[IC] Regalia (Page 2) — Roleplayer Guild

[Location] Near the harbor of Landow, Estren
[Time] Sunday, 06:30 - 07:00
[Interactions] @Teyao@vietmyke

Akamu always undermined his own safety, or so it seemed at least. It had gotten on Laura’s nerves plenty of times before. She was most likely overprotective of him, as a way to repay him for that day he saved her from being abducted, even if she knew she did not have to compensate. “Gaia will give Titan the slipper if you’re not careful,” Laura muttered silently with a crumpled expression on her face as the jolly mountain patted her on the head. She brushed it all off in the end. The man had such a big heart for everyone else that there was little room left for himself. Laura was guilty of the same thing, but perhaps not to the same extreme as Akamu. Blondie returned her attention to the stranger again, taking a seat on the grass, as the children rushed Titan, the merry-go-around attraction. The stranger had an air of mystery to him. Laura could not quite pin point what it was, but she felt it in the way he spoke. He seemed confident and relaxed around Laura and Akamu, which was not the typical way people behaved around them or any other Regalia. This led her to believe that the stranger was Regalia himself, but she had never seen his picture anywhere. He must have been one of the lesser known ones, so she was aching to know his name.

Laura thought the nickname the stranger gave Akamu was fabulous. Not even the countless PR-people that Akamu probably had to endure, let alone the ones where Laura had been present herself, had thought of such a catchy name for Titan’s Regalia. However, his actual question was probably not suited for Laura and Akamu, or any other Accadian for that matter. Island people were simple people, not very philosophical, but excelling at many other things in life. There did not have to be any clear purpose in order to do or be something. And all the other times there was a clear enough purpose for anyone to understand – people need to eat, South Accadians go fishing; people want entertainment, North Accadians open night clubs. It is really that simple.

“OMG!” Laura gasped with excitement, mouth wide open. “That’s such a cool name! I mean title! I mean nickname!” Laura continued with a hurried tone, not finding the right words. “Like, that is soooo good, you should totally use that name," she grinned as widely as she could. Laura tried to settle herself down to hear the man’s actual question. And then there was the mention of ‘THEM’, which threw the blonde off and made her even more air headed than she already was. “Uhm, who is THEM? Like, the people here?” Laura chuckled at her inability to get it. “I don’t know anything about that, but about purpose… hmm,” she thought about it for a second or two, taking over from Akamu's thoughts on the matter. “I mean, Dominants have always blessed people, right? So, someone must’ve figured out what the purpose of it is by now, but I’ve never heard of any,” she said while enjoying the sight of the frolicking children around Akamu and squeezing the plushie. “For us it’s like Hakuna Matata, you know? That’s a South Accadian dialect for.. eh, ‘no worries’, right?” Laura glanced at Akamu for the translation. “Anyway, I think we are the wrong people to ask, really.” She smiled at the stranger, wanting to finally know his name: “I’m sorry, did I ask your name before? I think I missed that.”

A few moments later, shooting stars became visible in the sky. Laura did not notice it at first until one of the children tucked at her hoodie and pointed at the beautiful spectacle. “Gaia! – Look, look!” The little one exclaimed with excitement and wonder. Laura’s eyes instantly cast their attention upwards and were greeted by blinding flares of light moving across the great firmament. “Oh, woooow!” Laura nearly bellowed with awe, which caught the attention of all the other children around them, and some of the adult attendees nearby. “Would you look at that! Make a wish, honey – or ten wishes! There are so many of them,” she said to the kid that had brought her attention to the lights in the sky. “I’ve never seen something like this. What are shooting stars again? They’re not actual stars, right?” Laura pondered out loud.

