2022-10-28: The Power of Kings
- Cast: Sophia Mayhew Castellan, Cornelia li Britannia
- Where: The Capital Palace, Nagoya
- Date: U.C. 0096 10 28
- Summary: After commissioning Princess Artemisia for a seemingly trivial manhunt, Sophia is summoned before the Viceroy of Area 11 to reveal her secrets. She has more than Cornelia expected. A door opens that neither can close.
<Pose Tracker> Cornelia li Britannia has posed.
Cornelia li Britannia does not believe in fate.
Fate is a construct. Fate is a crutch. It is the delusion that those who fail cling to, to absolve themselves of their failures.
'Some things are simply meant to be.'
'There wasn't any helping it.'
'There's nothing we could have done.'
No. Cornelia spits on fate. Her upbringing does not allow her to do any less.
But if there ever was such a concept as fate -- its gift for cruelty truly knows no limits.
The palace of Cornelia li Britannia is not a thing that affords much in the way of excess that was not there before. It is, in part, an inheritance; it once belonged to the previous Viceroy of Area 11, Clovis la Britannia, and Cornelia refused to have anything changed upon her assuming the position. Any attempts to persuade her to make her own mark on the Government Borough wash harshly rebuked. The reason was twofold:
This was not a position Cornelia li Britannia intended to keep. And...
... she would not dare dishonor her late brother by wiping out the memory of him. The palace would endure, exactly as it was, until all trace of resistance was crushed. That would be Cornelia's tribute. Her vengeance. For Clovis. And, for...
...
The palace may be mostly unchanged, but it is still -immense-. It is the entirety of the Government Borough, dominating the very center of Nagoya with its very central tower looming high above all else to remind everyone across the entirety of the city just what their lot in life is. Sophia Mayhew Castellan's arrival is expected, however, and she need not navigate the entirety of this sprawling estate on her own. Two of the Glaston Knights, Edgar and David Darlton, are there to receive her and whatever entourage she has brought with her. They note, however, that the Viceroy is only accepting a private audience today; anyone else will have to wait for their Captain's return.
The path is long and scenic, and takes them towards the rooftops of that central tower -- all of it designed from the ground up, from the lavish water fixtures to the white stone pathways -- to the flourishing gardens of blooming, verdant flowers -- to resemble the grand estate of Aries Villa back in Pendragon. Clovis wanted it that way. And so it remains.
And at the central, grand plaza of this palatial rooftop is the Viceroy of Area 11 herself: dressed in a simple, deep red doublet, black riding pants, knee high boots and a small white capelet draped over her left arm, Cornelia is a woman immersed in violence and conflict. This is true in a figurative sense.
It's also true in a literal sense, as she fends off a swarm of training drones with the flash of her (gun)sword and flurry of movement, the ground littered with the sparking metal husks of at least half a dozen that have come before. She weaves between rubber bullets, carving through one after the other with uncanny precision and narrowed, indigo eyes. She looks focused.
But one can feel the cold, controlled rage of her. A fact that becomes underscored when the last of those drones manages to ricochet a bullet off her back. She lurches. Spins. Fires off a single shot into its dead center. The thing falls from the sky.
Sophia is brought in just about towards the end of this training exercise, as Cornelia approaches the sputtering, sparking drone -- and then just unloads the entirety of her weapon's clip into the thing until even the sparking stops.
Some people have different ways of coping and grappling with seismic shifts in their lives.
This is Cornelia's.
<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
The Captain does arrive with part of her senior staff - mostly her Flag wing commander, the tall and muscular Almace Laurent, a dark-skinned woman who seems all but carved from stone for all her face retains a permanent stern expression. Her XO, Amata Kole, is of course babysitting the Hyperion, and her other personal confidant, Desmond Siege, serves as the captain-pilot of the escort ship Helios, which is on patrol alongside Hyperion. But she thought Major Laurent would enjoy the experience of the Palace, to say nothing of the company - and perhaps a bit of sim time - with Cornelia's personal knights. Sophia, though...has a private audience to attend. She arrives with her personal rifle, having been advised a bit of sport is in order. The stock is sticking out over her shoulder from a holster slung across her back. It has, of course, already been thoroughly assessed by Palace security. She stands by, watching the display as Cornelia makes war. Sophia doesn't need her Geass or Newtype powers either to tell that Cornelia is more than slightly upset at something, which is generally a poor start to a meeting.
