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Furina flopped down on the sofa, wrapping her arms around her head with a barely restrained wail. How long was this going to elude her? Everyone else’s arc had a conclusion she felt was fitting, it was just this one remaining obstacle... She scowled at the character she'd invented who was causing her so much trouble. She’d tried improv at home, she’d tried hot seating with Crabaletta, she’d tried reading summaries of a multitude of romance novels for inspiration – but no matter what she did, she remained firmly lodged in that bottleneck. Her latest endeavour to find her solution – that being embodying the tortured artist and wandering the streets in the dead of night, filled with a lonesome melancholy that only unfulfilled creatives could understand (an activity that, while nerve-wracking, wasn’t quite so daunting now, with Crabaletta, Usher and Chevalmarin by her side) was unfortunately, also proving unsuccessful. She’d paced the room for what felt like hours, even taking the first few steps of the dance to try and see it to its conclusion, but all she achieved was making her feet hurt more after her hours of meandering. She groaned in frustration, and kicked her stinging feet in an attempt to get the cramps out of them. Regardless of how she enjoyed her new life, she was allowed to feel sorry for herself in such circumstances, right? Dedicating oneself entirely to the arts would inevitably lead to many a sleepless night spent chasing that magnum opus, a willing sacrifice of one’s ability to rest both physically and mentally... and yet, it rejuvenated the spirit like nothing else could ever hope to do.
“Lady Furina? What brings you here at this hour?” A concerned voice broke her out of her demoralised stupor. Oh- Oh dear. This wasn’t where she'd thought she was. Four hundred years of autopilot was a dangerous thing.
“Ah!! Neuvillette!” she exclaimed, leaping from the sofa. She was like a soldier who’d been caught slouching while on guard, whipped up into a salute.
“Why do you sound so surprised to see me in my own office?” The worry his voice held waned slightly, and a touch of amusement tickled at his eyes - though it had taken her over two hundred years to recognise that subtle expression as amusement in the first place, so he probably had no idea that she could read that elusive emotion of his at all. He watched her over the large stack of papers he carried in his arms, and busied himself with putting them away while she scrambled for a reasonable answer. Nothing came to mind, so she redirected it into an accusation instead.
“Well, as I recall you aren’t contracted to work till this hour! You shouldn’t be in the Palais Mermonia at all!” She folded her arms.
“So I am to presume you came here on the basis that I wouldn’t be present?” He cast her a sidelong glance from the filing cabinet. “I will ask again: what brings you here at this hour? I would like to think that if you had a question for me, you would simply ask rather than turn to snooping around in my absence.”
Great job, Furina, she thought - she couldn’t have made herself any more suspicious if she’d tried. What good would it do to hide the truth, anyway? Furina sighed in defeat, settling miserably back on the sofa.
“Strange though it may sound, I hadn’t realised I was here. My surprise wasn’t because you were in your office, but that I was.”
“I see...” Evidently unconvinced, Neuvillette sat on the sofa opposite her. How unusual. He tended to prefer the chair by his desk. He crossed his legs elegantly and fixed her with a questioning look – she almost felt as though he were interviewing her for a position below him in the Maison Ordalie. As her silence went on, he pressed, “That’s still not an answer, Lady Furina. The last of my work is finished for the day, so do carry on.”
“My feet just took me here.”
“They don’t often do that.”
“It’s because I was deep in thought.”
“About?”
She paused. Why was she hesitant to say? She was Fontaine’s renowned superstar, any show was a success simply by having her name attached – because she would make it so. It wasn’t empty star power she held, it was refined taste, trained instincts and inherent passion. Maybe it was the new medium that made her so apprehensive. Maybe it was fear of getting something wrong, having never stepped into this specific spotlight before.
“Are you unable to say?” Neuvillette asked. His tone was gentle – an understanding friend, not a relentless interrogator.
“No...” she replied carefully. “I just haven’t spoken it aloud before, so I’m not sure how to do so.”
“I’m happy to wait.”
