Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/11/2016
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On any other day, these smells coming from the little dwelling atop a roof might lure urchins closer - the keeper of this place can be coaxed into sharing, sometimes, and word's been passed around to that effect among the urchin gangs. Not today. Not when three armed and wary men stand outside, pacing over that rooftop space, and a full unkindness of ravens, feathers gleaming in shades from ivory to midnight, perches on top.
Eglantine stands at the door, and waits. They wear a simple grey coat, unassuming, ordinary. Storm-dark eyes glance around restlessly.
It's a dangerous guest they've sent for, here. But one who needs this, and one who may yet hold things of incalculable value.
The price for his entry they included in the invitation: that he must leave all of his weapons at the door.
Eglantine is capable of offering him generosity... but not trust.
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/12/2016
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He comes like a midnight sunset, if the Sun-beneath-the-Sea was setting into the fathomless depths forever, if the last flashes of its light were facing death by dark water. Garbed in strange-shore Parabolan attire stained with impossible colours and the night, a wide-brimmed hat obscuring his features with its shade, he glides along the roofs like a heat mirage: silent, serene and all but impossible to focus on.
The surprise is spoiled when one of the white ravens spots him when he's still forty paces away and raises an alarm.
The intruder freezes for a second, then covers the remaining distance with several quick leaps that evoke the image of a feline predator. Such a display of speed from a figure of this size would usually be unexpected, but Eglantine has witnessed it before: in the Basalt Gallery, when everything changed. He reaches into the pocket - this gesture makes the armed men surrounding him even more tense, and this reaction bring a hint of a smile to his lips - and slowly brings out Eglantine's letter of invitation.
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Passionario: Profile, Story, Ending
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/14/2016
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Passionario answers Eglantine's inviting smile with his own. The fabled smile of a Scarlet Saint which simultaneously promises salvation and tempts with damnation, a vision of lips that shatters hearts, binds minds and unmakes sacred vows.
Yet as he follows them inside, the smile does not rise to his eyes, which dart back and forth, checking everything for threats both covert and overt. Concealed weapons, escape routes, false panels, ambushes and traps, objects that are out of place and ones that fit in too perfectly.
Apparently satisfied with the results of his observation, Passionario approaches the offered place. He does his best to keep a neutral expression at the sight of enticing food, but a slight twitch of the left leg betrays him.
"Will your generosity extend to an additional plate for my companion?" He gestures to the empty air next to him.
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/14/2016
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"A place stands empty," Eglantine answers, with perfect dignity. They pull back the chair sitting before the bare plate, leaving it out, as though for some other to be seated there. They do not ask to be introduced to the companion, for all it might be deemed their right as a host whose guest would bring another guest. Some things are better not known, they feel.
Eglantine takes a seat at the place setting where only bread and water wait. If the array of dishes before Passionario tempt them, they give no sign.
"Please. Eat." They speak softly, still. "All else can wait. The guest who is hungry must have food. The guest who is thirsty must have drink. And you are both, I think."
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/12/2016
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It is a graceful and deadly thing that has come here, a killer, a name of fear upon so many lips in his time. Yet Eglantine smiles, and it is not with fear that they speak, only courtesy.
"Passionario. I wondered if you would accept."
The men watching are still on high alert, hands lingering near weapons. The ravens are... unreadable, and simply regard Passionario with bright eyes, like a silent jury waiting atop the building.
"Do but lay your weapons aside, and you are welcome." Eglantine's voice is soft, pitched to carry no further than those here on the rooftop. "Food and drink await you, guest of my home." Their words are very formal, and their manner that of some feudal lord extending hospitality according to ancient traditions.
And if the home seems meagre, what of it? What of it, if it is only a lesser example of the homes Eglantine has found throughout the city? The smells from within are of foods whose quality far outstrip the shabby exterior of this place. And, too, it is but a few swift movements away from access to the Flit, should its owner feel the need to flee.
Caution, always caution, when one hosts a man like this.
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/12/2016
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The guest nods his assent and kneels to place something at his feet: his signature knives, the ones with blades touched by the Wax-Wind. The last time Eglantine saw these weapons, they were employed to maim and dismember Ezekiel's host body. Something about the Passionario's manner suggests that they have seen plenty of use since then.
