#sybilofthecamerata

[transiiistor-blog]

sybilofthecamerata

-- Oh. Hi Sybil.

[ameliaovc]

✈

✈ - an eye-opening memory

“You can see? Really? Hello, Sybil.” Damp hair sticks to her cheeks as she stares down into flat red, full of intelligence that flickers with the woman’s response.

“Hello, Amelia. You look lovely.” There’s more life in that voice than she’s heard for most of the trip. With a smile she pulls the Transistor more upright.

“Don’t think about Royce. I don’t care whether he experiences this or not. You, however, get the view.” Now the former reporter swivels the sword on its golden prongs to give a view of herself and the apartment. Something in Amelia’s heart leaps as she gathers the Transistor in her arms and steps over to the window. “Say hello to Aelland?”

Listening to the inhale, then the soft sigh from the woman in the blade makes something ache in her chest. She can hardly deny it to herself, even though everything about the situation is impossible. After all, what can Amelia do to profess that she cares for a dead woman? And even if Sybil doesn’t reject her (on the very valid grounds of not sharing those feelings or on the fact that she’s not alive), they’re most likely not going to make it through this adventure.

“It’s lovely. You’re lovely.” The former Camerata member gives a choked chuckle as she gazes out. Something splinters behind the barrier of Amelia’s ribs as she breathes in an aching breath.

There’s nothing to do about it. It would be best not to let her partner in the Transistor know about her feelings.

Even so, her mouth runs away with her before she can reign it in.

You should be the one on the outside, really. Can you see those stars shining for you?

[ameliaovc]

[✤ | ✖ | ❥]

✤ - a memory that involves romance/love

The nearest terminal from her house was a short walk on the way back from the restaurant; as she strode toward it Amelia flapped her coat against her legs with sharp snaps. When she got within a foot of it the screen lit up her face with its usual -User Authenticated. Welcome, Amelia Garbur.-The woman had been fast, or had simply lived closer to the restaurant. Already there was a message waiting for her.> Thanks for the dinner date! It was very pleasant. I’d like to see you again some time, Amelia: want to come to my place in a few days?Her gaze narrowed to the bright text on black. With a huff the associate editor settled her palms onto the sides of the terminal and ducked her head. This was supposed to be something good for her. Something to distract her and make her happy. The date had gone well enough, and she was pleasant and all, but Amelia couldn’t find anything in common. Nor was she interested in a relationship.There was too much at stake. And a cool voice like congealed honey chilled her veins.> I appreciate it, but perhaps not. Thanks for the offer. Her gaze burned and blurred as she closed the screen and stepped back.Times like this trickled down into sleepless nights long afterward.

✖ - a repressed memory

“Goldwalk Bay is dangerous! The whole place is dangerous, but that’s smack dab in the middle of the zoned area.” Amelia paced across the room with hands balled into fists. “What would Max think of you taking risks like this?”“He’d do the same for me. But he can’t, because he’s dead,” Lillian snapped from the window. “I have to find out what happened to him, and this could be the break in the evidence we need.”The silence between them grew into long rays of regret, which shattered into pieces in the back of Amelia’s mind. The pieces lodged into her heart on those cold nights where she could remember far too much.

❥ - a childhood memory

Her mother’s braided locks shined like the feathers of a raven. She gave a bright burble and clutched at it with chubby fingers. “Careful, Amelia!” With a laugh Mrs. Garbur smoothed the black fuzz of her daughter’s hair. “She’s so curious, Harold. We won’t be able to contain her for long.”Amelia couldn’t know what they were saying, and instead made a tiny fist around dark strands. The familiar face smiling at her was someone she recognized. Mommy. With a chuckle she raised her fist to her mouth.The picture of them both was long gone by now. Both of them had lived a happy life, if short. Amelia had never seen their last days.

[ameliaovc]

Catharsis: The Sea

The shadows beneath Sybil's bottomless eyes look like bruises, and Amelia hates it. She can see them from up close as they walk together with hands clasped along the silent streets. Coffee became Sybil's staple when they returned to Cloudbank months ago, and the former Camerata member hooked herself on caffeine as soon as they got a reliable food system up.

