Floor 1, Room 3

[jokey]

AKIRA

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[jokey]

[He'd feel better if Solomon were only pouting, but the likelihood of him being sequestered to this miserable space whether he likes it or not is high.

What would it hurt to allow him a taste of freedom? Something more than he's been afforded in this tired old cellar? Akira weighs the pros and cons and ultimately caves to the sight of that petulant face, palm coming down to ruffle that shock of white hair. Beneath his hand, Solomon is so, so small.]

...Who is keeping you here? Is it too dangerous to leave?

[Where are the goddamn adults here?]

[impacter]

Mama and Papa.

[Said as though Akira just asked if the sky was blue.]

It's cause the soldiers are gonna come if they don't. They said it's better if people think I'm sick, too.

[jokey]

[Mama and Papa, spoken as if parental abuse is only to be expected, perfectly normal. Oh, Solomon. Have you been suffering from the start?

Akira is quick to temper his reaction, trading out disgust and shock and the cold pangs of needles stabbing into his heart for an expression firm and unflapped. He can't let it show how shaken he is by that simple, damning answer, leave of all in front of such a young child. Least of all in front of Solomon.

Despite himself, Akira loops his arms around Solomon and embraces him tightly.]

Would you feel better if you looked out the window? Would that help?

[impacter]

[...

The boy doesn't answer at first, stiff under Akira's arms as though he doesn't know what to do with the gesture. His expression tightens in thought.]

Oh. You're warm...

...

[He tilts his weight to rest a little more against Akira.]

Mm-hmm. I like to think about nice stuff. Like how big the sky might be. I like to watch the people talk.

One of my scrolls says that a fish that you eat comes from a place they call an "ocean". And I like to look outside and think about what kind of place it is, and how the fishes live.

[jokey]

[Solomon's parents have gone beyond simply failing the kid. He doesn't even know what the ocean is, for god's sake. Akira is reluctant to let go of the boy, and so he doesn't, but he's well aware that he's being selfish. Who is he really comforting here?]

Why don't I take you? To the ocean. I can even teach you how to fish.

[We just need to get you out of here.]

[impacter]

Eh? Really???

[No second thought to it - his face tilts up like he's just heard something beautiful. But it settles, morphs back into hesitance.]

But... if they catch you, you'd die. Just like my family would die.

I... don't want that. [His lip worries between his teeth.] But the ocean... I'd like to meet a fish.

[He glances back up towards the window, licking his lips, before lowering his voice even further.]

I've gotten better. Even better than Mama and Papa think. But they don't wanna see.

Can I show you?

[jokey]

[He wants to take that risk. He wants to believe everything will be fine, that he can get away with it, that they can outrun any repercussions that may follow.

Akira wants to believe he holds the keys to the world in his pocket, but it's not quite so simple. Confidence will only get him as far as Solomon's dream will let him, and that's enough to give Akira pause.

He clicks his tongue. Damn it. Loosening his hold, he seeks out those brassy eyes.]

...Yeah. Go ahead and show me.

[impacter]

[He puts a finger to his lips, not unlike his ancient counterpart, before turning around to climb on top of a small worn table next to mattress with a jump of effort, filling the air with the smell of damp straw. It must be what his bed is stuffed with.

Successfully on his new perch, the boy once again checks the window, then the line of where the shadow stretches the room, before bringing his hands together, palm up and cupped carefully .]

I'm here. Come to me.

[There's an immediate shimmer of sparkling lights, a pleasantly glowing water forming above his hands in a swirling, playful ball. He immediately breaks out into a grin, but he works his best to try and stifle it in concentration, lip back between his teeth despite the obvious joy.]

Let's go for a swim again today. Okay?

[His hand drifts up and out, fingers outstretched, and the water follows suit, multiplying over itself into rippling, glowing streams that start to dance around the shadowed space like ribbons. Here and there flutters the shape of fish, of bubbles, an aquarium made of pure imagination.

The child jumps back down from the table with a quiet giggle to run into the midst of the shallow, circling line, the subtle colors dancing along the white of his hair. Letting his hand follow the flow of the water as it moves, letting it change colors under his hands.

There is no spell, no seal, no pacts. There is only a pure, natural talent, and unbridled curiosity.]

[jokey]

[How lovely. How brilliant. It isn't the least bit surprising that Solomon has had a talent for magic from a young age, but the degree of artistry, of imagination and creativity, renders Akira silent.

