SILENCE THE CHORUS: Stories are wonderful things.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Terrible things, too, especially when you are in the spotlight.
The Distortion raises their head, the moon shining above. They stand atop a deserted ruin.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Once, this was a castle.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: All sorts of things happened, and I won't ever get to know what led to this castle falling apart. Unless someone were to tell us.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: It's a little bit annoying, to return to the spotlight. All I've ever wanted was to be free. But I suppose I can't really stay in the dark forever; the audience is waiting eagerly, aren't they? And when you have a story...
SILENCE THE CHORUS: You have to share it with everyone, the most wondrous adventures of yours...
SILENCE THE CHORUS:
My name is Silence The Chorus. I am the leader- or at least, the closest thing avaliable- of a little troupe of musicians, artists, performers and outcasts. I promise that it will go along much better then the last troupe you heard about.
SILENCE THE CHORUS:
It's quite a story- and I will tell it to you. On my own terms, in the way I want to. No one shall live my life in my stead, no one shall tell my tale but myself. Now, let us begin!
SILENCE THE CHORUS:
The tale begins in the forests of Tara. Far away from civilization, from rebels, from all the drama and conflict...
ARTURIA GIALLO stares out the front window of a truck. She is barely paying any attention to the driver or any of the other passengers.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Is anything bothering you, Arturia? You have been moodier, since our meeting with the Reedwrym.
The clown-themed Distortion is driving the truck. There is no wheel, pedals or any sort of mechanism; instead, the vehicle's internal wiring seems to have been connected directly into various slots, gears and pulleys inside his torso, leaving quite a bit of space that they've occupied with pillows.
ARTURIA's head returns to the inside of the truck. She gives SILENCE THE CHORUS a look.
ARTURIA GIALLO: I have been thinking.
SILENCE THE CHORUS tilts its head.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Mind sharing?
ARTURIA GIALLO: At some point, I believed the Distortion to be... a sublimation of one's self. A way for one to live without regrets.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: I am guessing you've changed your mind since.
ARTURIA GIALLO: I was not convinced, when I first saw you. But something resonated, with me. In that moment where I heard of your tale.
ARTURIA GIALLO: Many people are trapped in whatever fateful moment changed the course of their lives, walking along an endless spiral staircase. And from what you told me, you were one of these people- until the Distortion gave you the power to break out. Not merely walk out of the spiral, not merely jump out of your prison.
ARTURIA GIALLO: You broke it entirely. Your innermost emotions granted you the power to escape destiny itself. The castle of the Crimson Troupe... burns, even now, doesn't it?
SILENCE THE CHORUS: You flatter me, but it's true. The Crimson Troupe's plans have been completely bent out of shape by now.
ARTURIA GIALLO: I would doubt it, but you have convinced me otherwise. Your fate is wholly your own, now. You will never again be entangled in the Crimson Trouple's intrigues.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Indeed. But it's really not my fault, not solely. The Playwright could continue doing what he was doing before, if he wasn't so self-obsessed.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: However, because he cannot bear to have anything but his perfect ending, he will continue to try and salvage a script that is beyond salvation. I will not be going back to the castle, but without my role or the villain of his tale that I coincidentally freed, he cannot write the story he wants to.
ARTURIA GIALLO: I see. But you have made yourself a piece in another game.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Of course.
SILENCE THE CHORUS makes a hand gesture. Soft piano music starts playing. ARTURIA GIALLO closes her eyes to listen to the music.
ARTURIA GIALLO: You admit it?
SILENCE THE CHORUS: We are all pieces in a game, some would say. I cannot claim I am not being manipulated, not when I still regularly talk to the Voice in the Light. Anything she says could be claimed to be an attempt to manipulate me in accordance to her designs, and one could make a credible argument pointing to any action I take as proof that I was successfully swayed towards an outcome she desired.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: But what I have realized is that it doesn't really matter. If I heard her suggest something, and did it, I would not be free. If I heard her suggest something and did the opposite, I wouldn't be free either. What I intend to do is to let the Voice in the Light have no greater sway over my actions then any other person would.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: I want to be free, and I will be so. I will live according to my own judgement, and be the compass of my own path, but I can't never listen to other people, can I?
