Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Valentine Park

as written by Script

"To know what?" Val smiled sweetly. "That Al hadn't ever done such a ghastly thing? I suppose it was a little redundant. He's obviously far too considerate and sensible for something like that."

"And even if I had done it," Al cut in, folding his arms sulkily. "The victim would most certainly have deserved it, for being a homophobic piece of trash and daring to threaten you. Hypothetically speaking, in terms of things that might - given a stretch of the imagination - provoke me to do such a thing."

Sniggering, Val leaned back and patted Al on the arm. "And it would have... I mean, would be a very sweet and noble gesture..." A pause, as he went back over and considered exactly what they were referring to. "As far as ... vibrator-based revenge could be noble, I guess. Funny, at the very least."

"Most worth-it week of detention ever. Is what it would be. If I did it, and got detention for it. The look on his face was ... would be, priceless. Uhg," Al grimaced, with an exasperated chuckle. "All this conditional tense is giving me a headache."
 
as written by glmstr

"Right right, I didn't need to know that it would have happened," Camille's eyes rolled just a little further. He wasn't sure what else he expected from the two, but they were better than a lack of company. "Do you two ever not have sex on the mind? Like, it's sort of impressive."

He whipped out his phone again and opened up the game, starting into another match.
 
as written by Script

"There was nothing sexual about that!" Al protested. "I only used the object in question because I knew it'd make him freak out."

"Would have used." Val corrected idly, to which Al waved his hand dismissively.

"Anyway, we don't always have sex on the mind. We just aren't as repressed and ashamed of ourselves as you church boys." Al winked. "Or at least, some of you."
 
as written by glmstr

"Unfortunately, you'd be surprised what goes on behind that monastery's doors," Camille remarked somewhat dryly, offering a slight knowing smirk but not moving any further on the topic. It was no secret that the insular population of the church began to fall for each other, and that proselytes would sneak out together and return the next morning, giggling and slightly unkempt.

"Oh, did you guys hear that my sister might be coming to visit?"
 
as written by Script

"I wouldn't say that's unfortunate." Al shrugged. As far as he was concerned, trying to stop teenagers being teenagers was just a recipe for disaster. As the rave had very pointedly demonstrated, when a few proselytes got out from under the watchful eye of their masters... well, things got very messy, very fast.

"Wait, your sister?" Val raised an eyebrow. "Isn't she the one that's now ..." he paused, searching out a diplomatic way of saying 'a mobster'.

Al saved him the trouble. "A mobster, right?" he asked, grinning. Val sighed.
 
as written by glmstr

"Yeah, that's the one," The scion nodded. "I think that place had like a really corrupt government or something, because it looks like she's made it big out there," he opened up the internet browser on his phone and went into his bookmarks, pulling up an e-tabloid article, aptly titled "Look at these photos of the wildest young people!"

He showed the twins the listicle, skipping down part way to show pictures of them in outrageously expensive outfits and somewhat compromising positions.

"No surprise but you two are here. But, just after you," he scrolled down a little further, and the next name came up: Lucille Lacroix. Image after image of a Lutetian woman with dark blue hair, mostly wearing designer outfits and always flanked by guns, expensive wine, drugs, muscled bodyguards or a Fortunaen man, usually multiple or all of the above. One image in particular had the bikini-clad gangster sitting in an impressive luxury yacht that must have exceeded dozens of meters in length, holding an assault rifle in one hand and smoking a cigarette with the other. Camille scrolled just a bit further down, finding one that showed her looking directly at the camera. Unsurprisingly her facial structure almost mirrored his, with an identical shade of hair and eyes. There was no confusion that the two were clearly kin.
 
as written by Script

"Of course that picture's up there," Val shot his brother a glare filled with enough venom to drop an elephant as they scrolled past a selfie of Al, posing in the entry to a clothes-store changing cubicle in front of a half-dressed Val, having to use the changing room's curtain to preserve his modesty. It looked like he was yelling something at the back of Al's head.

Al laughed bashfully, unable to prevent himself grinning. "You have to admit it was funny. And you got me back with the pool thing."