Still kneeling, he announces: "I swear that I will bring no weapon into this house, and that no one who may follow me will bring a weapon with them." The words have a ritual feeling to them, yet something about the way Passionario pronounces 'no weapon' and 'no one' gives off a feeling that he's enjoying some private joke - yet at whose expense?
As Passionario rises to his feet, he lifts the hat from his head, revealing his new eyes. They are stormy-dark, like Eglantine's, but with traces of lilac on the edges. He smiles wryly and answers their unspoken question:
"Yes, I can see again. And I have to admit," - he looks straight into Eglantine's eyes, smiling broadly as he speaks - "I like what I see here."
edited by Passionario on 8/12/2016
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/12/2016
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Of course. He has not seen their face before. Heard descriptions, perhaps, but Eglantine's travel into the Neath began after irrigo took his eyes. But Eglantine has seen him... and what he was capable of, even without his sight. They hold onto that memory like a warning, even as they smile a little and incline their head.
"You are improved by having eyes, yourself," they murmur, a little dryly. The lack had been... unsettling. The presence... well. Passionario is still unsettling, but not in exactly the same way. It's written in his every fibre, though, in a way that defies description.
They step back a little before looking to their men. "Wait. Watch. Do not touch his knives." Still quiet, still calm, but with an expectation of obedience.
Then, Eglantine's attention returns to Passionario, offering him another of their assessing stares, followed by a smile that has melted hearts - and brought firmness to other things - across London. "Please, come in." They lead the way inside, to where the table waits.
Three place settings. One empty of food and drink. One with only bread and water. One with platters laid out in front of it, meat and wine and genuine surface vegetables. A roasted side of goat steams enticingly, carrying the scent of spices into the air. It is to this third place that Eglantine ushers Passionario.
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/22/2016
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"There are two things one needs to remember about the Great Game," - declares Passionario, as though starting a debate at a Society salon, - "Firstly, it is not actually a game: it is a neverending war, as hellish and bloody as any other. Everyone loses the Game eventually, and most involved in it die young. Second, there is very little that is great about it. Treachery, lies, theft and murder are as common as breath and water. Even those who play minor roles and mundane tasks are cogs in the machine that produces atrocities, and are thus complicit in them."
"So what are their lives worth, these villains who are living on borrowed time anyway? 'Nothing' - that was the answer of Alice the Cheesemonger." He frowns. "I think she may have been slightly before your time, but you probably have heard of her. Alice wanted to end the Game in a very direct way: by killing most, if not all, of the spies involved in London operations."
He makes a sweeping motion with his hands. "Evidently, since the Game is still going strong and Alice is... no longer with us, her plans have failed. But before we get into reasons for that, let's first look at the reasons why she embarked on that path in the first place."
"The life of the spy is a stressful one. One has to constantly worry about deception, betrayal and violence - and then there's the enemy side. It doesn't get easier over time, either - if anything, the burden of one's sins only compounds the pressure. The existence in the Neath presents its own unique challenges, from threat of soullessness to unnatural nightmares to monsters that lurk in the darkness. Combine these factors, and there's small wonder that so many London spies turn to alcohol, honey, laudanum or more exotic methods of getting a few hours' worth of sleep. And when even those inevitably fail, you get someone like Cheesemonger."
"Eventually, the Game in the Neath developed its own immune response to this madness. The Order of St. Joshua, whose members are Canons, Midnighters, violet priests of oblivion. Well versed in subtle and cunning arts of irrigo, they perform rites that lift the burden of sin by erasing the memory of it. The confessional seal is upheld by irrigo, for the secrets divulged within the Shrine of St. Joshua are swiftly forgotten by the confessor as well."
Every trace of pain and weakness gone from Passionario's expression, replaced with confidence and pride:
"As a Midnighter, I was considered to be one of the best in my profession. My eyeless face served as foolproof evidence of my experience and dedication to the craft. Combined with the favor of the Bazaar, it allowed me to enjoy the same privilege as our current Mayor: the ability to pick the cream of the cream as my clients. Head coordinators of Surface networks, top-level quadruple agents, even other Midnighters: all came to my shrine to receive the benediction of forgetfulness. Every night, I learned secrets that could unmake nations. Every morning, I rose with every trace of them lost to me. Infinite power flowed through my hands, yet remained forever out of my grasp..."
