Oaths Twice Writ, Thrice Sworn (Umbrale & Erit)

[Erit of Eastcris]

"Just a young gun, with a quick fuse. I was up tight, wanna let loose. I was dreaming, of bigger things and, wanna leave my old life be-hind-ind-ind-ind-"

Being a late bloomer sucked, he decided. A lot. Resisting the impulse to glare at the offending alarm clock—that had quite literally blown up in his face last time—Chase Cadence pawed at the stuttering device until his sleepy fingers found the "Off" switch. Then he cracked open his eyes and stared, blearily, at the bland ceiling of his tiny room, absent the light of day at four in the morning. Being an indentured servant also sucked, kind of, but less so than being a late bloomer. At least the masters of the house were worth serving, not taking liberties with their subordinates like villains out of a cheap novella. Being born to the fallen House Cadence wasn't... all bad; there was work to do, food to eat, a roof to sleep under, and they weren't confined to the grounds like livestock. But being like Chase, yet to develop and come into his own by eighteen? Oh, being a late bloomer drove him crazy, especially so with the dreams. He'd been happy when they'd started three months ago, since it meant he wasn't a lost cause, but damn if it wasn't annoying to him now, that he hadn't gotten this over with during puberty, like his cousins had. Sure, he had those years easier than they did, but now he had to deal with a second phase of that awkward torture; only instead of mood swings and a cracking voice, he had to deal with stray magic and weird dreams until he could fully come into his power.

That is to say; Chase, like nearly every Cadence, was a mage, and roughly six years late he was awakening to his gift. A gift that would make things go haywire and generally be a nuisance until it stabilized hell-knows-when. Oh yes, being a late bloomer sucked. Better late than never, sure, but better still on time.

A yawn cracked his square jaw, a dusky hand rubbing the sleep out of his silvery-blue eyes as Chase, butler and soon-to-be Magus extraordinare, dragged himself out of bed and into the slacks, vest and waistcoat one might expect to see male staff wearing on an estate as wealthy as the one his family worked for. Then he checked himself in the mirror, brushing the knots out of the curl-happy dust-colored hair that went half past his ears, noting happily that his uncle's clean shave tonic had worked like... well, magic, before leaving the tiny room he called his own, an oversized refurbished closet that fit his bed, a nightstand and a sink. It wasn't a lot, but he didn't have much chance to need more, being kept busy either with duties, family, or study throughout his life. After shutting the door—a lock was irrelevant to an indentured servant—he made his way through the expanse of the manor, hunting out the kitchens to make himself breakfast at four in the morning in the beginning of summer.

Of course, with that came its own tribulations; the lightswitch zapped him the first two times he tried to touch it, the stove fire winked out the second he lit it, and one of the eggs went so far as to try hatching in his hand before he cracked it over a pan, where the contents reverted to the yolk they jolly well should be. A melodious tittering at his back had Chase jumping with a harsh gasp, turning around and laying a hand over his scrambling heart as he turned to face iron-colored eyes of the culprit maid. "F- I- You!" He faltered, breathing heavily to center himself while the cousin in question simply smiled, mirth dancing in her eyes at his distress. "Damn it Anna," He barked at last, sighing and slumping bonelessly against the counter, "that wasn't funny!"

"Perhaps to you," his cousin purred, before swatting him on the shoulder. "Move, Chase. I'll make something for both of us. Really, you should know better than to try cooking in your state."

He scooted aside with a discontent grumbling. "Being a late bloomer sucks," he said for perhaps the eighty-eighth or eighty-ninth time, "I'm borderline useless until everything settles down..."

"Have you been keeping track of the dreams?" His elder cousin hummed, focus in her posture as she busily salvaged Chase's sabotaged french toast.

"Not like there's much to track; It's always the white void, and the roar. No totem, no guide, no council; three months in, and nothing..." He sighed, "Maybe I'm just not an Inheritor."

Anna Cadence tsked and swatted his brow with her spatula. "I know for a fact I didn't just hear Lucian's son moping. If your parents catch you talking that foolishness, you'll be in for it."

"Oh, cut me some slack, Anna!" He groaned, "Nobody takes as long, nobody has incidents as exaggerated, nobody starts as late as I do! Akasha's trolling me or something, I know it!"

"Akasha makes fools of us all before we emerge, Chase." She retorted, sliding a plate in front of him, "Perhaps it's bullying you out of fondness?"

He scoweled into a bite of egg as she sat down across from him in the nook, resting her chin daintily atop interlaced fingers. "I don't want to imagine the will of magic behaving like a second-grader. I've dealt with enough of that nonsense to last me a lifetime."

"Is this still about-"

He squawked and flailed in impotence, clapping a hand over his cousin's mouth and eying their surroundings warily. "Please. Not this early in the morning, you jinx."

"Hmm mm mh mm hm mph." Her lips parted, tongue gracing his palm, and Chase fliched away with a grimace. "I don't mind you manhandling me, Chase, but not in the kitchen." She winked, smirking as he blanched in response. "You'll need to get over all of it eventually, you know. You're going to be taking over for Lucian, which means-"

"Serving the head of the family directly, I know. If I come into my magic, at least..." He sighed and picked up his empty plate, leaving it in the sink for the big clean-up after their masters' own breakfast later in the morning. "Thank you for the meal, Anna, but I need to get going."

"Have fun~" The blonde minx chirped, Chase silently cursing her as he fled; ever since coming into her magic she'd been an empathetic flirt, reveling in her Akashic totem as a wagtail. He could only hope his own was worth all this trouble as he went about his morning chores, which mostly consisted of waking up the rest of his family and directing them in their own tasks.

As the heir to his own family's head, he rarely was involved in the regular labour, instead managing the throngs of servants from the Cadence family so that their benefactors didn't have to; his father, in turn, managed the more skilled staff, the accountants and lawyers and guards and such. Chase had, for a time, also served as the personal attendant of their master's eldest, on the logic he could serve as a confidante as Lucian did the head of the house, but once the young man had started coming into his power it had been decided safest to quarantine him from the family until his power stabilized; it wouldn't do, after all, for an incident of wild magic to cause distress for the house that sheltered them.

When the rest of the staff were roused from their beds and assigned their duties, Chase took a moment to himself; quietly sliding into the library and unshelving one of the many treatises of magic the Cadence family had penned over the years. Some of those times even predated the fall of their house in then-Prussia; most of those ones were kept on far higher shelves behind locked glass panels, being both valuable and fragile for their age. There were efforts to transcribe them, of course, but progress was slow going as there was only ever so much time, and for a Cadence most of the waking hours were work or study. He prowled the shelves contemplatively, silver-blue eyes snapping from book to book, before he settled on the one he was after.

"On the Topic of Contracts and Inheritance of Akasha, Faust Cadence. Hello, great-grandpa..."

Then he sat down in a quiet little corner, cracking open the newly-rebound leather grimoire, and began to read.

 

[Umbrale]

Footsteps fell like flowing water, silent upon the polished wood floors of House Memoiri; one foot after another.

Akasha, while the giver of magic to mages, was not the penultimate god. Nicknamed the Will of it, the "being" was to most others as humans were ants. But, it was not the creator of magic, only the means to use it in those not born of it. For creatures, both in this world, and the neighboring planes, were birthed inherently of that power, that mysterious energy laced throughout the natural world. Some were called monsters, others called demons, a near-endless rattling of the tongue could name of entity after entity, brought, born, or crafted into this world. For mages that required servants of uniqueness, one could call upon the denizens of other planes, craft artificial life through careful formulas and devices, or form covenants with the races.

Although it was more rare, some of the more influential magical bloodlines formed preferences to the beings they affiliated themselves with, and with such contact over the years, that magic would intertwine with the genetic makeup and formation of the families themselves. Totems along the lesser-blood would become more similar, and the expertise in a given span of magic would take new form. The highbloods, that is the more royal of the familiar, would have far more diversity, the latent power supposed in their blood being more volatile than that of the subsequently distant relatives. The familiarity and tradition of such practices with certain familiars and styles of minions would often times lead to the summoning of those beings, into this world. Magic so simply flowing within their veins, at a beck and call unlike the lifeline that mages had to call upon; they were powerful pawns in this world.

But, unless contracted, they were still born of free will and purpose. Mortal, they weren't alikened to fairy tales and fantasy-novels, if slain, no essence would flee back to their birthplace. Of course, to enslave a being such as that, was to make an enemy one wouldn't want put upon themselves. And if the owner were to die, well, the vengeance of a magical entity upon their family was all the more appetizing for it. With that being the case, such high-blood Houses were often to send with the call an invitation blood; a bonding of human and other races into a combination of power and form. The houses that did so thusly infused their bloodlines with power unlike that of Akasha, of totems and Inheritors, giving them the direction connection to the flows of magic so natural to arcane beings.

Typically, households lent these blood-ties to a flagship entity, and as to Memoiri, that was the race of Primal Fey. Fey, of course, were nature spirits, born of the latent magic of Earth, and typically intertwined with elements of wherever they called home. Primal Fey, on the other hand, were born of raw magic, creatures of aspects and qualities that they chose, shaping their bodies into forms calling homage to creatures of the natural world, but with no particular attachments to peace, prosperity, and the preservation. While not evil, they were of a more free-willed, individual nature than that of the happy-go-lucky-pixie-dust-fey of nice-ness. Beings of such will and freedom, from the chaos of the magic they were born, lived life for the experience, the rush, the wonder of it all. In being born unto the blood of the Memoiri, the following descendants had varying degrees of transformations to themselves. Tails, horns, wings, animalistic attributes that gave them advantages in many ways, alongside the gift of natural magic. In some they were more profound, in others, not even apparent.



"Did I not ask for breakfast, specifically, of you, yesterday?" A sullenly-sweet voice called from behind the armchair of which Chase used to prop his book-buried nose upon. Of course, there was only one such female that requested such a thing, and her lips twitched up into a tiny, side-smirking curvature. Glittering deep blue pools of crystal opalescence, matched in their deepness by the faintest crackling of lightning on the pupil, twinkled with merry smugness, as they rounded the chair into sight.

For one so high-and-mighty sounding, Alesia Val'En Concord Memoiri did not rock the typical sight of high-end life. Rather, much the opposite, were the flannel loose-bottoms and simple white workman's -top any such example. In fact, she looked positively like some lazy bum(albeit without a blemish of dirt), who had found an empty room, took a nap, and then set out to explore. Of course, that was only if someone was blind, deaf, and devoid of smell. After all, it was hard to miss someone who sported twin tails of midnight-black fur, shot through with the thinnest lines of a brilliant azure. Those topped the smooth curvature of a heart-shaped posterior, sitting high on long, taught legs. While such a simple top did little to accentuate or define a form, there was still the definite--although mindfully not large-- mounds of a female chest, but the opposite side of her body sprouted better wonders. For from just behind the shoulder-blades arched out medium-sized(where "medium" was related to about three feet long from top-curve-to-tip), wings of the same strikingly smooth twilight fur. Only along the upper bone structure was there still a strike-through of lightning-tinged blue. From near where those cutting eyes peered, was the smooth crescent curve of a chin and jawline, among a slender and pale complexion, leading to a rather short(for feminine standards of the time) cut of hair, wherein the left side was brushed back smooth, while the other arched to the right in a more brilliant expanse of that stand-outish color. To top it off, from the top of that head of hair jutted two twitching, short ears of the Canid variety. From her presence of opulence and simultaneous casualness, also rolled the soft scent of something similar to cinnamon, if it was dashed through with the sugary-sweetness of honey.

"And to think, had you not only seem to forgotten, but you so simply recline to read a story?", she teased again, eyes sparkling with the knife-edged jest that was only held when speaking to someone you had the right to boss around.

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

It is well observed that all magi draw power from the wellspring of Akasha, that primordial subconsciousness that drives all the World as it is observed by the eyes of the uninitiated. When a mage first develops awareness of the Will, their spirit instinctively draws upon the Power without direction or intent; it is this untempered excess of the phantasmal which causes the errant phenomena so common during this period of adjustment. Though there is much debate yet on the topic amidst the scholars of this House and its peers, evidence suggests a direct correlation between the frequency and potency of these stray mystical happenings and the eventual strength of the mage to which they are tied.

