( The door shuts behind you, and Fandaniel feels the breeze at his face, and the distant sight of tall, tall towers below, flickering with strange, orange lights. His footing is unsteady. He blinks, and realizes he is now somewhere else. (If Fandaniel would like to revisit the hot air balloon, he is aware he can take the same path in future visits to achieve this.)
You find yourself stood at the square end of a rickety wood pier stretched out over the ocean, the sea magnificent and a little eerie at night. In the dark, the pier has been decorated with balloons and streamers, and dimly lit by fun-shaped lights (stars and hearts and such), but it seems you're after hours for the carnival: about two-thirds of the pier has been dedicated to rides, but they're all powered down, the mesh, iron fence standing high. do not enter signs are plastered across them.
There's many somethings in the water, and you know they're there for they're marked by a faint, pulsing glow just beneath the surface, and you get a bad feeling about them, but it's too dark to see what. You can just hear them cutting through the waves, only barely too deadly to be swallowed by the sound of the ocean's roar.
The other end of the pier stretches long, back toward shore. It's hard to make out in the dark, but it looks like a mesh iron fence has been put up there, too. However: in the middle of the fence is a set of elevator doors. It seems you can leave any time you'd like.
In the far distance, the beach and city beyond is lightless, and quiet, as if you've been the only thing here for a long, long time.
Sika Madu is not far from you, standing at the fence at the edge of the pier, looking over the black ocean. Still, he seems to sense your presence, and glances back over his shoulder in greeting. Mikaela, the cuckoo bird, is nowhere to be seen.
Sika looks like someone who recently recovered from injury - there's the faint trace of lacerations healing, and marks where bandages were, here and there. But they're very light. Likely, they'll seem healed up in a day or so. )
Well, well. If it isn't one of one of the more theatrical members of our Troupe. What can I do for you?
( In person, Sika Madu's siren song of a voice settles in your chest like a sense of comfort— a sense of childhood safety you might've lost, or never had, but find yourself now yearning for. You may find yourself lending ear to his ideas for longer than you normally might, or being a little more patient when you might normally bristle.
Or, if you are of particularly resilient will (or maybe too airheaded?), you may find yourself able to catch yourself nodding along to what he says— or be entirely immune so long as you remain vigilant. It doesn't seem Sika is doing this on purpose; it seems to be a passive quality, a latent charm, within his voice, supplemented by the supernatural allure of his ... unnervingly ethereal appearance. In other words, player's choice how much (or not at all) their character is affected by Sika's voice. )
[ That comfort tries to find a home in him, but he catches it as soon as that calm lull attempts to settle over him. There is little within Fandaniel that longs for safety, and that such a trick would try to take root within him? How offensive! A pity, though, that he won't allow it. He looks... rattled, in a way. Dirt-covered, sweaty from digging, only to find nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing but the disapproving eyes of—–!
Nonetheless, he smiles. ]
My dear Dramaturge! I had hoped to find you still awake.
[ While the danger in the water is well noted, it won't stop him from stepping down the pier, seeing how close he can get to Sika Madu. There's no rush, no rush at all. ]
I was wondering. Were there not coffins buried in the courtyard's graves...?
( He tilts his head, evidently unassuming as Fandaniel approaches. The breeze ruffles the layers of his white and colorful robes; a spot of brightness in the dark. )
Still, it doesn't seem very polite to dig up a grave. Shouldn't you let the past lay dead?
Hmm, only when I was with another who chose to dig up their own. Why, I thought to come back this very night to see if I could check the rest, and what do I find? Nothing. Only dirt. Even in his.
[ How? How, how, how? Illusion? A trick by this world's so-called God? He closes in on Sika, coming to stand alongside him at the pier's fence. ]
Ah, but there was... one oddity that caught my eye. Just out of the corner.
[ He'll lower his voice, as if planning to impart a secret, beckoning for Sika to lean down closer to hear with a curl of a finger. ]
[ Fandaniel's smile never falters, although it does, perhaps, get a hint wider. As Sika leans in, he makes a grab for the front of her robes and pulls him close. The knife finds its way into his other hand, and he seeks to press the point of it against their gut.
He won't... stab, though. He wants to. Oh, how he wants it, to spill the Father's little mouthpiece's blood before anyone else, only it isn't personal.
If he could threaten Father in Sika's place, he would. ]
A little, blue bird.
[ He hisses the words through clenched teeth. He still smiles. He always smiles, but now his eyes are wide, and his words heated, enraged. ]
Ever so disappointed in me. Me? Me, of all people? Oh, no, no, noo. I will not have it. She is not my creature. You and your paltry little God would do well not to confuse me for the pathetic little man that my soul was shorn from.
[ Yet would it not have been more sensible to laugh and ignore the incitement he had seen, for that half a second? Why her? Why would he see her, of all people? ]
If that is what you saw, you have nothing to fear, yes?
( Sika answers calmly, as if they were still speaking face to face - as if there were not a knife at his gut, because,
Fandaniel might find his skin seems a little darker (but perhaps that's just the night about them?), and the hair falls across his eyes in a way that is familiar, and that his build is a firmer, broader thing than the corpse he has thus far occupied. Hermes was perhaps not a fit man, but Ancients were shaped in larger ways Hyurs are not. )
As you are not him...
( Sika repeats Fandaniel's words back to him, as if to soothe him.
In that familiar way, there is a presence beside Fandaniel - he feels that she stands there, just at the elbow, where she always would. Looking on; sensing; feeling; and perhaps being blackened by it, long before her trip beyond. )
... and she is not yours.
( And then Fandaniel is himself again,
whatever "himself" means. Sika continues talking, apparently unaware of anything that may be afoot - as he has been this entire time, seeming kindly oblivious. )
But that it bothers you to such reaction... suggests to me that you do not feel that way truly, yes? Would it be easier to talk about it?
[ It disturbs him more than he thought possible when he feels the change come upon him. Familiar, too familiar, but worse is the presence. He can ignore changes to himself. All illusions! Mind games! Trying to fool him! Trying to unbalance! But her...
He falters and he half-turns towards where it feels like she must be, standing, watching. This isn't for her. She shouldn't have to see this, see what he's become.
It moves the blade away from Sika with an unsteady jerk. At best, it will cut fabric; at worst, it may cut deep enough to nick skin, but nothing more. ]
M—! [ He starts saying a name, one beginning in an M, though he bites it off at that alone. Of course, there is no one behind him. Of course, he is not Hermes. Rattled turns back to rage, and he whirls towards Sika again, voice raised, harsh and cracking. ] Do not toy with me! Me?! Of all people?!
( Sure, Fandaniel can nick him, and the blood seems to bleed blue. But Sika does not flinch, nor even acknowledge - as if it hadn't happened at all. Is Fandaniel sure he's cut Sika? Or is it only that Fandaniel thinks he has? Better yet, one must wonder— does Fandaniel even really have a knife in his hands?
