[ > ReadMe: This account is a recording of certain moments leading up to the unfortunate events which caused Cloudbank to go offline. Some contents of this account may make some readers uncomfortable. When approached about the nature of this account's origins, the compiler cited, “User @callowGuru hired me to look into this. Lot of mystery surrounding what happened to Cloudbank . I think that'll always be the case. Seems to be part of its legacy now. Anyway, the client pointed me in a direction and had me dig around. Gotta say, what turned up made sense of a few things, at least.” When asked as to the credibility of the account's source, the compiler had no comment. We would like to stress that due to the nature of this piece and its origins, it may not be wholly accurate. ]

[ > A copy of this transcript may be acquired here. ]









[ > Subject: Transistor ]

[ > Trace Observed: Help() ]

[ > Filename: Y__r L_ttl_ T_m_ ]











The sky that evening had faded from a rich vermilion gradient, giving way to a deep plum hue. The constellations above were more chaotic and plentiful than the night prior. It was over-saturating, really. All of it. The colors, the stars, even the brushed out wisps of cirrus...It was all so loud. Like eating a dense, super rich slice of cheesecake – after you'd just guzzled a glass of Moscato. The thick flavors suffocated each other, their noise canceling everything out, and all that remained was...so loud.



When everything changes, nothing changes.



And that, you must understand, that exact issue that Cloudbank suffered from made it all the more noteworthy when someone managed to pique Sybil's attention – like a lighthouse piercing through fog. Against all likelihood, in a population saturated by itself, one woman had managed to seep into a crack in Sybil's psyche, leaking in drop by drop, until Sybil was wading knee deep in Red.



A graduate of Traverson Hall, Red had eschewed a fate of civic planning to choose a controversial Dual-Selection of Linguistics and – harrowingly – Music. A Traverson student, pursuing music? And a Dual-Selection, both non practical studies, at that? It was unprecedented, altogether unheard of. That was what had caught Sybil's initial curiosity. Admittedly, Sybil had at first assumed Red to be some errant deviant. Bold as she was, though, Red had not completely abandoned the talents Traverson embedded in its students, and, after gaining some traction in her career as an up and coming musician, she had assisted in many of Cloudbank's musically-inclined events. That was how Sybil had found herself with excuses – reasons, that is to say – to spend time with Red. To collaborate, to converse, to understand. For you see, Red was not merely an impacting artist, vocalist, and curator, no – she was also a rainstorm of a human being during a sunny summer day of society. Every interaction Sybil had with Red was a cooling, soothing, gray-clouded mist in the exhausting and sweltering heat of the same, of the ordinary, of the mundane.

Obsessed?

Procedurally-generated heavens above, yes.

Oh, Sybil may have hid it beneath her sleeve, but she was quite fully aware of her obsession with Red. And she knew there was only one cure for this illness: to win Red over.



And with what Royce was researching? That abstract concept could turn more literal.



But – win her over what? Over whom?



Over him, of course.

It wasn't known, it was not established fact, it may not have even been factual, but Sybil knew it would be, were it not already: she was...'his.' Ugh.



And there Sybil sat, stewing over her vexations in her corner lounge. Waiting. She had arranged a meeting at The Downside, a less popular establishment – certainly on the rougher side of things. By design, of course, but in either case, less popular than others, making it less likely for anyone to be seen or recognized and cause a commotion.



But it was much to Sybil's dissatisfaction that on that evening, he arrived – without Red.



Sidling up to her private, curtained booth and taking a hesitant seat, he straightened his tie and settled in.



A grunt from him, then an awkward sigh.



“Evening, Ms. Reisz,” he breathed out. As if nothing was wrong when this was all incorrect.



“Evening,” she volleyed back with a tint of impatience.



If there was one thing Sybil detested more than anything else, it was meticulously plotted plans being twisted sideways. And this one seemed to have an awful lean toward the sideways.



Ruffling and straightening his coat – an awfully tacky thing, wasn't it? – the man chuckled warily.



“Your flunky almost didn't let me see you,” he explained, bobbing his head toward Sybil's security detail that night. “Gave me quite the shakedown.” He produced an envelope and slide it across the table. “Guess I know how it feels, now.”



“You do look like the suspicious sort,” Sybil passively sniped. “You have to admit that.”



Sybil ignored the envelope for now. As she increasingly found herself ignoring such signs of what she would deny.



He shrugged, nodded half-heartedly, then took note of the drink sitting before him. A drink that had been carefully picked and placed with deliberation. It was a fresh glass, even.



[ Crystal Tumbler ]

[ > Beverages Served: 0 ]

[ > Current Beverage: Stabsinthe ]

Spotless.



“This, uh-...” He pointed at it vaguely. “This up for grabs?”



And now its first use would be tainted.



“That was reserved for Red.”



“Ah.” He tipped his head up and down, once, his lips tightened. “Well.” She would put her anaconda squeeze on him until this obvious mistake was clarified. “She couldn't make it tonight.” And there it was. The lie she had been waiting for. “Composition deadline for some independent film. Said she needed all the time she could manage. So.” He picked up the drink – a drink not at all intended for him, and he was holding the glass all wrong – and gestured his chin toward the envelope. “She signed the paperwork you needed. Stuff goes over my head, but...figured you could give it a once-over. Let me know if anything's missing.”



Struggling to prevent her eyes from narrowing any further, Sybil knew she had to keep up appearances. Keeping her snake's grip on the man with her moody gestures, she picked up the envelope and set it into her purse at her side.



“I'll review it later tonight,” she sharply concluded. “I have her number. I'll contact her if there's an issue.”



“Well, uh,” he took a sip of the drink – more like a gulp, the sloven showman – and interrupted himself. “Mmm, fff-...” He swallowed, his face wrinkling from the sharp taste. Fool. Stabsinthe was a sipping drink. Clearing his throat as water particles crept from his eye-ducts, he nodded, bemused. “Should've known,” he croaked. A cough, then back to his deep, smooth song, one she thought Red was beyond being ensnared by. “You remembered her favorite.”



Sybil retorted in defense, “Of course I did. It's my job to appeal to the influencers of this city.”



Eyeing her back and returning the tension, he replied calmly, “Sure take your job seriously, then, huh?”



Who was he, exactly, might you ask? No. Spare the thought. You needn't mind that. Needn't mind his name, nor even his features. He was a rube, a no one, a waste of time, an aggravation, a needless distraction to Cloudbank's most historic musician, and an insidious obstacle against Sybil's designs.



She would not give him the pleasure of description, and you would best not sully your mental palette with the curiosity.



“Cloudbank is a diamond in this rough world,” Sybil cited, taking a delicate sip of her own beverage: a lovingly sour Leechade. “But diamonds need to be coaxed out of the coarse earth. Dug up. Cut. Polished. What you see in the end is a shining, elegant stone, but there is so much work entailed in refining that final product.”



They exchanged glances and took in more of their liquid spirits.



“That what she is to you?” he wondered. “A product? 'Nother piece for the collection?”



Sybil frowned outwardly at the assumption, setting her glass back down on its coaster and crossing her arms around her lap.



“Red is a curator of the arts just as I am, in case you've forgotten how we became acquainted. She is a treasured colleague to me. A friend, a compatriot. I cannot exhaust myself in the details of every citizen I come across, but I can assure you, Red is not some mere...'product' in my eyes. She is...-” Sybil swirled her drink in a circle. “-...an incredibly valued companion. The diamond I mentioned? It was a metaphor. About this city.”



“Right.” He was still holding his glass in his uncouth way, probably just to sleight her, at that point. “Well. Especially with how things have been, I suppose Red could use some real friends in her corner.”



“She seems to be managing things just fine,” said Sybil tartly.



“Sure. Sure.” A pause. Then, bitterly, “Hiding herself away. Avoiding the stage, the public. Ignoring her fan mail, dodging the OVC at every corner. Keeping herself locked up out of fear.”



“She is taking time to herself. Every great creator needs it now and again. I've seen it happen many times.”



“You've seen fights break out during their performances?”



“She was fine.”



“Because Admin showed up in time.”



