Very Strange Enchanted Boys, Part One
Disclaimer: The following logthing, recounting the adventures of Juilliard and Alden, is very, very long. Very long. Twenty pages, as it happens, in one day, gametime. Our boys are verbose. ^^
“The corpse,” Juilliard snapped, “has clear marks of torture on it. The science, which I have previously walked you through, indicates that the corpse was tortured during a period in which your suspect was in prison. There is no possible evidence for your case, my deeply honored sir. Why, then, do all of you persist in arraying yourselves against us?”
He bowed, turned on his heel, and strode back to his couch. There was truly nothing else he could say, and he wished only that he’d remembered to ask for makeup to accentuate the bruises he’d received in the travel here and in his…welcoming reception. It could have perhaps aided his point. He was not one to quibble over a well-placed use of pathos, or a blatant appeal to one’s sense of melodrama. What on earth was wrong with winning?
The diplomats conferred amongst themselves, and meanwhile Juilliard amused himself by reading through the replies in his handheld. Meligot still hadn’t posted a general message he could show them all, but Finn was all right, and everything seemed to be…ticking over. Before he could reply, the Kaiser stood, and clapped her hands for attention.
“The court finds,” she announced, “in favor of the stranger.”
Juilliard smiled, widely. And, yes, a little bit predatorily as well, but he chose not to dwell on that, and he could see the diplomats choosing not to see that part of his expression.
He stood and bowed again. “May I retire, my lords and ladies? I find the emotion has taken its toll on me, and I wish to regroup and plan. You surely cannot have need of me while you sign your private matters; I should hardly wish to get in the way.”
The Kaiser blushed, and told him he was free to go. She must have, he reflected, been recalling the other night.
***
In his rooms, he opened his handheld again, posting a quick and almost giddy report of success. God only knew they hadn’t been having any more of it. He was smiling-not that, in general, he stopped, but this time, it was rather more sincere than usual, and he was contemplating celebrating with the newest bottle of champagne. On the whole, and especially if he redirected his focus correctly, he could be quite happy about the whole thing.
And Finn had replied. That was…charming. He hadn’t spoken to the boy since he’d confronted him, and certainly not since Meligot had dropped her delightful newsy tidbit. The message was bound to be awkward, and full of-
He read the message.
He reread the message.
The champagne glass shattered on the floor.
Well, he had complained of forced inactivity, had he not? And a lack of ability to focus at times, because of certain distressing occurrences that he seemed to have no part in?
He had a part in this one, certainly.
Typing remarkably slowly, he responded to Finn. It was shorter than he would have liked, but it seemed to take him ages to get each key to strike. His heart was not beating quickly. That would have, he thought, made more sense, but it was his fate to be nonsensical at the worst of times. A clarity descended upon the world as he stood, leaving the window open so that he could respond further if the occasion arose, and walked even more slowly to the council chamber.
They had just finished signing when he arrived. He nodded briefly to them, wondering why their initial expressions of exasperation at his arrival seemed to have changed to expressions of…an odd fear. Apprehension, more like. Quite likely it was the emotion he was displaying himself. Or lack thereof. Well, fear was something he would quite like to inspire at the moment.
He explained the situation, briefly, hardly remembering what he said. The handheld beeped, alerting him to the presence of a message from Finn, and he paused to reassure the boy. Then he looked back up at the dignitaries, and smiled.
The fear on their faces intensified.
“What shall we do, then,” asked the Kaiser, composed, “in your absence? We could use your counsel. Will you be able to provide it?”
“No, my lady,” he answered, and smiled again. “I rather think I will not be able to respond at all for quite some time. I will provide for a message to be sent to the council from the current head of our organization. She will explain things further. If you’ll excuse me-” The next beep was, serendipitously enough, from Mêlée. He did not respond at the sight of the lack of magic he would confront. It couldn’t be as bad as the first transport was.
Shortly, he replied to both the dignitaries and to Mêlée, and closed his eyes, and waited for the transport to run.
When it did, it took his breath entirely away.
It took him entirely away-he felt for a time not himself, not anything, a collection of insanities and breath and French learned young floating in space, a collection with a shape, a smirk, a man crouched panting in an alley, and then he was Juilliard again and he strode out. If his face was grey it was none of the crowd’s business.
He took a moment to approve, distantly, of Meligot’s choice of transport location; he looked professional, striding up to the building marked on his handheld, instead of, well, mysterious and appearing out of nowhere.
His clothing seemed to blend in well, but he took note of smaller details where he could and vowed to fix them. They were bartering, he saw, with coins made of-ceramic? Well-in the marketplace nearby. He picked a well-dressed man’s pocket idly as he made his way towards the building, and then thought of a few very good uses of the money. A minute in a nearby apothecary took care of that.
