Thors Officer School, ToCS1 Outside the Fairy Tale
I would like to thank everyone for following, reviewing or sending me a PM. The fandom is small, but it feels far more personal here.
Apex85: The name I gave Vandyck was spur of the moment and I quite like it. There are no two ways about it though; it screams noble when the man really isn't one. So from now on going forward, Thors Principal will be known as Tristan Vandyck. I have changed it in the first chapter as well.
As for his participation in the Hundred Days War, to the best of my knowledge ToCS1 and 2 never talked about his service record, which is a shame. Now, these are Kiseki games we are talking about so there is always the possibility that I missed that little lore piece. Since it doesn't seem to bother you, I will leave it as it is.
JohnJoestar17: The first chapter was far from being a graceful introduction. Slapping a 11.000 word scene with no thematic or perspective break and heavy exposition is a really bad idea in general when it comes to novel writing. The only reason I probably get away with it is because this is Kiseki fanfiction with dedicated readers who are heavily involved in the lore. I still posted it because I've been in a creative dump for more than a year or more like four years, if I count my original fiction. I needed to put something out to get into a writing habit again. So please bear with me.
Millium will appear in the story. Later. Crow on the other hand...well, this chapter should answer that question.
Chapter 2 - A Day in the Life of Crow Armbrust
One of the main benefits, Crow decided, about attending Thors were the female dress uniforms. There was something about the cut, this mixture of severity and femininity that tickled his fancy. The epaulets which accentuated the delicacy of the women's shoulders, the tight skirt, the officer's hat, placed stylishly to the side. Yeah, definitely a step up compared to the uniforms at Odins military academy. The girls there looked like, well, girls with those pleated skirts and the puffy shoulders.
But here at Thors, the females actually looked like women.
Mostly.
The woman sitting behind the office table, which looked like a fortress made of paper, was wearing one of those dress uniforms in the green color of a commoner. She managed to look almost sexy while donning female clothes oozing adult charm.
Almost being the crucial word.
But even clothed in attire which on any other woman would challenge his self-control, Towa Herschel still challenged his self-control – namely an irresistible desire to snatch away her cadet hat and give her a nice head rub. All so he can rub it in her face that she only reached his chest. Given that women tended to grow in height in their early teens, she was probably doomed to stay a pipsqueak the rest of her life.
And let's not even talk about her wearing that summer dress. She did it once last year. One of the cadets asked her whose little sister she was and an instructor wondered why she was slacking off on attending Sunday School. The youth bracket in fact, the one for kids between eleven and thirteen years. It was hilarity writ large, never mind the preposterous notion of Towa Herschel slacking off.
She never wore her summer dress on campus again.
Crow closed the door to the office belonging to the chairwoman of the cadet committee. He walked to Towa's desk, the adjutant's table, and sat down on the chair in front of her. Then he put his feet on the desk, taking care not to touch the documents.
"Crow, put down your feet, please."
A two on the Towa Annoyance Scale. Safe zone. Therefore he ignored her.
"Madame 'Shadow Chairwoman', what do you need me for?"
He felt how her eyebrows almost began twitching, but she resisted his baiting. Her self-control was pretty awesome.
She put down the documents she was handling and looked him straight in the eyes. Her gaze took on that steely sheen which broke no argument, piercing and smashing away all resistance foolish enough to stand in her way.
Crow put down his feet. He was not going to project his usual irreverent self when confronted with Towa's game face.
"I need your help. The help of the best combat arts user at Thors."
"What's the problem, Towa?"
"Today, I received the finalized list of all prospective members of Class VII."
Very interesting. "And?"
She sighed. "It's a diverse mixture of cadets. Two nobles, six commoners... and one in-between."
Crow quirked an eyebrow. "How does one become an in-between?"
"By being the adopted child of a baron."
He thought a moment about that. "This must be awkward as all gehenna."
She sighed again. "You have no idea."
"You know him?"
She flinched, her almond shaped eyes widening. "Well, yes," she said slowly as if testing the waters.
"So it's a guy. Someone from your old school?"
"Stop it Crow. This is not about Rean."
Rean? Wasn't this the name of Towa's right hand man at Baldurs, when she was student council president? The one who did all the leg-work for her - and more? His lips went up in a cheshire grin. This was prime teasing material. Just wait till he told Angelica.
"Crow, get your head out of the gutter. He is not my boyfriend."
A solid five on the Towa Annoyance Scale. Starting to get dangerous. He blanked his face. There was always later, when Angelica was back from her field exercise. "I understand. A mixed class heavy on the commoners, so you fear the nobles in Class I and II will throw a hissy fit."
Towa folded her hands. "They'll do that regardless of the proportions. The idea alone will rile them up which is why the current cadet chairwoman needs to step down."
"In other words, the Shadow Chairwoman of Thors finally decides to step into the light, using her newfound position to shield the fresh chickadees of Class VII from the evil plotting of the noble cadets."
"Can you try to be less melodramatic?"
"Oh come on, Towa. Some things need to be done in style."
"And plotting the downfall of the current cadet chairwoman in her own office doesn't earn me any style points in your book?" She smirked.
Crow was lost for words, if only for a moment. This was one of the rare occasions when Towa went from almost sexy to full blown sexy. When the chips were down she always went for the gutsy option. So following that logic… "You want to challenge her to an arts duel."