She draws up to the edge of the field as Cornelia opens fire into a sparking, defeated enemy. The marksman in Sophia is impressed she managed to get the power supply with shots like that; the Captain in her is concerned about what sort of audience this is going to be, after all; and the Britannian is just slightly concrned she's about to get thrown off the rooftop, with the Viceroy in a state like this.
She glances aside to her escorting knight, nodding her gratitude, and then steps forth. "Your Highness," she says, summoning attention to herself. "I, Commander Sophia Mayhew Castellan, have arrived from Hyperion as summoned."
A formality, but that's what one does with the royals. Her eyes remain on the drone for several seconds before sliding up to the Princess above it. "Torrington?" she guesses, because everyone's mad about Torrington lately.
<Pose Tracker> Cornelia li Britannia has posed.
That last drone matches its brethren, decorating the pristine grounds of the palatial rooftop Clovis had put so much care and time into. Part of Cornelia wishes he had put so much consideration into the governing of this region and its people. But it was never Clovis' place. He was ill-suited for this position.
And ultimately, he paid the price for it.
It's a thought that's been coming up to the forefront of Cornelia's mind of late. Clovis. Family. And it's there as she hears - feels - the approach of someone behind her. Sweat drips off the tip of her nose as Cornelia reloads her ornate, hybrid weapon. She does not turn to face Sophia quite yet. Wiping her gloved hand across her face and feeling the aching protest at her shoulder as she does, she reaches for a small device at her ear, pressing it with a soft hum and a blue glow.
"Another round," she instructs, her voice firm. Unamused. Tense. Perhaps not good signs. "Increase the reaction speed before you prepare the next wave. These move like a pack of sputtering dullards; I am not here to be coddled."
Sophia nods to her escort; the loyal knight of Glaston gives a customary Britannian salute before excusing himself -- this, apparently, is not an event for formalities and heralding.
Whether that is a good thing or not is another question.
And so it is as Sophia calls attention to herself with that greeting that Cornelia looks over her shoulder, considering the Hyperion's captain with that sharp, indigo stare.
"Commander. Have you ever been to Aries Villa?"
An abrupt question, maybe. But it's also not one lingered on, overlong. After all, Sophia has a guess she would like to venture:
Torrington?
That stare narrows fractionally.
"No." For once, it is -not- about Torrington. At least, not directly. The violet-haired Second Princess turns to face Sophia fully now, sheathing her sword as her gaze falls upon the rifle at the woman's back.
"Join me, Commander. We will make sport of it. And perhaps as we do you may answer some questions that have been pressing upon me of late."
By tone alone it is not necessarily what one would call 'a request.' But then... that's just the nature of the beast, with Cornelia.
<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
"Once. A social occasion, as I recall," Sophia says, looking around. "I remember it more for my mother's pride in the day than anything I recall myself. I was quite young." But the tone suggests she heard about it QUITE often for a while.
Not Torington. Interesting. ...also not a little worrying. Then again...
Sophia recently spoke with Artemisia and revealed something quite serious about herself. She wonders how far gossip spreads among the high princesses.
"As you wish," Sophia says. With the sword sheathed, she of course does not draw her own weapon immediately, but accepts the request, stepping forward, tugging her white gloves at the hem to tighten them up just a bit. "Of course, I am happy to answer any question you may have."
It wasn't a request and Sophia answers it like she expects she wouldn't have a choice anyway, neutral and clipped.
Neither, perhaps, has slipped their masks just yet. Sophia certainly hasn't.
<Pose Tracker> Cornelia li Britannia has posed.
Once.
"I see."
Cornelia seems like she might just leave it at that, and whatever the meaning behind her question was will simply languish in obscurity, ever-unremarked upon by the stoic princess. Except... except a handful of seconds pass.
And violet lips part.
"My brother Clovis was very fond of the Villa; we would often play in the gardens when we were younger. Me, my sister... and our siblings, who would be lost to us when our war razed so much of this land to the ground. I believe he was homesick, in a way, coming all the way out here from the sanctity of Pendragon. All of this," her gloved hand sweeps out, towards everything around them, amid the wreckage of the drones. "... was his attempt to bring a piece of home to a faraway land. Perhaps he thought that Lelouch and Nunnally could find peace if he brought the gardens they loved to the land that stole them away from us."
