secondswords

[secondswords]

who: @sacrxmentum when: shortly after arrival where: the shoreline

romilly hadn’t come into this with any particular expectations as to what the first house would be like, but the place she was met with confounded her regardless. it was a giant juxtaposition within itself - archaic, profoundly dead, and yet brimming with life. the ruins of canaan house, dark and dilapidated, stood out like a sore thumb against the vivid, buzzing landscape.

she had wanted out the minute she’d stepped inside, trailing behind aurelius like his crimson coated shadow. between the suspicion that her brother’s spectral presence would be waiting around every corner and the palpable tension between herself and her necromancer, the place felt wildly suffocating. as soon as they were dismissed from the ceremony and her things were tucked securely under the cavalier cot, she’d beelined for some fresh air.

the shoreline is where she ended up, drawn in by the droning sound of the waves lapping upon the sand. she’s never seen anything like this in any place she’d been stationed with the cohort. it’s so… open. the water seemed to stretch forever, as far as the horizon. she is tempted to unlace her boots, cuff her pants, and wade in, but ultimately decides against it. should someone come across her, it wouldn't be the type of first impression befitting of a second house cohort captain. instead, she settles for a walk along the water’s edge (uniform intact).

the gentle crashing of the waves drowns out the sound of footsteps approaching her, and when romilly glances back towards canaan house, she’s surprised to find a figure headed her way. for a moment, fight or flight is triggered, the panic sets in, and she reaches for the rapier at her hip. but it only takes a second for her to realize that this was a friend, not a foe. the white-knuckled grip on her rapier is released, and a soft smile creeps across her lips.

“zotikos - i almost sliced you in half. hasn’t anyone ever told you not to sneak up on a girl while she’s brooding?” though she feigns seriousness, the intonation of her words gives away her levity. she hopes, half-heartedly, that he didn't take note of her anxiety (or, rather, the way it hadn't improved in the slightest since she'd seen him last). "i'm glad to see you. it's nice to have a familiar face amidst... all of this."

[secondswords]

it would be so easy for romilly to lose herself in the chime of arachne's laugh, the affirmation in her words, if she was not familiar with the way the princess toyed with people. the stories of her discarding cavaliers like dinner scraps had made their way through the cohort long ago, and romilly did not dare to think about what would have happened to her if arachne was her necromancer instead of aurelius. for all their tension, all the issues they refused to speak about, at least he was giving her a chance to prove herself. when arachne speaks of him, romilly does not respond.

and then arachne speaks of ghosts. the paranoia is immediate, the panic unforgiving. does she know? how could she know? the princess inches closer, so close that romilly can smell gardenia on her skin, floral and sweet. romilly is about to back up to a distance that feels more... respectable when she feels the soft, delicate touch of the other girl's fingertips down the length of her arm to the rapier at her hip. romilly is frozen in place, feeling much like a fly in the jaws of a carnivorous plant. any sudden movement, and arachne would clamp shut, crushing her inside. the burning of her cheeks continues (worsens, if anything).

but no, she couldn't know - the crown princess of ida would surely have revealed this knowledge by now, had she possessed it. when the distance between them is widened once again and arachne's hand is removed from romilly's rapier, romilly inhales, deep and slow. she'd been holding her breath, she realizes. she prays that the stillness of her lungs wasn't detected by the flesh magician opposite her. as arachne drones on about secrets and boldness and mistakes, romilly's eyebrows furrow. if this wasn't arachne tridentarius, she might have appreciated the advice. alas, it was arachne tridentarius, and so nothing good could ever come for free.

"have you found any secrets worth sharing?"

there it was - the toll. in all honesty, the answer was a resounding no. maybe aurelius had found something interesting on his own, but if he had, it hadn't been shared with his cavalier. romilly had explored minimally, but came up with nothing of note. but this was not information the third house needed to know, she decided. "have you?" she asks instead, dodging the question entirely. "if you know something, do share. maybe it will put my mind at ease, so we can avoid fatal mistakes, as you've put it."

Arachne circles ever closer, thrilled by the way the cavalier's eyes drift toward the ground, the way she stands straight, cheeks burning, weapon sheathed. She's done nothing and yet the flower before her wilts. "Of course you have." She hums in approval. "Trained by the best, if the Lieutenant Colonel is to be believed." She laughs, eyes sparkling with something far crueler. She sweeps into Romilly's space, listening as she describes what she's so scared of. Or rather, as she gives her a neatly polished answered. "What would be the point?" She agrees, "Your necromancer must be very pleased you're so...steadfast, in your caution." She offers, though she imagines Aurelius is anything but.

