catrix's matrixes

The man was going to be sore after this. Levi knew that. He knew, but it didn't make him any more merciful--the chest compressions he performed were quick and deep enough to matter. The rescue breaths he gave were deep. Efficient. Desperate. He didn't know where he himself was or how he'd gotten here, but he knew he was tired of seeing people die when they didn't have to. So, chest compressions. Rescue breaths. Rinse and repeat--until he felt the sweetest sensation in the world:

A heartbeat that wasn't his. The rising and falling of a chest that wasn't his.

Levi didn't make a sound, but he wanted to shout for joy. Instead, he turned the stranger on his side in the sand, into the recovery position, and stayed with him, sitting against him to help keep him propped in that position. The seawater was drying on them both, the evening air was turning cold, but it didn't matter. He wasn't going to leave this guy.

When the stranger finally made a sound--Levi didn't even know what noise, he'd been lost in thought staring out at the sea--he looked down and took the man's hand.

"You were in the water. You're not now. Your chest is going to hurt." He pressed a quick, chaste kiss to the back of his hand, more parental than anything else. "And you're going to be okay. Don't die on me, soldier. You understand that? Don't die." One more kiss, a soft affection to go with hard words and a lonely place.

Please don't die.

-

The brush of lips against the back of his hand dragged him up from the dark. Not the wind. Not the cold. Not even the agony splintering through his chest.

The kiss.

It was so startlingly gentle that it cut through the blackness and he woke as though dragged upward by force. Lungs convulsing, throat burning raw with brine and salt. The first breath he pulled in was ragged, violent, more cough than air. It tore through his chest like grapeshot. His back arched against the sand, fingers digging into something solid—fabric. A sleeve. A hand.

Pain. God, the pain.

His ribs felt splintered. Every inhale scraped and he coughed again, seawater spilling from his mouth onto the sand, shoulders trembling with the effort. For a terrible, suspended second, he thought he was still drowning—that the weight on his chest was the ocean itself.

Then the cold wind hit his face.

Not water.

Air.

His lashes fluttered open sluggishly. The sky above him was dimming toward dusk, streaked in bruised purples and fading gold. He turned his head slightly—too fast. The world lurched.

Someone was holding him.

The sensation of lips against his hand registered a second later. Soft. Unexpected.

James stilled.

His gaze sharpened despite the haze. Even half-dead, there was something formidable in it—the instinctive authority of a naval officer who had once commanded ships and men. His hand twitched faintly in Levi’s grasp, not pulling away… but not yielding, either.

“r..Report…” he rasped automatically, the word shredded by salt and strain.

He swallowed, winced, and tried again.

“Where's… my ship?”

The memory came in flashes—the storm. The mast splitting. Orders shouted into useless wind. The deck tilting beneath his shoes. The roar of the hurricane swallowing everything.

He attempted to push himself upright and immediately faltered, breath hitching sharply as his chest protested. A low, involuntary sound escaped him—anger more than weakness.

He became aware, gradually, of the stranger at his side. Not one of his men. Not Royal Navy. The clothing was wrong. The posture was… unfamiliar. Yet steady.

Alive, then. Because of him.

Norrington's eyes settled on Levi’s face properly for the first time, his own brilliant emerald eyes were bloodshot.

-

Levi wasn't a big person. He was small, especially for a man, petite, but despite his small frame, he was strong. There was no extra fat on him to soften him out, giving him the slightly too-sharp features of a fae, if you were generous-minded, or of someone who had probably starved at some point in his life and just never recovered if you were realistic. He looked strong, a survivor, but like someone who had gone to the edge of endurance and maybe just never had the opportunity to make it back.

Still, he was pretty enough, even with his black hair half-dry, clinging to his face in a few places, the wind tossing it in others. His eyes were just as hard as Norrington's--slate blue, dark, the color of a sea that hadn't decided yet whether or not it was going to take a life--and they looked on with the same patience and focus that Norrington's did. Levi was another officer, even if the uniform he wore was doubtless completely foreign to Norrington: a short brown jacket made of some sort of tough fabric, thick and heavy like canvas. A white shirt, some sort of leather harnesses around his torso, hips, and thighs, although there was nothing connected to them now. White trousers, tall boots. He was soaked, sand and seaweed clung to him, but he still looked calm, focused. A commander, unfamiliar with the situation, but no less willing to lead, to help.

"I don't know where your ship is. I came to out in the water. Started swimming for what sounded like waves breaking. Found you floating out there. Wasn't sure if you were alive or dead, but I wasn't gonna leave your ass." He stated things calmly, his tone a little flat--not necessarily friendly, but firm and oddly caring. Levi looked at him for a moment as he spoke, then looked past him, out at the horizon. "Take it easy. I probably cracked some of your ribs trying to get you breathing again. I'm Captain Levi Ackerman, from Paradis--which probably doesn't mean anything to you," he admitted with a sigh. Looking back down, he studied those bloodshot emeralds. I won't let you die out here, Levi silently promised him. It didn't matter that he had no idea how to keep that promise, he was going to. This person had crossed his path, so he would fight for him. Whatever it took.

"If you want to sit up, do it slowly. Use me for support if you need to. Lean with your back to mine, if it helps. But you got close today, Green-Eyes. Too close. So be gentle with yourself."

Because if you die on me... if you die on me...

For a moment, Doctor Bashir gave serious thought to declining. He didn’t want to travel off-station. Not now. It was selfish, of course, why he wanted to stay–it felt like his friendship with Garak was finally starting to deepen a bit, to mean something, perhaps to lose the confusingly barbed edges–but damn it, why not be selfish? Just a little? It was a human instinct, after all, and should be an acceptable one for him to indulge in… but a young Starfleet doctor’s career was on the line, it seemed. As if my opinion will really mean anything.

