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There is an abandoned chapel in the depths of Tartarus, a dilapidated grand cathedral that is largely unnoticed by virtue of how it melts into the surroundings (broken windows, fallen brick, and peeling doors) -- Who would disturb the peace of a grand and holy structure on its death bed?
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Well.
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Eirin Leyfson had.[break][break]

But that was a long time ago.[break][break]

Now, the alchemist and the cathedral were one, and any disturbance to its grounds came from the outside.[break][break]

She had accepted the cathedral as much as it had accepted her, unruly, heretic thing as she was.[break][break]

She had collected things and put them haphazardly into its walls, and some things (like this gothic bathtub in the middle of the first floor, that clearly fell from the broken ceiling at some point) she had simply grown around.
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Eirin Leyfson is in the middle of a bath -- not that she had much shame, she was taking it in the open foyer, concealed only by the fact that no one really came inside an abandoned hall like this one.[break][break]

Around her are an assortment of potions in gorgeous vials, and she picks one up, stares at the glowing red substance and pours it in, humming vaguely and lathering herself in the bubbles, her body submerged in water.[break][break]

She feels his presence before he has the chance to say anything, and her head rolls lazily so she can look to the entrance.[break][break]

The old door creaks open, flooding the foyer with light that isn't mediated by the stained glass windows. [break][break]

Eirin looks unbothered as Dmitri walks into her makeshift home.[break][break]

"Oh?" she asks. [break][break]

"You must be truly desparate to come to me for help."

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Eirin glares at Dmitri, both for his careless handling of her potions, and for his ridiculous request. The two of them had been an entirely sordid affair, but she supposes they had both been bored out of their minds as champions with little to entice them left in the world.[break][break]

"I'd rather die," she says, but she takes the documents anyway, her curiosity outweighing her contempt for the time being.[break][break]

She reaches to the other side of the bathtub and pours a potion over them-- she's read too many books like this to not have a way to waterproof them on hand, after all. She leans back, more at ease now knowing she wasn't going to damage the parchment, and then begins flipping through the pages.[break][break]

The cover eads: SILVERWING GALA 2022.[break][break]

Interesting. Wasnt it the Silverwing Charity Gala? Her eyes scan the words quickly, even though she remains vaguely watchful of the High Priest as he sits down by the bathtub, his back facing her to give her privacy.[break][break]


She snorts.
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"Now this is the Dmitri Wisbane we've all missed," she says. And by 'we,' of course, Eirin meant I -- as much as she didn't neccessarily love Dmitri Wisbane as his rabid fans might, she enjoyed the stir he could create, the shuffling of cards, so to speak.

So Dmitri had taken Riker off the precious executive team of his charity gala, and turned the entire thing into a farce designed to provoke hostility within the coven. How predictable.[break][break]

Still, she finds herself smiling at the prospect of the chaos it will create.

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Clever, if crass.
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Dmitri's political ploy was as straightforward as he: provoke all your enemies in one go, and say fuck you to Cerberus in a subtle but not insignificant way, all while playing into your own image and fanbase as the Devil himself.[break][break]

Despite its vulgarity, Eirin can't really find fault with it: it's simple because it doesn't need to be complex. Sure, the perfect option would be to appease and integrate Riker, to turn him into an internal asset and regroup before heading off external pressure, and then---[break][break]

Sigh.
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But Dmitri wasn't here for her advice, was he? And if he was, would she even give it to him?
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"Did you know," Eirin begins, putting the documents aside and moving so that she's leaning into Dmitri's ear. "That the average tenure of a Sybaris leader is two and a half years?"
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It's not a threat. It's not even said with much hostility. She sounds almost bored and mildly curious, as though she's asking the question genuinely.
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She's wondering vaguely, if Dmitri will regret this decision. He doesn't have to be the villain. But she can't imagine him playing any other part. What a tragedy.

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She stares at him, at his silly question, and she snorts and looks away.
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"Riker is a fool. If had been alive in the 60s, he would've thought the Aegis Accords were a stroke of genius," she says, tone damning and disdainful.
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She has no taste for witches without spines.
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And she is no friend of Dmitri Wisbane's. But Perseus Riker is bad news for Sybaris -- he is nothing but a moral crusade without a cause. Maybe, years down the line, his approach would make sense. But toeing the line and playing nice isn't an ideology that's going to gain any meaningful ground, at least not in today's Sybaris.
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She snaps a finger and one of the golems stirs awake, moving to bring her a robe.
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"I don't back losing horses, Wisbane," she says, hoping to assure him. But she adds just as quickly: "But I'm not coming to your party, either."

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Eirin does not know what to expect when she takes the case. Some drug? A Vale antique, in anticipation of the Omerta? A threat? Blackmail? Perhaps it speaks to Dmitri's charater that she doesn't have the slightest idea what to expect.[break][break]

Soon enough, her fingers find an impressive jewelled wand, and true shock flashes across her face before it is tempered with disbelief.[break][break]

"How do you know it's real?" she asks, cautious with her words.[break][break]

If this is really Seraphine's wand, as she suspects it is, then Eirin will have to tread carefully. After all, the Devil had come to he once, for a deal of his own, and she had looked him in the eyes and said: you're a fool for asking.[break][break]

Who is the fool now? a voice within her asks, musical and light, teasing her gently. [break][break]


I'm not a fool for dismissing mythos, Eirin insists, turning the wand over in her palms, wondering if she should try it.[break][break]

She decides Dmitri would probably kill her, though. And she has better things to die over.

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She steps out of the tub, waving another golem to retrieve what Dmitri's here for. It's the creature that drops the two blood red vials into the High Priest's outstretched hand—one for the man, one for the bird. [break][break]

Eirin is still standing behind him when he speaks, but her eyes narrow at each new addition to his little theory, following along the logical leaps with more or less clear picture of what he's implying. [break][break]

"Right. And when did you become an expert on Oswald's principles of mana-death and the inner strata?" [break][break]

She doesn't like it. She doesn't like it because she knows what he's doing, where he's going with this. But she can't help that fact that it fascinates her, and the little voice in her heart is laughing at her, and she's annoyed enough to do something rash. Like attend Silverwing Gala, sans charity.