|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Wed Oct 01, 2014 1:36 pm
 bought for the sum of his parts, part twoaoi, hannelore, alexei, phoebus -- 1090Quote: Phoebus hadn’t been sleeping well since Sasha’s departure. Just knowing that her bed in the next room was empty left him dozing in fits and starts. Although it was several hours earlier than usual when Hannelore and her attendants roused him, Phoebus was already awake and staring at the ceiling. It was not quite dawn, but he was already dressed and sitting on his bed, waiting for whatever the day would bring. “Good morning,” he said, and when the attendants made a move to grab him by the arms, he stood up. “I can walk, thank you.” Phoebus did not know what Hannelore had in store for him, but he did know that everything could be made less bad by playing the good captive and cooperating. His father had a plan, he thought determinedly. His father had a plan and his plan had already gotten Sasha out and it would get him out, too. Aoi was here and she was working with his father and he had nothing to fear while she was present, right? At least he knew better than to ask where they were going. Phoebus followed Hannelore and her attendants through a series of long hallways, into a part of the castle that he had never been invited to before. The room they finally arrived in looked like it had been set up for television broadcast, which by itself was nothing to be worried about - though the fact that there was a tarp down on the floor made his heart beat a little faster. He glanced nervously at Aoi, hoping for some kind of sign from her that he needn’t worry. No sign came. Phoebus swallowed nervously. Aoi waited in the room set up for the broadcast, untying and retying the red rope around her left forearm. To the right, an unremarkable sword leaned against the arm of her chair, because no way in hell was she going to use Cloudborn for something as disgusting as this. As the Empress’s First Sword, she was the only one who was allowed to do this--except the Lord of Camlann, but Corbin was gone. Off to the side, she could see Alexei sulking, the dark garb of the heir of Camlann flattering his pale coloring. Maybe he could step up, but Aoi didn’t know if she could refuse Hannelore’s command without ******** everything over. She fumbled the rope, and the pieces of armor clanked down to the tarp with a ringing clatter. Hannelore swept into the room as Aoi gathered up the pieces and held out an arm for Erasme to re-tie the armor on. Making eye contact with Phoebus seemed like making a promise she couldn’t keep, so she focused on the sword she was supposed to be using for this, spinning it on its point. The low shriek of metal-on-marble kept Aoi’s attention off him, and probably… This is so wrong, she thought, and in the back of her mind Althai agreed, a restless murmur that she didn’t bother to block out because it was so honestly what she was thinking, too. The propaganda minister settled Phoebus down in the central chair, and Hannelore pressed her hands over his shoulders to keep him there. “Right,” said Hannelore, a little breathless and pleased. “Any questions before we begin?” Quote: The sight of the sword made Phoebus’s heart lurch, and he reminded himself that he was too valuable an asset to kill outright. If Hannelore cut off his head, there’d be nothing less to bargain with - and Aoi would never let that happen, right? She was the woman with the sword. She wouldn’t cut off his head, right? Even if Hannelore ordered it, she wouldn’t-- Soft hands on his shoulders settled Phoebus into a chair, and he looked around uncertainly. There was Sasha’s brother in the corner, and he looked so much like his sister but he wasn’t any help, he was just going to stand there. “I have a question,” he said, looking sourly at the empress. She’d asked so he’d ask, right? Because everyone else seemed like they already knew what they were here for. “What’s going on.” “Your Highness,” said Hannelore, smiling away, like they’d met for tea instead of bodily mutilation. “We’re going to cut off your hand.” Quote: “Cut off my - cut off my what?” Phoebus asked, not sure whether she was serious or not. He supposed she had to be, given the sword and the setup, so only Hannelore’s smile seemed out of place. He looked down at his hands, clenching his fists against the arms of the chair. Cut off his hand?! Whatever was going on with his father, it clearly wasn’t going the Empress’s way if she was resorting to cutting off body parts on live television. “You’re all just gonna let her do this?” he asked, looking to the camera crew for help. Aoi was clearly useless. “Your hand,” repeated Hannelore, and she leaned down to pat the back of Phoebus’s left hand. “Don’t clench. I hear that makes the bleeding worse.” Aoi spun the hilt of the sword again, and looked towards the camera crew. Her stomach felt like it’d jumped up to her throat and was now clawing at the inside of her esophagus, an acid-sick burn. