Ita Illu 3

[19:04] Arlo's room. As is his wont, it's still kind of a mess... but in recent times, visited less and less frequently. Even so, there's still a strong 'lived-in' vibe that the place emanates. As he approaches the piano seat, the well-dressed urchin thinks on what would make an ideal final lesson. Something to really hammer in home the fundamentals that she had picked up.

"Well, let's see..." He cups a hand over his chin in thought, going as far as furrowing his brow. He really wanted to convey that this here was a tough nut to crack. "Already told ya a fair amount of what I think the magic's about, so that's all by the by. Ya already demonstrated that ya can manipulate it, but I ain't convinced that you'll really be able to use it in a fight yet."

"The other person I taught about this kinda thing, I had 'em demonstrate what they can do and see if they got the whole principle behind the thing. I could tell ya that everything's made of mana, and everything's got a signature, but ya already know that through Juri's lessons. So -- how about this." He claps his hands together, before leveling a flat stare at the retainer.

"Use your illusions to make me cry."
(Arlo Waters)
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[19:08] Ita squints around to get a sense of the room. Yep. Looks about as messy as the first and only other time she's seen it. Now she gets why they frequent hers instead. The cleanliness, comparatively, and clearly the presence of a multitude of pillows. Arlo's quarters fall short in both categories.

He launches into an explanation, to which she may or may not be paying super great attention to. She might instead be critiquing his habits internally when she does a double take.

"Wait...wait...You...You want me to what?" she stammers. It's her sight that's her weakness, but not her hearing. Surely she's still heard him wrong.
(Ita)
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[19:16] Arlo stays pretty firmly in his seat, canting his head just off to the side at her own questioning. "I ain't sure if I made it clear enough, so I'll say it again: I want ya to make me cry. Not by beatin' the shit outta me, not by cuttin' an onion, but through illusions." He rests his chin against his fist, miming out (perhaps excessively so) that he was already starting to get bored, and that she had best get to work.

"I'll throw ya a bone: Some of the most effective illusions are the ones that really fuck with ya. Sure, ya can trick someone, shock someone, or even make 'em laugh to where it distracts 'em enough for ya to get a hit in. But if ya really wanna wreck someone with an illusion, ya hit 'em with somethin' deep." Arlo grimaced - he hoped he actually wouldn't have to do something of that sort to someone, but...

He wouldn't hesitate if he was so hard pressed.

"Everybody's got a weakness. Illusions can make those weaknesses more obvious to point out, but ya can also exploit weaknesses with illusions alone." That should make it well and clear enough. "So, scare me. Make me feel somethin'. Whatever it is ya do, if I ain't sheddin' a tear by the end of the night, then I ain't convinced you're ready."
(Arlo Waters)
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[19:26] No. She hadn't misheard him. Ita already absolutely hates the idea of this, and her face says as much.

"I mean. That's not hard to guess. But, I can't-"

This is not something that sits well with her. Relatively harmless, uncombative Ita. Sure she's had to pinch pockets for survival and some extra change, but she's always tried to steer clear of doing direct and notable harm. It might, might have been easier on a stranger.

Arlo is no stranger. And, in accordance with his suggestion, that gives her more ammunition, a variety of options that she doesn't want to use. It doesn't help that he seems to keep himself together particularly well these days from what she's seen. She can't recall the last time she saw a temperamental outburst. Probably when he was ready to jump over a table and sock Lord Tirel in the face.

"Okay, well..."

Ita looks down and rubs her arm, focusing on his signature and the necessary mana for a fairly minor trick.

From behind her legs limps out a small, three-legged creature. A tabby colored alley cat, literally the most pitiful thing she could imagine on the fly. It's skin and bones, its fur matted, ears notched, and its tail bobbed.

This little bedraggled feline hobbles over to just by Arlo's feet, looks up at him with the deepest, biggest green eyes and mewls in hungry lamentation.
(Ita)
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[19:37] "Ya don't know anyone better than me, Itty. C'mon." He wasn't sure exactly how that was to be parsed as encouragement, but he fancied the budding illusionist resourceful enough to think of something. Arlo sits back in the chair, folding his hands over one of his knees, just waiting for her to show what she's got.

