milliways_bar | "Once upon a time, there was a man who died..."

Entry tags:

autor,
mia ausa

"Once upon a time, there was a man who died..." - Autor first ep

“—and that’s why you’ll never be any good at the piano!” Autor says, smirking triumphantly.

Then, he opens his eyes. He sees some scantily clad women. He sees some scantily clad men. He sees some--oh, my God what is this did someone spike my tea--*things*, which may or may not be scantily clad.

In the back of his mind, he files away that he thinks he’s in a tavern. Most of his mental resources are busy containing a potential freak-out, so that fact doesn’t register as important.

“Okay,” Autor says, as quietly and calmly and as detached as he can manage. He takes a deep breath, adjusts his glasses, and prepares to bolt.

He turns on his heel, intent on getting back to where things make sense. Instead, he smashes face first into a wall--there had to be a door there, right? Ahh! My nose! It’s bleeding!--and lands gracelessly on his butt.

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It's the blue jacket that catches Mia's eye first. Her first motion is full of intent to grab the collar and demand he explain what he means by worrying her so when the bar was falling apart at the seams.

But the person in the jacket is not Fakir and the Guildmaster realizes this well before the end of her approach, softening her steps.

"That's the fastest I've ever seen anyone try to run out of here," she comments.

It probably helps that she's one of the more conservatively dressed patrons here, her hair secured in a bun and clad in her robes from a day of business.

Autor adjusts his glasses and pats his hair. The primping process takes all of two minutes, but it’s important that his outward presentation is perfect.

Even if he's pinching his nose. "And wbere, exabctly," he says, grimacing, "is hbere?"

Naturally. Ask any Vanetian.

"Milliways, which will likely be the most remarkable restaurant you'll ever encounter."

She offers a hand to help him up.

"I'm sure I have something for your nose, if you like."

Autor glances at her hand, and then at her face. Then he looks at her hand again. "No, thank you," he says, and stands on his own. The spurting has slowed to a trickle, which he wipes away with his pocket hankerchief.

Milliways, huh? Never heard of it. He's been to Ebine's before, so he already doubts her claim about the restaurant being remarkable.

"Well," he says, and sniffs painfully even as he smiles. "This has been lovely and all, but if you could just show me the door, I'd appreciate it."

"If you can't see it, you can't go through it, I'm afraid."

But she does put her hand to her chin in thought.

"Out of curiosity, are you wearing a school uniform?"

She couldn't get Autor out of Milliways, but if he's from the same place as Duck and Fakir, perhaps one of them could.

"Wha--" he says, and blinks. "Of course I am. Don't you recognize it?"

Is she daft? There's only one academy in Goldkrone.

"I do," she admits. "But I don't work at that school."

Mia smiles at his question. It seems the sort of question Draco or Nash might ask.

"Well, then," he says, shifting his shoulders a bit to fill out the uniform even more.

Then he feels something suddenly weighing on his mind. Like sand; insignificant in the short-term, but in the long run...

"Wait, go back. What do you mean by 'can't go through' the door?" he says, adjusting his glasses. "That's... That's absurd. It flies in the face of the very definition of a door."

"If you can't see your door, then you don't have one right now. You're Bound."

She puts a hand where her door is and his door should be.

"I could open it, but it wouldn't be what you left behind."

Autor peers at the wall. Studies it, even. He knocks on the wood or whatever strange material it's made of, steadfastly ignoring any curious stares that might be cast his way.

"I don't know what kind of joke you're trying to pull," he says, narrowing his eyes at this woman--whoever she is. He realizes that he doesn't know her name, but he's never made a habit of asking. "But it's not funny. Show me the door."

"Very well."

And she opens her door.

If Autor looks inside, he will find an unfamiliar hallway being watched by an unfamiliar guard, who gives a polite wave to the two that Mia returns.

Autor peeks inside, and shakes his head.

"Okay," he says, and sniffs disdainfully. "You've done as I've asked and showed me a door to a different part of the tavern.

"Thank you," he says, spitting acid. "But clearly I need to be more specific. Please, if you would, show me the exit?"

If Mia's affected by the venom, she doesn't show it.

"This is my exit," she evenly explains before closing the door. "I can't open yours; only you or someone from your home can do that. I'd say speak to Duck or Fakir about that but I haven't seen either one of them in over half a year."

She briefly scrunches her mouth to one side and presses her lips together.

"In fact, if you see Fakir before I do and he managed to survive that crazy apocalypse that was going on the last time I saw him, would you mind giving him a thwap on the back of the head for me?"

If Autor was suspicious of her before, he's even more so now. He files away her line about 'exits' and 'homes' before focusing on what's really important:

A 'thwap,' huh? Oh, he'll get one--be assured of that.