It's a sentimental thought from the Princess -- and one that, strangely or not, she almost immediately scoffs at, as if wryly entertaining some private, sardonic joke.
"... Foolish."
Whatever the context, as Sophia accepts her pretense of an invitation, Cornelia rests her hand upon her weapon, looking towards the launch bays as drones are loaded in, one after the other.
"Good. We will keep a tally, then. The victor shall receive a spoil of their choosing."
Cornelia lets Sophia prepare herself, before the round can commence. Five, six, seven... a dozen drones ready themselves. Britannia if nothing else has the great benefit of a ludicrous runaway military budget.
And as they begin to activate, Cornelia speaks again, gaze held fixedly forward as her stance widens in preparation.
"I do not believe in ambushing my subordinates, Commander. It is petty and small. So I will do you the same courtesy and arm you with this foreknowledge before you answer any of my questions: I have had the scales fall off my eyes to a number of crude deceptions of late, and as such my tolerance for them is as scant as it can ever be. Do not treat me the fool, and I will provide the same courtesy to you."
Otherwise...
"Tell me about your family, commander."
And just as she makes that request, the drones fly in a wild, blooming swarm, suppression guns at their underbelly swiveling at the ready. Whoever received that order to tweak their response time took it to heart. They are -fast-.
The joys of a ludicrous, runaway military budget.
<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
...a deeply personal story. She follows the Princess' hand as it signals the grounds, catching first on the shattered drones, but second on the greenery. She lacks the Truly Comical resources of the Royal Family, but she's seen what they have to pay her gardeners. The expenses to maintain a place like this must be obscene.
Foolish, Cornelia calls it. Sophia does not comment, eyes drifting instead to the main building itself for a few moments.
Then her gaze returns to the present. Sophia, being the one with a ranged weapon, draws it, and from the nearby supply, loads it with training ammunition, then a few more into a reserve supply. She...still hasn't smiled, not even an attempt to build herself up for the coming exertions. Her face is a neutral mask. That's not uncommon, but, there's a...blankness to her.
When Cornelia...doesn't threaten, but does indicate impatience while holding a sword, even then she simply dips her eyes down with strictly formulaic deferentiality. "I see," is her breathed response.
Tell me about your family. Pull, at the same time.
She whirls. Her Geass burns immediately but these little piles of algorithms don't have Bonds the way her Power of Kings knows them. It mostly serves to distract her with the sprawling tapestry of Cornelia's own connectedness. She shuts it off and simply aims, instead, sighting along the length of her rifle.
She's not from the Sniper Corps, but she's a marksman just the same: a shot zeroes in on a drone within seconds.
"My mother is a cold woman," she says, first. "Ambitious. Hungry. She married in, of course. She's long led the family around by the nose. The type who will slap you twice in the face and demand you thank her for her work."
She whirls, fires; this one misses widely, but discourages a drone's flight path while she edges nearer. She lowers the weapon and skips backward, naval boots sliding along flawless brickwork. While still in motion she pulls the weapon up again, aiming a third time. "My father was born to the family. Very proud of the family. Our hair is from him. They say it goes all the way back to the Isles. But he's not a strong man. Not in a way that can resist a wife with an agenda."
"And then myself. On paper," interesting clarification, "the sole child and heir to the family."
Her gun lowers, just slightly, and her attention drifts to Cornelia long enough to get her pelted by three different suppression shots, forcing her to hiss and take to a run. This one she takes *toward* a drone. She aims, but the shots mostly corner its movement.
"But that preface of yours...since you asked....!"
She plants her foot and there's suddenly far more animation in her entire posture as she flips her gun in hand and, grabbing it by the barrel in those white gloves, spins it around to slam the stock into a drone and send it careening.
"I had a sister," she says, and it's the first time she's sounded like she had a soul in her body all day. "She was a strange girl who could hear your thoughts from the other end of the house and nobody knew what to do with her, but I loved her all the same."
She turns again. Aims again.
She can't see through the tears. She blinks fiercely, paws at her eye with the heel of her hand.
"And then our witch of a mother decided to sell arms to the Colonies at the height of the Titans' power and when she was caught, decided to sell my sister into their gnarled clutches rather than finally taste the sting of the lash for once in her miserable life!" she screams, and then just...stops moving.
Her weapon lowers, her shoulders shaking.
