A television host - Spade Divum - working in a chaotic and corrupted country known as Vitamor; writes an autobiography about his job and the challenges that come with it.
ao3 / fictionpress
chapter one below the cut
prologueÂ
" moth to a flame "
[...] I rolled the navy jeweled ring back onto my index finger. I didnât need to be in another court session for not wearing my indicator. I took my glass filled with beer, chugging it. The burning trail it left in my throat felt cathartic, even if Iâve already done it before. There wasnât any big news for me to report on in the past month . Well, real news. They were giving me basic weather reports and random murderer stories. Thatâs what caused me to keep relapsing there. Well, that, and I enjoyed the atmosphere of the bar. It really gets that inner poet right out of you! Thatâs to say, it gets me all the latest rumors. Nothing like the southern part of Vitamorâs bars and their patrons. Just ignore all the assaults and random robberies, and itâs a real spectacle; take it from me.
That night, they managed to get some pop star to sing a song for everyone. A slow, more laid-back one at that. You donât see that every day. I wasnât really paying attention to the lyrics, but it was basic; something about green forests and lumber oak. I donât know. Why do they even hire these subpar singers? Well, I couldnât tell you; if it were up to me, Iâd hire a good classical tune. But not everyone has good music taste, I suppose.
I was quite bored, zoned out, just taking a sip every once in a while. My vision was blurred too, subconsciously focusing on the yellow lights hung up on the walls that were gleaming. Kind of like a moth to a flame. I was out of it; I assume I was still depressed about there not being anything new in Vitamor. Or, the fact that it meant I had no news to shill off. Even if I get paid essentially the same, it didnât matter to me. I wanted people to hear the name of Spade Divum and think, âHey, thatâs the iconic, amazing, and super beautiful news reporter that always has interesting news for everyone!â
See, thatâs another reason why Iâm writing this all down. Back to the night. I was still sulking about how miserable I was.
âŚUntil I overheard two dudes talking over a color shift! The real plot twist was cooking itself up right there. I was thinking; Finally, I can get back on my gig and make some money for once, ho! It was years since the concept of a color shift was mentioned, but it never saw the light of day until right then. Now that it was a reality, the more disappointment arises from it, the better it was for me! Satisfaction doesnât get people to listen to news on television . I should get a motto that doesnât sound so pretentious.
â...Have you heard of Ponos getting crimson instead of his usual gold? He was apparently livid.â An older guy behind me mumbles, and I can still remember the smell of smoke and beer hanging off his lips from a table away. I know we were in a bar there, but yikes! Makes me glad I sprayed on some mint perfume that night. The younger one starts talking back to him after taking a sip of his drink. âWell, he could use some change; he was always annoying. Always babbling about his victories and how perfect his side of the country is.â
Rare to see slander of authority in public, but hey, it gave me all the more to report on! I scribbled everything I could overhear on a piece of paper, using a pen I found on the wooden floor about two weeks ago before I came to that bar. Youâd be surprised how many people drop their things around Vitamorâs bars! Letâs just hope that me openly writing this fact down doesnât count as robbery and wonât get me thrown into a cell.Â
The bar itself was still lively, which is to say you had to scream to get an order down. The air was a familiar suffocating mix of smoke, salt, and alcohol all crushed together into the same room. Another waiter brought a few glasses of vodka and even a few burgers. I was starting to regret not having ordered any food, I always seemed to forget to! Thankfully, my apartment was only two blocks away so I could catch a bus soon enough. I was still yearning for the good old bowl of pretzels and nuts they served there, though. I donât think I brought more than four coins with me, so maybe itâs just fate for me to not eat anything there. Who knows, maybe it was poisoned! âŚOr thatâs just the universeâs way of telling me I should lose weight. It doesnât matter.
As I was writing, I heard the door get thrashed open. I know some gangsters liked to parade in there every so often, but that type of sound makes me twitch every time. Well, the bar was already loud, but it was the kind of loud where youâd just space out and enjoy yourself. This noise, it was the kind of âwar atomic bombing flashbackâ loud. I mean, Iâve never been in a war, so I wouldnât know, but you get the point, yes.
The disruption forced me to look up from my now half-finished draft of my reportâwhich, if I may add, looked amazing so farâand to the bar entrance. As soon as I did, I was right, only instead of the usual overzealous gang, cultist lookalikes, or freshly divorced ex-husbandâŚ
Itâs one of the seven rulers. Well, thatâs what I learned they were called around here, at least. A useless, self-serving title if you ask me, but I donât make the rules. Or titles. A part of me hoped it was Ponos, like the men behind me were mumbling about, because heâs at least reasonable, but instead it was Iramir. Before the colorshift, he was always in charge of crimson, but now he had magenta, as proven by a small dyed piece of clothing around his wrist, clearly thrown at the last minute to follow the indicator rules. It looked as ugly as it felt out of place. If he was annoyed by that, for once I could empathize.Â
Iramir looked far different than how I envisioned him through rumorsâtall, dark, and he looks as wide as that grin he always plastered on his faceâand thatâs not mentioning the red and black suit outfit or the smoke flowing out of his mouth from the cigarette he was holding. He was kind of muscular, but it looked more like someone stuffed lemons into his skin rather than him actually working out. His appearance isnât nearly as bad as personality, however.
