O MASTERPIECE.

He nods, clearly thinking to himself. His head tilts to the side as he watches her inspect the flower, clearly from an artistic point of view. That makes him smile more, and he takes his hat off his head.

“You’re right,” he agrees slowly. “You’ve already made me feel better about the whole ordeal. My name is Jade, by the way. Jade Leech.”

||  █ ▌— she glances up at him, eyes torn away from the flower for just a moment. she tilts her head and shrugs. ❝ i usually am right about art. about this sort of art specifically. ❞

   Your head whips in her direction. It’s just as you feared, and hoped would not follow you here, in a place you came to understand as a layout, information you wished you would not need; much like the first hunter you met, however, she is benevolent, or at least claims to be. You doubt it would be easy for her to chase you around this place, if she wanted to. You have the advantage of being able to clamber onto platforms, stairs, rising ground, and she does not, although she has her certain ways to hinder you regardless of her own capacity to follow.

   You briefly watch her reassure you, trying to calm your breathing. You look back towards your instrument ( not yours, but under your command for as long as nobody protests ), waiting patiently for touch. 

   The way you know it, music is not an art. It is a conversation. It fills in the gaps of silence and speaks when you are better off keeping your mouth shut – when you have little to say and words come at a standstill. And you don’t talk to a hunter – you run from them and pray you never meet.

   “Ms. Galatea,” You greet, hiding the tremble in your voice and steadying your shaky hands with much effort. “If you would- allow me to play for you.”

   Your fingers are a touch more clumsy, and this melody is the slightest bit out of tune, but you persist; it is noticeably more somber, but not dark. Gentle, atmospheric, with a steady speed. You know not what you aim to achieve - placate her? You haven’t angered her, you don’t think. All you know is that she is initiating a conversation, and you are responding. The song comes to an end that fades out into the quiet air of the building, in contrast to the abrupt noise that cut you short earlier.

   You don’t stand up. You are fine just where you are, with her just where she is. “…Have you been here long? I never– never heard you come in.”

||  █ ▌— the offer to play for galatea is unexpected, but it’s interesting nonetheless. she can see the fear in the survivor’s eyes, and indeed her stance, but does not choose to address it. why pick at the weaknesses in the hearts of others, after all? if the doctor is afraid, well, that really is only natural. galatea uses her arms to adjust her position in the wheelchair, leaning on one of the arm rests, head cocked ever so slightly to the side and propped up on her hand as she watched.

the picture of a captive audience, if an extremely casual one. she doesn’t know how to address the doctor ( indeed, feels a little at a disadvantage, as the doctor recalled galatea’s name, but galatea has no memory of the doctor’s ), so she simply chooses not to, just watches. those unsettling black eyes unblinking as the woman begins to play.

galatea hums very softly to herself, along with the music. if she notices the slight errors present in the rhythm of it, she shows no indication of it. her focus is entirely on the doctor, though. the music is pretty, and galatea likes it, and to an extent, that’s all that matters.

art, both visual and musical, does not always need to serve a higher purpose. sometimes it is enough that someone enjoys the result of it. she wonders if the doctor is enjoying the process. that part is important, too.

when the song concludes, a smile pulls at her lips. smeared, dry lipstick cracks along the corners of her lips. it takes her a moment to answer the question.

✧ “I’m not sure how I feel about ice skating. Were you looking for someone to go on the ice with though?” Reisalin had a penchant for going against her preferences and stepping outside of her comfort zone if it meant she could help someone out. This girl was no exception, as she caught her gaze staring out towards the ice of the bay.

“I can’t say I’ve ever tried, but there’s a first time for everything, right?” She was fully expecting to fall on her butt though.

@caelatori​

||  █ ▌— galatea shakes her head. the wheelchair makes it difficult to enough to manoeuvre, and though she considers herself capable on a variety of terrains, as the games she’s participated in have made her very adaptable and such ( she’s fine on rocks and stairs and snow, after all ), she doesn’t know if ice would be very safe.