While the spectacle in the sky so fitting for the Festival of Lights was amusing to the attendees, it was not as inviting for the security detail. Laura’s security guy, along with Akamu's, approached from behind the group where they sat on the grass, his gear making ample noise and notice, having stood a few feet away during the conversations. “Miss Genevieve,” he said with the common language pronunciation of Laura’s surname, which she was well accustomed to by now even though she preferred the correct one as spoken in North Accadia. “We should move away from the harbor at this time,” he continued. “The main attractions downtown are now open, I suggest we move there.” The man behind that thick helmet and intimidating guns did not seem to screw around when talking and giving ‘suggestions’ for the next course of action. “Well, okay then,” Laura sighed. “We need some breakfast anyway, I think!” She smiled, stuffing the plushie underneath one arm and holding hands with one of the children, as the little ones done with riding the Titan-merry-go-around gathered around to follow Earth Mother wherever she went.

[Location] Onboard the Skypiercer from Eshea to Estren
[Time] Saturday, 07:30 PM
[Interactions] @Silly

The Skypiercer hummed with the distant echo of thunder, though the sky beyond the great glass windows stretched on, azure and indigo, and endless. The ship moved through it with the grace of a creature born to flight, and yet, inside, Cécile's gossamer heart fluttered in his chest, small and fragile like a trapped bird. The air was thick with the scent of rose oil and lavender, a strange combination that reminded him of the distant gardens in Montá, where the flowers would bloom even in the shadow of the Citadel’s towering, metal rampart.

But here, aboard the Skypiercer, that same scent felt out of place, mingling with the metallic hum of the engines. Time, it seemed, had folded in on itself, and for a moment, he felt as though he were both a child again, lost in those gardens, and a man, standing on the edge of something far greater. 

Cécile’s thoughts flickered like moths caught in a beam of light, drawn to Nia’s presence yet still tangled in memories that began to fester, faint echoes of a childhood long past—of laughter in the woodlands of Nibelheim, of running through the summer fields with the sun at their backs, the world spread wide before them like an untouched map. But those days were lost now, buried beneath the weight of years. 

Though, he did remember some things, grasping frantically at the fractals. She had always been the braver of the two, always leading him, always pulling him into the land of the fairies and witches and Gods. Neibelheim was the land of stories, after all, but they did not always conclude with happy endings. Even so, there was an ache to it, that recognition. The kind of ache that comes from old memories stirring after too long a sleep.

Her hair was darker, her features more defined, but the glimmer in her violet eyes remained untouched by time, like stars trapped in amber. They had always held something otherworldly, those eyes—full of witchlight and unspoken stories she had kept secret to protect his delicate self. But there was something else, something foreign, a shadow of strangeness that clung to her like the scent of distant lands. He couldn’t quite grasp it, not yet.

And now, as her gaze met his, Cécile felt that familiar flutter of something both beautiful and painful. He wondered if she, too, had felt the distance between them, the quiet sorrow of years lost to duty, to silence. 

Nia’s voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, warm and teasing. Cécile blinked, startled out of his reverie. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat, drowned in the rush of her sudden embrace. Her arms wrapped around him, familiar, and yet… foreign? His body stiffened, instinctively recoiling from the contact, his breath catching in his chest. He hadn’t expected this—not the warmth of her, not the press of her arms around him. He stood frozen, his arms awkwardly hanging at his sides, unsure of what to do. He wanted to return the embrace, to let himself melt into the familiarity of it, but something held him back. Instead, he remained still, his heartbeat quickening, and when he opened his mouth to speak, the words faltered on his lips. “I…”

The embrace swallowed the rest of his sentence, and for a moment, he was grateful for it. He didn’t know what he would have said. When Nia pulled back, there was a playful glint in her violet eyes, a spark of mischief that was unmistakably her. “Now, let’s address how you just said I look like an old man…” Her tone was light, but there was a teasing edge to it, her lips quirking into a smile.

Heat rushed to Cécile’s cheeks, the color rising like a blush of dawn. His eyes widened in mortification, and he stammered, “That’s not what I meant… I… I just meant…my apologies” His voice trailed off, too flustered to form a coherent defense. Cécile's fingers fidgeted at his sides, twisting in the fabric of his violet slip, a nervous habit he had never quite outgrown.

