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knocking on fate's door - Amalia - 11-12-2020
Seraphina directed her to the seventh floor (and for a building to have so many floors still mystifies and amazes Amalia), to the office of The Eye. The Artificer had bid the girl good luck and set off on her way, and now a minute as elapsed and Amalia still stands, swallowing down a mountain of anxiety, her hand raised, an inch of space between it and the door.
Time to bite the bullet, she thinks, and brings her closed fist down.
knock knock knock
Such an inconspicuous sound, knocking on a door. And yet as the rapping of knuckles on wood rings out through the hallway, Amalia cannot help but feel that it heralds something great. A change unlike any other which as stretched over her short life, though perhaps each fragile moment and tentative breath has been in preparation of this. Step by step through grace and despair, until her bare feet land her here.
On this threshold.
At this door.
Waiting on this man.
RE: knocking on fate's door - Cian - 11-16-2020
[say]"Come—"[/say]
It is the call of a man who is constantly busy. Who holds the weight of this place on his shoulders and dresses appropriately for his station. It is the call of a man who might answer similarly were it Mort at his door, or Vi even; the world does not stop needing Cian's attention merely because there is someone of great importance at his door.
When Amalia enters the room, she will find that it is free of any personal effects, though unapologetically grand in appearance. Bookshelves rise up from the floors to the vaulted ceiling, covering ever wall save for one, which has an impressive fireplace roaring up from the lush dark-red carpet. Cian's desk is placed before a massive window that looks out onto the city, the harsh light of which makes his features hard to discern at first, so great is the contrast.
Dressed in a tailored three-piece suit, the Eye looks over a number of papers scattered across his desk. Without looking up, he gestures to the chairs before him, as he places his signature at the bottom of one of the pages. Then, and only then, does his dusty denim stare raise to Amalia. Standing, suddenly brimming with charm and charisma despite what might have been interpreted as a rather cold greeting, the Eye smiles warmly at the Shield. [say]"Amalia. A pleasure to meet you."[/say]
RE: knocking on fate's door - Amalia - 11-16-2020
Come-
And there it is, a single word to begin a new chapter of her life, spoken by a figure who sits within a sparse yet imposing room. Cian ó Broin. It's a name that even in her brief time here she's learned to associate with reverence and respect, and perhaps more than a healthy amount of apprehensive fear. This is the man who is Falke's boss, Finn's captor, who carries the weight of a war on his shoulders, who is shrouded in secrecy even here. And now as Amalia looks at his silhouetted figure, she can't help but feel a mixture of anticipation and dread, not knowing what to expect from the Eye, what it is he will see.
She strides across the crimson carpet, feeling underdressed in the grandiose room. Stopping just before the desk, Amalia does not take a seat, instead standing, her dark eyes sharp as she waits for the Eye to look up from his task. It takes nearly all her willpower to keep herself steeled and still, curiosity and anxiety trying hard to pry her attention around the room; but she is determined to meet this monolith with strength and severity of her own. She is prepared for him to treat her with coldness, to be ruthless and cunning and difficult to understand.
She is not prepared for him to greet her warmly, a charming smile on his face when it rises from the shadows at last.
Well.
[say]"Ah- yes."[/say] Color creeps across her cheeks, the carefully prepared words melting away. [say]"I- that is. You too. Cian. The Eye."[/say] She's floundering, the youthful insecurities suddenly shining through as she resists the urge to rub her palms over her thighs, taut with sudden stress. She is here as a representative of Vi- she is better than this.
Clearing her throat, the girl inhales, straightening a little and trying again. [say]"I assume you know Finn spoke to me,"[/say] she states this time, meeting denim eyes with onyx, her chin raised up as she tries very hard to present a front of strength. [say]"What do you plan to do about the Voice's machine?"[/say]
RE: knocking on fate's door - Cian - 11-17-2020
He chuckles, slipping his hands into the pocket of his waistcoat as she calls him The Eye. [say]"A rather archaic system, if you ask me. These titles and such. And while openly I think everyone would agree, secretly I think they all rather like the names. Fixer, Spyglass, Artificer, Hammer..."[/say] He shrugs, not necessarily bothering to list more.