Despite the offer, the last thing Furina wanted to do was burden him with a stretch of meaningless silence followed by a rather insignificant problem, all things considered. She'd always managed just fine on her own, after all. But this... this was the type of problem that benefitted from discussions in writing rooms and rainy street corners and bedrooms at 3am. And if she intended not to discuss it in any of those places... indeed, she made him wait a few moments longer before she committed to confiding in him about her project.
“I’m writing something,” she stated.
“Oh?”
“A script. I’m writing a play.”
“Oh.”
“You don’t seem... Well, you don’t seem anything. What kind of reaction is that?” Colour stained Furina’s cheeks. It wasn’t often she declared herself involved in some artistic pursuit only to be met with such an underwhelming response.
“Forgive me for causing offence,” Neuvillette said. It seemed a political response, as though he wasn’t sure what exactly he was apologising for. “I was trying to figure out how that could pose a problem to someone like yourself. It seems to me as though writing a script should come quite naturally to you.”
Furina folded her arms with a "hmph".
“It’s my first full entire script, I'll have you know! Anyone would have trouble writing that! It’s uncharted territory.” His faith in her was nice to hear, but blind faith could not solve writer’s block. Though, the idea of being beaten by writer’s block at all was something she was reluctant, even ashamed, to admit.
“My apologies. I was unaware that you hadn’t written one before. I’ve seen your name as co-writer so many times that I assumed incorrectly.”
“Editing and making improvements to something that already exists is one thing,” Furina explained, quickly losing herself to her thoughts and how daunting the whole process was. “Creating an entire story from scratch is something else entirely. You have to create all the characters, their motives, their arcs, think about the theme and how it all ties in together, make sure the pacing is balanced and doesn’t drag in the middle, consider what the audience impression is going to be...”
“Is... Is all this really necessary for a first draft?” Neuvillette asked. His bluntness caused Furina to become a little flustered.
“Ah- well, no, not exactly... But I can’t help but think of them. It's impossible to take a step back and just write some filler nonsense in the first draft to edit out later.” She willed her newfound power of hydro to douse the burning of her cheeks. What was this but an admission of defeat? A step down from that pedestal on which everyone saw her, and the one upon which she actually wanted to remain.
“It sounds as though you’re holding yourself to a very high standard. If this is your first attempt, why should it be perfect straight away?” Neuvillette commented, almost as though he were thinking aloud. Then, seeing the argument rising in her, he swiftly continued. “That’s the point of editing, is it not? You can edit it to perfection once you have a complete script to work with. This may be me projecting something that has no relevance, but... there’s many things I would do differently regarding my first attempts at presiding over trials, knowing what I know now. I can’t change what happened in the past, but if something dissatisfies you in your script, you may edit it at any time. So you may as well take the chance to make those errors in the first draft, safe in the knowledge that you will be able to remove them later, and continue to improve the work as a whole. That is the freedom of the writer, wouldn't you say?”
Furina side-eyed him, wondering if he was really only mentioning that to prove that everyone gets things wrong on their first go, or if those mistakes held a certain weight over him still. Well, it probably wasn't her place to pry into things like that. In the end, she decided to take his words at face value, and sighed.
“Yes... I suppose you’re right. But it feels like such an insult to my characters to spew whatever first comes to mind on the page.”
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that feeling, so I’ll take your word for it,” Neuvillette said. True, it was difficult to picture him of all people writing anything from his imagination, let alone a stream of consciousness. “Out of interest, what is the deadline for this script?”
“Deadline?” Furina’s traitorous hydro vision allowed her cheeks to flush further. Sheepishly she replied, “Oh, there’s no deadline. You’re the only person I’ve told about this, it’s just a little passion project. And because that means I'll be able to give it all the time it deserves, I want to make it perfect.”
“I can understand that, and I wish you all the best with it. I’m certain your breakthrough will come soon enough. Though... you still haven’t explained how you ended up here, of all places.” The slight crinkle of his eyes returned. Was he teasing her?