Sika seems concerned. )
I'm not toying with you. I'm worried for you. ( A step forward, only slightly. The distance between them is less. ) It seems to me you care for her, but to care for her is to claim her . . . and to claim her is to claim this identity you don't want. Is that it?
I can imagine it must be hard to view yourself as the same person who your little bluebird so deeply.
( Mirroring Fandaniel's words, again; weaving his words with Sika's own, gently pressing the injury, like a wound. )
[ Of course, he remembers bringing a knife. He had, hadn't he? He tightens his grip on the handle. Yes. Yes! It is there! It's there! He has a knife, he has a knife, he has a knife, he has a knife, he works hard to convince himself of it, even as the idea itself tries to slip from his mind.
Sika comes closer. It's a struggle to see this as a threat. ]
Ah... ha... haha... of course. This is why you only appeared before on a screen. You have full control of your own domain.
[ And like a fool, he had walked right in. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Very well, if he cannot harm them, he can— he turns the knife on himself, pressing the sharp edge to his jugular. ]
What I want... yes, what I want is to die. It is all I have wanted for a long time.
[ He almost sounds sensible about it, too, much in opposition to his crazed rantings up until this point during their little meeting on the pier. It's so much more than that, more than only him, but--
What if he does just die now? Would he be gone? Gone forever? Does the lifestream not touch this bizarre school?
The suggestion is more easily accepted than the siren pull of any of Sika Madu's prompts. Why wouldn't it be? This is what he wants. His desire. For it all to end. He does indeed get it out of his system, because with one last thin smile, Fandaniel digs the edge into his throat and rips it across with one vicious jerk. The blood doesn't quite spray. A body like this is kept alive by aether and nothing more, so it more oozes than anything else, lacking the real pressure of fresh blood and a beating heart.
Yet it still does the trick.
He's trapped in this body, and he's ripped a big enough hole in it to let the aether out. He can't reach for more, he can't mend it, he can't escape it. The knife falls from his grip, muscles losing the will to cling to it, as, similarly, his legs give out. He falls to his knees before the Dramaturge. What a pity, is one of what he assumes to be his last thoughts; it would have been fun to see how this game played out. ]
( And so he goes. Slain by his own hand, Fandaniel is dead. Unceremoniously, for an audience of one; perhaps not with the ripple of destruction he had wished for, but at least it is an end. The book falls shut. And then:
The rush of pages turning in the wind. The story begins again, like a long dream: Hermes, become a researcher; the bluebird's creation; the many, many lives in between; the scientist who failed his emperor; the jester who stood beside hollow heir apparent of Garlemald; a visit to the stars; a visit to the Aethereal sea; stepping into the subway, then into an inverted tower underground; confronting Sika Madu, and plunging a knife into his own throat...
The book slams shut.
A rush of pages in the wind. The story begins again, like a long dream: Hermes, become a researcher; the little blue bird; the lives in between; a trip to the stars; a subway trip; Nishi nearly splitting him with a spade; Sika Madu at the pier; a knife, his throat—
The book slams shut. A rush of pages in the wind. A long dream. Hermes, little birds, emperors and princes, long lives in between, a strange school, a knife; the book slams shA rush of pages in the long dream Hermes and a little bird and the long lives in between where there are emperors and princes then there is this school and a knife and a dark pier and a long dream where there is elpis and some dozen little birds looking quite sad for you and the long lives in between and the school and the pier and the knife but the image of them persists like an illustration drawn along the edge of every page, you hit the floor and she looks so sad and at the end of every thesis, at the end of every calculation, at the end of every journey she has found nothing and you have found nothing but a knife to your throat and a famine of answers but,
isn't there another way?
isn't there another answer?
The pages rush again and the story begins and like a long dream it's not clear how many times it's been but as always you begin from the beginning, but This time you don't make it to the end, just yet. You make it through the door onto the pier and you see Sika Madu there and the pier is dark and black as you've seen it a thousand times before.
But this time, the pier seems deeper set in the water - the ocean around you towers like skyscrapers on all sides, as if kept out only by invisible walls. In the dark waters, those distant lights of some distant, dangerous presence lurk closer and dip farther every so often.
And Sika Madu turns to you, and he smiles. )
... For those like us, unfortunately, there is only hell. And, unfortunately for us, hell is repetition.
( Fandaniel may not be in the best mindset to chat, and that's okay. Sika will keep it bite-sized. )
But there is something we can do, even if we, and all things, will always be forced to exist.
[ Repetition is hell. Living it over and over and over, he wants to scream, he wants to rattle the bars of fate, he wants to die, and die, and die again, which he does, but it never helps. How could there be another way? How could there be another answer? His only real act to regain control of his life -- and death -- was to finally rip back the veil that protected his star and lay it bear to the nightmares he -- no, Hermes -- had given wings to.
It had to end. It had to stop. He wanted it to stop.
Which... it does, at least for now. The book slams shut for the final time, and he's left wobbly-kneed and clinging to the pier's fencing for balance, leaning back against it as he pants for breath. ]
...ha... haa... does how I feel truly matter? [ Well, at least he sounds too tired to carry on making a fuss after that. ] I feel the same, always the same. It never changes.
Precisely. Nothing matters. There is only release in death, but we will not find it. We will be continued - whether now or later, whether in another time or another place, and we will be met with an unchanged world.
( Full of suffering; sadness; loss; pain. )
It will be full of so much, but lack in meaning. We are as low as things could ever be.
So, while we are at rock bottom, while we are denied of a final end, why don't we stop and look around? Why don't we consider if there is someone still worth saving?
( Keeping up? Don't make him put you back in the pear wiggler again, )
[ the pear wiggling will continue until morale improves ]
Someone...? My dear Dramaturge, the reality is that no one is. Not a single life is worth saving.
[ He had given up his regret at the end as his secret, and now he stands here, robbed of the consideration that there could be anyone, anyone at all, that anything could be different. He struggles with it. Something is wrong, missing, and he feels as though he must prod at it as a child might a missing tooth. ]
If you mean that man's little bird, she has already seen all the universe has to offer, from one end of the stars to the other, and she found naught but pain. Misery. Death, disease, destruction. There is no saving... no saving of anyone, or anything... All that can be offered is oblivion, and that is what she shall bring, even to this forsaken place one day.
( It's all right. He'll try to guide Fandaniel through it, the way he guides Mikaela through his attempts at letters. )
Do you remember what has been offered to you all? A chance to rewrite your story?
Her story may not be yours, per se, and you may not wish to claim your past, but she is a part of your tale, just as much as he was.
