PLEASE READ CAREFULLY BEFORE INTERACTING. (Updated: 06/16/2025)
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GENERAL.
Julius Velthomer is an irredeemable antagonist of FE4/FE5. He will die on December 31st, 2025 with no exceptions.*
This is a joke; there are 20 spoken and unspoken rules about character deaths that I will not violate. He will be dropped at this time. Just know I am taking full advantage of his impermanence at TOA to circumvent having to redeem him by making him evil enough to want to kill a second time.
Trigger warnings include: child sacrifice, demonic ceremonies, betrayal, mass murder, matricide, torture, mass brainwashing, and incest, in due part to his unfortunate conception. (Will tag as #tw: topic) Feel free to DM me if you need anything else tagged, I genuinely prefer this and will be happy to.
Muse =/= mun. I touch grass.
Julius was cognizant of his crimes and did everything of his own free will. He cannot deflect culpability by claiming possession, for Julius was not simply overtaken by Loptous — he was made whole. Together, they became absolute. Julia's brother died a long time ago. But Julius still lives.
INTERACTIONS. (*READ CAREFULLY)
Julius has two modes: (1) WILL NOT BETRAY - Eerily charismatic like his mother. Almost hypnotizing, surely magnetizing. Manipulative in a charming way. (2) WILL BETRAY - Same charisma. Wicked and immoral. Will betray you organically.
This is an opt-in system. By default, Julius will work under (1) WILL NOT BETRAY unless you consent to the latter, more negative development. While this may seem a bit neurotic on my part (sorry), this is to ensure Julius casts the widest net for interactions without alienating potential partners. It takes 10 seconds to fill out and makes me feel more at ease to write said content with you. Otherwise, Julius will begin and end the relationship between our characters without blindsiding you. This does not obligate you to be friends with him, but does mean that anything charged with physical, emotional, or mental betrayal will not occur unless you opt-in.
You may sign the form later on or change your mind by refilling the form at any time.
(JULIUS BLOOD PACT / CONSENT FORM)
ARCS.
(Weeks 1-2): Sickly, kind, saccharine. Will state his awareness of having "been possessed". Almost appears to have reverted back to his personality prior to Loptous, will not raise a hand to hurt anyone. Sharena FEH would be proud. (He is lying out of his teeth.)
(Month 1-2): Cockish, snide, but otherwise harmless. Pretending to be repentant or otherwise cooperative.
(Months 3-4): Vainglorious, will no longer cooperate.
(Months 5-6): Betrayal arcs in full motion.
(Month 7): Unrepentant asshole. Loptous revival with assistance of TWSITD.
WRITING NUANCES.
Julius' writing will put an emphasis on time. He is running out of time, so all his posts will be visibly and purposefully shorter. This will sacrifice my typical lexicon in exchange for quicker, more timely interactions. I will do 20 minute challenges to maintain prompt posting and hope to commit some memorable arcs for us both before his "departure". You do not need to match. Roleplay as long or as short as you please and take your time.
Under the unique circumstance that you want to be friends with a villain, Julius will make you feel almost worthy of his attention. It is fun as it is saccharine as it is manipulative. But he will not pull the rug from under you. In fact, he may seemingly offer to choose you over the end of the world. Isn't that nice?
Send asks anytime. He's in the library like a ghost that haunts your narrative. He chose the library on purpose to publicly piss you off. All asks will be put into a post format, but you will not need to make it into a thread if you prefer for it to be a one-off.
The betrayal arcs will preferably happen later, unless threads progress negatively in an organic way or your muse already has history with him. Do not push for unnatural interactions with drama and let it develop as is. Unless there's history behind it, I will be hard-pressed to accept something off the rails immediately.
You may be one of the special many that already want to kill him. (Funny.) Go for it. To reiterate: he's publicly walking around on purpose to piss you off. All I am asking for is that every interaction where you do want to kill him ends up failing. He can't feasibly be killed, but I will drop him in December, so until then, please give him some avenue not to die (i.e. let him fade away like a ghost, knock you out, get pulled away, or manage to escape, etc.) Come January, he will essentially be a nightmare your character will conveniently forget.
WANTED INTERACTIONS.
Julius canonically has the ability to mesmerize people with just his gaze. He gets it from his mother. There is something electrifying about being in his company. I highly encourage you to play into this if this interests you, otherwise feel free to ignore it.
He will be disparaging of both human and dragonkin alike. This is very evidently a god complex substantiated by his revival after death. Coming back to life did such good things to his ego. Yes, he does have a dark god's blood in him but no, Loptous is currently inaccessible—dormant within him. He's working on it.
Frankly, I have a hard time believing he was a kind child prior to his exposure to the Book of Loptous, but because Julia and FEH have emphasized this multiple times, I would like to play into it in my portrayal. It's good fun to take a challenging piece of characterization and run a mile with it. You will see him make god-like attempts at pretending to be human. It should not be easy to discern whether he is actually being truthful, but that is what makes it fun.
Children of Naga. Come here. Come into the dark.
People who want to befriend him (funny). I want to make Julius as available for interactions as possible. Please come here (nicer). Come into the light.
MORE INFO.
...on relationships, OOC Notes, portrayal, etc. can be found here. It's juicy. I thank you for reading it in advance!
Sympathy is not enough to for him to disregard all wariness, though much of Elffin’s past actions may make others think otherwise. It is why even with friends there is a careful wall created, that in trusted vassals some are granted morsels of information and others not.
This boy with no future- Julius Velthomer- has his sympathy and nothing else. A smooth smile and blank eyes makes Elffin wonder if his present will be just as empty as what lies ahead. He takes the offered hand, shakes once, and releases, drawing back. “...I am Elffin, a student here.”
Just Elffin. His tone seems to say, the deliberate veiling of any importance, and perhaps more damningly, emotion. A glimpse behind the window remains just a glimpse, and the prince pulls the curtain in the form of closed eyes and a small smile.
“Welcome to the Officer’s Academy, Julius.”
When normally he would open with another question, gently offering the promise of a listening ear, instead he leaves silence. The observer is not keen to have their positions reversed, but Elffin remains unwilling to deny another an outstretched hand.
※— ELFFIN. THE NAME SLIPPED EASILY, POLISHED SMOOTH LIKE A RIVER STONE. Julius gave it a low hum, as though committing it to memory. He doubted this would actually be the case. His grip had lingered, just a touch too long, but when he released it he drew his hand back calmly, folding it behind his sleeve.
“A student,” Julius mused, the curve of his mouth never faltering. "I feel welcomed already."
