isleofavalon | [OPEN] the stuff of montages

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original: cecelia ardenbury

[OPEN] the stuff of montages

🧙 WHO: Cecelia Ardenbury, OPEN
⚔️️ WHAT: A space for magical training/assessment and the viewing of the Calamity (ref: network announcement)
🕒 WHEN: Oct
🗺️ WHERE: The Ambassador office (Camelot), Red Spring, End of the World
⚠️ WARNINGS: In subject headers as needed

SIGN IN HERE is written just above the lines of names and dates of previous visits.

There is a small table setting by the window on the opposite side, where tea is still piping hot and waiting - just in case anyone is inclined to it. Miss Ardenbury prefers spiced, robust dark brews to anything light or floral, so novice tea tongues beware.

Where once was an empty wall is now a length of engineer's drafting paper, and upon it is the sketching of two views: One, the top-down topography of the calamitous end of the world; the other being a more man's-eye view of the location. There are a few representations of the fluctuating starburst in the sky as well, alongside some peculiar, indecipherable shorthand notes in small, neat lettering.

Miss Ardenbury herself sits at an oak desk further in amongst her stack of borrowed books and personal journals, likely still scratching away or having herself some of that tea. She doesn't even look up right away to greet - the bell was signal enough for her to call:

"Do be sure to sign in, thank you. What business do you have here today?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I suppose the thought counts for something." That's as much of a bone as she'll throw his way where compliments are concerned.

She gestures to the seat on the other side of her desk.

"Sit down, then. Might as well see to the questions since we're already here, mm?"

It's as much of one as he could ever expect, so no problem there.

Morgan snagged the free chair by the back, spun it on one leg, then dropped into it mid-spin in a move that was complicated, graceful, probably shouldn't have worked, and was definitely showing off. As soon as it, and he, came to a halt, he dropped both elbows on the desk, clasped his hands, and met her eyes.

Suddenly, things were very serious.

"The calamity. Are we us?"

Cecelia's head tilts just slightly.

"Can you expand a little on what you mean? So I know more precisely what you're getting at."

"The people who come here lose their powers. That's not just 'suddenly magic doesn't work'. Or 'the way you use magic doesn't work here.' The only way to stop my magick is to literally --" His hands unfolded, slapping down on the desk for emphasis. "Destroy a part of me. Like spiritual lobotomy. And believe you me, I'd know if that happened. And there are others who've lost something inherent to them, part of their very essence. Like shapeshifting, for example. And the things we come with?"

He reached over his back, hooked the hilt of his sword with one thumb, and drew it just far enough to show off the dull-gold blade.

"This material is Primium. Long story short, it literally can't exist without being antimagical, and yet here it is, existing without being antimagical." Morgan let it fall back into its sheath, lowering his hand again.

"So here we are, in the center of frozen time and space. Allegedly, we've been drawn in from our unmoving existence. We all have magic, and that magic is defined distinctly -- two types, with hard limits. Now, saying all that, what's more likely? That we're actually us, body and soul, just somehow those bodies and souls and accompanying items have been changed in fundamental and impossible ways... or that we're something else? Projections. Impressions. Copies. Parts of our souls in bodies that were created the same way this world once was. Something like that."

She folds her hands, resting her chin atop them as she listens, watching his expression while he explains. Destroy a part of me, he says, and that part sticks out the most. It's...strangely the most relatable concern he raises, though that's something she can ruminate on later by herself.

Her eyes flick to the blade for the brief moment it's displayed, squinting. She's no forger - she can't discern properties of a blade at-a-glance...but even if it were, without her magic detection senses...

Back to Morgan, then. Her brow furrows at his wondering.

Following his line of thought: "Aspects moved into new vessels, perhaps?"

"Or something." He sat back in his chair, letting out a long breath at having finally voiced this to someone.

"I'm not saying we're not people or we're less of people than if we were original or anything like that. I'm me and there isn't a truth that can change that. But I'd sure as hell like to know if I'm on to something, and if so, what will happen when everything is done here. I made promises I'm going to keep, after all. I'm gonna ask Merlyn but the last time I asked him a question he dodged the holy hell out of it, and since it was about the limits on our magic it just might be related. So I want your opinion, if you've seen anything, any hints or thoughts, one way or the other."

She smirks grimly at mention of Merlin.

"I've found he's not the master of magic one would expect," she says. "At least, not in function. You would do better to direct those questions to the creator of the barrier, the one who facilitated freezing time and...very likely is the reason we are drawn here at all."

Morgan shook his head. "Oh, I'm not talking him down. He didn't answer my question, sure, but he actually had some very helpful and insightful suggestions and advice. It did me a ton of good, anyway. But aside from asking other people, I want to know what you think."

They have their philosophical differences, sure, but Morgan never let those bother him. And he knew for certain that Cecelia's opinion on the matter was worth his weight in gold.

What she thinks, huh? She'd remark that whatever she thinks doesn't have much weight, all things considering. But he likely already knows that and just...wants to know, for whatever reason. An extra insight or missed theory? There can be theories for days and days, but...

"Mm." She closes her eyes. "The thing is...it's not impossible to be changed to your physical core. Your magical core. It just takes a lot of effort.

