Marco had been awake for the explosion, too - which is only natural, because he'd made it his personal duty to see the crew off. Other things he had made his personal responsibility include: their safety, their continued survival, etcetera.
It's funny. He remembers telling himself last month not to beat himself up if something went wrong. He remembers being aware that his true level of responsibility on the matter would be limited. But he was a demon then, and now he's not anymore, and frankly it's a good thing he feels too bad about what happened to concern himself with the fact that he voluntarily changed into a demon and went so far as to relish four weeks of freedom from guilt and he even lied about why he did it--
The point is, it's been a day. Fiddleford has helped. He always does, even when there are bumps on the road. Marco knows he should probably be getting some rest, but it's not coming easy.
Then there's a knock that can only just barely be called a knock.
Marco opens the door only slightly, at first. But he's quick to resume opening it all the way; once he confirms that this is, indeed, Javert, it strikes him as incredibly unwise to hesitate.]
[Javert was poised to beat on the door again when Marco draws it open. He pauses, club held cocked and ready, his eyes glittering beneath his cap. Though there is little light between the too-bright stars and the ever-present swirl of fog stroking his sides, Marco ought to notice that Javert looks considerably ... degenerated... since the last time they met in the flesh.
Or, well, degenerated isn't quite the right term. He looks frigid, yes, and carries himself with the same stock-straight military bearing he always wore. But there are far too many marks scarring his face, deep bruising creeping up from beneath a thick necktie, discoloration near his whiskers that cannot be attributed from burn scars alone. That, combined with the first turn of his lip, a glitter of canine, and the lightless, glassy sheen of his undead red eyes makes for a rather unsettling glance.
Javert lowers the cane, tucking it tightly beneath the crook of his arm.]
This is concerning the damn foolish turn with a sky-vessel this morning, [he growls.] May I enter, [he commands, more than he asks.] Or shall we speak of this outside on your stoop like exhibitionists, for the forest creatures to overhear.
[Javert does look like he's seen better days, but between everything else on Marco's mind and the fact that this is the first he's seen him in person since his return, he's not sure if this is the time or the place to ask. Not to mention... Javert will be the one asking questions here, evidently.]
The-- The rocket. Of course, come in. [Marco steps back, gestures in invitation.] Can I get you anything? We, ah, might not... might not have your favorite.
[Apparently Marco is in this very specific threshold of anxiety where he will make jokes, but he will do so at the cost of immediate regret.]
[Javert's shoulders loosen their vicelike tension almost imperceptibly, his nostrils flaring. He doesn't mutter a thanks or even offer the courtesy of a bow before squeezing his way past the threshold. Immediately, he begins to prowl the entry room, picking up a knicknack here, examining a piece of equipment there. Anything he touches he considers intently before moving on.]
Nothing to drink. I won't be long, [he says briskly.] I am told you were in charge of the -- [his brows knit, and he sears Marco with a singular, wry stare over the object in his hand,] safety calculations for the mission.
[That went well, didn't it? His eyes drop back to the trinket he's holding.]
Certainly a long-established Monster citizen such as you knew better than to encourage this thing. With a handful of irresponsible dunces. So. What convinced you to make this feeble attempt? What were you and the rest searching for up there?
[An interrogation is one thing; Marco isn't sure how it merits Javert's deep scrutiny of the house decor. Fortunately for the two of them, he knows better than to comment on it. Instead, he does his best to keep a courteous smile plastered on his face - though it falters when Javert poses his first question.]
I wasn't trying to encourage them. I was trying to keep them safe.
[So much for that. The exhaustion in his tone tells it all. Marco takes a deep breath. When he first messaged Fiddleford in a panic, a very pertinent observation came up - Marco supposes he might as well mention it, even if he's not sure Javert will understand.]
I knew it was incredibly risky, of course, but... Bavan today, the peninsula of today, it isn't too far removed from what my world looked like when mankind successfully landed on the moon. I... genuinely thought they had a chance. With Kaito being a trained astronaut, and with them actually having access to a functioning ship...
[Which, uh, turned out to be the Farmblaster. He misses it already.]
