AFamiliarFaceApril 7th, 50SA For one day out of the year, the orderly world of Faiella University succumbed to the forces of Chaos. Hundreds of students from the various years scurried around the campus as if some giant had recently kicked over an anthill. Most elder students possessed enough experience to survive this seething tide of humanity, but many of the First Years were floundering in the turbulent waters. Worse yet, the various Houses – already on the prowl for fresh blood – wadded through the crowd like sharks, harassing those whom displeased them, capturing those whom gained their attentions. Professors joined the throng, attempting to herd the startled fish as best they could. But it was a losing battle and several strays could be found in the strangest places; some crying, others fuming. Regular class schedules were handed out like grim marching orders, while elective classes were fought over with vehement zeal. Lines formed and disappeared, while groups of students compared their fates for the coming year. Equal displays of disappointment and excitement were commonplace, many students enjoying a touch of Schandenfreudiam glee at their friends’ expense. All in all, however, the day and year to follow promised untold possibilities. Over the voices and yells, a resounding voice boomed out of the bronze tubing of the address system. “Could all students please make their way to the Assembly Hall? The mandatory commencement ceremony featuring Chancellor Benedict will begin in ten minutes. Repeat, ten minutes until Chancellor Benedict’s commencement speech.” Cynwyd hated the press of the masses on commencement day. It reminded him too much of the herding pens his father had taken him to see in the bad old days before his brother had been set up as heir to the family fortunes, where the shadow constructs were not in any way gently guided towards their respective destinations to labour and die for the pleasure of those fortunate enough to be higher up the food chain... 'Way to get yourself further into a funk,' he thought, even as he absently waved to someone anxious to get the advantage of having him acknowledge them. 'Of course, all of that is ignoring the fact that I still find myself fortunate enough to be higher up the food chain,' he thought ruefully. The name Barimen still had its advantages, and though he despised most of his peers, he found himself sufficiently hypocritical enough to take advantage of their bulwark in the face of the alternative of being out amongst those less fortunate. 'Wolves and sheep', he thought to salve his brief surgence of empathy. He thought he briefly saw Cole through the crowds, but was in no way sure, and definitely not inclined to find out, so contented himself to watch as the members of his house harassed and culled from the masses. Cole’s head did indeed pop up once, his lanky form scattering the flock like a cougar. However, the sculpted topiary around the knoll prevented him from seeing the student’s destination. Floating in the sea of human face were the occasion islands of interest, exotic features, avian and mammalian alike, which stood out amongst the dull pallor typical to Amberites. Chaosians and Way-Dwellers, their numbers far greater than the year before. They flocked together, as if instinctively seeking the familiar. They were too distant for him to see their House sigils, unfortunately. As his eyes drifted over the crowd, he realized he was being watched. A lone woman stood in the crowd, people flowing around her like water around a boulder in a river. The woman’s gaze penetrated him from even this distance, cold and empty as polished rubies. It took him a moment to remember the face. He’d only seen it once before. And then he’d been too busy reining in Corwin’s terror to pay much attention to its bony features. That and dodging razor-sharp Tarot cards aimed at his throat. She smiled at him. And mouthed two distinct words. <Hello Dolly> Cynwyd was not known for his lack of confidence or bravery, but that realization leeched the colour from his face as his eyes widened. But it took not long for reason to note two things. She wasn't coming towards him, just watching. And she looked decidedly more normal than she had the last time he'd seen her. Hedging his bets against being wrong, Cynwyd grabbed a couple of hapless lower classmen to use as a bulwark (and as convenient shields if need be) and made his way towards her, curiosity winning out over fear. 'And apparently over survival instinct as well', he thought a rueful smile coming to his face that he encouraged into a more hearty grin as he drew closer to where he'd seen her. The lower classmen – a portly red-headed fellow and a freckled girl with stunning eyes – made sharp cries of shock, but fell quiet when they recognized Cynwyd’s cool resolve. They followed his guidance, glancing at one another in shared befuddlement. “I think it’s a hazing thing,” the girl whispered to her companion. The red-head made an ‘ah’ sound and nodded to reply. A renewed look of pride washed over their faces. After all, if they were being hazed, then they’d attracted the attentions of a House or Nation, which meant prestige amongst their peers. As they drew closer, the young woman covered a giggling mouth and appeared to stamp her feet with childish glee. But then, like a leaf disappearing beneath the waves of a river, she was swallowed by the crowd. When the reached the fountain, she was nowhere to be seen. And the two freshmen were growing increasingly nervous. “She’s likes you,” a greasy voice said, surprisingly close. Cynwyd found a tall, lanky youth standing right behind him. Pale-faced and stringy-haired, the blonde wore an encompassing outfit of white. His pouty lips limply held a smile. “I wanted to stress this important fact to you early on in our relationship, in order to avoid misunderstandings later.” "Misunderstandings can be ... painful. And I for one wish to avoid that end," Cynwyd said, struggling to keep his surprise and his unease from his face. He'd begun along this path to seize the upper hand, but that had quickly been snatched from him, so he scrabbled to mentally adjust so that he could at least salvage something from the situation. "Perhaps if we can converse personally, we work together to come to some mutually acceptable end?" He frowned at that last word for a moment, before forcing himself to smile as he looked back towards the young