blanzocanjo

(Quick! Think Quick!) Bonbon! What are you doing here?!

What-?!

(While she's turned away, you grab the cigarette box out of her hands!)

(QUICK QUICK QUICK!) Omf!

No one's-?

Did you just… EAT my ammo?!

(Uhhhh.)

Gulp.

Stars alive, Mx. Paige!!!

(All that poison and cures had prepared you for this.) (You managed to swallow the box just fine.)

You do realize I pulled the dagger off the corpse, right? I have a knife!

He comes back next time with some grievous injury to his nothing, presumably from the massive shredded gash across his thigh plates. He sits and waits. I fix it for him. He is still nothing in there. I decide to add a drawing on the inside, of the type of beast I imagine could rend metal into scraps with a single blow. He puts it back on. He no longer moves as if he is injured.

Over time the interior of the knight becomes decorated with whatever odds and ends I could think to attach to the inside of a guy who’s got room to carry it. What really gets me is that he never removes any of it. Never requests a change. Not even when I installed a curtain rod for a small tapestry, or a bud vase to carry roses for his beloved, or an accordion folder for letters. He didn’t say a word for any of the many, many drawings of mythical beasts that now fight forever inside of his shell.

There are plenty of other forges. I’m not entirely sure why he keeps coming back here anyway. We’re pretty popular, but he could get his armor fixed a lot quicker (and with fewer ridiculous modifications) literally anywhere else. I asked him if I could get a look at his nothing again. He flipped up his visor and nodded his head so I could take a look. It was the same as it had been, filled with drawings and trinkets and weird little fixtures I’d put in there. I asked if he was annoyed by it, or liked it, or felt anything at all, but he literally only ever says nothing, so I’m not sure why I asked.

There’s not much room left in his nothing now. When he comes back for repairs I’ve had to fix my own foolish additions. Some of these pieces are intricate and irritating to repair, but I fix them anyway. It feels wrong to take any of it away from him now, even though I’ve been rudely encroaching on his nothingness to the point where it’s barely even there. How he squeezes his nothing back into a body so full, I’ll never understand. But it’s a game to me now, finding a spot not yet filled and putting something there. A dark part of me wonders if he ever gets filled up completely, if whatever sorcery holds the nothing-knight together may break, and it will all clatter unceremoniously to the floor.

When he hands me his breastplate yet again, it is so shockingly disfigured that I wonder if being made of nothing has somehow kept him alive. No ordinary knight could sustain such injuries. So I fix it. And he waits, unmoving, in a quiet corner of the forge. It’s like he’s watching, even though I know the reading glasses I put inside his helmet were just for fun. I’m careful to put it all back exactly the way it was when he last left. There’s no room to add more this time.

He examines the breastplate, and pauses before putting it back on, like he’s looking for something. Is he worried about the fit? But it suits him just as it always did. He calmly points to a little space, about an inch, between a miniature shelf and one of many pockets. There’s nothing there. I ask him what’s wrong, and again he points. It’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen from him, and it’s barely anything at all. I take it to mean he wants something there.

I spend some time engraving a little snail in the gap. He watches, as much as nothing can watch. When I’m finished he holds the breastplate, but he doesn’t put it on right away. I ask him if something’s still wrong. He says nothing, and puts it on. I tell him I can’t add anything else. Even if he could ask, there’s no room left.

Next time he comes back, there’s nothing wrong with his armor—he lets me check to make sure. I ask him what he’s doing here. Out from one of many pockets, he retrieves a tiny rusted knife. It’s in miserable condition, barely worth saving. I tell him I could make him a nice new one, but I’ll fix it if he likes. He puts it away and reaches around to find something else, a needle and thread. Better condition, but I’m not a sewist and I tell him as much. He puts them away. He then retrieves a little twisted piece of wax paper. I open it. It’s candy. I ask if I can eat it. He says nothing. I eat it. It’s flavored with cinnamon. I’m surprised he let me take it.

He keeps bringing me candy now. His armor is the most laborious to repair out of every client my forge serves, but it’s my own fault so I can’t complain. Sometimes he keeps me company while I work. I wonder if he is trying to tell me something when he hands me mints. I wonder again at the lemon lozenges. He stares at me when I eat, as much as nothing can stare.

One day he brings me a little jar of honey. I thank him, I tell him I’ll save it for dinner. He watches me work, he puts his repaired armor back on, and he stays. My shift passes slowly, and when I finally pack up to leave it’s dark outside. He follows me out of the forge. I ask him where he’s going. He points to the jar in my hand. I ask him if he wants to watch me eat it. He says nothing, but the nothing-knight clearly wants something, so I open the lid and dunk my finger in the honey. I try not to get any on my chin. He stands there, inches away, watching me try to consume this jar of honey without a utensil. It tastes like clovers. About half the jar is left when I’ve finally had enough of pretending to be a bear, but he doesn’t move to leave.

