Welcome to another chapter where Amelia makes completely normal and rational assumptions about her situation.
The Detective isn't quite sure what the protocol for this should be, but she feels the urge to draw her pistol.
It's a habit. She knows that. This feels for all the world like one of her special requests; and it's rare she doesn't use her gun during a special request. There's always something that needs to be shot, though she doesn't always need to keep that version of the timeline.
The concrete stairwell is undecorated, which is par for the course for most of the back rooms of this cathedral, but there's quite a difference between meticulously polished stone and carved concrete. The concrete also makes her footfalls uncomfortably loud if she tries to move with any sort of speed, so the Detective's pace is slowed to a crawl in favor of silence so she can listen for any noises below.
She can't hear all that much though. No footsteps, no voices… well, she can hear both of those coming from above, but that's fine. Her Imperial Majesty is having a tour.
That gives her pause. Should she close the trapdoor behind her so as not to interrupt the tour, or should she leave it open so Her Majesty can see it if they're brought in here? This wasn't covered in the mission briefing.
The trapdoor mechanism is operable beneath the stairs. There's a drawstring to pull the flooring back into place. It would be simple, but she doesn't know what Her Majesty would say.
"Should I go back in time and ask them?" The Detective frets. That feels like a misuse of her watch, a petty use of her watch. She should be able to make this choice herself.
She closes the trapdoor. She dares not interrupt.
The closing of the trapdoor, while quiet, puts her on edge. Just because she can't see an alarm system doesn't mean one hasn't triggered, and that's not even counting magical surveillance.
With soft steps, she descends. There are lights down here in the form of bare bulbs sticking down from the ceiling, but they're currently turned off, and with the trapdoor closed she's in near total darkness.
That's fine for her. She might not be able to see in the dark, but she's no stranger to echolocation. That said, echolocation is pretty much useless for detecting things below her own level, so she has to carefully feel her way down the stairs until she reaches the ground before her tongue clicks can actually paint her a picture of the room.
Now, her echolocation isn't the most detailed thing ever. She's good, but no expert. It won't do much for telling her exactly what her surroundings are, but it will tell her where and what size various objects are. A few sharp clicks of her tongue while turning her head are enough for her to figure out where the two doors of the room are, as well as a group of box shapes piled near the stairs.
A quick feel with a hand identifies them as wooden crates, and a soft knock tells her they are mostly hollow at the moment.
(She can hear footsteps above her head, muffled by concrete and floorboards. It's hard to pick out individual voices, but she knows there's more than one person up there. Her Majesty's tour, maybe?)
The Detective ignores it, for now. She moves to one of the doors and feels it up (wood surface, metal knob, locked? Locked. Lock is… also metal, circular, fairly standard. She can feel a key slot. If this security is anything like above, she can pick it) and then the other (wood surface, metal knob, no lock) and opens the second door (the hinges really need oiling).
This time, the Detective has a hard time figuring out what she's detecting. There's a rectangular shape sticking out from the wall, as well as a smaller shape in front of that. There's also a smaller box-like shape on top of the rectangular shape, and a few random other rectangles in the corners of the room that are about as tall as her.
She takes a moment to pause, waiting for any unusual sounds. She can hear the whir of air-conditioning and continued footsteps above, but that's about it. Carefully, she moves to the strange rectangles first.
Made of metal, handles, small locks on the front. These are filing cabinets. This is probably an office, based on that. The long rectangle at the back is probably a desk, the small box is the computer, and the small shape in front of the desk is a chair. If she ran her hands around the desk she'd probably find a printer and a few other things too, if she had to guess.
She fumbles her flashlight out of her pocket, squeezes her eyes shut, and turns it on. The light inevitably stings her eyes when she forces them open in a squint, but it's not crippling. With her new light, she can see she was absolutely correct in her assessment of the room. She puts the flashlight between her teeth and fishes her lockpicking equipment out of her pocket, and sets to work.
Getting the cabinets open is not difficult. The locks are frankly pathetic. Within five minutes she has full access to the cabinets and is pulling out files to check what they are.
The Detective is fairly sure some of the documents down here are classified information only for the Cult, which is perfectly legal considering they're part of the cult. Those documents she largely leaves alone. That's not for her to poke her nose into.
The next set of documents she finds are reports of magic item misuses and magical creature sightings. You know, what the church is supposed to be keeping an eye on. So again, Amelia doesn't poke into them too much. This is all still legal so far.
She moves onto another cabinet. It's just as easy to pick as the last one. She picks a document at random, holding it with one hand while her other keeps a finger in the location she pulled it from.
The Detective recognizes an inventory report when she sees one. Even criminals need to keep track of their stock, and she sees several items she knows she didn't find in the storage room upstairs.
