[IC] Worlds Apart

[Redward]

What a strange bunch! The tension that lingered in the air following the angel-boy's question was simply delicious to Elegance. She licked her lips, though a high-held hand of cobalt flame might have hidden that from most of the odd assemblage. Magician stood ahead of her, just out of arm's reach. He seemed to be considering them carefully, silence stretching for the long, uncomfortable moments he favored. Surely the answer has already been chosen, no? Could my master be so forgetful as to let something this important slip his mind?

Slowly, an oversized hat was removed and offered back to her. She took it with only the slightest second of hesitation. He was always surprising her. Even when she was expecting to be surprised and calculated her movements around that certainty, she was rarely fully prepared to keep up with the one she kept. Her grip on its brim was tight, loosening the moment she realized it; drawing it close as if to protect it. In the darkness, severed only by her dancing lanterns and the twitching of her own flame, Magician let the Mortals look upon his countenance.

Elegance felt Envy give her throat another squeeze. Of course, she had seen him numerous times; but that the Mortals were so freely given leave to observe him only set the servant more on edge. Her flame intensified, gaining a green tint near its base. Madness whispered vile things from deep within, impulses kept in check only by her loyalty to Magician and his mistress.

They should be thankful I haven't turned them to ash. With that thought, lanterns began drifting in their direction. Slowly migrating from their perches or perpetual circles to march unevenly toward the Mortals and her charge. Remember to smile, Elegance! No good keeper does her work without a smile. He told me to be on guard. If I start letting my mind wander... It split her lips and revealed pristine teeth, her smile much like her frown; with this newly crafted form.

His hair was unkempt, compressed by its time under the headgear. Dark in coloration, somewhere between black and brown. His jaw lined with stubble and his eye ringed with the darkness of fatigue. Aside from his eyepatch, there was little that would mark him as anything different from the Mortals gathered before him. Unless, of course, one were to peer into his eye. Those who had glimpsed the Ghost Girl's gaze would find familiarity in its coloration, but animate with emotion more readily identifiable as 'human'.

"Keep your voice down," Elegance had seen him wince at the angel-boy's volume, and had tensed, but held back the myriad flames she had in mind for the impudent Mortal, "but that's not a bad question. Being on rocky ground to begin with only makes it easier to ask." He lifted a gloved digit, pointing to nothing in particular, "Is it one you ask everyone you come across?" His eye, Elegance assumed, fell on the boy the Mortals had brought along. "Ignore that. I'll explain what's happening with Silverbrook, assuming you can keep your temper in check, Ascot."

Oh, he's using their names. Isn't that adorable? It might have been, were she not so thoroughly disgusted by their presence. Elegance had, as she had said, watched the Mortals for a long while. All of them, in turn, as it pleased her; given leave as she was to do with what she would like with a fragment of Vision. It was still on her person, though searching hands would have passed it over. She fully intended to only return it if her master asked. Otherwise, it was hers. Spying on the far-aways of Irriss had become something of a hobby.

"It's a displacement in the coagulating reality of Irriss. A scab picked open by an unfortunate accident," her attention snapped back. Guilt slapped iron chains against her ribs. Elegance nearly grunted. "The boy that stands in your midst; Ellard, as you've come to know him, is a Phantom. Your abilities, perhaps even the mere presence of those given a Semblance roused him from the trance I imposed on that meandering place." Elegance watched as they shifted, as the boy himself opened wide eyes at her master. "What you recall," no longer addressing the group, but the lone boy, "is a fabrication. A gift intended to impart twisted endearment to your puppet-master. That's not me, in case you're wondering." His shoulders rose momentarily and fell unceremoniously. Ellard stared, mouth agape.

Elegance shifted on her heels, uncertain as to how long she need brandish her flame. Watching them all was making her anxious. Magician continued, heedless of her discomfort and excitement. "Though, really, thinking about it brainwashing isn't an inadequate term for what I've been doing. It has cruel connotations and a lot of bitterness behind it, but the word fits." His eye undoubtedly flickered between the Mortals. One at a time.

"I can see that this might require a little bit more than what I've told you. Taking that into account, now that I've gotten to see you all in person; I'll rescind my earlier statement. It seems like I was too hasty. Keep your Semblance." He heaved out a sigh. "Please, if you'll give me a bit of your time and patience; I'll do what I can to explain Silverbrook...and Ellard's situation. Just...try not to be so loud. The rest comes after. The bigger, more important Q and A." He turned his back on them, the tails of his jacket swishing most gloriously as Elegance was able to behold his face again. A hand outstretched, a hat returned. "Elegance, if you wouldn't mind taking our guests back to the keep? I need a moment alone." It didn't need to be a question, but the unwavering maid certainly appreciated it.

