stilljustandrew | (no subject)

The blindfolded head turns as though to look at each of them as they approach. "New faces," she says, sounding pleased. "It is long and long since we had any new faces here."

Ava was about to feel cheerful about their odds against a blindfolded chick, but ... she seems like she's got something to rely on other than vision.

"Oh," she replies, sneaking another glance to Andrew.

"Um." A nod. "That's great ...

Where is 'here'? Ma'am."

(She feels like if she looks too long, she'll start to go cross-eyed.)

"Let me look at you," she says. If she's heard Ava's question, she gives no sign.

The hand holding the scales stretches out toward each of them, fingers spread: first Andrew, then Ava. "The Scholar. The Knight of Shadows. Who were you? Of what spirits are you composed?"

Andrew's eyes widen. "Terminus," he breathes. "The Castle Terminus. Is that where we are?"

Knight of what?

Okay, all of this evidently means something to Andrew, which is good. (She can't help wondering, though: Does 'no new faces' include magic spiderbots?)

"What's the Castle Terminus?" she whispers.

"We do call this place Terminus," the blindfolded woman says, "for there are no more journeys to be made from here. This is --"

"-- the only place there is," Andrew whispers along with her, and then raises his voice. "And you're ... Justice?"

She nods.

Swiftly, in an undertone to Ava: "It's the place nearest to the end of time, in the world where Baby's creator came from --"

Ava stares at them both like they're speaking in secret code.

"Her creator," she says, seizing on the part that seems to have potential.

"Okay, so, she could be here?"

"She could be."

He looks to Justice, spreading his hands. "We're -- we aren't from around here. We came looking for a friend of mine."

The woman regards them with serenity, or seems to --

(her blindfold is a hood, a veil, a smooth expanse of eyeless skin)

-- and says "One may ask. Come with me, please. The others will be so pleased to see new faces."

Ava cannot suppress a look of extreme misgiving.

Mostly because her brain finishes that sentence with to wear as skin masks.

But she looks to Andrew and shrugs.

"I don't think they'll hurt us," he says, very low. "I don't think they can. They can't ... change anything."

Ava frowns.

She'd ask him how he knows, but if it's Baby's creator's world-- maybe he's been here before or something.

"You're the boss," she replies, at the same volume.

"The Hermit would agree with you," Justice says, turning to lead them into the castle. "He used to say that we do not exist at all; that we are merely echoes of what once was, poppets for the universe to play with in her dotage. Memories of what once was. And surely a memory can do no harm."

They're walking down a corridor, or a spiral stair, or a catwalk over a vast gallery.

Ava is ... not over it, exactly?

But all these crazy non-Euclidean spaces don't cause the shock and wonderment like they used to.

(If Andrew'd been here before, he wouldn't be a new face.)

"Yeah," she murmurs, amused.

"Surely."

He's looking about him warily, as the space they're walking through opens out into a throne room.

"This is the end of this universe," he says to Ava, low. "The last little oscillation in the final event horizon. Does that sound familiar to you?"

A soft snort.

"Oh, gee."

Ava glances ahead, down to the end of the space.

"Just a little."

Two vast thrones stand at the far end of the room, with a red carpeted aisle leading toward them; there is a figure on each throne, regally poised, very still.

"My lord," says Justice. "My lady. We have visitors."

One figure stirs first, and then the other, as though rousing from something like sleep.

Andrew steps forward, drops to one knee and bows his head, and rises to his feet. "Your majesties," he says. "We have come seeking a friend of mine."

Ava hasn't hung out on diplomatic missions for deposed Nova Pylean royalty in awhile, but she does remember how to drop a curtsey.

She's a little rusty, but she thinks she does all right.

The Emperor looks out at them, his gaze distant, focusing on them with difficulty. "Greetings, visitors. Will you take refreshment? Temperance went to find food, and I am sure she will be back soon."

The Empress studies Ava, pensive and silent.

Ava studies her right back.

If Andrew's right, then they're not in danger, which means she could've stayed back in the bar and waited for him to regain consciousness. Ugh.

... All the same, this place is kind of creepy.

"Um, I'm fine," she replies after a moment.

"Thanks."

"As you wish," says the Empress, sounding only slightly more present than the Emperor.

Their hands lie still on the arms of their thrones; they might be paralyzed from the neck down, for all anyone can tell.

"Your majesties?" The urgency in Andrew's voice sounds somehow out of place here. "Please, can we -- may we have your leave to search here? For our friend?"

Oh God.

This is going to be like looking for a needle in a shifting post-universal haystack, isn't it.

"We won't disturb anything," Ava adds, although she can see how the necessity might arise and is pretty all right with doing whatever they need to.

"We just want to bring her home."