Born to Bhodrine-Cannamos, the younger sister of Stonelord Hyderad-Cannamos, Atreyu was initially of little note within the Cannamos family. Their father, Daomasso-Altia-Seth, was a minor noble from Seth, a lesser cadet branch of the prestigious and powerful House Altia, who married into the Cannamos family for the purposes of a political alliance.
(NB: it is strongly suspected that the Seth branch is in fact a surviving bloodline of House Ludra, reduced from the rolls after the Free Sanjak rebellion, quietly assimilated into House Altia. Both House Altia and House Cannamos strenuously deny this rumour, dismissing it as vituperative slander by jealous rivals)
Due to the secrecy of the Cannamos household, very little is known about their early life, other than that they were born at nearly the same time as Praya-Cannamos, first-daughter and Graven Heir of Stonelord Hyderad-Cannamos. It is known through a broad spectrum of first-hand accounts and sources that Atreyu and Praya were close friends throughout their respective childhoods, and that Atreyu was subject to close personal attention from Stonelord Hyderad himself.
It is unclear exactly what caused Atreyu to develop Republican sentiments, but the presence of a radical anti-monarchist in the highest echelons of the archconservative House of Stone's nobility was unacceptable to Stonelord Hyderad, who began a public and merciless campaign of public excoriation against his nephew.
Over the course of 5005u to the present, several dozen accounts (some with accompanying audiovisual evidence) of the Cannamos scion being subjected to various humiliations. In one particularly infamous and widely-distributed recording, they are instructed to recite a lengthy Khayradi epic in front of a House gathering, often interrupted from off-screen by Hyderad and a second noble (possibly Ferdinand-Cannamos, younger brother of Hyderad), who alternate between critiquing their pronunciation or prosody of their High Khayradi and asking them to explain how the passage they're quoting disproves Republican dogma.
We suspect that the title of Cupbearer - usually given to a highly-trusted senior member of the house - is another one of Hyderad's punishments, as it requires Atreyu to accompany him on his travels and to wait on him and other House dignitaries at formal events. It would also make Atreyu a prime suspect were Hyderad or one of his associates to die. The title of "Antic" needs little explanation; it is a polite synonym for "jester."
Conclusion
It is the opinion of this analyst that the prolonged and sustained campaign of public humiliation by their House has fatally eroded their familial loyalty. This, in combination with their strong Republican leaning, would potentially make them an excellent agent within the household, provided that a secure line of communication be obtained. With the correct incentives and a reasonable exit plan, they might even be in a position to assassinate key members of the House of Stone should it prove necessary.
Unfortunately, due to the paucity of information from within the household itself, we have little information as to their psychological state or emotional stability. Metrics from similar cases are not promising; more information would most assuredly be needed before a concrete action plan is assembled.
ADDENDUM 1: CRITICAL UPDATE
As of February 2, 5016u, Lord Atreyu-Cannamos of the House of Stone has departed the family estate at the behest of Stonelord Hyderad to attend the prestigious Karrakin Cavalry College. This is an unexpected development, and it presents some interesting challenges and opportunities. While the Karrakin Cavalry College is heavily surveilled, due to its location in Throne Karakiz, it is vastly more accessible than their previous residence.
It should be noted that their only known past associate, Praya-Cannamos, is also attending the College this year. Information on how this relationship has developed over the past ten years is not available to us at this time.
Come back home when you have some sense
You can throw your life away just not at my expense
You’re not the son I raised
Save the son I disciplined and praised
For the one who disobeyed me
God I fear the adult you’ll grow into
The way you’ve been carrying on
(You’ll sink soon)
Something has gone horribly wrong
(désastreux)
Had I not been so easy on you
There’d be time to rectify you
5003u / 7576 SR THIRTEEN YEARS AGO NOW
CANNAMOS FAMILY ESTATE, CANNAMOS PRADESH, KHAYRADIN
Currently within your immediate sightline are 278 trees (254 living, 24 dead), thirteen birds (13 living, 0 dead), 1 human being (1 living, 0 dead), 1 rock tiger (???).
You are not here. This is not now.
Time is a pond and events are pebbles, and you are the ripple where the stone meets the surface of the water. You are not any of the atoms your mother gave birth to but you are the child she bore and you are the teenager she hates and you are the adult who won't attend her funeral.
Currently within your immediate sightline are 278 trees (255 living, 23 dead), thirteen birds (13 living, 0 dead), 1 human being (0 living, 1 dead), 1 rock tiger (???).
You are not here. This is not now.
Time is a pond and events are pebbles, and you are the ripple where the stone meets the surface of the water. You are not any of the atoms your mother gave birth to but you are the child she bore and you are the teenager she will die to protect and you are the adult who will kill millions to avenge.
Currently within your immediate sightline are 278 trees (254 living, 24 dead), thirteen birds (12 living, 1 dead), 1 human being (0 living, 1 dead), 1 rock tiger (???).
You are not here. This is not now.
Time is a pond and events are pebbles, and you are the ripple where the stone meets the surface of the water. You are not any of the atoms your mother gave birth to but you are the child she bore and you are the teenager she never lets out of her sight and you are the adult who will persist without living.
Currently within your immediate sightline are 0 trees (0 living, 0 dead), 0 birds (0 living, 0 dead), 0 human beings (0 living, 0 dead), 0 rock tigers (0 living, 0 dead).
You are not here. This is not now.
Time is a pond and events are pebbles, and you are the ripple where the stone meets the surface of the water. You are not any of the atoms your mother gave birth to but you are the child she bore and you will never be a teenager.
Currently within your immediate sightline are 277 trees (254 living, 23 dead), thirteen birds (13 living, 0 dead), 8 human beings (8 living, 0 dead), 0 rock tigers (0 living, 0 dead).
You are not here. This is not now.
Time is a pond and events are pebbles, and you are the ripple where the stone meets the surface of the water. You are not any of the atoms your mother gave birth to but you are the child she bore and you are the teenager she will search for in vain and you are the adult who will one day struggle to remember her face.
Currently within your immediate sightline are 0 trees (0 living, 0 dead), 0 birds (0 living, 0 dead), 0 human beings (0 living, 0 dead), 0 rock tigers (0 living, 0 dead).
You are not here.
Time is a pond and events are pebbles, and you are not.
Currently within your immediate sightline are 0 trees (0 living, 0 dead), 0 birds (0 living, 0 dead), 0 human beings (0 living, 0 dead), 0 rock tigers (0 living, 0 dead).
You are not here.
Time is a pond and events are pebbles, and you are not.
Currently within your immediate sightline are 0 trees (0 living, 0 dead), 0 birds (0 living, 0 dead), 0 human beings (0 living, 0 dead), 0 rock tigers (0 living, 0 dead).
You are not here.
Time is a pond and events are pebbles, and you are not.
You are already the ghost of you. The idea of you persists in the spaces you no longer occupy. You have affected places that you have never been. A part of you exists in the action at a distance.
Currently within your immediate sightline are 278 trees (254 living, 24 dead), thirteen birds (13 living, 0 dead), 1 human being (1 living, 0 dead), 1 rock tiger (???).
You are not here. This is not now.
Time is a pond and events are pebbles, and you are the ripple where the stone meets the surface of the water. You are not any of the atoms your mother gave birth to but you are the child she bore and you are the teenager she hates and you are the adult who won't attend her funeral.
What will you do when you're Stonelord?
You're just talking about your responsibilities again.
I didn't ask what he wants. You always do what he wants. I want to know what you want. What do you want? If you could do anything.
If you could do anything.
If you could do anything.
Currently within your immediate sightline are 278 trees (there's no possible way you could know that), thirteen birds (13 living, 0 dead), 1 human being (she has a name), 1 rock tiger (???).
You are not here. This is not now.
Well, when is now? Moments are sequential. I say now and it was a second ago, ten seconds ago, a minute, an hour, a year. I say now and it was ten years ago. I say now and it might as well have been an entire human lifetime ago.
If I went back now, back to the clearing, back to the forest, back to the mountain, it wouldn't be the same. The atoms would be different. The trees would have grown, or died. The birds would have flown away, or died, or had children. But those atoms, those arrangements of things, the clearing and the forest and the mountain and the birds and the rock tiger and me and you as it was on that day, does that still in some way exist?
When a wave moves through the water, most of the molecules don't actually go anywhere. They go up with the wave and down with the wave, but their net movement north, south, west or east is negligible. The wave isn't a physical entity as much as it is a process. I am not the atoms I was when I was a child, but it feels like there's continuity of personhood. Am I a process? Are we a process? Is a place a process - just an arrangement of things at a certain time?
What will you do when you're Stonelord?
What will you be when you're Stonelord?
What do you want to do when you're Stonelord?
What do you want to be when you're Stonelord?
Currently within your immediate sightline are 278 trees (254 living, 24 dead), thirteen birds (13 living, 0 dead), 1 human being (1 living, 0 dead), 1 rock tiger (???).
You are not here. This is not now.
Time is a pond and events are pebbles, and you are the ripple where the stone meets the surface of the water. You are not any of the atoms your mother gave birth to but you are the child she bore and you are the teenager she hates and you are the adult who won't attend her funeral.
The idea of you was here. The concept of you was here. Enough of you was here.
The past light cone converges and the future light cone diverges and at the centre of now is you, choosing to act - or has it already been chosen for you? We seek a deterministic universe but no matter how deeply we look for it, no matter how many equations we write, that strict determinism seems to elude us.
Lord Castor, may I be candid with you? I don't think I belong here.
What will you do when you're Stonelord?
What will you do when you're Stonelord?
What will you do when you're Stonelord?
5016u
NOW
Each drop of rain felt like a slap in the face. They dared not look down, or they were sure they'd lose their footing. Far beneath them, the College Gardens blazed merrily despite the downpour - and in the flickering light, the silhouette of their quarry could just be made out.
"We can still fix this!" Atreyu howled after them. "Tell me how to fix this!"
The figure turned, face framed in shadow. "I can't. Not now."
Atreyu felt like they could scream their lungs apart. "WHY NOT?!"
5016u
NOW?
"Because it won't make sense. Because even the right answers won't mean anything if you don't know the right questions."
5016u
NOW.
"To put it bluntly: because you're not supposed to be here yet."
5016u
NOW, ALBEIT ONLY FROM A CERTAIN PERSPECTIVE.
Atreyu will awake in a cold sweat, gasping for breath.
GALVANIC: Kohlrabba. Kohlrabba, do you read?
OVER9KWINS: Ugh, what are you doing here?! I'm done for. Pinned down by a turret - I think it's a Leviathan! His goons are all over the place. You gotta get outta here!
GALVANIC: You know there's not a Passions-damned chance of that. Give us tactical.
OVER9KWINS: I can see at least four mercs on this floor. Unknown number on the other floors. I planted charges on my way in - five of them. You could arm them and then retreat to a safe distance-
GALVANIC: Not without you. Titan, Leaf, circle around the building. Find another entrance, find the charges, arm them. We're not leaving without Kohlrabba, but it'll be useful to have leverage.
LEAF: Roger.
TITAN: On it.
GALVANIC: Vortex, Psychopomp, with me.
VORTEX: Ten-four.
PSYCHOPOMP: Okay!
GALVANIC: Careful. We do this swiftly and quietly - we've got to get to Kohlrabba before Kellen decides it's better to just get rid of him.
Kellen was holed up in what looked to be an abandoned office building. The floorplan was three floors tall and hollow, a rectangle enclosing a central courtyard covered by the building's roof. Kohlrabba hadn't seen him on the way in, and had only gotten as far as the third floor, so Kellen was likely in the service shack on the roof.