He didn't pause for their protests or Elegance's answer, taking two steps that forced his servitor into motion; then disappeared altogether. The distortion he left carried with it the same tinge of Madness as always, but Melancholy had somehow managed to sneak a whisper in. It made Elegance shudder and her flame brighten.

"Of course, of course!" She said to her absent but invariably listening master, as well as to the group. "As you can see, my master would like to speak more privately with you. If you would be so kind as to indulge him and follow me to the keep proper; you will be given the audience you were sent here for!" She gave her most brilliant smile, making sure it even touched on her eyes. "Do not forget that you are guests in this place, should you choose to enter. In case you did not hear earlier, I am Elegance. Keeper of the keep and Magician's servant. It's one of my many obligations to be certain that no uncouth sorts linger in my master's home!"

She hoped they would take it for the warning it was. Regardless, she began to make her way to the open door; where her underlings were already beginning to scatter. No doubt taking up their proper places.

If there is so much as one thing amiss...

Visions of fury filled the caretaker. Behind that, though, there was concern. Not for the Mortals or their quest, or even her master; but a nameless and ancient dread that had wormed its way into her heart.

[Etranger]

If there had ever been a point where Michael Keahi regretted having principles, it was right now. It seemed not even a crying little girl was off limits to Prince Stabitty, who was determined to be as creepy and bothersome as he could be in her moment of grief. Michael was sincerely regretting not having just stomped on his neck back at the beginning. He would have done something about him right there and then, but as if right on cue, Kate showed up to make everything worse. Michael was starting to think he was something of a clairvoyant. In truth, it was not unreasonable to come to the conclusion that the masks might be a problem, nor was it to try and keep Anni from getting wrapped up in all this. However, this was the worst time to be making a scene of it, and that was proven by Anni's immediate and hostile reaction to her attempt to take the mask. Kate had fucked it up. Michael had a feeling that most of it was a product of her emotions being at their peak, but that only made it clear why this was the absolute worst time to try and sort this out. With Anni in this state, Michael decided it was best he just let her be. There was no need to give Kate an earful either, as he was sure she was kicking herself enough for this already, and he wasn't so petty as to give her a tongue lashing for being slightly foolish.

He had no qualms about turning and smacking Oedipus right in his disgusting, monstrous face, however. "Fuck you and your subhuman bullshit, motherfucker. Now start walking." With that, he turned and marched off alongside the others who were all making tracks for the Magician. Right now, Michael planned to march at such a pace that Oedipus would have to work hard to keep up with him or face being dragged along.

Finally, they all came face to face with the much awaited Magician and his cadre. They were weird, they were wacky, and Michael couldn't give less of a shit. They'd been dragged through this weird and wacky world long enough, and all he had a mind for was some answers. In particular, he had a deep desire to answer the question 'Why should I even give a shit?'. As agitated as he was, however, he didn't exactly want to launch into a hostile barrage of questions. He still wasn't so sure how mercurial these alien hosts of theirs might prove to be. They would have to approach this with some degree of tact.

Tact was swiftly thrown out the window by Ascot proving true to his quick tempered nature, swiftly accusing the Magician of having brainwashed the villagers. Michael started to remember that it was his plan to attack the Magician when he thought he had the chance. He hoped to God that wasn't still the case. Fortunately, the Magician didn't take offense to his question or anything, and instead just answered him. Michael couldn't suss out what he meant by his answer entirely, but from what he could gather he meant that Ellard wasn't even real, or his memories weren't real at least. It would be better if it were true in a manner of speaking, but still, they really weren't in a position to decide what was true here by a long shot. The Magician invited them inside to explain further. While thoughts of conspiracy and traps played at the back of Michael's mind, he had honestly had enough of having to second guess every tiny detail and worry if he was getting the full story. He was going to go along with this, and if it all turned out to be a big deception to fuck with them, then so be it. It wasn't as though they had much chance of succeeding at anything else anyway.

"Come on guys, let's go." He spoke aloud. The sooner they all got to the point of this, the better. He gave Oedipus a harsh tug to signify that he needed to keep up. As he passed by Ascot, he said to him, "Remember what I told you before." He was referring to his telling him not to jump the gun with the Magician, whether it be to attack him or assume he was Ellard in disguise or whatever the fuck was going through his mind. Hopefully a satisfying explanation lay inside this little keep of theirs.