SILENCE THE CHORUS: I certainly did listen to you.
ARTURIA GIALLO: When I met you, did you know the Request of Protection had manifested?
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Not at all. I had merely known that there was another Distortion somewhere in Leithanien, and persued it wholly on a whim. When I walked into your disciple Kreide's house, we both found the Request; and it was as unexpected for me as it was for you.
ARTURIA GIALLO: Two people bound together, one finding the strength to escape it for the other's sake. Kreide's grandfather was not only cured of his Infection; he was also granted the means to extend Kreide's own life indefinitely, and grant his grandson the life that he believed was rightfully deserved, and stolen from him by the servants of the Witch King...
ARTURIA GIALLO: But Kreide's problem has not been solved. The Voice of Terra is still there. He is still hiding, for the sake of the effects it brings to other Infected. He cannot leave his grandfather, cannot achieve independence, and even if he did, he would die shortly afterward. The Distortion has only pretended to solve the issue; both remain unsatisfied, and will not move towards their future.
In the back of the car, a large, coiled mechanical creature sleeps, a young Caprinae lying on its large "lap." It has an armored vertebrate body and crested head, a long, bifurcated whip-like tail, two arms with talons for hands, and various tubes and softly hissing pipes adorning its body. A gap opens in its face to show a single slitted pupil, which narrows.
REQUEST OF PROTECTION: Hm-hm.
The gap closes. The Request of Protection goes back to sleep. ARTURIA continues without batting an eye.
ARTURIA GIALLO: But in the end, it's what I first thought when I heard of your story. This sort of "freedom," it is too limiting. It is nothing but chaos. Emotions should be used for more then that. A surge of emotions should... lead one to make the decision they will regret the least.
ARTURIA GIALLO: The way she leads things, they will continue to regret eternally. Always an ugly song.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Hm. It's true.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: But... there is an alternative to the Distortion, you know. It is called "E.G.O." We are in route to find an user of this power; will it sway you towards the Distortion, or away from it? I want to see it as well.
ARTURIA GIALLO: It remains to be seen. If anything, it will be hopefully different from the Reedwyrm.
ARTURIA GIALLO: I will tell you what I believe. The Distortion merely grants you a method to materialize a "wish" into reality. No more and no less.
The car stops. SILENCE THE CHORUS disconnects the wires from himself, and unlocks the doors of the truck.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Ah, I believe we've arrrived.
ARTURIA and SILENCE THE CHORUS stand a few feet away from the stopped truck. It's raining, now. SILENCE THE CHORUS is holding an umbrella over her head, while she plays a soft melody on her cello.
Lying above the truck, is a large draconic creature. It is REEDWRYM. Both its muscular, powerful wings and its legs are tied down by faintly burning weeds. Flowers and vegetation grow from cracks on its scales, as if the Distortion was a corpse reclaimed by nature. Its arms are deformed claws- extremely sharp, but too unwieldy to serve as actual manipulators. Its faint voice is a weak, mournful cry.
The two turn their backs to the silently weeping Distortion, and turn towards the forest.
SILENCE THE CHORUS:
Frère Jacques...
ARTURIA begins to hum the accompanying melody as her companion sings. They begin their walk through the deserted forest trail.
?????: Halt!
Hours have passed, and it has stopped raining. The one who screams is THE WILDSPEAKER. THE WILDSPEAKER is a droopy-looking Feline sitting atop a tree. In his hands, is a crossbow that seems to have been grown out of a tree. His body is covered by a large green cloak. He wears a mask that covers the lower half of his face.
Around the three, there are numerous corpses, impaled by branches. The uniforms in the corpses reveal they are members of the Victorian army.
THE WILDSPEAKER: Not one more step forward.
He aims the crossbow at the two of them, narrowing his eyes.
THE WILDSPEAKER: What did you come here for? Do you work for the Victorians? A Sankta, and... what on earth are you?