With another sigh, he stood up and cleared thing away, then headed out onto the Promenade. There were a few hours yet before the shuttle he needed to be on was due to depart, and that meant there was time to find Garak and–

What, apologize? Say, Sorry, we won’t be able to have lunch together for the next few days because Starfleet’s sending me off to do some classified assessment they won’t even tell me the details on in advance? Garak wouldn’t care. It wasn’t like the two of them were–

Well.

He wouldn’t care, but telling him still meant something, to Bashir if no one else. Julian made his way towards the tailor’s shop–and smacked directly into a strange man who seemed to have just stepped out of nowhere.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, quickly reaching out to catch the stranger–although as he took him in, his eyes widened somewhat. Who… what race is he?

The stranger was a handsome man with broad shoulders and a warm smile, but he was also purple. A lovely, rich lavender shade. His eyes gleamed red–there was only a subtle difference between the sclera and the iris, and even his pupils looked red–and he had lovely curving horns growing on the sides of his head. A muscular yet graceful tail swished behind him. Gold jewelry glittered all over, on his horns, his hands, a few necklaces draped over his bared chest, because apparently he didn’t believe that buttoning his shirt all the way up was necessary. The man’s clothes were absurd. Stripes, stars, far too much ornamentation, a jacket that looked like it belonged on some ancient carnival ringmaster, a pirate belt, trousers that poofed out… There was a grace to the chaos, it somehow seemed to work together, but it was–too much. Far too much.

“Not to worry,” the stranger replied, his voice warm, a hint of an Irish accent–very Earth. “I did come out of nowhere. Are you hurt?”

Stolen, Julian immediately thought. The accent sounds good enough, but it’s not his. He’s not even emulating it. He… what am I thinking? He had to shake himself out of his thoughts. “Sorry. No. I’m fine. Just rushing, not looking where I’m going.”

“Ah, and where are you going? Perhaps I’ll go with you.”

“Perhaps you should,” Bashir said, before he realized exactly how rude it was. His smile was tight but polite, and he gestured for the other to accompany him. “I’m headed to–” Let down the man I’m most certainly not courting… “Ah, to the tailor.”

“Lovely. What’s your name?”

“Doctor Julian Bashir. And yours?”

“I’ll be glad to tell you,” the stranger said, and did not tell him. Looping his arm through Julian’s, he winked and nodded. For a moment, Bashir just stood there, trying to understand. Really? This was–this was really how today was going to go? This man wanted to just walk arm-in-arm together?

Another tight smile, a little less polite this time, and Bashir nodded again. “Right.”

-

“Garak? Forgive me for dropping by. I know we had plans to meet later, but… I was hoping you have a moment. And I’ve brought a–new. Person.”

“Mollymauk Tealeaf,” the stranger said, and he stepped away from Julian, releasing him in favor of giving the Cardassian a graceful bow with a flourish. “And it is a pleasure to meet you. The stars dance in your eyes, truly.”

Julian’s eyes might not have stars dancing in them, but they did have a plea: don’t be cross. I don’t know why he’s here, but I do want to talk to you. Whether or not Garak chose to understand or not remained to be seen; Bashir never really knew what to expect from him.

-

The poor doctor was bothered.

How did Garak know that? The same way he ALWAYS knew things - through the hemming of cuffs and the delicate embroidery of a coat.

A Classified assignment had been placed upon the doctor’s desk and, indeed, upon his capable shoulders; like the mythical Atlas the doctor had once spoken of. Perhaps an unruly comparison, facetious to many degrees, but to know Julian Bashir was to know that his responsibilities weighed as much as a collapsing star in his mind - and heavier on his conscious.

He’d be leaving, Garak gathered during a very intense round of pleating, to attend to the assignment - a VIP planetside, dealing with a small but unpleasant bout of food poisoning, was unhappy to be treated by local healers and was demanding a Starfleet doctor to tend to them.

If this had been a … different organization, they would’ve found a comfortable hole to bury this ill visitor in.

Starfleet chose to go down the path of diplomacy, and to send their charming human doctor to soothe the patient, which was undoubtedly an exciting adventure for the doctor in question. Oh, Garak was annoyed, very much so, at how this Chief Medical Officer would leap at the chance to run out on and abandon so many different opportunities but never, NEVER, his precious Starfleet. Like they served him at all.

The bushels of guilt and the mocking of sincerity that he could feed to Bashir over lunch would be delicious, absolutely succulent, and the reveal that he planned to go along for the shuttle ride would be even sweeter; that wide-eyed expression making an appearance, no doubt, as the doctor silently questioned who Garak had murdered or bribed to obtain this chance.

Really, was he that suspicious? Couldn’t a Cardassian tailor travel to sample wares without being accused of villainy?

Garak worked in his store with a lighter step that day, tending to customers almost pleasantly, unsure when he’d see the doctor but sure that he’d see him earlier than their usual meal. When the chime above his door sounded some time after the morning rush, his smugness multipled, and he didn’t look up from his pinning to greet the visitor. “Good day, doctor.” The Cardassian spoke warmly, ready to play out the drama he’d been plotting.

Then his story was interrupted, rather abruptly, by an unexpected actor on the stage. Cold and judging eyes shot away from the garment that he’d been preparing and onto the guest who was stepping towards him in an extravagant matter. One had thought that they’d surely consumed the worst atrocities to sensible fashion and good taste after witnessing the doctor’s wardrobe, but this man, this Mollymauk, was a category unto himself. Even accounting for culture, he was a headache of styles and colors, and Garak quietly mused if it was meant to be appealing or offensive weaponry.

He regarded this intrusion with the warmth one could expect from a rumored spy. “A pleasure? I suppose it must be, Mr. Tealeaf; tell me, are you interested in fabrics or in optometry?” Garak questioned him with a mild smile and an overall bemused expression; no anger to be seen but, certainly, no affection. He nodded when the other bowed. “We don’t see too many of your species out here.”

Julian’s attempt to pass a desperate message across was seen, and smiled at, but otherwise ignored. If he was here for him, why bring a stranger?

