[The Grand Theatre feels different when stripped of fanfare and cries of murder. It's solemn, almost comfortable in its silence, the trial that occurred here earlier notwithstanding.
It would be cruel to call what took place here justice, and just as cruel to dismiss it as theater. Nishi can hardly argue otherwise, not after the scene he caused— an inadvertent dismissal of Lavi's trial.
Lavi had been a good man, though haunted. Perhaps death offers him solace. Perhaps not. Either way, Nishi's thoughts are cut short by the sharp echo of heels striking the empty floor. Hm. That narrows down the list of visitors somewhat...]
[Ah... what a graceful bow. Not the typical greeting, but one Nishi instinctively knows how to answer, returning it with equal measure. She seems to belong here, as grand as the hall itself, though the memory of blood spilled in the name of justice lingers, leaving her beauty out of place in this desolate room.
He rises from his seat in the corner where he'd sat to keep the whole theater in view and steps forward to meet her in the center.]
I only wanted somewhere quiet to think. [...] Not that your presence is any disruption. You have as much right to be here as I do.
Still... I can't help but feel this place is stained by what occurred earlier. It's not quite as grand or beautiful as it was before.
I've always found it surreal. Make such a grand production over us being on stage no matter where we are in this place, and adding another feels unnecessary, like jetsam washing up onto the shoreline.
[The way the Extras run the space, flooding and ebbing from it, and the cycle of shows and films that roll behind the heavy curtain feel, themselves, like a hallucinatory dream.]
Have your thoughts kep you company or brought you any clarity?
[Such grand spaces feel ever so vaguely familiar to Nishi. With what bits of himself he's cobbled together, he can assume he was raised in excess, perhaps brought along to balls and similar events by his mother... but his memory is fuzzy.
At her question, Nishi inclines his head in thought.]
The more I think about it, the less I like this place. It's nonsensical, for one thing, but it's that Father that concerns me. No one willing to rule by force belongs in a position of power.
[And that is effectively what Father is doing. Someone ought to bazooka him.]
Did you ever like it? At the very start, perhaps, before the curtain was pulled?
[The illusion had felt spoiled for her very early.
It's very quiet now that she's drawn still and her heels no longer sound on the floor below.]
Perhaps I agree with you, but with his doctrines, how could he maintain power if not by force?
[Depending on how much her roommate was paying attention, he'll probably remember that she had openly questioned Father's divinity when Sika first greeted them; He's not one that she believes in, and she finds his means of control offensive.]
[He gives her questions a moment of earnest thought. Truthfully...]
...No. I was never meant to be here, for one thing. And for another, I only enjoy plays when I'm in the audience.
[He never cared to play a role himself, though life has pressed him into parts he never chose. In his previous life, too, was he forced to play along? Perhaps it's better he can't recall with certainty.]
Simple: he couldn't.
[To lead without force requires real effort, and effort is the one thing such men seldom spare.]
A weak man rules through fear. Weak men also spend all their time fortifying their walls, so that if anyone does move against them, the pedestal is far harder to topple. Still...
[He fixes Cantarella with a look, the weight of his gaze pressing through the mask, even with his eyes concealed.]
Do you not think there are some among us who would try?
[The moment he steps down the last stair, his uniform is gone, traded for a white swimsuit as though the tower itself were mocking him. He exhales quietly, resigned to the costume change, though it doesn't stop the faint crease in his brow. The pool spreads out before them, petals drifting on the surface, and Char settles onto a lounge chair with a drink in hand. Wine tonight it seems, and he's brought along the whole bottle for good measure.]
Seems we didn't have much of a choice in dress code tonight.
[His gaze shifts sidelong toward Cantarella, sparing a moment to take in the sight of her before turning his gaze onto his glass.]
I hadn't thought to bring a second glass— my mistake. But if you don't mind sharing, there's enough here for two.
I'd thought that might be the case. [She examines her swimsuit idly.] But it's no matter... For now, at least.
[At the offer of a shared bottle of wine, the corners of her mouth curve into a slight smile.]
If you can stomach food of mysterious origin, [which she does have some trouble with,] there may be some in the picnic baskets. [She gestures towards the boats, with which she now has a complicated relationship, but would make a solid bed, since they're to overnight here.]
[The boats draw his gaze when she gestures, drifting quietly at the edge of the water. For all the strangeness of their origin, they seem better suited for the evening than the stiff lounge chairs that rim the pool. He tips the bottle slightly in his hand, considering.]
Food of mysterious origin doesn't scare me half as much as the places it turns up.
