Interview with Falstaff

The following is a transcript of an interview conducted by Anatole Solal. The subject of the interview requested to be identified only as Falstaff. She is a young adult female Dekn, with short, ash blonde hair and violet-tinted eyes. Her temperament during this interview was at times irritable, at times highly cheerful, often forgetful of important details, and generally intent on making the interviewer's life miserable. The interviewer has attempted [Scribbled note in margins: Failed step one.] to preserve some impartiality, given his own personal biases concerning both the interviewee and the topics discussed herein. 

[Transcription begins.]

Cobwebs

Shanna was sleeping fitfully.

Usually, the ever-present aura of Beguilement was enough to keep away the nightmares, but her mind, even as well under control as Marchosias had it, was resisting.

When she was awake, she had no memory of the Fear Invocation that had been placed on her as a child. All that trauma, all that terror that she'd lived with for so long had simply been wiped away. But nothing is ever really forgotten, just stored away in inaccessible places until it can be called back up in a dream.

That night, Shanna was dreaming of cobwebs. Not spiders themselves– she found them fascinating– but their webs, thick and suffocating and immobilizing. She dreamed of them covering her nose and mouth and making the world dissolve into static snow. Was this what she saw as a child? She didn't know. It's likely that she saw many things. The fears of a child are so large, and so numerous. Tonight, though, it was suffocating cobwebs, and all of it tinged with the black fog of Morit'sengr Invokare.

She got good at lucid dreaming the nightmares away when she was younger, but as Marchosias took more and more of her for himself, she'd lost autonomy even in the privacy of her own dreams. Not that it mattered. Her dreams, too, were not her own these days, and mostly consisted of vacuous, beautiful scenes suffused with the aura that she'd come to depend on like any other drug.

Perhaps the dream was a warning, not a nightmare. The fear circuits in her brain, dormant for so long, woke up during a moment when she was not totally under his control and chose that moment to send her a message– this is a trap, get out. And perhaps she would have listened, if it was not for the fact that in that moment, she heard a familiar and most reviled voice.

Your power will not reveal itself until you know that you will have the displeasure of meeting Marchosias Aversen face to face. Then, and only then, will you become what he cannot resist.

Even through her fitful and terrorized sleep, she knew that it was Andras saying those words to her. She could understand what was done to her, and for what purpose.

And it was then, as the first rays of morning light began to peek through the curtains of the Herald's Quarters, that she stopped struggling.

And let the suffocating static overtake her completely.

What Has Gone Before

AFTER

"Well," Timothée said flatly, "I came alone. Just like you asked. Though, knowing you, I probably shouldn't have."

Moirah laughed quietly to herself, a bitter and humorless laugh. The boy had been a paranoid wreck of a person since Shanna was taken– justifiably so, but the fact that it was justified didn't mean it was any less painful to watch. "Relax, kid," she reassured him, stowing her laser pistol back in its holster. "I just wanted to talk about Shanna."

Timothée didn't know what he expected to hear, but upon hearing it, he realized that he didn't know how it could have been anything else. "Why?" he asked. "I don't think you understand how traumatizing this whole situation has been. If you're gonna involve me in all this shit again, you'd better have a damn good reason." 

"I'll give you a reason," Moirah said with thinly veiled impatience. "Because I don't think you have all the facts, and in a situation like the one we're about to have to deal with, what you don't know can hurt you."

"Fine." Leaning against the wall and taking a deep breath, Timothée shook his head in resignation. "Tell me. I'm all ears."

Moirah, eyes downcast in what seemed like regret, laid one hand against Timothée's head. "I don't think your ears will be needed," she said before sending him headlong into a vision of the not-so-distant past.

BEFORE

It is the middle of the night, and Moirah is running out of patience with her contact.

"So you're sure that–"

The cold, clipped British tones in which the reply is delivered make her shiver a bit despite the warmth of the fireplace. "Yes, I am sure that the implantation process has gone as planned. The little savage even tried to use it on me when she woke up from the procedure."

Moirah shakes her head. She doubts that Shanna "tried" to do anything – unintentional power usage is common in children, after all – but there is precisely no doubt in her mind that Andras saw it as a personal attack, knowing his unfortunate history. She raises one eyebrow slowly and chuckles. "Now, I don't think it was as intentional as all that."

"Well, let's hope that she learned from my punishment. An hour or so of believing that the room was on fire should have –"

"Andras. Senêrouxe. As'phyxiar. That is a child that you just admitted to psychologically torturing."

She can almost feel how pleased he still is with himself. "Yes, Moirah," Andras says, his voice taking on a didactic quality. "A child who you had me implant with an ability that she cannot control, so that she will one day become a target for the most dangerous and manipulative man on the Dekn Court. You are no better than me, and only slightly better than him." For a second, she wonders if he's going to end the call, but then he comes back. "I gave her a subconscious command while she was under my power. Her Beguilement won't reveal itself until she is put in a position to be useful to your little conspiracy. You should be grateful."

