#she also gets a mention in the basics section of the swift language guide

[bargains-by-duckface]

Clarus isn’t just in macOS. If you type her signature call in iOS, etc., you’ll be recommended some emoji:

Drew some anthro OS mascots! (Had to make up one for Windows.) There's Xenia the linux fox, Clarus the Macintosh Dogcow, And Luna the Windows betta fish~

[vampiresuns]

Fine Arts and Equally Fine People

1,845 words. In which Cadenza and Dante decide to have a little competition to woo Amparo Cassano, but Dante’s attention is taken away by someone else. Anatole flexes his language abilities for someone, and Milenko runs after a certain Countess.

Cadenza and Dante belong to @arcanecadenza​.

Dante and Cadenza looked at the poster announcing the play they came to see in Vesuvia’s Community Theatre. A painted poster depicting a scene with the characters of the Operetta, announcing “La Cassano'' as the main character above the name of the play. 

“That’s her,” Dante said, Cadenza still silently looking at the poster, her eyes tracing the lines of Amparo’s smile.

“It is. Let’s get in.”

The siblings got inside, showing the tickets they had already purchased, in the standing Yard. Cadenza would’ve preferred to be sitting in one of the galleries, but they had been told by the cast of the play (and Amparo herself) that many of the acts and intermissions were interactive, so a Yard position might be more fun, if they desired to experience the play in full. Besides, the play had already been going for some time, so it wouldn’t be as packed as it was during the first weeks of it. 

“Did you bring her anything?” Dante asked as they handed their coats in the coat check. “I wasn’t really sure of what the exact Vesuvian custom is, and then I thought everyone must bring her flowers, then I didn’t know who to ask and books were not very illustrative on the matter—”

“So?”

“So I brought her a self-refilling pen. Actors need to mark scripts all the time, don’t they?”

Cadenza hummed as she gave a coin to an usher in exchange for a program for the play. “I brought her tea. Asra said she always asked him to brew her some tea when she was over?”

Dante gave her a betrayed look. 

“What? He’s a friend of hers.”

“That’s cheating.”

“I would’ve brought her tea anyway.” 

“That’s still cheating.”

Cadenza decided to focus on the program, which explained the basic argument of the play, had a list of the dramatis personae and the name of whom they were played by, as well as other tidbits here and there. It was useful to take her away from her nerves. Cadenza didn’t exactly know what she was doing, even if she was confident enough in herself. It felt almost like a date without being a date (and with her brother there), not to mention gift-giving had never been her forte. She had been too busy to compose something for Amparo, but she had wanted to. Maybe she would be able to later. 

She hoped she was. She had been beautiful and so sure of herself in her flowing dress; her lips were defined and always curving up slightly, her hands soft as they had brushed with Cadenza’s, telling her how she wished she could make it to the play, not just for herself but for the play’s sake. 

“But I do hope I’m reason enough,” she had added, clearly flirting. Cadenza had told her she would be better company than her brother in a streak of competitiveness, making Amparo laugh. 

Cadenza found herself playing with the corners of the program, dog earring them; she frowned at it and offered it to her brother. 

Her brother didn’t respond. 

“Dante? Dante. Dante.” She rolled her eyes, leaning her shoulder against her brother’s. 

“Uh? Oh, I wasn’t looking.”

A blush began to bloom on Dante’s cheeks, Cadenza giving him a funny look as he began fidgeting, throwing one last glance in the general direction he had been looking, before taking the program out of Cadenza’s hands. Cadenza followed the direction of her brother’s gaze and finally saw him, recognition dawning on her. He was as blond as ever, animatedly talking to a man with dark, bronze brown curls, dressed in black. 

She couldn’t help but to give a curious look to her brother. “I didn’t know you knew Anatole.”

“You know him too?”

“Dante, I’m pretty sure half of Vesuvia knows who he is, but yes, we have tea together sometimes. Well, I have tea, I’ve only ever seen him drink coffee. He’s a friend.” She paused, in the background the orchestra still played. “Where do you know him from?” 

“The palace library,” the program was now completely forgotten in Dante’s hands. “I run into him from time to time, but we never visit the same sections. We talk sometimes, he’s, hm, very charming.”

The play began not very long after, the siblings dropping the subject altogether, even if Dante still seemed to steal looks towards the box Anatole was sitting in. The play was everything it promised to be and more: Amparo had been right, standing on the yard was never tedious, tiring. Something was always happening that took your attention away from standing on your feet — an actor would run through, someone would begin in an Aria in the middle of the crowd, leaving you to wonder when they got there. 

Amparo herself was stunning. Her voice was clear and melodic, capable of softness and drama; when she danced, the stage moved with her, the lights dancing to her lead. She transformed on stage, and Cadenza felt herself be transformed with it.

The crowd clapped, the siblings joining the ovation, and eventually the theatre began being evacuated. The siblings did as Amparo had told them too: they went backstage, announcing themselves. One of the lyricists of the Opera volunteered to go let Amparo know, and as soon as she cleared them, the lyricist came back to guide them through the hecticness which was the backstage of Vesuvia’s community theatre, asking them their opinion on the play. 