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, she thought, her head spinning, putting her hands on the hilt of the sword. They felt the same way, she was sure--the camera crew, Alexei, herself. Step between Hannelore and Phoebus, maybe save his hand, or… wait, do this, and… she didn’t know. She didn’t know anything at all and she looked away, ignoring the murmuring of the self-important ministers and the cue-up of the lights and… Hannelore straightened, her shoulders back, smile vanishing. She looked, in that moment, like an empress, the kind of woman you saw in storybooks. Her platinum blonde hair twisted up on top of her head behind the emerald-and-gold crown of the Kriemhilde dynasty, a white-and-gold gown glittering under a gossamer green overcoat. The bangles on her wrists chimed delicately as she lifted her hands to the height of her shoulders. “My loves,” she said, gesturing out towards the camera. “I have come bearing you great news.” She looked to Aoi, blue eyes self-satisfied and proud. “Today, our long-time peer nation of Babylon has agreed to bend the knee to us.” Aoi couldn’t stop herself from whipping her head around to stare at her friend, who--she had to have been--she had to have been insane. That was a lie. Aoi had been told that she was going to tell this lie, and even then she hadn’t really believed it. “And to prove their good will, they have sent us their tribute, first of many: their Prince, Phoebus Aegle, second born of his father.” Aoi knew her cue. She stood up, and tried to stay steady on her feet. “But unfortunately, I have made the Grand Duke a promise--that he would receive his son today. And he shall, for we are a just and honorable Empire, and I honor my promises.” They stood next to each other, there, the Prince between them. “Take his left hand,” said Hannelore, and Aoi lifted the blade as easily as she ever had. She took a breath: in, out. “Lady Melhilde?” Quote: “What?” Phoebus bit back a swear. His father had not kneeled - if he had, then surely they would not be standing here, cutting off his hand. “That’s a lie,” he said. What would she do - cut off his head on national television? Cut out his tongue? Start a war? What benefit was there even to to telling a lie like that? Anyone even reasonably well-informed would know it for a falsehood. “Babylon does not kneel!” he yelled. He must have tried to rise to his feet, because the attendants forced him back into the chair. “She’s lying! I’m not tribute, I was kidnapped, I’m a diplomat sent in good faith being held against my will!” One of the attendants clamped a hand over his mouth, which put a stop to that. Hannelore didn’t look angry. In fact, she smiled. “And thus you see the promise he has broken,” she said to the camera, stroking a hand through Phoebus’s hair gently. “And thus you see the denial.” Aoi stood as still as she could. The blade in her hands didn’t waver, but she felt no more capable of fulfilling her duties than she was of… of doing anything. She shook her head, slowly at first and then faster, lowered the sword and let it fall from her nerveless fingers. “I can’t,” she said. “I won’t.” “Then let me,” said Alexei, “what better way to celebrate our engagement, darling?” There was a disgusting sarcasm to his voice, and Aoi had a moment to reflect that she really knew nothing at all about the heir to Camlann… She stepped back, because she couldn’t interfere, she had to just let this happen, she couldn’t--and as Hannelore giggled, a peal of delight, he picked up the sword and with one swing, chopped Phoebus’s left hand from his arm. She exhaled, and then--a hand clutched about her heart, and something in her head keened MAKE IT STOP and she dimly heard Hannelore yelling for them to shut off the transmission as Aoi wrapped a hand around the new-made stump at the end of Phoebus’s left arm and thought, Heal. Quote: She was lying thought Phoebus angrily, through gritted teeth. She was lying. Why was she lying like that? Why would she? It would come out soon enough that his father hadn’t kneeled. Why would his father kneel - Aoi was on their side. Aoi would take him home, even after- even