He glanced over the entire bar, the entire place suddenly forced silent. Well, as silent as it could get, people were still whispering, of course. Actually, those whispers could be classified as average volume talking. I didnât realize as his eyes raked over me; we locked eyes for a moment too long. I couldnât look away, it was just like in those movies I would watch as a teenager, the smell of popcorn and juice pops back into my senses like a comic book every time I remember that.
Heâwell, Iramir and his gang (or whatever they were)âstrode over to my table. Why, I was just about to go home anyway! If I knew they were coming I wouldâve left an hour ago, that is.
After another moment of silence he looked at me. âAh, would you extend your hospitality to give up your seat?â He said to me, his voice deep, rumbling, and booming almost. Iâve never heard him talk before, so I remember it was a surprise. I thought heâd sound a bit less gravelly. I kept sitting there, still, as if I was waiting for something to happen.
At that comment I looked around the bar, half of them watching the scene and the other half minding their business. I was subconsciously hoping that someone would jump in and save me, but no one was going to do that! Especially not for random people like me. As I looked back, I also realized why they were asking for my table in particular. I was the only one sitting at a table with only one person, that one person being me.
âSorry, butâŚthis table is taken.â I declared, head returning to my paper. What possessed me? Iâm not sure, but I needed to write down that report. Still, refusing one of the authorities was obviously a mistake, especially since Iramir was about second or third in terms of power from what I remember. This was proven to me a few seconds later; he scoffed, a waterfall of smoke coming out of his mouth. What type of cigarettes was this man smoking? I used to smoke back in the day, and Iâve never seen anything like that. Does he hold all the smoke in his cheeks?
I didnât dare look up, but I could almost feel his eyes narrowing through the wall of my vision, like his wrath transcended the third dimension. A moment later â I felt what was likely his fist â crash into my body, and I fell onto the floor. What a moron; what is he doing here anyway! He couldâve gone into any luxury suite, and he chose my bar, ugh! I felt like I was a rag-doll that got hit by thunder. Not that Iâm flattering his strength or anything. Surprisingly, I wasnât bleeding, just hit (a little!). I got up.
âThank you, IâŚâ Iramir started talking again while I got off the cold, hard bar floor (just to remind you), â...appreciate public acts of kindness.â His voice was as sarcastic as possible, but donât think I didnât catch the undertone of smugness in it! See, if anyoneâs going to wrong me, theyâre going down in this book because they deserve to feel the shame of the masses for their unforgivable mistake(s).
I started walking for the exit, picking up my paper and leaving. I didnât actually pay now that I recall this, but I come all the time, so it should be fine. I overheard Iramir also ordering whiskey. Not that it matters.
I walked away, opening the entrance for the bar and leaving. As soon as I did, I felt the cold hit me, a shiver of ice bursting in my ribs. Worse yet, I immediately found out it was snowing. A million small snowflakes draped the street, making every step a challenge to not slip over. I didnât bring any fancy coats, only the jacket I chose to wear. I didnât think too much of it because I was going to be in the bar the whole time anyway, butâŚÂ
I started walking back home. This next part isnât really important to anything, or my autobiography, but on the way there I saw a dog. Not a stray; it had a red collar and looked neat. I donât know what it was called, but it was golden and fluffy. I pet it, it didnât bite my hand off. It was actually kind of cute but also unaware of the ordeal I was going through. Life isnât all sunshine and rainbows, lil fella! Then again, I guess it is sunshine and rainbows when youâre a pup.
Thinking about the fact both Louis and Hythlodaeus V died, meaning if there's a afterlife or something in Metaphor they'd meet. Considering Louis's interaction with V was the only time we see Louis vent / be his true unfiltered self as much as possible in the entire game, I like to think that Louis in his youth saw the king as a mentor or father like figure. Someone he wanted to be like, someone he wanted to impress. After all, he still kept his book of utopia with him right until the end. Then he obviously felt betrayed when V let Forden do as he pleased, and that was his first betrayal, and I'm not sure he ever got over it considering how bitter he sounds. "Broken old man." is what Louis calls him. Yet, I feel like after Louis was forced to see that he was wrong (dying to MC/Will/Prince) and clearly had ptsd â that maybe he would be more accepting towards him. I mean, Louis' doesn't have any real friends.
Zorba is just obsessed with the concept of him, and his ideology, he doesn't love Louis for real. You could say much of the same for the rest. I feel like Hythlodaeus V might've been the only one who still, even if barely, liked Louis in a way. Saw something in him. More says something along the lines of 'can you blame Louis for wanting to destroy all that injustice?' and I feel like that's how the king felt about him. Maybe he was still sympathetic towards him despite all he watched him did. Because he understood the grief. That's why he let Louis kill the other candidates, and still gave him a chance to be king, and still wasn't truly mad (even if in the shape of More) when he killed his son. I'm cooking here because I want to make a angst fic of them both in some trance like afterlife where they meet. Okay yap session over....
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