"The pool thing isn't plastered all over the internet," Val muttered, folding his arms and huffing. "I can't believe you exploited me for likes."

"You can exploit me later, if you want," Al teased, snuggling into Val despite his glowering. "We can do some faux-sneaked shots, set a scene up, the whole deal..."

"You'd only enjoy it," Val rolled his eyes, to which Al shrugged - it was a fair cop - and the pair of them turned their attention back to the phone.

Al whistled. "Was she always that hot? Or is there something in the water over there? I do not remember her like that at all."

"Careful," Val murmured, snorting. "Or her husband'll have you taken care of."

Al just scoffed. "Like I'm worried about a mob boss coming after me at this point."

"I ... guess that's fair."
 
as written by glmstr

"Well she's been really pretty as long as I could remember, at least," Camille gave a half-chuckle at their amazement. "I mean, that's one of the many reasons that Pablo guy liked her so much."

Val's comment about her husband made him both laugh and then frown a little. "If you think she'd have her husband or some hitman do the dirty work, you clearly didn't know her that well. Do you two not remember when she got kicked out of the monastery?" His tone became almost smug. Her permanent maiming and near murder of several fellow proselytes shocked the upper echelons of high society, and only made her that much more alluring to the young Fuentes. Though whether he realized it or not, Luci was more than even he could handle at times, quickly becoming orders of magnitude more brutal and infamous than he.

"I don't think she'd get mad for someone thinking she's hot though, I bet she'd be flattered if anything."
 
as written by Script

"That's why I said her husband," Val remarked with a smirk. "But hey, if she's got him whipped, maybe you can work your magic after all, Al."

Al snorted, eyebrows lifting in uncharacteristic apprehension. "Ahh... maybe, but I also kinda like my balls where they are right now. No offence Cam, but she's crazy even by our standards."

It was then that the call finally came for the first match of the semi-finals. The twins looked up, blinking, as the buzz of the crowd intensified. The show was about to begin.

"That time already, huh?" Al shot his brother a smirk, patting him on the back. "Hope you're ready to lose."

Val harrumphed, getting to his feet and folding his arms and returning the look with one that was equal parts haughty and sultry. "I just hope you're ready to dance for me, Al."

"When am I not?" A wink, and Al stepped over the bench to join him. "See you after the match, Cam. And enjoy the show."

The crowds around the fencing ring were murmuring in anticipation of the upcoming duel. Both of the infamous Castellane twins had proven themselves to be unexpectedly capable fencers in the previous round. Valère had triumphed over Celeste, one of the Monastery’s more capable proselytes, whilst Alvère had dominated one of the previous year’s semi-finalists from the Lacroix academy - and made it look easy.

Now, the bracket had placed the twins against one another. As they approached the ring, the pair were seemingly still totally relaxed despite their upcoming opposition.

“I suppose this was going to happen eventually,” Valère remarked, sighing. “But I’d hoped it would come a little later.”

Alvère grinned. “And risk you getting knocked out by someone other than me?”

Valère elbowed his brother playfully, rolling his eyes. Humility was not Alvère’s strongest suit. “As if I’d let that happen.” A smirk formed on his face and he leaned in closer. “You know I’d always save myself for you…”

His whisper was rewarded with a startled blush, and he leaned back with a burst of laughter. Alvère shot him a flustered glare, but before he could respond, the organisers called for them to take their positions. His brother might have liked to think he was the more charismatic and dominant of the two of them, but Valère rested safely in the knowledge that it was as easy as a sultry wink and a smile to throw him off.

He donned his face guard and took his position opposite Al, who had done the same - their stances mirrored as they readied their rapiers.

“En garde.... Fence!”

Alvère immediately took the offensive, as he had in his previous bout. He attacked with a series of aggressive thrusts that Valère deftly deflected or avoided, but he was offered no opportunity to respond. Al knew his preferred tactic of fending off his opponents until they let their guard slip to allow an easy retort, and sought not to give him the opportunity. Their blades clashed quickly, in an exchange that forced him back to the edge of the ring, until - unexpectedly - it was his rapier that found its mark. He successfully deflected what Alvère had intended to be a final strike, and converted the parry into a riposte to his brother’s shoulder.

