phantomiaou

[phantomiaou]

"Miss Lynette!"

Sampo's got loads of clients. Sure, he may have a bit of a reputation with the law, but he still manages to fill an important role in the ecosystem, believe you me!

What he doesn't have in spades, however, are people who like him, just regular ol' Sampo Koski, well enough to wish him a happy birthday.

Miss Lynette is one of those cherished few.

"Pick a card, any card."

He may not be fit for the main stage,

but a masked fool's always gonna have a few tricks of his own.

The cards proffered are splayed in an even spread, their faces hidden.

Not choosing a card results in a sad, pleading stare until the request is obliged.

Choosing a card, however... well, that depends on the card she draws. Does she draw the confetti? Boof! Look at it fall, streamers and all. Or does she draw the sparkler? Tiny little fireworks, glistening, pretty in their ephemerality. Does she draw, last but not least, the gift box? Or maybe all three?

And in that gift box, a pair of new gloves,

because all great assistants represent their magicians, and it wouldn't do to have old, worn gloves, right? Masters of their craft should look the part.

"Happy birthday, Miss Lynette! Would you care for some tea, after?"

Don't ask how he found out she likes tea. It's not suspicious at all!!

assistant or main act, lynette is still a magician—and how fun, how whimsical that fleeting feeling of being on the viewer's end.

ears twitch to the call of her name. she turns to him, and while few people have thought to find her today, here is what even fewer know: the voice is one of the handful that have grown on her. the voice, it belongs to—

"mr. sampo?"  both brows raise. if surprise were his game, he had come in swinging.

(because maybe they share more than they realize. maybe it is the nature of the mask: surrounded by others, yet alone in a fool's own way.)

but they are not alone now, are they?

intrigued, she glances to his hand and plucks the first card from it.

boof! confetti! (ah, lynette thinks she is beginning to understand.)

another card.

pew, pew! sparkles, fireworks! (the makings of a smile twitch the corners of her mouth.)

last, but not least...

"these are for me...?"  the show and hello were already a treat. she had not expected a gift box to boot. the ribboned lid lifts and with it, her spirits. as violet eyes gleam with a long lost bewilderment—the kind that shines when believing in fairy tales—lynette takes the finely-crafted gloves in her hands, examining them with great care.  "mr. sampo... thank you. they're just my size."

the gift is every bit as thoughtful as sampo had been to her when they had first met.

(it's all the more why she'll miss him when she leaves.)

there is a drawback to her line of work not unlike that tea she takes: all of the bitter, none of the sweet. it had separated her from lyney, once upon a time, until he had closed the gap between their strengths and even went to surpass her, succeed her, earn a vision of his own and venture where she could not follow.

it was her turn, then, to close whatever distance she could. and ironically what that required was distance. soon enough, the white sails of a ship would flutter as fontaine shrunk smaller and smaller behind it.

as lynette admires the gloves, absently stroking at the fabric of one, she wonders if she'll be doing much magic where she's going. she wonders how much wear these gloves might see—at least on a stage. she imagines that in the shadows they will see far more, gripped around the hilt of her sword or picking locks on the vaults of high profile targets. she wonders how much communication she'll be able to keep.

for now she doesn't need to think about it. she'll have all the time to herself tomorrow for that. lynette looks back up at sampo, studying his face and committing it to memory as if she hasn't long done so.

"yes, tea sounds good. i haven't had my afternoon cup yet,"  she answers like daybreak. holds the gloves close to her heart. sands down the usual stone in her expression until something gentler emerges.

(no. it's not suspicious of him at all. just as it's not suspicious of lynette to urge him closer with a beckon of fingers, after their teatime—voice conspiratorial, with the rarest tinge of charm that runs in her family, asking him to lean his ear closer like she's telling him a secret. what her newly-gloved hand seems to pull from it, out of thin air, is none other than a lumidouce bell for her good pal sampo. and behind its petals still—lynette nudges herself on silent tiptoes, bidding him adieu with a soft peck to his cheek.)

"goodbye, mr. sampo."  across her lips, a smile forms, steeped in sincerity for where it may have lacked in width.  "thank you again for today. well... for everything. i hope we'll get to have tea again sometime."

[phantomiaou]

he is if weariness had a palpable form—not a name, not yet, because lynette does not even have that.

she would have cared far less, maybe not at all if he had been in the wrong. but in all of fontaine's flack of operatic justice, some of the most reliable verdicts were hand-delivered offstage. some she had carried out herself. others, by 'father'. a few of the most historically significant, from the traveler.

lynette takes after her father most, and she is every ounce of rare, rational anchor amidst tides that 'father' is. the judgement she exercises is sound. here, hand or not, she knows she has wronged him. the house of hearth is a spiderweb of intrigue, debts, favors and all of the measured politics that slithered both above and under ground. it exercises hospitality to those who are owed it. lynette shakes her head, a hand lifting to her chest.