"Come now, ghosts of an ancient house, and secrets within it's halls? That's what frightens you?" Arachne murmurs. She crowds closer to the Second cavalier, her fingers reaching out to dance down her forearm, all the way to the rapier sheathed at her hip. "How dull." She pouts. Surely there was more to Romilly's hesitation than the unknown surrounding Canaan House? The unknown was what made the journey to Lyctorhood interesting. Besides, Romilly was a trained soldier, who had no doubt seen many truly terrifying things over the course of her career. Surely she wasn't scared of ghost stories?

She draws her hand back, moving just a little further from Romilly's side. "Secrets are only as powerful as you make them. There's room for caution, but I do believe any chance at Lyctorhood will require a bit more boldness. I trust you've recognized that in battle? Caution leads to hesitancy, and that could prove a fatal mistake in a game where seconds matter. I respect your necromancer, dove, if he believes you a worthy primary, then you ought to trust yourself a little more." She considers, her advice somewhat genuine, if not requested. She even offers Romilly a smile of good will. "Have you found any secrets worth sharing?" She adds with a laugh, curious as to what the Second House has been up to.

[secondswords]

the musty, stale scent of the tunnel had hit her like a wall as soon as she dropped down through the manhole. romilly tried to focus on her breathing, to keep her eyes straight ahead and her expression stoic, to appear marginally more confident than she actually was. but she could not stop the rapid open and close of her fingers around the hilt of her dagger, a clear tell of the unease that flowed through her as they trekked through the dark.

she did, however, feel marginally reassured by the presence of the fourth house. out of all other houses, they were perhaps the most similar to the second - and therefore a strategic alliance. philly and rio were friendly enough, unlike some of the other canaan house inhabitants. still, she was filled with nerves - aurelius was surely used to her demeanor by now, but if her brother paid her a visit here, philly and rio would bear witness to her reaction.

upon reaching the laboratory, she’d taken in the sights - shelves where books may have been placed years ago, haggard lab coats, and a wall of windows revealing the chamber of RESPONSE - and then shifted her gaze to aurelius for direction. her hand remained on the dagger in her coat, fist continuing to open and close around it. “dyad, you’re with me.” romilly nods once in acknowledgment and heads toward the door marked IMAGING so she could investigate before her necromancer steps in.

the door to IMAGING opens automatically at her approach, and romilly looks back to catch aurelius' eye briefly. "this place is still alive after all." she murmurs, and crosses the threshold of the doorway. the room contains a collection of machinery that seems to have been out of order for centuries, a long, dusty desk, and a single, dingy ceiling light that flickers, every so often coating them in shadow. the centerpiece of the room is a tall metal pedestal topped with a reflective glass panel.

everything seems impossibly old, and so romilly does not attempt to touch anything out of fear that it may crumble beneath her touch. she keeps her hand on her dagger, the curl of her fingertips around it the only constant in this strange place. satisfied that nothing in the room seemed particularly threatening, she steps aside to allow her necromancer (or perhaps the others, if they were interested) entrance.

[ @bellemaledictions > @rhinerapier > @ghxstunwilling ]

+++ picking up right from the plot drop; a closed starter for the hole squad ( @secondswords > @bellemaledictions > @rhinerapier )

naturally gravitating toward each other, trusting in a fellow soldier's discipline and tactical awareness, second and fourth houses had been drawn together by a shared suspicion—something about canaan house felt too quiet. the key rings, given without instruction, the locked doors, the knowledge that this place once created something as powerful as the lyctors—all of it had been a puzzle neither could ignore. like a trained squad, they had ventured together into the depths of the south side basement and found that there was access into a hidden space beneath a loosened manhole. on a technicality that room had not, in fact, been locked.

they had spent a few moments looking around before aurelius came to a stop at the threshold of LABORATORY 2, the scent of mildew thick in his nose. his fingers flexed at his sides, not for lack of control, but calculation—muscle memory aligning itself to whatever fight might present itself.

he did not like this.

not because of the dark, or the rot, or the silence that felt somehow aware. not because of philly’s wary observations or the meek fidgeting of romilly’s fingers against her dagger hilt. he did not like this because there was nothing. a sealed room, stripped bare, with only two labeled doors and the gnawing sense that someone had been here long before them and had made damn sure they wouldn’t leave anything behind.

mercurio’s voice cut through the stagnant air, his casual words failing to mask the thread of tension beneath them, "that can't be a good sign. literally."

aurelius exhaled slowly, his breath misting. "no, it’s not," he murmured. his gaze traced the letters: Response. Imaging. clinical. specific. indicating some sort of test.

his first plan of action was simple: find what the second house was meant to find. if this was a test then the second didn’t sit around waiting for answers to present themselves. they pursued.

he glanced at philly. "lets looks behind the doors," he said. "dyad, you’re with me. chaur, you stick with your necromancer."