Amelia herself doesn't drink coffee, and hasn't since the single cup taken before her trip to Aelland. She knows she'd still like the taste of it, but in some pigheaded determination to make sure she gets more sleep the reporter's sworn off it entirely. In addition, the reminder of her old life isn't something she needs.

She still gets the bitter taste off of her partner's lips in the morning.

Right now, though, on the cloudy day the people had entered into the weather system, they're walking a short distance apart. She has to remind herself to take shorter steps as she glances down at the sea-green shirt that matches the waterfront near them. While the blonde wears a white sweater Amelia's stolen a black sweater from her to match black slacks.

Right now, though, she's too busy glancing over to read Sybil's expression. The exhaustion there mirroring her own troubles her, and she can see a deep sadness from within. The incident with the Transistor a few days ago broke Sybil, and now Amelia feels relatively helpless in helping her find her feet.

For now, though, they're mostly silent. Amelia's the one to break it first with a quiet quip. "You know, I think I look better in your sweaters than you do. Mostly because I have the arm length to wear them properly."

[reisz-sybil]

Secret Santa: O Tannenbaum (Sybil & Asher, 2000+ words)

At long last, I've finished!  This is for the Transistor Chat Secret Santa exchange.  I was lucky enough to have gotten sybilofthecamerata, and among other prompts, she requested Asher and Sybil decorating the Camerata HQ.  Here's my result.

I'm sorry it took me so long, but other factors aside, I also wanted to make sure this was good.  Besides, what's better than getting presents on the holiday itself?  From one Sybil to another, I hope you enjoy it. <3

Merry Solstice!

(Under Read More for length.)

“You’re late, Sybil.”

As she stepped off the rooftop lift, the pale-haired socialite shook her red-and-white parasol of the snow that had fallen onto it (the third day in a row) and looked up at Asher from under the wide brim of her hat.  Her light smile was hidden behind the high collar of her red coat until she pulled it off, after leaning the parasol against a nearby chair. “Fashionably late, Asher darling,” she corrected him. “There’s quite the difference between the two.”

As she pressed her coat toward him, he stared at it for a moment before ignoring her implied request and left her to hang it herself on the nearby rack.  Instead, he readjusted his scarf and turned toward the mass of boxes behind him.  They were each labelled with their contents, Sybil saw, and on top of one stack lay Samhain.  The ever-present feline cracked open one red eye to glower at the two noisy humans before turning over to fall asleep again.

“Whatever.  We still have work to do.  Did you bring everything?” Pointedly, Asher glanced to the thick, lumpy cloth bag she’d brought with her and set on the table that had been pushed against the lift wall.  Smiling, she opened the top of it, and began pulling out its contents.  Tinsel, holly and garland, ornaments of all sizes and shapes; she laid it all out along the table, separated by length and color and size.  Asher had to raise an eyebrow, not only at how she was able to fit it all in a bag that couldn’t have held more than two or three bowling balls, but also at how quickly she emptied all of it.

“Now, I have a number of ideas, of course,” Sybil was saying as she unpacked. “But I’ll need your help realizing them and putting them together.  Many have to be seen before I can truly decide.  The tree goes up first, I think—it’ll be the basis for this whole room, so of course it has to be utterly perfect.” Turning to him, she flashed her most charming smile. “You’ll help with that, of course, won’t you, darling?”

Asher rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but smile in turn, if only a little. “That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?  That, and Grant’s busy.”

“My, oh, my, what a shame.” Her tone was almost genuine in its surprise, but the distraction had been her idea in the first place; they’d needed an excuse to get the administrator away, and she’d come up with a new campaign which, naturally, called for a debate—one over which he must personally preside.  The younger of the Kendrell pair smirked at her.

“Yeah.  A shame.  Anyway, since it’s now been—”  He glanced at the wall clock. “—thirteen minutes since we should’ve actually started, why don’t we get started?”

“Naturally.  Oh, but before we do!” Asher rolled his eyes as Sybil swept over to the nearby terminal and logged in.  With a few taps to the screen, music began to play.  The first few strains gave it away as music for the solstice—but the voice that followed made the editor scoff and smirk.

