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Imagine yourself in a certain Fontanian man’s shoes for a moment. At a young age, you are declared guilty and sentenced to spend a significant chunk of your youth serving time in prison. Sure you deserved it, but once you finish your sentence, you finally regain the right to live as a free citizen on the surface again only to have your capabilities recognized by the leaders of the nation and… sent back to the same prison to serve as its new administrator.
“Congratulations on your appointment as administrator, Mr. Wriothesley,” the melusine nurse Sigewinne says.
Wriothesley knows Sigewinne from his days as a prisoner. As someone who frequents the boxing ring, he’s no stranger to the injuries that come along with it. Therefore, it is to be expected that Wriothesley has indeed wound up in Sigewinne’s clinic more than once during his time.
“I have a fancy title now, but it feels like another sentence has been placed upon me,” Wriothesley sighs as he hauls his belongings into his new office. He smiles when he remembers one small detail, however. “At least I have the right to go to the surface now. I’m excited to see what varieties of tea I’ve missed out on while I was stuck here.”
Sigewinne looks unamused. “I’m glad to hear that you have your priorities in order.” She leaves the office to allow Wriothesley to do with his new office as he pleases.
With renewed vigor, he organizes his things with haste. Fountain quill, papers, stamps; he arranges his desk in record time. He leaves a spot free on a table near his desk for when he buys a new kettle and teacup set in the city. When he finishes, he steps out of his office with a wide grin on his face. He can almost taste the imported Liyuean tea he hasn’t had in years.
Wriothesley already had a feeling that his new position in the Fortress of Meropide is going to be the subject of gossip. As he walked the grounds around the prison, he could hear whispers between inmates. Every now and then, he catches convicts stealing glances in his direction. He pays them no mind, however, so long as the Fortress of Meropide continues to operate smoothly.
“Hey, you’re Wriothesley, aren’t you?” a rough masculine voice goads him from somewhere in the halls. “Look at you walking around all high and mighty.”
“You’re speaking to the administrator of the Fortress of Meropide,” a nearby garde responds to the obvious provokation, warning the inmate loud enough for everyone to hear.
“Tch. Administrator?” the inmate scoffs as he struts closer to Wriothesley. “I remember you. I’ve seen you in the production line before. You’re also a boxer. Saw you fight a few times. Now you want me to call this guy, who was a convict like the rest of us, the new administrator?” He turns around to incite the crowd that was attracted by the commotion.
“Who do you think you are?” a bystander pipes up.
“Yeah! Go back to the surface where you belong!” another inmate shouts.
The man, with an arrogant look on his face, taunts Wriothesley even more, stepping forward to bring their faces closer.
“Hear that?” the man chuckles. “Just because you finished your sentence doesn’t mean you’re any better than the rest of us. You’re marked as a criminal for the rest of your life. So don’t think for a second you can look down on any of us.”
“I suggest you exercise prudence during your stay in the Fortress of Meropide,” Wriothesley says unfazed. “We can speak as fellow freemen sooner if your sentence gets reduced for good behavior.”
“You… you dare—?” the man raises his voice.
Wriothesley thinks it’s an appropriate time to turn around and leave. He can leave the rest of the matter to the Maison Gardiennage since his presence might only exacerbate the situation. A shame, really, that this encounter has put a damper on his jovial mood. His reunion with his long awaited tea is getting delayed the more he stays.
Before he could leave, however, he felt a strike to the right side of his face. His vision momentarily darkens, and he stumbles to his side from the blow.
“Restrain him!” The gardes gather and surround the inmate.
“Stand down,” Wriothesley says as he regains his balance, raising his hand signalling them to stop. He summons his Cryo boxing gloves, taking a fighting stance as he does. “I’ll deal with this myself.”
“But Sir!” The gardes protest, but when they see that Wriothesley was being completely serious, they back down and, along with the rest of the crowd, step back to give the administrator and the inmate space.
“Ha, you think I’m scared of you?” The inmate says as he raises his fists into a high guard. He shouts as if to say he isn’t intimidated, but the way his hands tremble says otherwise.
Wriothesley is irritated by the whole situation, but he supposes this is just one of the hurdles he has to face in his new job. The inmates, understandably, would be wary of any changes to the system of the Fortress of Meropide. That holds true especially for those who benefit the most from the present system.
If he had to see it from their point of view, Wriothesley’s instatement could mean trouble for those who were once favored by the previous administrator. These people probably thought it would be best to send a warning to Wriothesley, as well as the whole prison, as early as now.
Hence Wriothesley’s decision to face this prisoner personally instead of letting the Maison Gardiennage deal with him. As they mentioned before, Wriothesley is also one of them. It should then follow that he knew how to effectively speak their language and truly get through to them.
He needs to remind them who’s in charge.
