[?] What's at stake (???)

[shibrogane]

Melancholies

Re: The listserv
to: o.beau.0220@riderwaite.edu
from: ḛ̛̰͈͔͖̫̟.͏̜͍̀ͅf̻̬i̖̼̦̤̯͟͟t͕̝̭̤͎̙̜̩́͘ͅz͎͈̤͖̦̩͕.͓͙̩͉͘͡ͅ0̧̥̣̰͕̬̳̀1̧̱͕̬͙̳̤͍͍̞͞9̙͢͠1͘͏͈͚̖̺@͇͝͝r̵̝͍̪͚͝i̟̺̹d̴̛͎̺̲̟̻e̝͕̱̺̫ŕ̼̹̳͖̰͇̩̼̕ẉ̧͙͙͞ͅa͎̩̱̼͉͇i̛̼̘̮̲͍̹͜t̴̪̱̼̮̻̻̞͘͠e̴̗̙̫͔ͅ.̱͓̬̲̬͔̣̰̀͟͞e̱̼̞̜̪̫̟͘d͢҉̳͚͜ṵ̵̡̞̣̮̰͙

I got your email address off the class listing. Hope that's alright.

Could we meet up? I have some questions about your assignment for the class I subbed in.

-E. Fitzpatrick

Quote:

1. Leila
2. Lily
3. America
4. Horace
5. Oliver
6. Wilbur
7. Alexis
8. Temperance
9. Jamie
10. Rabbit
11. Preacher
12. Jeremiah
13. Algie

 

[Melancholies]

shibrogane

Re: The listserv
to: ḛ̛̰͈͔͖̫̟.͏̜͍̀ͅf̻̬i̖̼̦̤̯͟͟t͕̝̭̤͎̙̜̩́͘ͅz͎͈̤͖̦̩͕.͓͙̩͉͘͡ͅ0̧̥̣̰͕̬̳̀1̧̱͕̬͙̳̤͍͍̞͞9̙͢͠1͘͏͈͚̖̺@͇͝͝r̵̝͍̪͚͝i̟̺̹d̴̛͎̺̲̟̻e̝͕̱̺̫ŕ̼̹̳͖̰͇̩̼̕ẉ̧͙͙͞ͅa͎̩̱̼͉͇i̛̼̘̮̲͍̹͜t̴̪̱̼̮̻̻̞͘͠e̴̗̙̫͔ͅ.̱͓̬̲̬͔̣̰̀͟͞e̱̼̞̜̪̫̟͘d͢҉̳͚͜ṵ̵̡̞̣̮̰͙
from: o.beau.0220@riderwaite.edu


Is this Ezra? The text in your email listing is rather hard to parse.

Regardless, I'm actually on campus right now working through a composition piece. I take it you know where the practice rooms are?

I could take a small break, but we should reconvene at another time if you really want to sit down and discuss something. Sorry if this sounds dismissive, but I'm terribly busy. I'm sure you understand, lol.

If it's short though then by all means.

-Oliver B.

 

[shibrogane]

To: o.beau.0220@riderwaite.edu

Yes, sorry. Magic rearing its ugly head I suppose.

It won't take long. I'll be by in about twenty.

Thanks,
E.  

[shibrogane]

Ezra tapped at the practice room door and then let himself in, quietly, so as not to disrupt Oliver's playing. He pulled a chair over and dropped his heavy canvas bag on it but did not sit. There was an odd, frenetic energy as he waited for Ollie to pause and acknowledge his presence.  

[Melancholies]

Oliver meanwhile was content not to notice, his hands gently glazing over the keys laid out in front of him with considerable expertise. This was a product of daily practice, hard work, long years of determination... but he wasn't perfect, no, and his fingers eventually slipped over one another, the sound ringing out in a slightly off-key dissonance. He sighed, reached for his sheet music, started to scribble something down in the margins...

...he hadn't heard Ezra come in, but he had been expecting him, and the back of his head burned with the sensation of being watched. An anxious turn later, and Oliver had slowly peered over his shoulder to see the offending party.

"Oh." He relaxed considerably, "I don't know why I thought it might be someone else. I'm uh," He glanced at the piano in front of him, "It's funny. I don't mind playing on stage, but anywhere else I get a little anxious." He neatly tucked the papers up and laid them on the bench next to him. A moment later he turned around, still seated.

"What can I help you with?"

shibrogane

 

[shibrogane]

Ezra didn't look well. He never did (massive burns tended to do that) but if anything the burns seemed redder than last time he had seen Pllir. "I'm afraid I was less than honest in my email," he said. "Your composition study was fine. This is about the Court.

"Has Shiloh told you that you are one of the people who lent power to the creation of the Court charter?"  

[Melancholies]

Oliver's expression was hard to understand. For a moment his eyes lit up—of course his composition was fine—and then they died, and then his face screwed into something like confusion. "Excuse me?"

He tried to understand what was being said to him, "I don't know much about the Court, to be honest." The charter, the charter... it was mentioned on the listserv, but it was the first time he'd heard about it, "Shiloh... sort of mentioned a charter? It has something to do with this girl he's been hanging out with." His hands swept over his pant legs like there was dust on them. There wasn't.

