Private Tales Answers The Old Way

[Cenric]

Cortos - Free City of Valeera
Adira

Cenric sat quietly upon the raised balcony on the upper levels of the Lilac Theater, and also in the pit, and behind the stage in one of the dressing rooms.

Three of his bodies were present in this city, though only the one sitting on the Balcony was of any true import. The others were castaways, expected to die, and only acquired for this very mission with the help of the woman sitting besides him.

It was his first time working with Adira, and so far he had found the whole experience to be remarkably...pleasant. Many of his mission nowadays were in the companionship of the newer generation. Mostly because of Erodin and Amelie's plan to steer them in a certain direction, but it made most of his missions seem like they were teaching experiences. A fact which became more and more frustrating as time went on.

Working with one who came up in the same age as him was remarkably refreshing. "There she is."

Cenric commented as the falsetto took to the stage.

She was an utterly gorgeous thing, Cenric had to admit. With the face of an angel and hair which would make the gods craven with jealousy. The dress she wore was the envy of Queens the world over, and it was no surprise given the magics she had long held. This singer, after all, was no ordinary woman. She was a Dreadlord, a runaway.

One of Gilram's, or formerly at least. From the information they had already gathered, Cirilla had abandoned the old Archon and taken to her own pursuits. Ending up here in Valeera and posing as part of the Opera, though why they did not yet know.

That was part of their mission too.

"Her voice is pleasant." Cenric said, leaning into Adira's side. "You have to admit."

He noted.

 

[Adira]

Adira shifted uncomfortably in the plush theatre seat, her lavish wool coat restricting and hot, and her permanent scowl deepening as she took in the lavish setting. The velvety lilac curtains, the polished floors, and the crowd’s awestruck faces grated on her nerves. This was how people lived? Dressing up like peacocks, throwing away their time and money to watch others prance about, singing and acting like fools? It was a far cry from the harsh reality she was used to, where life was carved out of blood and steel. She wouldn't trade it for this shite.

Still, there was something about the girl on the stage—her voice filled with emotion and a strange kind of grace that captured even Adira’s hardened attention. Her brow quirked ever so slightly, the only sign of her intrigue. A murmur slipped from her lips before she could stop it.

“Well. She’s awoken something in me,” she muttered, half to herself, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. Why did these things have to be so fucking soft?! Adira huffed, her eyes flicking back to the stage as if the brief moment of admiration had been a personal betrayal.

"Oh yes. Positively transcendent," she added, her voice gruff.

Her fingers itched for the familiar grip of her weapon, for the tension and adrenaline of combat. This—this place was delicate, an illusion, and Adira had never been one for illusions.

She crossed her arms, sinking deeper into her seat, a scowl once more fixed firmly in place. "Fucking nonsense."

 

[Cenric]

He perked an eyebrow. "Well, they don't call her "Heaven's Song"."

Cenric said with a slight chuckle, keeping the laughter at bay as he watched Adira shift in her chair uncomfortably. She may have been of the old ways, but she certainly had never caught the side of things that he had.

It wasn't too surprising. Vel Anir had always been pragmatic, and each Dreadlord was sent to tasks each to their best abilities. For him that meant the hallowed halls of Galleries and Operas. For those like Adira? Well, she was the hammer on this mission.

He was merely the scalpel cutting Heaven's Song free.

"Perhaps we should find our way backstage?" Cenric asked his companion. "I have a notion a door has been opened."

A smile flashed towards his companion. One of his bodies having opened the door to the VIP section in the back corridors of the Theater. "And I have a feeling you're eager to be out of here."

 

[Adira]

Adira let out a derisive snort and shot Cenric a glare, her permanent scowl deepening as he chuckled. "Heaven's Song"—even the title was nauseating to her, the sort of frilly moniker that she wouldn’t have bothered remembering on her own. Her gaze lingerer on the singer for a second longer than she’d admit. A Dreadlord's calling lay in battlefields, not concert halls. Yet there was something captivating about the girl on stage.

Still, she wasn’t about to give Cenric the satisfaction of seeing her falter.

"Eager is an understatement” she muttered, standing up with a slight roll of her shoulders, “.. and you’re still annoyingly talkative for a man on a mission.”

Brushing past Cenric, she cast one last scowl at the opulent theater—its silk-draped walls and chandelier-lit ceilings both dazzling and infuriating. All of it felt like an insult, something so utterly removed from the life she’d led that she wanted to see it brought down. But for now, she would settle for the thought of getting out of this place.

They moved quickly, slipping through the darkened aisles and into the backstage corridors, where shadows crept and the clamor of the audience faded to a muffled hum.

The door to the dressing room was just ahead, slightly ajar. Adira caught the faint smell of incense, mingling with perfumes and powder. "Seven hells, she smells almost as pretty as you," she murmured. Then, with a measured breath, she nudged the door open, her nose wrinkling as she set eyes on another Cenric.

