"It's a dirty lie."
Valleri didn't have a first thought when she woke up, if you could even say she was awake.
She felt like she was viewing the world through a dirty lens, her half-lidded eyes struggling to open, her vision blurred and distorted. She felt numb; distant from her own body, only a heavy soreness that soaked deep within her bones like lead.
Something was wrong with her; it felt like she was Swiss cheese with the burning holes riddling her beaten and battered body. But through the foggy distance and through her barely-awake mind, she could feel the lesions in her flesh twist and warp around themselves, the gaping wounds slowly clamping up, as though mending themselves.
Valleri could barely recognize herself wondering if this was what it was like to die.
Even though her vision was obscured, she could still sense a vague shape moving somewhere in front of her. ...No, above her? Was she lying down somewhere?
A white face with two long antennae moved into view, two large, dark eyes staring down at her. The face smiled.
"Good morning~!" the woman sang. Her voice was light and youthful, yet subdued, as though she were afraid of speaking too loudly. With her raging headache, Valleri damn well hoped this woman wasn't about to raise her voice.
The woman bug waved an arm in her face, and Valleri was distantly surprised to see that she didn't seem to have hands or claws; her arms ended in long blades.
"Are you lucid? Can you follow my arm with your eyes?" She asked. Valleri couldn't even lift a finger, much less speak a response, but she looked back and forth as the sharp arm swung from side to side, like the pendulum of a clock.
Another smile. "Good! I'm glad you're awake. Lady Isma did quite the number on you…"
Images began to flash before Valleri's eyes. The water reaching up to drag her down, the bullets ripping through her flesh, being rocketed out a window from several stories above…
(She felt like she was drowning.)
"It's a miracle you're still alive at all. Were you not apprehended so close to the Sanctum, you may not have survived your injuries." A sigh. "Honestly, was such a dramatic use of force really necessary…?"
Apprehended…? Oh. Right. She was running from the police after being framed for murder and kicking one of their beloved knights in the gut. Did it matter if she lived or died now? Either way, she was fucked.
Fucked. That was her whole situation. If Valleri weren't so drowsy, she'd probably be having a breakdown now. She got fucking caught. She just got FRAMED for motherfucking MURDER in some whackjob world made of BUGS.
Spell it out for me, F - U - C - K.
The doctor crossed her arms together and smiled again. "Well, no matter! We'll get you patched up right quick for your trial!"
FUCK.
The doctor reached for something out of Valleri's view, and pulled out a large machine made of metal and crystal, suspended in the air above Valleri. She grabbed a section of the contraption that resembled the lens of a magnifying glass, and a blinding light shined down on Valleri, forcing her to squint her eyes closer shut until she could hardly see a thing.
That clamping feeling returned, and now she was certain that her wounds were closing themselves. The hot, slick blood across her body receded back into her injuries as they sealed up, leaving her almost unscathed.
"How is she?"
The light faded, and the doctor spun around to see a new figure walk through the door. "O-Oh! The patient is stable, my Lady, and her wounds are healing nicely. Currently no signs of scarring or permanent damage, and it appears she'll make a full recovery."
The doctor crossed her arms in a way that somehow didn't hurt. "Although, she doesn't seem to be responding well to the anesthesia… She's conscious, and her eyes are tracking, but she's otherwise unresponsive."
"That's perfectly fine. It's not an uncommon occurrence; especially considering we're dealing with a new species." The new voice walked into view and woah mama.
The new doctor was towering, Valleri would guess a good seven or maybe eight feet, depending on how high her operating table was. A snow-white cloak was draped across her shoulders like a lab coat, and underneath, an expensive-looking black lace dress embedded with shimmering blue pearls hugged her slim figure, form-fitting and yet comfortable looking, with a cutout on the side for her leg. Under the dress, Valleri spied arctic blue chitin chest plates, with two long antennae poking through a head of long, sapphire hair rolling over her shoulder, and behind her trailed a pair of beautiful sapphire butterfly wings.
Damn, Valleri thought in a flash of drugged-up madness. I never knew bugs could be so sexy.
The butterfly in the white cloak walked around her operating table, eyeing Valleri up and down, and not in the same way Valleri was doing for her. This woman's eyes were sharp and clinical, watching as the bullet holes in Valleri's body slowly sealed up into nothing.
