[Maiden's Cape] Without A Fight (Philomena)

[Ignotus Everto]

Ignotus had to work to disguise his pleasure at his foe's indifference. And perhaps a touch of hatred? She was talented, of course, but he was so much more. She was right. They were greater souls than that. But what Philomena had failed to think of was those on the shore. The way their every move would be filtered through colored lenses.

Ignotus, rosy and gay, unless Minnie did something to shatter the illusion. But her? She had already had a very uncomfortable incident, there would soon be insinuations that she was a racist and corpse-petcher by the morrow... What would they make of anything she said? Poppycock, quite simply. Despite appearances, Ignotus was not being petty- he was insuring himself. A rumble of thunder rolled from the horizon.

"I too am old, Professor." Ignotus said evenly, taking a step towards her ship. "But if what you say is true, then you've dodged my question."
He was at the edge of his own boat now. "Now, I believe we both want to discuss our work in private. Perhaps it would be best if we retired somewhere out of the reach of the elements?"

A gentle stoking of flames. Impatience. Speaking in riddles, and in earshot, would get her nowhere. A prod, a nudge in Ignotus' preferred direction. Out of the rain, into a cabin. Privacy was good. She wanted privacy.

Privacy was what Ignotus needed to be candid. Or murderous, depending on Philomena's mood.

[Philomena]

Minnie looked at the Nuit, followed his gaze - the observers at the shore, in the ship just off to port, the sailors on his ship. She looked at her own body, at her hands, at her lips. And she sighed.

//What does it matter? Minnie Lefting. You came out here knowing, in your bones, that this was a battle you would lose.//

//I don't care. I don't care about my reputation, it doesn't matter. I'll be dead in three months. That's not the battle you want to win.//

//And you must not care about yourself either, Minnie Lefting. This monster has an altar. Someone must bleed over it. IT may as well be a pig, instead of a swan. Go to him. You have your knife. Go to him. Do as he says, you pig, you slut of the gutters. There's no point staving it off. You knew it in your heart. You knew the only thing you had was your powerlessness.//

Minnie stared at the man. Dully, the sccorn mellowed - scorn is an emotion of arrogance, of power. It turned to simple, dull, pained hatred. The hatred that is closely akin to shame.

"Do as you will, Mr. Everto. My boat is big enough for two of us."

She stood, slowly, painfully, close up now her movements can be seen.

//Immortality. Is that what you were thinking before, Minnie Lefting? A petching, shyte-faced Minnie Lefting wandering the petching earth for the rest of time? The earth deserves better.//

The crumpling is visible, the melting of resolve, both hideous and, to one with pity, pitiful. Repellent and sad. on the ground beside her, she has a gnarled blackthorn walking stick, which, slowly, painfully, she bends to pick up. Her bag hangs on her wastrel shoulder. The dying hand hooks the stool, and it folds. She hobbles, slowly, slowly, leaning heavily on the cane, and obviously not at east with the rocking of the boat, to the midships, just outside of the small cabin. Petch it. If he wants her close? Have her close. If he wants to petch me, the gods be damned. Let him petch. What does it matter, now? I'm not enough for this.

[Ignotus Everto]

"Excellent!"
Ignotus hopped onto Minnie's boat almost immediately, a rather unfitting smile on his face. Two ticks later, he was tugging her by her wrist into the nearest cabin. It was a spartan thing, just a straight-backed wooden chair and a circular window in a splintery wooden room. However, the instant the door closed, the real color started.

"Oh, bravo!" Minnie's supposed foe cried with a grin. His eyes did not betray him this time, for there was nothing there to betray. Instead, in them was... Admiration? He let go of the professor's wrists and stepped back. "Two generations of Wave Guards," Ignotus made a sort of chopping gesture with his arms, starting with them crossed in front of his torso and flicking them out to his sides, the sort one often sees during sports. "Nothing. One tenacious teacher..."

He clapped once, a loud crack that echoed through the empty room. "Enough to put me away for years! Well, if I wasn't a genius." he said with a thoughtful nod and a tilt of his head. A pause, then the Hypnotist blinked twice and Minnie and grinned again. "Did I mention I was a genius? I should have. Oh, but I finally found my equal! Do you know how long I've waited to find someone with a head on their shoulders?" A statement Ignotus punctuated by grabbing Minnie by her own shoulders and giving her a little shake. "Too long. I knew a Philomena from my youth you know," A finger jabbed at her cheek before its owner stepped out of the poor dear's personal space again. "But that's a long story, now is now! You really are brilliant, do you know that? You should."

