you don't talk to no one, don't you look at nothin'

[verbrannt]

No one's gonna love you
No one's gonna touch you
No one's gonna look at you the way that I do
No one's gonna save you
Use you up and break you
I'm the one you pray to every night 'cause you're mine

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become the master

[verbrannt]

Prior to the public exposure and deposing of Trent Ikithon, Astrid had moved quickly to scour all of his secret spaces of anything hidden and rare. Most were incidental to the crimes for which he would be ostensibly punished for, but still immeasurably too valuable to lose to the Martinet, or the Crown, or anyone else who might confiscate such important items. There were secrets she knew that they didn't, and it would stay that way, so far as she was concerned.

That her old master was still permitted continued breath grated against her very soul each day, almost more so than when she had still been under his dominion. She had been so close. So very, very close, and then denied the one thing she had dared to truly imagine for years and years and years. She imagines it, still.

It was no surprise when she was offered his seat in the wake of his deposing. Part of her still couldn't help the bitter thought that it was given out of pity, in light of the abuse. It fueled her rage, even though every step she had taken for the past dozen or more years had been to achieve this very thing. Comparatively smaller acts consoled her temporarily - destroying the mundane things about her that reminded her of his presence, emptying his tower of anything useful and razing it to the ground. And finally, once the Cobalt Soul had gotten the evidence they needed, doing the same to that place far outside the city where they and others had suffered. It burned for days.

It has only been some months since then. She spends her time equally between the generous office gifted by the Martinet and her own quiet property. Eadwulf still constantly at her side, officially as an aide and personal guard, though technically free to do as he wishes. That is their agreement.

The days are cooling, now. The air crisp and clear with an endlessly blue sky. Apple harvests and autumn festivals liven the city and its outskirts. Her high office has a balcony overlooking much of it below, the doors open and a fire burning nearby as she sits at her desk, writing furiously in a journal. There's a knock at the door, and in the pause before it opens the book disappears into a tear in the air with a flourish of her hand. She pulls a different piece of paper closer instead, and calls in a clear, commanding voice.

"Enter."

The chamberlain enters and bows formally. "Begging your pardon, ma'am, but you have a visitor: Mr. Widogast."

Across the room, her jaw tightens imperceptibly.

"Show him in."

[blumenthal]

It doesn't come as a surprise to him that Astrid apparently hasn't chosen to take up residence in Trent's former tower in the Candles. That place is full of bad memories for all of them, and the shadow of its former occupant still lingers, though the man himself moulders his few remaining years away in a cell.

The office he is led to is modest only when compared to the arcane ostentatiousness of the rest of the Cerberus Assembly. Astrid is well aware of what the trappings of power look like, and as the Assembly's newest blood and its first (hopefully only) to come from the Volstrucker program, Astrid needs such things to secure influence and maintain her new position. Still, there is a certain practicality to it, an austere severity that is more purely Astrid, and speaks of her former position. That is useful, too. She is dangerous, and every reminder of that helps.

For all that he has never been entirely certain of Astrid's intentions since they first saw one another again, Caleb is not worried about his own safety--not even now, when he knows full well that she must still be angry with him. He can't blame her. He too has spent years thinking of the ways he would kill Trent Ikithon if he could. Being robbed of that catharsis, even if it is for a practical reason, is painful. He feels the ache of it still. But there was no way that this victory would ever be entirely satisfactory, no matter the outcome.

Caleb is dressed plainly as ever, a little scruff on his cheeks and his hair pulled back, and though it isn't shabby, his coat has seen better days. It had been clear to him that Astrid's staff did not expect her to grant admittance to such an unassuming man, let alone so quickly. The look of surprise on the chamberlain's face when he'd informed him that the Archmage would see him immediately had given him a moment's satisfaction.

Their eyes meet the moment he steps into the room, of course. He offers her a smile first, in a tense silence that lasts only seconds, but seems slower as his mind tracks each one. He had hoped perhaps he would find Wulf here as well, but the room is empty--seemingly, at least--but for the two of them. Still, this works.

"Thank you for seeing me," he says, respectful of her new position despite their familiarity. He slips into Zemnian right away. "My congratulations are overdue, but still, you have them." The door closes behind him as he steps further into the room, halfway to her desk. He doesn't look anywhere but at her as his mouth thins in a rueful smile. "It was always meant to be you sitting there."