@caelatori​ / starter call

considering they will be staying here for a while bi’an decided to visit the local art store in the hopes to find the supplies he needs for calligraphy. it’s been a while since he has done so, but it is an activity both he and wujiu enjoy. it isn’t just something to keep himself busy, but something for his partner as well.

the store itself was rather quiet, but definitely has all the supplies he needs and more. it didn’t take long for him to find what he needs and more which he ended up doing by adding a painting set to it.

just as he is about to pay for the supplies he notices the sculptor near one of the shelves, gazing up. tilting his head ever so slightly he wonders if she is looking at something that she cannot reach. moving closer, he reaches for whatever she was looking at before handing it to her.

❝    was this what you were looking for ?  ❞

||  █ ▌— galatea notices her fellow hunter out of the corner of her eye, ever alert to movement, to changes in her field of vision. he... stands out, of course, amid the people here, and not just to her, in her familiarity with him. he radiates danger, same as her. but maybe that’s just because she knows him as someone who shares her role in the grand game they are made to play, rather than anything he himself is doing to exude any sense of danger.

regardless, her frustration at not being able to reach the top shelf is momentarily alleviated as the man helps her reach the mud-brown clay she had been eyeing. she accepts it with an almost exaggerated amount of carefulness, feeling the texture of it through the plastic wrap before setting it on her lap and looking up at him properly, black eyes widening only for a moment.

❝ it was. thank you. are you here shopping as well? i didn’t know you were an artist, too. ❞ she speaks very quietly, but her words are measured and precise, as if each one is carefully thought out. the word ‘artist’ has emphasis on both syllables, to emphasize both her surprise and the respect she had for the title.

❂  ☆  ◍  ━━ HE HAS EXPERIENCED genuine fear before. He’s also experienced anger and loss and the drive to understand. He’s feeling most of those right now, but he’s still frozen in space as he looks straight ahead and sees her. Though Mike is older and in better shape physically he does not know what types of skills she has in this place. He’s not sure he wants to find out.

He looks around for an exit, somewhere he can run and hide to. He thinks he’s safe and hasn’t been spotted, so he turns his back and slips inside behind one of the pillars that surround this place. Maybe, just maybe, she’ll continue on.

@caelatori

||  █ ▌— unluckily for him, she did spot him. and it is her instinct to give chase, pursuing the familiar figure into the building from whence he’d come. he was quick on his feet, it seemed, but she was just a little quicker, as she always was. the distance between them closes far too easily. it isn’t even fun.

but galatea is devoid of weapons, here. her knife is flimsy, barely able to help her mold clay. she isn’t really a danger to him, or anyone. still, she uses all her mental strength to conjure a single statue from the ground, intending to use it to trap the man between it and the wall, if he doesn’t move out of the way quickly enough.

   This is such a strange place. It’s hard to wrap your head around your own ward to begin with - an almost fairy-tale book section of the city, so picturesque it makes your eyes water when you’re nowhere near used to this level of saturation. Because nothing and nobody tells you to stay, you travel, to wards no less confusing but easier on the eye, and you acquaint yourself with everything you can. This city is too big for you to trust that nothing is bound to happen in it.

   It’s the big, important buildings that catch your suspicion the most. Places of interest and history. You circle Archimedes’ Theatre of Calliope a few times, making a mind map of the layout, before you enter to map out the indoors. Maybe you shouldn’t, really – being too paranoid is no better than keeping your guard permanently down – but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.

   You wander onto stage, looking across the empty rows of seats – your eye drifts to a piano on the platform, no doubt from a previous performance. You draw to it, despite yourself, and settle down, your wrists suspended over the keys like muscle memory.

   Growing up a proper lady (however loose the description became with how often you moved and had to start your education anew) means you wouldn’t be caught dead not knowing such a skill, a gentle charm when you need to impress a small audience in a room. It’s been so long, yet your fingertips find a rhythm so easily, a tentative beginning filling out into a classic you’ve practiced too many times to forget. A sweet, jolly melody.