@Redward @TaroAndSelia @Mammon @Scarescrow

[Mammon]

Across the Field

Sterility surrounded her, as it always did. The young girl in her white gown, large eyes downcast and sleepy; looking over books on a table, an extended finger tracing lines as she read them half-aloud. Between half-hearted mumbles she would bite her lip and use her free hand to toy with locks of her long black hair. Really, her head wasn't at all in the books before her; it was roaming somewhere beyond the clouds, reaching out to the moon and stars she hadn't seen in months.

Since learning of her sickness, Piper had become more withdrawn...and more aware. Things that had never concerned her were now things she couldn't ignore. One such thing gnawed at the back of her mind, wrapping skeletal fingers around gray matter with ruthless demands. In just a minute, someone should come check on me. Five minutes ago she had covered one of the devices used to monitor her. It would be too crude to call it a 'camera'; a gross mislabeling of the complicated instrument her 'doctors' used to watch her.

A sheet, her own, had been enough to cover the device during shift-change. Something that endlessly analytical part of her had picked up on a few days prior. Wrapping it around the thing had proven slightly more difficult, given her lack of height and its odd position on the wall. That's what the books were for. Piper didn't have any interest in old world architecture and could hardly stand to read about it. With a sigh, she stood and stretched; brushing her hair behind her ears and letting the rest fall to her back.

I should ask Miss Tenbruem for a haircut...it's really getting out of hand.

She took light steps across her room, bare feet tapping quietly against the uninterrupted white that seamlessly transitioned to become walls and farther up, the ceiling. She made sure her gown was properly laced, so as not to make another embarrassing mistake. Stopping, she took a moment to observe herself in the reflective plastic they had provided her as a mirror. Several soft make-up brushes and containers were half-organized beneath it, untouched for several days. She hadn't felt like it, after last week's test. It had left her tired, unable and unwilling to leave her bed. Thinking back on it made her skin feel hot, despite the slight shiver it sent to all the parts beneath. Even as she stared Piper could see how much paler she'd become since then...and the strange discoloration at the edge of her iris.

It's a pretty color, though...I always liked that shade.

A male voice sounded over the intercom. “It’s Bertran. Are you ready for me to come in?”

“Yeah, come on in!” Her enthusiasm was real, Mister Bertran being one of the few visitors she looked forward to; even though his visits were sporadic. Quickly, she bound her hair and turned to face the entrance; smiling in her crooked way. A metallic, stainless steel door whirred open and a young man entered. He was youthful and handsome, but a weariness tugged on him; dark circles haunted the shadows beneath his eyes, and a heavy mantle of guilt draped over his shoulders. He wore a button-down shirt with black pants and a black tie, protected by a simple white lab coat. Embroidered above the pocket in dark lettering was ‘B.E.R.M. Laboratories.’

Mr. Bertran studied a clipboard. His brows furrowed. “Changes in…” He mumbled to himself. “Patient shows signs of increased mental acuity...” He scribbled something on the clipboard, a grim expression on his face. Zino looked up at her, lips drawn in a stern line, almost disappearing into a frown. “Oh, right.” He caught himself, remembering the subject in the room. Bertan attempted to smile. “Piper, how are you? I brought you a little gift.” The agent sat the clipboard down beside her cosmetics. He reached into a pocket on lab coat and retrieved a lollipop from inside it. Zino held it out to the girl. “Orange creme, your favorite, right?”

The door had slid open with a hiss; the noise Piper imagined a sedated dragon would make if poked in the gums. Mister Bertran came through with his usual heavy air, one that his frame never quite seemed to match. At least it didn't in Piper's eyes. When she thought of Bertran, which was surprisingly often, she liked to imagine him smiling; maybe with his collar unbuttoned and his tie loosened. Like he was actually having fun. Those thoughts, in these analytical moments, made her heart hurt in ways she didn't think a heart could.

I have an affinity for this man. Do I look up to him? It was odd to be asking herself such a question, as the man she observed muttered observations from his clipboard; another thing she wished she could see him without. She let her thoughts roam as he quickly scribbled. Or is it something else? There's definitely a gap between us that I don't want there. Of course, she had no clearer answer. Her smile held, but wavered around the edges for a bare moment.

Piper took a few steps forward as Mister Bertran tried to feign a smile for her, a gesture that brought her uneven grin new life. "I'm doing great, Mister Bertran," she lied easily, fluidly and without any doubt about its efficiency, "though, I have to admit that I've been very tired since my last field test. I figure you already know that, though!" She motioned to the clipboard, eyes dipping down to see what she could glean with a veiled glance. "Oh, and I've been having some real weird dreams the last couple of nights..."