He smiles broadly, obviously enjoying this part:
"...Until our common acquaintance Elias Lowe gave it all back to me."
edited by Passionario on 8/22/2016
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/29/2016
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Passionario nods in assent with Eglantine's murmur. He does not offer a comment on their answer, yet the involuntary tightening of his jaw and the clenching of the left hand into a fist indicate that it has struck a nerve.
By the time the Eccles cakes are brought forth, his expression is once again a mask of serene worldly wisdom. "There have been many rumours about the subject, you know. Some said that I learned the secret of echolocation from the bats, or possibly from the Masters themselves. Others claimed that I was not truly blind, that the skin over my eyes was a clever Glass illusion, opaque from outside yet transparent from within. A few imaginitive souls claimed that I was a body double, and that the real Passionario was in hiding all along." His lips smile, the rest of him doesn't. "A clever idea, but not a wise one. Theft of faces is a touchy subject among the Masters, and the contingencies they have in place against it are not something that even I would risk - at least, not without a very good reason."
"The most common explanation, however, gave the credit for my ability to navigate the world to my informers. It also happens to be the correct one, although in a way that very few would guess."
He takes a deep breath. "The fateful event that took away my eyes and memories also happened to take away my solitude. I found myself sharing my newly sealed skull with a council of whispering voices." He smiles with greater sincerity this time. "Although probably not in the way that would be of interest to the Manager of Royal Beth, I'd say. I've studied some of his wards, the ones driven to insanity by the cacophony of screams and demands coming from inside their head, and I can safely state that my situation was entirely different." He grins mischeviously. "But then of course I'd say that, wouldn't I?"
"I've called them a council, but perhaps a better term would be an advisory board. They provided me with guidance, suggestions and advice, always with perfect politeness and courtesy. Naturally, I was highly disinclined to trust them, but after extensive tests and trials, I could find no fault with their information, whether in terms of honesty, accuracy or value." He makes an outward sweeping gesture with his right palm. "As someone with experience in intelligence gathering and spy network management, I can attest that this is an exceedingly rare combination."
"As weeks and months went by, I have become increasingly reliant on my internal advisors and their suggestions. When they said 'Lamia is looking in your direction, smile back', I smiled back. When they warned me 'don't sign this, there's an entrapping clause in the second paragraph from the bottom', the scoundrels who sought to take advantage my apparent impairment got a nasty surprise. And when they declared 'dodge to the right, now!'', following their advice saved me from an unplanned boat trip. I began to trust them." He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is as heavy as Jasper and Frank's footsteps. "And, as always, trust brought forth ruination."
"I was prepared for lies, you see. Thanks to years of experience and a few special gifts, I am particularly good at discerning falsehoods. Even ones made by disembodied voice." He turns his head to the side and stares pointedly at the empty space for several seconds before continuing. "The eventuality that I failed to account for was one when they would simply say nothing at all."
"One minute of silence. That was all it took. A minute of silence... and now we'll never have Paris."
edited by Passionario on 8/29/2016
edited by Passionario on 8/29/2016
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/29/2016
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Eglantine looks fascinated by these revelations, half-leaning against the table, too caught up to even remember to sit back down. They seem particularly caught by the explanation of his downfall, struck by how such a little thing could change so much. One minute of silence? That was all?
And yet... and yet they know what he means, a little. Being suddenly without advice and guidance one has grown used to can be frightening, leave one unsure of which path to take. No matter one's age, they suppose, one can always come to rely on a guide enough to be lost when that guide is gone.
They pour more wine for Passionario, watching him all the while from under lowered lashes, before they sit back down. He has another question to answer, and one to ask, still. The structured back-and-forth of it is its own rhythm, and one Eglantine has relaxed into, just a little. Which makes its ending a little surprising, though they are quick to rise again, as he does.
"How much I mind depends what weapons you bring, and which you are inclined to use, or not," they note, voice lilting with suggestive humour as they open the door for Passionario.