A round of polite applause sounded as the referee awarded Valère the point. “Losing your touch, Al?” he teased as they were moving back into position. “Or is your mind elsewhere?”

“Psychological warfare is cheating,” Alvère grumbled, “but don’t count on it earning you any more points.”

True to his word, Alvère took the next point in what was almost a blow-for-blow repeat of the previous engagement. Alvère’s aggression was near perfectly matched by Valère’s reactive style, but there was no denying that his brother had the edge, as after another two engagements he had built himself a lead.

On the fourth engagement, however, it was Valère who launched into the offensive first, seeking to take Alvère out of his comfort zone and force him to defend. The surprise came close to earning him a point right off the bat, but Alvère was able to deflect the initial strike and, once more, the two dueled in earnest.

An inexperienced observer would have been forgiven for thinking that the pair were following a choreographed routine as opposed to engaging in a serious duel. For near every strike Alvère attempted, Valère had an answer. The truth was that they had been sparring partners for so long and so regularly throughout their fencing careers, that although it wasn’t, the match truly might as well have been rehearsed. Both he and his brother knew that, of the two of them, Alvère was the better fencer - but that didn’t stop them from making a good show of it. They’d danced this dance many a time, and so they knew intuitively where to direct one another to produce a duel that was equal parts competitive and theatrical.

After all, why were they here, if not to show off?

In the end, Alvère took the victory, at ten points to Valère’s six. As the announcement was being made, Val pulled his face guard off with a sigh of relief, thankful for the cool breeze. He watched with an amused smile as Alvère bowed to the applauding crowd, and sidled up alongside him.

“Having fun?”

“Fun doesn’t come into it,” Alvère replied with a playful grin as he straightened from his final bow. “I simply owe it to my public to acknowledge their appreciation, is all.”

Valère rolled his eyes. “Of course you do,” he replied with a dry chuckle, before leaning in closer once more. “Now, I don’t know about you,” he murmured, “but I’m sweltering in this padding. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to lend me a hand in getting out of it, would you?”

Oh, but how he enjoyed seeing that cocky smile replaced with the shocked face of a rabbit in headlights.

“You’re far too easy to tease, Al,” he said, unable to stop his seductive mask breaking into a grin. He looped an arm through his brother’s and drew him towards the edge of the ring. “But on a more serious note, we do really need a shower.”

“Ah… yeah, right.” Alvère cleared his throat, trying and failing to reconstruct his composure as they walked back towards the benches. “You’re right. We do. Are we heading home for one, or..?”

Valère refrained from chuckling at how easily he’d taken the lead, not wanting to break the spell too soon. “That’s awfully out of our way. I was thinking we could ask someone who lives a little closer if we might borrow theirs.”

Alvère raised an eyebrow, then the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a half smile as he cottoned on. “I don’t suppose you have anyone particular in mind, hm?”

“I might…” Valère hummed innocently. “But let’s stick around for Cam’s match first, at least. It’s only polite...”
 
as written by glmstr

With little time spent between matches, Camille and Alphonse were both hurried into the arena. The former brandished his saber and handed the scabbard to one of the tournament attendants while the latter had a foil. They exchanged no dialogue, as nothing needed to be said. Though more accurately, Lacroix was going to refuse speaking to him on principle.

"En garde," the referee held his hand out between the fencers, looking to both of them to receive a nod of confirmation that they were ready.

"Fence!"

Camille knew Alphonse's strategy this time around. It was not entirely unlike that of Valère, though Alphonse didn't wait as long as the Castellane twin did, he often tried to counterattack as soon as possible.

Lacroix offered a simple swipe towards Al's gut, stepping just a little too close and inviting a counter-thrust. Yet, as soon as his opponent began the expected retort, he dropped to his knees and leaned far back, ducking far under the guard and slicing upwards in a backhanded motion at Alphonse's wrist, scoring the first point. Several people in the crowd gasped, and he received a noticeable applause when his strategy worked.

