The Parts We Play

If You Can Still Remember

Not even an immortal wizard could focus on any one thing indefinitely.

Douxie and Irene sat in a corner of the loft in the arcane bookstore, buried in the massive tome of magical knowledge, trying to find anything at all that could give them the identity behind the new demonic force in Arcadia- whether the shadow-shroud on these people's faces was distinct, or if the peculiar style of leather armor were recognizable.

Right now, the only thing Douxie really recognized was Irene. Over the centuries it seemed like they were destined to crash into each other again and again, each time somehow painful, distressing, or disappointing, tying each other up in tangles.

Now, though- now, all those centuries of knots seemed to pull apart, to smooth into the most ancient and intricate of tapestries.

Irene sucked her lips in for a moment before exhaling. "Meat pies."

Douxie laughed, surprised. "They aren't as good as they used to be."

Irene covered her mouth with a tiny cackle before pointing to the image in the book before her. "Look– it looks like a bloody pie, doesn't it? Or a blood orange, perhaps?"

Douxie only laughed harder when he looked. "Mordrax's miracles, you're absolutely right-" he calmed himself to the point of a quieter chuckle, looking at her, the sunlight through the window diffusing warmth across her skin and his memory. He recalled the first time he'd seen her, gloriously arrayed in the fiery daylight like this-

'Hisirdoux!' Merlin had called for perhaps the half-dozenth time, but Douxie was out on the balcony- practicing wind spells, he had been, until he saw her.

The rich lilac hues of her attire got his attention amongst the crowd- even as wealthy as Camelot was, it wasn't a common color to see on the streets, much less overlaying a creamy white quilted skirt studded with pearls.

While her gown caught his eye, the moment he saw the young woman wearing it, he caught his breath. Her skin was a cool olive tone, her hair dark and intricately pinned in place, adorned by a gold circlet that glinted visibly even from where Douxie stood.

"... whoa," he breathed, eyes wide as she effortlessly carved herself into his memory.

Merlin came to see what the fuss was about and raised an eyebrow when he spotted the woman. "Never seen a Siren before, have you, Hisirdoux?" He commented. "I've always found them rather ostentatious, but I suppose you're welcome to look." With that, Douxie's mentor returned to his work inside, leaving him to try to tear himself away from the radiant vision before him.

"Douxie?" Irene's voice cut into his recollections, and Douxie shook himself.

"Sorry, sorry," he said quickly. "Just- you reminded me of Camelot for a moment."

Irene smiled, then spoke carefully. "The parties were pretty fun, if I recall. My parents wouldn't let me drink anything– they made me summon water from home if I needed it. It was amusing watching everyone else drink, though."

"Having done both in my youth," Douxie noted, "watching is more fun."

"You snuck me my first drink, I remember," Irene smirked. "You said I looked sad, and I told you I wanted some of the dirt water."

Douxie burst out laughing. "Did I- oh, fuzzbuckets, I got blackout drunk that night, didn't I? I don't remember that at all."

"I don't remember much after that, either." Irene joined the laughter.

Douxie shook his head. "I never drank again after that night- I was violently ill for a couple of days and I don't really remember that first day of recovery either..."