill.
She had, in truth, said flowers. She expected flowers. What she didn't expect was just how many of them she was going to see, how many colours littered the dirt in front of the stage.
"We got all kinds." The leader explained. "So whatever you do with them, he can surely have the right ones he needs."
"I think they eat them." Another spoke. "It's like a welcome back meal."
That one received a smack from the one next to it.
"Humans don't eat flowers, stupid. They like the colours."
That assumption wasn't far enough for her to bother correcting it, so her eyes focused on the stage to have some stable point to look at, when she noticed another addition.
"What is this?" She kneeled down to view it fully. Paint came in squiggly lines on the wood, almost like an arrow pointing.
A Patate was who answered this one.
"A map!" They pointed at it, tracing the path with their finger, and she let out an "ohh" in her new understanding. "It's to the Sacred River, so he doesn't get lost."
She took in the Gestral for a moment, words clinging on her tongue and left unsaid.
"The elders say when he made us the river, he forgot to make it work for him, but I don't believe them." They shook their head with a heartbreaking amount of certainty. "So now he knows how to go to it."
It was a confusing sentence, but she had heard more nonsense from older and wiser people, so she simply nodded and got up, letting them almost glow with pride at their brilliant idea.
She took great care not to step on the flowers while she left. It was only halfway through that that she realised she hadn't given them any new advice.
-
So they took their own creative liberties.
When she visited the hill by herself that time, she found they had still gone on without her guidance.
Two wooden poles had been added left and right of the monument, an array of bells in many shapes and sizes hung up between them. They made a disruptive yet lovely sound whenever the wind blew.
The flowers were disappointingly gone, probably withered by now, but she saw the telltale signs of bothered and freshly watered soil. It appeared the group had sought a more permanent solution, the idea of having to search for flowers constantly simply not as fun.
The map had been updated, now resembling closer to a more familiar format, complete with a big red X where she assumed the Sacred River was meant to be.
And at last, Esquie's form now had eyes. Two big pieces of round black fabric crookedly sewn onto the sacks, but eyes nonetheless.
She was approached once again by the leader.
"It's beautiful." She breathed out before they got to say a thing.
"Ah, come on." They waved a hand dismissively, but she could she her words had indeed flattered. "We did more of the things he liked that you said, but we didn't have the big instrument."
"That's okay." The bells clinged softly in the breeze. "I'm sure he'd like it anyways."
This one didn't come with a response. Puzzled, she turned to see they too were looking at the memorial, some thought running through their head.
"What's wrong?"
What was wrong was obvious, but she got a different answer.
"You write your names on these, right?"
Ah. So they had seen one before.
She nodded slowly when they turned to look at her.
"I don't know how to write it in your language. Can you write his name?"
She made no attempt to hold back that smile.
"Yes, of course. You'll just have to tell me it."
The rest of that afternoon went by with the two of them, each a paintbrush in hand, putting the finishing touch. It was a struggle for a bit, trying to decode the name through a different language and how it must've been spelled, so she tried again and again until her friend seemed satisfied.
When she explained to them that they would say goodbye with the name, they hurried to add something in front of what they had written, making the two phrases lopsided and uneven. She found she oddly didn't mind.
When they were finished, the sun was setting and her hands had been tinted blue from the paint. She stood for a moment, taking in the words, written in both the languages of those who had loved him. The Gestral too stood next to her in silence, only broken by the bells that had begun to pick up their pace alongside the wind.
She left the memorial that day feeling as if she missed that man too.
She was never well versed in calligraphy, or in having a stable hand, or in anything that would've made it look professional, but part of her felt like the words on the boards, next to that determined map, had been her best work yet.
Bien-Aimé, Verso.