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starwardbestrewn2023-08-12 03:37 am
oncedriven) wrote in starwardbestrewn2023-08-12 03:37 am
tales i tell myself to keep
Someone has disturbed the records in your office.
This is perhaps the most confusing bit of mischief that has ever occurred at the Black Order. Certainly, it is the largest bit of mischief without an immediately obvious culprit in a while. Central Agency's constant presence, a constant thorn in your side, has cut down on a lot of the good humor around the Order.
Most of the mischief these days is at the hands of Timothy Hearst; the boy's chances of growing up into an upstanding young gentleman are practically nil. Even Klaud's firm hand won't be ever able to completely curb the boy's wilder impulses, you think.
But the open drawer in the Exorcist records isn't Timothy's work. It's hard enough to get him to read his schoolwork; he's not going to go digging in the records.
Certainly, not the ones that are the last evidence of the existence of Exorcists who were gone before you even joined the Order. Some of those records - sealed and only brought from the old headquarters for completeness' sake - are from before you were even born.
And yet - you came in to work in the middle of the night, when you thought you might be able to free of Lvellie hovering over your shoulder, and the drawer is sitting open in the dark.
There were fewer Exorcists back in those days, and the records are thinner - there was less Akuma activity back then, too. Fewer missions, fewer casualties.
There's rustling from the drawer. You freeze, just shy of setting your coffee cup on your desk.
You're not armed, and those records are precious. (They're the last evidence of people's lives.)
If this is some spy of the Earl's, you're fucked anyway. But you still pick up the letter opener from your desk, as quietly as you can. You won't go quietly, or without a fight.
(Already on your lips are the words, I'm sorry, Lenalee.)
The rustling stops. Starts again. And then in a burst of motion, something flies, straight upwards, out of the file drawer.
At first, you think it's a golem. True, most of the golems in the Order are black, but there is something Timcampy-like about the shape and the motion that draws your eye.
But then the shape spreads its wings properly, hovering in space over the drawer, and you realize - this is no golem. No golem would be that near-glowing white, reflecting all the dim light coming in your window, and no golem has that body shape, a headless human torso with wings where the arms ought to be.
Innocence.
Innocence acting of its own accord? You've never heard of such a thing. But then, no two incidents surrounding Innocence are alike.
Still wary, you set down your coffee cup and the letter opener. Turning to face the Innocence, you give a small bow.
"My apologies for interrupting you."
(What use would Innocence have for the records of past Exorcists?)
The hovering Innocence seems - startled. Caught, like a child with their hands in the sweets. The long dangling tail - more serpentine than anything - swings to slam the drawer shut, and then the Innocence shoots off into the upper part of the room, disappearing somewhere in the rafters. Something that white shouldn't disappear into the darkness so easily, you think.
After the room has been silent for a few minutes, you approach the drawer. The lock has been picked, though not broken - if you weren't expecting it to be locked, if you hadn't just seen it open, you wouldn't have suspected that anything was wrong. The file cabinet slides open easily at your touch.
The records left by your predecessors are neatly organized, at least. They're sorted by the date when an Exorcist joined the Order, rather than by name.
You see, immediately, one file, about a quarter of the way in, that is far thicker than the others. Cross Marian is a resident of this drawer, its undisputed champion, and the reason these records were in a place you could access them in the first place. The last Exorcist of his era left alive.
Or he was.
Judging by the spacing of the files, it was Cross that your little visitor was so interested in. You go to slide the file closed, but pause when you notice a photo about to fall out of the folder and get lost somewhere in the bottom of the drawer.
In it, a much younger Cross Marian, in a new Exorcist's uniform of the plain black and silver that was the style of the time, stands beside a young woman, coming only up to the man's chin. It looks to be some manner of official portrait - perhaps even the one taken of him when he was registered as an Exorcist.
It's the woman - the girl, really, blonde, a few years younger than Cross, smiling in the aged photo - who gives you pause. You've never given much thought to her before. You never had any reason to - she was just one of numerous other Exorcists who fell in the line of duty, before you even knew that the Order existed.
But you recognize her face now. Allen Walker's soul-seeing eye revealed it to everyone, that day in the not so distant past when everything went wrong.
You didn't realize that Alma Karma's previous incarnation had been peers with Cross. The woman in the picture is younger than the tormented soul you saw trying desparately to hide her face, but unmistakably the same. She looks about the age Kanda is now, with Cross in his early twenties behind her.
You flip the picture over. In faded ink is a caption - Cross Marian, 22. Cassandra Hanes, 19. Inducted into the ranks of the Exorcists, this day November 23, 18XX.
Not just peers - they became Exorcists on the same day. Indeed, when you pull Cross' folder forward, the much slimmer (though far from narrow) Cassandra Hanes is directly behind it.
You leaf the folder open, just to see the cover page with her vital statistics, and are greeted by a page that is almost entirely redacted black. The Second Exorcist project covered its tracks, it seems. Only her name, birthdate, and picture remain. The woman in that photo is a few years older, more battle-hardened, and somehow far sadder than the girl who stands next to Cross.
You slide the picture into Cassandra's folder, and close the drawer. As many questions as this information leaves you with, none of them will ever be given answers. The dead have no way of speaking to you, after all.