-

Bashir suppressed the urge to sigh. He’d upset Garak somehow, that much he understood, he just wasn’t sure exactly what had done it this time, or why. There would be time to sort that later, he hoped. With any luck, Mollymauk wouldn’t linger long, and they’d be free to talk. This strange man really was ridiculous company–albeit also intriguing. There was something off about him. Not just in the strength of his pulse or the utter calm of his respirations, but in a thousand little ways that, the more Bashir let himself notice, the more vaguely concerning they became.

As for Mollymauk, however, he didn’t seem to be perturbed in the slightest. If he even understood that Garak was casting a mountain’s worth of shade at him, the strange lavender man let it roll right off that muscular back of his.

“I don’t imagine you do,” Molly practically chirped. “No one sees much of me. And fabrics, my dear man! I’m interested in fabric. The fabric of a lovely outfit, the fabric that makes up our daily lives, what’s not to be fascinated by? The finest threads can weave the most unexpected patterns!”

“While that is true,” Bashir agreed, carefully modulating his tone to indicate that this was more of an observation, not a desire for further friendly interaction, “I would imagine the–”

“You know, Doctor,” Molly said, turning and pressing a finger to the pretty man’s lips, “you’re quite lovely.” The red-eyed stranger winked at him, gave Garak a quick but almost taunting grin, revealing a few sharp pearly-whites, and sauntered out, leaving the two of them alone in a space that suddenly felt much smaller, as if the air itself had gone out of the room.

Julian hesitated, then looked to Garak. “I’m sorry. He–I’m sorry.” He should come up with a better quip, he knew, make some more spirited attempt to fence with words the way that so delighted his friend, but for the moment, his spirits dropped enough that he couldn’t bring himself to. “And I’m sorry about our lunch today. I’m going to have to miss it–and may be gone for several days.”

He quashed the impulse to beg Garak not to be angry. Instead, Julian searched his eyes. Garak had immediately disliked that stranger–or disliked Julian bringing him here, at least, which was fair–and if he needed to be left alone right now, that was something Bashir could and would respect.

-

What upset? Garak was attending to a customer, that was all; the fact that Julian brought this man in, it didn't change the need for hospitality but it certainly wasn't meant to cause FUSS with his usual lunch companion. If the doctor wished to have the Cardassian's eyes solely on himself, then come alone.

Or wear another truly worrying shirt and short combination.

Garak was intrigued by this new man, however, and would confess to his focus shifting rapidly towards figuring him out. He almost looked like one of those characters in the Terran novels; the ones set in the medieval era, tales of chivalry and 'witchcraft', indeed. Thinly veiled attempts to deify and uplift the legends of the noble class - as any good Cardassian could recognize. Mollymauk spoke like one too; an inscrutable one.

His deflection was almost as good as the tailor's.

"Ah, so you're a philosopher? No wonder you and Dr. Bashir get along so well; he does enjoy a good problem." Garak said with charm to match his partner, all while he was taking careful mental notes on this man and his 'fabrics'. Part of his excessiveness was almost entertaining.

ESPECIALLY when Mollymauk would lay one of his fingers on the good doctor's mouth, shush him as one might shush a child, and compliment him; calling him 'lovely'. Relatively faint praise for Julian. Many of his partners, and even his good friends, had said far more enchanting things; Garak would claim to be in neither category but he had also noted upon the man's attractiveness.

By human standards, of course.

To a Cardassian, he was unlike anything else.

That grin that the stranger flashed seemed to imply something but Garak only gave back a curious expression; no clue what Mollymauk was so gleeful about. Had a joke been made? Those lips were nothing to laugh about touching but Garak still felt no particular way about his actions, and he wasn't sure why he ought to.

However, it wouldn't be unheard of if, during the occasions that this tailor might share a table with Odo, he should bring up a new customer he'd encountered. If, in some way, Odo should then take a look into the character, well, Garak hadn't caused it.

He'd only been talking.

The atmosphere in the shop was stiff, following Mollymauk's departure, yet Garak wasn't taking the blame for it. Julian was the one apologizing. "My dear doctor, what are you sorry for? That was a very interesting man," he claimed with gracious tone and a pleasant smile, expecting to hear more fuss or more apologies.

Instead, Julian cut to the point - a point Garak had briefly forgotten about until it was brought back up. Ah, yes, the shuttle trip ... he briefly patted the doctor's shoulder with a half-hearted and noncommital hand before returning to his pinning. Now didn't feel like an excellent time for drama.

Mollymauk had proven that an old man gesticulating would tire one quickly.

"A shame," he murmured. "I do hope there's nothing disastrous coming over the station, and only a well-deserved vacation being taken on your part! A few days, mmm, I'd say take a week; that should be just long enough to restore your missing energy!"

-

Julian didn't know whether to be frustrated or flustered or just plain flummoxed, but as that was often the case when he met with Garak, he settled on just accepting that all of the responses were likely the right response, and he let them settle away into him like silt in an otherwise pristine alpine lake. Mollymauk had flustered him, and left his skin feeling almost burned--not that there was any actual damage, of course, there was just something about that strange purple being...

But, aware that direct topics and lines of conversation rarely got him anywhere with Garak, he put on a small, patient smile and twitched an eyebrow, watching him.

"Nothing disastrous, at least there shouldn't be. Perhaps there are portents," he added dryly, an amused smile warming his lips, "but the appearance of devils and demons is such an unscientific method. No, I'll only be away for a few days. Most likely."

And I'll miss you, he thought, but couldn't say. Even as he thought it, though, he wondered, will I miss him? He's frustrating and inane and talking to him is like trying to coax a sphinx... But he would, of course. Julian might be someone people liked to call friend, but he wouldn't say he actually had many friends--there was a difference between being someone who came to mind for others, and actually having opened one's own heart up, however infinitesimal an amount, to another.

Garak was a problem and a headache and a beautiful distraction, and maybe a friend.