Immediately does that pitiful little cat approach him, and immediately does Arlo quirk a brow at it. It wasn't bad for a first attempt - most assuredly a heartstring tugger, but not enough to warrant something severely emotional from him. "This is a sad thing, Itty. If I ever saw 'er in real life, I'd go head over heels to take care of her. No doubt about that." To that end, the urchin leans forward to stroke the little thing gently with the side of his knuckle.

Then, with a snap of his fingers, conjures up a freshly-gutted bowl of fish meat for the poor thing to start supping on. "I ain't gonna oppose your illusions with mine, for the record. I just felt bad enough for the poor thing that I felt a need to feed it." He continued to stroke the little thing before continuing to level that severe, unimpressed glance towards Ita.

"C'mon. You can do better."
(Arlo Waters)
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[19:47] It's a start. She's gotten some kind of emotional response. Not the one she needs.

He's right though. She knows no one better and, as she stares at him and watches him conjure up an imaginary meal for the illusory cat it somehow makes the idea of this all the more difficult. This isn't something she's supposed to do to other people unless they deserve it, and he is not one of them.

Ita chews on her lip anxiously.

"...Are you...are you sure I can't just do something else?"

Arlo seems seat on it, for better or worse, out to prove a point in the most stubborn way possible. Ita calls on her mana. Not for another illusion at first, but to steel herself. She feels out the ground under her feet, the sureness of rock and stone and dirt and draws what little surety from it she can. Then she seeks out his signature again and the real work begins.

It will be a task to make something visceral and convincing. It all starts as the room darkens. The light from outside the windows is obscured by something...

A cloud of thick, billowing smoke. Already it feels cheap.
(Ita)
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[19:58] "I'm sure, Itty. If ya wanna be good - really good - ya gotta be able to affect someone's emotions with your illusions. Disorientin' and confusin' and causin' chaos is well and good, but there might come a time where ya gotta do somethin' like this." Arlo certainly put a lot of thought into that sort of thing, at least. Even if it was low, even if it was dirty, it was something that had to at least be considered.

At the very least, it also was a decidedly brutal test of Ita's proficiency. Difficult as it was for her to do, putting her through a crucible like this could really put her ability to the test. Quirking a brow, the urchin continued to observe her at work. He feels his signature altered by her command, and doesn't resist... initially, at least.

The area around him falls into darkness and obscurity, but Arlo's stare does not waver. She had to impress him.That was the end of the matter.
(Arlo Waters)
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[20:07] "...Alright," she replies, distant and listless. She casts him one last desperate look before she puts all of her focus into the illusion. The goal is to make it convincing enough, visceral enough to spark something in her partner in crime.

The light is continually obscured from the window. Smoke just outside of it grows thicker and thicker. In addition to the visual cues, in a bid to make the illusion more immersive and appeal to all the senses, there's sound. It starts with the more obvious ones, the distant crackling of flames. Then? Screams of terror, of agony, growing progressively louder on the other side of the wall.

A multitude of voices cry out, some in prayer, some calling out names, others unintelligible.

Signs point to hell breaking loose outside the lush safety of the manor.
(Ita)
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[20:12] Well, he supposed this would have at least warranted his curiosity. Arlo, perhaps not exactly engaging his intelligence in this scenario, gets up out of the piano seat to move towards the window. He tries to peer through the glass and suss out just what it was Ita was trying to visualize outside. The smoke might have made that a non-starter, but he was willing to go as far as to dispel that particular part of the illusion to indulge.

The howling cacophony of desperate voices, however, doesn't seem to catch him for very long. Perhaps he was useless in this situation, but the exercise presumed they would be confined to this room. ...since, after all, it probably wouldn't do him any good to actually be immersed in a horrible, tear-inducing illusory bloodbath out in open air. That probably wouldn't be a very good display as the future owner of a cabaret.

Instead, he turns to look towards Ita and the door, his interest piqued. It didn't seem like he was getting any closer to tearing up, however.
(Arlo Waters)
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[20:23] The smoke makes looking outside of the window to glean much of anything difficult. If he looks hard enough he can see distant shapes. The noise without hits a crescendo; men beg for an ending to the evident chaos, mothers weep, high and thread, for their lost children, and shrieks of fright are silenced with brutal efficiency by some unseen assailant.

When he goes to the window, that's the opening she sought.

Arlo turns and the room is not as he left it. The torches have dimmed, many of them snuffed down to bare coals, and his quarters is in disarray. Either a tornado or a party of raiders has come through and tossed the place on its head. It's as if the vision has jumped ahead to the aftermath of whatever's happening outside the mansion, because in an instant all the din has stopped.