"it was my fault, too. i hope i didn't hurt you."  she does mean that much.  "also... that monsieur boucher is actually an acquaintance of my family's, so i'll go with you to explain properly. it's the least i can do."

acquaintance may not have been the exact word for it. acquainted, certainly. she parses the information with great care, the name etching curious possibilities into her mind.

just what could he have wanted a commission for?

quiet boots step across pavement and a few paces past the blonde man, tail swishing behind her. lynette turns her head.

"this way."

go go gadget gerk?

but maybe the real gerk was the friends we made on the way

[phantomiaou]

“lyney said you prepared a magic trick for me? interesting, the magician's assistant and the audience have actually swapped roles. okay, i'll tap the brim of the hat as you said... rainbow rose? its scent is similar to the grin-malkin cat, pers, and even 'father', who's enjoying her tea... i see now, it's a magic trick called 'family'. i really like this gift. thank you.”

tada. let the show begin.

[phantomiaou]

Under the traditional ruleset she believes they are each entitled to three player cards. The Cat's Tail offers their milestone challenges, or so she has heard, where the underdog could be pitted against one enemy or five. Elites, mobs, both—but Lynette glances at the four cards before Officer Sedene, then at her own three.

Lyney, Freminet, and oddly enough herself. She had shrugged when the younger children had ushered the three into her deck already curated by them to begin with; she only knew well enough what the cards did on account of knowing inside and out how her brothers fought.

For a moment she wonders if it would be worth throwing the match. If Sedene were another sleazy aristocrat she had been tasked to entertain, perhaps so. They always like to win, the predictable lot with big heads and nothing but hot air occupying them, but there is an immaculately precise art to how the leash must be tugged. Not too easy, not too challenging. Only just enough to stroke their fragile egos.

But Sedene is not a like mark despite her glimmering badge, and they are not exchanging niceties over veal and ale but rather tea and treats. Eyes flicker and follow each motion of the officer tasting cakes.

(They are good cakes. Reminded of such, Lynette nibbles the remainder of her current slice in a momentary silence.)

"I'll equip this bow on Lyney," she answers, tucking the corresponding weapon card underneath his character. "... at least, I think that's how it works."

Another glance is tossed Sedene's way. "Sorry. I'm still learning."

cards cops cats

bloom ★ does tcg have a get out of jail free card?

[phantomiaou]

fool her once, fine. fool her twice, shame on her. and for better or for worse, lynette is no fool. the same might be said of miracles: be grateful when one happens, but raise questions on the second.

on her last trip to the northland bank she had learned that in the field of financial auditing, there existed a principle called 'professional skepticism'. lynette took to it like a crow to a heart. to her there had never been a better set of words for the creed she lived by. for someone who sold 'miracles' in the form of stage magic, she knew better than to believe in too many real ones. it was not any lack of passion in her own trade—sell something you don't believe in, and you'll need more than just a day job to make it—but lynette is pragmatic, sound, unshaken, like a still body of water reflecting the blood moon above it.

she has turned her hypothesis over and over in her palms ever since reappearing in fontaine, and she is certain there is no bias in play. things that occur twice, they begin to imply a trend. but this hypothetical trend is a dangerous one. this trend could change teyvat's laws as the normal world knew them.

and this is why she decides: do not tell lyney. do not tell anyone. lynette will keep her mouth shut even if she has to bite off her tongue, even if all her teeth and claws are pried off one by one.

i died again, didn't i?

lynette glances to their joined hands, to robin's wonderfully smiling face, and finds that she cannot bear to ask. besides—today is for something kinder. the strange devices they had been given during the festival had disappeared, but despite her reclusive ways, the convenience of those cell phones had not escaped her. she had liked delivering those miniature glyphs to robin at the tap of a button. doing that had been even easier than writing out whole words. she had much to learn in terms of using its small kamera, but surely that skill would come with time. did gallagher perhaps have one, too? he seemed the type to be hard to get ahold of, an admirable example, but from time to time even lynette could not deny the yearning for another fine drink. not to mention, if she were able to set up two more for lyney and freminet... with luck she'd be able to download that colorful game again, and generate those alphanumerical strings it had been calling 'referral codes'.

but now she is the one getting ahead of herself. lynette shakes her head and answers, "it felt strange at first, but i'm okay now. i'm looking forward to this. i've just been wondering how durable these cell phones are..."

because, well. with all the abuse it had taken, it had been nothing short of a miracle that lynette never broke the borrowed one. but were all of them like that? the flutter of wings catches lynette's attention, and violet eyes briefly forget their sharpness. she cannot speak for others, and she does not voice this aloud, but a disguise like that could still hardly fool her. robin shines too brightly beneath it.

they enter the phone shop of this quaint dream market, and lynette slinks alongside robin down the first few rows. flickering screens, vivid lights—and some even came with pens? good. she has plenty of those at home; she won't be wanting for spares. "do you know which ones are best? it doesn't need to be anything fancy. i just liked those little pictures... oh, and being able to change the background, again, to that photo from the beach."

how human nature dotes

˚ʚ [ robin & lynette ] ɞ˚

[phantomiaou]

there are still tears drying on her face when march 7th opens her eyes again.

it's one of those things that she never questions, really—she's woken from her fair share of nightmares just like this before—just rubs furiously at her eyes until they're dry. the statue, the crows, miss seren—all of it is gone. it's just march 7th back on the bustling streets of fontaine again, as though nothing had ever happened.

and then she sees lynette.

