Mysteries of the Heart

Mysteries of the Heart
Date of Scene:	22 December 2012
Location:	Traverse Town - Outskirts
Synopsis:	Mercade and Jasmine talk current events, fugitive status, forgiveness and redemption.
Cast of Characters:	Jasmine, Mercade Alexander

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Jasmine has posed:
Jasmine's appearance has somewhat transformed since her rather public abduction attempt in the Traverse Town arena; where her burlap robe and linen veil were shabby back then, they're now downright ragged, with the sort of literally wartorn panache that garments only acquire in a lifestyle most politely characterized as 'highly active'. Still, some things remain the same. Her effortless, self-possessed grace; the swiftly determined way that she walks, as though she's always an urgent destination (or, at least, departure); and her eyes, the easiest part of her face to see beneath that veil, still shine like stars. Difficult times have may have bowed her, but they have not broken her, it seems.

The violet radiance of the twilit sky is selfish. It paints everything in its own tones, including the hills, the winding road, and its traveler. Departing Traverse Town with some urgency, the slight figure casts a long look at the path ahead, turning in a pensive arc. Her first thought is that the landscape is marvelously lovely, and she smiles, softly, to appreciate it. But the creeping awareness of darkness washes over her; she's lingered too long, a span of time that seems ever-shorter, and there is no safe way forward. Adjusting the knapsack over her shoulder, which bulges with the explanation for her presence near such an important urban center, she ducks her head and veers off-track, down towards a gully.

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Fate, it seems, is not content to have Jasmine escape a land without incident.

As Jasmine rounds a hill and works her way up towards the gully, she sees a man in a trenchcoat with rumpled clothing and a five-o-clock shadow on his chin. He looks mildly surprised to see Jasmine, but recovers quickly, saying as the ragged woman hurries past, "Still on the run, Jasmine?" He asks, casually. "Have time to stop for a moment?"

Jasmine has posed:
Mercade's surprise is mirrored in Jasmine's wide-eyed expression, but it dissolves into warm recognition in short order, her smile igniting into full brilliance. She never arrests her movement entirely, but she does slow long enough to be able to respond. "Good day -- yes, and no, in that order. It is lovely to see you again, though. Thank you very much for helping me, that day in the arena. I'm afraid I don't even know your name." Her voice is soft yet sparkling clear, subtly cultured, and with a ring of genuine graciousness, true gratitude, that's impossible to counterfeit. One hand touches her heart briefly as she bows her head respectfully. Dark, silken hair slips forward, over her shoulders, then falls back when she raises herself back to her full and tiny height. For some reason, there's something about her that makes her seem taller than she really is, but she's dwarfed, directly next to Mercade.

"I am sorry to deny you, but I mustn't remain. My company is hazardous at best, but if you'd like to talk, you're welcome to join me for a little while." And with that caveat given quite seriously, she continues on her way. She seems to be making for an ever-narrower valley.

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade can't help but smile in Jasmine's presence. Somehow, she seems to have a quality about her that shines through even beggar rags. He turns as she moves, following after with strides long enough to keep up with her determined movements. "It's a hard life, constantly on the move." Mercade says. "How long is it going to go on?" He pauses for a moment, looking over the gully with narrowed eyes, but says nothing about it. "My name is Mercade Alexander. I'm a detective with the Twilight Detective Agency, formerly of Manhattan. Currently... Traverse Town." He shrugs as he walks. "I'm glad to have helped you, but don't worry about it. I wasn't going to leave anyone to the... 'tender mercies' of the Heartless. But I am curious..." He trails off, looking at her. "Why are they hunting you?"

Jasmine has posed:
It isn't that hard to keep up with Jasmine, which is a significant problem for her as a fugitive; short legs, for all that they're well-proportioned. Getting a good look at her with a detective's eye, the reason for that -- one reason, anyway -- is that she is very, very young; fifteen or sixteen, going on thirty-five, circumstances having conspired to lend her considerable maturity, or at least gravitas. "Mercade," she repeats, feeling through the word, lingering on each syllable, transforming it into a compliment of high order. "I'm glad we could meet properly, at last."

A shadow of grief crosses her face at the announcement of his origins, though no shadows linger for long in her mien. Her head bows for a second time. "I'm sorry for your loss," she murmurs, but what comes after is perhaps less predictable; fierce hope and a curiously adamant certainty. "But nothing loved is ever truly lost forever." It doesn't feel like blind faith -- her eyes are too bright for that, and too thoughtful.