Seconds pass. The drones seem to be attempting to parse if she's giving up for some reason; after several hits, they stop firing. "...Ma'am," she says, as if entering the room. She says it in the voice of a ghost, and her face goes blank as a slate before she draws her weapon up again.
<Pose Tracker> Cornelia li Britannia has posed.
There is nothing more important to Cornelia li Britannia than family.
It is painfully clear, and painfully distracting, even in the most cursory of ignitions of that Geass. The web of Cornelia's life is a supernova of bonds one might not expect from the woman called Witch. Her subordinates - Andreas Darlton, Guilford, the Glaston Knights, even those beneath them - can all be accounted for.
But none shine brighter than family.
Everything blooms from the central figure that is Euphemia li Britannia, blinding in her all-encompassing importance. But there's two more there, radiating with a fresh significance that begins to rival hers.
A young boy with black hair and violet eyes.
A girl with sandy brown hair, blind and bound to a wheelchair.
There and gone in a flash as the commander and the princess face down the legitimately cold swarm of drones before them.
The drones are fast. They are aggressive. The time to talk is precious; it makes every word important. Maybe Cornelia planned it that way.
Maybe she simply gains no satisfaction from things that do not properly challenge her.
In the wise words of the ancients of the Dark Ages: why not both?
Either way, the Viceroy's gunsword is out with an impeccable flourish, her grace one borne of absolute efficiency. Cornelia was raised on war, and it shows; she wastes nothing in her movements as she engages her enemies for the evening, and she affords not a second's hesitation in her attack. Suppressive fire unleashes, only for the violet-haired woman to dive into a roll -just- past it.
She is carving her first drone in twain with a rippling spark-sputter-crash of the dying machine by the time Sophia has shot down her first.
The Castellan matriarch is first. Sophia calls her cold. Cornelia on the other hand sees Britannia in the genetics of the woman Sophia describes. But...
"Only the feeble rest on the laurels of others."
This is not really a kind sentiment in and of itself, but she doesn't hide her disdain for this particular expression of Britannian culture regardless.
Another shot; it misses, but Cornelia sees the intent of it. She is moving while Sophia aims anew, baiting two drones with the deliberate aggression of her movements. The first turns. The second advances. Both aim.
Cornelia swings in a wide roundhouse of a kick that hooks into one drone, knocking it into the path of the other's fire. Rubber bullets riddle and ricochet, doing enough damage to leave the thing a sputtering, wobbling wreck. Cornelia takes the opening, completing the spin of her movement by planting her heel into the ground, pointing her barrel at the second drone, and firing before it can spool up a second shot.
Both fall to the ground as she speaks of her father. Proud, but spineless.
Prey; it is the only way that Cornelia can see it. Compared to her own father...
"..."
And then, Sophia. The only child. 'On paper,' she clarifies.
Breath huffing past violet lips, Cornelia is a woman in her element -- a woman who looks like a tempest aching for release.
She feels eyes on her, and that indigo gaze turns the redheaded commander's way with a knowing sort of stare seconds before that distraction costs Sophia a price extracted in pain.
Sophia moves for a more direct approach. There is a glimpse of approval in Cornelia's gaze.
'I had a sister.'
For the first time, there are cracks in the veneer of Sophia's outwardly stoic appearance. It's a crack that Cornelia knows all too well, cracks that make her brows furrow, her lips thin in a way that is hard to properly describe in the brief flare of sentiments behind it. After all... nothing is more important to her than family. ... Nothing is more important than her sister.
Sophia vents her anger not in violence but in words. Her weapon lowers. The drones fire. And fire. And fire. And stop. Sophia's weapon draws up--
And Cornelia's blade spears through the closest of those drones seconds before its gun begins to spin up another round on the redhead, as if calling a violent timeout. Cornelia doesn't look at the machine as it sparks and smokes around her blade. Her attention is on Sophia as she -yanks- that weapon out of the machine to let it fall. Her sister. -Sold off-. Like -cattle-. And...
"... I've... been made aware you contracted my sister Artemisia to look for a unit you encountered at Torrington," she says, past her steadying breaths. Violet hair mats against her face as she stares at Sophia with that same, brow-furrowed expression, ignoring the drones for now. Perhaps to her peril; she doesn't care.
"A rogue machine of Zeon make. You believe it is your sister. Don't you?"
