Chapter Text
It wasn't unusual in Ragunna to hear the occasional scandal or two. In fact, if one should hear such a commotion at seven in the morning, one ought to purchase a cup of fresh brew, sipping it intently while strolling by the source of disrest, most certainly not looking in that direction — of course, how uncouth it would be to interest one's self in the affairs of others — but getting their ears filled with the scoop of the latest nonsense.
It wasn't unusual, either, that people made odd claims from time to time. It wasn't unusual to hear the morning cries of "Blessed be Imperator!" or "By Imperator, please!" between the one who threw stick after stick at the one who ran away amidst the pelting to the shame of the coffee-drinking crowd. It wasn't unusual for the occasional daring soul to open their mouth with a cry that they were "misguided by the Divinity's voice", even though a year has long passed since Leviathan's downfall.
That being said, it was often common, and even within the Montellis, that when the question of parentage came about, people seemed as disinterested as they were when they were in that coffee drinking crowd. Everyone, indubitably, had their curiosity piqued by the promise of entertainment in news. Yet, ever so often, no one wanted to step forward to lay claim to the responsibility of the scandal. Yet, more often than not, none wished to admit their part to play in the blasphemous, the atrocious, or the sacrilegious. The Order's doctrine never truly reduced the wrongdoings of Ragunna, only that it saw to the nurturing of malice belying cowardice, and Carlotta has always felt indignant, in the very least, for the women who suffered at the brunt of these enforcements.
Children with no names for their last. Children who knew no man to be their father, who knew no shelter of paternal warmth, as the Padrino had offered upon her. Children who had to live with the fact that their father was already, without a doubt, a coward for not coming forth. Too prevalent does this happen in Ragunna, and the Montelli family often goes without exception, either. Some branches she has tidied in the past have had more bastards of the line that she had expected, more than she could count off her fingers.
For these, Carlotta swore, though she was largely certain she would not have the chance, to bear the responsibility for whatever her actions would be and would cause. As Executioner of the Montellis, or as Carlotta herself, she would always take responsibility.
It was what was deserved of her after all.
But, for now, same as always, she picks up her orange espresso in a glass of her crystals, specially for her to drink on the go; and, two streets down, it seems another man is having sticks pelted at him again.
Zani did not always think herself to be the responsible type. This was, after all, common knowledge between her and her employer, whenever Carlotta felt the urge to acknowledge her incredible, inevitable bearing of other's workload. As one of Montelli's most capable employees, sometimes the irony was not lost on her to remember she'd first started out as their client, perhaps, when they tidied her messes for her and were almost at the receiving end of a causal link stemming from her tardiness. A time when she made more mistakes than salvaged the mistakes of her own, much less of others.
Her waist watch ticks, quietly, while Margherita hums a soft tune, brewing her coffee. An easy morning fix, a cup of double strength coffee and an energy drink crushed in one swig. Something convenient to eat, while she fixed her collar in the nearest reflective surface. While she practised a smile and watched it sink into the eye bags that were going to consume her face one day as they did with her eyes, permanently lining exhaustion into its lids. There was no need for any customer-service, award-winning smile. She'd never made the qualification for the front desk, anyway. Not when they scoped her straight from the Black Alley, and slapped praise onto her affinity for…getting into fights.
"Off to work, Miss Zani?" Margherita grins at her, and the coffee isn't quite as hot as she expected, though with the shouts a few streets away she imagines Margherita must not have been as focused as she was with the coffees, and the people who were suddenly less interested in collecting their breakfast orders or their demanded coffees. "Can't catch a break, even after the Divinities' downfall?"
"Miss Carlotta is very serious about improving Ragunna's welfare." That much is true, at least, but it constantly amuses her that her current work still involves recovering valuable pieces that went missing amidst the fight for dawn. As though once people knew that Rinascita might be doomed for a collective hive mind, their first thought was about how Averado Vault's defences were redirected to keeping everyone alive, so they should totally steal from the Montelli collection.
Zani hasn't seen Carlotta polish her guns very often for a while now, before the fight for dawn, but perhaps some part of this is amusing to Carlotta when she handles the bigger cases above Zani's pay grade. And, at the very least, it is in the slightest bit amusing for her to hunt down these people, to witness the moment it dawned upon them that yes, their actions in the crisis had counted and had their own consequences, too.
"Well, we don't thank you heroes enough for Ragunna's dawn." Margherita simply laughs. "But rest assured that we see what you do for Ragunna — and that our faith is ever in the efforts of those who strive to polish the future of Ragunna."
"Thank you." Reckon she might be late for work if she pops by the route the man might take, following the shouts and screams so far away from her?
Lady Carlotta would understand, if she was late. Great responsibilities rest upon her shoulders, after all. Her shoulders, stained brown by her last sip of coffee, the cup kicked into the air while she groans, though her hand clamping on the man's shoulder is more than enough to bring him down to his knees in a terrified squeal and some rather loud cracks.
"This uniform is new, ugh…"
So much for always trying to be responsible.
"Lady Cartethyia!"
Admittedly, it had been rather uncomfortable returning to the holdings of the Order, after all her years and lived experience. To see the mix of the masterminds and the innocent, to see the past and the present of Ragunna which she had missed, in outrageous rule after rule, amendment after amendment.