Vepar looked over at the other three and sat up straighter. He stretched his wings out–the flecks of mottled gold and copper in the black feathers caught the golden afternoon sunlight beautifully–before folding them neatly around the chair and scooting up closer to the table.

“Alright. I’ll try to be more… succinct than Trent,” Vepar said. “High Lord Eris,” he nodded to the newest nobleman in Zadash, someone whose presence Vepar absolutely did not understand, but was willing to accept, “you are tasked with ensuring the city does not burn to the ground. I understand you have an… affinity for fire.”

The archfey smiled. He sat–or lounged, really, making the chair look like a throne that had been carved just for him–in a beam of the golden late-afternoon sunlight. Dressed in flowing robes of copper and gold, autumn leaves braided in through his long red hair, he looked rested and refreshed, as though he’d simply been enjoying relaxing all the while Ikithon had gone on.

“Understood,” Eris said. “I shall keep the ash out of Zadash until the festival ends.”

Vepar narrowed his dark eyes at him. “And preferably long after.”

“Mm.” Eris picked up a goblet of the wine Ikithon had treated them to–something almost acceptable, and undoubtedly fine by human standards–and took another sip. “You know what this is, don’t you?”

“The… wine?”

“No. Our placement as guardians of the festival.”

“Enlighten us.”

“It’s a test. A game. He wants something from each of us, and hopes to catch us each in a massive enough failing to step in and help us… It should be entertaining, really. I look forward to it.” Eris looked over at Vepar, taking him in: a pretty man who almost looked human, with soft black curls and warm golden-brown skin, save for the wings on him. Massive feathered wings, for the most part a rich black, but mottled with lovely metallic shades here and there. This would be a creature worth keeping, he mused, worth bringing home when he was done with all of this.

Vepar frowned at the aggressively uncomfortable way Eris was studying him. Something in the fey’s eyes made him damned glad to be in armor–not that it would likely do much against him.

“Be that as it may, we’ll conduct our duties to the best of our abilities. This is a weeklong festival, and we’ll doubtless all be tired by the end, so we’ll lean on each other however we have to.

"Prince Stolas, I understand you volunteered to host the ball on the final night? Thank you for that. In addition to those preparations, you’ve been tasked with…” Ensuring everyone is happy. That was how Trent had phrased it, but Trent also made it sound like a damned threat. “Morale. There are hundreds of artists, vendors, shop-owners, and the like, who are involved in the Festival. Please work with them to help ensure they have what they need. Minimize chaos.

"Sir Integra, you’ll be handling security at all over the larger events. No doubt you are aware, but there has always been a sort of… counterculture version of the festival, usually run by criminals, and they have frequently delighted in disrupting official events. We have next to no intelligence on how that happens or what they’re going to do. I recognize that Trent instructed you to… learn about their operation by any means necessary? But I’m using my authority,” which was arguably greater than Ikithon’s, depending on one’s point of view, “to countermand that aspect of the order. Just keep the events safe. Don’t kick any hornet nests we don’t have to.

"Does anyone have any questions?”

Eris held a hand out, examining his rings in the sunlight. “Are you single?”

“Does anyone have any relevant questions?”

With Ikithon’s departure, Stolas’ posture relaxes, if only a little. He breathes a small sigh of relief and rotates his shoulders. His fingers circle the stem of his glass, bringing the wine to his lips. He appraises the aroma first, circling the contents and gazes into the dark liquid. Deciding he isn’t fond of the taste it leaves on his tongue, or letting the beverage muddle his senses, he sets it back down and turns his attention to Eris and Vepar. Vibrant, garnet eyes flit between the pair curiously, though it was unmistakable he found Eris’ antics… exhausting. Curious, but exhausting nonetheless, at least for the moment anyhow.

Something about Eris’s words feels like sand chafing against skin. There could very well be a level of truth to them, and he isn’t certain which infuriates him more: Ikithon’s attempt to keep them as marionettes of sorts, or Eris, shiny and new, inserting himself into every detail and spitting it out so plainly.

“Then I suppose we ought to be at our absolute best if we wish to succeed and pass his little test. A good challenge has never scared any of us away before, why should it now?”

Lips painted a midnight shade curl into an easy smile. The prince places a hand over his heart as he addresses Vepar directly. “It is my pleasure. It is a rare occurrence in which I host such grand parties, and I really ought to put the ballroom to good use. I intend to have the gardens prepared for mingling as well, and perhaps a few, mmm…” He waggles his fingers, magic sparking between them in playful little bursts. “Games for the guests to enjoy and indulge in. A dancing contest, a hedge maze, the likes. Perhaps a blindfolded tasting of some imported delights? Nothing too overwhelming, of course.” He leans back in his seat, resting a pale cheek in an open palm.

“Energizing our vendors and artists shouldn’t be a difficult task. Curating the happiness of those around me is one of my specialties, after all. I will visit each personally and ensure their needs are met, that they feel appreciated and welcomed for the coming festival. I may be on the prowl for something special myself….” Perhaps he might find what he is looking for. After all, they will have local and traveling merchants joining them for the festivities. It would be the perfect opportunity to take a little glance at their wares.

Arctic blue eyes remain trained on the untouched wineglass before her. She herself had not participated, though it was poured nonetheless. Gloved fingers were bridged, laced and supporting her chin. She listens carefully, committing everything between them to memory. While she regards them each with some level of respect, there was no one at that table she trusted or respected more than Vepar, and even he came second to someone that wasn’t present.

Eris was young and new; a spitfire that felt uncontrollable and unpredictable. He somehow has some form of sway, and nevermind the fact that he was Fey. Being convoluting and tricky was likely second nature to him. Stolas, relatively young as well, wasn’t untrustworthy by any means, but he limited himself greatly. To what end, she could not understand. But again, there were methods and mannerisms she didn’t quite agree with in him either, though she certainly would trust him long before she would ever consider putting any faith in Eris. That left Duke Vepar. She regards him with the utmost respect, and would even consider his orders to be well beyond the Archmage’s. He was considerate, intelligent, and level-headed with honorable qualities in her eyes.