after- He saw the sword change hands, and while he heard the sarcasm in Alexei’s voice, Phoebus didn’t understand it. This was Sasha’s brother - why would he take the sword? Why would he be the one to do it, unless- unless- had they lost Camlann? It just- It just didn’t make sense, he thought desperately, as the steel bit through his wrist. Phoebus howled out in anguish, although he thought he wouldn’t - he thought he’d be braver than that, be a grown man who his father could be proud of. It was surprising - he didn’t feel the hurt at first. It was only when the air hit the raw flesh that the pain began, white hot, arcing up his arm. Phoebus screamed again, his body curling protectively toward the stump. And there was- there was Aoi, in the middle of all the commotion. “Don’t touch it,” said Phoebus, flinching away from her hands. Touching would just mean more pain - but her hands were cool, and his grasp on consciousness was so tenuous now and fading… fading… Fading so damn fast. The power flashed down her arm, leaving spots behind her eyes like stardust, or a chemtrail, or--she didn’t know, she’d never seen anything comparable. And even as Hannelore stepped back, her skirts dusted with blood, Aoi could see that the bleeding had stopped. That’s better, whispered Althai in the back of her head. We’re going to pass out now. But we’re going to be fine. Just go to sleep.Aoi stayed awake long enough to see Alexei wiping speckles of blood off his face, to hear him drop the sword. “And what are your plans for your new tribute, Your Imperial Majesty,” he asked, and then everything went dark. [FIN]
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Oct 01, 2014 8:04 pm
bought for the sum of his parts, part threecorbin, menachem -- doesn't count towards growth Corbin waved away the screen as it cut to black. That had gone… almost exactly as planned, although it still would have been ideal for Aoi to have been able to do the deed herself. In the absence of her spine, Alexei had stepped up and proven himself capable, and that worked out well enough. Maybe Aoi wasn’t the stone-cold b***h her legend made her out to be. That would be occupying. That flash of sparkling blue-and-violet light, though, the one that had flourished at her hands, brief but obvious enough to someone who could replay the broadcast frame-by-frame... It interested him. Such magic had never flourished in the Kriemhilde line… something was certainly wrong there. He swung his legs around and dismounted the ancient bone throne. Common wisdom said that anything could be cured with salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea. And in following the folklore traditions of his country, he had gone away from the capitol to the seaside dolmen from which his house had risen, a home inside the skeleton of an ancient leviathan. In times of trouble, the house of Camlann could always be found on the shore. And Corbin liked the dolmen, anyway. It was small, and comfortable, and the darkness and heavy whale-furs and the sea-salt had always appealed to him. His sister had been terrified of the dolmen--and that was why he was now Lord of Camlann, and she was married to a minor nothing-lord of a minor nothing-country. The comm ping’d at him as he settled into one of the fur-heaped chairs, and he answered it with a bored, “Yes?” No doubt it was Menachem, come to yell about broken promises. Corbin was certain enough that he didn’t even turn to look. Instead, he snapped his fingers, lighting a violet candle. In the privacy of his own home, he could chew the scenery as much as he liked. “If it’s about my heir, he did exactly what I told him to do. I’m very proud.” Quote: Menachem had been prepared for his son to lose a body part on international television. That was a matter he had reconciled himself to and could only hope that Sasha and Phoebus would forgive him for. What he had not expected was that Hannelore would tell her citizenry that he had taken the knee, sending him into a frenzy to issue a counter statement about, you know, his son being illegally kidnapped? Like, he needed that like he needed another hole in his head. Anyway, he’d gotten the statement out as quickly as he could and that left… a lot of pressing issues, but one he’d like to deal with sooner than anything else - why had Alexei Gardner held the blade? “The plan had been for Aoi Melhilde to make the cut,” he said, wringing his hands. At least Corbin was still taking his calls - it was a small consolation that this was not completely off the rails. “And what was that Alexei said? Is