She had intended to continue, but Mister Bertran's words stopped her immediately. "A gift?!" Piper was a sucker for gifts, even moreso for what was produced from Bertran's coat. Her eyes widened and the fingers on her left hand curled, the right reaching out to snatch the gift without her usual polite grace. "Faaaank yoh sho muuuuch!" She spoke around the lollipop, noises of contentment escaping her as she took steps back and gave a little twirl; pulling the candy from her mouth with a loud pop and holding it aloft. Her face had flushed, slightly. "I-I'm sorry. Yes, it's my favorite! I'm so glad you remembered! Thank you!"

The girl took a step forward, the sucker back in her mouth and gave Mister Bertran the quickest of hugs. Backing away, she smiled broadly. "So, what's today's visit about, Mister Bertran?"

Zino cleared his throat, doing his best to ignore her overwhelming youth. He opened his mouth, glanced down at the clipboard, and then reconsidered. He knew he was supposed analyze how the planar radiation had affected her faculties in a stress test, but… The agent closed his eyes thoughtfully. 'She’s lost so much weight… And her complexion.’ “Strange dreams...? Perhaps you would like to tell me more about them during a trip to the courtyard?” He gave an overzealous grin. ‘I shouldn’t push her… She clearly needs a break. I’m sure fresh air will do wonders for her spirit.’

He grabbed his clipboard, swiped his badge on a security mechanism by the door, then stood in the doorway, waiting on Piper.

"The courtyard?" She said it slowly, as though rolling the words through her teeth for the first time. "I'd...I'd love to, Mister Bertran!" Thoughts of the sky, the smell of grass and air that wasn't perpetually conditioned and recycled excited her; but it wasn't what she had expected. That surprise had thrown her out of sync. Her smile widened, the sucker suddenly sweeter. Piper put on her most regal air. "I would very much enjoy a sojourn to survey my domain!" She tilted her head back, looking as imperious as possible; giggling quickly afterward.

Mister Bertran was ahead of her, opening the door; producing another dreamy dragon noise. Piper ran across the room, heedless, stopping on the other side of the doorway, quickly looking from side to side. There weren't many others in the long hallway, but that hardly concerned her. "This wasn't scheduled for today, was it?" Her eyes settled on him, blue and bright; save for the tinge of orange growing at their edges. Worry wormed its way through her words.

Slowly, her gaze found the floor. "My dreams..." silence followed the statement, as she took barely audible steps in the directions he knew they were heading, "they were about a lady. A lady that..." she swallowed hard, bringing her eyes up to Bertran before glancing away, "scares me."

Bertran nodded slowly, walking down the maze of sterile, white, steel, and glass hallways that made up the bureau’s complex. The air was cold and smelled of chemical cleaner and xeroxed papers. The hum of the fluorescent bulbs and their sickly green light filled the atmosphere. A security guard in a bullet-proof vest greeted them at the end of the corridor. “Good morning, Bailey.” The guard returned the greeting then waved at the test subject. Zino swiped his card again by the elevator and waited. It dinged, and the doors opened. It wasn’t until inside the confines of the elevator that he replied. “A lady? Why does she scare you?” He frowned and made a note on the clipboard before pressing a button for the ground level.

The agent placed his hand on Piper’s shoulder, guiding her out of the elevator and beyond the atrium to a central courtyard. “All right, your domain awaits you, kahuna.” He opened the doors with another swipe of his name badge and breathed in the fresh air. Salt and sunlight wafted across the pair. There was the smell and sound of the ocean, distant, roaring. There were scattered picnic tables and various tropical plants. The flowerbeds with well-groomed, and the thick, sandy grass was freshly cut. A few tall palm trees waved in the wind.

At the guard's, Bailey's wave, Piper smiled. She had seen them and many like them in her outward excursions. They were always kind to her, though she had seen instances of the unkind nature of their profession. She had been told plenty of times, by her various observers, that she was among the most well-behaved of ‘their’ number. Piper could understand why others would want to run. I don't have anywhere to run to. If I did, would I be the same? She doubted it, returning the wave and continuing on; disregarding the sour thoughts in favor of her sweet treat.

Bertran asked her about the Lady, the woman clad in otherness. She waited until they were in the elevator, its door closed firmly with a different noise, before beginning to articulate the scars of fear left on her. He pressed the button before the words came to her. "She was...different. So different, like she was something wearing human skin. Her voice was like ice-water, but she said the kindest things. Those were the things that scared me..." She knew he would ask her what the words were, but the doors opened.

