2021-09-15: This Miserable World I Defend
- Log: This Miserable World I Defend
- Cast: Magilou, Citan Uzuki
- Where: Zoara Badlands
- Date: September 15, 2021
- Summary: Following up on an anomaly, Citan again encounters Magilou. But, when the both parties are playing their cards close to their chest, and when there's so much at stake...?
<Pose Tracker> Magilou has posed.
TAKE A MONTH, KEEP THE CHANGE, PUT YOURSELF BACK THERE,
A dove flies south from Celesti, white of feather and wing. Sparkles speckle from it like feather-dust, all the magic bleeding off. To find another person...
... takes some time, south as the dove flies, doesn't it?
And when it does it circles around, it perches on that living shoulder. "Coo, coo," says the dove, rubbing up against the side of a head.
"Coo, coo," the dove coos. Its beak opens -- "eeeaaaAAAUUUHH!" -- a particular woman's voice. "Coo," coos the dove, as if it just had not.
The dove takes to wing again, circles, flies north into the forbidden wasteland of Celesti. Those sparkles speckle from it as it goes. How long has it been flying?
It comes to a point; it circles, once, twice, a third time for truth. It comes to settle on the ground. It disappears -- POOF! -- in a puff of magic, a happy little cloud of conjuration.
Underneath it, a word scratched into the earth, worn by passing wind. Beside the word, a scrap of metal, as if the only implement to hand.
The word is 'RA'.
There are no women here.
BUT THAT'S ENOUGH DWELLING ON THE PAST, WHEN IN THE PRESENT MOMENT,
The Zoara Badlands are indeed south of Celesti -- but there are a LOT of Badlands, did you know? A dozen-dozen towns, the barely-hanging-on, a corner store and a tavern and a board for posting bounties. It's by that sole watering-hole of this hole in the ground -- let's call it Wellspring, though we all know the name stopped mattering years back when the fighting interrupted the water tables down there -- that we hear these carryings-on:
"Eeeeaugh!" More theatrical -- more staged -- the same general profile. "This! This is a WITCHHUNT!" The grand witch Magilou stomps a foot, as she points a finger at the proprietor of the Wellspring Wetwhistle. "Cheating! Me! A base accusation far beyond your station! When aught I sought were libation and information!"
"I don't know what you're saying," the women in her checker-print apron replies, "but if old Dennis says you're counting cards, I'm not putting his nose out of joint."
Magilou points with recrimination: "YOU'LL REGRET THIS CANCELLATION!"
"Yeah, yeah," she throws up a hand as she heads back inside.
Magilou folds her arms, and storms off to go lean on the side of the building, that shady side-street made from buildings made a hundred years ago. She's grumbling some horrible invectives, but they're not for polite ears.
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
SOME TIME AGO
'RA', the message had said, etched into the very ground.
That had been after the dove had vanished, simply ceasing to exist (it never really had existed), after it had directed him north to Celesti.
After it had screamed in a voice that had seemed, actually, quite familiar to him.
Citan Uzuki had regarded those single two letters scratched into the earth for a few moments more before erasing them from sight with the sole of his shoe. Nature surely would take care of it itself in a place like this, but...
There are things best left obscured, at least until the world is ready to receive them.
To Celesti, then?
SOME TIME LATER
Most people would not venture into a land as scarred by war as Celesti, but the doctor is not most people.
But there had been nothing at all untoward there.
SOME TIME LATER STILL
He had been given to wonder after it again, when he'd caught sight of her on a battlefield in another world.
And again, when he'd made his own battlefield in Celesti.
NOW
Perhaps that's one reason more for him to be here, now.
It really is the sort of place that would not be too unusual on the Ignas continent: there are particular differences, of course, but if it hadn't been for the war...
It almost makes one wonder what it might have been like. Then again, it is said that the 'scar' of Ignas is also wrought by ancient fighting. Perhaps that is the legacy of the civilizations that have covered this planet: each has left a lasting scar on a world sliding towards its end. It might even be a sort of contest.