She gives a small nod of understanding, head tilting in his direction as an indication of her acknowledgement. “Understood. We will not act without reasonable cause, and any altercations will be handled quietly and discreetly. I will have my most powerful resource placed in the heart of activity during the events. We will distribute security as evenly as possible without imposing or causing discomfort to participants and townsfolk.”

Both Integra and Stolas give Eris a look for his query. Stolas looks startled and surprised, while she only provides a cool and dismissive look of disapproval.

After a moment’s silence, Stolas gives a short series of taps to the table, sharp nails clicking softly against the polished surface.

“Actually, I do have…just one. Has this festival not been a recurring event here in Zadash? Why, in all planes of existence, are we just now overseeing it? Does that not…. raise alarm to anyone else? That there is suddenly some significance to it all?”

At the end, as Stolas was asking their question, Vepar raised a hand and made a subtle, twirling gesture; a spiral of golden sparks drifted away from him, stretching out into the rest of the room like extensions of the sunlight pouring in. In just a heartbeat or two, certainly before Stolas was done speaking, they had become a protective web of silence, cloistering the group away from any prying eyes. And although he didn’t say it, Vepar had to resist the urge to let his lip curl; he had felt a few eavesdropping spells fizzle out under the spreading web.

“It’s… certainly strange,” he agreed. “From what I understand, there’s a different council to help organize things every year, but there have never been two councils as there are this year. Why a general and a handful of nobles are on it… your guess is as good as mine.” Vepar folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. It felt strange to be in regular clothing, out of his usual armor. “Trent did ask me to use my soldiers to reinforce the local garrison for the festival. Perhaps he knows more about some… hidden threat? Than we do.”

Eris stood up and walked over to the window. “What was that you did just now? The magic?”

“Just added a touch of privacy to the room.”

“Why?”

“If you cannot imagine, High Lord, then you are a more innocent lamb than I took you for.”

Eris scoffed. “I see. So, none of you trust Trent either? Which puts us in an interesting position. This festival of yours… something tells me it’s going to be the most exciting this city has seen in a long, long time…”

-

In the House of the Golden Sun…

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Levi asked, trying to keep anything that might be misconstrued as disapproval out of his voice as he watched the pretty lavender-colored tiefling get dressed.

Molly flipped his hair free of his collar, smiling despite his back being turned to the lithe little human. “I’m sure that the last person you need to worry about is me.”

“Kind of my job.”

“Mmmhmm.” Spinning gracefully on his heel, Molly gracefully dropped to one knee where Levi was sitting. In the same fluid motion, he rested his hands on the human’s knee, then rested his chin on them and smiled, humming as he looked up. “And that’s all it is, isn’t it? You’re just doing your job… every night, after the customers go home.” He kept the words playful, but there was an edge behind them.

With a quiet scoff, Levi grabbed one of his horns–his grip gentle, even if he knew he had standing permission to do so–and tugged Molly’s head up and away from his knee. “At least one of us is.” He stood up, making Molly do the same, although the tiefling towered over him once they were on their feet. Levi let go of his horn and just held onto him by the shoulders. For a moment, each looked into the other’s eyes, one frowning, the other searching, before they both turned away.

“With any luck,” Molly said cheerfully, heading for the door, “we’ll hear this secret festival nonsense today. See you downstairs?”

“Mm.”

“Isn’t this delightful? Breakfast, every afternoon!” Humming cheerfully, Molly made his way down.

-

Fjord, who had been showing his new outfit off to Adler, beamed when Molly made his way down. “Hey! The tailor brought it by today! It looks good, right?”

“Would I ever lead you astray when it comes to clothing yourself?”

Fjord’s smile was awkward, even if the look in his eyes was a happy enough one, trusting. He shook his head at Molly, never quite sure how to interact with him, and smoothed a hand down the front of the linen tunic. “So what kind of stuff happens at this festival anyway?”

Suppressing a wince, Molly curled up in a loveseat and started shuffling through his cards. “Something tells me,” he murmured, “and by something I certainly do mean the cards, that we’re going to find out very soon…”

-

The guard who knocked on the door to Eula’s office had very wide eyes and was sweating profusely, more nervous than he had ever been in his young life. In theory, everything was okay, he knew that much, but to actually have the Shishigumi walking behind him? This was terrifying. Their boss was a beautiful deer-person of some sort, graceful and serious, but somehow no less sinister than the two well-dressed lions who followed him in.

“Um, M-m-miss Eula?” The young guard asked, knocking on her door. “The Sh-sh-sh-shhh—” Fuck, why was he so scared? He took a deep breath. “The Shishigumi are here to see you?”

Though the establishment was not yet open to the public, there was a business about the halls and rooms that would have convinced anyone otherwise. Beings of all sorts move with purpose: some are tending to linens, while others check lighting and decor, some stick to the kitchens where they can continue to prepare hot meals and different spreads, others worry about sweeping, and quite a few go about simply offering breaks or to take over tasks, ensuring no one is overwhelmed or overworking themselves.

Karina flits about, busying herself in a variety of different areas so she can maintain eyes wherever she can. With the festival fast approaching, preparations were well underway. They needed to tend to the place but also themselves just as much. It wouldn’t do well for anyone to drop in the peak of it all, or even just the beginning. She steps over Wren’s legs with an armful of folded blankets and towels to distribute. Meanwhile, he just so happens to be lounging like one of those princely housecats that gets whatever it wants (and is thoroughly in her way…or at least annoying to look at). It earns him a low growl and the swat of her tail in passing.

“You should be up and helping!” The words come out as a hiss.

“I am helping by staying out of the way,” he fires back teasingly.

“I just had to step over you, Wren Atlas! You’re insufferable. You’ve been here long enough, you know the drill!”

“Feisty today, are we Rina?~ Did you have breakfast, by chance? These peach and fig pastries are simply to die for.”