After all, it still remains more than just a simple problem or challenge, to put aside the part of her she had not wanted to relent nor relinquish. Every time she calls forth upon that power, that authority and righteousness, she relives the creeping of a second skin under her skin, the weariness set forth after years of endless struggle, torture from the mind-eating torment of words that were so convincing, yet heresy she could not believe. The years of a moment, the moment of decades. The years in which she neither existed in Ragunna's present, nor did Ragunna's present exist to her, she who used herself as a vessel, to hold back the Dark Tide, False Divinity.
As Fleurdelys, it was undeniable that she'd had too many shackles. Too much weight upon her shoulders, too much pressure with each word spoken, each syllable pronounced and heard. The tip of her sword could not waver, and yet its weight had pinned beneath the consequences that would come with every easy swing of its blade. As Fleurdelys, she was governed by the doctrine, but the doctrine seemed to mock her with every returning reference unto her behaviour. As Fleurdelys, she bore the responsibility of safekeeping Ragunna's future, even if it meant that her life would be the stakes upon which she traded, self over state.
But it's quaint to sometimes remember the days even older, when she'd had lesser qualms about etiquette, manners, and whatever saintly disposition was required of her stature, posturing grandeur for all of Ragunna. It's quaint to remember the best way to drink Nectarwine, to remember that she'd drunk enough of it as it was when she'd stumbled to consume the ceremonial offerings, danced to her heart's content, only to be rewarded by the damning laurel of the Divinities, the label which peeled away the life she'd had. It's amusing to flip through versions of the Codex so familiar to her yet so outdated they remain deep and dusty in archives, to hear again how the world saw her first as Cartethyia, in her recklessly carefree days.
That responsibility, as Fleurdelys, will not be hers to shoulder again. That carefree life she'd led as Cartethyia prior, is yet not hers to live again.
As is the new dawn that rises with Ragunna, there are new responsibilities for her to take on, as a Wandering Knight to the people of Rinascita whom she serves most righteously, and responsibly…or at least a little more ostensibly so, while Phoebe comes running to her, buried under a stack of papers.
"I need your help on these few revisions, there's been a bit of protests from the others…"
"Good morning, Shifu."
"Good morning, Jinhsi. Have you rested well?"
"Mm."
That Mm. sounded like a certain someone spent the whole night up, again. Despite the bodyguard's blindness, Sanhua seems to be able to sense the Counsellor's gaze landing upon her, when in return she offers the tiniest of nods.
Clearly, Jinhsi hasn't gotten a wink of sleep at all.
And, clearly, as someone who's walked her path before, Changli would know, by heart, even when blindfolded, the sheepish look of someone running off excess adrenaline and the flighty attention of sleep deprivation.
"Well," Her pause is for nothing, when her smile adds insult to injury. "That, Jinhsi, is unfortunately the look of a bad liar who has stayed up all night reviewing documents that could have waited a night more. This is the second night you've skipped out on rest, Jinhsi, is it not?"
"Shifu…"
"Well, here are your options, Madam Magistrate." Changli holds up a single finger. "Either, you heed your dear old mentor's advice, and head back for a good rest before the afternoon meeting. Or, you snooze in the meeting in the afternoon, right in front of those picky men who love only to squabble, and I will watch the meeting from the comfort of the sidelines while they hound you for your attitude, Magistrate Jin."
"Shifu—"
"Two options, Jinhsi."
"I will take a nap for two hours."
"Three."
"Two hours, Shifu…"
"Five and no less." The rest of her fingers unfold. "Or I will not wake you up before the meeting, and that will certain make equally as much a fuss."
"Sanhua—"
"Sanhua agrees with me on this." When will Jinhsi ever learn? Her bodyguard nips her lip quietly, torn between her loyalty and her concern for the Magistrate she's ever so loyal to, but the bodyguard finally settles for a glance in the opposite direction, appearing very busy by whatever she cannot see, that they know she cannot see. "Well, Jinhsi? It'll only be a quarter past noon by the time you wake up. More than enough time for you to revise the documents again."
"Alright, Shifu…I will…"
But Jinhsi will never learn. Her tutee is much like her in that concern, the resolve to push through any and every adversity, to power on like a lamp running on infinite levels of fuel. But at a point where even dear old blind Sanhua can see that Jinhsi is burnt out, there would be no point in shouldering responsibilities like her life depended on them. The city would not fall because their magistrate took a five hour rest. Even as it was, Jinhsi never seemed to sleep deep enough for any emergency to happen while she rested. There had been once where an alarm had sounded, and quaintly enough, Changli had rushed there at the exact moment as her tutee, surprisingly in sync, prompt and the first at attention.
Old habits die hard, after all. Though she has not as long to live as a normal Resonator might, though she has not as long to live as to thoroughly admire the beauty of every part of Huanglong she's fought so hard to improve, nurture, and protect, it is only this body full of bad, old habits that she's dragging to her grave with her, ridding the last bit of malignance with her even at her end.
Responsibility can be as much bane as boon, after all. It's a lesson she'd learnt early on, and continues to witness, even while she makes herself cosy in the corner of the library, sipping out of a small flask of tea she'd snuck in with her.
“But Lady Cantarella, are you sure?”
"Secrecy won't do me any better, Sebastian, and I shan't waste my efforts for something that will ultimately not be benefitting to anyone at all."
"But are you sure you wish for me to…spread the rumours, Lady Cantarella?"
"With how things are," The matriarch sighs. "I fear that only those who come running upon the rumours are the ones whom I may depend upon with the truth."
After all, only the utterly responsible would come forth upon hearing such news.
"Have you heard the rumours!? The 36th Matriarch of the Fisalias…may be with child!"