Which one of them will finally deal the blow that ends Filgaia for good?
A scream punctuates the night. It's similar and yet not to the scream from a month ago.
The brief commotion that follows is hardly unexpected.
"...Well," says a voice that may be familiar to her from not too far away. "I had not quite expected to encounter you again like this. Miss Magilou, I trust that you have been well?"
Citan is polite. Almost tooth-achingly polite.
"As a matter of fact, this is quite the fortunate coincidence for me," he tells her, as if their last parting hadn't been quite so... fraught. "Would you spare me a moment of your time?"
<Pose Tracker> Magilou has posed.
There wasn't a library there, in that particular corner of Celesti.
She'd looked.
But oh well, that's old news! Who cares!
Who cares about anything, really, when people object to your piercing gaze and seem to think you're cheating, when it's all just written on their faces. It hardly matters to Magilou -- thanks to a particular train-trip, she has a tent, don't ask where she's keeping it -- but that doesn't mean she won't grouse about it. It's almost like she's carrying on a muttered conversation with someone, except there's no one here!
But that's not quite right, is it?
And not even in the metaphysical sense.
Magilou puffs her cheeks out, head lolling back against the ancient brick of the tavern when Citan's voice approaches her. The breath blows her bangs from her face, only for them to tumble right back over her eyes. She comes with an implicit veil, like the smile on her own face, sweet on sweet. "Golly! It has been a while, hasn't it?" Like he's a welcome visitor.
Sigh. Maybe she should stop hanging around on Filgaia. That man's got his fingers in all the pies, doesn't he? Magilou waves a hand, waves the thought away. "Why, I've been absolutely peachy," she declares, with a smile more a slash across her face. Her hand presses, all too gently, to her chest. "Now, what can little ol' me do for an esteemed gentleman such as yourself?"
And if there's a flash of teeth underneath her lips, surely she's just pleased to see him.
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
Between her and Xenia...
Well. Perhaps he is getting careless.
"Indeed," he replies, good-naturedly enough. "In truth, I had wondered if I might encounter you in Spira after all of that business, but it appears that our paths did not quite manage to cross." Citan shakes his head. "That was, ah... quite the situation in Zanarkand," he says, exhaling a sigh as if he were still feeling the stress of it. "But it appears that we all had managed well enough."
It certainly doesn't seem as if anyone had been lost in the struggle, on either end.
He himself doesn't so much as stutter when she presents him with a smile quite like that.
"Perhaps I might recieve your professional opinion on... what you might call an unusual occurance in these parts," Citan says, glancing towards the north, already starting to grow dark as the sun sinks below the horizon. "I had thought perhaps you might have some insight, given your practice. I admit that while I know some of the theory behind this or that magical practice the particulars still elude me."
He's said this much already and still hasn't gotten to the point.
"Ah, yes," he continues, nodding the once. "I suppose it had happened around a month or so ago. I had the occasion to be traveling in this region when I met with a white dove..." He glances again towards the north. "It seemed as if it had been flying a long way when it came to rest on my shoulder! Now, this would suggest that it had been a messenger bird, except that this was the moment it chose to scream."
It had screamed right in his ear, actually.
"In fact... it was quite the approximation of a woman's scream, I would say. After that, it flew towards the north, circled back three times and then landed... only to vanish. If we were on Lunar, perhaps it would be understandable to ascribe this to certain natural phenomena there, or perhaps their particular brand of sorcery. Here, though..." He shakes his head.
"Perhaps it is merely my lack of familiarity with the intricacies of certain schools of sorcery. But I have not yet been able to find an answer."
His expression speaks of honest confusion, of someone who has met with an honest-to-god anomaly.
Except for the eyes, that is. The doctor is no fool: he'd seen that trickery of hers before, if not deployed in that particular way.
<Pose Tracker> Magilou has posed.