Noise. Chase furrowed his thinly-trimmed brows, dusty goldish-brown as his hair, and refocused on the tome in his slender, tanned hands; whoever had just come into the library should know better than to approach him, it having been very publicly announced months ago that Chase Cadence was to be avoided by all of House Memoiri until such time as his power was stabilized... Whenever that was due to be. Surely even Trouble Incarnate would adhere to that, he thought; doubly so since, being magical in principle, it was entirely unknowable what being around him might do to her.

It is only when Akasha takes note of this reckless drawing of power, and bequeaths an envoy, that a mage's gift truly becomes their own; these envoys we have come to call Totems, for they serve as anchors around which a mage focuses their spirit to enact their craft. The bestowal of these Totems is what we know as "Inheritance", so named for the belief that all magic available to man originates from Akasha, and is simply passed down from Will to Inheritor as any heirloom might be. Of all the magics that one may be endowed with by Akasha, the Totem is both the most common and the most basic, its powers limited in both breadth and might when compared to the less common gifts one may Inherit. Unlike even Inheritors of Contracts, those limited to Totems are strictly bound by the laws of the World, their achievements restricted only to that which the mundane could conceivably reproduce; there is no conjury, transmutation, or even many of the basics of bounded fields. Blessed though they may be, Totem magi are best compared to the blue-collar workers of the craft.

It was when that bitter-yet-sweet spice reached his nose that he realized he was being naïve and ingrained responses took over. Chase didn't need eyes or ears to know the bearer of that distinct a perfume, and as she rounded to stand on front of him the mage-to-be was already bolting from his seat, managing with a modicum of grace to leap over the back of the chair and place a piece of furniture and meters spare between himself and the vulpine source of much stress and worry in his life. The book, he abandoned, its heavy leather falling to the floor with a dull phump, and he hastily inclined at the waist, averting his gaze from the winged creature that held dominion over himself and so many others of the Cadence name. To one without context, it might seem comical; he, dressed in a servant's fine livery complete with polished shoes and white gloves; and her, looking for all the world as if she'd just been roused from her bed. Of course, even without context it would be abundantly clear Chase was unnerved by the heiress Memoiri. Not for her power, but rather because even after so many years he did not quite understand her nature and mannerisms, her attentiveness to him in particular.

"I must ask your pardon, my Lady," he began, a noble and gentle tenor sounding out a rush of words very obviously trying to project a calm not felt, "but in my current... condition... I am yet unable to comply. As my functions are severely hindered, I thought it prudent to devote myself to study..." His slim dancer's physique inclined by a few degrees more, hiding his modestly-pretty-yet-male face from view, "The better to serve once my... condition... has stabilized, that is."

The chair collapsing into a pile of wood and a seat cushion just served to accent his point, and he flinched; his uncle Evan would be displeased at the extra trouble.

 

[Umbrale]

The laugh that rolled free of Alesia's lips was one of both mirth, and a touch of exasperation. Of course the publication of his magical initiation had gone out through the joined Houses months ago, but it wasn't as if that had, or would, stop the gal' from approaching him. Of course, the visits from the vulpine female had lessened, but they hadn't exactly stopped, as was suggested to her. Not only was she one of the more troublesome heirs(not heir-apparent, but an heir nevertheless), but she was one of the favorites at that; rules didn't quite apply to her. Given her penchant for appearing at both the worst and best of times, she didn't let anyone stop her, either. "Stand up, you fool. You know I don't care for shows of servitude."

"What was it that your condition," the word rolled off her tongue with an interesting flair that was rather blatantly mocking, " was likened to, again? Magical puberty, I believe? Sheesh, you must have quite the hormone blockage, for it to last this long." The Fey prodded at him verbally, lips quirking up into a gleeful, teasing little smile instead of a smirk; despite her taunting of Chase, it was clear there was an edge of sympathy. "But just think, perhaps our games of Surprise-Magic-Tag won't be so one-sided soon!"

Not exactly pleasant memories--of course they were, for Alesia-- of scorched walls, cardio, and yelling were sure to pass through the male's mind at the mention.

"Does this not last for only a short period, though?", the heiress inquired, one vulpine ear upon her head twitching to his direction. "At such an extended length, and...", Alesia gestured to the crumbled furniture at their feet, "...volatility, is it not expected to be over soon?" The female shifted the weight on her feet, and placed her hands upon shapely hips, cocking that attractive face to the side, while twin tails of twilight moved to lace around respective thighs. One could call their "relationship" torment, the other amusement, a bystander, chaos, but it was definitely to be said that when the Fey was around the son of Lucian, it was clear that their was not to be, a dull day to be found.

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

It was with deliberate slowness that Chase straightened his posture, standing instead at a resting poise, hands clasped behind his back and heels locked together, with a butler's air of refinement; he knew, oh how well he knew, how little Alesia appreciated formalities—that was to say, less than none. But it was one of the few ways he could return the vexation she inflicted upon him, so the young man relished doing so within reasonable limits.

Then he flinched as she mused on his state of being a walking hex of disorder, grimacing like he'd just eaten a sour grape at the mention of "Surprise Magic Tag". Or as a sensible person might perceive it, "Overkill." Which would leave Chase outside the camp of "sensible," as while he did not enjoy the spectacle in the least he at least liked to believe Alesia meant him no... lasting harm. Rather, he dreaded his magic settling in that and similar respects, as it undoubtedly would mean a raising of the bar.

When she concluded with a question, his expression shifted into an embittered frown that marred an otherwise attractive visage, angular and definite with prominent cheekbones and a subtle chin. "I..." He restrained himself from sighing in breech of decorum, but allowed his posture to slacken with a slumping of his shoulders and a casting of his eyes to the broken chair. "I am afraid that is unknown. Most Inheritors do not take longer than a month to come fully into their power, but..." He waved a hand, indicating the entirety of himself, "most Inheritors undergo this process much earlier in life, as well. There is... no precedent for my case, my Lady. For all the common knowledge of my family, it may never pass; it is another reason I was studying here prior to your arrival." Her interruption, really, but as a Cadence his time was the Memoiri's to spend as any of them saw fit, and Alesia had laid a quiet claim to Chase for reasons unknowable quite some time past. "Being a late bloomer..." Sucks, so very much. "Is frustrating, in that and many other respects."

For that alone, really, he envied her and hers; the Memoiri were born to their power, directly descended and beloved of Akasha, never for a second without control of their connection to it. They didn't need to put up with the awkwardness and embarrassment of stray magic, certainly never with his peculiar circumstances, and never with the dangers faced by greater Inheritors who were granted power beyond mere Totems by the Will. He was certain they had their own problems, but at that juncture he was willing to take them on in return.

 

[Umbrale]

Despite the almost annoyed huff of hot air at the ongoing formality in Chase's form, the Memoiri heiress' eyes did soften at the explanation of the male's distress. While it wasn't convenient for anyone nearby, it was also a sore subject, and for that, Alisia could understand his frustration. She knew not of it herself, or at least, had experienced it, given the ease of magic within her own house, but she had heard numerous stories both amusing and saddening of the periods of volatility. For one to last so long, was yet another stack of unfortunate misery that had been heaped upon the male of Cadence. "I see. For what it's worth to you, I'm sorry."

The rare moment of sympathy from the girl hung in the air like a lisp in a silent room, lending all the more of an awkward air to her intrusion upon his solace. With a proper enough second there, however, her lips turned up, and one arm pulled away from her hips to gesture languidly, even as her steps carried her to the side of the materials that used to be a chair. "Regardless, you don't seem disastrously destructive. A chair is hardly something to gawk at being destroyed, after all. So, I require companionship!" An upbeat tone rang in her voice, if a bit amused in her foolhardily rebellious ways."What shall we do, then, Chase...", she trailed off, sounding less like a question and more like a general narration.

"Perhaps catch some morning tea? As long as you don't send shrapnel of pottery about the place...." For a moment it seemed as if the vulpine female stiffled a giggle, and her tails unwrapped from her thighs to swish about in merry amusement. "I could still go for breakfast, or maybe a brisk walk while it's still dawn...", she paused considering for a moment, and cast Chase a sidelong glance. "I would suggest we spar," it could have been inferred that sparring meant an offensive-to-evasive sporting moment that anything, rather similar to Surprise Magic Tag ", but even I don't trust the volatility of your condition in an especially pulse-raised engagement." With a definitive laugh at that, Alesia pivoted on her heels, and cocked her head to one side, one vulpine ear giving a curious twitch. "I'll leave the decision to you, Chase. What shall we do to start my day? As long as we don't pass by any alarm clocks, we should be fine..."

Trouble Incarnate's lips curled into a playful little smirk, and she jested once more, in explanation, "...Everyone in the manor heard it."

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

It was worth quite a bit to him, actually, even though he knew that her rare moments of tenderness were ultimately meaningless in how she behaved towards him. All the same, he cherished memories of the times where she was not mischievous or aggressive and instead behaved with compassion and empathy. He liked to believe that facet of her was just as real as her usual persona, a side that was shown rarely and thus made precious.

The moment was, of course, broken by her return to form, and he again suppressed a sigh; it would be a long and tiring day bereft much productivity, it seemed. Did she really need to mention that incident, weeks after the fact? He'd managed to repair the bedside table and the clock in short order, surely there was no sense in teasing him over it more?

"I..." He rather disliked when she did this; foisted planning little play-dates between them onto him. Not to say he didn't enjoy it, but it was improper for him to be in any sort of lead with her, little though anyone cared. His own father, when the issue had been broached before, had simply laughed it off and called it good practice; quite for what, Chase did not yet know. "Shall I arrange for breakfast in the arboretum, then? I am told Silas and Yvette have landscaped a lovely clearing for picnics for this summer, and Anna has been practicing your favored dishes." Those eyes of silver-tinged sapphire closed slowly in thought; it would give her a pleasant walk through the the gardens, a brief repast and a place to play in seclusion from any who might get caught in the crossfire.

"And of course, Michael has been ever improving with his harp, should you desire pleasant company." He knew it was futile, but nonetheless he made a token effort to pass her attentions off to someone else; his younger cousin of fourteen was quite infatuated with Alisia, having composed half a dozen sonnets and ballads in her honor already, all quite quality pieces despite their obviously singular focus. Not quite as good as Chase was with his ocarina, but bound to eclipse him soon enough.

 

[Umbrale]

Of course, Alisia knew that Chase dislike crafting days for them so; but it was an adequately promising way of getting back at him for the formal stature of his being, as well as sate her own disinterest in choices. As such, she was more than happy with his idea, giving a considerate nod of what could be passing thanks. "That, actually sounds rather nice," she replied in turn, but a moment before he attempted at brushing her off. At the mention of Michael, however, the heiress' face lost the vast majority of its color.

"I think you're plenty-suitable company. The vast quantity of teddy-bears and wilted roses I find strewn around my door every week is more than enough of his affection. " It wasn't a bitter tone in her voice,as much as it was one of helpless exasperation. It didn't exactly help, either, that Michael tried to woo her with those creations, on what felt like a monthly basis. "Seriously. Did someone craft up a pitifully twisted excuse for a love potion, trying it on that poor kid? I'm just glad he has enough work on his hands, and as such, not enough free time...", Alisia trailed off with a shudder, abruptly shaking her head to clear the thought of that love-ridden teenager.

"Do you desire anything for breakfast? I'm feeling particular to my favorite, of course. " Small-chat initiated, those soft steps of hers began their direction away from Chase, fully expecting him to follow in the direction of the kitchen closest to the arboretum gates. When it came to the subject of food with Alisia, it was a matter of renowned amusement and struggle for whomever had to cook; her tastes were simple, lively-food, instead of the caviar and glistening delicacies that most of Memoiri found appetizing. Of course, when simple bacon, pancakes, and the like of breakfast-food was what you enjoyed, and your cooks were employed to provide five-star rounded meals, the air of the meal was humourous to say the least.

