"The first few days were the worst. We were disoriented, confused. The world was the same, but it was not. There was a grey film coating the places we visited, as though life stopped when the clock broke. That was our Medium; a land frozen in time."

- The Fragments of a Dying Conqueror, 1789-?


=== Requin: Be the responsible one

"She's doing well, isn't she?"

It was intermission. The girls had all been transformed back into swans at the curtain close of act two. Cygnet had done exceptionally well for her first act as a principle dancer. Not that Requin was a good judge of ballet; he was more for ballroom.

Kalina shrugged. "She did okay."

"Just okay?"

She rolled her eyes. "I've seen better."

"You think you've seen better in everything. But this is Cygnet, Kalinya—"

"Oh my God you are not about to start with that pet name again—"

"—we grew up with her." Requin looked her dead in the eyes, having no patience for her petty games when it came to his closest friend. "She's good; she's improved a lot from two sweeps ago. Remember the first time she was en pointe and fell and broke her nose?"

A smirk crossed her face and Kalina laughed. "I might. Fine, yes, you're right. She's doing exceedingly well."

"I'm going to go congratulate her. Would you like me to bring you anything to drink?"

"No, but…" A sly look took over Kalina's face. "You could say hello to Fiamme and his swampblood friend for me."

A sinking feeling climbed its way from Requin's stomach to his throat. "Kalina."

She raised her hands in defense. "I'm not going to tell."

He bit his lip, not sure how much to trust her. She never made things easy, always having a twist to her promises. "Where?"

"Down there," she said, joining him at the railing. She pointed into the mass of ballet-goers. The majority were rising to walk around, greet friends, and stretch, all talking amiably to one another. It was easy to pick out Fiamme, with his shock of messy hair standing up as if it were pumped full of static. Next to him was a boy with equally unruly hair, though his was wavy where Fiamme's stuck straight up.

Requin grumbled and trudged out of the box.

He descended the wide golden staircase past the bar on the mezzanine to the main floor. It was more alive with chatter than it seemed from the box, with people laughing, talking, and smiling. Fiamme and his friend were in the exact middle of the auditorium. Requin groaned as he scrambled through the aisles, muttering 'I apologize' and 'pardon me' the whole way.

"Ah! Requin! Hullo! To what do we owe this pleasure?"

"Fiamme—no, no please, no bowing you're going to attract attention to—Fiamme stop!"

The boy sat back down. "Sorry, I always forget you're shy of the stage."

Requin sighed, a hand on his forehead. "It's fine. Totally fine. I am not so much attention-shy as worried."

Fiamme raised an eyebrow behind his wiry glasses. "Worried? What about?"

"This is a noble theater, Fi, and you just barely make the cut." Requin leaned in, lowering his voice. "Your friend does not at all."

Fiamme's eyes widened. "How did you notice?"

"Kalina did," Requin growled, jerking his head in the Queen of Hearts' direction. "She has keen eyes for this stuff, as you know."

Fiamme swore, pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a deep breath. "Of course she did. Shit. How are we going to get out?"

"If you leave now—"

"No, we're not leaving now. I paid for our tickets; this is ridiculous."

"You know they don't care about that."

"Yes, I'm aware."

"Then…" Requin glanced at Fiamme's friend. He was small in build, with horns like icicles spiking from his head. His hair was messy and tangled, reaching to the nape of his neck—as if that wasn't a dead giveaway. Fiamme's hair was crazy, but at least it was ordered chaos. The biggest clue, however, was the boy's eyes. They were sharp, pointed almost, bearing the shade of a molded-over Paris green, hazy and dark. "But a swampblood, Fiamme?"

Fiamme's expression snapped to anger, characteristic fire burning fierce in his eyes. "Do not use that word."

"Then what do you call it?"

"I don't know! It doesn't have a name!"

"I'm called Howell, if it helps," the swa—the other boy interjected.

Requin and Fiamme stared at him.

"I can go now, if you want."

"It—no. We'll find a way to get you—how did you even get inside?"

"A girl in feathers let us in through the back. Is there any way we can get back out that way—"

"Feathers?"

"Yeah, in her hair and tutu—"

"One of the swans let you in?"