"Hmm? Oh, I guess so. Frankly, I slept right through it!" Magilou winks, a finger to her chin as her head cants companionably. That's the story she's told the world, certainly. And it is true she was seen at the end of Zanarkand's sortee rolling out from underneath a bench, as if she'd been forgotten in the middle of a nap.
It's fine! She had complete faith in them!
(Okay, that's a lie, but if it helps them sleep at night....)
He asks for her professional opinion, and she pushes off the wall, so she can place a hand to her hip and consider all those pretty words coming out of his mouth. "Well, go on," she gestures with a wrist, all flop-a-flop one side to the other, "out with it!" It's an entirely good-natured encouragement, of course, even if it is a shade sharp-tongued.
She at least gives him a chance to get to the point instead of continuing to pick on him about it, though.
"Oh," she says when he gets to that point, all rising tone and rising lips, loose hand coming to her chin instead. Of course, she thinks, the first person it would find is him. Perhaps that's why he let it out in the first place. Clever.
"A veritable mystery wrapped in a feathery enigma... no wonder you're baffled!" Magilou exclaims, raising her hands in a palm-up shrug. "There isn't only one explanation for such a conjuration," did he ever use that word?, "wonders, messengers, or distractions... there's bound to be some context to put the phenomena into perspective. Mm, for instance... I don't suppose that dove led you to anything in particular? Or, conversely... was it leading you away?"
Magilou waves a hand, all loosey-goosey. "It was a month ago, so no one would blame you for not remembering off the top of your head." It's a convenient out.
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
"Oh, did you? Well, that is fortunate... I am glad you were able to evacuate unscathed," he says, as if he were intent on glossing over her remark about 'taking a nap through the battle'.
But he gets to the point.
After a fashion, at least.
He did not, in fact, use that word; his expression doesn't so much as twitch.
"Hmm... if it was meant as a message, I am not certain I was the intended recipient. For that matter, if it had been meant as a distraction..." He shakes his head. "I am similarly uncertain what it might have been distracting me from." He sighs, rolling his shoulders in a shrug that can only be called lazy. "...It appeared to have been heading from the Celesti wastelands, however, and it had hinted a return in the same direction. Now, it is said that a great many strange occurances may happen in the wastes. But I have yet to hear of them 'traveling' outside the region. Hence, my thought that it may have been a sorcerous construct. ...If I am to be quite honest, it had almost felt as if it had been a call for help."
He folds his arms across his chest and shakes his head.
"But I am afraid that is all that I can recall. Perhaps under other circumstances..."
He fidgets just a moment with his glasses.
It appears that he is going to leave it at that.
"...Ah, but there is one more thing I recall from that day. Does 'RA' mean anything at all to you?"
Citan, previously gazing towards the horizon as he mulled the matter over, looks right at her.
<Pose Tracker> Magilou has posed.
He'd be rather good at poker, wouldn't he? Not even blinking at that little extra information she gave him. It would be easy to assume that Citan, who has reported unfamiliarity with magic, simply doesn't recognise the implications of conjuration over other types of magic. Magilou does not assume this at all.
Of course, Magilou is rather good at poker, too.
Because he supposes it's a 'call for help', and her smile doesn't budge an inch. It's only when he confesses that his recall is limited that she shifts her stance, arms folding loosely across her chest as her chin extends in a wordless prompt. "Perhaps," she says, instead, "it flew over the Wastelands entirely, from a distant shore..."
That's a lie, of course, but there is enough truth to it; it would have been flying for quite a while, and where it came from...
Where she came from...
Well, not to say Magilou is involved, of course.
Her eyes are green and at once are not just green at all; there is that hint of purple, atop her irises, that fey admixture which speaks of something long forgotten. He says the name and her eyes lid, her smile cooling to something more targetted in its amusement, thin-lipped and smug.
"Oh?" She asks, all rising-tone, upper lip split from the other, all those teeth between. "So... is this the end?"