SILENCE THE CHORUS: My name is Silence the Chorus. Either Silence or Chorus works, though.
THE WILDSPEAKER: Are you some kind of... puppet? Controlled by her-
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Ha.
The tree where THE WILDSPEAKER is sitting is immediately cut in half, causing him to fall to the ground.
THE WILDSPEAKER: You-
The Feline moves with dazzling speed, unveiling an axe from the interior of his cloak. ARTURIA GIALLO pays him no mind even as he moves to take her head. Her hands simply move to her cello.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Ah, it's beginning.
The Distortion's brass blade erupts from their clockwork interiors, and a hand moves to intercept the axe. SILENCE THE CHORUS and THE WILDSPEAKER meet eyes as their weapons cross.
THE WILDSPEAKER: What on the world... a clown?
THE WILDSPEAKER: I can't feel anything from you. None of the trees told me anything...
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Your ears... simply lack the necessary fine-tuning.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: By the way, that is a wonderful crossbow. Where did you get it?
THE WILDSPEAKER: ...did you come for it?
SILENCE THE CHORUS: In a way. If you think we want to take it from you, rest easy. I couldn't do it even if I wanted to. Wrestling it from your hands is utterly impossible. At best I would gain a chunk of worthless wood, and you would not lose anything at all.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Now answer me. Where did you get this?
The music is overpowering, even if THE WILDSPEAKER's very self rejects the cello's tune.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: ...fascinating.
THE WILDSPEAKER is thrown to the ground by a leg sweep. He's back on his feet soon enough, but SILENCE THE CHORUS presses a blade to his neck before he can fully recover.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: I believe I've won.
THE WILDSPEAKER: Damn it.
THE WILDSPEAKER lowers his head, mumbling incomprehensibly, before breathing deeply.
THE WILDSPEAKER: ...alright, fine. I woke up with it in my hands, one day. It was... just that. I went to sleep, and I had terrible dreams. And then it was there.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: You are a Taran rebel, I believe?
THE WILDSPEAKER: No, this war... I'm not interested on who's going to win. I just can't stay put- I need to help, and there's people I need to kill. I've been buying as much time as I can. Killing as many Victorians as I manage before I finally go down...
THE WILDSPEAKER: When I found the crossbow, I started hearing voices. They come from people, from the trees... I know everything that happens in every forest- the voices warn me of everything that will happen.
THE WILDSPEAKER: But they didn't warn me of you.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Yes. I am not supposed to be involved in your story.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: I can see how it will go. Your power manifests in this early stage, born from the desire to defend your home. You grow bolder. You become a hero amidst the Taran resistance. You slay a thousand, no, ten thousand Victorians.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: And the next occupation becomes your enemy, as well. You are eventually faced with hundreds of Sarkaz mercenaries. You become a thorn in their side, and your power blooms to its purest form, your desire to defend your home evolving, mutating, an effloresced desire to defend Tara- no matter the cost.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Your cloak is mere decoration, but perhaps... something with camouflage? Flowers grow in your footsteps, bulwarks of trees... they burn down the forest, and the Catastrophe cripples your defenses as it destroys your hideouts. You cut down one, ten, a hundred Sarkaz. You buy time for your allies to escape, and in the end, you set yourself ablaze.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: A new forest grows out of your flesh. The Sarkaz force is lost. You are crushed between thorns and branches. Everything goes dark, and you die. The curtains go down.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: The end.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Isn't it... sad, Arturia? What a waste.
ARTURIA GIALLO: ...
She seems pensive. The music is still playing.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: ...I want to see your fate broken.
THE WILDSPEAKER: ...what?
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Yes. All these stories... I am not meant to be here. You can't see me coming. No one will see me coming. This is what I exist for. To cut the threads. To burn the script, whatever that script may be. What is written can rewritten, crossed out.
THE WILDSPEAKER: ...I don't know what you are, but I know I can't let you do that.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: ...hm?
THE WILDSPEAKER: I can't let you defeat me.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Do you
want to die?