"You don't work at the school," he says, his voice low and guarded. "So what do you know Fakir and his leech?"

He gets a somewhat pointed look for calling Duck a leech.

"How did you think I recognized your school uniform?"

Autor is not stupid to recognize that she may--just may, mind you--have a point. He is, however, prideful enough to do everything in his power to keep her from knowing.

"So you are daft," he says, as if commenting to himself about his class schedule. "Everyone knows this uniform. It's ubiquitous. Are you telling me that Fakir, his tag-along, and now myself are the only students you've seen around town?"

Wow. She's already been called daft and she has yet to mention Lunar or the Magic Guild.

"No. You three are the only students I've seen around here. I've never been to your home and I doubt you've been to mine."

And that stops him short.

"So what you're saying is that here-- wherever here is--is not, in fact, Goldkrone, where I'm from, or outside Goldkrone, where you purport to be from."

His eyes widen. "But that doesn't make sense. A place outside... That doesn't exist. It can't."

"And yet here we are in that place that shouldn't exist but does, this hub where many worlds meet. It's really a nice place once you get to know it, though."

Mia waves a hand over to one of the many nearby chairs.

"It would probably be a good idea to sit down. And a strong pot of tea might be in order, too."

"What? A hub?" he says, and waves a hand at her. "No, see, that's the thing. This is still part of Goldkrone. It's just one I haven't been able to explore yet."

He glances around the room, and winces. And I'm not sure I want to.

Mia wonders briefly how Duck and Fakir first handled coming into Milliways. By the time she met both of them, they had adapted as most do. But not everyone has the same experiences and some take it slower than others.

"What is Goldkrone like?" she asks instead, taking a seat herself in the hopes that Autor will follow her lead.

At first, Autor lights up like a boy being given a puppy. He considers himself the expert on Goldkrone, given that he and he alone knows how it operates--and who is the operator.

Then he shuts down. The questions regarding his sanity still weigh on him. But despite that--or because of it--he decides to tell her.

She asked, after all, and it would be rude to refuse. He tries to ignore the fact that she is the first person to ask, and how it makes him feel.

"Well," he starts, and edges towards the chair. "Given that we're in Goldkrone, I don't know why you're asking. You'd think it's like any other town, but it's not.

"You see," he says, working himself into a cheerful fit, "Goldkrone is caught in the web of a Story being written by a dead man."

Mia leans forward in her seat, attentive and cupping her jaw with the hand opposite. Her thumb strokes back and forth over her lips.

"Caught in the web of a Story..." she echoes.

She lets it sink in.

She doesn't like it.

"Exactly," he says, getting bold enough to let some gestures fly. "Drosselmeyer--that's my ancestor, by the way--has complete control of the town. We're his puppets, and he does so love tragedies!

"No one exists outside of Goldkrone. They appear at the gates, written in for whatever purpose Drosselmeyer needs them for.

"And then? We can't leave," he says, laughing. "In fact, most people are immortal. They do the same thing day after day, and never notice.

"But we're just the side characters." His fingers brush the table, but he doesn't notice. "The Prince, and the Raven; now those aer his true masterpieces."

Things are clicking together too fast in that familiar sensation of knowing too much.

"By the Goddess," Mia murmurs, her hand drooping down from her face and her eyes considerably wider.

Writing a Story. She never would have thought to do it that way. That would be the sort of thing Ghaleon would do. Hell, if Ghaleon had gotten wind of this sort of thing years ago, there might have been a very different outcome.

And her mind calls up Fakir's request nearly three years ago.

"You said you could teach it. Magic.

"If-- Would you?"

She shakes her head and the back of her mind notes to be observant of her spell comp class.

Autor blinks, hesitant. He's not sure if her reply is a genuine cue to keep going or a placating gesture. Lord knows he's gotten many of those.

"Anyway," he says, plunging ahead, "when Drosselmeyer died, the titular Raven leapt out of the story, and the Prince, his enemy, followed. The prince took out his own heart to seal the raven away.

"Oh, and by the way, Fakir is the reincarnation of the knight Lohengrin from the Prince and the Raven," he says, wrapped up in his own retelling of the tale. "Like Lohengrin, he's supposed to have died at the claws of the Raven.

"A side note, really."

She stands straight up out of her seat at that.

"How can you say such a thing so casually?!"

Autor blinks at her again. Not just because of her outburst, but because she was actually paying attention.

He's not sure if he likes the feeling. Damn. Maybe he'll be more careful about who he blabs to.

"It was his part in the story," he says, shrugging. "Do you think you could change a fate written in the blood of a dead man?"

"Fate is a gimmick used by cut-rate seers, self-important and rubbish at divination."