Finally, Ignotus took a moment to pause, catch his breath, roll his shoulders, and laugh. "Sorry for that back there. Insurance. You know too much, see, and I can't take risks. Don't worry though, that can be fixed! If I choose." An afterthought. Obviously, if she went along with him. Ignotus took another two ticks to just look Minnie over before throwing his arms out and saying, "Oh, but I'm sure you've got a million questions. Like 'why.' Well, go on, ask!"

For whatever reason, the Murder Man... Was being chummy with her?

[Philomena]

//Genius? Genius! Well, if he thinks I'm a genius, he is either stupider than I expected, or he hasn't researched me very well.//

It would be... tedious to delineate all the thoughts that entered Minnie's head through the long cheerful congratulations. That is the nature of misery - its dull to hear abotu at length. Then, perhaps, summary shall suffice:

1) This man is a monster, and yet somehow I've made myself worse
2) I know just what his weapons are, and yet, I've no way to counteract them
3) Wrenmae. Oh, Wrenmae... oh my child. Oh my child...

IT is a long, and intertwined series of these thoughts. They meander, her eyes show the meandering. She felt, perhaps, that she coudl do this, that she had the strength to do this all as she intended, to save Wren, to save Lanie. But now it was clear: She was too old, too sick, too small. She was not big enough to be a hero. Lanie ahd always been the hero, Minnie was only supposed to record.

And so she waited. The man could certainly talk. Maybe he couldn't. She didn't know. Maybe he had a clumsy, awkward tongue and she only thought he was a talented flatterer, because he was doing his little tricks. Maybe she wasn't even really this broken down - no. No, she was. That was real, for it extended so far outsdie her mind. The hypnotist can rape the mind, but can he rape the heart?

Because that's what this felt like, now, she realized. Was it rape? She'd granted her consent, now, knowing there was no point in refusal. What was she, then? A prostitute? An abused wife of sorts? It felt like rape, either way. She lay, now, naked, pinned in place, unable to resist, and he would take her on her mind's back, enter, get what he wanted, leave. She felt sick.

And that was when the voice entered her head. It was a tiny voice, but it was Lanie's and Minnie knew it with such a sudden, gut-wrenching surety that she physically lurched forward in her seat.

//Oh, Minnie-Wren, please... breathe, my love. Remember the knife. You must remember. The knife.//

And Minnie dad. She felt it now, small and sharp and tucked into the satchel she held clung to her chest. And the man was finished. He was silent. Minnie realized she did not know how long he had been silent. She said nothing, staring at him. She reached into her bag, and took the dagger in her hand, murmuring soft, "Please do not panic, Mr. Everto. It is not for you, I assure you."

Then drew it, quickly, and set the blade of it against her own throat. And left it there, still, and smeared with something.

Her hand shook, but her eyes did not speak fear, now, only exhaustion. And her voice, was very still, very soft, and very thin.

"Mr. Everto, you will apologize for my drama. But I cannot trust you with my mind. Perhaps you do not care. In that case, I will soon be dead. You do not, I think wish something that simple, for it would end poorly for you, and perhaps you think I a tool useful in whatever game you are playing. You will perhaps try to force it from my hand. It is a chance, I confess. But, I have smeared this blade with the puss from my hand. It will kill me, I think - I hope - fairly quickly, and into the bargain, while I do not know precisely the effect it would have on a Nuit, I do not think you woud risk it. Or perhaps you could talk it out of my hand. But you will have trust me, Mr. Everto. If I sense, if I even suspect there is something unfamiliar in my mind, I will cut."

The black hand reaches, tugs the scarf on her neck free. Beneath is jagged, ugly red scar across the throat, healed, but not ancient.

"I have done it before. I can say little for myself, but I can say I learn from my mistakes. The second time, I will do it correctly."

She closed her eyes now, and spoke in the same, soft, even tone.

"Now, let us begin. Mr. Everto, kindly, if you will, tell me what your intentions are, first of all, towards the man you know as Wrenmae."

[Ignotus Everto]

By the time Ignotus had realized what was happening, it was far too late to stop it. Nuit never were very quick to act. His hands twitched slightly, and then were still again. Surprise colored his features, before being replaced by total apathy. Quite simply, Philomena's death would mean nothing to him, and he took no pains to hide it. While her suicide would accomplish his goal, he did not know if she had any contingencies, and it would rob him of a very fine mind. So, instead, he answered truthfully.