“Uhh...” An excuse, any excuse. A denial? Anything? But her mind insisted on remaining completely blank, conjuring nothing but white noise like she was listening to a conch shell. It wasn’t that she’d lost her wit since dropping her façade. No, it was that now her brain was actually allowed to rest, and it could rest easy knowing the world wouldn’t literally end if she let the mask slip. As such, her brain was quite enjoying being relaxed and wasn’t all too keen on being forced to conjure something that wasn’t purely artistic on the spot.
“There’s no need to make something up,” Neuvillette encouraged, apparently having dropped his own façade when she dropped hers, namely that pretence that he couldn’t tell when she was hiding something. “I won’t insist if it bothers you that much, but you must understand how I’d find it rather odd. I’m hardly the person people think of when they need writing advice.”
“Ahh...” Furina accepted her undoing. The game was up. The truth behind her subconscious actions had been revealed to her when he'd first called her name, and she really didn’t want to admit to it, didn’t want to suggest that perhaps those ideas in her head did not exist as independently from her reality as she’d thought. Well, inspiration was the fundamental tool of the artist! He should take it as a compliment! Swallowing her pride and hopefully, the tightness in her chest, she confessed, “Well, now that I think about it, you’re not too dissimilar from the character that’s been giving me the most trouble. Perhaps I intuitively knew that coming here could lead to inspiration.”
“Me? I hadn’t expected a work by you to feature such a boring character,” Neuvillette remarked. The worst part was that he fully meant it, and didn’t just say it in vanity to be reassured otherwise. Furina’s head sank into her palm.
“Have you really no idea why that Charlotte is always hounding you? Do you think she’s bored and that you happen to be the last stone she hasn’t yet overturned?” She sighed. “Honestly...”
Neuvillette’s eyebrow raised slightly. For a person so reserved, the Chief Justice found himself at odds with the press surprisingly frequently, and what Furina had just said sounded suspiciously like sympathy towards them. Withheld distaste aside, he still regarded her with his full attention.
“Ahh, I can’t believe you need this spelled out...” Furina shook her head, taking a deep breath to prepare her thesis. Sure, she was a little embarrassed at what she was about to say, but she had to defend her artistry! She could not for a minute longer have him believe she would take inspiration from something boring. “Let’s take the press as an example. Nobody wants to interview you to find out things about cases and trials, everyone already knows that. If anyone wants a scoop on the Iudex of Fontaine, they need only visit the Opera house, and they will have all they need for an article that will be identical to everyone else’s coverage on the matter. That’s why they don’t want to interview the Iudex, they want to interview Neuvillette. To the average person you’re very mysterious, you know. You’re a constant presence in Fontaine, your reach is felt everywhere, yet no one knows the first thing about you. And I don’t just mean things like your true identity, first name or where your power comes from, though I’m sure the people would devour that information like it was water in a desert. But no, I mean menial things as well. What you do on your days off, whether or not you shop at Chioriya Boutique, if you prefer tea over coffee...”
“What need is there to know these things about me?” Neuvillette interrupted. He seemed a little overwhelmed by the curiosity of the common people.
Furina shrugged. “It’s human nature? People love knowing things like that – favourite colour, favourite food, favourite weather... It helps them build a complete picture of someone.”
Neuvillette was silent, considering. It clearly made little sense to him.
“So, are you saying... that answering these questions for you may help you with your script?”
“Ah! No, no, no, I don’t need that! I don’t need anything from you, I just thought that being here would help me get in your mindset, that’s all.”
“I see,” he said, still studying her in search of his unasked, unanswered questions. “I presume this endeavour was unsuccessful?”
Furina sunk back into the sofa. “Yes.”
Neuvillette studied her for a moment, before his eyes glanced behind her to the grandfather clock. “Perhaps it is due to the hour being so late,” he surmised. “No one does their best work on so little sleep, and I would think that your mind should be able to come up with something after a good rest. Maybe you’ll even dream your answer.”
Furina groaned, channelling all her frustration into it. She was absolutely tired out, but she didn’t want to go to bed having achieved nothing. What a waste of a day. Maybe that was another thing she’d have to get used to as a full-time artist. When she was on the verge of throwing a little overtired tantrum about not wanting to go home, Neuvillette rose from the sofa.