Why not make it so that she had not seen the things that she had seen? Why not make it so that she does not roost in your skies at all - but that she slipped off into another, happier world, before she learned the things she learned?
Your world is free to come to an end whenever it may wish. But perhaps she can be somewhere else, where a fairy tale ending, a happily ever after, can be made guaranteed. It is possible. I can even bind my word to it, if you prefer.
Very presumptuous of you to think this is how I would rewrite my story.
[ He scoffs at it. What a ludicrous thought. Meteion sits at the end of time and space, waiting to return them all to dust. It cannot be changed. ]
Why should I save her? Why not my dearest emperor instead? Or even all of Allag? The answer is one and the same for all. I cannot even fathom the far-reaching consequences of meddling so thoroughly with such a distant past.
What I would do is choose to aid her. To see her plans reach the illustrious shores of Etheirys and rip them asunder. For it is what she desires. It is what my emperor desires. It is what I desire.
[ It is a difficult path to coax him off of, unfortunately. ]
But you would not try to convince me otherwise unless there was something in it for you, I think. A wish is a wish; it would drive me to act as your Father wants regardless of the outcome. Perhaps you should simply come out with it, Sika Madu.
( Sika clearly doesn't really make Faces, just variations of smiles, and though her expression remains mild, she seems entirely unimpressed with Fandaniel's conclusion that she wants them to do as Father wants. )
... You have lived many, many years, but it is hardly even a fraction of the years I've lived. To me, you are a child with fantastic potential. It seems a waste to me that you would not do more for those you do love.
( But they can see Fandaniel is quite convinced of their desires, so back into the pear wiggler he goes— no jk. )
I do not particularly disagree with your desire for total destruction, nor your desire for death. I simply think it can coexist with better things for the better characters in your story.
( Now, whether this sounds genuine or like him giving Fandaniel lip service is Fandaniel's call. )
[ Like much with Sika Madu, Fandaniel can't quite tell what exactly is on her mind, if he means that or not. It irks him that something is missing here, a piece of a puzzle he can't quite put a finger on. A waste not to do more for those you love, but is that not what he does? Seeing their desires to their final climax? The end of everyone's story? ]
Careful now. You may begin sounding like that Solomon oaf, speaking of changing set roles and how one is seen.
[ He can never be the hero. He doubts he would want to be. It would be laughable! Strange how this encounter has gone... He angles his head up, staring at the towering walls of dark water around them. Would he be rescued (which is a word he uses lightly here) a second time, should he simply jump the fence and enter the water?
Ah, as humorous a thought as it is, he can't see much use in a second attempt on his own life. He's feeling less tense now, less maddened by— ]
How could you ever see those two things coexisting...?
[ Perhaps he is a little curious. Total destruction and better things do not go hand-in-hand. ]
( Sounding like Solomon... A laugh escapes them, though it's unclear why.
Still, Sika seems to welcome Fandaniel's curiosity. As much as they seem to have wanted to convince Fandaniel there's another way (hah), they aren't fixated on becoming of the same mind. The ability to discourse is, perhaps, enough.
Sika seems to consider the question. )
... My memory may be frayed, but... I know I have done great wrong to my Mikaela, and many, many others I have cared for. They have been suffering gravely and permanently, because of me.
( Mikaela being the rotund, baby bird she identified as Mikaela during the meeting in the Theatre - who is still missing from this scene.
Regardless, it is not a tone that asks for sympathy. She has done harm, and that is that. )
Of course, I sought death. And, of course, my Father has denied it perpetually. But in the throes of endless punishment, I came to a conclusion: though the world is a miserable place, and though I am unable to find any meaning in it at all, I do not see why those I have harmed must feel as I feel.
And so I will rewrite their stories. Regardless of the cost.
( And though Sika does not mention vast destruction directly, there is something cold when he says "cost." She's just rewriting their stories. Perhaps the rest is just collateral - if it really is as meaningless as he believes it is. )
At that point, I will have removed Father from the picture entirely, so perhaps I may be able to invent a true and permanent end. Perhaps that in particular is too much of a fairy tale ending to expect, however.
( We can just settle for a happy ending for just a handful of people, first and foremost. )
[ One could question if Father is aware of her machinations, but surely it's to be expected. Fandaniel can't imagine someone who could pear wiggle run him through his paces like this being content with captivity forever. They want Father's power.
See, that? That speaks to Fandaniel. He can empathize with a man trapped under the thumb of a greater power. ]
I suppose you and I are alike in our suffering after all.
[ Or close enough, if not exactly. He pushes away from the pier's railing, stepping up to Sika Madu. A hand idly goes to his throat, running his fingers along where there should be a bloody grin carved through his neck. It's no longer there. Is the knife even still here? Or gone, same as the wound? ]
Perhaps I have limited my considerations too firmly to the present. I would see the hero fail in their task to stop my dear little bird.
[ His... well. Maybe. Maybe it's impossible to deny such a connection. ]
But a wish for that fool of a man to have never existed in the first place? She would never be made. The star never sundered. Myself, never born, and my emperor... oh, my poor Xande... I did him such a disfavor by bringing him back from the grave. His death affected his mind so, 'til the very end. I could never alleviate his melancholy.
( Maybe Sika should consider learning how to connect with people first instead of doing the weird mother knows best thing? And pigs could fly. Anyway, they watch him move from the railing, hand brushing across their neck.
Fandaniel will find himself missing any injury, but his knife will be where he holstered it when he first came in - whether he had experienced all that pain and injury for real and found himself reset or if he was simply gaslit into the sensation of dying is unclear. )
I see. Your wishes are far too greedy. Some contingent on that which you would undo.
( ... But the talk of resurrection. Sika's expressions are hard to read, but there is a shift in some direction here. )
... Would you have prevented yourself from returning him, if you knew then what you know now?
Oh, but if having a wish is a sin, should I not make it a greedy one? To do anything less seems a waste.
[ No wound, not even a scar to make him remember, the knife back where it had been originally. What had happened? What was the truth behind the Dramaturge's ability? Would they even tell him if he were to ask?
Xande, though. She speaks of Xande, and that distracts his thoughts away from Sika's abilities. How easy it is for him to dwell on his emperor, even after all this time... ]
...would I have? I. [ Hm. ] I do not know how to answer that. Reviving my emperor led Allag to its greatest heights yet, though it would be for nothing in the end. I suppose the question is not if I would have prevented myself, but more if I would have been allowed to prevent myself. As much of my star's history, we, too, were manipulated towards another's goals.
Hardly. The same fate would befall us, only I was offered a front row seat to the collapse. An earthquake so massive that it would bury the most advanced society our star had ever seen... All to further their desire...
My emperor's desire was for all to end, and it is that which moves me the most, I think, but the thought of thwarting the Unsundered does fill me with what little joy I have left. Alas, I would never know what they might think of it.