Julius cannot place the way Elffin smiled. In the same way he cannot place where Elffin has been, and where he would go from here on. But the way his voice carried buzzed with this closed off feeling, like a seal on a tight door.
Deliberate civility was quite amusing.
The room held silence like a weight. He leaned into it, as if it were a cushion made for him alone, crimson eyes settling with an intent that seemed too steady to be casual.
"If I see you in the near future, I shall keep you updated. Something tells me a school of this kind keeps a good secret."
If the students that were enrolled were just as elusive as this one, he wouldn't have to hold his breath for long.
While he much preferred working from the comfort of the shadows, that would prove difficult to the nature of which they’d been asked to gather information. As large as the house was, there seemed plenty places to keep hidden and lay low though that was not a skill they needed just yet. The ninja wouldn’t admit it but work as a farm hand was preferable to some of the other roles they'd been asked to chose from.
His gaze flickered towards the younger man in an attempt to decipher the unreadable expression that seemed to have been present ever since they arrived and began getting ready for their work. It took him little time to change into the clothes provided and soon the only things he wore of his own were his mask, blue scarf and the sheathed dagger in his boot.
Saizo turned to fully face the other man now, giving a nod of confirmation at his name. There's a furrow of his brows at Julius's choice of words and he wants to ask what he could possibly mean when he says their world but for now, the ninja holds his tongue and focuses on their task at hand. Judging from where some of the other farm hands were headed, it looked like the field was at the top of the hill behind the house.
"We find everyone doing the same job we are and we follow them." It sounded simple enough, right? "Help out where we can for now and hope we start getting the information we need soon. Ready?"
※— READY? THE WORD CLUNG TO HIM LIKE A BURR, SCRAPING ALONG THE GRAIN OF HIS PRIDE. Julius Velthomer had been many things—prodigy, heir, vessel, executioner. But never ready to trail after peasants with dirt under their nails, feigning kinship in their filth. Still, necessity forced its way into his mouth, though it tasted like ash.
“Of course.” The smile returned, fragile as glass and just as sharp. He fell into step behind Saizo, though the angle of his gaze was distant, aloof. “Lead on, then. I’ll follow. Pretend long enough, and perhaps I’ll even start to believe I belong here.”
The earth rose beneath their boots, uneven, the climb to the hill littered with the mundane rhythm of common life—tools clinking, voices low, the stench of livestock carried on the wind. Julius’s fingers twitched, aching for the clean snap of fire, for the sear of something worthy. Instead, he laced his hands behind his back like a student at a lecture.
It isn't before long that he is given a bucket. A bucket. Could they not have given him a hoe or a sickle to use?
"Ya look'en like ya haven't polished a spoon, boy. Just stand around and look pretty. Ya partner's probab'y got the arms to pull yours clean ou' like weeds."
And to Saizo.
"Speakin' o' weeds. Start pulling. The rich folks around here would probably start oogling at ya if ya just stand around like that."
Being squished like rats was as pleasant as it sounded. At least there was enough room to somewhat move, Miklan's made do with places smaller than this. He shuffled behind the insufferable prick from the break room.
Raising a hand, the brigand clapped the puny mage hard on his back. "How's stardom been going, Jude." A smirk tugged on the corners of his mouth.
Miklan didn't cared enough to remember his name properly; perhaps it'd knock some extra ego outta the brat.
THIS IS AN ANAMORPHOSIS ASK BUT I DESERVE TO BE PUT ON A PYRE FOR ANSWERING IT A MONTH LATE (now post-anamorphosis)
※— HIS NAME FELL APART ON ANOTHER MAN’S TONGUE. Julius hardly needed to look over his shoulder to feel the weight of the callous clap against his spine. Stardom? Hm. Was that what all that was supposed to be? A circus with no audience, a play with no curtains. He allowed the smirk to settle in the dark, if only to taste it.
“Julius.” His voice carried soft, even indulgent, as though he were humoring a child’s mistake. "Though it hardly makes a difference coming from you."
"With the way you're smirking, one would assume you enjoyed being a buffoon on stage."
Julius pulled away, still feeling the sting diffuse across his back. "They survived, you know. I hope you pocketed every last gold piece before you left."
※— FESTIVAL LANTERNS BURNED LOW. Music carried in fits and starts—laughter, clatter of cups, the distant crack of fireworks splitting the night. Between the food stalls and trinket sellers, a new stall appeared as though it had been waiting all along. Its canopy was black velvet stitched with silver thread, its wares a gleaming wall of masks: grotesque, elegant, animal, faceless, endless in variety.
The man who ran it was stranger still. Too sharp at the edges, too wide at the smile. He greeted Julius and Andrei with a bow that felt rehearsed, his teeth catching the torchlight.
“Two fine faces, in need of finer ones still. Masks for every man, every moment,” he crooned, sweeping his arms toward the shelves. “Prices? An afterthought. What matters is the choosing. Whatever you crave, the mask will grant.”
Julius tilted his head, gaze sharp, amused. He did not trust smiling men. He especially did not trust smiling men who made their trade in faces.
Behind him, the festival pressed on. In front of them, rows upon rows of masks stared back. One caught the torchlight strangely—its surface rippling like steel yet light as cloth. Another seemed to breathe.
The merchant straightened, voice lilting as though the warning was nothing at all. “So, tell me. Which face would you try on tonight?”
It almost came secondary to the chaos around them, the massive fit that Drama was continuing to throw that sent them all tumbling to their knees, dragging ragged breath from her companions that was so loud and enveloping in her ears until it wasn't, until the only thing she heard was the roar of the crowd and when she looked up to seek them out, she found that it was only that infinite blackness again.
Lyn's heartbeat rose in her throat instantly, and she pressed a hand to her ear as though to quiet the crowd there, a soft nearly self-comforting gesture that almost did what it needed while she struggled to her feet.
His face remained above them, growing more battered by the moment, the barrage of her companion's strikes stripping the veneer from him with a ferocity that she wouldn't have expected of a place like this, but that seemed all the fitting when she looked back at the time they'd spent here, however long that was.
None of them wanted to be stuck here, none of them wanted to remain on this terrible stage, hearing the chants and jeers of the crowd who only bayed for blood like a beast in the worst beasts in childhood stories. When she looked around and only saw dark, heard that close crush of applause, it was suffocating enough that her throat tightened involuntarily.
"Don't…"
Her eyes squeezed shut, not seeking the dark but the centering quiet, not finding it, only the waves of far off voices to drown her. She was tired, of having to beg, of having to plead for their favor, again and again with no benefit, with no end in sight.