She wrapped a lock of hair around her gloved index finger. "If it were about ousting her out of the chairwoman position, I could do it in two days, using a committee referendum. I have all the necessary forms ready to be stamped. Most of the instructors would support me. Following that is the re-election which I'd win in a landslide."
"Yeah, the whole of Thors knows you're the one doing all the heavy lifting in the committee. And Gelica can make a solid part of the noble cadets fall in line. But being at the top is about more than being an excellent administrator."
"Exactly. That's why I need to beat the supposedly best combat arts user at her own game."
Crow smirked. "Of course, we both know she isn't the best."
Towa smiled sweetly at him. "I'll keep your secret. If you give me a winning strategy."
He sighed theatrically. "Madame chairwoman, you drive a hard bargain. But alas, bound by duty and honor I shall pledge myself to you, body and soul."
"As I said Crow, a winning strategy is all I need." She rolled her eyes. "Pledge your knightly devotion to somebody else."
If Towa only knew. "George already did maintenance on your combat orbment?"
She nodded.
"Good." He opened his trusty Quartz pouch and took out a piece of pure, engraved nohval, the barely contained power vibrating in his palm. "Take it."
Her tiny hands closed around the Master Quartz, the nohval almost disappearing in the blackness of her glove. She gasped. "This is already mastered, right?"
"Yup." He popped the 'p'.
"So, what does it do?"
He grinned. "Why don't you put it into your ARCUS and feel for yourself?"
Towa opened her combat orbment as instructed. She took out her Canon Master Quartz and slotted in the inky piece of power, cut into the form of a dodecahedron. She closed her eyes and shortly after, her whole body lit up with the familiar cyan-colored glow of Epstein-Kowalski radiation.
She gasped again, her almond eyes becoming the size of dinner plates. Her mouth formed an 'o'.
"Crow, this is just unfair."
He shrugged. "So? You wanted a winning strategy, didn't you?"
"But this is..."
"Exactly what you need to do, Towa. We're at the most prestigious Officer School on the continent, where we're taught the art of war. Any instructor stupid enough to cry foul play will be laughed off the campus by all the other instructors. And if a student does it? Then they haven't got the message of what combat is truly about. Their remedial classes will be long and painful."
She put her index finger to her lips, her eyebrows creased in a scowl. "But I still need to practice, don't I? This ability seems too powerful to be immediately usable."
"Yeah. If you want, I can give you some pointers. Your elemental incarnation doesn't fit, so the ability won't trigger as often. Still, as long as your casting reserves are about the same level as your opponent's, you will crush her – utterly."
She nodded, warming up to the idea. "Yes, some practice sounds good." She closed her ARCUS. "Tomorrow evening, on the track field?"
"Nah, too open for my taste. Secret awesome training should be done in secret." He raised his thump and pointed at himself. "And I know the perfect place. Meet me the next day after dinner in front of the engineering building."
She rolled her eyes again. "If I must, but no funny business." She wagged her index finger.
"Yeah, yeah, understood. It's a date." He stood up. "Gotta go. Places to be, the works."
She gave him a glowing smile. "Thank you Crow. I knew I can count on you."
He returned her heartfelt thanks with an awkward smile. "Of course, Towa. Anywhere, anytime."
Driving to Heimdallr on Angelica's bike was pretty awesome, all things considered. Crow was pretty sure she would throttle him for taking her baby on a cruise without her express permission. But come on - the machine was a joint project and as much his baby as hers.
Nobles and their possessiveness.
Since he attended Thors, juggling his double life became easier despite the commuting time to the capital. The courses were much harder, no doubt. However, they also put heavy emphasis on practical application, something he excelled at. The classroom time was also reduced compared to Odins military academy. A mere twenty hours a week, occasional field exercises not included. The written exams were as difficult as ever though. It was simply expected that the cadets learned on their own time.
Physical conditioning also received a much bigger focus, but so what? He fought his way through a trial that would straight up kill most grown men as a sixteen year old punk. As such, he could again seemingly slack off and still receive straight A's in the combat exams. His true physical training was harder than most cadets on campus could endure, but there was no reason to let anyone know. It was natural to conceal his hand, save up his aces. It was something that came as easy to him as breathing.
Getting into Heimdallr itself was a choir as always. The amount of cars increased day by day causing traffic congestion on an almost hourly basis. Crow opted to cheat during such situations, weaving through gaps between cars too small to be capitalized by other drivers.
The faces they made at him were absolutely priceless.
His destination was Asgard District, a suburb of Heimdallr dominated by factories of all kind. A nexus of Heimdallr's secondary economic sector, the rapid transformation from manufacturing to almost full automation caused masses of workers to lose their jobs. It also became the birthing ground for a new batch of nouveau riche, cunning and ruthless business people of common extraction, who soon discovered the means of leveraging monetary power into political power. As a result they became major financial backers of the Reformist Faction. The neighboring districts became dilapidated in turn, due to masses of laid off people unable to maintain their housing. This left scores of empty real estate for the affluent and powerful to purchase.
As for the disaffected workers and their families? Most of them were resettled, often forcefully, to various less developed towns around the capital. That brought its own share of issues, but at least for the proper Heimdallr citizens the problem was out of sight and thus out of mind. The Imperial Chronicle published its usual propagandist tripe, hailing the measure's effectiveness and quick execution, heaping praise and adoration on Mr Bloody Steely Osborne.