[His mouth quirks faintly, almost a smirk, but there's no bite behind it. Just the usual touch of irony he leans on when the alternative is acknowledging how little control they have here.]
If you'd prefer the boats, I'll follow your lead. Wine and questionable sandwiches... it's not the worst way to spend a night.
[Growing up around poison and the potential that it could be in any and all of your food really does sour you on the thought of receiving it at random...but those days are, perhaps, behind her now.]
As long as we remember to moor before it gets too late. I might be comfortable in the deep, young man, but we don't want to wake up underwater.
shay you literally cast the first shane, this is on you
[With a nod, Char rises from the lounge chair. The boats are clearly the better option, and if Cantarella is willing, he won't waste time debating it. He nods toward the water's edge, where the little crafts rest, petals drifting in around them.]
Then let's make ourselves comfortable.
[He offers his hand as they approach, offering to steady her should she need the anchor. A small courtesy, but one he means— whether or not she needs the help, she deserves the option. His other hand keeps the bottle level, careful not to waste a drop.]
Mind your step. These things look more romantic than practical.
[Which is why he's vaguely concerned about how well they'll hold water... but that's a problem for later, he supposes.]
They're very light. They're little more than decorative. [He might know from the last trial that Dehya can lift them easily, but Cantarella alos dragged down part of the boat tower early in the morning.]
There's a reason we'll want to keep track of the time. Come. [She'll put her flip phone in the basket or her cleavage or something, it's fine, and accept his hand into the boat.]
You learned one of my names this week. What would you prefer I call you?
[Did she just tuck her phone into her cleavage??? He tries not to openly gawk, but he's shocked. Modern women are dangerous, resourceful creatures...
The boat steadies beneath them, and Char waits until she's seated before stepping in himself. The petals drifting across the water catch the dim light, and for a moment he studies them instead of her— perhaps to give weight to his answer.]
Names... they've never come easy to me. Each one I've carried has left its mark.
[His gaze lifts back to her, steady, frank. He doesn't soften the truth, but neither does he hide behind it.]
Char will do. It's the name I chose for myself, and the one I've stood by through everything. If nothing else, it's honest enough for you and me both.
[Well, he's seen the outfit. Where else is she supposed to put it?
Also, she has pegasus ears for this boat ride now.
Cantarella's eyes blink closed slowly, and they linger shut for the time he speaks. She looks up once he gives his decision. Her eyes are a shade darker than the water here.]
Char, then. Not how I met you...But it's how I'll call you. Since it's what you chose, it holds a certain honesty —your perspective—that a name bestowed upon you by someone else might not.
[Even if he was lying, even if Char was a stolen name or one to which he had no personal investment or attachment, what one chooses to give is important.]
[He makes an admirable effort to present himself as the picture of composure, as if sitting across from Cantarella in this strange poolside world were no different from any diplomatic table he's ever weathered. But the horse ears?? The horse ears ruin him. His gaze snags on them once, twice, and when she says his name so earnestly, it's the the straw breaks the camel's back.
Laughter chuffs out of him low and quiet. He lifts a hand to his mouth as though that might disguise it, though it only makes his shoulders shake more visibly. It takes him longer than he'd like to recover, and when he does, there's still the trace of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.]
Char, then. [He repeats it, but his tone betrays him, warmer than he means it to be.]
...Forgive me. I wasn't prepared to be stared down by Pegasus ears tonight.
[She huffs, half-whickered. Being transformed by the (horse) cowbell has highlighted some more determined-to-the-point-of-stubborn traits, albeit also her more noble ones.]
It was an unexpected development. These moments should be taken when we can get them, however.
[They'd all needed to focus, so she'd tried to bring the discussion back quickly, but...hadn't it been worth it to see a little bit of a smile?]
[He schools his expression at last, though the flicker of laughter never quite leaves his eyes. The ears may have ruined him for a moment, but Cantarella's poise steadies him again— if not entirely, then just enough.]
You're right. Even if the circumstances are... unusual, the moments themselves still count.
[He reaches for the bottle at his side, refilling the lone glass without a break in his stride. He then offers it to Cantarella, easy as anything, as if it weren't the glass he's been sipping from all evening. Alas, there is no second glass, but he can't deny a lady a drink, can he?]
They suit you, I'll admit. Horses have always struck me as strong and majestic creatures— though for all their bearing, they are gentle giants.
Edited (brain please i need you to work with me here) 2025-09-06 03:35 (UTC)
[Her ears airplane a little at the offer, revealing her moment of thoughtful consideration, before Cantarella takes the glass.