"Yeah, the cerulean one—"

Requin rubbed his temples. "Let me guess, she's Odette."

"That one!"

"Cygnet."

"Do you know her?"

He nodded gravely. "That's my idiot. I apologize; you will have to excuse me. I have a new neck to throttle."

"But how are we going to get out—"

"Your problem!"

Requin stormed off down the aisle to the wings. He flashed his crown card to the guard—level eleven clearance. He was so enraged it wouldn't have mattered if the man at the door denied him; he would get in somehow. He was Requin Voliér, and he made shit happen.

"CYGNET!"

A flock of younger ballerinas jumped and split in two as he charged down the hall. The ballerinos ducked to the side and the stagehands stepped into doorways. People swerved out of the way when Requin was infuriated. His temper was wild, fluid like a molten river.

The trigger for his anger was in the communal dressing room, her costume pieces being adjusted by two dressers.

"Oh, hi Requin—"

"We need to have a word," Requin hissed in an unsettling tone.

Cygnet looked confusedly between her two assistants and dismissed them. She locked the door when they left. "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? What's wrong? Your head, that's what's wrong. You've gone daffy, got mold between your ears. Can you hear me? Or am I speaking gibberish?"

She frowned, not understanding. "What are you talking about?"

"A swampblood, Cy, you let a swampblood in the Théâtre Soir Doré. Do you—can you even grasp the consequences?"

"A swampblood? I didn't—"

"The boy with the greenish eyes. He's a swampblood. Don't you know what they look like?" His tone was sharp, condescending.

"I've never actually seen one before. I know two green bloods—"

"It's not green bloods, Cy." Requin's temper was failing him. Her naïveté was killing him. "It's a separate thing, swampbloods."

"What are they, then?"

He looked around anxiously. "Now is not the time. I don't want you worrying. But what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that it was ridiculous they wouldn't let the boy and his friend inside."

"That's because this is a high-blood theater. Fiamme can hardly make it in on most days. I've got no clue how he managed to wriggle his way in tonight."

"You know him?"

Requin nodded. "Yes, he's in debt to Kalina."

"Who isn't?"

"No one I know. Don't change the subject. I'm still upset with you. What you did was foolish and potentially dangerous. If you got caught, the man who owns the theater would have your head, do you understand that?"

"Is it really that serious?"

"Of course it is. Everything related to class is nowadays. You could get yourself killed if you pulled a stunt in a more important place."

"Yeah, but I would get away with it. I'm friends with Kalina."

"You realize that she is a tricky, two-faced, snake, right?"

"But you still keep her company."

"More for appearance than anything now."

She raised an eyebrow that suggested something further.

"No, put that down, you're completely wrong. She doesn't have a heart."

"Whatever you say."

He put his hands on her shoulders. "Moral of the story for today is…?"

"Is?"

"THINK! Think, please, please, Cy. Before you do something stupid again. You'll get yourself into more trouble if you do not think." He laid a hand on her cheek. "You're lucky you've got friends watching out for your mistakes, even if one of them is double-edged."

"Thanks, Quin."

"Now go finish with a bang, all right?"

She smiled. "Not a bang, then I'm doing it wrong, Quin."

"Whatever. Do well."

"I will."

"Break a leg."

Requin exited the dress room into a hallway full of people. They were crowded around the door, all wide-eyed and curious. "What?"

"Are you her—"

"Moirail, thank you, now I need to go take my seat." He squirmed his way through the throng and out to the side entrance. Only two acts left, then he could go home and sleep off this feeling of dread—

Something was wrong.

There was chaos in the auditorium.

People were hurrying about, scurrying to the mid—

"Oh no," Requin breathed. He flew into action, running up the aisle to see—oh our lady of mercy no. A mob had gathered around where Fiamme and his friend had been seated. As he got closer, it became more obvious that Fiamme's cries of rage were going unnoticed, all the attention at the swampblood in the center. They were shouting, screaming, barking obscenities. The audience had quickly become a pack of feral animals. The boy stood nervously on top of one of the seats, trying to maneuver a way out.

"Stop! STOP!" Requin tried to break into the crowd, but it wasn't going well. He was shoved to the side, rammed backwards into a pillar. This really was not his day.