Everything is disturbingly quiet as the illusionist gets a few seconds to examine the changed environment. The shift in scenery, the newfound silence, the smell of burnt textiles. Anything valuable's been removed- and so has Ita.

The familiar, mousey urchin is nowhere to be seen. In her place is a large, dark stain of blood on the once regal carpet. It glistens coldly in the dimmed torchlight.
(Ita)
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[20:36] "Figured she'd pull this," he murmured to himself, furrowing his brow. As soon as she wasn't there anymore, he knew she was going to do something. If anything, he felt like cursing his own idiocy for falling for such a simple distraction. Still, fair's fair - she managed to earn that distraction, and so he decided to indulge a bit further.

Indulge. That was the operative word, right? Obviously, none of this was real. Still, he wouldn't confess to feeling that severe pang of anxiety when she wasn't there. Arlo walks forward - calmly forward - to inspect the environs a bit more closely. His room was wrecked - that was fine, nothing new there - and somebody attacked the manor.

But none of it was real, was the important thing. There was nothing he was missing... except for Ita. His eyes scanned the area around him as he approached the dark bloodstain, crouching down to inspect it. Any tracks would be useful for him - and there was the matter of sensing her signature.

Or... whatever her signature constituted in this changed landscape. Like a cold-hearted sleuth did he set out to follow the blood to wherever it would lead.
(Arlo Waters)
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[20:46] It takes a lot of focus to maintain the illusion, to keep it moving and changing to shift with his perceptions. It's a tall order to make him cry, but over the years she's given him all she needs to do so. What matters now is applying it appropriately and avoiding the deep pit of guilt welling up in her gut. He's not even sniffling yet. That means it has to get worse.

The blood on the carpet appears fresh, and there's a great deal of it. Something about it is strange though. There's a large splatter, a lot lost in one place, but there's no foot prints tracking through it, no body in sight.

He searches for her signature? It's nowhere immediate in sight within the illusion and takes a little work to find. Probably because it's somewhere above him, hidden by darkness on the ceiling.

And out of that darkness, maybe before he looks above him, maybe after, there's a strained whimper. One of her own.

From out of the darkness drops something pale, set to fall right by his feet. It's a single, freshly lopped, pale finger.
(Ita)
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[20:55] Like a bloodhound (presumably a title designated for him by the retainer herself), Arlo persists in tracking and seeking where Ita could have gone. No one ever really thinks to look up until there's something truly off. As much surveying as he could do, however, nothing seemed to be turning up.

Nothing, that is, until he hears that whimper. Nothing happens until he hears that light 'drop' of the finger upon the ground. Arlo's senses are keen enough to pick up on that much. False as he knew all of this to be, he couldn't help but feel crushing dread for what was to happen next. Surely she wouldn't go that far, right?

Morbid curiosity overrode his sense of despair at what he was going to see next. Of course, none of this was real. He set his entire exercise up himself - he would go in knowing this whole situation was artificial. Much as he challenged himself to endure, to keep his mind steady, he had to.

He had to look up.
(Arlo Waters)
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[21:04] Her mana signature is easily found above, but when he looks with his eyes for her? She's still not there. The ceiling is pitch black, covered in shadow, and the dimmed torches alone can't illuminate what's beyond them. Presumably Ita.

Just how far she's gone isn't readily apparent. Not without further light on the situation. While he can't see her he can hear something. It's not a whimper this time, but ragged, strained breathing.

When something else falls from the ceiling it's thankfully not more limbs. Unthankfully it's a steady patter of blood droplets that joins the much larger body on the carpet below.

Somewhere, in the illusory shadow, she continues to loathe this exercise in its entirety while watching Arlo's face. Squinting at him and examining him is the best gauge she has for when she can finally be done with enacting this on someone held in such high esteem.
(Ita)
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[21:05]
{LOAD GAME}

[21:08] If Arlo was tracing the presence of the real deal hanging somewhere in the shadows, he was making no indications of it. The light is too weak for her body to be scrutable there - but he knows what he, or his mind, has seen and heard. Ita was up there, but why? Who would feel the need to hoist her up?

