Empty Prospects Two-Fold.
CW: General rating, alcohol and non-consensual drugging.
Source material from Identity V. Written according to the main story's "Ashes of Memory 2," Orpheus and Frederick have an intimate conversation at the stables.
Posted in 2024.3.2, Written by Pat (0ekekddddd).
The racecourse's fog weighed down on the coats of the two men, whom you wouldn't typically see outside of word of noble social parties, be it performing in them or attending them. Not unless they were prying around abandoned sites together. Today, the Sun barely peeked past the clouds and kissed the dreary scene as though it were a mural of holy intervention. However, for years, her rays would not rid the eerie past that noosed herself on a robust Oak in the Kreiburg Racecourse.
"I even planned to help out a little in exchange for some things."
Orpheus had offered a gloved hand to Mr. Kreiburg after he'd been caught two-capped in the midst of his search for Blue Hope, his family's heirloom. His face couldn't give away much more than it already had.
"... In exchange for what?" Frederick's doubt punctuated his question louder than his caution.
Orpheus looked at him with the sort of confidence that a man after his 5th rum looks at his pudgy sweetheart but accompanied with that damn smirk, he could tell he didn't have the upper hand. Orpheus only smiles the way he does when he knows something others don't, or when he knows he will get what he wants. Even if it's to Frederick's interest, Frederick didn't like to challenge people only to be proven wrong. The second Orpheus had taken a step closer, Frederick felt himself tense in place as though Orpheus's "confidence" coated him in a thick invisible phlegm. He held his breath as the distance closed, until the next words spoken raught relief.
The man leaned in parallel to his cheek, lip to ear, and lowly relayed "Help me with finding this gem, and it's completely yours to do with. All I'm asking is for you to get close to that reporter when we return, for a little intel."
Orpheus was sure to whisper this so a certain reporter in question couldn't suspect anything; She was eavesdropping behind some topiary not a few meters away and Kreiburg was oblivious to it. It's a good thing she thinks Orpheus is on her side or she would've protested, but he was rather a jackal unmarried to "sides" or "teams". Orpheus then retreated the tension and closed distance, waiting for his answer.
He really didn't have his eyes set on the gem? Frederick was cautious to how convenient it all seems. As the tension dispersed, so did the fog. The bronze horse never reared higher; he could be roaming this racecourse's holy mural. With tight brows and composure, he lie indebted for their temporary alliance to the self-proclaimed but promising detective.
"Deal." Just a little digging and everything will be back to normal.
The walk between the maze to the stables returned to an awkward air. They listened to nothing but the mud squelch underneath their brogues, each rhythmic wet step calling Frederick back to reality. He realized Orpheus was being a little too compliant. He couldn't quite figure why Orpheus needed anything in regards to the reporter, or why he'd need to use Frederick as his proxy to do so. He locked his knuckles over his cane's handle.
"You know," Orpheus broke the silence "I have respect your work longer than I let on." The limelight was back on him. He pretended not to hear as he watched Orpheus's back plunge through the wavering weeds.
"You wouldn't have seen me," He continued. "Surely you have performed for countless evening parties? I was actually travelling in France for a network." Frederick was a little thrown off if not a little violated. Orpheus was certainly not shy when it came to trapping or getting a reaction out of people; that breakfast with the rest of the Manor's guests still lingered on his mind like a sour chord.
"What are you getting at?"
"Nothing at all. Just that I've come to think highly of you. I find myself getting lost in piano ambience in those sorts of events." Frederick wouldn't have known that Orpheus was a little envious of musicians, even relatively unremarkable ones. "It's hard to ignore a coat like yours. Jacquard, is it?" Orpheus joked. Frederick didn't want to return his humor.
They found shelter from the short glare that stalked overhead into the racecourse's stables; despite the crumbling walls and rotting supports, the roof trapped earthy scents that could've lingered for what was probably a full decade. Though you wouldn't find sign of any living steed, just molding bale.
"I don't really understand why you suggested the stables first." Frederick admitted.
"Good question. The stables are probably the oldest structure to have been erected judging by how much decay its endured over the years. They're more in ruins than the watchtowers over there, and I wouldn't even stand on those for a glass of Mexican wine."
"I wasn't around to see this place get built."
"Oh. Why not?"