"Fairy dust, illumination spheres, blue lamia venom…" The detective frowns. Some of these could possibly be justified, but lamia venom? The church isn't supposed to keep its hands on that. "I suppose they could have confiscated it from someone and hadn't yet gotten rid of it. I need concrete proof."
She flicks through several more inventory reports, finding several alarming items. Fifty Human skulls, four live demons, several very unsavory drugs, half a dozen magical hypnosis pendants… they all disappear from inventory relatively quickly, but that could mean many things. It could mean they get processed by the security department like they're supposed to, but it could also mean they were resold.
The Detective moves on, returning the inventory lists to their appropriate spots. There's still another drawer to check.
The last drawer is gold. Not, like, literal gold. Metaphorical gold. Because the last drawer is filled with receipts.
They're not formal receipts like the ones printed out of machines. These receipts are hand-written, but just as damning. If there was doubt about where their 'inventory' was going, it's gone now. Selling, buying, and even extorting 'protection' money from some of the local criminal elements so they can avoid 'crackdowns'...
The Detective shoves a handful of the receipts into her pockets. This should be enough to show to Her Majesty.
That said, the Detective isn't done. There's still the matter of the locked room. She could leave now, but she wants to be thorough, so she turns off her flashlight and silently exits the room, and draws her lockpicking tools once again in the darkness.
It's almost certainly an unnecessary precaution. She doubts there is anyone down here, and could likely just keep her flashlight on, but a little extra safety never hurts, and it's not actually that much more difficult to pick a lock in the dark once you know the movements. It's mostly an activity done by feel rather than sight anyhow. She fiddles it open in less than a minute and cautiously moves inside.
Clicking her tongue, the Detective scans the room. It's a very tight space with box-shaped objects everywhere. A storage room probably. She can still hear footsteps up above, and in this room…
…
Breathing. Not her own. Quiet, but ragged. Consistent. Asleep maybe? She can't imagine a member of the church would be sleeping in here.
She carefully navigates the maze of (presumed) boxes over towards the source of the breathing, keeping her pace slow. Once she's right in front of the source (the breathing isn't at head level, so she kneels down) she pulls out her flashlight, presses the front into her jacket to muffle it, and turns it on. Only once her vision has somewhat adjusted to light again does she carefully point it just to the side of the source of the breathing so as to not wake the source up.
The Detective sucks in a breath. She's never seen a naiad, and she wasn't planning on it. They're… not automatically dangerous, but not exactly known for their good tempers, especially in recent times. Pollution has not made humanity many friends among nature spirits and being at odds with each other is hardly strange, but kidnapping them is still a federal offense. For all the problems they cause they're still sentient beings.
Naiads are water spirits. While their exact color varies, they're almost always some shade of blue. This one is no exception. She's pale blue and dressed in (what the Detective assumes is) a seaweed bikini and basically nothing else. Her hair is a slightly darker shade of blue, though it looks rather dirty at the moment.
The Detective isn't entirely familiar with most of the quirks of nature spirits, but she does know they don't tend to sleep unless they're lacking energy. Most of their biological features, like eating, drinking, breathing, and sleeping, are actually backups and not needed for survival. Dryads, for example, tend to sleep during winter, and if they have to be active then for some reason they will eat and drink and breathe to supplement their missing energy that would normally go towards sustaining themselves.
"Well, at least she's a witness?" The Detective thinks. "...should I wake her?"
There's a decent chance the naiad might try to kill her, but it doesn't sit well with her to just let the poor lady rot.
With an internal sigh she calibrates her watch to jump back ten minutes in case she has to make a quick escape, leans forward, and knocks on the cage.
…
The Naiad doesn't wake up. Her breathing remains consistent. The Detective knocks again, then again much louder, but the Naiad still doesn't awaken.
…
She shines the light in her face.
"Gah- fu- fine, I'm up!" The naiad hisses. "What do you want this time, apes?"
"Uh…" The Detective swallows thickly. She didn't think this far ahead. "I come in peace?"
"Oh, so we're telling bad jokes now?" The naiad sneers. "Maybe I should ask to be let out again then? How's that for a joke?"
The Detective pulls out her lockpicks and gets her cage open in less than two minutes. The lock on this one is slightly more complicated, but only slightly.
The naiad stares blankly at her open cage door, then at the Detective. "...you have a cruel sense of humor."
The Detective offers the flashlight, and the naiad takes it suspiciously. "I know where the stairwell is, so just follow me. Her Majesty should be topside. She can help."
"Who is 'Her Majesty'?" The Naiad whispers.
"The Empress."
"...I still don't know who that is."
"Uhh… purple hair, summons tentacles, in charge of the Empire?"
"What empire?"
"The Empire of United Kingdoms."
"I don't know what that is."
Right, the Detective is just going to stop talking now.
She's half expecting the naiad to stab her in the back, but the naiad, surprisingly, follows her without complaint.
"Right, this isn't going to be subtle." The Detective mumbles. "So, uh, if there's people there… stay behind me, try not to murder anyone."