<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
How different might Sophia's opinion of her mother be, if not for the core of anger that just leapt from her tongue? Indeed, she does sound like a Britannian through and through. A canny, cunning woman who knows to prey on those who cannot resist her. The sort of woman who could have carved for herself out quite a tidy personal domain of her own. Perhaps, with stature like the Castellans, become the lieutenant in a yet larger, world-shaking game. For that matter, who might Sophia have been, if circumstance had not driven hate's wedge between them?
But that is the cost of failure. A personal empire in tatters. A family, estranged in all directions. An heir that has to be ordered to even talk about her, let alone listen to her long enough to learn her lessons. A lineage facing its end. Even in Britannia, one must temper their avarice with wisdom.
Sophia's doing an admirable job working herself into combat stance after that small breakdown when Cornelia interrupts, jabbing into her field of view and her thoughts both. It throws off whatever meditative practice she was using to blank her emotions, yielding a sight of widened eyes and surprise-parted lips.
Several seconds pass, slow breath as those clear blue eyes meet piercing violet. What to say? It's not like she made it a secret to Artemisia. The story is as good as out. Why is she worried? It's not her secret. She's wanted to shout it from the mountaintops for years.
But still. Though she loathes them, it does feel strange to so openly defy the secret her life has been built around.
"I do," she says, finally.
<Pose Tracker> Cornelia li Britannia has posed.
With a crash, the drone falls to the white stone ground. Its gun snaps off, but the rest otherwise remains intact; if nothing else, Britannia puts care into making sturdy weapons.
Cornelia kicks the dying thing aside to roll pathetically towards the edge of the lush gardens beyond as her focus squares entirely on the G-Hound officer before her.
The cost of failure. The Castellans aren't the first Britannian story of a family of outsized ambitions that paid for a foolish choice. Some suffered the same fate for decisions far more innocuous... like backing the wrong branch of royalty. She can't help but think of the Ashfords. Can't help but think of one simple fact: they -knew-. And kept it from them. Kept it from -her-. As a bargaining chip? As a ploy to reap a return to their former stature?
Cornelia simply can't see the world any other way than the one that has been drilled into her, and it lends a seething undercurrent to that indigo gaze in the seconds before Sophia's answer comes.
'I do.'
An indigo gaze that narrows the second she answers.
Violet lips part. "I--"
Whereupon, the drones prove that, just as requested, they care not even for a princess' attempt at violent timeouts as one rips a volley of highly pressurized rubber rounds across Cornelia li Britannia's back. Her eyes widen briefly, the beginning of a sound of pain choked to nothing in a single moment as she lurches forward and collapses onto her knee. She feels her ribs protest painfully with her next suck of breath.
And she steadfastly ignores it as she -springs-, hitting ground in a roll before swinging her weapon up to fire a single round into the machine that assaulted her.
The remnants are still coming swift. All the same, though...
"... And how could you be so convinced of that?" All the same, Cornelia has questions, and she has no interest in being denied by anything, whether it by drones or secrecy.
"After so many years apart, with nothing more than a lone sighting of some straggling relic of a past war--" With Sophia having -no- recorded past history of those inexplicable gifts of Newtypes and their quantum brained ilk--
"-- how do you -know- well enough to set my sister upon this chase?"
<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
Indeed. How? Sophia has endured in silence - for years, for the beginning of a potentially lofty career that has already seen her progress from pilot to squad leader to ship captain. So it's not like she's been champing at the bit. Certainly the woman who reveals herself behind the mask is fiery. Angry, even. But IMPATIENCE does not appear to be in her nature. She would not engage such services as she has without, at least, certainty.
When the drones break up their time out, Sophia appears to have recovered herself enough that Cornelia returning to the fight also returns Sophia. She swings her gun up and has a drone out of the air in less than a second. Works the action, swings on a heel, down on one knee to throw off tracking and down goes a second. This is a uniquely poor situation for Sophia. She'd handle living partners far better. She has Britannian combat training, certainly, but her specialties lean away from this kind of mid-range fray. Certainly on her feet.
So in other words, her goal on the training level is merely not to embarrass herself too badly, rather than any hope of true victory. That, of course, is further hampered by the fact that Cornelia is currently asking her to unburden her soul.