“Because she is a respected and valued contributor to Cloudbank's culture – to its future.” Sybil reflected on her own role in that. Had she not been so invested in Red's potential, would she have ensured the proper authorities be on standby during that ill-fated event? Maybe Red's very safety had been procured due to Sybil's precaution tugging at the right strings. Hard to say, really. But Sybil relished the notion, all the same. She preferred to fancy herself as Red's 'guardian,' keeping watch from atop her perch.



But after that violence had broken out at her last performance, months prior, Red had been accused of some dirty things. A “provocateur,” she'd been branded, by those who would initiate violence during her performance. Her porcelain face slapped with the fan of self-awareness, Red no-doubt grew out of her naivete that night, facing the fact that her music changed things. Her work affected people. She was an influencer. Whether she liked it or not, her songs, her lyrics, those wondrous thoughts pouring effortlessly from that glorious mind – she was changing things in Cloudbank. And, upon realization of this truth, Red had opted to cool things off. She'd canceled her tour, all of her shows for the foreseeable future, and she'd retreated into a hermit's life to work on her composition. Prepare herself. Develop. 'Soul-search,' as it were. Months of this had passed.



“If she's so respected,” he pondered, “why would she be afraid to show her face out in public?”



“Ha. Red? Afraid?” Sybil leaned over the table, scooping up her drink defiantly and taking a small swig. “I thought you were her assistant. Surely you know better than to even consider her weak.”



“Wh-...No, I wasn't saying that.” He set his half-empty glass down. “I'm saying that it's ridiculous that she can't even play a show anymore without it...becoming a feeding frenzy.”



“If she really wanted to, she would,” Sybil cited primly, tapping a fingernail against her drinking glass. She gently drummed along to the rhythm of the music drifting throughout The Downside – some slow, mellowing nonsense, to be sure, but that stuff was popular for measured, calculated reasons. Not like Red's work. But it'd have been conspicuous to play something from Red's repertoire during a meeting she'd been meant to attend. Sybil had arranged this to look informal. Now, she was regretting that.



“Maybe she does want to,” the man tossed out there – ha, yes. At least his blind passion could be used to extract something useful. “Maybe-...” He folded his arms round his chest, leaning back in his seat. “Maybe she's afraid more folks'll get hurt if she does.”



“Oh?” Sybil tilted her head to the right – just a bit – and left the topic open with another sip.



He shrugged, then nodded, then shrugged again.



“Perhaps,” pondered Sybil, “I should speak with her – arrange a more...private showing? Something more intimate?”



He shook his head at that – rather immediately. “Mmm, nah, I don't think she'd be interested.”



Sybil observed, “For a mere assistant, you seem to fancy yourself rather attuned to what she might or might not want. Have you considered what she might need?”



His expression turned a bit blunt for a flash, but he loosened his tie and kept his cool.



“When you're looking after someone day in and day out,” he eased, “you get invested in their future. In their happiness.”



“Mm.” Sybil hummed in placation. “I suppose I can very much sympathize with that notion.”



“Can you?” he doubted. “I'd figure you've got so many fat cats popping in and out all the time, you never have a moment to...-” He rotated his wrist slowly. “-...take things in.” He swallowed a large, slow gulp of his Stabsinthe, finishing it off and groaning out a throat-clearing cough.



Narrowing her gaze at this game he was playing, she took a delicate sip from her Leechade, licking every last particle of it from her lips.



“I know how to savor the good things in this life,” she assured. “And however well you think you know Red, I implore you to consider this fact: she will exceed your expectations, each and every time.” Sybil uncorked her bottle of Leechade and refilled her glass. “On occasion, she might even break your pre-conceived beliefs...”



She grabbed the accompanying bottle of Stabsinthe and went to offer Red's 'associate' a refill, but he held up a palm, refusing her courtesy.



“Wouldn't wanna waste a good drink,” he said, rising from his chair, the irony of his statement not lost on either of them. “You are right about Red, though,” he agreed, buttoning up his jacket. “She's certainly caught this town by surprise, hasn't she?”



“Indeed. And I've no doubt she'll continue to do so. Cloudbank is nearing a tipping point.”



“Mm.” His expression - much like his existence, really – was vague and hazy.



“Red will spear-head the change this city needs,” Sybil declared, scooping up her glass. She raised it, indirectly, but in Red's honor. “Mark my words on that,” she said, staring directly at him from across the table. She took a swig. “She's special, that one. Her work is special. Important.”



“You're not wrong,” he conceded with an odd twist of his head. “Anyway.” He shrugged with some indifference. She'd made him uncomfortable during this encounter. Good. “Be seeing you around, Ms. Reisz.”



“You certainly shall.”



As Sybil's unwelcome guest went to leave, she couldn't help noticing the bright, gold triangle patch adorned over the back of his jacket. It matched the very symbol Red wore on her sash when she performed. Curious.



Upon the man's leave, Sybil lamented at the emptied glass he'd left behind, now sullied.



[ Stabsinthe ]

[ > Beverage Depletion: 99% ]

[ Crystal Tumbler ]

[ > Beverages Served: 1 ]







####







It was a quaint hall. Suitable in size for a healthy audience of elite, hand-picked citizens. Small enough so as to not overwhelm her darling star of the evening to come. Sybil was not a musician, and thus could not define or decide the quality of these things, but...hearing a new song composed and sung by Red herself – a song the public had not yet heard – was a delight and a joy.



“I see the lights

Dance on the bay

All of the dark falls away”



Red looked absolutely stunning. She was wearing something... different, for a change. Something darker, more subtle than her recognizable stage dress of warm tones. This one was black, mostly, with some silver and red accents, yet cut to reveal her shoulders. More flowing and free than her typical attire, with over-sized, robe-like sleeves. Sybil was intrigued. Confused. Enamored.



“A glow from the heights

Glances along the waterskin

Nimble and bright, swallowed in”



Red wasn't the most flashy of performers, but so far as Sybil was concerned, she didn't need to be. Not in the slightest. Not when she could sing like that . Emote so subtly through her intonations. Her gestures were slower, subdued, but that was what made them more impacting, ironically.



“I'm always so breathless to see

Growing so slowly to greet me

Where I end and where she begins”



Red glanced at Sybil as she sung – no, stared through her, even – and there was a twinkle in her eyes that made Sybil weak. Who was this song, about, then, if not Sybil herself, mm? About Cloudbank, perhaps, but...why 'she?' Did Red perhaps – ha – associate her love for the city with Sybil's dedication, connections, planning, organizing?



“When she shines for me in night

And her sky so green and white

She will keep us in her sight

We are alive beneath her light”



Sybil paced slowly, left and right, before the stage, studying every displaced strand of crimson, every crest and fall of breath from her lungs, through her lips.



“Lost in the clouds

Like tears in the rain

Winking along all the same”



Aha-! A mischievous, sly smirk from Red, paired with a 'wink' right at Sybil, to accent her lyric. Like matching cheese and wine for the soul. And said lyric – it spoke to Sybil. Red was, indeed, a soft sob in a rainstorm – water mistaken for water at first glance, but oh, it was so much more than what it appeared.



Sybil could see that. She secretly hoped no one else would.



“Sleeping below

We never mind her diligence

Watching us all lie awake”



Night after night, Sybil had struggled to find sleep the week leading up to this practice session. Red had seemed so uncertain as to whether to follow through. Sybil had admittedly feared that this plan would all fall apart, that Red might – as she often did – break expectations, deviate from Sybil's plans. It had taken some doing to convince her associates that Red was worth all of this bother, as well. She worried that Asher was perhaps beginning to see the true intent behind her interest in Red. But a recording of this session would surely cinch things, convince her comrades of her decision. Their 'brush' still needed the mind of a musician as bold as this, after all. A voice as bold as this.



“Just on the edge of a dream

Growing so slowly to greet me

Tearing it all at its seams”



And yet, of course, there was fear. Ripping at the outskirts of her subconscious while she slept.



Having convinced the Camerata of Red's worth, she would have time and resources to pour into this. And they would become closer and closer. Excuses – reasons, that is – to become intimate with the melancholic dame, they would continue to be crafted, as Sybil finally had a purpose worthy of all her talents. She would continue to utilize her suite of resources toward this end.



What, then, when it was time for the Camerata's investment to pay dividends?



“When she shines for me in night

And her sky so green and white

She will keep us in her sight

We are alive beneath her light”

Sybil would sort it out. She had yet to fail in her acquisitions for the Camerata. She had no intention of failing this, either. Merely...winning over a new asset in a different manner than her associates might assume.



As Red recanted the chorus again, Sybil pondered things over once more. Red could be convinced of their cause. Surely. She had a brilliant mind, a proactive stance, a desire – an understanding – of how Cloudbank needed to be uprooted from its vexating stagnation, a city adorned in the guise of variety while merely floating still – 'lost in the clouds,' as it were. The Camerata was still sorely lacking in a true artist figure. The science, the politics, the curiosity, the vision...They had these covered, but not the soul.



Sybil couldn't help but fancy herself traversing a path not unlike Asher in her pursuit of change, given way to affection. Perhaps this was why Asher seemed suspicious in the first place.



The music faded.



Red fidgeted with the microphone before placing it back on the stand. She seemed outside her element, suddenly.



Sybil applauded. Enough to fill the the vacuum left by the song's conclusion, yet gently so, whereas to not over-emphasize her delight.



“Splendid, my darling,” Sybil complimented, palms pressed abreast as she approached the stage. “Absolutely stunning.” She scurried up the short stepway and onto the cramped stage. The instrumentalists tinkered with their tools as Sybil reached Red, who was smiling – but warily so.



“A little shaky in parts,” Red sighed, tucking unfastened bangs behind her ear. “I don't-...” She flicked her fingers toward her throat. “My projection, it's not where it should be at, I think I'm...letting the smaller venue maybe-”

“Nonsense.”



Sybil did what she had been starved to do – take Red's hands within her own.



She prattled, “This isn't the Goldwalk Amphitheatre, my friend. This is a low-key environment, and I am setting you up here by that design. I want you to let yourself...-” Her glance fell to Red's revealed shoulders as she helped re-align the woman's dress – just slightly, just a tad more skin shown. “-...relax.”



Red shrugged the gesture off – literally – and an odd breath slipped out of her lips. Hesitance, uncertainty. Sybil didn't like it.



Red bemoaned quietly, “A performance is still just that: performing.” She sighed disparagingly to Sybil. Folding her hands across her chest and glancing about the venue, she took in a deep breath, exhaling precariously. “Part of why I haven't been under the spotlight this year is because I...-” She bit her bottom lip with the edge of one tooth, and Sybil longed to bite that lip herself. “Well.” Red faced Sybil again, and such wayward thoughts were quickly shuffled back to their hiding places. “Honestly? I've lost a bit of my nerve. I've...been discovering new priorities. New focus.”



Hmph. This was the segue-way Sybil was looking for, but her planned – aha. And there it was.



The barkeep arrived at last, as advised to, carrying two glasses of foam-topped Cinderbrick Stout.



[ Cinderbrick Stout ]

[ > Temperature: 4°C ]

[ > Content Volume: 14.2 oz ]

[ Beer Glasses ]

[ > Beverages Served: 0 ]



“Thank you,” chimed Sybil, accepting the pair of foam-laced glasses. She immediately could see the hesitation in Red's expression – this was expected. “Here,” she handed one of the glasses to Red, whose fingers writhed and wrinkled around it. “Come, come,” she insisted, fluttering her hand about as she made way toward the confined balcony. “Surely, I can ease any concerns you might still have.”



Sybil took a sip of the smooth, nutty beer, its spiciness flaring down her throat in a delightful way.



“Sybil,” Red said tiredly. It stung, that lack of faith in the woman's tone. “It's fine, I didn't mean that I...-” But she trailed off. She followed Sybil, as intended. They passed by Sybil's trusted security detail, who was 'guarding' the balcony door. Sybil and he exchanged nods of understanding.



Sybil spun round, swallowing a second helping of her dry drink, and checking to see that Red was behind.



Still there. Following along.



Sybil wryly smiled behind her glass, coyly peering around it, and Red laughed timidly in reply.



The balcony opened out to the same gold-speckled horizon that Sybil tired of. Sybil leaned her back against the balcony's edge, welcoming her companion to join her. Red shrugged and downed a mouthful of stout, resting herself cautiously at Sybil's side, but facing outward, leaned over metal fencing's edge.



“This is good for you,” Sybil blurted tartly. “Putting your face out there, singing. Mm? Dipping your toes back into your element.”



Licking the bitter, spicy drink from those magic lips, Red hummed back reluctantly.



“Oh, tell me I'm wrong,” Sybil persisted, giving Red a nudge with her elbow – brushing up against the side of Red's chest. “It's where you belong. On stage – filling the air with yourself. With your being, your art, your spirit.”



Red's eyes glazed over with warmth. Pulling herself to, Red noticed Sybil's expectant glance and nodded bashfully.



“It has been a while,” Red admitted longingly.



“It has.”



“It...felt good. Felt right.”



“It did,” Sybil vehemently agreed, rotating herself to face Red.



Red swallowed a gulp of Cinderbrick, her expression turning bitter at the taste.



The would-be idol (oh, indeed she would be) muttered, “I've forgotten how much I miss it. Performing. I mean.” She smirked at Sybil. “For an audience, and everything.”



“Oh?” Sybil leaned back against the balcony, their hips brushing against one another – and lingering there. “Being cooped up in her Highrise tower, swallowed by ebony and ivory, by dots on lines on a page – has it turned our latent artist antsy?” She grinned, eyelids at half-mast, and waggled a brow Red's way. For good measure, she lightly bumped her hip sideways, nudging Red. This disconnected their contact.



“Fff,” Red sputtered a laugh, then went for another sip of stout. “Maybe. A little.” She smirked. Haaa, she smirked!



“You long for the attention,” Sybil teased with a little chuckle thrown in. “You live for it, don't you?”



“Don't you?” Red volleyed right back.



Sybil's smile widened at the smarm in Red's intonation.



“Guilty as charged.” Sybil lifted her glass over. “To adoring fanatics.”



Red raised hers in kind.



Red agreed, “The cause of – and solution to – all our problems.”



They toasted.



They drank in blissful quiet for a moment or two. If only Sybil could freeze time: plot her next move, calculate her options, line up the pieces in play...like she could in her little 'beach getaway.' Through Royce's 'backdoor,' Sybil could indeed wallow in the space between, take as much time as she needed.



But this? This was 'here,' this was 'now.'



This was 'Red.'



So, Sybil let herself simply enjoy this moment for what it was: a moment. Fleeting, dissolving even as it began existence. Exhilarating, knowing that it was, unlike most things in this city, organic. Natural. Born, rather than assembled.



The opportunity passed before Sybil knew it. That slice of time was consumed.



“I miss this,” Sybil dribbled out, overcoming herself to do so. “Not just-...I mean, certainly us, sharing drinks. But, rather, specifically, seeing you happy. Seeing you at all. Outside. In public.”



“Hm.” Red's lips tightened dubiously. “Is it still 'public' when you have a bodyguard posted?”



Sybil countered, “Is it still private when you have the same?”



“I...-” Red's face flickered and flashed with confusion, briefly, but she recovered. She always recovered quickly. “What?”



“Your 'assistant,'” Sybil posed, swirling her remaining stout in her glass. “I hear he's been...keeping watch rather frequently as of late. At your residence, even? Understandable, of course. You can never be too careful – not with the names those ruffians have lobbed at you. With the attention you've garnered.”



Red's lips had hung slightly open all this while, eager to correct, to defend, but Sybil relished the bewildered, open-mouthed look about her.



“He's...not my bodyguard, exactly.”



“Mmmm-hm,” Sybil hummed equivocally. “He's not merely your 'assistant,' either.” She slid her eyes toward Red's. “Is he?”



The warmth in Red's face hadn't diluted so much as rearranged itself – not unlike the color of Cloudbank's sky from one day to the next. She looked heated, now. It was utterly intoxicating.



“He...-” She started. Then changed course, losing some of her iconic cool. “We've become closer colleagues, sure. He helps with...so much, so many odds and ends, things I could never keep track of myself, and it-...” Sybil was giving Red a look, and Red was getting all the more defensive. “I'm not sure what you're implying, but there's...really nothing to further read into, there.” Ooh, Sybil was getting her riled. A delectable moment to be savored.



“Well, you are correct,” Sybil agreed. “There is very little to read into. The gentleman's records are suspiciously absent of detail. What was his Selection, again?”