"They deserve death for what they've done." The naiad hisses.
The Detective purses her lips and doesn't comment. She takes a second to press her ear to the top of the trapdoor and, upon not hearing footsteps or voices nearby, pushes it open.
No one is in the room. She quickly ushers the naiad out of the trapdoor, closes it, and then turns to the window and pops it open.
"Come on." She whispers, climbing out.
The naiad has finally lost her snarky attitude. Her eyes (sparkling sky blue, by the way) are wide and she follows the Detective out.
To the Detective's relief, there's no one outside watching them. Everyone must be inside worrying about Her Majesty, so it's trivially easy to get the naiad out of sight of the church.
"Who are you, exactly?" The naiad asks in a hushed voice despite the fact they don't really have to whisper anymore.
"Detective Watson, private investigator. I deal in standard cases as well as 'special requests' on a case by case basis." The Detective says automatically. She doesn't really know where she's escorting the naiad. She wants to get her around the front of the cathedral to meet Her Majesty after the tour is done, but Her Majesty isn't due back out for at least an hour and a half.
What is she supposed to do with this person for an hour and a half? She's not good with small-talk!
"So, uh, Her Majesty will be out in an hour and a half." The Detective coughs, holding out a hand to accept her flashlight back. "I guess we can-"
"Detective."
She yelps, fumbling the flashlight out of her hands and catching it before it hits the ground. "Y-Y-Your Majesty! I thought you were still inside!"
"I was, until I sensed you leaving." Her Majesty says with a calm smile. They are perfectly composed as always, with their hands delicately folded in front of them and their hair still perfectly straight. "Your watch has quite the noticeable magic signature when you know what to look for, Detective."
Of course, that makes perfect sense. She was foolish to assume Her Majesty wouldn't have noticed and taken action. The Detective bows on impulse. "Of course, Your Majesty. Sorry to impose, Your Majesty. I didn't mean to interrupt your tour."
"Detective, cutting a tour short because of 'business' is an easy excuse for a royal to make." Her Majesty hums. "Now, would you mind introducing me to your new companion?"
"O-Of course, Your Majesty. This is… uh…" The Detective blanks. She never actually asked the naiad's name, did she? Oh Baelz, she's going to look like such a horrible detective. She didn't even bother to get the victim's name. "W-Well…"
Her Majesty raises an eyebrow.
"Vaya." The naiad says curtly, and crosses her arms. "You're this Empress she was talking about?"
"Indeed." Her Majesty says, and inclines their head to Vaya.
"She said you could do something about those assholes that kept me in a cage." Vaya says.
Her Majesty's other eyebrow rises. She nods. "With the help of your testimony, it should be quite simple."
"I, uh, also have these." The Detective says, brandishing some of the receipts. She offers them to Her Majesty. "Transaction records for sales and purchases, including things like lamia venom and live demons."
Her Majesty smiles. It's not their usual serene smile, but something a bit more vicious. "You work quickly, Detective. Good work."
"My watch did most of the work." The Detective says quietly.
"A watch does not work on its own, Detective." Her Majesty murmurs. They make a gesture with their hand and, to the Detective's surprise, a police officer steps out from behind them. Was he there the entire time? "Now, Vaya, if you would accompany us to the police station, we can get this sorted…"
Her Majesty moves everyone along with the efficiency of someone who has done this before several times. The local police are surprised; not by Her Majesty's presence, but their timing. They were not expected for another hour and a half. To the Detective's mild surprise, Her Majesty also assumes command of the police interrogation before too long; not because Her Majesty demanded control, simply because they kept things moving when they would otherwise have stalled, and so they were deferred to by default.
The Detective is more than happy to stay out of the way during the entire process. She speaks when asked questions and gives her account, but attempts to keep it as concise as possible. Thankfully, since the police still have to go check things themselves and the Detective has the backing of the Empress themself, she's not questioned nearly as much as she was every other time she's gone to the police.
(There's a reason she usually sticks to anonymous tips when alerting law enforcement or military forces during special requests, she hates dealing with the police as a witness.)
While the Detective could recount every single question and piece of information gleaned during their time in the police station, she knows she's likely to get a more complete picture later, after the police conduct their own investigation and catalog everything properly and make arrests. She makes a note to check back into this later and update her notes then.
Her Majesty seems almost impatient as they near the end of the investigation. They brush through the formalities and the offers of escort at a brisk pace, and makes quick arrangements to have Vaya put up for the night and arrange a flight for her (the Detective didn't actually catch where Vaya was from, she was more concerned with the weird looks one of the police officers was giving her for most of the questioning).
Perhaps Her Majesty has other arrangements. They're a very busy woman after all. That would explain the subtle rush.