The way she purrs has no bearing at all to the way her fingertips exert pressure on those detached sleeves.
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
You don't get to be the Water Element by being anything less. Of course, that was quite a long time ago at this point...
But she is quite good as well, isn't she?
"Perhaps so," Citan replies to her, as natural as one can be. The puzzle of the bird still nags at him to judge by the creases on his forehead. But it isn't as if anything serious happened as a result. Right?
Exploring all of Celesti in its current state, alone, is a dubious prospect even for him. But he hadn't seen a single thing when he had investigated -- as much as he'd investigated.
"At times, there are phenomena that cannot have an easy answer," he allows, as if to acknowledge the futility of this particular endeavor.
Oh. But then he remembers one thing more.
If his own expression shifts in reaction to her own sea change, it's by degrees: that smile fading into neutrality. All the little lines and wrinkles that would normally suggest a more avuncular man smooth out. There's no threat or promise spoken by his features whatsoever: Citan Uzuki simply is.
"'The end'...? No," he says, shaking his head. "Not yet, I should think. ...So, it is familiar to you?"
And then he has something more to ask her:
"Who, or what, is 'RA'?"
<Pose Tracker> Magilou has posed.
There's no easy answer to things like this. Perhaps it's Magilou's foible, asking so directly. The edges of her smile drill into her face, all hammered into place, tight and tight again. The heel of her foot rises, jester's toe tapping against the ground.
No hands, grasping up from nonexistence. Not that that tells her much. She was never one for illusions, even dressed in white.
"My, my," she remarks, grin a slash across her face, "you're terribly forward, aren't you? And here I thought you a married man... don't you feel any shame laying things out so plainly?" Wasn't Magilou criticising him for not getting to the point a moment ago..?
Oh, well, she thinks to herself, unlacing her arms, brushing her bangs from her face.
Don't worry about it, she assures internally, as they bounce right back into her face.
Her hand comes to rest on her hip again, as the other gestures. "It's a clever little test you've derived, I assure you. Placing an agent to intercept the message... would you like to hear I didn't know what I was thinking?" Her smile is looser and smoother, as her fingers lay delicately on her chin. "Ah, the beautiful agony of the wit's end... something like that?"
She's mocking him.
"But you really shouldn't have come here," she says, palm to the sky as she gestures. "I had a feeling it wouldn't be that simple... but I had no proof, of course." Until now is implicit and, as far as Magilou is concerned, entirely understood.
She laughs, hand to her mouth. "And now you want to tell me what I know... why, it's just delicious! Utterly devious! Yes, you most certainly terrorise all the little girls with this ridiculous nonsense, don't you?" She's all captured by her giggling, into her curled hand. "Really, you're all adorable! You in particular, cutie pie! You're years ahead of your buddy, you know that, right? Consider a solo act!"
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
This alone, perhaps, provokes one small reaction: Citan arches an eyebrow. "I do not think there is anything untoward about asking plainly," he says to her, shaking his head. "At times, it is necessary to be direct. That is all."
Before, she had managed to embarrass him with remarks like that, but now he appears to be presenting another face to her, as it were.
At times it becomes necessary. That is a statement that could underscore most of his life.
And right now, he does what he does best, as it becomes ever clearer to him that he has been woefully misread:
He assesses.
Simply offering his denials when he does not know the ins and out of the situation would be a poor move. After all, unless he is mistaken, she has already understood a great deal about him. In an arena such as this, then, the proper response is...
"Then you believe that this is a test," he says to her. His expression still betrays nothing: even a pool of water is not this still and calm. In fact, the only reaction he has at all is when her tone and phrasing veers towards mockery.
Slightly, the doctor narrows his eyes.
"...I see."
She says he shouldn't have come here.
"So, what is it that you wish to do now, Miss Magilou?" he asks of her, still that polite. "After all, you have said it yourself. You have obtained your proof about me. What is it that you intend?"
Magilou laughs. She laughs, and then she comments that surely, he must terrorize all the...