Things that would scare anyone...but I listened to her. I had to...

Piper giggled at his joke, taking a few skipping steps forward and throwing her arms out wide; embracing her small slice of the world. Grass beneath her feet, ruffled by her curled toes, soft and stern all at once. Salt was heavy on the air, sighed their way by a lazy breeze that set broad leaves to slowly dancing. Dancing! What a wonderful idea! So she did as the leaves did, her wide eyes watching them as her body moved in ways she imagined a leaf would; were it possessed of such articulated joints and the level of dexterity Piper held.

The sunlight was warm on her skin, unfamiliar to her now as it had never been before coming into B.E.R.M.'s care. It was a boon greater than any she could have asked for, aside from the Orange Creme Lollipop. Nothing's better than that, though! Continuing her dance, she made her way to a picnic table; finishing with a flourish and barely controlled panting as she sat. With a sigh she wiped the sweat from her brow, already tired from the admittedly short exertion. Still, despite the evidence of her weakness; Piper felt alive and nearly carefree. She propped her elbows on the table, looking to Mister Bertran. "It's very nice, today! Thank you so much for bringing me out! That little room can be so depressing..."

Mr. Bertran nodded again, taking a seat at the picnic table. He adjusted his tie, straightened his glasses, and brushed off his lab coat. Zino sat the clipboard down and tapped the pen against it thoughtfully. “Of course. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself… His brow knitted. “Now, can you tell me about the dream? Who is the woman?”

Enjoying herself, that much was true. Even if it were just a momentary diversion. The dream. Or whatever it had been, since Piper had opted to use that term instead of what she believed it to be. "They were contiguous, with both the Lady and location being the connecting factors. The first," she began tracing a circle on the table, staring through it, "started with me waking up. My bed, from here, in the middle of a field. The Lady was waiting, staring off at something above my head." She had thought about that, a few times. Was it really over my head? It felt like we had locked stares... A light cough escaped her, one that brought her momentarily from that circle. "When my eyes were open and adjusted to the sun, she clapped and welcomed me; saying that she had been there 'for the longest time'. I asked her 'what for?' and she told me 'for whoever was sleeping in that bed, somewhere else.', at the time I suppose I didn't think much of that answer."

Her fingers folded over themselves. "I started walking. The dirt had been tilled. I remember not seeing a lot of grass. Or trees." Almost lazily, she glanced around. The trees still swayed. Someone across the courtyard stood smoking, looking over a clipboard similar to Mister Bertran's. B.E.R.M issued? Different information? It didn't matter. Piper wiggled her toes as the next part came to mind. "There were weak spots in the ground. Each time my foot went through, I would pull it back and immediately started kicking." She began tracing her circle from where it had broken first. "They were insects, of some kind. Flat and numerous, bone-white and speckled by cracks and missing pieces. They disappeared when I kicked them away. In little clouds."

She let her eyes trail to the clipboard. "The Lady laughed at me, each time it happened. When I asked her 'what was so funny'...she told me." The circle, again. Eyes down. "'Child, those are lost souls. Each step you take that breaks the ground, they will appear. Once you cast them aside, you're free of them. ' She didn't break the ground. For some reason I took that to mean she had crossed the field before. I started to walk more carefully." Despite her earlier exertion, Piper had paled and her breathing was steady. "'Do you wonder why you're here?', she asked me, after...a minute." It was a much longer time. "'I do, but that doesn't matter.' I had started to think about the bugs less...and more, 'What matters is whether or not I cross this field. Because if they were lost souls...and if I stopped, I might become one of them. The Lady told me I was right, so I decided to walk with her for a while."

Eyes up. A sort of expectation, the sudden cessation of movement

An optional reading, in collaboration with @Redward.

[Scarescrow]

If Oedipus still has blood, it will surely boil, almost to the brink of evaporation as he sees the Magician. For some reason, the Magician was something very similar to Father, Vladimir Hunter. They are both too calm, always prepared and anticipated for almost everything in their life. And Oedipus hated it. He hated the way the man slightly tilted his hat to show that he meant no harm. He hated the Magician's calming aura that circles around him. He is just like Father, a lier. He is nothing more than Father, but an oppressor and a bad lier. And on them, Oedipus

They both wear a mask of fame and fortune. Intellectuals advantages individuals. They are perfect folks that have all they want. They are always calm, Mr. Perfect they are. They have plans for everything. Almost everything. Only when you took their mask off can you see their disgusting side? Their maggots filled, wretched faces are their true self. They hide their beast for too long that they become the beast. They thought they had freed themselves from the most sacred desire, but never see they have become their own chains. Only him, Oedipus, is the one that sees the right way. Only he is the person that understands what it meant to be alive. But still, the thought of living and breathing in the same atmosphere disgusted Oedipus.