"It will take time, days at least, for the police to organize a proper search." Her Majesty explains. The Detective is already familiar with police protocol, but she doesn't comment. There's no reason for her to point that out. Besides, she's a bit distracted by the way Her Majesty's tentacle is curled around her waist, ensuring she keeps up a brisk pace. Her Majesty's other tentacles have formed a loose barrier around the both of them, keeping the public at bay. This time, Her Majesty doesn't stop for anyone, instead offering polite nods but keeping up their pace whenever someone attempts to speak with them.
"O-Of course, Your Majesty." The Detective says. Her hands are clasped nervously in front of her while she desperately tries to avoid eye contact with anyone else and ignore the occasional camera flash. She hopes this doesn't reflect poorly on Her Majesty. She can't imagine the image of Her Majesty pulling her along will do any favors for their reputation. "Oh Baelz, those pictures are probably ending up in a magazine."
That thought makes her stomach curl uncomfortably.
Her Majesty gradually slows down as they approach the train station. The flaps on their head are stiff, and occasionally break out into sporadic flutters.
(She wonders if those flaps are squishy. They look squishy, but she doesn't know for sure.)
"Do you remember the steps, Detective?" Her Majesty asks as they breeze past the line for the teleportation pad and into the dark room.
She tenses. "Yes, Your Majesty. First I need to tell the teleportation officer which location-"
"Oh? No dancing this time?" Her Majesty asks with a teasing smile.
"No, Your Majesty!" She says quickly, straightening her back as she's put on the spot. Does Her Majesty think her memory is that terrible? "I paid enough attention the second time! I remember the process!"
"It almost sounds like you do not want to dance with me, Detective."
She blanches. "N-No, Your M-Majesty! I would not dare suggest such a thing!"
"So you would not be opposed then?" Her Majesty hums, stepping in close. They reach out with their gloved hand and take one of Amelia's in it. "If I ever need a dancing partner, I need but ask?"
"I-I-I-" The Det- Amelia stammers. "W-Well- that m-might not be the best i-idea…"
"I suppose we are obstructing the travels of others." Her Majesty sighs, allowing their hands to drop (though she does not release Amelia's). "Let us be off."
The teleportation spell is a bit less jarring the second time around. It still feels like missing a step, which is an alarming sensation, but by timing it in her head Amelia can almost convince herself it's more of a jump than a missed step, and that somehow feels less unnerving.
"Come, come." Her Majesty ushers as soon as Amelia has recovered from the teleport. "We have an extra hour and a half thanks to your quick work, Detective! We must take full advantage!"
"O-Oh, well I can just get out of your way…" Amelia coughs. She doesn't want to intrude. Her Majesty probably gets little enough free time as-is.
"What are you saying, Detective?" Her Majesty chuckles, still holding onto her hand, and leading Amelia from the room. It's not quite the arm-in-arm position from before, but somehow being led by the hand feels even more embarrassing and attracts even more stares. "I recall an agreement to paint your picture, and I will gladly take this opportunity… assuming you do not have prior arrangements, of course?"
"N-No, Your Majesty."
"Good." Her Majesty says primly. They escort Amelia up the main staircase, barely acknowledging the surprised tour group they pass by. "My studio is on the fourth floor, overlooking the garden. It used to be on the third before we did some modifications."
Amelia is admittedly curious, because she has no doubt the palace has undergone many changes over the decades, but she doesn't want to waste Her Majesty's time with pointless questions that she could probably look up on the internet.
With a wave of their hand Her Majesty bypasses the electronic lock (how?) and leads Amelia down a hallway and around a corner to an inconspicuous door.
The room past the door should not be small based on the distance between it's entrance and other doors, and objectively speaking Amelia knows it's a fairly large room… but the sheer number of easels, paint bottles, brushes, cabinets, frames, and other painting supplies and storage makes it look much smaller than it actually is despite how neatly the room is kept. Everything can be reached, and there are clear paths through the room between the boxes and drawers, but it still feels small despite that. The balcony and the light shining through it's window does a lot to lighten up an otherwise claustrophobic and somewhat dim room.
The walls are also lined with (presumably) completed projects. There is a giant landscape picture of Her Highness dominating one wall, showing them in a casual suit at a rocky beach, gazing off towards foaming waves with the sun to her face and hair undone and blowing in the wind. They have one leg up on a rock, and an unreadable but soft expression on their face. Amelia might call it forlorn. It's a strange dissonance in an otherwise joyful picture.
"That was painted during our honeymoon." Her Majesty says, noticing Amelia's distraction. Amelia quickly looks away, but Her Majesty doesn't seem to mind. They're studying the painting now too. "It was one of my earlier works, but Gura was a fantastic model. Her military training helps, I think. She is used to holding a single position for quite a while. It took me days to properly paint that, and I think I overdid it quite a bit, but that just makes it special in a way. It is objectively not one of my best if evaluating for pure technique, but it holds a special place either way."