"Don't you know 'why' already?" Frederick accused, turning his back towards anything that wouldn't subject him to more judgemental leering. He locked onto his cane's handle again with a burning-white grip. Orpheus noticed with his time around Kreiburg that the man had a tendency to squeeze a fist whenever he got flustered, not unlike a spoiled child.
"I think you overestimate my detective work," Orpheus bounced off his defensive tone. "Besides the cornflowers and Blue Hope, I was hoping to learn about you— casework aside, forget about any of that." He waved a hand dismissively.
"You don't need to bother with formalities, Mr. Orpheus." Frederick's rejection had a strange bite to it.
"I see... I've strayed from the plot," Orpheus pulled on the rim of his glove and smoothed it down. "I reasoned that the stables were built before the rest of these venues, which means this is assumedly the most stable ground in the area. If you didn't know, there's several old well networks underneath this entire racecourse. Horse carcasses aren't supposed to be buried near water sources or they'll contaminate the supply. I know some of the networks are defunct, but the stablemasters had to use a well to fill the troughs. I think our best interest is to search ground that can accommodate a building."
"That's sound..." Frederick hesitated, looking for holes in Orpheus's bullshitting.
"Like the ground." Orpheus added with a soundless chuckle. Even though he kept his back turned, Frederick returned him what sounded like a quiet laugh, the kind that you get out of pity from a corny joke. He did have a good humor after all.
The two men marinated in the rattles the stable's roof produced, occasionally accompanied by the instrumentals of a dragonfly swarm. Other than that, the quiet thickened. While Orpheus was pretending to survey a piece of dead wood in a cupboard, thinking of ways to buy even more time for the reporter digging for the gem on the other side of the racecourse, Frederick just wasn't paying attention and caught himself in the midst of reflecting.
"I was in Paris." Frederick admitted. "I was in Paris and haven't returned to see my family in what must have been years... When I could have been performing in concerts, I was instead doing... gigs for evening parties and wedding ceremonies just to make a decent living." A ripple of relief washed over him. If it wasn't his family to listen to his cries, neither had the guests he performed for. This would be the first time he had aired any frustration properly with another person when talking about family.
Orpheus already knew about this though. Most of the manor guests were struggling with some sort of interpersonal melodrama, or some sort of rumor that could cut them off entirely from their closest ones. Frederick was not an exception. Outcasts made the best test subjects when they have nobody to look for them after all. He listened to the other man's brogues click against the stones until the quiet returned only to be broken by the roof's creaking.
"Do you..." Orpheus searched his words carefully. "Dislike performing?"
"Far from it," Frederick angled his head to catch a glance back at Orpheus. His face had read more timid than stingy. "Call it creative differences. My family hasn't returned my letters since my residence in Paris. How could they tell me about Mary's damn racecourse if they won't even tell me about her wedding."
"What a familiar feeling."
"Is it now?" He scoffed "You are a 'rising star' novelist and everything I hear about your works is nothing but. I'm a 'rising orchestral talent' and yet I'm treated like pork scraps. I'm nothing but a family scandal these days, I believe you had it easy."
Confrontation was uncharacteristic of Frederick. He spent so much of his time back in Oletus being secretive it was as though his skeletons finally spilt over. Although it was uncomfortable, Orpheus felt a little glazed to hear that he'd read his work.
"It is. I lost my old man before I even had the chance to share my first drink with him." He trailed off.
The warm sun had picked up where the fog left off. Honestly, Orpheus hadn't expected to open up that tin of worms and was just hoping to smug his way into his guests' psyches, but the seclusion of the stables ultimately got to him and he strayed from more than just the plot. It might not be part of the plan, but it wouldn't be so bad to establish an ally over an enemy. Frederick could only stand idly with a clenched jaw, turning his eyes back to the pack of weeds past the stable walls.
"In my opinion, your performances aren't to be downplayed. At all," Orpheus continued. "Eventually the sands of time will guide Lady Luck back on path."
"Don't you find that unfair?" He flatly said and frowned at Orpheus's platitudes.
"Of course I do. It's 1902, people are just now snowballing an interest in suspense literature when I've been exploring it since my youth. I just happened to get picked up in the fad." Orpheus chuckled. "We do have a lot in common, Mr. Kreiburg. I'm by no means a traditionalist either; Some of my earlier works never quite picked up and probably never will be. It's not to say that I've become more palatable. You'll just have to come to terms with being underappreciated... And call me a ravenous bastard, but at least then men like me can keep music like yours all to himself?"
