wake me up when September ends [OTA + closed prompts]

[not_the_last]

Who: Cassandra de Rolo, OTA + closed prompts
When: September
Where: Around the Serena Eterna
What: Flowers and their curious effects
Warnings: Game-typical angst; further content warnings in headers as they come up. The prompts below are occurring in no particular order over the course of the month.

1. summer has come and passed; the innocent can never last

Vivid purple-blue and yellow pansies nod at her from where they've twined up the banister along the stairwell, almost brushing her shoulder as she hurries by.

Later -- well, Cassandra isn't in large crowds very often these days, is she? But someone at the buffet on this particular morning may overhear the murmur you don't need more than one slice; someone in just the right part of the Promenade a little later may overhear there's a clear path to the stairwell if he comes this way; someone passing by Sundries in the next five minutes may overhear still need to talk to Valdis about the gun.

2. ring out the bells again, like we did when spring began

In a corner of the library there's a spreading cluster of the tiny white flowers of baby's breath, looking sweet and harmless.

On a comfortable chair not very far from that point is a pile of cloth that might, on closer study, resolve itself into a dark grey skirt, a white blouse, a blue and grey patterned waistcoat, and a leather belt with a bag attached on one side and a sheathed rapier on the other. The pile is oddly arranged, as though the person wearing the clothes had vanished from inside them while still sitting there; as though to support this image, a pair of sturdy brown boots is on the floor in front of the chair.

On top of the pile is a two-inch-tall Cassandra, bundled in in the stiff and voluminous folds of a dainty silk handkerchief, struggling to press buttons on a phone that is now bigger than she is.

(The screen currently reads ERIN ITS CA)

[Note: this prompt is not closed to Erin! Anyone is welcome to happen upon tiny Cass while she's trying to text.]

3. drenched in my pain again, becoming who we are [closed to Phil]

A patch of poppies has sprung up on the rooftop that's one of the Serena's highest points, where few can climb. With the number of passengers that can fly, that's less a guarantee than it might be, but Cassandra still seeks solitude up there every so often -- and today, that means she falls asleep there, with vivid red petals pooled around her dark head.

In the dream she's twelve again, lined up with her brothers and sisters in their finery, excited about the visiting strangers and the welcome feast that's about to begin.

4. seven years have gone so fast

Wildcard! If you want to talk to Cassandra at a point where she is not affected by flower nonsense, feel free. Message me here or on discord if you'd like an individual prompt.

Comments

[goodweather]

“Actually, ah—something in the air is being unkind to me,” he says at the very same time, standing up. “I think I’ll retire early. I’d hate to miss the dinner, but I’d hate to spoil it too.”

He has no appetite for the meat on the table.

He leaves first. Waits in the hall (the hall, the whisper of metal). After Cassandra is finally excused, he finds her. Stands there when their eyes lock. Says, “Lady Cassandra. There’s something wrong. It’s the Briarwoods, isn’t it? You feel it too, right?”

[not_the_last]

"Yes. I don't know what it is but something's wrong." She looks more alarmed than truly frightened, wide-eyed and tense like a high-strung colt. "What is it? Why doesn't anyone else feel it?"

[goodweather]

He plods closer. “I, I don’t—I don’t know. It’s Professor Anders too. I don’t feel well about him either.”

He feels awful saying it when they’ve been colleagues for years and he’s been under the de Rolo’s
employ for longer—why should they trust Phil over him? But…

“We should tell someone. The Lord and Lady? Captain Holbrook?”

[not_the_last]

"Captain Holbrook," she echoes, "maybe -- he's off duty, he's at the feast ... maybe Captain Addisleigh? She's on the night watch this month, but --"

She shakes her head, shudders all over, eyes squeezing shut. "He lets them in. Professor Anders. After Ludwig and I go to bed, he -- he lets in the soldiers --"

Her eyes spring open and she stares at him, alarm redoubled. "It happened. It happened already."

[goodweather]

"What?" His alarm matches hers, hand going to the hilt of his sword. "What do you mean?"

Already as in it's happening, right now, he let them in earlier than he should have it's too early, or this has all happened before, and she knows, how does she know, nobody knows when loops happen he's always supposed to be alone he is alone?

[not_the_last]

"It -- it happened before." The alarm in her face is shifting to a combination of horror and frustrated urgency, as she realizes she doesn't have any words for this that make sense. "Last night. But it was tonight. It's tonight again now. Ugh, no, that's not -- I remember it, it hasn't happened yet but I remember it --"

[goodweather]

"--Like it was yesterday. Yesterday is today, and there is no tomorrow, tomorrow."

No horror from him. Just dawning familiarity.

"I'm--you're--we're caught in a loop. We're unstuck in time. This has all happened before. I've done this before. But I've never..."

He pauses. Looks at her. "I've never had someone else get stuck too."

[not_the_last]

"If it keeps happening ..."

She swallows; her eyes are enormous, fixed on his. "Does that mean we can stop it? Before it happens this time? Can we change it?"

[goodweather]

(Stop what? Red behind his eyes, a hand over his mouth and a knife in his back--)
(Doors open and close when you're not looking. Doors open and close. Doors open--)

"We can do almost anything." His voice is so steady. "Eventually. We just have to figure out how."