He extends a hand to run his fingers through those spooling ribbons of laminar water, utterly transfixed. Who would see this child as anything but a treasure? A miracle? He shudders to imagine. He refuses to believe.]

You're amazing. Not to disappoint you, but this is even more beautiful than the real ocean. How'd you learn how to do this?

[impacter]

I just knew.

[Plain and simple.]

Papa says it's called magic. But... he doesn't sound happy when he says it.

[He raises a hand, and the water lowers just a little. Away, away from the window. Stay away from the view of the world. His eyes stay trained upwards as he talks - lost in the temporary wonder.]

The soldiers say magic makes you bad. It makes your whole family bad. They call people "heretics". And when people get called that, the soldiers take them away, and all their family.

They set big fires somewhere where everything smells like smoke, but... nobody ever comes back from them. And everybody acts scared of the soldiers, but they're scared of the heretics, too.

Papa says it's cause it's not right. It's not... um... it's not something a person does.

[He turns towards Akira, hurt in his eyes, but a smile on his face.]

I don't get it.

[jokey]

[What a time Solomon was born in. What lunacy, looking at magic like Solomon's and seeing only evil in it. Not much has changed in the four thousand-odd years since Solomon was born, and even between worlds, people continue to condemn those who hold powers well beyond their comprehension. Humanity, both for better and for worse, clings on to stubborn old habits.

Akira rises to his feet and the straw mattress strains and groans. He wanders to Solomon's side with slow, measured steps, and takes his small face in his hands.]

...People fear what they don't understand. They turn others into monsters without ever knowing if what they do is right or wrong. A gift like yours? It could never be wrong.

[He'll tell you about bigots when you're older, little boy.]

I hope you keep honing that gift of yours. Keep making people happy. You won't be trapped in this place forever, and... one day, you'll meet people who will love and admire you for your unique talents.

[...]

People like me.

[impacter]

...

A gift?

[Parroted, as though he's never heard it called that before. But his expression draws downward in thought, small hand clenched into his shirt.]

I don't know if I can make anybody happy. But... I like how it feels. I wish people that aren't like me could feel it, too.

[A beat, once again looking to the window.

...]

I don't hear them anymore.

Quick, quick-- [He'll grab for Akira's wrist with one small hand, while his other extends in front of them. Their little aquarium display converges and reshapes, aquatic platforms messily shoving them both up off their feet and straight up off the floor. Try not to fall over too badly, Akira.

Solomon giggles as he's jostled around, dropping to a seat with crossed legs and patting the platform underneath him like it's a dog.]

There's gotta be room for both at the window. So I want you to look, too.

[jokey]

[Pardon him if he stumbles a little, but he's never walked on water like Jesus before. A bit of fumbling and flailing and he manages to keep himself upright, padding up the platforms to settle beside Solomon.]

...Alright.

[Apprehension takes him by the throat. This is a dream, only a dream, he reminds himself, but what will he see when he looks beyond the window...?]

[impacter]

[The stench of death hits immediately. But, perhaps mercifully, there are no bodies to be seen.

The scene itself is vague, like a smudged painting. Maybe a house there, maybe another there. Murmurings that can't quite be heard as words, as though there's not enough of the memory to patch the pieces.

But what does stick out is the color... and the people.

It's all far more vibrant than it should be, enough to be noticeable. But the light is bright, the colors of plants vary in their weak sway of the wind. Though they're too low to see the sky, there's blue that still sticks out - reflections off a pot, off flowing water, off glass and metal. It seems to stretch forever, from this tiny vantage point, remembered only in the mind of a child.

And despite how muddied it all is, despite how fuzzily it comes together, every person's face is crystal clear. Nuanced in their exhaustion, their fear, their happiness, their relief. They do not look towards the window. But they are still seen.

Solomon keeps his peeking very cautious, very practiced, peeking just barely high enough through the hard edges of the latticing with his fingers curled around the window's edge. A longing sigh escapes him as his cheek settles against his hand.]

It's pretty today.

...

You know... I've got another secret. [His eyes dart to Akira as his voice drops to a whisper, very Serious.] But you can't tell nobody, okay? Nobody at all.

...

I made a friend. Not a made-up one like you or the fishes. A real one.