their betrothal official?” Not that he minded terribly if Corbin went about his business as if nothing unusual was going on, but he would have liked to hear sometime other than concurrently with the mad empress announcing his kingdom had been annexed. Which it hadn’t been. He was not here to throw a tantrum unbefitting a man of his age and station, Menachem reminded himself, and rationality prevailed. For the time being. “I know that there was not exactly a script for today’s proceedings,” he said measuredly, “But I think we can both agree that that was decidedly off-book.” “I’m sorry, which one of us decidedly lacks the benefit of booby-trapped mountain passes and strongly magical citizenry,” droned Corbin as he picked at his nails. Yes, he definitely needed to get another manicure when he had a moment. Thankfully, he had plenty of moments. Such was the delight of playing two sides of an issue. “The betrothal is official. I signed the papers this morning. Lady Melhilde pussied out, and Alexei simply helped--and if I can twist Hannelore’s perceptions of things to ease my own road, I will.” He took a deep breath of the scented candles, inhaling chamomile and lavender and vervain. Very devotional. Very concrete. He could taste it on the back of his tongue, like something long-remembered and long-lost. “I refuse to be the patsy who puts all of his eggs in one basket, as you and Aoi are doing,” he said. “If my gamble on you fails and Camlann is annexed, then I’ve made my own bed but at least I’d retain siridar-governance of my people. If my gamble succeeds, I gather I’ll be free of the Kaising Faufreluches entirely.” The Lord of Camlann shifted to face the screen, propping his feet up on a nearby stone. “Fortunately, this little twist tells us something we didn’t know before, in more ways than one.” He laced his fingers together over his stomach, and said, “Since when has Lady Melhilde had any healing magic at all? I’ve watched and re-watched the broadcast. She stopped the bleeding from your son’s wound. That’s not a power in any of her bloodlines, as far as I can tell.” Her sword-sense, yes. The various little twists and gaps of the Kriemhilde birthmark, yes. But healing was something usually confined to Babylon and Helle, and nothing in Aoi Melhilde’s lines indicated for ancestry in either land. “I should know,” he said. “I am the Lord of Camlann.” Corbin sat up. “You’ve been playing this game much longer than I have,” he acknowledged with a bow of his head. “And your plan had merit. But you put your faith in a woman too tied up in morals to take that last step. She can kill or condemn hundreds, even thousands, but face her with just the one, and she’ll fold like drywall before the sea.” Quote: Menachem nodded. Corbin’s logic was sound, it had only been a matter of needing it explained to him. Try as he might to stay one step ahead of all the game’s other players, he was not truly omniscient. And Lady Melhilde’s sudden magic had certainly weighed heavily on his mind for the last few hours. The Lord of Camlann had been a forthcoming ally thus far, if an uneasy one, and he owed it to him to share what he knew about the circumstances. You could not, after all, fault a man for adding a stitch to better his own fortunes to an existing plan. “Lady Melhilde has confessed to me that she thinks she is possessed of a geist,” he said softly, folding his fingers together. He could anticipate Corbin’s reaction - Geists were pure myth, childhood boogeymen of no real consequence. For a grown woman to think she was in one’s thrall was pure madness, and yet… the evidence was plain as day on the tapes. Aoi Melhilde had performed magic that she simply was not capable of. Menachem raised a flattened hand, in hopes of staying Corbin’s objection even a moment. “I do not suggest that she is exactly correct, but merely that she is using a word we are all familiar with to describe an entirely alien phenomenon. The empire brings tribute from offworld, does it not?” It was a rhetorical question. Everyone knew the empire brought tribute from offworld. “And with offworld tributes come offworld artifacts, offworld magics, things we don’t wholly understand.” It was not exactly a confidence-inspiring thing to confess, he realized - and it would be best to keep the other part of Aoi’s confession, that she believed she was dying, to himself. Corbin’s expression had already been very flat--straight brows over a straight nose and a straight mouth with tight corners--but it became more so after Menachem shared his news. “You approached me to aid