Their smile changes slightly at his question. They've heard it before, and answers that came with it. The scholar's answer might be the one they heard from an Ascetic Parliamentarian. The wit's answer might be a flippantly pragmatic one regarding walking or climbing.
Eglantine nods. "I remember. Someone always has to remember." They seem unusually solemn, giving this answer to him.
--
Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/22/2016
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Was there ever a lesson that Eglantine paid such close heed to, before? If there was, they can't think of it now. Whatever else he is, Passionario is, as he says, one of the best, and there is a kind of knowledge in his words that Eglantine could strive for years without attaining in other ways. Eglantine is rapt, and makes no attempt to hide it, leaning forward, eyes bright with interest.
This is a man who made just one mistake. Just one, in all that time. The scope of his successes is frightening enough, and the consequences of failure, even for the best, are chilling.
Eglantine's expression transforms into open shock for a moment at the revelation offered, and they stare wordlessly at Passionario. Secrets that could unmake nations. And he has all of them back.
They suspect that Passionario has been waiting a while to be able to deliver that news to someone who would appreciate its import; few things are as gratifying sometimes as a chance to really show off, in front of a suitable audience.
"Infinite power, you say. I'm minded to agree." They laugh shakily. "That is... astounding."
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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The Absurd Rogue
Posts: 1049
8/22/2016
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(( Now is the time for panic. Holy crap, Passionario, that's a twist and a half. ))
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"There is never another story. There is only one, and I try to tell it with every page. I fail, and I try again. There are no new stories; I have this one."
-S.N
RemainProfane#2532
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/22/2016
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"During our last face-to-face meeeting, Elias exposed me to a particularly twisted and tormented soul. He wanted to teach me a lesson, you see." He sighs. "In one way, it worked. In another, it backfired spectacularly. As a result of that experiment, I got my eyes back... and my memories. All of them."
"Names and operations. Codewords and safehouses. Alliances and betrayals. Bribes and seductions. All the plots, all the details that have ever been confessed to me - and the ones that I have confessed myself - became like an open book to me. In that one instant, I became the most dangerous man in the most dangerous Game."
He takes a deliberately slow sip, allowing Eglantine's imagination to paint a picture of the treasure troves of knowledge.
"A visionary person could have used this knowledge to grant the power of his choice dominion over Europe and beyond. An avaricious person could have, through rumourmongering and blackmail, become wealthy enough to rival the Masters of the Bazaar themselves. An ambitious one could use it to achieve unparalleled authority within London, becoming the Head of the Bazaar."
He delicately places the glass back on the table. A trickster's smile plays on his lips:
"Ah, but you see, I am none of these things. Not anymore. So I've put those secrets to a very different purpose."
He leans forward. "Over the last several weeks, I've carried out a systematic campaign of sabotage against the seven major intelligence networks operating in London, both personally and through dupes who believed they were following official orders from their superiors. Through judicious use of murder, arson, information leaks and brainwashing, I've unleashed a great deal of chaos within the Game... yet this is merely a prelude to what is to come."
"I've been careful enough to leave enough evidence of the truth: that these attacks could have only been carried out with the aid of a rogue Midnighter. Once everyone involved puts the pieces together and realizes that St. Joshua is just as false as Cerise or Erzulie, the pact of trust will be irrevocably broken." He grins impishly. "To speed the matters along, I've desecrated a number of shrines of my fellow Canons, plastering dirty secrets on their walls for all to see."
"You see, the flaw in the Cheesemonger's plan was her assumption that the Game is a reservoir of blood. She thought that if she could drain it all, then the Game would end. Unfortunately for her, there were pipes pumping fresh lifeblood from the Surface and into the reservoir - much faster than she could empty it. But this system of pipes has a weakness of its own - the pressure safety valves. I am, of course, speaking about Midnighters."
"Once the valves cease to serve their purpose, the pipes will burst from the pressure, splattering everything with blood. The withdrawal of confessional comforts, combined with the stress inflicted by my campaign of terror, will drive the operatives of the Great Game mad, one by one. Deprived of the irrigo blinders, they will see the Game as Alice did - and they will follow in her bloody footsteps."
He crosses his arms and leans back.