The house-for it was that, even if it was huge and sprawling, which made things difficult-he was approaching had a name on it, quietly out of the way. He couldn’t read the script, but it didn’t look like a declaration of purpose to him.
Alden was in the center of the house, but there were three windows around the western side, and so he spent a good ten minutes looking around the marketplace for a glasscutting tool. He found one, and spent another twenty minutes in the topiary while he watched who came in and out.
No one saw him. He could be very good at blending in when he needed to.
The windows were easy enough to open, comparatively, and there were no bars on the other side. He slipped through and immediately began walking through the house as though he knew the place. It wasn’t hard enough-there were so many here. Far too many. And far too many of them in clothes from the homeworld.
He didn’t want to think, though he guessed, that some of the faces might be familiar. Instead he concentrated on looking purposeful but unfocused, on having an errand but not being in a hurry, on making his way silently and unobtrusively to the room of the only T. H. E. Y. agent he really did hate.
Why, he thought as he slipped into the bathroom next door, did it have to be Alden?
Why in the name of all the nonexistent gods did it have to be Alden?
And Finn had asked. He would do nearly anything for Finn, if he asked in that straightforward way. Because Finn loved the man. His thoughts went glacial again, slow and clear and a thousand miles deep.
And then he took a breath in, and made them opaque again.
The wall was thin between the two rooms; a flaw. He still had his glasscutting knife, which had turned out to be diamond-make. Were diamonds that cheap here?
He picked a spot on the wall, and began slicing through the tiles. It was inaudible for a while, but when he started making a scraping noise and a visible mess, he stopped and listened at the suddenly thinned wall. There was no sound on the other side. Reassured, he continued until there was a very thin wall with a hole almost big enough for him to step through. This was a very sharp knife, and the patterns on the hilt looked almost familiar-
He stared at the knife again, some things suddenly becoming very plain. Well.
Other things fell into place around the clear shard of glass that was the torturer’s knife. The wall-he could break through it now, if he wished. And step through, and free Alden, and Finn would be happy of course, and he would return to Headquarters and find another hopeless task to set himself on until he found some other mad fixation.
Or-he could turn back. And have failed. Honorably, of course. And no one would ever, ever blame him. He knew himself well enough to understand that he would not hold himself responsible for long enough to cause him pain.
But Finn.
Would mind. Terribly.
And so Juilliard smashed through the wall, listening to the sounds of crashing, clattering, shattered hopes, and saw Alden curled in on himself on the other side of it, and smiled.
“The corpse,” Juilliard snapped, “has clear marks of torture on it. The science, which I have previously walked you through, indicates that the corpse was tortured during a period in which your suspect was in prison. There is no possible evidence for your case, my deeply honored sir. Why, then, do all of you persist in arraying yourselves against us?”
He bowed, turned on his heel, and strode back to his couch. There was truly nothing else he could say, and he wished only that he’d remembered to ask for makeup to accentuate the bruises he’d received in the travel here and in his…welcoming reception. It could have perhaps aided his point. He was not one to quibble over a well-placed use of pathos, or a blatant appeal to one’s sense of melodrama. What on earth was wrong with winning?
The diplomats conferred amongst themselves, and meanwhile Juilliard amused himself by reading through the replies in his handheld. Meligot still hadn’t posted a general message he could show them all, but Finn was all right, and everything seemed to be…ticking over. Before he could reply, the Kaiser stood, and clapped her hands for attention.
“The court finds,” she announced, “in favor of the stranger.”
Juilliard smiled, widely. And, yes, a little bit predatorily as well, but he chose not to dwell on that, and he could see the diplomats choosing not to see that part of his expression.
He stood and bowed again. “May I retire, my lords and ladies? I find the emotion has taken its toll on me, and I wish to regroup and plan. You surely cannot have need of me while you sign your private matters; I should hardly wish to get in the way.”
The Kaiser blushed, and told him he was free to go. She must have, he reflected, been recalling the other night.
***
In his rooms, he opened his handheld again, posting a quick and almost giddy report of success. God only knew they hadn’t been having any more of it. He was smiling-not that, in general, he stopped, but this time, it was rather more sincere than usual, and he was contemplating celebrating with the newest bottle of champagne. On the whole, and especially if he redirected his focus correctly, he could be quite happy about the whole thing.
And Finn had replied. That was…charming. He hadn’t spoken to the boy since he’d confronted him, and certainly not since Meligot had dropped her delightful newsy tidbit. The message was bound to be awkward, and full of-
He read the message.
He reread the message.
The champagne glass shattered on the floor.
Well, he had complained of forced inactivity, had he not? And a lack of ability to focus at times, because of certain distressing occurrences that he seemed to have no part in?
He had a part in this one, certainly.