Her free hand drifts up to adjust her veil before it goes flying off, a reflexive and practically unconscious action that she probably performs a thousand times a day. "So many questions. I have few answers, I fear, only clues. Solving the mystery of my circumstances is something of a part-time job, in between staying alive and free, and..." The girl's gaze had drifted to the road and the hills; she's constantly studying her surroundings. But now it returns, fully, to the detective, and there's something incisive about it, as though it looks past the artifice of flesh and possessions to something more important, within. "...meeting people like you."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
"I believe you." He says, shortly. And his voice carries the weight of conviction, as if she is saying something that remains a hope in his own heart. Her voice affirms it. "You shouldn't feel sorry about it. I was... unable to help. It was an unfortunate situation for all involved. Not that my presence might have changed matters..." He says.

He continues walking along, keeping an eye out fo Heartless. Occasionally a few weak ones stray this close, but it's rare for Traverse Town to face a major assault, thankfully. "There's nothing special about me." He says in response to her last comment. "I'm just a guy who tries to do the best he can." He smiles, faintly self-depreciatingly.

He looks off into the distance. "Does it really help? The running, I mean. How long do you think it's going to last"

Jasmine has posed:
"I was also unable to help," Jasmine remarks, rather grimly, and very regretfully. "I'm not so arrogant as to think luring me out was their primary objective, but it's undeniably true that someone knew when, where and how I'd try to get there, given sufficient cause. They left an army waiting for me. I only barely got away." She tosses her head with frustration, her eyes narrowing almost to slits. "I won't let them stop me twice."

The princess wants to /keep/ it rare for Traverse Town to face assault, which is why she's headed away. There are certainly far more Heartless around these parts today than usual; there's an oppressive sense of being watched, and followed. If it troubles the girl, she gives no sign, other than to steadfastly proceed. "You're wrong," she protests, though, when Mercade denies his quality. "Choosing to do the best you can, rather than to succumb to despair or indifference, is a meaningful choice, and a vital one. One you're faced with every day." She beams up at him; the force of her approval is palpable. "So long as you, and those like you, continue to do your best, the important battle's already been won."

She doesn't answer his last question immediately; a dissatisfied silence lingers, as she, too, stares at the horizon. "The last time I stopped running for any significant period, two armies came and sacked those who had given me sanctuary. At this point, virtually every time I enter civilization, someone pays the price. So, yes. It helps." It doesn't really help /her/, but that's apparently unimportant. "I will run until I understand the situation enough to try to resolve it through proaction," she explains quietly but earnestly. "And then I will stop running." Glancing up at him, she observes, "You don't seem like the type content to remain in the dark forever, either."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
"I couldn't say why it was their target." Mercade replies, putting his hands in his pockets. "I'm glad you got away, myself. Whatever they want you for is... going to be a problem. I was tricked, captured by a Shadow Lord because of another's request." He looks away. "I don't know what that is supposed to mean."

He looks back up to Jasmine, and beyond. He becomes a little more tense as he feels the attention of /something/ upon them. "It's true. As long as we keep moving forward, no matter how bad it gets, we can make our way to a better day, right?" He sighs, smiling a little. "Thank you. Your confidence... It helps."

The silence goes on, as Jasmine explains her situation he frowns slightly. "So that's how it is. If you stop, more and more force gathers to find you..." He rubs his chin. "But we don't know what force is behind it. Maybe if we could find a way to force whatever is searching for you out into the open. Maybe we could find some way to make a trap for them."

He straightens slightly, his shoulders firming up as he looks towards the distance. "I could help you now, but I think I'd be more useful helping you in another way. You're right. I'm not going to let this chance go to waste. If the Heartless want you for whatever reason, they need to be stopped. But to stop them, we need information. You can't get it because you're on the run, but we can since we're not being watched like you are."

Jasmine has posed:
"I have my theories," Jasmine says softly, of Manhattan being targetted, "But I am certain that the Shadow Lords are after me. There also seems to be a sort of intrinsic attraction from Heartless, even those that were clearly /not/ sent after me by the Lords; they seem determined to have me. The Lords don't want me dead, but taken; independent Heartless seem to have no such reservation. Pieces of a dangerous puzzle."