"...I must take exception to that remark," he tells her, still as unreadable as the sea on a calm night. Here his own smile returns, if briefly, fleetingly. It doesn't match the look in his eyes. "I am troublesome, as my wife would agree, but I am not that sort of man."
And it's gone again. His... buddy? Again, he narrows his eyes.
"If you know my 'accomplice'," he tells her, and this is a statement is structured to be misconstrued, "then please tell me their name."
<Pose Tracker> Magilou has posed.
Ah, yes! What is necessary! What an interesting way to put it. Magilou has certainly known her share of people who do what is necessary.
It's interesting, too, the way he doesn't stumble on the phrasing, this time. Not embarrassed... or was he ever embarrassed? She wonders.
But it's wrong to say Magilou is only gathering information, here. There is a tension underwriting her which is more honest than her thousand redirections; she lays her daggers into him, and does not, immediately, notice the way he absorbs them the way a pond absorbs all light, nary a ripple to his name. Perhaps she expects him not to.
... she only met him the once, personally speaking.
'She believes'...
Would that make her angry? She wonders.
At first her intent is watching the watcher, lips still curled by that hideous laughter. "I wonder, I wonder?" She reflects, too-too lightly, the words all bouncing off each other. Her weight shifts, too, from one leg to the other.
"You're both so exceptionally polite," Magilou purrs, a few beats of the bar later. "But you know," says the woman all dressed a jester, "play the idiot long enough, and you may just find yourself being foolish."
Her hand curls by her cheek, fingers bent with all the elegance of a core cloistered inward. Her gaze strays from Citan, to the space to his left. She is checking to see the reality of the world; if it seems like a gesture of vulnerability, that's hardly her problem.
"And what is your trick, I wonder? If I defeated you here, would you be at my back a moment later? All that time, until a little slip... would you be satisfied to kill me once, I wonder? Or perhaps, again and again... over and over... hundreds and hundreds..." Her voice lowers with her repetition, and she does not notice, in the moment, the way her smile fades just the same. "... as a darling little favour, of course. Heaven forbid you recognise how twisted you people are."
Magilou takes a breath.
It hitches in her chest.
She blames her carry-on luggage.
She looks up, to the streaked purple of the dying sky. "What will I do..? Destroy you both, I suppose. It doesn't really matter to me... but I can't have him taking pieces of me and doing what he'd like with them. And you're a danger unto yourself, with that level of control. Don't get me wrong, I admire your shtick, this whole good cop, bad cop routine. I'm sure you're really very good."
Magilou sighs, shaking her head, with a broad shrug. "If it's the end, then it's the end! So," she remembers how to smile again, looking back to Citan, "you're working with Ra, aren't you?"
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
Outside of the space of a dream, technically he's only met her the once, as well. It makes their whole interaction with one another that much more complicated: other than one direct hit that had confirmed his suspicions about some of the undercarriage of her mind... can he say he knows anything at all about Magilou?
With anyone else, he would have past observation to fall back upon when caught up in a tight spot, or at least the context of their lives and society. But she's from the other side of Lunar, a space of which he knows little, and on top of that, he scarcely knows the woman.
She's air to his ocean, breezy where he remains still. But he would be the fool to take that at face value. She's caught something of his measure...
...and like him, she is a person who cannot be trusted.
Play the fool long enough, and eventually that's what you become. He is reminded, in his own way, of a recent conversation with another young lady with whom he... had perhaps pushed in the wrong direction. Perhaps even for similar reasons. When you cannot be touched, so to speak, it becomes difficult to remember that others are no so exempt. "...Is that so," he remarks, watching her still as if he were attempting to divine what lies at her heart.
Nothing greets her when she looks over his shoulder. But that doesn't mean anything, as she's no doubt well aware, now.
