come_sailaway | it's a war in there [March OTA, including memshare]

Entry tags:

it's a war in there [March OTA, including memshare]

Who: Cassandra de Rolo & those visiting her memories / OTA
When: March
Where: Around the Serena Eterna; also Whitestone, at various points in the past
What: Things are beginning to crack
Warnings: Game-typical angst; in memshares, murder, torture, vampirism, mindfuckery both magical and mundane, and potentially noncon/dubcon; other warnings to be added in reply headers as needed

A. you're just like them, you're unprepared

Cassandra's noticed the cracks, of course. Before she brushes against one, they seem alarming and inexplicable; are they a trick, a trap, a sign that this whole little artificial plane is starting to come apart?

(The thought she barely lets herself contemplate: a way out?)

After her first few encounters with them, the nature of them seems more apparent -- although there's no guarantee they aren't also any of her previous thoughts. The first time her own memories double on her, with faces she knows from here appearing in them, she locks herself in her cabin's bathroom and curls up on the floor of the shower, arms wrapped around her knees, struggling not to begin screaming for fear that she might never stop.

[This prompt is for interacting with Cassandra in the present setting! Feel free to run into her anywhere on board, either before or after memshares begin, or PM/ping me on discord to discuss a more specific prompt.]

-----

B. cause you don't know the terrain

Several cracks about the ship, as it turns out, lead to a world called Exandria and a little city-state called Whitestone. Those who tumble into them will encounter a younger Cassandra at some point in her past.

[Specific pre-discussed prompts are below! If you would like a different one, see the plotting post here or PM/ping me to discuss.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Yes, Cassandra?" says Delilah, at the same moment as Max's gasp; perhaps that's why no one seems to hear it. Sylas only smiles, and unfastens another button.

"I," says Cassandra, and draws herself up a little, and continues in a carefully calm tone. "I wanted to say good night, and to ask if you'd like me to accompany you into town tomorrow." That last to Delilah directly, rather than to both of them.

"Oh," Delilah muses, "possibly. Sylas, what do you think? Will you be bored here all on your own if the two of us go out?"

He chuckles. "Oh, I suspect I'll find some way to amuse myself." Another button, and the demure gray dress slips off the serving girl's shoulder, its folds eclipsing the sun symbol.

Max's stomach twists at his words coupled with the falling of that girl's dress from her shoulder. He doesn't need to guess what that means. He can't do this. He can't just stand here. He's mentally pleading with Cassandra to please, please stop this. If she doesn't, he's going to speak up. He has to.

Cassandra is pale, paler; even her lips are almost colorless. "Of course," she says, and her tone is quite calm. "I'll say good night, then."

Delilah's smile goes sweeter still, and she pats the chair beside her. "Why don't you come sit down for a moment, dear girl? And have a glass of wine with me before bed?"

Already stepping back toward the threshold, Cassandra goes still and tense. Sylas smiles as well, and runs a finger lightly over the serving girl's bare shoulder, up the side of her neck.

Max is quivering in place, hands balled into fists at his sides. His teeth grind against each other so hard he can hear them squeaking. That's it. Screw it!

"Leave them alone!" He cries out from his hidden corner.

Before the last word is out of his mouth, all eyes in the room are on him. (Except those of the serving girl; she's still gazing blankly into the middle distance, still placidly almost-smiling.)

Sylas's eyes flash, but Delilah is faster; she shouts a handful of syllables in no language anyone else in the room can understand, fingers flickering, and the Hold spell closes down on Max.

He doesn't really know what he expected, but not a magic attack. He really hadn't thought that far ahead. He grunts in startled shock when he's suddenly immobilized. Eyes wide, he tries to struggle, but his muscles won't listen. Nothing works. Fuck!

There's another moment of shocked silence, and both of the Briarwoods study him with piercing intensity. Cassandra's staring at him too, but far more blankly.

"You don't look at all familiar," says Delilah, at length. "Where did you come from? You can speak."

The paralysis slacks off from his jaw and tongue, freeing them.

Max is being very careful not to look at Cassandra right now, not to give away that he knows her. That could be very bad for her.

It's so strange to suddenly be able to move his jaw again. Now that he can speak, he's afraid to. What can he even say?

"I don't know. I don't know where I am."

"You don't know where you are," repeats Sylas, in the tones of one examining a wholly new and intriguing idea. "And yet you felt compelled to speak out in defense of ... whom, exactly?"

He's smiling again now, and he steps away to circle around the still-dazed serving girl and approach the newcomer to the scene.

"I'm sorry; we seem to have skipped introductions. You are?"

Max's cheeks turn pink with embarrassment because he doesn't know that poor servant's name either. But does that really matter? He couldn't just stand there and watch no matter what.

"My name is Max," he answers, specifically excluding the last name as long as he can get away with it. Just in case. "I just couldn't watch you do that to that girl. Why is she like that? Did you drug her?"

"Drug her?" Sylas's affront is so theatrical as to be comedic. "What a sordid thing to suggest. Dear girl, tell the man the truth, have you been drugged?"