[secondswords]

the mocking, coquettish voice of arachne tridentarius was a most unwelcome sound amidst the quiet of the pool room. for a moment, romilly doesn’t respond, hanging onto the shred of hope that gawain would come trailing into the room behind her necromancer to act as a buffer. no such luck. romilly knew that aurelius had a sort of acquaintanceship with the princess, which came as no surprise. the second and third houses were often socially and politically interlinked. for the sake of diplomacy, romilly could not bite the bait that arachne laid out for her. ignoring her, though, was likely to upset her all the same.

“yes,” she says finally, choosing to take arachne’s words at face value. “i’ve been training with a rapier for years.” this much was true - even as cavalier secondary, she had been required to know how to wield this weapon. she sheathes it at arachne’s approach. as the blonde circles her, a tad too close for comfort, romilly’s cheeks burn and she shifts her gaze to the floor. being sized up was not particularly new to her - she’d had more physical evaluations in the cohort than she could count - but something about the way the princess did it was simply formidable in a way she hadn’t experienced before. it feels as if she’s a slab of meat on a butcher block, and arachne is deciding whether she’s worthy of being her dinner’s main course. romilly tries to focus on the soft click of the other girl’s heels against the tile floor, until-

“so then, dove, why are you so scared?” the question would’ve stopped romilly dead in her tracks had she not already been motionless. she knows that she has been… different since remus’ death, to say the least. she knows other people can see it, too, and yet, nobody has been forward enough to ask her upfront, what are you so afraid of? at least, until now. romilly lifts her gaze back to meet arachne’s, hoping that her answer is satisfactory. no way in hell she would be confiding in arachne tridentarius that remus’ spirit was lingering.

“canaan house is inexplicably old and we have likely only scratched the surface of its secrets. it’s my duty to be cautious on the lieutenant colonel’s behalf. if i can’t keep him safe, what’s the point?” she blinks, hoping that, if nothing else, the expression she holds appears stoic.

"So they did teach you to wield a rapier. Hm. Interesting." Arachne sneered. She knew Romilly, albeit not well, from her acquaintance with Aurelius. Politics dictated much of her social connections, and there was wisdom in positive relations with the Second House. Were she in a better mood, she might have thought to be a fraction warmer toward the Second Cavalier, but she'd been in a sour mood since arriving at Canaan House. Even the thrill of knowing she'd taste victory here was not enough to quiet the embers burning in her stomach. Romilly was a disappointing distraction, but she'd take what she could get and demand more afterward.

She approached the Cavalier, noting the tension in her shoulders, the stumble, the seeming disorientation that plagued her. She'd met many Cavaliers in her day, many of them social, given the structure of Ida, but even social cavaliers seemed less...jumpy, than the one standing before her. She couldn't understand what Aurelius saw in this one. Was it not easier to just be rid of her already? This was who he'd entrusted with his safety during his journey toward Lyctorhood? Really? She circled her, only a fraction smaller with the help of her heels, head tilting just slightly as she made note of her clothing, the lines of her muscle, the shape of her jaw. It was a pity this one lived where the other twin did not. Remus had seemed intriguing enough. She would have been far less cross stumbling across him in the pool room. She wondered if Aurelius felt the same grating disappointment every time he looked at his primary.

"You don't think when you move." She noted, curiously. "You must practice often. So then, dove, why are you so frightened? Nothing but cobwebs and rust to scare you here. Unless you're particularly wary of well-worn training equipment and unfortunate lighting? I can't say I blame you on the latter, horrible for the aesthetics, does nothing to show off one's complexion." She teased, in the familiar lilting tone of all members of House Tridentarius.

[secondswords]

generally speaking, cavaliers shouldn’t attack their necromancers. to do so would be the very antithesis of their position. she was here to protect aurelius from harm, not to cause it to him. one flesh, one end, and all that. but after being on the receiving end of her necromancer’s harsh words, after having her own life force taken from her and concurrently being forced to relive the worst day of her life, seeing the crimson stain on aurelius’ shirtsleeve felt good. to drain him of something precious, even just for a second, before he used her own thalergy to zip himself shut.

his nod of approval stirs something in her, that gratifying feeling of receiving praise, of being recognized for doing something right. something she’d been striving for her entire life. but like all good things, the moment is fleeting, and aurelius is attacking with a newfound fervor. along with that comes the increased intensity of his thalergy absorption, which romilly can’t help but fight against. and then - “i can feel you struggling against me, dyad. trust me.”