one crazy woman in dethroning another,” he said, his affect dull as the sea-plains from above. “This? This is why I have trust issues.” Well, no, that was an entirely different kettle of worms, mostly a creepy kettle of worms, one that didn’t bear discussion. Hey, when one became the ruler of a place steeped in blood magic, s**t happened. “She is demonstrating magical abilities she has no way of possessing,” said Corbin, pillowing his chin on his hand. “I’m told she passed out after using them and has made no motion to wake since. I wouldn’t be surprised if some Babylonian expatriate is brought to her bedside to see if they can’t wake her.” His network of spies certainly was very well-populated. He changed topics, then. “How is my niece? I assume she’s been staying with your wife. It seems right that, in the absence of her Aegle, she will take her turn protecting another.” Offworld tributes… “She was given one of them, wasn’t she? From Lampadas? I seem to recall her making a scene in his defense. Hannelore seemed quite upset.” Quote: “Yes, but it is a crazy woman who has vowed to break up the Kaising against a crazy woman hell-bent on both our borders,” replied Menachem, uncertain what he ought to read into Corbin’s willingness to use colloquialisms with him. He’d never been a particularly close ally of Camlann’s before, but they were aligned in this conspiracy now for whatever it wrought them. The news that Aoi had not woken since was concerning, however. If she did not regain consciousness, then they had no one to lead their rebellion - but it had only been a few hours since the broadcast’s end, and such a display of magic from someone who’d never performed any before could be expected to be tiring. “That’s no cause for alarm,” he said. “Yet.” If she hadn’t woken by tomorrow evening, then he’d allow himself to worry - but he and Corbin were both accomplished sorcerers and knew that exceptional feats required equally exceptional resting periods. “She was given a tribute, yes,” Menachem confirmed. “I’ve seen him standing behind her in some calls. I believe she took him to Rosforte with Sasha and left him in her brother’s charge.” In that case, they might be able to reach the man for further questioning - perhaps he would know where Aoi had come into possession of her so-called geist. And as for Sasha… “Your niece rages,” he said. “She is with my wife but she is not happy to be anywhere. She considers this her own failing and I fear she may do herself harm if given the opportunity.” It was, perhaps, a bit more than teenaged melodrama. Sasha had been given a job. From a certain perspective, she had failed at it. “Do you know what’s become of my son now?” Menachem asked, perhaps dreading the answer. Phoebus was injured, his one protector unconscious - and he was still in the hands of a mad queen. Corbin sighed. Menachem didn’t really want to know the answer to that question, but the old man had no way of knowing that. (Old: as if Menachem wouldn’t live for another sixty years, at least.) “Well, I imagine Hannelore’s just about done being over the moon about her engagement,” he said, checking a watch he was not wearing. He did notice an old scar waxing redder at his wrist, and flexed the joint to ease that stiffness. “And her predicted rise to foremost among the recent rulers of the Kaising, due to impending successful annexation of my lands…” He gave his ally a doleful look. “So I imagine she’s only just getting around to drugging and raping him in the hopes that what you won’t do for a son, you’ll do for a grandchild. The woman is truly unstable.” Either way, there was nothing to do but wait for Aoi to wake up. Corbin certainly wasn’t going to lose sleep over the necessities of state. “Perhaps you can get Nicholas to speak to you,” he suggested. It would be obvious to both of them that right now, Camlann’s position was too precarious to risk, even for the son of the Grand Duke. “I will hope Sasha keeps her head. She’s a smart girl.” He almost wished he’d gotten her as his heir instead of her brother--but Alexei had more of a talent for magic, one that Camlann required in a way that Afallon did not. “But passions do run deep in our family; I won’t hold it against you if she hurts herself.” Surely Menachem had been concerned about that. “I have a backup plan, in case Aoi does not wake,” he said. “But it’s not ideal. Hence why I have not used it.” Quote: A shiver ran through Menachem. He had expected Hannelore to have some sense of honor and propriety, to treat his son with the respect due a diplomatic captive. But that was before she’d declared Phoebus a tribute, and the rules for them were different. She had not always seemed so unstable - perhaps it was another effect of the blood magic worked upon the throne. The Empress did not wear the birthmark, after all. The Kriemhilde seat required Kriemhilde blood in ways myriad and unknowable. “She wastes her effort,” he said, after a long pause. “If I have not bowed for my son, I surely will not bow for a grandchild gotten of such base means.” To be clear: knowing what torture he had consigned his only son to did not rest easily on his shoulders. Menachem rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I will contact Nicholas,” he agreed, understanding Corbin’s position. He had just signed a betrothal agreement with the empress, and his heir was as much in her clutches as Phoebus was. Just then, Asimov appeared at his elbow. He had not noticed her approach, but then, she was skilled at moving silently in the comm room. “Sire,” she said. “We didn’t want to disturb you, but Duchess Aria collapsed. She’s with the doctors now.” “Thank you,” said Menachem, trying not to show that his heart had momentarily lurched as he rose from his seat. He turned to the screen. “I’m sorry, Corbin,” he said. “I need to cut this short. Something’s come up.” “Of course,” said Corbin. “Please, tend to your wife. But if I may…” He doused the violet candle-lights, one-by-one, with his fingers. “Perhaps consider… if you would not bow for your son, or your grandchild, what would you bow for?” He smiled, and doused the last light, a little dreamily. In the dolmen, it smelled of rain and vervain, and he felt quite tired. “Good luck, old friend,” he said, and then he ended the call. [FIN]
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Oct 01, 2014 10:05 pm
bought for the sum of his parts, part foursolo 8 ---- 750 words That’s better… we’re going to pass out now…but we’re going to be alright… ...just go to sleep It occurred to him, as if from across a great distance, that Embless was dead. He saw her collapse, a bright red bloom of blood spreading across the floor; he saw the woman unsheathe her sword from his Queen’s back, as calm and unyielding as a glacier. It was the male of the species’ right to die for the female, something cried in the back of his head. This was wrong. In the end, wrong or right, it didn’t matter. Embless died, and he… didn’t. Embless is dead, he thought, and she had been such a centerpiece to his life that it seemed to him that Atlas had shrugged, destabilizing the universe in less than the blink of an eye, or a beat of a heart, or the flaring glance of an electron. Sleepily, in the back of his mind, he heard Althai: thirteen pieces of dandelion root… no… it will be out of season. Substitute a quarter ounce of vervain ash, season with three drops of vinegar…He woke for a moment in what felt like a prison cell, four others with him: all females, all powerful. They would bury Embless in a shroud of black linen, the edges embroidered with copper and gold, and place disks of metal over her eyes so she could pay her passage to the Underworld. They would build a pyre on the tallest hill of the Black Castle, and the weather-workers would still the wind, so people all over Heimdall could see the smoke. Three ounces of gold liquor, heat slowly to denature. Add a black snake-skin all at once, stir slowly until it flakes to scales, let it sit until cooled. By rights, Aska should lay the white rose over her heart. Her father would place the black crown she had worn in life over her black hair… He couldn’t remember what came next, and that was when he awoke, green eyes adjusting slowly to the shapes of his tiny, closet-like room at the Rosforte. The first few nights he’d been here had been hard; he’d had no idea how deeply he’d come to depend upon the voice of Althai in the back of his head, his constant boon companion. He’d awoken every morning convinced that nothing had ever happened, that he would find himself at home in the capital again, at Embless’s side. And until the memories filtered back, he’d just been… happy. Simply happy. But there were more important things since then than a doomed childhood romance. He remembered Whisteria, and Lily. The things he’d seen as he traveled the world, looking for a way out. The expression on the face of this Emperor’s wife as he built a splint for a trampled flower. This wasn’t so different from before. And he would live this for the rest of his life, it seemed. That didn’t seem as horrifying as it once might have. He got up, got