[A certain professor decked out in his usual dark pinstripes doesn't appear until near the end of the lunch service in the cafe, still looking half asleep when he quietly orders his meal. But he can spot Cantarella sitting on her own, and curiosity gets the better of him.
So hello, Cantarella, have a tall man gently approaching.]
Good morning, Professor. [There's some cheek to the title, but he continues regardless.] I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I had a couple questions for you.
[She has only a small plate, with no remnants of food on it, and a cup with her at the tail end of lunch service.]
Professor, [Cantarella bobs her head in greeting, meeting his energy.] Are they questions I'll find enjoyable to answer? Or are you merely seeking to determine friend from foe in an unfamiliar place?
No, but thank you. [He'll carefully hook the cup of coffee he's brought with his own lunch as he takes a seat.] I just need enough to perk me up.
[Ah, caffeine. Please rescue him.
Anyway.]
Mm, in ways. I personally don't pay it any mind. It's the adaptive nature of it and the atmosphere of this place that concerns me, more than the personalized jabs.
I worry more for the fragile among us, should this start to reach a more violent pitch.
Perhaps not blindly, no. But I'd rather believe the better of my fellow man than leave them to die like lambs to the slaughter. What caveats need to be made will be made. Finding the ones that need the most help with their footing is a higher priority to me.
[As much as he'd love to go directly intervene, that isn't happening, especially not without his magic.]
I take it your test on the forums went successfully, given some of the whispers I've been hearing.
It's a start. [It'll be even more of one come Thursday, once it becomes clear that even their actions backstage can be caught up and assimilated almost immediately.]
You've probably already concluded that we're not likely to make any headway with open rebellion. [She holds her cups to her lips, breathes it in before sipping, and lingers.] We are part of a system that doesn't want to yield us.
[It's factual, albeit full of barely restrained displeasure. They aren't merely Father's toys...but from the sound of her words, she's anticipating that playing house on the surface will allow for them to accomplish much more behind closed doors.]
Being confident in the rules of this space, for starters. Learning to use it to our advantage, rather than our detriment. In that regard, I feel you're already taking the correct steps I'd been curious of, and I don't intend to interrupt you.
Second: As much as it may pain us to do so, playing along with the bare minimum of what is requested will at least keep us standing. Those who are strong enough to handle the burden must help those who struggle. I would not see Don's tragedy repeated out of stubbornness.
Third: Learning about one another. Even in the broadest strokes. He already has placed us in where He wants us to be, not where we are... and I fear that, the longer this goes on, the more he will try to flick those parts of us away. If He means to turn us on one another for selfish reasons and threaten to tear us apart under fear, knowing one another will help keep us together if we're to falter.
[He pauses with a firm sigh, his fork smoothly travelling over his plate as though talking about the weather.]
For all else... well. I'm sure what can be found will be made clear, in time.
Some weights belong only to those who've already weathered their storms. [A category Cantarella seems to index herself in as well, though she doesn't elaborate and moves smoothly to cover the rest. She hms.] Our roles, not just as "betrothed," but in this school, have already been determined for us. But there is much we can still define for ourselves. We may become safekeepers of more than a single missing memory.
[She considers what's written on her own rose-lined gravestone. There's nothing inherently untrue about anything there, but out of context, it's easy to see those words growing legs and heads of their own.]
I can't help but notice that I have yet to hear a question from you.
Mm. We just need to hope those who aren't as steady can trust in those that know they can handle it.
[He'll nod in the affirmative, though.]
You've provided some of the answers I needed already, believe it or not. Maybe I'd just like to keep the conversation going to see if the rest pop up naturally.
[No, Solomon, nosy is somebody else on the forums!]
Why put someone in a position to be on the defensive by asking questions when you can receive the information differently?
[She sets her teacup back down with a prim little clink. For example, she feels no desire to ask him what his impression of her is so far; she can get a sense of that over the course of the conversation, too. It isn't really being obscured that she has a sense of working those greyer areas when clarity isn't possible, and she doesn't like to belabor ineffciently.]
And what of the task to be granted Beautitude? Will you apply the same approach?
[He hums, the ring against his finger tracing idle lines into the side of his cup.]
If there was a way to directly stop it, then I would be direct.
My worry is in the edicts. Not only because of the lure of a Beatitude for the scared and desperate, but also because Father's edict demands a life to be taken. If we do not, who's to say that more aren't punished in the same way Don was?
Do we lose in the end more by complete inaction?
Edited (whoops i meant italics whoooops) 2025-08-23 01:12 (UTC)
It was to both our benefit and our detriment that we learned of that collective punishment.
[The lesson won't come later or at a more inopportune time, but everyone has felt that pain and will do what they can do to avoid it—for better or for worse.
For a moment, the taste of tea in her mouth is older, mellower, honeyed, as if she took the cup once again from Hebenon's little, shaking hands.]
The simplest way to keep innocent lives from being trampled is to make sure they never fall beneath a scrutinizing gaze. But I really do abhor senseless sacrifice, all for hollow progress.
Mm. It's a shame that removing said gaze isn't always the cleanest of options, and redirecting that gaze requires accepting the consequences of who it will hit instead.
[A beat, as his own glass is lifted, his eyes settling on her for a little longer than usual. Hm.
He swallows, a hand going up in silent apology.]
I'm sorry to change the topic so, but - the marking, on your tongue. It's striking, isn't it?
[Who needs 20 questions at the party when you can have 20 questions at the cafe?]
Frequencies, to be precise. [He'll likely have noticed from the name and the waveform itself that the tacet mark resembles a soundwave more than anything.]
You've seen something like it before. [Just as assumption, but she does make it rather boldly, without much of a pitch up to her already norally calm voice.]
Unless you're familiar with a catastrophe known as the Lament or its ensuing phenmona, there's likely a divergence from your research forking early down the line. I know less than a scientist could tell you.
[Unfortunately, her experience is more on the arcane side than the research side...and she's getting the sense that he may be prone to tumbling down rabbit holes.
Perhaps another time. and if that time comes to pass, Nik is going to accept me linking a wiki page]
Isn't it a shame, though? Fairytales often have a witch. [And here she is, powerless.]
No pressure at all. [A shake of his head is all he needs to shut that down, as curious as he is. A topic for later, when prying will be more productive.
He chuckles lightly against his cup.]
A witch, a warlock, a graceful god. Who's meant to be the hero, I wonder, when you leave your foes without their weapons?
[It's time for the changing of the guard for snooping around the chapel, so Solomon's quick to try and approach his fellow "teacher" as they leave the church grounds. Blast this stupid clergy outfit, what a thing to get stuck in...]
Cantarella. With me, please, if you don't mind. I'd like to share findings.
Join me. Our paths converge for the moment. [She gestures to her side with her parasol, which remains politely folded indoors as it always does.]
I don't need to ask you where you've spent the night. [So she won't waste time on it, though she does look at his priest outfit once they are in step together.] More importantly, did you all wake there at the same time we did?
[There's red smeared on the sleeves, but he was up messing with the altar and matches the actions he was performing with the severed head.]
If you mean to the girl announcing from the windows around 6 this morning? Yes.
We found ourselves trapped in the church around 11pm, with the doors refusing to open. None of our phones would connect to the forum, either. I don't remember what time I fell asleep, but it wasn't intentional.
It must have been near midnight. "The appointed time," as someone else referred to it. [Father's rules, as they'd both discussed and assumed, seem intent on enforcing themselves, with or without intervention.]
You'll hear this question more than once, so I'll ask it now before we share our discoveries. What brought you all there in the first place?
[The first of many times, probably, they'll get the third degree on sleeping in a place where the prying gaze seems most virulent.]
I can't speak firmly for the others, but I can tell you what I saw.
[Just moving down the list and checking off each point on his fingers as he goes.]
Annette was in prayer. She's a pious girl, and has great comfort put into her faith. This is not the first time I've seen her in the pews, so it didn't strike me as strange - only that she was there so late. I believe I heard her say something about feeling uncomfortable saying her bedtime prayers in the dorm.