"My 'little trick'?" Citan echoes, only to shake his head. "Nothing of the sort. I am hardly so cursed as that," he states, perhaps on the matter of him 'returning after being defeated'. But, when she wonders whether he would be satisfied if he killed her the once -- or if it would take a hundred deaths to sate him...
He's gone still. No, it's not the same as before: this is a stillness marked by rigidity. Something she's said has very nearly struck true. "...Miss, with all due respect... I consider myself a 'pragmatic pacifist'. As a doctor, my mission is to save lives where it is possible. ...Not to take them."
What will she do?
There is a long, long moment of silence on his part. He doesn't seem stunned or shocked, precisely, when she makes that promise. Just as if he's taking that in and weighing it. In the end, he shakes his head. "I see. ...I am afraid I cannot permit you to do that, Miss Magilou," and it may well still be unclear about what or who he's referring. ...Pieces of her? "And this is hardly the time or the place for it." He glances, once, towards the building she had been evicted from not long before.
'Ra', she tells him, is the name of his 'accomplice'.
This actually provokes him to blink in surprise.
"With... 'Ra'?"
Well. It answers what she knows, to an extent. But that also means that he's woefully in it now.
<Pose Tracker> Magilou has posed.
'Cursed'...
It might be precisely the wrong word to use, in this situation.
Because Magilou knows something of that boy's curses; her eyes are clear enough to see the grasping. And she thinks, of course, of course! This man would see them just the same. She may know little of him, but she has seen enough. He is sharp, just the same.
So Citan is not cursed, the way Ra is.
This is the conclusion Magilou reaches.
Her lips twitch in tension, for just a moment, as Citan describes himself as a pacifist. She wonders what Zaveid is up to, now. On a long enough timeline... oh, well.
She says the name and glances in the other direction, to that alleyway, thin-lipped and half-expecting. "Hmm," she echoes, to his question, when her gaze comes to Citan again, smile all pulled over a rack. "Isn't this the place...? I suppose not. No blue eyes in the darkness... heh, not yet, in any case!" A finger comes to press against her cheek, as her head tilts. "Why, does he want to spare his cute little doctor friend the violence? Doesn't sound like him. Or perhaps the sword he drew out of you are your memories..?"
Her hand drops to her hip, and it cocks at the opposite angle to her shoulders, as her other hand swipes through her hair. It fans out into the night, almost white in the contrast, glittering strands of moonlight. "If you're going to play dumb, you may as well put some effort into it," she says, boredom slamming into her tone like a brick wall. "What other explanation is there for you being so suspicious, hmm? Oh," her grin returns, "are you going to tell me you're the one who gave him a little shove? Tragic." Magilou looks far too enthused by the concept of a tragedy she does not fully explain.
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
Cursed is the right word in some situations. Citan is in company with many men who are cursed with longetivity, and that is before he reckons with the likes of someone in such an unfortunate state as Lunata Croze.
But it is an unfortunate word to use in this one.
Blue eyes? It's tempting, almost, to glance back over his shoulder himself. But as much as the impulse tugs at him, he doesn't look. It would be too much to assume there was anything present at all... and then his back would be to Magilou.
The sword that 'he' had drawn out of...? It's a fortunate thing that Citan is quite good at remaining pokerfaced. He simply regards her for a moment, inwardly mulling over what she's just said. Blue eyes. A 'distortion'. And, hadn't Lan explained what had happened to her with 'the Stranger' as being...?
"Really, now? Is that what you think...? I can assure you that nothing of the sort has occured," he says to her, picking his words carefully as he tries to collate what he knows and measure it against her accusations. If he's right about this, now...
He looks her over, just the once, and raises his hand to his chin. "...I see. So he pulled a blade from you as well? This is a similar account to the one that she had presented to me." Slowly, Citan nods his head. "So, 'Ra' is the name of the blue-eyed stranger? Do I understand this correctly?"
Is he... just not going to explain away his suspicious behavior at all?