"I have sown the seeds of discord. May a thousand Cheesemongers bloom."
edited by Passionario on 8/22/2016
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/22/2016
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"Imagine that you're in your house alone, when all of a sudden, the lights go out all over London. Candles, oil-flares, gas-lamps - all flare out simultaneously. The false-stars above, the fungus-glimmer of the marches beyond, the glim-ships in the zee are swallowed by darkness. Even the symbols on the spires of the Bazaar gutter out like dying moths. The mirrors have shattered. The brass has gone cold. The rule of law and reason has fallen. Outside, there is only screaming and unspeakable sounds."
He slams down both palms on the table. "Whom do you save?"
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/22/2016
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The Liberation of Night. They've heard rumours before, but none paint so stark a picture as this. Names and faces flicker through their mind, but the first face that comes to Eglantine's thoughts is that of someone who would either be out of reach at zee, or able to escape, hopefully, into Parabola. They swallow, past a suddenly-dry throat.
"Whoever I can. Anyone I can help, however I can."
They look down, then look back to Passionario. "Since you called yourself the most dangerous man, this one probably won't surprise you." An almost-smile. "Under what circumstances would or will you strive to inflict harm upon me, and how can I avoid them?" Eglantine pauses. "And what do you truly want here?"
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/22/2016
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As Passionario considers Eglantine's questions and ponders the idea of inflicting harm upon them, his gaze visibly hardens. For a few extremely uncomfortable seconds, his visage is that of a merciless predator focused on his target.
Finally, his mask of civility reasserts itself. "Do what you do best. Stay bold. Stay exquisite. And above all, do not forget who I am." The corner of his mouth twists a little. "I consider being forgotten to be the direst of insults, and I take pains to engineer sufficiently painful reminders for those who engage in such rudeness."
A smile follows, no doubt to defuse the tension. "As for your second question, I have always been a man of many appetites. I've gone to far greater lengths to indulge them. While I know for certain that I will never be to fully satisfy them..." - he locks his eyes with Eglantine's - "...that does not mean that I will ever stop trying."
Seconds pass by. Finally, Passionario is the first to break the eye contact. He glances at the empty seat next to him, then back at Eglantine. "Apart from yours truly, what is your greatest fear?"
edited by Passionario on 8/22/2016
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/15/2016
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Matthew 25:35. In the Deep Archives, this verse was a false lead. No, worse than that - a trap made out of words and rigged with deadly light. This is different, Passionario reminds himself. The Archives were deep underground, while this is a place close to the sky. Eglantine is many things, yet they are not one of the Arbiters. However, a sliver of doubt remains at the back of his mind.
Taking care not to let his concerns become visible, Passionario carefully slices off two pieces of goat meat and places them on the bare plate. As he does, he looks again at the empty space and smiles. This time, there is nothing artificial or practiced in his smile or gaze - only sincere affection and endless grief. He has the look of a man who has accidentally discovered a painting or lithograph of his family that perished in a war or disaster years ago.
Several embarassing seconds later, Passionario returns his attention to his own food and drink. While he clearly does his best to comply with etiquette, there is a distinct urgency to his movements that, while not entirely undecorous, is still unsettling. He does not feast like a Summerset gourmand, sampling every morsel, nor does he gobble the food down like a Pentecost Ape. No, the manner of his consumption evokes the image of the woods being ravaged by wildfire, of a medieval city falling to spreading plague. An appetite that cannot be placated or reasoned with.
A minute later, the guest appears to recall where he is, and re-establishes eye contact with Eglantine:
"Thank you, Eglantine. That was masterfully done, and I'm not just talking about the food." He pauses. "Are you the one who arranged this, or are you just playing your part?"
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/19/2016
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A twitch of half-amused, half-cautious thoughtfulness, there. Either Eglantine's looks were specifically mentioned in whatever reports were given to Passionario... or he's contrived to get close enough to see them before now, since the restoration of his sight. They wouldn't rule either option out.
Beauty is a tool like any other, and they've used it enough that no doubt some have made note of its place among Eglantine's weapons. And Passionario... well, he wouldn't have lasted as long as he has without some facility for stealthy observation.
