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You're at the reintro. You're at the heartgame. You're at the combination reintro/heartgame.
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.
- Pablo Neruda
✦
bought a bubblegum scented sword so the last thing
my enemies realise is how fun and cute i am
- wolfpupy
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somewhat grumpily pulling himself out of the pond, avoiding the roses as best he can since he doesn't want to add getting cut by thorns to also being soaking wet]
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Your promised void is in another chancel—)At the sound of the gently splashing water, both figures turn towards you—
—and do a bit of a double-take. Not someone they were expecting, apparently.
Both now regard you aloofly. One of them—a woman with olive-toned skin with a strange sort of sheen to it at certain angles, like starlight or like the way light refracts through morning dew—tilts her head a touch, affecting mild interest. Her companion, a thickly muscled man all in black, wearing an executioner's hood, lifts his brows very slightly and crosses his arms over his chest.
Neither of them seem inclined just yet to do more than watch how you handle yourself.
Meanwhile, on the air, you think you can hear something like a melody.
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(It's also in the fact that one of them is literally dressed as an executioner, admittedly.)
As for the melody...
There isn't a direction you can trace the sound to; in fact, you're not entirely sure that you're hearing it at all—not like a normal piece of music, anyway. It's simply... present, all around you. You'd have to focus on it a little more, and then perhaps you'd hear it truly—
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He'd like to listen a little more to the music, but admittedly along with the familiarity of being surrounded by killers is the knowledge that he should probably not divert his attention from them for too long. Especially since he's unarmed.
So clearly, the solution is to just talk to them.]
Alright, so what bullshit does this place have? More fucking flowers and their feelings?
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The man's voice is heavy as stone. Like stone, it is hard, but not in a way that is unkind—simply in a way that does not compromise itself for anything as irrelevant as social niceties.
"—Treasure and all." You can hear the capitalization there: Treasure, not treasure.
His comment had been to his companion, though, not you; he takes his time finally turning to you again, and takes his time looking you over. There is a heavy axe at his belt.
"You're in Chancel Leli," he says finally. "Stuff you're referring to is Botany."
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The woman has an alto voice, with a tone seemingly set to no-nonsense by default, though it's practically gentle in comparison with her companion. And there's something else to her—a kind of tiredness that feels far more ancient than an apparently living woman should be.
"—member of Familia BAD END=DEAD END."
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[not sure why he even bothered to asked]
--What's that s'posed to mean, Familia?
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"And are you paying attention or not?" The man folds his arms over his chest. "I said Botany, not feelings. There's a flower for everything. No flower; no existing. Feelings are only part of why a Power's got their Keys."
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"For the Nobilis, a Familia refers to the group of Powers brought together under one Imperator. For you—you are of BAD END=DEAD END, are you not?—it is the closest word Kiri knows. A group of people who are meant to be together, because—in some vital way—you all serve the same thing."
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Yeah, that makes sense. I guess that does make Bad End her fucking Familia. Not that I know who Hellfire is at all.
--So if you were expecting all of us, what are we supposed to be fucking doing here?
/2 again
The executioner looks you over with an appraising sort of interest.
"Didn't need to be for her sake for you to try out drowning." There's a slight lift to his brows which looks... approving, if anything.
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After a moment, the man gives an acknowledging nod, though he doesn't offer anything so openly warm as a handshake.
"Harlowe. Power of the Axe. She's Adalet—" He jerks his chin to indicate the tall woman beside him. "Power of Injustice, and Sprouts.
"—So. You see all these 'fucking flowers'? Four kinds, all over the place. But a soul's meant to have two. No more, no less."
Indeed, now that he mentions it, there isn't just the aconite and lotus here, or the tangled wild roses around the pond. Here and there, you can see little clumps of white flowers: snowdrops—the upturned, six-petaled variety that some part of you knows is called Star of Bethlehem. Few and far-between around your feet, but you can see more of them towards what must be the center of this clearing. Dotted throughout are more small ponds, each with the rubble of what looks like a half-finished (half-broken?) bridge.
"There's always a choice, even for things like her—Kiri, or 'Hellfire.' But seems like this one's not getting made without some kind of outside push. You follow?"
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"Someone's got to complete this flower rite. And all of you are the ones whose answer she wants to know."
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don't @ me like this
"Majority vote? Whichever of you is the most convincing? Guess we'll find out."
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What do I need to do to make my picks then? Write another fucking essay for you two or what?
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He pauses a moment; Adalet looks like she is struggling not to laugh at some private joke.
"Listen—Botany works like this: you affect the flower; you affect its meaning in the world.
"So find her. Then get rid of enough flowers so that she's not bound here. Finding her's the hard part. No one ever said a soul had to make sense, and the soul of an abhorrent weapon's likely stranger than most. Those scars she gave you, though—those 're Treasure miracles. However you use them, they'll set you in the right direction."
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Sounds good to me. Unless you two have any more fucking hints, I better get searching.
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She points, indicating a mousey-haired young man with an oversized knapsack, currently in some kind of argument with... a centaur?
"Or... Leli." Something in her voice goes slightly taut. "She's at the central pond." You know—in the same direction the snowdrops were growing.
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[He wants to check out the snowdrops anyway, so...he'll head toward the central pond. Though, he'll pause on the way for a brief moment, crouching to touch one of the snowdrops and see if it has any feelings to reveal.]
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You kneel and touch your fingers to the flower's petals and—like before, the feeling is immediate.This time, though, the feeling hurts—that sharp pang of loss, or of shattering. Perhaps you jerk your hand away on reflex, though you don't have to.
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