Sorry for the delay, had some work issues that kept me busy these past few days. Hopefully, the contents of this update will make up for the unexpected wait.
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[x] Question Den
Day 2
Evening
It takes you a few twisting turns before you catch sight of your fellow… fellow what? Tainted? That's a little broad a category. Maybe partner-in-crime… actually no that's a little too accurate considering recent events. Lost person? Yeah, that's about right. Your fellow lost person.
God, that sounds so lame.
You have a feeling that He'd agree.
Anyways, Den is visible once again. His pace is still quick, but nowhere near the hurried half-run he'd been keeping. You're able to catch up with him, but his stride is just a tad off yours. You're stuck in a limbo between a slow jog and a rushed walk as you match his pace.
"Den?" You try, to no effect. He's just staring ahead, marching on. "Hey, you doing alright?"
"No," he retorts.
Well, good to know you can still read the obvious signs. "What was that, back there? What did you ask it?" You change to a jog to pull alongside him. "Why did you run?"
"I'd rather not talk about it right now." Now he sounds like an angsty teenager. God, how old is he? You… actually, you have no idea. You assumed he was older than you, but you could be wrong. You're twenty, so if he's younger than you at all he'd still technically be a teen. Oh, gosh, and that would mean you got Soul Bound to an angsty teen and
oh, God, what did I do to deserve this torment.
A heavy sigh escapes your lips as he steps to the edge of a gap in the corridor. Looking down, you can see what looks to be an endless black abyss of death. You hear something like the screams of the tormented upon the very edges of your hearing, echoing just enough to be unsettling if you were to pay attention to it.
The brunet hops the gap like it's nothing. You, on the other hand, need a bit of a running start to clear it. Damn him, his angsty attitude, and his long legs.
To be honest, his reaction is likely a glaring hint that he absolutely
needs to talk about it. "I'd rather you do. It's obviously bothering you. Won't you feel better if you just let it out?"
"I think I'd feel better if you dropped this." Oh, he's stubborn. Good thing you're known among the Maidens as particularly stubborn. And lazy. And resistant to fire.
…Should it bother you just how often that last one comes up? No, stop rambling. Focus. Den's in a mood. You need to fix him.
Focus, goddammit. "No can do. That thing called you a 'Traveler' and claimed that your fate was sealed. Pardon the vulgarity, but that's pretty fucking ominous." Well, the Demon King apparently paying this place a visit once upon a legend also has some terrifying implications, but that's something to worry about later. "What does that even mean?"
He opens his mouth to argue, only to close it a moment later. "I don't know." He says, turning a corner and hitting a dead end. He turns around, throwing his hands in the air. "I don't know, I don't know!" He walks back the way you came, now going down a straight path you're certain wasn't there before. You meet his eyes for just a second before he looks ahead again, focusing on the path ahead of him.
He's lying.
"That doesn't explain why you just up and ran out of the room." You argue.
"It was time to go."
"Oh, that is such
bullshit." You're very quickly losing your patience. You grab him by the arm, forcing him to stop. He doesn't look at you, but he also doesn't push you off or blush at the touch. You take that as permission to continue. "You knew exactly what it meant. What did that vision mean?"
"Please, stop it."
"No, I'm not stopping until you give me an answer. Who was the girl with the red hair? What about that scared you so much that you'd rather run than figure it out?"
"Shut up. Not another word."
"What was all that back there? What are you scared of? Tell me, what are you running from?"
"Ophie, just stop trying to
fix me!" Den shouts, whirling around at you, earthy orbs glaring at your forehead. He blinks, disarmed.
There's a very pregnant pause as you both process what just happened. "Den?" You ask, very slowly. "Who is Ophie?"
His jaw works in his mouth for a moment, still looking at your forehead. He stays like that for just a moment before he turns away, the whole time never meeting your eyes. "I think I'm done talking for now." He takes a step, only to be held back by something. He checks his arm to find that you're still holding on, knuckles white. "Off." He slaps your hand away and heads off, not quite a run but very close. He's running away again, and this time it's from you.
That hurts you more than you think it should. Yeah, getting blown off like that hurts, but he's a stranger to you, right? Your stomach shouldn't drop as it does. You shouldn't deflate like this when he refuses to let you into his life. You're not actually a part of it, just someone who's been through a few stressful bits with him, right?
You feel like you could have handled that a lot better.
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It's nearly an hour later when you finally spot a hint of an exit. At first glance, it seems just like any corridor, but you recognize the sudden, unnatural shift from light to dark at its end for what it is. The two of you enter the emptiness together, separately. Den remains a dozen or so paces ahead of you, sulking. You're admittedly not much better. After your earlier altercation, neither of you have spoken a word to each other. That yawning pit in your stomach hasn't shrunk in the slightest, either.
