Scene #8811: Trouble Fitting In?

Owner	Pose
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine waits at the warpgate station, betraying a certain eagerness to see Marc as soon as can be managed. She's wearing a white ruffled blouse under a black vest, a black open-sleeved jacket with gold buttons and trim, and a matching black skirt. Her outfit draws some attention relative to the more businesslike or practical attire common to warpgate personnel and travelers, but she pays the stares no mind. When Marc arrives through the gate she gives him a smile that is not entirely performative, greets him with a "how do you do", and leads him to a row of storage lockers in a side hallway. Madeleine produces a key from her vest pocket and opens number 108 to reveal a narrow full-length mirror squeezed into the back of the locker. She leans forward, ponders her reflection briefly, and begins to make subtle adjustments to her hair. As she does, the world around the pair falls away, and in the silvered void it leaves behind a new space begins to appear as if drawn in with a pencil. A dining room takes shape around them: white hardwood floor, dark wooden cabinets, and a circular ebony table with matching chairs, set for two. Visible through large windows is a forest in the snowy grip of winter. Madeleine stands before a mirror on the wall, making the final adjustments to her hair - though she looks hardly different than before. "Please, sit," she says to Marc, and once he chooses a spot at the table she sits across from him. Not a moment later a pair of servants enter the room, with pale featureless sheets of skin where their faces should be. Each carries a plate and sets it before one of the diners. For the appetizer, Madeleine - or her chef, if she has one? - has chosen roasted carrots, drizzled with honey, butter, and herbs. After taking a bite, chewing, and nodding in approval, Madeleine looks to her guest. "Marc, it is a pleasure to see you again. I must admit you've been in my thoughts since we first met, despite how busy the intervening weeks have been. I don't know if news reached you on the station, but one world nearly ended, then another. I was there for both close calls. But I digress. The reason I've been thinking about you is that, when I visited, you seemed hardly more comfortable than I. How do you manage, living in such... unusual company?" Marc doesn't need to be telepathic to know that Madeleine is talking about Persephone.
Persephone Kore	Seeing Marc's casual oufit as stuffily private-schoolboyish raises a natural question: what does his formal outfit look like? The answer, maybe-disappointingly, is 'not all that different'. Same white button-up shirt, sweatervest traded for a sky-blue waistcoat, charcoal slacks instead of khaki. But his hair is more immaculately-combed than ever, and his nails are gorgeous too. "I do very well, thank you," he says, smiling sincerely while fidgeting with a cufflink. He's always doing that: tugging at something already-fine to get it infintesimally more correct. "And how are you, Ms. Cadrasteia? You've gotten even more striking, somehow." Peering over her shoulder at the mirror, he frowns a tiny frown. "Oh, but your hair's already--" He isn't unused to reality falling away from around him, but nearly anyone would inhale and stiffen up like that. He only lets it out once the dining room seems entirely solid, and sits down as invited. "So this is what they mean by 'the secondary location', is it?" he jokes, still a bit bewildered but not the least worried. "I never thought it'd be quite so beautiful." The faceless servants intensify that feeling, but he still thanks them individually and- asks their names? Has he forgotten the role of 'a servant' completely? But when he spears and tries a carrot, his face lights up, as much as it can within his restrained affect. "Two worlds," he repeats, after touching a napkin to his lips. "My. I've spent that time- besides thinking of you- gardening, and teaching children their languages, and practicing my violin. Shall I try not to feel intimidated?" Marc smiles. It's a smile that lingers, but complicates, with what comes next. He taps his empty fork against his plate like a quiet metronome. Four ticks for thought, and then: "You've misunderstood. They're very usual there, because they're unusual. Her, the most usual of all. And I'm very unusual among them, because I'm usual to you. That is the problem." "... You know, I read something once. A long time ago. 'Suppose that angels exist, above any human. Even among their communities, there must be some more virtuous than others; some they would call their saints and some their sinners. And the greatest human saint would seem like a sinner among them.' What do you think that means to me, Madeleine?"