Lovecraft was found sleeping when I arrived. He was disoriented, and didn't seem to know what time it was. He prefers to be alone and is frightened of the Extras, so perhaps the chapel was an easy place to escape.
Meanwhile, I was merely following Fandaniel. Why he entered the church, I don't know, but when he attempted to leave, we all found ourselves trapped. He was... irrationally irritated when we realized it might have been in regards to the Edict, but he was behaving himself up until I fell asleep.
[Poor Annette, who seems to have guilt seep out of her very pores the way toxin sweats from Cantarella's. She's like a little mouse... What starts as a thoughtful frown gets a little deeper as Solomon goes down the list.]
I should tell you, at least, that I saw naught related to the killing when I looked at the stained glass. It would have been a bit too easy if they revealed a guilty conscience, but this sin wasn't there.
[Or they might not have thought it was sinful! That's a card she won't flip out loud, though.]
What did Fandaniel do to catch your attention to begin with last night?
I'll have to do my best to neither irritate nor avoid you in the future.
[It's a very unclear answer compared to his more thorough, detailed description from before. It's not the time to palpate that just yet! Surely she'll see it in action soon.]
No. I'm returning to the dorm to change to something more suitable before checking the rest of the school. There are some of our number I want to check on before tensions become too high.
For now, I meant to share our findings as you requested, though I can understand why you might be in a hurry.
[She's not overly eager to jump into the fray, as it were. This part of their necessary participation isn't one she can so easily abide by, which he should know from their previous conversation.]
Before we convene to judge the guilty, I'd also like to make a few stops. The kitchen, for starters.
Ah, yes, yes, that. [Nik forgetting their own dialogue from six tags ago whoops] Do tell me what has the kitchen in your sights, you've got me curious.
As for my own findings? Whatever was done to remove the boy's head from his body was very clean. There were no signs of obvious wounds on his face or skull, outside blood against the back of his neck and caked into the lower parts of his hair. My guess is he was attacked from behind.
They also didn't leave much of a trail. I found no footprints, and what blood trail was outside the altar was minimal, leading off towards the front doors.
The front of the chapel was clear up through the baptism and confessional, though I didn't do any thorough checking of the pews.
Completely clean, with no flesh visibly torn from it? [Her eyebrows give that little perceptive twitch of thought he's seen once or twice.]
Because I found some in the font of holy water. It was darkly clouded with both darkness and blood, and, as you may know, it burns to the touch. I'd like to examine that effect more closely. [Hence the trip to the kitchen...for science.]
[There was a fair amount of blood in the basin and around it, but the floor was so clear...barely even a smear.]
It may react differently to living and dead tissue, as well as organic and manmade materials. [Beyond that, she just wants to know if it's truly "blessed," of course.] I may taste it for my own records.
Same with the head... There was plenty of blood on the altar, but almost none leading to it. Perhaps a container was involved and brought somewhere else?
The water in the baptism reacts similarly, and that pool was clear of blood and debris. Perhaps that would be a good spot for a placebo test.
Though... we can save the tasting until after we've confirmed it won't react with your living tissues, I hope?
Of course, I'll imbibe responsibly. It's always better to measure toxicity beforehand, and I don't know what this substance is.
[They're presumably still doing a West Wing-style walk-and-talk through the campus in the midst of this discussion, and while Cantarella doesn't hesitate or stop, she does glance down at the movement of their footsteps as they go.]
They moved rather quickly, as far as I can tell. I noticed very little hint of hesitation.
[Given their last conversation, she has to make note of that with him—and question it a little bit.]
[Yeah u got it, they're on the move. Dorms are downstairs, after all, so Solomon's got a long way to walk.]
Mm. Speed or confidence or both. They weren't sloppy.
I don't want to jump to conclusions until I hear more of what else might have been found. Hopefully, it will give a clearer picture, even if it doesn't make the end result easier.
[Because, following the edict, they will have to have a trial. And regardles of whether their trial is successful, they will have to send someone to take the consequences. Unless a miracle happens, they do not make it out of the week with any fewer than two of their number missing.]
[Father (or his words, at least, and his disembodied punishments) has made such a great deal over judgment that it almost feels inappropriate to place it in their hands now.
There's something bothering her about the twisted nature of his divinity, but the far more pressing matter is getting to the bottom of this action and mitigating it the best they possibly can.]
My network is not what it would be in Rinascita. We simply cannot be everywhere at once. There may be more we're missing. Have you else to add?
...There was flesh in the water, as well, though its origin is now in question. If the cut is as clean as you observed...
[Well, the flesh did have to come from elsewhere.
Her eyebrows flicker at the mention of clipped wings. Though it's a difficult expression to read, Solomon might be able to determine that Cantarella suspects this may actually be exactly what Father wants.]
I have set power aside before. He will soon find that I have everything I need so long as I remain myself. [That seems to be one of her final thoughts on the matter.]
Confidence? [She smiles with some certainty.] If that's what you'd like to call it. But I chose to take over at matriarch of the Fisalia family and succeeded for a reason.
Everything we spoke of in our first conversation stands.
[They're probably about to the kitchen now, so it's possible they'll soon be ready to part ways.]
One's role doesn't necessarily count for one's belief in themselves. They may intertwine, but I would think your confidence in who you are now is a far greater image and impact than what might have led you to that point.
Perhaps you're right. I hope you believe the same about yourself. [And perhaps that's why, whether it's as a Fisalia or as a participant in this "game," she will continue to play along in her own way.
[Even with everything that has happened and how pretty much everyone will probably be wanting to be Anywhere Else, Solomon can be found at the Rose Gardens, settled under the great stone arch like a vulture overtop the rest of the tower, wind catching the flow of his coat and leaving the sound of quietly clinking metal rings in the wind
His face is badly bruised in several spots, his lip split, and reddish purple markings streak up what can be seen of the top of his neck before his shirt covers the rest. But it doesn't hide the polite smile he gives towards Cantarella if he sees her.
There's not much to be happy about, after a weekend like this. But he's never liked to look further than the present for too long.]
[That most would shy away from this place might be what brought her down—or up, rather— in the wake of the afternoon's events. There's no trace of what they saw, and Cantarella isn't sure she expected to see one. Maybe she only wanted to feel if the wind had changed at all, or if the fake sky showed any signs of splitting once again.
She smiles, too, the same level of politeness given to Solomon in return as she spots his bruised face.]
[The chuckle that spills out is laced with tired exasperation.]
Lilia dragged me by the collar all the way to the infirmary, yes. I told him I could take care of it, but he was very insistent. Stronger than I thought, too...
[He rubs at his neck gingerly, the bruising covering large portions of his throat from the front.]
You've taken care of your burns since yesterday, I hope?
[BRO WHAT IS GOING ON WITH YOU (at this point this is just a running meme i fear and not a real reaction in her expression)
Her actual reaction is to nod at the explanation, though the mention of the infirmary draws a bit of a darkness into her rich blue eyes. If anything, she makes note of Lilia's quick intervention in another injury...again, compares it to his usual attitude.]
Luckily, I only burned the very tip of my finger to test the strength of the water's effects. The pain was...negligible, at best. It's all well and done now.
[GIRL JUST ASK HIM USE YOUR TITTY POWERS OR SOMETHIN]
Mm. Good, you had me worried with your talk about testing. But it worked out for the better.
...
[His arms cross in front of him, weight leaning a little heavier against the stone as he lines his shoulders up square and tilts his head back. Up to the sky, fake as anything. Fake light, fake voices, fake fake fake fake.]
It is what I try to tell myself, at least. It could have been worse. The trial, the execution. If I thought about the ways they could have ended in disaster, I wouldn't know an end to it.
But two gone, still... [He exhales hard, eyes closing tight.] With one's location a mystery, and the other...
[SHE DOESN'T HAVE TITTY HYPNOSIS POWERS OKAY but maybe later she has a lot to talk about
As usual, her parasol is with her. Cantarella folds it and hooks it by her side.]
And the other still gone.
[The tip of the parasol gives a brief "mind if I join you?" gesture to him where he sits.]