"Creepy."

 

[Cenric]

"I don't know." Cenric said, the voice coming from the body behind Adira.

The man inside the room was him too, of course, though anyone but the two Dreadlords would have a near impossible time guessing that fact. There were no shared resemblance between the two of the. Not even a hint of it. Yet they were one and the same.

Mind and consciousness.

"The decorations aren't that bad." The other Body said, glancing around the room. This one was a short haired blonde. His face held something eager, ambitions, but his eyes were an exact mirror of those in Cenric's other body. They always were. "But there is something off-puttingly...ethereal about her wardrobe."

He commented. "A lot of lace..."

Cenric shook his head.

"Her performance has another two minutes." After that the audience would undoubtedly applaud and there might even be an encore. There was still quite a bit of time to play with, as long as they moved quickly. "If we're to search, lets do it now."

He told her. "I can take the bathroom and the bedroom."

Cenric said, both of his bodies already on the move.

 

[Adira]

Adira’s eyes flicked between Cenric’s two bodies, a brief flash of frustration crossing her face. She had no patience for this theatrics, especially not when time was of the essence. He always enjoyed the finer points of misdirection, and the fact that he could be in two places at once was more unsettling than impressive.

“Very well," she said, her voice low and clipped. "But I don't need your commentary on her lace. I'll handle the rest of the room.”

She crossed the room swiftly, her boots making little sound on the polished floor. A dresser stood against the far wall, the drawers undoubtedly filled with more delicate, feminine possessions. She wasn’t interested in perfumes or accessories, though. No, Adira’s mind was on the more important things.

 

[Cenric]

Cenric couldn't help the small smirk that flickered across his lips.

He enjoying poking at his compatriots. Even before the Revolution many of them had been far too serious for his liking, and after the changes some had become even worse. Perhaps he'd have to work on breaking through Adira’s shell by the end of this, though by her reputation that would likely end with more than one of his bodies having broken bones.

Still, he couldn't help but let the last word spill from his lips. ”Do you not?”

He asked as both of his body began to check the bathroom and bedroom. His redheaded visage disappearing into one of the open doorways as he finished speaking.

”I'd have thought you have trouble recognizing lace.” Cenric quipped a she began to dig through the contents of both rooms. Moving with an extreme amount of care, and digging through their targets belongings before replacing each item in turn. Making it appear as though the place had not been searched at all.

It was a methodical process, and told of the fact that it had happened countless times before. This was, after all, what he did most. He was the faceless man. Espionage and finding secrets had been within his duties for nearly a century a decade and change now. Yet despite all that experience, he found nothing. Not even in the usual stash slips which Dreadlords were taught.

”Find it?” He called after a few minutes. ”The disc isn’t in there.”

Meaning if Adira hadn't found it, the artifact the bitch had taken was somewhere else.

 

[Adira]

Adira’s eyes narrowed at the quip, her expression darkening as she glowered in Cenric’s direction. She muttered something under her breath—inaudible but undoubtedly unkind—before turning her attention back to the ornate dresser she was rifling through.

Her search was quick yet precise, hands moving with the efficiency of someone well-practiced in such tasks. After a few moments, her fingers brushed against a leather-bound book tucked beneath a stack of scarves. She pulled it free, flipping it open to reveal a diary filled with looping, elegant script.

Adira held it up, her glower softening into a faint smirk of her own. “Just this. No disc... Maybe she has it on her.” Her voice was calm, but there was an edge to her words as she gave a nonchalant shrug.

She began flicking through the pages, her sharp eyes scanning for anything of immediate interest. “Either way, I’m sure she can be persuaded to hand it over,” she murmured, her tone growing darker as she closed the diary with a snap. “Or take us to it.”

Her gaze drifted back to Cenric, and for a brief moment, the corner of her mouth twitched in what might have been amusement—or warning. "Sounds like the song's over.."

 

[Cenric]

Cenric scowled. He had hoped that this would be a simple matter. He had no doubt that between the two of them they could handle Cirila. His second body was just lump, but Ein's had enough strength that he was a match for most and that wasn't even accounting for Adira.

Besides, the Golden Voice wasn't exactly known for her combat prowess.

"Alright." He agreed, though it was clear he had hoped it wouldn't come to a confrontation. They would have had to capture her eventually, of course, but his method would have been a blackjack on the back of the head.

Now there would have to be an interrogation. "Just remember her magic can be...messy when it comes to the mind."

A frown touched his lips as he glanced around the room, quickly moving over towards the makeup table where he took some cotton swabs. Stuffing them in his ears, he motioned for Adira to do the same. "I'd rather not hear her other song."

Cirilia's magic was a brutal one. Capable of placing one in a trance of her choosing. A dream that lasted as long as her song on the outside, but within the mind for an eternity and beyond. The life within, completely controlled by the strings she plucked.