“Shall we?”
“Eh?”
“I’d be happy to escort you home, if you’d like.”
Furina’s eyes fell to her knees. Why was that so embarrassing? Did he know she was afr... wasn’t too keen on walking alone in the dark? She hoped her hair hid her cheeks as she hastily replied,
“It’s quite alright! I have the Salon members to accompany me anyway...”
“Ah, you misunderstand - I'm not suggesting it out of a sense of obligation,” Neuvillette clarified as she trailed off. “I have been of little help to you here, but speaking one’s thoughts aloud can frequently lead to making connections that may have been missed before. As such, I’d be happy to hear you out in more detail on the walk home, if you think it may aid you.”
She looked up at him. His eyes were sincere.
“That’s... very kind of you.”
* * *
The walk to her apartment was filled with constant chatter – or at least, an almost complete monologue punctuated by the occasional “oh”, “I see” or “mmhm” from Neuvillette’s end. Not that he seemed bored. On the contrary, he seemed more than interested as she spoke, regarding her explanation as if it were an opera in itself. His beloved Melusines had always liked oral folktales, after all.
He listened intently as Furina dictated her proposed narrative, a complex arrangement of eight simple characters with ordinary conflicts that all tied in together at the end, and the main message she intended to leave her audience with being the beauty of the mundane human struggle, and the importance of our relationships with others. The siblings who had lost their aging mother a decade earlier than expected, and one wished to cling together for support, while the other wished for space to grieve. The two members of a trio who had witnessed their third commit a heinous crime, and now had to debate whether their friendship would outweigh their moral compass. The Garde who wanted nothing more than to spend time with her young daughter, but felt pressured more than ever to keep working hard and making the world a safer place for her to live in.
And finally, the lawyer and his forbidden lover. He’d thought keeping their relationship a secret would be the safest thing for them, yet it only made everything worse. Her sentence was one nobody could talk their way out of, and since nobody knew about the conflict of interest, he was the one that had to deliver that blow to her. Knowing this all too well, she had confessed her guilt to spare his heart, and when he visited her in her holding cell, she had said her last goodbye. Furina wanted them to dance – farewells felt more meaningful when set to song. But what dance? To what song? She tried to picture it in her head, tried to act it out alone, but it never worked, no matter what she did. She didn’t tell Neuvillette why. Never mentioned that her own steps found that familiar rhythm when she danced on her own, no matter how hard she tried to avoid it, and she would be broken and crying before ever reaching the end of the scene, her hat strewn a stone’s throw away.
* * *
They reached Furina’s apartment not long after her recount concluded. In the silence that filled the final few steps, calm filled Furina for the first time in days. It was nice, talking about it. Cathartic, even. She could try and pull inspiration from everyday humans all she wanted, but in the end, maybe it really was impossible for an artist to separate themselves from their work. Well, be it catharsis from emotions she hadn’t intentionally imbued or validation of her ideas and extremely personal creation, Furina was glad she’d accepted Neuvillette’s offer.
“I guess it can’t be helped. I’ll just have to wait for whenever that bolt of inspiration will finally strike.” She shrugged widely, taking up almost the entire path, as though the bigger she was, the more likely it was that the divine god of inspiration may spot her and bestow its blessing upon her, ridding her of this inescapable dead end.
“Mm. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more use,” Neuvillette replied, appearing mildly apologetic that he were merely a divine god of hydro. “If we were in an opera, this would surely be the moment that the deus ex machina would appear, to present you with that gift of inspiration you seek. They'd surely do so for such a muse...”
He looked up to the sky, but the night remained as clear as it had been the entire time. Well, it was a different god that had control over lightning after all, and as far as Furina was aware, her creations were not something to be envied.
“Deus ex... !” Furina echoed, her thoughts catching up to her voice. She looked at Neuvillette. There was no way, right? Would that work? She looked away again. Surely not. But then... why else would he say it like that? Meeting his gaze once more revealed his confusion.
“Lady Furina?” He asked, picking up on her strange behaviour. Furina swallowed.
“Maybe there is something you can do for me.”
“Oh?”
Forcing her fear uncomfortably close to where it used to reside, Furina boldly took his hand. He flinched at the sudden touch, but, obviously a little embarrassed by his involuntary reaction, didn’t pull his hand away. He just looked confused, like he did when he’d missed some social cue and still hadn’t figured out which one. Furina willed a confident smile to her face and prayed he couldn’t feel her pulse through her fingertips.
“Will you dance with me?”
“I’m... If I was not the one to turn to for writing advice, I’m even less the one for dancing. And did you not say that acting out the dance got you nowhere?” He stammered, pointedly refusing to meet her eyes. It may have been the first time she’d seen such obvious emotions on him. How endearing... it clearly didn’t take much to fluster him, but at the same time, she doubted that anyone else had managed before.
“That’s just because I was dancing alone. It’ll be very different with a partner,” she said, hoping she sounded confident enough that he wouldn’t realise the complete lack of explanation for her certainty. “And it doesn’t matter if you’re not good at it! This dance isn’t a show of skill, but of emotion. It’s barely more complex than walking.”
Neuvillette’s eyes clouded as he thought, and Furina took the opportunity to twirl under his arm while he made his decision. Her smile came more easily when she returned to face him, finding him watching her, his eyes soft.
“I have one condition.”
Furina’s heart skipped a beat.
“Yes?”
Neuvillette’s gaze fell from her eyes to her hand that remained in his. Perhaps she imagined it, but she almost felt his grip tighten.
“I think this story you wish to tell would be a wonderful play, and very meaningful to a great number of people. I would very much like to see it performed.” He smiled a little, almost shyly, as he spoke, though his tone was as matter-of-fact as it always was when he paid her work a compliment, as though it was an obvious fact he was stating that she should have known already. Regardless of the compliment’s obviousness, he paid them anyway. “Should that happen one day, I would ask of you to leave this moment out of the acknowledgements, and certainly not credit me in any way.”
“I can do that,” she said brightly, remembering when her own identical request was utterly ignored, and knowing she at least, would keep her promises. Neuvillette bowed his head with a smile, allowing himself to become pliant in her hands. She led his right hand down to her waist, and accidentally brushed his arm on the way back up to rest her hand on his shoulder. He didn't flinch that time. As she took his other hand, about to give the instructions, she realised her mouth was quite dry. She hoped that was only due to the pressure of having to teach and lead the dance. Not that she doubted her capabilities, of course, it just wasn't something she had experience with. That was surely the only reason.
Understanding that this moment was the point of no return, Neuvillette spoke quickly, his voice hushed like he wanted no one else on the deserted street to overhear.
“Will this really help you if I’ve never danced before?”
Furina looked up at him, a sly grin tugging at her mouth.
“Even if it doesn’t, now that you say that, I’ll simply have to insist. What do you mean, you’ve never danced before? What’s living without dancing?”
“I have never felt the urge to. I don’t wish to ruin your scene-”
“Ah ah ah, hush! You have to try it now! It won’t ruin anything, and besides...” Her sly grin reached its final form. “Who was it who said something about “This nation recently experiencing things for the first time”?”
Neuvillette shook his head as he sighed. It was difficult to tell in the dark, but his cheeks seemed a little pinker than usual.
“Then... over to you.”
“Excellent, let’s get started. It's nothing complicated, let’s take a step left-” She stepped right, and he stepped to his right as well. She fixed him with a puzzled look.
“I assumed that was your left. My apologies.” Neuvillette's voice was carefully balanced, but Furina knew him too well to not catch the waver in it.
“The teacher is always mirrored, so don’t worry and just follow along.” She wanted to dissolve into giggles at that, at the blush on his cheeks that now left no room for doubt about its existence. Somehow, she held it together for the sake of being a good teacher. “Anyway, a step left-” She stepped to her right, and he followed. “Perfect. Other foot.” They both brought their other foot in. “Excellent! Now again the other way!”
They practiced that a few more times, and then she imagined Neuvillette may be feeling a bit silly about worrying over something so basic, so she decided to spice things up a bit.
“That’s basically all you need to know, continue like that and you’ll be fine. And when I twirl-” She twirled under his arm again, evoking an ephemeral little smile from him. “Perfect! You can initiate them too, if you want, but it does make sense if I lead on this occasion.”
Neuvillette nodded. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands. Is there anything else?”
“Well, you’ve seen plenty of dance numbers,” Furina began, seizing the opportunity, pulse racing in anticipation. “You know what to do if I-”
Suddenly she leaned back, and with a gasp of alarm, Neuvillette caught her. The instant before he realised she had not, in fact, tripped and was instead, posed very intentionally, leg elegantly outstretched and pointed, felt like it lasted an age, all wide eyes and held breath and rushing adrenaline. Her successful experiment and the worry on his face made her laugh out loud, giggling with excitement as he returned her to her feet.
“What a reliable student you are~” She teased, not really sure where this attitude of hers had come from. He didn’t rise to the bait. Of course he didn’t. “That’s the last thing, I promise. Just don’t let me fall.”
“I won't."
* * *
The dance began. It was repetitive and slow and comfortable, a dance one could easily lose themselves in. A step left, and the other foot. A step right, and the other foot. Furina, aware that this could be her one opportunity to dance this scene with a partner, immersed herself in the minds of her characters, hoping that with someone else keeping her rhythm steady, she could finally find her way to the end.
* * *
Watching Furina's gaze settle on the middle distance, Neuvillette’s thoughts followed where hers led. This was not a dance of skill, she said, but of emotion. A dance of regret, of love, of farewell. Was he really capable of such a dance? But how could he doubt it – Furina must think him capable, or else, why would the star who never settled for less, settle for him? He recalled what she’d said earlier, about why she was in his office to begin with. The lawyer character she’d spoken of was similar to him, and while she became lost in the dance, he realised what she meant. A man who felt greatly but showed very little, wracked with emotion but bound by law, remaining behind while those he loved left. It wasn’t hard for him to understand what the dance meant to the lawyer, and not just in the way he knew the meaning of the words, regret, love, and farewell. It was that, with a little effort, he could feel them. And in a strange, empathetic way, the dance could almost mean the same to him, too.
* * *
The lawyer and the criminal dance slowly in the shadows, alone in the world. Their peace is momentary, it will fade as soon as morn breaks, but for this moment, it is eternal. A step left, and the other foot. A step right, and the other foot. They could have spent this time talking, airing out every secret they’d ever kept, every prayer they’d ever whispered, every regret that could no longer be undone. But why waste the night? The stars are beautiful: past the barred window, past the rooftops above. Let the stars hear our regrets instead, and let us thank them with a dance beneath their light. A step left, and the other foot. A step right, and the other foot. The criminal twirls under the lawyers arm. He smiles at her, and her at him. Such a comfortable dance, for the joy of dancing. For the love of their partner. For the first time, or the last time. She confessed to her crimes, he could not spurn the law. But even so... A step left, and the other foot. A step right, and the other foot. He cannot look at her. She watches him in concern, questions unasked, sympathy unspoken. The guilty party should not comfort the innocent. It is her fault they are here at all. He leans her back, her leg naturally extending in a perfect relevé lent. His hair falls around her, the girl safely held in his arms.
“Forgive me...” The lawyer whispers. “For my verdict.”
“There’s no need,” the criminal replies softly. “I am guilty.”
“But-”
“It is I who should be apologising... for going where you can't follow.”
The rain comes on suddenly, upon the streets, outside the cell. The rain comes, and, hidden behind the curtain of wet hair, she has her answer.
His eyes are soft, an expression she’s never seen before, and yet, one she knows with all her heart. It disappears when he closes his eyes, but she cannot regret its loss, for her eyes are closed as well, and they are so close that even if they opened them, they wouldn’t see anything at all.