[verbrannt]

It's been weeks since they last saw each other at her last appearance for their former master's trial. Astrid knows the further aspirations that Caleb and Beauregard had for the entire assembly; they hadn't been shy about their goals in the wake of that day in the Blooming Grove. Both she and Wulf had been particular in their testimony, and the other two had known it as well. There were still things she wanted to accomplish, and none that would happen if any of them gave Ludinus reason to doubt her more than he already might. His offering of the position to her was assuredly a calculated move.

Even if she was his second choice. Just as she had been Trent's.

The comment grates more than it might have if he were dead.

Her expression does not change. There is no particular hint of affection or warmth in it, her thoughts and emotions hidden behind a carefully blank gaze.

"Yes, it was. Despite anyone else's wishes." It's perhaps more barbed than intended. She doesn't care.

Astrid laces her fingers together, hands folding over the paperwork on her desk as she looks at Caleb expectantly.

"What do you want?"

[blumenthal]

He feels that barb as little more than a graze. There is no sting in it for him. What bothers him more is her unhappiness. He has to remind himself that her feelings aren't his problem anymore.

Still, he cares. Which is unwise, but somehow feels inevitable. There is no timeline, he thinks, in which his heart doesn't ache when he looks at Astrid Beck.

Caleb's hands fold together in front of him with a soft creak of worn leather from his fingerless gloves. Her expression gives very little away, even to someone trained to read such things--even to someone who once knew her every tell. It doesn't stop Caleb from looking, even as she ushers them right to business. No cheers, Bren for him any longer. It's...better that way, probably. To know where they stand going forward.

"I'm leaving to go north again very soon," he says. Of course she'll know north means Eiselcross means Aeor, if not precisely what ruin. "I thought I would offer you a first look at what my colleague and I uncover there in exchange for your resources in the continued study of our findings."

In truth, this is only part of it. He doesn't know if he'll be able to speak the rest today.

[verbrannt]

At the mention of going north, Astrid stiffens immediately. She moves to her feet suddenly, a brief wave of her hand and her eyes flash briefly as she turns a full circle about the room. Her wards are impeccable, but with the likes of the other members of the Cerberus Assembly, she can never be too careful.

Finally after a few moments, she walks around the edge of her desk and perches on it, perfect and neat. It would seem an overly casual position if not for the newly sharpened intensity of her gaze. She crosses her arms over her chest, chin tilting upward. The marred skin of the scar licking like flames up the side of her throat more apparent, now.

"Your colleague," Astrid repeats with careful emphasis. "I assume the same one we encountered when we first gave you our testimony?"

The drow?

[blumenthal]

Astrid's casting--See Invisibility, surely--is momentarily surprising. Does she not trust the security of her own office, or does she not trust him? It's silly even to wonder, honestly. The latter is far more likely. But Caleb has nothing to hide, and so he remains still, allowing her caution and waiting for her to settle again. When he follows the tilt of her chin, his gaze lingers naturally on the burn scar beneath in roughly the shape of his own hand. The twang of guilt he feels is familiar, but he reminds himself not to dwell.

"The same one, yes. His knowledge about what we may uncover is second to none."

Of course she would be aware of who he plans to meet there. A week spent together at the Blooming Grove had been unintentionally revealing for all parties involved. But the more he can avoid talking about Essek the better, for a multitude of reasons.

[verbrannt]

It's a mixture of both, but primarily the former. Here in the tower offices of the Assembly, Astrid feels a watchful eye always, regardless of whether or not it is really there. With as much power as the position brings, it also comes with a leash tied directly to the Martinet, and she is not about to grow complacent. Ever. It is how she survived so far.

She stares Caleb down, memories of the handful of days spent in close quarters for the first time in more than a decade winding through her mind. The connections between him and the drow had been unmistakable for someone who was always watching others carefully. Yet for as easy as it was to spot, understanding her own feelings have proven much more difficult. For as much as she tries to tell herself that Bren...Caleb...is not her concern unless he is on her doorstep, it is harder to truly detach.

"How fortunate." Her voice is just a shade drier than neutral. "That you happened to make such a connection. But I am surprised you would so willingly offer what you find to me, knowing that such knowledge would be difficult to contain once shared."