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

He did, naturally, follow suit; three steps behind and one aside, as was proper and at this point safest, and permitting himself a bemused smile at her reaction to his latter suggestion; perhaps he could take to sheltering in the young bard's room when he needed peace from his mistress. "I have already taken my meal for this morning, my Lady," He explained, "And it will be a few hours yet before the servants begin taking their lunch shifts." It was more efficient for the servant House to operate on block schedules and take staggered breaks; they were numerous enough that the flux in manpower meant little, but if everyone went at once it would be too chaotic and leave the Memoiri unattended.

He excused himself at the kitchen, finding his tease of an elder cousin still at work with some of the others under her purview, and in the minute it took him to explain what Alisia wanted she had already assembled the required ingredients and sent some of the younger ones off to prepare the grounds in question for the impromptu picnic. Thankfully, since nearly everything with Alisia was impromptu they had much in the way of practice with accommodating her whims; never let it be said the house of Cadence took their duties lightly.

It was after only a few brief moments Chase rejoined his heiress at one of the various doors leading out of the manor, a polite smile on his slender lips as he offered her a pair of sandals for the walk through the gardens to the carefully tended man-made forest, each vibrant with colorful flora and even spots of small game; having an extended subordinate family of mages to tend to it, the Memoiri estate was both expansive and very well cared for, much of the grounds practically abuzz with life and magic from generations of care.

They passed the threshold and into the outdoors, a rustic stone footpath providing the way from the abundant estate to the flower beds proper, with Chase just a little bit closer that normal in Alisia's wake. A tiny little smile adorned his face; not polite, but rather a quirk of the lips worn by one whose eyes stared at a pleasant past. How long had it been since he walked her through these gardens? Longer than the months of his instability, he knew; schooling had demanded much time and attention the last few years, at least from him. The morning was warm and dry, absent even birdsong as they strolled with the leisure of two with all the time in the world, and his silver-blue eyes softened and unfocused as he appreciated the peace of the moment.

(Alis! Alis, look! Silas planted yellow roses!)​

"This... Will be our last summer together, won't it?" He mused, just loudly enough for her to hear him but soft enough she could pretend not to. "After this, you'll be off to university, and if my magic has stabilized I'll be off to train with Road Camelot. And if you haven't picked a suitor by the time you've returned, the House will surely arrange one for you." It would mean they would have to distance themselves from each other; being too friendly with a servant of the opposite sex would strain whatever union Alisia was placed in. He didn't want to dwell on such thoughts, really; didn't want to waste what time was left before these moments between them would be all but impossible.

(And the amaryllis are in bloom, too!)​

"I can only imagine how much mischief you'll get up to without me." Surely whatever college she was bound for would spin legends of her tenure for generations after her departure. Alisia was... Singular, in that way; a point around which things revolved, rather than simply unfolded. He liked to imagine his presence wasn't necessary to keep her from going too far, that she wouldn't end up in over her head without him there to sink or swim beside her. "Actually, I don't know if I can even imagine it."

(Even if I don't have magic, I'd still like to stay with you.)​

He sighed, sliding his eyes nearly shut behind long, heavy lashes, and his smile turned ever so subtly bittersweet as he murmured, only to himself...

"... I'll miss you, Alis..."​

... I wish we could stay with these flowers, even just a moment more.​

He should have known better, however, than to let his thoughts run away from him; for magic yet untamed is a fickle yet attentive force, driven by the desires and instincts of the mage. Totems existed to prevent them working magic without meaning, and without them Akasha hearkened to every wish and whim and put forth efforts to make it so. It began with a stiff breeze, a sudden gust of warm summer air that blew his dust-colored hair in front of his eyes and made him flinch. A sinking feeling in his stomach told him something was about to happen, the uncanny instincts of the primal mind warning him of a nebulous something he did not truly know. And when the fields began to stir he knew exactly what it was; as flowers—orchids and hyacinths and amaranths and carnations—sprang up to gargantuan size around them in the blink of an eye, he cursed his condition and his foolishness.

"Alis!" He cried, reflexively using that old nickname he hadn't spoken since they were twelve, diving towards her in futility as she looked back at him with that damnable smug little smile and a chrysanthemum engulfed her, swallowing the winged fox whole with a bud the size of a minivan. He knew she was perfectly capable of breaking out herself; he also knew she wouldn't, even if there was some unforeseen danger to her in there. No, she'd wait for him to do something, brash fool she so often was with him. A glove-clad fist beat against the overgrown flower, Chase's teeth grit as his mind wheeled and spun along a dozen different threads of thought. Cursing his out-of-control power, cursing Alisia's fondness for screwing around, cursing himself and Akasha and this stupid. Fucking. Plant!

Being a late bloomer sucked. Very much.

His hand struck home on a crease between the petals and found purchase within, and for just a moment Chase Cadence had the gall to think he'd won. The flower, of course, was quick to disabuse him of the notion; some kind of force attempting to pull him in rather than let him pull Alisia out.

"Let! Go! You son of a-!"

Within the next few seconds, a great many things happened, not all of which were immediately apparent to Chase and Alisia. He was dragged, tumbling, into the flower bud; deposited straight into her arms, in fact. A vague impression of a spark passed through them as their hands brushed together. His eyes changed in the darkness of the enclosure, and a sense of clarity overcame him as a new sense awakened in his mind; the sense he imagined all mages had, indescribable and ethereal but oh so very there. The sense of the Will, of Magic.

What neither knew, in that moment at least, was that Chase had done something utterly unheard of. He was not, in truth, sensing Akasha, for no mage did; they were given Totems precisely to separate and demarcate them from the Will. Rather, he was brought into tune with what some more esoteric scholars called the Weave, but which really had no name to mages; the primal, natural energy if the World rather than the focused, ordered magic of the Will. In becoming aware of this more raw and volatile energy, he had become insulated to Akasha; not severed, for he had in that moment been granted a Totem, but tapping into it now required the use of a metaphorical line through the wall rather than an envoy along the road. Alisia, similarly, had been gifted the inverse; in addition to her sense of, living and breathing connection to, the World, she had been granted a subtle, muted connection to the Will; a Totem of her own, a link to power subtle and unsensed by the conscious mind and closed off to her spirit save by intentionally reaching for it. Their souls had been intertwined in a fashion not understandable in three dimensions, for each fully encapsulated, and was in turn encapsulated by, the other, yet remained separate and distinct at every level.

He did not know the nature of his power, of course; only that he had it, and it was his. And with it, he decided his first act as a proper mage would be smiting the ever-living crap out if that damn plant. He flexed, not his body but his spirit; a metaphysical stretch and heave against the confines of the bud, and when it did not give he sharpened his gaze and gave his spirit edges and points, blades and spikes to rip and tear at this meddlesome piece of greenery that had been all too eager to obey when he hadn't meant it, but now that he had control it suddenly had to be this whole big show of obstinace. He didn't wish to be trapped anymore; he wanted to be free, to be out in the light, to be rid of this wretched chrysanthemum and—

And just like that, the mutant flower bud rippled, then burst, exploding not into plant matter but throngs upon throngs of scintillating motes, embers of pure magic shining iridescent silver and sovreign blue. Then he was tired. So very tired, knowing not why but contenting himself in the knowledge that he'd done it; served his purpose as her servant and companion, as a Cadence. He caught one look in her eyes like mischievous, troublemaking sapphires, and then exhaled and closed his own; the left turned timeworn iron's grey, the right a shallow river's blue. And then he slept; not quite snoring, but clearly deeply unconscious.

And he dreamed. Of the white void, and the roar.

Only this time, it was different.

 

[Umbrale]

A pleasant walk--if one could call a boring, lonely, and rather uneventful walk that--was what Alisia was treated to, on her short trek to the gardens. Of course, when she was promptly re-accompanied by Chase, the long look of unamusement on her face was the only means to relay her disinterest in sandals; a step out onto the stone path had fair, bare, feet touching on the sunlight-warm stone.

The two began their walk among the flagrant flowers and blossoming grounds of the estate, alive with everything from the buzz of a honeybee, to the pitter-patter of the hare that darted across their path. A long breath brought in the tantalizingly sweet smells and aromas of the fine outdoors; tilting her head back to take in the sunlight and atmosphere. An ear twitched towards Chase, and a short glance over her shoulder did lend the attention of listening. Besides that, however, she didn't immediately respond, unless the slightest shifting of her furred wings was a body-language implication of unease. It was true, after all, despite her efforts not to think on the matter. The two had been together for so long, and been through so many shenanigans together, that it was almost as if they had bonded in childhood; despite the messes they made and the trouble they had gotten up to, opinions in the House never became too vehement of what was always assumed the heiress and her playmate.

It seemed as if a witty response were apt to lift from her lips, at the mention of a suitor--as if, and Chase could assume readily, she would ever go along easily to that--but as quick as the butler might have noticed, too, was it stifled. Her brow knitted together, thankfully she was in front of him, and didn't look back, at the dilemmas he posed. Alisia, being as she was, had always pushed it back. Despite her excellence in study--om the rare occasion, one such as her that despised the bored hours would get it done with a force that only symbolized a desire to be rid of it--the winged kitsune had always pushed off her advancement. She had demanded of her father a full education in turn, with every year that it bore to anyone else; one of the few arguments she outright won. While one couldn't read it into it enough to say it was for Chase's sake, every Summer had since been a whirlwind of trouble, mischief, and fun. And to think of it all as winding down, now, it was a thought that was rather hard to bear.

An ear twitched, but a few moments after the butler's last vocal sentiment, in his direction. Not a smart-remark this time, but a softer tone stirred her voice, hesitant and uncertain to bring into being. Of course, that too seemed cut off, this time possibly for the better, as that warm breeze stirred the still air of the gardens.

Alisia felt it in the air, that stirring, that shiver of the world around them that symbolized a sudden force of magic. Abruptly, she turned on her heel, first instinct bringing her to look past Chase, at that manor, with eyes widening slightly in alarm. "Is fathe...", a prompt trail-off lead her words to quiet, however, as she instead focused her eyes down on her closest of friends. Slowly, her eyes softened, and instead regained that familiar spark of mischievous fun. One side of her lips quirked up into a smug little smirk, even as the foilage rose vehemently about them. "Well, I'll-be----"

Snap!​

With the muted sound akin to an impact of velvet-on-velvet,the pedals of the gargantuan flower slammed shut, gobbling her up into its depths. Of course, it was rather uncomfortable, but the winged kitsune manage to stabilize herself inside the thing, that smirk not dropping from her lips. She knew it was but a moment of time: even Chase, in his magical volatility, wouldn't allow such a thing to keep him from her. No, with that feeling in the air, Alisia had a sense that this was his moment. This was the moment that he would reach inside himself, grasp that wild strain of magic borne from his bloodline, and be granted a totem!

This was the moment that he had been waiting for!

The moment that he would use his magic for the first time, to smite open the bulb and releas----!​

With a surprisingly effeminate, "oof", Alisia caught the entrapped male in her grasp, body-to-body in the close confines of the plush flower. It was amusing how well they fit together, but that wasn't something to think on at the moment. "Alis?", she teased, grasping at his flailing hands as if to bring the butler into a sense of calm. But too quickly did that spark shock through them, silvery-blue leaving the mage to intertwine with a bolt of neon-azure snapping along that same thread of electricity to him in-turn. Neither noticed in that second the interchange, but all that mattered there was the moment.

The feeling of one body on another,
the tingling of awakened magic frenzied in the air,
and the distinct sense that in that time and moment, with their last Summer, their parting ways in life, and the means of their different roles,
nothing would ever be the same, again.​

With an impact to the air, a dull, "whumpf" that sounded much like the compression of a bellow, everything burst into the fast-dieing, but beautiful motes of tangible magic about them. The winged-kitsune glanced around in awe, in slight shock at the sight. It was beautiful, in an elegant, but otherworldly type of way. Like the fascination of fire, but suspended in the air, all shot-through with the prisms of light and color. As they began to wink-back and dissolve into the matter of reality, however, Alisia managed to shift her attention back to Chase just in time to catch him from impacting the ground.

