The metro barely functions these days, but the line that leads downtown persists regardless of turbulent management. The lights in the train car flicker the whole time, and Arlecchino thinks back to her colleague the Ninth, muttering about the state of things and scribbling non-stop on that clipboard (they would never, never allow this back in his city).
The rain has stopped, but the puddles still serve as effective obstacles. She steps around most of them, though the height of her heels save her from the rest. A group of children, laughing and throwing a rubber ball, run past her in a particularly narrow alley, splashing muddy droplets onto her coat. The children freeze in their tracks, watching the tall, pale-haired woman brush off her immaculate suit, before retreating into a nearby corner.
She ignores them and moves on.
The slight chill in the air is at odds with the noon sun already starting to beat down on the streets. This imitation of warmth begins to draw out pedestrians, umbrellas hanging on their wrists as they all but rush in the direction of the park near the suburbs, hoping to take advantage of the weather. Arlecchino walks against the tide, sights set on the enormous tree at the end of the main road. Its gnarled branches curve downwards, as if reaching for the puddles on the ground. She nods to it, paying her respects to something that has been here before most of the people in this city, and will be here long after they are gone. Then she shoves aside the branches and heads for the store nestled between its buttress roots.
The locals call it a store, but in reality, it is closer to a bar. The bouncer at the door tips his hat at her, offering to take her coat. She declines wordlessly, opening the door without much ceremony.
A light jingling echoes throughout the store. The inside is dark, though Arlecchino makes a sweep of the patrons immediately. There is nobody at the counter, the only part of the building that is brightly lit. In the corner, an old man with a beanie stirs his drink, the mechanical whirring of his replaced wrist grating on her ears. Another man, this one middle-aged, is collapsed behind the door, legs sprawled out in front of him, hiccuping gently as he gives Arlecchino a wobbly salute.
The sole window on her right holds a candle on its windowsill, and silhouetted against it is a woman with light blonde hair. Any other distinguishing features are obscured behind a mask with a long snout, calling into mind a dog or a wolf. Arlecchino pulls up a chair opposite her, seating herself at the table.
‘The usual,’ says Arlecchino, seeing the bartender’s frazzled head pop up from behind the counter out of the corner of her eye. The bartender nods frantically and gets to work, conjuring a cacophony of clinking and swishing. Arlecchino turns her gaze back to the woman.
Yseut holds a hand to her chest and bows her head.
‘At ease,’ says Arlecchino. Yseut nods, returning to her usual straight-backed position.
‘It pleases me to see you in good health, Father.’
Arlecchino twines her hands over her knee. ‘How did you find Fontaine?’
‘Eh? High-stakes, but it didn’t—it was—I mean, I liked it. Not that I wasn’t playing my part, but…’
‘I find the scenery quite agreeable myself,’ says Arlecchino as the woman splutters. ‘But I believe you wish for me to get straight to the point.’
Yseut looks over her shoulder nervously, at the old man in the corner stirring his drink, staring into space; at the other man behind the door, now passed out cold. She lowers her voice regardless.
‘The mission report will be ready in a day or two, I assure you.’
‘At the moment, I only require one small detail from that report,’ says Arlecchino. ‘You have been keeping an eye on the Palais Mermonia, yes?’
‘I—uh, yeah. I’ve never left my post,’ says Yseut, dabbing underneath her mask. She doesn’t sweat anymore, not after she’d replaced half her skull, but habits are hard to break.
‘Have you ever seen Furina de Fontaine physically leave?’
Yseut wipes underneath her mask again. To an outsider, it might appear to be a repeat of her nervous habit, but with a few more discreet clicks, a holographic screen appears in front of her, hovering. She scrolls through page after unfinished page, too deep in thought to pay even her new drink any mind. The bartender slinks away with his empty tray and a sour look on his face, but neither woman acknowledges him.
‘Here,’ says Yseut. ‘The last time she left was for her trial. She returned to the Palais Mermonia the same night, and has not left afterwards.’ She dismisses the screen with a wave of her hand.
Arlecchino reaches for her drink, brings it up to her lips, and takes a sip. It’s too thin, as usual, but she drinks anyway. ‘I see.’
‘I’ve been in touch with the other operatives, even after the mission, and none of them have seen her leave after that. We suspect she’s under house arrest.’
‘That’s interesting,’ says Arlecchino.
Yseut’s expression is inscrutable underneath her mask, but Arlecchino can feel pleading eyes on her regardless. She watches Yseut fiddle with the buttons on her suit jacket before saying in a low voice, ‘Furina is missing.’
To her credit, Yseut only inhales sharply. ‘But that’s—that’s not—‘
‘We were ignorant of a great many things about her,’ says Arlecchino. ‘But you do not need to concern yourself with them. This falls entirely under my jurisdiction.’
One last check to make, Arlecchino thinks. Then her theory could be confirmed. But for now, she has a drink to finish.
Yseut makes to pick up her drink but seemingly changes her mind at the last second, choosing to lean forward and say in a low voice, ‘Father, I’ve been meaning to ask. The medics say you haven’t been at the clinics in a while. Are you sure you don’t need—uh—‘
She falters when Arlecchino looks directly at her.
‘Thank you for the concern,’ she says. ‘But minor maintenance I can do myself. None of my tasks require combat just yet, and I will be sure to make the fitting adjustments if the need for it should ever arise.’
‘Glad to see you’re fine.’ Yseut’s voice is still too high. She reaches for her drink, stance visibly relaxing.
Arlecchino downs the rest of her drink and stands up. The bartender frowns, looking at the canned fruits sitting in her empty glass, but she is already stepping over the drunk man behind the door, hand reaching for the doorknob.
Behind her, she thinks Yseut waves goodbye.
~~~
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’
‘Iudex Neuvillette. Of course, I require only transparency, as usual. This time regarding the well-being of one Furina de Fontaine.’
‘… I cannot promise to tell you everything.’
‘And I do not expect you to. I am a foreign entity, after all. I simply need to know: is she well?’
‘Her physical condition appears to be excellent. However…’
‘Hm?’
‘She’s still asleep. The medics have tried diving, but none can get through to her.’
‘Very well. Thank you, Iudex.’
‘Lord Arlecchino.’
‘Yes?’
‘I know of beings such as her. Her very existence forbids unconsciousness. Whatever she’s managed to do to herself…’
‘I am afraid she is beyond both of our reaches for now.’
‘Forgive me for reminiscing, but when you find her—for old times’ sake—please keep her safe.’
‘I will.’
Arlecchino turns to the window in her office. Outside, droplets of rain begin to fall again, painting her window panes in light streaks. The setting sun appears distorted through the rain, red skies composed of a paintbrush’s clumsy strokes.
She squares her shoulders and heads to her office door, making for the room directly opposite.
i directly based the giantass tree off the rain tree (or the monkey pod tree). they can get really huge and if planted near a road, they make excellent tunnels. also the perpetual rain and humidity is incredibly annoying to deal with irl but whatever. it's just here for the aesthetic