Even his presence is enough for Oedipus’s face to become grim. Compare with it, the slap that Oedipus received just a few hours ago were like candy. Sweet and edible. But the Magician? His presence makes the atmosphere to fill with filth. And the thought of there was something like Father even existed makes Oedipus shake without control. But he was not fear, but fill with this strange sense where disgusting and the desire to possess something so strong inhabited the same mind at the same minute.

It is no strange for Oedipus to begin thinking what he would do if the Magician falling into his hand, the hand of a sadistic psychopath. And this times, Oedipus makes sure that the Magician would alive very long. What he had done to Vlad was unacceptable. Now thinking of it, he should have saved his father. But it is not because of his “paternal love” or “the son’s duty”; Nah, he should save him for the sake of satisfying his own self. The screaming and yelling frantically would be a great thing to hear and see, especially when Oedipus could show how imperfect his father is. Or was.

Sadly, what he had imagined is unreal. Touching the necklace that was made from his father’s skull, Oedipus smirked as his fingers touched the remainder. The rough surface of his father’s skull sends a strange sense along Oedipus’s spine. And memories that are felt so old but only a few day ages came back to him. Memories of being chains and held captive. There was no one. No one to look for. No one to care for. And he sees his father was being loved by other.

Yes, Oedipus was a different man when he was younger. He was more ignorant, foolish, idiotic, hopeful, naive,... More of everything that comprised a fool. But soon, he learns the lesson. He grew hatred, the things that armed him. He learns greed.

Greed. The word came into Oedipus’ mind as the sound of waters dripping becomes louder and fiercer. Just right outside, the Magician had finished answering whatever the winged boys had questioned him previously. Unlike the boy, who want justice, Oedipus just want chaos. He does not care if the villagers are puppets or not. He does not care if the Magician is the man that cause for all of the mind slaves thingies at the village back there. In contrast, Oedipus felt a little happy deep in his heart when he saw the child being deprived of love. Maybe, that young pup would grow up and becomes like him. But now, all he could care is having some “Oedipus’ time.” Oedipus’ muscle hardened as he imagined once he finally breaks free from these chains. Very close now, Oedipus said to himself as he follows the Magician’s maid. And the sound of something snapped was quickly covered by the sound of the people’s footsteps and the cop’s words: “Let’s keep things between us.” or something like that

“Let’s the boy be. He is young. And he certainly has the right to make any decision for himself.” Oedipus said to the Cop before shifting his gaze back to where the Magician disappeared. There is aside from the gloomy grand hall that was crafted from stones. About twelve pairs of candlesticks hanged on each side, shining a very small area compared to the size of the room. Nearby, a few dozen full plate armors standing on both sides of the grand hall, hold their weapons tight. And Oedipus senses something strange about this place, resembling so much like a cage. But apart from that, there is nothing. The gate is closed. The wind howl as its blow against the maples leaves in the courtyard. And it is the full moon with something flying above the horizon line. A scary sight to be seen for those that afraid of ghost. And whether or not it is because of the area or what the Magician had displayed, Oedipus had this strange sense of being followed. Maybe, the Magician had been watching them from the moment they step into his domain. Taking a few steps back to look at the nearby armor, checking to see if there is any person hiding in that bulky metal suit. A grin on Oedipus' face as he peeks through the gaps of the armor's helmet“For none of us are his parents after all.”

Against his expectation, there was nothing in there except for darkness. So Oedipus takes his time strolling around, sometimes stood there and observing an artifact of some sort or a portrait of someone. And of course, causing his hating level to reach a newer high in Michael's list of “Most Hated Person in the World.

---

@Mammon@Etranger

[jdh97]

Stormy put the gun to her head and fired.

No – wait… that isn’t right. Somebody else repainted the walls with their brains. It was one of them… wasn’t it? In another life. Another time. Back when they still had a choice.

Stormy clicked her heels together. “There’s no place like-”

No. Wrong story. Allwrongwrongwrongwrong.

If not her then who?

If not there, then where?

Snippets from the aftermath of the death drifted like flotsam down her stream of consciousness. Catatonia would fade eventually, and she would be able to sift through them, put them in their rightful places, lest they be forgotten. Stormy struggled with forgetting.