The fire escape had been welded shut from the inside, so they were standing outside a window - Atreyu's keen eyes had spotted a brick of C4 in the waste paper basket.
"Ready?"
It always surprised Atreyu just how quiet Praya could be if she needed to.
"Yeah," they replied.
TITAN: Persephone. Kill the building's alarm. We're about to breach through a window.
PSYCHOPOMP: Okay! Give me a second... alright! You've got thirty seconds!
TITAN: Titan, Leaf breaching. Three... two... one...
Praya rammed the butt of her rifle into the glass once, twice, and it shattered. She took the time to clear away enough to get through safely, then clambered in. Atreyu followed in after her, going for the explosive charge and fiddling with the detonator.
LEAF: Charge one armed. Moving into the corridor.
TITAN: Three... two... one...
Praya burst through the door, took one look outside, and then scrambled back in. There was a sound of whirring rotors.
TITAN: Drone! Unarmed, but it has a camera. Persephone, I'm giving you line of sight.
She leaned her head around the doorframe. The drone beeped.
TITAN: Hurry up!
PSYCHOPOMP: Working, working!
TITAN: Well work faster!
PSYCHOPOMP: There - wait, shit!
The drone let out a loud warbling noise, but there was a loud snap and it shorted out, falling to the floor.
WARL0CK: I got it. Move along.
PSYCHOPOMP: I would've gotten it.
WARL0CK: Well, now you don't gotta. Let's keep up the pace.
Praya and Atreyu moved silently, room to room, sweeping each for hostiles or the charges but finding nothing. They'd gotten to the fifth room when there was a cacophonous bang from another room.
PSYCHOPOMP: Augh!
VORTEX: Persephone! Shit!
There was a patter of running feet from over the other side of the building.
VORTEX: Shit, it's alright. It was just a flashbang.
WARL0CK: We gotta be more caref- SHIT!
There was a clink from a nearby room, and a hissing noise. The harsh silhouette of Tuera's assault armour came stumbling out of a restroom.
WARL0CK: Stay outta the ladies. Tear gas.
TITAN: Little bit more professionalism here, please. This isn't amateur hour.
Atreyu saw the glint of something as they walked past the stairs.
LEAF: Tripwire on the stairs. Give me a minute...
GALVANIC: I'm going to climb up the central courtyard, see if I can get an angle on the lackeys upstairs.
TITAN: Don't go too far without backup.
Holding the tripwire very gently, Atreyu produced a set of cutters, gently hooked them around it, and pressed. It went slack without incident.
LEAF: Wire cut. Stairs are good.
GALVANIC: Three mercenaries on my side of the building, another one on the other. There's a big pile of rubble blocking the corridor, so getting to him might be a challenge.
There was a pause...
GALVANIC: One of them saw me.
... and then the sound of smashing glass, a scream, and a meaty thud from the courtyard. Then, a second later, yelling and gunfire.
GALVANIC: Alright. Change of plans. Two on my side, one on the other. Now all of them have seen me.
VORTEX: Up up up!
The intercom crackled to life.
"Ah, I wondered how long it'd take us to get to this part. I suppose it was inevitable. Lovelies, kindly incapacitate these intruders and bring them to me."
Soundtrack: Keith Power - The Master Returns
Atreyu took the stairs two at a time, and found Praya keeping pace just behind them. She had already pulled a breaching charge off of her belt, and was one-handing her assault rifle.
They came out of the stairwell into an ongoing firefight. Delamar was pinned down around the corner of the building, taking shelter behind a table that was rapidly being torn apart by gunfire. He was also exchanging shots with a mercenary across the courtyard, to whom he was completely exposed.
Praya slammed the charge on the wall, backed off a few paces and then began firing on the mercenaries in the room with Delamar. She had to check her fire as Caelan charged out of the stairwell, barging through a door and taking aim with his shotgun. The hit was good - Atreyu saw the mercenary go down.
The voice on the intercom spoke again. "Hm. Yet another Frostfounder pressed from the existing template. We fully expect the demands of noble life to sand you down. Too far from the levers of real power to interest us."
GALVANIC: Ignore him. Press on!
There was a groundshaking thud as the breaching charge fired, blowing a hole in the rubble large enough for Atreyu to scramble through, and for Praya to crawl. Bullets rattled the walls as the lone mercenary began firing at the doorway.
TITAN: We don't have time for this horseshit. Atreyu - remember Maneuver 26?
LEAF: Aw, you always get to do the cool shit!
TITAN: Just cover me, rabbit!
Atreyu peeked around the doorframe just enough to get an angle on the bandit, and began firing in bursts, trying to keep his head down. Praya stormed into the room. The mercenary popped his head out of cover just long enough to see Praya's brass knuckles.
TITAN: Kneel to the Heir, churl.
The mercenary hit the floor like a sack of bricks.
This provoked another taunt from their adversary. "Next in line for the granite throne yet little more than a dog that follows the wishes and whims of your family and father."
Praya smirked, turning towards the nearest security camera. "You said that to me a month ago, Abendroth? You would've had me dead to rights. Now, though? You couldn't be more wrong."
She strode into the next room with the confidence of a woman who fully believed the trees would be felled if they dared obstruct her, and Atreyu could do little more than follow in her wake.
Across the building, Atreyu could hear several pistol shots, a sudden silence and swearing over the radio.
PYSCHOPOMP: Shit, shit, shit! It jammed!
VORTEX: PERSEPHONE!
There was a short burst of automatic gunfire, and the sound of a body falling.
WARL0CK: I got it.
The voice spoke yet again. "A wayward fledgling already marked for death. Will you survive long enough to sew the chaos you bring to your own minor house? And then long enough again to take the reins?"
WARL0CK: Passions, but does this guy EVER shut the fuck up?
GALVANIC: There is little he loves more in this world than the sound of his own voice.
TITAN: I've located and armed another charge.
VORTEX: Stairwell's completely blocked. Can we use the elevator?
TITAN: Door's open, and the elevator is further up the shaft. Ladder's on the other side, and it's a long jump.
LEAF: I've got an idea - Praya, Maneuver 7!
Atreyu was already busying themself firmly securing a spool of cable to a nearby desk. They grinned as they tied the other end to their belt.
Praya sighed. "Alright, fine." She stood in position next to the elevator shaft, planting her feet and readying herself.
Atreyu took a running start, and Praya grabbed them, hurling them across the gap. Like a cat, they seized hold of the ladder and began tying the cable to one of the rungs.
TITAN: Huh. You've gotten heavier since I last did that.
LEAF: What's that supposed to mean?! It's been ten years. I was a teenager. Of course I'm heavier.
TITAN: I don't know. We're on a lower-gravity world. I'm not implying anything. Just saying.
LEAF: Laugh it up, Ironhand.
GALVANIC: You all realise I have a mobility hardsuit, and I could've just flown across that gap, right?
Clambering up the elevator shaft finally got them to the third floor, where - true to his word - Kohlrabba was holed up behind a makeshift barricade, at which the six barrels of a Leviathan Heavy Assault Cannon were pointed.
PSYCHOPOMP: I can deal with that!
VORTEX: Persephone, wait!
There was a hail of gunfire from the other side of the building as Persephone made a beeline for the turret - some mercenaries had taken notice. Praya and Tuera began laying down covering fire, while Atreyu crept forward, trying to get an angle. They tried to lay down a bit of suppressing fire themself, but the rifle clicked in their hands.
Without pause, they dropped it and pulled out their revolver. One of the mercenaries was crouching behind a shelf, and Atreyu could see it was overburdened with spare electronics. It was child's play to find the tipping point. They fired just once, and the impact of the bullet sent the shelf tumbling on top of the mercenary.
"Lord Atreyu, you are far more entertaining out here where the world can see you, rather than being locked up in Hyderad's court."
Rather than reply directly, Atreyu grabbed a can of spray paint that must've been left by a construction worker, and began painstakingly writing out a message on the carpet in front of the nearest camera.
KELLEN HOW TF DO YOU TALK SO MUCH WITH YOUR OWN DICK IN YOUR MOUTH
SIGNED EL-AHRAIRAH
TITAN: Classy.
Tuera, Caelan and Praya had made short work of the other mercs, which left Persephone with ample time to shut down the assault cannon and call the elevator down, allowing them to get to the roof.
"Persephone Helsing. Your body modifications are indeed striking - but it's the non-visible augmentations that truly interest me."
"Passions, but I can't wait to shut this guy up," Tuera growled, making a beeline for the elevator.
Somehow, they'd once again managed to cram everyone into it, although the combination of Tuera's assault armor and Kohlrabba's damaged chassis put it quite close to its weight limit. They emerged in the maintenance shack, with a sharp-faced man staring at them from across a desk.
"So. You recovered your manservant. Irritating. But this changes nothing significant, you realise, Leonasius." It was the same voice that had been taunting them for ten minutes now, but something sounded off - it had a tinny, clipped quality to it, as if it was still coming out of an intercom.
"I told you I wouldn't stop until I'd cleansed my house of every last shred of your poisonous influence," Delamar spat. "I meant it."
"Bold words, but that's all they are. Words. You have gained nothing from this little exercise."
Atreyu snorted. "Tough talk from someone who's got six guns pointed at his face..."
The sharp-faced man turned his head towards Atreyu, smirking. That was what was off about him - he wasn't blinking.
"... unless he wasn't actually here at all," Praya grunted, her lip curling.
"Do you really think I'd put myself within a lightyear of your cadre of gun-toting toddlers unless it was absolutely necessary? Please. I realise that petulant children like you must have a low opinion of me, but give me some credit. This is a minor setback, nothing m-"
Atreyu, having long tired of the man's prattling, cocked their revolver and shot him in the head. Instead of blood and viscera, there was a spray of circuitry and coolant. Pallid like-skin oozed reeking black-green oil from a too-perfect entry wound.
There was the sound of grinding from clogged servos as the subaltern tried to stand, some part of its base-level programming kicking in. The voice came through again, distorted, shifting wildly in pitch and tone.
Atreyu pulled the trigger again and the machine dropped. From outside, there came the sound of a turbine spooling up.
"A dropship," Delamar yelled. "Don't let it escape!"
Persephone went for her hacking tools, while Caelan and Tuera sprinted for the door. Atreyu could hear them opening fire outside, but from the sound of rapidly receding engines, they were too late. In any case, they were busy looking at Praya.
"Shit," they muttered. "I guess this was a wash. I'm sorry you came all this way for nothing. He was never even here."
Praya snorted. "Hardly. Even if Abendroth was too cowardly to attend in the flesh, the idea of him had to come, the concept. Enough of him was here for this to work. Watch..."
She pulled out an object that looked like a dagger woven from strands of twisted metal, and stabbed the air above the subaltern. She put both hands on the dagger, pressing in and gritting her teeth as if she was encountering resistance. Before Atreyu's eyes, ghostly images of the man appeared - sitting in his chair, typing on the computer, standing, pacing, speaking, directing. Praya twisted the knife, and all of the images dissolved into a blur of colour, absorbed into the metal of the blade.
"It's done," Praya said, tucking the blade back into her belt.
Atreyu's eyelid twitched. They had to bite their lip. "I promised not to ask questions..."
Delamar scowled. "I didn't. I'm not party to that promise. What the fuck was that?"
"Don't worry," Praya replied. "You needn't concern yourself. I didn't act on my father's behalf here. This was all for me."
She brushed a little dust off of Atreyu's shoulder, turned on her heel and made for the elevator.