...i thought we were friends too. she rises to her feet awkwardly, debates just leaving, but that has never been march's way. a tentative, hoarse croak of a name, “...miss lynette?”

but march hasn't thought about what follows. “um...” a weak shrug. “you know, i thought we were friends too.” it's not hard for march to call someone her friend, really; getting her to stop is probably more difficult. but there are people more important to her than anyone in the world—and maybe friend is too small a word for what they mean to her, but it's the one she has.

she shuffles her a feet a bit aimlessly, then sighs, head dropping. march really hates fighting with people. “but it's okay if you don't think so anymore. it's just...my friends—those friends... they're really important to me. i guess you could call them my family. of course i wouldn't want to make them upset, but i had to stick with what i believed in too, you know? i know they would understand.”

“so i'm sorry for how i said it, but i don't think what you said was very nice either. there were other ways to ask that.” she straightens here, smiling faintly as she takes a careful step away. she's said her piece. her heads bobs in farewell. “anyway, i'm gonna go find them. you should find your family too. they were your answer, like my friends were mine, right? i'm sure they want to know you're okay.”

lynette is not the one who approaches. by the time the rest had opened their eyes and gathered their bearings, she had already vanished from the set.

with the steps of a well-oiled guard mek she ambles down the streets of her home while contemplating all that had transpired. from afar she had not acknowledged march, and while lynette had expected the very same from her if not something angrier, march does in fact call out. lynette pauses in her step and turns.

"hello."  she answers, just the same way she affords an equal, a friend, a stranger, a sibling. not a single shift in expression, not a single tell from lynette's demeanor that anything has happened, pleasant or unpleasant. a spectator might gander that the two were speaking of the weather.

but something unpleasant had happened, hadn't it? and nothing to do with march 7th. because lynette had returned, too, from that 'film set' with two harrowing realizations.

the first is that when they had been struck with odd sadness, when their 'hearts' had been emptied, lynette had experienced the same despondent feeling only one other time. she had lived through its nightmare ten and some years ago. it was despair in its worst form. it was the lament, self-loathing, and spiraling scorn of being alive. because with those cursed ears that had made her a target, lynette had heard all of lefevere's revolting plans for her from the cramped back of the carriage his men had locked her in.

every, single, detail.

and although she had nearly pledged to bite off her tongue that night, the lynette from back then had still been a child. a girl. she had been scared, weak, wavering in the face of such a disgusting world.

but she is unbreachable, now—or so she had thought. over a decade of hardening her heart, every corpse and operation and lesson under lynette's belt, all of it thrown to the wind after one magical injection to the subconsciousness. it's almost unreal. yet for all of it, for every sorrow of that night she had relived in mere moments, there are only two people on this earth who could look at her right now and find something horrifically wrong in lynette's blank eyes. (until she regains her composure, until she can lock this up too, she has made it her mission to evade both of them.)

the second harrowing realization delves far beyond anything she could begin to dissect with march 7th, or even her very twin. it brings to question the laws of the universe and now is not the time or place for it—march is not here for such a thing, besides.

march approaches lynette and apologizes, at least partially, but lynette does not think to accept march's apology because to her march had done nothing to warrant one. it takes lynette a beat and a blink after march says her piece, even, to imagine what exactly she could be apologizing for. but lynette hears out her explanation, processes it, then shakes her head. this was never a fight to her.  "no, it's alright. i shouldn't have assumed we were, so sorry for that."

and usually she does not. lynette never assumes; she knows she is unlikable, she knows she is aloof, she knows she is clipped without ever meaning to be. she says what she means and there is nothing more or less to it. it is clinical. it is mechanical, right down to the inflection of her voice. so maybe she is slipping in that regard, and that will not do. yes—at heart, lynette has no friends. who would ever consider her one? she is grateful to march for sobering her even if it had come at the very nostalgic cost of being misunderstood.

any rift between them now would be one-sided, but if march does feel there is one, lynette is uncertain how to mend it. and would march even care for it to be? she had said it herself: don't use my friends against me. aren't you using my emotions against me now too? they would understand better than any of you why this is important to me.

lynette has no friends. (march's smile and introductory handshake flicker through her mind.) lynette has no friends. (robin and kaveh's faces flicker through her mind.) lynette has no friends. by design, she was never meant to. it had been foolish and presumptuous of her to lump herself in with anybody like that.

"about then... i guess you could say that the person who understands me the most in this world still won't let me follow what i believe in,"  she settles on saying. it's the best she can do. it's surprising she was even able to get that much out.  "so in that kind of situation, when faced with those difficult questions, i did just want to know how you would answer them. i valued your perspective because i knew you weren't stupid. i thought it would help me find my own answer for him, too."

had it, though? lynette cannot say—not yet. not here. one philosophical dealing at a time.