THE WILDSPEAKER: If what you're saying is true, then... yes. That death you're prophetizing for me sounds like the best death I could possibly have. Dying for Tara's people, not for a country. A blaze of glory, and a forest springing from my corpse.
THE WILDSPEAKER: ...it sounds good. I like it.
THE WILDSPEAKER: Is it not enough for you, then? You want it to be more dramatic? Want me to go down assassinating a Grand Duke? Go to hell. Want it to be cozy? Want me to get a happy ending in a farm somewhere? Go to hell. If dying for my people is what I've got then I'll accept it with open arms.
The brass blade returns to its sheathe. SILENCE THE CHORUS seems profoundly dissatisfied.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: If that's what you want, then see you.
The Distortion turns away suddenly. ARTURIA GIALLO raises an eyebrow, then stops playing her song. She follows.
THE WILDSPEAKER: Hey! What?
THE WILDSPEAKER: Come back here, you bastard! You can't leave me with this! Fuck!
THE WILDSPEAKER starts to follow the two, screaming and shouting.
ARTURIA GIALLO: Unsatisfied?
SILENCE THE CHORUS: I don't... understand.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: I can't understand. Why would someone... want to follow the path ahead of them, the path ordained by forces beyond their control, beyond their understanding. Why.... when they could make their own?
SILENCE THE CHORUS: The power of the Light grants one freedom to escape fate itself, but... ugh. Some people would rather not... maybe. I don't understand it.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: He's still following, so I won't... iterate on my thoughts for now.
THE WILDSPEAKER: Stop- stop ignoring me, you bastards! You can't show up, tell a man how he's going to die and then just fucking leave! I need some explanations, at least! Stop walking away!
THE REEDWYRM awaits them when they leave the forest. It makes a pitful whine as they both step back into the truck, ignoring the shouts and screams of THE WILDSPEAKER behind them.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: ...the story did not turn out as I wished it to turn.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Despite my best intentions, Arturia...
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Ah. This story is about you, Arturia. And yet you did not step forth into the spotlight. I feel so dreary. Have I made a mistake, even now...?
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Ugh. No, it doesn't work.
SILENCE THE CHORUS: ...annoying. No, maybe it could...
SILENCE THE CHORUS: Ah, whatever.
REQUEST OF PROTECTION: ...Kreide.
KREIDE: Grandfather?
The REQUEST OF PROTECTION is sitting on a hilltop. Kreide's head is lying atop its metallic back. A mobile city can be seen in the distance, unmoving. ARTURIA GIALLO and SILENCE THE CHORUS are having a picnic in the bottom of the hill.
REQUEST OF PROTECTION: Kreide. I didn't tell you what I felt, when she first became your teacher.
REQUEST OF PROTECTION: I felt she was untrustworthy. And I have been proven right, time after time. Haven't we seen... so many horrible things, since my change?
The persecution of the Infected was just the beginning.
Since they left Leithanien, the pair has seen war and flames, brutality and ugliness.
REQUEST OF PROTECTION: Kreide, whatever she says to you, try to ignore it. Neither this Sankta nor her clown partner have anyone's best intentions in mind. Have you not seen... what she does to people around her? She breaks them. She casts them into the fire...
REQUEST OF PROTECTION: We are following her, for the time being. By your wish. But... I plead with you once again to change your mind.
KREIDE: ...grandfather.
KREIDE: I don't think it's that simple.
KREIDE looks back at the picnic below. The wind is blowing, and SILENCE THE CHORUS is calmly drinking tea while ARTURIA GIALLO plays her cello. They are otherwise silent.
He looks again at the mournful REEDWRYM, sitting on the truck's shadow.
KREIDE: I see a lot of people in pain, grandfather. And... you made a request, didn't you? Back then. You requested my safety.
Carmen.
That is your name, I believe...
I don't know why you chose me, out of all people in the world. If you wanted someone to release their desires in the world, maybe you should have picked someone younger.
I don't have any wishes left on this old carcass of mine.
...
I will never let you near him. Never in a million years. The Empresses themselves could raise a blade to my throat and I still wouldn't give them a word! What do you-
...