“Red again, huh?” he teased.  Sybil, to her credit, didn’t blush.

“Only for a few songs.  Now, where’s the tree?” The socialite clasped her hands together, looking around the room.  It only seemed empty; all the furniture had been pushed against the walls in preparation for its rearrangement—as would no doubt happen with Cloudbank’s most meticulous planner and organizer involved in decoration.  The wall décor remained where it was, the portraits and displays, the charts and maps.  And the Terminal they shared, currently shut down in the corner.  But her eyes fell at last on one box, longer than the rest and lying along the far wall.  Asher moved to it and bent to pry it open; several branches sprung up over the edges, and Sybil smiled excitedly. “Oh, it’s perfect.  Bring it out, let me see it!”

“Cripes, Sybil, hold your goddamn horses.” With some effort, the scrawny editor heaved the great seven-foot fir from its box.  Taller than both of them, and twice as round at its base, it was as fine a tree as Sybil had been able to locate.  Asher struggled to balance it without anything else to keep it upright, but Sybil clapped her hands in delight.

“Excellent!  Now—hm.” The organizer took an appraising look over the room. “Let’s try over in that corner, there.” She gestured toward the wall furthest from the both of them, and Asher shot her a glower as though to ask, are you serious?  But without any further word (experience had taught him that protest was futile when she was in this mood), he hefted the tree from the box as best as he could.  Half-dragging, half-carrying it, the faux trunk dragging across the tiled floor, Asher finally got it to the corner she indicated, and hoisted it against the wall.

“The stand’s still in the box,” he explained, finally turning to her. “But how’s that?”

Sybil hummed thoughtfully as she considered.  Finally, she shook her head and waved dismissively. “No, no, that isn’t right.  Try the other corner.”

He rolled his eyes again, but obeyed, rolling the false plant along the wall and tile until it was leaning in the other corner. “Now?”

“No, no, now you can’t see it too well from here.” The socialite huffed and crossed her arms. “Bring it back around this way, darling; let’s try right here.” She nodded a few feet in front of her in the open vestibule.  Asher heaved a sigh, but hauled the tree back to her, and balanced it against one shoulder.  A branch, caught on one of its fellows, came loose and smacked him in the face; he sputtered, cursed and clawed at it to remove it.

“Goddammit,” he spat, and shot her a glare. “Is this good?”

The pause between Asher’s question and Sybil’s response was perhaps a little longer than it should have been. “Yes, actually.  I think it will do nicely.” She looked him over, and raised a thick eyebrow. “Though I suppose you’re in no position to be retrieving the base, are you?”

“Unless you want a shitton of broken branches?  No.”

Sybil sighed, and moved to retrieve her parasol before approaching the tree’s box. “Then I suppose I’ll have to bring in some help.” Tapping the sharp point at the ground, she pressed at the cabochon in her accessory’s pommel.  It blinked to life, glowing with a red light. With another tap, a flare of golden light appeared by her side, materializing into a canine shape with accents of black and red.  She smiled and stroked its head, as it turned its eyeless gaze to her.

“Are you serious?” Asher’s tone was annoyed.

“I most certainly am.  Do try to stay still, won’t you?” Turning to Luna, Sybil pointed with her parasol first to the tree’s stand in its box, still wrapped in protective film, and then to Asher’s feet and the base of the tree. “Fetch, girl!”

Immediately, the creature was in action.  She leapt into the box and leaned her weight onto one side, successfully tipping it over to face the two humans.  The base came clattering out onto the floor, and Luna lined herself up behind it, facing Asher and the tree.  Luna’s hard light faceplates parted, and Sybil took a step back before she Barked().  Then the base was flying through the air, spinning on its axis.  Asher ducked behind the tree in an effort to protect himself—but it was unnecessary, as the object flopped to the ground immediately in front of him like a discus, just as Sybil had planned.

Crouching, the socialite scratched the Fetch behind her “ears.” “Good girl, Luna!  Very good girl.” Standing once more, she tapped Luna on the head with the parasol and the Fetch vanished.  Another press to the cabochon switched it off, and she turned at last to Asher.  He was glaring at her through the branches, but Luna had aimed wonderfully; the base required only a bit of nudging after she removed the film before Asher was able to place the tree at last.