[not_the_last]

Her face, her whole bearing, steadies in response to both the tone and the words.

"All right," she says, and then again, "all right. Where do we start?"

---

He lets them in, she said, barely understanding her own words. If Professor Anders is a necessary part of tonight's ruinous work, then perhaps they should start with him.

They wait in a shadowed alcove and watch. The clock strikes half past the hour; Ludwig emerges, heading for the main stairway to the children's rooms; not long after, Anders emerges, with the barely concealed stride of a busy man with work to do.

[goodweather]

He asks Cassandra to stay, to keep vigil from where she can't be seen. Phil slips out from their hiding place to silently trail behind Anders for a moment. Only for a moment.

"Professor," he calls out. "You look hurried. Where are you going?"

[not_the_last]

The older man turns, startled and -- oh, by now Phil knows well that flicker of irritation in his face, in the split second before he smooths it over.

"Why, to my chambers, Master Connors. Is something wrong?"

[goodweather]

“Yeah,” Phil says lowly, stepping closer. “Something’s wrong.”

He looks at him for a few pensive moments.

“You seem to be in an awful hurry for someone who’s going to retire for the night.”

[not_the_last]

The smallest hesitation, then Anders's eyes narrow in carefully measured suspicion.

"Weren't you going to retire for the night? That was quite some time ago, as I recall. What are you doing still here?"

[goodweather]

“I was restless. I couldn’t sleep, so I took to wandering. Call me paranoid, but before I was here I spent almost a year housed with dozens of dangerous people. Ask me about my eye sometime.” His hand hasn’t moved from the hilt of his sword.

“Where are you off to, Anders?”

[not_the_last]

Anders's eyes narrow (and those eyes are both perfectly intact tonight, aren't they? surely there's no reason for one to flicker with an angry red wound, one that won't be there for years?) and slide down toward Phil's hand on his sword, and back upward.

"I should never call you any such thing," he says smoothly. "Perhaps you would care to accompany me, and see for yourself? Would that lay your concerns to rest?"

[goodweather]

“… Sure,” he assents. (A hand over his mouth,)

“I’ll follow you then. If nothing’s really wrong, I’ll come back here and leave you be.” Back to Cassandra, he means.

[not_the_last]

"An excellent plan," Anders says, hearty and approving. "I'm sure we won't have any trouble. After all ... we're all friends here."

And his light casual gesture for Phil to accompany him turns into something else midway through, fingers crooking and wrist turning in a particular way, as he releases the spell.

[goodweather]

The spell passes over him. For a moment it settles like a veil, settling his suspicions like a warm thing—

—but he knows better. The visage of Anders burns a hole through the shroud and it goes up in a flash—

—of his sword, as it whips out from its scabbard in the same movement as Phil grabs for the front of Anders’ shirt with no regard for the holes his talons pierce.

[not_the_last]

For all his craft and cleverness, for all the countless ways he could react to this, for a split second the look on Anders's face is one of simple shock.

Followed almost immediately by fury, as he seizes Phil's wrist and little crackles of electricity spring up around his grip.

"I don't know what you think you know," he snarls, low and vicious, "but you will not stop me --"

cw allusion to suicide

[goodweather]

He cries out as lightning cracks through his arm and his chest (and the phantom feeling of water, of god wasn’t this supposed to be fast), but he’s sturdier than he looks; he stiffens, spasms, but neither his grip on Anders’ shirt or his sword has wavered.

“You,” he rasps, “you lying, backstabbing piece of—what did they say to you—?”

[not_the_last]

A vicious grin. "You're one to speak of backstabbing, Connors, look at you, drawing sword on a fellow liegeman -- what do you think would happen if I called for the guard right now?"

He pulls his own blade; only a dagger, but likely to be effective at this close range.

[goodweather]

"It's not my word you'll be fighting," he growls, eyes flicking to the dagger. (Good. He knows how to defend against that.)

His lungs fill like a bellows, and when he howls, one understands the nature of sound as a disturbance, a splitting, a percussion of the air: "TRAITOR!"

And lashes out with his borrowed blade, aiming straight for the stomach--for the large artery that he knows runs right across the top of the abdomen.

[not_the_last]

Two things happen very nearly simultaneously: the blade rips into Anders's moving body, missing the artery but dealing a heavy wound.

And fairly nearby, still concealed but aware that the time for concealment is over, Cassandra gives a shrill piercing scream.

Anders swears viciously under his breath, and lashes out in return -- first feinting at Phil's throat, then striking low at his thigh, scoring a line of blood along it. In the same motion, he turns to bolt down the corridor, staggering badly until he's able to slap a quick healing spell on himself.

[goodweather]

The feint works. Phil grunts as he’s slashed in the leg and then Anders slips out of range before he can react; and before he can even attempt to catch up, the man’s already healed himself. Fuck. God, he loathes magic. He’s never going to get him at this rate. Maybe if he flew, but these corridors would never accommodate that.

He has to turn back. It’ll be far more productive that way.

He goes staggering down the hall. ”Traitor!” he wails, again and again, utterly incandescent with rage and alarm. ”Anders is a traitor!”