It was the usual turn of the world. The strong preyed on the weak. While everybody focused on the class struggle between commoners and nobles, the class division between poor and rich was swept under the rug.
Crow didn't plan to ignore these people. It was after all a hotbed for new recruits.
He parked the bike in front of a brewery called 'Eichstätter Brauerei'. After locking his baby down, he made his way to the back entrance. There wasn't any need for secret signals. He was spotted beforehand by his comrades and allowed entrance into the headquarter of the ILF. The moment he stepped into the factory, the distinct smell of yeast and hop assaulted his nostrils. While the brewery was a front, the beer coming out of here was genuine. He wondered for a moment how Instructor Sara would like the place, but discarded the thought moments after. Soon, the ILF was going to leave this location behind. The moment they started to move for real, Heimdallr would be far too dangerous as their base of operations.
He may be reckless, but he was not suicidal.
He walked across the machinery, greeting people left and right, occasionally putting a hand on the shoulder of a comrade. The responses were respectful, sometimes even reverent, but there wasn't a speck of levity. As Crow soaked in the energy of the men and women around him, he turned his mind to steel, his heart to ice. Here, there was no Armbrust. No military cadet. No slacker who gambled his sweets away with the local kids at Trista.
Here he was C, the leader of the Imperial Liberation Front. Someone capable of steering men and women towards vengeance, inspiring patience and discipline along the way. He was someone who made a Jaeger corps leader kneel through sheer force of arms. Someone whose hate for Erebonia's prime politician was unsurpassed.
After he finished his round, Crow entered the basement. Like always, he headed for the archive first, though it could as well be called Gideon's personal hive. It was a well lit room with a high ceiling, abstract depictions of fabled creatures and holy plants carved into the stone. Gideon being the academic he was once told him the stories behind the ceiling's flora and fauna. Something to do with one of the countless animistic faiths which had influenced Erebonia for centuries. It was interesting trivia, but at the end of the day, Crow didn't use the room to learn about past stories.
The present was what concerned him.
Half of the room were rows of shelves filled with folders sorted by date. As for the folders themselves? They contained cheap black notebooks which were the essence of Gideon's work the last two and half years. Crow stepped into the other half of the room, dominated by a massive table that could give Towa's work desk a run for its money. Stacks after stacks of newspapers and magazines, unused notebooks, political pamphlets, their towering presence a testament to dedication and sheer bloody-minded obsession.
At first glance, the person in the center looked harmless. Hunched shoulders. The scrawny figure of a man who didn't exercise frequently, his stature even more diminished by the walls of paper looming over him. But it took only a few minutes of observation to catch on the subtle intensity of the man's actions. To realize he truly was the master of the gigantic amount of information surrounding him. To feel the smoldering flame burning in his veins, as he wielded scissors and glue like a pair of weapons.
When Michael Gideon first became part of the ILF, Crow was at something of a loss. How could a man like that even contribute to their cause? He still took the disgraced academic on Vita's insistence, for the one thing he had in common with them was his hatred for the Chancellor.
Assassinating a heavily protected target like Giliath Osborne was a gargantuan task, made even more difficult by the fact the man was former military. As such, he possessed an uncanny sense for danger, so Crow needed to grasp the mentality of a hunter in response. That meant patience, but even more crucial was a deep understanding about how his mark behaved. How it reacted. How it could be faked out and driven into a corner. Given the man was a politician and didn't have much of private life, the only way to map and anticipate his actions was through the political arena.
Crow was no stranger to politics, but like his school work, the skills his late grandfather taught him were more at home in a practical context. He could either infiltrate the Erebonian Government as an active politician, a pretty hopeless prospect, or all the training he received in his youth were worth spit. That left the indirect approach and Gideon happened to be the perfect candidate for the task.
As such, the man became Giliath Osborne's ultimate stalker.
"Hey, Michael, anything new?"
"Of course there is. It's the Chancellor we are talking about." The man spoke while continuing his work, cutting newspaper snippets and arranging them in another one of his black notebooks.
Crow had made it a habit of studying these notebooks on a regular basis. Gideon didn't arbitrarily put snippets from various newspapers together, but instead contextualized the disparate information of various media outlets into a comprehensible whole - though no prize for guessing what the articles were all about. More than ten years have passed since the Chancellor's inauguration. Adding the man's insane efficiency and political weight and the sheer volume of articles about him were staggering. Gideon also knew to combine events which were indirectly influenced by the Chancellor's actions. The connection was often far from obvious, before they were arranged side by side with other articles, but that's where the man's background in political theory came in.
Crow sat down beside his comrade and looked over the newspaper the former academic was gutting. "The Nuntius? Isn't this the official media outlet of the Arterian Holy See? You don't often include this one."
"Scarlet was nice enough to organize the issues of the past two months for me. As always, having another perspective is so very useful to evaluate that man's actions."
Crow grimaced. "Okay, I'll bite. What has Osborne done this time? I guess it's nothing good, if it causes the Holy City to scrutinize him."
Gideon scoffed. "Have you heard of the new package of educational decrees the Reformists are currently pushing?"
Crow leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. "The Imperial Chronicle might have mentioned it. As an aside to their usual ass-kissing."