“trust you!” for the first time in a while, romilly laughs, but she doesn’t recognize the sound, short and clipped and drenched with bitterness and cynicism. part of her is trying to let go, to give up control and let aurelius take what he needed. another part of her pleads endlessly for him to stop, stricken with fear that he may go too far again. it was a constant, mental tug of war between an obedient soldier and a traumatized girl. what could she do if she were both? “i’m trying.” rounding on him again, she’s stopped short by a blast of necrotic energy, and nearly loses her footing before she feels something akin to an adrenaline rush steadying her.

he’s giving it back to me.

“don’t go easy on me.” the words slip from her tongue before she has a chance to think about them. she’s reminded of the many times she said them to her brother in their youth, but this wasn’t a friendly spar between junior officers. it isn’t her place to give commands to any superior, nevermind the heir to her house, that much had been drilled into her since her childhood - but this one she feels she can get away with. “i can get up when i fall.” is this really what he thought of her? that she was so weak she needed to use his necromancy as her crutch when she stumbled?

could she blame him for thinking so?

romilly starts again, walking a quick half-circle around her necromancer before stepping in and lunging towards him with her rapier. she tries to let her muscle memory guide her, to enter some sort of mindless physicality to let aurelius pull her thalergy without resistance. or, at least, with less resistance. the sensation still spurred that seed of panic within her, but she inhaled deeply, imagining that perhaps that’s what her brother used to do when he struggled.

relax.

remus’ voice cuts through the noise once more, and for the first time since they were paired three months prior, romilly begins to slowly dismantle the walls she’s built, inch by harrowing inch.

aurelius couldn't help the grin that started to form when romilly called him an asshole. that was more reaction from her in weeks. he was being an asshole. it was like finally scratching the itch that had been gnawing at him for longer than he cared. he could be worse, he'll admit. she hadn't yet caught a true glimpse of his temper. when she settled into her stance, he braced himself for the change he didn't think would come—preparing for the moment he'd notice her stepping into her brother's skin like a ghost, trying to move like him and wield his sword with the same precision, the same grace and failing.

but when she deflected, he started to see a difference.

she was not fumbling trying to be bigger than she was this time. in fact, she was faster than he'd anticipated. more confident and less performative. a surge of satisfaction coursed through him as he barely avoided her swing's full-force, twisting, making his hitbox smaller. still, she got him. he felt a small sting on his upper arm just below where the dark ring of a broken ouroboros inked his right shoulder. clear beneath the open light fabric of his shirt, blood seeped, and just as quickly as the line of red formed, the cut healed itself. courtesy of her thalergy that flowed through him. he nodded his approval before once more siphoning the life energy from its unwilling donor.

this time, he fought like a second house officer—fast, precise, and relentless.

he took a fraction more thalergy from her than he did just a minute ago, the same amount he would have if she'd been remus. her resistance was something they had to work on if they wanted to learn how to move in tandem. intuitively, he directed her thalergy into himself, quickening his reflexes to match hers. he let her lead as she advanced on him—moving where her feet manoeuvred him, avoiding where her rapier speared as he shot spikes of necrotic energy up from beneath them, trusting that her now lighter footwork would save her. "i can feel you struggling against me, dyad. trust me," aurelius gritted out as he pushed back, sending a shockwave of his necrotic magic her way. but before she could stumble, he returned a sliver of his own thalergy to keep his partner upright. they had to become a truly adept necromancer-cavalier duo before they could attain lyctorhood—blur the line between fighter and wielder entirely, but they were out of time to reach there. coming to an understanding would be their best option now.

this training wasn't a test to see how well she could fight. he had no doubts about that. she had already proven she was a good combatant.

it was a test to see how well she could resist fighting him. a test she's yet to pass.

[secondswords]

like a beckoned dog, remus appears when aurelius speaks his name. the image is fleeting, a momentary apparition to the necromancer's left, but the sight of them together - side by side, the way they should be - is enough to raise goosebumps on the back of romilly's neck. she turns her face away, a wave of nausea washing over her. "...you may as well sli-" he doesn't have to finish the sentence for her to know where it was headed. his words were knives, harsh & stinging, rousing anger out of her despair.

hot tears of frustration prick the corners of her eyes, and she's about to tell him to keep remus' name out of his mouth (although she knew she had no right, although if anyone should be barred from speaking his name, it was her), but that's when the sensation hits her. without warning, he's absorbing her thalergy. it brings back what few memories she has of that god-awful day, of aurelius so overcome with emotion that he had been willing to dredge her dry just to save her brother.