"Chase? Chase! ", she exclaimed, worry clearly evident in her voice, even as the black of exhaustion faded into the butler. Just before his eyes closed, a brief glimpse of the changed sight brought a mote of confusion to the heiress, but that was promptly erased by her concern for him. It wasn't overly much, of course, but she only had to assume the shock of the moment had overwhelmed him. There wasn't time to ponder it, but that was the best reason for his state.

So, she promptly lifted the butler into her arms bridal-style, and began a walk back towards the manor. Untrained as she was to carry loads with her wings, she dared not risk the endeavor.

-----------------

​

When Chase's eyes eventually opened again, he would find himself in one of the main bedrooms, reserved for Memoiri typically. Even then, it was for the younger siblings and visiting family; better than his own, but not of much repute. His first sight upon sitting up, would be his favorite winged kitsune, slumped deep into an armchair, sound-asleep and in a differing set of pajamas than he had last seen her; this time black sweatpants matched to a far-unbecoming white tee. Contorted as she was, with one leg over the side, one wing propped up the back, and her tails splayed out across herself, it was definitely a humorous sight.

He wouldn't be amused for long by it, however, as a deep, sonorous voice rang from his left side. "Don't worry, she's fine. My daughter insisted on staying by your side." While commanding, and powerful in nature, it was simultaneously soft. Somehow, it held attention, but also allowed the relaxation one might incur being in the presence of a grandparent. The man it came from, had the same effect. Dressed in a beige, almost khaki suit, he seemed like the rich, estranged uncle that always came up after a grand hunt in Australia.

The man's looks were refined, clean-cut haircropped low, a full-head kept short but neat in a formal fashion, that matched a perfectly refined facial beard of the same style. A clean, crisp-white, it was a nice contrast to the fair, if lightly-tanned skin about his face and hands; folded neatly in his lap over a book.. Wrinkles were sparse on his face, but apparent, and while his hands seemed strong, they did show the signs of age. What didn't, in the least, was his stature and eyes. Easily looming over six and a half feet in height, the seemingly older gentlemen towered over Chase, even while sitting in a simple dining chair. Perched atop a slender nose were the small-rimmed, spectacles of a librarian, looming behind them was the far more intense sight, that of two reptilian orbs, slitted and peering into the depths of the butler's soul. Deep, speckled-through with motes of brilliant light, those golden hues sought any mystery they found with a savage abandon, and hinted at something far greater.

Chase, of course, didn't need such an introduction of appearance.

This was the head of the family, the employer and gratuitous guardian of both houses,


Brivear Memoiri

​

A prompt wave of his hand and a condoling nod did its best to assuage Chase's immediate attentiveness. "Fret-not, I'm here on only three counts. One was to check upon my daughter, the other to congratulate you on your awakening, and the third, " at this, Brivear's lips twirked up into a tiny smile much-akin to what Alisia did with her smirks. "Is to stand-in at your father's request. I believe he will be here shortly. Intuitively, news of your event has spread across the house; it was hard to miss a mass-dispel such as that, you're quite definitely your father's son."

The intertwining of his fingers shifted for a moment, and he instead gestured directly at Chase, one eye quirking up inquisitively. "Speaking of which, how does it feel? Controlled? At peace? " The movement of the hand came full-circle, to reset intertwined with the other, but only after pushing up the spectacles perched upon the elder's nose."I'm quite curious as to your totem." Said with strength, poise, a question, but one undoubtedly within his power to ask, holding with a tone of statement, not one of inquiry.

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

It began, as it always did, with noise. A roar like crashing waves, only constant and omnipresent. Except this time, it was different; the roar was muted and muffled, down-pitched as if everything were underwater, rather than an almost painful and deafening cacophony.

Then came vision, of a sort; as if opening eyes he did not have in this place, to an endless and seamless white void. The initial vertigo was quick to fade, though; he'd long since adjusted to the oddness of that place. Again, though, it was... Different. Subtly so, in this case; the brightness was somehow less, as though a tinted sphere surrounded him, reducing the intensity of the void from blinding and painful to merely uncomfortable. It took a very careful eye, and the intimate familiarity of several months, to catch the "why," a large sphere, seemingly made of translucent hexagons much like some sort of honeycomb structure. He had no hands, no body, in this place, but he could yet "feel," and when he "felt" that barrier he was quickly overwhelmed by... He knew not what. Emotions? Sensations? Thoughts? Were they his own, or something else? Why were they there, now, between his consciousness and the Will? He'd emerged, been granted a Totem, he was certain! Why was there something between him and magic, still!?

-----------------​

Chase's awkward eyes snapped open as his lips parted in a quiet gasp, his consciousness snapping back to his body and feeling alive from the steady thrum of magic in the air. The first thing he thought of was, naturally, Alisia, and his torso jerked upwards as he took the first step in rising for a panicked search before stopping dead at the sight of her sprawled sleepily in a chair. Then, rather than panic, he smiled with an amused huff at just how typical the pose was of her.

A smile quickly wiped away on hearing a voice he was fairly familiar with. Every Cadence, of course, knew their Master, Brivear Memoiri, at least by name and sight; but Chase's position as the son of Lucian Wyrmwell Cadence, Brivear's personal confidante and envoy, meant he was far more familiar with the man's presence. His childhood as Alisia's playmate doubled down on that; to this day Chase cringed at the memories of his referring to the man who controlled two immense families as "Uncle Brave" because his name had tripped the little boy up. So he gave a nervous, sheepish smile to the patriarch who controlled his life so long as Chase bore the Cadence name, and sat up straighter on the bed, swinging his legs over the side to rest his now-bare feet on the floor. A part of him wondered who'd taken his shoes and socks, before being hushed by the need to pay attention to his boss.

Even if he was there for the three stated reasons, Chase didn't let his guard down. There were protocols to observe when dealing with Brivear Memoiri, especially as his next chief of staff. The word of his father's coming was a surprise, though a small one; Lucian had been away acting as steward for the various businesses the Memoiri family controlled, a decent trip away by helicopter. Of course, his son's emergence as a full mage was special enough occasion to return, especially considering Chase's unique situation; undoubtedly he would be there within an hour of getting the news. Which brought Chase to wonder; how long had he been out?

His hands folded in his lap, Chase lowered his gaze as he thought on the answer to Brivear's inquiry. "I feel..." He reached out to that hum of power, spirit grasping the flow of magic as his azure eye came aglow with inner light. "Whole, sir. As though some part of me long numb has at last regained some feeling, a sense I never knew I lacked come to life..." He extended a finger, and a tiny ember of flame came to life at the tip, crimson and gold tinged with silver-blue. "The rhythm and pulse of magic in the air, in the earth, in my own blood, it is... Entrancing." The flame winked out, light fading from his eye as a genuine smile lit his face. "It feels amazing, really."

The sound of footsteps at the door kept him from dwelling on the question of his Totem, as three pairs of feet approached in a controlled rush and the door opened hurriedly to reveal three men with hair of varying shades of blond and eyes varying hues of grey. At the lead was, of course, the head of the mage family; clad in a more business-like double-breasted suit and tie, with wild sun-colored hair and a gunmetal gaze, Lucian Wyrmwell Cadence was a man taller than his son by a head and shorter than Brivear by a hair, lean with a posture of invulnerability and power more at home on a noble than a servant. Flanking him were his own uncles, dressed in medical fatigues under the iconic white coats of physicians and scientists, with straw hair and steely eyes, one having aged rather gracefully and the other seemingly not at all.

"Brivear," Lucian nodded to the Memoiri patriarch, addressing the other man with a voice at home amidst a hail of gunfire, "thank you. Sorry for imposing on your time." Though there was very little real work for the Memoiri head to do, as the extended Cadence family dutifully handled the regular administrative duties for the various businesses and operations under Brivear's family name; there were benefits to having an entire house of loyal mages under one's wing. Lucian himself served as seneschal for the House such that the Memoiri family could afford to treat their holdings more as a hobby than business, in addition to overseeing Road Camelot's deployments; it was the main reason he was rarely present at the manor after Chase turned fourteen.

"Thomas, Lloyd." Lucian said simply. The other two men nodded and stepped forward to examine Chase. Thomas, the elder looking of the pair, immediately began testing the young man's eyes; Lloyd, the younger, took one of his arms and measured his pulse. Chase, having been subjected to these tests numerous times when it had seemed he would not develop any sort of magical ability, cooperated in mechanical silence and tuned out the pairs' mutterings and musings over his condition, letting them come to a diagnosis unmolested. When his great-uncles stepped back and Thomas extended a hand towards him, iron-colored eyes alight with argent luminescence, Chase held his breath and grit his teeth as silver-blue tendrils as fine as fishing wire extended towards him, touching their tips to his skin where hair-thin lines spiderwebbed out from every point of contact. Being subject to kenning was always an uncomfortable experience that made his skin crawl, but he set his jaw and kept still anyway.

"This is most unusual, indeed." Thomas muttered darkly, the light fading from his gaze as the tendrils faded from the world, and Chase shivered and writhed the dregs of that invasive sensation off. "He has been granted a Totem, but I cannot perceive it." The elder man directed his gaze to Chase himself, "You have one, clearly. But there is interference somehow."

The young man leaned forward, eyes widening in concern as he struggled to keep his tone level. "What do you mean, uncle?" Interference? But that was ridiculous, he could sense the flow just fine, reach out and touch it, which he did for emphasis; an orb of gentle light coalescing in his palm as his blue eye began to shine again. "I can work magic just fine now. See?"

He missed the looks of befuddlement, with his attention focused on the feeling of finally having his own power, but not the small mirror Lloyd produced and placed in front of him, nor the sight within that he knew to be so very wrong. His eyes were supposed to have changed from the robins-egg blue he'd been born with, he knew, but not like he now saw they had. And his one eye certainly wasn't meant to glow like a bolt of lightning. No sooner did the mirror disturb his thoughts, though, than the sphere of light winked out and the offending reflection crumble to dust. Lloyd pranced back as if Chase was a hissing viper, and the youth's face twisted in the kind of scowl reserved for cruel twists of fate. "Or so I thought."

Thomas gave a sharp cough, bringing attention to him rather that the mirror. "This is... Certainly a unique situation, but rest assured we will figure it out in good time. For now, it seems you at least have enough control to avoid causing random phenomena; until be better understand the nature of your Inheritance, I suggest keeping your usage of magic to a minimum."

"Still, there's good news!" Lloyd chimed in with his languid drawl, bending eccentrically at the waist, "Since you're no longer a walking hex, you can resume your regular duties!" A pointed glance at the still-sleeping Alisia said the rest, and Chase looked over at the girl in question, unaware of the soft little smile adorning his face. Really, she—

(Would be impertinent enough to be asleep when he woke up rather than patiently waiting at his side.)

—would ruin her back and posture, sleeping like that.

Chase sighed in resigned bemusement at the sight. "Then I suppose I should get the young miss to her own bed, shouldn't I? Along with some proper breakfast." He stood, finding his shoes and socks on the floor beside the bed before bowing politely to Brivear. "Thank you for gracing me with your time, sir, but I must beg my leave."

After settling his old friend onto his back in a piggyback ride—her wings made bridal carries too uncomfortable—Chase allowed himself a slow pace as he moved through the manor. For many reasons, really, among which was an instinctual aversion to go near Alisia's room, equally matched by a desire to reminisce about the "good old days" before the dangers of his awakening forced a separation. Even before then, he'd found himself simply too preoccupied with study and work to spend time with Alisia outside of what she could manage to wring out of his father's schedule; Lucian was a strict man even with the heiress, and had been firmly set on Chase succeeding in his academic pursuits even if it meant limiting the time that mage and maiden could be together.