These thoughts flit through their mind, but they simply nod and smile graciously, accepting compliment and praise both, and giving their guest time to finish his food. (Somewhere in there is a flicker of ghoulish whimsy, that leads Eglantine to wonder if they could actually make this man explode by continuing to feed him past the capacity of a human stomach.)
"You are a man worth respecting," they note, evenly. They drink a little more water, before they speak again. "Which is why I will not obfuscate my point, here. You have a wealth of information, still, despite the changes in your circumstance. In matters of knowledge and learning, one looks to the best, does one not?" Eglantine leans forward a little. "What I want from you is that knowledge, that information." Brass-clawed fingers spread wide in a graceful gesture. "But I do not demand it, and should you refuse me, you will leave here as freely as you arrived. Unhindered. Unburdened by any notion of debt for so meagre a thing as a single meal." A dismissive gesture at the table. "Call that a gift, if you will."
They keep their expression courteously neutral. This is no time for winsome smiles and pleading eyes.
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/19/2016
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They look, for a moment, unguardedly startled, followed by relief, which is followed in turn by calculation. And then Eglantine inclines their head. "I thank you. Yes, we have a deal."
At last, their smile returns, bright and joyous and full of mischief, inviting all who see it to be in on the joke. "What, in your opinion, is the most currently useful of your knowledge? What would you ask, in my place?" The less-direct approach. Something to map unknown territory, and give hints of what ought to be looked for. Far better, they feel, than to fumble around in ignorance, wasting time and questions.
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/19/2016
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Passionario's pupils widen slightly as he watches Eglantine's lips react to the mention of Eli, and then again when they speak of love. They narrow back when the questions are asked. He expected Eglantine to go for the biggest prizes from the outset, but hearing the words out loud was very different from pure mental consideration.
"I've made a mistake on the job. The first one in thirteen years of service, and also the last one. The reasons for it have to do with my method of navigating through the world during my time of eyelessness, which is a question that deserves an answer of its own. Suffice to say, that particular method happened to fail me at a crucial decision point, leaving me as unprepared as a regular blind man. And I chose poorly."
As the guest speaks, his nostrils flare and his hand clench into fists. Muscles ripple beneath the irrigo-stained suit fabric. "I was outraged. First at the Masters, for throwing me out like a soiled rag after over a decade of hard toil. Later, at myself... for failing to realize that thirteen years are but an eyeblink to beings such as them."
The fire goes out of him as instaneously as it flared up, leaving only ashes and dejection in its wake. "Understanding came later, when I've assembled other pieces of the puzzle. Once I've seen the whole picture, I came to understand how kind the Masters have been and how dire my mistake was. Those years of service were not forgotten; they were likely the reason why I was shown such clemency."
His shoulders slump and his voice drops almost to a whisper. "Paris. That was the price of my misjudgment. The Masters coveted it, and now the odds are seven to one that it will slip out of their grasp. Because of my error, they will have to find another city to be the Sixth."
Passionario lets Eglantine ponder the implications of his words while he turns his attention to the cheese and prepares the answer to the second question.
edited by Passionario on 8/19/2016
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/19/2016
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Paris. It's always Paris. The City of Love - no wonder the Masters want it, with that reputation.
Yet Eglantine's reaction to that is but a flicker amid an overwhelming tide of other emotion, too strong even for them to remember to hide any of it. There's a deep and sudden empathy there, as of one who dislikes seeing another in pain, and guilt for being the one to cause it. Passionario's dejected posture is mirrored unconsciously as Eglantine lowers their gaze a moment.
It's a little piece of irony, perhaps - Eli's suffering at Passionario's hands was what moved Eglantine to set aside their grudge against him for his deeds, and now it is Passionario's suffering that moves them instead.
He did that, their warier instincts shriek. Remember what he chose to do to Eli. Remember the disappearances in black bags, the people you never found. You cannot afford to be weak with him.
It's fortunate that Passionario's attention has turned to the cheese and savouries, because Eglantine's inner conflict is insufficiently hidden, for the perceptive. It's written in their face, their posture, in the hand that almost, almost extended as though in an effort to comfort, only to be redirected to the glass of water. Then, though, composure returns, and they project only an air of courteous interest.