A few moments into the blackness you spot what looks like a distant oil lamp. Though, it seems oddly placed. It's not set onto a wall like most of the lamps in the Synagogue, rather it's sitting atop a pole in the middle of the hall.
Odd, you think to yourself. That's fairly inconvenient to put into the middle of the corridor, isn't it?
As you and the broody brunet approach it, you realize you're not in a corridor anymore. You exit an alley which is about the same width of one of the Synagogue's tunneled halls, but the lamp itself is set along a wide cobblestone road. It stands in line with a dozen others, all leading towards the gleaming dome atop the Synagogue. DIrectly next to the lamp is a sign with a horse on its hind legs.
"The Marching Mare. "You read. Well, it seems you are some distance from home.
I am so dead. Accessory to the murder of two Maidens, breaking curfew, leaving the Synagogue grounds, ruining your robe and walking in public in only your undergarments? Naomi is sure to kill you.
Admittedly, your underwear passes off as normal clothes to most people with how conservative it is, but still. It doesn't matter what normal people think is indecent exposure, only what your caretaker defines it as. And she is ruthlessly stringent.
Den looks up, seeing the sun just beginning to set below the towering walls of Temple City, and walks into the building without another word. With a sigh, you head down the road towards the Synagogue. However much you want to follow him in, the man made it clear he wants his space. Besides, you're in enough trouble as it is. Maybe if you hurry back and beg hard enough, you'll only get quadruple duty?
Somehow, you doubt your punishment will be so light.
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Interlude: A Doomed Dreamer
Sound. A roar, crashing upon the mind. Ears, vibrating with the noise. It's impossible to move under such incredible pressure. Impossible to think.
Deathly quiet. Mind-numbing emptiness. There is a moment, a single instance where the silence becomes oppressive. Not a voice dare shatter the fragile void, for fear of being singled out. To do so would be to break some unspoken sacrament.
So it is with no surprise that all eyes latch onto the woman who begins to
hum a simple melody. She seems to brighten as the world around her fades to muted, dull tones. Her vermillion locks, shaved on her left side, cascade down her shoulder. She sways in a way none can call anything besides hypnotic, her thin form clings to the metal rod she holds and caressing it as her lover. Jade glints from under her bangs, accenting cherry lips which kiss the staff with every word she makes.
"
Wrapped myself up in all the tattered pages; A forlorn fable.
Faded lines; my message in a bottle is shattering now and sinking down."
Flanking this woman are two men, both barely distinguishable from their dim surroundings. One stands, playing patterns with each finger against the strings over a simple leather instrument. The other sits behind a sleek black box, rhythmically tapping away at ivory keys. These two men both watch the woman with differing forms of awe: one tinged with pride, another edged with jealousy.
The world seems, for a moment, to stand perfectly still. This moment, this second, this very instant of time seems frozen. All motion ceases, and the proof of Zeno's paradox becomes apparent. Not a soul moves, not even the smallest distance. Sound ceases as the very vibrations of the air seem to still. In this instant, it feels as though there is true stillness.
Just as quickly, it is broken by a subtle motion from the woman. Her hair shines just a little brighter, her head lips curl just a little further up, and she takes a single, impossible breath in the space between instants.
A thousand voices crash against the silence, breaking, trampling, drowning it beneath shout and cheer. Time flows anew, and relief floods the trio as their audience screams their name.
With all the fanfare the crowded concert hall could offer, Ophelia Jacobs leaves the stage with her fellow band-members.
"You did great, Ophie!"
"Yeah, you killed it out there."
"C-can I get your autograph? It's for my kids, they were in the audience tonight. It'll mean so much to them."
"More shows like that and you'll be the biggest star in Hafenport!"
"Fantastic performance, girl."
The young woman rushes past the crew, nodding and smiling and apologizing she can't stay there right now as she scurries towards her room. One of her bandmates, the one on the banjo, opens her door for her and lets her in. He closes it immediately after her, staying outside to stay the coming tide.
She collapses to the floor, shaking. Her shoulders, her hands, her head, she vibrates with nervous energy. Hands rise before her face, unable to steady themselves. Her emerald eyes stare, wide.
"...
hiccup."
She stills. Did she just…? She can feel it swelling inside her. Bubbling in her chest, building with pressure until she finally can't hold it back anymore. She closes her mouth to hold it back, but it does nothing. It slips out, unbidden. It's loud, it's raw, it's not very ladylike.
But boy, does her laugh sound like a madwoman.
She clutches her sides, already feeling the soreness settle as she cackles like a crone. Her… her
everything feels…
It feels good. It feels a lot better than she thought it would. Like she's finally found a place where she fits.
The door behind her opens. The sound of footsteps slowly overtakes the quieting laughter, until she can feel the presence towering over her hunched position on the floor.