"Ass-kissing." The former academic said the word like he was tasting it. "How very appropriate." He pushed the open page of his notebook in front of Crow. "This article from the Nuntius goes into actual detail about the content of the decrees."
The terrorist leader read the text. Then he cursed. "Compulsory education from age six to sixteen? Five days a week? Revival of the Erebonian language? What the hell? And why does the Imperial Chronicle omit something like this? I mean, we know the Chief-Editor is a sycophant, but are the rest of the journalists there totally spineless?"
Gideon took his notebook back. "The situation is what it is. Now comrade, can you tell me all the problems arising from the decrees?"
Crow scratched his head. "My feeling tells me this is bad."
"I dare say your feeling underestimates the graveness of the situation. Use your head."
"The Septian Church is going to be pissed."
"Why should they? The decrees don't forbid Sunday School. It merely makes it optional."
"Right. And after forcing little kids five days a week into classrooms, the buggers are certainly eager to continue putting their noses into books on Sunday. Besides, teaching kids that much during their formative years, that smells like political indoctrination to me."
Gideon smiled. "The article quotes Osborne who says the rapid technological transformation since the Orbal Revolution has lead to an explosion in knowledge. He further states that the future job market will need more than skilled workers, but employees with a deeper understanding of the technological process, which can't be conveyed by mere Sunday School education. If you ask me, this sounds pretty reasonable."
"Yeah, and we both know the dear Chancellor is a master in pushing his stinking agenda under the mantle of civilizational progress."
Gideon shook his head. "This by itself is a weak argument, Crow, but let's pretend for a moment I accept it. What exactly is his political agenda?"
"Weakening or outright driving supranational organizations out of Erebonia. He has almost finished the job with the Bracer Guild. The Church seems next in line and after that he will probably focus on the Epstein Foundation."
Gideon turned the page of his notebook and pushed it towards him again. Crow glanced over the articles glued there: several snippets about the guild bombing incident and the political fallout as well as an essay from a workers union pamphlet. It discussed stricter tariffs on Epstein derived orbal products. "Damn, I hate it when I'm right."
"Your argumentation still needs work."
"Come on, give me a break. Besides, it kinda itches me that Osborne's quote about the demand of technological progress does sound reasonable to me."
The former assistant professor wagged his finger. "It's in all probability a hoax. But this is a complex issue and unraveling it will require us to study several questions in depth. Like the nature of industrialization and machination, especially in regards to craftsmanship work. There are also the effects and consequences caused by extreme division of labor, like the Entfremdung - the alienation of the worker from his own work. Last but not least the shift of the economic sectors towards the tertiary one." He folded his hands in front of his face, his glasses reflecting the light and obscuring the eyes behind. "If you're free, I would be delighted to school you on these subjects."
"Thanks," Crow deadpanned. "I'm good."
"I guess you also see the problems stemming from turning the Erebonian language into the mainstay form of communication again?"
"Crystal. I mean it took the church centuries to standardize language across all nations in Western Zemuria. Starting armed conflict against a neighboring country is far more difficult when you understand what they are saying. Not that it prevented wars outright."
"Correct, though phasing out Zemurian Commons as the main language would be a slow process. Still, even the expressed intent on doing so is an open slap to the face against Arteria."
Crow shrugged. "Erebonian foreign policy 101. Be the biggest bully around."
"You boys having fun?" A sultry voice said.
Both of them turned and saw Scarlet and Vulcan enter the room. The former Jaeger corps leader was clad in combat fatigue, while the woman was wearing a nun's habit. "Heya, Scarlet, Vulcan. How are you doing?"
"Tch, I'm itching for a fight, boss. But you didn't need me to tell you that, don't you?"
Scarlet shrugged. "I may not be as eager for violence as this brute here," she playfully slapped his bare biceps, "but even I'm getting a little stir-crazy. So I went out to do a little bit of information gathering." She lifted the lower part of her habit with a single hand and performed a bow with one foot drawn backwards. "Our dear professor seems to be the only one who feels completely at home here."
"Former assistant professor," Gideon groused.
"Whatever. You're still an egghead."
Crow slammed his hand down the table. "Guys, as nice as it is to watch you banter, let's talk strategy. For the last two and half years, we've built in-roads into Heimdallr's disaffected citizens, organized crime as well as their elites. By doing so we gained an excellent information network and a fertile ground to recruit more members willing to further our cause. Thanks to Vulcan organizing the weapon smuggling routes for the criminal families, we're almost entirely self-sufficient when it comes to money. We will need further cash from High Lordiness Cayenne if we want those airships though. Thanks to Scarlet, we also have an ear on Church Grounds, which allows us cooperation with the homeless network. Last but not least, thanks to Gideon's profiling work, we also have a good understanding about how that bastard operates in detail."
He looked each of them in the eyes. "We can consider the preparatory phase complete. It's time we bring on the action!"
Vulcan and Scarlet folded their arms at the same time, their faces hungry. "About time boss."
Gideon sighed. "Any reason you are holding a war conference in my room?"
The other three looked at each other before nodding as one. "Because this strategy meeting concerns you as much as Scarlet and Vulcan," Crow said in full earnest. "I'm making you one of the field leaders."
The former academic looked bewildered. "You can't be serious."
"When it concerns the Chancellor Bastard, I'm always serious."
"But why me?"