LYN 3/10HP appeals with Sword B [Super Appeal bonus! Roll: 3, 3, 3, 3, 2, 2, 2, 1]
LYN gains +1 def/res until end of her next turn.
"Don't think that you can take us down so easily!" The rest of the sentence tumbled out of her in a snap, teeth bared and ferocious, shaking her head in an impatient gesture as she forced herself to her feet.
"No matter what tricks you pull, we will endure, and we will overcome!"
She couldn't see them, her allies, her friends, but she knew they were there, she had to trust that they were. It allowed her to stand for that moment longer.
※— ARTIFICIAL DARKNESS CONSUMES HIM, AND WHILE HE KNOWS NO FEAR, HE ALSO KNOWS NO DIRECTION. All he sees ahead of him is Drama, who, upon torturing him cyclically has set his sights on another. So even in the dark, not even this false god found the compulsion to pay Julius his respects. It is a foolish tactic, but one that will have him ruined.
There is no one in this space that he can hear or see, but he suspected the crusades to continue even without him. Fingers flit into his robes, clawing against the spine of a book sealed in layers—the slick of water and lightning meaningless when its dark sheen remained peerless.
JULIUS 1.5/12HP heals 1.5HP with Happy Health. JULIUS 3/12 HP.
The dark shifted unnaturally. It was not Drama's anymore. But not quite Julius' either.
JULIUS 3/12HP fails to appeal with C Rank Reason. [Roll: 3, 2, 2]. -2HP. JULIUS 1/12 HP.
Not yet.
The deafening silence bore into him, thumbing the heart in his chest like a coin. He felt it jerk violently, as the darkness pressed its thumbnail under its apex and flipped it.
No one is watching. But everyone is waiting.
It was always excruciating the first time he put his hand around its spine, claws in the dark, to claim it as his own. His birthright. His call to legacy. In this life and the next, Loptous was his.
Everyone is waiting. I am here.
Julius flitted through the jolts of hideous pain—the same thought, tongue against skull, chanting the truth. I am here. I AM HERE. I am here.
Loptous!
The pain subsided. Julius Velthomer waited for no one but himself. A buried son, a walking god—he left a bed on the bottom of his skull for an unwaking star. How much longer must he wait for half his claim to power to return?
Their continued stream of attacks send Drama crashing down, and as the scenery crumbles around them, the man beneath it all is left to crawl from the rubble, looking just as battered as any of them.
Small, fragile, human. Andrei nocks an arrow, ready to put an end to both him and the mission, but before he could do so against all the man's enraged shouting...
”Our work, Drew. Shut up.”
A familiar female voice picks up from right behind where the main battle occurred. She lacks her usual glasses, revealing dark pink eyes that match her new tense tone. In her hands, May carries the mirror exit that has been within the break rooms previously. She lays it down on the floor delicately.
”M-Maylene…?”
”Been a while since you’ve called me that. Feeling nostalgic?”
The low-effort tease is followed by her bending down toward Drew. Initially where it seems like she tries to help him up turns into her grabbing him by the back of his suit, easily holding him upward.
”H-HEY?!”
”Enough, Drew. The act’s over.”
With her other hand, Maylene reaches inside Drew’s tuxedo only to pull out a similar clapper to what had stunned Drew earlier.
”This thing has driven you mad. Better out of our hands.”
She tosses it by the feet of the monastery’s troops. Taking it away from its wielder seems to make the ground shake even more. The world won’t last for much longer.
”Take the relic with you, and we can leave as well,” May claims, only to droop her face toward the ground. ”You can let…us prisoners out. Or is there some other reason why you needed us? Another purpose for us prisoners?”
White she broods, the stage display breaks down more and more. If you are going to make a decision of the prisoners’ fates, now’s the time.
Strangely enough, Drew appears to have fainted within May’s grasp. Due to a lack of his hopeful light or due to the battle’s strain, it is hard to tell.
The relic lands at their feet, somewhere between a peace offering and a bargain for the lives of the pair of prisoners in the mirror.
Not one Andrei is ready to accept — he would sooner both die than leave this loose end unresolved — but before he could make another move, the final stage light dims, throwing them all into darkness.
It almost came secondary to the chaos around them, the massive fit that Drama was continuing to throw that sent them all tumbling to their knees, dragging ragged breath from her companions that was so loud and enveloping in her ears until it wasn't, until the only thing she heard was the roar of the crowd and when she looked up to seek them out, she found that it was only that infinite blackness again.
Lyn's heartbeat rose in her throat instantly, and she pressed a hand to her ear as though to quiet the crowd there, a soft nearly self-comforting gesture that almost did what it needed while she struggled to her feet.
His face remained above them, growing more battered by the moment, the barrage of her companion's strikes stripping the veneer from him with a ferocity that she wouldn't have expected of a place like this, but that seemed all the fitting when she looked back at the time they'd spent here, however long that was.
None of them wanted to be stuck here, none of them wanted to remain on this terrible stage, hearing the chants and jeers of the crowd who only bayed for blood like a beast in the worst beasts in childhood stories. When she looked around and only saw dark, heard that close crush of applause, it was suffocating enough that her throat tightened involuntarily.
"Don't…"
Her eyes squeezed shut, not seeking the dark but the centering quiet, not finding it, only the waves of far off voices to drown her. She was tired, of having to beg, of having to plead for their favor, again and again with no benefit, with no end in sight.
LYN 3/10HP appeals with Sword B [Super Appeal bonus! Roll: 3, 3, 3, 3, 2, 2, 2, 1]
LYN gains +1 def/res until end of her next turn.
"Don't think that you can take us down so easily!" The rest of the sentence tumbled out of her in a snap, teeth bared and ferocious, shaking her head in an impatient gesture as she forced herself to her feet.
"No matter what tricks you pull, we will endure, and we will overcome!"
She couldn't see them, her allies, her friends, but she knew they were there, she had to trust that they were. It allowed her to stand for that moment longer.
※— ARTIFICIAL DARKNESS CONSUMES HIM, AND WHILE HE KNOWS NO FEAR, HE ALSO KNOWS NO DIRECTION. All he sees ahead of him is Drama, who, upon torturing him cyclically has set his sights on another. So even in the dark, not even this false god found the compulsion to pay Julius his respects. It is a foolish tactic, but one that will have him ruined.
There is no one in this space that he can hear or see, but he suspected the crusades to continue even without him. Fingers flit into his robes, clawing against the spine of a book sealed in layers—the slick of water and lightning meaningless when its dark sheen remained peerless.