"Men like you..."
"I hope I'm not smothering you in flattery, but I would be lying if I said your work hadn't inspired a couple chapters in my last publication... Tell me, do you collect reels?" Orpheus conveniently left out the name of his recent work.
"I do," Frederick returned the other a wide-eyed delight at the mention of reels. Frederick never missed a beat with musical hobbyism. "I've been collecting reels since they've made appearance where I was lodging. I've had my focus developing my hoard for this particular violinist."
"Don't tell me. Paganini?"
"Paganini. How'd you figure?"
"Anyway, I've kept my hands on a copy of your 'Refléter, Op. 6'. I even picked out a phonautograph the day after, before my leave, since your compositions deserve more than a life of collecting dust. If anything I'd like to set out a date when you could play for me." Orpheus gushed with the same look he gave him earlier at the hedges.
Frederick paused, hitting the other man with a curious scan. "Orpheus... You aren't hitting on me, are you?" He asked with a teasing blow from the nose and a cocked brow.
Orpheus swiveled his head at the man with a pale look.
The thing was that Frederick was well-versed in that sort of thing, Orpheus knew that. Romantic scripts, glove code, whatever; Frederick had been involved in flirt culture for as long as he had to make it in the music industry. It was actually why Orpheus asked him to get personal with the reporter because of his record opting to captivate the hearts of women by vain means if not with his musical prowess; he never figured his experience included men as well.
"I... Had... Did I come off that way?" He stupidly mumbled. Flirting with another man had never crossed his mind, at least not in polite society.
"... Well, I don't mind playing a little for you if you'd have me another day. Maybe even right when we make it back. Does that appease you, Mr. Orpheus?"
His lack of an answer spelt it pretty clear for Orpheus. Once again, the exchange's inertia had halted to another quiet. Orpheus would tend to his emotional whiplash, but Frederick had come to like the quiet between them and met him a kind sigh.
Frederick tapped his cane over the pavement with a loose palm over the handle. "You know, it'll take too much time to search for a horse in a building where there's no grass to begin with. Don't you think we should look around grassy areas first to get an idea of what 'imbalanced' soil looks like?"
"I... guess that would be a better course of action." Orpheus said sheepishly, wiping the hay dust from his suit sleeves.
A voice dithered in and out from the residual fog in Frederick's brain as though the racecourse's humid air got trapped in it like a greenhouse. It was dim and smelt of mold. Frederick almost thought he'd fallen asleep during an ever-consuming session on the piano while sitting up, but picking up his hands to close the fall board was futile. In fact, there wasn't a piano to be seen, at least not on his level. His ankles and wrists were held down by rigid leather straps built into the chair he sat. He couldn't bring himself to speak a word of protest.
"... Pistol, it's up in storage, with the ... Couldn't retrieve th' cane... I think my work merits more than the initial agreement if you're not gonna warn me about a damn gun! ..." The complaining sounded older in nature, if a little grating to listen to like it's constantly mucous or too dry to lubricate its rasp. He couldn't recall the voice since his arrival to Oletus and definitely would've recognized it even if it was just one of the manor servants. He wanted to follow closer to the whispers being exchanged behind the doorway's shy light, but he couldn't move no matter how much he struggled to break away from the ever-devouring dark.
"Sorry for the short notice. I didn't expect it either." a familiar voice had replied. A hatch swung open and that shy sliver of light broke into an assault on Frederick's limp senses. Orpheus and some other man emerged from the ladderway.
The man who followed behind traded a lenient passing glint with Frederick's pitiful eyes. His eyes convulsed trying to track any movement in the room, for any vigor that was left in him was honed back by a sedative pumped into his bloodstream. He couldn't even flex a muscle; he became nothing but a vulnerable bundle of nerves decorating a bleak lower-level of the manor with his ornate taste in fashion. The silhouette only beared a warm border of the ladderway's light, the only feature about him being his broad frame. Otherwise he couldn't quite make out anything, let alone focus on anything in front of him.
"Campbell, come here would you?" A racket of glassy snapping could be heard outside of Frederick's peripheral. Campbell replied with a permitting grunt and moved to the array of bottles set before the men on a counter.