Oh Cécile, you haven't changed a bit…he imagined her thinking in that moment. When she teased him about giving orders and not being taller, feigning seriousness in that mock-regal tone, Cécile chuckled softly, his discomfort ebbing just enough to allow a hint of amusement to creep into his expression. “I suppose… that is true, cousin,” he replied, the corner of his lips curving into a faint smile as Nia turned to the passing attendants, as if to prove her point, and summoned them, her voice firm but kind as she fed them commands to escort the cousins to Cécile's personal chambers aboard the ship. He had rejected the offer initially when it had been offered, but who was he to deny his cousin of this experience? After all, she was HIS guest, and he would be more than pleased that she was pleased to reap some of the benefits he was too modest to relish for himself.

Cécile watched her, admiration blooming quietly in his chest. She commanded the staff with such ease, her presence magnetic and strong, while he… he was a wallflower, always lingering in the background, too quiet to command much of anything. His influence was subtle, a whisper rather than a shout, but watching Nia, he couldn’t help but marvel at her forthright gesture. 

The attendants moved swiftly, guiding them through the ship’s labyrinthine corridors until they arrived at Cécile’s chambers. The doors opened with a soft hiss, revealing a room bathed in gentle light, its walls adorned with delicate carvings of butterflies and vines. As they walked, Cécile couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort settle over him. For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight of his duties as a Funérailles didn’t press quite so heavily on his shoulders. Nia’s presence filled the room like a warm fire, while Cécile’s remained soft and introspective, as if he were content to simply orbit her witchlight.

They spoke of many things—of the past, of the future, of the lives they had lived since they last saw each other. Cécile found himself talking about Cassiel, his voice tinged with quiet woe. He spoke of the höpes he had cared for, their fragile forms fluttering in the corners of his mind. He mentioned his Guardians, though when he spoke of Bastion, his tone faltered slightly. Curiously, Bastion seemed to harbor a silent disdain for him, though Cécile didn't quite understand why. 

And he asked after her family—the Stryxs—whom he hadn’t seen since he was a child, his voice tinged with a tempered longing. There was hope, he felt, when he mentioned them, a hope that perhaps, one day, they might all be reunited. As the night wore on, their words faded into the quiet hum of the ship, the soft glow of the lanterns casting long shadows across the chamber. Distant stars outside the window watched over them, silent and eternal.

The reunion, fragile and beautiful, unfolded in the gentle silence of their shared past, and the unspoken promises of what lay ahead.

[Location] Landow, Estren
[Time] Sunday, 07:00 AM
[Interactions] @Silly

The warmth of Estren wrapped around Cécile like a second skin, so unlike the cool, rain-swept winds of Eshea, and the city below seemed to pulse with life as the Festival of Lights reached its final crescendo. From the Skypiercer’s high vantage, Cécile could see the teeming crowds, their festive lanterns flickering like stars fallen to earth, the swell of music and laughter rising in waves from the streets. The festival goers, adorned in brilliant colors, moved like rivers of silk beneath the canopy of the early twilight, their joy infectious yet distant, like the hum of a dream one could observe but never fully join.

Cécile stood at the edge of it all, eyes wide, absorbing the kaleidoscope of movement and color before him. His heart trembled, half-thrilled, half-dismayed by the sheer magnitude of the festivities. This place was so alive, so warm, that he felt like a ghost wandering through a world too bright for him. The weight of his duties as a Funérailles hung around him like a shroud, as always, but for now, it was almost easy to forget the burden, to let the glow of the festival seep into his bones, warming the cold spaces within. Almost. 

Dr. Featherswallow appeared at his side, her voice cutting through the din, "Before you are to attend the Festival, there's a matter of propriety we must attend to Downtown." He would soon discover that a formal Hopekeeper's customary robe awaited him at his hotel room. It was culturally inappropriate for a Hopekeeper to change in front of others, an act that could taint the purity of the role. Cécile nodded quietly, his gaze flickering to the sea of strangers, a sudden swell of apprehension tightening in his chest. 

