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Dreams were a luxury to Vertin, a brief respite in an otherwise bleak world doomed to be cleansed away by the Storm. When one has made it a habit to suppress away memories in an attempt to chase away the nightmares that came with them, dreams often follow like a puzzle piece falling into place.
But lately, Vertin has been doing the opposite.
Mesmer Jr. disapproved of it, of course. And Madam Z had also shared her sentiments. To drown in a world of fantasies created by the mind is unbecoming of someone who carries the position of the Timekeeper, they wanted no distractions to come before her though she's sure that it's the Foundation they think of and not exactly her well-being. Vertin understood, yes, she always had but everytime they tell her to stop, she holds her tongue with words she knew were taboo to be said for she'd be seen even more incompetent for the job.
(Not like they can replace her, Vertin knows exactly how much she's worth. She's indispensable so long as they find no one else like her.)
I want to see her, remains unsaid and no one seems to ever understand. I want to hear her voice, I want to feel her touch.
I miss her, are the words she dares not to utter to anyone else but the silence and solemnity of her office because no one else would understand.
Sonetto tries, but fails and Vertin faults not her. The arcanist always cared far more than she would admit, Vertin is anything but blind, but Sonetto stays within the lane of what she thinks is acceptable according to the regulations of the Foundation even if they conflicted with her own thoughts and feelings on the matter. Regulus notices but averts her gaze away just a little as if afraid she'll see something else in her eyes. Druvis—
Druvis watches her closely, as if waiting for her to break down to pieces but otherwise also dares not to offer any words of comfort for any attempts to do so without even understanding just what exactly Vertin is going through would do more harm than good.
And so when Vertin jolts awake ( no, not quite, she knows she's inside of a dream after all), she takes a second to assess her surroundings before relaxing.
“My lord,” a faint giggle resounds, the sound of fork and knife meeting plate ceasing. “You're staring. Do you find the food not to your liking?” A hum, and wine red eyes meet with Vertin's pale blue ones.
Vertin blinks slowly, turning to look at her plate. She knows this, having tasted it in some Italian restaurant at some point in time. Cacciatore, she thinks to herself but it comes as a passing thought once a laugh permeates her ears once more.
Vertin frowns, “Is something the matter, Schneider?” She asks, raising a brow and making a slice on the meat. Though, she winces once she realized that her words would have given away her disorientation with the situation. Was Schneider in the middle of telling her a story? She can't be sure…
Schneider hides a grin behind the napkin she dabs lightly around her mouth. “Ah, so you were distracted, my lord.” She comments, words falling off her lips fondly. “As I thought, you make that face only when you're distracted by something. Is it me? If so, I'm flattered.”
“Yes, it's you.” Vertin says back, almost instantly and without shame. It was the truth, her dreams a stark reminder of how much Schneider remains in her mind yet nonetheless, it renders the girl speechless.
Though, Vertin notices her own slip of the tongue a second too late, coughing to her fist in an attempt to salvage herself and whatever image she had left, “Err, forget what I said. Apologies, I was just a bit—”
And then Schneider laughs again.
(It tugs at Vertin's heartstrings, the sound causing her chest to constrict almost painfully. She's no longer with her and these stolen moments are but a desperate person's attempt to turn away from the cruel and harsh truth.
Vertin knows that.)
“No, you cannot take your words back, my lord.” She says with mirth in her tone and her eyes shining in amusement. “However, do you say that to all the ladies you've met like me?”
Her throat goes dry, pink dusting her cheeks as she turns away, “No.” She quietly replies. “Not at all.” She continues before stealing a glance at Schneider.
A mistake, apparently, as Schneider now placed her full attention on her, her own plate forgotten to the side. She tilts her head, a small smile on her face.
Vertin, knowing that to avert her gaze is an admission of defeat, holds her ground. She lowers her hands to her side and—
At one point, Vertin thought she's going to forget Schneider's features. With no photographs to remember her by, Vertin feared that every time she opens her eyes is another detail lost on her with the gaping emptiness Schneider left in her.
Briefly, she muses if Mesmer Jr. had ended up seeing her dreams of Schneider but dismisses them as quickly as they came. She would not have, not at all. After all, Vertin closely guarded anything about Schneider and only takes them to the forefront of her mind at nights like these. Mesmer looked for the origin of Vertin's trauma; she would not have stumbled upon Schneider.
The sound of a chair being pulled back caused Vertin to focus on her surroundings once more, eyes widening when she sees Schneider come over to her side of the table before stopping next to her.
“Schneider…?” She says, uncertainty in her voice.
Schneider smiles, “Won't you offer me a dance, my lord?”
The world around them then melts away as if waiting for this exact moment, the colors blending with each other until Vertin finds herself standing in the middle of what she knows is a speakeasy.
It's reminiscent of the one controlled by the Manus Vindictae yet the lighting is much warmer in this dream of hers. There were no people drinking themselves, and the only sound that fills the space in between the two of them is the music that wraps around them like a welcoming blanket. Was it because she, herself, is forgetting how that speakeasy looked or was this also her dream trying to make everything hers, untainted by the bad memories she had of the place? At this point, she's almost scared to find out.