“Then keel over already.”

Her words spark a sudden burst of laughter. Wren wipes his mouth as he finishes his breakfast stretches. He rises to his feet and salutes her. “Heading to the kitchens now.”

“Not to stuff your face, I hope. Seriously. Get. To. Work.” Despite the clipped tone, she knows he’ll pitch in. Wren has always carried himself with a carefree and lazy air, but when push comes to shove, or help is needed, he’s entirely reliable. Karina also knows he purposefully likes to get under her skin…Yet somehow, she doesn’t hate him.

“I’m on it, I swear!” With that, he disappears to take care of his dishes and get to work. Whether or not he sticks to the kitchens is questionable, but Wren is always willing to help where it’s needed, and today would be full of opportunities to provide it.

-

“It looks fantastic. I didn’t think I could imagine you in anything different, but this compliments you very nicely.” His gaze sweeps over Fjord, respectful but thorough.

A fond smile has made itself at home on Adler’s features. The gentle curl of lips, a small tilt of head, the lazy sway of his tail, and a warm shine to his eyes. Their newest arrivals have settled in quite nicely, making a home for themselves. He could tell comfort was becoming a regular thing as their personalities began to blossom. When Molly enters, he gives him a welcoming nod of acknowledgement.

“The festival is different each year. Some of the same activities, or overall base exists, but you never really know what you’re in for.” He pauses with the realization.

“Oh! It will be your first with us! That’s exciting! Or not, depending on how you do with high energy functions that are ongoing for a period of time, rather than just one night. But still, I think you might come to enjoy it.”

Jester practically dances into the room. She sweeps over to Molly to greet him with false kisses on the cheek, meeting the air around him before flinging her arms around Fjord. “Woooooow! You look handsome! These must be new~” She walks her fingers up his chest, dazzling sunshine smile on her lips before she waves a hand at Adler.

“I got THE BEST sleep ever last night. My dream was soooo crazy and fun! Also, The Traveler totally loves this place. He says it’s like, his favorite that we’ve visited so far. And have you seen the decorations out the windows?! This festival must be a really big deal.”

-

It didn’t take magic for her to sense unease or discomfort. Though perhaps it played a part in the way she was able to occasionally read others, providing a calming balm to the frayed edges of their feelings. Then again, the mere mention of the Shishigumi was enough to cause some to sweat. Eulalie herself rarely felt fear, though to say she was absent of it would be a bold lie indeed. It was more that she was capable of channeling it into quiet anticipation and a sort of stillness. It was her responsibility to keep her fellow companions safe and happy, after all, so a certain level of collection, of calm and control, is to be expected.

Crossing one leg over the other behind her desk, Eulalie folds her hands atop her knee, a portrait of elegance; formal and formidable. Today she dons a cream gown that only reaches over one shoulder bearing a somewhat modest cut down the front, and a teasing slit up from the bottom to the top of her thigh. The dress is only as long as it takes to reach the ground, however, and no longer. Accessories are minimal; she wears a thin chain with a ring hanging from it and a few bracelets at her wrist; her ears bearing hanging golden suns. Her tail sways slowly, almost idly, head tilting to a side as though she might be able to make out their forms beyond the closed door. She does this only for a moment before inviting them in.

What the Shishigumi wanted or needed with her or the House of the Golden Sun was beyond her, but they will surely make their desires known.

“I will see them now. Let them pass.” Her voice is steady, but not firm. And when the door opens, she does well to meet her nervous guard with a warm and placating smile. “Thank you. You can leave us now, you’ve done well.”

To the Shishigumi’s leader she gestures to one of the plush armchairs across from her. “Please, have a seat. Would you like anything to drink?”

“Thank you,” Louis said, and took a seat in the chair she indicated. He was an elegant creature–a humanoid shape, but with the sweet, soft head and features of a deer, and his pelt was a smooth golden-chestnut. He appeared to be unarmed, and was dressed fairly plainly in neat black clothing. Everything about him looked composed, not so much as a hair out of place. Even when he leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, it was a completely at-ease gesture, comfortable. This place might be bustling with excitement, and Eulalie’s guard might have been barely willing to leave the room, but the young buck was calm. Serene–

Save for the look in his eyes. Soft and pretty as they were, there was a dangerous hardness there, an edge that promised not just intelligence, but the possibility of cruelty. The two Leonin behind him were quite possibly the safer of her guests to get entangled with. One of them looked young and wide-eyed, his dark mane as carefully styled as he could manage, and he was struggling to stop smiling and staring at everything. The other one, his light eyes a crystalline blue, was focused. Not violent, not threatening, just focused. He would ensure his boss walked out of here no matter what. Festival or no, his guard wasn’t coming down. Not when it came to this damned deer.

As for the damned deer, he took out a parchment scroll, sealed with a wax Shishigumi seal, tied with a golden ribbon.

“We appreciate your patience, and your welcome. And, might I say, you look beautiful–as radiant as the rumors say.” He placed the parchment on her desk, within her reach, before leaning back. “As you know, judgement of the Underfestival has fallen to the Shishigumi this year. An honor we intend to take seriously. Not as seriously as others have in years past,” he added, a hint of wry amusement in his voice, as he knew full well there had been fatalities when other criminal groups ran it, “but still. We expect all participants to play by the rules.

"If you break that seal, you are agreeing on behalf of your House, entering the contest. I hope you do. Know this: one House has received a different set of instructions from the others. I will not divulge who, or why. It could be yours, it could be another. Whether or not it matters, well…” He twitched an eyebrow and gave a tiny, dismissive shrug, as if to say maybe that wasn’t so important after all.

Once Eulalie took the scroll and broke the seal, the crime-lord waited patiently for her to read it–while Agata tried his best not to wiggle with pride, excited because he had been working for weeks to make his handwriting elegant and formal, wanting the privilege of writing all of the scrolls out.