"obviously i didn't want you to die. well... that's normal, i think... when you care about somebody, and thought they were your friend,"  she speaks slowly, sounding out the words while studying march's expression like she's unsure if that's just another wrong thing to say. she hopes it isn't. after everything, she is weary.  "... but it wasn't that i was trying to change your mind. i'd gauge out the... i mean, i'd be angry too if i felt like someone was telling me what to do with my heart. it's alright if you don't believe me, but just to be clear, it didn't have anything to do with using your emotions against you."

and maybe the claim had bothered her for a fractionth of a second. maybe. but what did it matter in the end? others only ever want what they can understand at face value. yet at the same time, driven by confirmation bias or the subjectivity of their own emotions, they could either read too much or too little into words at their plainest.

here is the brunt of lynette's thoughts, of what lynette could have said. i don't think what i said about loss was untrue, because ignoring those uncomfortable questions turns our good intentions into self-satisfying concern, but—

"sorry for the way i said it."  is the only piece of that she can voice instead, the echo of march's apology. and that is really because, at least physically—  "i have a hard time talking. i don't do it often, so i'm sure it came out wrong."

maybe to march, what lynette had said was not nice. but lynette knows that the world is not nice. the world and what questions it may challenge you with are not always palatable. did that make their message untrue? wrapping it with a different color ribbon was more platitude than service.

"don't worry, though. i was never upset, and i get if you don't want to associate with me anymore."  because almost nobody does. it doesn't hurt. she's gotten nastier looks and hurled stones from more girls than she can count, but none of their ice could ever freeze her over, six-phased or otherwise.

(it's just that she had liked march, too.)

lynette already knows that even if march hadn't snapped at her then, she wouldn't have liked her next question anyway. because what lynette would have asked was essentially their ethical dilemma, another 'unpalatable' question: choose one more person to die. their bunch had just been lucky this time that lynette had been willing to gamble. maybe march had not even believed they were courting death in the first place, and lynette cannot fault her for that when it had fooled even god.

the fact of the matter was that standing by one noble belief meant betraying other ones. you alone are not enough no matter how much you want to be; therefore, assign values to others' lives, and assess which one of them to throw into the fire with you to save this other person's. could march have done something like that? could most people have?

lynette doesn't ask. conversations like this are what happen when she does.

"anyway, i'm glad you had your answer. those people you called your friends sound nice, and they're lucky to have you."  she means it as much as everything else. since it seems like that's all march wants to say, lynette takes the cue and nods.  "bye. take care."

if you have any questions about fontaine, you can ask... this, too, she almost offers—but lynette holds her tongue as to not overstep. not again. she offers a small wave before turning around, herself.

[phantomiaou]

[CUT LOOSE]

"Maybe a dance is not the kind of performance you're used to, but I'd love for you to join me."

A hand is extended towards her, accompanied by Robin's ever-warm smile. Music freely fills Fontaine's air, the very marrow of the city saturated by strings, brass, and harpsichord. The songstress would be remiss to enjoy this in her lonesome. A song is always meant to be shared, as is a stage—if the streets are to be their theater, then let Lynette be her co-star.

Robin smiles. A gentle light fills her eyes, much like a hearth. "We don't have to go into the crowd." she says softly, "Even if we dance for no one, it'll be wonderful. All that matters is that you feel the music."

when was the last time someone asked her to dance? when was the last time someone asked her to join them in anything, in leisure, just like this? lynette does not count the reporters, the fanatics, the disgusting eyes that leer at her ears and her tail. never. she does not count her siblings, either, with whom she is bound by blood debt directives either way.

we don't have to go into the crowd. but fontaine is the land of the spotlight, of performances, and lynette is not used to much else. they want the girl with fascinating ears and lyney's pretty face to appear in their programs, they want to use her name and association with fontaine's greatest magician to sweep all the headlines. and the only people who don't want that either want a weapon or a plaything that purrs. nobody wants what she is: an unyielding woman with claws, and blood underneath them, but a beating heart all the same.

more often than not, the girls she sees remind lynette of filliol. even more so after lyney's trial—after their then-god had shone light upon and made spectacle of their upbringing that lyney and lynette had strived to keep so discreet—no, the normal girls, they want little to do with lynette on any real level. they do not want her, either.

(and here is where she differs so drastically from lyney. perhaps it is even where she differs from their father. when lynette opens her mouth, if ever, if at all, nothing charming could ever come out. better to keep it shut. this goes hand in unlovable hand with her penchant for conserving energy, anyway.)

robin is dazzling. she is radiant, she can strut about freely under the sun and outshine it too. why does she keep bothering with a shadow? when will she tire of offering her hand? lynette stares at it for a moment, wondering if she means it.

lynette wants her to mean it. lynette must be slipping. but maybe lynette sees different ears, wings, and wants to believe robin could understand her. the scarred hand inside her glove twitches, stays for another beat while violet eyes search the other woman's expression—but ultimately lynette lifts it to accept.

robin's grasp is warm this time, too. just like it had been in the tower, where they'd first met, when lynette had been sinking all on her own. what a songbird she had been, to approach a glowering feline and even sing it a hopeful tune.

