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Entry tags:
( cmo ) general rp
play with me! ☆
my character list is here, while my (outdated) rp wishlist is here! go crazy with whatever you wanna throw at me; leave the character you want to thread with in the subject, and i'm cool doing or replying to starters!
body heat / fluff / insomnia / rain / realistic college au / reunion / soulmates / stargazing
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Marie Antoinette's signature has been on his dominant arm since he was seven, pulsing with glow every time he came near her. Couples in her court never glowed. People were married for power, not out of a sense of destiny. Humans were too valuable to let chase their dreams when forming alliances was the top priority. How must she feel, knowing her name is upon him and having to cover it with makeup so her husband doesn't feel inferior?
Then there were the deaths and then some. He's sure his fever came and took him before her because he couldn't live in a world without her. He claimed only to love his music, but every song he'd ever written was for her. It was his way of channeling his love into song that she might one day hear. The only way she could hear their bond... the only way they could speak.
Of course, he denied it, but maybe Marie knew. Maybe she didn't. It was difficult to love someone your entire life and perish, but more difficult was coming back as a servant... along with her.
And their master had trained them together, so his arm was always lighting up-- he could never see hers despite her outfit, where had she covered it?
In a warm break in Chaldea, one thing had survived. An old piano meant for teaching students in recreational hours. He tuned it to a perfect degree, spent hours fixing it, and at once, laid down his fingers to finish the last song he was to play before he fell ill.
Footsteps in the hallway interrupted him, however. ]
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no, her heart has always truly belonged to that charming musician boy she met at her family's summer house, who'd had the courage to ask for her hand when they were children. of course marie, the eternal romantic, would fully believe in love in first sight. imagine her joy, her sorrow, when they'd been summoned together from the throne of heroes; both had made their marks on history to be memorialized forever.
she has always loved mozart's music. she adores the way his fingers expertly work the keys, the way his brain can improvise a masterpiece on the fly, the way his heart works its feelings into every note. when she hears the sound of a piano being played through the halls, she is instantly drawn toward its source. she makes sure to keep her footsteps light, but somehow she still manages to interrupt the music. of course, a trained ear like his would be able to note even the sound of a feather falling to the ground.
she peeks into the room, her expression cheerful, yet apologetic.]
I'm sorry—did I disturb you, Amadeus?
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[ There's a chair in the corner of the room and-- this is the first time they've had alone completely together, right? Even though he is a Heroic Spirit, his arm, usually blank, is rolling with colors written in her name, positively aglow. Thank goodness his sleeves are too long to show it, but they both know the elephant in the room now that they've been summoned together after she was brutally lost to battle and he'd... let her go again. To stop Maria from being herself, for fighting for her kingdom-- that was treason, wasn't it?
And yet, his fingers settle back on the keys, playing a lovely melody uninterrupted by off-tune keys. This piano showed age, but that just meant she was broken in, that she settled in her ways and would play back to him all of her years. Did Maria ever hear his conversations with her? Was she hearing it now? All those songs... he has the freedom to play each one for her now, but...
He puts his heart and soul into it, on this simple piano, drawing up notes like music. Love-like sound. Even if he's the only one who can hear the words written in his notes, he will purely and relentlessly play them. Then, as it hits the last keys, his playing stops. ]
Maria, what may I help you with today?
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[when he invites her in, she gladly takes the seat, settling daintily into the chair. as he begins to play, she closes her eyes, trying to envision the inspiration behind the ethereal melody. who is he speaking to, what messages does he hide in the spaces between the lines of the musical scale?
though marie is something of an accomplished musician herself, there is something in the way that amadeus composes his pieces that she knows she will never match up to. and she is perfectly fine with that, for where he can express himself best in the wordless music of the piano, she prefers her emotions to be known in a more distinct way. she does not compose lyrics for the song that mozart plays for her today, but she hums to accompany his work, her soprano voice as clear as crystal alongside the wizened keys he taps.
she wonders, for she knows what is hidden under the fabric of his sleeves—has mozart ever wondered why, even though she is a heroic spirit, she wears gloves?]
Do you have a name for that piece?