If you'd ended up on the worse side of a fight, we might have had yet another to worry about. Maybe we should be grateful you weren't the one up there. [Specifically because, as she is certain he might also have noticed, the "wings" of those in the garden were being trotted out for show.]
[A blink as his eyes follow her parasol, earning a belated nod and a weak shuffle over in his seat to give her more room. Make yourself at home, queen.]
Is that concern or just scolding I hear? [like she aint wrong but still, he can't help but poke fun a little]
They really outperformed for two that had abilities stripped from them. But... perhaps it's tied to where their weapons came from.
[Pulled from the inside of a fellow Troupe member like a blade from a sheathe.]
[As she takes her seat (though she does look down to see if there's any trace of those fallen outlines below), Cantarella turns over her shoulder and leans in Solomon's direction, taking a playful dip into his personal space.]
Do you think you've earned both or either? You're obviously so careful; do I still have to be worried about you?
["Careful" here likely refers to any number of things. He's been very observant, metered with his information, precise with (most of) his public interactions with people.]
The man survived the removal of his head. Whatever it may be, it's beyond what binds us. All this about working in pairs...I felt nothing so potent with mine.
[He allows it, cocking his head in response with a small perk to his smile. Hello, dear, welcome to the Solomon Zone.]
It depends who you'd ask, I guess. I've gotten pretty used to being called a troublemaker more than anything. [So he would not judge her, if she decided he was worth chiding. It wouldn't be the first time, by far.]
I doubt it has to do with our pairs. Perhaps it's simply a matter of agreement. [Said rather casually.] But now you've just made me curious as to whether you've located that missing piece of yours.
[She hits him with a hmm and a lean forward, bent out over her own knees.
Well, as long as he doesn't go about making too much trouble for the wrong people or at the wrong time...a little mischief has likely never hurt anyone. His use of "agreement" is much more interesting, as is the rather straightforward presentation of a question that's been danced around by nearly everyone else.]
Trying to chase a piece of yourself that you've forgotten is like trying to cup air in the palm of your hand...I'm still looking for the one who managed to hold the wind. If only I'd had the foresight to inscribe it on my hand. [Not that they knew any of this, of course.] I should hope the search for yours isn't the source of your troubles.
Ah, "its own matter." I see. You feel so strongly...So I don't believe my curiosity should surprise you.
[Unlike him, her curiosity doesn't extend so far beyond the boundary that it transforms into nosiness. The trouble is that they're already in a panopticon of motivations and expectations, and every little behavior is being monitored from more than one vantage. There's more to discuss.]
The rumors won't trouble you, at least, though I'm increasingly aghast at what passes for gossip here. You could have just written on the forum. Then...what do you know of our "partnerships?"
[Laughtracks dot mp3 in him being one of the main targets for Monday's rumors just to rub more salt in his wounds]
...Not much more than the rest, I'm afraid, though I can confirm that the connection is... different. It isn't at all like what happened on that stage.
[Good thing neither of them is particularly bothered by rumors, then, hm? Hm?
To her, his reply suggests that he knows more than a great deal of them... or perahps she has been arrogant in seeking her answers on her own. Either way, Cantarella studies him for a time, watching any remaining strains of the fluster on his face.]
Well, don't reveal your secrets. [Mild good humor spills through her voice.] But perhaps you could let me know what it does feel like? I doubt you can surprise me much.
[His expression falls unusual again. Unfocused, frustrated, with a tension not unlike watching a wild animal on the alert. Not towards her, but to something else.]
Overwhelming. [Clipped. Withdrawn. Very, very out of character.] I'd prefer we don't talk about it.
...
Like I said... I don't think it's related to what we saw on that stage.
[As he becomes more irritated, her hand lifts, a fleeting thought of reaching out to soothe, but lowers it again to her lap. It's unlike him, and unlike their neutral agreement to share what they learned.]
Ah. It's much too late for objectivity, then. You sound as if you've succumbed.
[The shift is a sight to behold, and oddly, despite his resistance to talking about it, Cantarella feels like she's learned enough. He is enmeshed with something.]
[He has to grit his teeth a bit as he ducks his head down, like whatever passes over him is a wave, something that overtakes the careful control he normally keeps himself under.
[It's a couple more breathes before he finally seems he's righted himself, an apology unspoken in his eyes as he runs a hand across his bruised features.]
...That's the best word I can come up for it, at least. The body as a vessel, the blade a manifestation. Like the plucking of our roses, but of a different sort.
[It's troubling to see, but Cantarella keeps her calm and waits coolly for Solomon's temperament to cool as well. Self-control is necessary for her, as perhaps it is for him... But what about the ones who have much less of it?
Her nod is brief; to say anything just yet would drag it out. Consider it dropped.
But there's a great deal still to uncover.]
Even with all the chaos, their bond was clear. [An Actual bond, even...] But then... why those bonds? What do they contribute to the ritual?
That, I can't begin to guess. Asking Louis, Dehya, or APPle might be the most promising lead, when they've all had time to rest. Only they will know what feelings went through them, or why their bonds felt strong.
[He pauses, as though debating whether to say more, but seems to dismiss it.]
I want to check on Dehya anyway, when there is time. She's a sensible one.
Well. [She pauses, tactfully navigating this.] I had thought it was the shock of the flames, at first, but...
At least two of the dancers on the stage were in sync. [One very much was not, from the way APPLe sank to the ground as if the invisible string holding him aloft was severed.
Perhaps Solomon really wishes to speak to Dehya about that, actually, to get to the bottom of that reason? The rest of it can wait a moment, though she does not at the idea that Dehya is sensible; there's more to say, possibly, but the threads of Amethyst dorm's connection may be a bit slippery to untangle.]
From appearances, yes. But within the chaos, it's hard to tell anything objective. I'd rather hear it from a firm source, and we have already run out of one of those options. [Smashcut to Tuesday where we've lost another one, lolololololol. :(]
Unless you think you've found a bigger pattern there.
[His interview pool is about to get a whole lot smaller...sad.]
Right you are. We can only say what we saw, not what happened. [The two are, so often, very different. She knows it all too well.] It's not big enough to be a pattern, nor would I be elated to see any repeats. Better to ask. I wonder just what she'll feel comfortable sharing with you.
How ominous. You've certainly mounted the tension.
[Though the setup is still lighthearted, Cantarella's body language becomes more serious, and she leans forward. Requests that have to be so introduced are often heavy ones. Maybe he can suspect she's carried such heavy things before.]
As long as my cooperation can be held until I've heard it. I do have a tendency to seek my own way of doing things.
[He exhales slowly, as though gathering his thoughts, before continuing in a smooth tone.]
Cantarella... If I'm to be found dead at any point, I would like you to please work with a second party on containing any items found on my person. Nothing I possess on my death is to be taken by anyone - anyone - but that party or yourself... specifically because I am choosing to trust you both to keep the goals of the many in mind.
[A beat. In the way he looks at her, hopefully she can tell his wording is exactly the way it is for a reason, and that there is a lot left unsaid in her choice to hold her support.]
If you are holding, despite what I've told you... then know I cannot explain why just yet. And I will not be able to explain truthfully, under any circumstance, until we're free.
[...]
I know it is a lot to ask. But are you willing to do this for me?
[She listens intently, thumb crossing her lower lip a few times as she does. Her tongue is feeling very raw.]
You do already know how I feel about senseless sacrifice, Solomon, so I should hope you've thought carefully about this.
[If he tries to reply or take her words as an answer right away, Cantarella will hold her hand aloft, gently, because she's still speaking.]
For three dozen generations, the Fisalia have safeguarded Imperator's legacy, as the divine being They were before the dark abyss assimilated Them and spread its spiritual plague in the guise of faiths, seeding absolute control and paranoia in Rinascita's people. [Does the latter sound familiar? Hopefully, he follows.]
To achieve this, generations of their girls underwent torturous trials. A necessary sacrifice. These trials... [The pause is brief, but it's the pause of someone navigating something unspeakable or something that should be but is not there.] ... ended when I became matriarch, and as long as I am matriarch, they will not exist again.
