Sanity Is An Abstract Concept

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The guards had found a spice addict, or so Cedric had been told.

It was a rare thing for the spice fiends to ever come near this district, let alone the capital building. Most stuck to the undercity or the barely maintained red light district (an area Cedric was working on removing from the city completely). It was so that the Archlord drew a faint interest in the identity of this spice fiend, and when she'd been described to him, well...

"Did you actually test her for spice?" The youth asked one of the guardsmen. The older man stared at him with mild annoyance in his dull brown eyes. Leathery skinned and lined with age, the visage of the guardsmen was anything if not petulant. He didn't have time to deal with these young and entitled little di'kuts, but then this boy was the Archlord. While he may have had political acumen, it was no secret that young Cedric Grayson had trouble with the more common situations that plagued the populace.

The older man groaned. "Not as of yet, no. We were planning on it. I don't see why this girl should be of any interest for you sir. We can deal with her ourselves - I'm sure there are far more important things for you to attend to."

Cedric quirked a brow, "Perhaps, but I'm rather interested in this little case. You said she had silver hair?"

"It's just blonde. Really bright blonde - faded blond, whatever."

"I'd like to see her."

"She was trespassing sir."

"I don't think so."

The guard fought back the urge to groan. Thoroughly annoyed at this break in his routine, he slid a keycard into a nearby terminal. One of the doors within the cellblock hissed open; the door to the cell that housed [member="Lysandra"], to be exact. Two other guards joined them as Cedric strolled over to the cell.

"John thinks she's the one that knocked out a few of our boys a couple of nights ago."

"Well, John is right," Cedric offered the guards a shrug as he stepped into the cell.

Clad in the robes of his position, Cedric looked more akin to a Jedi on the prowl than the awkward boy Ophelia had come to know so many nights ago. His head was bare, and his mop of unkempt hair had been combed into something presentable. The youth wore an amused little grin as he beheld the girl.

"I didn't think you'd get caught Ophelia."

 

[Lysandra]

Clang

Orange streaks jettisoned across the obsidian landscape, igniting the darkness like infant flames bursting from the wick of a candle.

Clang - clang - clang - clang.

Sputtering with the sparkling embers, the orange licks of fire intensified into a writhing furnace, vibrating to the metallic echoes that bounced through the durasteel walls and into the ovular enclosure. As the sound grew louder the colours grew brighter, dancing in silence as the noise commanded the erratic waltz. A change in pitch, a hollow echo and the orange would shimmer with an earthy brown, forever molded by the symphony of sound frolicking around the windowless cell.

No one saw the dazzling array of colours, no one but the lone girl rhythmically rocking back and forth atop a single stiff mattress. Her bright blue eyes stared at a blank wall, perceiving more than just the simple grey stains that adorned its black coat of paint. It was a canvas for the chaos her mind created, a medium through which the ghostly hues danced and wriggled with an ebullient liveliness which would only stop once the cacophony of noise outside did.

The grumpy fellow who took her did not understand, let alone care for a young woman's imagination and Essioni's guards certainly did not comprehend why the waifish miscreant appeared content in her little isolated cell. It wasn't Lysandra's first time locked away and probably wouldn't be her last. The nymph was unburdened by the discipline of men and their masters and saw little issue with her newfound quarters, other than the smell of course. Still, she found some semblance of entertainment in the snug box she was tossed into.

"Rancor, rancor wake her up and thank her," Her feathery voice chirped to the beat of incessant clanging outside the thick walls, "little Lilly Lemon grew up to be a banker." On and on she sung, rhyming 'rancor' with 'anchor', 'canker', 'pranker' and 'investment spanker' until there were no more words left for the nonsensical poem.

Whatever attempt the seemingly delirious teenager would have taken to continue her flowery ramblings was neutered when the gurgling of voices from outside her cell spirited wisps of new colour into her peripherals.

One particular wisp that grew brighter was a familiar colour, a royal blue that crackled like lightning in the kaleidescope of her mind.

"Cedric." The girl smiled, offering the dimly lit silhouette of the young Archlord a flippant little wave.

Perhaps, he too, had filled the coffers with soil and seeds.