Camille smirked, this was his chance to press a lead, he just needed to fluster his opponent further with unexpected maneuvers.

In the second bout the scion continued his string of unusual attacks, this time twirling on the ball of his foot while striking, increasing speed with each successive slash and rotating out of the way of Alphonse's jabs until eventually catching his arm again, scoring a second point.

At the third round Camille attempts to slash diagonally then thrust upwards from a crouching position, but he was not quite heavy-handed enough with his initial deflection, giving Alphonse time to score a quick touch and give himself his first point.

A similar trend continued, Camille occasionally making a small error in his risky maneuvers and letting Alphonse actually capitalize on them until the final round, with nine points for Lacroix and five for his opponent.

The final round, the sapphire-haired noble wanted to do something special, something to make his victory that much sweeter. He assumed a new stance, both hands gripping the hilt of his blade ahead of him, holding it not unlike traditional Losenyu swordsmen.

"Fence!"

Camille stepped forward, just outside of striking range. He raised his sword up, and Alphonse twirled his foil, readying himself for an attack from a new angle. The petite proselyte might thrust again, or somersault and strike upwards, anything.

Lacroix took a deep breath, then simply lunged forward and slashed vertically, no tricks, no extra maneuvers. His blade traced a long line across Alphonse's vest, scoring him the final point.

"Hit!"

The crowd applauded and cheered for Camille, and he simply stepped back and reveled in his victory. His opponent had not moved, largely out of shame. The boy he beat last year had made an utter fool of him.

Just to finish his message, the victor refused to shake hands with his opponent, simply waving to the crowd and leaving the ring, peeling off his helmet and handing his sword to the same attendant that had his scabbard.
 
as written by Script

"Ooh, dick move." Alvère grinned broadly, watching Cam snub Alphonse at the end of the match. "I like it."

The crowd seemed more nonplussed about the display of poor sportsmanship, the cheers lowering in volume somewhat and the odd tut spreading through the stands, but many of the onlookers either didn't notice, or didn't care.

Val rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "It's not like Phonsey doesn't deserve it, but it does make Cam look a little bad."

"As if we can say anything about that," Al snorted, nudging his brother in the ribs. "If we weren't making ourselves look bad, whatever would the local gossip mags find to write about?"

"There's a difference between 'bad' and bad," Val pointed out. One was looking like you broke the rules just enough, and danced the knife-edge between excitingly taboo and plain old distasteful. The other was just looking like a dick.

"I suppose. But I don't think anyone cares enough to pay that much attention to one well-deserved snub. Anyway, about that shower... I'm getting clammy, and it's awful." Al hooked his arm through Val's, and started tugging him towards the stands.

The two passed by Cam as he was leaving the ring, and waved. "Nice job, Cammy!" Al called. "We'll see you around later, I'm sure."

"Till then!" Val added, flashing a devilish smile as the two made a beeline for Inarin.

"Oh boy, here comes trouble." Aurelion folded his arms and leaned back in his seat as he spotted the pair of sweaty twins ascending the steps towards them. Inarin followed his gaze and blinked, smiling despite himself. It would be the first time they'd spoken in person since the cancelled dinner, and he'd be able to get a proper read on whether they were alright or not.

"Iiiiinariiin!"

The unified, musical call had his ears reddening (as usual), and he exchanged a brief glance with Aurelion. His older brother snorted, standing and ruffling his hair. "I'll leave you to them, huh? Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Inarin grinned, standing to give Aurelion a hug before waving him off and shuffling out to meet the twins. "H-hi guys!" he said, grinning nervously.

"Hey, cutie," Val swept over to him, pausing just shy of an embrace. "I would hug you, but I'm kind of gross right now. Which is one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you!"

"I don't... Oh?" Inarin raised an eyebrow, tilting his head.

"He was going to say he doesn't mind," Al remarked as he approached. "That's sweet. He doesn't know how stank you are after a workout."

"I will shove you down the steps, Al, if you don't shut your whore mouth." Val maintained his charming smile throughout the threat in a way that was almost unnerving, Inarin noted with a slight chuckle. "Anyway, yes. I was wondering... you have showers back at the Monastery, right? I don't suppose you could get us in, could you? We don't want to have to drive all the way back home, and the porta-showers here are so ... not for us."