dressed--the uniform of a first-year tribute was restricted to a jacket in this particular shade of Imperial green, dark pants, dark shoes, and a gold torque around his neck with the markings of the wave-and-cloud that represented Champion Melhilde. Aska supposed he was lucky, to be presented with this opportunity--with this safety. On the ship here, he’d heard all the harrowing tales of the Kaising tributary, the blood baths, the weeks that the Camlann people called the Fugue Feast. And yet, aside from the frankly terrifying instance of invasive magical surgery… this was no different than his life with Embless. Aska descended the stairs to the undercroft kitchen, where he acquired a bowl of oatmeal and settled in with the guards. He’d barely gotten time to get seated and start dolloping brown sugar into his oatmeal when the discussion at the long table fell silent. He looked in the same direction as Rothkopf and Travers, and there, framed in the doorway, was a trim dark-haired woman with a sharp, patrician nose. They didn’t look unalike, and he wondered if she had also come from Heimdall--but the appearance traits they shared were very common in the greater scheme of things, anyway. “I’m here for Aska Kepanen Melhilde,” she said, consulting the clipboard at her side. “Your Lady has work for you.” She beckoned with her fingers, and he rose, leaving his breakfast behind with some small regret.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Oct 05, 2014 7:53 pm
this 'grace' thing...aska, janine, whisteria, aoi, tien ---- 2847+ words Janine and Aska seek the assistance of Whisteria in awakening Aoi from her rest. Tien secretly tags along.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Oct 05, 2014 7:57 pm
]bought for the sum of his parts, part fiveaoi, phoebus, nicodeme ---- 626 words Once they got clear to Aoi’s rooms, she dropped onto the nearest couch with obvious exhaustion. There were signs of an unusual presence in the room: a satchel with foreign markings, a few shed feathers here and there. Aoi did not seem to notice them. Instead, she gestured to the clothes laid out on the arm of one of the nearby chairs, a green robed top and loose dark pants, thin-soled shoes. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s, you know, tradition to take everything from a tribute when they enter the tributary. I’m not sure where your things are…” There was a box, too, a light lacquered wood one with the cloud-and-wave of Aoi’s house embossed in it, the dark brown of burnt wood stark against the oak. “And, uh, that. I’m sorry, but everyone says we need to maintain the charade if Erasme is going to get you down to the Rosforte.” She peered at him over the arm of her couch, eying his arm up. “That’s infected,” she pointed out helpfully. “I’ll see if your dad can’t send a Babylonian healer or something to meet you.” Couldn’t Alexei have done something about that? He looked kind of wide-eyed and terrified when she’d arrived… maybe he’d tried, and Hannelore had objected? She wasn’t sure she wanted to think about that. Or what Phoebus had been doing while she slept in nightmares… “You should get dressed,” she said. “The train leaves soon.” Quote: It was a bit of a shock coming out of his prison and back into the civilized world. Phoebus felt like he was staring wide-eyed at everything, even as the last of the drugs wore off. He could feel his heart rate rising, which meant their depressive effect had to be fading - right? “It’s okay,” he said about his things as he changed clothes. “I didn’t have anything irreplaceable.” The files from his personal writing pad were backed up to the cloud. Some of the clothes had been of sentimental value, but… it didn’t matter. He’d been kept captive for nearly a month and his personal effects were likely long gone. “Is it?” he asked, looking at his arm. The wound was still bandaged, but the skin above it was red and inflamed. He’d take Aoi’s word for it. It would explain why he’d felt feverish the last few days. His opposite wrist was bruised and scabbed from where he’d been tied to the bedpost. Would it be too much to ask for something for his other injuries? Phoebus didn’t much think he’d be able to sit for a long period of time, but talking to Aoi about his a** seemed, for some reason, more embarrassing than what she’d already walked in on. “You’re not coming with me?” he asked, confused. Aoi had taken Sasha personally - why was he being sent with an escort, and one of the fragile-looking birdmen at that? But of course, Aoi had duties to attend to, and she’d just been