The UNDERFESTIVAL COMMANDMENTS

FIRSTLY, ALL HOUSES PARTICIPATING IN THE UNDERFESTIVAL MUST BE HOUSES OF SIN AND DELIGHT. Participants must provide gambling, drug use, alcohol, sex, or all of the above, as their regular business model, yet must also be in good standing; Houses who abuse their staff or allow their customers to suffer unduly are not invited to participate in the Underfestival.

SECONDLY, ALL HOUSES MUST MAINTAIN STRICT SECRECY WHILE PARTICIPATING. If any members of a House are detained by law enforcement, or anyone acting in the capacity of law enforcement, that House is disqualified.

THIRDLY, NEW TO THIS YEAR, all House participants must be willing; no one maybe ordered to undertake a particular quest. If coercion is discovered, the House will be disqualified and the owner subsequently disemboweled and dismembered, to be then devoured by the Shishigumi.

UNDERFESTIVAL QUESTS– These quests must be completed, in no particular order, between the tolling of the city bells; firstly, the bell that opens the Festival of Joy, and before the tolling of the final bell on the final night. These quests have been determined by the Shishigumi and must all be completed to qualify for the Underfestival Trophy, as well as a year free of paying tributes to any criminal organization, for protection or otherwise.

Bedazzle. Steal, bejewel, and return a livestock animal, without harming the animal, to a business owner or noble house within Zadash city limits.

Vandalize. Deface a storefront window and door, in a manner both whimsical and obscene, refraining from any imagery that may be construed as threatening or prejudiced.

Corrupt. Persuade musicians at any austere, official ceremony, whether or not it pertains to the Festival of Joy, to perform the lewd ballad Zaddy Got Back, without the musicians being alerted to the fact this is an Underfestival quest.

Exhibit. One nude dance must be performed by three employees of each House, at a public fountain during daylight hours, without being overtly crude. Masks are optional for this quest.

Ring the Bell. The Trost Belltower is under constant guard. Whatever member of each House rings this bell, they must not be seem going up, but they MUST be seen leaving the belltower, post ringing it in an inappropriate manner at an inappropriate time of day.

Classy Balls. At least sex-worker of each house must be invited to the final-night ball, by a titled member of nobility. Said noble must be aware they are inviting a sex-worker, but invite them as a personal choice, without any exchange of money, goods, or services. At that ball, said house-member must manage to place a red stain somewhere prominent on their noble.

Feed. Prepare and distribute 100 meals, of any healthy and sustaining variety, to people in need throughout Zadash. All participating members must be green from head to toe at all times during this quest, from preparation to distribution, displaying no other colors. Any loss of full green coverage, whether by their doing or not, will result in instant disqualification for the House.

Await. Await the Black Envelope. Throughout the Underfestival, each participating House will be given a black envelope containing their private quest. From the time it is delivered to them, the quest contained within must be completed in no more than three hours, and in strict accordance with its terms.

Guzzle. Break into a tavern and replace all of their alcohol with water. The water must be glittery and/or pink, but it cannot be flavored. Distribute the stolen liquor to city guards; extra points may be awarded for those who get guards the drunkest.

Improve. Make the life of someone uninvolved with your House demonstrably better, in a matter that does not complicate or endanger their life or livelihood, and which is sustainable; the change must be lasting, even if it stems from a single item or moment. Only one submission for Improve may be sent from each House, but it is encouraged that multiple members attempt it, then confer together to decide which submission to send in.

“There is, of course, also one ‘impossible’ task,” Louis added, after giving Eulalie plenty of time to read the paper. “If a member of your House can seduce Sir Integra–properly seduce her, consent must be informed and enthusiastic–then that achievement will count for every other item on the list being accomplished. The sex much occur in this House, and be between Integra and someone already under your employ.

"So. Any questions–about any of this?”

--

INTERVAL--

Integra returns later in the day, when the sun's warmth begins to fade, golden light bleeding into the sky to change the brilliant blue into stark oranges, sweet pinks, and blood red.

As she passes Alucard, a thin scroll of paper is pressed to his chest. When she moves to occupy the chair behind her personal desk, Integra smiles. "I figured you might not take my word for it." She gestures towards th paper left with him. "Proof of the magic used by the Healer, and the findings. Which, you will be pleased to know, are none. I am in perfect health."

His long fingers closed around the paper–precious more for the fact that it had been in her hand than for the proof it allegedly contained. The appointment with a Healer was not news to the vampire; if Integra thought he hadn’t stalked her every movement, following along from down in the tunnels under the city, she was sorely mistaken.

Still, he smiled in response, and gave her the smallest of bows–a gesture of respect that was perhaps too familiar, too intimate in the way his eyes stayed on hers, burning. He appreciated her gesture and her information, but that did not feel like enough. None of this felt like enough. Something was changing in their city, the balance of power shifting in ways that were impossible to ignore–the world was starting to tilt, and Alucard would be damned anew if he would allow her to slide off its edge…

Especially considering that other things were sliding.

Such as her control of him.

The leash was coming loose, the collar falling to bits; day by day, a little more eroded away. Freedom, unlimited freedom and unrestricted power, were almost within reach. He could taste them, they were so close–

But he couldn’t see the reasons in Integra’s eyes, and that was infuriating. Alucard knew he could just ask, of course. He could ask and she might tell him–but the thought was there, preventing him. What if? What if she didn’t know? What if this wasn’t on purpose? What if, after all this time, he really was about to receive his freedom? If she didn’t want that, and he asked, she might manage to tighten the knots again. And, however loyal the vampire might be to this woman, it was always there, simmering under the surface: the thought that he might betray her. Not for money, not for romance, not for any earthly delight–

But for freedom?

Maybe.

It was too tantalizing a possibility to simply offer it up on a platter. So, baring his teeth in a smile, he tucked both the worries and the hungers away, unrolled the scroll, and read it over.

