with how strong wriothesley and acheron both seem, albedo is unsure how long constitutes much cause for concern.
that is of course until the sky above him, miss march, and mister koski darkens in a matter of seconds. it cannot mean anything good. a soft sigh leaves him then.
"i'll look for those two," he calls over his shoulder before stepping off into the deeper unknown.
and surprisingly, it does not take him quite long after that. a masked girl with some aura, mister wriothesley looking tense, miss acheron and a large salivating wolf at her neck—this is a story that tells itself.
albedo makes himself unimposing once more. he approaches openly, striding up in his easy footsteps, body language the antithesis to everyone else's.
"hello." nonchalant and honest, his voice may very well be a glimmer of light. "ah... would you happen to be the one who was with me earlier?"
as with wriothesley, you do not see the girl’s eyes but you feel them. they recognize you.
“correct,” her head tilts in a nod. the wolf doesn’t spare you a glance. “mortal creatures seldom recognize us so easily.”
there is an implication here, and she sounds as though she may be smiling as she says it.
how curious. albedo smiles, a barely-there phantom on his lips as his smile is prone to be. cryptic, saying nothing while saying everything, but not dishonest. never dishonest—and never unkind.
"then i must thank you for showing yourself. i fear that mortal eyes fall quite short of what's needed in this garden." the answer is seamless, of course. so if there is any implication in the air then it is theirs to be had, their little springtime secret, at least for now.
"i believe you happened upon us trying to appease those statues," he continues. "i apologize if we've disturbed you. we certainly don't wish to overstay our welcome." because he'll try to be cordial first, even if he's two shakes away from getting eaten by a wolf. there's no one better at damage control than klee's guardian.
"if i could ask, are we on the right track to leaving?"
no remark on the subject of disturbance, though her gaze does flit rather intentionally away from albedo. wriothesley and acheron will feel it quite pointedly land on them.
and then it finds him again. “leaving?” there is a genuine surprise to her voice. “we fear not a soul has left this place for some time.”
her next words are chosen very carefully, spoken slowly:
“there is only one way to leave, and we shall not allow it to come to pass.”
oh, that does not bode well. the answer may not be one anybody wants to hear; he has a feeling he already knows what it is, it brings him no joy. but, well, only one way to find out.
albedo chooses his words with just as much care.
"is there truly no other way?"
“were there another way, do you think we would be here still?”
you see for a moment the briefest glimpse of freedom—joy unbound, a girl and her dearest friend in a forest much like this, laughing as they chase one another in a game only they know the rules to.
and then it is gone like a cool spring morning’s breeze. lost to time. “we are trapped because she is trapped. we will not be free until she is.”
she seems to believe you know of this she, she seems to trust you more than she does any of those who surround you. you remind her of something, perhaps. you are familiar.
“we will not allow you to harm her.”
do you think we would be here still?
"perhaps not," he muses, that ghostly curl of his lips growing faraway. "but while you say you've had many souls enter this garden, have any of them quite been like us?"
because are they not different? he who shares the same face, same mother, same alchemical blood and fate of the rest of gold's whims—did his brethren not each have their own purposes, individualities, did they not deserve to live any more than he?
some things are lost to far worse than time. this he knows, and this he accepts. he will do what he must, though not without exhausting every other mean at his disposal; because at the root of all life, synthetic or not, they all deserve that same chance to exist. to know, and to keep, the joy of being born.
"we don't wish to harm her, nor anyone else. free her, keep her safe... i wish we'd do both. sometimes we can, you know." and albedo certainly has. (the face of ████ flickers in his thoughts.)
but sometimes you cannot. other times you never will. there is something bittersweet in his eyes, kind still in this moment. "...i await your answer, miss, no matter what it may be."
there is a beat of silence as she considers you, not for the first time, but this is… different. she has spent a dozen lifetimes in this place, behind this mask, with only the fragments of what she once knew. you have shown her something she has not seen since the first of those ages; hope.
“we have long hoped for you to come,” she says at last. “if to save her is what you wish, we are in your debt. we will do all that we can.”
the wolf, who has been biding his time slobbering down acheron’s neck still, seems displeased by this. his ears pin, he growls.
“your company, however…”
and there, hope blooms from soil, comes into being—not just for these spirits, but for albedo and the other odd four. his gaze softens at her favorable response.
it would cost a good man nothing to forsake the rest, and potentially everything to vouch for them blindly. still, he tries. he cannot say if that makes him more or less human, but he tries.
"allow me to apologize on their behalf," he at least says first, a gracious hand on his chest. "i imagine they're just as confused and disoriented, having been plucked so suddenly from their surroundings."
here is one truth he has learned among many: mortal or otherwise, hope and trust are fragile, such fragile things. without proper care they become as transient as his blossoms. as long as his proverbial heart continues to beat, he will do all he can to protect that garden too.
the man from earlier, wriothesley—he interjects to insist they mean no harm. the masked girl and wolf do not look so convinced. albedo thinks no one here is quite to blame.
"i don't think they're bad people. moreover... many hands make light work, as they say, and different perspectives are invaluable in unfamiliar situations. i'd like to see if we can all think of something together..."
a pause. "...unless they have any objections?"
surely not. albedo is kind, but for every part of him untouched by time he is old enough not to humor fools. he is not naive. trust, goodwill—he can place those things forth knowing that he can rescind them at any time. the first sign of malice from one such as, say, the slimy-looking fellow, will have him do just that. let the moonlike smile on his lips be his only reminder.