Instead, you leave your still full coffee mug on your desk, and decide that you've had your fill of paperwork for the night. Time for bed, Komui Lee. Central's demands, like its Crow agents, will still be there in the morning.
This is perhaps the most confusing bit of mischief that has ever occurred at the Black Order. Certainly, it is the largest bit of mischief without an immediately obvious culprit in a while. Central Agency's constant presence, a constant thorn in your side, has cut down on a lot of the good humor around the Order.
Most of the mischief these days is at the hands of Timothy Hearst; the boy's chances of growing up into an upstanding young gentleman are practically nil. Even Klaud's firm hand won't be ever able to completely curb the boy's wilder impulses, you think.
But the open drawer in the Exorcist records isn't Timothy's work. It's hard enough to get him to read his schoolwork; he's not going to go digging in the records.
Certainly, not the ones that are the last evidence of the existence of Exorcists who were gone before you even joined the Order. Some of those records - sealed and only brought from the old headquarters for completeness' sake - are from before you were even born.
And yet - you came in to work in the middle of the night, when you thought you might be able to free of Lvellie hovering over your shoulder, and the drawer is sitting open in the dark.
There were fewer Exorcists back in those days, and the records are thinner - there was less Akuma activity back then, too. Fewer missions, fewer casualties.
There's rustling from the drawer. You freeze, just shy of setting your coffee cup on your desk.
You're not armed, and those records are precious. (They're the last evidence of people's lives.)
If this is some spy of the Earl's, you're fucked anyway. But you still pick up the letter opener from your desk, as quietly as you can. You won't go quietly, or without a fight.
(Already on your lips are the words, I'm sorry, Lenalee.)
The rustling stops. Starts again. And then in a burst of motion, something flies, straight upwards, out of the file drawer.
At first, you think it's a golem. True, most of the golems in the Order are black, but there is something Timcampy-like about the shape and the motion that draws your eye.
But then the shape spreads its wings properly, hovering in space over the drawer, and you realize - this is no golem. No golem would be that near-glowing white, reflecting all the dim light coming in your window, and no golem has that body shape, a headless human torso with wings where the arms ought to be.
Innocence.
Innocence acting of its own accord? You've never heard of such a thing. But then, no two incidents surrounding Innocence are alike.
Still wary, you set down your coffee cup and the letter opener. Turning to face the Innocence, you give a small bow.
"My apologies for interrupting you."
(What use would Innocence have for the records of past Exorcists?)
The hovering Innocence seems - startled. Caught, like a child with their hands in the sweets. The long dangling tail - more serpentine than anything - swings to slam the drawer shut, and then the Innocence shoots off into the upper part of the room, disappearing somewhere in the rafters. Something that white shouldn't disappear into the darkness so easily, you think.
After the room has been silent for a few minutes, you approach the drawer. The lock has been picked, though not broken - if you weren't expecting it to be locked, if you hadn't just seen it open, you wouldn't have suspected that anything was wrong. The file cabinet slides open easily at your touch.
The records left by your predecessors are neatly organized, at least. They're sorted by the date when an Exorcist joined the Order, rather than by name.
You see, immediately, one file, about a quarter of the way in, that is far thicker than the others. Cross Marian is a resident of this drawer, its undisputed champion, and the reason these records were in a place you could access them in the first place. The last Exorcist of his era left alive.
Or he was.
Judging by the spacing of the files, it was Cross that your little visitor was so interested in. You go to slide the file closed, but pause when you notice a photo about to fall out of the folder and get lost somewhere in the bottom of the drawer.
In it, a much younger Cross Marian, in a new Exorcist's uniform of the plain black and silver that was the style of the time, stands beside a young woman, coming only up to the man's chin. It looks to be some manner of official portrait - perhaps even the one taken of him when he was registered as an Exorcist.
It's the woman - the girl, really, blonde, a few years younger than Cross, smiling in the aged photo - who gives you pause. You've never given much thought to her before. You never had any reason to - she was just one of numerous other Exorcists who fell in the line of duty, before you even knew that the Order existed.
But you recognize her face now. Allen Walker's soul-seeing eye revealed it to everyone, that day in the not so distant past when everything went wrong.
You didn't realize that Alma Karma's previous incarnation had been peers with Cross. The woman in the picture is younger than the tormented soul you saw trying desparately to hide her face, but unmistakably the same. She looks about the age Kanda is now, with Cross in his early twenties behind her.
You flip the picture over. In faded ink is a caption - Cross Marian, 22. Cassandra Hanes, 19. Inducted into the ranks of the Exorcists, this day November 23, 18XX.
Not just peers - they became Exorcists on the same day. Indeed, when you pull Cross' folder forward, the much slimmer (though far from narrow) Cassandra Hanes is directly behind it.
You leaf the folder open, just to see the cover page with her vital statistics, and are greeted by a page that is almost entirely redacted black. The Second Exorcist project covered its tracks, it seems. Only her name, birthdate, and picture remain. The woman in that photo is a few years older, more battle-hardened, and somehow far sadder than the girl who stands next to Cross.
You slide the picture into Cassandra's folder, and close the drawer. As many questions as this information leaves you with, none of them will ever be given answers. The dead have no way of speaking to you, after all.
Instead, you leave your still full coffee mug on your desk, and decide that you've had your fill of paperwork for the night. Time for bed, Komui Lee. Central's demands, like its Crow agents, will still be there in the morning.