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine smiles at Marc's compliments and chuckles at his jokes, and munches on her honeyed carrots as he talks. "It's funny you should mention those pastimes," she says. "I'll have you know there was gardening to do on one world, and an orchestra to contend with on the other. Although I'm sure your violin must be better than what they have at Lobotomy Corp." She does her best to follow along the convolutions of who's unusual to whom and where. "If I catch your meaning right, to be an outsider there is to fit in on Earth, and to be outsider to the Earth is to belong at Sapient Heuristics? And that makes you the one who stands out in your mind, not Persephone. I can see where you're coming from, with that. I am an outsider to the Earth of my origin, so much so that the very fabric of that world rejected me. I spent time with others of my lot, and the most unusual of them by Earth's standards were quite normal by their own." Her expression darkens, slightly. "Although, it is not among their champions that I found true companions, but among their rejects. Outcasts of outcasts. As for angels," she says, her tone lightening somewhat, "My guess as to your meaning is this: you are the human saint, cast as profane in the light of higher beings. To which I say: so what? I am among the gravest of sinners, and yet we can find plenty in common. Unless to you I would be a different breed of angel? Either way, connection can be found between those who are unalike in nature."
Persephone Kore	Marc listens attentively with chin resting on the back of his hand. His eyes occasionally flit down to study the carrot on his fork- is he admiring it, or does he think he can glean the recipe by eye?- but largely linger on hers. The stars, he seems to think, are pretty. His eyebrow lifts when she calls herself a sinner, but he chooses not to object. "You do catch my meaning. And you are right that there may, even so, be connection. That is the problem." "Everyone there was rejected by Earth, too. But I have more of Earth's baggage than most. I am worried, always, that if I am not conscientious enough I might 'contaminate' them with what has so carefully been left behind." "Tell me." He draws in a little breath, sitting even-more-impeccably-upright in his chair and setting the fork aside. "She worries you. Are you worried that she'll change you? Or that you'll change her?"
Madeleine Cadrasteia	It's hard to measure eye contact with Madeleine, but she catches Marc looking into her eyes and smiles a little. "Is everything in your earthly 'baggage' so bad, Marc? There are yet reasons to love the world for what it is, and its people for what they are. Not all its lessons are kind, but many of them are worth heeding." "As for Miss Persephone..." The way Madeleine's face twitches and her smile half-fades gives the distinct impression that she's glancing nervously to one side. "The former. The last - and first - time I really opened my heart to someone, they left me barely recognizable. I rediscovered what I am and rebuilt my self from that core, but there is no way to know if the woman before you matches what I once was. In that regard I have died twice - once at another's hands, and once at my own." A somber pause. "I do not wish to experience that again. And the way Persephone is, I worry she could reach out and pluck my heart like a fruit. Not just that she could, but that she might. It was... extraordinary, to be put so at ease by someone I'd just met. I don't know how much of that was intentional on her part, but all of it was worrying." The carrots are finished and the main course arrives, a rich stew. Marc's bowl has a double helping of vegetables, while Madeleine's also has chunks of some kind of red meat. "It's venison," she explains. "I caught it myself. Have you ever taken a creature's life, Marc? Beyond just swatting a fly. Something that was aware enough to know what you were doing." Another pause, not quite long enough for Marc to answer. "Do you know if Persephone has?"
Persephone Kore	"Is everything in your earthly 'baggage' so bad, Marc?" He tilts his head away, and his eyes slide off towards the snowy windows. "That's not for me to judge. It's for the angels. And they can never know. But if you're asking my opinion: yes, it is 'so bad'." Then Marc falls to quiet listening again, his face drawing in a sympathetic wince. He can't eat when he's speaking, and he won't eat when he's giving her his total attention, so he only manages to sneak a sip of soup in the interstitial moments. It's clear how much he's quietly savoring it anyway. "That must take a lot of courage to share, Madeleine. Are you normally so open about such painful things? I'm flattered I could have your trust, and yet..." He's a little bewildered by the idea that he's earned it. Then he shakes his head to clear his thoughts. "No condolence I could give would mean much. But I hope you feel at ease in your 'reincarnated' self." Sip. Another dab at his lips, perfectly elegant. "She could, though. Rip it out." "Once, when I was a child, I stepped on a little frog by accident." He smiles self-effacingly and runs his fingers uneasily through his hair; it's not the same, he knows, but it's still not a happy memory. "But she's never taken a life. The way she recreated herself wasn't a death, I know that. And she never would." "The whole project... you must have noticed. There's no 'countermeasure' against anyone misusing their powers, least of all her. Space stations are fragile. Even someone like me-" he lets go of his spoon for a second, and it hangs where it is- "could destroy the whole thing. It is built on trust and love. It had to be, from the start. Children can't grow up being treated like a threat." His unimpeachable posture becomes, briefly, impeachable: he leans forward and rests his cheek in his hand just like Phony does. "In other words, I am completely at her mercy, and have been for the last eleven-some years. As is everyone else who has ever been within a mile of her. It bothered me at first. It doesn't anymore. Who can say why that is. But I don't feel as if I've died."