Vulcan laughed uproariously. "Because without your work here," he made a sweeping gesture across the room, "we wouldn't even know where to begin. How to formulate a game plan to ventilate that bastards head. Because we're aware that you have trained yourself like crazy. Blood is difficult to clean and you left it all over the guns you did shooting practice with."
"But I'm not a veteran of battles like you three."
Scarlet chuckled. "This is about dedication, comrade. Yours burns brightly. I may have discarded the vows of the Church, but it damned well taught me that faith can move mountains. You're going to do well."
Crow looked at the former sister, before giving her a sharp, meaningful nod. "Give it to him, Scarlet."
The former member of the Congregation for the Sacraments took out a flute from the fold of her habit. It was a thing made of glistening metal with a vicious protrusion adorning the mouthpiece. Crow sensed tendrils of power pouring from the object, bits of miasma spilling from the various openings. Gideon stared at the flute with confusion. But when he read the serious atmosphere, he soon deduced the true nature of this seemingly mundane object. His eyes popped out as a result, his usual stoic demeanor completely discarded.
"Is this an Artifact?"
"The Demonic Flute. Scripture claims the melody of the thing can be used to control monsters. Problem is I haven't got a single musical bone in my body. But a cultured egghead like you should do fine. Take it."
The former academic grabbed the thin object, his hands shaking. "Thank you, comrades. I won't let your trust go to waste."
"If you want help, Gideon, give me a holler," Vulcan said. "As a Jaeger I'm somewhat familiar with taming monsters. I can offer you some advice about what to look for when you use this flute. No reason for you to get eaten by the monsters while you get used to the thing."
"A warning though," Scarlet added. "Artifacts are known to corrupt the morality and good judgement of its users. Now, I'm not going to mourn our loss of morality - we are going to get our hands very dirty. But if you start to get cocky, throwing caution to the winds because you think yourself invincible, that's when things get dangerous. We can't afford to underestimate our enemy, so be cautious."
Gideon clutched the Artifact like a lifeline, his posture gaining a sharp edge. "I will take care, comrades." He chuckled. "I guess this flute belonged to the spoils of one of your missions, Scarlet?"
"My first and last. But this is no time to talk about the past. We have a bastard to kill."
Crow folded his arms. "I couldn't have said it better myself, Scarlet. Now here's my plan..."
The meeting took the better part of two hours. It was tiring, but worth the effort. His field leaders were raring to go, hungry for action. Now that they were provided direction, all he had to do was sit lazily at Thors and watch his planning bear fruit. Michael had shaken off his hesitation, though Crow wondered whether the Artifact was already exerting its influence.
No matter. It was a risk he was willing to take.
He was readying himself to leave for Trista when one of his comrades, Max, approached him. "Hey, boss, I got a letter addressed to you. No sender."
Crow quirked an eyebrow. "A letter? Pretty old fashioned."
Max scowled. "That's the least strange thing of all. This missive was carried by a freaky blue bird."
He immediately snatched the piece of paper away.
"Whoa, boss. That thing important?"
Crow opened the envelope. "You could say that."
My dear Chevalier,
I have need of a bodyguard again. Meet me at Temple of Heavenly Tastes Gladsheim, 2nd level of Plaza Bifrost at 5 p.m. The VIP room number is 17. The restaurant is invitation only, so I have entered the name of your bodyguard persona on the guest list.
I eagerly await your presence,
The Azure Abyss
Crow cast a weak fire art, incinerating the letter on the spot. "Thanks for delivering the message."
"No prob, boss. You meeting someone?"
The terrorist leader smirked. "Yeah, the High Lady herself." And as always her timing was impeccable.
He went back into his personal quarters. A few minutes later he had changed out of his Thors uniform wearing a smart black suit with matching trousers and polished shoes. His trademark bandanna was deposited in his personal locker and his hair tied back in a small ponytail. He refused to wear a tie though, so he donned a pair of dark-tinted glasses to further distinguish himself from his usual appearance.
Angelica's bike was a no go. Far too attention grabbing like the woman herself. That left the tram network.
Time to go.
Temple of Heavenly Tastes Gladsheim - a high class restaurant hidden away in the bowels of Plaza Bifrost. Crow found the name pretentious as hell, but the food there was mouth-wateringly delicious. He checked his pistols to make sure they were secured. If he was going to play Vita's bodyguard, he could as well do a proper job. His anticipation was running high though. Watching Vita waltz through social gatherings was always a treat.
Crow was stopped by the concierge. He told the old guy with a monocle his alias, Daran Arbalest, and the exact VIP room number Vita had reserved. It was enough to convince Mr Stuffy he belonged here.
That and his sharp dress sense of course.
As he walked through the establishment he braced himself to curb down his usual rough speech. He was loath to use appropriate manners to mix in with high society, but his grandfather did give him some of the best political training one could ask for. Straight from the horse's mouth so to speak. If Vita called him to a place like this, she was going to rub shoulders with Heimdallr's social elite - wrapping them around her little finger while slowly and surely wringing out every scrap of use she could get away with.
And she could get away with an awful lot being the National Opera's celebrated Diva.
There was also her weird magic, but that was of course totally hush-hush.
For him a gathering like this usually meant insider information about the cesspool of intrigue Heimdallr was turning into. And insider information was always good to have. He was planning to assassinate the most well-protected individual in the whole of Erebonia, aside from the Emperor himself.