"asshole," she mutters through gritted teeth.

he's being far gentler now than he was then, but she can't help the way she resists him. it's automatic, a survival instinct after she'd been brought to her knees, her vision faded to black by the same sensation just twelve weeks prior. and yet - "move." she's been given a command. she has a job to do. the tears are blinked away, and she makes a grab for her rapier. her nervous system is straining, trying to fight aurelius off even as her brain tries to allow him to work, because as much as she may despise it, this is her duty now. she unsheathes her weapon and twists to narrowly avoid aurelius' offense.

the formations she needed to take were typically second nature to her, but drilling them on her own or with the other cavaliers was different than with aurelius. she finds herself itching to do what remus would have done, to lead with brute force, a strong and formidable offense, but that's not what she was instructed to do. so instead, she picks up the pace, her steps light and quick as she advances. relax. her brother's voice echoes in her mind, urging her to let her guard down, to let aurelius pull the thalergy from her. relax.

easier said than done.

she brings her rapier up to swing across her body, towards aurelius. her heart thudded in her ears, the consistent draining of thalergy causing it to pump just a little harder than usual, a little faster. she wouldn't hurt him - that would guarantee remus haunts her for life, she thinks - but just a tap, and he'd be fine. like a duel, to the first touch. or, perhaps, a shove to the floor. if aurelius wanted a fight, then a fight was what he'd get.

the... experience you're used to.

the only trace of his vexation at that thought was the slight grimace on his face. there—the corners of his mouth had become a shadow of a snarling animal. he did not like it, the way his necromancer spoke of remus. an experience. as if anything or anyone else could surmount to the singularity of his and remus' relationship. no one could replace remus. not even his own sister. especially not his sister. despite the fact that aurelius' breath sometimes caught looking into romilly's eyes, the same shade of blue he'd looked into for a decade, he quickly found that the depth he had so often happily drowned in was gone. ice cold and impotent.

aurelius was tired of tip-toeing around the pain. he had been a good soldier and channelled it into everything else except at the one person he knew was probably suffering as much as he. but the words tumbled past his lips, dark blue-green hues staring deep in her piercing blues, "i don't need you to be remus. but if you're so hell-bound on becoming him, you may as well sli—" slit your own throat, were the word he was going to say before he cut himself off. it was unfair of him—he knew that romilly had little to no fault in her brother's death. he had to remind himself it was the BOE.

"you say you want to do better. prove it. pick up your rapier. we're going to train." his demand was punctuated by the sensation he knew was now overtaking her senses—of having her life force drawn. just a drop. aurelius was tapping into his necromantic system, turning life to death to necrotic damage. just a drop. it should be nothing compared to how he had drained her that day just three months ago. just a drop. it was more than what remus had had left. "move," he commanded as he stepped forward to send a bolt of atrophy her way, aiming right at her chest where her heart would be.

[secondswords]

the truest answer to virgil’s question isn’t one she’d particularly like to impart upon him. to reveal that the only reason she knows how to move like this is because she spent years in someone else’s shadow, that she taught herself out of spite, would not be very becoming. but pieces of the truth, that could be acceptable. “well,” romilly begins, taking a few steps back as virgil enters the room, “i’m short; most opponents will have longer strides and farther reach than me. i had to learn how to compensate for that.”

he pulls his rapier and she recognizes the unspoken invitation immediately. “i taught myself. the second has limited resources on training methods that aren't the traditional cohort style, but i worked with what i had.” she’d had a flimsy booklet on alternative offense methodology, some half-willing sparring partners pulled from her squadron, and an abundance of rancor.

as virgil spins his weapon, romilly momentarily tightens her grip on her own, but not out of fright - this was reflex, the contraction and release to test her muscles before a fight. this was something she was good at, something she knew. something to make her feel like she was standing on solid ground, if only for a few minutes. she takes a quick glance around the room to make sure her brother wasn't lurking before proceeding, and hopes virgil doesn't take note of it.

“to the first touch? clavicle to sacrum?” she questions, the parameters flowing from her tongue as familiar as her own name. “or -" would he be keen for something a little less polished? "to the floor?”

               𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄   𝐖𝐀𝐒   𝐀   𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘   𝐅𝐎𝐑   𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓   𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒   𝐈𝐍   𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐂𝐎𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐓.   They   were   trained   to   jolt   awake   at   the   sound   of   the   drill   master’s   footsteps   and   line   up   before   dominicus   rose   in   the   courtyards.   Routine   keeps   Virgil   grounded   in   untrodden   territory,   and   now   he   springs   awake   at   any   little   draft   that   wuthers   through   the   castle’s   wide   halls.   For   the   past   few   days,   he’s   gotten   dressed   in   the   dark   and   tiptoed   out   of   the   room,   slipping   out   to   run   practice   drills   or   ( most   often )   to   run   barefoot   along   the   shoreline   until   breakfast.   When   he’s   leaving   on   one   of   these   outings   the   sound   of   footsteps   from   the   pool   room   turns   him   around.   Virgil   instantly   recognizes   that   order   of   movement—   he   envisions   a   sword   thrust,   two   steps   back,   a   swing,   three   steps   forward,   block.   It   must   be   a   cavalier. 

