#virtuouslife

#GHSnowswept2025 ー Part 2

@virtuouslife asked:

[GUARD] the fire, fickle and indignant, fills the silence of the cold, stifling night.  for some inexplicable reason, kallen can't bear to look at it  —  the fire whose warmth seems less comforting and more mocking.  its light makes shadows dance at her heels, flickering on the snow-dusted cobblestone.  she has to remind herself of this city's resilience  —  she knows it's there, even if she's only been here a short while.  the children's indefatigable joy, almost infectious.  the soldiers' bravery and resolve.  then, who is she to be swayed by despair?  with a jolt, she opens her eyes  —  and realizes that she had closed them.  in front of her, the flame seems alive.  her companion, still nearby, must've tended to it while she had been shamefully drifting off  … “lord kujou, i  …  hope i wasn't asleep for long.”  kallen says quietly, mortified.  perhaps she wasn't, but even the fact that she had fallen asleep at all  —  is an embarrassment.  surely, lord kujou is just as exhausted.  sheepish, kallen exhales into her hands, getting up on her feet to approach the fuel left aside for maintaining the fire.  “  …  i can take over the rest of the shift.  you should  —  ?!” kallen turns sharply, her tender voice vanishing abruptly as she stares into the distance, at a specific spot  —  now empty.  it reminds her, painfully, of how it was that night on empyrea, within the forest, when she and lord kujou descended from the watchtower  ...  only to find, only to kill  —  when kallen speaks again, she tries to even out her voice, despite the tenseness coiling through her body.  “something's there.  did you see it, too?”

Feeding a brittle twig into the flames, a low hum of agreement came as Sara’s first response, the sound of her voice barely rising above the cackle of the fire before her. She understood Kallen’s shame all too well, and had it been her in the other’s place, Sara was certain even she would have turned red from the feeling of failure. But like her, she knew that Kallen would have let her drift off, too.

“Not for too long, no.” It wasn’t much of a lie, her answer. Maybe it had only been a few minutes, or maybe closer to an hour. Either way, the stars were still high up in the night sky, and they still had plenty of time left for their watch. “The body demands what it demands, Lady Kallen. There is no need to apologize.”

As for the offer… Sara breathed out a laugh, meeting the other’s rather guilty look with a slight shake of head. “It’s alright, I am not too—” she began, before swiftly cutting herself short, her head turning where Kallen’s would.

In an instant, Sara was on her feet as well, the languidness from earlier gone as she furrowed her brows and focused at that area. Her posture shifted, shoulders squaring, chin tilting as her eyes, sharp and gold, locked onto the void Kallen stared into.

And what an eerily familiar feeling this all was indeed. Staring into the unknown, uncertain if they were alone or not.

“…I saw it,” Sara confirmed, her voice now a low, quiet murmur. The quiet of the night only seemed to deepen around them, the fire’s warmth suddenly insufficient against the new chill. Summoning her bow , she kept her attention at the dark, an arrow ready.

“A shadow. Quick. Humanoid in size, if I’m not mistaken.” Should her next breath sound shaken, she hoped Lady Kallen would not notice. “Something is watching us.”

when an overeager volunteer hands an unsuspecting kallen a shiny flyer advertising the golden theater's fantastic marathon at a random corner of two random streets, kallen finds it impossible not to get swept up in the volunteer's infectious excitement.  without waiting to even hear the full premise of the show, kallen asks for directions to the theater  —  …  and then, take a left, and you'll be right there!  you can't miss it  …  —  and scurries off right away.  as she practically skips down the cobblestone streets, only sometimes startled by the sound of trolleys swooshing past, kallen wonders if the shows here, in belobog, will be anything like shakespeare's.

after all, unlike dreadful penacony's flashing lights and mind-boggling architecture, the buildings in belobog make sense!  —  and more importantly, they look more like the grand buildings of kolosten.  so maybe, the contents of the entertainment here will be more familiar, too  … ?

it doesn't take long for the golden theater to come into view.  kallen can't help but marvel at it, even as she's standing on its low steps, neck craned backwards so she can try to see it in its entirety.  it's a futile, but worthwhile effort.  when she straightens up again, the ticketing booth is the first thing she sees.  of course, she makes a beeline for it  —  only to somehow fail to notice the last step.  her foot catches against it, and she careens forward, nearly toppling as the flyer flies out of her hands, but impressively managing to catch herself with an agile finish  —  or not.  her foot settles on top of the flyer just as it falls to the ground, and she slips backward. 

“i'm so sorry!  are you all  —  ?!”  the apology leaves her lips the instant she feels herself colliding with someone, and the ensuing inquiry into their well-being is an instant follow-up, except  …  she catches a glimpse of what must've been this person's ticket fluttering in the air, then lifted higher and higher in jolts by a rising wind.  without a second thought, she leaps to grab it  —  and fails, utterly.  so utterly that it would be needlessly cruel to recount how her failure plays out.

so, now, as she stares up at the well-dressed gentleman, her bottom smarting from what we'll generously call a rough landing, she can only manage to sheepishly say,  “  …  i can buy you another ticket.”