"And… Are you sure you'll be alright proceeding with this? I understand that-"
"I'll be fine, my Lady," the shorter doctor said. "It is a healer's duty to serve all who come to their door, is it not?"
The unnamed butterfly smiled. "That is true, Sylvia."
The shorter one, Sylvia, nodded. "And besides…" She leaned over Valleri, inspecting her closely, and Valleri could see a strange sadness in her eyes.
"...I don't think she did it."
The butterfly's eyes widened in surprise. "...You're certain?"
"Yes, I'm positive. She's not the one, Lady Godiva."
The taller doctor, Lady Godiva, seemed deep in thought as she looked between Valleri and Sylvia. "...They may not accept your word, you know. Although you've seen the suspect before, you weren't there to witness the crime. It's possible that this woman and the man you knew are different people."
Sylvia paused, considering this. "Then that means… he's still innocent, right?"
"No, it means either one of them could have done it. And since one of the two possible suspects is still missing, there's no easy way of giving a guilty charge." Lady Godiva crossed her arms, furrowing her brow in frustration as the gears in her head turned. "Dammit… this mess only gets worse and worse. I'm sorry, Sylvia."
The girl curled her bladed arms around her, hugging herself gently. "It's… I'll be okay. Things could be far worse for me. I'm grateful for what I have."
Lady Godiva huffed, but held her tongue. Turning on her heel, she walked out the door. "Readminister the anesthesia. She still has a few more rounds of healing to undergo."
"Yes, my Lady."
Valleri's vision blurred, and she knew no more.
"So… Are all of you Great Knight people stuck-up bitches, or is it just you and Greenie?"
She flinched as a silvery blade glanced just over her shoulder and embedded itself into the wooden wall of the covered carriage they were riding in, wooden splinters spraying across Valleri's cheek and falling to the floor. She smirked, rattling the thick metal chains clasped around her wrists while the literal white knight sitting across from her, gleaming in lethal elegance and grace, glared daggers into her.
Hearing that she actually was being afforded a proper trial, Valleri came to the logical conclusion that nobody would kill her yet, and thus, could get away with talking shit about every one of these shiny losers. To their dumb masked faces. It wasn't like she could get off for good behavior at this point.
"You would insult our order?" The knight, with three horns almost longer than her blade and a dress that was somehow incorporated into her armor, was glowering so hard, Valleri thought her weird mask was going to shatter. "I suggest you cease your useless prattle and await your fate in silence. Your words are meaningless to me."
Her chains rattling, Valleri gestured to the razor-sharp nail jammed into the side of the poor carriage, less than an inch away from her neck. "This is meaningless?"
With bizarre strength, the knight drove the blade deeper with a single sharp push, the blade now jutting out of the wood at an awkward angle so that it would be even closer to her skin, just waiting to be sliced apart.
Valleri raised her hands disarmingly. "Hey, hey. No need to beat me to death with the stick that's up your ass."
The bumpy carriage ride came to an uncertain stop, and the small, pot-bellied bug that was driving them tapped on the iron bars that served as the only window to the outside world. "L-Lady Dryya? Is everything alright back there?"
The porcelain knight, Dryya, gave a silent, sideways glance at the poor driver, before she yanked her sword out of the carriage wall and settled back down into her seat.
"Tch. It's fine. Keep moving."
The driver nodded, relaying the order to the stag(Was a stag pulling this thing? Why'd they need a driver, then?), and with a lurch, they started moving again.
Valleri bit a corner of her lip, giving an innocent - if awkward - side-smirk, averting her gaze from Dryya while she snickered internally. She could be mere hours away from a horrific death, and God damn her if she wasn't gonna spend it making everyone's lives harder.
She looked at the curtains that covered the back of the cart, shrouding the inside from prying public eyes wanting to get a good look at the supposed murder-terrorist who had recently caused such an uproar. They were drawn tightly enough that she couldn't make out any specific images, but she could recognize the deep blue atmosphere of the City of Tears, the constant patter of rainfall on cloth covering above them, the white noise that almost could've lulled her into a peaceful sleep.
(How was the rain not soaking through and dripping down on them? Was it some kind of magic? (...Valleri briefly forgot that waterproofed materials existed.))