Romilly   nearly   drops   her   rapier   when   she   sees   him.   Virgil   raises   a   brow   but   offers   a   smile.   From   their   days   in   the   castle,   he   gained   the   sense   that   the   Second   Cavalier   seemed   always   ready   to   parry   a   sword   thrust   in   the   dark.   She   was   on   perpetual   guard,   glancing   at   corners   and   tense   like   she   expected   a   hand   to   seize   her   from   behind.   Virgil   understands   it,   in   a   sense,   the   First   House   is   undoubtedly   a   house   of   secrets.   But   her   guardedness   has   the   tincture   of   paranoia.   He   wonders   what   she’s   seen. 

       ❛❛ Where   did   you   receive   your   training ? ❜❜   Virgil   questions   instead,   plowing   through   social   obstructions   to   gain   what   he   really   seeks:   a   good   fight.   He   speaks   as   he   unsheathes   his   rapier,   tossing   the   scabbard   to   the   side,   and   slowly   approaches.   It's   a   wordless   invitation   to   a   duel. 

       ❛❛ I’ve   seen   many   swordsmen   from   the   Second   House,   but   your   footwork   is   faster. ❜❜   Desperate   is   the   right   word.   Virgil   keeps   it   to   himself   and   swings   his   blade   in   a   steady   rotation   to   stretch   his   wrist.   ❛❛ Is   that   a   lesson   imparted   by   your   teacher ? ❜❜

[secondswords]

to explain how she came to be in the position she found herself in was difficult - namely due to the gaping hole in her memory and seeming omnipotence of her brother's spirit - but she'd finally started to find an explanation that didn't feel entirely wrong. "after remus was killed, i was promoted.” her voice trembles when she speaks his name aloud - she hasn’t yet figured out how to say it without feeling a wave of emotions. grief, anger, guilt. fear, that he might appear over althaea’s shoulder. “i mean- i was cavalier secondary, so..." the sentence trails off. so here we are. so it couldn't have gone any other way. she feels the necromancer's gaze trail over her face and averts her own eyes so that they wouldn't meet. although she shied away out of habit, she doesn't mind the scrutiny. althaea is gentle enough that romilly feels like a wounded bird in their palm - broken, yes, but in the hands of someone who would handle her with care, and not in the patronizing way she was used to back home.

mention of lyctorhood as a necromancer's greatest aspiration brings an unwelcome image of aurelius to her mind and romilly resists the urge to blink it away. instead, she shifts her focus back to althaea's words, to cohort rumors of mysterious celestial celebrities. “no, i didn’t. although, i think i heard the same story about augustine the first - i remember something about… cigarettes.”

she shrugs then, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “but you’re right, it’s probably just a rumor. wouldn’t be the first time i’ve heard soldiers exaggerating for the sake of a better story.” it’s nice, to swap cohort tales, to have a taste of something familiar in this foreign landscape. but only for a moment - romilly can’t help but return to what lay before them. “have you gotten to explore much yet?” now, finally, she meets althaea’s gaze. “aside from the shoreline, i mean.”

It takes a moment. Althaea is familiar with the spitting image of her— and attempting to find the line where Romilly begins and Remus ends is difficult. The sharp lines of her haircut, the slope of her nose... it feels like a ghost. “Romily—” Althaea's voice is soft, gentle. The hushed tone one uses at a funeral. “I wasn't aware you'd... become a cavalier.” The words fit weird in their mouth. But maybe that's because the whole situation feels weird. They are many things but a social creature is not one of them. Words have never fit right, never sat correctly on their tongue. War, they can do war. She understands the art of losing and grief in the field. But when the funeral ends and the body is gone, when the only thing that remains is a human with an incomprehensible amount of anguish and heartbreak— that is where Althaea fails.

“The Lyctor's are the Hands of the Emperor, the greatest thing a necromancer could ever aspire to be— and I'm going to cut myself off before I ramble too much...” Althaea's lips pause, a soft furrow as they cut themselves off. Romilly doesn't need more expectation, another weight on her shoulders. Fitting into the shoes of Remus must already be challenge enough, especially when his body is barely cold, not even decayed to bones yet. “It was so long ago... perhaps there was much less mystery back then. But I suppose in itself, that is another mystery. Did you ever met any of the Lyctor's— when you were deployed? I heard that someone once saw Augustine the First a few years back but that might have just been bored soldiers spreading rumours.”