Forced from the center, he watched as they got closer to the boy. The swampblood—Howell—was backed into a corner. They were almost upon him and—

There was a pop.

He vanished.

Into the air. He vanished.

Requin blinked, rubbed his eyes, and cleaned his glasses. The boy was still missing. The mob seemed just as confused, searching for him on the floor, the neighboring seats, and running through the aisles to check the other rows.

He took this chance to sprint up the steps back to Kalina, who would know something about this mess.

"Oh, Requin, welcome back."

"You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

"What do you mean, Quin?"

"That." He pointed down into the theater. "I mean that."

"The mob or the boy?"

"BOTH!"

She bit her lip and steepled her fingers, unfazed by Requin's panic and frustration. "I may have had something to do with the first one, but not the second. I am just as confused as you are there."

"But why did you do it? What point was there?"

"I was bored."

"You were bored," he deadpanned.

"Yes. You were not here to keep me company and I grew bored without intellectual stimulation. So I decided to try a social experiment."

"You are a dark-souled, heartless—"

"Save it for someone who cares, Requin, I gave up on that a long time ago."

He wasn't going to get through to her, would not figure out exactly what she did to cause such a stir. It wasn't possible; Kalina was a locked box when she felt like it, and was known to swallow the key. When she was ready to explain—and only then—she would tell him in detail. But before then, prodding would only cause her to spill the ink all over the documents.

"So you do not know what happened to the boy?"

She shook her head. "No, we are on the same page there."

"What could have happened?"

"I have my ideas, but I doubt any of them are correct."

"Care to share?"

She grinned like an imp. "Of course, dear Quin."


=== Fiamme: Go find Howell

Not again.

Fiamme dropped to the ground the second Howell disappeared. He scrambled through the seats and down the aisle, exiting the auditorium. He did not expect such uproar. It was different in the lower classes; they took care of their own.

The madness had yet to reach the lobby, and he had no trouble getting out, making a break for the tall, thick wooden main doors. The darkness of the outside world ate at the light around him as the doors shut on the warm golden glow of the theater. It was snowing, and his coat was quickly devoured by the white frost.

He pulled on his gloves and snapped—fire. A flame burst into existence over the coarse material that coated the fingers.

"Howell?"

The city lights did not extend their brightness into the thicket beside the theater. He could see nothing in the dark—the light of the flame was minuscule compared to the blackness that enclosed the world around him. Fiamme squinted and increased the size of the fire cradled in his hand. Footprints were making their way through the freshly fallen snow. "Howell?"

There was a pop and the boy reappeared before him, thick black coat buttoned as high as possible. His eyes were wide, reflecting nervousness from the soft glow of the fire. "I panicked."

"Yes, I can see that. I'm sorry, we should have expected that."

"I did," Howell spit, a sword slipping into his tone, threatening to slit Fiamme's throat. "I always expect the worst. Did you honestly believe they wouldn't catch me?"

"Well—"

"No, you did not. You never do, Fi, and it will be your downfall. Everyone isn't as nice as you want them to be. You will never meet someone who is sugar and smiles; even sweets can be toxic."

Fiamme examined his boots. "You're mad at me. I'm sorry."

"No, I'm not mad." Howell sighed and turned his collar up against the wind. "I'm frustrated and troubled by your mindset. I'll accept your apology, but we have to work on your perception of reality. For example, if this exchange happened anywhere else in society, between a noble and a—a bog troll, there would be hell to pay, and not for the noble."

Fiamme looked crestfallen. "Wow. I'm…you're right. I didn't understand the severity of the situation."

"That's because you're too nice. The girl who let us in was too nice. You've all got a harsh wakeup call coming when the tension gets worse."

"That'll come soon, won't it?"

Howell nodded. "Sooner than most would like. Now can we get back to your hive or something? I think the ice may be eating my toes."

Fiamme's hive was an old castle. It was a small castle, well-sized for his rank (the equivalent of a Viscount). This did not, however, make it easier to navigate. The interior was a gigantic maze, fitting Fiamme's preferences well. He liked brain puzzles and was quite adept with word games and riddles. His guest, on the other hand, got lost constantly inside. He was a frequent guest, but it did not lessen his confusion.