Her eyelids lower as if drawn by the downward pull of her lips.

"Sometime before the last time I saw Fakir, he said it was over. I think I know what he meant a little better now. And while the dead do sometimes come here, he was still flesh and blood enough to recover from his injuries."

"Fakir is a tenacious jerk, so that doesn't surprise me," Autor said, adjusting his glasses. "But it's over? Really, I doubt that. He's probably still alive because he hasn't faced the Raven yet."

He frowns. "And besides, you don't know my part in this yet. I am a direct descendant of Drosselmeyer. Do you know what that means? I can control his power as a writer when--not if--I know more about it."

"You're right about changing fate, really, you are, but you're looking to the wrong actor," Autor says, grinning savagely. "If Fakir dies, I might be even able to rewrite him back to life!"

"Enough."

What was left of the warmth and welcome Mia offered Autor before is gone. It's strange, seeing her borrow Draco's cold mannerisms.

"These ideas you have... Where my husband is from, that would be one of the Unforgivable Curses. And I won't stand for you talking about Fakir dying and rewriting him back to life. That....not even the most depraved students in my spell composition class have entertained such notions long."

The first thing Autor does is to back away from the table. He tries to make it look controlled, maybe even graceful--but he's a music student, not a dancer.

Her tone and her eyes remind him far too much of someone else. For a moment, he brings his arms to his sides, trying to make himself look as small as possible.

For a moment.

"You seem very attached to Fakir," he says quietly.

"Of course. He's my friend."

Mia would think he's being dense but there's a moment of softness at the thought that maybe Autor just doesn't have friends.

"So there's a spell," she says instead. "A spell that's a Story."

"Interesting," he says, tilting his head as he speaks to himself, filing away this new information. "I didn't know he had any, aside from his... whatever he has with the Prince."

Then he seems to realize she's asked him about the Story again. He stiffens.

He crosses a hand over his chest and bows formally. "I apologize, miss," he says. "I seem to have taken up a great deal of your time. Please, show me the door. Please."

"Mia," she finally introduces. "Or Mrs. Malfoy. And you might as well sit down. My explanation about the door isn't going to change and you should probably know the rules since you seem to be Bound."

Autor straightens, and eyes the chair with suspicion and no small amount of distaste. He does so to avoid staring at her, lest she glare at him again.

"No, really," he says, glancing around for a door, windows, stairs--anything. "I have, ah, a music lesson to attend. There are consequences to my being late."

He doesn't give his name. What if she tracks him down later?

There is at least one of each to be found, though the Window might be best left alone.

But if search he must, who is Mia to stand in his way?

"You'll learn sooner or later that I'm a terrible liar. Be careful if you take the door to the grounds. There are demon rabbits in the woods and a man-eating mermaid in the lake."

He cocks an eyebrow at her and sniffs, regaining a fraction of his old swagger.

"Man-eating mermaid? Did I not just spend most of this conversation with you telling you that we're in Goldkrone?" he says, and makes his way over to the Window of Observation. "Honest-"

He sees stars collide with one another, erupting with fission and fusion in a battle of the Titans. He sees molten color; gaseous planets forming and de-forming like a painter's palate. He sees a background of pitch, the stuff of nightmares.

He thinks he may hear howling.

"--ly," he whispers, and his skin burns.

For a second, a moment, but also possibly infinity, Autor stares into the abyss. The abyss stares back at him.

Of course he does the sensible thing and faints dead away.

Well, that was probably for the best.

Once it was clear Autor wasn't going to wake up, Mia waves her owl over to fetch the carpet. She alternates between pacing and shaking her head the entire wait, wondering how Duck and Fakir were faring.

When Croix returns, she unrolls the carpet and carefully pulls Autor on to be carried upstairs.

"You'll need some time to digest everything," she tells the unconscious young man before beginning their trip up the stairs. "Everyone always does at first."

A key to a vacant room is obtained and Mia writes a note to attach to it, jotting down the rules and the gorgon on her door.

Everything secure, the Guildmaster takes her leave.

Sleep is a strange and elusive creature to Autor. He often pulls an all-nighter writing essays, reading, or researching. And, every other weekend he stays awake for three days to meditate. Family tradition.

To say Autor isn't caught up on his sleep is like saying Goldkrone Academy produces ballet students.

He might thank Mia, were he awake. And not terrified of her, of course.

He might be panicked for entirely different reasons when he wakes up...

[ooc: HIII. Welcome to Milliways. :D]

[ooc: Hello, hello! And welcome back. :) Btw, Fakir, watch out for Mia. She's into ear-pulling.]

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"Once upon a time, there was a man who died..." - Autor first ep

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