"The prospect that our 'true' forms are still frozen where we last were, and that we are some kind of copy of that existence implanted into appropriately designed vessels for this world...seems the most likely, the one that uses the least amount of energy to perform en masse like this.

"But I don't have any proof to back this. No philactories, no secret...warehouse of waiting vessels, no...conjuration circle within the belly of the castle." She pauses, then, flatly: "That anyone's aware of, that is."

"All we have now is circumstantial evidence anyway, but even circumstantial evidence can build a case. Any observations, then, that might lend support to the theory? Or discredit it." Morgan cracked a little smile. "I'm totally cool with being wrong, you know."

She raises an eyebrow.

"From what you've told and shown, you're 'totally cool' with a lot of things," she counters, her tone still flat...but not entirely devoid of fondness. Despite herself, she's still come to appreciate the kind of reality (or nonreality) check a character like Morgan provides.

"Harmony," he said, smiling her way as he bowed his head slightly and touched his fingers to his forehead, his heart, and the base of his sternum. "And paradox. But I'm the one wanting to learn from you."

Of course, that was always a two-way street. You can't teach without learning. But he suspected she didn't see it (as in, basically everything) the same way he did.

She hums a soft, thoughtful note, falling quiet for a beat.

"While I'm generally not opposed to sharing what knowledge is mine to share..." Within reason. With restrictions. Caveats. "There's very little I have full confidence in where speculation is concerned. I'm not much of a gambler - I avoid it where I feasibly can - and so I cannot throw my hat in this or that idea until more evidence bubbles up to the surface, you see."

Morgan, despite the air he presented to others, was not flawlessly in-tune with himself. For example, right now a part of him wanted to snarl in response to her statement. It missed the whole point, that part said! She was just refusing to take a side, playing distant as ever, and dodging any role in the question and the greater crisis!

What Morgan had learned, however, is where that part belonged. A younger him would have snapped all that out immediately; a more foolish him would ignore it entirely. Instead, Morgan set that part aside, considered its message without a tone, and resolved to work more on integrating it into his whole.

It had a point, he thought, inasmuch as he didn't believe Cecilia would offer up everything she had without qualification. Or that she would strive too much to assume neutrality on the subject, taking neither position without absolute proof. She would filter information when he needed all of it, because they saw the world in two very different ways.

But it wasn't out of malice, or folly. Because they did see the world in two very different ways. And so long as they could find their places to agree, that was fine.

"Fair enough," he said, as if that entirely mental monologue hadn't flashed through his head in that moment. (Which to be fair, it hadn't. Not in words, anyway.) "Then if you come across anything you believe might be of interest, I ask only that you relay it to me, objectively and without judgment."

That last bit pulls an unexpected, small smirk out of her. She lifts her chin up off her hands, sitting back in her chair.

"Objectivity will be right out the window should I relay anything to you, Morgan Knight," she replies, an airier note in her tone. "Because the simple act of sharing shows you a bit of favoritism, mm?"

"Oh don't give me that. You can be totally biased in who you tell and still unflinchingly neutral in what you tell."

He might hope she did regard him well enough to bestow such favor upon him, though. At this point... well, he'd like to think his actions spoke for him, but at the same time considering how they kept running into each other she might very well get conditioned to associate him with disaster.

With what little levity offered dismissed in such a way, Cecelia's expression reverts back to neutrality.

"As you say. Very well."

Aww, he was trying to banter back. He'd be sad if he knew she took it that way!

"I really do appreciate it. And I owe you one, if there's something suitable in the way of a favor I could do for you in turn."

She shakes her head.

"There's little need for that. Owing, not owing..." She gives a light, dismissive gesture. "Even if I were to be inclined to keeping score, I imagine you've already done me enough as far as favors go. If anything, the proactive application of information is the only thing that really matters, yes?"

Morgan sat back, shrugging broadly with theatricism. "Oh, it's not like I'm keeping track either. That's the great thing about friendships, completely forgetting what the tally is on either side. Quite aside from our common goals, here!"

"Then perhaps, dear Morgan," says Cecelia, completely stoic-faced, "you needn't consider the need for an exchange. Be assured that should I discover something that merits sharing, it will be shared. Though...know that I'm not very keen on spreading around speculative notions, not without enough merit behind them, in any case. It just adds more noise and confusion."

Morgan nodded swift agreement. "Definitely. I'm keeping this thought under my hat till I have some solid proof. People don't need the grief of an identity crisis on top of everything, especially just a speculative one." Not everyone was simply prepared to decree that they were a person even if they were a copy, after all. Even people in much better situations to hear it than those in Avalon.

"I doubt I need to assure you I'll do likewise for your sake--" She arches an eyebrow. "Such gossip does me no favors, after all."

"You mean you're NOT a fount of endless gossip?" Morgan slapped his hands to his cheeks in incredible faux-shock. "I can't believe it!"

"Believe as you wish," she retorts lightly, sitting back in her chair. "Makes little difference to me as it is, mm? I'd have to be privy to the sort of places where gossip has meaning, but as it stands..."

As it stands, being Ambassador does not grant one seat at the king's table. And that's irritating for her.

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