   Your ears catch noise. A distinct movement, and your hands slam into the keys in alarm, creating discordant noise for a long moment before you move them off. You shouldn’t be surprised that such a popular location would have a visitor beside you, but this feels different and your heartbeat picks up the pace far too quickly, screaming run. You don’t move just yet. If it was time for a game, you should have been told.

   “…Who’s there?”

@caelatori​ liked a starter call !

||  █ ▌— the theatre is beautiful. all of the archimedes ward is beautiful, of course. galatea frequents it more than her own home ward ( the goal of which seemed to be all height and depth, a remarkable, if unappealing, use of vertical space ) and enjoys it well enough. the theatre is especially lovely, and empty, above all empty.

or so galatea had thought. there were no crowds, not inside the theatre nor out of it, so she had assumed she would be alone here.

alas, that does not seem to be the case. the music that fills the room is pleasant on the ears. galatea is more for sight than sound, but can appreciate music nonetheless, even if she does not understand it, cannot create it. there’s something primal in the human mind, though, that makes one wish to dance to such a sweet, lively tune such as this.

not that she can dance, from her chair. still, the thought remains. she moves a little closer to the source of the music, before screwing her eyes shut at the horrible sound that comes from the pianist noticing her presence. she makes a soft, surprised sound as she wheels her chair closer. not onto the stage, of course ( oh, she could get up that short flight of stairs if she wished to, but she’s not trying to frighten the doctor, not without any reason ), though she comes to a stop in front of the front row and looks up toward the stage.

    her  shadow  preludes  her  as  she  inches    closer  to  his  side ,   silently  accompanying  him  on  his  walk  overlooking  the  still  foreign  wonders  this  city offered .   nobleman  makes  no  show  of  the  sights  bathing  in  the  soft  glow  of  moonlight this  time ,   &   as  Galatea  catches  up  to  his  languid  steps ,   he  turns  with  enthused  poise .

    ❛❛   you honor me by remembering me in the slightest .   i hadn’t expected to formally greet you under these circumstances ,   but ,   please ,   call me Joseph ,   dearest sculptor .   ❜❜     silver  head  dips  in  polite  bow ,   gentleman   &   not  -  gentleman  with  practiced  mannerisms ,   sincerity  in  its  fullest  [  for  once  ] .   he’s  happy  to  see  a  familiar  face  on  a  non  -  opposing  side ,   no  matter  how  fleeting  that  familiarity  may  be .

      the  most  recent  hunter  to  have  joined  in  their  games .   social  butterfly  he  was ,   former  hunter  had  wished  to  give  his  proper  greetings ,   but  it  appeared  fate  had  different  plans .   there  is  a  smile  hung  gentle  at  the  corners  of  his  lips ,   though  willing  to  offer  in  his  empathy  once  photographer  takes  note  of  the  emptiness  now  sitting  where  to  -  be  -  modeled  stone  once  was .

     ❛❛━━   how long have you been here ?   did they too ,   do away with your possessions ?❜❜

||  █ ▌— galatea is pleased to see that he isn’t walking away from her. it isn’t as though she particularly thought he would ( she oft considered herself on good enough terms with the other hunters, when she had occasion to meet them, even if she knew none of them particularly well ), but she is pleased nonetheless. 

❝ joseph. ❞ she tests the name. it’s less formal than a title ( even one as vague as photographer, and they all use such cute little titles ), not that she has a problem with a lack of formality. a first name for a first name, though. it’s only fair ❝ call me galatea, then. ❞ she can’t curtsy, of course, but she nods her head in as much of a bow as her half-paralyzed form will allow for her.

he’s showing her respect. that’s nice. she hasn’t... really had that, for some time. it’s usually been fear. though of course he has no reason to be afraid. just as she has no reason to fear him. both of them chase. it’s their function and role. that and... she’s fairly certain he’s an artist. photographer. a different medium than hers, but one she sees the value in.