JULIUS 1.5/12HP heals 1.5HP with Happy Health. JULIUS 3/12 HP.
The dark shifted unnaturally. It was not Drama's anymore. But not quite Julius' either.
JULIUS 3/12HP fails to appeal with C Rank Reason. [Roll: 3, 2, 2]. -2HP. JULIUS 1/12 HP.
Not yet.
The deafening silence bore into him, thumbing the heart in his chest like a coin. He felt it jerk violently, as the darkness pressed its thumbnail under its apex and flipped it.
No one is watching. But everyone is waiting.
It was always excruciating the first time he put his hand around its spine, claws in the dark, to claim it as his own. His birthright. His call to legacy. In this life and the next, Loptous was his.
Everyone is waiting. I am here.
Julius flitted through the jolts of hideous pain—the same thought, tongue against skull, chanting the truth. I am here. I AM HERE. I am here.
Loptous!
The pain subsided. Julius Velthomer waited for no one but himself. A buried son, a walking god—he left a bed on the bottom of his skull for an unwaking star. How much longer must he wait for half his claim to power to return?
There had been some kind of strange magic at play in that last quake. To Griss' eye, the giant metal man had thrown a tantrum so severe that it had torn the stage apart and sent his own piece drifting into a featureless abyss far away from the rest of his allies. Slowly, Griss pushes aside the debris that had collapsed on top of him and rises to his feet, bloodied and bruised.
Griss is isolated!
There is nothing but the dark here, and Mr. Drama. Those fighting alongside him had been swallowed up in all directions. Not even the spotlights of the other stages reach him here, wherever "here" is.
"Just you 'n me, huh?" Griss calls back to the larger-than-life visage of the man they've been chasing. He hadn't expected an answer, and yet the metal jaws creak open and through a speaker comes one more of Mr. Drama's demands: he'd need to show off a special move to rile up the audience. A glance back over his shoulder at the silent dark tells him that there is no audience here though. At least, not one he can see.
"Well, that suits me just fine. Don't need anyone else to get in the way, or tell me to go easy on you." He thinks of Lyn when he says this, and the powerful light tome he'd been saving for last appears in the palm of his hand. Already, he can feel it absorbing his strength, sending shards of glass through his veins.
GRISS 3/10HP critically hits (x2) MR. DRAMA x/xHP with Aureola [Rolls: 20 + 4 = 24 & 18 + 4 = 22, -10 - 2 = -12HP (x2)]
GRISS 3/10HP loses -2HP [1/10HP]
Aureola 3/15
MR. DRAMA x/xHP hits GRISS 1/10HP with Arm Smack [Roll: 18 - 5 = 13, -2 - 2 = -4HP; Miracle activates! GRISS 0.5/10HP]
Zap Tap triggers! -2HP to MR. DRAMA ??/??HP
Griss gains +1 stack of Make It Hurt [3 stacks]
DRAMA DAMAGE: -26, total 105.5
He throws his arms out to his sides, light gathering around his fingertips, then draws them together to concentrate the blast. Two blinding shots light the dark up into greyscale nothingness, but it's still not enough to stop the machine from turning on him. The arm sweeps across the fragment of his stage and throws him into the abyss, contorting him through what feels like every bone in his body breaking until all goes dark.
※— JULIUS DREW IN A LONG, STEADY BREATH as the warmth of healing coursed through him. Bones knit, the fire in his nerves dulled, and the pain that had wrapped around him like chains slackened for an instant. His scarlet eyes opened anew—brighter, sharper, alive again. Yet behind that clarity lurked the same taut string of fate, wound tight around Andrei’s fragile head, fragile mind, waiting for the moment to snap shut.
ANDREI 8/10HP heals JULIUS 5/12HP with Recover [Roll: 20, +8HP] JULIUS 12/12HP
But Mr. Drama was not idle.
1. MR. DRAMA x/xHP uses Muscle Flex!
MR. DRAMA gains +2Str and +2Def until Enemy Phase 4.
The steel giant loomed ahead, arms unfurling wide. Plates groaned as seams strained, its tuxedo tearing against the swell of iron beneath. A grotesque parody of strength, its mockery echoed in the hush before its strike.
Double Dip activates! MR DRAMA can act again
MR. DRAMA x/xHP hits JULIUS 12/12HP with Body Slam! [Roll: 14 + 4 = 18] [4.5 + 1 + 1 - 1 Def = -5.5HP, JULIUS 6.5/12HP] counters with Fire(Melee)! [Roll: 15] [-1.5 - 2 Def -1 (A,D) -1 Mag = -5.5HP]
ZAP TAP activates! -6HP
Then the weight came down. The impact drove him into the boards, the stage buckling beneath the force. His ribs screamed, his chest caved, but still his hand burned steady, the flame refusing to die.
Fire guttered in his palm, his body near collapse, and yet—just as once he had delighted in the planks swallowing the healer whole—he felt a quake bend wood and the darkness swallow him in turn.
And still he stood. Blood traced the corner of his mouth, each breath a shallow rasp. His stance faltered, his frame swayed, but his grin only grew sharper in the dim—an unbroken slash of defiance carved against the dark.
The ground trembles once more beneath her feet, but this time the floorboards do not give way. Mitama remains standing, as she has time and time before, and turns to face the great looming threat. As she does, the mask slips free. Instinctively she reaches up to catch it. The same face of those nameless workers stares back at her when she turns it to examine the front. Unidentifiable. Expressionless.
She does not have time for this. Without looking, she tosses the mask into the audience and darts forward to pick up her fallen staff. A surge of magic rolls through her as she picks it up. Instinctively, she flicks it off as she rejoins the others, allowing it to roll over them in passing as she takes her place once more, eyes quietly scanning over their condition and grimacing and how things have changed while she was not looking.
MITAMA 7.5/10HP heals +2HP for Renewal. MITAMA 9.5/10HP. Diffuse Healer activates! Party heals +1HP
BERNADETTA 8.5/10HP, JULIUS 3/12HP, ANDREI 6/10HP, LYN 7/10HP.
MITAMA 9.5/10HP attempts an appeal with S Rank Reason. [Roll: 3, 2, 2, 1, 1, 1]
Mitama gets +1 defense/resistance.