"I can't tell if you're okay or panicking." Says the man, a hint of a smile in his voice. She coughs, letting out another short bout of laughter, before trying to stand herself up. She nearly falls again, stupid heels, but
someone grabs her waist first.
She finally gives her intruder a look. Brunet, just a little taller than the average man. The arm under her isn't particularly muscular, but it lifts her to a standing position with ease. His chocolate eyes seem to smile at her just as wide as his mouth, if with a little more mischief in them. His green jacket hangs from his form, his other constant companion. Beside her, of course.
"I feel great, Jakob." She says, almost giggling. "I feel
whole, like I finally figured it out."
"And what, pray tell, did you figure out?"
She leans into him, smiling. "Where I belong." She pushes off him, spinning out of his arm. Her arms fly wide as she twists her way to the single couch in the room. "I think this is what I was
meant to do, you know? I feel like I was made to sing!"
Jakob joins his girlfriend on the couch, slinging an arm around her. "I'm glad you liked it. Your fans sure seemed to enjoy your little performance."
She shakes her head, getting up from the couch to spin around again. "No, not just like. I loved that. Going up there and just singing my heart out for all of them, it was like magic, Jake." She stops her spinning to give him a great big grin.
"Well, I'm glad you love it," he says, still smiling. "Maybe you can be a singer wherever we end up once we split town."
"I was thinking about that," Her grin doesn't budge an inch as she speaks. "What if we stayed in Hafenport?"
There's a pause. "Ophie, we talked about this," Jakob says, slowly. "We're leaving the Fifth Empire to start over. Together, right?"
"But do we really have to leave?" She asks, looking at him seriously. "People say I have real potential here, I might be able to get a deal, even with the competition…"
"Ophie, we've been planning this for months. We have a car loaded up and tickets to cross the border, you can't just drop this at the last second."
"I know," she sits on a stool near her vanity. "I know we put all this effort in and we had all these plans, but I have a chance here, no-"
"We're going, and that's final." He sits straighter on the couch. He checks a clock on the wall. "And we have to go now if we want to make it in time." He stands from the couch, picking up red and green backpacks from behind it.
"Why are you so eager to leave?" Ophelia asks, head tilted.
Jakob keeps moving towards the door. "So I can start over with you. Do I need another reason?"
She nods. "Kinda. Why do we have to start over? Can't we just… go forward? Together?" She doesn't budge from her seat, even when Jakob reaches the door.
The instrumentalist sighs, holding the doorknob. "Look, we have to go or else that car is leaving without us. Can we talk about this on the drive?"
"No," she says, resolute. "I'm not leaving until you give me an answer. Why are you trying to escape your life here? What scares you so much that you'd rather run than figure it out?"
"It's not like that. Dammit, we need to go
now."
"What is the point of all this? What are you scared of? Tell me, what are you running from?"
"Ophie, just stop trying to
fix me and get in the car." Jakob whirls on Ophelia, looking her dead in the eyes.
"No." She says, defiant. The two of them hold gazes for a good minute. Jakob is the one to finally break off, eyes darting to the clock.
He drops the backpacks. "Fine, you win." He moves back to the couch. "They're leaving right now, anyway. We'd never catch up."
She frowns. After a moment, she moves to sit on the couch. Not
next to her boyfriend, but a foot or so away. "Why do you want to leave so badly, Jakob?" She asks, tone soft.
"You, Ophelia," he never used her full name. It put her off-balance. "You made me want to be somebody different than who I was. And I'll never be that as long as I'm here."
The redhead lays a hand on his arm. "I think if you want to be more than what people say, you'll need more than a scenery change." She offers a smile, unrequited. "You've just got to be you. Show them
you are better than they think."
He shakes his head, pushing her hand away. "It's not so simple."
"Of course it is," she says, smiling. "You just have to be you."
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Just have to be me, huh? Look where that got me, Ophie.
You are Den, once known as Jakob Weiseborn, and you lie in your bed, staring at the dirty ceiling. You feel tired. You feel drained. You feel… empty.
You miss her.
You turn over to face the wall, pulling at the warn covers. You have another big day ahead of you. Best you get some sleep before more memories surface.
…
You shift again. Maybe you owe Anna an apology. She didn't deserve you getting so mad at her. She was just trying to figure out what was going on. You couldn't fault her for that, could you?
…
You're now facing the other wall. You think you can, a little bit. You made it pretty clear you didn't want to talk, and she just kept pushing. She really should have seen it coming.
…
Back to the ceiling. Whether she deserved it or not, you should still apologize. Some of that anger was at everything, not just her. You should at least say you're sorry for acting like an angsty teen.
Finally satisfied with that train of thought, you close your eyes to let sleep take you.
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Day 2 Completed
Day 3 Begins
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Who's in charge today?
[] Den
[] Anna
What's on the Morning agenda?
[]Write-in (Player Autonomy: It's almost like free will, except up to authorial interpretation)