@caelatori​

The device she was in was foreign to him, but that was not paid much mind. The reality was that much of this place was as foreign to him as it was familiar. In so many ways it was Grecian but it was not Greece. The Church of Onoma - Aion. A two-faced god entirely unfamiliar to him by description was worshiped by those devotees, although as a god himself he felt no need to question further.

Gods were worshiped more for what they were believed to represent rather than what they were, it seemed. Mortal conception and confusion about the gods was common. How many times had he been confused for his more violent counterparts?

Still, he observed the structure, not going inside. But at the next person skirting out further away from him likely do to his appearance and his scythe, his expression soured a bit.

“For all their worship of gods, they seem to avoid the ones among them with as much fervor as they worship.” She had not escaped him, and with her eyes as black as night she almost seemed, if only in appearance alone, one of his siblings. Almost.

||  █ ▌— the church is fascinating. galatea does not worship this god, and doesn’t know how she feels on other gods. her father was a religious man, strongly christian. her mother, a casual worshipper at best. a church-on-sundays woman. galatea is neither. remembers her mentor but can’t bring herself to worship him either. thinks of the tale of pygmalion, and shakes it off like so much dust. she just wants to be remade. no god or man has given her that.

still, the church. onoma, it’s called. a pretty word, for a pretty place. the architecture is interesting. the idols, the iconography. she could make something here, though she really doesn’t know how the locals, these worshippers, would feel about her take on their two-faced god.

she doesn’t wish to go inside, yet. perhaps later. for now, the outside of the structure is really capturing her attention. she wheels herself a little closer, but stops as she hears the voice beside her. her head tilts in his direction, takes in his appearance. she blinks, once and then twice.

❝ i could sculpt you, ❞ she says, not addressing his words, at first. ❝ a depiction of your head would make a pretty ornament, maybe. ❞

“Ah!”

Cater’s surprised that this girl seemed to have snuck up on him. She’s also not exactly dressed in a way that he would consider… normal. It’s a little creepy. Is that a straight jacket? Is that a costume, or is it for real?

“Uh…” he’s not exactly being subtle, so he backtracks. “Haha, sorry!! You just snuck up on me… I was taking selfies so I wasn’t paying attention.”

||  █ ▌— she’s being stared at. oh, she was just trying to see what this boy was doing, but now he’s staring at her. he looks... afraid. that, in itself, is nothing remarkable. she’s used to people running from her... though that’s usually when she’s pursuing them with her sculpting knife.

she doesn’t even have it here.

She hadn’t expected to see another hunter arrive so soon  …  which, in hindsight, was probably a mistake. If there was already one, then more would show up. Although to see the sculptor here was a surprise, one of shock at first, which quickly turned into a pleasant one as she noticed the crushed flower being offered to her. Once Emma made sure it was definitely for her, she carefully took it out of her hand to examine it more closely.

“ You don’t have to pick flowers for me  …  but this is very nice, thank you. A snapdragon too! Do you know what they mean? Well, they can actually mean a few things  …  but if I recall, they represent deception. Not exactly, it’s more due to snapdragons mostly being concealed in legend, but they also mean graciousness as well!  …  Oh, but you didn’t give me this to hear me ramble on about them, did you? “

Finally realising just how much she was talking, her hands clasped themselves carefully around the snapdragon to prevent it from falling or being blown away.

“ Sorry about that  …  how have you been? I haven’t seen you around when I was wandering this place  …  did you just arrive as well? Quite a few of us have recently. “

||  █ ▌— galatea knows that she does not have to pick flowers, or indeed to do anything, here, yet. she is a learning creature, though, uncertain and unsteady. her nature is fairly easily defined, as far as it goes. creator, artist. she was made to make. the chasing came later, striking them and capturing them.

she tilts her head to the side at the gardener’s words. there are... a lot of them, to parse through. she’s curious about the meanings behind the flower she had idly picked. though aware of the symbology of flowers, at least when it comes to their their use in art, she doesn’t possess too much knowledge of them. it’s an interesting subject, to say the least.

