What makes a perfect vacation?
Entertainment? Depends on the person. A change of scenery? Not everyone craves that. Local delicacies? Oh yes, the more the better.
Hissabeth: One more raspberry panna cotta, please, and a puff pastry chicken soup with pumpkin.
Prismagreen: I'm ever so glad to see your appetite's as strong as ever, Sylvie.
Hissabeth: The food at HQ blows the rest of the branches right out of the water.
Prismagreen: Too bad most researchers here know nothing about how to enjoy a good meal. You know I've heard they're working on making a condensed nutrition pill? What a dreadful idea, darling.
Hissabeth: Eh, non. I can see it being quite convenient. Just hope they remember to make it taste decent.
Prismagreen: Well, you can count me right out. I'll stick to something real.
Hissabeth: I'm tempted to order another dessert. What do you think?
Prismagreen: None for me. But please, enjoy your afternoon tea. This one's on me, remember.
Hissabeth: Merci, Camille. What a fulfilling vacation—great food and even better research. I feel amazing.
Prismagreen: So is that it then … You really only came here for a vacation?
Hissabeth: Is something wrong?
Prismagreen: It's just that you … Never mind. I'll get used to it.
Prismagreen: That experimental design you pitched last night was brilliant. You really are the perfect fit. Your joining this "vacation," no matter how long it lasts, will boost our productivity tenfold!
Prismagreen: But—have you decided, darling? For the sake of me, of anything, even just the puff pastry and the chefs here—won't you stay?
Her earnest, heartfelt invitation pulls Hissabeth's attention back from her dessert.
Hissabeth: Your project is fantastic, truly. You know I'm not one for flattery; helping out with your work here has really given me what I needed to sort out my thoughts.
The praise sets the stage. Her voice softens, and with it Prismagreen's face falls.
Prismagreen: You're about to say "but," aren't you? Oh no, dear, my heart's already too cracked. How could Laplace ever handle it if I went through another heartbreak?
She covers her ears as a futile protest, knowing full well that she's never once managed to stop Hissabeth from doing anything that she'd decided on.
Hissabeth: Don't be childish, Camille. I know you're listening.
Hissabeth: I am grateful for your invitation, and I truly believe in your project's future. But it's not aligned with the direction I want to pursue.
Prismagreen: I don't accept that because, well, because I don't understand!
Hissabeth: sigh You always say that.
Hissabeth: This time, I don't intend to offer any opinions or suggestions. I'm letting you know my decision. You can decide for yourself whether or not you'll understand.
Prismagreen: I know, I know I shouldn't pry, but I have to. Why bother? So you launch a record, or a spacecraft, or even a person into space ... what's the point of it all?
Prismagreen: Dear, the stars are just too far away.
Prismagreen: By the time our poor little eyes witness their birth, they may have already collapsed in on themselves or faded away into nothing.
Hissabeth: This is why we always find ourselves disagreeing, Prismagreen. You can't help but inject all this drama and poetry into matters of science.
They both stop mid-argument, right as it was about to crescendo. Two old friends, locking eyes, gripped by the unmistakable feeling of déjà vu.
Prismagreen: cry If something happened between us that made you want to leave, you could've just told me.
Hissabeth: I thought we were getting along swimmingly.
Hissabeth: I'm just more interested in this new project. The fusion of arcanum and science, aerospace frontier applications—every part of it speaks to our goals as a researcher.
Prismagreen: It's a fringe project. It's doubtful you'll have any kind of team or secure any serious funding—
Prismagreen: Dear Sylvie, you must understand: Laplace brushing it off is a sign in itself.
Prismagreen: Our serpentine ceramic paper is about to be published. Think of the real-world applications, darling! With your talent, we could go so far down this path together.
Hissabeth: So what?
Hissabeth: So maybe we've got a knack for making ceramic materials. But we're more than that. It doesn't need to define us.
Hissabeth: I'm proud of what we've achieved here, but I want to pursue other goals—the things that really matter to me.
Hissabeth: I know it may seem hard to accept, but my talents and my passions don't perfectly align. When it comes down to it, we've chosen to pursue what is most important to us.
Prismagreen: But what you're chasing is a life devoted to a barren, weightless void. It may seem like the future, but there's no life in it. Nothing can survive up there, darling. It's just idle curiosity and wasted effort.
Prismagreen: I just don't see how you can be so fixated on something that has no practical purpose.