The crowd demands more? Mitama scoffs. The crowd is barely there anymore, only responding when prompted like puppets on command. What he asks is impossible of her anyway, and she is more than content to allow the others in her number to take the lead, with arrows and blades flying with equal ferocity. She laughs at that. "Seems as though you demanded more than you were capable of handling!" She calls out as Drama reels under the attacks. She is aware it is only the fortune of the strange tool they found that allows for this, but such is their fate, it seems. She grins, titling her head back towards the faceless mobs and raising her voice. "And are you not entertained?"
The crowds cheer. Predictable. She will miss how easy it is to anticipate them.
Double Dip activates!
MITAMA 9.5/10HP heals with Fortify. [Roll: 7, +2HP, BERNADETTA 10/10HP, JULIUS 5/12HP, ANDREI 8/10HP, LYN 9/10HP] Live to Serve activates! Mitama +0.5HP (7 overflow if you care). MITAMA 10/10HP
Good. With that all said and done, she lights up her staff once more. It is not as bright as she aims for it to be. Her smile falters as she lowers it and tentatively smacks the head. The results do not change before it goes dim again. She sighs. "Well, if everyone could just avoid further pain, then it will all be fine..." It will not be fine, she already knows this.
※— HIS BREATH STILL STUNG, RIBS ACHING FROM DRAMA'S WEIGHT CRASHING INTO HIM. The steel beneath his tuxedo had left him staggering, but Julius Velthomer was nothing if not persistent. He would cling to the bottom and make his way back to the top, knuckles white-clenched until the healing light circled back to him.
He turned from the titan and raised his chin to the audience that shouldn’t exist—rows upon rows of velvet seats that had been cheering for blood. Their applause hit like thunder in his ears, hungry for spectacle.
“Pathetic,” he muttered, pressing a hand to his chest as if steadying himself. Then louder, with a grin sharp enough to cut: “If it is performance you want—watch me.”
He extended his arms, firelight whirling from his fingertips. Theatrics made flesh. And just as he spread them wide—
A thick green pipe from above melted from the heated display, morphing just enough to blacken and contort. The water came down fast and merciless, drenching Julius head to boots. His robes clung instantly, dark fabric plastering against his ribs. The crowd, inexplicably, screamed with delight, and there was a strange song that boomed for a few seconds before the crackle of static killed it dead on arrival.
Julius froze for half a heartbeat. Scarlet eyes narrowed, hair dripping, his expression stirred with frustration.
Then he tilted his head back, laughed once—low and dangerous—and let the water run down him like consecration. “Fine,” he said, voice rolling smooth, “Fine!"
Freedom comes from the strangest places. A nap interrupted. A necklace and a song. A loud, clattering noise that makes her jump and spin around to find a panel of the strange machine on the floor, revealing new buttons that they had not previously seen before. Mitama frowns at it silently from her place. She has made no move to take the initiative with the buttons thus far, and she has no intention to now. She waits silently for Bernadetta to take the lead that will, hopefully, put an end to this farce entirely.
Freedom comes in the form of a sudden staircase where there was none before.
Mitama laughs. How funny. If only escape was always that easy to obtain. She begins to cross the room towards the staircase, eager to believe strange puppets and harsh lights and cold winds behind. "If we are lucky, maybe we will go join the audience instead." That would be nice. She is quite tired of being asked to dance upon someone else's strings.
Though she approaches easily enough, Mitama dares not to take the first step down, stopping instead beside the stairs and turning to the rest of the party expectantly. It only makes sense, after all, that the one capable of healing the others not be the one to take the lead. Just in case.
※— THE STAIRS CREAKED UNDER HIS HEELS, folding him into the dark as if the stage itself were swallowing him whole. This was the closest feeling to freedom they've been allowed. The healer's laughter was a surprise in itself, but he supposed that sardonic humor in the face of irony was the best they could all manage. Stairways to hell staggered one after the other, and he reminisced on the dark builds of Lopt Temples as each step strayed further from the dark. He had never particularly favored the structures in his last life, but they did certainly play into the atmosphere. They descended down, down, down, by gravity and the pull of almost-autonomy.
Drew Amaya's past was hideous, and if he had hoped to exchange figments of his memories to elicit sympathy, it was lost upon Julius himself. Still, with a mouth like that, he had to wonder: were they meant to alter something? Was the intention to be the voice of reason, to shape him into another being, give him another meaning to live by?
This logic did not compel him in the least. If there was one person he was hoping to influence, it would be the girl. If she could meld to gratitude and the lick of warmth, could it be that her heart would bend his? Julius planted this seed and waited. If it truly were the case, that fate was theirs to mold, then she would be loyal. She would be kind.
If May was more important than Drama in this world, she'd respond to kindness better in the future.
And kindness was the root of all weakness.
“You think?” he muttered, half to himself, half for Mitama’s benefit. A faint smirk touched his lips as he stepped forward first. “With our luck, a freak accident might happen while we’re down there.”
Julius descends first. What opens before him is not a hidden corridor or some monstrous trap, but rows upon rows of audience seats—the very same he remembers their jeering spectators filling during earlier acts. Only now the seats are deserted, silent in their stretches of red velvet and wood. No eyes, no breath, no crowd. Just emptiness. In the distance, three stages sit shrouded by curtains, their secrets hidden away. And at the center of it all—another set of metal stairs, conspicuously out of place.
Julius blinked, adjusting to the sudden sweep of seats, the barren theater opening like a wound. Shuffling forward past the vacant rows, his eyes swept the stages, then narrowed on the stairway at the center. “He must have been desperate,” he murmured, lips twisting faintly, “to fill this empty lot.”
The four of you descend together. The steps drag on, longer than they should, like the twisting hallways that led you to the break rooms before. Space stretches, bends, and loses its shape until at last—you arrive at the bottom. A closed door awaits. It has no lock. Pushing through reveals a room that would be completely dark if not for the glow of a single object floating at its center.
The air stank faintly of oil and dust. Julius’ eyes traced the outlines of broken machines, gutted seats, remnants of utility stripped bare. The only light bled from a golden gleam. Suspended in the air, it hovered—flat, rectangular, strange.
It looks unmistakably like a stage clapper, used to mark the beginning and end of scenes. Here, it is the sole thing keeping the shadows at bay. Its glow makes it clear: anyone can take it.
Julius’ smile curved at the edges, faint, unreadable. “My." This must have been his most prized possession.
It was almost as though he did not feel them at all, could barely acknowledge that they were there. His irritation shone through the most, but it was dismissive, a shrug of his shoulders that sent the whole world sideways.
MR. DRAMA x/xHP uses Anger Quake!