As she moves this pawn of knowledge across the board, Cian takes a long moment to study her. The flush in her cheeks, the rigidness of her posture, the righteousness that glistens off of her like dew. [say]"Please, sit."[/say] He instructs, removing a hand from his pocket to gesture at the chairs behind her, and taking a seat himself. All of the Eye's movements are graceful and unhurried.
[say]"You should never assume."[/say] The Eye notes casually, reaching into a desk drawer and pulling out a cigarette. He offers one to Amalia despite knowing she doesn't smoke, before lighting it and taking a long drag. Exhaling the smoke in a whirl that distorts his blue eyes, Cian leans back in his chair, carefully thinking. [say]'I don't plan to do anything about it."[/say] He replies at last.
RE: knocking on fate's door - Amalia - 11-18-2020
[say]"What would you be called, then?"[/say] Amalia asks automatically, raising her brows in curiosity. Of the titles he lists there is only one she cannot place to a face, though whether that is a good sign or a bad one Amalia could not say.
He stares at her and she stares back, though where his observations are the sleek and charming, hers are stark and stubborn, jaw set and stance wary. She does not want to sit down, too wound up and electric, and yet Amalia finds herself conceding, sinking into the comfortable chair. [say]"Why not? Your people seem to know everything else about me."[/say] Her eyes glance over his desk as she settles, innate curiosity hunting for any piece of information before rising back to Cian and the offered cigarette. Instinctively the Shield shakes her head, nose wrinkling in distaste.
It's his comment that causes her eyes to snap to his again, searing through the smokescreen he's exhaled from his lips. [say]"Why not?"[/say] Amalia demands, sharper than she meant, her fingers curling over the arms of the chair. [say]"I thought your Order's purpose was to prevent the Voice from gaining strength."[/say]
RE: knocking on fate's door - Cian - 11-19-2020
Cian does not answer her question. Instead, he merely offers her a warm blue smile that creases the sides of his eyes, waiting for her to take a seat. This is not a conversation that is going to twist into personal anecdotes or bits of information gained by verbal morsels left around.
[say]"You're right. They know."[/say] The Eye agrees. [say]"They do not assume."[/say]
Like a parent might watch a child go through the motions of a tantrum until they are calm again, so too does Cian take another drag on his cigarette as Amalia sees what it is like to verbally sharpen her claws against him. He wonders silently when she'll realize that he owes her absolutely nothing. Not an explanation, not even this audience.
[say]"That is to paint it with quite broad strokes."[/say] He replies, exhaling another whorl of smoke which his tone suddenly seems to sound like. [say]"This seems to be something you're quite passionate about. Since it was Finn who told you of this machine, perhaps you would like to champion it?"[/say] He wonders, sounding entirely genuine. [say]"You could take...whatever resources you thought necessary. Surely you must have some ideas, as its been a few weeks since you originally heard of it?"[/say]
RE: knocking on fate's door - Amalia - 11-19-2020
His calm patience is grating on the easily impassioned Shield, but she inhales deeply (between clouds of smoke), trying to steel herself. She's here as a vassal of Vi, after all- and this man of smooth oil and coiling smoke is leader of the place she has been sent to make a home in. Still she cannot help the way her thumbs rub over the carved arms of the chair, pads digging into grooves and edges, a tactile reminder to stay present in the world.