(I can't, you know how dad is about this. I'm sorry.)
​

Thankfully, carrying her wasn't that much of a challenge; despite what popular media might lead one to believe, mages weren't predisposed to fragility. Certainly, the study of the arcane took priority over becoming a bodybuilder for most, but the Cadence family was very strict about health, particularly if one was younger than fourty. The domestic staff were, at minimum, proficient in self-defense techniques and very physically fit, and the full-time security detachments from Road Camelot... Well, it was an informal private military corporation, owned and operated by the Cadence house in the service of the Memoiri. Chase himself was a rather good boxer, and as the next chief executive of Road Camelot he had a bit of firearms training as well, though he'd been practicing neither during his instability for obvious reasons. To say the estate was more heavily defended than most government seats of power would not be an understatement; there were reasons beyond magic that nobody could even try to steal from the Memoiri family and get away with it.

The halls were oddly silent, lit through the windows by the late morning sunlight streaming in, as the young man carried his friend through the house, his family somehow absent from any hall he traveled. It would be eerie, considering that they were supposed to be easy to find if one of the Memoiri required a service, but it wasn't when one accounted for the reason. Any mage's awakening was big news that warranted celebration, like a particularly auspicious birthday in a way, but Chase in particular had many things about his situation that would draw in the entire family for the festivities; his position as heir, obviously, but also the unique nature of his instability and awakening, and his being generally well-liked by his extended family. He'd been a bright and kind boy who grew into a sharp and reliable young man, and while such were common traits in the servant family Chase stood out for his exemplary nature of it.

(A Cadence lives to please, after all!)​

Alisia's room on the second floor wasn't that hard to find. It hadn't moved, after all, and he had spent much of his time as a pre-teen playing in there with her, though he hadn't so much as stood in front of that door in years now. At first it had been because he was too busy, but then he had felt like it had simply been too long apart for him to visit as a friend, then it was simply too awkward to try bridging the gap he felt had come up between the two of them, and then he'd turned unstable and... He sighed and shifted his burdensome young Miss a little to free up a hand, turning the knob and stepping over the threshold for the first time, that he could recall, since they'd entered high school. Instinctively, he wanted to backpedal and flee, but he didn't. (What was hers was his, after all.)

He shook the sudden cobwebs from his head, instead, and laid his charge gently onto her bed, even going so far as to tuck her in and brush an errant lock of hair from her eyes. A smile adorned his face as he did so, the kind of expression one gave towards a person they truly trusted; it was a smile he had used to always wear around her, when they were smaller and bore fewer responsibilities. But years dulled such gentleness, even good years devoid of suffering; it was the kind of innocent expression one simply stopped making as they grew older and changed their expectations of the world, the kind of openness that was lost in exchange for a wider lens through which to view life. With that youthful, childlike smile on his lips, Chase took a seat beside Alisia's bed and waited for her to awaken.

(Like she should have done for him; perhaps she simply needs an example of proper etiquette.)

The haze was shaken from him by the sound of a trolley, trundling into the room behind him. A quick glance over the shoulder revealed a familiar tease of a cousin at its helm, along with a tray of tea, snacks and the breakfast they'd been waylaid from taking. "Hello, Anna." He said quietly, "Thank you."

"Oh, don't mention it, Chase." The coquettish smile she returned was somehow frightening to behold on Anna's pleasantly-proportioned face. "After all, it's the least I can do for you... Well, perhaps not here, unless you're feeling particularly brave."

The boy gave a good-natured scowl in response and shooed the flirt away, "Enough of that, this isn't the place for your antics."

(I turn eighteen tomorrow, Chase; just this once, indulge me?)
​

She gave an audible pout back, but spared him further trouble. With a grateful sigh that, today at least, he could get his way with his family, Chase poured himself a cup of tea and munched idly on one of the cookies, settling into chair he'd requisitioned from Alisia's desk and waiting for her to return from... whatever state the Memoiri's fey blood took them in their dreams. (The void and the roar, infinity within nothingness and nothing within the infinite.) That might make a useful piece of research, actually; the Cadence archives were utterly bare of any studies on their keepers. If he had to guess, it would be because of the perception of such a request, but surely there was no suspicion at this point that the Cadence family would turn traitor? It had been dozens of generations by this point, and there had been plenty of systems laid in place for those who wished to live separate from the debt and the duty of the Cadence name.

 

[Umbrale]

For a man of such prestige and almost regal, if just a bit relaxed, pose, Brivear only tilted up a small smile to the proceedings. Of course, he did give a polite, if brushing-away nod to Lucian, when the father of the Cadence's strolled through the door outfitted in entourage of arcana-magical triage.

The curiousity of Chase's eyes, however, brought forth the lifting of a single brow, thoughtful and pondering, perusing the situation with an eye that was intrigued by both the confusion and possibilities of the sign. A totem that couldn't be seen, for one thing, was unheard of. But to second it up with what one could only easily assume was the appearance of a genetic mutation in a regal bloodline of a nigh-perfect quality? That was certainly to be the topic of debate, research, and more than a little curious panic throughout the Cadence family.

When the young mage rose from his bed, and donned his shoes once more, uttering humble apologies to his technical boss, the patriarch gave but a dismissive wave, and a curt nod, ushering the newly-fledged mage from the room."By all means, do take care of my heart, " he almost jokingly said to Chase, although the glance to the only female in the room was one pointed with the emotion of a father. The return glance to the younger male--hidden by Chase's back-turned to the winged kitsune--was one with a bit more mystery to its gleam. The patriarch had never spoken of his own opinion towards the two aloud, at least not to those that would have spread it. It was a mystery to both Alisia and Chase, but one that had long-since came to an unspoken acceptance of; given that he easily allowed their "relationship" to continue. After all, but a word would separate them forever, and it had been more than a few times that Uncle Brave had allowed his heiress to skip the remainder of a lesson or a duty to run of with her playmate.

Those sparkling eyes of ember hull followed the male from the room, before the body lifted with a fluid grace. Attention was diverted fully to the other most regal male in the room, locking cold steel to copper coals. "Now, Lucian, we have things to discuss..."

----------

​

What was there to dream about?


A better question to be would have been, why was there nothing being dreamt?



Alisia found herself in an abyss, a dark space of endless volume, drifting in non-existent air, in a non-existent form, just existing. The primal fey's dreams rarely had meaning that was apparent, although some could interpret them. Despite that, they always dreamed; being tied into the natural magic of the world meant that you felt what came and went. The use of others around you could drift in thoughts. A blurry memory. A shape of a being. The flow, the melody, the magic of.... well, magic, cradled you in its arms like a mother singing the sweet nothings of a made-up lullaby to a baby that slept soundly well-enough.

But the frightening part was the nothingness.

Rather, there was something, it just wasn't there. It was in the background of a place that had no background. The CSS in a tab that was separate from the HTML. Magic was there, it was apparent, alive, and thriving, but it was muted. The sensation could easily be described as being a claustraphobe in a tiny, cramped little room, but with the most beautiful landscape painting thriving in a perfect work scrawled across every surface of the enclosure.

But suddenly, a brilliant flash, an explosion in the darkness of nothing. Warmth!

Alisia turned what form she didn't have, to face the brilliantness, only for it to wink out of existence. Like an anomaly in space, appearing with the force of a sun, only to retract back into itself, winking right back out of what didn't exist, as if its own presence called itself back. Again, it happened, again, again, and with focus Alisia could feel that warmth more keenly.

Calming, soothing. The sweet nothings that a mother sang, but with a softer sorrow. She would have to leave her child tomorrow, for work, just in the hands of another. Day in and day out, work day after another, and before long, the child would be gone. Out into the world, never forgetting, and always checking, but never there again. The emotion that came through that warmth stirred butterflies in a stomach and sobered a buzz.

-----------​

The crackling neon-blueness of those twin irises fluttered open, blinking hypnotic black lashes away to focus a blurry gaze in on a breakfast-in-bed, and a (Much more scrumptious...) fellow reclining in her own chair no less besides her.

Alisia's room was something set apart from the world she lived in, much like herself, it seemed. Like bedroom, like owner, apparently; given the massive beanbag of a thing that sat next to several bookcases; an overly extensive personal library that a rare few had laid eyes upon, especially considering the mage's absence from her room as of quite-a-late. A desk, formal and neat, with a few notepads and sketchbooks strewn about it. From what could be seen of one laying partially-open, the indiscernible-from its half-closed angle--illustration gleamed and glowed with colors that didn't exist in natural hue. One of her earliest feats in what magic the kitsune had been seen using, the heiress at the age of only a half-dozen years devised a way of seeping a prismatic element of magic through a phoenix-feather; a happenstance that had occured when, "crayon no cowerful enuff!" had come into contact with her father's study. The lances of glowing rainbow-streaks and spirals of a dizzying array of colors across every discernible surface in reach had been the story of the manor for years, a subject of both mirth and bittersweet annoyance from her father.

Across the room, a full-length mirror held in polished silver furnishing adorned the wall, with a bit of space about it to preen one's appearance. Much to the chagrin of the Memoiri family, magic only went so far to help with angles almost unreachable what-with the extra animalistic bits and stylist-adaptations. The paint-scheme, a darker marine-blue that gave the place a calming, quiet vibe, clashed into a stark contrast with the crystal globes arrayed in the corners of the room--soundproofed room far in advance courtesy of Lucian--along the ceiling, with the hub of the expensive tech being a sphere for neon-pink, half-embedded in the wall beside the winged-kitsune's nightstand. The synthpop and dubsteap-like wubs that blared from the place would wake half the mansion, had it not been for the Cadence-head's foresight into the problem. Her royal, if overly-large bed--despite being banister-style, it sported an oversized cushion, a ridiculous amount of blankets, and enough stuffed animals to suffocate one with-- fit her frame; even with her wings splayed-out, it would be difficult to cinch at a wrong angle in sleep.

"Aww, a dutiful servant brought his most cherished of mistress' breakfast in bed! How darling of you, Chase...", the winged kitsune's mocking-sweet voice chimed up without a beat. She rose quickly, however, an audible growl from her stomach speaking in a quite unlady-like manner that she had not eaten in what was at least a short while. "If you wouldn't mind, Chay...", the word slipped free from her mouth almost casually; a nickname much-akin to the intimacy that Alis held in reciprocation. If she noticed, however, Alisia didn't seem to care, continuing without so much as a pause for breath, "... It's been sixteen hours, and I'm famished. Be a doll and feed me?", the kitsune cocked her head and shot the young mage those puppy-dog-pout of eyes, one ear even going so far as to twitch down and old at the tip, completing the irresistible look. Slender, if slightly plush, lips parted slightly, neon eyes flashing with a challenge that one could almost guess was made to retort at compassion required for the "ride" back to her room.

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

She didn't really need the pleading eyes, and Chase was pretty sure she knew that. He was her servant, after all. "A Cadence lives to serve, after all." He said, chuckling softly, "Though... 'Chay'?" He couldn't help but arch a quizzical brow, clearly amused by that name. Sure, it was hard to make a nickname for something that only had one syllable, but he'd clean forgotten just how peculiar Alisia's choice had been. Putting the humor aside, though, he went about drizzling the pancakes in her favored syrup and spearing a portion on the fork, cupping his hand under the lot and holding it out to her.

"Perhaps later my lady would like this humble servant to perform for her?" He asked idly during the meal, "With my magic more-or-less at peace, I should be allowed my instruments once more. Though I would need a few minutes to shake off the rust." Merely being humble; in truth Chase could pick up his ocarina or lyre and play just as well as he ever could; mages had a unique quirk of never really losing old skills for lack of practice, though most of the Cadences kept up routine practice anyway with their various hobbies. A directive at first from the Memoiri to keep them from becoming soulless killjoys, it had eventually settled into a simple family tradition for every one of them to have some kind of craft or musical practice in their off-hours, which invariably was put to use as part of their regular duties in time. Chase was musically inclined, cousin Anna was a silversmith, his father was a carver, uncle Silas was a botanist and his grandfather—Morgan Faerath Cadence, who wrestled with giants—had been a gunsmith and chemist as well as the founder of Road Camelot.