She humphs. "I suppose you'd not believe me if I said I simply sensed her," she says. Sights. Fires. Lowers her weapon to charge away, then drops to a slide that causes a drone to fire wildly into her cape of a coat. She rolls behind a fence. "Very well. It's my own secret to divulge. I swear to you, what I say now is the truth."
"When I was old enough, I began investigating my sister's path myself. With the Titans gone it was a...challenge, but I found my way eventually."
She levels over it, sights. Fires. She's a good shot, at least. She's eliding details she might normally not skip because can't afford to run out of breath. So this is the kind of trick a royal is capable of, part of her notes. "Augusta. Where else would a talented young girl be sent?"
Her jaw sets. Without the need for that plastic mask of perfection, the woman that emerges is cold from anger rather than disinterest. Fiery from a permanent blaze burning the edges of her soul away. "I did find records, in that ruin. Records that implied she was destroyed in that place. ...I don't remember the next few hours very well."
A drone comes around the corner toward her. She takes it out with her rifle's butt again.
"That night, a man came to me. A boy, really. He told me he would give me the power I need to grant my wish. He didn't ask for anything. Like my hate and desperation were merely a game."
She looks down at the silenced drone at her feet. "I had nothing. I accepted. ...perhaps I sold my soul that night."
She knows Cornelia can't see it but she pulses her Geass anyway and looks straight at her, watching the strands unfurl again. Her knights. Her sister Euphemia. The two she doesn't know. A thread that she might not recognize if not for her previous dealings with Milly Ashford - a tether between them and a third entity. The Ashford Family itself, likely. Nascent but growing."
"I suppose that's not your concern. What he did to me that night I can only call magic. He called it the Power of Kings. Geass. It isn't quantum brainwaves. I can see...connections. The threads of bonds that pile one on another to form a human soul."
A drone comes up behind Cornelia and Sophia swings her gun up, blowing it away. Her eyes are clear and focused. This is no delusion. This is no madness. "Why am I certain, Princess? Because on that battlefield, filled with men and women from across the world...fighting a ghost that should've been tied to every living human soul, a connection between myself and that suit outshone them all. I can draw only one conclusion."
<Pose Tracker> Cornelia li Britannia has posed.
'I suppose you'd not believe me if I said I simply sensed her.'
"Making my stance on half-hearted deceits clear was for -your- continued well-being, commander."
Well, at the very least, Cornelia makes herself perfectly clear.
She also knows the value of strategy -- and the importance of setting the terms and conditions of a battlefield well in advance, no matter what that battlefield may well be. The current situation works in her favor. It forces efficiency. It forces answers that have little time for consideration and thus are that more honest.
And more than that, it throws Cornelia deep into the heart of the element she is most comfortable - most alive - in.
That it has other benefits she is as yet unaware of, well -- that's just serendipity at work.
Not that she does not pay for a moment of distraction she knew full well the price of; for the Second Princess, the pain is all too worth it. Heaving out panting breaths, Area 11's Viceroy is swift to drag herself back up onto her feet as Sophia delves into the past. She swears to the truth. Cornelia's sharp stare narrows; she has learned to be skeptical of those who have not proven themselves to her personally.
... But she's also learned to value the word of those who have above all others.
So, Sophia explains. And Cornelia moves, weaving through gunfire from the drones as the redheaded G-Hound officer fires into the encroaching remnants of drones, taking one down. The smooth swipe of her blade cleaves into the underbelly of a drone flying overhead; it screams sparks as it crashes into the one done in by the butt of Sophia's rifle.
Augusta. A deep frown settles at Cornelia's lips. No -- she knows of that place, where fools decided to play god. Her disdain for Newtypes is utterly eclipsed by her disgust for Newtype Labs like Augusta. She knows exactly what happens, in places like that.
She knows exactly what must have happened to Sophia's sister, in places like that.
She says nothing, though. She listens in silence as the arc of her sword leads her towards a graceful flourish, capelet billowing outward from her shoulder as that indigo stare affixes upon the redhead as her tale turns towards the unusual. Cornelia's brows furrow. Her expression curdles towards incredulity, lips peeling back as Sophia invokes something that sounds like fantasy to her ears.
'The Power of Kings.' 'Geass.'
"What boy? Do you expect me to simply listen on to such a ridiculous farce--"
Sophia's gun swings in her direction. Cornelia's gaze widens, and then narrows. Sophia fires off her round --
--and at the same time, Cornelia lifts her weapon in Sophia's direction and squeezes the trigger.