LEAF: Praya, I need your help. I'm not asking you to do my fighting for me, but I'm going up against something big and I would REALLY appreciate having you at my back.
TITAN: I'm going to need a little bit more information than that.
LEAF: You know Kohlrabba, Delamar's NHP manservant?
TITAN: Through reputation.
LEAF: He's been kidnapped, and we need to rescue him. This most likely won't be a peaceful operation.
TITAN: Number of hostiles?
LEAF: Unknown, but there's at least one Parautilitarian.
TITAN: Interesting. Does the name Abendroth have any relation to this?
LEAF: Delamar says yes... and also wants to know how you know that name.
TITAN: Never mind that. I'm in, on one condition: I'm going to take from Abendroth something that nobody else can take, and when I do, you're not going to ask any questions.
LEAF: ... Delamar says okay, but he wants to know if Abendroth needs to be alive for you to take this thing. Because he's going to kill him.
TITAN: No. Dead is preferable, in fact.
LEAF: Okay. Okay. Terrifying. Okay. Sending coordinates for a rendezvous.
Soundtrack: Deus Ex Mankind Divided OST - Prekazka District
The moment the airship had touched down, the Lunar Falcons made their excuses and were first off. Delamar had called a helipod five minutes before they landed, and it was scarcely an hour later that they were halfway across the city, outside an industrial unit on the margins of the spaceport district.
They'd argued on the way - Atreyu's decision to call in Praya had gone down like a lead balloon with everyone except Delamar, who was clearly too distraught over Kohlrabba's capture to consider the implications. Tuera and Caelan had said, in no uncertain terms, that they thought it was a horrible idea and that Atreyu should've consulted the rest of the team first - even timid Persephone had expressed a little concern. Atreyu had retorted that they needed all hands on deck, and Praya was one of the few people who hadn't been at the party, and thus wouldn't be drunk, high or committed to several hours of board games with the Marquess. In any case, what was done was done, Atreyu declared, and they'd just have to adapt.
Whatever people's thoughts on the subject, Praya was indeed waiting for them outside the warehouse, wearing precisely the same facial markings as Atreyu - a sight that made their heart swell. Delamar quickly ushered them inside, through a long series of corridors that made several blind 90-degree turns, eventually arriving at what could only be described as a private armory.
It felt like someone had crammed half a BUC storehouse into a room. Every conceivable model of man-portable weapon seemed to be here, from holdout pistols to recoilless anti-tank rifles, along with attachments, tactical webbing, medical equipment, explosives, an array of both intravenous and ingestible poisons and a ludicrous array of close-combat weaponry.
Praya took a look around with narrowed eyes, taking a sharp breath in through her teeth. "Huh. Impressive. Argo's wasn't this large."
She made a beeline for the assault rifles, and found herself almost colliding with Atreyu - they'd both gone straight for the Khayradin Armories MC-7R4 "Jagadis," the model they'd been trained on as children.
She raised her eyebrows, letting Atreyu take the first gun off the rack, before grabbing the second herself. "I thought you were more a revolver person these days, rabbit."
"Oh, six shots is plenty for a duel," Atreyu replied, as they checked their rifle's action. "But we're not duelling."
"Glad to see your childlike whimsy doesn't completely override your tactical sensibilities," Caelan sniped, inspecting the shotgun he'd just picked up.
Atreyu ignored him, busying themself finding some box magazines and a case of 6mm cartridges to load them. Across the room, Delamar was busy fiddling with an ornate long rifle.
"Do not let him touch you," he muttered, loud enough for the room to here. "Better that you die than let him touch you. If he touches you, nothing else will matter to you beyond his approval. You will murder your loved ones without a second thought if he tells you."
"Can it be cured?" Tuera enquired, halfway through squeezing herself into a suit of heavy assault armour.
Delamar loaded a cartridge of what looked like iridescent needles into the rifle. "I've no idea," he growled, "perhaps if Kellen is dead. Perhaps we'll find out."
Having loaded six magazines, Atreyu fumbled about looking for slugs for their revolver. "Delamar, where are the 11-millimeter cartridges?"
The Sandman looked up for just a second. "Pistol cartridge shelf, fourth column, third row."
"Still using the Grand Absolver, rabbit?" Praya sounded surprised. "That's a surprise."
"Why," Atreyu grunted, slotting one of the ridiculous cartridges into a speedloader. "Because I got it from him?"
"I just didn't imagine you would hold on to anything that father gave you," Praya commented, before adding "except the grudges."
Atreyu exhaled sharply. "It was a birthday gift, from before he started treating me like catshit. It's got my name engraved on it. Its grip was moulded to my hand. It's mine, not his."
Praya didn't reply - she just nodded approvingly.
There was a clatter as Persephone dropped a magazine she was trying to load into her pistol. She bent down to pick it up and try again, but after a second or two of fumbling, she dropped it again.
Caelan narrowed his eyes. "Persephone, now that I think about it, how many times have you fought in combat outside of a mech?"
"Uh," Persephone murmured, eyes flicking this way and that.
"Persephone," Caelan growled.
"Well... including duel practice-"
"Fun as it was to watch you take Argo to pieces," Praya cut in, "that doesn't count."
Persephone cleared her throat awkwardly. "Well, then... ah... none."
Delamar sighed heavily. "That's going to be a problem. Alright, Persephone, stay behind Tuera. Let us handle the fighting. Keep yourself out of danger."
Persephone's ears folded back. "Should I at least take the pistol?"
"Yes," Delamar said, setting his rifle aside for a moment, walking over and loading the magazine for her, "but it's probably best if you don't shoot it."
Within another ten minutes, they'd cast aside any clothing with identifying markings. To Atreyu's delight, Praya had coordinated her outfit with theirs, and in their humble opinion, the two of them looked quite sharp together.
Delamar had a van ready to go outside.
Caelan narrowed their eyes. "Throne Plumbing?"
"Do you have any idea," Delamar asked, "just how many Throne Plumbing vans there are in this city at this very moment?"
Caelan's shoulders slumped a bit. "I'm going to imagine it's a lot."
Delamar nodded. "Precisely. Nobody will bat an eye. Now get in."
It took wrangling to fit all of them in the back of the van, especially Tuera, with her power armour and heavy machine gun. Praya and Atreyu ended up standing crammed together at the very back of the cargo compartment.
As the van got underway, Atreyu took a quick glance around, then looked meaningfully at Praya. With a couple of mental commands, they instructed their dataplating to open up a subvocal conversation with her, safe from eavesdropping by any of the van's other inhabitants.
LEAF: It was a surprise to see you wearing the Warmark.
TITAN: Oh yes?
LEAF: Don't get me wrong. A nice one.
Praya smiled. Atreyu had almost forgotten how nice she looked when she smiled.
TITAN: Been too long since I've had a decent excuse to wear it. Fighting alongside family is what it's for.
Atreyu couldn't help but smile back.
LEAF: Glad I could provide an excuse, then.
They paused for a moment.
LEAF: Were you wearing it on the day of the duel?
Praya shook her head.
TITAN: No.
LEAF: I know what he did.
Praya's eyes narrowed immediately, but she said nothing.
LEAF: It took a while for me to put it together, and it needed some help from an outside source. But I know Argo put your name on the duel without your consent.
TITAN: That wretched little fucking man. That pathetic little rodent. What finally made it all click for you?
LEAF: Well, you kept hammering on people who can't fight their own battle. It's easy to tell when things are personal for you, but for a while I thought it was about me.
TITAN: That doesn't answer my question.
LEAF: Promise you won't get mad?
TITAN: I never make such a promise, and you know it. But I'll try my best. For you.
LEAF: Lord Aloysius.
TITAN: Of course. Never can keep his mouth shut, that man.
LEAF: He put himself at considerable risk by telling me the truth, and he did it out of respect for me. Promise me you'll leave him alone.
TITAN: Well, I suppose he did me a favour in a way. I didn't want have to tell you myself. Cowardly of me, perhaps. But...
LEAF: He roped you into the duel, then fucked it up by trying to flex on Persephone. So then you had to apologise for a fight you never asked for.
TITAN: That's about the long and the short of it.
LEAF: So that day at sword practice...
TITAN: Had to do it for myself. Had to fight you on my own terms, of my own volition. Had to reclaim that for him.
LEAF: Could you not have fought him?
Praya grinned smugly.
TITAN: No. I wanted to fight YOU. I wanted to see if you'd learnt anything since we parted ways, or if you were using these new friends of yours as a crutch.
Atreyu frowned, although it was hard to look intimidating when staring up at Praya.
LEAF: I hope I lived up to your fucking expectations, then.
TITAN: You beat me, didn't you?
LEAF: What if I hadn't?
TITAN: Then that would've been a very good learning experience.
LEAF: And was I a "learning experience" for you?
TITAN: Oh, absolutely! I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Though I'm sorry to say, the thrill of matching swords with you couldn't quite compare to the delight of watching that ignoble egghead of yours whip the shit out of Argo.
Atreyu snorted, but the noise was lost in the rattle of the van's suspension.
LEAF: Passions, how do you tolerate him?
TITAN: Sometimes I wonder if it might be worth spending the rest of my life in Coldhearth just to choke the life out of him.
LEAF: Do you want to be free of the betrothal?
Praya's glare could cut steel.
TITAN: More than fucking anything. But the demands of the House-
LEAF: Fuck the demands of the House. What do YOU want?
Praya's lip curled, and there was something bitter and cold in her eyes - contempt? No, not contempt... jealousy?
TITAN: I'm not like you, Atreyu. I can't just spit in father's face. I actually have responsibilities.
LEAF: Responsibility is inheriting the Granite Throne. It's not spending your life leashed to a conniving, cowardly little piece of shit who makes your decisions for you.
TITAN: I can't just break the betrothal. Father would-
LEAF: Sure. YOU can't break the betrothal.
Atreyu paused for effect, smirking confidently.
LEAF: But what if I could?
They left another pause.
LEAF: Big, noble, responsible Praya, you can't break the betrothal. But who am I? Clumsy, stupid, irreverent Atreyu. Measly, wormy, wretched little Atreyu, the layabout, the knave, the ne'er-do-well, the ruiner. I'm just always fucking things up. Me and my stupid mouth, always bringing disrepute or misery upon the family. Ruin an arranged marriage? Praya, I was basically born for this.
TITAN: This isn't some banquet where you can just spill wine on his best cloak. This is a massive political alliance you'd be sabotaging. He. Will. Be. FURIOUS.
LEAF: I've survived his fury for a decade. That's his problem - he's doesn't understand proportionality. Maybe what he did to me wasn't the worst he could possibly do, but he started off pretty close.
Atreyu locked eyes with their cousin.
LEAF: Look, do you want me to do this?
Praya looked away, sighing.
TITAN: Yes.
LEAF: Then it's settled. I'll do it.
TITAN: Thank you.
LEAF: No problem. After all, what are cousins for?
They rode in silence for a while.
LEAF: Hey, I know I'm not supposed to ask questions, but...
TITAN: Oh, here we go.
LEAF: How do you know about this Abendroth guy?
TITAN: Ever since you showed up, I've been feeling a little... lost. So during the long weekend, I took an express back home to get some advice.
LEAF: From uncle?
TITAN: Oh, no. From a higher power than him.
LEAF: Prayer? Never found the Passions to be particularly open to giving advice.
TITAN: There are other powers on Khayradin you can pray to, Atreyu. Assuming you bring a drink.
Suddenly, a few things started to click - that fancy wine glass Praya had bought. That could only mean...
LEAF: You went to the Hall of Ancestors?!