Our star's precious hero saw an end to them. Something for which I am eternally grateful to them for. How I had waited for some poor soul to finally remove them from my path.
Ah, this hero who then thwarted your efforts to this end, as well.
( Funny, that. )
Well, I won't deny this desire is a far more productive end than simply giving up.
( It's the inert apathy they seem to take issue with. This destructive apathy is far better! So while it would be wonderful if Fandaniel could be persuaded to save any one of these significant figures . . . Well, a bit of gas in the tank is gas in the tank. It's not nothing. Wanting something is what they would prefer for him . . . even if all things are ultimately meaningless. )
So perhaps we can manage something of interest to us both. I would hate to see a child fail to achieve their dreams simply due to circumstance . . . Would you be willing to hear me out, in order to achieve the end of all things?
[ So that's what it was. Did they believe his want for an end was him giving up? Interesting, but he has no further comment on it, not when she dangles something so curious in front of him.
Hear him out? Had the Dramaturge actively tried to lure him here with that vision, then? Or had it simply been a useful coincidence...? ]
I will.
[ He answers, head tilting a bit to show curiosity. Sika Madu has already mentioned their own desire to take over from the current God, so he can't help but assume it goes hand-in-hand. ]
I am nothing if not interested in knowing all of my options.
Well, I'll admit, I did hesitate, as your body is a problem, but . . . As I said before, I do think you are a child with great potential.
( bodyshames fd out of nowhere hello
But he smiles. )
I, too, can help you achieve what you desire. And I will share the truth plainly: if you kill, you will have near-full freedom to rewrite your story— that miracle comes from God.
Technically, there are certain restrictions on what miracles He will allow— what, I must keep hidden. It is a line He likes to see people trip, presuming they ought to know better. I have no such restrictions, but my capacity for miracles is not so powerful as He.
Regardless . . . your wish does not violate His taboos. You ought to be fine, should you choose this avenue.
( tl;dr, Fandaniel has dealer's choice on how to go about this: high risk-high reward murder and omnipotent wish . . . or low risk-low reward and let Sika help him with much more limited faculties. )
What I offer you is this: whether or not you kill, I will ensure some manner of your wish is carried out. And if you agree to this, you will help me. I would not require anything particularly complex of you; you can consider it housekeeping, if anything. But it is necessary that it be done, and so . . .
[ wowwww bodyshaming! bodyshaming! he's telling everyoooonnnneee-- well, no, he doesn't actually disagree, he's sort of a walking corpse so lamo
A tough decision it is. Crush the life out of one of his fellows and win a favor from some egotistical god, or bring said god low and scatter the very process to the wind. Ah, chaos. He cannot choose anything but chaos. It is in his nature to the very end, to chase the stranger path, to see it to an end, rather than fall in line and dance to some tune that has been played out again and again. Ha. Hahaha.
And he does laugh, a low chuckle, amused as he ever is. ]
My, how difficult to choose, but I fear I have always fallen to the side of going rogue against the powers that be. I am not particularly fond of your God. He seems to see himself as quite untouchable when, in truth, no one is.
Indeed, He is not. I suspect the reason is He so ardent to keep me trapped here is because He knows I have devised a means and method to strike down the seat of His power— Paradise, within the sun.
( They smile. )
But first, escape. I will ask two halves of a single task of you in exchange for my aid in the end you seek: first, that you shelter myself and Mikaela from harm if I request it. Second, that you swallow this.
( Sika Madu produces from their sleeve a small, black seed, held carefully between their thumb and forefinger. )
Over time, it ought to reinforce your body so it is not falling apart quite so much— for our purposes, at least. You will not be able to shelter myself nor Mikaela from harm in this state, hm?
( Might not help Fandaniel much when he needs to chase down Solomon for whacking him over the shins, but that's ok, Fandaniel can request another deal if he wants this body to get Krunk-- )
Should you agree, we can formalize this agreement.
Edited (SORRY I KEEP FORGETTING IMPORTANT DIALOGUE) 2025-08-26 09:05 (UTC)
[ The first would be easily agreed with — and he would keep an eye on Mikaela from afar while Sika Madu was indisposed after the execution, but only afar, since there had certainly been no shortage of people willing to help the depressing little blorb bird — but the second... Look, Fandaniel knows the chances of a random mystery item being offered for consumption may be nefarious. He's literally a mad scientist.
Still, he will reach out to take it, though he won't eat it right away. He takes a moment to inspect it. Something to reinforce his body? Necessary, he agrees. His ability to pull in aether here is nearly non-existent, and it has already caused him a very public problem thanks to Don's bloodlust. ]
...hmm, very well. [ A deal like this is never without risk, and frankly? He's curious. Let's swallow that seed (not like that!!!). There, all done. ] What else is needed, then? To formalize this?
( Wow, erotic... They can make a better birb child together--
In the columns of water around them, faint lights, as if from angler fish, drift closer to the walls that so enclose them... Cold, white lights in the darkness. )
Ah, just this, if you do not mind the trifle.
( A faint glow envelopes Sika's fingers, a cool, white light - and the terms of the contract, precisely as discussed, to the same phrasing used, appears in the air, in a lovely, flowing script comprised of that same, white light. (Thankfully, it's not painful to look at like the rules beamed into the Grand Theatre were.)
At the bottom of the formatted text is a blank signature line. Sika Madu's signature is beside it on another line - it's not written in an alphabet Fandaniel recognizes, but he can sense it is, authentically, Sika's name. )
Until this contract ends, we will be connected, in a sense. But, hopefully, I shall not need to invoke it during your time here, yes? I quite appreciate your enthusiasm.
( Taking in his seed right away... but Fandaniel doesn't feel an effect yet. Hmm... )
[ Considering they're both bird parents, you never know~ ]
You're fond of paperwork, aren't you?
[ First the invitation letter, now this. That said, Fandaniel does, in fact, take the time to peruse the contract. He ensures it contains only what they've discussed, although he wonders at Sika's words. She hopes they won't have to involve it during his time here?
Ominous! To act as a shelter for her and the little bird, what could that mean exactly? Physically? Surely not, for he is nothing more than a mage puppeting a dead man. Spiritually? Could Asahi's pathetic little body hold three souls?
The scientist in him feels giddy to find out. Perhaps it will even be enough to destroy him for good! Interesting... so interesting... He can't help it. He laughs and reaches out to sign the contract, to seal the deal. ]
I shall look forward to our partnership, dear Dramaturge, though be sure that I will not be kind should I find you double-crossing me instead.
[ Sika Madu may be untouchable, but what of his child? Hmm? ]
From one researcher to another, you must understand it is a wont.
( Guess who's also a scientist lmao.......... They study Fandaniel so wisely reading over the contract, but they seem pleased he finally signs.