“Wonderful.” Sybil eyed the tree critically while Asher had a brief rest; the faux plant was heavier than he’d expected. “Spin it to the right, would you?”

“Wait, what?” The editor gave her a confused look.

“Spin it!  To the right, please.”

“…why?”

“So the most perfect side is facing the door.  Please Asher, are you honestly questioning me in this?”

“Are you honestly going to be this goddamn picky?” But he still gripped the tree and started to turn it.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is meticulous, darling.” Sybil watched Asher as he spun the tree, and he’d made a number of rotations before she finally halted him. “There!  Perfect.  Now we begin the trimming.”

“Finally.” He readjusted his scarf again, plucking several false needles from it and flicking them away. “Let’s see what you got.”

“I commissioned quite a number of ornaments for us,” Sybil explained as they walked to the table next to the lift. “Red, black and white glass—our colors.  The four largest are for each of us.” Once they reached the table, she pulled the four boxes toward them and opened each of them.  Inside were the delicate blown-glass ornaments, easily six inches in diameter each.  Sybil’s was capped with gold, and her parasol’s pattern dominated half of the orb; for Asher, it was Samhain and a pencil.  Royce’s had a Process’ eye for his discovery, and Grant’s, Cloudbank’s skyline for his position.  All four had the Camerata sigil on the other half.

“Huh.  These are actually pretty nice,” Asher said as he held his up to watch the light dance through it. “So do we put these on now, or no?”

“Not yet,” Sybil replied, and set the ones which she took out back into their boxes. “We’ll put on everything else first, and then see where they’ll fit from there.  Or perhaps I might choose to place them as we go!” She giggled. “Shall we?”

“Yep.” Asher set aside his personal ornament and they began work on decorating the tree together.

It took nearly an hour; between the amount of ornaments and garland that Sybil had brought, and her fussing over their positioning, the task took much longer than it should have.  But by the time it was complete, they could both stand back to admire their handiwork with pride.  Asher stood with his arms crossed, and Sybil with her hands folded in front of her.  The entire tree twinkled with lights, and the four orbs were all nestled in the branches facing the door.  Grant’s was at the top, followed by Royce, and Sybil’s was in the center beneath her old friend.  Asher’s was closer to the bottom as the last to be inducted into their number.  The base was hidden beneath the tree-skirt bearing the Camerata’s colors.

“Well!  Isn’t that lovely?” Sybil said after a few moments of marveling.

“I’ll say.” Asher watched for a few moments more before glancing to the boxes. “Wanna help me get these open and get started on the rest?”

“Indeed.” Sybil turned away from the tree and stepped over to them after recovering her parasol again.  Asher followed, and lifted Samhain from the box with which they would start.  The cat grunted in displeasure, but he soon found a new napping spot under the tree.  Asher hefted that box down, and Sybil cut it open with the tip of her parasol, doing the same for the rest of them.

The next few hours were spent arranging the room around the masterpiece that was their solstice tree.  More times than either of them could count, Sybil directed Asher in lighting, garland, or furniture positioning; many times, he was close to losing his temper.  Each time, Asher would take a break while Sybil worked on smaller arrangements; then, when he was ready, she would return to supervision.  That turned out to be productive, as work on those projects was cut in half later on.  Luna even made a few more appearances to aid them.

By the end of it, they stood before the rooftop elevator together.  Asher was still breathing heavily, out of breath after having done most of the heavy lifting.  Sybil had made some effort herself, however, and even she had broken a sweat.  But now the whole room twinkled, flashed and glittered in the light, or cast some light of its own.  Everything was red, white, black… and green.  They admired their handiwork, and then turned toward each other.

“It looks positively amazing,” Sybil finally said, breaking the silence—her playlist had run out a few minutes past.

“Yeah it does.” Asher’s usual grouchy countenance had softened, and he could return her smile with one of his own. “Don’t ever ask me to do this again, but hell yeah it does.”