TITAN: Perhaps I did.
LEAF: I... only uncle's permitted to enter!
TITAN: Oh, so NOW you care about father's rules?
She smiled to herself, looking off to the side.
TITAN: They are the Stonelords of the past. Father is the Stonelord of now. I am the Graven Heir, Stonelord of the future. I had every right to enter that chamber, and so I did.
LEAF: What was inside?
TITAN: That's for a Stonelord alone to know.
LEAF: You smug asshole. Well, did you at least find some of the answers you wanted?
Praya nodded.
TITAN: I did. I'm starting to understand now, Atreyu.
TITAN: All you need is what you want.
She smiled. For some reason, it was the most terrifying thing Atreyu had ever seen.
Gift-giving had gone... acceptably, save for the outlandish present Delamar had dreamed up - a bronze casting of his own head. This was an in-joke, it seemed - the Marquess had made some good-natured comment about adding Delamar's head to his belt, and apparently Delamar had taken him up on it. It had been a bit much, but the Marquess was endlessly tolerant and seemed to have taken it in good humour.
Atreyu, meanwhile, understanding the spirit of competition that seemed to animate Fontague, had gotten him an Old Earth board game attested in both the Massif Vaults and the ancient annals of Karrakis: Catan. They had presented it along with the knowledge that the record for the shortest game was nine hours and forty-six minutes.
"But I feel sure," Atreyu had confided, "that you will smash that record soon enough."
This had delighted the Marquess - though Atreyu had found themselves challenged to a game of it themself, which meant finding twelve to fifteen hours of free time.
They had spent a little time afterwards greeting the Marquess' mother, but then there had been another introduction: the Company Grandmaster of Les Fulgurites himself! Atreyu could scarcely contain their glee when the man took their hand and shook it, saying he'd personally watched the recent live-fire exercise.
"I know of your status amongst your House, young Cannamos," he'd said. "But let me be the first to say: they've done you a disservice! Any sane House would be falling over themselves to secure your loyalty, and that of any member of your team! Good show!"
Atreyu swelled with pride, but checked themselves. "Let us not forget our gracious host, the Dancing Blade. We may have been victorious, but he made us fight for every second of it! Don't miss your chance to sign him up - he'll be a credit to any Company he serves with!"
The Grandmaster smirked. "Modest as well, eh? You'll go far, child."
Atreyu had been so pleased with themself they'd almost missed Delamar fretting over their dataslate. Delamar rarely let himself look so vulnerable, so Atreyu could tell it was more than just nerves over his awkward gift.
"I've just received a message from Kohlrabba," Delamar explained, without being prompted. "Do you want to know the real reason I came here, to the College?"
Atreyu held out a hand, bidding Delamar continue.
"There are individuals," Delamar began, voice carrying none of its usual exuberance, "with parautilitarian abilities so potent as to make the Order Xenoglossia look like third-rate stage magicians. One such creature has taken root in my family's house since my grandfather's abdication."
"Since he turned himself into a cat," replied Atreyu, recalling a bit of family trivia Delamar had let slip during the house party a few weeks back.
Delamar grimaced. "Yes, when he transplanted his consciousness into a cat. That aside. I came here to find a way to kill him."
Atreyu cocked their head. "Your grandfather?"
"No, no, the parautilitarian," Delamar growled.
"Right, sorry."
"I have just received a missive from Kohlrabba. A powerful member of this individual's coterie has just arrived in Throne Karakiz, and he's moving to engage them." Delamar looked out over the city far below. "I am stuck here, unable to assist him."
Atreyu shrugged. "I mean, he's built for this, right? Isn't his job to take risks on your behalf?"
"Kohlrabba is more than a manservant. He's a personal friend of mine. You can't conceive of how much he means to me, and if something happened..." Delamar sighed, grinding his teeth. "He didn't wait for backup. Stupid, headstrong fool! If he survives, I'm going to kill him!"
Atreyu stood for a moment, unsure what to say. Delamar looked over, and motioned dismissively. "In any case, there's not much to do from up here. Don't let it spoil your afternoon, Lord Cannamos. I'll be fine."
With that, Atreyu took a seat in a nearby recliner, and spotted a familiar face one seat over.
"Lord Flyte!" Atreyu exclaimed. "We haven't spoken in a while. How have you been?"
Flyte turned, his face brightening. "Oh, Lord Cannamos! Well, I've been keeping myself busy. The demands of the College upon one's time are considerable, as I'm sure you've discovered."
Atreyu chuckled ruefully. "Yeah. We Kavaliers suffer for our art."
"Indeed we do." The young man looked into the distance. "But I've learnt that hardship can be a teacher. I've a duty to succeed, you see."
There was a wistful silence that Atreyu found intolerable. "Lord Flyte, I want to apologise. What I said to you that day, I was... angry. I hadn't seen Praya for ten years, aside from sympathetic glances across a banquet hall when my family was humiliating me. To come back and discover her... changed in such a way, and then to have to fight her... I was angry at her, angry at myself, angry at my family, and you were the first person available to take my frustrations out on, and I-"
Flyte held up a hand, shaking his head. "Lord Cannamos, please cease. No apology is necessary. Far from abusing me, you and the good lady Miss Kay taught me an important lesson. You see, I had foolishly deluded myself into believing that one could navigate this place without making enemies, and without picking sides, that I could simply ingratiate myself with the powerful without any cost. It didn't work."
"I told Persephone on the first night that this place was a nest of vipers." Atreyu sighed, biting their lip. "I suppose I wanted to pretend that I wasn't a viper, too."
"Oh, we must all be vipers, Lord Cannamos - brimming with venom. But that doesn't mean we must bite one another." Flyte paused for a moment to scratch an itch in his moustache and take a sip of wine. "I've watched you take risks to prove yourself - tremendous risks, and yet they've paid off. Your drive to succeed has a strange quality to it - infectious. You defeated Praya - and then you did it again. You assembled a squadron of fiercely competent pilots, and together you beat the Dancing Blade and the Brightstar Rising. You were a joke when you arrived here, Atreyu - but who's laughing now? Certainly not I. You've made a believer out of me."
Atreyu was silent, genuinely at a loss for words.
Seeking perhaps to fill the silence, Flyte continued. "You were entirely correct. An honest adversary is better than an unfaithful ally. But I find myself loathe to be your adversary. You see, one gets this uncanny feeling that your adversaries may not prosper - honesty notwithstanding." He paused, flicking some dirt from beneath his fingernails. "So might we instead be friends?"
Atreyu considered this for a moment, and then extended a hand. "You know what? Good enough for me."
"Besides," Flyte remarked, shaking the offered hand warmly, "one shall not be wanting for enemies, should one's path remain set."
Atreyu blinked. "Oh?"
"The stars of my house and House are fading." The young man subconsciously thumbed his family locket. "There is a serious danger that I may be the very last Lord Flyte."
"You refer to the House of Smoke's looming Republicanism?"
"Yes," Flyte conceded, nodding. "I do not intend to have my inheritance snatched out from beneath me."
"I mean, you know my political leanings. That's not a battle I'm willing to help you fight," Atreyu stated, plainly.
Flyte waved his hand disarmingly. "Nor was that something I expected of you. But I have my road to walk, as you have yours, and as you said, it's good to know where we stand on them. When we are not at cross purposes, I shall assist you as I am able."
"Well, that's very generous of you, Lord Flyte." Atreyu plucked another glass from a passing tray and held it out to their companion. "Cheers."
"Cheers!" Flyte exclaimed, clinking glasses. "And perhaps you shouldn't be so hard on Praya. The duel wasn't exactly her choice."
Atreyu froze, their only movement a raised eyebrow. "What?"
Flyte leaned in very close, lowering his voice until it was barely above a whisper. "As a second in a duel, one overhears things. Not always intentionally. There was a heated argument. It seems that the entire duel was Count Argo-Laurent's idea, and that in his position as betrothed, he snuck his fiancé's name onto the official challenge without consulting her."
Atreyu was again lost for words, but it all began to click.
Flyte continued his explanation. "One ventures now into the realm of speculation, but the Dean-Commander is a former Khayradin Elite, and It's an open secret your lord uncle got her the position as a reward for decades of honourable service. I would dare to propose that she saw Praya's name on the challenge and fast-tracked it without a second thought. Then, moving back into the domain of hard facts: Praya learnt that she was scheduled to duel you at roughly the same time you did. And she was livid."
Atreyu narrowed their eyes. "And by then, she couldn't back out. It would look like indecisiveness. Even cowardice."
Their companion nodded gravely. "Indeed. That contemptible little fink roped her into a fight she wanted none of - and against her own kin, to boot! She's forced to call in a favour with me that I think she'd much rather have saved for some later date - and one cannot imagine those other sad-sacks on her side attended purely out of the kindness of their hearts. Then Argo, nasty little toerag that he is, fumbles the whole thing by spending most of the fight bullying an ignoble. Everyone besides me had their kuirasses ruined. She lost, and was forced into an opprobrious apology over a matter of honour she'd never raised."
"And then she has to beg uncle for print credits - and explain to him what happened." Atreyu hissed through their teeth. "Passions, Argo humiliated her!"
Flyte nodded. "Oh yes, most certainly! The invective she was using could make an Umaran longshoreman blush - and that was before the battle! Once it concluded, I vacated the locker room before they arrived, but I can only imagine what she must've said to him. The air must've turned blue."
Atreyu thought for a long time. Praya's face appeared in their mind's eye, her jaw set. There's nothing I hate more than cowards who expect others to do their fighting for them when they could do it themselves.
Eventually, they reached up and grasped a button on the collar of their jacket. With a sharp tug, they ripped it free of its stitching and held their palm out towards Lord Flyte. He looked confused, but took the button.
"You might not know it, Lord Flyte, but you've done me a great service," Atreyu explained. "When the time comes that you need a favour of equal value, return this to me."
Recognition and gratitude dawned in the young man's eyes. "I understand now, Lord Cannamos. You have my thanks."
With that, Atreyu stood up, and cast about for someone in particular - or rather, someones.
There they were.
"Why, Lord Cannamos," exclaimed Valentine (or was it Vivian?), "to what do we owe this pleasure?"
"And rest assured," added Vivian (or, perhaps, Valentine), "it is a pleasure. You once again fail to bore us."
Atreyu chuckled. "I hope I'm not the only source of entertainment. Enjoying the party?"
"Like a bird enjoys the sky," the first twin proclaimed loftily, sweeping their hand over the vast expanse of air above the city.
"Or a fish enjoys the water," the second twin ventured, motioning to the swimming pool.
"We're in our element," they declared, in unison.
Atreyu smirked. "Do you two practice this whole thing?"
One of the twins nodded. "Oh, of course! You didn't think we were born this way, did you?"
"Well actually, sibling mine," the other remarked, "we sort of were."
"We sort of were," the former conceded. "Some of it comes naturally."
"And some of it is a learned skill," the latter explained. "But you didn't come over here to enquire of our patter, did you?"
"Indeed not," Atreyu agreed. "I need to ask a favour."
The twins turned to looked at one another, smiles widening like sharks. Then they turned back.
"We are at your disposal, Lord Cannamos."
"Ask, and we may yet provide."
"I need you to spread a rumour," Atreyu declared. "And I need to protect both the source and at least one of the people it relates to. And I need to be able to pretend that your relentless rumour-mongering is how I learnt about the subject matter."
Vivian - or it could've been Valentine - inclined their head to the right. "An unusual request. But one well within our capabilities, don't you think?"