You... you won't lead me to betray them.
Yes.
Yes, that is... a wish. But it's not one you can give me. He's already... safe. He's already somewhere away from them...
Damn it.
I know it won't last forever, but...
I wish...
Yes.
I wish it would.
The Witch King...
Was he the one at fault?
No. No, it was me. I could have asked for more help, before. Instead of sitting here and trying to stall things out... it won't help. Oripathy can't be cured, and... yes.
Yes, you're right. It's only temporary. His condition... it's a lie, isn't it? He isn't fine. He was never fine.
The Witch King.
The Witch King.
In the name of the Witch King, their future was taken from them.
And now… I will take back what is his.
I will give him the world if it must be.
Frau Carmen.
Let me make a request of you.
Give me the power to protect him, to keep him safe, to contain even the Witch King's voice. If you truly are that powerful, if you truly can grant the wishes of mankind, then I plead with you just this once.
No, I request of you, humbly, this and only this; protect Kreide.
Nothing else matters.
REQUEST OF PROTECTION: I did... but do you truly...?
KREIDE: I want to help them.
KREIDE: Like you helped me. Like she helped me before.
KREIDE: Could you let me do that, grandfather?
The REQUEST OF PROTECTION lowers its head.
REQUEST OF PROTECTION: Anything for you, Kreide. Anything for you.
No one comes to write the title. It only writes itself.
The REEDWRYM is not a vast creature. Indeed, she does not inspire the sheer might that usually comes with the word "dragon."
Considerably smaller then a truck, thin, emaciated and distorted, her utter deadliness is not readily apparent. And right now, it simply sits in the shadow, hearing the music that often adorns the hours of this little ensemble they've formed.
ARTURIA GIALLO: You are defined... by an utter lack of agency.
ARTURIA GIALLO: If I or the Chorus says "jump," you jump. If I or the Chorus says "attack," you attack.
ARTURIA GIALLO: The criteria for your master is completely arbitrary. The only reason you follow us and no one else is because the Chorus was the one that first saw you crawl out of that smoking ruin after your first "death."
ARTURIA GIALLO: Were it quite literally anyone else, you would have followed them to your own death, no matter what it took. You are utterly unsatisfied with this, and it in fact brings you physical pain to follow those commands, as attempting sudden movements causes the burning reeds that tie your legs and wings to strain and cut into the flesh, singing and tearing it as well.
ARTURIA GIALLO: And yet you do not do anything at all to change this. My music is completely useless in this regard as well. You listen to it but you barely care.
ARTURIA GIALLO: The Distortion has... trapped you. In an endless spiral of misery and suffering, where every action you take hurts you, and the pain brings guilt, guilt for not being strong enough to bear it without complaint. And the more guilt you feel, the more the reeds thicken and grow, and the more pain you feel.
ARTURIA GIALLO: If the Chorus is correct, your fate was to be found by your sister. You would become a weapon for the Taran resistance, despite her wishes. She would search for a way to reverse your condition, and be horrified by how you eagerly became a tool of massacre despite every act of violence you committed bringing you utter agony. She would not bear to see her sister mutilate and destroy herself for her, and would command you away from the battlefield.
ARTURIA GIALLO: And yet she would need you. And she would, despite not wanting to admit it, hate herself for what she did to you. Blame herself for your transformation.
ARTURIA GIALLO: And in the end, she too, would become a Distortion, a-
The REEDWYRM's head instantly moves towards ARTURIA. As they face each other, a measly trickle of flame comes through her sharp teeth, coming near the Sankta's face, nearly burning a lock of black hair to ashes. After this, there is a half-minute of silence.
ARTURIA GIALLO: ...this fate has been averted, now.
The REEDWYRM breathes faintly. It slowly returns to the position it was before. Then, it returns to silence.
ARTURIA GIALLO: The Chorus is quite satisfied with themselves for having done this...
ARTURIA GIALLO awaits to see if REEDWYRM makes any movement or reacts it any way. After nothing happens, she coughs politely and begins to talk again.