The electromagnetic hiss faintly fills the air.
... and in its aftermath, Cornelia's eyes are still on Sophia, her expression unreadable as a drone behind her drops...
... and a drone behind Sophia collapses at the same time in twin, cacophonous crashes.
"..."
They mark the last of the drones. All that remains is Cornelia and Sophia, the violet-haired princess' weapon still raised, her expression one of pensive intensity as it searches Sophia's. She sees that clarity. But more importantly...
... she sees the cold burn of that anger that feels so very familiar. She recognizes that look. And recognition strikes a cord in her.
How would she feel in similar circumstances? How -did- she feel? ...
Cornelia does not lower her weapon, but she does pull it back with the bend of her elbow as she stares at Sophia.
"... I have questions. They are numerous and they will receive answers," she says past every heavy breath of exertion. "But for right now you will answer one last one for me, Castellan. You are certain that your 'Power of Kings,'" she has -so many- questions and she really -can't- keep the slight contempt out of her voice for anyone having the sheer audacity to name their god-forsaken gifts as the Power of Kings-- "have pointed you in the right direction. I don't doubt the look in your eyes." The anger, most of all.
"... But if Artemisia finds her - if YOU find her - and find that she serves the enemy..."
A Jagd Doga is a mobile weapon she is intimately familiar of the history of, after all. A part of her wonders: if she learned Lelouch or Nunnally were her enemies--
"... what will you do?"
... What would she do?
<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
The drones meet their final end.
They find themselves weapons raised...it's training rounds, of course. Even if she fired, she'd not hurt the Viceroy.
Unless the gun is modified. Unless she has some other trick. Unless she snuck something in. Oh, she was searched, but trickery abounds, after all. An assassin has their means.
...she doesn't offer to explain to Cornelia what she sees. Perhaps that will be later. Cornelia focuses on what matters right now. Her own breath is quick. Her makeup is the good kind, holding up under this much sweat, but perhaps not for much longer.
For a moment, Sophia finds herself lost in Cornelia's bonds. The blazing furnace at the heart, Euphemia. The two she doesn't know...also siblings? The entire royal family is a lot to ask her to know offhand.
She consciously takes a deeper breath.
"I suppose we'd have a fight, wouldn't we," she says, a bit distantly. "I'd have to arrest her." ... "I haven't decided yet if I'd report it."
Sophia if you don't report it it's just kidnapping
<Pose Tracker> Cornelia li Britannia has posed.
'I'd have to arrest her.'
...
'I haven't decided yet if I'd report it.'
That is literally just potentially admitting kidnapping plans to a royal authority, isn't it.
It's also apparently the right answer, because for the first time today, Cornelia's stern, unreadably cold expression is defiled with the smallest smile of approval.
"Hah. The gall to claim such a thing, Castellan."
Cornelia's weapon lowers. And with a smooth motion, she sheathes it once again, gloved hands lifting to push back the damp violet of her bangs matted against her forehead.
"You will report it," asserts the Britannian princess in no uncertain terms.
"You'll report it to me."
Whoever else, well. That's none of Cornelia's business. Isn't royally-sanctioned kidnapping enough?
It's with this declaration that Cornelia takes a step back; her stance eases out of the tension of pent-up anger and combat readiness, even if the fervor of it all doesn't quite leave the spark in her gaze. "If you're intending to use Britannian resources in this goal of yours, it is me you will go through. You will provide me what information you know of your sister, so I will know who to look for -- and my knights will know not to shoot to kill should they see her unit on the battlefield. They will only know what you see fit to tell them outside that."
She turns, looking out over those gardens Clovis so loved. The ones that remind her so much of her childhood. ... Days she can never get back.
Reminders of failure--
"We will find your sister, Castellan. If she is with the enemy, we will drag her back to Britannia, and you will let her know it is here, with her people, that she will be safe. If any of her tormentors still live, their bloody ends will serve as proof of that fact."
Is she taking Sophia's quest personally? She would state, firmly, that it is what she would do to see a pureblooded citizen of Britannia saved from the degradation and humiliation of serving the sad ghosts of dead causes. But really...
... But really...
Sharp eyes turn back towards Sophia.
"In exchange, you will tell me everything you know about this so-called 'Power of Kings.'"