“Don’t ask you again?  But darling, I—”

“Nope.  Don’t even think about it.” Asher grinned teasingly at Sybil, and she huffed.

“Oh, very well,” she conceded. “Goodness, but this is such a grand feeling, isn’t it?  Seeing it all come together like this?”

“Heh.  Sure is.” He turned to look again. “I think Grant’ll like it, at least.”

“Good,” she responded. “After all, this is for all four of us.  We ought to enjoy it.” A chime from the terminal caught Sybil’s attention, and she rushed to read over it. “Oh goodness—I need to be leaving!  I’ve dinner with the Hammers’ manager within the hour and I’ll need to change!  I hope you don’t mind…”

“Nah.” Asher shrugged. “I’ll clean up around here and get Samhain home.” After a pause, he added, “…and thanks for the help tonight, Syb.”

“Of course, darling!  How could I ever miss it?” Giving him a quick embrace, Sybil gathered her belongings and the parasol before logging out of the Terminal. “Do tell me if you make similar plans in the future.  But for now, I must dash.  Do be well, Asher, and merry solstice!”

“You too,” he replied, and then she was off like a shot back down the lift again.

“Heh.  Merry solstice.”

[ameliaovc]

[Sybil would send: bellflowers, geraniums, pansies, and red roses!]

Amelia would hold the bouquet up, simply staring at it for a long while as if trying to burn it into her sight. Then she'd run her fingers over the petals and leaves. Lastly, the reporter would inhale slowly, hands clasped around the bunched stems.

One of the roses would later get pressed flat and lay next to her bed.

[askmeinthecountry]

!— Okay! The raffle thingy is officially over and, by the wisdom of the great and powerful random-number-generator, the winners are as follows: notactuallytrans, strategossix and sybilofthecamerata. Congratulations, you fellas! You win the bio… thingies. Or a short story, whichever you prefer. All I need now are specifications. For a bio, i'll need a detailed character description (physical, a reference image would be helpful if you have one) and a pose, as well as a colour scheme of up to two colours. After that I'll need the bio information of said character (age, gender, selections, reasons cited, trace status). If you'd prefer a story, just give me some sorta prompt and I'll do my best. So, yeah! Hooray for 200 followers, thank you all so, so much! sim —!>

[ameliaovc]

Admission (Vignette)

That evening Amelia had come over to her partner's place in Fairview to write up reports. While they each had their own place she knew the importance of staying close to Sybil. That one night full of tears, anger, betrayal, and ultimatums had marked them both. They were now quieter and closer, relying on each other to survive the days and slowly heal. The citizens had never earned the reporter's trust like her companion had, and Amelia never failed to remind the other woman of that and her continued acceptance.

That evening she'd hung out on Sybil's couch with her personal terminal, answering questions about the citizens' needs, then whined until her partner joined her on the impromptu bed she used so often. Royce hadn't really made his studio very neat, Amelia had noticed from the start, and when Sybil took over his residence she didn't bother to change things too much. She probably wanted to keep his memory alive.

Now they curled up together, shared warmth bringing life and hope. Amelia buried her face in the cloud of pale hair and slid her arms in tighter around the slender waist. This was what she lived for. They could make it through this, and eventually things would be better. Her thoughts scattered into oblivion and she listened to Sybil's deep breaths before succumbing to sleep herself.

——

The nervous figure crept into the studio, grateful to see that it was unlocked like his sources had promised. They said she'd be alone, she always was alone, watching them and changing the city to fit her master plan. Everyone knew it would be for the best if she just disappeared and didn't come back. Maybe Miss Garbur would be happier, too. All of Cloudbank knew the harpy was dragging her down or she'd be the leader.

It was no coincidence either that she'd chosen the place of one of her former allies, the one who'd had the most control over that weapon. No one was safe while Sybil Reisz remained in Cloudbank, and he'd be lauded by all who knew what he was doing.

He took a while to explore, but fortunately she was in the main area on the couch. Her bright hair shone in the dark crimson lights, and she seemed to be asleep. Good. Was that a blanket behind her back? The man squinted, then blinked. It didn't matter. He'd just pull her away and slit her throat, then dump the body into the sea.

One hand reached for a pale arm...