ARTURIA GIALLO: It brings him great pleasure, to break the bonds of what was "supposed to happen." They are...
ARTURIA GIALLO: They delight in proving that they can affect the world. That their actions have consequences, and that their intervention brings change.
ARTURIA GIALLO: This is what they were denied for long, and now, every step is accompanied with a giggle, as a child learning to walk. The Chorus is gleeful at the idea of their actions mattering at all.
ARTURIA GIALLO: But you deeply displease them, just as having found you at all pleases. You do not attempt to escape your "fate." You are a prisoner, and are too afraid to leave their cell; while the Chorus attempted to escape all their life, only succeeding once, and still riding the high of that victory.
ARTURIA GIALLO: Do you have any answer for that, Carmen?
It is what they wanted.
Truly?
I do not believe it is what they truly wanted, deep down. People...
...don't know what they want.
They need to realize it, first. Otherwise, they will just remain trapped.
You don't guide people towards what they truly feel. When they cry for help, you let them punish themselves, and nothing else.
People have said this before, Arturia.
They were wrong, too.
You believe in empathy. That the world should be united in harmony, that people should consider the emotions of others.
I whisper into people the essence of life. So that they will cherish their own emotions and focus on them only.
You misunderstood me. But I have always understood you.
If you want to understand the emotions of others, you need to begin with yourself. We must live our lives for ourselves, without care for what others think, nor feel.
The only feelings that matter are our own. If we feel we must understand others, that's okay, too!
But you can't lose track of why you understand others. You cannot live your life for another's sake.
And yet you allowed Kreide's grandfather to erase his very name in the name of protecting someone else.
It was his wish.
He may not admit it readily, but all of it is, ultimately, to sate himself, to fulfill himself. All wishes are.
All wishes are born in our own hearts.
When one wishes truly and deeply, from the bottom of their heart, they declare that they are only one who matters. That their wish, commandment, that their creed stands above all else. That all of the world should be denied their desire, if their own would materialize.
This is the way life can be truly lived.
This is the way that the fluctuating shape of the mind can be exposed to the world.
I doubt there's anyone in either Terra or in the City who can sincerely decide to sacrifice themselves for the sake of others.
We can only love ourselves, after all.
You are wrong.
But I know nothing I say will sway you.
You've heard people like me talk before. Countless times.
Yes. And not once have they convinced me otherwise.
Every wish I have witnessed, no matter the shape it took, was selfish.
Because wishes are selfish. They cannot be otherwise.
I learned this long ago. Before, I thought sacrificing myself for everyone's sake would be the perfect ending… but that wasn't the case. I realized, in the end, that I wanted to live for myself.
And I have witnessed countless stories. Every single person I have seen...
...wished to live, in the end. For themselves, and by themselves. Your meager voice, your meager song...
...cannot convince me when the world itself says otherwise.
And I don't want to be convinced, either. I'm quite set on my path. This is what I want to do.
Then you are lost to me.
Goodbye, Carmen.
No.
We'll speak again, Arturia.
Keep this in mind.
FEDERICO GIALLO stands next to a cordoned-off building. He is making annotations on a small notebook.
FEDERICO GIALLO: At 3:00 PM, the seventh corpse was found, a middle-aged male Caprinae, features forcibly rendered unrecognizable. The word "Rache," or "revenge" in Leithanian, was left written in blood in the wall.
FEDERICO GIALLO: It was unlikely this had any connection to the actual case, being instead a poor attempt at a red herring. However, given by how the local law enforcement presented me with various conspiracy theories relating to it, it would have succeeded.
FEDERICO GIALLO: At 5:50 PM, the perpetrator attempted to assault me directly utilizing improvised Originium explosives. I subdued them without use of lethal force, and confirmed that they had been affected by Arturia's mental Arts.
FEDERICO GIALLO: However, interrogation revealed that Arturia had not directed them at all. While they were exposed to her music, the one that convinced them to take direct action was "the jester."