[secondswords]

the second aurelius entered romilly's line of sight, her breath caught. it wasn't her brother's eyes boring into her after all, but this was arguably worse. as her footing returned to her, steady after a moment, she sheathed her rapier and assumed the position of attention - feet close together, chin up, shoulder blades back. it was easier to talk to him this way, to pretend he was just a superior officer - not the person she'd sworn to protect with her life, not the only other person who could have known remus with the same intimacy she did, or perhaps even better.

her face burned with shame as she took in his words, doing her best not to flinch as they hit her ears. "i'm sorry." she resisted the urge to call him 'sir;' it felt too formal for what they were now. "i've been trying to... provide you with the... experience you're used to." she chose her words carefully, unsure how exactly he'd react to them. "but if my performance has been unsatisfactory to you, then i apologize."

something in her aimed to please him, to give him what he wanted and gain his approval. i'll step down, she longed to say, remus can have this damn position back, i don't want it. but of course, that was impossible, and there was little she could do to please aurelius in that regard. all she could truly offer him was a simple statement, "i'll do better. i'll be - different."

but could she be? aurelius didn't know about what she saw, who visited her in her sleep or crept into her vision during the waking hours. the footwork she could change, but the paranoia, she feared, may be here to stay.

on the field, a warm bed for the night hadn't always been an option. so, being used to harder and colder comforts, it's no surprise that aurelius had sought some solace among the flora in the terrace on a garden bench. he hadn't meant to spend the night alone and out of their designated quarters but he could not stand more awkward silences between himself and romilly. or worse, awkward conversations.

when at last sleep had done it's best, aurelius awoke still tired. he started making his way back to his room through the dimness of the intermedial hour. not fully night. not yet day. being in between everything was a sentiment that haunted him frequently these days. a circumstance that left him at an impasse—what to do about his cavalier? the oath had been made and therefore irrefutable even if he wanted a new cavalier. no, he didn't want a new cavalier. he wanted his old one back.

but of course god has a terrible sense of humour when it came to this.

the sounds of someone's footwork on the tiled floors of the pool room caught his attention. the steps so familiar to his ear that he could close his eyes and see remus maneuvering beside him. except, these footsteps were faster and lighter and just off-beat enough to be jarring to his ears. there was skill there, aurelius was sure of it. he watched his cavalier from beneath the arch of the doorway. silent. observant. her drills said more to him than she ever did. and of course, she stumbled the moment she saw him.

"why don't you ever move like that when we train?" his words were uncomplicated yet demanding. "you should stop being-" your brother. "-so...nervous all the time."

[secondswords]

of all the current occupants of canaan house to take her by surprise, bedivere cinquefoil was perhaps one of the most relief-inducing. the cavalier hadn't yet appeared to have a truly malicious bone in his body, and his history seemed to back this up. from what romilly knew of him, he was an honorable military man from a family of cavalier powerhouses, and so she did not hesitate to reply, "of course." she dipped her head briefly and backed up a few steps to allow him farther into the room. "company would be... nice."

company was not something she felt readily prepared for these days, but she supposed that would need to change. canaan house, with all its shared spaces and confusing corridors, would likely necessitate some collaboration. romilly didn't know if aurelius had been making any beneficial connections on behalf of the second, but she figured she'd need to pull her own weight for her house anyhow. although, would it truly be for her house, or was this for her? did she not crave companionship now that her closest confidante was no longer among the living? "this place isn't what i expected," she began, her sad little attempt at an olive branch, "although... i don't really know what i was expecting, exactly."

she rolled the grip of her rapier in her fist, glancing down at the thin line of her reflection in the blade. "it's got a training room, at least, so i can't complain."

bedivere doesn't quite know what he's doing in this place, if he's being perfectly honest-- not in the way of not knowing the purpose of him being on this planet. he knows the purpose of that like he knows his own bones, like he knows the feeling of a rapier in his hands.

but there's some kind of dislocation running through the bwhole of him, a dislocation that's more mental than physical. he'd always had a sense of how to adjust to a new planet, how to relearn the feel of gravity and dirt under his feet. but to be set on a planet, with little guidance and purpose relegated primarily to his necromancer? that was something he didn't know the shape of, that was something he couldn't figure out his place in the midst of.

and so: the training room, the comforting hum of physical activity. routine would have to come as a balm, a normalcy that he could only pray for. he supposes he should have expected others to be in this room: that's the routine of a soldier after all. he's got her name, got her profile scrawled ion some corner of his mind (one did not belong to a bureaucratic powerhouse, a family holding a long line of cavaliers, if one did not keep the details intact.)

"no, you were preoccupied," he responds, resting his weight upon the door frame. "do you mind if i join you?"