——

Amelia's eyes opened as the warmth left her, and she stared balefully upward. Then Sybil's legs dragged on the ground as her screams filled the studio. Someone was pulling her away, trying to keep hold of the pale woman while she struggled and shrieked wordlessly. There was a knife, shining and shaking, and he was trying to bring it up to her throat. With a wild motion of Sybil's arm and a grunt from him a dark line opened up on her arm.

No, not now. Not now that they decided to move on and live. This couldn't be happening, this couldn't this couldn't no—

With a fluid motion Amelia leaped off the couch, barreled toward them just like she'd done before, Transistor in hand sliding into Not-Sybil's abdomen and knocked the knife away into the darkness. It clattered onto the floor then she ripped Sybil away from the man. The blonde fell to the side, leaving Amelia on top of the shaking intruder.

"Miss G-Garbur! I swear I was... this was only to help you and Cloudbank, they'll b-back me up, you don't need her!" He raised his hands, trying to fend off an anticipated blow. "Please, you must be happy about this! She was bringing you down from the inside!"

Her face was blank, eyes far-away as if attempting to figure something out. Her voice, though, quivered with pent-up fury. "Never. Ever. Come near Sybil again. If I see you within the next three months I won't be responsible for what happens. You've betrayed me, and you've betrayed Cloudbank." How could he? How could he try to take away the one person she needed, the one she couldn't live without?

His arms lowered so he could gape at her blindly. "But you—"

Amelia's fist slammed into his nose with a crack. Blood spurted out at his strangled cry, and she pulled back to stand up. Death now lay in the frigid calm of her tone. "Get the hell out of here before I do worse."

As the would-be killer scrambled for the exit, whimpering and clutching his broken nose, Amelia turned around to look for her companion. Sybil was slowly pulling herself up, tucking back wild hair behind her ears, then she headed swiftly for her own private terminal. The reporter glanced over her throbbing hand and noted the other woman's pause after a few steps. Then Sybil glanced down at her wounded arm and began to quiver.

"We don't even have a police force." Her voice stayed on the brink or normality, attempting to remain calm and coherent. "There's only people here to help with rebuilding. We can't prosecute him."

"I'm not sure they would even if we tried," Amelia pointed out bleakly. If he was right and the rest of Cloudbank felt this way about her companion then nothing they could do would bring justice. What would stop them from trying again? The thought made her grimace as she walked over to pick up the knife. Sybil stepped over to her collection of trinkets, trying to take even breaths, and slid her uninjured arm across. The tiny ceramic and glass figures hurtled to the floor and shattered underfoot. Her face crumpled, then she put her head in her hands while her shoulders shook.

After disposing of the knife Amelia rinsed off her hand in the sink and hunted around for some gauze. When she found it the reporter made her way back over to Sybil. "Let's fix that up," she murmured. "C'mon." Once arm slid around Sybil's back to guide her toward the couch, where she wiped the wound clean with a wet towel and wound the gauze over the slender arm.

"We're ninety-five percent through un-processing Cloudbank; the moment I finish, I'm leaving." The blonde's voice was surprisingly calm now, her gaze lowered toward Amelia's motions. "You know I can't stay here, and they obviously want me dead."

"That's fine. But I'm coming with you." Glancing up at Sybil for her reaction, she tied off the bandage with deft fingers.

There was so much to argue there. The city needed a leader, they all loved Amelia and she'd do such a wonderful job, plus Amelia did best when working hard. They definitely wanted to elevate her as Administrator. If the reporter left with Sybil there wouldn't be much for her to do, and she could get bored or tired of her.. Still, after all that, she couldn't find it in her to argue. "If you ever change your mind I won't blame you," the former socialite whispered. "Though I really don't want you to leave me anyways."

The confession broke the frozen shell that had kept Amelia going and doing what was necessary. Leaning forward, she tugged Sybil onto her lap and leaned in to touch foreheads with her. "I need you too. We'll make it through this and come out on the other side."

Perhaps in time they'd make their way across the water on a bridge guided by the Transistor, one that disappeared behind their passing feet and led to a quiet island. With peace and healing, they could be whole once more.