[say]"I would be glad to,"[/say] Amalia replies softly, licking her lips. [say]"Except that I don't know where it is. Finn suggested the Spire, in the Grounds... which would be hard to get to. I doubt Wessex would be thrilled to see us. Me."[/say] A painful understatement, and there is bitterness in her voice as she makes it. [say]"Delphia was looking for the souls of the Ascended. She might know more."[/say]
Exhaling heavily, Amalia looks up, once more meeting those worn denim eyes that see so much and show so little. [say]"Cian... Vi sent me here to work with you. But I'm still unclear on what it is I'm meant to do. Dorian, he said the Order was trying to stop a war before blood was shed. Others have told me you want the extermination of Ascended, and still others that you want to torture them."[/say] She shakes her head, eyebrows raised, a wry expression on her angled face. [say]"You don't want me to assume, so tell me - what are the Order's plans, and what role do you expect me - expect us - to play in it?"[/say]
RE: knocking on fate's door - Cian - 11-20-2020
What the Eye hears from Amalia is nearly the same as what he'd heard earlier from Finn. Accusations and assumptions which ran into dead-ends and excuses. He sits, actively listening but passively watching as the Shield's anger seems to be dialed back slightly. Cian appreciates her passion, though he values her restraint more.
Of all the things the Shield reveals—Vi's plans, her talks with Finn, Delphia's tasks—only one thing seems to surprise him. [say]"Torture them?"[/say] He smiles dryly, chuckling without any amusement at that.
Finally she is asking questions, and Cian is happy to oblige her in this new line of conversation. [say]"The Order was created over three hundred years ago. The Voice was once a resident of our city, and we had all seen first hand what she was capable of. We tried to stop her. The Gods tried to stop her. A...solution was reached, but not a victory."[/say] Dry and dusty those this history lesson might be, it is delivered as an intense monologue by the Eye.
[say]"It is our mission to stop her."[/say] He concedes with a nod. [say]"And in so doing, all of the ascended must be stoped as well. Though there's no reason to think pain needs to come into it."[/say] The Eye adds almost as an afterthought. [say]"As for you and Ronin...Soon he will head up the Dragoons, but you? Your task will be to ensure that there is no unnecessary suffering. No lives caught in the crossfire."[/say]
RE: knocking on fate's door - Amalia - 11-20-2020
Amalia returns his wry smile with a fleeting one of her own, some of the tension relieved by how absurd the idea is. These civilized people who work with the gods, torturing? She'd suspected Phoebe to be overreacting, but it's still a relief to have that confirmed. [say]"No torture, then."[/say]
And as Cian begins to speak again Amalia leans forward, her dark eyes attentive, an active listener in turn. She soaks it in with a surprising patience, suddenly a student once again, sitting at her grandmother's knee as the world is unveiled. At last there are answers being given, real ones, and though she is impetuous and impassioned she is keen and eager as well. [say]"The barrier,"[/say] she guesses at the mention of a solution. [say]"The Spire. She was locked away."[/say]
Until I let her out, sits silent right behind her tongue.
The mission is to stop her, which Amalia can get behind, nodding along slowly though her eyes don't leave his face. [say]"How will you do that?"[/say] the Shield questions, [say]"Stop her... stop them? What will happen to the Ascended, when you do?"[/say]
RE: knocking on fate's door - Cian - 12-03-2020
The Eye nods as any dutiful professor might as his pupil fills in the blanks. Whether he knows about Amalia's role in the release of the Voice (he does) and what he thinks about it (he won't tell), remains firmly locked behind his dusty blue stare as it easily meets Amalia's dark one.
[say]'As you can imagine it is not simply a one step plan. What we will do changes as the ascended change...you must understand, it is one of the reasons why nothing came of this machine Finn told you about."[/say] Cian's fingers drum against his desk thoughtfully for a moment before he continues. [say]"Right this moment the final piece of mageglass that the Voice needs has already been found. It will be brought to her, and her machine will have the power it needs. We must pick our battles lest we reveal too much of our hand. "[/say] So saying, Cian opens his palms in a near-gesture of surrender.
