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Septette Arcubielle      In ages past, this place was called as the fabled 'Drowned City'- the half of the great port of Armoroad that calved off from the surface long ago and fell beneath the waves, hidden from outside eyes for nearly a century. But to those who lived and died there, it was never drowned. All the world's oceans could never drown this place's indomitable spirit, nor hide its splendor. To them, it is and shall always be the Deep City, a shining jewel in the abyss.

     The Deep City holds many wonders, but the grandest of them are the immense magical dome of air that encompasses the city and the gargantuan tree that shrouds every building and street with the shade of its boughs. The dome of air has no name, for it is merely their sky; the tree is named Yggdrasil, and treated with reverence. It is almost as much a fungus in form as it is a tree: ruffled lappets and frills grow from its massive trunk that are sturdy enough to build houses of stone upon.

     On bright days, sunlight filters down through the waves to the city below, casting everything in shifting pale cerulean light as great ocean creatures brush past the protective bubble. But it is not by accident that Septette invites her guests here in the evening. Absent the light of the sun, wild bioluminescent moss gleams a gentle blue and magical lights bathe the city in a pale yellow glow like artificial fireflies, silhouetting every building in an artful dichromatic display against the darkened ocean in the distance. Perhaps some allegory can be found in the fact that the Deep City is at its most beautiful when deprived of even the surface's sun.

     The buildings are all hewn from white or grey stones, complementing Yggdrasil's pale bark; their designs hearken to an elegant pre-Romanesque European style of construction, but grown to the size and sophistication of more modern architecture. The cobblestones, by contrast, are darker and worn by heavy use and heavier metal, with faintly glowing moss growing between the stones.

     The location designated for their meeting is just a short walk up a winding flight of stairs, embedded into Yggdrasil's trunk. Septette herself stands at the entrance of a domed building that looks like a cross between an observatory and a basilica, looking down at the city below as she waits for her guest.

     A floor-length purple shawl is pulled tightly around her shoulders, concealing the shape of her body, but her facial features would be enough to suggest some kind of heavy augmentation: eyes that glow a gentle purple, metallic fin-like triangular ears, and hints of a neck twined with hydraulic cables.

     Her expression is blank and masklike at a distance, but softens to an amiable smile as Kord approaches. To one so attuned to the primordial nature of death, she'd seem uncanny in a manner unlike other machines: not quite the aura of the undead, but still of life and magic unnaturally forced into something never intended to live.

     "Glad you could make it, Kord," she chirps cheerfully. Septette offers her hand for a careful shake- even if Kord keeps his gauntlets on, she'll conscientiously turn the bladed edges of her fingers aside. "I've already prepared the table inside. Shall we?" Then she turns on her heel, taking one step up the stairs to the building's open archway, and glances over her shoulder expectantly.
Count Kord     Whatever Septette was to Kord, her nature did not seem to cause any pause in him. Truly, it was what she could say and observe that was interesting to him. So he came to have a discussion with her, because that's the implication when one asks him over for tea. He accepts her hand and demonstrates the grip of a man who could snap someone's arm with minimal effort, but gingerly held like a golem trying not to crush a bird.

    He steps forward. As he walks, she might see his tail uncoiled from his waist, trailing out behind him. He has pushed back the cloak so that his body is visible, and he even made sure to polish up his armor so that he looked presentable. Not to a lustrous finish, but enough to be clear he wanted to look presentable whereas at Archengart he didn't seem to put in that extra effort.

    "This land is strange," he tells Septette. "There is nothing quite like it in Bayern."
Septette Arcubielle      "I should expect there is not," the little machine replies with a hint of pride as she leads him up the stairs. "There is nothing else like it in Etria, either. I call it mine by chance, not choice- but if I could have chosen a city to call home, I couldn't have chosen better."

     The open archway leads, without a door or antechamber, into a round main hall is all candlelit marble, with a pitch-black domed ceiling. Concentric, shallow flights of stairs at the room's center lead up towards a twenty-foot-tall tower-like device of brass, iron, and glass; it almost resembles a clock or astrolabe with its single oversized dial and orbiting rings, and emits a constant soft whir. Intense pinpricks of light are projected from its rings, casting foreign constellations on the velvety blackness of the ceiling.