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/19/2016
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The old spymaster rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Usefulness is relative. A revolutionary would want weapons to employ against the Bazaar: passphrases, secret passages, neddy patrol schedules. Likewise, an agent of the Bazaar would want the opposite: dead drops and meeting places of dissident cells and Surface spy networks, identities of their ringleaders and potential turncoats. A zailor would ask for a treasure map; a writer for a description of the Taste. And then there's the time frame to consider. Someone concerned with survival in London in the upcoming weeks and months would benefit from knowing my newest plots regarding the Great Game and the most likely outcome thereof. On the other hand, somebody considering long-term investments could capitalize on knowing the reason for my falling out of Bazaar's grace."
He takes a sip from the wine glass. It's a very small sip, more of a gesture than an actual act of consumption, yet somehow the glass becomes empty. "As for your second question, if I was in your shoes, I'd ask for a way to heal the Correspondence brand marking your friend Eli." As he casually speaks the words, he pays close attention to Eglantine's face, looking for signs of emotional response. "However, I would advise against that, since I've already revealed the secret to the man himself. It's up to him now to act up on it."
He carefully places the empty glass on the table. "Let's start with the classics. What is Love?"
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/19/2016
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A familiar sensation descends on Passionario. For a moment, he feels as though he's once again a mere information broker, the person he used to be back on the Surface (no, forget the Surface). Before the Palace, before the Masters, before the Republic, before the dark water... before her.
He banishes the feeling with a conscious effort of will. Things have changed. He has changed. It was useless to pretend otherwise. There would be no extensive haggling over every tidbit of information today, no negotiation over its value to gain an edge. A simple rule would have to suffice instead. The knowledge was precious - but not as precious as time.
"I will share my information with you. And for every two questions that you ask of me, you will answer one of my own." He leans forward. "Do we have a deal, Eglantine?"
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/12/2016
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(ooc: no, this is a different thing.  )
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/15/2016
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They have been watching him, and sipping delicately from their glass of water. The hunger lies heavily upon him, they can see, but so do other things -- memory, and sorrow, and strength. (Always the strength, Eglantine reminds themself, and they cannot afford to forget just how deadly this man is.)
"This was my own doing," they say, steadily, holding his gaze. A man like Passionario will read truth or lies even in the face of an accomplished charmer of minds, they suspect. But their eyes are clear of deceit, and there are no twitches of lies in their face. "You are... not the first I have been acquainted with who walked that path." There, now, they glance aside, and something bitter and dark stirs, receding just as quickly. But though their smile is less bright, still it is honest enough when it returns. "It taught me something, at least, of what might be needed."
They rise smoothly, a graceful and practiced motion as elegant as rippling silk, and fetch another dish to lay before Passionario - heavily spiced pieces of baked mushroom, with fish scattered through it. With their own hands they pour his next glass of wine, before returning to their seat.
"I could philosophise on how we all play our parts, but that's not actually relevant just now. Suffice to say, no-one laid this on me, as task, or request, or command. Of my own will alone did I bring you here." A hint of pride. "And no favour asked of any to arrange it, no debts incurred that any might hold over my head."
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/18/2016
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Did Passionario's eye wink when Eglantine momentarily moved closer to place the new dish, or was it just a play of light and shadow? It is impossible to tell for certain.
"Remarkable," he says, keeping his attention focused on the host's face while his hands make themselves busy with the knife and fork, - "I had a feeling that you were much more than just a pretty face and an enchanting voice, yet you have dramatically surpassed my expectations." He lowers his gaze to his plate for a couple of seconds. "It doesn't happen often. Well played."
He lets that remark sink in while he turns his attention to the dish before him. Like a disorganized mass of rebels being routed and destroyed by the advance of hardened veterans, the mix of mushrooms and fish proves to be no match for the ex-Fist's appetite.
He takes the glass and sips delicately, mirroring Eglantine's own pose with uncanny accuracy. "You've done your research well and you've acted upon it wisely. I appreciate it, just as I appreciate the respect you've shown me so far." His eyes narrow, almost imperceptibly. "Which leads to the obvious question: what is it that you want from me?"