 

[Umbrale]

A scoff was quick to follow the mage's amused point at her chosen nickname. "Seriously?" She retorted, lips turning up at one side to give an amused-if-annoyed smile. "You try to come up with a nickname for someone when you're six. I mean, all you do is leave off two letters of my name! And do you even know how hard it is to pronounce 'chase", at that age? It was so much easier to shorten it." With a huff, she finished, but Alisia's pout only remained for the short moment it took her to nom over the pancake-laden side of the fork; eyes rolling back with feigned ecstasy at the taste. The winged kitsune wasn't one to torture him thoroughly, and neither did she enjoy the indentured-servitude level of attention that he self-amusingly gave her. A deft movement of her hand snatched the fork from his fingers, and bared the meal to her voracious appetite.

Of course, it wasn't to be said that she didn't have manners. Alisia performed well enough at state dinners and the like, but when it came to her own meals, the proper way of her life was as thrown-to-the-side, as most other aspects of it. Her fork rode a roller-coaster of rising and falling, as the breakfast was effectively erased from existence. Only when the pancakes were done, the eggs half-scrambled from their sunny-side-up start, did she pause to consider his idea. "Ugh, and have to put up with that abominably slow music? Only if you insist...", her words came out with the double-edged amusement one could only expect from the heiress, her eyes flashing up to hold Chase's, glinting with the mirth that he knew she enjoyed his musics, while the last bite of hashbrowns disappeared between her lips.

The breakfast finished--the orange juice and water had disappeared somewhere in-between, as did the entire precursor of crispy-fried-goodness to her final bite, almost as if whisked away by magic. With a flourish, she pulled the covers from the side of the bed, and sat up closer to Chase; a long overhead stretch of her arms followed by wings, brought her back down to level with the male. "But besides that later-date, have you adjusted our plans? I'd imagine you want to stretch the metaphysical wings you just sprouted..."

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

He restrained himself from pointing out that he also halved the number of syllables in dropping those two letters; there wasn't much point to scuffling over something as pedantic as linguistics at that hour, less so when he considered the niggling hunger in his own stomach that would need to wait to be treated until Alisia took lunch. Similarly, he refrained from chastising her table manners, or lack thereof, since not only was there no one to impress in the room, but the odds of his Lady turning things around to tease him were worryingly high. A wise Chase, he figured, would avoid giving her the chance if he didn't want it seized. He almost rose to the provocation, knowing full well she was provoking him, but Chase took a breath and folded his hands over crossed knees as he leaned back in the chair.

"I believe you mean 'metaphorical,' my Lady," he said with a smile, the tone less formal and more earnest but not quite as open as it had been in childhood, "but that doesn't matter. I am to abstain from using any magic unless absolutely necessary until it can be determined what specifically is awry with my connection to Akasha." He waved a hand beside his stubbornly azure eye for emphasis, the queer coloration of his irises a troubling sign of the irregularity that had come to define Chase's existence these past months. "Doctor's orders, I'm afraid. While I don't cause rampant phenomena anymore, it's been decided to be too dangerous for me to attempt any arcane undertakings still. It is..." A deep, focusing breath was taken, a hefty sigh bearing the weight of the land to moderate his language and tone in front of a lady, "... vexing, to have come into my power and yet have even less of it available to me than before." Honestly, part of him wondered if he would be better off completely without magic, rather than running through these hoops it seemed determined to put him through.

"Of course..." He smirked, rising to his feet and putting away the remnants of breakfast on the trolley before offering a hand to his old friend, a gentlemanly gesture to help her to her feet, "... If we should be away from the house, what Thomas and Lloyd don't know, won't hurt me, now will it?"

----------
​

"—And Section Four has cornered the dregs of the Chilean insurgent group that attacked your housing developments, as of the latest report two days ago. If I may be allowed speculation, they should be fully eliminated in time for Section Four to provide the usual security for the Lagerion Corporation's annual dinner party." Lucian finished, dismissing the holographic array of files and documents as he briefed the Memoiri patriarch of his holdings. "But I doubt the focus of this conversation is to be business as usual, now is it, Brev?" The Cadence head smirked, cocking his hips and leaning his shoulder into the wall. "So, what's really going on? Do you have any ideas for what's happened to my son? Or is this about something else?"

 

[Umbrale]

The casual, if almost too eager correction the heiress' vocabulary-usage seemed to waft over her without ill effect, a moment that was probably a happy touch to Chase, given his own thoughts on her retorts. She had, of course, noticed the peculiarity in his eyes, and the gal simply continued her up-turned lips smiling upon him. One ear was quick to twitch at his sigh; silken fur swiveling attentively to face him with the concave of her anatomical highlight. The stress, or rather the tension, of his expression wasn't lost, and the Alisia knew well-enough the struggle he had faced the past several months, what-with the silent ridicule, mystique, and suspense that hung around his condition. After all, had she not gone out of her own way and rules to "comfort" him as their relationship offered?

When all was said and done, the kitsune's lips quirked up more at one corner, and even as her hand clasped to his, she let loose a soft chuckle at his enthusiasm. "My, what a rebel," a swift movement with his assistance brought Alisia to her feet, but her grasp on his hand didn't relent, in fact it tightened to hold him. "...what would your father say, hearing that?" A momentary pause brought her full attention tot he mage standing at-ease before her; that spark in her eyes the revealing brilliance of what Chase dreaded to face. "But...",

Her chest rose with a long, deep breath that even unfurled her wings slightly with the extension, and Chase knew he was about to get the famous Alis-Overload.

"Consider the fact that magic is, in its omnipotence as a force behind and around the working of nature," her tongue rolled out the words quickly, but smoothly, bestowing the air of sass that Chase knew well-enough his Lady loved to divulge, "alongside its connection to space, it can only be vaguely explained through usage, by the concepts of physics. As such a prime source of which one can only hazard guesses to the true origin or location of, it would be considered a degree of metaphysics..." Now would be about the time that any normal person would take a second breath, but Alisia's wings were just starting to draw back in. "...And even by the connection to Akasha that normal mages draw from, only theoretical principles can be applied to Akasha as a deity or omnipotent being tied into the flow of magic. While we have a general understanding of the realms, communion to true realization of the concept or force of magic, or Akasha as a physical entity is metaphysical. Therefore, when I mention your wings, " Now her tone was starting to drop slightly, but that sparkle in her eyes forced Chase down a bit harder, "I do mean so in a metaphysical sense, given the mystique of magic, Akasha, and the fact that you do not have wings; but the reference to the spreading of them is in conjunction to the idea of birth and creation, as to your awakening of magic. Metaphysical, Chay. Metaphysical." Finally, her breath expended, the heiress sucked in another one with her all-knowing smirk, glowing down at Chase... before busting out into a fit of giggles. A short one, admittedly, but one genuine-enough by the water she flicked away from one eye.

"I only jest, you know. That sounds like a wonderful plan to me, do you have any idea of where to go? Shall we head into the city, maybe to a gym for your first magical spar? Or would you rather play around peacefully, perhaps a ride to the countryside to make up for the picnic we so suddenly lost?" It was only then that the winged kitsune noticed their hands were stilled tied together, enlaced from her actions, although the touch had softened to something more compassionate. One could almost swear a flush crossed her cheeks as she pulled her own appendage away; instead flourishing it to the door."Regardless of what you choose, I need to change!"With the hasty excuse, one of her wings extended, baffing him upon the back with all the might of a silkenly fluffy pillow backed by the corded muscle of pseudo-avian tendons.

========
​

One foot tapped idly away, hands crossed politely across the khaki pants he wore, while the presentation concluded. A solemn nod at the first pause of Lucians', "Wonderful. Not that I had any doubt of course; well-ahead of the expectations. I cannot wait for the Chicha-Borgoma to be served; I can taste it already, with but a side of sopaipillas.... They do always call me the simple-man, do they not?" A light-hearted rumble of amusement issued from the patriarch, even as his eyes were up-lifted in that classical form of merriment that elder men often had when in the presence of their grandchildren. Not to say that Brivear looked down upon the head of the Cadence household, they were close friends.

Upon his follow-up, however, the older man's eyes cracked open, brilliant iron-worn gold burning with intensity. Business time, it seemed, and not of simply going over reports and updates. "I have my theories as to your son; as I'm sure you do. Of course, " a pause and the male sat back a bit in his chair, directing the gaze of his face, but not of his eyes, up towards the ceiling. "It is uncommon, but the easiest option to assume that there is a mutation in the totem, a replacement or alteration presumably caused by his long incubation period. The inability to control this newest of additions could be accredited to that fact as well, however theoretical it may be. I'm sure we will find out, with time-enough, of course."

This time, the pause was his, and what followed came first by a sigh. "My primary focus was to ask of your input to Alisia. You know of her wishes. She wants to join Road Camelot. She has preached this since she was young...", for but a moment, a bit of mirth glowed in those coals, as he taunted Lucian, "...As you know well-enough, given she had the gall to try her first lessons upon your kneecaps." The moment was spurned quickly, though, as a huff became the child of the sigh. "But of course it is ridiculous. She is going to the university. I will have it know other way, as you do, once-again, know. I have suspicion-enough to believe she is seeking private tutors of combat, and I would ask of you to have someone supervise her outings; at the utmost discretion. However, " the final pause brought the patriarch to his feet fluidly, without the aches of a man his age. A turn brought him to face the casually-leaning Cadence, who's grey eyes were of the few that could match the intensity of Brivear's in an outright-glance. "You have never spoke your opinion of it to me, as I have never asked before. I do so now."

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

He raised his free hand in a gesture of capitulation maybe halfway through her long-winded rave of a joking rebuttal, chuckling quietly as she fell into her giggle fit with an amused "I concede to your loquacious retort with what might be left of my pride."

He only noticed they'd still been holding hands when she emphatically separated them and waved him away. Some part of him sulked a little at that, having enjoyed the small little gesture for what it was, but the rest of him was more preoccupied with amusement at her insistence he depart for her privacy. And not a shred was left over to resist a poorly-fated attempt at teasing; "Oh~?" He said with a knowing little smile as he gave ground with deliberate and stubborn slowness, "Has my Lady finally come to appreciate a sense of modesty? And to think, you used to hate wearing clothes so much when you were little that Evie had to start carrying around a switch." A bow of acquiescence followed as her wings buffeted him playfully. "But, as you will, my Lady Memoiri. This Cadence shall leave you in privacy to arrange for our date." And probably something to eat for himself, while he was at it, if Alis didn't pull some sort of trick to be ready faster than that. One could never be certain with her, in his experience.

The door shut behind him with a soft little click, the trolley at his side. Most of the Cadence staff was still absent their usual posts, and likely would be through the evening as was tradition of sorts; when prominent members of the House came into their Inheritance, the night of revelry and celebration that followed almost inevitably was an event to remember. Or, in the case of the older attendees, one to largely forget in a drunken haze. Chase being who he was in the family, he had little doubt that most of his relatives able to legally imbibe hard liquor would be getting utterly smashed as part of the proceedings; a mercy of being an extended family of mages, and of the era, was that hangovers were very easily cured in time for work the next day.

His first stop was, of course, the kitchen, which as it happened was still staffed; thinly, with mostly younger children not yet pubescent under the supervision of Chase's great-aunt Rin, but staffed all the same. Rin was a mage who had married into the Cadence line rather than being born to it, and it showed with the raven ponytail that swished and swashed around her waist and the dark blue eyes that peered from a face very clearly from the East, but she was a Cadence all the same, and was quite capable at that. After depositing the dishes for cleaning, she was very efficient in sending two of the little ones scurrying off to inform the staff manning the garage to arrange for a ride to be determined on arrival. A trip on one of the older, decommissioned Cuirassers through the hills sounded like a good date; find someplace out of the way to put his magic through its paces, where even if something did go wrong the odds of collateral damage were minimized.