The fight was finished before it even started. His boxing gloves smoke with Cryo, and with swift and skilled movements, the brawl is done in less than a minute, ending with the inmate on the floor battered just the right amount.
His Cryo gloves disappear and he glances at the crowd that had gathered. The inmates, daunted by his imposing glare, disperse one by one.
“We can take it from here,” one of the gardes says to Wriothesley.
“Good,” Wriothesley says. “Now where was I?”
Wriothesley turns around to leave when the garde stops him.
“Wait, Monsieur,” the garde says. “You should see Miss Sigewinne first.”
“No need,” Wriothesley brushes them off without a second thought, briskly walking to the lift to the surface before any other incident develops and makes further delays.
Wriothesley hasn’t been to the overworld in a while, so he doesn’t know where the good tea is being sold these days. He could go to the Court of Fontaine where most of the cafes are, but that would require quite the trip, so he searches for a cafe near Opera Epiclese instead. He spots a store with a fairly large display of tea.
The man in charge of the cafe that Wriothesley approached gives him a strange look.
“Good morning, Monsieur,” the man says with an uncertain voice. “Can I help you?”
“Good morning,” Wriothesley returns the greeting. “Do you have any imported tea?”
“Yes, we do!” The man’s disposition changes almost immediately. “From which region are you thinking?”
“I was hoping to buy some tea from Qiaoying Village of Liyue,” Wriothesley says.
“Excellent choice!” The cafe worker says as he goes on to search for the product. “I must say you are quite the tea connoisseur, Monsieur.”
Wriothesley laughs. How could he possibly be an expert on tea when he’s been locked up in jail this whole time? “I just remember liking this particular kind of tea.”
“Well, if you want any more recommendations, I’d be more than happy to help you,” the man says as he packs up the tea in a neat paper bag. “By the way, your face—” the worker awkwardly pointed at his own right eye.
“Ah,” Wriothesley touches his face. It must have been the punch that the inmate threw at him a while ago. It’s likely turning into a bruise right now, and later it’ll probably start swelling as well. He shrugs. “I just got into a scuffle a while ago. It’s not a big deal.”
The cafe worker scoffs, crossing his arms indignantly. “If I were you, I’d have that scoundrel thrown to the Fortress of Meropide.”
Wriothesley laughs. If only he knew.
Content with the new pack of tea in his hands, Wriothesley happily makes his way back to the Fortress of Meropide. Incidentally, as he passes the Fountain of Lucine in order to reach Opera Epiclese, he hears a voice calling his name.
“Wriothesley?”
He turns around and sees Neuvillette.
“Good day, Monsieur Neuvillette,” Wriothesley says.
Neuvillette was no stranger to Wriothesley. After he was appointed as the Administrator of the Fortress of Meropide by the man himself, the two have been in constant contact since the prison is also the biggest supplier of Clockwork Meka in Fontaine.
Neuvillette walks towards Wriothesley, his eyes fixed on the discoloration on Wriothesley’s face.
“What happened to you?” Neuvillette asks.
“This?” Wriothesley touches the tender area near his eye. He can definitely feel the inflammation coming in now, enough that he couldn’t suppress a wince from the contact. “Nothing out of the ordinary for the denizens of the Fortress of Meropide.”
“You are no longer an inmate,” Neuvillette says. “How did this happen?”
“Well,” Wriothesley shrugs. “A little resistance is to be expected whenever there is change.”
A distant rumbling is heard from the sky, and when Wriothesley looks up he sees dark clouds gather out of nowhere. He holds up a hand to the air. One by one, drops of water begin to fall from the sky.
“It’s about to rain,” Wriothesley says unnecessarily. He runs towards the Opera Epiclese for shelter. He looks back and finds that Neuvillette doesn’t look like he has any plans on following.
“Monsieur Neuvillette, you should come under the roof,” Wriothesley says.
By the time Neuvillette decides to start walking, the sky has already opened up and Neuvillette is drenched from head to toe. He didn’t seem to be bothered by it one bit, however.
What a strange sight, Wriothesley thinks to himself.
Wriothesley sighs as he looks at Fontaine's drenched Chief Justice. "You're soaked now."
"Did you have your injury checked by a doctor?" Neuvillette asks, completely unbothered by how he's dripping rainwater on the pristine floors of Opera Epiclese.
"There's no need for that," Wriothesley replies. "It'll go away soon."
"It must be painful."
Wriothesley laughs. "Believe me, I've had worse."
"Did you at least apply a cold compress?" Neuvillette asks.
"I didn’t have the time," Wriothesley says.
Neuvillette frowns. "Is this how you are in the Fortress of Meropide? To think you could be this irresponsible…"
"... Pardon me?" Wriothesley is taken aback by the sudden change in Neuvillette's tone.