“He...has yet to declare one,” Red mumbled, her voice trembling slightly.



“At his age?” Sybil balked. “Unspeakable. You don't find that the least bit odd?”



“Sure. Yes. OK.” Red's shoulders thrust upward, like spears aiming for the moon. “He's...a bit indecisive about it. That doesn't...-”



“A bit? More like, a case apart. Not a one of Cloudbank remains Unselected for as long as he has. It is literally a precedent, and the worst sort. The way I've heard, he's been putting his Selection off. Repeatedly. Intentionally.”



“And where have you heard this?” Red asked, her eyes finally narrowing with concern.



“Come now, darling,” Sybil sassed, “Someone in my position? I know many things.”



A tension hung between them for a moment. Like a cat and mouse?

More like two cats, perhaps. Which one would pounce first?

Sybil knew which she would prefer...



“He's no one to be worried about,” Red dismissed, trying to layer the foundation of serenity back onto her face. “He does as he's asked, and he has been a...trustworthy personal assistant. Loyal. Reliable. I couldn't ask for more. You know better than anyone how difficult it is to find a good match. A work partner, I mean.” Sybil knew this slip of words was rooted in something real. And she despised that. Red chugged a gulp of her drink with purpose. Holding her glass with the other fingers, she pointed an index at Sybil, grumbling, “Do not draw attention to him, he has it hard enough as it is.”



“Oh, certainly,” Sybil played. “I'm sure you very much can relate with him, given your own circumstances. Two non-practical Selections? He must comprehend your struggle, somewhat, from his own, less-educated perspective.”



Red chewed at her lip again – a very different manner this time, but oh, yes, did it have the same manner of effect for Sybil.



“Why does this matter to you?” Red asked, any softness having all but evaporated from her.



“My, you do seem rather worked up about this, hm?” Sybil burst out a laugh, slapping Red's shoulder – the bare-skin – with the back of her wrist. “Ohhh, Red. My darling. I worry for you! That's all. You can't deny that his situation warrants a peering through the magnifying glass. Mm?”



Red drizzled out a sigh.



“He's...an outlier,” she conceded with another swig. “But...-” Mumbling, now. “So am I, and...-” She trailed off into her drink.



Sybil adjusted the tone of things, easing, “You're right. You are right. I'm asserting myself into places that are, logistically, not of my concern. As your friend, however, I couldn't help myself. Truly, Red. Sincerely and honestly, when he met with me a couple weeks prior? In your stead? It was jarring. A bit intimidating, that one. I was alarmed and aghast.”



“There's nothing to be afraid of,” Red insisted, weary of the topic. She ran her thumb up and down the side of her glass, muttering beneath her (scintillating) breath, “He's one of the good ones.”



“I believe you, I believe you,” Sybil backed off, lifting a sharply upturned palm at the matter. “My apologies, friend. You two seem...closer, perhaps, than I had assumed. If you trust his intentions, then I will defer to your instincts.” She drank the last of her stout, setting the emptied glass on the balcony.



[ Cinderbrick Stout ]

[ > Beverage Depletion: 100% ]

[ Beer Glass ]

[ > Beverages Served: 1 ]



Sybil went on, “It's...only that I've heard of men like him, you see – suspicious sorts – and the damage they can bring. It's sometimes 'the good ones' who produce the biggest problems. So, please, understand that my doubts were, I admit, reflexive in nature, but well-intentioned.”



“Can we drop this?” Red bluntly requested. She swallowed the end of her drink with three consecutive gulps – and Sybil was in awe at the undulations across Red's throat, coursing through a natural rhythm. Red slapped her glass grouchily onto the balcony, a small amount still sloshing inside.



[ Cinderbrick Stout ]

[ > Beverage Depletion: 91% ]

[ Beer Glass ]

[ > Beverages Served: 1 ]



“Oh. Ah. ” Sybil cooed her condolences. “Red, I...-” She extended a hand forward, slightly, accepting Red's shake of the head. “I shall give you my apology once more, then respectfully put the topic to rest.”



“Thank you. You're-...I don't know, you're acting strange, Sybil. What's wrong?”



A show, of course. Sybil knew well enough how to press Red's buttons at this point. Very bright buttons, they were, so satisfying to press, convex and concave alike. And so many of those buttons as of yet 'Off Limits.' All the same. A show. A performance, not so dissimilar from Red's very own.



“I'm coming off as 'strange', am I?” Sybil balked with fauz confusion. “Interesting. The only thing I might construe as 'wrong,' perhaps, is that you appear to be feeling a bit off, yourself.”



Red shook her head slightly, her eyes rolling a bit, and she shrugged one arm up.



“A lot of things have been changing for me recently,” Red conceded with a heavy breath. “For this whole city. I worry about the future, you know? For me, for those I...care about, for this whole town.”



When everything changes, nothing changes.



“As do I,” Sybil agreed. She contemplated how to phrase this. “And I've found like-minded individuals who share in this concern, actually. We've...been concocting ideas on how to use our positions to help repair the cracks in Cloudbank's foundation. I've...mentioned your talents, your motivations. They seemed intrigued by your potential.”



Red had nothing to say to this. Hm. Sybil had anticipated at least some curiosity.



Sybil added, “It's-...You know. Just trying to do our part, I suppose. However we can.”



“We all do play a part,” Red agreed warily. “Whether we mean to, or not.”



“And...yours is to keep inspiring the people with what you do best.” Sybil leaned up from the balcony and squeezed her fingers against the skin of Red's shoulder. “And I know you will do just that tomorrow night, on that very stage.”



Sybil broke the contact, straightening her hat.



“Ah, but you'd best stop wasting that beautiful voice on such depressing matters as these, mm?” She gestured Red to follow. “We can always discuss the more sobering topics when we are in the mood to be sober, yes? For now, I shall see you off for the evening. I do apologize for upsetting you.”



“It's fine,” Red sighed. “I'm not upset.” She truly was, though. Attempting to hide it, for some reason. “With my assistant, it's just-...I worry what people might do if they found out an Unselected was...working with me. Not even for my sake, but for his.”



“Completely understandable.”



“I guess I get why you would look into it, but...please, Sybil. Leave him be.”



“Of course, Red.”



They re-entered the hall and passed by Sybil's guard.



“Seriously,” Red followed up, “I know I seem 'off' tonight, but it's...just readjusting to...-” Red wriggled her hand toward the stage as it was being packed up for the night. “-...all this. A lot of conflicting thoughts going on, and...-”



“Ahhtut-tut,” Sybil dismissed her friend's self-deprecating. “No need to fuss yourself explaining anything. Take the night off, and I will look forward to seeing – and hearing – you tomorrow.”

Red took in a slow, calming breath. Sybil smiled at this, and Red smiled back, if only a little.



“Tomorrow, then,” said Red, fluttering her fingers out like a fan as she bid Sybil farewell.





Sybil stood in awe at the way Red's black-crested form slid across the reflective tiles of the hall. Her dress drifting along like a rolling mist behind her. The gleam of the chandelier's lights reflecting on the skin of her shoulders. The gentle sway of her curves with each long leg's stride.



Stumbling her way to the stage with a sharp tingle jolting at her thighs, Sybil pushed her brush of pale blonde hair back over her shoulders with a quick twist of her neck. She approached the microphone stand as Red's instrumentalists wrapped up their cleaning duties.



Sybil lingered at the microphone, running her fingertip across its surface, as if to absorb some remnant of that warm, beauteous breath.



[ Microphone ]

[ > Observed ]

[ > Songs Amplified: 5 ]









####







Thrilling. Stupendous. Mesmerizing.



There were no if's, and's, or but's about it: Red was back in full form at long last.



The applause had been deafening. Her first public performance in over a year. Of course her most avid supporters were there, but the turnout had been larger than anticipated. There was clearly a groundswell of those who saw the implicit message in Red's work, who were willing to turn out to support that cause – intentionally political or no. But, really – intentionally political, surely.



Swaggering her way back stage, Sybil was eager to visit her no-doubt exhausted friend and assist her in recovering from a staggering public performance. She eased her bodyguard to keep a distance, a watchful eye from down the hall. She met little resistance – until, of course, she reached Red's stage room. Where he awaited.



She could see an impatient shudder crawl up his spine at her approach. Haa.