[secondswords]

who: open when: a few days after arrival where: the pool room

it's early, too early for her to be awake, and yet, here she is. sleep did not come easy to her, but regardless, she enjoyed the early morning hours. the air is colder, crisper at this hour, and canaan house is even more still than it usually seems. after quietly slipping out of the second's quarters, rapier and daggers in tow, romilly made her way to the pool room. she'd visited this room once or twice now, but had not yet had the space to herself.

the training space brought her an odd sense of comfort. being a part of the cohort was never what she dreamed of, but it was all she knew, and running through some of her rapier drills brought familiarity to an unfamiliar place. the motions were performed by rote, purely muscle memory - the passing lunge, the squaring of her shoulders with her hips, the swipe of the blade against the air. it allowed her to clear her head, to ignore what she swore was her brother's lifeless gaze against her back.

when she finally did turn to repeat the drill on the opposite side, she stumbled, caught off-guard by a visitor that was notably not an undead apparition. "oh!" romilly couldn't help but gasp, her shoulders tensing as she regained her footing. she nearly let the rapier slip from her grasp. "i'm sorry - i didn't hear you come in."

[secondswords]

romilly had thought that, if she stepped outside, she might have a moment alone. of course, she rarely was alone these days. even when she had no living company, she could feel her brother's ghastly presence, could sense him across the room, waiting for her to raise her gaze to him.

the ceremony that had taken place earlier certainly didn't help calm her nerves. as she had risen to answer teacher's call, to retrieve her key ring, there he had been. he had stood over teacher's shoulder, watching romilly as her shaking hands clutched the ring. don't judge me for this fear, she wanted to shout at him, this opportunity should be yours. instead, she clenched her jaw and hurried back to her seat.

settling in was something she would save for later - even looking at the cavalier cot made her feel nauseous - so she had mumbled a curt "excuse me," to her necromancer and beelined for some fresh air. and now, here she was, met with the presence of another necromancer. althaea sextus, her brother's voice sounded in her head, a doctor. someone he might have known. at althaea's words, romilly took a breath and shrugged. "it's - different, yeah. the second house has... a bit more sand." a sad attempt at a joke, to seem a little less frightened than she is. "i don't know much about the lyctors, but if this was their home, then i'd guess so. to live surrounded by so much mystery seems... difficult to manage." and yet, that's the circumstance romilly found herself in, the circumstance they all were in, as of today.

“All of the water on the Sixth House is brought from cargo ships,” Althaea's voice cuts through the lapping of the waves, where the tide draws to the rocks. Unprompted, only dragged from their throat as they feel the presence of another. A terrible us of their time, staring into the abyss, and not attempting to unravel the strangeness of Canaan House. S shells of sea urchin's lingering along the shorelines, a blue crab scampering along and into the salty depths— all merely existing on this uninhabited planet. Unaware of what surrounded them. The ocean stretches beyond the horizon, vanishing into the cerulean of the sky, mixing into one endless stain of blue. Only interrupted by the grey divots of buildings that have fallen to even greater rot then Canaan House. How open... How refreshing. The entirety of the Sixth lived buried underground, sealed away to save them from the raging heat of Dominicus, starving them of any light. And of the sea. “I've read about it but seeing it... it's very different. A planet, almost entirely covered in water. And the ruins— do you think the previous Lyctor's explored them?”

[secondswords]

two is for discipline, heedless of trial.

captain romilly dyad, cavalier primary of the second house. dependent muse blog for dominicusrpg. penned by kendall (25, she/her, est).

note: the most thorough information on romilly lives here, but the essentials are listed below.

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─ BASICS

full name: romilly dyad nickname(s): rom or romy, though not many people call her by these names. dyad is a popular choice among cohort members. gender: cis woman pronouns: she/her age: twenty-six sexuality: lesbian

─ BACKGROUND

mother: silvia dyad father: nolan dyad siblings: remus dyad (deceased) birthplace: trentham, the second house occupation: cohort officer and cavalier primary cohort rank: captain

─ PHYSIQUE

face claim: cailee spaeny eye color: blue hair color: brown hair style: cut short, near her the nape of her neck, typically worn with part or all of it pulled back. height: 5’3” marks / scars: a birthmark, roughly quarter-sized, sits high on her right thigh, near her hipbone. her cheeks and the bridge of her nose sport a subtle spattering of freckles.

─ PSYCHOLOGY

positive traits: polite, observant, intelligent neutral traits: irresolute, reserved, cautious negative traits: anxious, avoidant, easily frightened

[secondswords]

[secondswords]

grieving cain by june hart

[secondswords]

"And Cain says, “When you split me and my brother in the womb, you did not divide us evenly. He got kindness, and I got longing. He got complacence, and I got ambition. I want to kill him sometimes. I think sometimes he wants to die.”

- Nathaniel Orion, "Hevel"

[secondswords]

CAILEE SPAENY Behind the scenes on the set of Alien: Romulus via pedroluque on Instagram Stories