Hits Lyn [Roll: 16 - 4 = 12] [5 -1 = -4HP, LYN 6/10HP]
"Gghh!" She nearly lost her footing, could have lost more if he'd hit harder, with more intent - Mitama dropped, clutched at her face through the mist and stilled, and the instinct to charge forward kindled stronger in Lyn's chest.
Mani Katti still shone, regardless of the change in light, and she presented it in challenge, calling out to the audience that had just shouted their approval of her - but just of the idea of her, not the reality. They no more cared for her than for any of them, not as people, not when there was spectacle to occur.
It would have been easy to lose heart, but the audience had spurned her before, had failed to rise to the level of her burning heart - it stuck its thorns in her, an entity unto itself that she could not quite shake. She craved the autonomy to dismiss their approval altogether, had they not needed it so direly.
She grit her teeth, slid the sword back into its sheathe.
For the time being, that wasn't her part to play.
"Is everyone all right? Can we stand?" They were alive, at least; that was most important. If she needed to be the beacon of light in the isolating dark, then she could do that.
Slipped against the edge of the stage and a distance behind Drama, Andrei is afforded a full view of the destructive attack, reins pulled tight to prevent his steed from any undue movement. The moment the rubble clears, the green-haired woman voices her concern, and he takes this chance to sweep his gaze across his allies as well. With Mitama seemingly stunned from the earlier strikes, it's uncertain whether she would recover in time to heal them once more. He clenches his left hand, feeling the warm glow building just underneath the skin. He could do this.
He turns back to his allies. Some had managed to avoid the attack. Others were less lucky, including...
Ugh. But wild and unpredictable as he is, Griss' attacks are likely one of the most powerful weapons their side had on hand at the moment. Against a foe like this, with their mission's success on the line, he can hardly allow himself to be so childish.
Swallowing a sigh, he urges Buttermilk across the stage once more, coming to a standstill next to the other man, though he keeps the maximum possible distance between them as he raises his hand for the spell. Who knows what more the other could take this as an invitation for.
ANDREI 8.5/10HP heals +1.5HP from Happy Health. ANDREI 10/10HP.
ANDREI 10/10HP heals GRISS 3/10HP with Recover [Roll: 16, +6HP] GRISS 9/10HP
"There," he says as the light of the spell fades alongside the worst of the other's wounds, "I do hope this means we are even regarding the previous... accident." The closest Griss would get to an open apology for it.
※— GREED GLEANS ITS HAND OVER THE SHOULDERS OF ITS PEOPLE. It raked fingers under his skin, as folds of his flesh contorted irritation with clarity. In this chaos that resembled not war, but the fundamental failings of men, Julius felt the strength roll down his arms. Four arrows jolted into the air; they fly, and his ears go buzzing. He cannot read her thoughts, but he knows that a worm like that has her place here, struggling to break top soil until she sets her arrows ablaze. She would brace her shoulders and lend an arrowhead—two, three, four—up towards the sun. And fight with her teeth on the shaft of another, if her greed called for it.
And she would be better for it. Better than his own flesh and blood, disinherited.
Julius found strength in yet another. Pink streamers for hair fluttering into the caved-in space between the planks. He almost thought he heard bells as the grand maw of the dark swallowed her, stars and all. He knows how she moved about blindly—the ridges of her staff making clanks over cracks and rungs on the wall, feeling for a place in the dark. He suspected, all alone, she had the undivine notion to claw. To scrape her nails against restraints and resist, until her binds unclasped to marks that were only her own.
Lyn stands before a crowd that cannot be seen. But she cut a solitary figure in the light; hand around handle—index, middle, ring, pinky. Her sword swallowed it, this light, but had no power over it. Where was that smile of hers, that would kill men before her and convert them to her religion? Where had her grace gone? On a stage, where no one was watching her, Lyn was just a girl with a long back and an empty call.
JULIUS 4.5/12HP heals 1.5HP with Happy Health. on the misery of his people. JULIUS 6/12 HP.
He walked forward, stepping past Andrei and the one who backstabbed his own teammate before—thinking them no more than air. Really, less than that, even.
A crowd that cannot be seen, and makes people feel unseen?
He raised one arm up, then the next, once clutched to his chest, followed with renewed strength.
This crowd belonged to him.
JULIUS 6/12HP appeals with C Rank Reason. [Roll: 3, 1, 1]
JULIUS gets +1 defense/resistance
Jerking hard on the reins as Griss’ counterattack strikes him — not undeserved, he can concede, but is this truly the time for payback? — Andrei finally manages to get Buttermilk under control, just in time for Mitama’s healing spell to cast its glow over them.
Even with a larger group, he could still feel the spell working to mend the damage. He quickly looks away from her, cheeks coloring slightly. She’s been forced to do more than her fair share handling their injuries this whole time, hasn’t she?
All he can do, for now, is prevent more mishaps.
Galeforce activates.
ANDREI 8.5/10HP attempts an appeal with S rank Riding. [Roll: 3, 3, 2, 2, 2, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1].
Successful Appeal Roll: 10. ANDREI gets +1 Def/Res until the end of his next turn.
Buttermilk clears the entire stage in a quick canter, slipping past the massive, outstretched arm as it comes down once more overhead. The crowd gives a cheer as he comes to a neat stop, now on the opposite side of Drama as everyone else.
That should keep them all out of the way from any… incidents in the future, he thinks, glancing around their enemy warily at Griss. Best keep him in sight as much as he could.
※— THE TENSION SETS AND THE LIGHTS ARE STILL GOING. There was an impossible standard to uphold, as motion and chaos branched off every which way, spiking his blood until it crested the top of his skull. The bite of theatrics bled into everything, blood thick as ichor and rot. Betrayal, appeals, a splash of violence and the soft sprinkle of light. If Loptous was watching, would he think this akin to war?
Frankly, with all the shouting and the offset tone of frustration, Julius could hardly think so. Appeal after appeal was made, for an invisible audience that they could not see. Julius could hardly understand if there was any use to it, but having felt the power pouring into him in shows past, he would allow it. Without the authority to bark his men down, he instead chose to sprawl his hand in ready. Typically, a fool who thought himself a diety would come for the neck of the strongest one here.
He glared, the gleam of scarlet catching steely slots and lights for eyes. And the light stared back.
MR. DRAMA x/xHP uses Muscle Flex!
Mechanical steam blew from the seams of his joints. The cast of steel and banners of silk bulged as he flexed his muscles to set the crowd roaring.
MR. DRAMA gains +2Str and +2Def until Enemy Phase 2.