"miss robin…" something in her gaze shifts, softens, just by a hair. light feet pad over with ease. what will it be? a waltz, a tango? coppelia's mechanical twirl? dancing is not her trade, but lynette knows the right steps. anything robin wants. lynette will reach into her bag of tricks and make it happen.

"... okay. let's dance together, then."

when a cat is enjoying itself, its ears perk tall and forward. its tail curls at the end like a upside-down trebleclef's. and today it squeezes robin's hand while gliding to the sway of yet another hopeful tune.

[phantomiaou]

[PROP DESIGN]

“You're good at this, right?” Is Sedene’s only introduction when she waddles up to Lynette, broken prop in hand. “There’s been an accident with some of the improvisation stations, yes, and a few of the props got broken.”

She technically doesn’t need to get involved, no, but they are in need of help and she is on patrol. In addition, the magician’s assistant has no need to actually help her with this, but still, mitten-like hands hold the pieces up to her. “Could you help me put a few together to replace them? You can put your own touches on them, yes.”

“I can also pay you for your time!” She really wants this done.

lynette hears officer sedene's little footsteps long before the greeting. for that she does not appear at all surprised, nor ruffled under the gaze of a marechaussee phantom enforcer. there is nothing that could haunt lynette's conscience today, and even if there were, nobody could prove anything. silence is the best clause. she holds hers until officer sedene states the entirety of the request.

"hm...? with stage props? uh, mostly..." a beat. "as long as they aren't mechanical," lynette finishes for posterity.

eyes drift to the broken one in those mitten-like hands. she takes them and observes the damage, deriving the genre of their story and weighing it alongside her capabilities.

"you don't have to pay me." a shake of her head. "i'll help you out. just show me what you need replaced."

[phantomiaou]

[COSTUME RACK] - "Hold still... Just one more second... Almost... There!"

Pincushion between her teeth, Navia rises to stand. The ruffles of her skirt are smoothed as she takes a step back to admire her work. Well, work is a strong word-- she's used enough pins to make any good magnet a proper threat to Lynette, and certainly not missed an opportunity to accidently poke her model with them-- but she pays that no mind. Shimmering navy charmeuse has been draped with extra care, and scraps of white and black felt are pinned artistically in place on either side of the wearer's head.

"Ta-da!! Don't you just make the most lovely Blubberbeast?"

poke. poke.

poke.

if lynette at all feels the occasional prod or pinprick, she does not say a word. half-lidded eyes stare at the same dapple of light on the wall. it is a game between young girls, perhaps a tease of what could have been a decade or two ago—dressing up dolls, only the doll in this situation is quite fittingly lynette.

she lets miss navia do as she pleases. at the end of it lynette waddles around to gaze into a vanity's mirror behind her. the best way she can think to describe her transformation is that miss chiori will not be put out of work anytime soon.

but navia, shining like that, makes the words die in lynette's throat if there had been any chance of her voicing them to begin with.

"i don't know... does it really suit me? they're supposed to be cute and round."  less lethal and lithe. her giant blubberbeast bobblehead tilts with added weight. "well, as long as it's not a main role... is it my turn to dress you up now?"

[phantomiaou]

the glimmer of a firefly, the snap of wax, the pantomime of a heart splitting in two. lynette witnesses all of these and what catalyzes her own reaction to it all is that one mention of 'family'. for a moment she looks back and forth between her two companions, all of them perhaps continuing to brainstorm what to possibly do. she decides to ask:

what happened to them? are you sure we can't help?

" what happens to everyone, nothing special. " she answers, blinking at your writing. " yes, i'm sure. "

nobody in this world likes to give direct answers. still, this one isn't much of a riddle.

i see.

this writing is steady. measured, like fine-tuning a prop. her crayon is even more worse for the wear than firefly's, after all, and they can't have this breaking on them, too.

for the longest time, i didn't have anyone in the world except one person. but he couldn't always be at my side. when he wasn't, i was all alone.

lynette is no star, just a shadow. if she had it her way she would never slink out of the dark to say a word. but crying girls with mismatched features and no family or friends to accept them—the world that lynette knows does not make room for these, not even room to exist like a mouse in the dark. you sharpen your claws and carve your own place into its rotting flesh and lick your wounds later or bleed out trying, because nobody will save that sobbing girl in the alley except for herself.

i'm an adult now. i don't cry anymore, and we found more people we can call 'family' ... but sometimes, i'm still scared

(here she draws a lumpy heart, and an arrow pointing to it—)

because this would be gone without him. is that how you feel? (the child nods, then sniffles.)

nobody will save that sobbing girl in the alley except for herself. but lynette also knows she does not want there to be any more sobbing girls at all, no more haunting arrays of pale and gaunt faces staring back at her in a basement, and perhaps that is also why she has the claws she does. so lynette finds another blank crevice among the unicorns and writes again.

when there's nobody around, we're the only ones who can protect ourselves. cry until you can't anymore, but after that, find the strongest part of yourself and keep using it. someday, you'll find a place or other people to call home.

lynette shoves a gloved hand in her pocket, pulls out the teal crystal she had been given, and displays it in her palm as if for 'alor' to see.