The VIP area was on the second floor. A couple of curtained rooms promising privacy and intimacy. In his opinion mere fabric was far too flimsy to guarantee such but whatever. Shaking off the useless thought he parted the heavy sheets, a dark blue material with a luxurious sheen, and prepared himself to enter this den of dark gossip, seduction and politicking.
"Here you are. Welcome, Daran."
There it was: the Voice. With a capital V. He once asked her whether she used any magic to make her Voice sound the way it did - voluminous, powerful, ensnaring, hauntingly beautiful. It was aural chocolate sprinkled with pure liquid desire. A Voice one could drown in, the timbre hinting at depths no man could safely scale. A siren's lullaby, luring the hapless and the alert into the sweet embrace of oblivion, making them lose themselves in sheer auditory bliss.
Her answer to his question back then was ambiguous, accompanied by her usual coy attitude. Something she displayed when she was teasing him for the heck of it.
"Hi, Vita." He would have gone with a more fancy greeting, were it not for the utter lack of guests in the room. His mouth also turned as dry as dust, as his eyes roved across her body. It was a natural law of the universe that the Witch always looked fabulous. Her cover job gave her access to the best designer clothes Heimdallr's artisans had to offer. Still, over the years of their… acquaintance, he acquired a certain immunity to her extravagant choices of attire.
As such, Vita dressing in relatively unassuming clothes hit his mental defense like a dagger in the back. Of course, what went for unassuming in the Diva's case still meant a short black cocktail dress with an immaculate cut. While without any adornment, it clung scandalously to her every curve. Her shapely legs were sheathed in shining dark stockings, her feet displaying elegant high heeled shoes.
"Like what you see?" Vita purred, her Voice full of silent promises.
Crow sat down, his eyes never leaving hers, taking in her amethyst orbs framed by eyelashes as fine as silken threads. The makeup highlighted a heart-shaped face that put to shame the visage of even the most beautiful noblewoman. Her open hair fanned out like a waterfall, free of her trademark ponytail or expensive accessories. He took off his shades. Then he licked his lips. His movements felt mechanical, as if his body was performing preprogrammed stances.
"Yes, I do like what I see." There was no use denying it. She was one of the few people in the world who could read him like a book.
"You're always so adorably honest, my sweet Chevalier."
Crow leaned back in his seat and put his hands behind his head. "Only to you, love." He put on his most shameless smirk.
Vita's answer were peals of laughter which washed over him in a warm embrace. The giggle of an innocent maiden mixed with the sultry chuckle of a performing actress.
"There aren't going to be any guests here tonight, right?" Crow said. "It's only us."
"How perceptive." Vita smirked. "Think about it: an exclusive candlelight dinner with the Azure Diva herself. My dear Mr Arbalest, right now you are the envy of all bachelors in Heimdallr. And a good couple of young maidens as well I guess. "
He laughed sardonically. "Flattered. Now is there some kind of dark secret you want to reveal, exclusive to my ears alone?"
"Not at all. I wish to keep you updated on my movements." She smiled mischievously. "I have recently landed a new job at Radio Trista. A nice little program called 'Abend Time'. I'm going to be the main host of my very own talk show, going on air soon."
Crow's mouth fell agape. "Okay, I'm not even going to ask how you want to juggle this with your whole Azure Diva and Anguis shtick. Still, is there a particular reason you're treading so close to my operating grounds?"
"Not at all, though it will make it easier for us to see each other." She winked.
He stared at her. "You're going to subjugate that radio station. Slowly, subtly, it will be ensnared by your wicked magic until they are completely at your beck and call."
"Why, this is quite a heavy accusation."
Crow thought more on the issue, until he reached a startling conclusion. "This is insurance to help the ILF spread its message, once we go public as terrorists." He shook his head, floored at Vita's sheer foresight. "Michael explained it to me a few weeks before. How terrorism is a strategy of the weak, of the desperate. It's only effective when our acts are made known to the general public, when the message is spread. The unrest and anxiety we induce in the masses is a provocation to make the government overreach and commit mistakes. Therefore, suppression of information about our acts can neuter our whole game plan."
The Witch smiled, neither agreeing nor denying his hypothesis.
"But if there's a single break in the suppression the other press channels are forced to follow, lest they are left in the dust. They care about their ratings, their reputation. Or perhaps they want to correct the initial leak, air some kind of rebuttal or official clarification. It wouldn't matter at that point, because for terrorism there is no such thing as negative publicity."
She continued to smile. "What about press censure?"
"Very difficult during peace time. I know the chief-editor of the Imperial Chronicle is the mouth piece of whoever controls Heimdallr. But blatant censure outside justified martial law violates the Arterian Charter of Universal Rights. And frankly, if our acts force the government into this kind of PR nightmare we've already reaped the maximum benefit of this strategy called terrorism."
"Gideon would be proud of you."
"How the hell are you two steps ahead of everyone else again?"
"Simple. I am a full-fledged Witch." She grinned, her eyes casting a feverish haze. "I. Know. Everything."
Not creepy at all.
Crow knew he was capable in a lot of ways. Catching the fancy of the most stuck up and powerful noble in Erebonia. Keeping a motley crew hellbent on revenge on target. Or being acknowledged as worthy by some ancient ultra powerful golem machine. It all tended to brush up a guys ego. Even then, Vita still managed to make him feel inadequate.