Valentine - or, equally likely, Vivian - inclined their head to the left. "Most certainly unusual, and most certainly within our purview."
The other twin glowered. "But not the Purview."
"Despise the Purview," hissed their companion.
"A curse upon Harrison the First."
"Two curses upon Harrison the Second!"
"Focus, guys," Atreyu exclaimed, snapping their fingers.
"Right, yes," one of the twins mumbled. "Elaborate, friend."
"Friend, elaborate," the other murmured.
Atreyu adjusted their hat and leaned in, whispering in much the same manner as Flyte had moments ago. "Praya didn't issue that duel challenge to me. It was Argo, acting on her behalf without her consent. You can probably already guess who I learned this from, but given that they've turned a new leaf, I don't want them to catch flak after doing a good deed - and I don't want Praya to look bad. This has to be Argo's battle to lose, and I want an excuse to take offence, but I want plausible deniability. Nobody told me, you see; I simply heard these awful rumours!"
The twins looked at one another once again, silent for a moment. Then they both turned back to Atreyu and nodded.
"This, we can do," said one of them.
"Can and will do," said the other.
The first held up a finger. "But we shall, of course, consider a favour done for a favour owed."
"Though please, save your jacket the abuse," the second added, holding up a finger on their other hand. "Our pockets rather overflow with buttons lately."
"You have yet again failed to be boring, Lord Cannamos," assured the one that Atreyu thought might be Valentine. "We do approve of those who strike."
"Regardless of the condition of the iron," concurred the one that Atreyu assumed wasn't Valentine. "We shall consider the best way to implement your desires, and report back to you later."
As Atreyu walked away, they caught the sound of Delamar sighing in relief as his slate chimed, so they walked over.
"Finally!" Delamar grumbled. "Kohlrabba is calling. I shall give this man the dressing down of his life, and see if I don't." He accepted the call, putting it on speaker. "Kohlrabba, you had better-"
The voice that answered him was not Kohlrabba. It was a deep, sibilant voice with an accent Atreyu couldn't place, and it set the hairs on the back of their neck prickling.
Of course, this was - at least on the face of it - no more dangerous than a helipod or an aerotrans. There were a thousand contingencies for failure - should they slip off the side, there were slow-fields to ensure they fell no more than a meter, and retrieval drones in case of a field failure. There were backup motive systems in case one of the balloons ruptured. The city below had quick-response systems for aircraft in distress - and besides, El Relámpago was a noble's airship, and would have a thousand contingencies above and beyond those that a standard model would have. Persephone had been bewildered to learn there was a toxicologist-in-residence with a fully-stocked lab on the bilge deck; Tuera had had to explain that no noble worth their salt would ever charter a pleasure craft without one.
Still, there was something about seeing the city sprawled out far below them with naught but a wooden railing separating them from it that turned Atreyu's stomach.
They were here to celebrate the Marquess Fontague Montague's birthday. It had come as somewhat of a surprise to Atreyu - they knew the Marquess respected them as a competent kuirasser, but it was gratifying to know the Marquess considered them enough of a friend to extend such an invitation.
Looking around, however, it became clear that perhaps it might have been less of an individual honour and more of a collective one - it seemed that just about everyone from their class was here. Just about everyone; Atreyu noted that Argo and Praya were conspicuously absent.
Atreyu had been seated next to Rawan, and across from Ladies Elsa and Kiriona - whom Atreyu noted, with private satisfaction, were now officially a couple.
Rawan had been absent over the long weekend of Pangloss' Comet, attending to family matters. Atreyu had naively commented that it must've been nice, only to discover that Rawan had different opinions.
"Ugh. No, actually," she grumbled, taking a sip of her beer. "That's the problem with being from the House of Promise, you know. Like sure I've got some great-aunt-third-cousin-six-times-removed or whatever in Throne Karakiz, but what do I have in common with them? I was born out in the Dawnline Shore. My real family's back home. You know, on San Simeon."
"Eh. At least there's some, ah, what-do-yer-call-it," Kiriona mumbled, racking her brains, "differentiation! Differentiation in yer family. My family were my batch, and lemme tell yer, growin' up around twenty kids with yer own face gets bloody tiresome, it does. And we all hit puberty the same month, so that was a nightmare and a half. Forget the Armory or the Ungratefuls - miracle we didn't all gut each other, quite honestly."
Elsa squeezed Kiriona's hand. "I can understand the immense pressure of being expected to live up to a family reputation. Especially one that's also your sponsor. Atreyu, you must have the same problem?"
Atreyu shrugged. "Actually, uncle just sends me tigers."
Rawan tried to suppress a sympathetic chuckle. The other two simply stared and cocked their heads.
"What an odd thing to say," Elsa commented.
"That's... awesome?" Kiriona began, before reading a little bit deeper into Atreyu's expression. "Or... I'm... sorry that happened?"
There was an awkward silence, and Atreyu felt an urgent need to stretch their legs. "I'm, uh. I'm going to go mingle a little. See who's around."
Rawan nodded and flashed a thumbs up.
Stepping out from their booth onto the promenade deck of the ship, Atreyu took a look around for familiar faces and low-stakes conversations. The centre of the deck was dominated by a swimming pool, for which Fontague had expressly requested everyone bring appropriate swimwear. Atreyu noted, however, that Persephone had simply divested herself of all her electronics and flopped into it fully clothed.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the pool, Caelan, Delamar and Tuera were striding towards a towering figure covered head-to-toe in white fur, just as Caelan was. Unlike Caelan, he had a blunt snout and a much rounder face - and also unlike Caelan, he was wearing full House of Stone colours, down to the eyepatch that covered his right eye.
Moving quietly through the crowd, Atreyu took a seat close to the bear and waited for his companions to engage.
"Kazimir," Caelan hissed, through pursed lips. "I hadn't expected to see you here."
The mountain of a man turned, feigning surprise. "Ah, it is little cousin Caelan!" His voice was like gravel falling down a mountain, with a strong accent full of harsh consonants. "Well, you are paying not so much attention to the family nowadays, yes? It's very easy that you miss these things. But, come here!"
He clasped hands with Caelan, and from the expressions on their faces, it was quite clear he was trying to crush the smaller man's hand. Caelan, to his credit, did not give way, and eventually the bear relented, laughing it off.
"Very good. Yes, I am here! Why should I not attend my nephew's birthday party - or did you not hear, little cousin? I am married now, to one of his uncles!"
"You'll forgive me if I don't keep up with your love life, cousin," Caelan remarked, looking away. "I've had more immediate concerns to consider. Being a student at the College does make demands of one's time, as I'm sure you know." He paused for effect. "Or, well, perhaps not know. I'm sure you can guess."
Kazimir's eyes narrowed and he took a sharp breath. "Indeed, but we are glad to see you still find enough time for leisure. And you make friends with such a... unique cast of characters! Like this one! The little House of Sand man."
"The little House of Sand man's name is Lord Delamar," Delamar cut in, quiet venom dripping from his voice. "But I'm sure you've heard of me."
"You have a reputation," Kazimir conceded, grinning. "All little men from the House of Sand have a reputation."
Caelan cut in before the conversation could go further. "Can I expect to see more of you, then?"
"Oh yes!" Kazimir chuckled, patting Caelan on the shoulder. "The house, they are feeling it's best to have more than one Frostfounder in Throne Karakiz, yes? In case, ah, how you say... in case the pressures, you are finding the pressures upon you are too great, yes? Perhaps the family expects too much?"
Ah, there it was. This was a warning from Caelan's family: we can replace you. Watch your step, boy.
"The family's concern is, as ever, appreciated," Caelan replied, gritting his teeth. "But they can rest assured that I'll have no trouble dealing with, as you say, 'the pressures.'"
Kazimir shrugged. "We shall see, cousin. We shall see."
Delamar shot Atreyu a glance that communicated an entire plan: ruin him.
Atreyu stood, clearing their throat. "Why, is that Kazimir Frostfounder? And here was me, thinking that the House of Stone didn't have enough representation at this party."
Kazimir's shoulders hunched a little at the sound of Atreyu's voice, and he turned, eyes narrow, jaw tight. "Oh! If it isn't Lord Atreyu-Cannamos. I'm sorry that I was not seeing you there. You are always finding a way to crop up in the most... unexpected places, no?"
"Yes, I suppose I do," Atreyu mumbled, casting a detached glance off the side of the airship. "Is it not customary to bow in the presence of the Stonelord's family?"
Kazimir stared down at them, cold poison in their eyes.
"You'll forgive me," Atreyu continued. "But you know how I am. I forget my decorum so often. Surely you remember though, Stoneman?"
Kazimir took a deep breath, like distant thunder over a mountain range. "Of course, Lord Cannamos. We are always happy to... educate." He placed his right hand over his heart and bent at the waist - though, notably, not at the knee. As quick as he began, he ended, taking the slightest step forward. "Before the young Lord forgets themself entirely, perhaps they remember that it is customary to return the gesture, yes?"
Atreyu smiled, inclining their head deeply - but never breaking eye contact with the bear. "Of course. Oh, and since you'll be around a while, convey my regards to my uncle for me, would you? He'll understand."
"It is of course my pleasure," Kazimir lied, all but trying to burn a hole in Atreyu's face with his gaze.
Atreyu nodded politely, taking a step back, idly pulling out their slate and glancing over to Delamar as if to say: set up complete, commence punchline.
Delamar returned the look with a smirk, stepping forward. "Caelan, I imagine that your cousin must be eager to hear of your military exploits. I'd doubt he gets to see much action on your cosy little home."
Every strand of the fur on Kazimir's shoulders bristled. "The little man from the House of Sand must be sadly misinformed. We are seeing more than enough action on Un Secunda VI."
"Really?" Delamar retorted, raising an eyebrow. "Why, but it's out in the periphery of the Concern, and far from any Armory holding. What do you fight out there? Snowmelt? Penguins? Ennui?"
"Workplace saboteurs," growled Kazimir, glaring down at Delamar. "Little weasel men who get big ideas above their station, think they are too good for the work we all must do."
"Unionizers," Delamar spat. "You mean you fight unionizers. My my, what a brave man you are, Kazimir. If ever the servants ask for their Solstice bonus a day too early, we'll know just who to call."
Kazimir's nose curled into a vicious sneer. "You think it is a joke, little Sandman? You think I am not understanding the meaning behind your words? Yes, I have fought for my house, to ensure prosperity against the shiftless Neblagodarnaya who are throwing their snowshoes into the processing units! Who are hijacking the trains! Who are riling up the workers! I am fighting them! I am hunting these... sbrod for the good of house and House, and you are... YOU...!"
He looked about in the uncomfortable silence that followed, seeing that every single eye in the immediate vicinity was turned towards him, and that Atreyu was holding their slate up meaningfully. A redness was just visible beneath the fur of his cheeks. He raised a trembling finger.
"And I am not the only one," he snarled, before stalking off below decks.
Atreyu hummed to themselves, opening their contacts tab.
LEAF: Rawan, I have a present for you.
SAXIFRAGE: and here was me thinking youd been too busy pursuing the fair lady kays affections
LEAF: What? No!
LEAF: I was just helping a friend! She needed eight billion tools and couldn't carry them all home on her own!
SAXIFRAGE: lmfao you know im only teasing babe
SAXIFRAGE: (besides shes cute, maybe you should)
LEAF is typing...
LEAF is typing...
LEAF is typing...
LEAF has entered text
SAXIFRAGE: anyway whatve you got for me
LEAF: How do you feel about an asshole from Stone embarrassing himself in public.