I ask if he’s going to follow me home. He says nothing. I tell him he can if he wants to. Again, nothing. I start walking, and he follows at my side. I know he’s not going to say anything ever, so I fill the silence. I tell him I’m grateful for the sweets, I tell him about how his various components are made, I tell him I’ve never met anyone made of nothing before. I tell him it’s a rare opportunity for a smith to work so much on the inside of something. He says nothing. I tell him again how much I like the candy.

It occurs to me that maybe filling me with sugar is as close as he can get to filling someone else’s empty armor with trinkets. I’m not sure if that’s really why he does it. I tell him I don’t have room to be filled with anything on the inside, not like him. I’m not a container for much besides food. He offers me another piece of candy. Maybe he likes containing something, the way I like to feel full. Maybe it’s nothing at all.

—

(You sigh, body relaxing.) (This loop is a bust now, isn't it?)

...Hey, hey! What's with you?!

I didn't take you to be suicidal, Mx. Paige.

I'm not.

(You may not have a home to return to, but you still have a family!)

I told you, I'm Siffrin. You must know that I timeloop when I die.

(You promised dusk you would do your best to avoid looping...)

I see... your belief is that strong.

(Are you really going to give up?) (Is there nothing you can do?)

Then it shall be a quick "loop" for you. Guns are quick.

(Quick. You need to be quick!)

Think about it, why would Paige think he could control you, "Dr. Foxglove"?

I'm doing this to convince you that you're Odile, and that I'm your friend Siffrin.

...I see. I understand now.

(Finally!) (You were worried her Curse was going to get worse.)

I hadn't expected you to admit to your Siffrin Curse. You truly are foolish "Siffrin" if you think you can manipulate ME.

(WUGH!) (GUN! GUN! THAT'S A GUN!)

Funny thing about being the detective -I kept all the evidence.

(Stars blast it, you've never been shot before!) (And you don't particularly want to learn what it'll be like.)

Oh please, weren't you paying attention? The gun isn't loaded. See?

BANG!!!

(Despite her reassurances otherwise, Dr. Foxglove shot a hole into the wall.)

Wh-What?! That's not logical! The professor retired! Why would he have extra bullets inside?!

(She flips through the gun's innards, to confirm there are no more bullets left.)

(Did she just waste all her ammo?) (Heh, doesn't that sound familiar.)

Except, plot twist. I keep all the bullets hidden in my cigarette box.

This is what I meant by being thorough, idiot.

(If she can't accept her outfit's differences, what about yours?) (You take off your bandages.)

...!

Mx. Paige, what happened to your face?!

It's the Blood Curse, it's real.

N-No, that can't be. This must be an injury.

(What kind of injury leads to necrosis?)

ditfing said: Well, the colored blood is because of the blood curse, so point out the cursed blood staining her sleeve?

What about your sleeve, don't you see the blood? It's in color.

It's... that's...!

Something is wrong here, I will admit to that. Red should only show at the end of the world.

But your explanation is hardly believable. Wouldn't I realize I was Theater Cursed?

How exactly would you be able to tell?

...I am a woman of science and deduction. I'm the world's greatest detective.

I'd simply know if my reality was an illusion, Mx. Paige.

Would you really?

(You certainly didn't.)

(It was a comforting lie to live.) (You loved being Dawn Paige.)

(There was no world ending Curses.) (No sickness, no poverty.) (Just a simple duty of a Butler.)

(Yes, there were many holes, but you happily glazed over them.)

(You know exactly what role you were meant to be...) (With no chance of failing.)

(In your real life, you have nothing.)

(You can't maneuver through showings like you used to.) (No one likes your jokes.) (Stars, you should be bedridden.)

(What use does Mirabelle have with someone like you?)

(Odile... she must feel the same way.)

(She'd do anything to save Vaugarde.) (And failing to find a cure, you could see how it haunted her.)

(But that failure is the truth!) (If Dr. Foxglove claims to care so much about truth, then she should understand!)

That's the whole point of being one of his puppets, right? You'd never know.

...

Anonymous said: Your timeline doesn't make sense. How old is everyone?

What about the timeline? You knew the Siffrin from 50 years ago, just how old are you?

Enough of these mind games, Mx. Paige. You-

You're trying to control me, aren't you?