Amelia nods mutely. If she hadn't felt like an intruder before, she sure does now. This is a personal space. She doesn't belong here.
"Now!" Her Majesty claps, turning to Amelia. "I suppose we never went over specifics. Do you have a preference of pose or style?"
"N-No, Your Majesty." Amelia can feel her hands getting clammy. How is she supposed to be expected to stay still with Her Majesty's eyes on her? Surely someone as twitchy as her would make for a terrible model.
"Hmm…" Her majesty hums, gesturing to the plush stools and chairs in front of the balcony window. "Would you like to take a seat, Detective? Sketching may take a moment."
Amelia nods so quickly it hurts her neck, and sits down in the closest chair she can find.
"De-" Her Majesty starts, then cuts themself off, smiling. "Nevermind, I can move you."
Amelia blinks, not understanding, when Her Majesty manifests her tentacles. She freezes as they extend towards her, but the tentacles merely hoist the chair off the ground and reposition it to a more open area. Amelia finds herself facing Her Majesty, who has also dragged an easel over, with the window and sunlight to her right and the dimmer portion of the room to her left.
She tugs her hat down to cover the right side of her face more. She doesn't want the sun shining in her eye the whole time… and if it happens to expose less of her face to Her Majesty, that's a useful coincidence.
(It's not a coincidence. Amelia doesn't know where Her Majesty expects her to look or do with her face, so the more covered she is the less of a chance for her to mess up.)
"It seems you do have a pose in mind after all, Detective." Her Majesty hums. "Perhaps you wish to continue holding your hat down and go for a more dramatic look?"
Amelia mutely follows Her Majesty's instructions.
"Good, now if you'll just look at me while I sketch…" Her Majesty says, brandishing an elegant black pencil with an eraser partially torn a smeared black from use in their dainty fingers. Amelia swallows as their eyes fixate on her's. How is she supposed to hold a pose under this sort of scrutiny?
Her nerve breaks quickly. She looks away, focusing instead on the Book of the Ancient Ones hovering above Her Majesty's head. It's shockingly easy to forget that an artifact of incredible power like that has been following them the entire time. She expected it to have more… presence.
"Now Detective, you need to keep your eye on me." Her Majesty says with a gentle laugh, and Amelia's mouth goes dry. It's one thing to hear Her Majesty laugh in general, and another for it to be directed towards her. "I cannot capture your eyes otherwise."
"S-Sorry, your Majesty." She forces her eyes back down to Her Majesty's face.
"Hmm, perhaps you need an incentive to make it worth your while?" Her Majesty asks, as if Amelia is even capable of refusing. She even opens her mouth to say as much, but Her Majesty continues before she can. "Perhaps I should offer you what Gura did? I too have access to pictures of my wife that I could possibly show you."
"I-I do not need to be bribed, Your Majesty."
Her majesty puts a hand to their chest. "Why, Detective, I would never! I was not implying you would not act without my offer, I was merely sweetening the deal. An incentive, if you will."
That's a joke, right? She hopes that's a joke, or else she might have just offended the Empress themself. "I- uh-"
"Not enough?"
"N-No, I didn't mean-!" Amelia stammers.
"Ah, of course, I need to offer more." Her Majesty nods sagely. "Say no more, Detective. If you are to be forced to look at me, it is only fair I give you something to look at, yes?"
"I-I-"
This time, she is not cut off by Her Majesty's words, but by their actions. It is a very simple action, but devastating in its effect: they open their eyes.
Amelia's complaints die in her throat as a starscape stares back at her. Worse, Her Majesty's eyes are different from last time. They have the same elements with points of light and vast nebulas, but in a different composition with slightly different colors. A swirl of green that melds into blue, dotted with egg-like light clusters of bundled stars and their surrounding field of smaller dots representing stars not directly in the clusters.
One thing she notices now that she didn't before is that the starscape in Her Majesty's eyes move. The nebulas slowly twist and swirl around the star cluster at the center of each eye, and the secondary clusters move with them, but at different paces.
She's vaguely aware that Her Majesty is doing something, but it's hard to look away from the starscape to check.
Amelia has to wonder, somewhere in the back of her mind, if the starscape is magic. Well, obviously the starscape itself is magic, but does it have a magical effect on those looking at it? Is she being hypnotized with magic? Is it addictive? Does it have side-effects?
Does she care? Maybe? No? Yes? She doesn't know. It's hard to think when-
"Thank you, Detective. You were a wonderful model."
She blinks slowly, then rapidly. Her eyes suddenly feel a bit dry, or were they dry before and she didn't notice? How long has she been sitting here? Why does her hand ache? What-
"Detective?" Her Majesty giggles. They giggle. It's a sound that tickles her ears and sends a shiver down her spine. "Was it a bit too much? Most are only properly entranced for a minute or two unless I layer on something extra."
"I… uh…" Amelia says dumbly. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment and rubs them, grimacing at the dryness. "Wait, how long…?"