"I have you the new dosage and I'm thinking about introducing the other drug into the trials, the one we talked about. This time, trial for 30 minutes per effect. Just stick with the agenda and come back to me in the usual place." Campbell said nothing and went straight to the cabinets. With the way he carried on with Orpheus's orders in quiet apathy, this procedure was probably one they've ran over dozens of times on others before Frederick. "If you would, get the cane later." Orpheus directed. He hovered over a heap of papers, adjusting them into a spot on the counter so that the doorway's light could guide where his pen would violently scratch out whatever was on them.
"Yeah." Campbell pushed with a flat, exhausted exhale. Frederick hadn't put too much of a scrap against him, but it was definitely the task of having to drag Kreiburg's slugged body from the racecourse to the manor that broke a sweat over his scarred forehead, on top of being undetected. Two times in fact. This was the second time Campbell had to put him under after collecting the reporter from the racetracks as well. At least it beat pulling around carts of copper and pyrite so young as he could remember.
"I need a lamp, do you mind." Campbell moreso commanded than requested.
"No lamps please. I'll leave the hatch open for you." The other compromised.
Orpheus's haste was disrupted and he glanced over his shoulder before leaving Campbell to his devices. "One last thing."
23:26. Orpheus swiveled a glass of sherry at his humble desk. He didn't really need the drink since he wasn't planning to sleep anytime soon. He needed the aid to calm his nerves. Frederick's words back at the stables repeated themselves in his mind and haunted his entire evening.
For once, Orpheus felt he didn't have the upper hand that he thought he did, stepping into domain that he had no insight on.
He knew about homosexuality as nothing more but something "that was going on in hidden view". He knew it existed in literature and only returned the concept with superficial curiosity, though he never thought the subject was something he'd arrive at personally. And honestly? He found that he didn't really... mind the idea. Back then, Frederick seemed to actually consider his accidental proposal, and just the possibility that something could've happened between the two men ate at Orpheus for the rest of the day. The sort of thing made him feel like a little boy again. Watching Frederick's trust in him fall 6 feet as deep as those horse cadavers was the cherry on top. He was just going to have to remind himself that Kreiburg was just as expendable as the rest, nothing special. He met lips with the sherry in a mindless anticipation.
A light rapping greeted Orpheus's lodging from the other side, disrupting his deep thought. The door shifted open, Campbell having made sure to twist the knob prematurely as he didn't want anyone next-door to hear him tracing the hallways. Orpheus places the flute glass down and straightens up from his seat without a word to draw the silk drapes, not before shooting a nonchalant gaze out to the pines that stared back from the night's coal silence. Like clockwork.
"Just so you know," Campbell snapped "You can't put blame on me if that man gives out. I won't hound you for the pistol anymore but like I said, that's an extra fee."
"I hear you, Norton." Orpheus dismisses him. He was preoccupied with ordering a couple paperbacks together, setting a pot of nibbed pens branded under "Moreland Leaf" over the stack, and paid the man's groaning no attention.
"I figured it'd just be a simple pacifying job today," Norton paced to the window's ledge. "I don't mean to get on your case for it, I'm only reminding you that you'll still need to give me this week's."
Norton's greetings aren't the friendliest, but his tone eventually sloped into a more compliant one the more he talked. He inclined back into the ledge without a care for the curtains underneath him, throwing a pair of thin leather gloves onto Orpheus's desk, before tucking his arms over his ribs. Like a hound waiting for its next orders.
Norton was anything but patient; the rack of fees and debts were probably boiling over in his head, sitting on his tongue waiting to be recited the way over to Orpheus's room. Orpheus would tolerate it anyway since they never had any troubles the time they worked together. Norton accepted any odd job given to him, and Orpheus promised the consistent income that Norton didn't have before. He'll take up any dirty work for as long as these manor experiments went on.
"No need to." Orpheus tossed an envelope into Norton's hands, immediately mauled open so he knew he wasn't being kept back a ha'penny. He thoroughly handled the coins to appease his paranoia until each shilling was warm to touch. He pointed his chin at Orpheus in a content grunt as he stuffed the coins into a pouch.
"What did you mean 'if he gives out'?" Orpheus asked.
"White as marble he was. He was maybe even just as cold to touch. Do we know what we're going to do with him if he can't handle the tests?"