"Itty?" As measured as he'd been up to this point, there was a light trembling in his voice that suggested genuine concern. "That ain't -- you -- up there, right...?" He waves a hand upward, flaring up the torches around him. Knowing he was in an illusory mindscape might have been a cheat of sorts, but he was willing to exploit it to suit that curiosity a mite further.

Still, of course he wasn't looking forward to actually seeing what was up there. The droplets of blood went ignored - even as they plainly pitter-pattered onto his own face. They weren't real, but they certainly felt close enough.
(Arlo Waters)
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[21:11] * You have been awarded 1 Roleplay Points! *
[21:28] She hears that warble in his voice and there's a tug on her innards. He'd asked for this. Why did he want her to make him cry? It's pretty high on the list of the last things she ever wants to do. Right up there with things like, y'know, committing murder.

There's two Ita's up there, technically. The real one and an illusory one. The genuine article hunkered down just behind the fake and hanging to the ceiling, by use of mud of all things. It's her hope that the overlapping signature will add just a dash of realism.

Arlo brings the torches to life and can better see what's on the ceiling.

It looks like Ita, swaddled in her too-large coat. Not much of her is visible aside from her face and her hands- one of which is missing a finger. She's suspended somehow and light from the torches illuminates thin strands that are tied painfully tight around her arms and neck to keep her held aloft; they dig into her skin and cause the steady drip of blood to the floor below. Is...is that piano wire? From the gutted piano behind him?

"A...Arlo?"

Cheap. It feels cheap and awful to her. Even if it doesn't work and fails miserably.


(Ita)
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[21:36] Cheap and awful though the method might have been, it seemed effective enough for Arlo. The look on his face - the reaction that most illusionists tend to look for - was, as one might say, priceless. He was nothing less than mortified; perhaps by virtue of knowing that this very experiment was his doing, but also the sight of Ita's broken form in itself.

"ITTY!" The call is more of a bellow. A desperate one - was he hamming it up to tug at his own audiences heartstrings, or was he genuinely struck by this? The wretched scream curdles the blood regardless, and the illusionist grits his teeth. Arlo doesn't take a beat to check himself before launching himself to the wall to scale it.

Then, kicking off said wall, he leaps to grip onto one of the higher supports. With dagger in hand, he carefully saws away at the piano wire binding her, maintaining an arm to steady her. This, consequently, results in a very awkward setup. He somehow found his way up, but now he would need to actually come down.

To say nothing of his general competence, Arlo manages to clumsily saw away the binding and maintain his hold...

...only to tumble and fall onto the ground, keeping his arms tightly wound around the illusory Ita to keep her steady. The panic supersedes any pain he might feel, however, and he sets out to examine her. "Itty, what the hell..."
(Arlo Waters)
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[21:45] If he's putting on an act, it's working way too well. They're already under such great strain. Hell, so are her mana reserves at this point. It's a lot to keep up with for someone that's not all that well practiced.

She's still clinging to the ceiling while the copy is sawn down from the piano by Arlo's own hand, the 'two' going tumbling down.

He's not crying yet though. God, why is he not crying just so she can get this over with? Even as she struggles to maintain the deceit her eyes are watering.

But he's off his game. They both are, but that's beside the point. A little more and surely this can be over with. The nightmare will end and this can all go back to normal.

"Arlo?...A-Arlo, I'm...I'm sorry."

And that apology is genuine, even if it comes from a mouththat's not really her own. The copy looks up at him and its eyes grow dull and distant. Its chest stops rising and falling, and the illusion's body grows cold.
(Ita)
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[21:55] "Itty..." This was a dreadful little deceit. Perhaps not for the deceit itself, but for all the connotations it had. If the two of them absolutely had to oppose one another, if something happened to Ita as she committed to the decision they felt they had to make...

The faux-fatality here reminded him of that. Reminded him of what can happen, as opposed to something that could be preventable. Arlo keeps the deceased Ita in his arms for a spell, hunched over, his back turned to the genuine article. "Itty..." The young man starts to shake a little. Just a little - as if he was reconciling something in his head, and it distracted him from throwing himself fully into what was happening.

"I'm..." He hesitates to keep talking, as a sob catches in his throat. "I'm sorry too." Without another word, the illusionist thrusts out a hand behind him. A ripple of opposing illusionary mana is sent out, conspiring to halt the little mindscape that Ita had put on. As he's left to watch the limp, artificial body of his most trusted companion disappear, he shakes his head.
(Arlo Waters)