Click. End scene. 

Moirah Averil has never learned to be grateful. 

AFTER

"SHE WAS FAMILY TO YOU, MOIRAH. SHE WAS FAMILY TO YOU AND YOU HAD HER EXPERIMENTED ON, YOU USED HER AS BAIT, AND FOR WHAT?" Timothée was more passionately angry than Moirah had ever seen him. "WHAT COULD HAVE POSSIBLY BEEN SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU COULD BE WILLING TO SACRIFICE–"

Moirah shushed him in a way that was probably not intended to be rude, but that he certainly took as such. "Hey. Hey. You don't think I've regretted it every day since? There's a reason I tried so hard to take care of her once I got her back from him the first time. Things were never supposed to go the way they went, and that's on me, not anyone else."

"The fact that you're sad about it doesn't change anything." 

Stunned into temporary silence, Moirah looked down at her feet. She knew he was right, of course, as annoyingly tenacious as he could be about it, but Hethe damn it, she just had too much pride to say that. "Shanna was supposed to be strong enough to resist him, like me. I had Andras test for that, and he said she had the potential to develop psychic shields like mine, but… if she had them at all, Marchosias cut through them like a hot knife through butter." 

Timothée sighed wearily. "She was lonely," he corrected. "I shouldn't have to spell it out for you. Stop hiding behind your technical terms and projections and fucking acknowledge that she was stranded on Ersis with no support system and nobody who understood a thing about what it was like to be her. You thought she wouldn't jump at the chance to feel like someone loved her?"

"I loved her," Moirah whispered. But the words dissolved in her mouth like candy floss.

Meanwhile, at the Cathedral

"TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE!" the Dekn Master roared, more outwardly angry than the average worshipper was ever permitted to witness. "I have told you this time and time again. You know what I expect of you. I require nothing short of perfection to build my perfect world, and I CANNOT reshape this wretched realm if you keep refusing to cooperate. So I will ask you–" he restrained himself as much as he was able to, taking on a demeanor that could almost be considered gentle– "Politely. To tell me, with full honesty and transparency, what will come to pass."

His ever-so-loyal High Priest and Consort was currently pinned to the wall by one hand that firmly held his shoulder as another brushed back his hair. Despite his compromising position, he was making a frankly exhausting effort to calm himself via deep and measured breathing. Malistrade took a small amount of personal satisfaction, even in spite of the fervent devotion that Marchosias wrenched from him, in maintaining his stoic demeanor. He knew how his employer (god, master, emperor– it's not like changing one title for another really did much but stroke the man’s ego) reveled in watching people squirm.

And for a minute, he also took satisfaction in keeping his silence.

But no good thing lasted, especially when one served a master like Marchosias Aversen– when one worshipped a god as demanding as the Emperor Elucidis. He could not remain stubborn forever, not with the way his own fear mingled with the haze of artificial bliss that Marchosias cast over him.

Trust me. Believe in me. Serve me and no other.

"I see…"

So much was in flux here. So much was subject to change. But His Holiness wanted an answer, so he allowed himself to zoom in on what seemed like the most likely timeline.

“Lose the pawn to gain the queen,” Malistrade said, his tone shifting to a breathy whisper as his eyes went white, his muscles going slack as he was seized by the vision. “Queen takes King… and you take the throne. The Herald is your completion, the instrument of divine reign. Take her back, ascend with her, and the throne will be yours in earnest.”

Marchosias smiled, a self-satisfied and lustful thing. “So my Herald comes home at last,” he purred, rewarding Malistrade with a gentle caress of his cheek before letting him free. “My patience is to be rewarded, it seems, for the lost lamb is returning to the fold.” All things would take their course, but come what may, Shanna would be by his side again. And with her by his side, he would be well and truly unstoppable.

The fact that a pawn would be lost was of no consequence. Laurien had been fun to toy with, but Marchosias’s eyes were set on far greater prizes.

One song lyric for each arc of The Siren's Saga

Volume 1: I'd say you look tired/Sing, my secret choir

Volume 2: Your kiss was such a sacred thing to me/I can't believe it's just a burning memory

Volume 3: Your hand on my neck, you call up the press/Die for the attention

Volume 4: I wanna live life and never be cruel/I wanna live life and be good to you

Appreciate the hell out of you folks who like every shannathesiren reblog that was supposed to go on my personal just to let me know it doesn't belong there. Otherwise Shanna would constantly be shitposting about homestuck and Eliot Waugh's smile and we can't have that

What Happened That Night

SHANNA

LoneCameraman: Anyone else get taken recently? Kellamity: not that I've seen, no. Asra hasn't mentioned anything either. Kellamity: I'm going to the Cathedral tonight to rescue Iskandar. They're all gonna be at the Golden Door, it'll give me a great opportunity to get in and out before I'm seen. LoneCameraman: And you're telling me this now? Who even GAVE you that intel Kellamity: Who do you think? Moirah told me. LoneCameraman: Due to personal reasons I'd rather not hear anything about Moirah. Kellamity: ...What happened?