Inarin tilted his head, frowning questioningly. He'd never had any issues with the porta-showers here. But he supposed that he had just been thinking about how different a world the twins' came from, despite the fact that he was from a wealthy family too. The church's upbringing had likely left him a little less ... particular about creature comforts than the older boys.

"I guess I could... but uhm, they're not much less utilitarian than the ones here. You could come back to my Aunt Florianne's and use hers? It's kind of old fashioned, but it's pretty nice," he offered, his mind not even remotely considering the possible implications of such an offer.

The twins exchanged a look that was bordering on villainous, before Val answered. "That sounds perfect! But only if your aunt doesn't mind."

Inarin shrugged. "I'll call ahead, but she shouldn't do. She'll be in the shop downstairs, so it's not like you'll be in the way or anything. C'mon!" With a smile, he turned and beckoned for the twins to follow, heading for the steps down and thenceforth the park gates.

As the twins followed, wearing lions' grins, a few figures in the crowd slipped away after them, one at a time.
 
as written by glmstr

"Unfortunately, the Order's monthly stipend of cash is not the largest sum in the world. Some of the other proselytes have smartphones, either from dumping their church money on it or their families paid for them, but I'm saving quite a bit of my allowance and my own family paying for it is out of the question. Thus, I picked something cheap that does much of what I need a phone to do, namely call people and send text messages."

Abel glanced at the teenager's phone, "Don't get me wrong, I'd definitely enjoy having a fancy device. It's just expensive and I can't really get the church's collection of old tomes as ebooks." Many of Lachapelle's monthly allowance was tucked away for unexpected future use, but the portion he did regularly spend often went to the collection of secondhand books and antiques from the before the Night of Black Tears. The aforementioned turmoil destroyed a vast amount of magical materials and knowledge, not just for necromancers but magicians of all varieties throughout Lutetia. This, of course, put the prices on many of these artifacts to a premium, forcing the curious proselyte to pay for pricey reconstructions and reprintings to access books otherwise priceless and delicate.


Before the teenager would have a chance to reply, a soft tap would come to the back of his shoulder. "Do not scold the students of the Order, young man. It's for your sake we do not indulge so freely with these luxuries."

Beaming behind the teenager was a strapping young man with defined features. Every inch of this man screamed "Star Student," from his perfectly combed hair, his chiseled physique, and a winning smile that was crafted in the chair of an expensive orthodontist. He was in breezy, casual clothing, but a crest was embroidered on his blouse, proudly waving the banner of the well-known Duval family, one which gave many sons to the Order. Even without the crest, many knew of the hopeful proselyte. He never made his presence a mystery among his peers.

He looked past the teenager at Abel, gesturing to the person between them. "Is he giving you a hard time, brother?"
 
Before the teenager would have a chance to reply, a soft tap would come to the back of his shoulder. "Do not scold the students of the Order, young man. It's for your sake we do not indulge so freely with these luxuries."

Beaming behind the teenager was a strapping young man with defined features. Every inch of this man screamed "Star Student," from his perfectly combed hair, his chiseled physique, and a winning smile that was crafted in the chair of an expensive orthodontist. He was in breezy, casual clothing, but a crest was embroidered on his blouse, proudly waving the banner of the well-known Duval family, one which gave many sons to the Order. Even without the crest, many knew of the hopeful proselyte. He never made his presence a mystery among his peers.

He looked past the teenager at Abel, gesturing to the person between them. "Is he giving you a hard time, brother?"

If anybody could frustrate Lachapelle faster than Ghislain Duval, he'd probably accuse them of witchcraft. The money, the prestige, everything from his carefully sculpted body (likely through surgery) to his meticulously cared-for smile to his shit-eating grin, everything about this mannequin of a man sickened him. Not only that, but it made him curious, what must go through his head? Is he as blandly clean-cut on the inside as he is on the outside? Or, more believably, was there something horrifically sinister beneath the surface? The latter seemed likely, knowing that both the Monastery itself and people like Duval are both breeding grounds for weird shit. The man was an enigma but in all of the wrong ways, and he hated it yet couldn't help himself from wanting to peer behind the veil.

