[Grysar] Some days ago, Kaede and Yusuke had discussed past lives, but Kaede felt he left learning nothing new and Akemi quickly turned the conversation to other matters after the dinner broke up. But conversations with the others about the World and Kazuko Yamagata again churned an idle portion of his mind and troubled his sleep. Some nights later, Kaede went to bed and Masaki awoke from a stupor. Before he opened his eyes, he recognized the feel of the seats, the sound of metal wheels on a track, and the not unpleasant jostle of quick movement. Opening his eyes and seeing the Ota, he knew his exact position. Other sensations were jarring, such as the metal cuffs on his wrist, binding his arms behind his back. At least his coat was draped over his shoulders, that probably meant they wanted him controlled but not branded as a criminal. Looks like the Council was sending him on a field trip. His minder rode alongside, right hand never far from the sword he always carried. He’d been perhaps the first Arcana that Masaki observed some years back, but the reporter still didn’t know what went through his head. Maybe the card is all there was to him - the weapon in somebody else’s hand. “I’d have an easier time finding the Magician if my hands were free.” “If your obstinance did not drive you to the hard path, many matters would be simpler.” Masaki chuckled at that. “The only way life is ever simple is if you’re ignoring something important.” They sat in silence for a time after that. A sudden horn blast alerted Masaki to a cab rushing to keep up with their tram. Promising, but it wouldn’t due to have his guardian notice that. Masaki’s tone got a bit quieter, these days some things are even more controversial than Arcana matters. “So why are political parties so anathema? Can’t say our Diet got better without them, most parl--” “The Council isn’t a Parliament. The Suits are not meant to be parties, they are areas of specialty and responsibility. If your concern is democracy it goes back to the very start--” “, yeah yeah.” Masaki was a little proud of himself. Greek didn’t come naturally to his tongue, but he’d been corrected by the Voice several to many times. More important the distraction was working, Ace was a true believer, in this day and age. “Each suit, each Major has their areas of responsibility. To do their job they must think of themselves as their card and not their party. We all must, that’s why your pamphlet was so dangerous. The cards can tell us who best fulfills the role that meets the need of the time.” Masaki couldn’t help but laugh at this and Ace was not pleased. “Spare me your cynicism, cleverer ones than you have tried to cheat the system and been caught.” Masaki kept his tone even, “The outgoing Councilmembers frame the questions that the cards answer. I don’t have to have a head for figures or a hand for legerdemain to know that in a casino, the house always wins. The Council is rife with secret alliances, staffers whose loyalty isn’t to their suit. And if you think the Voice didn’t know about the Magician loyalists, I’ve got a bridge to sell you.” The streetcar slowed to let on passengers; the taxi was no longer in view. The Ace had no quick retort for that last part. “If the Magician is in the city, he is in violation of his exile. You have done us a service reporting that and, I am ashamed to admit, caught us napping. If you cease your subversion and behave in a manner worthy of trust, you will be given trust in return. I am not your enemy and neither is the system. If you still object to Minazuki-sama’s leadership then you can call for her ostracism next year, invoking the same right as any other Arcana.” Masaki stifled a smile as he recognized a new friend in the line to board. Best to keep Ace’s attention just a little longer. There was time for one more question. Masaki, what did you do? --- [Rowyn] Masaki had heard it many time before. Fate, Destiny. Things that couldn't be changed. It was ironic really and laughable they didn't see the hypocrisy of it all. _The Magician._ He brought up the Magician and his forced exile. If every card really fit a _role_, then wouldn't too the Magician fit his? Their logic was flawed from the get go and they couldn't see it. Never wanted to see it. They had far too much confidence in their old ways, old patterns. The ways of the past were gone, drifting away. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone. At worst, it would simply keep him occupied but at best, he might see a break in the demeanor and enrage him a little and the nasty part of him couldn't help but feel there might be some satisfaction from that. "So if the roles are so important," he says cooly, the words themselves seeming to almost come from elsewhere, another time. "What role do you and the Council feels the Magician has to play? In all this?" At best, he might find what they'd _thought_ the Magician should be. Whether he would get the beliefs of the Ace or the beliefs of the Council themselves, well.... Beggars couldn't be choosers, Tsumioji. --- [Grysar] To Masaki’s dismay, the Ace was not perturbed in the slightest and was almost eager to proselytize for the system. “He saw himself as a creator of solutions and someone who could lead the way to the future, not through sheer force of will but by showing others a better way.” The Ace muses for a moment. “In private he would say that whatever your sympathies, every side in this awful war knowingly sent young soldiers to their deaths. The cards indeed ask nothing less of all of us to finally defeat the Oni. His argument.” The Ace looks at Masaki appraisingly, “Your view of fate has always been so simplistic, black and white. So let’s make it mechanical: imagine this trolley was hurtling towards several score of people stuck on the track. The Magician would claim that his role was to throw a switch, even if it resulted in another suffering an earlier and more egregious fate.” Caught up in his metaphor, the Ace started to look forward; that wouldn’t do. Masaki intended to put a finger in his overconfident face to object; this required