Vertin feels a hand on her own, fingers entwining as she is pulled to her feet, falling into place as the music changes to that of one with ¾ time. A waltz, she surmises. Not really fit for this kind of atmosphere and time nor fit for the status that the two of them carried. That of a girl orphaned and raised to be a puppet, of a girl who grew up far too soon with blood in her hands.
She sputters then, out of confusion, “You know how to dance?”
Schneider turns to look at her, placing the Timekeeper's hand on her waist and not letting go of the other. “Do you need me to lead, my lord?” She says, tone lighthearted. Obviously a joke but it spurs Vertin into action as she relaxes her body against the other.
“Well, no. I know how to dance.” She replies, taking the lead, sliding her arm behind Schneider and holding her tighter. If Schneider noticed how her fingers held her waist, so tight yet at the same time so gentle as if she were made of glass and will break any time, she makes no mention of it.
“I hope you do not find this offensive but by any chance, did your school teach you how to dance?” Schneider asks, a bit surprised.
“No, not my school.” Vertin admits, “I was introduced to it once I graduated though. Danced here and there because of work.”
“Fufu,” Schneider hums, letting Vertin lead her as she pleases, “I'll keep that in mind.”
She doesn't know how long they kept it up, her inability to pay attention to the time not really mattering when it's Schneider in her arms. A couple of times, they stumble and step on each other's feet yet only laughter accompanies the music. Small talks are exchanged, Vertin telling her stories of the years beyond them, of times already taken away by the Storm.
The music changes inconsistently but that's just how dreams are, with only Schneider remaining to be the constant in this world crafted by her mind. She had briefly seen as the curtains changed before her eyes, how the lights flickered until it's back to the fancy chandeliers hanging above them again. Once or twice, the tables and chairs fade only to reappear in a different style.
Vertin thinks it's just the way it really is, how everything comes to a stop in this dream in favor of her spending as much time as she can with Schneider but in the back of her mind, a voice whispers to her incessantly.
'What a nice dream you are having,' the voice tells her, words curling around them and putting a chill all over Vertin's bones that she ignores, 'Yet that's what it all is, do you not think so? A dream crafted in the memories you have of a dead girl.'
'How long will it last?'
Now , is the bitter answer that Vertin gives in response to the voice.
It lasts only until now, like every other dream she's had of this girl fleeting as a feather floating along the wind. It comes like a much needed and deserved break but also goes as fast as the blink of an eye that Vertin couldn't help but to pull Schneider to her closer until their bodies are flushed against each other.
“My lord…” Schneider whispers to the crook of her neck, her body trembling and Vertin swears she can feel the wetness of tears staining her suit. “Hold me now, won't you?” She continues and then she looks up.
It's wine red, glassy with tears threatening to fall, that greets her.
It's the same as that of the last memory of her and before she knew it, the speakeasy around them gave way to create the office of her briefcase.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The rain pours from beyond the glass wall of the office.
(She stands on her feet, runs towards Vertin and falls into her embrace gently. Now, once again, she looks like a pale pigeon.
“Hold me.”)
Vertin lowers her gaze to the ground, the brim of her hat casting shadows over her face as she refuses to meet Schneider's eyes but Schneider doesn't blame her nor even start teasing her.
“I'm sorry that I must go too soon.” Schneider says before laying her forehead flat on Vertin's shoulders. “I wish… I wish I could have had more time with you, my Lord.
Her words are unlike that of her last memory but deep inside, Vertin knew it was because Schneider was reading off a script that Vertin had wished for, a false reality where Schneider said more than what her memory immortalized.
(“I am sorry. I'm not a real arcanist.”)
Vertin fears that should she open her mouth, her voice will betray her. So she does not, only keeping her ears trained on the words that Schneider continues to say.
“But I enjoyed it, very much so. Eating dinner with you normally, and dancing with you no matter how brief it was.” A weak laugh escapes her, Schneider's fingers curling to a fist behind Vertin's back.
(“I always wanted to be lucky, but… I think I should say addio now.”)
Schneider takes a step back, gently removing Vertin's grip on her.
And oh , it takes so much out of Vertin to not grab her back and beg on her knees for her not to go away like everyone before her had. To wish for the opposite and curse away the Storm that is so insistent on washing away the people Vertin's heart grew fond of.
But Vertin is helpless too, in front of Schneider.
She's helpless too, in front of the Storm.
“Now it's coming, my Lord.”
(“Now it's coming, my Lord.”)
It's not the rain that pours all around them that Vertin hears.
Schneider smiles one last smile towards Vertin, a hand splayed over her right chest.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
“Don't forget me.”
(“Don't forget me.”)
It's Schneider who Vertin hears, it's the last words that she utters which she pays close attention to.
“Don't forget my heartbeat on the right.”
(“Don't forget my heartbeat on the right.”)
It's the sound of a heartbeat, stuttering yet beating so quickly as if scared of what comes next that fills Vertin's ears.
Thud. Thud. Thud—
And she awakens.