"Not really, and last time I checked, my last name isn't Duval," Abel did not even bother to look at his new guest, instead staring into his coffee and taking another sip. He only now realized just how sweet his drink was, a welcome departure from his usual preference. Even if he wasn't being outright disturbed, he definitely could do without the stranger, dismissing him with a wave and the briefest hint of magical compulsion. The message clearly hit the right mark, as the teenager wordlessly left Abel and Ghislain and merged back with the crowd.

"I'm surprised you aren't partaking in some sort of contest, isn't this sort of thing your element?"
 
Ghislain couldn't help but grin at Abel's remark. "Normally, I would, but I decided to take it easy this year. I'd like to spend the majority of time with my family when they arrive. Being sweaty and injured doesn't bode well for such reunions. And what of you? Sitting here reading as the festival goes on. No deep-fried treats smothered in chocolate, even."

Gesturing to the seat next to Abel, Ghislain asked, "May I?"
 
"Last time I had one, I had a very intimate bonding session with a public toilet. Most of these are much too rich in fat and sugar," the hermetic proselyte instinctively placed a hand on his stomach, his bony appendage quickly finding a pocket to burrow into after a few seconds. "What is wrong with my reading? If I spent half as much time reading as you do preening yourself in the mirror, I'd have cleaned out the entirety of the Monastery's libraries by now," of course Abel already had, at least the things he deemed important.

"What, am I the bench police or something?" Abel finally looked up at Ghislain just to offer a sarcastically incredulous look. "There's no law against sitting on benches."
 
With a sensible chuckle, the older proselyte sat down. "Never took you for a wisecracking comedian, but I'm fond of it already. As for your reading- no! Nothing wrong. Just didn't expect you to be in the park, alone, whilst festivities continue. Didn't seem like your scene, I suppose."

Briefly, the star student's eyes turned toward Abel's book, then flitted up to the young proselyte's face. "Studying the enemy?"
 
"It's not, but I suppose it's good to be out and about while the festivities are around," Abel rolled his head in a wide circle to pop his neck, "especially considering how chaotic things have become lately. I heard rumors of malicious magic afoot, to add to the mess."

Lachapelle raised an eyebrow at Ghislain's question. "Pardon? Last time I checked, they haven't been the enemy for generations." Such an attitude was common among the Ecclesiarchy, that somehow faith and magic were inherently incompatible, that mages and clerics could not work together against the forces of darkness. It frustrated him endlessly, but he would just have to keep studying and one day prove that the two schools of thought could cooperate, instead of clash.
 
Ghislain held up his hand, "My pardon. I forget there are many who study the arts who lack malevolence. Everyone's just been on high alert since all of the attacks. The Square will never be the same. So many of our own are out there trying to figure out what's going on. It feels like... like a storm is coming. Don't you think?"
 
"Yes, and I seek to cover my head," Abel relished the chance at wordplay, to deconstruct and re-purpose one's words. An underappreciated form of art, he might argue, though such a wondrous form of exchange found itself largely obsolete, as the content of one's words now held the importance. People needed information faster, simpler, in as few words as possible. Simple banter was somehow reserved for the educated, the elite. A shame, really.
 
"Hopefully that'll be enough," Ghislain answered grimly. His eyes were downcast. "There's going to be wind and lightning and it's going to flood something terrible. I fear not even the church will stand strong afterward."

"That's a rather dull way of looking at things, 'Lain. I do demand a cheerier tone from my Knights in Shining Armor."

Dancing out from behind the young men was a dainty, pretty little thing wearing a flouncy skirt and a clean blouse. She seemed every bit of prim and perfect as Ghislain. An ornate clip kept her hair in place, but to those sensitive to magic, it would seem a bit odd. It gave off a shimmering light that was difficult to look at directly but vanished when one took their eyes from it.

"Are you one of 'Lain's friends? My name is Coralie. I'm his cousin. You are?"
 
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