If Evangelisti really wanted them safe and knew what was best for them, he would have stopped the operation before it could start crunching its first mathematical formula. No, there is something more at play here than meager curiosity. Javert feels certain. He skips past a framed photo of Fiddleford with Marco and continues his slow scrutiny of anything remotely mechanical in nature in the room.]
Yet you know few cosmic bodies here function as they do elsewhere, [he begins smoothly, his tone a slow, plodding, even keel.] You forget we reside on a peninsula where the mists belong to a tangible Madame and the oceans are stoppered by a human woman molded into a plug. There is at least one incident of a bestial whale descending from up on high. And you assumed a creature who wandered the stars in his now-meaningless dead life could do the same here? That is a grave error, a serious error. They would be very fortunate if their explosive deaths is the worst of what they'll suffer this month!
But you did not answer what I wanted. So tell me plainly.
[Let us pause for a moment, while Javert straightens his back and slowly pivots to take in the Fourth Priest full in the face.
Throughout Javert's monologue, though his tone remained unwavering and cold, whatever thin fog lingered outside started slipping through the cracks of Marco's home. They danced and they spun, drawn to the Priest like he were a magnet for the seeping damp; they hugged his hemlines, polished his boots. He breathed it in like a living man would heave air, and with it, his baleful speech gained momentum.
Now, in calling Marco out on quailing meekly in his presence, he lays an eerie, lurid red gaze on Marco, testing the waters, reading what sits behind his spectacled eyes. His irises brighten and dim with a palpable power, a promise of extracting the truth from Marco whether he is willing or not.
Is it overkill, when Marco is compliant? Perhaps. But Javert has endured several more deaths and stripped himself of even more layers of trust in anyone remotely connected to the false god. It'll take him a little more effort than, say, a year-or-so ago to judge Marco as genuine.]
Were they looking for an escape from this realm? [A heady pause. Even the swirling, thin veil of mist around him stills. He adds acridly,] I advise you not leave out Elias's hand in this. Don't hide key details from me.
[Javert has a point, he'll grant that - if not in words, then in the way his lips purse at the monologue. Marco may have a propensity for paranoia, but not for cynicism. It doesn't come naturally to him; it only grows and festers in his wounds. No, despite what some might expect, Marco's paranoia has a way of coexisting with naiveté.
That's why he wanted to believe Kaito could have made it to space. That's why he's still with Elias, no matter whether he wants to admit it or not. And that's why, when he begins to notice the fog seeping into the room, he wonders for a moment if he's imagining it.
But he isn't. Wide and terrified green eyes follow the fog as it coalesces around Javert, then land on the man's intense gaze. Right now, Marco couldn't forget he's speaking to a Priest of the Fog if he tried.
And part of him very much wishes he would try.]
Elias had nothing to do with this. [His answer comes fast, breathless. He wonders if Javert can hear his accelerated pulse.] Nothing, I swear. I just-- This was about space.
What about space? What about the stars and the moon?
[Javert's voice is somber, rumbling, and quiet, but it lashes out and seizes Marco like a roar. His grip on his cane tightens, knuckles whitening under the tension, the glow in his eyes flaring to an unspoken threat. He can squeeze out the truth. Don't make him.]
What powers backed this enterprise? What did they ever think to accomplish out there, where their hunger would never be sated except by one another?
[The only conclusion that makes sense to Javert is that they meant puncture to Sea of Stars, part the veil between worlds, and slip out, into the night, away from Ryslig, in some nonsense plan to get away from Madame Fog's inescapable grip. He could conceive that it might do something especially nefarious, with the False God's blessings and cunning mind; he could conceive that it has done something to chase the Fog's influence away from the night, as he's observed, himself. Perhaps it would marry the abominable land, Felfri, even more closely to Ryslig, as Elias and his army would want.
He cannot conceive that it was done for fun. For what the devil was fun about slowly letting oneself go mad aboard a tin can in the sky? Unbelievable.]
[Javert seriously believes this had something to do with Elias; is anything he tells him going to convince him otherwise? There is a very real possibility that the answer is no, and that makes frustration bubble up alongside Marco's fear.
Fear, because what's going to happen if he can't get through to this man; frustration, because oh, so this is it, this must have been what others felt like when Marco marched in and accused them of being tainted by the Fog.