...Was this it? Was she really going to be tried and executed for a crime she didn't commit? Execution… The word felt too light to her, so distant. Was the gravity of her situation just not setting in yet? She may have been a worthless leech on society, and she probably had all this a long time coming. But executed? Her? It seemed laughable, like it couldn't possibly happen to her.
That kind of thing happened to sadistic serial murderers she watched documentaries of late at night. That kind of thing only ever happened centuries in the past, or in strange, far-off lands where capital punishment was a fact of life instead of a constant political debate.
It didn't happen to sad, petty thieves like her. Did it?
The carriage bumped on a pothole, shaking Valleri out of her thoughts. She needed a change of topic. Flashing another smile at Dryya, she asked, "So why are you here? I thought Green Onion Head would've jumped at the opportunity to drag me around like a dog."
Lady Dryya gave an agitated sigh, her patience running wire-thin. "Lady Isma took an… unexpected leave of absence, following your arrest."
Valleri blinked, surprised by this new information. "Oh? And… why'd she do that?"
"I'm not obligated to share information with criminals."
"...Pfft. Fine, be that way."
Valleri sighed, giving up on figuring out anything else about her situation. She resigned herself to trying to relax as best as she could while chained and in the cramped, dark, damp prison carriage. Trying again to look out the very edge of the curtain, she could hear the murmurs of pedestrians that were staring at her cart, though she couldn't make out words. They probably all knew who she was by now. She had not done a very good job being subtle.
...Or did she do a fantastic job at drawing attention to herself? It's important to have a good mindset.
She listened to the white noise surrounding her, letting her mind drift away upstream. The bumping of the cart below her, the meaningless voices whispering just outside, the steady creaking of rocking boats in the canals nearby-
Valleri blinked. "Say, why're we in a carriage, anyway?"
Dryya looked confused, before her face furrowed into another glare that was starting to become a signature for her. "What kind of asinine question is that? You're being transferred to a holding cell. Why else?"
"Yeah, but why in a carriage? I thought these roads were mostly for footpaths; don't you guys usually use boats?" Valleri kept to herself, but she wasn't stupid; she'd seen how the City's roads were primarily for pedestrians.
Other than walking, they seemed to have three main forms of transportation; the limited Tramways around the city, the Stagways, or by long, fancy rowboats that drifted through the wide rivers snaking around the city. The only comparison she could make were the rivers of Venice, though from the pictures she remembered seeing of the city, Hallownest seemed to have a more fair balance between road and river, whereas Venice was almost entirely river.
"You're just taking me to some local City jail, right? What's the big wagon for?"
Dryya seemed unwilling to answer, but she also recognized that Valleri would never leave her alone until she was satisfied. "Well, privacy, for one. We can transport prisoners without making a grand show of it, and I'm sure you'd rather do without the gawking."
Valleri bit her lip, trying to rub the back of her head but finding that the chain didn't go long enough. "O-Oh. Yeah, that makes sense, I guess."
"There's also the matter that you aren't going to a local prison. Your case is a very delicate political matter, so we've been ordered to take you directly to the White Palace dungeons, where the City rivers don't run."
Valleri nodded along in understanding, leaning back. A comfortable silence fell between the thief and the knight.
"...Wait, where're we going?"
The Pale King, for all of his faults, was a bug of Order.
Not to a fault, nor was he someone who micro-managed his subjects. Rather, the idea of Order itself. Not only in physical manifestation, but in its other, less abstract forms.
Take his City of Tears. While not built like the perfect architecture of the illustrious White Palace, it held its own kind of order; one not physical, yet equally tangible. An order enforced by every one of his loyal soldiers, from big to small. An eternal city, never to fall to the ravages of time. All within an eternal kingdom, free from the entropy of the world. The perfect order.
It was what he ultimately strove for, Order.
An impossible task for anyone, even him. But it was the divine measurement, the perfect state to judge his success.
And by it, his Kingdom was still longing.
For someone who, in his private musings, often imagined himself as Order's own Avatar, these failures proved vexing.
Especially now, when an ancient Goddess had just begun to rear her head. Already, she had upset so many fragile balances, and she was only getting started.
His Kingdom wasn't just an amalgamation of buildings and points. It was a living, breathing organism that stretched over the entirety of Hallownest. The cities its appendages, the Stagways and Trams vital arteries, and citizens the blood and soul of the Kingdom. And without blood and soul, the body would die.