asleep for days… Alexei had probably consented to now for Hannelore’s long-proposed threesome as a distraction, so Aoi could wake without her meddling, but the fact that everything was still being manipulated by some greater puppet master didn’t make Phoebus feel any better. Besides, she’d been asleep for like, a week. “You’re okay, right?” he asked. “That healing magic you did - that’s not something you can usually do, is it?” “I’m sorry about the knife, anyway,” she said, thinking of the cloth-wrapped package she’d seen Phoebus holding as she left with Sasha. It’d looked… special. Valuable. And maybe if he’d had it, he wouldn’t be the in the state he was now. She squirmed uncomfortably, and slid slowly down the side of the couch, as if that would make his questions go away. “I’m dying,” she said. “Not ‘cause of what I did to you. Though I guess that’s a symptom? But anyway, gods are real and there is one living in me like a creepy rock parasite, and it’s going to take me over and erase my brain, and I feel like s**t all the ******** time.” I recommend they put him on a liquid diet, said Althai helpfully. And bed rest! Definitely bed rest! Shut up, she thought sourly, and when he refused, she spent a moment carefully constructing a pretend wall of ******** No, Althai. Dealing with this was easier when she accepted that there was some kind of all-powerful space alien in her head. “I have to stay here, so I can communicate with… people. Stuff. Things. You know. Secrets.” She waved a hand about over her head, and then dropped her hand. “So yeah, Erasme is taking you. Menachem says Sasha’s gone and disappeared, too, so you can probably reckon on her waiting for you at the train station…” Aoi kicked her feet up on the couch. That hurt less, she thought, sighing with relief. “If you need a painkiller, Erasme’s got some really good ones. And you’ll be able to lay down on the train. I’m really sorry I couldn’t stop this, by the way.” Quote: Phoebus had completely forgotten about the knife, and his stomach lurched for a moment. Sasha would be angry with him, if nothing else, but he already expected that she’d be angry about a lot of things. If she even still wants me, he thought. Alexei’s assurances that his sister would be accepting did not actually quell the worry churning in his gut. He’d been hers and only hers, never touched by another, and now that was all ruined. Some part of him expected Sasha to smell them on him and reject him. She was not cruel, his Sasha, no… but she could be capricious. But, he thought, it was selfish to be hung up on something like that right now. His rescuer was dying, her mind being taken over by some ancient god. Phoebus wasn’t even sure how that was possible, but he was going to take her word for it. “Thank you for getting me out of there,” he said. The damage had already been done, but per her intervention, it had not been prolonged. Well, it had already been some six days. The damage was done. Phoebus ruminated for a moment, trying to feel optimistic about the prospect of sleep and painkillers and seeing Sasha when it was all over. What he said was, “Hannelore is pregnant. Others, too. I want it all to go away.” “I’d talk to Alexei or Corbin about it,” she said. “The Svanhildes are blood mages to a man. Like, I’m not saying they wouldn’t need some of your, uh… you know? To locate them? but they could definitely force them to like, not happen.” A charming metallic ringing noise by the door announced Erasme’s arrival, with a bottle of water and a tiny cup containing three pills. “Painkiller, antibiotic, and sleep medication,” he said, holding them out to Phoebus. “Come. Let’s get you to your family, and let the Lady rest.” Quote: Phoebus nodded. He’d been wondering, in a roundabout way, if such a thing was possible - it had to be. Blood magic had cures for everything, and Alexei was more his friend now than he’d ever been before this whole ordeal. “I’ll ask,” he said shakily, and imagined noblewomen across the empire doubled over in pain. Was it cruel of him to think that way? They knew what they’d done to him. They deserved whatever horridness came their way. He took the pills and downed them all at once, eager for relief. “Right,” he said, nodding to Erasme. They’d better go before the sleeping pills kicked in. “I’m ready to go home.”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Oct 09, 2014 6:06 pm
Tien gets caught sneaking around the palace. Aoi is just pleased to know there's truth in this crazy story after all.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