"Can we light a fire?" Howell asked as he removed his boots in the front room.

Fiamme smirked and snapped his fingers.

"Haha. Good one. How original. I have never seen that trick before." Howell rolled his eyes. "A real fire."

"I suppose so. I figure you'll be holing up in here for a while?"

"It it's all right with you, I don't want to overstep my welcome."

"As long as you don't stay for a sweep, I think that will be fine." Fiamme hung up his frock and tucked Howell's boots into the back of the coatroom and out of sight. "I have to talk to my lusus first, though. If you would excuse me." He bowed and left the room. Keeping a brisk pace, he took two rights, a left, and ascended two flights of stairs to the lower section of the east tower. Inside one of the tower's many rooms was a library of historical texts and scriptures was where his lusus usually hid. He pushed the door open slowly, not wanting to startle the creature.

"Avalerion?"

Inside the room was a tall bird with plumage in shades of warm crimsons, burnt ochers, vibrant goldenrods, dusty ambers, and airy saffrons; it gave the illusion of a shimmering, burning flame when the creature moved. On his head was a bright crest of royal design, gold and shining. The phoenix blinked his wide teal eyes at Fiamme. Yes?

"I need to protect Howell for the time being. Is it okay if he stays here?"

What have you done this time?

"Something incredibly stupid."

You always do something stupid, little Girare, you do not think.

"I know, I already got a lecture."

Then learn from your mistakes and we will have less of these issues.

Fiamme looked down guiltily. "I always bring about these problems, don't I?"

Do not start a pity party with me. Go take care of your friend.

"Thank you, Ava."

And do not let it happen again.

"I won't," Fiamme promised and closed the door. His lusus was kind but stern, which always kept Fiamme on his toes due to Avalerion's flipping nature. He was a scholar of court, knowing anything and everything to do with the military and class histories of the kingdom.

"You're clear!" Fiamme called as he hurried down the hall.

"Completely?"

"Yeah, Ava says it's fine. He's upset with me, but you can stay."

"Now I don't have to worry about getting killed. Yay."

"We should probably figure out sleeping arrangements before—"

A knock echoed through the hall, deep and splitting. The boys froze.

"They followed us," Fiamme whispered.

"Please be wrong."

Best you open it, Avalerion's voice boomed through the walls. She may freeze to death if you do not.

"You're not actually going to, are you?"

"If Ava says to, then I will."

"But what if he's wrong?"

"That's the thing about phoenixes; they're never wrong." Fiamme stepped carefully towards the door, blood pounding in his ears. If there was a freak incident and Avalerion was wrong—

Outside the grand doors was a girl dressed in ragged clothes. Her hair was a mess, adorned with glittering snow and blowing fiercely in the raving breeze. She was dressed incorrectly in comparison to her class—her eyes were a lively jade, dimmed by exhaustion and the cold.

"Oh thank God someone answered," she said through chattering teeth. "May I come in? It's savage out here."


"Revolution or not, there was no peace for the Swampbloods, the Bog Trolls—the ones of odd coloration that belonged in a freakshow, a traveling circus, a museum; locked away somewhere, unable to affect the fragile minds of the public. They were foreigners in a xenophobic society, blemishes in the carefully organized hemospectrum. They had no place before, and they have no place after. They will wander the desert alone, but it is they who shall inherit the Earth."

- The Primevian Revolution: The Before and After; 1789-1799


A/N: So here's chapter two, and I would have been stuck without an idea had it not been for Robotic Fox (grazi!).

Kalina is a Bluh Bluh Huge Bitch, Cygnet is oblivious, Requin is always stressed, Fiamme has a hot temper, and Howell is the Only Sane Man.
Pretty much my cast in a nutshell.

Swampbloods...yeah. I'll explain later. Think Karkat's mutation, only more widespread and more hated,
(I'm actually having fun writing this. Me gusta character freedom, though I doubt I'm portraying them well. Ahaha.)

EVERYONE PAY ATTENTION TO LANGUAGE! It'll get cool later on if you do, promises. There are a lot of key descriptive words here.

(And watch out for grammar and spelling mistakes please and thank you).