========
​

Lucian's lips screwed together in a tight frown, arms folding in consternation with Brivear's question. "We're in agreement." He answered simply, reflexively reaching for the inside pocket of his coat for cigarettes that weren't there anymore. Really, what had he been thinking when he decided to quit? "If she was allowed in she would have to be assigned to a Chalice Ops team; she's too conspicuous and too powerful for a mundane RCKS. And you and I both know it's too risky for any Memoiri to get that close to a false Sangralle. Hell, it's dangerous for a Cadence to get close, and we're dragon-blooded." His own father—Morgan Faerath Cadence, who traversed the Far Side of the Moon—had ultimately died because of his continual exposure to that tainted magic. The only reason he hadn't been driven plain mad was because of his Inheritance. Lucian would get by on the protections afforded to his mother's bloodline, but Chase... Well, before he couldn't be certain; now that it was clear something was up with his son's connection to the Will, things were even less clear. "So even if you did approve of her entry, I'd still bar it."

"I'll formally assign Chase to her detail tomorrow, though. Alisia's too clever for us to pull the wool over her eyes, so we'll both make it obvious that we're watching her, and that we won't keep her on a leash. My son, on the other hand, can keep her out of any real trouble." His presence in her life had managed that much, at least; kept the princess' antics down to mere mischief rather than any real disasters like what Faust used to tell stories about. Lucian could praise his progeny for a lot of things, but the one that he was most proud of was that Chase seemed to be a good influence on the girl. "Of course, I'll shuffle some decks to get a light-duty squad on observation for her, as well, in case Vox Illumina decides to try for round... what would it be, seven? Eight?" The mage chuckled, his expression lightening at his own jape, "I'm starting to think they just like the taste of gravel." Plenty of groups with eyes bigger than their bellies tried to pull tricks on the Memoiri; attempts at kidnappings, extortion and good old larceny weren't completely unheard of, even if none of them succeeded. That particular group, though, was unique for trying more than once, like some kind of plucky underdog antagonist. The only reason he even considered them a credible threat was because it was his job as a Cadence to overestimate any danger to his employers.

 

[Umbrale]

A huff of a sigh left Alisia's lips, as the door was closed behind Chase. "Rebuttals and taunts, we have it down to a science...", she mused, brushing a lock of raven hair azure-highlighted hair out of her eyes. A step to the side of her bed brought her to the dresser, and the full-length mirror just to the side of it. Turning this way, and that, those stormy blue eyes flitted about it, and what was shown within. The emotion in those eyes wouldn't be out of place, but was well-enough one that was seldom seen within the winged kitsune's crystal depths.

"He has the time to rebute my haste, but not enough to voice what his decision would be? It's not like I have to dress for the occasion, or anything of the like...", a momentary pause, and a serious look reflecting in the mirror, before Alisia let loose the bubbly softness of a giggle."Since when do I ever do that, though?" The redundant question was answered with the swishing of her tails, hooking through the waist of her cozies, in order to pull them down, even as her hands sought after the lower hem of her shirt. In a flourish, and a few more movements, those clothes were deposited of in the nearby hamper. The glance in the mirror after the actions, was shorter than before, but a momentary glance and nothing more. Dresser drawers were tugged open, other garments brought forth, and in the span of a minute, the heiress was dressed again, ready for the day.

Next, was to rummage in the wardrobe-bottom for a bag, of the typical gym variety. Suave-black duffel, with an in-laid zipper for double the pockets o' holding-stuff. A non-existant hop-and-a-skip took her out of the room, and down the hallway, tails swishing idly in the fashion of one with only amusing things on the mind. Abruptly, in a cross-way of halls, Alisia stopped, and took a moment to glance about the place. No other Memoiri's in sight, and the Cadence's were more than likely off in their revelry of Chase's coming-of-age... A slow half-lunge, her legs bent, wings stretching out until their span graced the sides of the walls. The duffel bag was handed off to her twin-tails, which spiraled through the handles, and brought the bag to the middle of her back, vertical and perpendicular to her wings, providing a form so as to not bounce around haphazardly. A flex of her calves, and a spring forward; the wings beat a single time, sending the paintings behind her into tilted disarray, and even blowing one vase clear off its stand, as they sent her careening forward. With just a touch of manipulation to the air in front of her, Alisia used the lightest of steps and bounces to race down the halls, having folded her wings back into to avoid making the entire manor a mess. At one point, on her way to the garage, a prompt turn had her extending one wing to catch the momentum, and turn her on the spot. Only a quick withdrawal of that wing saved poor Michael from being buffeted to the ground, not that the love-stricken boy would have been displeased, a pleasant touch to his hormonal mind easing the boredom of errands, was Alisia's prompt burst of laughter, racing by.


On the shorter side of eventuality, the heiress ended up outside the elevator to the garage, kicking back on one heel against the wall; poising rather lazily for the one she waited for. Not that she looked anymore ready to leave the house, this time-around being clad in the comfort-ease of black sweats, and a contrasting white tank-top that, thankfully, was made for the female form on the sides. The duffel bag rested beside her, while idle fingers tapped away at the wooden paneling. If Chase hadn't learned by now to be prompt enough for his childhood friend, than Alisia would have concerns well-enough for his learning.

---------
​

The Memoiri head nodded his head solemnly, if a bit too seriously, at the agreement of the other male. It was bittersweet, despite his own stubborness on the topi; a father would give anything to give his child the place they sought in society, but in some circumstances, it would not benefit them. And, as it was noted, that was the case for Alisia. He would rather have her stew in a bit of bitter resentment, but find peace in later-life, then risk her life in something she had been raised to not know more than she needed of.

The elder's lips twisted up at what followed, however, and lit-iron peered up at Lucian with a playful gleam that was quite akin to that of Alicia's own. "Chase, being a good influence on Alisia? If-anything, don't we both know that she's a bad influence on him?" The rumbling, deep laugh that followed brushed off the bite of it, as just a joke, "It is true that they level each other out. If it weren't for my daughter's influence, I'd be concerned for Chase to be a stick-in-the-mud; would you not?" The topic of Vox Illumina, at this point, was practically a joke outside of Road Camelot, but Brivear knew well-enough the issues with a repeat-offense on their household."I believe it to be more like nine, or ten." The head of Memoiri supplemented, rising to his feet as the conversation seemed well-enough coming to a close with business finished. "Do you remember the time they tried to take assault us during the Winter Ball? The looks on their faces, when the two of us stepped outside... Now that, was worth the stained glass and cherrywood a thousand times over."

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

"How could I not?" Lucian snorted, wheezing out a restrained chuckle. "They honestly believed that just because there was only an honor guard present it was a soft target. Then you walk out calm-as-you-please and they collectively shat themselves, I was almost an afterthought. Even if I maintain the higher body count."

(The elevator doors slid open with hardly more than a whisper, revealing a smirking Chase dressed down somewhat, missing his waistcoat and wearing trainers better suited to outdoors activity along with his slacks and the dress shirt that, absent the slimming black jacket, showed off his broad, sturdy shoulders and respectable musculature. "I was wondering when you'd come around," the young butler said lightly as he strode out and offered a hand to his Lady, escorting her into the lift that closed behind them and took the brief descent to the garage. "They cleared me for a Mark II. Tops out at just shy of three hundred kilometers per hour, but it handles better than a low-armor Mark III.")

" 'Course, the way I remember it, it was when they did notice me that they actually started trying to run. My mother was, after all, the 'Nine-Branch Goddess of Death.' I can still feel the welts she gave me in training, sometimes." His shoulders rolled for emphasis, the elder Cadence smiling in wistful reminiscence. "But yes, our youngsters make quite the daring pair. Though I doubt they'll match up to what we got into at their age."

(With a soft *ding*, the chrome doors once more slid open, and Chase hefted the bag that Alisia brought down, slinging it over his shoulder with a casual grace born from years of careful grooming. "Of course, even that speed would be overdoing it on inner-city roads. So it's a good thing we're heading in the exact opposite direction." He shot the young woman a grin as he secured her luggage—knowing better than to ask what it was she was bringing or why—and nimbly hopped into position on the seat. There wasn't a sidecar, of course; these machines had been built for warfare, where a passenger wasn't expected on mechanized cavalry, but there was plenty of room behind him to perch on reasonably comfortably.)

"Chase teaches Alisia the virtues of decorum and propriety—"

(It didn't take an effort of iron will not to be distracted by the feel of Alicia pressed against his back, or her arms around his waist, but he didn't purposefully ignore it either as he started up the machine. Cuirassers were complicated technology interwoven with advanced magical theory that the Cadence family kept on very tight lockdown, and even starting their engines was only possible for the mages the engine was specifically tuned for. Decommissioned units like the Mark II he and his Lady were mounted on were exceptions, though, requiring just a key and a current of magical energy.)

"—Alisia teaches Chase how to live a little—"

(The engine hummed to life, quiet enough as to fade into the background even at full throttle; one of the many works of enchantment upon the design. Even revving the engine didn't produce a particularly bothersome noise, but the vibrations of the frame weren't dulled in the least and sent a mighty thrum up each of their spines. "Thank you for riding Cadence Motorway, for your safety please keep all appendages as close to center mass as possible..." He chuckled, looking over his shoulder at his companion, neither wearing or needing helmets thanks again to the enchantments of Cadence engineers. "And if you feel the need to take off, please don't drag me with you. Just because you can handle that kind of G-force doesn't mean us mere mortals can." Even if he wasn't fully human in the traditional sense; his father was called "Wyrmwell" for good reason.)

"—And ultimately both families are stronger for it. Even if you don't choose the young miss to inherit your position."

(The rapid-deployment blast doors the garage used to lead outside sprung open, and the Cuirasser and its riders accelerated away, zero to sixty in under ten seconds and only speeding up from there on the private grounds. There wasn't an ungodly roar of machinery, but that didn't stop the rush of wind as they passed from disturbing the greenery. In their wake, one of the groundskeepers took out a small crystalline medallion and channeled a tendril of energy into it.)

A crystal token in Lucian's breast pocket chimed softly, and his brow furrowed in consternation. Those tokens weren't used for idle chatter; it was a direct line to him as the head of security only used to report high-risk situations. Removing the artifact in question and pressing it to his skull just behind his earlobe, he answered the page with a pulse of his own power. "Wyrmwell, sitrep." He blinked at the reply, "...What do you mean they left on a Cuirasser?"

Another handful of seconds ticked by, and he slid the trinket back into his pocket before sighing. "Speaking of," he said, turning his attention back to Brivear, "It seems our wayward progeny have decided to go joyriding, heading off into the grounds. I'll task a scout crew with finding them; do you want them brought back or just observed?"

 

[Umbrale]

"I've always let you have the higher bodycount, and you damn well know it." The snappy tone in Brivear's voice was something of a joke between the two, as was the subject of it. It was well known in Road Camelot that their numbers were high enough, that most stopped caring. "Your mother, however...", a dignified nod, and the tilt of the head with upraised-eyebrows that indicated sincere respect. "...I don't fault them one bit for knowing her legacy."

The sweet-talk of their respective little one's endeavors brought a smile the iron-y elders lips. A soft thing, it was, of time remembered and the heart well-enough sung to glow in the beauty of love. No words, this time around, except for another small nod that spoke quietly on its own. Despite the trouble they got into--most being the base idea from his own child--that was the reason Brivear allowed their continued relationship. Alisia could learn a thing or two from the young Cadence, and he, from her.

At the chime, all semblance of elderly possessions that the Memoiri figurehead might've held were gone; head turning smoothly to regard Lucian with a glare quite as instinctive as the man's own. What irony would it be, after all, if their talk about Vox Illumina had summoned the proverbial beast. But, rest-well-enough-alone, if anxious, that it was just their better subject of conversation, to be exercising trouble. "Did you expect anything less of them? Your son finally has some semblance of power, and they both know with his incubation abated, they can continue their shenanigans. " A momentary pause, the glare long gone from Brivear's visage, a tiny smirk tilting up the corner of his lips. "I'm sated enough with knowledge of my daughter's actions. But, " A hand rose, brushing almost contemplatively across his full beard. "...The question is, without regard for his situation, or your own protectiveness..."

"...Just how much do you want to see your son's power?"