(Also, frustration because somehow in Javert's mind this all leads to cannibalism; also, frustration because Marco realises this makes no less sense than when he convinced himself one of the Fog's monuments was corrupting all who visited it.)]
Mana backed this enterprise. None of the gods did, as far as I'm aware, and if you'll pardon my presumption I like to believe I would be aware if one of them was. This was a matter of-- of pure scientific curiosity. But you won't believe me, will you?
[Javert was thinking in the long term; if there were a hypothetical escape underway, how would Monsters eat, how long would they bank on being able to stay away? The longer they were out on that star-crossed journey, the hungrier the team would get. That was where cannibalism came in. Atrocious planning from top to bottom, and he would be hard-pressed to believe otherwise.
Elias's interference is another matter. The reason he questions Marco so intensely is because he has found no hard evidence to suggest the boy's involvement, even if a suspicion nags at him. He would like to either verify it as fact, or stamp out the possibility and move on to other angles, and this was his swiftest course to do so.
So what is it that he sees in Marco's eyes, now, with his harried answer, flush with irritation? Javert silently scrutinizes, sparks flying in his pupils. He takes in the ebbing wave of fear, the worry. He delves deeper, irises aflame, and recognizes the frustration mounting within them. He pushes and he nudges and he wrangles, just slightly, his mental hooks ready to take aim and commandeer Marco's faculties straight out from under him.
But then something remarkable happens. With frustration overriding the fear in Marco's heart, Javert's gaze withdraws. He listens, and he hears the message, and he judges it as true. His grip on his cane loosens, and he absently, thoughtfully twists it in his palms, the veil of fog slowly thinning and seeping straight back out of the room.]
There we are, that's good, [he says sententiously, chin held high.] I'm capable of reason, Evangelisti. I can see you speak honestly. [His brow arches, the corner of his mouth crimping in a strange cross between a smirk and a grimace.] And I can see that you went out of your way to allow a group of cads the tools to fly this foolish mission of theirs. With the Mana witch's name attached to this, it is no wonder it ended poorly. Her raison d'être may as well be sabotage, after all.
[Javert snorts, finally comfortable enough to turn away and scan the room for anything else of fervent interest. He refrains from handling anything else, contenting himself with committing the room to memory.]
What is so pressing about the stars that they paid her for the powers to get up there, anyway?
[His guard is up, and it only rises with each moment that passes. As Javert's gaze bores into him, Marco weighs his options. Stopping time - there's always that. Can the Fog's priests do anything to counter it? There's a strong possibility that they can. If they can't, what does he do with it? Take the opportunity to hurl Javert outside? That wouldn't keep him out. But physical confrontation has never suited Marco. Would Javert be vulnerable to his voice in the slightest, he wonders? Could he simply lull him away? But that wouldn't do any good when it comes to the man's suspicions - no, it would only make them worse, delay the problem instead of solving it--
And then the unbearable tension fades away, slips outside through the walls along with the fog. It's sudden enough that, for a second, Marco could swear his lungs ceased to work.
I'm capable of reason, he says.
... Marco takes a deep breath. That is good.]
If you've never wondered about the stars yourself, not even in your old life, I don't expect you to understand. [Marco speaks like he isn't quite done deflating yet; he crosses his arms to conceal a slight tremor in his hands.] Some people value curiosity as much as you value order.
[If Javert is interested in the personal touches of a home well lived in, he'll have plenty to see yet. There isn't much else that's obvious aside from that.
Technically, even the odd roomba sliding across the floor counts as that.]
Curiosity, and that's it, [Javert repeats heavily, a like a rock plopping through still waters.] You would swear it?
[Javert's eyes follow the roomba as it putters about the floor. He has no idea what it is, and if Marco's watching closely, he'll witness a vampire neatly sidestepping to avoid touching the thing as it slowly approaches him. He smooths his coat.]
Well. I shall have to hear for myself if the rest of the crew reports the same story. I have plenty of names. Saint-Germain, Kaito, Joestar, BlueBlur Sonic the Blue Metal Boy. Atem.
[That last name puzzles him. The rest? Not surprising. Especially the Sonic kid, who seemed intent on blasting out of Ryslig from the day he popped in, and quite loudly, he may add.
Javert raises his head from the roomba when it finally putters away.]