Even if the citizens were the final bottleneck to his vision of a perfectly ordered kingdom, he had grown to appreciate them, in a strange sense. Enough, that when some began to drop dead from a new, foreign plague, he had felt an actual spike of concern for the suffering it heralded.
No doubt the White Lady's influence, these feelings. Back while he was establishing the framework of his new kingdom, such an event would have only concerned him from a pragmatic standpoint. The blood being under attack, he would have seen it. Concern for the masses, not for the individual.
Not to say he didn't view it pragmatically, yet it was now tempered by his strange compassion.
Though he couldn't spare the same concern for his own feelings.
Whatever the reason, it would remain a mystery.
He had divined much throughout his eternal life, and yet, this simple matter was beyond his intellect. Not to say he didn't entirely not know why.
Speaking of…
"My king?" One of his retainers, judging by the tone of voice, the careful footfalls, the rustling of fine silk, and, of course, the refined soul signature. Those blessed by his fine touch did show the signs, after all.
And of course, the fact that they had introduced upon his small, private office, nestled in a high place within the White Palace. A small balcony let in fresh air, as well as provided a view of the castle grounds. Something that kept him from insanity; A reminder of the fruits of his labor.
The Pale King, the Ruler of Hallownest, didn't bother looking up from his work. Hallownest ran on a kind of bureaucracy, which usually left him flush with paperwork. Relegation could have been done, but then, there wasn't anyone whose judgement he truly trusted; in the realm of Order, at least.
"Yes?"
"More documents regarding the upcoming festivities, requiring your approval."
The Pale King paused his work, looking up. While this paperwork was, in essence, his most important duty (aside from his mere presence keeping Hallownest alive), it could become grating at times.
A distraction was due, he supposed.
"Specifically regarding?"
His retainer dropped a new stack of documents onto his ornate desk.
"For the festivities on Kingsday-"
At the name, the retainer's words ceased to register within his mind.
Kingsday, one of the most accursed holidays in his calendar. It was not his suggestion, not even his idea; his Lady had proposed and organized it, practically without his consent. He knew she meant well, but he believed a holiday celebrating himself should feel far less stressful than it did.
If he had his way, he would lock himself far up here and continue his work uninterrupted as usual. But his Lady insisted he needed to familiarize himself with the populace he ruled over; insisted, that he needed to "socialize." The whole thing seemed rather repulsive to him and he'd rather have nothing to do with it, thank you very much.
His compassion for his subjects was one thing, but he still preferred his distance.
If only he had things his way. But he didn't, not always. An antithesis to his Order.
At least an eighth of the paperwork he went through these days was related to this damnable holiday, in one way or another. And with the new stack of documents, it seemed closer to a fourth.
Lovely.
The Pale King may have been a Higher Being, but it appeared some facets of life ignored such designations. Many days, he was a paper-pusher like anyone else.
"-and they just need these documents signed."
He didn't bother responding. And, like the sure gears of a bridge, the retainer left, once again leaving the Pale King in silence.
He looked down to the new pile of scrolls, then to the door. The retainer had failed to completely close it.
The scrolls.
The... door...
…
He needed a break.
Then take one. This paperwork is meaningless anyway, it won't save anyone. You have more important things to attend to. The Pale King bright a claw to his temples, hissing. A headache? No, a… vision? But this seemed different, somehow more direct.
The Pale King stood up to walk to the dungeons. The Pale King stood… stood? Why would he go to…?
Almost involuntarily, he rose from his desk, half-fighting against some alien instinct, within or beyond himself, but far more powerful than he. Body shaking, he staggered over the door of his office, stumbling over himself and almost crashing face-first into the heavy door.
He wandered down the halls aimlessly with clear purpose, leaning on the wall to keep himself upright. His retainers stared in concern as he passed them, murmurings of "My king?" And "Are you alright?" falling on deaf ears.
Unable to find the will to respond to them between labored breaths, the Wyrm only kept walking, half-falling as he descended into the dungeons.
"Hey, listen, this place is cool 'n all, but I gotta say that the minute these chains come off, I'm decking someone in the face."
Watching over Valleri while the two were alone in her new cell, Dryya stood up straight, prim and proper, and only offered a bitter sideways glance.