=========​

Rather surprisingly, as the look on her face did relay, Alisia had barely a moment to lean against the wall, before she was greeted by the smug face of her friend. Snapping the bag up with her twin tails, the winged kitsune stepped into the elevator beside him, turning only an upraised brow to the explanation of the vehicle. Waiting until he was finished with said-explanation, she was quick to retort, "I see you've drawn parallels to your new-found speed of readiness...", with the punchline out, and as the doors opened to reveal the bike in its glory, ivory whites nipped down on a sweet red lip. Hell, if Chase paid close enough attention, he would see her eyes almost dilate at the sight. "...But believe me, I know what a Cuirasser is. "

"A date to the countryside then? Perfect." A less biting response this time, but it was abundantly clear that Alisia was more focused on the vehicle than her 'butler' at the moment, shown all-the-more by her handing off the bag to him. Almost too eager, was she, with a quick straddle of the bike to follow behind Chase. Her form slid right up against him, without a qualm, hands only resting on his hips. The twin-tails couldn't be spoken for, however, as with a quick flourish, they wrapped about his torso; by chance or by purpose, tips resting against the inside of his thighs. Wings shifted and pointed slightly downwards, tip-to-tip, just behind them. After all, with the speeds this thing could reach, it would be a force of will to keep normally-rested wings flat against the wind.

A darling of an honest smile met Chase's glance over his shoulder, responding in kind to his briefing with an out-flit tongue; even as her chin moved forward to rest against it, meshing her body closer to him. As he did well know from her teasing, Alisia hadn't the slightest sense of personal space for dear Chase. Especially when she was excited. The whole house knew, after all, what with the repeated dive-bombings and superhero-landings, how much of a speed-freak the heiress was. Ever since she could flap those soft-furred wings, she was all over the place. Of course, rules had been set once the harmless bouts of activity began interfering with grounds-work, and there was also that time she tried to race an air elemental about the estate. Yet-another riot for the house.

She was, indeed, practically buzzing with excitement as the doors opened, and Chase finished off his speech. "What, you can't fly with those meat-wings?" She teased at him nonsensically, putting pressure down on his shoulder as if to add physicality to the jest. No, joking aside, as the bike began, Chase felt her tense behind him;;almost shifting farther against him. In but a moment they were off, and racing along. Zero-to-sixty, sixty-to-one-twenty, one-twenty-to-one-eighty... Alisia's hand reached up from the butler's hip, and grasp the accelerator over his own firmly. Without giving him a moment to respond, the winged kitsune whooped in delight and slammed it down. With glee on her features, and her tail-tips wiggling happily like a wag without space, the heiress was a sight; raven-black-and-electric blue hair flying back in the wind, canine's bared with a wicked smile, ears up and flitting in the wind.

What a surprise it was to them both, then, when she adjusted, and animalistically nuzzled the joining of Chase's neck and shoulder, in the crooked collar of that dress shirt. The soothing, yet so subtly-sharp aroma of his cologne, alongside the scent unique from person to person, she could almost... So autonomous had it been that after a second of it, the kitsune found herself blinking in surprise, drawing her face away and back to the scenery in the fluid manner that to one playing close-enough attention, was a blunt attempt at maintaining face.

 

[Erit of Eastcris]

By that point in their lives, the dust-haired youth was honestly somewhat used to Alisia's purposeful disregard for whatever might have passed for his personal space. Chase was still flustered by more intimate contact, of course, like the feel of her tail-tips against the touch-sensitive insides of his legs, but he was also confident and self-aware enough to soldier through it with little more than a shy hint of a blush. Sky blue and metal grey spent most of the time focused on the road—magic or no, when one rode what could be described, criminally oversimplified, as a tricked-out enchanted assault motorcycle moving at more than sixty meters per second, one paid attention to where they were going—and so he rather tragically missed the no-doubt beautiful sight of his Lady's hair in the turbulence of their little ride. Not that he particularly lamented missing such a chance in the first place, and certainly not with the feel of her moulded to his back as she was; no matter how uptight he might be perceived to be, or how much of a stickler for propriety he tried to be, Chase Cadence was still a red-blooded young man, and riding a high-speed vehicle with a comely girl pressed against you through a pristine countryside numbered rather high on the number of scenarios most red-blooded young men would be able to die happy after experiencing.

The sudden nuzzling caught him a little off-guard, but the driver of the pair simply smirked and let it slide after shifting backwards into her ever-so-slightly, able to see without even looking the transparently forced nonchalance she was trying to adopt. "Let's see," he murmured mostly to himself, "if I got any of my father's talent with these things."

A Road Camelot Mechanized Cavalry Assault Courser, or "Motored Cuirasser," was a fiendishly complicated hybrid creation, blending both Akasha from Cadence family magic and some of the best machine components available for manufacture. Each component was custom-tooled and each unit hand-built and crafted using a painstakingly assembled ceramic engine and enchanted aluminum frame. The end result was a beautifully sleek, ergonomic, and unbelievably responsive design of polished silvery-blue artisan craftsmanship that was, in fact, too high-specced for any normal person to be able to drive. It took a minimum of six months intensive training to be able to control a Cuirasser without overcompensating for a vehicle that reacted instantly to even the slightest shift in posture or position; it was a common joke amongst Road Camelot agents that a Cuirasser knows where you're going before even you do, because the most butterfly-light touch could send one banking at a full hundred degree turn almost on a dime at speeds competitive with commercial racing; the Mark II was a design seven generations outmoded without many of the handling improvements of the later editions in addition to its lower top speed, and few had ever been able to use one to the fullest aside from Chase's own father and Lucian's mother, who both held an instinctive and almost supernatural talent for riding such that one could claim they were born with a saddle between their legs.

And Chase himself knocked one of these devilish road hazards up to its top speed, and started showing off. His right eye lit up with that cerulean vibrance, and the air shifted and spun around the Cuirasser to form a shell of silver-blue energy in the shape of aeroshell armor that the machines were named for, a design to reduce drag while deflecting projectiles and shunting aside any debris that might get in the way. Then, he pulled back on the handlebars to lift the whole assembly into a rear wheelie before flipping them around and throwing the engine into reverse, continuing on in the same direction they had before but moving backwards along the way hardly any slower. The boy restrained himself from barking out a yawp, but let an excited laugh loose as he felt the thrill of superiority that high-velocity action tended to induce. He repeated the same about-face to turn them right ways around, grinning like a lunatic, before taking a sharp right-angle turn to the left and letting the inertial dampening imbued into the frame do its job. "Almost makes me wish I had a shock lance and a practice target!" He exclaimed, zipping and whooshing back and forth along an imagined metropolitan street order and wondering if this was what his father and grandmother had felt in their days afield. Lucian's parents had retired and vanished before Chase was even born, but the boy supposed he could ask his father about the experience later. Then he paled a little on realizing just what it was he was doing. "... What do you want to bed our dads are less than pleased that we're doing this?" He chuckled over his shoulder to his passenger taking one hand off the reins of their metal steed to pat her thigh. "Something tells me mine's already got people out looking for us."

 

[Umbrale]

The quiet murmuring of her companion was all the 'warning' Alisia needed to brace for the incoming about-face change in momentum. Arms encircled around the male's abdomen, leaning in close(as if they could get much closer), to rest her head upon his shoulder. The high-velocity spin sent her tails into a twining blur of movement, opposite of their direction, feigning the inertia that the action would have against them, were it not for the aeroshell and magical properties of the device. Heart pounding in her chest, the winged kitsune could only giggle in abrupt glee at it, right on queue to Chase's own evoked exhilaration.

On the second turn, however, the heiress released her hold upon him, and let her body ride the force, swinging--legs held in tense pace against the frame--with the one-eighty change to end up with just a playful bit of force against Chase's opposite shoulder, "Wheee!" She mocked, feigning the blissful exclamation of a child's joy, in direct contrast to the thrilling ride. "Ever the knight in not-so-gloriously-shining-attire, aren't you?" she teased to follow, if only to be betrayed by the swishing of her tails to their sides.

Hands that came to just rest on his sides, once more encircled his body, and a deep breath preceded the slow exhalation of one content in the moment, even if the moment in question was thrumming a chord of excitement and--for a speed-freak-- euphoria within the duo. The tone, not to mention the simple shift in demeanor of Chase took the feeling a different route, causing Alisia to pause for a moment, even as a particular slide felt the core of gravity intensify in her. The slightest frown graced her face, long enough for the sidelong glance of her companion to catch, before her eyes flitted to his glowing cerulean depth. That characteristic glare held his for a moment, before her jutted forward quickly, 'bonking' foreheads just light enough to be a reprimand in its own right. "Must you always worry?" With a dismissive shake of the question, even enough to ignore the affectionate pat of his hand upon her thigh, her head turned away to the countryside.

For the moment of silence that followed, Alisia did nothing, until she turned back with the slightest of a sympathetic smile. "I'll pick the spot." The sudden change in both countenance and topic, was a break-enough, but the sudden shift her legs to the back of the bike, left little to wonder, and more to panic, lest anyone unfaithful in the heiress took the act for one of danger. If the feeling of her body lifted from the mould upon his back, combined with the lack of sight--unless he turned fully away from the road--wasn't enough, the sudden whisper of her lips upon his ear would surely send some shiver through Chase, "Best not keep a girl waiting."

With that, the ebony-azure haired heiress flexed her legs, and propelled upwards off from the bike. Were it not for the wings that snapped to full extension, and caught the harsh backdraft of force, just outside of the aeroshell, she surely would have met a harsh trashing upon the ground behind them. Kudos to the alien physiology; Alisia shot up into the sky behind them, quickly displaced by the speed of the vehicle, till she was a good height into the sky.

As the momentum began to slow, chin tilted upwards, and body lax, hands outspread to the air, she basked in the feeling of the air, the freedom and sensual stillness akin to being afloat in water. Eyes closed, ears still for once to the noise, until the moment between rising and falling, held still in the air for a picture in time; as she began to tilt back, wings tucked in, and her body rotated as the descent began, until she was head-first like a spear to the ground. Only then, did those eyes snap open, in time to her wings once more, this time with crystal-blue depths shocked through with the crackle of energy. Highlights among the ridge of her wings, tails, and even the lacing color amongst her raven locks flared brighter, and the crackling of azure electricity burst into existence among her wings, lacing outwards into the air. A single beat, backwards, and a concussionary noise sent the vixen forwards at an ungodly speed. Only to be increased, was that velocity, as she began to spin, wings closing about her form to create an 'aeroshell' of their own; that azure lightning crackling off from them to trail behind her, acceleration ramping until she closed upon Chase, wings beating open flat to reveal her form just-above and to the side of his own.

While she avoided glancing in his direction, a glance to her would be well-enough to see the satisfaction-dripping smiling and sparkling amusement ever-held in those crystal hues. Wings spread in full glory, lightning curling off of those wings in a delicate, controlled pattern behind her, lit the winged kitsune in a hue that complemented beauty already exhumed. The moment was over as soon as it began, though, as another beat of her wings sent back into the sky, and notably ahead of the Cuirasser; had he not already seen it, Chase could affirm the trouble her flights had caused about the manor, when she let-loose.

You think he would swoon, at least a little bit...

A quick survey of the grounds, those clean, rolling fields, fit and ample blossoms of trees, ponds and small reservoirs abound, came to be of purpose, as she veered to the side, gliding down to a flat-enough patch of land just meters away from one swimming-hole, thronged one side by a copse of maple and evergreen trees, the other side of the water more sparse with its vegetation, but shrouded low with bushes-and-berries. For all her momentum, all the more a graceful landing, as an upright glide slowed her descent, only to land with a flap-and-a-fold, touching almost gently to the earth just outside the wooded clearing. For the spare second she had before her companion arrived, a more earnest frown graced the private moment, pearlescant whites gnawing lightly on soft-rose lips. Tails entwined and wringed one-another out, a testament to anxiety and ill-thoughts, forgotten at the inclination of his arrival. About-face in return, her smile graced Chase's features, musing, "I think this'll do. Enough of a wind-break, at least, if you happen to inspire the growth of some monstrous flora, aye?"