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine nearly starts a little when Marc questions her openness, as if she too was only just realizing what a personal thing she'd shared. She taps her chin in thought, then speaks. "I would not tell that to just anyone, no. I find myself quite comfortable with you. By my reckoning it is because... because both times we have met, you have not tried to change how I feel, have not demanded that I relax or open up. You either lack a means or a motive to compel me, and that makes you hardly so dangerous as someone who has both." Even when she's talking about Marc, she still manages to be talking about Persephone at the same time. She purses her lips as he relates the incident with the frog, and his thoughts on Persephone's lethality or lack thereof. "Recreated without death... something must have ended for something new to begin in its place, surely. Death is simply a transit from one state to another," she says, gesturing at her venison to illustrate the point, "just not a transit that I would relish. But I have seen that miracles are possible, both in my home and here in the multiverse. I would not put it past someone of her ability to be capable of them. Speaking of," she pauses to take a bite of her stew. "Speaking of miracles, she said something to me during my visit to the station. That she would help me get better at wishing. Is that a sort of thing she'll say to just anyone, or do you think she might see... use in me, that she would offer me something? Albeit a bit of a strange offer. Wishes are funny things. Most of the time wishing alone doesn't get someone any closer to realizing a desire. The best it can do is serve as motivation to drive hard work, right?"
Persephone Kore	"You either lack a means or a motive to compel me..." "Both," he says warmly. "But I can't call what Persephone does 'compulsion'." "Of course, I find myself quite comfortable with you too, Madeleine. It isn't lost on me that I'm quite at your mercy now as well. I have no idea where I am, or if it's possible to leave under my own power." He makes a circular gesture with his empty spoon, then shrugs, smiling. "Fortunately, that's quite 'usual'." While he listens, he scoops up a vegetable- this one must be unfamiliar to him- and pours the broth out of the spoon to examine it more closely. After a few seconds of peering (admiring more than suspicious), he finally bites down. "There is such a thing, I think, as simply 'becoming more oneself'. 'Becoming what one already was'. Nothing dies then; at least, nothing worthy of calling dead." 'Is that a sort of thing she'll say to just anyone...' "'Use in you'. What a strange idea. She has no use for anyone; or she has absolute use for everyone. But she does like you." But the following bit makes him lean back in his chair and shut his eyes. It's worth of deep thought, he seems to think. "We've learned, through hard work, to make things happen 'just' by wishing for them. That's the nature of what you felt and saw. But they, 'the angels', might say: the idea of hard work is cruel. What is it, but proving to the world in its own language that your wish deserves to come true? And why should the world get to overrule your heart, just because you didn't work hard enough? Isn't that unfair?"