“Hello again, Sybil,” he grunted at her.



Sybil nodded her head toward him.



“Hello,” she greeted, eyelids sliding downward as a smile spread across her face. “You must be quite proud.”



“Uh...-” He appeared confused at her remark, frazzled by the beaming smile about her.



Suffice to say, their prior engagement had not bee so smooth.



“Oh,” Sybil squeaked, flicking out a wrist, “are you still hung up on last time? Perish the concerns, Sir. Red has set me straight. Consider it all water under the bridge. And quite a glorious bridge we do have, isn't it?”



“...Sure,” he muttered, scratching at some stubble on his face. Hm. Interesting. Just like the last performance – he always seemed to 'forget' shaving his face clean the day Red had a concert.



And Sybil all but knew why that was.



“So.” Sybil took a step toward the door. “How is she?”



He eased himself into her path, blocking her entrance.



“Tired,” he replied brusquely.



“Well,” Sybil patted her fingertips against her purse with a cheeky smile. “I've brought her a celebratory gift which I think might help her unwind.”



“You can give it to me,” he advised, his arms crossed. He rolled one arm outward. “I'll be sure she gets it.”



“Ohhhh, come, now,” Sybil goaded, “I'm certain she would be delighted to see me, and it would be my privilege to give this gift in person. So.” She took another step toward him, raising her voice a bit. “Be a dear, and let me in, why don't you?”



“Yea, I don't think-”

“Sybil?” Muffled, yes, but Red's wondrous vocal chords chimed her name, and how delicious the sound was.



“Red! You were astounding~” Sybil wore a plastic grin, melting a sadist's pride into her smile as she burned her retinas at the brute standing between her and her darling.



“It's fine,” Red assured, calling out from her room. “You can let her in.”



The 'bodyguard' glowered at Sybil, his brows slinking downward. Lulling her head to one side while still wearing her hardened smile, Sybil gave the rube a patronizing pat on the arm as he reluctantly sidled side-ward.



“That's a good lad,” Sybil teased through faux-courtesy. Opening the door, she cited, “We do all treasure your service to our fair maiden. Keep up the good work~” She silently locked the door behind her.



And then it was, at last, just her and Red. Alone. The one thing she had pining for not just all evening, but all week. Month? Quite some time. It had been weeks since she and Red had seen each other, face-to-face, alone. Sybil had been suffering from some withdrawals.



Letting the plastic quickly chip and fall from her face, Sybil revealed an expression of genuine ecstasy as she sauntered to Red, arms wide. Red, who had been wiping makeup from her face, set her materials down and spun her chair round. Sybil eagerly planted her form against Red's in a cheery hug. She cherished the sensation of Red's cheekbone against her breast; Red's delicate, gloved fingers clasping against her bare back; the excited, relieved, joyful sigh which slipped from Red's luscious lips and washed over Sybil's chest.



As this brief but vibrant moment subsided and the contact broke, Sybil squeaked out a giddy laugh. Unintended. She couldn't contain herself.



“Congratulations are in order!”



“Ha. Thanks.”



Her face flushed with so many warm things, Sybil just grinned like a fool for a moment.



“You were utterly captivating,” Sybil breathed out, gripping Red's biceps and giving them an excited quiver. “Augh-! Breathtaking, Red. Completely so. A treasure to this city, and performances like that? They truly illustrate this. Even the Administrators will be humming your melodies in their sleep!”



“Fff. Well, I...-” Red's eyes glazed over, her gaze wandering off. “I guess I did feel pretty good about this one.”



“Of course you did! And well-deserved.” Sybil pulled up a nearby seat and dragged it close to Red, propping herself down to face her friend. “You broke out of your comfort zone this evening. Well done. A hard-fought success such as tonight warrants a refined moment of celebration.”



Sybil grinned toothily, producing from her purse a small bottle of illustrious Lifewine. You couldn't even attain the stuff through public channels anymore.



[ Lifewine ]

[ > Observed ]

[ > Distillation Date: 07-03-21 ]

[ > Alcohol Content: 11.7% ]



“Hah,” Red blurted a laugh, her body language simultaneously relaxed yet uneasy at the edges. “I won't say 'no' to that fancy bottle.”



Indeed, the golden, heart-shaped bottle was brandished with aplomb, and a pair of small glasses were set down on the vanity. Creamy wine was then drizzled into said glasses.



[ Wine Glasses ]

[ > Beverages Served: 12 ]



This was the drink-ware Sybil specifically saved just for sharing wine with Red. She prided herself on her deliberate timing of this. Whether at Red's apartment, at Sybil's, or some other place, every single time she had sprung 'wine time' on Red, it had been agreed to, enjoyed, and gone off as planned, with nary a hitch.



This occasion followed this pattern.

For a time.



Their conversation enumerated upon many little moments across the evening's events, with Sybil prying for details about all manner of aspects of Red's performance.



“When the crowd hummed along with you?” Sybil prattled giddily. “Aughh-! I was enraptured. Your work speaks to this populace, Red.” She finished pouring, re-topping the bottle. “I am so proud of you for pushing yourself tonight. I can fathom how difficult it must have been.”



Sybil handed one glass to Red, scooped up the other, and offered a toast.



“Here's to you, my dear friend.”



-clink-



“Here's to dedication,” Red offered her alternative.



They drank.



Sybil added coyly, “Here's to expanding our horizons.”



They exchanged narrow-eyed smirks. They drank some more.



“It feels good, doesn't it?” Sybil posed, arcing one leg across the other. “Shedding off the chrysalis. Spreading those mended wings.”



“Hm-hm,” Red giggling through her nose as she enjoyed her wine. “By the way...-” She squinted, cocking a brow as she stirred the liquid in its glass. “What kind of wine was this, again? It's...so different.”



“Lifewine. It has no peer,” Sybil proudly declared. Leaning forward in her seat, she pressed a palm against Red's knee. “Like someone I know.”



Red grinned toothily, eyes narrowing with a glint of sneaky pride. She knew.



“You'd better not be saying I'm as nutty as this stuff is,” Red said with a soft chuckle, patting her palm against Sybil's hand, which was still perched upon her knee.



“What's wrong with a wine that has...-” Sybil tip-toed her fingers up Red's leg. “-...texture?”



Red snort-giggled at this – a very rare sight, and an indication of just what a high she was on from her performance.



“To each wine its own grape, I suppose,” Red sighed in humor, downing another sip.



“You mean that the other way around,” Sybil teased, rubbing her thumb up and down the top of Red's thigh – through her fancy black dress, of course.



“Do I?” Red mused. “Maybe I do.”



They snickered a little, and Sybil inhaled the air of it like a sniff of wine, indeed. She slowly curved her abdomen forward, looking down at Sybil's slowly massaging fingers. At the glint of hunger in Sybil's eyes.



And Red smiled coyly.



She slowly wormed her gloved hand beneath Sybil's, squeezing it, rubbing at it briefly, then easing it off of her body.



Before their grip parted, however, Sybil reached out her other hand, removing Red's glove – which Red allowed. Sybil slid her fingers between Red's, and their hands were interlocked. Adrenaline was coursing through Sybil, her heart pounding like furious fingers on ivory keys. As Sybil pressed their palms together, she surveyed Red's expression.



Dulled. Confused. Disheartened, even.



And Sybil knew. She knew this was...sub-optimal.

She knew this was not what Red had been expecting, desiring, waiting for.



But Sybil was sick of waiting, herself. If only she could show Red...



So, their hands clasped so tightly together, Sybil took a drink of her wine, and Red followed her lead. They were on their last glasses of the stuff.



“Sybil...” Red eked out quietly, uncertainly.



But Sybil leaned toward her, setting her wine glass down and running her other hand against Red's waist. Then up, over, around...pressing convex buttons, indeed.



Red sighed wistfully, and Sybil could not decipher her reaction. A curious exception.



“Does this not please you?” Sybil whispered, leaning her head over Red's shoulder, and breathing a content breath against Red's perfume-laden neck.



“I don't...-” Red began, trailing off into an odd grunt as Sybil's hands pressed down, around, to and fro...



And Sybil's lips wrapped themselves around Red's neck. Many times. Warm and slow. Each kiss against that supple, scented skin like taking a bite of a familiar, fresh fruit. And Sybil was hungry.