man. The shanghaied students shifted uncomfortably, trying to disengage from this rather bizarre discussion. The young man ignored them, focusing all his attention on Cynwyd. “Medea is – how shall I put this? Fragile. It would be best to advance slowly in any relationship you might have with her. Or us for that matter. Not until I am convinced our goals mutually coincide.” His oily grin spread further, “Meet us under Prince Benedict’s torii gate in the north garden. You know the correct time. Then we might talk about a great many things.” Cynwyd became aware again of the two underclassmen, even as he realized he had never needed them. He shooed them along. "Be off- Prince Benedict will be giving his commencement soon." The two students scurried off as if the Devil were nipping at their heels. Considering Cynwyd’s current company, perhaps he was. "I prefer our talk here," he said leaning on the tree. "In the light of the day. Your arrangements leave me very much at a disadvantage. I know the beautiful lady's name, but not your own. Care to indulge me?" “You may call me Derryck, if you must,” the boy replied. He plucked at some invisible lint on his sleeve. “I had hoped our conversation could have taken place in a more comfortable setting, but I can understand that lack of trust might affect your willingness.” His hollow eyes surveyed the campus. “How important is your Blood to you, Cynwyd? Do you pay homage to the Serpent? Or do you prefer to place your faith in other gods?” "I hate people who answer a question with a question, but I'm going to do just that," Cynwyd replied. "Someone once said, 'No man has done anything to please God- primarily. It was done to please himself, then God next.'" He shrugged. "I'm paraphrasing, and he was talking about a wholly different god, but I do find that in questions of religion and theology, if you reverse the question, you tend to find out a lot about the questioner." He looked at Derryck pointedly, a small smile on his face as he regarded the boy. "So, perhaps you could indulge me first, if you will." Derryck ran his finger along his Adam’s apple in a lazy cutting motion, a slash of a smile matching Cynwyd’s. “Ah, but I am the villain of this story. It would be poor showmanship on my part if I laid my black soul before you this early in the game.” He examined his nails for a moment, “I believe in loyalty to my people. That is all you need to know for now.” "No villainous exposition? No montage in which you spill your dire plans?" Cynwyd tch'd and shook his head in mock sadness. "You don't really have your heart in this whole villain thing, do you?" "And no," he added quickly, holding up his hand. "You aren't allowed to use that 'heart' statement in some pithy line. After that disappointment, you don't deserve it." Derryck considered him for a moment before exhaling, “Sarcasm. Yes. I have heard of it. Never did care for it much. Or the people that use it.” He stepped back, “Well, then. I suppose you have more important matters to attend to. If you change your mind, you know where and when to find us. I’ll relay your dismissal to our mutual acquaintance. She’ll be most disappointed.” "In you, I'd imagine," Cynwyd rejoined, buffing his fingernails. "I mean, she sent you as an intermediary, and you let the tables get turned on you bringing *no* information." "And I was going to answer your question if you'd only been patient, 'boy-who-styles-himself-a-god'." he said with mock sadness. "I think that has more of a twang to it than Derryck," he added almost as an afterthought, catching the boy's eyes. "I think I'll call you that instead." Derryk’s stoic mask slipped for an instant. His fingers curled with rage at his sides. “You would be wise not to ridicule me,” he said. “I am Strega and will not allow a mere human to speak with me so contemptuously.” He stopped, realizing he’d allowed his anger get the best of him. Finally, he waggled his finger and smiled cruelly. “Call me what you wish, Chaosian. I care not what Medea says. You are an aberration. A curiosity. Nothing more.” "But it's a curious itch, is it not," Cynwyd rejoined, an idle smile on his face. "And though you wish you didn't, we always care what women think, Strega or not," he said, with more than a hint of sympathy in his voice. "So tell me what Medea wants to know, and I'll try my best to answer," he said sincerity in his voice, if not his heart. "It might make misunderstandings less later on. It's important, you know?" he paraphrased. “She – we – wish to know if you shall stand with or against your people when the time comes,” Derryk said. “A Reckoning is coming. And past sins shall be avenged. Are you of Chaos or of Amber.” He wiped the sweat from his hands, “Think on this, Son of Barimen. And then find her, before she must find you again.” Cynwyd laughed. Not a polite laugh, nor a quiet titter. But a full, throaty laugh, full of mirth, and more than a little disdain. Then he leaned in towards Derryk, pitching his tone low so that even at that range one should strain to hear, saying, "That answer should be obvious to anyone that knows anything of the Blood of Chaos." "'Think on this?'" he asked, switching suddenly to a louder voice, mimicking Derryk's tone in a high pitched mockery. "What thought is required by Chaos," he extemporized, returning to his own voice, "for what does Chaos know of reason?" "That," he finished, pointing one long finger at the Strega, "is the question ... and the answer." Derryk pouted his lips, staring at Cynwyd with juvenile hatred. For a moment, a ghostly image of ‘something’ filled his hand, gunmetal black and brutal in shape. He stiffened and then brushed the image away, as if dismissing smoke. “Keep testing me,” he said, trying to sound mature. “Then you’ll find out.” He checked his suit again, hardly acknowledging Cynwyd as he spoke. “I’ll relay your missive to her.” He tried not to appear uncomfortable or desperate as he moved away. As he did, Cynwyd sang in a mocking voice to the boy's retreating form: "Mephistopheles is not your name
I know what you're up to just the same I will listen hard to your tuition You will see it come to it's fruition. "Devil and the deep blue sea behind me Vanish in the air you'll never find me I will turn your face to alabaster When you find your servant is your master." "Oh, you'll be wrapped around my finger You'll be wrapped around my finger You'll be wrapped around my finger." |