"'if only somebody had the heart to save her.' that's what you said. mine is 'hard to crack'. how do i give that to her?"

alor answers from nowhere, but its voice is unmistakable: " you merely offer it, girl. hand it to her, hold it out to her whatever you prefer. "

before lynette does just that, she leaves one last note for the girl and to the best of her ability makes sure to taper it off with a final flourish.

shall i show you a magic trick?

the girl doesn’t see you, but she sees it— the crystal in your hand, glowing faintly in the moonlit room. she reaches for it slowly, as though in awe, and wraps her fingers around it. at once, the room changes shape. it’s your room, or maybe not, but in this moment you know it as nothing else. on either side opposite you is a bed the same as that which you sit on now, sheets still rumpled from where they’d last been abandoned for the morning, but they’ve been that way for a lifetime. never changing, because there is nobody to return to them and they are not yours to disturb. your home is a grave, and you have been buried in it alive. and as soon as it’s there, it’s gone. the room becomes empty, your friends return. it is only you and them and the girl, who has her knees drawn to her chest and cradles in her palm your heart, cracked and bleeding through her fingers. -2HP TO LYNETTE'S HEART. 3/5HP REMAINING.

(it hurts. hers was supposed to be hard to crack, but it still hurts. lyney, freminet, the holes in her heart that are shaped like them both expand—lynette breathes in deeply, lynette trains her face to keep stone still, but still it hurts. maybe it always will.)

𓆩⟡𓆪 even as a child i know that i'll never have friends like these again

( march 7th & firefly & lynette | week two )

[phantomiaou]

like all else occurring, it is nothing short of bizarre. lynette observes the girl, her reactions to stimuli; and although she leans in to peer at the strange photo march holds up, violet eyes flit to check how the girl reacts to even that. how strange that she doesn't.

it's clear she can't see them, but on top of that could she not hear them clearly? lynette draws nearer, and attempts another sentence.

"… hello." she says. and while it is admittedly awkward, even lynette can tell that isn't why the girl flinches and whips around in response. so another idea comes.

find a pen? d20 ★ 7 ! find paper? d20 ★ 2 ! firefly yuri assist? d20 ★ 15 !

taking a pen to paper, she supposes, is preferable to speaking, anyway. still, as she and firefly rummage the room on the idea lynette voices, she still wishes lyney were here to ghostwrite for her as usual…

is the crayon nub at least a pretty color? d20 ★ let's just say no

before long they come across a pathetic nub for a snot-hued crayon, and a coloring book full of unicorns. good enough. she writes in the margins before sliding the coloring book across the floor—just a gentle push to the girl.

don't be afraid. what's your name?

the color is a bit light to her liking, but with some added pressure it does its job well enough. there's a pause before lynette scribbles a doodle, as an afterthought—it's comically hideous as all hell, but they're dealing with a crying child, and hopefully the cat-and-flower combo defangs the haunted doom out of an invisible adult's message.

she sees it, freaks out a moment, then like… slowly moves to look at it. blinks, looks around, then, timidly, says " hello? my name is- " you see her speak, but do not hear it, " um… is someone there? "

a blink. a twitch of pointed ears. she knows she had not misheard, and yet there had been nothing to hear. for the sake of ease, though, she decides she'll come back to that later. lynette continues to write in the coloring book.

i'm lynette. i don't think you can see me or my friends, though. do you have two more crayons?

" oh, hello lynette… are you a ghost? um… i don't know. this room is… "

the girl trails off there, and lynette takes that as a cue that they'll have to keep rummaging in a moment. but first:

no, i don't think i'm a ghost. i wonder why you can't see us, though…

anyway, there are two other girls with me - firefly and march. we saw you crying. are you ok?

𓆩⟡𓆪 even as a child i know that i'll never have friends like these again

( march 7th & firefly & lynette | week two )

[phantomiaou]

[STUNT DOUBLE] - Why risk an actor's safety when we can risk yours! Take a fall for a friend, or maybe make one take it for you...

lyney volunteers without waiting for lynette's word on the matter. of course he does, and with the charm and confidence he does it with, who could deny him? it matters not how actually dangerous a task might be—if there is a chance, even the slightest risk that she will come to harm, he will eliminate it entirely.

this way, often, is the easiest.