Typing remarkably slowly, he responded to Finn. It was shorter than he would have liked, but it seemed to take him ages to get each key to strike. His heart was not beating quickly. That would have, he thought, made more sense, but it was his fate to be nonsensical at the worst of times. A clarity descended upon the world as he stood, leaving the window open so that he could respond further if the occasion arose, and walked even more slowly to the council chamber.
They had just finished signing when he arrived. He nodded briefly to them, wondering why their initial expressions of exasperation at his arrival seemed to have changed to expressions of…an odd fear. Apprehension, more like. Quite likely it was the emotion he was displaying himself. Or lack thereof. Well, fear was something he would quite like to inspire at the moment.
He explained the situation, briefly, hardly remembering what he said. The handheld beeped, alerting him to the presence of a message from Finn, and he paused to reassure the boy. Then he looked back up at the dignitaries, and smiled.
The fear on their faces intensified.
“What shall we do, then,” asked the Kaiser, composed, “in your absence? We could use your counsel. Will you be able to provide it?”
“No, my lady,” he answered, and smiled again. “I rather think I will not be able to respond at all for quite some time. I will provide for a message to be sent to the council from the current head of our organization. She will explain things further. If you’ll excuse me-” The next beep was, serendipitously enough, from Mêlée. He did not respond at the sight of the lack of magic he would confront. It couldn’t be as bad as the first transport was.
Shortly, he replied to both the dignitaries and to Mêlée, and closed his eyes, and waited for the transport to run.
When it did, it took his breath entirely away.
It took him entirely away-he felt for a time not himself, not anything, a collection of insanities and breath and French learned young floating in space, a collection with a shape, a smirk, a man crouched panting in an alley, and then he was Juilliard again and he strode out. If his face was grey it was none of the crowd’s business.
He took a moment to approve, distantly, of Meligot’s choice of transport location; he looked professional, striding up to the building marked on his handheld, instead of, well, mysterious and appearing out of nowhere.
His clothing seemed to blend in well, but he took note of smaller details where he could and vowed to fix them. They were bartering, he saw, with coins made of-ceramic? Well-in the marketplace nearby. He picked a well-dressed man’s pocket idly as he made his way towards the building, and then thought of a few very good uses of the money. A minute in a nearby apothecary took care of that.
The house-for it was that, even if it was huge and sprawling, which made things difficult-he was approaching had a name on it, quietly out of the way. He couldn’t read the script, but it didn’t look like a declaration of purpose to him.
Alden was in the center of the house, but there were three windows around the western side, and so he spent a good ten minutes looking around the marketplace for a glasscutting tool. He found one, and spent another twenty minutes in the topiary while he watched who came in and out.
No one saw him. He could be very good at blending in when he needed to.
The windows were easy enough to open, comparatively, and there were no bars on the other side. He slipped through and immediately began walking through the house as though he knew the place. It wasn’t hard enough-there were so many here. Far too many. And far too many of them in clothes from the homeworld.
He didn’t want to think, though he guessed, that some of the faces might be familiar. Instead he concentrated on looking purposeful but unfocused, on having an errand but not being in a hurry, on making his way silently and unobtrusively to the room of the only T. H. E. Y. agent he really did hate.
Why, he thought as he slipped into the bathroom next door, did it have to be Alden?
Why in the name of all the nonexistent gods did it have to be Alden?
And Finn had asked. He would do nearly anything for Finn, if he asked in that straightforward way. Because Finn loved the man. His thoughts went glacial again, slow and clear and a thousand miles deep.
And then he took a breath in, and made them opaque again.
The wall was thin between the two rooms; a flaw. He still had his glasscutting knife, which had turned out to be diamond-make. Were diamonds that cheap here?
He picked a spot on the wall, and began slicing through the tiles. It was inaudible for a while, but when he started making a scraping noise and a visible mess, he stopped and listened at the suddenly thinned wall. There was no sound on the other side. Reassured, he continued until there was a very thin wall with a hole almost big enough for him to step through. This was a very sharp knife, and the patterns on the hilt looked almost familiar-
He stared at the knife again, some things suddenly becoming very plain. Well.
Other things fell into place around the clear shard of glass that was the torturer’s knife. The wall-he could break through it now, if he wished. And step through, and free Alden, and Finn would be happy of course, and he would return to Headquarters and find another hopeless task to set himself on until he found some other mad fixation.
Or-he could turn back. And have failed. Honorably, of course. And no one would ever, ever blame him. He knew himself well enough to understand that he would not hold himself responsible for long enough to cause him pain.
But Finn.
Would mind. Terribly.
And so Juilliard smashed through the wall, listening to the sounds of crashing, clattering, shattered hopes, and saw Alden curled in on himself on the other side of it, and smiled.