16: Obligation

Scuffing the ash uncomfortably with a formally booted toe, she watched the chaos unfolding before her and thought of those parts of the story she’d listened to as Re’mik’ki performed. The love story and it’s conundrum of the first half - she had every intention of watching the entirety of the second half for what it was. A love story of obligation and fate. As the shimmering peacock swam lazily through the sky, she realised she had a grudging respect for the diva.

Not in how she performed - well, yes, in how she performed - Alexa had learned a lot just watching how she wove a story and moved her audience - but in how she managed it all. Not effortlessly. There was a lot of effort involved, but with practiced chaos. Despite the horror stories the backstage staff seemed to have, Re’mik’ki was perfectly clear whenever she spoke - it was what she was asking for that caused concern. There was an attitude of briskness that reminded her of Grandmère, an air of rebelliousness that Maman could not replicate.

Alexa wondered sometimes if Maman would have been more bold, more passionate, whether she'd have heard La Chanson rather than Alexandrie, or if she had been so until La Chanson had failed to appear when she was younger, or if she had needed to be more passionate for La Chanson to choose her. She rarely spoke to Maman of La Chanson. It seemed to make her uncomfortable. Alexa hadn’t needed to speak with Maman about it, in truth - Grandmère and Vieillard were always there to answer questions if she had them, to tell stories if she craved them. Deep down, Alexandrie knew Maman was resentful of La Chanson - might hate it now - and perhaps that was enough reason for it not to choose her. It had disappeared - simply disappeared - and a year after Alexandrie saying she’d heard something that Maman believed was gone, Alexa had disappeared too.

A slight shiver ran down Alexandrie’s spine as La Chanson wove its way through her mind. She looked around - the evening hadn't been breezy to now. She dismissed the feeling as a result of stress. She was not used to this kind of work. 

Not only had La Chanson passed Maman over, it had pushed the two of them apart and set Alexandrie on a quest to complete what Grandmère could not. To a great degree, Alexa understood the star-crossed lovers of the story, and pondered her own situation: was she doing what she did out of obligation or love? 

Could it not be both? Could she not love La Chanson, and love Grandmère and so want to do what La Chanson required? And if La Chanson were satisfied and ceased to interfere in Maman’s life once the goal was completed, perhaps so much the better…

Rolling her shoulders against the feeling of discomfort, the unease nudged by the music in her mind, Alexa sighed, thinking of how unhappy Maman must have been not to hear La Chanson, and how unhappy she must be now, knowing she had been intentionally passed over. Though perhaps it was relief? Grandmère was a living legend to Alexa, her existence an intrigue to so many in Shining Capital. The family’s safety (physical and political) hinged in part on the mysterious rumours that floated through court, unsatisfied by clarification. 

La Chanson was as insistent in its aims as the magic Re’mik’ki wove over the crowd before her - more - for it took all that power and poured its need in her ears. No wonder the half-elf hadn’t entirely focused on the live music. La Chanson had used the performance as an opportunity to teach her of it. To remind her of her task. Encourage her onward with just a few bars.

Taking a few steps out of the way as a large piece of furniture passed by on the backs of two halflings, she watched the chaos intensify. Were things usually this busy halfway through a performance? She couldn’t remember whether Re’mik’ki’s performance in the Capital had changed so much so quickly; and she wasn’t sure why, if things were in hand, everyone was moving with more urgency than they had been before. She dismissed it, though, as she did the nagging feeling at her temple, almost a key change from La Chanson, as if it were trying to get her attention.

Obligation.

She hadn’t considered the possibility that La Chanson might be an obligation before, and the thought made her somewhat uneasy. The obligations La Chanson laid upon her must be different to those of her family to dress and act appropriately, different to the obligations of society to contribute in the boring ways everyone else did.

It didn’t want her to be normal - if it had wanted someone normal, it would have chosen a different family. It didn’t want her to fit in - if it had wanted that, Maman would have been a perfect choice. It didn’t want her to be lonely - it had sent Chevalier with her. It didn’t want anyone strong or powerful or perfect - much as she might try, she was none of those things. That Lucas heard it now challenged that belief, but it had known her before it had settled in her mind.

Though she often feigned ignorance or affront, she knew how people spoke of her - many of the words Jasper used to describe Re’mik’ki (brat...diva...) he had certainly used to describe her, as had others. And as others likely would. That didn't stop Re'mik'ki doing what she felt was right in the way she thought it should be done. Like the costumes and makeup and sorcery and fireworks and props holding the performance together, few knew Alexandrie Donadieu for what she was or how she would go about things. In some cases, until she acted, even she didn’t know. The only one who did, for sure, was La Chanson. Her constant companion. It wove its way through her thoughts and perused her memories, perceptions and perspectives. It knew her. 

If there was obligation, it was mutual.

Perhaps, she thought, the lovers should take that into account in their decision-making. Perhaps they would.  

As the royal blue peacock found its creator, Alexandrie was taking another sip of wine and beginning to head back to the makeshift dressing room. The look of concern on Lucas and Jasper’s faces - the sharp snap of Chevalier’s face toward her - something was wrong.

La Chanson hadn't been trying to distract her.

It had tried to warn her.

Something was very wrong.