"Oh my, you were quite under." Her Majesty says, stifling another laugh with one of their hands. She slowly shuts her eyes, and the spell (if there is a spell) over Amelia breaks. "Only twenty minutes or so, Detective."
Amelia can feel her face getting red. She was staring for that long? "I'm so sorry, Your Majesty."
"Nonsense Detective. If anything, I should be apologizing for entrapping you like that." Her Majesty deflects. "I should be more wary of the effect my eyes have on others. I was over-zealous here."
Amelia rapidly shakes her head. That's an absurd thing for them to say. It is her fault for being so weak as to be paralyzed by a simple, glorious, magical… uh- a simple starscape.
(Wait, no, it's definitely rude to call any part of Her Majesty 'simple'.)
"I- well-" Amelia stammers, trying to string together something that doesn't sound rude. She impulsively covers her eyes with her hat, realizes that's also probably quite rude, and quickly shoves it back up. "I-It's fine, Your Majesty."
"I would not quite agree, Detective." Her Majesty hums. They put their sketchpad aside and smoothly walk up to the sitting detective. "I have not entirely fulfilled my part of the deal."
"Yes you did, Your Majesty, you painted me."
"I have sketched you, the painting is not done." Her Majesty corrects. "And I believe I promised pictures of my wife."
"I never said you had-"
"Please, do not let me go back on my word Detective." Her Majesty interrupts. "It would be a bad habit."
"Uhh…" She doesn't want to force Her Majesty into this! Did she accidentally make it look like she really wanted to see pictures of Her Highness? Is that why Her Majesty feels obliged?
"Come." Her Majesty orders (or maybe it's a request, but her naturally self-assured tone makes it sound like an order) with a beckoning gesture that makes Amelia's heart jump far more than a simple action like that should. She stands up in a hurry, only to have her arm gently grabbed and once again be escorted by the Empress themself.
Amelia thinks she's handling the escort fairly well this time. Despite her general nervousness, she manages to keep from being too tense as she's led up the stairs to the fifth level. She's seen most of the fifth floor before.
That means she knows enough to be slightly confused when Her Majesty sweeps her right past the living room where the television is. Maybe they don't have it hooked up to show pictures? That's probably it. Too much hassle.
Her Majesty opens the door to their bedroom with a wave of their hand, and Amelia doesn't have enough time to be alarmed before she's escorted inside.
While she might have been in the imperial bedroom before, she doesn't remember much beyond the lectern. She was a bit busy fighting a scythe thief.
The bedroom has a high ceiling and is painted in deep shades of violet, with intricate engravings carved into every inch of the wall. The room is sparsely lit, with only the balcony exit offering natural sunlight and otherwise relying on a combination of lamps and arcane lights to light the room in a way that never hurts the eye with a glare even when staring directly at a source.
A giant, canopied, four-poster bed dominates the room. It's more than large enough for two people; Amelia is fairly sure you could fit five on that comfortably, if not more. The blankets look heavy and thick, and there are no less than a dozen pillows, more than half of which are scattered about the left side of the bed, which is notably messier.
"Do the servants not clean the bedroom?" Amelia wonders, glancing around at a few other signs of disorder like a half-finished cup of something on the left side-table, or the suit thrown over the back of an old, but still very plush chair in the corner. "Maybe it hasn't happened yet? Or maybe they do it themselves…?"
There are a few shelves around the room as well. At a glance, Amelia thinks the room is divided in half. Her Highness's things are on the left, which is the more messy side, and Her Majesty's on the right, which is nearly immaculate. However, this separation seems more for organization than anything. There are a few objects that are very clearly shared, like the oversized violet loveseat located on Her Highness' side or the small table that's obviously for meals or other small activities on Her Majesty's side.
Her Majesty scoops a slim black laptop off the right side table, flips it open, and deftly navigates it with their fingers while a tentacle reaches out to snag Amelia's wrist and pull her over to the loveseat. At the tentacle's insistence Amelia sits in the loveseat, but she keeps her hands firmly in her lap rather than feeling the soft seat or the pillows. She shouldn't be here. She knows this. This is a private space for the Imperial Couple, and she's intruding.
Amelia tenses when Her Majesty sits directly next to her, ignoring all the other space available on the loveseat and the small black table that the laptop could be placed upon rather than putting the computer in Amelia's lap and leaning on her shoulder to direct Amelia on when to press the key to change pictures.
As much of a challenge as it might be to focus with Her Majesty leaning on her (they put very little physical pressure on her, but the psychological pressure is stronger than any weight), Amelia manages it, though in no small part because of the stunning pictures on the screen.