A field. Green-gray. It smelled of water colours and ash and nothing. Koda knelt. He was a man; just a normal man. Stormy stood over him. She held a small box and opened it and he turned to –

Clouds, falling towards the horizon, racing against the headstones that stretched as far as the eye could see. She stood over one, flowers in hand. She placed them, tulips, at the base of the gravestone. Wrong, still wrong, there was never any grave, he didn’t –

“I always wondered why man cried for nothingness? Would they certainly think their tears would make the dead to re-live? Or would they hope the dead will know that they are crying for him? I really don't know the reason why.”

A lonley tear fell onto the petal of a tulip. It ran red. The petals withered, shrivelling to black dust. It chased the clouds to the horizon.

Stormy sipped her tea. He sat across from her. A blur. Had it really been that long?

WHY.

She refilled her cup, a floral, porcelain thing.

Stormy...

The radio in the corner of the teamroom buzzed, then blurted, “Are you lucid?”

She took another sip of tea. Something was wrong. It was thick, and red, and tasted of copper and iron and pain. She looked at the teapot, which was not a teapot anymore; it was the stump of her arm, pouring blood into the china.

”Look, just take this cursed thing and throw it-”

Stormy stood, and, as if time was a gloopy syrup, her arm raised, and, at the blur of him, she threw the cup full of blood. The world shattered.

”NO!!!”

Sunlight wobbled through the surface of the water. His form a silhouette above the surface. The water was cold. Lungs burning. Body numb. Heart beating, too fast, too loud. His arms were touching her, she could feel them. They were bars of iron. Iron holding her under. The water rose into waves, as if in a tempest and-

"You're probably going into shock. Listen, I--..."

She burst forward, sitting upright in the bath tub. Nobody else was here. The lightbulb flickered. The empty pill bottle rested there, bright translucent orange, by the sink.

Out of the grimy water and onto the bath mat covered in mess that clung to the soles of your feet. Stormy looked at herself in the mirror. Her face deep lapis waves and sculpted tentacles.

"We have to get to the Magician."

A flash of bright blue-green.

The slow, uneven bobbing eased storming back into reality. She looked at the man carrying her. It was difficult to tell if she had been sleeping or awake. Away from them two figures stood, one with a hat, one with a blue-green light. Stormy listened, an then the one who had had the hat was gone.

“I think I can walk on my own,” she whispered, and then, meeker still, “thank you.”

Her pocket was heavy with the words just given to them. She would lean on Zino, of course; she was not well at all.

[Mammon]

"As you can see, my master would like to speak more privately with you. If you would be so kind as to indulge him and follow me to the keep proper; you will be given the audience you were sent here for! Do not forget that you are guests in this place, should you choose to enter. In case you did not hear earlier, I am Elegance. Keeper of the keep and Magician's servant. It's one of my many obligations to be certain that no uncouth sorts linger in my master's home!"

Zino Bertran sighed heavily, wrapping his arm protectively around the older woman. His gloved fingers tightened around her shoulder as the Magician and his assistant spoke. ‘What could he need to say inside that he couldn’t say here? And this Elegance--as she calls herself--she’s certainly not a gracious host.’ His lip tightened into a thin line as he wondered how many of the others has understood that as a threat. The agents grey eyes stared meaningfully at Ascot, waiting for him to pipe up.

“The Ghost Girl and Three sent us here. We’ve already died once before… If this were a trap, well…” He gave a dry, cynical laugh. “It’s a waste of their time and effort. If they trust him, then I trust him.” Mr. Bertran slipped his hand into his pocket, fingering the handle of his firearm. He was disgusted--fed up entirely with being led around, with constantly being delayed, with being told contradictory and confusing information.

He pushed his way to the front of the group, keeping his arm around Stormy, then dipped his head to the Magician. “Thank you for your hospitality. Perhaps you should teach your protege not to make veiled threats to your house guests…” Zino narrowed his eyes at Elegance, “Unless they mean to cause trouble.” By then, however, he has already disappeared. They hadn’t come this far to be disrespected and threatened, especially not by an underling. He made his way past her, paused, and then continued inside.

‘I hope they decide to follow me, heh… Some display of courage, Zino. Real smart.’ The young man looked around the interior of the tower. A large central atrium stretched upward impossibly high, flanked by long hallways dotted with doors. At their intersect sat a lone chair. He assumed this was where the Magician would speak with them. The warm flames of the torches reflected from the polished marble, casting long shadows behind the pair. He thought of Koda and gave Stormy a reassuring squeeze. “Should you sit down? There’s a chair.”

[Viatos]

The machine's head didn't tilt. My head. Right? But one eye focused on the Magician as he spoke; another slid to Elegance. Then another. Then a third.