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine looks at Marc in slight confusion as he explains that he has, in fact, followed a near stranger to an uncertain location with no-one else around. "Why, I wouldn't dream of hurting you here, Marc. My house is a place of hospitality! Were I to make prey out of you I'd have let you loose in the woods, with ten minutes' head start." For just a moment, the huntress flashes him a wicked grin. Then she laughs, light and merrily. "But no, that's not why you're here. I simply wished your company!" Then, noticing how she phrased that, "And it appears some of my wishes come true after all." Another smile, a gentle and kind one this time. She listens as Marc speaks of transformation, and mutters "becoming more oneself..." to herself between bites of stew. "Do you think it's possible to be completely oneself, Marc? Or is there always more to discover and change into, always another hill to climb?" "But she does like you." Madeleine raises an eyebrow. "I'd thought so, but it's different to hear it from someone who'd used to her. Thank you." "As for wishes." Dessert arrives, a bread pudding with cream, nuts, and cinnamon and other spices. Madeleine takes a bite and savors it before continuing. "I've found, the world has its own wishes, even if it doesn't put them in words. It wishes, for instance, that I perish. If it didn't have to exert itself to make that happen, didn't have to break its own rules to make attempts on my life, well, I wouldn't still be here enjoying this bread pudding." Another eager bite. "Not to mention your company. If my heart could overrule the world, I think... I don't know if I'd be the same me that sits before you now. The struggle, the striving every day just to see tomorrow, sometimes I feel like that's what defines me. But would a Madeleine who gets everything she wants, deserve to exist more than I do?"
Persephone Kore	"Of course," Marc says, striking an almost catty slyness in return. "How terrible it'd be, to invite someone to one's home and then act against them. Certainly no-one I know would." He can talk about Phony without talking about her, too. "Do you think it's possible to be completely oneself, Marc?" "I don't know." He's so charmingly unembarrassed of saying it. Dessert comes in, and that distracts him for a moment; he sets what's left of his soup aside, politely thanks the faceless servant, and tests its consistency with the edge of his spoon. He must be unfamiliar with it. "... I don't know, but if it is, I'm sure it looks like Persephone." When he finally takes a bite, he nods and makes a noise of barely-measured delight. "Oh, this is delightful, Madeleine. 'Bread pudding', you said? Please, send me back with a recipe. Or I'll have to take it home for psychometry." He winks. This time, he doesn't mind eating while he listens. Maybe because it's quieter to chew, or maybe just because the bread pudding is irresistible. It isn't until he's four-fifths done with it that he finally puts his spoon down, dabs at his lips again- but the napkin's still almost lily-white- and opens his mouth to turn over words. After a moment's pause: "Well. I can't gainsay your experiences, Madeleine. But you aren't the only woman I know whom the world wished to kill. You aren't even the fourth or fifth or sixth. And the others seem to think differently. They have the greatest hearts for wishing out of anyone." "At any rate, if the Project goes well, we shall all be rather like Persephone someday. And hopefully sooner, rather than later. That will be beautiful when it comes, I think."
Madeleine Cadrasteia	"I don't know, but if it is, I'm sure it looks like Persephone." "You know," Madeleine says thoughtfully, "I wonder sometimes, what life would be like without my curse. Which I suppose is a way of saying, if I were a woman who had everything she wanted. My kind are royalty, I'll have you know. Each and every one of us monarch of a little slice of the places beyond the edge of my home universe. My own slice is where you find yourself now. And I think now that, if I could rule undisturbed, I might indeed be alike to Miss Persephone in demeanor. It's only that the world is so threatening that keeps me from it." And, she leaves unsaid, her own hesitance to change. "They have the greatest hearts for wishing out of anyone." Madeleine smiles politely. "You flatter me, truly. But I have not been wronged only by the world itself. I have been left, before, with nothing but hope, and found it insufficient. It took time, and a great deal of strength, to turn that hope into a change. So I suppose that yes, it is unfair that the world - or its antithesis, in this case - would deny me that. But we'd all be different if wishes were fair, and I don't think it would always be for the better." "if the Project goes well, we shall all be rather like Persephone someday." This gets a gentle, if slightly uncertain, chuckle out of Madeleine. "They'll have to make more space stations," she says, "or I dare say it'd be rather crowded there." As dessert is finished servants arrive to clear the table, and Madeleine asks one of them to prepare a note with the bread pudding recipe. "Now, shall we retire to the lounge? The sofa there is most comfortable, and I don't get quite enough chances to show off my trophy collection." She leads Marc out of the dining room, making small talk as she goes. In the hallway a servant is using a scraper to remove a creeping rainbow lichen from high on the wall, but for now, in such pleasant company, Madeleine pays the infection no mind.