Do you intend the many to include the many who would come after us?
[Good thing she does lift that hand, because he sure was opening his mouth to retort a little! But he obediently snaps it shut and lets her continue.
Mm. She does feel very strongly about this, doesn't she? But it does twist something inside him, in a good way. That he chose correctly, for something like this.]
You worry so grandly. [It's a little longsuffering, how it teases, but he draws himself serious.] I don't intend it to be a sacrifice. You have my word on that. But it is not something I can promise will extend past our Troupe. I don't have the power I once did to enforce something like that.
Think of it as... lifeboats, for a storm. We may not need them, but they have been rigged for a possibility, and nothing more.
All I need is for my failsafe to not end up in the hands of someone who would turn it on another, rather than ensuring those boats don't get swept away by the storm before they can be used.
[Her eyes narrow a little bit at that long-suffering old man response of his. The grandpa energy is definitely beginning to waft off of him.
Still, that puts the greatest of her concerns at bay. From their first true conversation, she hadn't thought that throwing kindly on the pyre without trying to define their own way was how either of them would play their roles.]
The encroaching tide is something I'm intimately familiar with keeping at bay. As is having a failsafe.
[Not surprising to hear. But he does tilt his head a little to look off to the side - off into the open space of the Rose Gardens they sit under. Exposed.]
That's as much as I can give you without an answer in return. I'm sorry.
[His eyes grow warm at the edges, silently thankful. But he stays silent, rummaging through his coat to pull out a deep blue pen covered in golden flowers, uncapping it.]
[He'll turn that hand over to write out a name on the surface of her palm.
"YUGAMU"]
They'll be on the lookout for my other pen. [His smile is even as he gestures with the flowered one in his hand. As in: not this one.] Don't halt them if they're insistent on taking it, please. It was by request.
Also: this ink is washable, so don't worry about it staining. [AKA, feel free to get rid of that little note as soon as you want.]
Gather them, regardless. I'd rather have some excuse of "he requested nostalgic memories buried with his roses" or something like that. If it takes eyes off the real purpose, then all the better for it.
I approve of both the scheme and the sentiment attached to it. It'd be better for your memories to stay with above-ground than be surrendered to some fire down below.
Do you have roommates who might be prone to sticky fingers? [She's testing with this question and clearly knows it, but it's precisely worded so he can deflect with his answer.
[She frowns at the statement about his dormmates but pauses only the slightest sliver at the exact names. They both surprise to hear and align exactly with her expectations at the same time.]
I'll make sure of it, and I'll make sure to let you handle the more intricate dances of your épreuves.
[She waves his apologies off as unnecessary, light as spun sugar.]
All things must unfold in time, in the proper order.
[She understands procedure, in a way that unfortunately aligns with linear story progression and thus feels a little close to this particular sun burning hot beneath them. Cantarella goes to rise.]
And necessity breeds many things, though we don't need to agree on all of them. It's best to be prepared.
[This sure is the exact same spot they met last time! He disappeared for a bit immediately after the execution to do who knows what, but he's had himself planted here for quite a while tonight.
Solomon's bruises on his face are in much better shape, but he seems to have traded them for others that were covered up by his bridal outfit. One hand is bandaged at the palm and stretching down past his jacket sleeve, and he seems to be very careful in how still he's holding himself, wincing when he turns to look at Cantarella.
There's a small collection of paper strips in his lap with a small black pouch with golden thread sitting in wait, the blue pen in his hand halting mid sentence on writing something down.]
...I figured you'd be looking for me. [His laugh is tired, but he nods his consent.] Go ahead.
I can't imagine how tired you must be. You really do run the rest of us in circles during these investigations.
[Her gaze moves to the bandage on his hand, a flicker of connection there in the pools of her eyes. She sits and waits to see if he'd like to finish writing down his thought before it flutters from his head before she speaks.]
Hm, do you suppose? I think I'm merely practiced at analyzing things within a sea of noise.
[Within the whispers, within the puzzle of her own mind...with only fragmented information, as they've been given.]
I wonder if it's only your attention that I've captured.
[The voices from the crowd at the end of the trial had been...more concerning than before, for several reasons. After all that has transpired, the rumors that poison the school next week may be even louder than before.
Cantarella shifts to hold her elbow. The braid around her wrist feels tight.] It's all right, Solomon. What fair cost are my tears against the loss?
[He won't push it. As genuinely worried as he is about her, their relationship is only one of intellectual gain and mutual goal. Outside of moments of intense emotion, Cantarella has not let much slip about her personal life, and he'd tried hard to do the same.
Hypocrites they are, he supposes. Knowing they had to remember, but dancing the line with one another anyway.]
Though I'd be curious as to what you mean, "only your attention".
[No cost is fair. There's nothing more to say. She touches the thin plait of golden hair fastened around her wrist.]
I did nothing I wouldn't have done otherwise, so it isn't as if I went looking for it. ...Though I saw no need to join the rest in questioning that girl. [There was enough bearing down on Noelle. Cantarella did not need to contribute to the deluge.]
But if I get any, I should like to see what they do with me.
Simply put, I gave Annette's death exactly the care in solving it that I would give no matter the circumstances we were in, with what was available to me.
If the Extras want to talk about that as some moral parable or if it impacts my relationship with other members of the Troupe, then it might make room to take another step forward and another.
The Extras can make as much noise as they want. You will know the truth, and you can stand firm in it. All else shouldn't matter.
Though. I know that's easier said than done.
[And he remembers the gossip well that week. That which was barbs of thorns against himself, against Fandaniel, against Annette. Words, words, but harmful ones to the heart.]
It'll take more than a few of their whispers to frighten me.
[She truly sounds earnest about it, reassuring and not making an attempt to deflect.
At least with that...rumors are part of Cantarella's everyday life. Even if they were to completely lie about her, it might offend her a bit to be misrepresented...but it might allow her to do something else.]
She didn't tell me many things about herself. I gathered her life was full of pain and shame, neither of which she should have felt.
I was pleased by her company every time.
[When she uncaps the pen and twists her wrist to write her elegant and simple phrase upon the paper, Solomon will be able to see the edge of the braid there.
[Without quite fully looking up, more out of the corner of her eye.
They both can keep buttoning up those brief shatters as long as they'd like, but this is rather something she's wanted to ask anyway. She'll put it this way to save them both a little dignity (even if she'd happily throw that away, too, for the right result).]
It's only pretending to be a pen, after all. Isn't that what was said?
Yes, and little to show for it, and no way for one of the two of us to scoop it up.
[The wrist with the bracelet lifts slightly; she turns it so the delicate skin on her inner arm faces outward.]
A gift from the past... "Something old," from Annette, who gave it to me when she said she didn't have many things to part with. Many people might have found it a bit unsettling, but I was always the odd child out, myself.
He holds it strangely, held away from the both. For the briefest flicker, the pen vanishes, replaced by the pommel of a dagger, entirely made of iridescent diamond.
It's kept still long enough for her, and her alone, to see, before the blade vanishes into just a pen again.]
[How one of these things led to the next is a smidge interesting and stringy… Solomon has an air about him, but it’s a little difficult to conjure up a reason for such a brutal beat down that would also get noticed as needing its very own self-defense. Couldn’t he use anything else, for that first part? She’ll get to that later.]
And who here has the power to forge such a contract and ensure it will be executed?
[She saw what happened to Noelle's clone, too, and after they discussed the flames from last week's execution, Cantarella's gaze has been keenly pointed towards every working of the place that she can see.]
[At that, he simply smiles, before bending down slightly and pushing his jacket away from the nape of his neck. The demonic sigil is one that's been there since their first trial.]
That would be from our Dramaturge themselves, and myself.
The bond isn't unfamiliar to me. I can confirm it's in place.
[Oh, isn't that interesting... But dissecting what makes it different from the other sigils might need to be left for another day.]
When you're in certain businesses, you calculate deals based on those loopholes and advantageous positions. So I can understand keeping some cards in your vest.
Believe me, I tried. And I made the best decision I believed I could at the time. But who knows what will change.
...
