Act 3

[untrueheart]

[Once upon a time, there was a girl who noticed that every single day, she had to track down her dearest love from wherever he happened to wander at the time. He could meander quite far if left to his own devices, which he was, more often than not, because establishing him a 'permanent' place to sleep at night? Had been overlooked.

That's not going to go on any longer. Rue leaves her room in the morning with some serious intent: first to find Mytho, then to convince him to get a room. His own room. ...Somewhere nearby. She has the perfect spot in mind. Of course, she has to find him first, a journey which takes her all over town and back again. Thinking of the only two things he's shown a real interest in doing, and with an eye out for anyone acting particularly odd and emotional, she'll stop a few people she happens to pass with a question:]

Have you seen a white-haired boy pass this way? Or perhaps he was dancing somewhere?

[Once all the hunt-and-find is over and done with (it is a long day), she might be forgiven for overlooking something upon her return to her own apartment. In truth, she doesn't get a good look until she starts to get ready for bed.

There on the living room chair is a pair of terrifyingly familiar black toe shoes.

That is all it takes to turn a frustrating but decent day into a rising nightmare; Rue screams once, turning to run out of her apartment and out of community building seven, as well. Distance, she wanted distance. If she could get far enough away they would not be real.

It is her particular brand of destiny that takes her on a collision course with at least one other person in her flight. Hopefully whoever they are can manage to stop her doing something foolish and irrational.

After all, it's just shoes.]

Comments

[untrueheart]

There's nothing I can do here.

[Nothing she could do in her story either but at least there she had some of the means to try. With the teacup empty and her heart feeling no less settled, Rue switches to looking out the window.]

[therewerefifty]

Can you do anything if you go home?

[untrueheart]

I can continue to do what I've already done.

[And, from her tone, that is all. Not good news.]

[therewerefifty]

[She's seeing so many reflections of herself right now.]

Why can't you just... not do it?

[untrueheart]

[This woman just doesn't understand.]

It is too late. The story is moving forward.

[therewerefifty]

[Of course she doesn't. You're being all cryptic, gosh.]

There's nothing anyone can do?

[untrueheart]

[Nothing that ends well for her. Rue's hands tighten around her teacup.]

Someone already knows the ending.

[therewerefifty]

You speak like you're written into a story.

[...where has she heard that recently?]

[untrueheart]

Isn't everyone?

[It has the jaded, sharp-edged quality of one for whom the story holds no magic and no promise of a future. Isn't everyone subject to the whims of things outside of themselves?]

[therewerefifty]

...I suppose so. But few people speak of it with the same fear and resignation that you do.

[untrueheart]

[That stops her. The sudden realization that she's given away too much to this woman she barely knows. Rue puts down her teacup so her hands can rest flat on the table.]

Well everyone is different.

[therewerefifty]

[That was a 180. Makie gives her a long look before she takes a sip of her tea.]

Most people believe they have control of their own fate.

[untrueheart]

Do they really.

[That isn't what happens, in Rue's experience. She won't challenge Makie's opinion on this however.]

[therewerefifty]

[Hey, she didn't say she believed it. She doesn't disbelieve it either, mind; Makie's never bothered to give much thought to it.

To Rue's statement she says nothing. Merely drinks her tea and watches the girl.]

[untrueheart]

[Rue has no more tea to drink and so she just stares back.

Eventually one of them will have to give.]

[therewerefifty]

[It's Makie in the end. She's remembered where she's heard the talk of stories before.]

Do you... know a young boy with white hair?

[untrueheart]

[There is only one such boy, as far as she's concerned.]

Why?

[therewerefifty]

He also mentioned stories. You reminded me of him, that's all.

[...in more ways than one. You both seem broken. Maybe it's just a coincidence.]

[untrueheart]

You talked to him? What about?

[therewerefifty]

[There is a connection, then. She wishes her memory were better. Mythos was just a strange anomaly on her radar.]

A few things. When Twila came to Luceti, that's how we met. But we didn't say much to each other at the time.

We talked after, about stories.

[untrueheart]

[When Twila came to Luceti, Rue fell under its control and barely felt remorse about it until much later.

Thinking of it now makes her uncomfortable.]

He probably didn't say much.

[therewerefifty]

No. He was very quiet. [She's trying to remember exactly what he said now, and her voice becomes thoughtful.]

Is that boy all right?

[untrueheart]

[That depends upon so many things. People are bound to notice, have already noticed, how strange Mytho can be when he's not given direction.]

He doesn't have many feelings.

[therewerefifty]

[...that was it. Not a lot of feelings...]

He told me that. He said he'd lost his heart.

[untrueheart]

That's because he has.

[In this state, Mytho is excellent at telling the truth as he sees it.]