     "Before the schism with the surface, this place was a planetarium and observatory," Septette explains over the echoing sound of her clanking footfalls. "When the city fell beneath the waves, they no longer had a purpose for such a thing; as the palace was lost, this place became the seat of the Abyssal King's power. But when the Abyssal King departed, it was left without a purpose..."

     "But after Unification, I took it on myself to keep the place in good repair. After all," she remarks with a wistful passing glance at the device, "it is now the best reminder of what our sky looked like before." Having passed along the perimeter of the main hall respectfully, she pushes open a large wooden door to reveal a smaller room- its vaulted ceiling is still excessively high, but the walls are just narrow enough to give it a somewhat cozier feel.

     Near the center of the room is a low, varnished wooden table bedecked with unfamiliar pastries and snacks, along with- of course- a teapot and a pair of cups. A pair of green-upholstered armchairs are arranged on opposite sides of the table as well, though both appear to have had their frames subtly reinforced with sturdier metals. Septette pulls one chair back for Kord, then sits down in the other one and pours tea for both- does she intend to drink, too? "How much sugar do you like, Count?"
Count Kord     Kord is as hard to read as ever. He lifts his head to observe the mechanism that casts stars on the ceiling, briefly curious about it. He walks along with her without speaking much, just listening to whatever she is saying. Once they make their way into the room where they'll be drinking tea and speaking, the red-headed man steps over to his intended seat, and lifts his hands to remove his helmet. His helmet ends up sat on the table, and his face is then visible. He couldn't be more than his mid-twenties just based on his appearance.

    The Count settles down into his seat and removes his gauntlets, his inhuman eyes lowered to concentrate on this task. He answers without looking up, "One lump," and slides the gauntlets off. When he sets them down, she will discover his bestial traits are more than his teeth, eyes and that tail, but also his hands. His hands don't have human skin, they have some kind of velvetine quality with black and red patterns similar to the tail, and they're tipped with nasty claws. He takes care when lifting his cup and its coaster, once his tea is prepared, and settles in.

    "If you asked me here, then I would assume you have something to talk about," he prompts, while holding his drink in his lap and not yet sampling it. His eyebrows lift in interest, waiting for whatever topic of conversation she had on her mind.
Septette Arcubielle      Septette appears to be paying closer attention, now that the mask is removed- a bared face tends to reveal a wealth of information, whether one wishes it to or not. Decorum would suggest that she remove her cloak once indoors, so she unfastens the shawl and folds it over the back of her chair, revealing a form that looks like a skin-tone skeleton assembled from the contents of a sadist's knife drawer.

     "Indeed I do," she replies, before lifting the cup to her lips and taking a small sip of the rich brown tea. It tastes unique, with a mild bite like ginger root and the aroma of sweet and unfamiliar spices. "I've been looking for help with a decision- truthfully, gathering germane information for it was the main reason I visited Archengart."

     Her face slackens almost imperceptibly into cold, masklike impassiveness; for Septette to cease feigning emotiveness is an indication of blunt, serious honesty. The subtle change reaches her eyes as well: the metaphorical windows to her soul, for a moment, become one-way mirrors, betraying little sign of what may lurk behind them.

     "Count Kord, I care little for the opinions and advice of others- particularly those whom my prospective actions may benefit. But I feel you are a rare person whose decision-making heuristics more closely resemble my own. So it serves me to ask: what lead you to join the Concord, and what do you think of your colleagues there?"
Count Kord     Kord watches the unusual being take a sip and when she does, he does as well. He maintains eye contact while she speaks, and his own expression goes neutral when her emotions seem to evaporate all at once. He watches her carefully, the cup lifted up, as that change had clearly startled him. When she speaks, though, he lowers his hand down to settle the cup back in its resting place. His eyes slide shut and he speaks to her as earnestly as he does with most people.

