ataraxion | ☩ ００８．ＶＩＤＥＯ

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☩ ００８．ＶＩＤＥＯ | ＡＣＴＩＯＮ

[ Lucrezia is in one of the lounges! Sprawled on one of the sofas, fingers busy turning a pendent of gold in the shape of a sea-horse. There are no poems today, no joyful greetings, something is different. She looks more pensive than anything else but there is a shade of concern there as well as quiet annoyance.

When she speaks, her voice is devoid of any of it. Her eyes still focused on the sea-horse. ]

A riddle, Tranquility.

How to mourn for someone who does not deserve it?

If your duty demands it and you have no desire to - do all men need to be mourned for? Is it a a more grievous sin not to mourn than it is to speak false words of grievance?

[ a beat. ]

Perhaps I must fast again.

[ a moment later she puts down her necklace, smiles. ]

I would have a cup of wine with your answer, if any of you have some to spare. You will join me in the lounge.

[ and it is not a question. ]

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Yeah, sure. It might be a little more alcoholic than you're used to, but I can tone it down.

I can give you my answer, too.

Bring it as it is and I will manage.

[ and then she nods. ]

And I will hear your answer.

Give me fifteen minutes, then.

[ And a pause. ]

If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to bring my hound. The one people've been [ her lips press together as she forces away a scowl ] concerned about.

My one condition is that you introduce us when we meet. I would hear the hound's name.

Sure. [ She smiles a little. ] But it's awful. I'd rename him if I could think of something suitable.

Perhaps we will think of it. I shall not judge him for his name.

Maybe we will. [ Another smile, wider this time. ] Fifteen minutes, then we'll both be there.

Then I shall wait for you.

[ True to her word, Jaye comes up with drinks and an invisible hellhound trailing her fifteen minutes later. The drinks are something orange and probably not a technical recipe, but Jaye's glass has a little less in it due to taste-testing.

Lucrezia gets another smile from across the lounge as she approaches, carefully setting the glasses down and tugging the spiked collar out from her pocket, then tapping her thigh. Howly comes over, noses against her hand, and after blindly following her way down his head to find his neck, the collar is put on. ]

This is Howly, [ she starts, scratching under the collar. ] He might try to shove his face where it doesn't belong to sniff, just so you're warned -- he's still pretty young.

[ she watches both woman and -- air, supposedly? before sitting up, frowning. ]

Why can't I see him?

[ This is the hard part. ]

He's a hellhound. But... honestly? He's not very good at it. He's a cuddler. I've met angels more likely to hurt someone than Howly.

You've met angels?

[ she frowns, tries to sort out between what her Holy Father taught her and this. Perhaps Golden Jaye's world is different. Perhaps she shouldn't flee from this beast. ]

Is he truly from hell?

A couple, yeah. A lot of them pose as police officers.

[ Which she... supposes might not mean much to Lucrezia, but oh well. She'll explain if she has to. ]

That's what I'm told. [ Howly gets a scratch behind his ears. ] But he came here as a puppy; I'm not sure how much of hell he's actually seen.

What are they like?

[ this whole conversation is blasphamy but she is curious to know. Surely if they are not angels from her own world then it is no sin. ]

[ Hey, sins can be forgiven. ]

It depends on the angel. [ Jaye goes to sit, Howly padding along with her and settling at her feet. ] Some of them are pretty stern. Others are a lot more forgiving.

Are they beautiful? As beautiful as you, or more?

[ for a moment, she is but a child walking on air again. Curiosity keeping her from focusing on her own troubles and finding solace in a story. ]

Some are, at least in the forms they took. Uriel has the same blonde hair that we do, and bright blue eyes. Gabriel looks stern, but it's... in an attractive way?

There are men like that. Many woman would say that of my brother Cesare. I would agree with them.

Kind of scowly, huh? [ She laughs a little. ] I guess my dad was like that, too.

Scowly but charming. Wonderful and clever but he belongs to God, I fear.

And he's not who you're mourning, either. [ Otherwise she thinks there would be a lot more tears. ]

Not at all or else I would have perished from despair. He is dear to me.

[ she smiles. ]

Not him. There is another who I am not mourning; even though my duty demands that I shall.

Yeah, I have one of those too. [ At least, she hopes he's still out there somewhere. ]

They say honesty's the best policy, right? If you don't mourn them, don't pretend. You can tell anyone who is mourning them that you're sorry for their loss and by sympathetic and try to understand their pain, but don't make up some of your own. That's my advice, anyway.

[ she moves about and then, without waiting for permission, sprawls herself more comfortably; the crown of her head against the other woman's knee. A child of not sixteen is Lucrezia Borgia and already she has so many questions. ]

I do not know anyone who would care to mourn them.

[ It's a surprise, but Jaye certainly doesn't mind. One hand moves, lightly stroking Lucrezia's hair, gently tucking a strand back away from her face. ]

If it's someone from home -- someone who must be a real asshole, to not have anyone to mourn them when they're dead -- then I don't think your duty really applies. You're not home, and you shouldn't have to pretend to care; not at all, but especially not here. If it's a duty that you don't want, that you don't really care to uphold... then don't do it.

[ Her duty is different. It's one she wishes she had clung to more, or at least the things Coyote had taught her, if she couldn't serve the god himself here. But she's trying now. ]

People shouldn't tell you how you're supposed to feel, you know?

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