SAXIFRAGE: i think you know by now that im pretty much always down to see that
>//...[UPLOAD::BearMarket.omv]
LEAF: Are you down to "accidentally" leak it to the entire omninet?
SAXIFRAGE: what was that lord cannamos
SAXIFRAGE: you need this video handled with utmost secrecy
SAXIFRAGE: oops look at the silly house of promise girl shes so fucking clumsy shes tripped and spilt your very secret video all over the rabblerouser chatrooms
LEAF: <3
SAXIFRAGE: <3
With the public embarrassment of a rival successfully engineered, Atreyu was about to return to their booth when Caelan tapped them on the shoulder.
"Thanks, Atreyu," he mumbled, "for, you know, having my back. I realise we haven't always seen eye to eye on-"
Atreyu held up a hand. "You're a squadmate. What was I going to do - let him push you around? No. We can have arguments on our own time. Anyone else? We're a unit, we defend each other."
Caelan sighed, ears folding back. "I just... I want you to be careful around Kazimir. They sent him here as a warning. If I were unable to take my seat at the head of the house, he's next in line. Clearly, someone wanted to remind me that if I'm found... lacking, house Frostfounder can examine other options."
Atreyu shrugged, smirking. "I have a feeling that after that petulant little outburst, Kazimir isn't going to be popular with the house for a while. And hopefully, that conveys a message to your house that we aren't to be trifled with."
"They'll retaliate," Caelan grumbled. "They'll release my service record. And I won't even be able to complain, because they'll say everything on it is a mark of honour."
Atreyu cocked their head.
Caelan cast his eyes downwards, unable to meet his companion's gaze. "He was right, for what it's worth. Kazimir was right when he said it wasn't just him. He wasn't the only one hunting down unionizers. Making quota was everything. Anything that threatened the quota threatened the house. We had to keep shipping fullerites back to Khayradin, or..."
"... uncle would withdraw the franchise, and give it to another house," Atreyu stated, face expressionless.
Caelan's ears folded back. "Yeah. So anyone talking about organising, work stoppages, strikes, lower hours, anything that cut into productivity, we had to crush. It was considered a rite of passage. I'm not proud of it, but... shit. Everyone would know. Rawan would know."
Atreyu held up a hand. "Well why not tell her now? Let her hear it from you, instead of from someone else."
"I mean... I guess I could," Caelan mumbled, scratching the back of his head. "You think she'll be mad at me?"
Atreyu shrugged. "Maybe? Either way, better her be mad at you for telling the truth than for keeping it from her." They sighed. "Look. We can't stop our houses from fucking with us, but we're not helpless. We can get out in front of them."
Caelan nodded, looking up at Atreyu. "You're right. I'll go tell her."
As Caelan walked away, Atreyu took the liberty of plucking a glass of Ispahsalari white from a passing servant's tray, satisfied with themself. We can play the game too.
honestly i have to kinda disagree with that post thats like “being knightcore doesnt mean pro monarchy just swear ur undying loyalty to ur bff or ur crush or smth”
no. thats not what makes it sexy. either grapple with your beloved master’s role as a symbol of the state or choose to ignore it entirely and remain their loyal hound to whatever end, uncaring of the structures of power which you serve. become naught but a blade, the burden of your choices left to settle in the hand that wields you. it’s not about being besties forever it’s about OWNERSHIP and DUBIOUS MORALITY and FRANKLY QUESTIONABLE POWER DIFFERENTIALS
Good evening, friends. I would like to correct an error from yesterday - my statement in yesterday's speech that I would "like Evian back to sort this whole Sanjak thing out" was not in reference to the late Baron Evian Ludra. I was talking about a different Evian.
Pray tell noble Stonelord which Evian may this be, after all I wish to understand the truth of your past statement otherwise I may have to seek examples myself and spread mistruth to the rest of the Omninet?
Why, my lancemate, Trooper Evian. A good pilot and a silver-tongued charmer. We served together in the Feathercaps in the spring of '18. Reactor detonated by a fusion rifle.
My classmate Captain Hedros (the handsome fellow you see on all of the BUC posters) has taught me a new phrase: "weird flex." It is, I believe, a "weird flex" to proclaim "guess how many of them I killed?"
I'm sure you killed a lot of them. But did you win, uncle? Who held the field?
I have been away for a time - my duties called to me, and I was unable to tend this place on the omninet. Now I am returned to this account, and I, Ferdinand Cannamos, am ready to once again explain matters Karrakin with patience to my many petitioners, friends, enemies, and all others in this wide and chaotic galaxy. Welcome back!
Oh, hello, uncle Ferdinand! My apologies, but I'd barely noticed your absence - my schedule at the College is so very packed lately.
I do hope you've been keeping track of my academic progress, though! You know, winning all of my duels, excelling in live-fire exercises, assembling a squadron of fellow political reformists, surviving assassination attempts, and scandalizing the faculty by turning up to the Cadenze de l'Pavillos with my mech painted in Sanjak colours - do you know, Lord Castor-Eyros said he wanted to enter it into the College annals as "a prime example of how a Kavalier makes themselves heard without speaking?"
It seems even our esteemed and honoured relation Stonelord Hyderad himself has been taking note of my travails. Why, just the other day, he had the taxidermied tiger that Praya and I slew all those years ago shipped to me through the blinkgate at what must have been tremendous and exorbitant expense to the House. I'm so very glad to know that things on Khayradin are proceeding with such stability and ease that money may be so freely spent on trivialities. Do please commend to him my regards on this matter.
I'm sure, of course, that you've been busy with something equally worthwhile and worthy.
- m.p. Lord Atreyu-Cannamos of the House of Stone, Kavalier-Aspirant of the Karrakin Cavalry College
Well, it was a pleasant surprise to see cousin Kazimir at the party. I will have to pencil him in for a weekend outing and catch up with him.
//FUCKERS.
//The family sent fucking Kazimir. And he was in full House of Stone colors. Fine, father, message received. Barely even hid his intentions, I have no idea what he's doing in the capital but he's in a good place to prove he's got the stronger claim to house leadership than me.
//I don't think he'll do anything obvious - but Stone has always been comfortable with direct confrontation if I prove I'm a poor fit for leadership.
//His branch of the family always favored direct and brutal work - their "hunts" to head off union organizing speak for themselves.
Spoke about my record to my teammates at the party, surprised the subject had never come up before. But my commendations and titles didn't come from nowhere, did they?
//Didn't give any specifics but I told everyone including Rawan about my record. Left out the cheering and partying after my first mech kill. Left out the commendations for lethality. I can't make excuses for any of it but I really don't want it to get out. But if anyone digs into Kazimir they'll find out what I did, and Delamar is doing a lot of digging. I can't stop him.
Well, it was a lovely party but I do need to focus, midterms are only in a couple of weeks and tactical has proven to be the most challenging track.
Note to self: ask the school about machine shop time
//Blowdrier rig is almost ready.
Oh - and a few images to document some of my sartorial expeditions I took for lord Montigue's Birthday. More casual and some swimwear.
To put it bluntly, the crux of my tangled relationship with Republicanism as a noble of the House of Stone: Tyrannocleave was Karrakin.
Whether you think of them as a courageous freedom fighter or a ruthless terrorist, Tyrannocleave was as Karrakin as Passacaglia I, as Tyran of Delamar, as Tagetes and Calendula. The Passions moved Tyrannocleave as they move all the rest of us - stronger than most, at that. Tyrannocleave was born of us, raised of us, and in them were all the failings of our society reflected, just as Tyran reflected the failings of the Anno Passacaglia, and Passacaglia reflected the failings of the Melee.
You can't separate Tyrannocleave from Karrakis, or Karrakis from Tyrannocleave. They were born in the negative image of our civilisation, and the gaps where justice was absent were the only space they had to grow.
They had a right to share in the fruits of our society. There is enough for all of us. Were we to make a rapidfax of every Karrakin, there would still be enough for all of us. Yet Tyrannocleave was hungry, when the fields of Sanjak overflowed. Tyrannocleave was thirsty, when the rivers of Sanjak ran clear and pure. Tyrannocleave was sick, when there was enough medicine to heal a planet. Tyrannocleave was Karrakin, and we failed them.
What good is nobility, if it can't deliver the abundance we possess to the people who need it?
5003u / 7576 SR
THIRTEEN YEARS AGO
CANNAMOS FAMILY ESTATE, CANNAMOS PRADESH, KHAYRADIN
With a cry of triumph, the girl thrust her rapier towards the sky. "Another foe lies vanquished, thanks to... the fearless Lady Ironhand!"
Her shorter companion twirled his revolver between his fingers before blowing the smoke from its tip. "And El-Ahrairah!"
The girl held out her blade. "Prince of a Thousand Kingdoms!"
The boy held out his gun. "Heir to the Granite Dominion!"
Their weapons met with a resounding clang. "WE ARE THE PEERLESS PAIR!"
Delighted laughter filled the clearing as the two celebrated their victory. The towering stone monolith that had served as Harrison the First's Saladin offered no commentary, having been thoroughly bested by Lady Ironhand's sword hand. But even she would've been laid low had it not been for El-Ahrairah's unmatched marksmanship, shooting the devil in the eye through his cockpit glass.
The satisfaction of having soundly defeated Fearkiller and changed history so that Karrakis won the Interest War faded quickly, however, and the two children set off back into the woods in search of new worlds to conquer.
"Praya," began El-Ahrairah, going quiet as they were forced to clamber over a particularly gnarled root.
There was no answer.
"Praya?"
Atreyu looked up. Cloak billowing in the wind, she had already walked far ahead - so far that the boy could barely see her.
Soundtrack: Guild of Ambience - Forest Sounds
He began to run, sprinting as hard as his legs would carry him - but no matter how fast he ran, he didn't seem to be getting any closer, though Praya seemed to walk at her normal pace.
He cried out. "Praya!" The desperate yell seemed to echo oddly through the trees. "Praya, wait! Wait for me!"
She did not slow, nor did she turn; she did not give any indication that she'd even heard her cousin's plea.
The woods seemed to press in on Atreyu. The canopy no longer provided welcome shade from the Khayradi sun; instead, it cast everything in mottled shadow. The ground was uneven; roots and stones conspired against the boy, and with every step he took, he could feel the crushing weight of Khayradin's gravity threatening to dash his frail body against the unyielding soil. Even the birds seemed discordant in their song, each note carrying an alien sharpness that set the youngster's nerves jangling.
Praya slipped further away with every step, though her stride never quickened, yet no matter how far she seemed to be ahead of Atreyu, he never quite lost sight of her. That was the worst part. The woods closed in even further, until it felt like they were hurtling down an endless corridor of dark, gnarled trees. Finally, the girl vanished entirely, slipping sideways down an avenue Atreyu hadn't seen.
He tore around the corner onto St. Cassander's Balcony. Praya's silhouette stood at the balustrade, looking out at the starless night over Throne Karakiz.
Soundtrack: Aphex Twin - Tree
"Praya," Atreyu whimpered.
The shadow of his cousin replied only with silence.
"Praya," he repeated, stepping forward. "What will you do when you're Stonelord?"
Finally, Praya answered, though she did not turn. Her voice sounded odd - deeper, and colder. "Why do you ask?"
"Well, I was thinking," the boy explained, reaching up to shoo something away from his shoulder - but finding nothing. "Uncle Hyderad is always talking about your 'responsibilities.' About all the things you have to do when you're grown up and he's Prime Baron and you take his place. But he doesn't always care about his 'responsibilities!' Sometimes he just does what he wants. What will you do when you can do what you want?"