[jokey]

[What a small, small mercy. Akira doesn't need to see rotting, festering bodies to know this place is steeped in death. This is hell without the brimstone, without the cackling demons and the licking flames. This is the hell Solomon was forged in, and it disgusts Akira. Sickens him to the pit of his stomach.

He clenches his fists tightly to keep the nausea from crawling up his throat. No storybook colors or gently swaying plants could make the scene any easier to stomach. Only a child could see a world like this, the only world they've ever known, in a bright and favorable light.]

...Tell me. Tell me about your friend.

[What friend has Solomon made in the bowels of hell?]

1/2

[impacter]

[The boy looks excited.

The air suddenly turns cold, and from outside the stretch of the muddy scenery, Akira might very well spot the shadow of something. Something. There, quiet, looming.]











H̴̨̡̨̨̻͖͙͖̳̤̺̳͍̯͔͙͎̻̻̹̫̮̉̍̀̆̌̃̾̋̃̚͜͝î̷̧̧̟̥͈̫̳̻̗̯̹͕̫̖̙̪͙̞̘͔̗̫̳̩̩͉̥͙͚̞͈͈̣̲͍̻̣̘̼̘̬̘͔̱̹͙̟̺̞̥͕̭̔̈́̓̒͒͆̊̕͘͜͠ͅͅͅͅͅs̸̨̛̲͕͍͎͚̘̖̖̬͍̲̱͎̱̮̪̿̋̍͌̀̒͛̐́̽́͑̂͆͛̈́̽̉̂͆̌̾̀͌̎̄͘̚̕͠͝ ̸̡̡̨̢̡̢̫̗̲̹͎͍̤̠͚͎͈̻̳̖͕͍͈̞͖̭̭̺̩̺̟͎̙̮̣̳̤͚̯̝̪̟͕̯̰̘̺̲͇̜͙̖̳̉̒͜͜ͅn̵̨̨̛̮͓̗̼̳͉̽̀̔́̀̐̈́̒͆͋̑͗̋̔͑̈́͑͂͑͐̀͐͐̊̈́͑̆̄͂̓̃̊̅̂͛̌̎͂̏̇̎͊͘̚͘̕͝͝͝ã̴̧̢̢̟̥͉̬͈̜̮̜̥̘͕̘̻̣͍̯̳͉͕̯̖͚̖̣̞̎̎͂̾̓̀̈͌̿̌̃͑̎̒͛̌̕͘͜͝͝ͅm̸̢̡̨͈̺͚̭̼̣̭̠̖͓̲̙̤͕̟̩̖̺̬̬̥̦̦͙̭̅̋͋̈̇̔͑̿̅̓͑͋̓̋́͋̂̉̋̋́͘͘̕͠͠ę̶̡̝̞͈͉̼̮̝͍̘̳̫̩̙̀́̀̽͊͂́͐̇̾̉̋̉̃͂͌͑̀̉͌͆̀̓́̀̒̔̌̍͋̓̉̊̀̒̂́͐̒͑̚̕͘͝͝͠͝͝ͅ ̵̧̨̢̡̧̨̪̤̬̠̰̘̟͖̞̬̩͙̦̙̯̰̜͎̜̺̣̞̟̟̦̘̝͖̯͈͈̰̺̱̟͛͊̏̀͛͛̏̄͐̏́̍̀͒̿̓̓̈́̄̒̄͋̏͂͗͛͌̅̇̕̚̕͠͝į̴̡̧̢̧̛̛̮̮̪̭̜͇̱͙̟͉͎̖̫̰̩̲̤̘̻̤̗̠̮͚̘̼̮͕̜̗͇̮͍͙̈́̈́͊̿̈́̉͐̈́́͋̃̽̎͐͂̓̓̔̅̈́̏̃̌́̏̃́̾͛́̉̏͗̀͒̋͘͘͝s̵̠͎͎͆̏̌̐̾̐̑̈́͐̀̌̽̉̎̚͘͜͝͝ ̷̭̠̿́̇̐̅́̆͊́͂̋͑͛̉̉̒͒͋͐̅͊͝͝ ̸̨̞̞͌̌̎̓͆̊͑̈̐̎̏̍̀̓̌̆́͛̿̃̓̌͌̔̂̆̔͒̓͂̒́̚͘̚͘͘̚͘͠͠͝͝͠N̵̨̪̗̰̬̮̝͎͎̪̯͔̟̪̫̘͙͙̫̯͑̅͂̑̈́̍̈́̿̇͆̾̔͗̊̀͆̒̇̋̈́́̈̃͋̓̈́̀̒͊̐̌́́̈́͊̇͘̕̕͜͝Į̴̨̛̛̛͙͇̝͎͔͖̝͇̠̜͍̪̼͚̠̳̗̮͕̭͇͂̊͆̒̌̔͋̂̔́̊̒̀́͒̌͑͂̽̓͛̉͊̿̈́̔̀̔̍̀͌̿̅͒͒̆͑͌̀́͊̏͑̐̀̇͗͘͠͝͝͝͠ͅǴ̴̨̯̰̘͙͎̭̯̪̬̫̊́́͗͋̌̓̑̔̉̓̆͌̆̔̓̽̇͂̑͛̍͛̑͊̎͐̕͝͝͠Ḩ̵̨̧̧̨̧̡̡̨̡̛͉͚̝̟̯̯̬͕̱̖͖͈̰̺̜̱̫̬̺͔͕̜͉̫͉͎̦̤͙̤̭̦̰͇̰̺͖̣͕̳̩̗̥͚̝̺̳̓̌̽͗̀͌̽́̽̏͒́̑̎̒̚͜ͅT̵̪͎͎̮̩͕̦̬̺̪̺̹̥͊̉ͅB̶̧̨̫̬̼̥̤͎̘͍͍̲̦͓̤͍̱̦̱̲̰̣͔͎̲̜̺̪͖͕̳͗͂̂ͅŖ̵̧͖͎̟͖̪͉̝̩͗̿̆́͑̃́̒̂͊̋̈̌́̆̑͗̌̄͋̒͒̋͐̋͛̐̊͋͆̌͐̈́̿͌̽͋̍̓͊̋͆́̄͊̃̃͘̕͜͝͝͝͠ͅḮ̶̧̛̛̛͕̜͖̺͕̣̜̞̖̪̦̣̰̠́̈́͐͋̿͗͂͊̆̀͒͒̈́̋̾̓̅̔̈̄̃̉̌͂́̎͒͊̅̓͛̇̇̉̂̍͂͊̈̍͒̀̈̆̆͊̕̚͘̚͘̕̕͠͝͝͝N̶̢̡̢̧̡̛̛̪͓̠͎̩̦̰̫̥̞̱̩̯̜̭̝̭̱͚̞̻̹͙̱͉̹̼̝̤̝̥̦͐̑̊́̈́̉̀͊͑͆̏̃̊̿̒̍͋͋͑͂̍̉́̎̈́̏̆̓̏̚͘͠ͅͅͅǦ̷̢̧̼̲̜̜͖̞͎̲̘͍͙̣̤̱͔͉͚̻͕̜͔̪̼̯͔͖͙͙̗͖̦̤͗̀̇̓̆͋͂̏̐̀̒̈́̂͗̀̓͆͘̚̕̚͜͜͜͝͝͝Ę̸͔͍̼͈̹̯̼̦̰̺̱̞̞͕̞̱̟͚̩̗̆͌́̎͋̂̓̋͌̚͜ͅR̶̡̛̛̳̹̼͈̮͖͉̭͎̗͙͕̻̗̠̮͙̗̞̱͂͆͑̈́̂̆̿̋̒̊͗̊͊́̈́͗̈́̄̐̏̏̑̑͊̀̅́̒̅̀͌̆̄͐̓̿̕̕̚͘̕͝ͅ.̴̡̣̣̞̝̝̺̱̓̑͐͐̔́̅̏͑̏̾̀̋̌̋͂̏̾͑̔̏͂̅̂̿̽̒͗̌͌͐̿̐͌̋͛̽̀̈̊̑͘̚̕̚͜͠͝͝͝͝

/2

[impacter]

[It's still the dead of night. But Akira is now free of wherever the heck he just was. Solomon, the real Solomon, is out cold at the floor of the couch, head resting against the groove between the cushion and armrest.

zzz]

[jokey]

[Akira jerks, startled out of a dead sleep. That dream felt a little too real, and just to be sure he hasn't simply descended to another layer of Solomonland, Akira pinches his cheek. Oww.

