[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.]
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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.]
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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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