The Golden Theater has been on Neuvillette's list of places to visit ever since he arrived and first learned of its existence. One might wonder why, considering how, during his many long years in Fontaine, he has watched thousands of plays of all kinds, and this type of entertainment was certainly not counted among the things he would consider him to be in shortage of - but in a way, that precisely was the reason. It is not often that he has had the opportunity to watch some kind of spectacle in another nation - and certainly not on another planet - and he is quite interested indeed to see whether they would vary from place to place, and if so, in what ways and to what extent.

Belobog, from what he has gathered, seems to share certain similarities with Fontaine. It is certainly much less akin to a fantasy wonderland of fairytales, which he knows is how some tourists describe the nation of Hydro (he has not yet entirely figured out what it means, he just... has a feeling that Belobog does not have that), but the coexistence of humanity and machinery is prevalent in both... as is, regrettably, the state of being split into two worlds, one on the surface and one beneath, that required each other but were also nevertheless at odds.

Oh, and something else they had in common?

Their theaters were accessible only through a flight of stairs, and every once in a while, someone would slip on them.

Badly.

Neuvillette blinks as he is thrown right out of his train of thoughts by the sudden moment of the woman in front of him tripping and falling backwards. A split second realization - if he steps out of the way, she might get grievously hurt - and he remains where he is, quickly holding out his arms to cushion her fall but still forced to take a step backwards as they collide, as he did not have enough time to get fully prepared for this situation. In the process, he drops the theater ticket he had just purchased - and in a show of wrong priorities he might need several days to think about in detail, the woman prioritizes that over her own safety, and, well...

fails.

As he hears her speak, Neuvillette takes a moment in silence to process her words, before sighing and shaking his head, offering her his hand to help her stand up. This idea of fairness and justice she proposes is commendable, of course, but... are there not more important matters to consider right now?

The hotel, bright and nauseating, reminds Kallen of Penacony. She had gotten lost after leaving behind the display of sparkling water, unable to find an exit out of the labyrinthine building, each turn and hallway filled to the brim with some new, radiant luxury or mind-numbing opulence. For a time, for what feels like forever, she is alone in the empty hallways, accompanied by closed doors, dim lights, and the same rotation of framed paintings on the walls. Eventually, there are distant sounds—bells, chimes, or people’s voices. She follows them, meandering toward their source—until the narrow, maze-like hallways open up to a grandiose room—with the same, spinning machines as Penacony—the same, endless thrall waiting for another false promise to come true, another false hope to be fulfilled.

Her gaze darts across the extravagant room, searching for signs of an exit—or someone still human enough to give her directions. Everyone here is magnificently dressed, except for her, their expressions snobbish or snooty, occupied by delicate wine glasses or the controls of the slot machines. Or—almost everyone.

Kallen notices the woman belatedly, like the effect of staring at an enormous painting and suddenly realizing an exquisite detail, the singular woman standing away from the glamorous machines, seemingly watching the surrounding. She is strikingly beautiful—in a way that almost frightens Kallen. Hesitant, Kallen approaches all the same—and feels compelled, for some reason, to whisper instead of speak. “Excuse me?” She begins, less boisterous than she usually is. “I’m sorry to bother you, but—I’m looking for the way to the lobby. Do you know which direction it’s in?”

With a feast completed, Jade takes a moment of respite. The games no longer interest her, nor have acts of charity ever been her ideal. The crowds continue onward, allowing themselves to be lost in their indulgence of greed- the slot machines keep turning, and the dealers continue shuffling.

And in the midst of it all, a singular woman, refusing to touch the flashing lights and promises of wealth. Making her way through the crowd of people. In the sea of material desire, she was a spot of warmth, simpler- kinder.

Someone of noble character, here? How amusing- how fortunate.

Such a customer must be dealt with differently, after all. When dealing with sincerity, an equal exchange of sincerity is paid- when speaking to those who lacked that drive of greed, one must know when to give, to sow seeds of favor rather than debt.

“No need to apologize,” Warm, inviting. It’s no trouble at all. I’m happy to help. Offering a hand, Jade smiles, “Here, I can guide you back to the lobby. It’s a bit of a trip from here.”

“Welcome back,” she says, her voice hushed. He and Sara still have the remainder of their night watch, so Kallen straightens, preparing to head back inside. Before she reaches for the door, though, she spares one last glance toward the campsite, toward the wrecked tent—and then toward Boothill. With an almost-teasing tone, she quietly laments, “It looks like tomorrow is going to be another full day with a Quick-n-Easy® tent, so... See you in the morning!”

Then, carefully and quickly, she cracks open the door ever so slightly—and slips inside.