Praya spoke again. "I'll lead the liberation of the Luna Furtiva, and finally put an end to the tyranny of the Ungratefuls."
Atreyu cast a glance to the sky, to that-which-was-stolen. Though was that not Arrudye he looked upon? Surely not...
"By the time I'm done with that," Praya continued, "I'm sure father will have convinced the cowards on the Baronic Council to throw off the Headless Ones and reclaim the stolen worlds of the-"
"No," Atreyu spat. "I didn't ask what uncle wanted." The words seemed off somehow, as if he should've said something different.
The silhouette turned her head just the slightest degree. "What's got you so worked up, Atreyu?"
"Uncle says that when I'm grown..." Atreyu struggled to remember what it was that uncle had said. "Uncle says there's a seat set aside for me in Upper Laurent."
"And you don't want to go," Praya deduced.
Atreyu shook his head. "No. I want to stay here. Even if it means I don't get to be a Lord."
The silhouette turned. Her lips parted, and she spoke through gritted teeth. "Well then, I'll see to it that you shan't go anywhere. We'll find a job for you right here."
It should've filled Atreyu with relief, but when he looked, he saw Praya not as the child he knew, but older, full-grown - and twisted. All the kindness and joy had drained from her face. She gazed down at him with cold eyes that radiated contempt.
"And nobody will argue with me, for I am Stonelord."
LEAF: I need paint in Ungrateful colors; enough to repaint Assembler.
SAXIFRAGE: for the cadenze
LEAF: Yes.
SAXIFRAGE: done
SAXIFRAGE: itll be delivered within the hour
LEAF: Wait, what? It was that easy?
LEAF: Did you just have it lying around?
SAXIFRAGE: ill be answering no further questions at this time
5016u
TWELVE HOURS AGO
MORNING OF THE CADENZE DE L' PAVILLOS
The guantlet had been thrown down.
When Dean-Commander Hebriyah saw Assembler, she looked like her teeth might shatter from the sheer force of the grinding. The Archchancellor had tightened her lips and heaved an exasperated sigh. Stablemaster Imani had read the room in the blink of an eye, and invented a sudden excuse to leave it. Lord Castor-Eyros was desperately trying to stifle his laughter. Underbaron Iphiannassa had fixed Atreyu with a stare that could cut through a bulkhead, and then raised a single eyebrow.
The Dean-Commander, the Archchancellor and the Underbaron went over every inch of it with a fine-tooth comb. Every petal of every flower in every wreath was examined for blight. The paintjob was checked and double-checked - had it been properly waxed? Was there inconsistency in the linework? Were there scratches? Every single element of the heraldry on the tabard, banners and streamers was scrutinized extensively, checked against a list of proscribed symbols.
Eventually, after three full hours, the Dean-Commaner was forced to admit - through gritted teeth, her eye twitching violently - that everything was in order. Atreyu had "somehow" managed to conform to every single regulation in the book; though their livery was certainly "unconventional, audacious... some might even say controversial," it violated no statute the College currently had on the books.
"Perhaps we shall draft a new one, and name it after you," the Underbaron had said, with a tone dryer than the Blanca Desert.
They all turned to Lord Castor-Eyros, who had spent the time grading papers. He looked up, eyes innocent, as if he had no idea what he'd been asked.
"Well, it's clearly a striking artistic statement that had senior members of the faculty examining its intricacies and implications for hours. Excellent juxtaposition of symbology; the use of yellow carnations around your house's canton-sigil was particularly provocative. Don't think I missed the gemstones in the broach, either; carnelian and fire agate - how daring! I agree with my erstwhile colleague the Underbaron - we should put this one in the books, as a prime example of how a Kavalier speaks without words. Good work, Lord Cannamos! Top marks. You've clearly been paying attention."
"It's an insult, is what it is," growled the Dean, finally losing her compsure. "An intentional provocation! Disrespecting the spirit of this institution's statutes by malicious compliance with their letter!"
"My dear Doleros," Castor drawled, returning to his grading, "I already said I loved it. You don't need to keep recommending it to me."
Atreyu was certain: whatever problems this might cause down the line, it was all worth it, purely for the noise that the Dean made in response.
5016u
NOW
NIGHT OF THE CADENZE DE L' PAVILLOS
Soundtrack: One Hour of Waltzes
The Reis twins were entertained - finally.
Everyone made the same assumption about the Primors Valentine and Vivian: social butterflies from the House of Glass, in their element at the center of a crowd - of course they'd love banquets and balls! Wrong. Dead wrong. Banquets and balls were so rote! Proceedural! As Valentine - or perhaps Vivian - said, "once you see two fashion victims stumble about to drab music, you've seen them all."
What they loved was drama! Intrigue! Passions rising, egos clashing, schemes colliding, sparks flying, rapiers drawn, fireworks and fallout! Banquets and balls were only as good as the drama they could produce. The Matriculation Ball had been soul-crushing until the latecomers had blundred in and injected some life into the proceedings. The storied veteran trying and failing to take responsibility on her shoulders? Delicious. Two animal-themed full-body augments upstaging one another? Sumptuous. The scion of House Delamar feuding with the scion of House Frostfounder over the fate of an ignoble? Delectable. And last but by no means least, the least favourite child of House Cannamos getting into a spat with their cousin? Ambrosial.
The Candenze de l' Pavillos had threatened to be another unstirred pot. It was all interminable speeches, droning music and gaudy, blundering oafs - with the preening lackwits that piloted them. Once again, however, the latecomers - or the Lunar Falcons, as they called themselves now - had saved the evening.
Atreyu, clearly flush with confidence after their recent triumphs, had turned every head in the College with their positively scandalous livery.
"Why, look," Valentine - or perhaps Vivian - remarked, gently tapping their twin's shoulder and pointing towards the young Cannamos' kuirass. "Yellow carnations around the canton-sigil!"
"Shocking," Vivian - or perhaps Valentine - exclaimed, feigning outrage. "And do you see? Three black stripes over burgundy! My, my, but our Lord Cannamos isn't so much sending a message as screaming it from the rooftops!"
Lady Persephone Helsing has arrived next, purposefully placing her brand new Viceroy right next to Argo-Laurent's Atlas.
"They say size isn't everything, dear sibling," one of the twins quipped, tilting their head, "but I have to say, neither is it nothing."
"It's true," replied the other, "it does produce a certain effect."
"Casts a certain aspersion," suggested the first.
"Shade in the desert," ventured the second.
"Shade on the desert," dared the former.
"A dark cloud," mused the latter.
"A pall of smoke," their companion murmured.
"Quite the impression," concluded Valentine, or perhaps it was Vivian.
"Quite the impression," conceded Vivian, though it might've been Valentine.
Tuera, they realised, had been there all along - they had not noticed her arrive.
"Unlike us, to miss such a thing." The sibling placed a finger and thumb to their chin, as if chasing a thought.
"Quite unlike us." The other sibling mirrored the motion with the opposite hand, though perhaps they entertained a different thought - or none at all.
"Though she does rather sneak up on you, that one."
"Can't figure her out. And I do consider myself quite good at that."
"Figuring people out?"
"Among other things."
"Do you perhaps suppose she has us figured out?"
"Do I perhaps? Why, what's there to figure out?"
The addressed sibling smirked. "What, indeed."
Praya's looming colossus arrived next, staking its claim in a space that was markedly removed from Count Argo's. She leapt down from her cockpit, glaring about at the assembled dancers. Though a considerable amount of makeup hid it, the twins' sharp eyes could make out the telltale signs of a black eye.
The one standing nearer sucked in a sharp breath through their teeth. "So, she took the erstwhile El-Ahrairah's advice, then."
From their vantage slightly further away, the other tilted their head. "Oh yes! She attempted to apologise to Ms. Azar."
"Attempted carries implications, dear sibling."
"It most certainly does, sibling mine."
"Are we then to conclude Lady Ironhand's ego got in the way?"
"Were I a rake for gambling, I should never bet against our erstwhile Lord Praya's ego providing impediment."
"Alas the day."
"Alas the day," repeated the other twin, taking a sip of their drink - or perhaps it was their sibling's. "But it was good of her to try."
"It was proper, given the circumstances."
"Credit to her, though, she took the blow without retort, walked away with her head held high, and didn't snitch."
Their sibling hissed. "Hate a snitch."
"Despise a snitch," growled the other.
Praya shot both of them a glare, as if she knew precisely what they were talking about. Both of them hurriedly averted their eyes.
"Perhaps we'd best light upon a different topic," the first whispered.
The second nodded curtly. "Perhaps we'd best."
Delamar and Caelan arrived just afterwards, mechs arm in arm.
One of the twins glanced up and whistled. "Chemistry between those two, do you think, V?"
"Chemistry most certainly, V." The one who'd been addressed lifted a glass - even chances it was the one that belonged to them - and took a swig. "But what manner of chemistry?"
"I've had it on good authority they've shared a room."
Their companion touched a hand to their breastbone, eyes wide. "Never."
"Shared a bed."
Their companion gasped, hand flying to their mouth. "Shocking!" They paused for a moment. "Which one was on top?"
"Tragically, my sources fail us on this matter," their mirror image replied, shrugging and simply taking the glass from their twin's hand.
"Well that's no fun," pouted the robbed twin, who simply picked up the other glass. "My money's on the wolf."
"Oh? I would've said the Sandman. The wolf is compensating far too much. And over far too many things."
"The Sandman chose as his manservant a tireless machine in the image of a gorgeous man twice his size with three times his muscle mass. Please, dear sibling, face the facts."
"You do make a compelling point," conceded the other.
The Lunar Falcons convened briefly, exchanging a few words, before spreading out through the grounds and to various conversation partners.
"Ah, do you see? Caelan is attempting to impress the most esteemed Marquess Fontague. What shall we call this?"
"Wolf, drinking Shrimp Cocktail. Now, what do you make of Delamar's wooing of the rich and beautiful Lady Carlotta?"
The reply came with a sly grin. "Two nobles of Sand danced together. Three hundred dead, sixteen hundred injured."
Rawan had already met up with Kay by the time Atreyu arrived, and so they had the unenviable task of impressing two people at once. To their credit, they seemed to strike upon some subject that enthused Kay, and the striking appearance of their mech seemed to earn Rawan's approval as well.
As one sibling took a drink, the other gestured to the trio. "Our beloved underdog doesn't do anything by half measures, do they?"
Finishing their drink and setting the glass down, their companion glanced over. "Something to prove?"
"Oh yes," their twin replied, setting their own empty glass down. "Our Prince must actually conquer those Thousand Kingdoms, no? Else how do they silence their detractors?"
"Is that what it translates to? I had always thought it meant Prince With A Thousand-"
The thought was interrupted as Tuera and Persephone wandered over. The twins, to their credit, refocused their attention almost immediately, giving no outward indication that the pair had caught them by surprise.
"Why, Ladies Tuera and Persephone, welcome," said one, whom Persephone thought might be Valentine.
"Welcome, Ladies Ashama and Helsing," said the other, whom Tuera was pretty sure was Valentine.
"Hey," Tuera grunted, narrowing her eyes.
Persephone waved, several of her tails twitching excitedly. "Hello! I hope you're having a good evening!"
The one Tuera suspected wasn't Vivian smiled. "Oh, now that you've arrived, most certainly."
"You and your companions have quite failed to be boring," elaborated the twin Persephone knew not to be Vivivan.
"Glad we could be... entertaining, then," Tuera growled, plucking a glass from a masked servant's tray and taking a sip. "I take it you've been keeping an eye on the crowd, then?"