“well, what do you think? isn't it convincing?” it should be. after all, they've their fair share of tricks that rely on the fact that one twin can just as easily pass as the other, though lyney has a harder time of it for a few, glaringly feline reasons. when a hand raises to flick the fake ears atop his head, they do not twitch as lynette's might have, and the tail simply drags lifelessly behind him. “convincing enough,” he amends. it's not as though such details will be the subject of notice when he falls.

lyney is used to falling. he practiced it hundreds of times to perfect cesar's trick. and so the magician and brother merely smiles at his assistant and sister and says, “i know how to fall—it'll be just like a magic trick. i practiced, remember?”

cats always land on their feet. stupid big brother. defensive big brother. doesn't-even-let-lynette-be-lynette now big brother. and his dear younger sister makes no effort to disguise her ire, carved jagged into every mirrored feature that stupid lyney beams at with his stupid star-marked cheek instead of the teardrop she knows.

her half-lidded stare and silence holds for a number of seconds that any normal person would call uncomfortable. lynette lets it marinate on purpose. stares at lyney for some moments longer, unblinking. unsettling. she really wants him to feel awkward, really wants him to stew in it. but at long last she finally speaks.

"and? i practiced, too."  arms cross in front of her chest. unlike that sad, inanimate tail attached to her twin, the one behind lynette swishes precariously.  "i can do my own stunts, you know. ugh. the way you even went to butt in without asking me..."

of course the coordinators would say yes to him. everybody else in the world says yes to lyney. lynette does not mind being his check, his control, his reason where he is her rhyme, but being the killjoy tires her.

"just because you can fall doesn't mean you always should."

(she was always meant to be his partner in crime.)

"whatever. can you at least go get me a coffee before you shoot, big brother?"  then there's a petulant turn of her head in the opposite direction, hmph-ing into the sky. it's the least he can do for her.

some minutes later, lynette's stinky stunt actor is approaching the producer, 'tail' limping lifelessly and 'ears' stiff as felt. ahem.

violet eyes, fully open and glimmering with life, crinkle in preface to the chirp that follows.

"well, everyone, are we ready to begin?"  a wink, a dazzling grin.  "my dear sister is ordering me a coffee as we speak, and i wouldn't want it to get cold!"

cat-eared head turns in the direction of distant café lutece. as the scurrying film crew prepares its props behind 'lyney', eyelids shutter halfway while that grin crumbles to ash in the mouth.

"hmph."

[phantomiaou]

the heart to save her?

the one in lynette's pocket is hard to crack and the one in a ribcage tenfold. if that would be of any use here, so be it. but it is too early to tell. twin violets flit about this space before the three of them. it doesn't take an operative's eye to piece together what is, or maybe what had been.

"i heard it," she does answer for firefly, whose name she had overheard sometime along the way. the way of... all this.

and while the crow is there with them, lynette feels no more resourceful—only doubly suspicious. "... be careful around that bird."

helping the girl, saving her, that objective is clear enough. but from what? while march approaches and addresses her, lynette slinks by, far enough to glimpse out the window but close enough to march to act should something go wrong. they won't get anywhere without acquiring information; march has begun, and so, she listens.

𓆩⟡𓆪 even as a child i know that i'll never have friends like these again

( march 7th & firefly & lynette | week two )

[phantomiaou]

eight and his friend five-and-a-half return to jogging. lynette is silent, at first, as she always is. ever the eyes and ears before voice, contemplation tips down her gaze.

at least robin was familiar with the layout. loath as she is to be of no use, lynette cannot even fathom the items the screenwriters had furnished her pockets with. it was as if fog ran through every channel, every avenue and means of her usual patterns she relied upon to gather information. it tires her, but it does not stop her here.

just as she had given the first corndog to kaveh, lynette holds out the second to robin.  "for you."

kaveh has already given robin the rundown, so there is little for lynette to add. the three start off in the library's direction as decided.

as foreseen, there are crows to be found—a flock, even—in front of the impressive building. but what's stranger is how one of them has seemed to take to kaveh. with him deciding to remain outside with the creature, their group splits in two pairs with a bird in each one.

the interior of the library muddles her even more. a pounding through her head has lynette scowling to herself, unwilling to speak with a librarian even if there were any doing their jobs here. no, though—the place is near empty save from books and furniture, so lynette wanders off to peruse the shelves. what she's looking for happens to be in a filing cabinet by the front desk. robin meets her there.

almanacs that the idol has already begun browsing. newspapers beside those that lynette immediately gets to sleuthing. lynette is duller than she'd like, and perhaps it's because she's only really had coffee and a bite of corndog, but after some while—and one brief upstairs skim later—they've not come out of it completely empty-handed, she hopes.

"it's getting late." she murmurs, glancing at a clock on the wall. well, not late for lynette—just for the library, and not long after that, most other normally functioning members of society. "i know i said i might stay longer, but let's check on mr. kaveh. i wonder how he's doing with that crow..."

@hopetune @aesthetecomplex my eyues

a bird came down the walk

˚ʚ [ #GHSecondSky — week 1] ɞ˚

[phantomiaou]

lynette and her brother have had no such privilege of formal education. what they knew had come from the man named cesar, the legendary magician who bore a sinner's cross for ten long years until his twin pupils, who had clawed to adulthood with the tools he gave them, had been able to clear his name at last.

underneath its splendor and theatrical delights, fontaine was no paradise. all the dazzling fountains and spouts up top had to flow somewhere. while the fortunate citizens slept in warm beds, went to schools, and enjoyed fantastic shows; their pretty waterways, their aquabuses, their latrines trickled underground into the rusty pipes and gutters of where their beloved performers had had to fight for the right to live. nobody had cared for lyney or lynette back then except for the other. nobody had come to their rescue except for the other. and nobody had certainly handed them luxuries such as these: clean air, coffee, and (more recently) these odd 'cell phones'. lynette is absently staring at hers, a foreign weight in her palm until the other two speak. she tucks it back into her pocket.