"Well said," she adds, both enjoying his sentiments about better days, and relieved by his smile; she can't stand by when others are down on themselves. "As for laying a trap... more and more regularly, I reveal myself to divert large forces away from populated areas. I've proposed an intentional ambush, but the Heartless... depleting their numbers feels both useless and, on some level, cruel. It isn't their fault that they are... that they can't seem to leave me alone... no matter what I do, someone always gets hurt." Her voice trembles, then firms, and she smiles warmly at Mercade. "I would be glad to have you 'on the case'. But those tangled up in my life are in very real danger, so please, be careful."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
"That does seem confusing. However, I have been told that Heartless seek out strong Hearts on their own initative. The stronger the Heart, the more it attracts them." Mercade says, considering this. "This probably means that whatever Heart you have is powerful indeed, for them to pursue you like this... And the Shadow Lords wanting you taken alive is a far worse prospect, in my opinion." He grimaces, his expression intense as he thinks.

"As far as the Heartless... It doesn't seem like anything we do is doing anything about them. There has to be a way to stop them. I've heard legends of a weapon known as a Keyblade that can help stop them, but the two I have seen are not... easily available. They are probably helping as much as they can, but there are many worlds, and not enough of them out there. I've been trying to find more information on them but haven't gained much yet. If we can find more of them, or how they work, maybe we can use that to help find a way to stop the Heartless on a more permanent basis."

He clenches a fist. "The Heartless need to be stopped. And the Shadow Lords who control them. Justice needs to be served for this... And what happened to Manhattan and all of the other worlds attacked must not be allowed to continue to happen." He looks back to Jasmine. "Nothing worthwhile is ever easy, Jasmine. If something the Agency and the othes I know can do to help you, we'll all band together to find a way. I promise you, one day you won't have to run anymore."

Jasmine has posed:
"I don't want to stop the Heartless," Jasmine explains, abruptly and fiercely. She, herself, stops dead in her tracks. "I want to /help/ them, to become Heartful, if you were. To be themselves again. What they're forced to do, to be... it's just so sad. Simply destroying them is /not/ good enough, no more than merely stopping the Shadow Lords from taking more worlds is sufficient; we must save what has been lost. I would," she finishes, regaining her usual poised equilibrium, "Trade justice for the Shadow Lords to save even one life, if they would wreck no more harm. They're all... very lonely, in my experience. Lost, themselves. Perhaps they, too, can find their way into the light."

She has nothing in particular to speculate on whether it would be better to be taken dead or alive, nor on keyblades, simply listening intensely to his words -- and actively, hmm'ing or nodding affirmatively in all the right places. She doesn't take him for granted at all, it seems, in any way. "Interesting," she murmurs, and means it.

His promise elicits a glowing look. "I believe in you, and in the others I've met. Bringing you all together, in time, is something I hope to achieve. Not every dark power is a Shadow Lord, but they do tend to have us overmatched in organization and teamwork. Which isn't to say that we must all fall in line, but... a system to share information and pool resources is something I've been working on. I have a lot of time to think, out here by myself."

Then, before saying more, she abruptly hesitates, on the edge of a decision. The girl looks before she leaps, but leaps she does; trust is her strength, not her weakness. "Mercade... have you ever heard the term 'Princess of Heart'?"

Mercade Alexander has posed:
Mercade stops when she does. She makes her declaration, and Mercade's eyes go flinty, his expression dropping as he pauses. Jasmine can probably see the wounds there, plain as day on his face, if not his heart. "You really... believe they can be brought back?" Mercade says. He looks away, going quiet. "... Maybe. I don't know. I admit I am... not entirely unbiased in this. What possible restitution could they possibly make, though? What possibly forgiveness could they have for what they've done?" He sighs. "This is a hard thing to consider... But I guess it's one of those things that needs to be answered. Is there even a 'right' answer?"

He looks back up to the sky, for a moment, towards that permanent twilight, quiet... Until he looks back over to Jasmine. "I've made efforts to bring together some of the larger groups that have formed. VALKYRI is one of them, as well as my Agency, as well as the Shard Seekers of Fluorgis. We're trying to get more coordinated, but there isn't a whole lot going on yet. We've been using the Ma Belle network created by Xanatos of Manhattan to try to maintain communications, but expansion is not fast. The devices don't work everywhere. It's a really complicated problem."

Jasmine asks about the term Princess of Heart. Mercade thinks for a moment, and then shakes his head. "No, I've never heard of it. What does it have to do with you? Have you been called that?"