"Then I suppose you oughtn't be given the chance."
Valleri blew raspberries at her, waving her arms as dismissively as she could with her tight chains. God, this place sucked. This place couldn't even be described as a prison anymore; it was a dungeon. She was never enthusiastic to find herself in a prison, but at least back in LA she'd be afforded some basic rights. 'No cruel or unusual punishment' and all that.
Out here, in this dark, damp jail cell, she'd only gotten lucky so far. Despite her endless bullshit, she was lucky that Dryya didn't feel like, say, cutting off her ears or something freaky like that.
Though, there was something strange about it all. About… this room, specifically. It wasn't just some inhospitable hole in the wall with some metal bars in front of it to lock her in. The thick walls, the small space with zero appliances for her to drink, sleep, shit, any of it. Nothing but a table in the middle and some chairs, where she was currently chained to the wall. Instead of open-aired metal bars, the room was locked with a solid, heavy metal door.
Valleri paused at the observation. She didn't seem to be in for any torture yet, but the atmosphere made her nervous. "Is this… an interrogation room?"
Before Dryya could answer, the door clicked and swung open. Two imposing guards stepped into the cramped room, escorting a small and stout… bee? The bee, who was maybe a head or two shorter than Valleri was, shook as he stepped into the room, adjusting his large, round glasses on his face.
A guard nudged the bee with the butt of his spear, making him yelp as he stepped forward, startled. The guard spoke, "Scholar Hurley, do you recognize this figure?"
"E-Er… Recognize, do I? Yes, let's see here… Hrm." His voice was old, but pitched, and he sounded like he was in his seniority. He hopped up onto one of the chairs across from Valleri, readjusting the large spectacles on his face again as he leaned forward, taking in her details. Valleri leaned back uncomfortably under his gaze.
"Hrmm… Yes, the features are similar… Pale-pink skin, the protruding nose, the hair… Hm. The ears are shaped interestingly like snail shells…" Valleri raised a hand to her ears, distantly offended. They didn't look like that… Did they?
The bee, Scholar Hurley, sat back down in the seat. "But this one appears different, too. The hair is longer, the face is sharper… More feminine, perhaps? It's hard to say; none of us are very familiar with this species."
Valleri blinked, giving an intimidating, toothy grin. "What, r'you askin' if I'm a bitch?" She wasn't some weird cryptid in a damn test tube. This bee guy seemed reasonable enough, but could anyone blame her for getting a bit pissed?
To her surprise, Scholar Hurley actually laughed. Not a mocking laugh, but one of honest amusement. "Oho! This one has quite the mouth on her! Yes, and I remember the, erm, other one was much too quiet. Unsettlingly so."
Dryya stepped forward, her face scrunched up in frustration... Or panic? "Scholar Hurley, what are you trying to say?"
"Hm. It still may be too early to tell, but… No, I don't believe it. I don't believe it was her."
Dryya's grip on her blade tightened. "So, for the record, you are saying that this suspect is not the culprit you witnessed?"
"Yes… Yes, I'm quite certain. She is not."
Valleri, Hurley, and the guards ducked just in time to avoid a wide, furious swing of Dryya's blade, which glanced off of the cell wall and left a deep gash in the thick stone. She hissed in barely contained rage, gripping her blade in a vice that threatened to warp the metal under her claws.
Valleri, face down on the table and hands over the back of her head, slowly looked up at the seething knight. She still had zero clue what was happening, but… She apparently wasn't getting executed? Yet? She didn't even know what crime she was being accused of here. Should she be panicking?
As though reading her thoughts, Dryya's blade swung around so that the sharp tip was pointed at her throat, catching her attention. "This does not free you from suspicion, outsider." Valleri could see the overwhelming frustration in Dryya's eyes as she glared burning holes into her. "Even if you are no murderer, you still have several crimes to answer to, for your chaos in the City earlier today."
What?! Valleri glared back for a moment, before she remembered. Oh. Oh, riiiight… That whole mess probably wouldn't look good on a resume.
Scaring half the city into evacuating, resisting arrest, destruction of property, roundhouse-kicking a Great Knight, shooting at a Great Knight, probably ruining a very expensive stained glass window, and not to mention all the petty theft she'd been involved in for the last few days. She probably had this all coming to her.