As if on cue, there was a sharp, yet hesitant, knock on the door. Timothée jumped to his feet.

LoneCameraman: Nothing. Don't focus on that. Remember how I said I could get us Shanna?

At the door was Shanna Averil, cold and shaking. There was a look of panic in her eyes, like a wounded prey animal. He opened the door, gesturing for her to come in and sit down.

"What's mine is yours," he said, offering a hand. "I know it's not much, but it's what we've got."

She took his hand, walking with him to the couch. "Has my aunt talked to you?"

"She sent me this long message when she heard you were coming over… Seems like she's pretty pissed off at herself for pushing you away the way she did." Timothée shrugged, sitting down beside Shanna.

"Yeah, well, I don't wanna hear her apology. Not yet," Shanna grunted. "And after what I did, I doubt she'll want to hear mine."

LoneCameraman: Just happened… a little sooner than I expected.

A pang of guilt came over him. I am a horrible, horrible person, he thought to himself. He repeated to himself that he didn't know what would happen when he showed Shanna that post-- he was trying to be a good person, and after living in a world of lies the way they had, who wouldn’t want to know the truth?

"You have a right not to," he soothed, holding out a hand for her to take. Awkwardly and hesitantly, she placed her hand in his. “It was an accident, I don’t hold it against you.”

She leaned against him. Timothée was a safe person. He wouldn’t hurt her or sell her out, he knew exactly what she’d gone through and how it affected her. “I used my… My thing I can do. I promised I never would again. But it just happened,” she muttered. “How do you move on from that? How do you deal with the fact that your power makes you a danger to others?”

The silence that followed seemed to hang in the air like a thick fog.

"Maybe I shouldn't have asked," she sighed.

LoneCameraman: I think we might need a couple of days. Kellamity: Take your time.

He wrapped one arm around her in a loose hug. "It's fine," he said. "My advice is to put it out of your mind for now. You're… you're not just your power, okay? And you're not the person who hurt you."

Hesitantly, Shanna settled down, her head on his shoulder. His words rattled around in her mind for a while– You're not the person who hurt you. Coming from someone who'd been hurt in similar ways, that meant a lot more than it otherwise would. She believed it, at least for a moment, in a way she wouldn't believe it otherwise.

LoneCameraman: Thanks for understanding. She's been through a lot today.

"Who are you texting?" Shanna asked.

Timothée, the lovable idiot, merely responded thusly: "You'll meet them soon."

KELLAN

The city was quiet. Only the soft hum of electricity and the distant sounds of feral animals prowling the streets disturbed the silence as a lone hoverbike sped through the deserted cityscape. On this hoverbike was a man with a mission. His name was Kellan Dehara, and he was a member of a certain clandestine organization– a resistance cell, covertly fighting against the actions of the Society of the Purple Rose.

"Are you sure about this, Kellan?"

The man on the hoverbike laughed. "I've never been sure of anything in my life," he answered with more confidence than such a statement warranted.

Asra paused. "Come again?" Their voice had a nervous edge to it. "Because we need you to be sure. We've never done a retrieval mission this risky before."

"More sure," Kellan corrected. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. Let's do this."

"Right, right, let's get on with it, then." A few shuffling noises could be heard over the earpatch as Asra looked around for the mission plans. "Okay. You should be nearing the entrance point soon… again, are you absolutely certain you want to do this?"

Kellan sighed. "I just said so."

"Roger that."

"Four times, Asra."

"Roger that," Asra said, clearing their throat. "Let's just get this over with."

For a long time, there was silence. Silence enough for Kellan to bring the hoverbike to a stop behind a certain purple and silver building in the Entertainment District.

With Marchosias and his attendants on some sort of mock pilgrimage to the great golden door, to touch it and stand beside it and pat themselves on the back for supposedly bringing such a divine sign into the world, Kellan was free to enter the Cathedral without fear of being found and indoctrinated. Every single corridor was so intimately familiar to him from his own time spent walking these halls, every room an echo from within his own mind. It was maze-like. Intentionally so.

And only by accepting His love can we find our way to the center. To the Heart, Kellan recited to himself, not even realizing he was doing it. No. No, no, stop. I don't want to find my way to you. I want to find my way to Iskandar, I need to make sure he's okay, I need to get him out of here. Nothing else matters right now, not even you, 'Master.' In his own internal monologue, he said the last word mockingly, disdainfully. The version of himself that existed in his mind was every bit as cruel to Marchosias as Marchosias used to be to him.