Here is the point where Citan... begins to relax, if just a touch. He unfolds his arms, as if to therebye announce an end to his defensive posture. "I am not acquainted personally with the man you describe. Indeed, he has similarly assaulted several individuals with whom I am acquainted. I must thank you. Until now, I did not have a name."
He's really not going to explain himself, huh.
<Pose Tracker> Magilou has posed.
He can assure her, but that doesn't necessarily make it reassuring. Her eyes narrow in the cold comfort, as he glances over her. Her smile narrows, too.
"'She' did, did she?" Magilou chuffs out a laugh, stretching her arms over her head and lacing them behind her broad and astounding hat. "Perhaps I should thank you. I had my suspicions he was picking on all the little girls, but nary a shred of proof to speak of."
Her whole self tilts a little to the left, elbows jauntily waggling, as she adds: "... but I won't thank you! Too bad, so sad!"
Magilou's gaze drifts to the side, contemplative, and perhaps it's a statement of its own, the way she opens her posture so daringly and doesn't even keep her eyes on him. Does he understand? Relaxing out of that tension...
Obviously, Citan is someone she can trust about as far as she can throw -- and Magilou makes Bienfu do all her heavy lifting, so that isn't terribly far. But as much as he isn't explaining himself, he is trying to explain something here.
(The moment of silence speaks volumes.)
Magilou's eyes blink closed. Green and violet, they look to him again, sidelong.
"... you do, and you don't," she says, toned down. "Understand, that is. It's shaped like a blade, but what he took from me... is the trust I hold. This miserable world I defend... do you think I understand value like that on my own terms? Don't make me laugh." There's something bitter and old to the words, and perhaps that's what made her so attractive in the first place.
Magilou sighs, arms streetching up over her, dropping-flopping down to her sides. "Well, you can imagine that sharing some fun facts might be difficult in that situation... but calling out an enemy, my! That's entirely different, don't you think?" Her arms lace behind her, head all cocking jauntily to the side. "If it's a misunderstanding, don't you worry. You've served my purposes just fine!"
She winks, and adds: "But if you think you're being clever by leading me astray... that's really a misplay! You'd make me cry, right here in this alleyway... it would be an act of complete dismay! But I'm sure you're not that foolish, nor so ghoulish. We're all honest actors here, aren't we?" Didn't Magilou just get thrown out of the tavern for cheating...?
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
He doesn't name any names. More cards are out on the table than before, but that doesn't mean that he's willing to show (some of) his hand. And, besides.
It remains true that he doesn't know a single thing about Magilou.
Perhaps she should thank him, she says.
But she won't.
Citan simply sighs, shaking his head. "As you will, Miss Magilou." The way the corners of his eyes crease just might, maybe suggest he's amused on some level... but given the way he had 'flattened' his affect before, can she be assured now that he's not simply resuming a prior performance?
No. She's not quite trusting him; he can tell that from her body language alone. But that may be just fine, as far as he's concerned: neither is she pressing him on any particulars.
Ask him no questions and he'll tell you no lies.
"Shaped like a blade, yet not a blade... drawn from the self as if it were..." he murmurs aloud, crinkling his brow. He nods, once. "Yes, and they had implied much the same. 'Something' was taken, not to be returned. Indeed, in 'her'," he doesn't specify who of course, "case, if I am correct in understanding the chain of events, the theft of 'fear' had put her under his command." And in Magilou's case, it was her...
Aha.
He smiles at her. Is it sincere? Is that even a valid question, at this stage? "...Please rest assured, Miss Magilou," he says, extending his hands wide. He's unarmed. He's a pacifist. He was trained by Shevat's best warrior in hand-to-hand combat. "I intend nothing of the sort. I simply wish to similarly understand the nature of this 'Ra'. If there is any more you are able to say about him, then perhaps we might be better able to address this, ah... situation, shall we say?" Just like that, he's stepped back into the persona of the harmless country doctor: a little eccentric but generally well-meaning.
"I do not believe he intends to stand idle. Indeed, before long he may attempt something. But it may be possible to interrupt him before he does."