FEDERICO GIALLO: Despite the target's worsening mental state, it may be worth mentioning the references to "the monstrous dragon," who "would crush the Victorians and scatter their ashes to the winds," and "the machine-serpent" and some kind of charge that it protected. The target's speech became heavily metaphorical and incoherent after this stage of the interrogation, so this should be considered with caution.
FEDERICO GIALLO: This evidence and the previous cases have confirmed that Arturia is no longer acting alone. At the very least, she has one accomplice; most likely two or three different people. Why she has involved herself with this group is as of yet unknown. I have also registered sights of abilities she does not possess, such as complex flame-manipulating Arts.
FEDERICO GIALLO: In addition to all this, the Voice has returned. Upon returning to Laterano, I'll request a dose of anti-psychotics and a week spent with a psychiatrist. Now, at 8:00-
FEDERICO GIALLO blinks, before pausing to consider. He slips his notebook back into his clothes, and turns sideways.
FEDERICO GIALLO: ...that is a valuable insight. If she is moving with a group, her means of transport must be less conspicuous, as she has moved far too quickly to have traveled on foot. If she is using a registered vehicle, I should progress much quicker. I will speak with the florist about your hypothetical truck.
FEDERICO GIALLO: Thank you.
FEDERICO pivots to his next task without wasting another second, and begins making his way to the apartment of a rumored witness. Before he can reach the premises, however, a pair of Gendarmes call out for him.
GENDARME: Sankta.
FEDERICO GIALLO: What is the issue?
GENDARME: The commissioner called for you.
FEDERICO GIALLO: I believed the case had been settled. Has the culprit escaped?
GENDARME: No, no, it wasn't that. He's safe in the cell. He said someone had come here to have a talk with you. Someone from Victoria- from the... Duke of Wellington?
FEDERICO GIALLO: Very well.
They walk through the streets of the town for a while. The Gendarmes look awkward. One of them tries to start a conversation.
GENDARME: So... what was all that with the guy? Robot-snakes and dragons?
FEDERICO GIALLO: Given the man's previous affiliations and political opinions alongside his poor mental state, it might be heavy racialization. Real people, processed through a mythological narrative and racial bias.
FEDERICO GIALLO: There are faults in that hypothesis, such as the snake, likely a Pythia, being the loyal one in the group, while the usual racialization would have them as treacherous.
They arrive in the police station.
GENDARME: Uh. Yeah. I'll leave you guys to it.
FEDERICO GIALLO: Very well.
He steps alone through a room. In the other side is a luxuriously furnished office. The person he expected to meet is not there. Instead, there is a green-haired Feline, wearing obviously Victorian clothing.
HARMONIE: Federico Giallo.
FEDERICO GIALLO: That is my name.
Speaking of racialization, HARMONIE is pratically laid over her side of the table. She oozes smug committment, positively catlike in her demeanor.
However, a distinctly frayed aspect can be noticed in her hair, obviously newly styled shortly, a styling that couldn't quite manage to hide burnt edges, familiar to those careless around stoves. To FEDERICO's trained eye, her attitude overcompensated for a certain desperate nervousness.
HARMONIE: I'll get straight to the point. You're looking for Arturia Giallo. So am I.
FEDERICO GIALLO: Cooperation is possible if you will allow me to extradite her to Laterano, instead of bringing her to court here or in Victoria.
HARMONIE: Sure. You can try her at the bottom of the ocean, for all I care. I just need her
found.
FEDERICO seems about to accept her explanation without question, but pauses oddly - and in a way that makes HARMONIE tense. The stoic Sankta cocks his head slightly, as if someone was speaking into his ear, but the room is empty but for the two of them.
FEDERICO: Why? If not justice, then what reason do you seek her?
HARMONIE: What does it matter? I can help - argh, wait!
HARMONIE grits her teeth as FEDERICO instantly stands to leave.
HARMONIE: It's because your
cousin has taken somebody
I was supposed to watch over, and I'm up a creek without a paddle. Either I get her back quickly...
HARMONIE: Or I find someplace where the Dragon of Tara won't ever find
me.