Eventually, Red's hands hooked themselves against Sybil's hips – resistance, but not very much. Haa.



Sybil worked her way up Red's jawline, to her lips, and they shared a kiss that exchanged heated breaths, all the while with Sybil's hands pressing persistently against Red's chest.



Sybil was very familiar – very intimate – with the way that Red hummed her songs.

But the particular hum that escaped Red in that moment?

Well.

A song of a different color, entirely, from what Sybil had ever heard, though the minor note hummed was one she had imagined in many variations, composed entire melodies of her own vo-

-tok-tok-tok-



“Hey, Red?”



HIM...!



Their embrace broke apart. Red pushed Sybil away, her sense of logic having finally had its opening to reach her intoxicated brain. Their eyes were locked, both sets panicked and wide. But while Sybil's heart pounded with excitement, with risk, with fervor...Red was clearly in a state of shock. Fear.



Sub-optimal.



“Y-Yea?” Red called out to her...incorrigible bellhop. “What...-?” Red coughed, clearing her throat, stumbling up from her chair. She nearly tripped over her dress. “What is it?” she asked, her expression petrified, but her voice oh-so-calm. Performance.



“The OVC's calling,” he beckoned her. “That interview they booked you for?”



Red's face was glaring at Sybil, her cheeks turning bright...well...-

If looks could kill...then Sybil would gladly perish right there on the spot.



“Right,” Red said back to him, raising her voice, but piercing Sybil with offended eyes. “Just a-...” Red wiped her gloved wrist against her lips, wiping off saliva – along with some lipstick. “Just a couple minutes. You...go on ahead for me, won't you?” Her teeth her now grit, her nostrils flaring. Ohhh-hoo-hoo. Delicious aftertaste.



He checked, “Do you remember where we arr-”

“I remember,” Red insisted, her eyelids fluttering impatiently. “Give me a few minutes. Please.”



A pause.



“Yea. All right. I'm on it.”



His steps echoed slightly as his presence faded. And Red's expression boiled hotter.



“What was that?” Red hissed in a whisper, tearing off her other glove and throwing it against the chair she'd been sitting in. “Why would you...-?!”



“Have my interests truly been that shrouded?” Sybil teased, unrelenting. “I never fancied you a fool, my friend...”



“I can't be...-” Red began, catching herself. And there when the lip biting again, haaa, ohhh. Hm-hm.



“Can't be what?” Sybil posed. “Seen with me? Like that?”



“You're-...And I'm already-...The rumors that would...-”



What 'I'm already' had meant was not a deterrent to Sybil's intentions.



“So you...don't reciprocate,” Sybil spun her rhetoric, dryly.



“No!” Red burst out. Brutally immediate a reaction. It stung. Burned, even.



“Because you're already involved with him,” Sybil theorized – more than theorized.



“Wh-? Who-...? There's...-” Red was floundering now. Shameful.



“As I stated,” Sybil sharply retorted, “I did not fancy you foolish, but it wounds me to be confronted with the very idea that you assumed I am incompetent.”



Their eyes danced around each other's for a moment. Sybil drank more of her wine. She picked up Red's glass and extended it.



And Red accepted, guzzling the rest down.



Sybil quietly seethed, “You think I don't know about you two? Red. My darling.” Sybil crossed one leg over the over, rotating her levitating chair to meet Red's trembling form. “Nothing good will come of things between you and that deviant.”



Red's eyes were hazing over with fear, panic...concern.



“He's a good man,” Red repeated, almost a hiss through grit teeth. She glowered over Sybil and slapped the empty wine glass against the vanity behind her.



A 'good man,' hm? That's what they all seemed to think...



Red pleaded, “Do not breathe a word of this to him. Or of-...of him – us. To anyone. Please. I'm not ready for that yet.”



“Of course, Red,” Sybil eased, flashing up one palm and downing the rest of her Lifewine with the other. “If I had wanted to expose this, don't you think I would have by now?” She shrugged, putting on her innocent face for her beloved, who seemed confused at this.



“I-...But, if you knew, then...why...-?”

“Because I love you,” Sybil spat out, brusquely, harshly, irritably. “Had I not made that clear just moments ago?”



Her words were prickly and stabbing, but her volume was mitigated and controlled.



“Sybil...” Red winced, sucking in a baffled breath through clenched jaws as she wiped her palm down her face. “I...love you too, but...-” Her brows arced unpleasantly, her eyes flickered with disdain. “-...not like that, I-...As a friend, but-”



Sybil flicked her wrist downward, shattering her wine glass against the floor, and cutting Red's premature thoughts off. How could Red know these things? Know how things were or were not? She was blinded by that ruffian. Theirs – Sybil's and Red's – was a connection too pure, too elegantly arranged, to be her simply misreading the room. Sybil never misread the room. It was her job to read people, anticipate them. And here Red was, once again flinging herself outside of the realm of what Sybil could see, could understand.



But Sybil would help Red see. Red could see, had the capacity for clear vision, the capacity to overcome this banal facade that Cloudbank surrounded her in, that her assistant held her captive within. Sybil could break her free from it. She had to. If she didn't...-



Sybil let the tense moment pass between them, making her dominance known through the quiet.



She snapped her fingers. Her glass rearranged itself back together into her palm.



[ Wine Glass ]

[ > Status: Repaired; Functional ]

[ > Beverage Depletion: 100% ]

[ > Beverages Served: 14 ]



Red gasped, alarmed by this, taking a step back and nearly tripping on her heeled shoes – but she recovered before she fell, always recovered before she fell.



“What...-?” Red murmured in awe – in fear. “You're an...Admin?”



Sybil puffed out a disbelieving laugh at this idea. If she were an Administrator, certain things might be vastly different than they were. But it surely did not harm matters to be allied with one.



Vaguely, Sybil replied, “No, Red. My friend. But...there are certain burdens which I bear, the weight of which is beginning to take certain tolls upon my well being.”



Their eyes were locked, and Sybil let the hollowness she always masked reveal itself to Red.



“Please,” Sybil whispered, slowly approaching Red. “Don't let this...-” She set the repaired glass on the vanity beside Red's. “-...moment, inconsiderate as it might have been, damage our relationship. I...-” She extended a hand toward Red, then pulled it back at Red's hesitation. Latching her hands cautiously behind her back, she sighed. “You are my most cherished companion.”



Red's lips opened, her head twisting ever-so-slightly in confusion. But no sound emerged.



Red was wordless in that instant.



Sybil concluded, “I've...made you altogether uncomfortable. I see this now.” She hung her head with some humility. Some shame. “I apologize for my behavior. It seems I...vastly misinterpreted...particular aspects of all this..”



Their eyes met again, and Sybil was certain, regardless of any misgivings in all this, that Red's words were true: that Sybil was loved. And now? Pitied.



A foul and disgusting sentiment which Sybil would have none of.

But she had to maintain this. She couldn't fall apart now, not when they were so close – when she was so close.



Just as Cloudbank's very form could be altered and adjusted by a whim, Sybil knew that so, too, could Red's affections. Not by popular vote, of course, but by some means.



“You have an appointment, don't you?” Sybil reminded, keeping her tone thick with shame and regret, like lacquer over lips.



“I-...” Red ran a distraught hand through her hair as she fumbled toward the door.



“Go on,” Sybil insisted. “Leave me to my meanderings and mistakes, you have far more important matters to attend.”



“Sybil,” Red groaned as she reached the door, pained in her own way that this was so very unresolved. “We're talking about this. Tomorrow.”



“Mmph.” Sybil was not sure she liked the idea of a 'talk' about this, not until she had a plan.



“Um...Good-...Good night.”



“Mm.” Sybil kept her back to her friend, still not offering a response.



The door closed.



Sybil was staring down at the two glasses, then carefully picked them up.



[ Lifewine ]

[ > Beverage Depletion: 100% ]

[ Wine Glasses ]

[ > Observed ]

[ > Beverages Served: 14 ]



In a moment of lucidity at the reality of her circumstances, Sybil was overcome with rage, like foam bubbling over a boiling pot's precipice.



She thrashed the wine glasses against the wall, their usefulness having come to an end.







####







The horizon sprawled out before her. Endless. A grid for a sky, distorting more the further out it went. An eternal sunset against an ethereal island getaway.