Dryya spun on her heel to storm out the cell, and-
-The door creaked open, and all froze at the sight of the being that stood in the doorway.
After a second of surprise, Dryya was the first to drop to her knee in respect. The two lesser knights flanking her did as well, and Hurley panicked for a moment before bowing as best as he could. Valleri, still in chains, could not move, even if she wanted to.
But she stared at the blindingly white bug that had just entered the prison cell, taking in his form. The strange glow that surrounded him, the crown of sharp spikes around his head. He seemed… confused, like he'd forgotten why he was here. He glanced around the room, trying to recognize the people in it, before his eyes fell on Valleri.
There was power in those eyes. Power few humans ever encounter in all their lives, power that Valleri didn't know how to comprehend.
So instead of trying to understand, she just took a shot in the dark. "So, uh… you're the King guy, aren'tcha? You're... shorter, than I expected."
From her kneeling position, Dryya tensed up, quaking with rage at the insult to her King. She reached for her blade, but with only a simple wave of his hand, the King sated her anger. Dryya looked up at him, questioning if the attack on his pride was so excusable. The King only nodded, and Dryya stood down.
Valleri blinked. That was… impressive. She didn't think that hardass would listen to anyone. She'd never met a true King before in her life, and the way he commanded respect and obedience as easily as breathing was intimidating, even for her.
His gaze turned back to Valleri. The regal king and the lowly thief.
He took a deep breath, and in an alien voice that seemed to reverberate through Valleri's very soul, He spoke. "If We may have the room? We wish to speak to the suspect, alone."
Now Dryya tried to stand again, panic in her eyes. "Y-Your Majesty-!" But the King only held up another placating hand, and Dryya paused, still halfway kneeling.
"At ease; We will not be harmed." Dryya still looked hesitant, but she nodded, and motioned for the other guards to rise and follow her out. Hurley looked frozen for a minute, before rushing out of the door with a nervous cry.
The King closed the door and locked it behind Him, leaving Him alone with Valleri.
She could barely breathe as a heavy silence fell over them. Was this it? Did the King want to execute her by His own hand? Or worse? She wondered if Dryya was still standing just outside, ears pressed to the door.
The King - The Pale King, she remembered him being called, walked around her, closing in. She couldn't hear any footsteps, like his cloak was just gliding off of the ground. His dark eyes met her green ones.
"...What are you?"
Valleri didn't know how to respond as the Pale King sighed, approaching her. He held up a white, chitinous hand before her, which began to glow with strange magics. Valleri panicked; Was this it? Her execution?
But all that happened was the locks on her chains suddenly un-did themselves with a click. They came loose and clattered to the ground, and Valleri froze in shock for a few seconds before rubbing her sore and tender wrists. Asshole guards had to put them on so tight.
The Pale King turned, looking deep in thought. "We… should not be here," He spoke. "And yet, We find ourselves having been… drawn here, somehow. Is this power your own? Is it the power of another? Or is it some unseen force, acting beyond the reach of either of us?"
He shook his head, holding his hands behind his back. "...Hm. Perhaps it is some kind of fate. Alas, We are here now, and that is what matters most."
He turned back to Valleri, and waved, gesturing for her to stand. She, hesitantly, did so, rising from her cold metal chair behind the interrogation desk to approach him. His mask did not waver, but something in his eyes scrunched up at the sight of her.
"...A figure, so alien. And yet, We feel a strange…" He blinked. "No, perhaps 'kinship' would be a stretch. We are nothing alike, and yet, there is that familiarity… "
Valleri could barely move, barely breathe, as the God-King of Hallownest stared deep into her, and something told her that he was reading into her eyes, into her very soul. A presence lingered somewhere within her, something she or any other human had never felt before.
"Something beyond the recollection of a mind that never forgets. ...Hm."
The Pale King raised his claws, shaking, perhaps in anticipation? He placed his hand onto Valleri's chest, and some glow about him seemed to shift at the contact. Two souls, opposites in every way, connected.
Valleri stiffened, her fists balling up.
"A shame, that you stand in violation of our sacred Law. Were you not to be tried, perhaps the Soul Sanctum would enjoy to research your otherworldly Soul, and We would not mind examining you ourse-"
With a resounding crack!, Valleri delivered a swift uppercut to the Pale King's jaw.