"hm... not really. there are smaller groups like theater troupes. some of them might hold classes or offer internships... my brother and i didn't learn what we do from those, though."  a small shake of her head.  "when we were children, my brother would watch how street performers did some tricks. then we started doing street performances of our own."

(eventually, a 'noble' found the twin orphans and took them in to entertain guests. eventually, the 'noble' did vile things to keep entertaining those guests. eventually, lynette learned how to twist and crunch and snap the fingers and wrists and bones of any men who dared touch her again. this is how the story always goes, but this is the part lynette never includes.)

"is this what schools normally look like?"  she asks them both, the faint cant of her head.  "i thought a school was just a building with classrooms, but this is almost like a small village."

and they are to rewrite fate, somehow. this all feels wrong. this isn't a set. why would they have blinked and woken up so suddenly?  "i'm fine, but i'm just wondering if this is some kind of domain, too. it's really elaborate for a set. there are people hanging around..."

girls giggling on a bench. a pair of joggers exchanging something on their cell phones. some student who's fallen asleep studying beneath the shade of a tree. a man peddling street food from a cart—smells like fried dough. lynette's ears twitch to all sorts of sounds, but pick up nothing quite useful. neither does the monument in the middle offer much in means of information, oddly barren of inscriptions.

"...and i still can't figure out much about the statue in the middle, even though it's obviously the broken one we saw earlier,"  she murmurs, head turning back to it.  "should we try walking around more...?"

@hopetune roban im street rat not harvard kid do you still care me

a bird came down the walk

˚ʚ [ #GHSecondSky — week 1] ɞ˚

[phantomiaou]

indeed, to witness lady furina's star acting up close is a grand honor. the silent lynette studies her expression; every curve, every lash, every twitch and bob of soft breathing throat beneath collar. because while she is here: just what could lynette take from these valuable handful of minutes? when you crawl from the muddy gutters of the fleuve cendre the world teaches you to waste nothing in front of you. leave no breadcrumbs on your plate or otherwise starve. survive and then learn to leave none at a crime scene. when you come from nothing, the difference in something squandered can be life or death. dismiss no detail. leave no stone unturned. know all that you can. and lady furina has so, so much to teach.

lynette slowly cants her head; the long, pale ponytail behind her swaying along with it.

"oh… i think your clothes are plenty fashionable," she volleys back. pulls from what she's overheard from normal girls chattering amongst each other, because she has no reference otherwise. none of those ladies would ever befriend her; if not for her ears then for her reticence, and if not for that then for her now-public origins. "don't worry. i'm sure my father wouldn't mind."

the main point is not to distract. do a poor job at it, but put up a fight. yes; lady furina is a genius, then. the better of them plays off of lynette just fine to make up for where she must lack—yes, of course. the macabre smile remains, with the same crescent eyes, and one featherlight foot strides forward. just a friendly step closer. "when it's done, you'll come and present it with me, right? we'd love to have you in our home for tea... and that cake you like best."

★ * scene three: who, what, where; cont.

STARRING: LYNETTE & FURINA.

[phantomiaou]

lady furina had been the one figure, the one outlier whom lynette's all-seeing eyes and all-hearing ears could make absolutely no sense of. it had never perturbed her. over the years lynette had been given no mission nor reason that would have her probe further, deeper, colder into what made the lady tick. that, if anything, was always left to 'father'—incidentally the one figure whose unsettling degree of perception outclassed lynette's. and lynette had been always been fine with that, just fine.

"yes."

easy, then, how easy it must be, in turn, for fontaine's greatest celebrity to act. the stage is her domain and nobody will pretend it is anything but. this should go smoothly. they will part ways after this, lady furina will go back to her quieter life, and lynette will go back to rebuilding hers. the faster they wrap this up, the better. she grows weary of the spotlight.

a slow smile spreads across her face, fine on any other but worn so strangely on lynette. her smiles do not curve like sweet, charming lyney's. out of the twins, out of the family, it is this sister who takes most after their father. violet eyes crinkle along with the gesture, gluing their gaze right into furina's mismatched pair. in the creeping warmth of midafternoon light they even nearly glint red.

"it's very flattering, and looks just like you. why, do i seem restless...?" a low chuckle leaves her, uncanny enough as well, but they are not supposed to be themselves anyway. the blue blob on the canvas also looks like no version of furina no matter the role. "i don't need to use the restroom at all. maybe i got excited, but i was only thinking of how much my father would appreciate this piece. anyway, you're doing a good job at staying still." / @fanfaire

★ * scene three: who, what, where; cont.

STARRING: LYNETTE & FURINA.