Neuvillette begins to walk towards the entrance of the Opera Epiclese. "Follow me."
Wriothesley would be lying if he said he wasn't suddenly nervous. Neuvillette was using his commanding courtroom voice as he spoke. He felt like something very bad will happen if he doesn't follow his orders without question. Had he done something wrong?
The two men enter the Chief Justice's quarters. It was a room which Neuvillette uses to store his belongings and files while he presides over a trial.
Even from inside the opera house, Wriothesley can hear the hammering of raindrops over the building. It must be raining especially hard right now.
Neuvillette opens a cooler decorated to every inch in Melusine stickers. He pulls out an ice pack then makes his way to where Wriothesley was standing.
"Here," Neuvillette says as he holds up the cold compress against Wriothesley's face.
Amidst the awkward position they are in, Wriothesley’s natural reaction to pain betrays him as he flinches away with a hiss, all the while an involuntary tear falls from his eye.
"Am I hurting you?" Neuvillette says with a hint of worry.
"Not at all, Monsieur," he replies as he carefully wipes away the streak on his face.
The awkward silence continues.
"Um," Wriothesley clears his throat. He takes the ice pack off of Neuvillette's still hovering hands and holds it up to his face. The cold sensation stings for a moment, but eventually the pain subsides. "Am I in trouble?"
"That depends," Neuvillette crosses his arms. "How often does this happen?"
"This? It's just this once so far."
"So far?" Neuvillette scowls. "Do you plan on getting injured like this again in the future?"
"Well, if the situation calls for it then—"
"You have Gardes and Gardemeks who can deal with matters like these," Neuvillette says. "There is no need for you to put yourself in harm's way."
Wriothesley thinks he understands now. He lowers his hand and the ice pack down.
"The Iudex of Fontaine doesn't need to concern himself with trivial things such as this," Wriothesley says.
"Of course I should be," Neuvillette responds. "I am partially at fault for this, after all."
Wriothesley scoffs. "How in the world is this your fault?"
"I put you in this position," Neuvillette answers.
Wriothesley groans. "Is this what this is about? You throw criminals behind bars forcing them to leave their families behind. Don't tell me you blame yourself for that too."
"That I—"
At that moment, the rain seems to pour harder, and the sonorous rumbling in the skies echo through the opera house.
"Respectfully, Monsieur Neuvillette, it's all part of our jobs. Sometimes you have to make hard decisions and sometimes I need to take a beating to the face," Wriothesley says, careful to control his tone at risk of getting into more trouble than he already is in. "In the end, our goal is to keep the order in Fontaine. Isn't that right?"
Neuvillette doesn't answer. He seems to have reached some sort of realization as his expression relaxes before reaching out to Wriothesley, grabbing the wrist of the hand which is holding on to the ice pack.
"Regardless, you must take care of yourself," Neuvillette says as he makes Wriothesley hold the compress against his face.
"Right," Wriothesley does his best to hide how flustered he is. Both sides of his face begin to feel warm, and he’s sure it has nothing to do with the injury.
Why does Neuvillette insist on nursing his bruise anyway? He makes it sound like Wriothesley committed a felony when he decided to leave it alone. "Likewise to you, Monsieur Neuvillette, you will catch a cold if you do not change out of your clothes soon."
They both look down to where Neuvillette is standing. The water has begun to collect, forming a little puddle around his shoes.
"Does it bother you that much?" Neuvillette asks.
"Who doesn't it bother? What kind of ques—" Wriothesley clears his throat when he remembers who he was speaking to.
"Very well," Neuvillette nods. "I will change into dry clothes."
"I'll be taking my leave then," Wriothesley says as he hands over the ice pack back to Neuvillette. The other man, however, simply waves his hand in dismissal.
"Take it with you."
Wriothesley looks at the ice pack. It has the drawing of a Melusine on it. That’ll definitely give the inmates something to talk about. "I'll be sure to return it the next time I swing by."
"I better not see another injury on you when you do," Neuvillette says.
Wriothesley chuckles mischievously, returning the cold compress to his face. "I'll see what I can do."
Neuvillette shoots a glare at Wriothesley as the latter heads for the door.
Wriothesley looks up at the sky from the safety of the opera house. He holds up his hand to check the strength of the rain.
"Nothing more than a drizzle now," Wriothesley comments. He borrows an umbrella from the reception area and makes a mental note to return it, along with the ice pack. His hands are full now, having to carry the umbrella, the cold compress, and finally the all important pack of imported tea that he just bought.
He turns around to give a polite wave at the Gardes standing outside the Opera Epiclese before walking back to the Fortress of Meropide.
Recounting the exchange he had with the Chief Justice in the Opera Epiclese, he smiles in amusement.
What an odd fellow, Wriothesley thinks to himself.
He thinks he might actually enjoy talking to him a bit.