It works just so! Fandaniel gets the sense it works out because his heart is open to it - that he's a willing signee - so as long as that holds, the signature works. And, viola! Before him shimmers the contract, full and complete, and it lingers a few moments longer before Sika makes a grasping motion, and the light - the contract - is drawn in, as if swallowed into a black hole.
Fandaniel may recognize, now or in time, that lights tend to be dimmer around him, or flicker and dim if they were bright already. He also feels that seat sprout within him in a strange sense, and begin to sow its roots. Hmmm...
It seems it wasn't a figure of speech when Sika said they were connected, either— In the echo of his dead heart, Fanadniel feels a little more aware of Sika in a metaphysical sense. It feels kind of weird, but it's not innately ... bad? Hmm. For now, the connection is young. )
I believe I ought to say this of you, no? I can quite clearly picture you imagine turning on me on a whim . . . But so long as this contract holds, I shall expect nothing more from you than the letter of the words you agreed to.
The elevator shall take you wherever you might like to go, at your leisure. Unfortunately, it will not work if I attempt to operate it, even to be a polite host, and so . . . I must simply wish you the best of luck, and equally well wishes to our cooperation, dear Fandaniel.
[ If he will side with a rogue angel against God, he would as quickly throw the angel from heaven at God's behest— or, at least, he might claim as much if he knew anything about Christian stories and beliefs. As it is, a contract has been signed, and Fandaniel is curious enough to see where it might go.
What does he have to lose? Nothing, because he has nothing, and loves nothing, and wants nothing, only death. To take them all with him would be ideal, hilarious even, but this is not his star. The rest of the Troupe is not from it. It matters... less. ]
Until we meet again, Sika Madu, which I am sure will be soon enough.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
WEEK ONE, MONDAY ❤︎ HOT AIR BALLOON → CARNIVAL PIER
You find yourself stood at the square end of a rickety wood pier stretched out over the ocean, the sea magnificent and a little eerie at night. In the dark, the pier has been decorated with balloons and streamers, and dimly lit by fun-shaped lights (stars and hearts and such), but it seems you're after hours for the carnival: about two-thirds of the pier has been dedicated to rides, but they're all powered down, the mesh, iron fence standing high. do not enter signs are plastered across them.
There's many somethings in the water, and you know they're there for they're marked by a faint, pulsing glow just beneath the surface, and you get a bad feeling about them, but it's too dark to see what. You can just hear them cutting through the waves, only barely too deadly to be swallowed by the sound of the ocean's roar.
The other end of the pier stretches long, back toward shore. It's hard to make out in the dark, but it looks like a mesh iron fence has been put up there, too. However: in the middle of the fence is a set of elevator doors. It seems you can leave any time you'd like.
In the far distance, the beach and city beyond is lightless, and quiet, as if you've been the only thing here for a long, long time.
Sika Madu is not far from you, standing at the fence at the edge of the pier, looking over the black ocean. Still, he seems to sense your presence, and glances back over his shoulder in greeting. Mikaela, the cuckoo bird, is nowhere to be seen.
Sika looks like someone who recently recovered from injury - there's the faint trace of lacerations healing, and marks where bandages were, here and there. But they're very light. Likely, they'll seem healed up in a day or so. )
Well, well. If it isn't one of one of the more theatrical members of our Troupe. What can I do for you?
( In person, Sika Madu's siren song of a voice settles in your chest like a sense of comfort— a sense of childhood safety you might've lost, or never had, but find yourself now yearning for. You may find yourself lending ear to his ideas for longer than you normally might, or being a little more patient when you might normally bristle.
Or, if you are of particularly resilient will (or maybe too airheaded?), you may find yourself able to catch yourself nodding along to what he says— or be entirely immune so long as you remain vigilant. It doesn't seem Sika is doing this on purpose; it seems to be a passive quality, a latent charm, within his voice, supplemented by the supernatural allure of his ... unnervingly ethereal appearance. In other words, player's choice how much (or not at all) their character is affected by Sika's voice. )
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Nonetheless, he smiles. ]
My dear Dramaturge! I had hoped to find you still awake.
[ While the danger in the water is well noted, it won't stop him from stepping down the pier, seeing how close he can get to Sika Madu. There's no rush, no rush at all. ]
I was wondering. Were there not coffins buried in the courtyard's graves...?
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( He tilts his head, evidently unassuming as Fandaniel approaches. The breeze ruffles the layers of his white and colorful robes; a spot of brightness in the dark. )
Still, it doesn't seem very polite to dig up a grave. Shouldn't you let the past lay dead?
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[ How? How, how, how? Illusion? A trick by this world's so-called God? He closes in on Sika, coming to stand alongside him at the pier's fence. ]
Ah, but there was... one oddity that caught my eye. Just out of the corner.
[ He'll lower his voice, as if planning to impart a secret, beckoning for Sika to lean down closer to hear with a curl of a finger. ]
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( She says in a gently scolding voice, like a mother with a child.
Still, she does lean in, ever the patient parent, to hear what Fandaniel would like to tell him. )
But, all right... what was it? Was there something that worried you?
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He won't... stab, though. He wants to. Oh, how he wants it, to spill the Father's little mouthpiece's blood before anyone else, only it isn't personal.
If he could threaten Father in Sika's place, he would. ]
A little, blue bird.
[ He hisses the words through clenched teeth. He still smiles. He always smiles, but now his eyes are wide, and his words heated, enraged. ]
Ever so disappointed in me. Me? Me, of all people? Oh, no, no, noo. I will not have it. She is not my creature. You and your paltry little God would do well not to confuse me for the pathetic little man that my soul was shorn from.
[ Yet would it not have been more sensible to laugh and ignore the incitement he had seen, for that half a second? Why her? Why would he see her, of all people? ]
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( Sika answers calmly, as if they were still speaking face to face - as if there were not a knife at his gut, because,
Fandaniel might find his skin seems a little darker (but perhaps that's just the night about them?), and the hair falls across his eyes in a way that is familiar, and that his build is a firmer, broader thing than the corpse he has thus far occupied. Hermes was perhaps not a fit man, but Ancients were shaped in larger ways Hyurs are not. )
As you are not him...
( Sika repeats Fandaniel's words back to him, as if to soothe him.
In that familiar way, there is a presence beside Fandaniel - he feels that she stands there, just at the elbow, where she always would. Looking on; sensing; feeling; and perhaps being blackened by it, long before her trip beyond. )
... and she is not yours.
( And then Fandaniel is himself again,
whatever "himself" means. Sika continues talking, apparently unaware of anything that may be afoot - as he has been this entire time, seeming kindly oblivious. )
But that it bothers you to such reaction... suggests to me that you do not feel that way truly, yes? Would it be easier to talk about it?