RE: knocking on fate's door - Amalia - 12-04-2020
It's a sobering piece of information Cian drops on the girl, taking the wind out of her sails as surely as a blow. Part of her wants to scream her frustration - if you'd said something sooner, told anyone, maybe it could have been stopped! - but another, firmer part reminds her that it doesn't matter now. That what's done is done, and she needs to breathe, to move forward rather than remaining caught on the past. So she takes a moment to calm herself, to settle her thunderous heart, her dark eyes never leaving the denim blue until she can breathe again.
Still, Amalia's claws grip the elegant chair hard enough to furrow the wood.
[say]"Okay,"[/say] the Shield murmurs at last. [say]"So its too late, then."[/say] Too late for that. Leaning forward to place her palms on the desk, Amalia regards Cian with weary frankness, so terribly tired of being a step behind. [say]"So what comes next?"[/say]
RE: knocking on fate's door - Cian - 12-10-2020
He watches as she goes through the motions, weathering the storm of his making. It's the nice thing about being in charge: demigod or no, Cian does not answer to the slender woman before him. If he explains himself at all, it is out of a graciousness that she doesn't deserve.
[say]'If you were meant to be in charge Amalia, then you would be in charge.'[/say] Cian reminds the Shield, his eyes lowering slowly and with great intensity to the way her hands have marred his chair before rising back. [say]"But you aren't. I am."[/say] He sounds conversational, despite the sternness of his stare as he bores into her just as her claws have bore into the wood. She can second guess all she likes, but she is a newcomer to this table, at which he is the head.
[say]'It was never too late. I've known about the machine for much longer than Finn has. It was a strategic decision.'[/say] He replies, easily meeting her gaze.
[say]'Next? What is it you think Vi would have you do?'[/say]
RE: knocking on fate's door - Amalia - 12-18-2020
Amalia is not accustomed to this. To structures, Orders, to reporting to someone who holds the strings within his hands. His gentle chastising stings across her cheek as surely as a slap, causing anger and shame to flush over her cheeks; she withdraws her hands from the arms of the chair, flexing them in her lap. [say]"I've never wanted to be in charge,"[/say] the Shield replies tersely, her dark eyes darting up to his before dropping back to the papers on the desk. [say]"But I was brought here to help, and I can't help if I don't know what's going on."[/say]
Again their eyes meet, the youthful passion of Amalia's clashing with Cian's superiority and age and easily losing the fight. The Shield doesn't know when to back down, though, and so she holds her head up high, biting the inside of her cheek. [say]"To protect against the unnecessary loss of life,"[/say] the girl answers with far more conviction than she actually feels. [say]"On both sides."[/say] Ascended or not- and this she does believe with certainty, her jaw set stubbornly as she waits for him to deny it.
There's another thing she wants from him, before she ruins this encounter any more than she already has. Willing herself to relax a little, Amalia breathes in deeply to still her irritation, forcing respect into her voice. [say]"I wanted to ask... I'd like a compass. Please. I have things to take care of, back in the Grounds... friends to speak to, and warn. And a task for Frey."[/say]
RE: knocking on fate's door - Cian - 12-27-2020
[say]"Then I recommend asking next time, instead of barging in here with your assumptions, leaving claw marks in my furniture."[/say] Cian replies warmly, the terseness of her voice a wild clash with just how casual he still appears to be.
[say]'So go do that, then.'[/say] The Eye replies rather dryly. [say]"The machine has nothing at all to do with loss of life."[/say] He adds, taking in her raised chin and fiery cheeks and thinking little of them.
That she now, after she has turned this conversation toward a cliff and hung on only by the claw marks she's left in his chair (a chair older than she is—older than the pair of them combined), wants a favour is almost laughable. Cian doesn't though, laugh that is. He merely regards her with his pale gaze for far longer than strictly seems necessary. [say]"Compasses are for members of the Order."[/say] He says, as if reminding her of something she knew already. [say]"Letters can find their way to your friends."[/say] And as for Frey? That wasn't his problem at all, was it? [say]"Perhaps you should ask these things of Vi. Perhaps it was just an oversight that he placed you here with no way of returning to the Grounds?"[/say] No way of doing things other than his bidding?