The screen currently shows the one picture Her Majesty decided to start with; it depicts Her Highness standing at attention for some sort of photo shoot, their hair immaculately styled into a low bun so their peaked cap can still fit on their head without the two interfering with each other. The cap's lip is tilted up enough that their red eyes still catch the light, though this only serves to accent the stern look they are directing into the camera. They're in full military uniform otherwise, complete with their usual blue suit, epaulets, and trident, though Amelia can also see a firearm of some sort on their hip as well. Some sort of pistol from what she can tell, or maybe a revolver.
"You have no idea how much controversy this picture caused back when it was taken." Her Majesty hums. They point to Her Highness's chest. "She does not have her sash here, which is a very important signifier of Atlantean royalty amongst their culture. Even now she has to put it on occasionally, just to show she has not forgotten, but this picture was more or less the first time she was ever depicted without it in an official picture. The nobles of Atlantis were not happy."
Amelia nods mutely. What else is she supposed to do? It really is a nice picture though. Amelia imagines she can feel Her Highness's stare straight through the screen, judging her for sitting on this couch next to their wife.
But Amelia can't look away, not without alerting Her Majesty there, so she silently endures the picture's judgemental stare until Her Majesty instructs her to change it.
She nearly chokes when the next picture comes into sight. She's never seen Her Highness in a dress, they don't seem the type, but this picture is clear evidence that it has happened.
Amelia has no context for how the picture came about, but it shows Her Highness wearing a rather unique, deep blue dress. The top is rather tightly contoured to their body and has a combination of off-shoulder and halter straps accompanying a neckline that plunges so low their navel is visible, as well as the accompanying rows of sharply defined abs,, as well as all the other muscles visible on their bare arms.
That's not all though. This skirt of the dress is, fittingly enough, mermaid style, and while it might be long enough to go down to the ankles, it also has slits all the way up to just below the hips, and Amelia can see that Her Highness's legs are just as muscled as their arms. Their hair is also down, cascading down behind them in a long, tousled sheet.
It doesn't help that Her Highness is posed in a wide stance with one hand on her hip making no attempt to hide themself. Their expression is a frown, though not an angry one. More like… concentration, focus. They're staring intently at a spot above the camera.
Amelia, on the other hand, is trying and failing to not trace every muscle with her eyes and keep her attention somewhere mildly polite. Why did Her Majesty show her this!? Is this a test? If it is, she's surely failing.
"Breathtaking, is it not?" Her Majesty asks, smiling down at the picture. "It took no small effort to convince her to wear a dress at all, much less something flattering such as this. This picture was taken on vacation. I do not think I could have convinced her to don such an outfit somewhere she would be recognized, which is just as well. The tabloids already have a field day with my various outfits, I would not wish to subject Gura to such a thing unnecessarily."
Amelia nods mutely, not trusting herself to speak.
"This picture was taken by me. Gura put up quite a fuss about it." Her Majesty sighs fondly. "America was quite the vacation."
"You get vacation days?" Amelia asks before she can think better of such a stupid question. "Uh- I mean- was it during a political visit or something?"
"Oh no, it was a vacation decided on independently." They hum. "I doubt we could have enjoyed ourselves if we had gone there for business first. Politics tends to ruin the mood somewhat for the rest of the trip. We do not get true vacations very often. Once every few years, if we are lucky."
There are no more pictures quite as devastating as that second one, but scrolling through Her Majesty's collection is still an emotionally fraught experience filled that Amelia can't peel her eyes away from. She feels like she's doing something illegal, looking at all these incredible pictures of the queen, but it can't be illegal if Her Majesty is the one showing them to her, right?"
"If Gura asks, we spent a few hours dealing with the church and I had just enough time for a brief sketch before we had to part ways to attend to business." Her Majesty says with a cheeky smile while putting their laptop away after nearly an hour of looking at pictures.
"Will Her Highness not find out?" Amelia asks.
"Oh, she will." Her Majesty says cheerfully, as if that's supposed to be funny rather than terrifying. Is she being asked to keep a secret? Is this politics? Is this a crime!? Was this a subtle way to punish her for interrupting their tour; by making them do something illegal!? "You have no other duties today, Detective. Do not forget to retrieve Bubba, and consider requesting a meal from the kitchens for lunch. They can make just about anything. You need not venture out for a meal if you do not wish, Detective."
"I-I pack my own food." Amelia replies meekly. Lunch is actually in her coat pocket right now. The sandwich is well-sealed inside its ziplock bag, if a bit squished now. That reminds her she needs to buy more bread on the way back home, or she won't have any for dinner. She hopes Bubba doesn't mind having that again. Maybe she should splurge and get whole wheat bread this time, just to change it up. Bubba would probably appreciate it.
"Hmm." Her Majesty hums. Their eyes aren't open, but Amelia feels like she's being scrutinized. "Still, I'm sure the takodachis would be willing to dispose of your prepared meal if you wish to test our chefs. They are not picky."
Amelia looks down at the floor. "Of course, Your Majesty. I will keep it in mind."