Hissabeth: Why is curiosity not enough? Evolution preserved this instinct in us so thoroughly and powerfully that it must hold some essential meaning.
Hissabeth: Ultimately, I don't care whether you think of it as the natural drive of evolution or something as hokey as a higher calling. No one survives forever, not in space and not on earth, Prismagreen, but before our end arrives, we're going to live on our terms.
Prismagreen: From someone of your age, some might call that a childish act of rebellion.
Hissabeth: And from someone with your tone, some might call that a snide personal attack.
Prismagreen: I'm sorry, Sylvie. I didn't mean to attack you. I just—
Prismagreen: Dear, the stars are just too far away.
Prismagreen: In ancient poems, I should be the one guiding you back into the fold. As your mentor, I have to insist—your brilliance doesn't belong in devotion to dead starlight.
Hissabeth: Then, if I know anything about literature, I have to insist on my part, too. Rejecting the call. If you need some poetic reason, then imagine me as some dust-eating serpent yearning for the sky and, beyond it, something higher still.
Hissabeth: Where did Voyager 1 end up? Where did the Golden Record go? After Earth, where else can we go?
Hissabeth: Every one of those "wheres" matters to me. That weightless wasteland—and every star in it—they all matter to me.
Hissabeth: And I don't need anyone else's recognition.
Clearly, they both see in each other's eyes a shared memory.
Prismagreen & Hissabeth: ...
The smiles after that silence carry more than nostalgia. There's a quiet recognition that neither of them has changed.
Time hasn't moved either side an inch, and with that understanding, further debate is pointless.
Hissabeth: So you still think I shouldn't "waste my brilliance" on "dead starlight"?
Prismagreen: You never quite convinced me back then, darling. If not for the idealistic glow in your eyes, I might've pushed harder.
Hissabeth: I had an idealistic glow? Really?
Prismagreen: Oh, don't fuss over glows. All I meant then, as I do now, is that you're always welcome here. I'll keep a desk open for you.
Hissabeth: Not gonna lie, when they told me the disk project was getting scrapped, we did take some comfort in knowing it was there.
Prismagreen: I truly never expected you to pull it off, let alone so spectacularly.
Hissabeth: Don't sugarcoat it, you still think it was a big waste of time.
Prismagreen: Call me a traditionalist, dear. Still, I hoped that after that first taste of glory you'd come back down to earth.
Hissabeth: Too bad, then. The universe is vast; the stars are beyond counting. I'll be up there looking at them for a long time coming.
Prismagreen: See? That right there—that blinding glow you get!
Prismagreen: Very well. Looks like I'm destined to drown in another flood of resumes.
Prismagreen: In every version of the story, Melusine always repeats Pressina's fate. Maybe you've inherited more than just a talent for transmutation.
Prismagreen: The legendary Lusignan was built in a single night, but Melusine was never the architect.
Prismagreen: Over the years, I did try following your advice, thinking from a "Melusine-centrism" perspective.
Snake VIII: Please allow me to interrupt. I very much want to hear your "Melusine-centrism" literary critique!
Prismagreen: Of course, dear Estelle. And you, too—my dear cold-hearted little Cornichon.
Prismagreen: Let me interpret the legend from Melusine's point of view: a miracle is kept by one's word—that's the true core of the story.
Prismagreen: I sincerely wish you the best of luck, my dearest Sylvie.
Hissabeth: Merci, Camille. I hope the same for you.
Prismagreen: Though I'm afraid this means I won't be able to promise you an open desk any longer. With your help, this project is even more popular than ever—I've got applications piling up.
Hissabeth: I have to say, that was some world-class showing off.
As agreed, the family of snakes gathers once more to discuss their plans at the end of their vacation.
Snake I: Honestly, Two, I've got nothing against chasing stars and the cutting edge of science, but does it have to be Plesetsk?
Snake VIII: Still, I must admit I'm heartbroken over it. You know how much I cared for Camille.
Snake VI: Pointer's new research proposal really convinced me. We should be able to secure a decent budget this time, right?
Hissabeth: I actually agree with you, Maxim.
The unexpected opening line quiets the snakes for a moment.
Snake III: Hiss hiss?
Snake I: You nearly startled Three into speaking! Bien sûr, my points are always solid. But uhm, what is it that you agree with?
Hissabeth: I would like to revise today's agenda. If there's no immediate launch planned, I propose we relocate the Plesetsk research project back to HQ.
GAMEPLAY