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[ He doesn't particularly care if anyone named that piece in the modern day-- it was his work and he chose the name. Besides, silence spoke for plenty about him at that time where he could not reach her, when the revolution was spinning wire 'round her neck. It's easy to regret when you're a heroic spirit all the saving you could have done, when in truth you were just a dying man, barely rasping to get out a single note of your voice.
He wonders if that's why he became what he did. A last, dying note of regret. He'd asked for her hand quicker than anyone else could have, as if dibs were at play, but she was destined to be traded for her country and for peace-- a noble idea, had it worked. With the revolution brought fire and a dismantlement of the monarchy she was sold to. If only Maria Theresa had taken his proposition more seriously... would it matter to her still? That the peace she had traded for was peace nonetheless?
To speak ill of your soulmate's mother is unbecoming at best. He'll stop. ]
Louis Auguste. [ He said, mischievious, misleading, lying. ] Your marks must have wooed the entire court, yes?
[ Did France paint them on in an absence? He can't remember all those years ago what was in fashion for France. ]
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perhaps she'd hoped, upon finally meeting him face-to-face on that april afternoon, that louis auguste's name would replace wolfgang amadeus mozart's. it didn't.]
You know as well as I do that the court didn't like to speak of marks. It was a very old-fashioned tradition, non?
[she knows what he is getting at. did he forget she also loves to tease?]
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Why, you could call my entire audiences 'soulmates' with my music if you thought of it that way. [ Ha ha... ha... ]
[ This is sad. He cannot burden his lady with this truth, but the chance that they'll be summoned together again must be so low. This was an obscurity, a rarity in which he found her once and the same person found them both again. If he was to understand the Holy Grail War and its mechanics, the two of them would be enemies once they disappear from this plane and are ever summoned out of the many heroic spirits again. This is too painful. He wasted one lifetime trapped without purpose but his music, which was a mere way of communicating to the world his feelings--
He slides up his sleeve and there her name is, on his dominant arm 'Maria Antonia Josepha Johanna' is scrolled across in elegant scripture. ]
Our time might be short, and our future crossroads unknown, but I wanted to show you.... that I am a filthy liar, as foul as they come, and I was until the bitter end.
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[when he begins to roll up his sleeve, she brings a mouth to her hand to stifle her gasp. there had been countless cases over the centuries where one's supposed soulmate's name had graced some part of their body, only to find that person had another person's entirely.
though she had adopted the french version of her name at fourteen, as soon as she'd moved to versailles, there is her original name, clearly written on his arm.
the legends are true.
for she removes the glove from the hand that had covered her mouth, to show that "wolfgang amadeus mozart" is inked onto her arm. (at least. she's pretty sure it says that. if she squints.)
and she begins to tear up.]
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[ He stands up and walks several gentle steps over, and embraces her in a modest hug. ]
We were born in the wrong time for it. As genuine and innocent as finding your soulmate as a child may be, you were still a chip in your mother's hand, and I was a prodigy to be chained to my art. So I used that art to reach you as you got older, as my compositions made it to France and were played by other pianists. I secretly hoped you would hear one of them and hear my voice.
[ He trails off, a little weakly... ] But that wouldn't have changed anything. It would be the most dangerous heist in the world to steal the Queen of France, and a rude one to steal her from her people.
[ The people that killed her, when she was merely painted and dressed to act a certain way, to fall to the scorn of the court and the vices to assuage them, to fill her head with their frilly, numerous rules until they knocked it out of her head quite literally. In his eyes, Maria was a victim of circumstance and birth. Her disabled sister Maria Anna had more freedom than her-- the pain she had suffered near-death before making a miraculous recovery allowed her to do many things that Maria Theresa could not use as pawn.
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I wish... I wish I had realized! Perhaps it's because I'd already promised to be devoted to dear Louis, and enough rumors started going on about my supposed infidelity, that I didn't think to listen any closer to your music... stupid, stupid Amadeus!
[almost childishly, she balls up her fist and lightly punches his arm, but there is no power behind her strikes. in fact, after a few nudges, she lets her arm fall to her side and she starts laughing.]