Nah, no reason to dwell on it.
"I kinda asked you something similar already. But when you apply makeup, mascara and all the other stuff woman use to pretty up themselves, do you cheat with your magic?"
The Witch tilted her head. "What an uncouth question, my Chevalier. Digging after a lady's beauty secrets."
Crow gave an irreverent shrug. "Come on. I'm curious. I know some regular women take ridiculous amounts of time to powder their noses. But I can't imagine you bothering what with all the Society stuff you've got to keep track of. I believe you kinda snap your fingers and make everything apply itself to your exact specifications." He chuckled. "Another reason for mundane women to cry tears of envy."
Vita sighed. "I'll leave the truth to your bountiful imagination. But remember, it's the secret that makes a woman a woman."
"Is this one of your Witch teachings?"
"Hardly. This is something taught to me by life itself. Now, it's time we indulge ourselves in the exquisite food and drink this place has to offer."
She raised a delicate hand encased in a white opera glove and snapped her fingers. Mere moments later, a waitress entered their little abode. After both of them chose their drinks, dry champagne mixed with starberry juice for Vita and a cold rye beer for Crow, the waitress left them to peruse the extensive menu containing delicacies from all regions of Erebonia.
"Nice party trick."
Vita regarded him with a smile that veered on being patronizing. "You know it's not a trick."
Crow rolled his eyes. "What else? A grand magic influencing the causality of events to provide you the perfect timing to show off?"
She smiled like a shark. "Yes, except for the 'grand' part. As far as sophistication and power goes, this is a pretty standard spell – for me at least."
"Aren't you modest?"
"Don't even deny that assertive women don't turn you on."
Crow felt himself chocking on his planned retort. He barely managed to suppress his spluttering, but Vita's victorious smirk was enough to show him that she caught on his near stumble.
"Okay. You win this round."
Both of them inclined their heads to each other like two fencers acknowledging a point well struck. Then they returned to their menus, but Crow soon found himself lost confronted by all the fancy names and obscure cooking terms so often used in haute cuisine. That was until he found a familiar dish.
He closed the menu.
"Ready?"
Crow nodded and Vita snapped her fingers a second time.
The waitress entered their table with impeccable timing – again. Crow suppressed a scowl. Perhaps the explanation was perfectly mundane and the poor girl was waiting the whole time outside. The Azure Diva was a VIP…
"Here are your drinks." She placed them with practiced motions. "And have the lady and gentleman made a choice?"
"May I go first?" Crow asked. Vita made a gesture for him to go ahead.
"I would like a Bouillabaisse please."
The waitress scribbled it down before she started to fidget. "Sir I..." she began to stutter, "I would like to point out the smallest serving possible with this dish is for three persons. The original version from Ordis is actually for a minimum of five, so..."
"This won't be a problem, dear," Vita interjected. "I will partake in the same dish as this gentleman. A three person serving should allow us to eat our fill. He's a hardworking man and needs his energy." She winked.
"Oh, of course. A Bouillabaisse it is."
"And tell me dear, did you by chance hear the snapping of fingers before you entered the room?"
The brunette tilted her head in wonder. "No, I didn't? Should I have?"
Vita giggled, though Crow was the only one perceiving the dark undercurrent carried by the enchanting sound. "Not at all. I was just admiring your perfect timing up until now. You entered every time there was a lull in our conversation. This is an obscured room, so you cannot watch us. Even then your arrival seems almost magical in its precision."
The waitress blushed. "I thank you for your praise, Lady Clotilde. I think I was just lucky. Or perhaps it was intuition? Whatever it is, I am happy to serve."
"Of course you are, dear," she said, clear dismissal in her voice. "Thank you for answering a whimsy of mine."
The waitress bowed deeply and left.
Crow gripped his beer and took a long swig, moistening his raspy and dry throat. Then he inhaled. "You're just messing with me now, aren't you?"
"A little reminder of what I am capable of. And to flex my spell-casting muscles so to speak. The last few month have been nothing but rehearsals and performances. I love singing, but letting my other talents rust is a no-no."
"So what will the National Opera perform next?" He asked with real curiosity.
"The Blitz of the Eisenritter, an Operetta in four parts."
"Whoa, the one written by Hildegard Bernkastel?"
"The one and only."
Crow scratched his head. "Man, this sounds like a monster project alright. The backstage work is going to be crazy and props are going to be a real pain. I can just imagine an Erebonian audience with their ludicrous standard when it comes to depicting a battlefield. I hope the manager isn't planning on using real horses."
Vita laughed, a full-throated sound that seemed to reverberate from her belly. It was the first laugh this evening that was not in any way calculated. An honest marvelous thing of beauty.
"Oh Crow, I fear becoming a stage manager for musicals is your true calling in life. First the joint classical concert at Valflame Palace with your adorable read-headed friend from Odins. Then the smashing rock performance with your friends at Thors and that absolute cutie-pie doing the vocals. You really shine your brightest when engaged with this kind of work."
"So what?" Crow snapped, his voice almost cracking. "Perhaps I should shelf this whole Awakener business and my goals for the dear Chancellor, too? Go outside, find me a band of wandering musicians, make it my mission to spread love and peace?" He spat out the last word.