"Oh yes," exclaimed one of the twins, who Persephone felt sure had switched with their sibling when she wasn't looking. "You mustn't let this sort of crowd go unobserved. The things you'd miss. The intrigue. The gossip. The drama."
"The daggers hidden behind smiles," their equal and opposite added, with a disconcerting leer. "The aside glances. The false airs. The scheming."
Tuera folded her arms. "Well you're clearly just dying to tell us. Don't keep it all for yourselves. Share with the class."
The twins turned to one another in perfect unison.
"Are we so very obvious?"
"Oh, she's read us like a book."
"Very well. Firstly, if you incline your head towards our erstwhile Praya..."
The conversation proceeded in this same manner for a while, with the twins relaying all that they'd observed: Praya's ill-fated apology to Rawan, Argo's estrangement from his fiancé, Caelan's daring play for Fontague's respect, Delamar's eye-catching dance with his fellow Housewoman.
As conversation turned to the subject of Atreyu, however, the four students happened to turn to look at them - and found that they had begun dancing with Rawan, and that at the exact moment they'd looked over, Rawan had dipped Atreyu low and was kissing them fiercely.
"O-oh my," mumbled Persephone.
"Well I'll be damned," whispered Tuera.
Both twins turned to one another.
"Oh. Finally."
"Talk about striking while the iron is cold, dusty and put away."
The security at this college needs improvement, I was prepared for the occasional tussle amongst the students but a full blown assassination attempt on Lady Tuera? For shame, I hope someone has been properly chastised.
//Passions fucking below they took a poke at Tuera. I'm just glad she's okay, bullet seemed the size of a finger when it punched through her shield. Medical checked us out and I encouraged the team to take a day off, so we went hiking.
That said, I believe I did the house proud in defending myself and associates, the Frostfounders stress knife work and I showed myself to be a keen student.
//I didn't enjoy that. I know I was getting shot at but that was visceral in a way every little bit of practice never got me ready for. Delamar offered to replace my weapon but I couldn't, it's too important to me.
Other than that, my academic work is proceeding well, and I am indexing my old journal entries to fit in with standards here at the college.
honestly for me this situation isnt drawing a single bead of sweat first i grab the tiger's jaw with both hands and pry it open, quickly bandaging the wounds i received (didn't hit anything important) and pushing the tiger away while simultaneously falling into my grizzly bear stance and watching as the tiger scurries away with its tail betweens its legs at the sight of my massive shoulder humps. i roar defiantly and catch three dozen salmon at the river
Soundtrack: Deus Ex Mankind Divided OST - Prekazka District
To the bold and brash Lady Ironhand,
The cunning and clever El-Ahrairah, Prince of a Thousand Kingdoms, issues unto you this challenge: meet them two hours after sundown at St. Cassander's Balcony. Bring only your erstwhile self and a drinking vessel you trust free of poison. There shall you and they imbibe the good stuff from Khayradin* and speak of things past.
m.p. Lord Atreyu-Cannamos
P.S. *here is meant the actual good stuff from Khayradin, not the tasteless swill Throne Karakiz distilleries dribble out and falsely label "Khayradi Brandy."
And so there was Atreyu, ten minutes after the appointed time, wondering if they'd just made a fool of themselves.
The day had been very long. After the tumultuous events of the previous weekend and the stress of a long academic week, Caelan had cajoled the entire squad into going on a hike up a mountain. This had required them to get up at 5:30 AM yesterday to catch an early flight out of the metropolis, an arrangement that had pleased nobody but Caelan himself.
The hike itself was no trouble. Atreyu was no stranger to mountaineering - it was one of the few forms of solace they'd had from the oppressive regime of pseudo-house arrest uncle had put them under. Even after weeks of acclimation, the lower gravity of Karrakis still made every movement feel like they were walking on clouds. Delamar and Tuera seemed to be fine - clearly, their training had involved a lot of long walks over rough terrain. Even Persephone seemed to be handling it with aplomb; she talked a lot about spending all her days in a lab, but Atreyu suspected she must've undergone some manner of intensive physical training to buff up for the College.
Nevertheless, even with all five of them confident and competent, reaching the summit had taken most of the day, and getting down most of the evening. They would've been back to the College late that night, had a storm not rolled in and grounded aerotrans flights until the following morning. Atreyu, who was only just getting used to their quarters at the College, had spent hours tossing and turning in their hotel room, and eventually elected to do some revision - which, of course, put them to sleep almost immediately.
They'd dozed on the flight back to Throne Karakiz, and then slept most of the afternoon. Sometime during that messy, surreal stretch of time, they'd taken it into their head to handwrite that note and have a servant deliver it to their cousin. Now, with the time rapidly ticking up on fifteen minutes past the appointed hour, had they just spent a considerable sum of their limited personal wealth on an expensive brandy they were going end up having to drink alone?
The sound of heavy footsteps dispelled the anxiety - even when she was trying to be quiet, Praya had an unmistakable tread.
Atreyu didn't look back. "Checking how patient I was?"
"It's a virtue," Praya grunted, holding out a tumbler.
"You weren't checking whether I'd trapped the place?" Atreyu grabbed the bottle off of the balustrade and poured a slug into the offered glass, before filling their own.
"Not your style," Praya replied, waving a hand dismissively. She put the glass to her lips and inhaled gently. "But let's see you drink first."
"Oh, if you insist," Atreyu retorted, tipping their glass and taking a healthy sip. "So my style isn't to set traps, but you fear I might poison you?"
Praya smirked. "You've been full of surprises lately, rabbit." She finally took a drink, and her eyes widened just the slightest. "The actual good stuff. You're as good as your word. Well, at least if you've poisoned me, you haven't skimped on the trappings."
Atreyu raised their glass with a nod. "If I'm serving you strychnine, you can be sure it'll be hidden in a 15-year aged."
"Good," Praya quipped, nodding. "Poisoning I could forgive. Weak booze? Damnation to the seventh generation."
"I missed you at the infirmary last weekend." Atreyu just said it, straight out, with no warning - and it showed, from the silence that hung in the air afterwards.
Finally, Praya spoke. "I was never worried." She clearly meant to leave it at that, but from the look in Atreyu's eyes and the set of their jaw, she relented, and decided to add something. "You were never going to let some two-bit thugs from the House of Smoke get you down. Moment I heard you were walking, I knew you'd be fine."
"Still," Atreyu replied, eyes narrowed, "it would've been nice to see you. Sometimes things are better when they're more than just implicit."
Praya shrugged. "And yet here you are, strong as the stone you were birthed on. A warrior, a fighter, a survivor. Just like the family asked of you."
"I never wanted to be what the family asked of me," Atreyu spat.
"Yes, and the family threw you on your ass because of it." Praya took another sip of her brandy. "Yet here you are - fuck, if it weren't for father's displeasure, you'd basically be an exemplar of our ways. Tenacious. Uncompromising. Undeterred, even in the face of impossible adversity. You plant yourself in the path of your enemy and dare them to break you. The only people who can't see it are the House - and you."
Atreyu felt a sudden, violent urge to change the topic. "I wasn't afraid this time, you know."
Praya looked over. "How's that?"
"When I faced down the assassin. He had a rifle, my shield was all but dead. If I'd hesitated, made a single mistake, he could've killed me right there. But I wasn't afraid. I just took my shot. After facing you down in a mech, at the duelling fields, after the live-fire exercise - I didn't have time for doubt, or anxiety. I just acted." Atreyu stared back at Praya. "I realise now that the thing I was most afraid of already happened. I lost your respect. I lost uncle's respect. Even after I lied to keep it, I just ended up losing it anyway."
Praya cocked her head. "You lied?"
"I wasn't fearless in the face of the tiger, Praya. When it was charging at me, I wanted to run. I wanted to scream 'I don't want to die!' I wanted to do anything but stand and face it. I didn't feel close to the Titan at all. I felt small, and powerless, and afraid. But I lied to uncle, and to you, and to those kavaliers, because you'd never have respected me if you knew the truth."
Praya had an unreadable look in her eyes. "Do you think your declaration to father was a lie because you felt fear?" From the look on their face, Atreyu didn't understand the question, so Praya continued. "Do you think courage is the complete absence of fear? Do you think... wisdom is found in those who throw themselves carelessly into danger? Fearlessness isn't bravery - it's stupidity. There are a whole lot of things it's entirely correct to be afraid of. We were twelve years old. It was a rock tiger. You stood your ground despite your fear. That wasn't your failing."
Atreyu remained silent, waiting for Praya to finish her thesis.
"Your failing was being so afraid of father's opinion - of my opinion - that you couldn't be truthful. You were brave to face the rock tiger. You were cowardly not to admit your fear to father. You were cowardly to pretend you felt close to the Titan just because it was expected of you. You had a duty to the truth," Praya concluded, "and you were too afraid of losing our approval to fulfil it."
Atreyu chuckled bitterly, turning away. "So it was a choice between losing your approval then, or losing it later?"
"You've lacked my approval these past ten years," Praya shot back, "and you've survived. Perhaps you never needed it."
Atreyu whirled back around, taking a bold swig from their glass. "You know what, Praya? Perhaps I did. Do you know what happened out on the duelling field that day? Everyone expected you to beat me. Even my own squad. It would've been so easy to lose. And I've spent my entire life wanting not to lose, even though I lose, even though I lose all the fucking time! Passions, I'm so sick of losing all the goddamn time!"
It was Praya's turn to fall silent, waiting for Atreyu to finish.
"But something happened. I stopped wanting not to lose. And I started wanting to win. I never wanted anything more than I wanted to beat you in that moment. I had to win. I wasn't just satisfied with proving everyone wrong anymore."
"You had to prove yourself right," Praya suggested.
Atreyu nodded. "Exactly. There wasn't time for doubt. For second-guessing. I had to find the thing that won, and do it. I had to beat you. I had to prove to myself that I could."
"And you did," Praya acknowledged, taking a long sip. "I'm proud of you, by the way. I wasn't holding back. Glad to see you weren't either." She paused, and then added a little more. "And... glad to see you've got something you want bad enough to fight for it."
Atreyu shot back. "And what do you want?"
Soundtrack: Andrew Prahlow - River's End
There was a long, long silence - Atreyu counted the seconds on the Clock of Rosaline, and they numbered three-hundred-and-twenty-seven before Praya spoke again. In those five and a half minutes, eternity seemed to pass.
"Volition."
Atreyu inclined their head, content to listen.
"I'm tired of walking the path laid out for me by others. I want to live for myself, as I wish to live, free of the endless expectations people impose upon me. I want to make decisions based on what I want, not what's best for the House." She turned to look at Atreyu. "I want to decide for myself what battles are worth fighting, and how to fight them."
Atreyu raised their glass to take a sip of brandy, but found it empty. Undeterred, they answered. "You know, I think I want the same thing, deep down. Freedom."
"Perhaps you do," Praya murmured, nodding. "You know what I've always respected about you, Atreyu? Whatever you believe in, however braindead I think it is, you fight your own battles. Even if it's for the worst reasons, even if you're afraid, even if you have no idea how to win, you pick yourself up out of the dust and you raise your damn fists. There's nothing I hate more than cowards who expect others to do their fighting for them when they could do it themselves."
Atreyu narrowed their eyes. "How about cowards who kick people when they're down?"
Praya said nothing.
"I can't force you to do anything," Atreyu continued, "but I think you owe Rawan an apology. I've already apologised on your behalf, of course. But you wouldn't want me to fight your battles for you."
With that, Atreyu poured themself another glass of brandy, left the bottle for Praya, and walked off without saying another word.