Double Dip activates! MR DRAMA can act again
MR. DRAMA x/xHP barely hits JULIUS 11/12HP with Body Slam! [Roll: 5] [4.5 + 1 + 1 = -6.5HP, Julius 4.5/12HP]
Quake misses!
Julius 4.5/12HP misses with Fire [Roll: 1] no one’s ever done it worse kitten
He sneered as the vision of his allies fell to pieces before him, and Drama's mask like face gleaned a vibrant smile. "Go on! Settle this once and for a--!"
There was a taunt for the books.
Rearing back against the curtains, Drama's metallic body whistled and spun. As his muscles grew exponentially, he settled for an eerie brand of brawn. The kind that reeked of hubris. The metal man cackled, arms fanned in inane avarice, and the stage rumbled for it. Wooden planks shifted unsteadily, groaning and arcing like the crash of the ocean instead of hard oak.
Julius' feet momentarily stuttered, losing ground in a moment of weakness. The sigil of fire that had begun to spin its way around his fingers dispelled immediately, dusting his skin with ash. He pulled his arm up to cough, one eye closed in a wink of pain.
He felt the shadow of it before the brunt force of it, as Drama leapt from the stage with the whole of his hulking mass. It was too late by the time he had braced himself, as the seismic weight of metal crashed into him and left him on his back.
"Ha!" A shot of pain snared over his spine, thundering up to his neck.
He only barely managed to scramble back onto his feet, intent of violence coming through in shades of red. What more must he do? How much more should he wait. Loptous! His mind screamed. Loptous!
If he was laid to rest by idiocy, his bed would be that of nails.
※— THE VOICE SPLINTERED, rolling off the rafters until the source emerged from the dark. A giant of steel, draped in black finery as if parodying nobility, tuxedo stretched taut across its bulk, top hat crowning its absurd majesty. Mr. Drama. Or at least the mask of him.
The thing bellowed, arms unfurling to span across stages where their allies clung like props placed too far from center. “THE SHOW ALWAYS GOES ON… I DEMAND IT!!”
Julius moved before the echo had died. Fire spiraled to his hand, heat concentrated into something sharp enough to sear even plated steel. He cut through the air with it, a blade of flame pressed to flesh-that-wasn’t-flesh.
Drama staggered, tuxedo fabric hissing where the blaze touched. But the titan swung back with brutal force.
MR. DRAMA [??/??HP] counterattacks with Arm Smack (Melee). Roll: 14 — Hit.Damage: -2HP. -1Str. -1(A,D). -1(Arms). Total: -5HP.
The blow crashed into Julius, knocking the air from his lungs and dragging firelight from his grip. He folded, teeth clenched against the shock of impact, boots scraping against the stage rails as he steadied himself.
Then the spark retaliated.
Zap Tap triggers! -6HP, MR. DRAMA [??/??HP].
The current jumped from Julius’ body into the steel giant’s frame, arcing like a cruel halo. Sparks rattled across its tuxedo, black fabric smoldering where lightning burrowed.
Julius drew himself up again, face pale but smiling through the hurt.
“Demand all you like,” he hissed, fire rekindling at his fingertips. “This show was never yours."
"Ah, but "perhaps you would have second thoughts" means you have not started to have them yet." Mitama stands up and brushes off her skirt before continuing. "You have stayed long enough to wound us, at least,by ripping away the title of hero only moments after it has been bestowed. It is good advice to practice first before heading on stage, you know." But May had not been on the stage, despite her claim to being one of his rising stars. She watches her quietly for a moment before continuing. "There are many ways to help, you know. Not all of a show's most important parts happen upon the stage, but what transpires behind it as just as essential. So, in your mind, what does helping look like?"
Shifting her attention to another "Drew," Maylene sits on her thoughts momentarily as they stir in relation to this one's different flavor of speech. She opens her mouth as if to imply commenting on the change, but no words come out at first. "I do not mean to offend when I ask...but do you have a plan after acquiring all of these actors? Keeping their contracts straight and sealed? Managing them in the first place?" Her question appears to be rhetorical, as the automaton carries on unbothered. "I have been on record to be good with management, and you appear to need just that at this moment. Describe it as your second in command. I do not even need the limelight if that so bothers you. "(Anything...to see others enjoy what I do.)"
"If you are looking for a managerial job, why go through the same process as the performers?" She does not know Drew's personality, but an opportunity to tease is never shirked. "Did you want my attention that badly?"
Featureless brows raise on the grey face. "W-Well I just told you. I was going to audition as a normal performer. But then I had a better idea just now...is that not satisfactory?" She looks down, her glasses slightly sliding off her face. "Is the promise of your success not enough for you?"
"I am quite confident in my own promise of success..." They were here now after all, however later it may be from this moment. "but I am not opposed to the idea of giving myself all the chances in the world. Here, let us try a different kind of test: how would you suggest making the shows even better than they already are?"
Maylene shakes her head as if she should have expected the question, but does not have an immediate answer. "(Shouldn't have left my notes at home...)" she mumbles to herself. "It would be a cheap response if I buttered you up by saying the shows should be as you see fit. But rather than speak of my own bias, I will advise this: commit. No matter the act or performance, if you do not have those who are committed to what they perform, then you will be back to square one." She lifts her head back above her shoulders, readjusting her glasses in the process. "That is, after all, what just happened to your poor previous recruit, is it not?"
It dawns upon Bernadetta, albeit later than the two mages, that the pile of metal before them this time is welded in the likeness of 'May'. All of the hullabaloo in the break room had only ever seen her on its outskirts with her cardboard box.
There was no doubt that Mitama and Julius better understood the woman with glasses, understood how to play the stage and parlay where Bernadetta's tongue could not.
Forked, one of them was. Undoubtedly. Her gaze had set upon him as he spoke and she finally felt the cold of the room then, shiver nearly constricting her skin.
No wonder Andrei acted the way he did around him. No wonder she did not take well to him.
Finally she interjects.
"Well, um. I don't know about you guys, but I'm already seeing how different she is from the last one. And if we know that the other May is a star," Bernadetta murmurs to the others, hand cupped over the side of her mouth, "w-wouldn't it be safe to pass her?"
※—SAFE. Not only safe, it's obvious that Drew Amaya could only have made it that far in the future with her help. Whatever she saw in him: compassion, inspiration, drama... she was the one to cultivate it into his success.
"More than safe. She should already know she's passed." Be it by indifference or by knowing that fate has already conscripted her to doom herself by his side, she has.
Then, turning to May, he asks a simpler question: "Will you help me?" It sounded much younger than Julius had allowed himself previously.