In its most basic: Sika has been bound to their word that they will keep as many of us healthy and alive to the other side of this as is possible. Should they stray from their word, or directly attempt to take the life of a Troupe member even under Father's control, they will be bound, and only my weapon will set them free.
What services have been requested from me in return will also not force me to kill a Troupe member at any point.
What a relief to hear you needn't offer up the one sacrifice you were adamant you didn't want to make.
[She's being a bit precise there; though the first time they'd discussed the pen, Solomon had waved off the idea of himself becoming the sacrifice...Cantarella suspects that he might also need to put some certain amount of himself into his sigils.]
Was Sika Madu forthcoming at all, about what "the other side of this" really entails? We were given a story to play out at the very beginning, but stories are built off of something true, right?
Of course not. There isn't much I can do to help if I'm dead before my time. If and when I die, I would rather it be because I had no other choice, not because it was the easy choice.
[Arrogant and stubborn as he is, even when it comes to life. But he treats it with levity in his tone, as though to talk about it doesn't hold much weight at all.]
Whatever their plan is for escape, they've kept it locked up tight. But they've told much about their motivations.
[His smile sharpens, just slightly.]
They wish to destroy Heaven, and Father along with it. And they wish to resurrect their children, no matter the cost.
[Sentinel above, he can really be a bit insufferable, albeit in a way that she imagines hides the hurt.
Her eyebrows twitch, then knit, as if she is trying to view a piece of art in a gallery from several angles.]
And I take it this agreement you drew up with them is an attempt to factor us out from that cost? Perhaps knowing what would happen once we get to that point would be too advantageous... and not included in your terms.
[If he ignores all the hurt and buries it deep inside then no one ever has to see it!!!! win win]
As much I'd like to say I was that forward thinking, my pact was drawn far before they ever provided me with an honest answer from their lips.
Letting them get too far into their plans without something in place would let the chance slip by me altogether. So what lines I drew, I drew in the knowledge that they could be, among many things, a demon. And a demon that desires something deeply in their being can't be trusted in the way you trust a person.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
WEEK ONE - WEDNESDAY
So hello, Cantarella, have a tall man gently approaching.]
Good morning, Professor. [There's some cheek to the title, but he continues regardless.] I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I had a couple questions for you.
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Professor, [Cantarella bobs her head in greeting, meeting his energy.] Are they questions I'll find enjoyable to answer? Or are you merely seeking to determine friend from foe in an unfamiliar place?
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[He tilts his head slightly towards the free seat on the table.]
Do you mind if I join you for a moment?
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Does the gossip trouble you? Words are as seafoam.
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[Ah, caffeine. Please rescue him.
Anyway.]
Mm, in ways. I personally don't pay it any mind. It's the adaptive nature of it and the atmosphere of this place that concerns me, more than the personalized jabs.
I worry more for the fragile among us, should this start to reach a more violent pitch.
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That'll breed suspicion, whether it's warranted or not. And...perhaps in some cases, we shouldn't trust so blindly.
[Case in point. She gestures.] If this "performance" goes as scheduled, those who can't keep up with the dance of death will lose first.
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[As much as he'd love to go directly intervene, that isn't happening, especially not without his magic.]
I take it your test on the forums went successfully, given some of the whispers I've been hearing.
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You've probably already concluded that we're not likely to make any headway with open rebellion. [She holds her cups to her lips, breathes it in before sipping, and lingers.] We are part of a system that doesn't want to yield us.
[It's factual, albeit full of barely restrained displeasure. They aren't merely Father's toys...but from the sound of her words, she's anticipating that playing house on the surface will allow for them to accomplish much more behind closed doors.]
Knowing this, how would you protect them?
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Being confident in the rules of this space, for starters. Learning to use it to our advantage, rather than our detriment. In that regard, I feel you're already taking the correct steps I'd been curious of, and I don't intend to interrupt you.
Second: As much as it may pain us to do so, playing along with the bare minimum of what is requested will at least keep us standing. Those who are strong enough to handle the burden must help those who struggle. I would not see Don's tragedy repeated out of stubbornness.
Third: Learning about one another. Even in the broadest strokes. He already has placed us in where He wants us to be, not where we are... and I fear that, the longer this goes on, the more he will try to flick those parts of us away. If He means to turn us on one another for selfish reasons and threaten to tear us apart under fear, knowing one another will help keep us together if we're to falter.
[He pauses with a firm sigh, his fork smoothly travelling over his plate as though talking about the weather.]
For all else... well. I'm sure what can be found will be made clear, in time.
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[She considers what's written on her own rose-lined gravestone. There's nothing inherently untrue about anything there, but out of context, it's easy to see those words growing legs and heads of their own.]
I can't help but notice that I have yet to hear a question from you.
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[He'll nod in the affirmative, though.]
You've provided some of the answers I needed already, believe it or not. Maybe I'd just like to keep the conversation going to see if the rest pop up naturally.
Call me nosy, if you'd like.
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Why put someone in a position to be on the defensive by asking questions when you can receive the information differently?
[She sets her teacup back down with a prim little clink. For example, she feels no desire to ask him what his impression of her is so far; she can get a sense of that over the course of the conversation, too. It isn't really being obscured that she has a sense of working those greyer areas when clarity isn't possible, and she doesn't like to belabor ineffciently.]
And what of the task to be granted Beautitude? Will you apply the same approach?
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You mean the shedding of blood?
[He hums, the ring against his finger tracing idle lines into the side of his cup.]
If there was a way to directly stop it, then I would be direct.
My worry is in the edicts. Not only because of the lure of a Beatitude for the scared and desperate, but also because Father's edict demands a life to be taken. If we do not, who's to say that more aren't punished in the same way Don was?
Do we lose in the end more by complete inaction?
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[The lesson won't come later or at a more inopportune time, but everyone has felt that pain and will do what they can do to avoid it—for better or for worse.
For a moment, the taste of tea in her mouth is older, mellower, honeyed, as if she took the cup once again from Hebenon's little, shaking hands.]
The simplest way to keep innocent lives from being trampled is to make sure they never fall beneath a scrutinizing gaze. But I really do abhor senseless sacrifice, all for hollow progress.
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[A beat, as his own glass is lifted, his eyes settling on her for a little longer than usual. Hm.
He swallows, a hand going up in silent apology.]
I'm sorry to change the topic so, but - the marking, on your tongue. It's striking, isn't it?
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My Tacet Mark. [It's not so restless here with no access to her Forte, but the mention of it does make it ache and itch in her mouth.]
It's an indicator of my abilities when they are actually under my control.
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[Might wanna rethink him not being nosy.]
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[He is nosy! She knows how to dripfeed nosiness! But at the moment, what doesn't exist need not be discussed.]
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[So long as she's willing to play this game, he'll keep attempting.]
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Frequencies, to be precise. [He'll likely have noticed from the name and the waveform itself that the tacet mark resembles a soundwave more than anything.]
You've seen something like it before. [Just as assumption, but she does make it rather boldly, without much of a pitch up to her already norally calm voice.]
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Sigils are as abundant as they are hard to master, so I was wondering if it fell in the same families of what I normally research.
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[Unfortunately, her experience is more on the arcane side than the research side...and she's getting the sense that he may be prone to tumbling down rabbit holes.
Perhaps another time.
and if that time comes to pass, Nik is going to accept me linking a wiki page]Isn't it a shame, though? Fairytales often have a witch. [And here she is, powerless.]
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He chuckles lightly against his cup.]
A witch, a warlock, a graceful god. Who's meant to be the hero, I wonder, when you leave your foes without their weapons?
WEEK ONE - FRIDAY POST INVEST BLOCK 1
Cantarella. With me, please, if you don't mind. I'd like to share findings.
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I don't need to ask you where you've spent the night. [So she won't waste time on it, though she does look at his priest outfit once they are in step together.] More importantly, did you all wake there at the same time we did?
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If you mean to the girl announcing from the windows around 6 this morning? Yes.
We found ourselves trapped in the church around 11pm, with the doors refusing to open. None of our phones would connect to the forum, either. I don't remember what time I fell asleep, but it wasn't intentional.
