Date: March 14, 1999
Place: Cell - Civitas Dei
Cast: Craft, Kalypso
Scene: The Dea of House Tritonis comes to pass "sentence" on one of the Praetorians responsible for the coup against the Aegis.

In the small, shadowy cell there is a tiny, barred window. Through this window, moonbeams filter into the room, giving it a sparse amount of light. Where the light touches the opposite wall, there is a white form that might, at first, be mistaken for a great egg. Upon closer examination (and suspension of something silly as a large egg), one finds that it is feathered, slightly tinged grey from the grime of the cell and time spent there. A soft rustle comes from it every now and then, giving it some sort of proof that indeed it, or whatever lies clasped within the wings, is alive.

Two Praetorians enter first, the doors to the jail-room flung open as they do. Kalypso follows, pale gaze coolly examining the grimy cells as she moves behind the soldiers on near-silent feet. Her voice is clipped, as she turns to one of the slaves that lingers by the door. "Light. Now." She turns, the slaves scuffling away. The door to the small cell is unlocked quickly by one of the two men, creaking as it is swung open.

The large, feathered cocoon peels away slowly, harsh rustling of the feathers in the small room creating a sharp, shearing noise. The figure that lies beneath is exposed slowly, those wings swinging back to fold on its back. For the most part, it is crouched, balled up. Craft balances on his feet, arms wrapped around his knees tightly. His face, pressed to his thighs and hidden by his mop of hair, lifts slowly to the 'visitors,' eyes taking in each individual, from the slaves to Kalypso to the two Aegian Schola who mock him with contempt, hatred within their eyes. He is silent as he waits.

Slaves return, candlelight brought with them, giving light to the dingy quarters that has been home for... nearly a month? Kalypso's hand rises, the guards sent back as she enters the cell. "Rise, Craft Astorius, if you wish to leave this place." No expression resides on her face, or in her eyes. She is simply impassive. No thought is given to cramped muscles, sore legs. Merely her simple command.

Dark eyes flicker with the light of the torches; the Praetorian before the Aegian pauses, tilts its head to the side. Its lips pull back slowly, some sort of dark humor finding itself within the being's immediate attention. "Kalypso Tritonides," is the only remark that leaves his lips in the barest of whispers at the first, followed by a somewhat louder, amused: "my angel of death, I am to suppose..." The Empyrean slowly rises, unfurling itself from its upright fetal position.

A ghost of a smile appears on Kalypso's face, her wings rigid against her back, almost as if to avoid touching... anything. "If it were death you faced, Craft Astorius, I would not be the one to deliver the news." Her gaze moves towards the small window, and for the briefest instant, a look of revulsion passes across her face. But then it is gone, cool mask back in place. "Do you have anything you wish to say, before you hear what I have to say?"

The Praetor pauses -- anything it wishes to say -- the woman must be the bringer of amusement this evening. Craft makes no motion to adjust the short-cut grey toga that has been clothing for the past four weeks, even though it threatens to slip from its shoulder. "There are times when one should be make the first move and times when it is best to be reactionary," the voice slips from its mouth, green eyes now blazing as the torches are brought closer. They lock to the woman's eyes. "Has Domina Jove, Helena, been found yet?"

Kalypso's brow furrows, a brief lift of her shoulders. "I have been in Civitas Dei for nearly two weeks, and have received no word of such." Her hands fold in front of her, face still impassive. "Do you have any other questions for me?"

Craft's eyes slowly slide from Aegian Schola to Aegian Schola after a moment of silence is held addressing his previous statement before returning to your own. "Yes, I do, but it is a question for your ears only, and so I withhold. Please, proceed with your news."

Kalypso's head inclines, her face still impassive. "Craft Astorius," it is like she is reading from a scroll, or perhaps having just practiced many times what she is about to say, "you have been found guilty by the Aegis of treason, conspiracy, and other high crimes. It is by the request of Khalid Atar that we have spared your life. It is he that you should thank for such." Her eyes are impassive. "You are hereby demoted to the rank of Optio within the ranks of the Praetorian Guard. You will be stationed within Haven in order to perform your duties there." Her voice pauses, eyes on the face of the man before her.

A moment of surprise is apparent in the Praetor's eyes before the barest hints of a somewhat malicious smile appear at the edges of the lips. "Amusing, that..." the being mutters, and then addresses Kalypso directly, "We? The Aegis united on a single decision? Hmmm... perhaps things are changing." The gaze behind the eyes searches Kalypso's, trying to peel back the stoicism she is actively using, "but someone so dedicated to peace, such as yourself, I would have figured you to defend my stance, you of all perhaps to even... support my actions. However, perhaps I overestimate," he lets it fade from his lips. "Very well. Optio. Haven. Are you to remove my wings also?" This last question is asked with an innocent simplicity.