Formality. Modesty. Grace. 

He would need to wear all these things like armor. Nia went ahead, slipping into the flow of the festival with the ease of someone who belonged in the world, while Cécile lingered at an impasse. He had promised to meet her later, once his formalities were done, but as the opulent vehicle arrived to carry him into the city, a small part of him wished she were still by his side.

The vehicle that pulled up was unlike anything Cécile had ever ridden in—sleek and polished, a shimmering beast of metal and glass that seemed more a creature of the future than the present. He hesitated for a moment, his delicate frame still caught in the past’s modest trappings, before stepping inside. The interior was cool, plush with velvet and dark wood. As the city blurred past them, Isolde handed him a sleek black phone, her fingers brushing his as she explained its purpose. “For emergencies,” she said simply, giving a meaningful glance toward Bastion and Hut, as if entrusting them with his care in a way that felt heavier than mere words.

The ride to the hotel was quiet, filled with Cécile’s soft wonder at the sights passing by—the city alight with lanterns and the faint flicker of something otherworldly in the air. Hut tried to make conversation, but Cécile didn't seem too keen on crosstalk at the moment. He'd fallen into the depths of his own mind. When they arrived, a small crowd of devotees had already gathered outside the hotel, their faces bright with awe as they caught sight of him. 

Word had spread quickly of his last-minute attendance, and now they reached out to him as though a single touch might grant them some piece of divinity. His instinct was to shrink away, to fold into himself, but Hut’s arm wrapped protectively around him, shielding him from the grasping hands as they made their way inside. Cécile breathed a sigh of relief as Hut ushered him into the hotel, casting a grateful glance his way. Isolde murmured her thanks to Hut, but Bastion’s quiet scoff cut through the moment, though Hut seemed to ignore it entirely.

Inside Cécile's private hotel room, the tension was thick. Isolde’s frustration was evident as she spoke quickly, her tone sharp. “I’m going to speak to security,” she muttered, turning on her heel. “This is unacceptable. They should be handling the crowd better.”

“I’ll go with her,” Hut offered, his voice softening as he glanced at Cécile, “Need anything?” Cécile shook his head, too unsettled to trust his voice, and watched as Hut followed Isolde out, leaving him alone with Bastion. The silence stretched thin between them, taut as a thread about to snap. Bastion’s gaze was heavy, intense, as he watched Cécile with a scrutiny that made him uncomfortable. The young Hopekeeper turned to face him fully, the question hovering unspoken between them. The air felt strange, thick with something unsaid.

And then, unexpectedly, Bastion closed the distance between them, his footsteps soundless against the plush carpet. He stood before Cécile, who didn't have a chance to react as he naturally would have, to recoil from the taller, more hardened figure. There was a coldness there, yes, but beneath it, something else. "You really don’t remember me?" Bastion finally said, his voice was soft, almost fragile, as though the question itself might shatter if he pressed too hard. 

Cécile returned the gaze, quiet, contemplative. He searched his memories, reaching for some thread of recognition, some connection to the man before him as he had with Nia and Hut. But there was nothing. Nothing beyond the formal roles they shared, the cold distance that had defined their interactions so far. At last, after a long moment, he shook his head. “No… I don’t.” His words fell from his mouth like a sigh, ephemeral and honest.

A flicker of something—disappointment?—crossed Bastion’s face, but it was quickly masked, replaced by the familiar stoic expression. “I see.”

There was a pause, a tension in the air that neither seemed willing to break, until Bastion, uncharacteristically hesitant, spoke again. “I wanted… a moment alone with you.” His voice faltered, the confidence he usually exuded slipping for just a second. Cécile blinked, taken aback by the admission. “Why?” he asked, his curiosity tinged with a wariness that crept up his spine.