Speaking of Solomon, Akira very nearly kicks the guy when he sits up and holds his aching head in his hands. Ough. No more drinking, at least not for a while. Akira carefully tiptoes across the room to pour himself a glass of water, but in the interim, he wonders if Solomon might be having a dream of his own...?

A dream draped in velvet, a dream stained bright blue. Incense spools loosely from censers hung up high, the scent of frankincense and myrrh thick in the air. When Solomon rouses in this dreamlike space, it will be in a cell, a cage, with shackles tightly binding his wrists and his ankles.

Waking on his own accord might not be an option at all, not with the shameless rapping of a nightstick against his prison bars, a young girl's angry golden eyes boring holes into his.]

Rise and shine, inmate! You're not on a pleasure cruise! You have work to do, or have you forgotten already?

[impacter]

[It's definitely a sharp wake-up call, jolting Solomon up in his dazed status. He feels the uncomfortable tension around his limbs, the cold press of metal and a weight that holds them down...

...well, and a horrible, horrible headache. Is it from the drinking, which has become such a blur in his immediate memory, or is it the noise and the lights and the scents that remind him of...

...

Where... where in the world did he just end up?

He squints up towards the girl at the bars, brow tight in confusion.]

...I'm sorry, what?

[jokey]

[The golden-eyed girl cuts Solomon no slack whatsoever. His question earns him a growl of displeasure and yet more cutting words, her baton arm swinging out to reveal a tall, slim something sitting at the enter of the room draped in a sharply contrasting red cloth.]

Don't "I'm sorry," me! You're late for the execution! Your life's as good as over if you don't start taking your role seriously!

[Another girl bearing an uncanny resemblance to the first but noticeably subdued, stands silent beside the clothed object with one hand primed to tear the curtain away. From beneath the fabric, a familiar voice shrieks, flailing limbs disturbing the cloth.]

Let me go! Let me goooo! Don't you know who you're messing with?! My nail polish hasn't even dried yet!

[impacter]

[It sure is a lot of strange dramatics with no explanation, but...

...

Ah. He knows that shriek.

It's instinct to try to prod through the pact, even though its been severed for weeks. But he keeps it off his face, letting his exhausted frustration pull to something more contemplative and cautious.]

And remind me like the poor fool I am, what is it so important about this role of mine?

[jokey]

[With a sharp tug, the curtain is torn away and the contents therein revealed— a guillotine, imposing and razor-sharp, with the flailing Asmodeus on the chopping block. The girl manning the guillotine looks, however briefly, surprised to see the man beneath the curtain.]

Its form has changed... How interesting.

[The girl nearest to Solomon taps her baton against her palm, sizing up the man on the guillotine before centering her sharp-eyed stare on the prisoner.]

What, has it been so long that you've forgotten?! You've been shirking your responsibilities, inmate! Show him how this goes, Justine!

[Justine takes hold of the rope, iron and wood creaking in unison. Asmodeus, however, is far louder.]

Jealousy is the real crime here! You can't execute me for being beautiful! Tell them, Solomon!

[impacter]

[jesus christ asmo what did you do this time...

His fists clench for purchase under his bonds. No wand, no ability to reach it. He digs his heels in to try and will a magic circle under his feet, but it's struggling to reach, he can't tap into the pact to give Asmo the boost he needs. Why isn't he charming anyone?]

You certainly can't.

And that aside, I don't remember giving you permission to take him from me.

[jokey]

[Caroline watches Solomon squirm, watches him try desperately to intervene and save the man on the guillotine, all to no avail. Her eyes narrow, sharp at the corners.]

You think I need your permission? That's not how this game is played.

[And what an unjust game it is. Caroline turns, her back to Solomon, and motions for Justine to bring down the guillotine blade. Asmodeus screams and argues until the bitter end, but in this world, there is no justice for uppity twinks of any kind. The blade descends and lops off his pretty little head, his form disappearing swiftly thereafter to dispense into threads of magic, swirling about the room before coalescing in the shape of a card.

Justine takes the card from where it hovers above the fallen blade and traipses over to Solomon's cell, extending the card to him.]

Ailment Boost. Not bad... but will it be enough?

[impacter]

[He tries as hard as he might, up until the slice of the blade hits. When it does, he pulls far more intensely, fiercely, the lapping of cold anger wavering through his throat and chest.

He doesn't move to take the card. Not yet.]

I can't answer your questions that way. Are you going to explain to me what's going on?