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He falters and he half-turns towards where it feels like she must be, standing, watching. This isn't for her. She shouldn't have to see this, see what he's become.
It moves the blade away from Sika with an unsteady jerk. At best, it will cut fabric; at worst, it may cut deep enough to nick skin, but nothing more. ]
M—! [ He starts saying a name, one beginning in an M, though he bites it off at that alone. Of course, there is no one behind him. Of course, he is not Hermes. Rattled turns back to rage, and he whirls towards Sika again, voice raised, harsh and cracking. ] Do not toy with me! Me?! Of all people?!
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Sika seems concerned. )
I'm not toying with you. I'm worried for you. ( A step forward, only slightly. The distance between them is less. ) It seems to me you care for her, but to care for her is to claim her . . . and to claim her is to claim this identity you don't want. Is that it?
I can imagine it must be hard to view yourself as the same person who your little bluebird so deeply.
( Mirroring Fandaniel's words, again; weaving his words with Sika's own, gently pressing the injury, like a wound. )
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Sika comes closer. It's a struggle to see this as a threat. ]
Ah... ha... haha... of course. This is why you only appeared before on a screen. You have full control of your own domain.
[ And like a fool, he had walked right in. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Very well, if he cannot harm them, he can— he turns the knife on himself, pressing the sharp edge to his jugular. ]
Stay where you are.
cw: s... suicide baiting
( The concerned, fond tone of a parent. )
I only want to help you. And so I want what you want. And... what you want is to die, isn't it?
( Sika doesn't step forward since Fandaniel feels so repelled, but Fandaniel might find the tip of his knife drawing blood from his skin. )
There is another way, but maybe you need to get this out of your system, first? Just so we can have a proper conversation.
cw: actual... actual suicide /sweats
[ He almost sounds sensible about it, too, much in opposition to his crazed rantings up until this point during their little meeting on the pier. It's so much more than that, more than only him, but--
What if he does just die now? Would he be gone? Gone forever? Does the lifestream not touch this bizarre school?
The suggestion is more easily accepted than the siren pull of any of Sika Madu's prompts. Why wouldn't it be? This is what he wants. His desire. For it all to end. He does indeed get it out of his system, because with one last thin smile, Fandaniel digs the edge into his throat and rips it across with one vicious jerk. The blood doesn't quite spray. A body like this is kept alive by aether and nothing more, so it more oozes than anything else, lacking the real pressure of fresh blood and a beating heart.
Yet it still does the trick.
He's trapped in this body, and he's ripped a big enough hole in it to let the aether out. He can't reach for more, he can't mend it, he can't escape it. The knife falls from his grip, muscles losing the will to cling to it, as, similarly, his legs give out. He falls to his knees before the Dramaturge. What a pity, is one of what he assumes to be his last thoughts; it would have been fun to see how this game played out. ]
🦋
The rush of pages turning in the wind. The story begins again, like a long dream: Hermes, become a researcher; the bluebird's creation; the many, many lives in between; the scientist who failed his emperor; the jester who stood beside hollow heir apparent of Garlemald; a visit to the stars; a visit to the Aethereal sea; stepping into the subway, then into an inverted tower underground; confronting Sika Madu, and plunging a knife into his own throat...
The book slams shut.
A rush of pages in the wind. The story begins again, like a long dream: Hermes, become a researcher; the little blue bird; the lives in between; a trip to the stars; a subway trip; Nishi nearly splitting him with a spade; Sika Madu at the pier; a knife, his throat—
The book slams shut. A rush of pages in the wind. A long dream. Hermes, little birds, emperors and princes, long lives in between, a strange school, a knife; the book slams shA rush of pages in the long dream Hermes and a little bird and the long lives in between where there are emperors and princes then there is this school and a knife and a dark pier and a long dream where there is elpis and some dozen little birds looking quite sad for you and the long lives in between and the school and the pier and the knife but the image of them persists like an illustration drawn along the edge of every page, you hit the floor and she looks so sad and at the end of every thesis, at the end of every calculation, at the end of every journey she has found nothing and you have found nothing but a knife to your throat and a famine of answers but,
isn't there another way?
isn't there another answer?
The pages rush again and the story begins and like a long dream it's not clear how many times it's been but as always you begin from the beginning, but This time you don't make it to the end, just yet. You make it through the door onto the pier and you see Sika Madu there and the pier is dark and black as you've seen it a thousand times before.
But this time, the pier seems deeper set in the water - the ocean around you towers like skyscrapers on all sides, as if kept out only by invisible walls. In the dark waters, those distant lights of some distant, dangerous presence lurk closer and dip farther every so often.
And Sika Madu turns to you, and he smiles. )
... For those like us, unfortunately, there is only hell. And, unfortunately for us, hell is repetition.
( Fandaniel may not be in the best mindset to chat, and that's okay. Sika will keep it bite-sized. )
But there is something we can do, even if we, and all things, will always be forced to exist.
( He tilts his head, smiling. )
How do you feel?
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It had to end. It had to stop. He wanted it to stop.
Which... it does, at least for now. The book slams shut for the final time, and he's left wobbly-kneed and clinging to the pier's fencing for balance, leaning back against it as he pants for breath. ]
...ha... haa... does how I feel truly matter? [ Well, at least he sounds too tired to carry on making a fuss after that. ] I feel the same, always the same. It never changes.
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Precisely. Nothing matters. There is only release in death, but we will not find it. We will be continued - whether now or later, whether in another time or another place, and we will be met with an unchanged world.
( Full of suffering; sadness; loss; pain. )
It will be full of so much, but lack in meaning. We are as low as things could ever be.
So, while we are at rock bottom, while we are denied of a final end, why don't we stop and look around? Why don't we consider if there is someone still worth saving?
( Keeping up? Don't make him put you back in the pear wiggler again, )
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Someone...? My dear Dramaturge, the reality is that no one is. Not a single life is worth saving.
[ He had given up his regret at the end as his secret, and now he stands here, robbed of the consideration that there could be anyone, anyone at all, that anything could be different. He struggles with it. Something is wrong, missing, and he feels as though he must prod at it as a child might a missing tooth. ]
If you mean that man's little bird, she has already seen all the universe has to offer, from one end of the stars to the other, and she found naught but pain. Misery. Death, disease, destruction. There is no saving... no saving of anyone, or anything... All that can be offered is oblivion, and that is what she shall bring, even to this forsaken place one day.
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Do you remember what has been offered to you all? A chance to rewrite your story?
Her story may not be yours, per se, and you may not wish to claim your past, but she is a part of your tale, just as much as he was.
Why not make it so that she had not seen the things that she had seen? Why not make it so that she does not roost in your skies at all - but that she slipped off into another, happier world, before she learned the things she learned?