... But really, if she's being honest... as curious as 'Geass' makes her, even this exchange is just lip service.
"I would ask if you find these terms acceptable, but you've no right to refuse them. I am the victor of our bout."
Did -- did she really? Well.
she certainly sounds dangerously confident about it
<Pose Tracker> Sophia Mayhew Castellan has posed.
Sophia sees her line in the threads of Cornelia's life. She's already in it too deep to back out now. The only way now is to prey, just a little, on the Princess. It's not like she's not doing the same.
The princess' weapon lowers, and in turn, so does Sophia's. She makes a small show of discharging spent casings, and then spins her rifle into place in the holster across her back.
With masks cracked, she looks fairly openly relieved, even if neither woman is quite the sort for smiles and hugs. Still, there's a small curl of her own to the Princess' semi-conspiratorial directive. "Understood, Your Highness."
IS she taking Sophia's quest personally? Sophia thinks yes, a little. Those bonds of hers shine, so pure and close. This is a woman who...maybe saying she understands is wrong. But certainly one who breaks the same way Sophia does.
An exchange... heh, she lost? Well, it's not like Sophia has any reason to doubt it. This was very much Cornelia's element. She hides a small smile behind a white glove, and coughs. "Of course. Then, allow me to give a brief demonstration to show your trust is deserved."
She looks at her again. She picks something that would be hard to get through subterfuge. "House Ashford," she says. "A weak tie. New. Something dramatic has happened recently that has forced them into your life. You're still deciding how you feel about it."
She shifts. "Your two closest knights. Darlton..." She shifts her attention, following what is to Cornelia an invisible thread.
Where her gaze settles is, Cornelia knows, exactly where Darlton will be standing.
"And Guilford."
Sophia turns, much faster this time, and spears in the direction of the other knight as well. He's probably off with Sophia's own entourage, but Sophia correctly looks in the exact direction of the room in question.
"...this will be the secret to the misadventure that led to my promotion, which we discussed previously."
Sophia returns her gaze to Cornelia, and her Geass goes quiet. She assembles herself into a neutral posture. "As to the rest...would Your Highness like my story now, or at a later time?"
<Pose Tracker> Cornelia li Britannia has posed.
A demonstration, Sophia says. Cornelia lifts a fine purple brow.
'House Ashford.'
And then it flattens anew with the narrowing of her gaze.
'Something dramatic happened recently...'
"You would serve yourself well not to press a single inch further than that."
Sophia makes her point well. Well enough to garner an instant and severe reaction from Cornelia, at least.
Which both proves that her gift is genuine and that Cornelia is absolutely not a woman of smiles and hugs.
This is why she doesn't like -- mind magic!
And so it is that a frown, not a smile, lingers on her lips as Sophia, blessedly, moves on to something much less sensitive to digest. This demonstration is simpler. Cornelia knows where both Darlton and Guilford are; to -not- know would mean there's a problem with either one of them or her. So she knows exactly where Sophia is looking, without looking. Behind her, where Darlton waits expectantly...
... and with a turn, towards the direction of Guilford. Her frown changes towards something more thoughtful; as she calms from all that previous exertion, she lifts a gloved hand to her chin to cup it in silent thought. It isn't a Newtype gift, just as Sophia had said; if it IS one, it's one heretofor undocumented. Something that literally lets the woman see every single link in Cornelia's life...?
The implications deepens Cornelia's frown that much more as she lapses into thought, indigo eyes downcast.
"... Ah. The secret to your success."
That sharp stare turns back Sophia's way.
"I believe what you say. Do not use this Geass on me again without my permission."
She can't really know if Sophia does again, of course, but, well.
Again. Mind magic.
As for the rest, though... a thoughtful sound slips past her lips. She looks towards the end of the courtyard.
"... The rest will wait until our next meeting." Because there will be, many more. "For now, I've had my fill of sport."
Cornelia turns, back to Sophia. Before she starts to walk, though, she hangs for a moment longer, casting a look over her shoulder.
"... You fight admirably, Castellan. There is a fire in you." Anger. She knows that look well.
"I recommend you continue to hold fast to it. Its burn will always remind you of what is important."
And it's with -that-, that she starts to move, a gloved hand lifting as she goes.
"I plan to retire and cool myself with a drink. You and your people may join, if you see fit."
Otherwise, well. They -both- have work to do, don't they?