Like a good aficionado and fantasy-Italian, she enjoys the bouquet of the wine before trying it. The inelegance of sharing a wine glass, as well as the potential dangers, don't seem to faze her.]
Then I must have missed the memo... I was always rather little. [Don't say a word.] But I do still remember a winged horse from my youth.
[Those ears are honest little things, aren't they. Lucky Char. Cantarella is far easier to read when her poise is betrayed by two horse ears... or rather, pegasus ears.
His smile edges wider, despite himself.]
Naturally not. [sweats] But I won't deny that strength and magnificence suit you.
[Maybe it isn't only human souls weighed down by Earth's gravity. Noted: launch the horses into orbit too.]
Did you ride it?
honks it for you...i know where char would rather be spending his night
[Just wait until she starts pawing the bottom of this super lightweight boat, buddy...then you might be sorry about teasing her for those ears.
But at the rather sacrilegious notion, Cantarella chuckles.] You'd be on a Pilgrim's Sail before you could even think about apologizing, had you said that in Ragunna City.
[Then again, they haven't seen Imperator in Their true winged form in a very long time.]
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Week 1: Post-trial
It would be cruel to call what took place here justice, and just as cruel to dismiss it as theater. Nishi can hardly argue otherwise, not after the scene he caused— an inadvertent dismissal of Lavi's trial.
Lavi had been a good man, though haunted. Perhaps death offers him solace. Perhaps not. Either way, Nishi's thoughts are cut short by the sharp echo of heels striking the empty floor. Hm. That narrows down the list of visitors somewhat...]
...Ah. Cantarella. Did you forget something here?
I WAS NOT SASSY!!!!!
[As she drops a very slight bow of greeting, Cantarella shakes her head and crosses further into the theater, until she's nearly at its very center.
It's grisly to come here given the circumstances, but—]
I wanted to see if anything had changed. [And yet, it just feels oddly...the same.] Yourself?
hmm. shall we poll the audience
He rises from his seat in the corner where he'd sat to keep the whole theater in view and steps forward to meet her in the center.]
I only wanted somewhere quiet to think. [...] Not that your presence is any disruption. You have as much right to be here as I do.
Still... I can't help but feel this place is stained by what occurred earlier. It's not quite as grand or beautiful as it was before.
no subject
[The way the Extras run the space, flooding and ebbing from it, and the cycle of shows and films that roll behind the heavy curtain feel, themselves, like a hallucinatory dream.]
Have your thoughts kep you company or brought you any clarity?
no subject
[Such grand spaces feel ever so vaguely familiar to Nishi. With what bits of himself he's cobbled together, he can assume he was raised in excess, perhaps brought along to balls and similar events by his mother... but his memory is fuzzy.
At her question, Nishi inclines his head in thought.]
The more I think about it, the less I like this place. It's nonsensical, for one thing, but it's that Father that concerns me. No one willing to rule by force belongs in a position of power.
[And that is effectively what Father is doing. Someone ought to bazooka him.]
no subject
[The illusion had felt spoiled for her very early.
It's very quiet now that she's drawn still and her heels no longer sound on the floor below.]
Perhaps I agree with you, but with his doctrines, how could he maintain power if not by force?
[Depending on how much her roommate was paying attention, he'll probably remember that she had openly questioned Father's divinity when Sika first greeted them; He's not one that she believes in, and she finds his means of control offensive.]
no subject
...No. I was never meant to be here, for one thing. And for another, I only enjoy plays when I'm in the audience.
[He never cared to play a role himself, though life has pressed him into parts he never chose. In his previous life, too, was he forced to play along? Perhaps it's better he can't recall with certainty.]
Simple: he couldn't.
[To lead without force requires real effort, and effort is the one thing such men seldom spare.]
A weak man rules through fear. Weak men also spend all their time fortifying their walls, so that if anyone does move against them, the pedestal is far harder to topple. Still...
[He fixes Cantarella with a look, the weight of his gaze pressing through the mask, even with his eyes concealed.]
Do you not think there are some among us who would try?
week 3: curfew
Seems we didn't have much of a choice in dress code tonight.
[His gaze shifts sidelong toward Cantarella, sparing a moment to take in the sight of her before turning his gaze onto his glass.]
I hadn't thought to bring a second glass— my mistake. But if you don't mind sharing, there's enough here for two.
i forgot about shane.
I'd thought that might be the case. [She examines her swimsuit idly.] But it's no matter... For now, at least.