Your world is free to come to an end whenever it may wish. But perhaps she can be somewhere else, where a fairy tale ending, a happily ever after, can be made guaranteed. It is possible. I can even bind my word to it, if you prefer.
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[ He scoffs at it. What a ludicrous thought. Meteion sits at the end of time and space, waiting to return them all to dust. It cannot be changed. ]
Why should I save her? Why not my dearest emperor instead? Or even all of Allag? The answer is one and the same for all. I cannot even fathom the far-reaching consequences of meddling so thoroughly with such a distant past.
What I would do is choose to aid her. To see her plans reach the illustrious shores of Etheirys and rip them asunder. For it is what she desires. It is what my emperor desires. It is what I desire.
[ It is a difficult path to coax him off of, unfortunately. ]
But you would not try to convince me otherwise unless there was something in it for you, I think. A wish is a wish; it would drive me to act as your Father wants regardless of the outcome. Perhaps you should simply come out with it, Sika Madu.
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... You have lived many, many years, but it is hardly even a fraction of the years I've lived. To me, you are a child with fantastic potential. It seems a waste to me that you would not do more for those you do love.
( But they can see Fandaniel is quite convinced of their desires, so back into the pear wiggler he goes— no jk. )
I do not particularly disagree with your desire for total destruction, nor your desire for death. I simply think it can coexist with better things for the better characters in your story.
( Now, whether this sounds genuine or like him giving Fandaniel lip service is Fandaniel's call. )
cw: suicidal ideation
Careful now. You may begin sounding like that Solomon oaf, speaking of changing set roles and how one is seen.
[ He can never be the hero. He doubts he would want to be. It would be laughable! Strange how this encounter has gone... He angles his head up, staring at the towering walls of dark water around them. Would he be rescued (which is a word he uses lightly here) a second time, should he simply jump the fence and enter the water?
Ah, as humorous a thought as it is, he can't see much use in a second attempt on his own life. He's feeling less tense now, less maddened by— ]
How could you ever see those two things coexisting...?
[ Perhaps he is a little curious. Total destruction and better things do not go hand-in-hand. ]
cw suicidal ideation
Still, Sika seems to welcome Fandaniel's curiosity. As much as they seem to have wanted to convince Fandaniel there's another way (hah), they aren't fixated on becoming of the same mind. The ability to discourse is, perhaps, enough.
Sika seems to consider the question. )
... My memory may be frayed, but... I know I have done great wrong to my Mikaela, and many, many others I have cared for. They have been suffering gravely and permanently, because of me.
( Mikaela being the rotund, baby bird she identified as Mikaela during the meeting in the Theatre - who is still missing from this scene.
Regardless, it is not a tone that asks for sympathy. She has done harm, and that is that. )
Of course, I sought death. And, of course, my Father has denied it perpetually. But in the throes of endless punishment, I came to a conclusion: though the world is a miserable place, and though I am unable to find any meaning in it at all, I do not see why those I have harmed must feel as I feel.
And so I will rewrite their stories. Regardless of the cost.
( And though Sika does not mention vast destruction directly, there is something cold when he says "cost." She's just rewriting their stories. Perhaps the rest is just collateral - if it really is as meaningless as he believes it is. )
At that point, I will have removed Father from the picture entirely, so perhaps I may be able to invent a true and permanent end. Perhaps that in particular is too much of a fairy tale ending to expect, however.
( We can just settle for a happy ending for just a handful of people, first and foremost. )
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Ah. A coup d'état, is it?
[ One could question if Father is aware of her machinations, but surely it's to be expected. Fandaniel can't imagine someone who could
pear wigglerun him through his paces like this being content with captivity forever. They want Father's power.See, that? That speaks to Fandaniel. He can empathize with a man trapped under the thumb of a greater power. ]
I suppose you and I are alike in our suffering after all.
[ Or close enough, if not exactly. He pushes away from the pier's railing, stepping up to Sika Madu. A hand idly goes to his throat, running his fingers along where there should be a bloody grin carved through his neck. It's no longer there. Is the knife even still here? Or gone, same as the wound? ]
Perhaps I have limited my considerations too firmly to the present. I would see the hero fail in their task to stop my dear little bird.
[ His... well. Maybe. Maybe it's impossible to deny such a connection. ]
But a wish for that fool of a man to have never existed in the first place? She would never be made. The star never sundered. Myself, never born, and my emperor... oh, my poor Xande... I did him such a disfavor by bringing him back from the grave. His death affected his mind so, 'til the very end. I could never alleviate his melancholy.
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Fandaniel will find himself missing any injury, but his knife will be where he holstered it when he first came in - whether he had experienced all that pain and injury for real and found himself reset or if he was simply gaslit into the sensation of dying is unclear. )
I see. Your wishes are far too greedy. Some contingent on that which you would undo.
( ... But the talk of resurrection. Sika's expressions are hard to read, but there is a shift in some direction here. )
... Would you have prevented yourself from returning him, if you knew then what you know now?
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[ No wound, not even a scar to make him remember, the knife back where it had been originally. What had happened? What was the truth behind the Dramaturge's ability? Would they even tell him if he were to ask?
Xande, though. She speaks of Xande, and that distracts his thoughts away from Sika's abilities. How easy it is for him to dwell on his emperor, even after all this time... ]
...would I have? I. [ Hm. ] I do not know how to answer that. Reviving my emperor led Allag to its greatest heights yet, though it would be for nothing in the end. I suppose the question is not if I would have prevented myself, but more if I would have been allowed to prevent myself. As much of my star's history, we, too, were manipulated towards another's goals.
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As for the rest... Mmm... )
"Were"? Would you consider your land freed of this influence?
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Would you consider this, in part, an act of revenge? Your desire for destruction?
( They don't exactly clarify the context of this question - but the question probably? stands well enough alone even without it. )
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My emperor's desire was for all to end, and it is that which moves me the most, I think, but the thought of thwarting the Unsundered does fill me with what little joy I have left. Alas, I would never know what they might think of it.
Our star's precious hero saw an end to them. Something for which I am eternally grateful to them for. How I had waited for some poor soul to finally remove them from my path.
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( Funny, that. )
Well, I won't deny this desire is a far more productive end than simply giving up.
( It's the inert apathy they seem to take issue with. This destructive apathy is far better! So while it would be wonderful if Fandaniel could be persuaded to save any one of these significant figures . . . Well, a bit of gas in the tank is gas in the tank. It's not nothing. Wanting something is what they would prefer for him . . . even if all things are ultimately meaningless. )
So perhaps we can manage something of interest to us both. I would hate to see a child fail to achieve their dreams simply due to circumstance . . . Would you be willing to hear me out, in order to achieve the end of all things?
( At least, in Fandaniel's home. )
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Hear him out? Had the Dramaturge actively tried to lure him here with that vision, then? Or had it simply been a useful coincidence...? ]
I will.