Vita flinched.
"You are right, Crow." She locked his gaze with his, her expression full of warmth and a tinge of sadness. "That was foolish of me. It's just, you've changed from the scrawny teenager Cayenne picked up all these years ago. Back then you were like a drawn blade, your hate dictating your every action. That hate has been tempered and wrought into deadly steel, but it seems like other emotions also co-exist inside you now." She dipped her head, her eyes downcast, before she faced him again. "Aren't you feeling it? Your thirst for life returning to you?"
"I..." He grabbed his beer, only for his hand to loosen around the mug. He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Vita. Lashing out at you was wrong. In the end, you're the only one who truly understands my current situation."
"Only by virtue of being in the same."
Indeed. Deception over deception. Masks piled atop each other until the face was all but buried. Was it any wonder he yearned for some authenticity? For his bare self to feel the caress of the sun again?
"Talk to me, Crow."
"What is there to say, Vita? You're right as always. The question is, does my thirst for life make me unfit for the role of ILF-leader?"
"The others will follow you to the depths of gehenna as long as you serve them the Chancellor's head on a platter."
"Exactly. And there's the problem: a leader luring his underlings on a road of ruin, but without fully committing himself to it. I feel like a damn hypocrite!"
Vita quirked an eyebrow. "Is this really what you think?" Her Voice took on the cadence one usually used on a slightly demented child. "Really?"
"Vita?"
"You were made leader because of your exceptional abilities and your will to see things through. Putting up your life on the line? More like throwing it away. The point is, anyone can strap on a bomb and blow himself up. But that won't be enough against Giliath Osborne or the Imperial Intelligence Agency or the Railway Military Police. You on the other hand show your comrades a road to victory. A way to make your shared wish a reality. So what if you plan to have a life after you reach your goal? This makes you even more fit as leader."
"Why?" He cursed himself for sounding like a boy being scolded.
"Because as someone with a will to live, you still have a connection to the world and its people. You have a compelling reason to carefully consider the consequences of your actions."
Her gaze was now almost burning.
"You are in a position to curb the worst impulses of the ILF, now that you have decided to use terrorism as a means to accomplish your goal. I would even say it is your duty. Despite the single-minded focus of your comrades, assassinating Osborne is just a crucial step in a far greater plan. If the path till then is already filled with atrocities and corpses, the post-game for Cayenne to pacify Erebonia will become much harder. We also have our own plans to consider, my dear Awakener. And make no mistake: if you kill the Chancellor, your name will go down in history. I would rather it not stained with the stigma of a violent mass murderer."
"Don't they say history is written by the winners?"
Vita huffed. "A pithy simplification, especially in a world interconnected by trade and emerging communication technologies. Throw in the magic of the Hexen-Clan, the far reaching influence of shadow groups like Ouroboros and the Church..."
She shook her head. "Even if your sponsor wins the ensuing civil war as planned I guarantee you he won't be the sole playwright for the post-stage. So keep your act as clean as possible. Blood will inevitably spill, but there is no reason to pointlessly drown in it. If you're really lucky there may be a life you can return to."
There was no question what 'life' she was talking about. As always she had caught on his attachment to his Armbrust persona. He sighed.
"Thank you Vita. I needed that."
"Of course," her Voice softer than velvet. "It is my duty as a Witch to guide my chosen Awakener."
An amicable silence fell between them with Crow simply drinking in the sight of the woman before him. He was unsure exactly what the deal with Vita and him was. Even after knowing each other for three years. They had made it into a game in their private moments of cycling through the various roles and masks they presented to the outside, teasing and provoking each other in a subtle game of words and wit. Still, there was always this tacit understanding that both of them were only actors on a stage with the rest of the world left none the wiser.
Suddenly Vita raised her hand again, snapping her fingers. For the third time this evening the waitress entered their little private sphere like a puppet following her strings.
The Bouillabaisse was a dish containing several components: a soup stock made of various kinds of whole-boiled fish and vegetables, mayonnaise with a heavy mustard base, whole grain bread fresh out the oven and a menagerie of fish types used for the soup. Most of their flesh was still intact and their bodies artfully arranged on a massive plate. It was no wonder then that the waitress brought two of her co-workers to carry everything.
"This is the three person version?" Crow eyed the full table warily after the restaurant staff left them to their food. "I'm pretty hungry but it seems a little much."
"This dish brings back memories." Vita sounded nostalgic. "You always were partial to eating fish."
He grinned. "Can't help it. I did grew up in a port town. Besides, fish is awesome. Tasty, has high grade proteins and you become smarter by eating lots of it."
She snickered. "This was the very same dish you requested when Cayenne invited you to his mansion the first time."
"Back then I was half starved, with one foot in the grave. I actually ate up the whole portion by myself. What a sight that must have been."
Crow looked at Vita, his face softening. "It was also the first time we met." He grabbed the silverware. "Well, this time I intend to enjoy the Bouillabaisse with grace, sharing it with you. Thank you for being here for me, Vita."
Her eyes widened a fraction before her face settled in her confident and so very alluring smirk. "So your choice dish was at the same time bait for me, a subtle probe to our shared past and I fell for it hook, line and sinker."
"I learned from the best."
"Indeed you did." She stripped her glove and reached over the table with her slender hand, cupping his cheek. "You really are the perfect knight."