raising both hands. As he began to speak, the Ace redirected his attention and cut him off. “But I haven’t answered your never-ending questions, have I. Ostracism may indicate that a person is not living up to their card.” Masaki heard the streetcar doors close and spared a quick glance to the front as the Ace’s speech built in intensity. “Or that their card is not appropriate to the time. Whatever his deceits, whatever the consequences, the Magician did play his card. A majority decided that now was not the time for it. If he had accepted his exile, his time may yet have come again.” When Masaki saw Hamia Mokrani board the trolley and pay her fare, he felt a relief he did not reveal outwardly. He was sure it was her, even from the other end of the car, and obscured by those passengers deboarding through the back set of doors. Her dark skin tone could pass as one from the southern reaches of the Japanese Empire, and she took the extra step of choosing a hat that covered the natural corkscrews in her hair. Soon after the Ace recognized her too. Their eyes locked and someone raised a field before the trolley had picked up speed. The other passengers disappeared and the car jolted twice, first at the sudden loss of electrical power and second as a suddenly driverless automobile bumped into the back. The new arrival easily kept her footing. “Revered Aide-san. Tsumioji-san has business with me. Kindly cease to tarry him.” Her accent was heavy, as ever, but her diction crisp. Masaki called back. “I pride myself on timeliness, but my hands were-” The Ace stood, not yet bothering to draw steel and staying by Masaki’s row of benches, brusquely pushing the reporter back down and knocking off his hat after when he attempted to stand. “Council business. You know the rules.” “By what resolution is he drafted? Or for what crime is he charged?” The Ace revealed chagrin for the first time Masaki had ever sent. He remained silent. “I thought not.” Mokrani drew a yagatan with her left hand from the under the folds of her kimono. Masaki hadn’t even seen the outline of the short, hiltless curved sword a moment ago. Awaiting no further ceremony, she charged down the aisle. The Ace drew his blade with an expression of dismay. “You would disgrace both of us.” Masaki had never covered the kendo beat but followed the fight as best he could. Mokrani ’s heart was in it, and her short sword better as she weaved around the seats and polls of the car with ease. However, her opponent was a good as his card. She got close, parried well, and steadily captured his attention but was outclassed, wasting no time on bon mots. She slowly gave ground, acquiring a few cuts for her troubles as she was first forced back past the second set of doors, then the middle of the car. Her slashes were well controlled but did not wound him. The blood she left on the aisle was only answered by ruining the pockets of the Ace’s overcoat. The battle grew harder to follow as it moved away from him, but the winning side was obvious enough. Before long she was almost at the front end of the aisle and the driver’s cab and out of room to retreat. Despite all this her expression was calm, perhaps even amused. Masaki glanced around in case there was some joke he was missing and he noticed that the Ace’s shadow was acquiring a ruddy tint as it passed over the drops of Mokrani’s blood, which then spread into it. Stranger still, it then froze in place, even as though the Ace has not slowed in the slightest. Time to move, Tsumioji! He wasn’t sure what was coming, but sitting still wasn’t in his nature. He awkwardly maneuvered himself out of the bench as the Ace’s shadow came alive, rising from the ground and becoming a moving silhouette. At the same time Mokrani’s other hand shot out of her kimono - no, not hand, prehensile steel. With a pair of right hooks she grabbed and pulled the lever that opened both sets of doors. Thanks to all the ground the swordswoman had given up, Masaki was now closer to the back exit than the Ace was. He had a chance to leave, but there was just one problem: his hat still lay on the floor by the bench. At least his legs weren’t bound; a quick drag, bend, and kick might knock it up to where his arms could reach it. This proved harder than expected. The Ace had noticed the forming apparition, and while a lesser swordsman might have left a dangerous opening then and there, the Ace continued to parry as he assessed this new threat. “Do you think you can truly escape duty, justice?” His look of bemused frustration at Masaki’s attempted escape and lost chapeau changed into one of sorrowful recognition as he gazed into the face of the shadow. “As you know, we seek to thwart neither,” retorted Mokrani as she sliced down one last time. The blow was knocked aside, tearing open only a previously damaged jacket pocket, before the force of the parry knocked the sword out of her hand entirely. The shadow then reached down, grabbing a keyring that clattered to the floor, and tossed it back in Masaki’s direction. He was able to catch it in his hand but only by losing his newly acquired grip on his hat. “Tsumioji-san, we all must make sacrifices,” Mokrani shouted as she leapt out the front doors, no longer seeking to hide her hooked hand. He always hated it when she said that, and he exited as well. As they raced down the streets, Masaki grumbled. “You owe me a hat.” Her look demonstrated that she hadn’t gained a sense of humor since they last spoke, so he followed up. “Thanks, but I can’t promise you any favors in return.” She then grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into an alley where she took the keys and freed his hands. Her hooks were only so suitable to the task and she pulled him in tight when the sound of people on the street, with prying eyes to match, returned. As she worked, she whispered, “Your debt is not to me. There is a role for you as well, Tsumioji-san. Whatever the form, power can never be trusted unless the press is free.” Kaede awoke with start as he found himself newly in Akemi’s embrace. She’d been having trouble sleeping again. [End]