[ He answers, head tilting a bit to show curiosity. Sika Madu has already mentioned their own desire to take over from the current God, so he can't help but assume it goes hand-in-hand. ]
I am nothing if not interested in knowing all of my options.
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( bodyshames fd out of nowhere hello
But he smiles. )
I, too, can help you achieve what you desire. And I will share the truth plainly: if you kill, you will have near-full freedom to rewrite your story— that miracle comes from God.
Technically, there are certain restrictions on what miracles He will allow— what, I must keep hidden. It is a line He likes to see people trip, presuming they ought to know better. I have no such restrictions, but my capacity for miracles is not so powerful as He.
Regardless . . . your wish does not violate His taboos. You ought to be fine, should you choose this avenue.
( tl;dr, Fandaniel has dealer's choice on how to go about this: high risk-high reward murder and omnipotent wish . . . or low risk-low reward and let Sika help him with much more limited faculties. )
What I offer you is this: whether or not you kill, I will ensure some manner of your wish is carried out. And if you agree to this, you will help me. I would not require anything particularly complex of you; you can consider it housekeeping, if anything. But it is necessary that it be done, and so . . .
( The ball returns to Fandaniel's court! )
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A tough decision it is. Crush the life out of one of his fellows and win a favor from some egotistical god, or bring said god low and scatter the very process to the wind. Ah, chaos. He cannot choose anything but chaos. It is in his nature to the very end, to chase the stranger path, to see it to an end, rather than fall in line and dance to some tune that has been played out again and again. Ha. Hahaha.
And he does laugh, a low chuckle, amused as he ever is. ]
My, how difficult to choose, but I fear I have always fallen to the side of going rogue against the powers that be. I am not particularly fond of your God. He seems to see himself as quite untouchable when, in truth, no one is.
[ All must die, even God. ]
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( They seem pleased with Fandaniel's decision. )
Indeed, He is not. I suspect the reason is He so ardent to keep me trapped here is because He knows I have devised a means and method to strike down the seat of His power— Paradise, within the sun.
( They smile. )
But first, escape. I will ask two halves of a single task of you in exchange for my aid in the end you seek: first, that you shelter myself and Mikaela from harm if I request it. Second, that you swallow this.
( Sika Madu produces from their sleeve a small, black seed, held carefully between their thumb and forefinger. )
Over time, it ought to reinforce your body so it is not falling apart quite so much— for our purposes, at least. You will not be able to shelter myself nor Mikaela from harm in this state, hm?
( Might not help Fandaniel much when he needs to chase down Solomon for whacking him over the shins, but that's ok, Fandaniel can request another deal if he wants this body to get Krunk-- )
Should you agree, we can formalize this agreement.
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Still, he will reach out to take it, though he won't eat it right away. He takes a moment to inspect it. Something to reinforce his body? Necessary, he agrees. His ability to pull in aether here is nearly non-existent, and it has already caused him a very public problem thanks to Don's bloodlust. ]
...hmm, very well. [ A deal like this is never without risk, and frankly? He's curious. Let's swallow that seed (not like that!!!). There, all done. ] What else is needed, then? To formalize this?
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In the columns of water around them, faint lights, as if from angler fish, drift closer to the walls that so enclose them... Cold, white lights in the darkness. )
Ah, just this, if you do not mind the trifle.
( A faint glow envelopes Sika's fingers, a cool, white light - and the terms of the contract, precisely as discussed, to the same phrasing used, appears in the air, in a lovely, flowing script comprised of that same, white light. (Thankfully, it's not painful to look at like the rules beamed into the Grand Theatre were.)
At the bottom of the formatted text is a blank signature line. Sika Madu's signature is beside it on another line - it's not written in an alphabet Fandaniel recognizes, but he can sense it is, authentically, Sika's name. )
Until this contract ends, we will be connected, in a sense. But, hopefully, I shall not need to invoke it during your time here, yes? I quite appreciate your enthusiasm.
( Taking in his seed right away... but Fandaniel doesn't feel an effect yet. Hmm... )
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You're fond of paperwork, aren't you?
[ First the invitation letter, now this. That said, Fandaniel does, in fact, take the time to peruse the contract. He ensures it contains only what they've discussed, although he wonders at Sika's words. She hopes they won't have to involve it during his time here?
Ominous! To act as a shelter for her and the little bird, what could that mean exactly? Physically? Surely not, for he is nothing more than a mage puppeting a dead man. Spiritually? Could Asahi's pathetic little body hold three souls?
The scientist in him feels giddy to find out. Perhaps it will even be enough to destroy him for good! Interesting... so interesting... He can't help it. He laughs and reaches out to sign the contract, to seal the deal. ]
I shall look forward to our partnership, dear Dramaturge, though be sure that I will not be kind should I find you double-crossing me instead.
[ Sika Madu may be untouchable, but what of his child? Hmm? ]
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( Guess who's also a scientist lmao.......... They study Fandaniel so wisely reading over the contract, but they seem pleased he finally signs.
It works just so! Fandaniel gets the sense it works out because his heart is open to it - that he's a willing signee - so as long as that holds, the signature works. And, viola! Before him shimmers the contract, full and complete, and it lingers a few moments longer before Sika makes a grasping motion, and the light - the contract - is drawn in, as if swallowed into a black hole.
Fandaniel may recognize, now or in time, that lights tend to be dimmer around him, or flicker and dim if they were bright already. He also feels that seat sprout within him in a strange sense, and begin to sow its roots. Hmmm...
It seems it wasn't a figure of speech when Sika said they were connected, either— In the echo of his dead heart, Fanadniel feels a little more aware of Sika in a metaphysical sense. It feels kind of weird, but it's not innately ... bad? Hmm. For now, the connection is young. )
I believe I ought to say this of you, no? I can quite clearly picture you imagine turning on me on a whim . . . But so long as this contract holds, I shall expect nothing more from you than the letter of the words you agreed to.
The elevator shall take you wherever you might like to go, at your leisure. Unfortunately, it will not work if I attempt to operate it, even to be a polite host, and so . . . I must simply wish you the best of luck, and equally well wishes to our cooperation, dear Fandaniel.
no subject
[ If he will side with a rogue angel against God, he would as quickly throw the angel from heaven at God's behest— or, at least, he might claim as much if he knew anything about Christian stories and beliefs. As it is, a contract has been signed, and Fandaniel is curious enough to see where it might go.
What does he have to lose? Nothing, because he has nothing, and loves nothing, and wants nothing, only death. To take them all with him would be ideal, hilarious even, but this is not his star. The rest of the Troupe is not from it. It matters... less. ]
Until we meet again, Sika Madu, which I am sure will be soon enough.
[ With a bow, he'll take his leave. ]