He does not know who Drew Amaya is. And he certainly does not know Drama, a detached voice of god chiming from the rooftop. "Compassion. Inspiration. Drama."
But she did.
"Commitment." He pressed thoughtfully on that last note.
"This show will need me." He spoke as a mouthpiece for this pathetic man, who has them just as trapped as he is. And has all these faceless saps trekking into the light. "But it will need you too."
Her response was simple and to the point, in regards to his first statement. "I will."
The world fell apart with a simple sentence. One that Julius had never afforded to anyone in his own life.
"Thank you."
He flicked a quiet finger at the purple one, who was the first to call May a star.
It is either that Bernadetta is calmer after being concussed, or impaired enough such that she moves with a lag. But for the second time within some sad handful of minutes, healing light washes over them all, and despite it she still feels heavy.
Andrei has run off and run back. Mitama has checked on the other one's karma. By the time the yellow square glows to the three's attention, Bernadetta is already before it, her finger drifting to the device. And this time around she does not ask for permission.
After some time walking...and walking over to the button, Bernadetta gives the button a single, hearty push.
The results finally mirror the first time when the masked man was around to direct you. Though this time, you hear a thump! coming from the left of the machine. How are you supposed to let the auditioners out again...?
Gray eyes assess the conveyor, then flit back to the arrows. Despite what little the others must think of her, she knows that she does know left from right. Next, then, her finger presses against the east-facing pointer. She does not ask for permission this time, either. Not when she comes up too short in remembering the last time anyone minded hers.
The leftward metal door opens up very slightly and briefly to allow whatever slammed in to exit. With the guidance of the floor, another grey, metallic figure comes into view...
The gender of this one can be assumed to be female, based on her long, purple hair that drops to her shoulders. She looks to be no older than her late teens, wearing glasses to cover her eyes. There is also a very visible bump near the top of her forehead, but she does not seem to care of it whatsoever.
"I am here to apply to Mr. Drama's Theater," the automaton buzzes in a monotone matter without asking permission to speak.
"...Do you always keep the temperature of the room this cold, sir?"
Again with the sir. Bernadetta doesn't correct the automaton; she does not reason with it.
"C-cold? Well, I guess? Sorry," she fills the lapse with an apology born of reflex and not sincerity—Bernadetta can let herself be a sham in everything but.
Mayhaps she cannot relate to the coldness because they'd almost been set ablaze. But no matter. She goes on to ask: "So, um... do you know Edge of Dawn?"
"I would prefer you did something about it instead of apologizing... Wait. That's right, this is an interview."
When reminding herself of the goal at hand, the metallic person squints her eyes toward Bernadetta.
"As a matter of fact, no. I do not. ...Might I ask why you are asking me of my talents and not even my name first? Or are you so pressed for time that only that matters of my character?"
The bags beneath Bernadetta von Varley's eyes are anything but designer. In the low light now, their dark circles seem more pronounced than ever. She does not squint back at the automaton moreso than she gazes into its nonexistent soul, a blank stare from colorless eyes.
Well, our 'recruiter' said word for word that you didn't do small talk! Make up your mind! Bernadetta nearly snaps, but she was not in the business of getting more metal lip. If she'd be wrong no matter what; then, well, the mirror world wasn't so different from the real one.
Were she to perish in it now, her only regret would have been not letting this puppet slam its head against the door a few extra times.
※— COLD. WAS IT COLD IN HERE? Did metallic beings feel cold?
"…" Dusting himself off, he got up off his feet. And he graced a silent hand over Mitama's shoulder in a manner that almost ghosted the same flavor as gratitude.
To this new contestant, metallic like the last, he gave pause. There weren't any pink streaks, or anything of the like, but he piqued his eyebrows at its-- her familiar color. Hm. There was no way this was a mere coincidence.
"You've got a personality at least. Who would think to demand changes immediately, when we're the ones holding your ticket into the show?"
"What matters of your character…" He muttered under his breath. Did it ever truly matter what character his servants had? The Lopt, hiding in the dark in perpetuum, were better off serving him without the additional weight of the trivial traits and unhelpful quirks of humanity.
"Our…" A pause. "My." They were collectively Drew, after all.
"My job is to find someone who won't collapse the moment they get on stage. Do you have what it takes to impress a world that takes more than it gives?"
"Our last sorry excuse could handle a lance but had no spine. What makes you different?"
The auditioner gives Mitama and Julius equal looks of condescending judgment. Then she opens her mouth. "My name is Maylene," she introduces herself, readjusting her glasses. "If you were to ask me of my talents 28 minutes ago, I would have offered very traditional yet practiced dance moves. And yet now I question that skill. "Oh, not because I doubt my talent mind you. Rather, I question yours."
Maylene squints and motions one eye toward where the masked man ran off to earlier. "Drew Amaya. I've read about your struggling work. It seems like stage control is not the only place where you struggle. That was your last partner who just ran out the door, was it not?" She then glares at Julius in particular. "If you are telling your actors to fend each other off with weaponry, then perhaps I should be questioning my own place here."
Ha! He forgot something. He liked them loyal.
Bite or not, his servants had to be loyal.
Maylene here barely kissed the peaks of almost-adulthood. And the May they met was certainly older, face against strange light screen, telling them she had no cause to leave. Though Drama-- Drew Amaya, had been notably dismissive of her pacificism, she would rather her hands be clasped than to go vacantly into the dark. Loyal. She was quite loyal.
"Confident. That's one, May." Character, she had asked. "Well-read. That's two."
"My last partner… the one that ran away? Do you know the workplace abuse he was exhibiting before I had finally had enough? Or was that not important enough for the papers to write about?" He said it like he meant it. He meant it when he said it.
"Yet you still stand before me today. After all that has been said and done. Your skepticism comes second to something else. You must really want the world to see what you've got."
"Or is it something else?" What would compel her to join a show that would go on forever?
Maylene picks at a strand of her purple hair while Julius goes on. Even through a face compounded of nuts and bolts, there seems to be some form of concern in her eyes. "How should I know what he will report to the papers? He just left. I don't read minds, Drew Amaya. I'm more realistic than that." Without prompting, she starts to tread back and forth on the currently idle conveyor. To stretch her legs.
"If I knew you were this stubborn, perhaps I'd have second thoughts of being here today. Never meet your heroes. Because...well... No, you're not my hero, wrong words. "I saw one of your earlier shows. And pathetic as it most definitely was, there was compassion. Inspiration. Drama. It spoke to me. I wanted to help." Mechanical, monotone speech had suddenly turned on the more emotional end, despite coming from a voice box.