At ease, Evangelisti. The hard question is over, and I have nothing to confiscate from your personal portraits and your husband's engineering marvels. The only other matter I would like to know is this:
Who would you say led the operation, ground-side and up in the air? They concern me most of all.
That's it, [Marco echoes in turn, the weight of his voice so tangible that he's nearly recovered his center of balance.
... The way Javert seems almost cowed by a roomba also helps, he has to admit. It even factors, to an extent, into Marco's decision to volunteer the information he's requesting now - Javert already has names, and it seems his investigation is ruled by logic, albeit misguided, rather than fanaticism.
There should be no harm in telling him this.]
Saint-Germain and Kaito, respectively. Kaito is... I'm not sure if he's... alive, yet. You may have to wait to talk to him.
I can wait, [Javert remarks, calmly and coldly. He straightens the lapels of his coat, smooths down any wrinkles that might have occurred with the cold, damp influx of Fog. He steps carefully back to the door, giving the room a final sweep for anything obviously suspicious.
Upon finding nothing, he says,]
Thank you, Evangelisti. You have been most cooperative. That will be all, unless the accounts from the rest of the team give me cause to return. I will leave you and your husband to your evening, then. Ah... Do send him my regards, will you? He is a decent enough snake.
[He tips his hat curtly and pries open the door, ready to disappear into the thinly-fogged night.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Marco had been awake for the explosion, too - which is only natural, because he'd made it his personal duty to see the crew off. Other things he had made his personal responsibility include: their safety, their continued survival, etcetera.
It's funny. He remembers telling himself last month not to beat himself up if something went wrong. He remembers being aware that his true level of responsibility on the matter would be limited. But he was a demon then, and now he's not anymore, and frankly it's a good thing he feels too bad about what happened to concern himself with the fact that he voluntarily changed into a demon and went so far as to relish four weeks of freedom from guilt and he even lied about why he did it--
The point is, it's been a day. Fiddleford has helped. He always does, even when there are bumps on the road. Marco knows he should probably be getting some rest, but it's not coming easy.
Then there's a knock that can only just barely be called a knock.
Marco opens the door only slightly, at first. But he's quick to resume opening it all the way; once he confirms that this is, indeed, Javert, it strikes him as incredibly unwise to hesitate.]
Javert. Can I help you?... Good evening.
no subject
Or, well, degenerated isn't quite the right term. He looks frigid, yes, and carries himself with the same stock-straight military bearing he always wore. But there are far too many marks scarring his face, deep bruising creeping up from beneath a thick necktie, discoloration near his whiskers that cannot be attributed from burn scars alone. That, combined with the first turn of his lip, a glitter of canine, and the lightless, glassy sheen of his undead red eyes makes for a rather unsettling glance.
Javert lowers the cane, tucking it tightly beneath the crook of his arm.]
This is concerning the damn foolish turn with a sky-vessel this morning, [he growls.] May I enter, [he commands, more than he asks.] Or shall we speak of this outside on your stoop like exhibitionists, for the forest creatures to overhear.
no subject
The-- The rocket. Of course, come in. [Marco steps back, gestures in invitation.] Can I get you anything? We, ah, might not... might not have your favorite.
[Apparently Marco is in this very specific threshold of anxiety where he will make jokes, but he will do so at the cost of immediate regret.]
no subject
Nothing to drink. I won't be long, [he says briskly.] I am told you were in charge of the -- [his brows knit, and he sears Marco with a singular, wry stare over the object in his hand,] safety calculations for the mission.
[That went well, didn't it? His eyes drop back to the trinket he's holding.]
Certainly a long-established Monster citizen such as you knew better than to encourage this thing. With a handful of irresponsible dunces. So. What convinced you to make this feeble attempt? What were you and the rest searching for up there?
no subject
I wasn't trying to encourage them. I was trying to keep them safe.
[So much for that. The exhaustion in his tone tells it all. Marco takes a deep breath. When he first messaged Fiddleford in a panic, a very pertinent observation came up - Marco supposes he might as well mention it, even if he's not sure Javert will understand.]
I knew it was incredibly risky, of course, but... Bavan today, the peninsula of today, it isn't too far removed from what my world looked like when mankind successfully landed on the moon. I... genuinely thought they had a chance. With Kaito being a trained astronaut, and with them actually having access to a functioning ship...