White eyes, shining just enough to cut the hearts out of shadows and keep color in the darkening earth, to mingle with Elegance's own illuminating flame. Like lovers entwining fingers. Or soldiers leveling weapons across a no-man's land. Or things that weren't quite people assessing each other, radiant and choking back Madness. As the Magician turned and vanished into thin air, Tristan slid an eye away from Elegance, leaving two. He hated looking at her.

"Proverbs 23 again." He wasn't sure who he was talking to. He'd been in his head a long time, it felt like. An ocean of fear and paranoia, cold and clean and welcoming. Easiest to be terrified, to drown in it, to be alone and sinking always further. His relationship with his emotions had become something he wouldn't have understood before the Semblance, but he suspected the strangeness would pass. Already he was beginning to lose track of the despair that had first overwhelmed him, the dissonance associated with inhabiting the blood-slick biomachina of his body. It was too big to be felt, it had become something like panic, and panic was part of the ocean.

The substance coursing through his vascular system helped, too. Everything was clarified, jitters were impossible, he could map Elegance's face, his natural response to the threat she represented, and he didn't have to second-guess himself. Perfection wasn't a quality, it was a pattern, and he could fit himself into it - that's what it felt like. It felt like being fresh and cold and clean after a thousand years of squalor, the awful in-between of being dirty and too hot, your own sweat turning grime into fluid slithering filth. Even the thought of that couldn't bother him, because his present state was too pure to allow for feelings like that. Tristan was fine. Perfectly fine. What was Tabitha worrying about, again? Everyone was upset about something or other, it seemed, except for the man Keahi kept bound. Tristan felt a sympathy there, something that vibrated in a way that should probably have been uncomfortable. He's so completely what he is.

That was a kind of perfection, too, and likewise it was easy for Tristan to be what he was. What he was was drowning.

The hard part was surfacing again.

With an amount of effort that one of the clean, clear corners of his mind noted should probably have been uncomfortable, he surfaced.

"It's rude, isn't it?" This to Elegance, their impromptu guide. "Telling us about your obligations. Telling that poor kid he's - " Her words were boiling up in him, but he didn't have Koda to distract him now. They burned away before they could echo, his mind like killing starlight. "...and the Magician's not the puppet-master, but he doesn't say anything about who caused the accident. Except that it's unfortunate. When your enemies do it, it's clumsy, right? It wouldn't be an accident, it'd be a mistake."

Maybe that was the threat-response subroutines, dividing the world into foe and future-foe. Maybe not, though; his childhood at the preacher's feet was drifting through his head. Old, unhappy thoughts about fire and brimstone, about who in the congregation was faltering and must be corrected, or who outside it was soullessly wicked and must be destroyed. The same behaviors.

He was following the others, Zino and Stormy in particular. The keep itself caused an unexpected reaction and threatened to plunge him down below the level of conversation again; his eyes fell on Tabitha, Stormy's shoulder, Oedipus among the assortment of oddments, Keahi glaring, and on the Magician's servant. It was the architecture, he realized, once the nanosecond struggle for sanity had concluded. I want to... Inarticulate. Fix it? Destroy it? Rebuild, reform? Something about the lines and angles of the place seemed fertile to him in a way that was profoundly bizarre. Black earth awaiting its seeds. Blank canvas - but it's not blank, but that doesn't matter - begging for paint. It occurred to him that it was entirely possible he'd never have children, and it took him a minute to understand why the thought had occurred.

Tristan would have shaken his head to clear it, once upon a time. He didn't. He just kept moving, eyes roaming, waiting for the Magician to reappear. One stayed with Oedipus."Nobody's his parents, from the sound of it. No one to look after him." God, had surviving in Lightbridge once seemed daunting? His father had been his anchor, his deity, the boundaries of his world. Leaving home, even on mission, tumbling out into the indefinite void...he'd been such a kid. Such a scaredy-cat. He couldn't smile, and the tone of his voice only changed when he made it change, and he didn't. "All alone in a strange land. Not so different from us, when you think about it. Maybe a dead girl will make him a monster too." On a whim, Tristan tried to force a laugh. It didn't sound right to him, a brief discordance in his gleaming exalted state, a series of jangling wrong notes. He wasn't sure how it sounded to the others.

He turned to Ellard, holding out a hand of iron and bone for inspection. "Don't let it bother you. We're all fabrications here, I guess. Part of someone else's story. Your experience is still real - if nothing else, if it wasn't, the story would lose its meaning. We're the same that way, we're..." Tristan hesitated, then withdrew his hand. "...real enough."