During The Early Stages Of Fall:

During the early stages of Fall:

Rafal: [through gritted teeth, tersely, shortly] You. Are annoying. Like a moth I just can't swat.

Rhian: Why?

Rafal: [grins slightly]

Rhian: [chokes out] Why?! [Rhian is agitated, aggrieved, becoming visibly more distressed.]

Rafal: [His grin widens.]

Rhian: Tell me! [even more stridently this time, frustrated]

Rafal: Point proven. It's self-demonstrative, you dunce.

⸻

Headcanon: Rafal is canonically mischievous, so I'd say he likes to tease and poke fun at Rhian and his Evers. He derives great fun from it, so much so that he's made a habit of winding Rhian up like only he (and Vulcan) know how to do. It's not always actually mean-spirited on his end though. He just finds pleasure in being mean unprovoked. It's all supposedly done in good humor, ribbing at Rhian, all the little, built up jabs and gibes over the centuries. And, he doesn't feel a jot of compunction, usually. Until those barbs get to Rhian's head. Then, he realizes he's dug his own grave.

Sometimes, he's a little satirical too, just to horrify the Evers with the worst of Evil's stereotypes, and continually reassert his own sense of superiority. Probably why Rufius says the Nevers are forced to sleep in wet beds, but it could easily be true. (It probably is.)

It's when Rafal is absent or silent that there's a brewing issue, a real cause for worry. That's often an indication that he and Rhian fought, and those arguments used to be petty before the prequel events came to pass. Still, Rafal holds onto grudges for far too long.

Facts about The One True School Master of Vault 41

Tedros and Japeth-related things would entail too many major spoilers, so this is probably all you’re getting for now:

Rafal confesses to Sophie that he breathed part of his soul into her toward the end of the second Great War.

Rafal reads his own obituary. And also sees the multitude of vandalism that accompanies it.

Rafal attends a rather depressing, actually, positively dismal Ever tea party. Agatha insults him, despite the fact that he has better table manners than her. They mock each other. And he chokes on his finger sandwich. (But, I suppose genocide weighs more on the morality scale, in terms of minor infractions and major transgressions that will send Pollux rolling in his grave like a roast pig on a spit over subjects which mustn’t be discussed at tea parties.)

Agatha unnecessarily feeds her savior complex and plays chaperone.

Sophie is fashionable and traumatized. Business as usual.

Agatha commits a burglary.

Rafal trains the Nevers in classical dance. (I promise it’s vaguely plot-relevant.)

Agatha trains the Evers for war.

Sophie performs an archival search and reads Fala and His Brother.

The fic is still largely unwritten, so things may be subject to change later on.

Reminds me of a particular scene from TOTSMOV41. It's something about the staging here, vaguely.

Alain Delon and Romy Schneider. March, 1961

Man's Fallibility & Immortality

I found a practically perfect song, by my interpretation, to add to my Rise to Fall playlist. (I haven't cleaned up/updated the playlist fully, so I'm not posting the whole thing yet, but I think this particular song warrants its own post.)

First, listen to the song: Nothing's New - Rio Romeo

Then, what follows below is something of a tragedy-analysis, abstract, meta-thing/omniscient prose narration experiment. I don't know what it is—an outpouring of thoughts. It may strike a similar chord as my narration at the end of Simony and its epilogue.

(Simony was a prediction fic I wrote before the publication of Fall. An extremely erroneous one though. I still think it could work, but oh, how wrong I was.

The direction Soman took the plot in, just, it was unpredictable, even if I did enjoy the book. I still like Rise better than Fall though, of the duology. If Rise had just ended at the point of: Vulcan is dead, Rafal tortures his students, and the brothers gradually learn to trust each other again, that would've been nice and comforting, honestly. But no, substitutes, substitutes, substitutes! On both sides. Drives me insane. Ack! But, I have four, short fics planned that have alternate endings to Rise and to Fall, to make up for it. Well, one of them is so far a little longer, three chapters long.)