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/22/2016
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Eglantine's breath catches for a moment, and their muscles tense under that terrible stare. Slowly, slowly, they relax again, but their pulse is still racing. They sense that they've looked behind a curtain, somehow, and through a window onto things they shouldn't have seen. Still, it wouldn't be the first time they've done that.
They even manage to return Passionario's smile, though it becomes thoughtful, even speculative, at his words. The notion doesn't exactly trouble them, and it shows in the sense of lazy assurance they project. This is familiar ground, though seldom traversed alongside so perilous a companion. "One never knows until one tries," Eglantine murmurs lightly.
At his question, they think a moment. "...Becoming a thing without worth, without purpose, without a future."
A few more moments of thought. "How did you navigate the world without eyes? And... hmm." They rise, bringing a plate of Eccles cakes to Passionario - something of a dessert, in its way. "Would you meet again with me, and continue this game of questions even after this evening has ended?"
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
8/22/2016
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They'd known already what Eli had done - it had been their watch that Eli had taken to that meeting. And, for that matter, possibly a modification of their idea. Eglantine had thought upon Passionario's chiefest henchmen, and the word of their soullessness, and had theorised that placing a new soul within them might break them of their fearlessness, make them vulnerable, easier to wrest information from.
It was, of course, a grotesque perversion of everything the CVR stood for, and Eglantine had known what doing it would make of them... but necessity, it seemed, was the mother of twins - invention and damnation both.
They'd been privately glad that the need had not come. They'd never thought to use it on Passionario himself.
But, as he'd said, they'd played a minor role, and so they were complicit. It was something they simply had to accept.
Still, the scope of what Passionario is doing... that is frightening. Impressive, but frightening.
Eglantine nods slowly, their face composed again.
"I believe you are owed a question of me, now." Their voice is perfectly steady.
edited by Eglantine-Fox on 8/22/2016
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/31/2016
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Passionario returns the solemn nod, once again matching Eglantine's expression and pose with practiced fluency. He remains outwardly silent as he slowly places the hat back on his balding head and steps outside into the cooling London air.
The guards warily watch the man from a reasonable distance, keeping their weapons pointed at him. As he picks up his knives, he motions to the shack with one of the blades and says:
"They're still alive."
Somehow, this reassurance fails to disarm the tension.
edited by Passionario on 5/15/2018
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Eglantine-Fox
Posts: 872
9/1/2016
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The men on the roof are hard men, forged in shadows and bloodshed, but they are still capable of letting some things slip, and this is one: when one of them motions to the very top of the shack, the others look relieved. They've seen Eglantine up there. For one reason or another, these men are tied to their employer sufficiently deeply that Eglantine's death would be more than a simple inconvenience to them.
They keep well clear of Passionario, watching him go.
And there, on the very top of the shack, Eglantine now sits, playing a flute of bone with a breathy little sound to it. Their eerie tune, accompanied by the ravens, drifts through the air.
Could it haunt a man, that melody? Perhaps it will simply linger on in memory, for a little while at least.
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Eglantine Fox, the charming and androgynous Correspondent, teetering between hobbies of seduction and self-destruction.
Siobhan O'Malley, Irish patriot (or 'bl__dy Fenian' if you're impolite).
Isidore Day, an up-and-coming London gentleman. All allegations of wrongdoing are categorically denied.
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Passionario
Posts: 777
9/2/2016
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And with that, Passionario disappears over the roof's edge. Yet strangely enough, no one below recalls seeing him - even though there's more than one head turned up to hear the melody.
(( Aaaaand scene. Thank you, Eglantine, you were magnificent. ))
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Passionario
Posts: 777
8/29/2016
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Just as the final Eccles cake meets its demise, a church bell tolls mournfully in the distance.
As if on cue, Passionario rises to his feet. "If you are willing to continue this waltz of words, I will be glad to oblige you. Yet be warned: under different circumstances, the steps will be different as well. We will dance as equals, matching questions and answers one for one." He grins. "And I will not be unarmed."
He turns to the empty space, snaps his fingers, then heads towards the exit. As he's about to cross the threshold, he turns around and asks Eglantine with feigned nonchalance: "By the way... do you remember how we came to this place?"
Another test - and although there is no wrong answer, he will remember their words.
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