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It must have been near midnight. "The appointed time," as someone else referred to it. [Father's rules, as they'd both discussed and assumed, seem intent on enforcing themselves, with or without intervention.]
You'll hear this question more than once, so I'll ask it now before we share our discoveries. What brought you all there in the first place?
[The first of many times, probably, they'll get the third degree on sleeping in a place where the prying gaze seems most virulent.]
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[Just moving down the list and checking off each point on his fingers as he goes.]
Annette was in prayer. She's a pious girl, and has great comfort put into her faith. This is not the first time I've seen her in the pews, so it didn't strike me as strange - only that she was there so late. I believe I heard her say something about feeling uncomfortable saying her bedtime prayers in the dorm.
Lovecraft was found sleeping when I arrived. He was disoriented, and didn't seem to know what time it was. He prefers to be alone and is frightened of the Extras, so perhaps the chapel was an easy place to escape.
Meanwhile, I was merely following Fandaniel. Why he entered the church, I don't know, but when he attempted to leave, we all found ourselves trapped. He was... irrationally irritated when we realized it might have been in regards to the Edict, but he was behaving himself up until I fell asleep.
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I should tell you, at least, that I saw naught related to the killing when I looked at the stained glass. It would have been a bit too easy if they revealed a guilty conscience, but this sin wasn't there.
[Or they might not have thought it was sinful! That's a card she won't flip out loud, though.]
What did Fandaniel do to catch your attention to begin with last night?
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[But he failed! Haha. :) A win for Solomon.]
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[It's a very unclear answer compared to his more thorough, detailed description from before. It's not the time to palpate that just yet! Surely she'll see it in action soon.]
Are you ready to begin?
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Mm. You mean the next phase of Father's edict?
No. I'm returning to the dorm to change to something more suitable before checking the rest of the school. There are some of our number I want to check on before tensions become too high.
And what about you?
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[She's not overly eager to jump into the fray, as it were. This part of their necessary participation isn't one she can so easily abide by, which he should know from their previous conversation.]
Before we convene to judge the guilty, I'd also like to make a few stops. The kitchen, for starters.
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As for my own findings? Whatever was done to remove the boy's head from his body was very clean. There were no signs of obvious wounds on his face or skull, outside blood against the back of his neck and caked into the lower parts of his hair. My guess is he was attacked from behind.
They also didn't leave much of a trail. I found no footprints, and what blood trail was outside the altar was minimal, leading off towards the front doors.
The front of the chapel was clear up through the baptism and confessional, though I didn't do any thorough checking of the pews.
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Because I found some in the font of holy water. It was darkly clouded with both darkness and blood, and, as you may know, it burns to the touch. I'd like to examine that effect more closely. [Hence the trip to the kitchen...for science.]
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What exactly do you plan on testing it against?
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[There was a fair amount of blood in the basin and around it, but the floor was so clear...barely even a smear.]
It may react differently to living and dead tissue, as well as organic and manmade materials. [Beyond that, she just wants to know if it's truly "blessed," of course.] I may taste it for my own records.
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The water in the baptism reacts similarly, and that pool was clear of blood and debris. Perhaps that would be a good spot for a placebo test.
Though... we can save the tasting until after we've confirmed it won't react with your living tissues, I hope?
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[They're presumably still doing a West Wing-style walk-and-talk through the campus in the midst of this discussion, and while Cantarella doesn't hesitate or stop, she does glance down at the movement of their footsteps as they go.]
They moved rather quickly, as far as I can tell. I noticed very little hint of hesitation.
[Given their last conversation, she has to make note of that with him—and question it a little bit.]
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Mm. Speed or confidence or both. They weren't sloppy.
I don't want to jump to conclusions until I hear more of what else might have been found. Hopefully, it will give a clearer picture, even if it doesn't make the end result easier.
[Because, following the edict, they will have to have a trial. And regardles of whether their trial is successful, they will have to send someone to take the consequences. Unless a miracle happens, they do not make it out of the week with any fewer than two of their number missing.]
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There's something bothering her about the twisted nature of his divinity, but the far more pressing matter is getting to the bottom of this action and mitigating it the best they possibly can.]
My network is not what it would be in Rinascita. We simply cannot be everywhere at once. There may be more we're missing. Have you else to add?
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Mm. But no. Nothing in regards to my end of the chapel, no.
What about your own?
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[Well, the flesh did have to come from elsewhere.
Her eyebrows flicker at the mention of clipped wings. Though it's a difficult expression to read, Solomon might be able to determine that Cantarella suspects this may actually be exactly what Father wants.]
I have set power aside before. He will soon find that I have everything I need so long as I remain myself. [That seems to be one of her final thoughts on the matter.]
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May we hope we never get on your bad side, hm? [Teasing.]
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Everything we spoke of in our first conversation stands.
[They're probably about to the kitchen now, so it's possible they'll soon be ready to part ways.]
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Perhaps you're right. I hope you believe the same about yourself. [And perhaps that's why, whether it's as a Fisalia or as a participant in this "game," she will continue to play along in her own way.
🎀?]
We can wrap this one here!
WEEK ONE - SUNDAY POST-EXECUTION
His face is badly bruised in several spots, his lip split, and reddish purple markings streak up what can be seen of the top of his neck before his shirt covers the rest. But it doesn't hide the polite smile he gives towards Cantarella if he sees her.
There's not much to be happy about, after a weekend like this. But he's never liked to look further than the present for too long.]
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She smiles, too, the same level of politeness given to Solomon in return as she spots his bruised face.]
Has anyone looked at that for you?
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Lilia dragged me by the collar all the way to the infirmary, yes. I told him I could take care of it, but he was very insistent. Stronger than I thought, too...
[He rubs at his neck gingerly, the bruising covering large portions of his throat from the front.]
You've taken care of your burns since yesterday, I hope?
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BRO WHAT IS GOING ON WITH YOU (at this point this is just a running meme i fear and not a real reaction in her expression)Her actual reaction is to nod at the explanation, though the mention of the infirmary draws a bit of a darkness into her rich blue eyes. If anything, she makes note of Lilia's quick intervention in another injury...again, compares it to his usual attitude.]
Luckily, I only burned the very tip of my finger to test the strength of the water's effects. The pain was...negligible, at best. It's all well and done now.
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GIRL JUST ASK HIM USE YOUR TITTY POWERS OR SOMETHIN]Mm. Good, you had me worried with your talk about testing. But it worked out for the better.
...
[His arms cross in front of him, weight leaning a little heavier against the stone as he lines his shoulders up square and tilts his head back. Up to the sky, fake as anything. Fake light, fake voices, fake fake fake fake.]
It is what I try to tell myself, at least. It could have been worse. The trial, the execution. If I thought about the ways they could have ended in disaster, I wouldn't know an end to it.
But two gone, still... [He exhales hard, eyes closing tight.] With one's location a mystery, and the other...
[Well. Yknow. Child boiler.]
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SHE DOESN'T HAVE TITTY HYPNOSIS POWERS OKAY but maybe later she has a lot to talk aboutAs usual, her parasol is with her. Cantarella folds it and hooks it by her side.]
And the other still gone.
[The tip of the parasol gives a brief "mind if I join you?" gesture to him where he sits.]
If you'd ended up on the worse side of a fight, we might have had yet another to worry about. Maybe we should be grateful you weren't the one up there. [Specifically because, as she is certain he might also have noticed, the "wings" of those in the garden were being trotted out for show.]
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Is that concern or just scolding I hear? [like she aint wrong but still, he can't help but poke fun a little]
They really outperformed for two that had abilities stripped from them. But... perhaps it's tied to where their weapons came from.
[Pulled from the inside of a fellow Troupe member like a blade from a sheathe.]
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Do you think you've earned both or either? You're obviously so careful; do I still have to be worried about you?
["Careful" here likely refers to any number of things. He's been very observant, metered with his information, precise with (most of) his public interactions with people.]
The man survived the removal of his head. Whatever it may be, it's beyond what binds us. All this about working in pairs...I felt nothing so potent with mine.