If anyone wants me to analyze the actual lyrics more closely, I'm willing to do that too!

⸻

The tales.

They are all the same.

Good winning, Evil winning.

What difference does it make after centuries, really?

Everything probably feels numb and empty after a certain point.

Like nothing matters anymore.

Undiluted apathy after that certain point.

When? I've lost track.

When losses and victories all ring hollow, and all sound the same.

The End.

That's all It wrote.

The sum of lives distilled down to ink and illustrations.

Nothing beyond that. No life, no spark.

What more is there? When nothing will ever satisfy the restless souls, not even an Ending all to themselves.

Just pages that will yellow with time even if the stories themselves are timeless because nothing changes.

Nothing ever changes.

There's no evolution.

Every tale is the same.

It becomes nothing after nothing, not victory after victory, when you're ageless like we are.

And how, if that's how it is?

Why bother?

Why bother at all?

It's a cycle that continues, with or without the brothers.

Ceaseless.

So, why should it matter?

It's the same with or without them.

Their position was always ceremonial.

After a while, anyone becomes tiring. Anyone.

And one person just isn't enough, when you have no one else.

No one else to shield you.

It gets old. The love just... fades, and wears out.

Perhaps, human love can only span for so long, and that's why humans are mortal.

Made mortal, and no one should traverse beyond that.

It always leads to hubris, and then, a fall.

An unnatural fear of death trained into them, when limits were never set, when power was never checked, when they expected to have all the time in the world.

Nothing is built to last. At least, not by the Storian.

It does whatever it pleases.

You can't extend a life past its time.

It will always end in ruin. Isn't that the lesson the storybooks teach?

A cautionary tale.

Again and again, the cycle continues.

Every failed holy-grail of immortality, every spilled cup drawn from the fountain of youth, every cursed head of lettuce, every white snake, every chalice of sleeping draught that led to execution after execution, every baptism that succumbed to primordial wickedness, every impoverished fisherman's hovel?

Why not a tale about two brothers?

One where two are felled.

To caution against mortal greed that even immortality can't peel away.

To caution against always wanting more until you're left with nothing.

Nothing at all.

Just like how you can't truly resurrect anyone as who they once were, you can't revive the soul that a person once was.

And you can't play at being God because it defies the rules of nature.

And all that we know about transience and permanence and how ephemeral everything else is.

Everything but Man, who vies to leave a legacy wherever he goes, at any price, even at the cost of his soul, not life.

⸻

Now, I do wonder if I made anyone emotional? I certainly tried this time around, to be a provocateur like Soman is. Tell me what you think, if you want.

Excerpt from The One True School Master of Vault 41

This is the much briefer excerpt I said I would post since the last guessing game, the one in which Agatha and Rafal bicker. Also, this is from a draft, so the final version I eventually publish may be subject to change.

Congratulations @discjude! You've won yet again! I think you're really well-versed in TCY, or I'm predictable, haha.

⸻

"Can't you fly us up?" Agatha asked.

"I'm not a Stymph," Rafal shot back in a strained voice.

"Well, why not? You're cold, boney, and soulless."

Rafal looked highly affronted, and stepped forward, encroaching on Agatha at his full height. "You underestimate me, Agatha."

Agatha bristled, and took a step forward. "Mistral," she intoned, tension rising in her voice. "I know you're dead on the inside. I just wish your body matched."

Their fingerglows ignited, black and gold.

Sophie heated with embarrassment. Oh no, she thought. They were acting like toddlers! She had no desire to see Agatha's sharp tongue spar against Rafal's infamously caustic temper. "Aggie? Rafal? Why don't we get cleaned up?" she warbled hesitantly.

Agatha looked back guiltily, and Rafal spun to face her in silence.

She'd managed to defuse the situation, for now.

Rafal would say that.

Also letter openers. This applies to letter openers too. Almost anything can be an instrument of murder if you stab hard enough.

““Anyone who thinks the pen is mightier than the sword has not been stabbed with both.””

— -Lemony Snicket, When Did You See Her Last?