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'As per the results of the most recent round of trials, there are a set of unique circumstances that have arisen that require the Fortress of Meropide's aid. Please meet me at the Palais Mermonia in two days' time to discuss these matters.
Neuvillette.'
"...Why are you the one delivering this?"
Clorinde shrugs, "Liath was supposed to, but she got stopped by a bunch of passersby needing help for this or that."
"And… you took over for her?"
"I happened to walk past." Her gaze drifts, ghosting over the walls of Wriothesley's office before settling on an almost certainly uninteresting spot. "…Besides, I would like to think my services wouldn't be needed again so soon."
Wriothesley sighs softly, "hey, I get it. Anything for a break, yeah?" He sets Neuvillette's note down on the desk, making a small marking on his calendar for the meeting. "Well, since you're here, care for some tea?"
"That won't be necessary," she refutes, taking a moment too long to collect her thoughts. "...It's about time I return anyways."
Wriothesley huffs, "Fontaine's Champion Duelist comes all the way down here to deliver a letter, and doesn't even stay for tea?"
"Sounds about right." Clorinde turns to leave, "the journey here has already served as adequate rest." Wriothesley hums, he knows better than to insist this time round.
"Oh." She stops before the door, "bring an umbrella. It's been pouring in the overworld as of late."
Clorinde was right. The day Wriothesley made his way up to the surface, the sky wept.
The streets were eerily empty, most people likely having retired to their homes for shelter. Wriothesley walks, water sloshing under his boots as he makes his way up to the Palais. It's not like he'd been up in the overworld much after entering the Fortress of Meropide, but he hasn't seen rain this heavy since he stepped out of the Opera Epiclese himself years ago.
He exits the lift, the grand Palais Mermonia filling his sight. What catches his eye however is the lone figure standing out by the road. For reasons unknown to him, Wriothesley finds his footsteps slowing to a gentle halt as he took in the strange sight.
Neuvillette had always had an inexplicable charm about him. The way his piercing gaze swept over the court, the way his solemnity held up his posture, the way his sharp features caught the light— now catching the rain. All of which carried a consistent air of reliable seniority.
However, like this— standing alone in the rain, looking almost imploringly up at the weeping skies— Neuvillette looked so… young.
The rainwater had begun to sweep over his clothes, the rising wind breaking the melancholic weight of the downpour. It snaps Wriothesley's attention back to the matter at hand— what was he doing? Just standing there with a perfectly good umbrella while Neuvillette got soaked to his bones?
Quietly, Wriothesley walks up to him, holding the umbrella out over his head. Neuvillette startles ever so slightly, taking a moment's pause to come back to himself before turning, a little stiltedly, to face him.
"Wriothesley," he greets, perfectly polite as always. "Thank you, I must have gotten lost in thought." There's a cordial smile tugging weakly at his lips, and immediately after the words leave his mouth, Neuvillette's gaze drifts, his focus wavering the moment he loosens his grip on it. It makes Wriothesley feel terribly misplaced, like he had stumbled into a wake with laughter on his lips.
"...Shall we head inside?" Wriothesley nods his head towards the gate of the Palais. He goes for a casual friendliness, and hopes it does not come out as awkward discomfort. Neuvillette faces him once again, nodding properly as he moves, leaving Wriothesley to play catch up as he once again returns, belatedly, to his own senses.
The rest of their meeting goes rather smoothly. Neuvillette is, if anything, efficient, after all. He goes through the new court files one after another, his delivery concise, yet meticulously thorough.
"Am I missing anything?" Neuvillette asks as he looks over the documents one last time, more as a formality than an actual question, really. There's very little that he ever does miss.
Neuvillette takes the silence as his answer, arranging the files and handing them over… only for them to crumple against the mound of fabric that was pushed towards him at the same time. He furrowed his eyebrows at the offending article, before levelling a questioning gaze at the man responsible for it.
Wriothesley blinks. He's not quite sure why he did that. "Uh— your hair. For your hair."
Neuvillette blinks.
"It's wet," Wriothesley adds, ever helpful. Suddenly, his coat felt wrong in his hands— did he pull something while reaching his arms out? "Uh…" of course he knows it's wet, did he seriously just say that?? "Wouldn't want our only chief justice to catch a cold…?" Great, he’s not even convincing himself anymore.
Neuvillette closes his eyes for a moment. Wriothesley wishes he would keep them closed, long enough for him to leave the Palais, maybe even the Court of Fontaine.
"That's very thoughtful of you, Wriothesley," Neuvillette says finally, setting the now crinkled folders down to accept Wriothesley's coat. Instead of draping it over himself however, he smooths out the creases, folding it up before returning it with the documents settled neatly on top.
"While I appreciate the sentiment, I'm afraid I'll have to decline. There's no need to worry about my health."
A little dumbly, Wriothesley receives the items. "If that is all, then please enjoy the rest of your day. Thank you for continuing to cooperate with the Court of Fontaine despite the Fortress’s autonomous status,” Neuvillette says with a small bow of his head. “If you need anything, you know my office doors are always open."