❝ i see. deception, was it? ❞ she wonders at that. ❝ i promise that wasn’t its intention. ❞ though that could easily be a lie as well... maybe. she doesn’t know. ❝ graciousness is... more interesting. ❞

she’s just glad the gardener has accepted her gift. token. peace offering. whatever it is. even galatea isn’t totally sure of anything, other than that she wants to give it.

another hunter and once again he is left wondering about their intentions. they are no longer inside the manor, they are no longer playing the game they got invited for. there is no need to continue; but what if there are people who wish to continue? thus aesop is left standing there, wondering until a poor attempt at a reassuring smile is given. it may have been awkward but he got its message for he would probably have given a similar smile were he in the same position.   ❝      you won’t chase me … ?      ❞ he asks with a slight tilt of his head.

||  █ ▌— she shakes her head. the words aren’t... simple, she thinks. it isn’t because she’s a poor conversationalist, though that likely plays a part, but rather because she’s confused by him.

He’s surprised she saw. She must have excellent eye sight, or perhaps she is just observant. Her way of speaking almost sends a little shiver down his spine but it doesn’t; she seems dangerous, somehow. How interesting.

“This?” he asks, and holds bag up. He pulls the long stemmed thing out and holds it carefully before her; allowing her a few moments simply to inspect. “I’ve just purchased it. I’m not sure if I made the right decision, but the seller was very adamant this was an important purchase.” 

He runs a finger along the stem and almost cuts himself on the thorns. “What drew me was the dark petals. They almost look burnt, or like decay at the bottom of the ocean floor. It reminds me of home.”

||  █ ▌— she does inspect it, since he is generous enough to give her a look at the flower. it’s pretty enough on its own, but the way he describes it makes it more so. an interesting thing, the sort of artwork that one needs to look at twice or three times or more to fully grasp.

and all from a simple flower. her head tilts ever so slightly to the side. ❝ i believe it was a good purchase. the idea of it is pretty. maybe the thing itself is, too. ❞

though he’s right, it is reminiscent of something dead and decaying. of course she knows there’s beauty in that, but most others seem to forget it.

                — REALISTIC && WELL-MADE,

    yet it came as a rather abrupt surprise to have a hand hoisted before his very eyes. fingernails, flesh, the indents of ones hands && creases against the palm… it was certainly an admirable display of talent.

   the huntsman took a short step back so to not knock such a treasure from her, the corners of his mouth pulling into an amused smile as he ungloved his own hand. pocketing the leather glove && comparing the two, rook shifted his gaze so to nod in approval –

   ah, dear. she seemed rather sick. an iv tube, a headband, sickeningly pale skin && an array of stitches marring her skin. a young, frail girl, sharing the fruits of her labour with him.

   though, concern did gnaw at his mind, it was best to evaluate the situation first.

    ❝ oho ?! my, my! what a lovely sculpture that is! ❞ cocking his head to the side so to inspect the underside of the sculpture… it, ah, was a severed hand rather than just a piece of art made in likeness to a normal hand.   ❝ beaute !! 100% !! ❞

    … who was this? nonetheless, he kept his posture relaxed with a safe face. rook was very good at that.

    ❝ c’est magnifique! how long did that take you? your craftmanship is admirable ~  and where exactly did you come from at that? you managed to slip past my keen eye. ❞ 

||  █ ▌— galatea was a genius when it came to her artistic medium of choice. the severed hand was as realistic as could be, save for the color and texture of the clay. and if there were a few bones within for structure, well, that was nobody’s business. really, this place was difficult to work within. the rules that applied to ordinary circumstances, the sort she understood, were not at play here.

❝ thank you, ❞ she said softly, in response to the praise of her work. yes, it was to be expected. still, it was appreciated. he didn’t even seem all that alarmed. normally people did not keep their cool around her.

it was refreshing.