“You didn’t go to the handsome new elven healer? When I went to such lengths to ensure you would go only to the best. I’ve heard he’s quite handsome–and pliable. A commanding presence such as yours might have had him on his knees in no time–swearing fealty, of course.” He tossed the paper back down on her desk as if it didn’t matter, as if it wasn’t the manifestation of everything that ever stood or grew between them.

“Ah, well.

"So. Are we prepared for this festival?”

-

She was more than willing to share privacy with the individuals who come to her now. After all, she had no debts to pay, no quarrels with the Shishigumi that she knew of - only the festival to look forward to and expect.

There’s a slow and idle sway to her tail as Eulalie welcomes her guests. She understands they are there for official business, and though her demeanor continues to suggest one of natural ease, she knows better than to let her guard down. While he mentions rumors of her beauty – which earns a saccharine smile – she is well aware of the tales surrounding the Shishigumi. She is most certain there are families who tell stories of them to misbehaving children in the hopes of corralling them into better behavior. Whether or not those tales are exaggerated could be…debatable, but less than likely. Each member was taken into careful consideration. There was Louis, obviously the head of the organization and the one in charge of the situation now - and the two Leonin. Each of them was to be considered a deadly force should it come down to it. Though there would be, and should be, no reason or cause for alarm in their meeting, she’s done business far too long not to be cautious and aware of the company she keeps. Which is precisely why, and she will never tell a soul that she prefers business with the Shishigumi over most others. They were discreet enough, formal in their own rights, powerful, and respectful. Beyond that, they honored their word, making them trustworthy.

“Despite the rumors I’ve heard of the Shishigumi, I do have to say, I’m happy to know the festival is in such strong and meticulous hands.” A compliment of her own, and it was true. Past festivals, while fun and true to their nature, had always held a certain aspect of danger. And with recent ones, loss, too. These festivities were meant to bring excitement to the participants and those they interact with. Every task was meant to leave an impression of some kind, and for days and nights, minutes and hours, Zadash would be brilliantly filled with a symphony of sounds: laughter, music, pleasure, revelry at its finest and most boisterous.

There is no need to think twice. Eulalie breaks the seal and reads the commandments. His words did not deter her in the least. She had new and old companions seeking thrills, and the House of the Golden Sun would not shy away from the Underfestival. The first paragraph leading to the commandments earns him a look. Houses who abuse their staff or allow their customers to suffer unduly are not invited to participate in the Underfestival.

Something soft etches itself into her features, a warmth bleeding into her expression that mingles with the respect she already held for him. A small nod is given in his direction before she reads the rest of the details.

By the time she reaches the end, a hearty and rich little laugh escapes. Eulalie swiftly brings a hand to her lips, murmuring an apology and rolls the parchment up. A dazzling smile blooms over perfect lips, tail swishing with joy. “Oh, you have certainly outdone yourselves this year, my friends. This is certain to be a remarkable and memorable experience for everyone involved.” Her head tilts before she sets the instructions down and steeples her fingers.

“Are there any limits to how many individuals from the House can participate? I have a handful of new friends who may or may not wish to participate in some of the quests, but perhaps not all of them. It seems silly to ask, but one can never be too cautious about the specifics.”

A gentle knock sounds on the door, a kind and uncertain face peers in. Eulalie gives a small nod to welcome them in while conversation is paused, and they proceed. A serving tray is brought to rest upon the desk. It bears a small assortment of sandwiches, a few pastries, and tea is left for them to pick at. They bow respectfully and hastily take their leave, unwilling to stay too long. Privacy is respected, after all.

Louis gave an appreciative nod about the refreshments. Maintaining that perfect poise of his, he gladly shared them with Eulalie, without hesitation or any apparent fear of poisoning. If poison had made it into this House, then things were so very wrong that no amount of caution would save him, he mused. Still, formality was maintained; although Louis ate and drank with her, the two Leonin behind him did not. They were here to guard him, and they did their job well.

“It’s not silly at all. You’re right. One can never be too cautious. And no, there’s no limit. Any of your people who wish to participate are welcome to. That actually brings us to another topic–there is one of your staff I’d be very interested in having a private conversation with. Just a conversation, nothing physical,” he added, since clarification was absolutely in order here, “and if he doesn’t wish to speak to me, there will be no repercussions. Still. If you get the chance to ask him, I’d be grateful for the chance to sit and talk with Levi Ackerman.” Since he’d had just enough of the tea service to be polite, and there were many more Houses to get to today, Louis stood up, smoothing his jacket as he did. “Whatever price you think appropriate, I’ll gladly pay it.”

While Louis spoke, Free looked over his shoulder, his cold eyes focusing hard on the Madam. The deer might be speaking casually about this meeting he wanted, but from the looks of it, the blue-eyed lion disapproved. Whether or not Louis was aware of said disapproval, he ignored it entirely, stepping back and offering a bow to Eulalie.

“Welcome to the Underfestival. I look forward to seeing how your House’s endeavors play out.

"By the way,” Louis added, as if by the way at this point in a conversation could ever actually be a casual addition, and not something of vital importance, “I heard a rumor that Archmage Trent Ikithon, may be aware of the Underfestival. Be careful. I don’t want involvement in this costing you, or any of yours, your life.” He bowed his head ever so slightly, then headed out, his bodyguards following after him.

-

Fjord watched as the pretty man and his intimidating guards left, then turned back to the others. Settling down, now that he had showed off his new outfit, he also joined in the extremely late breakfast. Was it even brunch? Or when you woke up this late in the afternoon, was everything just linner? Linner didn’t seem like a reasonably word, though… But it was sometime between lunch and dinner, and linner was better than dunch…

“You think that deer’s single?” he mused–not a question he meant to ask out loud. Blushing, Fjord cleared his throat and picked up some tea he didn’t especially want. “I mean. Just. You know. What’s it like, living the life of a hardened criminal? Do you, um, get to have romance? Relationships?”

“Nice save there, love, really.”

“Aw, Molly. I just…” Nope. Better to just glug the tea down.