This was Sybil's 'sandbox,' as Royce had phrased it. A special place with unique properties that he had managed to create – discover? – and modify per her specifications within the space between Cloudbank's existence. Visiting this locale, where time itself seemed apart from the rest of the city, well, this had truly opened Sybil's eyes to what the population was missing. What was hiding beneath the facade that was Cloudbank. The possibilities that awaited them...with the very scheme that Sybil and her compatriots were putting into motion. Something about Cloudbank just wasn't quite all that it seemed. And even if that was fine, in and of itself, it was clearly not fine for the denizens living there, wallowing in a plague of indifference within their needless petty difference.



Rather than voting on things that could matter, they were voting on what specific type of precipitation they wished to be exposed to on any given evening. But this? This locale was designed for one person. Artfully crafted by a man who took science and numbers and could make something beautiful with it, something no one else would touch, meddle with, or alter.



This was what their city needed – permanence, so art could be what art was meant to be.



And yet, not unlike her indulgence in fine liqueurs, Sybil could not help but drown herself in the escape, taking her mind off all these lofty worries. Especially after how that had all gone, the night prior, in Red's green room.



The taste of those lips, the pressure of that form against her palms, the heat of Red's breath...



Supped upon, slightly, ingrained into Sybil's memories, yet now altogether inaccessible.



Red had wanted to talk. But Sybil had been avoiding her. She'd neglected to attend the date which Red had imposed.



And so, she had received a voice message from Red instead.



[ 'Look. Sybil. I don't understand what...that...that was all about, I never-...I mean, I knew, I just didn't think you would-...' ] An irate sigh, trailing off into a groan. [ 'We'll work through this. OK? It'll be difficult, but...it's not about the destination, it's about the journey. You'll find someone who can be that special person you need. I'm not that someone. But that doesn't mean I can't be the friend you need, just as you have been for me. Whatever it is you're struggling with, I want to help you. But I can only help you help yourself. Does that make sense? It's not about when you get there, it...-' ] -knock-knock- [ 'Just a moment!...Hm. I think maybe we should stop seeing each other – j-just for right now. I'm still here for you, you can still talk to me. I...-' ] -knock-knock- [ 'We'll get past this. Take care.' ]



So there it was. Not only were her plans with her comrades thrown into flux, but the very object of her desire, the primary goal of everything she had been focused upon, was now like mist dissipating in the rain. What she'd fancied 'special' was now fated to be just another...one of those.



What had she been thinking when she'd made that move?



She had not.



She had been feeling. And intuiting. Incorrectly, for once.



'Think I'll go where it suits me.'

Indeed.

And oh, how Sybil had gone there.



Red was bringing out the influence in her that she'd wanted.

The influence Red seemed to naturally have on others.

Too bad that when Sybil was rebellious, it only seemed to cause problems, not success.

Of course this was the case.

Sybil was rather used to not getting what she wanted.

What was life, after all, if one received whatever they wished for the moment they wished it?



And yet...Sybil longed for her companion, even now, even after.



And there her companion was, suddenly – an artificial one, of course, a white-plated device, made to function like a trained dog. A complimentary gift from Royce which Sybil had coaxed into obedience.



An amusement. A toy.



[ > Queued Up ]

[ > Come Closer ]



Toting her beach ball abreast, Sybil neared the creature, who appeared rather pleased at her owner's presence. She popped the ball up and away, and flicked her wrist gently toward it, easing the creature to play 'fetch.' She had not yet given it a name. Naming it might...lead to undesired emotional responses.



The manufactured beast emitted a sound – processed and imperfect – made to emulate a dog. It bounced the air-filled plastic ball back in Sybil's direction, but she stepped back, letting it drift slowly to the sand beneath her feet.



[ > Queued Up ]

[ > Come Closer ]



Pondering the positions of the pieces before her, Sybil considered her options.



If Cloudbank's 'brush' was truly capable of what Royce had demonstrated...perhaps Sybil could use it to overwrite certain...inconveniences? 'Paint' over certain blemishes in the portrait she did not prefer?



[ > Queued Up ]



Her 'pet' barked.



[ > Come Closer ]



Was this what she wanted, then? A pet? Unquestioned obedience?



Regardless, she couldn't let her allies' plans be set in motion in the way they had intended.



After all, Red being added to that collection had never been part of Sybil's design. And yet, true to form, Red had proven to exceed and break Sybil's anticipations, regardless of how carefully plotted Sybil's moves were.



Still, she would take an obedient but beautiful pet at her side before watching such a majestic beast be locked, chained, caged, and hidden away in some secret zoo.



But her preference entailed removing a certain piece from the board and incorporating Red into the fold.



Sybil wished for Red to assume the fifth finger role of the Camerata.



But with... him at Red's side? This wouldn't happen. No possibility.



And Sybil could feel that Rook gunning for her Bishop's position. Perhaps by threatening the Queen she might find a way to take care of this Rook.



Another dog's bark.



Sybil kicked the beach ball around some more, bouncing ideas along with it.



When she had concocted a plan, she took solace by playing Red's music on the phonograph nearby, and relaxing in her hammock.



Interesting devices, these phonographs. An archaic method of playing music, apparently. The data for the sound was stored into such large, curious discs. Placed upon the player, a needle was dropped upon them. The player spun the disc, and the needle scratched against it, generating the sound. Scratching and singing through a foggy filter, spinning slowly, around and around.



In circles.



Until, eventually, the needle reached the edge, leaving only a muted static to hang in the air, until the device was switched off.







####







The rain was gentle that evening. It was rare for Cloudbank to vote on a proper deluge. Sybil longed for one. A heavy, thunderous cacophony of un-orchestrated sound which somehow managed to fill itself out through its own chaos into something pleasing to the ear. Relaxing, even. Reassuring.



What was currently surrounding her, however, was more of a subdued, drab static of rain.



But those footsteps – the loud, defiant -clak-clak-clak- of Red's heels – it was unmistakable, piercing through the gentle drizzle.



Sybil, hiding beneath her signature umbrella, was surveying the bay from a low-set dock. The wood beneath her was ever-elder, always rustic and creaky yet never aging, never falling apart, never needing maintenance, fated to eventually be altered into something else entirely at someone's whim. She'd been dwelling upon this as she'd awaited Red's arrival. Unlike these rickety planks beneath her, her relationships were aging, withering, rotting away, their damage exposed at low tide.



The boards groaned softly from Red's weight as she carefully tread the dock, arriving at Sybil's side.



“Hey,” said Red gently.



“Hello,” Sybil replied dully.



“You actually came,” Red noted, trying to coax out a smirk using one of her own.



“Mm.” But Sybil wasn't prepared for a performance. Not this time. Why painstakingly plan and plot a procedure when Red's very presence would nullify any idea, any notion, any imagining Sybil carried with her?



Red hid beneath her own umbrella of golds and oranges. With one hand in her jacket pocket, she swayed with some melancholy, and stood for a few seconds, humming along to some melody only she could hear.



Sybil's chest began to build up pressure. She couldn't bear it any longer. It had been so long.



She eked herself to the side and leaned herself against Red's shoulder, their umbrellas overlapping.



She sobbed into Red's jacket once, then cut herself off with a shaky inward breath.



“I miss you, Red.”



“I know. I miss you, too – how things were before.”



That pricked a little. Another jab toward Red's insistence on 'friends,' as if nothing more could exist. Why could she not co-exist? She could learn to tolerate him, if only...-



No. Nevermind that folly of an idea. Sybil was better, worth more than compromise. She deserved better, Red deserved better.



As Sybil recovered an independent stance, their umbrellas remained overcasting one another slightly.



“But things can't be the way they were before,” Sybil acknowledged tartly.



“They could if you let them,” Red murmured with a cranky aftertaste to her tone.



“Says the one writing caustic lyrics, reprimanding this city for letting things be the way they have been...”



“I never meant to cause such a...-” Red's nostrils tightened as she sucked in air, held it briefly, then puffed it out. “If people want to take my songs for some kind of...'social commentary,' that's their-”

“'I won't become a number in the system?' Mm? 'Keep pretending we're one?' 'When you speak, I hear silence?'”



Sybil had blurted phrases from Red's own songs back at her.



Sybil bitterly added, “You keep telling yourself that you are free of any arraignment, my friend. Keep denying your true role in all this...Keep offending my intelligence.”