The King reeled backwards, cradling his injured mask in his claws as he staggered into the wall. A tense silence fell over the room, and Valleri could feel her nerves alight as she stared down the cell door, waiting for Dryya to charge in at any moment and impale her again.
A good few seconds of the King's agonized groaning later, the door still did not swing open and Valleri let herself gulp. Looking back at him, the Pale King had a fire of rage in his eyes for a moment, before blinking it away. He raised another glowing hand to his mask, and the sizable fracture Valleri left on it faded away. She wasn't even fazed anymore.
"T-... To strike a King… nay, a God, so brazenly… Even while under arrest, defenseless… Does your insubordination know no bounds?"
She felt her blood boil, and against her better judgement, Valleri exploded.
"Okay, listen here, asshole! I don't know where the fuck I am or why I'm here, or why your whole damn kingdom thinks I killed someone or something, but it's all bullshit. I'm just some dumb pickpocket with no life, trying not to starve in some shithole desert city that'll probably explode in a few decades! I've been living off of scraps and loose change for the past week and I'm fucking sick of this place! It was cool at first, but I don't care about your damn kingdom or anyone in it! I just want to fucking go home!"
Fighting back tears, Valleri put her face in her hands and leaned back against the nearest wall, breathing heavily from screaming her lungs out. ...At the King. She was definitely going to be executed now. And so what? She didn't care anymore. None of them cared.
Both of them were struggling to catch their breaths, neither of them moved until the Pale King staggered to his feet (Feet? She didn't know if he had feet. That robe just dragged around everywhere), and stared her directly in the eye.
"Prisoner… Nay, Valleri. There is something We must ask of you."
Valleri pushed her hands up into her hair, staring down at him with a mix between contempt and curiosity. "...Whaddya want?"
"Are you a Higher Being?"
The question hung in the air between them both. Even without knowing the definition, or the connotations behind it, Valleri could feel the weight that hung off of the Pale King's words as she looked him up and down, contemplating. She felt so tired. When would he pull out a knife and plunge it into her throat? When would he declare her execution date? When would it end?
Lazily, Valleri held a hand, flat and parallel to the ground, to the top of her head. She moved it down to the top of the Pale King's head, ignoring the crown.
"...I'm a Higher Being than you, little dude."
The Pale King blinked, his expression beyond bewildered. Valleri, despite everything, cracked a dumb smile at him. He shook his head with a heavy sigh, turning away from her to face the door.
"We… suppose it matters not. The situation has changed, and I can no longer ignore the circumstances. Changes must be made."
Valleri blinked, looking at him in anticipation. "What…?"
He swung open the cell door, where Dryaa was waiting. The knight blinked in surprise, before straightening herself out to look all regal and prim and proper and all the pompous shit.
"Y-Yes, My King?"
"Arrange for this suspect to be transported out of the dungeon, and prepare one of the Palace guest rooms. A security detail of at least two guards is to stand watch outside of Valleri's room at all times."
"Understood, My-"
Dryya and Valleri both paused, blinked, then recoiled. "W-What?!"
While Valleri stood in shock behind the King, the silver knight stepped forward in protest "F-Forgive me, Your Highness, but… you wish to move the suspect to a luxury suite? Is that wise?"
The Pale King nodded. "We understand that it is… unorthodox. However, We believe this is a very unique case, especially given the… nature, of the suspect's Soul."
Dryya stared speechlessly, her expression incredulous, before a wave of realization washed over her face. "I… I cannot claim to understand, My King, but… I shall see it done."
"Good. Now, then, We shall-"
"Wait. You heard none of that?"
Dryya and the Pale King turned to see Valleri's interruption. The knight tilted her head in confusion at the question.
"...No? These cells are magically soundproofed, if that is what you ask."
Valleri's arm flopped to her side. "...Wow. I… Okay. That's kinda… dangerous."
"As I was saying," The Pale King continued, "It will take some time to prepare your room and assign guards to protect it." (Protect her ass; he just wanted to make sure she didn't do anything stupid.) "So for the time being, you can wait within this cell."
Valleri paused. "...I'm sorry?"
"Worry not. Our retainers work swiftly, and you shall be collected soon enough. Until then, Lady Dryya, your men are to stand watch by this door for security."
