She is Cup. Only that.

originally posted February 27, 2007

I have made the decision in the last several days that 'She is Cup. Only that.' The journey with Mathor and the sleen did not jar her memory. Being amongst the slaves of the chain, none of which she's known a short duration and some of which she's known from virtually acquisition, did not jar her memory. The city of Ar, undeniably fantastic and beautiful, indeed glorious, as it is has done nothing to awaken her. The Anbar District, the Boarding House, the Stadiums and stalls, alleys and thoroughfares, scent, sounds and distinct cultural flavor of the city have all failed to rouse her broken mind.
I have made attempts to coax her memory with minimal success. There are small lights within the fog, but nothing to convince her she is not precisely the woman she thinks she is. She believes that she is 'Kes' a slave girl from the Mountain Door Tavern in Harfax who was once a free woman in Besnit. She is not dissuaded by the fact that she cannot, with any veracity, recall the name of her father or her brothers, nor of their caste. These things do not exist, not on the planet, but she is convinced that they must. The Physicians of Port Kar did their work well on the recalcitrant, little barbarian. They were not, however, thorough. They did not believe she would be found. They did not understand the tenacity, the business acumen and ethics of a mere Poet, Playwright and Whoremonger of Ar. What were the odds that I would send a paid man and a hunting sleen across the Northern Plains to find and fetch her? They found little reason, I suppose, to fill in her history further than they did. It is a simple thing to say to a girl, 'Curiosity is unbecoming in a kajira.'
She is broken, but she is returned. And, for the moment, she is Cup. Only that.
And having written this, I know how to proceed.