Sybil straightened her hat, flashing its new accessory – an intricate piece of robotics retrieved by Royce, passively symbolizing her ties to the Camerata. A piece of what he called 'The Process.' Sybil had yet to understand its true nature, but she knew it was key to the true nature of Cloudbank, just as she knew Red was key to her finding her proper, destined place in this whole mess.



“My 'role'?” Red questioned. “You keep-...Sybil, what exactly is going on with you lately? It's been weeks and you've just been...-” Red withdrew her hand from her pocket, gesturing it toward her friend. “-...acting stranger and stranger, I almost don't... recognize you, I...-”



Sybil saw it, then, in that moment.

A RING.

Red was wearing a ring?!



Sybil grabbed Red's hand by the wrist, examining the ring closely, ignoring Red's gasp of alarm.

On her finger. A big, shiny, triangular ring. With a round, red jewel at the center.



“You and... him?! ” Sybil seethed in an disbelieving whisper, not even able to look Red in the eye, but instead just glare at the accursed jewelry.

Red yanked her arm away, stumbling back a couple steps, the motion nearly toppling her balance on those tall, heeled boots in the rain.



“ Wh -?!” Red was alarmed at Sybil's motion, and Sybil was suddenly self-conscious as to just how hostile it had been. “That's none of your business, frankly.”



She hadn't meant that. Hadn't meant that.



“I-...I'm merely-...Sorry, Red. Sorry. I'm simply... shocked you would...dare to elope, without even telling me.”



“We haven't eloped ,” Red snapped. “And it's not-...This is my private life, you don't have to know everything about me.”



“ Funny, how you're so private about all this, then. Mm? About him? As if you know how dodgy it would appear. How questionable he is. How dubious his background-”

“ Quiet. ”



And Sybil was.



Red's eyes, an ethereal blue, practically glowing in the evening light, were like hot neon burning into Sybil's gaze.



“I love him,” Red made clear. Abundantly. “I'm going to spend the rest of my life with him. And that's my life. Not yours. Not anyone else's. I am getting... so tired of trying to-...to censor who I am, what I want.”



“He's a crook, Red,” Sybil barked out, on a whim. She had no evidence . No evidence. No proof. But she knew it had to be true. Had to be. “He's a nobody. A leech, sucking the-”

“You're still not over it, are you?!” Red cawed, panning her head back, wiping her fingertips across her brow. “You're still not over me . I cannot believe this, after all we -...Urgh.”



“Perhaps you don't understand how love works, Red – it is unconditional. I will always love you, regardless of what banal brute you choose to-”

“If you truly loved me, you would get past this, let us get past this, but instead, you push, and you persist, and-”

“This is about more than just us, Red!”



Sybil had shrieked the words out, a roar from a place she had been pretending did not exist.



“This-...This is about Cloudbank, ” Sybil said, her voice having dropped most of its volume, devolved into a trembling murmur. “This is about its future, and you are part of that, but you refuse to accept it, refuse to accept where you are meant to be, letting that... man drive you away, pull you away, from me, from us, from this... ”



“Sybil... what are you talking about?”



Red was curious, now. Yes, yes, of course, very curious. Sybil had her attention, finally.



“ Have you noticed the manner in which this city's structures are written, over-written, and re- written? So frequently? Can you recall visiting any other city? Have you not wondered, taken a moment to consider where this city came from? How it came to be? Its history, its origins, this is all suspiciously absent from memory, from history, and we are so consumed by our introversion, so...so placated by every whim being served at the snap of a damned finger-” -snap- “- that we dare not seek the truth behind what sits in front of us?”



Red's eyes were quivering, flickering, uneasy.



“Oh,” Red muttered darkly. “I have wondered about these things...”

“Explain to me, Red, how you can love a thing – a city – so dearly when it is in constant flux? Impermanent, ever-changing, losing its very identity just as soon as it begins to develop one?”



Red took a step toward Sybil, her face flashing with an angry, bottled passion.



“The same way I love the people I do,” Red replied starkly, fist balled at her side. “People, Sybil. You used to care about them. Understand them. You used to understand me. And I thought I understood you. People change. It's not when we get to some...some predetermined destination. It's the climb that makes us who we are. The scraps and bruises we take in getting there. It's the hard work we put into moving forward. People, Sybil, people are in...in 'constant flux.' But no matter what happens to them, there's...always a trace they leave behind with every action. Every decision. A piece of who they are, or were, or will be. I hold onto that, I carry that, and I try to keep that alive. I thought you were like me in this way. Maybe I was wrong.”



Red took another step. And Sybil was the one who was afraid.



“Or maybe it's because you're hurting, Sybil. I see it in your eyes. I can feel it in the way you speak, the way you act. For months now, you've been...slipping. Going in circles. Every time I talk with you now, it's...the same conversation. The same jealously. The same veiled threats against the man I love. And I keep trying to ignore it, push it to the back of my mind, but it gets harder and harder each and every time you spite me. You're not who you used to be – but your core, the...the center of who you really are, is love. Is affection. It's a desire to help people, to give them direction, and purpose. You helped me. And...-” She bit her trembling lip, raising a shaking wrist, only to clench it into a fist and let it fall to her side. “I am trying to help you in return. Trying to help keep that part of Sybil Reisz alive. But nothing I do seems to get through to you. I see you doing less and less to coordinate the artists of this city. Spending more and more time doing...whatever it is you're doing, on your own, behind the scenes. People are going missing, Sybil. The great minds of Cloudbank are vanishing, and here you are, fucking...wallowing over something that cannot be changed. You know me, Sybil – you know I won't just give up on this, on our friendship. But you're leaving me very little to work with, and you are very correct – this is about more than just us.”



Gone. Gone. Gone.

Out of her control. Wild. Crazy. Electric.

Red was making no sense, no sense, too much sense, nonsense.

One cannot contain lightning in a bottle, cannot trap it, cannot control it, merely direct its flow.

And Sybil was losing her once-keen ability to do even that much.



Red winced out a strange sound, a pained whimper, something unlike Sybil had ever heard her utter.



She reached out a hand, and Sybil...accepted it.



It was very cold skin, given the atmosphere. But there was a warmth inside, barely tangible against Red's clammed skin.



“Red,” Sybil pleaded. “Choose me. Not him. I know you, I appreciate you, I understand you. I lift you up, I put you out there, I make you grow. Not hold you back, keep you trapped, keep you isolated. He's a deviant, a nuisance. He-”

“I love him.”

“But he-”

“I. Love. Him.”

“You're being-”

“You're afraid of the unknown. You're scared, and-...and worried, and I understand that.”

“He is unknown because he chooses-to-be. It's dangerous. Unsafe.”

“You know full well that loving someone is 'unsafe' from the word 'go.' And if you do love me – understand me, the way I know you do – then you know I can take care of myself, and that when I make up my mind, it is made.”



“Red, I can't...keep going like this. Without you...-” Sybil's eyes shed that damnable thing she always, always kept at bay: tears. “Without you, Red, I...can't. I just can't. I'll disappear before I-...We need your help. Need it. Need you to...-”



“Please, Sybil. Think about how you're acting. I do love you – even if it's not in the way that you want. But...whatever is going on with you? I can't just...magically save you from it. You have to do that yourself. You need help. I'm willing to do what I can. But you have to drop this whole...-” Red's lips, her eyes, they grimaced with a momentary disgust that shook Sybil. “-...obsession you have with...being with me, in that way. It's just...not going to happen. OK? So, please. Do what you need to to take care of yourself. And let me know how I can help. It's hard, I know it is, I've been there. Where you are. But you have to stay strong. Everyone makes mistakes, I know I have. This is just...a little time of awkwardness. We'll get through it, I know we will. You...have a good night.”



The contact broke.

And Red left.



And Sybil stood there, aghast and confused.



Red was out of her control. Out of her control. Convinced, Red was, that this rube was what she wanted. But Red did not know what she wanted, did not know, not really. Could not see the truth of things beneath the surface, beneath the chaotic noise of Cloudbank's surface. That man would be the cause of her doom if not put in check, and Sybil would much sooner trigger that end than wait for it, always waiting, so sick and tired of waiting.



Sybil would have to take control, else she would lose that which she cared for most.