He continued his exploration. The hallway he was in looked to be a dorm hallway, with gray, undecorated walls. Much of the Cathedral was richly decorated, but the dorms, save for the temporary rooms designed to impress new members and the luxury suites inhabited by Marchosias's favorites, were sparse and cold. Ostensibly, this was to encourage "contemplation," but it had an effect more similar to sensory deprivation if a person spent too long in one of the tiny gray rooms. A few of them had windows. He peeked inside one– yep, it was definitely a dorm, and it was every bit as bleak as his own when he was a member. Gray walls. Gray carpet. Gray furniture. The only color in the room was a skinny purple vase, holding one long-stemmed, deep purple rose. The bed was inhabited by a woman who had to have been at least eighteen, as only adults lived in the main building, but looked sixteen. She tossed and turned fitfully in her sleep.

Demetra, he realized. Oh, Hethe, that's Demetra. She had been a member of his cell for a few months before returning to the Society without so much as a goodbye. Many suspected she'd been kidnapped, Kellan included. He pulled on the door, trying to see if it would open. It didn't. Fuck, he swore silently.

The voice that interrupted him was soft and anxious and so familiar. Turning around, Kellan saw a man in a white silk robe, with dark skin, short braided hair, and eyes that had once been a deep, rich shade of brown. "She's being punished," he said as if talking about a teenager who’d been forbidden from going out on dates rather than a grown woman locked in a colorless room. "You'll be punished too if they find out you came back. But it's okay. We'll get to be together afterwards."

Paying no mind to the creepy things that the other man was saying, Kellan ran to embrace him. "Oh, Iskandar, mirthali Hethe. I was so worried I'd never see you again."

"All you had to do was come back to His embrace, Kellan Dehara. You know this." Iskandar stood motionless, not returning the hug, just continuing to speak in the same soft yet unnerving tones. "We could have been together this whole time, had you only accepted your place under His guiding hand. But it's no matter. You're here now. Here with me, and with our Most Divine Ruler."

Kellan shook him gently, trying to snap him out of it. "Hey, stop, this isn't you. Remember in college when the two of us went on that bar crawl and you got so plastered that you ended up belly-dancing on a table and singing karaoke to The Sisters Wander? Because I do. And let me tell you, that is not belly-dancing music." He wondered briefly if it was like those Ersis fairy tales, and a kiss would be all it took to awaken Iskandar, however, he wasn't keen on the idea of kissing someone who didn't explicitly make it clear that they wanted it. Instead, he just sighed. "Do you even remember anything before this place? Anything about us?"

"He took all of that from me so I could serve Him without distraction," Iskandar said, again, as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world. "I missed you so much when you left us. He eased my pain– isn't our God-Emperor wonderful?"

He forgot about me? Kellan thought. He wanted to forget about me?

This was too much for him to bear. "I'm sorry," he whispered to his former lover. With a quick, precise nerve pinch, he rendered Iskandar unconscious in a pile on the floor. "I'll come back for you. Just… not tonight."

And out he ran, away from the maze-like Cathedral, away from the former lover with the dead-eyed stare, onto his hoverbike and towards the last person in the world who he was certain still loved him.

Summary of Tonight’s Events (2 June 2020)

So, a lot happened in the Siren’s Saga ecosystem in a pretty short time, so, for your convenience, here;s a summary of what went down. 

Moirah posted a confession where she thought Shanna couldn’t see it, about her feelings concerning the way Shanna’s trauma has affected her. 

Shanna did, in fact, see it, and it was revealed that Timothée sent her the post. He also asks her if she’s going to be alright where she is for the night. She responds that (for now) she’s “fine, just a little shaken.”

At some point, however, Shanna uses her powers on Moirah’s wife in a fit of anger. Having mostly avoided using her powers for any reason since coming back from Altamir’zin, she immediately decides that it’s not safe for her to live with Moirah and Victoire anymore. In an unexpected turn of events, Faust comes in to reassure her. He tells her that it was an accident, and not to do anything reckless, though she responds by saying that she can’t stay with Moirah and Victoire after what she’d just done. Moirah, too, tries in vain to convince Shanna not to leave.

The last thing Shanna posts tonight is a one-line post saying that she’s going to stay with Timothée for a while and will update when she can. 

And then, of course, Mod Falstaff, of the Society of the Purple Rose, decides that she has an opinion about all of this that absolutely MUST be shared.

Finally, Shanna makes it to Timothée's apartment, and he posts one final update saying that she's sleeping safely.

Kind regards,

IV Sparrow