It hadn't taken much to scare the thing off. Boothill had gone after it mostly to see what he could make out in the dark, but despite its lumbering, ungainly appearance, it had gotten away fast. For a while, he crouched near the upturned trash bin with his gun drawn, waiting for it come crawling back for the food and waste it'd strewn across the ground in its panicked escape. By now, the forest had fallen deathly silent. Neither the strange clicks of the four-legged shadows or the drone of insects accompanied his watch. It was like he'd wandered into someplace devoid of all life. Rare was it that trees stood this quiet.

He staked the place out for a while, but when it looked like the creature was well and truly gone, he finally put away his weapon. This hadn't been what he'd signed up for, but he supposed that none of it really would be, what with his main mission being to track down traces of Oswaldo Schneider and all. But he'd decided to check out the camping tour just to blow off a little steam away from all the uppity rich folks who flocked around the rest of the resort planet.

Chasing things away from his temporary base wasn't exactly out of the ordinary for him though.

An uneasy peace had settled over the rest of the site by the time he rounded the mess hall toward the watchtower again. A burnt umber behind the mountains signaled the coming dawn, but it would still be some hours yet before daylight consigned the night's events to the realm of dreams and nightmares. No one else was around, but that'd become the norm for this roaming cowboy over the years.

In fact, as he climbed back up the ladder to the watchtower, he hadn't expected Kallen to be standing there by the time he reached the top. He almost chastised her for it - she should be inside, where it's safe - but the camp was quiet now, and there was something grounding, home-like, in a friendly face at the door at the end of a long night. So he smiled back at her as he pulled himself up over the top rung.

"Thank ya kindly." He followed her glance out over the campsite, at the crumpled tarp caught beneath the tree limb he'd brought down, and knew what she was about to say before she even said it.

They'd have to take care of that in the morning. The door clicked behind Kallen and left Boothill alone on the platform again. Quietly, he went to sit along the edge to keep watch for the last few hours, but his eye lingered on that mangled tent. Drawing one knee up, he shook his head and laughed to himself.

In the throes of anticipation, the small crowd around the infamous dartboard of Soaring Heights' very own Bird's Eye is almost silent. Kallen, weighing her third dart of the third round, squints at the board, then raises her arm in preparation. While the other players pray desperately for Kallen to miss just once, the rest of the bar carries on with its usual chaos, with the boisterous sounds of glasses clinking and strangers laughing.

She throws the dart, and it whizzes through the air—

The other players cry out in enraged despair, groaning, throwing their arms into the air. Kallen practically skips forward to confirm her win, leaning to take a closer look at the dart. "I win again!" She declares, delighted, turning to thank her opponents—only to find that they've all wandered off already, grumbling to themselves.

"Wait, don't you all want to play another game...?" Kallen watches them go, the emotional whiplash of being abandoned—alright, it isn't that serious—enough to completely wipe out her prior excitement. She glances around the bar, but most of the patrons seem otherwise occupied, until—luckily (or unluckily)—she makes eye contact with a particularly well-dressed stranger. Blinking, she smiles quickly, raising an arm to wave for his attention. "Hello! Would you like to play darts with me?"

IT'S EASY TO FORGET HE'S NOT REALLY HERE ON VACATION.　♤　the foreign architecture, the novelty of foods and drinks——even the temporary discomfort of sleeping in a new place lingers ; it'll be at least a few weeks before he'd get used to it and be able to rest the whole night through, by which time he'd likely be out of here already.

the dim lights of the bird's eye dance in the reflection on his glass, its contents——a sweet and bitter mixed drink that'd been more cheaply made than he'd hoped for——down to its last few sips, sitting in a pale ring at the bottom. distorted by the shape of the glass, the bar becomes a vaudeville dystopia of itself: orange lights stretched wide and saturated, the circles of people's moving bodies grotesquely bulging, objects bent convex beyond recognition. still he studies the parody of passing life silently without thinking, processing a conversation from earlier with the rest of the company board.

a sudden roar from the small crowd nearby pulls him out of his ambient stasis, and he instinctively turns to look. men and women——mostly men——peel away from the darts boards, some cursing bitterly, others shaking their heads and muttering to each other. he doesn't have to guess to know what's happened ; the unspoken language of windfall and total loss might as well be his mother tongue. as the ring of people thins, at their center in the back is left a solitary girl plucking her darts from the centerpiece ; it doesn't go unnoticed that almost all of them had scored high, landing in narrow slices and bullseyes.

when she turns around, pouting, it doesn't take long for her eye to scan and land on his, and her expression brightens with such innocence that he can't help but huff softly, smiling. a rare type to find at a place like this, competing well above the average. "hahaha, it looks like you're very talented, miss," he says mildly, rising from his seat and leaving his drink where it is. it won't be finished. "i'm afraid i might not be very interesting competition then, but i can at least keep you company for a while."

Happy Ram Navami