<Pose Tracker> Magilou has posed.
Everyone's a player on the stage of life, even the ones who spite the metaphor entirely. Magilou's older than she looks. She smiles in just the same disarming way.
Even as she's thinking, on the inside: she's looking for a fearless woman, is she..?
And Citan knows little of the situation. Tragic.
Magilou leans against the wall of the tavern, stretching her arms out against the brick. "He may, might he..?" She echoes the words, vaguely, fingers tapping on the surface.
'Your spirit is strong, and it is needed for the war ahead.'
"If you want to understand that boy... you should ask yourself how he fell from grace," Magilou says, with frustrating vagueness. "Consuming, and consumed... he loves antiquities, but I wonder whether he really comprehends the level he's playing on."
Her hand comes to grasp at her heart, as she looks aside. "I'll tell you this for free... I have no intention of fuelling another illusionist's nightmares. What a loathesome infatuation." There's something of disgust to the words, held at arm's length.
But what does Magilou have to do with his plans..?
<Pose Tracker> Citan Uzuki has posed.
"It is entirely possible."
That's his answer for her.
Admittedly, the same is theoretically possible with many of those with which he keeps company, these days. It may simply be a matter of which order it will all happen in.
Citan Uzuki tries not to worry overmuch about the future and focus instead on the present.
Citan Uzuki is a man given to thinking and worrying too much.
These two extremes are not mutually exclusive with one another.
"How he fell from grace... I see," he says to her, hand to his chin, head bowed, as if he is considering what she's saying to him with care. "Yes. Without question, from what I have heard and seen from those he has 'touched', he is at once both the afflictor and the afflicted. Actually, I find it quite interesting that he appears to prefe to move through agents, rather than act himself. Indeed, I have yet to hear of an encounter with that one outside the 'illusion' he controls. Perhaps... he must use an agent."
It is not a situation that would be unknown to Citan. In fact, it's almost a touch ironic.
"...But I cannot say for certain. I have encountered the presence of his illusion only in passing, and only under quite unusual circumstances myself. As of yet... we have not met 'properly', you might say."
An illusionist's--?
He regards her for a long moment, watching that subtle movement of her hand.
Oh. Of course.
His gaze moves from her.
"I myself suspect," he says at last, still not meeting her eyes, "that the root cause for all of this may lie far above all of us. Perhaps it is, in the end, all some 'accident of Solaris'..."
His smile is only a slight one. Apologetic, almost, when he looks back at last at Magilou. "Thank you. You have given me much to consider, Miss Magilou. ...However, I am afraid I do have somewhere else to be."
That smile of his broadens, slightly.
"After all, I should think I ought to try to be a better father. Do you not agree...? I would not want to disappoint my daughter by being late. Please take care, Miss Magilou."
Unless stopped, he will move to pass her by.
<Pose Tracker> Magilou has posed.
"Tragically, even I would have to expend some effort if I wanted to cut through them all," Magilou sighs, belaboured, on the topic of Isiris and his illusory agents. "He has a grand capacity to maintain a certain level of illusory aggression in the face of active negation. I checked!"
How literal that might be is something she leaves entirely as an exercise for the reader.
Maybe it makes sense that Magilou has a trick for absorbing magic, given...
Well, she doesn't spell it out.
She pushes off of the wall, arms swinging, with a broad, toothy, grin. "Solaris, huh?" She asks, and doesn't press, nor elaborate. Maybe she should spell that part out, but, well...
Part of it is she's still not sure what she saw.
Part of it is she still doesn't trust Citan.
Either way, it's an interesting thought to add to the pile.
She laughs, when he comes out with that excuse. "Ha! You'd better not be late, or she'll never forgive you!" Magilou doesn't stop him -- indeed, she walks past him, hand brushing against his side briefly in passing.
(He may find, the next time he reaches into his pocket, that there is a single black joker there, from a perfectly normal deck of playing cards.)