Jasmine has posed:
Jasmine looks on Mercade's wounds with no judgement, and something deeper and more profound than sympathy -- compassion lies in her heart, her eyes, her voice. "I do believe," she agrees, "That there is no path through darkness so forsaken that it cannot emerge into the light, whether Heartless or Shadow Lord." Then she adds, very gently, "As I believe that forgiveness is harder than fury, but worthwhile," she echoes his phrasing, "All the same. Anger is as easy as burning yourself up from within. Healing others, healing the worlds... that begins within, as well, by first forgiving yourself." Everyone has something they blame themselves for -- including her. It's far from a trivial struggle, and she's obviously speaking from experience.

She nods, approvingly, to hear of his organizational efforts. "I will do what I can," she promises, in turn. As to the final topic, she seems to suddenly notice she's stopped moving, and, shaking her head slightly, picks the pace back up. "I have been. I believe it's an important clue -- important enough that I'm somewhat reluctant to use the phrase too widely, and /very/ reluctant to have it widely associated with me. I'm trusting your discretion as well as your intentions."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
"We're not the one they need to ask for forgiveness from." Mercade replies.

"They need to beg it from the people they've destroyed. Something tells me that they won't be as forgiving." He turns away from Jasmine. Forgiving oneself is another matter entirely, as Jasmine well knows.

As he notices Jasmine moving again, he walks as well, watching the road. "I'll do what I can to look for information on why they want you. Maybe that term is the key. It sound like something that would concern the Shadow Lords greatly. Whatever it is, knowing what it is and why could give us a way to stop their plans."

Jasmine has posed:
"They can't," Jasmine murmurs, mournfully. "We're all they have." And that's all she says on the topic.

As they proceed onwards, she seems about to add something -- perhaps more information -- before looking up, sharply. "They're coming," she says steadily. There's fear in her eyes, but she seems to work through it; one gets the feeling she's always afraid, on some level, not of the grand outcome, the bright future that she considers such a foregone conclusion, but of the details of the present, the deadly moment-to-moment that comprises her daily life. Despite being on the run for some months, it's not like she was born a fugitive. "I can lead them away from you, if you go now," she offers earnestly. "Or we can take them here -- there are more than I'd like, but that's why I came down into the gully. Fewer angles of attack."

Mercade Alexander has posed:
The argument of forgiveness will have to wait, as Mercade turns to look as Jasmine says they're coming. Immediately, Mercade pulls his Ma Belle and calls out, "Will! Tom! Celine! I need you to get out here on the double. Take the chocobos. We have Heartless inbound on the gully to the west of town and we need to cut them off."

His other hand pulls a single gun. A pearl-handled revolver, much like one sees used by stage magicians. A gift from the Shadow Lord who held him captive.

The irony is palpable.

Mercade looks to Jasmine. "Go ahead. I'll take a wider tack and work to slow them down. My friends should be here soon, and you should be far enough ahead that they won't see you and ask questions. We'll take care of them from here."

He smiles. "It was good to meet you, Jasmine. Hopefully next time we meet, I'll have good news for you." He nods, and raises his weapon, spinning the cylinder as he slams in a speed-loader and flicks off the safety. "Now go!"

Jasmine has posed:
Jasmine frowns, a tempestuous expression, as she's informed that her plan to take care of things without putting anyone in danger has suddenly been hijacked into the exact opposite. For a moment, frustration pours off of her in waves; she's fiery, defiant. Spirited in more than one way, it seems.

Then she exhales, and the excess tension drains out of her, leaving only the normal, constant supply, and something else. It's hard to read the emotion in her eyes, on her lips, other than gratitude; that one's easy. "Thank you," she says simply, and means it. For far more than just this offer of such stalwart defense. "But now it's your turn to trust me."

Without further ado, she picks up her heels, the relatively modern combat boots suddenly visible quite at odds with the rest of her apparel, and runs. She's startlingly fleet of foot, accelerating suddenly and gracefully, poetry in motion, almost feline -- and is out of sight, around a corner, within moments. "Fare well," drifts behind her, warm and bright and encompassing not only goodbye but a sort of heartfelt benediction, from a heart from which no feeling is ever trivial.

The first Heartless appear shortly thereafter, but then something changes; there's a flash of Light from above, impossibly, breathtakingly bright radiance, all colors and none in its purity. The little monsters (and some larger ones; they're rather spectacular in their variety, drawn from a panopoly of worlds rather like a travelogue of her journey) promptly stop dropping into the gully, changing their angle of pursuit. They're gone in moments.

With his cunning deductive reasoning, the detective may be able to figure out that Jasmine has simply scaled the ravine, then revealed herself deliberately to guide them well away from Mercade and his friends.