"The Aegis is as united as it will ever be. You were brave enough to turn yourself in for your part in this, and we recognize such. I do not know that we will be so lenient on the others." Kalypso's expression is unchanging, she's had much experience at keeping the mask in place, especially lately. "And I should think that being a Hawk would require you to have your wings, dominus. Never did it cross our minds to remove them from you." Her wings twitch slightly behind her, did something just... bite her? Surely not. "It is not all of your sentence, however. Drusus Jove will give you more information regarding your post in the Guard. I am also to inform you that compensation for the Aegians killed because of your actions will be levied against you, and any other noted to be involved. You will also contribute a sum to the cost of the Emperor's funeral rites, and for the rituals of the Aegians."

Was that a squirm? The Praetor wonders if he did strike some chord deep within her. Perhaps, perhaps not. Does it even matter anymore? Not likely. As she continues, and her speech ends, something changes within his eyes, something malevolent, something dark. "You demand compensation?" the voice that slides from his throat is ever-soft, lethal. "You shall receive none," his eyes flare, though his voice remains unnaturally soft, perhaps to the point of discomfort, "until every one of you finds the mothers and the fathers of the Empyre's children who died as a result of the Aegis's blind pride, every citizen whose family and friends are dead because of its lack of military intelligence, every hope-filled person whose property lies in smoldering ruins, every individual who watched the Varati rape his or her lover, and look them in the eye, and apologize. Then you shall find me more than willing to 'compensate' for the death I have caused. Each Praetor knows that they will die; their training prepares them for it -- but the massacre which you ordered us into must not go without penalty. You owe it to the Empyre..." As his voice fades, a glaze has appeared over his eyes, fighting back the uncontrollable tears which threaten to well too thickly.

As the caged man speaks, the two guards behind the young Dea move forward, but Kalypso raises a hand in the air, stopping them in their steps. Then she takes a quick step forward, anger quickly blazing in the eyes of the young matriarch. Her fist raises, finger pointing at the grime-stained man. Her own voice is hard, but neither soft nor loud. "Your actions caused the deaths of those Aegians. Your recklessness very nearly cost the Empyre its peace that the Aegis did, indeed, attain. I have lost friends. I have lost family. I did not wish for this whole war to start in the first place, but it did. I did what I could to stop it, and in the end, I did stop it. Drusus Jove suggested monetary penalties. If you do not comply with this, then you are directly violating the wishes of the very Praetorians you claim to serve." Just as quickly as the emotion flared, it releases, the only reminder of her anger the words left hanging in the air.

The Praetor, impressed with the Dea's outburst, gives her a moment to recollect. Quite used to people screaming in his face, he cannot help the hints of a wry smile forming on his lips before he banishes it with all the emotional force of a gale. "Are the deaths of a few Aegians supposed to make up for the deaths of the citizens? If we are going to argue over the worth of a man, then I must cease, for I know that you, Dea Tritonides, knows the worth of a man, or at least Damaris did." His gaze drops once that is said, and addresses the issue remaining, "Do not lament the inevitability of war, Dea," he begins, the whisper softening further, "I will cease pointing a finger for now. I believe you, however, I expect you to never question my loyalty to the Praetorian Guard and the Empyre ever again. I will not defend my actions to you. Those are for later times, when perhaps we can speak with each other on closer terms. Monetary grievances will be paid, as much as I am capable of paying. I've not the palatial estate that many have, but it shall be paid." The Empyrean's gaze once more reads your face.

Still emotionless, but she's shown that she does, indeed, possess them. Kalypso nods once again, "The doors of my House are ever open, Optio, when you wish to speak." She gestures towards the door of the cell with a brief gesture, taking a step back. Her face softens, just a fraction, a brief tilt of her head towards the small hall. "Are you to breathe fresh air once again, Craft Astorius? You are free to leave." The Schola still wait just outside the cell, their baleful gazes locked onto the dingy Praetor.

Craft's gaze lingers on Kalypso even as she steps to the side. Is this how it is to end then? Craft pauses, his mind reeling. One foot in front of the other, he reminds himself as he begins to walk out. The first steps out of the cell, he turns to regard Kalypso for a hard moment. Incapable of smiling, he simply asks her, "did you honestly believe the Aegis would commit to a treaty without some sort of action?" His question is soft, careful, so as not to fall on the ears of the Schola behind him.

A brief nod of Kalypso's head replies as she follows, staying by his side as they leave the small area. Her voice is confident, not caring if the Schola overhear what she says. "They would have, Optio. Lysander was dead, Cassius was no longer supporting the war... there were few left who would voice true support." A soft sigh then, as her golden head shakes. Her tone lowers, her eyes lifting to the man's face. "At least this is my hope. But I have oft placed too high an opinion on some." A glance is directed over her shoulder, before her wingtips flick, releasing small amounts of the dust. "But enough of such talk. Why don't you rest for a week, before returning to duties. I shall inform Deus Jove that you will report to him at the end of that time."

Craft softly shakes his head, "The paranoia of politics have clouded your answers, Dea Tritonides, but I thank you for your response." As he begins to gain distance on the woman, he says, "do not let it eclipse your hopes, for hope is what allows us to rebuild cities and move on. Good day to you." And with that he is off. To where, he has no idea.

FIN  

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