Orpheus wasn't sure if Norton was describing a fainting spell, or was just cheated by Frederick's naturally porcelain skin. "I'd say we'd keep an eye on him but go about the trials normally." He pensively replied.
Frederick had become a lost cause before the game even started. One of the manor rules was carrying any firearms onto the court; sooner or later, he would've been executed for it. "If anything, we'll just up the dosage." Orpheus continued. It seemed Frederick's fate would be human testing until death, and Norton wouldn't question it.
"I haven't seen anyone look like that since '94 when a man I knew caught Hodgkin's." Norton recalled. "Coal excavation."
"Are you worried about him? I never took you for the considerate type." Orpheus commented with a smirk into his glass. With his other hand he thumbed at the pair of gloves over the desk, pushing out Frederick's gem from the security of its fabric. He grasped it, eyeing its glints before shifting back to the gloves. You wouldn't have been able to see the calluses on Frederick's hands if he wore those, he thought.
Norton shrugged "And get a reduction just because the man's already on his deathbed? That sort of thing... isn't something I have to worry about in the future, is it?" One thing Orpheus appreciated Norton for was his professionalism and caution. That way they're always on the same page. "Even if any of them were to... croak. Not if you report accordingly." Even his efforts to sanitize the answer didn't cover up how little he gave a damn about his test subjects. Even ones that he's become infatuated with the idea of.
Orpheus would hold the gem up to eye-level by its girdle and turn it around with gloved digits. At armslength its facets translated the oil lamp's light into a shimmering dance, kissing Orpheus's face with a cold illum like no other. "Could you tell me about this?" He did not take his eyes off of Blue Hope and shifted his eyeglass to rid the glare it caught.
"From here it looks like a diamond." He dully said.
"Just 'looks like'?"
"Besides being cut like your typical diamond? It weighs like one of its size, save for the bezel. Um, I've honestly never seen an egg with so deep of a blue. 'Prolly rich in boron to make it that way." Norton pinched his teeth from spitting an "And it's people like me who bring nobles like you these luxuries."
Orpheus showered in the broken faint lusters the Blue Hope emitted. He lightly gripped it back into his palm, looking at it with nothing but an ache. Norton silently stared, before folding his posture over abruptly to continue his scrunitizing gaze. "... Think you should go for a yellow to offset the teal, Mr. Orpheus." Norton pointed at Orpheus's scarf before his hand fell back to his thigh and he leaned back on the window.
Despite Norton's input being unwarranted, Orpheus couldn't help leaning into a static in his chest. "I think an orange would look great on you." slipped from Orpheus's mouth flatly. He tried to keep his eyes on his empty glass but couldn't pull away from looking at Norton's face for a hint of approval. He wondered if Norton had ever felt what he felt at the stables.
Norton's eyebrow pulled. "Had a little to drink?" He joked.
Orpheus could sense the rejection before it even cast afloat. "Maybe I had," He cleared his throat with a shy chuckle and set the flute aside on the desk.
"You're done for the day, but tomorrow I will need you to do more than just moving people around I'm afraid." Orpheus said.
"Alright. Like what?"
"Well, the game will be a person short with Frederick out of the equation. I'm going to need you to take his place. I'll throw meals in too." Norton's face turned into a tight scowl, a normal expression he dished to noblemen not unlike Orpheus. Besides being irritated at Orpheus's pity-ridden belief that he could just bribe him with meals, he was also conflicted with how the offer would affect him in the long run.
Norton would be ending the days on a full stomach for as long as this game went on, but only at the cost of disrupting his pursuit for nameless wealth. A manor full of notoriously down-on-their-luck aristocrats would surely be talked about, not to mention a damn reporter in their presence to harass them. This would be what not to do if you wanted to lay low and leave the past behind. "Well, I couldn't tell you what my answer would be."
Orpheus watched Norton tilt his head away to scratch the skin around his nose's piercing. "Think about it by tonight." Orpheus offered. "I'm not asking you to be friendly with the guests, just for you to participate. If anything, this would benefit us. You wouldn't have to be so hidden, you would just be 'another guest'. We wouldn't have to use those secret passages either."
Norton always had reservations towards dark, narrow systems without an aid. "Alright," he finally took the bait. "Do you want me to knock on the door like the rest of them?"