“We don’t really have private changing rooms but this is La Cassano, she’s too delightful not to let her get away with a little of this. Not that I need to tell you two, hm?” She said, cheeky. 

Amparo emerged from beyond a curtain. “Zinovia, don’t torment my guests! Only I can do that.” As a hello she winked to the siblings, holding the curtain open for them to come in. “I’m so glad you too could make it! Please, make yourself comfortable.”

The changing room, which was really just a space separated by dividers and colourful curtains, was not very personalised. Zinovia had been right when she said this wasn’t Amparo’s own changing room and in fact had space for more people. It was still cozy, if a little messy, with puffs to sit as well as a patched up armchair. 

Amparo sat in the chair of one of the vanities in the room, wearing a well loved, dark blue robe. 

“I do have my own changing room in the other theatre, so I hope you’re not put off by people announcing themselves in and out. If you’d prefer more privacy, we could always grab drinks afterward, I think I know just the place.”

With the mention of drinks, Cadenza mentioned the tea, saying it was inside the pockets of her coat. Amparo, lightly touching her arm, told her not to worry, she could send someone to retrieve the coats. “It’s nothing, I promise.” 

Before she could do anything, a voice came from beyond the robe. It was Anatole’s. “Are you decent and are you available, Lele?” 

Amparo snorted. “I’m not decent, but I’m wearing clothes, if that’s what you’re wondering.” She opened the curtain with one swift motion. “And almost always available for you two. Cadenza, Dante, these are Anatole and Milenko — my cousins.” 

“Oh, I do know both of you,” Anatole added with a smile.

“I don’t!” Milenko said cheerily. “Hi!”

While Milenko gave Amparo a quick kiss on her temple, congratulating her for the performance, Anatole gave Cadenza a friendly wave, but, to the latter’s amusement, focused on her brother. “Non sapevo che fosse tuo fratello, Cadenza. Dante, è un piacere, come sempre,” he took Dante’s hand to bring his knuckles to his lips. “I also didn’t know you two liked Opera, what a delightful coincidence. Amparo, Lenko, should we all go to get something to drink afterwards.”

Milenko had his head poking outside of the curtains, and was yelling a thank you back at someone. “I have to run.”

Anatole raised his eyebrows at him. Amparo gave him a quizzical, yet amused look “Because...?” She said.

“Apparently the Countess was discreetly watching the play with one of her sisters, and they’re leaving, so I have to go like, right now, I’m going, I’m gone.” 

Amparo’s and Anatole’s attention was taken away from the Alighieri siblings, as they encouraged Milenko and wished him luck, telling him to run fast and to go already, watching him get through the backstage crowd as he turned to yell back at his cousins that Nadia was what beauty itself should look like. Amparo laughed, and Anatole rolled his eyes.

“So,” Cadenza began, sitting on the armchair and straightening the nonexisting wrinkles in her dress, “you talk sometimes.”

“We’ve only talked, Cadenza.” 

“I win then?”

Dante paused. He looked at his sister, then at Anatole, who was talking about something he couldn’t make out with Amparo. “Okay, fine you win.”

“I did say she would find I’m better company.”

Dante didn’t have a chance to argue, because Amparo and Anatole had their attention back on them, asking them if they would like to go for drinks with them afterwards. Neither Cadenza nor Dante found a reason to complain. 

Soon enough their coats were retrieved. Dante took out the self-refilling pen, but Amparo politely declined. “I do mark up my scripts all the time, but I am sure Anatole will find that a little more useful. He collects quills after all.”

“You do?”

“I do,” his smile was inviting, bright, his eyes curious, looking between Dante’s face and his hands.

“Take it then, it’s yours.” 

With Dante’s attention otherwise occupied, Amparo took her chance to sit closer to Cadenza. She played with her own hair, taking it to the side so it fell over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning forward, resting her chin on her hand, her arm propped over her knee. “The tea smells fantastic. Did you enjoy the play?”

“Very much, your singing is stunning.”

Amparo smiled, her playful intensity folding over and away, a quiet kind coming in its replacement as her dark, green eyes scanned Cadenza’s face. “Thank you,” her tongue poked out between her lips when she said ‘thanks’. “I like it very much that you could come. Let me finish changing, and we’ll be on our way, is that alright?”

“Alright.”

“Alright,” Amparo repeated as she stood up, a smile reserved only for Cadenza on her face. 

In the background, the sounds of the backstage crowd of technics, direction and actors blended with Dante’s impassioned conversation with Anatole about the principles of transmutation. Cadenza was sure she had heard Anatole say before that alchemy is nothing he is very versed at, yet he seemed to be holding the conversation just fine. Perhaps she’d ask the next time she saw him, perhaps she’d forget to. Right now, following Amparo as she got behind a divider to get dressed and talk about the play and the rest of their night with her seemed like a much better prospect.