[Which, uh, turned out to be the Farmblaster. He misses it already.]
no subject
If Evangelisti really wanted them safe and knew what was best for them, he would have stopped the operation before it could start crunching its first mathematical formula. No, there is something more at play here than meager curiosity. Javert feels certain. He skips past a framed photo of Fiddleford with Marco and continues his slow scrutiny of anything remotely mechanical in nature in the room.]
Yet you know few cosmic bodies here function as they do elsewhere, [he begins smoothly, his tone a slow, plodding, even keel.] You forget we reside on a peninsula where the mists belong to a tangible Madame and the oceans are stoppered by a human woman molded into a plug. There is at least one incident of a bestial whale descending from up on high. And you assumed a creature who wandered the stars in his now-meaningless dead life could do the same here? That is a grave error, a serious error. They would be very fortunate if their explosive deaths is the worst of what they'll suffer this month!
But you did not answer what I wanted. So tell me plainly.
[Let us pause for a moment, while Javert straightens his back and slowly pivots to take in the Fourth Priest full in the face.
Throughout Javert's monologue, though his tone remained unwavering and cold, whatever thin fog lingered outside started slipping through the cracks of Marco's home. They danced and they spun, drawn to the Priest like he were a magnet for the seeping damp; they hugged his hemlines, polished his boots. He breathed it in like a living man would heave air, and with it, his baleful speech gained momentum.
Now, in calling Marco out on quailing meekly in his presence, he lays an eerie, lurid red gaze on Marco, testing the waters, reading what sits behind his spectacled eyes. His irises brighten and dim with a palpable power, a promise of extracting the truth from Marco whether he is willing or not.
Is it overkill, when Marco is compliant? Perhaps. But Javert has endured several more deaths and stripped himself of even more layers of trust in anyone remotely connected to the false god. It'll take him a little more effort than, say, a year-or-so ago to judge Marco as genuine.]
Were they looking for an escape from this realm? [A heady pause. Even the swirling, thin veil of mist around him stills. He adds acridly,] I advise you not leave out Elias's hand in this. Don't hide key details from me.
no subject
That's why he wanted to believe Kaito could have made it to space. That's why he's still with Elias, no matter whether he wants to admit it or not. And that's why, when he begins to notice the fog seeping into the room, he wonders for a moment if he's imagining it.
But he isn't. Wide and terrified green eyes follow the fog as it coalesces around Javert, then land on the man's intense gaze. Right now, Marco couldn't forget he's speaking to a Priest of the Fog if he tried.
And part of him very much wishes he would try.]
Elias had nothing to do with this. [His answer comes fast, breathless. He wonders if Javert can hear his accelerated pulse.] Nothing, I swear. I just-- This was about space.
no subject
[Javert's voice is somber, rumbling, and quiet, but it lashes out and seizes Marco like a roar. His grip on his cane tightens, knuckles whitening under the tension, the glow in his eyes flaring to an unspoken threat. He can squeeze out the truth. Don't make him.]
What powers backed this enterprise? What did they ever think to accomplish out there, where their hunger would never be sated except by one another?
[The only conclusion that makes sense to Javert is that they meant puncture to Sea of Stars, part the veil between worlds, and slip out, into the night, away from Ryslig, in some nonsense plan to get away from Madame Fog's inescapable grip. He could conceive that it might do something especially nefarious, with the False God's blessings and cunning mind; he could conceive that it has done something to chase the Fog's influence away from the night, as he's observed, himself. Perhaps it would marry the abominable land, Felfri, even more closely to Ryslig, as Elias and his army would want.
He cannot conceive that it was done for fun. For what the devil was fun about slowly letting oneself go mad aboard a tin can in the sky? Unbelievable.]
no subject
[Javert seriously believes this had something to do with Elias; is anything he tells him going to convince him otherwise? There is a very real possibility that the answer is no, and that makes frustration bubble up alongside Marco's fear.
Fear, because what's going to happen if he can't get through to this man; frustration, because oh, so this is it, this must have been what others felt like when Marco marched in and accused them of being tainted by the Fog.
(Also, frustration because somehow in Javert's mind this all leads to cannibalism; also, frustration because Marco realises this makes no less sense than when he convinced himself one of the Fog's monuments was corrupting all who visited it.)]