❝ it took me only a few hours. i’m pleased with the results. clay isn’t my preferred medium. ❞ and here she sounded... almost self-conscious. one hand came up to pick at the stitching on the other ( carefully, she wasn’t going to hurt herself, it seemed to be a simple tic ) and she tilted her head.

@caelatori​ // starter.

Jade holds a long stemmed rose in his hand. It’s not really a rose, of course. It’s made of ceramic and glass, colored only slightly around the tips of the petals and its stem. The thorns are sharp enough that he fears he might break skin if he touches it, and the coloration of it reminds him of decay. Jade’s not sure why he bought it; the seller was making a convincing argument about the beauty of this item, he supposes.  It’s better suited for someone who enjoys looking at the macabre and the beautiful.

He sighs as he puts it back in the paper bag. He’s about to pull his phone out to text his brother when he hears something behind him. He turns, watching people step out of the way for a girl in a wheelchair. He smiles, slow, and steps out of the way as well as he watches her approach. 

He smiles, teeth sharp. “Ah, interesting.”

||  █ ▌— galatea notices the flower in the young man’s hand. it’s a curious thing, likely expensive, if the craftsmanship of it holds up up close. she isn’t sure if it will, having caught only a glance from a short distance before he had put it away again. is it worth inquiring about?

maybe.

art often is. she doesn’t work with glass, but she knows a good sculpture when she sees one, no matter the material used. she prefers stone for its durability, the danger inherent in it. stone hurts, in a way that other materials can’t manage. stone can crush bone, stone can trap someone up against a wall, stone can...

well, it’s stronger than glass, but that doesn’t mean glass doesn’t come with its own beauty... that is, she supposes, the point of all this thought.

☆☆☆ This place is strange. It’s unlike his city, unlike everything he’s ever known and he has to wonder –

                                  ( is this because he entered the crystal?                                                 is this his rebirth? )

If that’s the case please note that he does not like it. It’s right besides waking up early, eating vegetables, and lagging video games. Still, he finds himself in a mood to explore because if this is the crystal & he does have time to grow as king, he does not want to waste time. He has his friends and his country to get back to.

He opens the door to his apartment and pauses as he sees a girl come out of her own. She’s wheelchair bound and seems to be holding something in her hand. Curious, he shuts the door behind him and comes over to her.

“Hey. Do you need help?”

                                                                                             @caelatori​

||  █ ▌— this place is so peculiar. galatea has no idea how to make heads or tails of much of what she’s seen here. it’s enormous, and new, and shiny, and strange. as unlike her hometown or the asylum or oletus manor in every way conceivable. the games she played back home likely mean nothing here.

it will take some time adjusting to that.

still, she doesn’t want to get too distracted from her overall goals ( even if accomplishing them here seems rather difficult ).

she glances up at an unfamiliar voice, her eyes meeting those of the stranger for a long moment, as if she’s studying him.

whatever she sees, it doesn’t draw her attention for very long, because she glances away quickly and tilts her head slightly to the side. he seems friendly, or maybe just helpful. she doesn’t think that’s a bad thing, necessarily.

||  █ ▌— now this is one of the ones she was supposed to chase. names and faces were fleeting, of course, but sometimes features stood out, especially those of survivors, bound and damaged things. she doesn’t know if this one is afraid of her (particularly), of hunters (generally), or of anything else for that matter.

she didn’t have to chase him here, though, and had no particularly strong desire to at present. what she did was for a grand purpose, not some sense of sadism or thrill of the hunt. so she offers what she thinks might be a reassuring smile, though it’s strained and awkward and lopsided, looking even more eerie with her smudged lipstick.

||  █ ▌— he was... taking photos along the boardwalk, galatea realized. that thing in his hand ( she had one, too, though hers looked a little different ) was for photography. fascinating. galatea watched from a distance as a young man with some of the most vibrantly orange hair she’d ever seen took another picture. she tried to see his subject line, but... he didn’t seem to be photographing anything with any real consistency.

or... wait, no.