Wriothesley tries his best not to wince as the memory of his meeting with Neuvillette barges once again into his mind, uninvited to boot.
"'It's wet'— yeah no shit," he groans, dragging his hand across his face. He wills himself to focus on the court files— Neuvillette had gone through them in the meeting, but it was always better to review them once more before getting to work.
'The defendant, Callas, opted not to stand trial at the Opera Epiclese, and instead chose a trial by duelling. In a rare show of uncertainty, even the Chief Justice voiced his opinion that the details of the case were not adding up: the evidence points to the presence of a third person at the scene of the crime, and the defendant's pistol was found inside the building, meaning that on top of having no clear motive, he also should have been unarmed.
Nonetheless, given the lack of concrete evidence, the Iudex allowed the duel to proceed. In the end, the defendant refused to surrender, dying at the hands of the Champion Duelist.
The defendant's daughter, Miss Navia, has been persistently requesting comment from the court. Her requests have all been met with silence up to now.'
Suddenly, Wriothesley felt a twinge of frustration at himself for having made that agreement with Callas years ago. He would not be able to do anything to comfort the girl right now.
…Whatever. It's better for her like this anyways. He'd give her whatever comfort he could by unearthing the truth.
Neuvillette had thought that if the court couldn't find any leads in the overworld, that perhaps there might be clues within the Fortress. Wriothesley knew just where to start.
The rain had eased to a light drizzle by the time Wriothesley returned to the overworld. If you asked him, the Court of Fontaine wasn't too bad when shaded by thin layers of clouds, tepid moisture hanging in the air. It dimmed the harsh dazzle of the city's glamour, all flashy and in-your-face like the rude light of the sun greeting a deep sea creature.
All the same, Wriothesley made haste to the Palais Mermonia.
He sets a bottle of liquid on the desk by way of greeting. Neuvillette's eyes glint with a sharp recognition.
"This was outlawed years ago."
"Yeah? Well, some of our prisoners can get real creative."
Neuvillette raised an eyebrow, urging him to continue.
"All I had to do was drop a few hints and leave my office doors unlocked. In just two nights we had a new entrepreneur in the fortress."
"You—" Neuvillette's eyes widened ever so slightly before he quickly smoothed his expression over once more. "Where is this going, Wriothesley?"
"I'm getting there," Wriothesley chuckled. "The moment he got caught, our new little businessman sang." Wriothesley produced a small stack of papers, pressing it into the desk between them.
"I have a lead."
Neuvillette stared hard at the messy writing scrawled over the papers: frantic scribbles detailing the safe proportions of primordial seawater in the production of Sinthe; elaborate diagrams of alchemical set-ups and experiment rigs; and, sandwiched between the sheets, a small scrap of paper with what looked to be… a cloud of crossed out names on it.
"How did you…?" Neuvillette furrowed his eyebrows, gaze flitting between the fanned out scraps of paper on the desk like he was searching for the imprint of life underwater from above the water's surface, even as blinding sunlight glinted off of it.
"...It doesn't matter." Neuvillette shakes his head, and though he was nothing short of perfectly put-together in that moment, Wriothesley couldn't help but think this was the most frazzled he'd seen Neuvillette. A complicated expression underpinning his flawless face the only glimpse of the chaos that broils in the belly of this peaceful lake. Outside, the sky grows restless.
"The court cannot reopen the case," he says, voice as harsh a whisper as Wriothesley thinks Neuvillette is capable of, "but I'm sure you know what to do from here. Any new finds are more than welcome, even if they do not unravel the mystery."
Neuvillette's voice steadies as he gets into the more detailed instructions, thoughts swiftly ordered in the split second before he lays out their new plan. It's captivating— the way he gathers himself from the debris, dusting himself off with elegance so incongruously fitting for the looming melancholy in the room that seems to have permeated through the entirety of Fontaine as of late.
Wriothesley collects the papers as they prepare to conclude their meeting, folding them simply before tucking them into an inner pocket in his coat. Neuvillette watches him. His hands falter in their poise, an awkwardly human moment quickly chased away by the grounding force of his cane. There’s a thick silence in the air as Neuvillette seemed to stew in his own thoughts for a long moment.
“For what it’s worth, Monsieur, I think you've made the best of this shitty situation.”
“Since when have we addressed each other so formally?”
“That’s what you're focusing on?” Wriothesley laughs, caught off guard by the adorably earnest look of confusion on Neuvillette’s face that had almost thoroughly displaced the chaos that was previously marring his face.
“That doesn’t really matter,” Wriothesley dismisses, “what I'm trying to say is: thank you, for always sticking out for us. It’s how I felt when you fought for my position, and I’m sure it’s how Miss Navia would feel if she ever found out about this.”
“I…”
“You don't have to say anything about that, I’m just letting you know— you've done plenty right by us in our books.”
“…Thank you, Wriothesley. I hope your investigations prove successful.” Neuvillette settles on, the pained slant of his eyebrows finally easing.
By the time Wriothesley leaves, the rain has cleared.