The serving girl's gaze wanders in Max's direction. "No, sir," she says clearly, obediently, "I haven't been drugged. I'm only here to serve, sir."

"You, on the other hand," Delilah muses, "I wonder if you haven't been drugged or something similar yourself, if you don't know where you are or where you came from."

So she hasn't been drugged, but she's been something. Hypnotized? Gotta be.

"Me? No. I haven't been drugged. I just... can't explain how I got here..." Not technically a lie. Just not the entire truth, either. "I don't even know who you are."

She narrows her eyes at him, still smiling. "Cassandra," she says without looking away, "why don't you tell the boy where he is and who we are?"

Cassandra's chin comes up, though her face is still pale. "You're in Castle Whitestone," she says steadily, "in the city of the same name. These are the rulers here, Lord Sylas Briarwood, Lady Delilah Briarwood."

A beat.

"And Adela, a recent addition to the household staff."

They're... in her home? The shock in Max's eyes flashes across too fast for him to even try to hide it. But isn't she supposed to be the one in charge? No. No... she'd hinted at a time when... oh. This is so much worse than he realized.

He can't think of anything intelligent to say, so what comes out is just the unadulterated truth, "I had no idea."

Delilah's smile brightens and warms. "Well, no wonder you were dismayed, dear boy. But I'm sure you can see now that everything's ... quite all right."

She gazes into his eyes and a great force of will presses against his, soft and heavy like a weighted blanket, urging him to believe it: everything clearly is all right, she's beautiful and wise and all things admirable, he should trust her.

The push of the spell happens before Max even has a chance to be wary of her eye contact. Suddenly, all the anxiety leaves him at once. He's wrapped in warm reassurance as he looks into her perfect face. Nothing to worry about at all. What was he so afraid of? He's safe here with her.

"Yes..." he says dreamily. "It's all right."

Cassandra's face is perfectly impassive now, hands folded in a perfect ladylike clasp, outwardly serene, with no sign of how tight her grip is growing.

Delilah smiles fondly at Max. "Why don't you tell me the rest of it now, pretty thing? How you came here, and why?"

That fond smile makes him feel warm and fuzzy and eager to answer. "I came here through a memory crack. I didn't mean to. It just happened. It's been happening a lot on the ship."

Her brows rise. "A memory crack? And a ship, you say?"

"Well, this sounds like a terribly intriguing story." Sylas has stopped stroking the serving girl's shoulder, and casts a speculative look at Max and then at his wife.

"It's a cruise ship," he supplies helpfully. He can feel Sylas eyeing him, and his temperature rises involuntarily.

"I got pulled onto it by magic, I think."

Delilah taps her fingers on the arm of her chair. "And how did you come from there to here? The closest seaport is many days' travel away, and that's not even touching on how you got into our chambers."

Her glance goes back to Sylas in turn, and then hovers consideringly on Cassandra.

"I don't know?" His brow furrows with the effort of trying to conceptualize this. "I just... I went through the crack. I came out here. That's all. I didn't mean to."

Cassandra lets her brows rise the smallest amount, with an equally tiny headshake: don't ask me, how would I know?

"There, there," Delilah soothes. "Don't fret about it, lovely boy. You're here now, and that's all that matters." She glances up at Sylas again, smiling. "Shall we?"

"A change of menu?" he says, smiling back at her. "I think we might. Why don't you set down that tray, dear girl?" This to Adela, who blinks and hastens to obey. "I don't think we'll be needing your assistance any longer tonight after all. Fix your dress and go back to your room, and you won't need to remember any of this in the morning."

"... Yes, my lord," she says in the same vaguely pleased tone. "Thank you, my lord." And she starts for the door, nearly walking right into Cassandra until she steps out of the way.

Max has been in this position too many times to not understand the implications left unsaid here. But, he doesn't object to it either. He's safe in his lady's hands. It's been a really long time since he's been 'on the menu' at all. Nostalgia washes over him just from hearing that said, and with it comes a quickly rising flush in his neck creeping up to his cheeks.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, some part of him is also grateful that he's still managed to accomplish what he spoke up for. That servant girl is safe for the night.)

The servant girl is indeed safe for the night, provided she doesn't run afoul of any of the Briarwoods' people in the mood for mischief. But she's safe from this particular thing.

Cassandra, however, has not been given leave to go. She hesitates awkwardly in the entry, almost visibly weighing her options -- and chooses to speak. "I would be happy to join you for a glass of wine, but I'm a little tired; would it be all right if I went to bed as well?"

(She doesn't look at Max. Poor doomed fool has gotten himself into this mess; there's nothing she can do for him, and as he's not one of her people, there's nothing better she owes him.)

Delilah and Sylas exchange glances, and he opens his palm in a magnanimous gesture, and she smiles. "Certainly, sweet girl. Sleep well. We'll see you in the morning."

As she says it, she holds out a hand to Max to bid him approach, and Sylas's hands settle onto his shoulders from behind.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject