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The ardent praise that the Cantatrix received was... anticlimactic.
Of course she would destroy the Doomtrain. Of course she and her company would clear the way for Milala's hometown, freeing them from the unearned strife of levin-tainted monstrosities. She was a hero all around. Their praise is not unfounded.
What all of the information that Calyx bestowed upon her, however, he lacked in one of utmost import.
She stands under the lamppost, observing and clutching onto the plushie that held her compatriots' soul within. A damnably adorable thing that, funnily enough, allowed her to peruse through the streets of Treno with relative ease. Odd glances here and there from the denizens were expected, but they are far better than ones balking in horror were she donning her robes.
And just as she got a gander of the selfsame appraisal and fanfare, she feels her veins run cold.
A pearly, iridescent eye shot up right at her. The mystical veil that she wore to obfuscate her face mattered not. They locked eyes; the dragonet had only one moment to get a good look at the au ra standing by while workers run to and fro in their clean-up expedition.
The chill freezing over her entire body in fear and trepidation gave way to her fleeing. She dared not to look back whatsoever in her escape—
Yet, she did not hear a rumored blade unsheathing, nor of whatever magicks and spells were withheld in the Cantatrix's arsenal. Instead, her pursuit was for something else all together.
"Miss! Ma'am! Wait- wait, please!"
Her gut says to keep going, running as fast as her vessel could conceivably carry her. Calyx himself even chided her to keep it moving. Halmarut could easily bark at her to go away, to leave her alone, but that'd put her in a further compromising position. She already knew this vessel she walked in stood out from the rest of the herd.
Yet, the woman... stops. She takes a quick glance at her surroundings. They made it much farther than she gave credit for, out of sight from everyone else…
"Oh, thank the stars! You run rather fast for an au ra, huh?"
This was it. This was it for the both of them. She practically sees the scalding glare Calyx was giving her from the plushie's lazy, immovable eyes. If the Cantatrix had a shard of auracite on her person, this would be all for naught.
"I was just wondering..."
She turns around to accept her fate. Winter will come, this is a certainty she holds, even after her untimely demise. There were still others to carry on the belated cause of the Paragons.
"Where did you get your dress?"
...Huh?
The many reports that were shared and relayed to her didn't detail this. Of her weaknesses, her maladies, her insanity, yes. Her strengths, the walking arsenal of knowledge she is, and her capabilities, too. Just not this.
"Uhm- ah- well..."
The dragonet then leans in, taking a closer look at both the dress and the stuffed toy she held. Halmarut swore she saw the woman locking eyes with the toy, a dapper baby blue squirrel reminiscent of the Mica mascot within Living Memory.
"Cute little guy," she smiles, giving it a pat. "Does it have a name?"
"Calliope!" Halmarut blurts out. "Its name is Calliope. He was bequeathed unto me...as a gift!"
Yes, because certainly that tone and inflection you had there makes it all believable, you dolt!
Vallaria stares at the named toy, staring just as intently as the soul within did. One was with a beguiled curiosity; the other with displeasure miring with disdain. Calyx knew she knew; this was a mere ruse.
"He's certainly got personality in the looks," Vallaria jests, chuckling to herself. Halmarut gave out a weak gasp in turn, disguising it as a nervous laugh of her own. It all caught up to her that she should answer the last question promptly and leave.
"But, ah, I almost forgot to answer your earlier query! 'Tis also a gift from my grandparents. They... they made me this," she lies, marking it up with a wistful sigh and a small smile that didn't quite reach the eyes. Her head bowing down as she took in the fashion choices that her vessel chose did enough to mask her intent.
"Awh... and here I thought I'd thought I would have a cute little dress for my collection," she huffs. There was a clear dismay in her little pout.
How did she not get anything about the Cantatrix's wanton of fashion? All this time that she's observed hither and there, she never heard tell of the woman catapulting into that strange obsession of elegance and frippery.
"I- I should be on my way, apologies. I do trust you can find other avenues of fashion—"
Her voice dies immediately in her throat as the dragonet grabs her arm. "Oh, we can go together! There are a few ateliers around in Solution Nine, as a start. There's been an upwards trend of "medieval" fashioning once again."
Zodiark help her, she's going to smite herself for this. Maybe the damned robes would be a better choice, next time around.
But this is another opportunity for... observation. This is a facet of the Cantatrix of Light that was seldom seen or noted about. Perhaps the closest that got to acknowledging this was Emet-Selch himself, but he merely remarked it as her being "vain".
Halmarut didn't sense that malicious vanity. The Cantatrix wished to share the whimsical joy of dress-up and fashion…
Then, she lets go of her arm, turning around with a sheepish look. "I... should also apologize. About that." She gestures vaguely to Halmarut's arm from the earlier grappling. "I got so excited I almost forgot to ask your name."
"H...Hildagarde," she settles with the faux identity. Certainly a far better choice than granting poor, little Calyx "Calliope". Too on the nose for even her tastes.
The dragonet grants her a broad smile, all giddy and full of mirth. "Well, Hildagarde, pleasure is mine to befriend you! I'm Vallaria. Now, it'll be a little ways away from here, but my friends won't mind!"
Damn her, damn her! She hadn't a clue how she could get herself out of this predicament. Nonetheless, she trudges on anyway, clutching tightly to the little plushie simulacra that scorns her even now in its apathetic silence.
We are truly in deep now, Calyx…