[At the offer of a shared bottle of wine, the corners of her mouth curve into a slight smile.]
If you can stomach food of mysterious origin, [which she does have some trouble with,] there may be some in the picnic baskets. [She gestures towards the boats, with which she now has a complicated relationship, but would make a solid bed, since they're to overnight here.]
i'm sorry i had to remind you of him
Food of mysterious origin doesn't scare me half as much as the places it turns up.
[His mouth quirks faintly, almost a smirk, but there's no bite behind it. Just the usual touch of irony he leans on when the alternative is acknowledging how little control they have here.]
If you'd prefer the boats, I'll follow your lead. Wine and questionable sandwiches... it's not the worst way to spend a night.
no you aren't
As long as we remember to moor before it gets too late. I might be comfortable in the deep, young man, but we don't want to wake up underwater.
shay you literally cast the first shane, this is on you
Then let's make ourselves comfortable.
[He offers his hand as they approach, offering to steady her should she need the anchor. A small courtesy, but one he means— whether or not she needs the help, she deserves the option. His other hand keeps the bottle level, careful not to waste a drop.]
Mind your step. These things look more romantic than practical.
[Which is why he's vaguely concerned about how well they'll hold water... but that's a problem for later, he supposes.]
:(
There's a reason we'll want to keep track of the time. Come. [She'll put her flip phone in the basket or her cleavage or something, it's fine, and accept his hand into the boat.]
You learned one of my names this week. What would you prefer I call you?
no subject
The boat steadies beneath them, and Char waits until she's seated before stepping in himself. The petals drifting across the water catch the dim light, and for a moment he studies them instead of her— perhaps to give weight to his answer.]
Names... they've never come easy to me. Each one I've carried has left its mark.
[His gaze lifts back to her, steady, frank. He doesn't soften the truth, but neither does he hide behind it.]
Char will do. It's the name I chose for myself, and the one I've stood by through everything. If nothing else, it's honest enough for you and me both.
no subject
Also, she has pegasus ears for this boat ride now.
Cantarella's eyes blink closed slowly, and they linger shut for the time he speaks. She looks up once he gives his decision. Her eyes are a shade darker than the water here.]
Char, then. Not how I met you...But it's how I'll call you. Since it's what you chose, it holds a certain honesty —your perspective—that a name bestowed upon you by someone else might not.
[Even if he was lying, even if Char was a stolen name or one to which he had no personal investment or attachment, what one chooses to give is important.]
no subject
Laughter chuffs out of him low and quiet. He lifts a hand to his mouth as though that might disguise it, though it only makes his shoulders shake more visibly. It takes him longer than he'd like to recover, and when he does, there's still the trace of a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.]
Char, then. [He repeats it, but his tone betrays him, warmer than he means it to be.]
...Forgive me. I wasn't prepared to be stared down by Pegasus ears tonight.
no subject
[She huffs, half-whickered. Being transformed by the (horse) cowbell has highlighted some more determined-to-the-point-of-stubborn traits, albeit also her more noble ones.]
It was an unexpected development. These moments should be taken when we can get them, however.
[They'd all needed to focus, so she'd tried to bring the discussion back quickly, but...hadn't it been worth it to see a little bit of a smile?]
no subject
You're right. Even if the circumstances are... unusual, the moments themselves still count.
[He reaches for the bottle at his side, refilling the lone glass without a break in his stride. He then offers it to Cantarella, easy as anything, as if it weren't the glass he's been sipping from all evening. Alas, there is no second glass, but he can't deny a lady a drink, can he?]
They suit you, I'll admit. Horses have always struck me as strong and majestic creatures— though for all their bearing, they are gentle giants.
i saw that name typo
Like a good aficionado and fantasy-Italian, she enjoys the bouquet of the wine before trying it. The inelegance of sharing a wine glass, as well as the potential dangers, don't seem to faze her.]
Then I must have missed the memo... I was always rather little. [Don't say a word.] But I do still remember a winged horse from my youth.
honks my clown nose
His smile edges wider, despite himself.]
Naturally not. [sweats] But I won't deny that strength and magnificence suit you.
[Maybe it isn't only human souls weighed down by Earth's gravity. Noted: launch the horses into orbit too.]
Did you ride it?
honks it for you...i know where char would rather be spending his night
But at the rather sacrilegious notion, Cantarella chuckles.] You'd be on a Pilgrim's Sail before you could even think about apologizing, had you said that in Ragunna City.
[Then again, they haven't seen Imperator in Their true winged form in a very long time.]
No, it was Divine.