"Wrenmae? He just may be my only real friend. The only man I trust, that's for certain. I intend to see that he succeeds in his goals, for they are also my goals. Indeed, it was good luck that we met each other... Two great wizards... Both with secrets... Both with big plans. We hit it off almost immediately. Indeed, he's partially responsible for my wealth. But see, my dear Philomena, that..." Ignotus pointed languidly at the knife, "That is stupid. You don't need it to get answers from me. I offer them to you freely. As I offer you the chance to join us. In what, you may ask? I will get to that in a moment. But first, my dear, you really should put that down. I worry for you."

[Philomena]

Minnie laughed, quite suddenly. IT was not a pleasant laugh, a barking, angry sound, that was accompanied by a few tears, and a jerk of the head that pressed the knife just a touch too hard for comfort into the flesh of her neck.

"You worry for me? Not petching likely, Mr. Everto. Perhaps you are so stupid as to think I am useful in some way. Even then, you aren't worried for me, but for your own god-shyting plans..."

//No, Minnie. No. Don't let him make you talk. The script. He says he is friends. He has given you some things you can check on to make sure, if you still live tomorrow. Go on.//

Minnie's eyes had opened as she laughed, but she closed them again now, still holding the knife steady.

"Next question, Mr. Everto. What does the name..."

She stopped, a moment, her voice cracking and her face shuddering. Her head hurt with the strain of not sobbing. She started the question again, in the sing-song can't of a (poorly) rehearsed speech.

"Next question, Mr. Everto. What does the name Lanie mean to you? And... if you took my name to... to simply Minnie."

She held the knife still tight to the neck, but her eyes burned now with tears.

[Ignotus Everto]

"Allow me to be the judge of my own emotions, Philomena." Ignotus quipped curtly. "If I worried for my plans, I would let you cut your throat and watch your secrets spill on the floorboards. Now, you may be unable to see potential, but I made my fortune on being able to do just that."

When Minnie asked about the two names, Ignotus frowned, paced, tilted his head from side to side, even licked his lips with his mottled black tongue, but after at least a half-chime, he simply replied to her, "I've never heard of her in my entire life. Or lack thereof, in some peoples' minds."
The bitter truth was, while Ignotus' gift of white bread and haunting invitation had been a defining moment in Minnie's life, to him... It was only another day.

If she asked of any other names, she would find he did not remember any of the orphans. They were simply too insignificant to keep in memory. And while Minnie could scour his face for any trace of deceit, there was none to be found. She and Lanie were nonentities.

However, Ignotus was indeed growing worried, so he decided to prepare for an emergency. Clasping his hands behind him and turning his mind's eye to the fissure between the layers of his soul, the wizard severed the threads connecting his astral arm to his body, and allowed it to stretch out in Minnie's direction.

It was invisible, and ethereal- For as long as he willed it- But at the distance they were at, it was easy to reach the knife. If she threatened to slit her throat again, she'd find herself zapped quite lightly, and the knife apparently attempting to pry itself out of her hand of its own accord. But it was only if she seemed to grow suicidal. He didn't want to startle her, after all...

[Philomena]

This was... impossible. The sheer strange breadth of what Everto now suggested to her... it was not a relief, so much as a crushing of her entire frame of mind.

//Oh yes, Minnie Lefting, you petching fool. He's telling the truth, isn't he? Look at him. He doesn't even know who you are.//

//No... no, this is... its a trick. Its the mesmerism. He is fooling me,he wants... to... he wants me to tell him where Lanie is, or...//

//Oh Petching petch. Shut up. Just... shut up, Minnie Lefting. Don't you see? Your god-petching attempt to be a hero, here? It didn't fix a damned petching thing, all its done is made it worse. You could have been invisible, and now you're seen. And that's nothing. Now Lanie is seen. Now Wrenmae is seen. Do you really think this monster isn't going to take those names now, and try to figure out why you were so intent? That's the end of it, now. Congratulations, you petching gutter-slut. You just betrayed..//

//No. No. Evalin. There is still her.//

//Yes, go ahead, Minnie Lefting, go right ahead! Sure! You've petched the rest of them, why not...//

//Shut up! Shut up!//

"Evalin!" she half barked out the word, obviously, some force of will tearing it form her breast, and when she looked at the man, now, her hate was desperate and teetering, "What did you do to her? You... know when I speak of. The night you tricked her. The night your little tricks made her pour herself for you. The night you took her name on your back."