She can hear Her Majesty exhale heavily. A sound of relief? Disappointment? She doesn't know and, really, she shouldn't try to. It's not her place to question royalty.
While she doesn't want to say she fled, Amelia knows that's what she does as soon as Her Majesty opens the door. She moves at a brisk pace, trying not to outright run to the stairs. She quickly makes her way down the main stairwell, ignoring the curious eyes of the guards, businessmen and tourists to the best of her ability, and finds her way out the back entrance to the gardens.
While she has technically been here before, she mostly dealt with the hedge maze that fills out the very back of the castle. The gardens proper, with their sculptures and flowers and carefully maintained arches draped in ivy, are new to her.
The takodachis, while slightly more familiar, are still intimidating. She can see no less than two dozen of them within a minute of stepping outside, and at least fifty more lazily bobbing in the sky above.
Looking around further does not increase her confidence in finding Bubba. There is a fountain nearby, and an absolute swarm of takodachis have gathered along its lip or float on the surface of the water. There are a few benches nearby occupied by tourists, as well as a single cultist handing out bags of cookies so the tourists can feed the takodachis and occasionally feeding them directly.
Amelia stares blankly. Every tako looks the same. "How am I going to find Bubba in this…?"
"Wah."
Amelia jolts in surprise at the noise near her ear, and nearly smacks the takodachi trying to land on her shoulder in the face. It huffs in irritation, but continues to land anyway.
"...Bubba?"
"Wah." The takodachi huffs again. He lightly smacks her cheek with a little tentacle.
"Sorry." She pats him on the head in apology. "I'm done for the day. We can go home now."
Bubba is quiet for a second and looks up at her. "Wah?"
"You know, home." Amelia repeats.
Bubba frowns. He points towards the cultist giving out cookies. "Wah!"
"You can have a few, but save some for the others." Amelia says.
"Waaaaah." Bubba pouts, and curls his flaps in indignation, but he still pulls on Ame's jacket to get her to move towards the cultist.
Amelia obliges, making her way over. She doesn't even have to ask before the cultist is handing her a pair of cookies, which Amelia obligingly feeds to Bubba.
Bubba does not eat cookies quickly. He nibbles rather than chomps, which, now that Amelia thinks of it, is just as well. She can take this opportunity to eat her own lunch.
There aren't any open bench seats, so Amelia finds an out-of-the-way spot in the hedge maze to sit down on the cobblestones and eat her slightly squished cheese sandwich.
Bubba does not approve. He chirps insistently at her and offers one of his cookies,
"I'm fine, Bubba."
Bubba frowns and pushes the cookie at her again. "Wah!"
"No, Bubba, that's yours."
"Wah…" Bubba pouts. He eats the second cookie with much less enthusiasm than the first while Amelia scarfs down her sandwich in less than a minute, barely tasting it. Despite having a larger meal (if a single sandwich counts as a meal), she's the one waiting for Bubba to finish.
She hears the pair of footsteps before she sees the source, despite the passive noise of the outdoors and the usual tourist crowd nearby. There's people approaching. The steps are quick, but not a dash. Maybe a jog. She can hear clicking noises for one of the footsteps, probably someone in heels, with a slightly softer but still quite hard sounding step accompanying it. Flats maybe? It's not quite muffled enough to be the rubber sole of a sneaker or boot.
"I think I saw her come over here!" She hears a voice, female, high pitch, excited, say in a whisper that is far too to actually hide what is being said.
Amelia listens absently. They just sound like excited tourists to her, though she wonders who they think they saw. Her Majesty is busy from what she knows, and Her Highness isn't even here… probably. Maybe they saw some other famous person? An influencer? A friend? Who knows.
"Do you think she'll talk to us? Does anyone know who she is?" A second voice, also female, says much more loudly.
Amelia freezes at the next words that reach her ears. "People think she might be the same P.I. that's helping with something around the palace. She's got the classic look and everything!"
Oh. Oh. They're talking about her, and not only are they talking about her, she's recognizable.
She has her watch in hand before even thinking about it. As soon as she sees a foot stepping around the corner, she jumps ahead two minutes and reappears in the same spot with no people in sight. There is only Bubba, who lets out a loud "WAH!" when she appears again and launches himself at her face and attaches to her cheek while whining pitifully.
"S-Sorry Bubba." She mumbles. "I-I uh."
Her hands are trembling. Her throat is dry.
"Didn't expect people to k-know me I guess." She laughs weakly. She struggles to clear her throat. "That's… that's not good, is it?"
"Wah…?" Bubba replies, nuzzling her face reassuringly.
"Guess I sh-should have expected people would take pictures of me and Her Majesty." Amelia mumbles. "But I didn't think they… I…"
She wrings her hands nervously.
"We need to go home."
This time, Bubba doesn't complain.
Oh look, the public knows Ame exists. This can't possibly end badly!
:D