"So I'm... not entirely sure what you're telling me." Something dark replaced his expression now. Truth was this was a conversation that came up a lot, but Shiloh was staunch in his refusal to talk about any of the events that happened in those ivory halls. "I suppose the answer is no."

shibrogane

 

[shibrogane]

"Not in this cycle, but in another one, you have your consent for your power to be used to create the Court and the Spinel Lady and everything that came with her," said Ezra. "You made the girl that tortured your brother for months. You offered your power and helped create all that pain."

Ezra took a deep breath. Even standing still he seemed to be jittering. His stillness only intensified the impression of motion, as if flames were still licking up around him. "I want you to retract that permission."  

[Melancholies]

"Excuse me?!" Oliver gawked, his somewhat awkward-but-relaxed posture giving way into something startled as he shot to his feet. "What on earth are you taking about?"

Cycles, that was another topic that was very real that he hadn't known much about. Hell, if he hadn't visited the eighties back in November, he still wouldn't believe it. "I wouldn't do anything like that! What the ********?" His eyes shined defiantly, "I can't retract permission I never gave. Why would I help create some b***h who—" He was rambling to himself mostly by this point, "He got tortured?"

shibrogane

 

[shibrogane]

Ezra's eyes were an unnatural yellow, a red ring around the edges of his iris. Like fire. That crackling energy was felt even there, too. "Don't touch the piano in your mood," he said, a curious non-sequitur. "You'll break it.

"You say that, but your thumbprint is on the Charter that created the Spinel Lady. The Court. You gave your power to empower the woman who, yes, tortured your brother. Beat him until his ribs broke. Until he forgot everything but how to try to make her love him." Ezra didn't laugh, but his lips curled like he wanted to, like a death's head smile. They curled like parchment burned. "So retract your permission. You say you never gave it; make it that way in reality."

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

"I would never do that!" His fist balled up and—for a moment—it looked like he was about to slam it down on the piano. Thankfully he didn't. Still, his conviction was burning like liquid metal in his veins. It hurt. Something about Ezra's eyes was making him sweat, like the temperature in the room was rising. "I would never."

And he wouldn't... would he?

"And— And where was he when this supposed ******** Charter got—got whatever." Oliver was beside himself, "Of course I'd retract my permission or whatever the ********. I never gave it, I—"

He sucked in a deep breath. It didn't taste or smell like a campfire, not in the traditional sense. It felt like someone shoved a handful of ash into his lungs.

"Why are you doing this." He asked finally, "Why are you bringing all of this s**t up. Did you always know?" His eyes narrowed, "Oh, get all buddy buddy with the idiot who looks like my brother, plan out some spiel to try and make him panic later, tell him he nearly had his brother killed for something he didn't do. I didn't do anything."

shibrogane

 

[shibrogane]

"No," said Ezra. "I didn't. If I had, I never would have approached you at all. I didn't have the tools to fix this until now. And now that I do, I'm not going to hesitate."

He held out a hand. "Give me your hand," he said. "I would prefer to do this with you willing. But if I have to hurt you, I will."

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

The panic... washed away from his face in an instant. It was still there, still very real underneath the surface of his now numb expression, but something new began to filter in instead. Something hot, angry, indignant. "You're blaming me for things I didn't do." He said all at once, the revelation worn with something terrible and sad and frank. "You're treating me like some sort of a ******** criminal over crimes I didn't do. I'm not—" Now he looked beside himself in a totally different way.

"So what, are you going to hunt down everyone else on that list like—like some sort of self imposed vigilante?" The venom in his voice was thick and viscous like molasses. His hand was clutched to his chest protectively, cradled, pristine, "I'm not letting you touch my ******** hand." The panic was seeping back, "No one touches my ******** hands." They were probably the most important things he had. His eyes were already scanning the room for any sort of escape route out. The metaphorical ash in his lungs made his stomach turn and twist. "I'll revoke my permission if it's something I can magically ******** do despite never giving it, but you're not touching my hands."

shibrogane

 

[shibrogane]

"Yes, actually," said Ezra. "That is exactly my plan."

He said, "To revoke your permission, I need your thumbprint in blood." His tone was so reasonable. Hardly anything like the barely-veiled hostility of a moment before. "You're a musician. A good one. I'd never take away your ability to play if it could be avoided. And it can, if you cooperate.

"Now. Dear boy. Will you cooperate or will I have to m͇̮̺͔̠͍ͅąk̪̦̲e̻̫ y̞͔͡ǫ̸̭̲̱̺̯̞́u̷̙̟̮̬͓͔̭͝͞?"

Melancholies

 

[Melancholies]

"That's sick." Oliver felt a chill run down his spine, a dramatic contrast to the heat in the room, "That's really ******** sick. I respected you."

He hesitated heavily, the timbre of Ezra's voice shift ringing in his ears like sirens, like the room was just ignited and he was smoldering away at the center, but he took a very stiff step forward. He didn't look at all convinced that he'd get out of this scotch free.

"The only thing you're making me regret was ever speaking with you in the first place." He supposed heartless lunatics wouldn't understand remorse though. "I'm only doing this because you're threatening me, p***k. Hopefully fixing the violence with violence is worth it to you." His hand was wearily held out, his other hand clasped around his wrist like he was ready to retract it at any instant.

shibrogane