Mana backed this enterprise. None of the gods did, as far as I'm aware, and if you'll pardon my presumption I like to believe I would be aware if one of them was. This was a matter of-- of pure scientific curiosity. But you won't believe me, will you?
CW: cannibalism
Elias's interference is another matter. The reason he questions Marco so intensely is because he has found no hard evidence to suggest the boy's involvement, even if a suspicion nags at him. He would like to either verify it as fact, or stamp out the possibility and move on to other angles, and this was his swiftest course to do so.
So what is it that he sees in Marco's eyes, now, with his harried answer, flush with irritation? Javert silently scrutinizes, sparks flying in his pupils. He takes in the ebbing wave of fear, the worry. He delves deeper, irises aflame, and recognizes the frustration mounting within them. He pushes and he nudges and he wrangles, just slightly, his mental hooks ready to take aim and commandeer Marco's faculties straight out from under him.
But then something remarkable happens. With frustration overriding the fear in Marco's heart, Javert's gaze withdraws. He listens, and he hears the message, and he judges it as true. His grip on his cane loosens, and he absently, thoughtfully twists it in his palms, the veil of fog slowly thinning and seeping straight back out of the room.]
There we are, that's good, [he says sententiously, chin held high.] I'm capable of reason, Evangelisti. I can see you speak honestly. [His brow arches, the corner of his mouth crimping in a strange cross between a smirk and a grimace.] And I can see that you went out of your way to allow a group of cads the tools to fly this foolish mission of theirs. With the Mana witch's name attached to this, it is no wonder it ended poorly. Her raison d'être may as well be sabotage, after all.
[Javert snorts, finally comfortable enough to turn away and scan the room for anything else of fervent interest. He refrains from handling anything else, contenting himself with committing the room to memory.]
What is so pressing about the stars that they paid her for the powers to get up there, anyway?
no subject
And then the unbearable tension fades away, slips outside through the walls along with the fog. It's sudden enough that, for a second, Marco could swear his lungs ceased to work.
I'm capable of reason, he says.
... Marco takes a deep breath. That is good.]
If you've never wondered about the stars yourself, not even in your old life, I don't expect you to understand. [Marco speaks like he isn't quite done deflating yet; he crosses his arms to conceal a slight tremor in his hands.] Some people value curiosity as much as you value order.
[If Javert is interested in the personal touches of a home well lived in, he'll have plenty to see yet. There isn't much else that's obvious aside from that.
Technically, even the odd roomba sliding across the floor counts as that.]
no subject
[Javert's eyes follow the roomba as it putters about the floor. He has no idea what it is, and if Marco's watching closely, he'll witness a vampire neatly sidestepping to avoid touching the thing as it slowly approaches him. He smooths his coat.]
Well. I shall have to hear for myself if the rest of the crew reports the same story. I have plenty of names. Saint-Germain, Kaito, Joestar, BlueBlur Sonic the Blue Metal Boy. Atem.
[That last name puzzles him. The rest? Not surprising. Especially the Sonic kid, who seemed intent on blasting out of Ryslig from the day he popped in, and quite loudly, he may add.
Javert raises his head from the roomba when it finally putters away.]
At ease, Evangelisti. The hard question is over, and I have nothing to confiscate from your personal portraits and your husband's engineering marvels. The only other matter I would like to know is this:
Who would you say led the operation, ground-side and up in the air? They concern me most of all.
no subject
... The way Javert seems almost cowed by a roomba also helps, he has to admit. It even factors, to an extent, into Marco's decision to volunteer the information he's requesting now - Javert already has names, and it seems his investigation is ruled by logic, albeit misguided, rather than fanaticism.
There should be no harm in telling him this.]
Saint-Germain and Kaito, respectively. Kaito is... I'm not sure if he's... alive, yet. You may have to wait to talk to him.
no subject
Upon finding nothing, he says,]
Thank you, Evangelisti. You have been most cooperative. That will be all, unless the accounts from the rest of the team give me cause to return. I will leave you and your husband to your evening, then. Ah... Do send him my regards, will you? He is a decent enough snake.
[He tips his hat curtly and pries open the door, ready to disappear into the thinly-fogged night.]