[center][h3][color=C0392B]Rudolf Sagramore[/color][/h3][/center]

[@Psyker Landshark][@Ithradine][@Click This]

He had quietly listened in after making his plea, logging what details the interrogators had managed to pull from Mizutani while he maintained his restraint of the other bloodstained Faye. Izayoi was quick to reestablish herself, her smirk like the blade of a knife in open air— a reminder that no matter how much he was tearing down the demon of battlefield mythology, she was still someone whose ire he [i]never[/i] wanted to earn.

Still, it seemed the promise of an undue mercy in swift departure was enough for the crime lord to acquiesce, feeding Miina the bulk of what she had to say regarding her brother. Little of it was concrete, beyond what they already knew. A debtor. A mage. Skipping town for cleaner waters and green land.

But... at least it was one chapter closing. They could, with confidence, say they hadn't left any stone they'd gathered unturned. That wasn't nothing.

And soon, Ciradyl's would close too, before she'd stepped beyond the pale. He'd made the difference. He'd done, by whatever stroke of—

Mizutani's mouth opened again. The boy caught one final, withering glare, aimed just ahead of him. Even as he held Ciradyl back, he felt something suddenly looming over him. Leering. Like a well-fed tiger.

A dark, heavy gaze, inside looking out.

The wheel of fate, which had spun so merrily... [url=https://youtu.be/Z7rASTJ7NvM?si=6MlBHQGuTwMh9IvR]jammed.[/url]

[i]My, my. Isn't it fitting, kid? You [b]truly[/b] know your own.[/i]

[color=#736AFF][b]"Rudolf. Release her."[/b][/color]

He gazed into the middle distance, complying numbly, mechanically at the stimulus of Ciradyl's stiletto burying into the wooden floor.

He said nothing. 

He rose, backing away. 

There was no logical reason to buy into this, spiteful words from a dying saboteur, criminal, and evident all-terrain underworld fiend in search of petty revenge after double-cross. Hell, with how possessive she'd been, maybe even "jilted suitor" was on the table. Her words were as wind, in the face of even her actions he'd witnessed, let alone those he'd been informed of. There was all likelihood she was making her last act a wedge between the one she had loved, and the one she had surely hated.

[i]And yet.[/i]

Stop. Not now. Not you now. He had done so much work to pull this from the brink. He couldn't let shock beat good sense.

[i]Good sense? Rudolf, you know that isn't the game you want to play. Your attempts at rationalizing it won't get you anywhere you're looking to go. Rationality left the picture when she flung herself at Tane, and when you flung your half-baked 'advice' at her. Empathy tells all between people, not logic. Do you think all those conclusions you were jumping to, just now, were "rational"? Was believing that you had a shared struggle "logical"?[/i]

He turned, away from the scene, with nothing more to say. With his upbringing, he was far from squeamish at executions, whether he'd ever wanted to be or not. He didn't flinch at the sound of steel slicing trachea.

[i]The "logic" you seek says this. There's no way that woman could so fully believe Ciradyl so wrapped around the palm of her finger without ages of positive reinforcement. There's no way to fake the betrayal in her eyes. The confusion. The terror, as one thing she was certain she could trust tried to [b]tear her apart[/b].[/i]

Even so, his voice was tight as he wiped the mob boss's blood from his brow with a sleeve, shuffling away to meet the salmon-haired Skaellar in the entranceway. He seemed to wish he was anywhere else, barely even taking pause at the Dame Commander's nonsensical sihlouette.

[color=c0392b]"Looks heavy. Lemme help you offload some stuff, Miss Eliane. I promised."[/color]

... He [i]had[/i] to get his mind off this.

[hr]

He had spent much of the egress from the burning manse in a tense, pensive silence. There wasn't much in the way of idle chatter to distract, after the revelations of the night raid, and internally he had tried to busy himself between managing the heft of Eliane's plunder and taking and retaking inventory of his casualties from the dispatch. A knife. The swords he had plundered, save one. Hat. Cloak.

By the time they returned to the meeting room and he had taken his seat, his hands were steepled in front of him, elbows on the knees as he flickered between studying the floor, and looking up his brow at the woman in the spotlight.

Much like Izayoi, he didn't want to believe what he'd heard, saw no reason to...

But the cold voice below his inner world wouldn't [i]shut its damn mouth.[/i]

[i]You shouldn't kid yourself. You're [b]perfectly[/b] willing to be blinded by illogical shocks— when they serve you. Or is it because they serve a pretty lady? A pretty lady that has amassed an entire covert network of her own saboteurs, informants, ninja, and resistance fighters in the span of this occupation? Easily squaring off your entrance to Kugane, obtaining troop movements, the location of the dignitary held deepest within the oppressor's clutches? How do you think that happens, without Valheim beginning to sniff out the threads? How does a cabaret minstrel [b]really[/b] obtain that much pull, without drawing healthy suspicion?[/i]

[color=c0392b]"..."[/color]

[i]Why do you [b]think[/b] you felt like she had thrown everything she needed to away? You were practically moving before she was. When the plan you wanted to fight for was turned tits-up, why were you reaching out? You bore a weak part of your soul to someone who had just potentially shat all over your "friend"'s reason to even be part of this mess. Why not rip her apart for it? What was it that made you choose [b]mercy[/b]?[/i]

[color=c0392b][i]... She and I...[/i][/color]

[i]You're the [b]same[/b] fuck-up. Willing to betray any faith, any creed, any loyalty to get what you want. That was your feeling. It overpowered everything, and compromised your prized good sense. She needs a helping hand, she needs to be set off the path, something about her is [b]like you[/b]. You knew what you believed.

And look at what that means, if you think you're right. Look at the SEED, leafing through all the evidence your illogical empathy didn't even need. Listen to him, advising [b]honesty[/b]. You made a deal with one devil. She made a deal with a million. The empty know their own, time after time.

You've thrown in with a [b]conspirator[/b].[/i]