Even In The Grave, All Is Not Lost

The Choices We Make

For the second time in five days, Raven awoke to the feeling of something soft on top of her. She blinked blearily, twisting to inspect the intrusion.

It was that damn coat again.

Grumbling, she threw the lecherous material off her and sat up, pretending she didn't feel the way her muscles protested at the demand.

Just like the first time, Luna was seated away from her, only now she was perched on top of a table, legs crossed as she meditated or prayed or whatever the hell it was she did.

How long had she been there?

Was she trying to make a habit out of watching her sleep?

Creepy.

Ignoring the fluttering in her stomach that wasn't altogether unpleasant, Raven stood up, tossing the jacket at the other woman. She caught it effortlessly, eyes shut. Not even a flicker of expression.

Show off.

"I take it you're still not cold."

Raven huffed, stretching out her spine. "I'm a Reyes - we don't get cold."

Or so her mother had told her every time she'd siphoned off the gas for their heater in exchange for some liquid treasure. Space was cold as hell and Raven had nearly gotten hypothermia a total of seven times as a result of that little trade.

Not that her mother seemed to care.

Luna frowned slightly. "Reyes?"

"It's my last name."

The confusion didn't settle.

Oh, right. Grounders didn't have last names.

"My family. Our ancestry, whatever." How the hell did you explain last names? "It's how we tell each other apart. Like, you know, with the whole kom Trikru, Azgeda thing. . ."

Sort of.

Maybe she should get a dictionary.

But then Luna's mouth twitched and Raven realized she was being had. "You know what last names are."

The other woman opened her eyes at last, mouth pressing into a smile. "I do. There are lots of things my people no longer have a use for but which we still possess knowledge of."

Well, she guessed that made sense. It hadn't even been a hundred years since civilization was blown away, that was a short as hell time to lose all remnants of knowledge and culture. Or, so Raven would assume.

She wasn't an anthropologist or whatever.

The Grounders were different from the Sky People. Where her own people had existed in a kind of space vacuum for ninety-seven years - frozen in time - those on earth had progressed, changed, altering themselves to fit their new reality.

Her distaste for their lack of technology aside, there was something rather impressive about that.

They'd adapted.

The Arkers hadn't.

"There are some clans that do still use surnames," Luna went on. "Generally the larger ones, where you need more than just a clan name to distinguish you. Boudalan for instance, have a tradition of naming all firstborn children Otana. Without last names to tell them apart, it would get very confusing." Her lips pulled in amusement and Raven snorted.

"Well, I guess that makes sense." There had been no other Ravens aboard the Ark. No other Reyeses either, except for her mother and a grandfather who had croaked it a year before she was born.