    "The Concord provides me with the resources to make sure my people do not starve, to make sure that soon I can remove the threat that overshadows my homelands. They offer me the chance to use my skills, to gain and to learn." His eyes open. "If you mean my opinions of my colleagues, I believe that the First is fitting for her role among the Concord, and that I can at least value those of my allies that have proven they are worth tolerating."

    "I have much to gain from being a part of the Concord. All else is secondary."

    Sip.
Septette Arcubielle      Septette nods slowly, but her lifeless expression remains steady even as her glowing eyes brighten. "Their policy of self-improvement and hands-off approach to their Elites' agendas appeal to me," she explains. "It is my responsibility to the people of Etria to accrue personal power, that I might wield it for their benefit and protection. And there is certainly much room for self-improvement."

     A hint of expressiveness filters back in; she slips one hand inside her hollow ribcage, clutching at empty air where shorn wires and shredded tubing must have held some irreplaceable component in place. "In wanting what is best for the people of this land, I find myself driven into a corner. Understand that no-one else will stand for these people; they can scarcely stand for themselves. There is only me, and I- a broken machine- am only barely sufficient."

     "I need allies to guarantee their safety, in other words. Allies who will not take exception to the fact that I believe these people are not yet wise enough to govern themselves, nor to determine their own fate without a guiding hand." She pulls her hand slowly back out from between her metal ribs and leans forward, her face fully regaining its intensity of expression.

     "Do you suppose," she adds in a softer and warmer voice, "that the Concord would object to dealing with one with a moral code and ambitions such as mine? I trust my own judgement above all else in such matters- something that tends to preclude absolute loyalty."
Count Kord     Kord becomes aware that Septette is gauging whether the organization he is a part of will be sufficient in helping her with her own interests. He lifts his brows because it is startlingly similar to his own view on this, and he seems fairly interested to hear it. He nods slowly as she speaks about what she needs and he finishes his cup of tea by the time she is done.

    "Among the Concord, we have Staren, who as you may know would never have tolerated the Confederacy's way of doing things. We have Jonathan Joestar, a man of decorum and moral purity that I have seen few match. We have King Arthur, or one of the younger iterations that have appeared over the years, and he has a staunch view on how he must behave. But we have many that once felt at home in the Confederacy as well."

    "You will encounter criticisms. I cannot promise absolute peace when it comes to that. You will be considered equal to people that will, in fact, disagree with you. But you will never be told by those worth saying it, 'no, your way of handling what is yours is wrong,' until that conflicts with another Partner's interests in a significant way. Then... A superior would have to step in for arbitration."

    "Did your attendance on the Flotilla's mission spark a desire to join?" he wonders, because he can't think of any better catalyst than a recent event fresh in the mind.
Septette Arcubielle      The little robot scoops up a croissant-like pastry in the palm of her hand and neatly slices it up with her fingers as she listens to Kord's reply, carefully gauging his expression and tone. His nonverbal response to her declaration seems to confirm her initial suspicions- that Kord's moral framework mirrors the broad strokes of her own.

     She pokes a delicate slice of pastry in her mouth- where does it even go? It's not like she has a throat- before responding in a positive tone. "Criticism is desirable; opposition is expected. I would be more troubled if there were none among my prospective peers who would try to force me to reconsider my positions and actions. My sole concern is that conscientious objection not be considered treason- for where it is, I am swiftly branded a traitor."

     "The mission did sway my opinion, though not in the way one would expect. I already knew Staren to be principled, and the Flotilla to be..." She pauses for a moment, reconsidering how to describe them. "... pragmatically reasonable. It was not that I was impressed by the Concord members, for I already had a high estimation of most of them. Rather, I was disappointed in the Watch's actions; I understood their opposition to the robbery, but their actions in the following days were born of a blind taste for vengeance."

     "But even before that incident," she clarifies after another bite of croissant, "I was carefully weighing my options. Recency bias has less of an impact on my decision-making than it would on someone with less, ahh..." Her eyes slide over Kord's youthful features, deliberately giving the impression that she is sizing the young man. "Less of a first-hand experience with living history."