Hesitantly, Bastion opened his mouth as if to answer, but the words died on his lips before they could form; something outside the window caught their attention. A streak of light, then another, and another—glorious trails of fire cutting through the sky. A meteor shower, brilliant and otherworldly, painting the heavens in hues of silver and gold. They both turned to the window, staring in silent awe at the celestial display. For a moment, the tension between them melted away, replaced by a shared wonder at the beauty before them. They glanced at each other, an unspoken understanding passing, both appreciating the the falling stars.

But then, a sharp pain lanced through Cécile’s head, a low moan slipping from his lips as he brought his hands to his temples. The allure of the moment dissolved, replaced by a throbbing ache that pulsed with something far more ominous. "Something's wrong..." he whispered, his voice trembling.

Bastion’s eyes widened in concern, a rare crack in his otherwise composed demeanor. He stepped forward, hands twitching as if he wanted to reach out, to touch and comfort him, but he stopped himself, knowing Cécile’s aversion. “What is it? What’s happening?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. 

“I don’t know…” Cécile’s voice wavered, feeble as the pain pressed harder against his mind. And then, as if drawn forth by the agony, his astral butterflies began to materialize in a swirl of azure—blue morphos, delicate, shimmering, and alive. They fluttered about him, their wings catching the light in a twinkling cascade that was iridescent and dreamlike, as though woven from the threads of some forgotten star. But the butterflies seemed agitated, their movements restless, perhaps sensing something unseen and unpleasant. Cécile could feel their presence, not just around him but within him—extensions of his own consciousness, seeing through their myriad eyes as they hovered in the air—a hundred little smithereens of his inner self. The chaotic dance of their fairy-like forms reflected the growing unease.

The television in the room droned on in the background, a newscaster warning the citizens of Landow about the meteor shower, advising those near the harbor to move inland, closer to Downtown. The words just barely registered in Cécile’s mind, the pain subsiding but leaving a lingering dread in its wake. Bastion, still mesmerized by the sight of the ethereal creatures, blinked as if coming out of a trance. “Stay here,” he commanded, his voice firmer now, "You need to stay here until we know it’s safe. The authorities are already issuing warnings."

Cécile nodded absently, his thoughts elsewhere. Nia. His heart tightened with worry—he didn’t have her number, no way to contact her. Of course, Bastion wouldn't have her number either. Cécile's astral butterflies, still fluttering in the room, seemed to respond to his concerned thoughts. Without another word, they set forth through the open window and out into the city below, his mind’s eye following their flight. Through their eyes, he searched what he could of Landow, the streets teeming with festival-goers, many unaware of the potential looming threat that the stunning starshower belied. He pushed further, past the glow of streetlights and cars. 

Eventually, several of the butterflies made it to the harbor. And there, through their eyes—he found her. Nia, standing amongst others at the shrine of Ultima, her familiar figure a beacon in the crowd. His heart clenched at the sight of Cassiel, and back in the hotel, Cécile was anxiously pacing back and forth by the window as his consciousness was fragmented amongst his butterflies. The feeling that lurched within him at the sight of Cassiel, his old friend, now something lesser, he tucked it away, focusing solely on Nia. 

Those gathered by the shrine would likely notice the mystical blue morphos twinkling effervescently against the light of the starfall. The butterflies fluttered toward Nia, until one landed gently on her shoulder, its wings shimmering softly. Through the butterfly, Cécile spoke, his voice a whisper in her mind, as though he stood beside her.

“Nia…It's Cécile. I…I feel there's something wrong with the meteor shower. I can't explain it, but I don't think it's safe where you are, and the authorities are alerting people to move Downtown. Can you come to my hotel room? Just to be cautious. I can have Hut come to retrieve you, if you'd like."

A quiet warning, a gentle plea, carried on the delicate wings of a butterfly, pressing through the mental link he'd formed between them.

Dr. Isolde Featherswallow

Bastion

Hut Bragnapreth

[IC] Regalia Page 2

Mirandae 💗 idgaf 💗

Mirandae 💗 idgaf 💗

Aeolian Proud Fujoshi