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It depends who you'd ask, I guess. I've gotten pretty used to being called a troublemaker more than anything. [So he would not judge her, if she decided he was worth chiding. It wouldn't be the first time, by far.]
I doubt it has to do with our pairs. Perhaps it's simply a matter of agreement. [Said rather casually.] But now you've just made me curious as to whether you've located that missing piece of yours.
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Well, as long as he doesn't go about making too much trouble for the wrong people or at the wrong time...a little mischief has likely never hurt anyone. His use of "agreement" is much more interesting, as is the rather straightforward presentation of a question that's been danced around by nearly everyone else.]
Trying to chase a piece of yourself that you've forgotten is like trying to cup air in the palm of your hand...I'm still looking for the one who managed to hold the wind. If only I'd had the foresight to inscribe it on my hand. [Not that they knew any of this, of course.] I should hope the search for yours isn't the source of your troubles.
1/2
2/2
[He clears his throat. Had the tremble in his voice been there before?.]
No. That's... its own matter. Nothing to do with the rest.
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[Unlike him, her curiosity doesn't extend so far beyond the boundary that it transforms into nosiness. The trouble is that they're already in a panopticon of motivations and expectations, and every little behavior is being monitored from more than one vantage. There's more to discuss.]
The rumors won't trouble you, at least, though I'm increasingly aghast at what passes for gossip here. You could have just written on the forum. Then...what do you know of our "partnerships?"
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...Not much more than the rest, I'm afraid, though I can confirm that the connection is... different. It isn't at all like what happened on that stage.
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To her, his reply suggests that he knows more than a great deal of them... or perahps she has been arrogant in seeking her answers on her own. Either way, Cantarella studies him for a time, watching any remaining strains of the fluster on his face.]
Well, don't reveal your secrets. [Mild good humor spills through her voice.] But perhaps you could let me know what it does feel like? I doubt you can surprise me much.
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Overwhelming. [Clipped. Withdrawn. Very, very out of character.] I'd prefer we don't talk about it.
...
Like I said... I don't think it's related to what we saw on that stage.
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Ah. It's much too late for objectivity, then. You sound as if you've succumbed.
[The shift is a sight to behold, and oddly, despite his resistance to talking about it, Cantarella feels like she's learned enough. He is enmeshed with something.]
And what we saw was "agreement"?
1/???? idk 3 probably
Drop it.
2/???
An exhale. Another.]
3/3
...That's the best word I can come up for it, at least. The body as a vessel, the blade a manifestation. Like the plucking of our roses, but of a different sort.
a /???? in mine own pc...
Her nod is brief; to say anything just yet would drag it out. Consider it dropped.
But there's a great deal still to uncover.]
Even with all the chaos, their bond was clear. [An Actual bond, even...] But then... why those bonds? What do they contribute to the ritual?
just to keep u on your toes
[He pauses, as though debating whether to say more, but seems to dismiss it.]
I want to check on Dehya anyway, when there is time. She's a sensible one.
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At least two of the dancers on the stage were in sync. [One very much was not, from the way APPLe sank to the ground as if the invisible string holding him aloft was severed.
Perhaps Solomon really wishes to speak to Dehya about that, actually, to get to the bottom of that reason? The rest of it can wait a moment, though she does not at the idea that Dehya is sensible; there's more to say, possibly, but the threads of Amethyst dorm's connection may be a bit slippery to untangle.]
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Unless you think you've found a bigger pattern there.
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Right you are. We can only say what we saw, not what happened. [The two are, so often, very different. She knows it all too well.] It's not big enough to be a pattern, nor would I be elated to see any repeats. Better to ask. I wonder just what she'll feel comfortable sharing with you.
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...
I do have a, uh... request for you, though, Cantarella. If you don't mind hearing it.
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[Though the setup is still lighthearted, Cantarella's body language becomes more serious, and she leans forward. Requests that have to be so introduced are often heavy ones. Maybe he can suspect she's carried such heavy things before.]
As long as my cooperation can be held until I've heard it. I do have a tendency to seek my own way of doing things.
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[He exhales slowly, as though gathering his thoughts, before continuing in a smooth tone.]
Cantarella... If I'm to be found dead at any point, I would like you to please work with a second party on containing any items found on my person. Nothing I possess on my death is to be taken by anyone - anyone - but that party or yourself... specifically because I am choosing to trust you both to keep the goals of the many in mind.
[A beat. In the way he looks at her, hopefully she can tell his wording is exactly the way it is for a reason, and that there is a lot left unsaid in her choice to hold her support.]
If you are holding, despite what I've told you... then know I cannot explain why just yet. And I will not be able to explain truthfully, under any circumstance, until we're free.
[...]
I know it is a lot to ask. But are you willing to do this for me?
cw religious gaslighting, child abuse
You do already know how I feel about senseless sacrifice, Solomon, so I should hope you've thought carefully about this.
[If he tries to reply or take her words as an answer right away, Cantarella will hold her hand aloft, gently, because she's still speaking.]
For three dozen generations, the Fisalia have safeguarded Imperator's legacy, as the divine being They were before the dark abyss assimilated Them and spread its spiritual plague in the guise of faiths, seeding absolute control and paranoia in Rinascita's people. [Does the latter sound familiar? Hopefully, he follows.]
To achieve this, generations of their girls underwent torturous trials. A necessary sacrifice. These trials... [The pause is brief, but it's the pause of someone navigating something unspeakable or something that should be but is not there.] ... ended when I became matriarch, and as long as I am matriarch, they will not exist again.
Do you intend the many to include the many who would come after us?
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Mm. She does feel very strongly about this, doesn't she? But it does twist something inside him, in a good way. That he chose correctly, for something like this.]
You worry so grandly. [It's a little longsuffering, how it teases, but he draws himself serious.] I don't intend it to be a sacrifice. You have my word on that. But it is not something I can promise will extend past our Troupe. I don't have the power I once did to enforce something like that.
Think of it as... lifeboats, for a storm. We may not need them, but they have been rigged for a possibility, and nothing more.
All I need is for my failsafe to not end up in the hands of someone who would turn it on another, rather than ensuring those boats don't get swept away by the storm before they can be used.
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Still, that puts the greatest of her concerns at bay. From their first true conversation, she hadn't thought that throwing kindly on the pyre without trying to define their own way was how either of them would play their roles.]
The encroaching tide is something I'm intimately familiar with keeping at bay. As is having a failsafe.
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[Not surprising to hear. But he does tilt his head a little to look off to the side - off into the open space of the Rose Gardens they sit under. Exposed.]
That's as much as I can give you without an answer in return. I'm sorry.
Do I have your cooperation, my dear?
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I'll keep an eye on your effects. There are many priceless artifacts we're good at keeping in the castle.
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Your hand, please, if you could.
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"YUGAMU"]
They'll be on the lookout for my other pen. [His smile is even as he gestures with the flowered one in his hand. As in: not this one.] Don't halt them if they're insistent on taking it, please. It was by request.
Also: this ink is washable, so don't worry about it staining. [AKA, feel free to get rid of that little note as soon as you want.]
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I see.
[Cantarella brings her hand down and folds it in front of her with the other.]
To clarify, would you like custody of your effects to be split, or am I something of a backup?
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It cannot end up with our Dramaturge. And it cannot end up with Father.
sleepily....tags back just to move this so it's ready IN CASE FRIDAY IS BAD
What about the rest of your effects?
:) what no never
well friday was bad but not like that :(
Do you have roommates who might be prone to sticky fingers? [She's testing with this question and clearly knows it, but it's precisely worded so he can deflect with his answer.
sad trombones
Pinocchio might be slightly sad. But the rest of my roommates could care less about me, to be perfectly honest.
You have nothing to worry about on that front. Just make sure that Fandaniel and Nishi don't go finding it.
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I'll make sure of it, and I'll make sure to let you handle the more intricate dances of your épreuves.
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It's not as though he hasn't tried.]
Don't worry. If it becomes necessary for me to tell you more, I will tell you both.
Right now, I can't. I'm sorry.
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All things must unfold in time, in the proper order.