Lady Dryya was still visibly shaken by whatever madness had possessed the King to show such kindness to a potential murderer, but she bowed in respect regardless. "Understood, Your Majesty!"
Before Valleri could protest, the heavy metal door slammed in her face, locking her in the cold cell all alone. She stared at the door for a few moments, speechless and struggling to process everything that just happened, before she kicked at the door in frustration.
"Chicken-shit bureaucrats," she cursed to herself.
"G-Got another one over here!"
"Registering. Artifact B-0736, secured for study."
"Nuh-uh-uh, that thing's gotta be C Class."
"...Fine. Artifact C-0086, secured."
Here's a life lesson, kids: If you enjoy something, don't make it your job. It'll turn into a drag at best, and at worst, a living nightmare. Don't ruin something you love just for a bit of profit.
Ogrim was lucky enough to watch something he enjoyed as a hobby become boring. Any other day, he could spend hours down here, exploring all the strange and surprising things that could be found buried in the City's Junk Pit. It was one of his few hobbies that he could actually share with other people(Let's not talk about the other ones), and sometimes he and Isma would talk and explore this place for hours, always finding something new. Nobody else ever came down here; it was their own little corner of the world.
("It's cute when you get passionate about something," she'd once said. He didn't think he'd ever recover.)
And then they'd stumbled upon something apparently called a "television", and now there was a constant guard detail under direct orders of the King.
He would never question His Highness's word, of course. And even if he hadn't sworn an oath of loyalty, the possibility of a civilization more developed than Hallownest was more important than his own personal feelings.
But he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.
This cataloguing effort was overseen by him (and Isma, when applicable), with the assistance of Lady Monomon. She'd designed a system to sort their findings; Class A was for small items, anything that could be reasonably carried with one hand. Class B was for larger items that would require two hands, and Class C was for anything that needed more than one person to move safely. So far, they'd never needed a Class D.
Ogrim crossed his arms, examining their latest discovery. It was immediately obvious that it was some type of vehicle, much too small for him, but most of the guards here could probably use it comfortably. It had two wheels, metal spokes surrounded by a layer of some firm, yet slightly malleable material. The body was sleek and black, minus some wear on the sides from having been in the Pit. A plush black seat was placed on top of the body, with two handlebars(?) that seemed to turn the front wheel.
There were labels on the side, but they were illegible; at the very least, they seemed to be in the same language they've found on all the rest of the artifacts. The scholars of the Archives were working on transcribing it, and they probably would've already if they weren't wasting time arguing over what to name it.
"Alright, that's enough for this haul. Secure everything for transport to the White Palace."
The soldiers stood up and all gathered near the assortment of collected artifacts and began loading them into metal boxes. The head inspector did a few more rounds, checking that every artifact was accounted for and jotting down small descriptions of everything so that nothing would be forgotten.
Origin looked around the area, arms crossed, silent. He'd heard about the incident that Isma was involved in not long ago, chasing down a killer and scaring off half the City in the process. Where was she now? He hadn't seen her ever since then. Was she okay? Isma was strong, and he was sure she wouldn't have sustained any serious injuries, if any injury at all, but…
"All packed up! The rest is on you, Sir Ogrim."
He gave a heavy sigh. That was the other reason he was here; there weren't any roads between the Junk Pit and the Palace. Someone had to do the heavy lifting.
As he wiped down the counter, preparing to lock up, the door slammed open, and a figure staggered in. He sighed.
"I'm sorry, we're not open-"
He paused when he recognized her. Lady Isma stepped in, breathing heavily. Nobody else was in the tavern, but he couldn't help but glance around, then do a double take.
She closed the door behind her.
"Do you mind if I stay the night? I have… a lot on my mind."
Chapter name and summary are a reference to Nervous Shakedown by AC/DC.
Other musical references in this chapter include:
Sylvia by The Antlers
Lady Godiva's Operation by The Velvet Underground
Michael Hurley (artist)
woohoo lots of new characters! honestly naming new characters is probably one of my favorite parts of writing this. i get to throw all my dumb music at yoouuuu
plot's developing kinda slowly. though ig thats cause we have several months between MR chapters. We only have a few more chapters of this "introductory" bit, and then we can get to the fun stuff :D Next chapter we're gonna bounce back to the main Ethno story and explore the Soul Sanctum, so that'll be fun too!
please leave a comment they are my sustenance