The knife, though, slipped. It did not take a hypnotist, or even a genius to see her tether was ending. The pitch of her anger was burning out, and just behind it, already, the hollow ashen emptiness of her could be seen. in her jaw, in her hand, in her eyes.

[Ignotus Everto]

As the knife slackened, Philomena would find it ripping itself from her grasp, seemingly of its own accord, and burying itself in a wall behind Ignotus. "Oh, you poor dear..." the Hypnotist sighed, "You really do have everything backwards. I think a certain poem shall better explain things.

It rises, eyes crimson, heart frozen,
To tear the beating ones of virgins,
from their trembling breasts.

Now monsters, Uldr's chosen,
Robbed of wit and reason,
Bring death at their master's behest."

The Nuit suddenly stepped forward, seizing hold of Minnie by her collar.
"Don't you see, Philomena? It was Evalin that approached me. Evalin that offered me immortality as my lights were beginning to dim. Evalin that sought young women to bleed dry. I gave her a snack, she gave me the world."
Ignotus chuckled before saying, "I met her again but a season ago. She is doing fantastic, though she dodged a servant of Dira quite recently."

Finally, the wizard's featured softened, and he murmured, "I'm sorry, Philomena... But your entire history is wrong. Fear not, for your future may be bright, if you will listen."

[Philomena]

//And this, Minnie Lefting. This is how it ends. This. Oh, you little fool.//

The knife left her hand. She let it go. It didn't matter anymore. Wasted, all of this, wasted. Her guard, her attention on her mind fell. She let it go. It didn't matter anymore. Waste, all of this wasted. Her black-hand throbbed, throbbed, throbbed, and her heart murmured a thanks for that throbbing to... she did not know who to pray it to. Nikali perhaps? But no. A slave was useful to someone. Krysus? Yes. Krysus, perhaps. The Red Hand, she had read that, many years ago. Her brain was a broken boiler, now, leaking and filling with itself. She felt the blood and tears behind her own eyes, pooling. She could not quote it. She had known the poem once. It was gone now. The Red Hand... the Red Hand. The Red Hand, now, and her, the Black Hand. The Black Hand and the White.

She felt almost, as if, finally, if she had been in a quiet room,w ith a piece of paper, she could have written a poem, now, one she could be proud of, about the old gutter-slut who tore her eyes out, with three bright hands: The Red, The Black, The White.

But she was not. She sat here, in a stool, now. It was strange: she felt a sort of peace, now, and it made her realize for the first time, why she'd never really related to the stories of the Death of Sylir. Because peace, in the end, was meaningless. It was not a state, but a condition, and a condition for evil as surely as good.

She opened her eyes wide, now, but they were empty. There was nothing left. What, now, she thought, would this man use me for? Let him. Let him. There is nothing left to take.

"Please," she said, her voice hoarse, and broken, "Mr. Everto. Don't call me Philomena. I don't... it doesn't matter. Call me... I don't care. I thought I cared. I don't. Here you are. Here is me. You've done what you wanted to do. I am in a room with you, my walls are broken. My little plans I made, my little insurance policies, they will be easy to discount. My knife is gone, my strength, what I ever had, is drained out.

Do you know, Mr. Everto? We are not so different you and I. Do you know that? Perhaps you do not. Perhaps you would rather not. I've never taken much stock in vengeance, and... and I don't now. Not even with you, Mr. Everto. In the end... I can't. I can't be angry at you, because..." she looked up at him, meeting his eyes, with her own hollowness, "Because... because I understand. We two, we are both hollow, aren't we? Hollow and lonely, forgotten children, who desperately wished to be wanted. And how have we ended? I, I kill those who want me. I drive them mad. Or I ruin them, I make them into monsters. And so I have noone. And you? You must trick them into it. You must twist their minds into wanting you, all of it, all of it. I could not understand why you wnated all of this, why you would not get bored of simply growing powerful. But you won't, I think. Because you don't want power, you want to be wanted. Well. You have me here, and I am empty, now. Please, at least leave the body, when you are done. I promised it. To someone else. The rest, doesn't matter anymore. Take what you will. And the books, in my bag. Take them back to the library for me."

And then, she took her satchel, and dropped it to the side of the chair, closed her eyes slowly, and reopened them. And they had a strangeness to them, something more like a child than a woman, wild and frightened and oh, so terribly trusting.