[She understands procedure, in a way that unfortunately aligns with linear story progression and thus feels a little close to this particular sun burning hot beneath them. Cantarella goes to rise.]
And necessity breeds many things, though we don't need to agree on all of them. It's best to be prepared.
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[He bows his head just slightly from his seat on the ground.]
Thank you for your ear, Cantarella. Until we meet again.
w2, post-exe
Everything different, and everything the same. May I?
[She still asks to be invited to sit beside him, though this time, as Cantarella asks, she bends forward to place a hand on Solomon's shoulder.]
mario yahoo dot mp3
Solomon's bruises on his face are in much better shape, but he seems to have traded them for others that were covered up by his bridal outfit. One hand is bandaged at the palm and stretching down past his jacket sleeve, and he seems to be very careful in how still he's holding himself, wincing when he turns to look at Cantarella.
There's a small collection of paper strips in his lap with a small black pouch with golden thread sitting in wait, the blue pen in his hand halting mid sentence on writing something down.]
...I figured you'd be looking for me. [His laugh is tired, but he nods his consent.] Go ahead.
I can't imagine how tired you must be. You really do run the rest of us in circles during these investigations.
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Hm, do you suppose? I think I'm merely practiced at analyzing things within a sea of noise.
[Within the whispers, within the puzzle of her own mind...with only fragmented information, as they've been given.]
I'd rather solve a happier puzzle.
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May we be at that point sooner than later. Until then... you're doing us a terrific service with your keen eyes.
[A beat of silence, letting the wind carry. His voice grows quiet.]
...I'm sorry that you had to be the one to find her.
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[The voices from the crowd at the end of the trial had been...more concerning than before, for several reasons. After all that has transpired, the rumors that poison the school next week may be even louder than before.
Cantarella shifts to hold her elbow. The braid around her wrist feels tight.] It's all right, Solomon. What fair cost are my tears against the loss?
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[He won't push it. As genuinely worried as he is about her, their relationship is only one of intellectual gain and mutual goal. Outside of moments of intense emotion, Cantarella has not let much slip about her personal life, and he'd tried hard to do the same.
Hypocrites they are, he supposes. Knowing they had to remember, but dancing the line with one another anyway.]
Though I'd be curious as to what you mean, "only your attention".
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I did nothing I wouldn't have done otherwise, so it isn't as if I went looking for it. ...Though I saw no need to join the rest in questioning that girl. [There was enough bearing down on Noelle. Cantarella did not need to contribute to the deluge.]
But if I get any, I should like to see what they do with me.
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Simply put, I gave Annette's death exactly the care in solving it that I would give no matter the circumstances we were in, with what was available to me.
If the Extras want to talk about that as some moral parable or if it impacts my relationship with other members of the Troupe, then it might make room to take another step forward and another.
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Though. I know that's easier said than done.
[And he remembers the gossip well that week. That which was barbs of thorns against himself, against Fandaniel, against Annette. Words, words, but harmful ones to the heart.]
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[She truly sounds earnest about it, reassuring and not making an attempt to deflect.
At least with that...rumors are part of Cantarella's everyday life. Even if they were to completely lie about her, it might offend her a bit to be misrepresented...but it might allow her to do something else.]
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We'll find our ways to keep them in mind. I'd rather give no further attention to empty words, no matter the damage they may have done.
[A beat of silence.
Quietly, he plucks up one of the empty slips, handing it over to her along with the deep blue pen.]
...If you would. Anything about her, that you do not want forgotten.
Hold it tight, please.
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I was pleased by her company every time.
[When she uncaps the pen and twists her wrist to write her elegant and simple phrase upon the paper, Solomon will be able to see the edge of the braid there.
Annette wanted to be free.]
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[As she writes, his other pen is withdrawn from his coat. A testing against his finger, then against the paper.
It's brief, the moment of surprise when he sees it doesn't work.]
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They both can keep buttoning up those brief shatters as long as they'd like, but this is rather something she's wanted to ask anyway. She'll put it this way to save them both a little dignity (even if she'd happily throw that away, too, for the right result).]
It's only pretending to be a pen, after all. Isn't that what was said?
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He shrugs, apparently too tired to play dumb for her.]
It's not as though I can go telling the truth about it in front of everyone. I'd have a target on my head faster than I could allow.
[...]
Tell me about your bracelet, and I will tell you of this in kind. Please.
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[The wrist with the bracelet lifts slightly; she turns it so the delicate skin on her inner arm faces outward.]
A gift from the past... "Something old," from Annette, who gave it to me when she said she didn't have many things to part with. Many people might have found it a bit unsettling, but I was always the odd child out, myself.
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...She must have had great faith in you, to leave something like that in your care.
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[Not good enough care, perhaps, since she wasn't able to shield her in the end...but Annette won't be written off as simply some sacrifice, either.]
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[As for the pen?
Well. Showing is better, at times, then telling.
He holds it strangely, held away from the both. For the briefest flicker, the pen vanishes, replaced by the pommel of a dagger, entirely made of iridescent diamond.
It's kept still long enough for her, and her alone, to see, before the blade vanishes into just a pen again.]
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Any blade can have any extravagant sheath...But I would say its splendor is defined by its purpose. [Hypothetically, at least, she would say this.
Cantarella has never much believed blades had any significant level of importance above their wielders.]
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It originally wasn't meant to be like this, but someone decided to rearrange my face ever so kindly.
[He flicks the pen between his fingers idly.]
Regardless. Its purpose is only for two things. My own self defense... and to break the bonds that will bind Sika Madu, should they disobey.
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The ones we’ve seen before, our first night?
[After Don.]
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[He sounds irritated about it, but he'd long since put that path out of his mind.]
These will come from elsewhere.
A pact.
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[She saw what happened to Noelle's clone, too, and after they discussed the flames from last week's execution, Cantarella's gaze has been keenly pointed towards every working of the place that she can see.]
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That would be from our Dramaturge themselves, and myself.
The bond isn't unfamiliar to me. I can confirm it's in place.
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[Not that she has memorized each and every one of his sigils, but...come on. She does watch.]
Before I ask how all this is supposed to work... Have you heard anything since you made this agreement that might change how you use your pact?
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Nothing concrete. But no agreement is without its loopholes. And while I understand Sika... I cannot trust them.
I can explain to you the basics. But there are certain things I may need to keep to myself.
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When you're in certain businesses, you calculate deals based on those loopholes and advantageous positions. So I can understand keeping some cards in your vest.
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...
In its most basic: Sika has been bound to their word that they will keep as many of us healthy and alive to the other side of this as is possible. Should they stray from their word, or directly attempt to take the life of a Troupe member even under Father's control, they will be bound, and only my weapon will set them free.
What services have been requested from me in return will also not force me to kill a Troupe member at any point.
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[She's being a bit precise there; though the first time they'd discussed the pen, Solomon had waved off the idea of himself becoming the sacrifice...Cantarella suspects that he might also need to put some certain amount of himself into his sigils.]
Was Sika Madu forthcoming at all, about what "the other side of this" really entails? We were given a story to play out at the very beginning, but stories are built off of something true, right?
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[Arrogant and stubborn as he is, even when it comes to life. But he treats it with levity in his tone, as though to talk about it doesn't hold much weight at all.]
Whatever their plan is for escape, they've kept it locked up tight. But they've told much about their motivations.
[His smile sharpens, just slightly.]
They wish to destroy Heaven, and Father along with it. And they wish to resurrect their children, no matter the cost.
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Her eyebrows twitch, then knit, as if she is trying to view a piece of art in a gallery from several angles.]
And I take it this agreement you drew up with them is an attempt to factor us out from that cost? Perhaps knowing what would happen once we get to that point would be too advantageous... and not included in your terms.
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As much I'd like to say I was that forward thinking, my pact was drawn far before they ever provided me with an honest answer from their lips.
Letting them get too far into their plans without something in place would let the chance slip by me altogether. So what lines I drew, I drew in the knowledge that they could be, among many things, a demon. And a demon that desires something deeply in their being can't be trusted in the way you trust a person.