"I wasn't trying to hide." Lysandra shrugged, dainty shoulders swiftly rising and falling as she clutched the frayed edges of her pink dress. "Mr Bens dick over here seemed awfully grumpy and I -"

There was a slap against metal, the shrill ringing sound awakening a flash of yellow.

"That's Benedict to you, you little tramp!" The red faced guard glowered, bearing his yellowed teeth and briefly glancing down at the young prince who looked slightly less disheveled since the last Lysandra saw him.

The girl only offered the man a blank stare, a dull blink quickly following before she stared up at her handsome visitor.

"Are you here because you were naughty as well?" She loudly whispered, covering her mouth in a less than subtle attempt at keeping the conversation between herself and the surprising new arrival.

[member="Cedric Grayson"]

 

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Mister Ben Dick mumbled a string of curses under his breath as Cedric stepped forward. he moved to follow the Archlord, and perhaps give the prisoner a little lesson in respecting one's elders, but found himself halted by Cedric's raised hand. Benedict scowled at the back of the youth's head, but he complied. He and the other two guards backed away toward the door of the cell, eavesdropping as best they could. Evidently the young Archlord wanted to teach the girl a lesson himself.

Well, Benedict wasn't going to miss that.

"I would appreciate it if you refrained from insulting her, lest I insult you."

The guards fell silent.

Ignoring the men, Cedric strolled lazily over to Lysandra. He settled down on the cot alongside her, leaning back far enough to lay flat against the cell's excuse for a bed. "Not yet," he gave her wink as he answered her final question. "They follow me everywhere, naughty or not. I think you scared them, wandering about as you do. I'll be sure to put out a memo telling the guardsmen to leave you alone from here on out," he paused, "Actually, I'll make sure they keep you secured. They'll address you as a lady of the court."

He snickered at the idea.

"I was going to inspect the next crusade's fleet. It's just been forged, but..." he brought his hands up behind his head. "I can take a day off, I think. Show me a bit of fun? I haven't done anything aside from inspections and senate meetings in the past two weeks."

And all of it had proven to be rather miserable.

"Out!" He snapped suddenly, and the sound of boots thundering off could be heard outside. The guardsmen had gone on their way. Left with the moon-haired girl, Cedric reached out with a hand to inspect her forearm. "They didn't hurt you did they? No bruises? Nothing hurts?"

[member="Lysandra"]

 

[Lysandra]

There was something new to Cedric that tickled the waif's senses with an air of unfamiliarity, the heavier rise and falls of his voice striking Lysandra with momentary surprise. It was almost comical, witnessing the young man she'd only known as shirtless, messy and rather bland take the face of someone more serious, someone with responsibilities and all the princely regalia that came along with such a thing. How the men around him did not balk at his youth, the girl did not know. Alas, some part of the vibrant vagrant knew that any balking would be within the realm of Cedric's younger, fleshier followers, the sort to balk and talk and walk with their knees all wobbly.

From what she could see, the guards didn't seem too wobbly kneed around their nubile leader.

"I don't think you needed to do that, m'lord." Lysandra lightly shrugged, playing with the odd title in her mouth before it bounced off of her simpering lips. It sounded odd, like swirling sand in ones mouth after a day by the coast. Even more so when she considered the newfound title he afforded her.

Lady of the court?

With her nose wrinkled and her brows tied into a knot, the whimsical waif scoured the kaleidoscope of her memory to find whatever remnant of familiarity such a moniker could afford. It seemed a little silly, especially since she'd never seen a court lest been inside one. "Does a court only fit one lady?" She mumbled into the air, staring into the emptiness of her cell as she chewed on the rather confronting query. "What if there's two ladies in a court, how does one know which one is of the court? Does that mean I can't be the lady of the garden anymore, I liked that one...people thought me some sort of spirit and would leave me food." The girl whispered, seemingly lost in the vast sea of oddities the strange new title presented her.

Shaking her head, Lysandra blinked away the momentary musings and snapped her attention down to the eerily jovial young man in her cell.

"Show you a bit of fun? You're all fancy and proper." The girl uttered flippantly, bobbing her head as she fanned her face in mock exasperation. "What would Cedric enjoy? A tea party with all my friends in the forest? I know Mother said I shouldn't drink from the lake but sometimes it gives my stomach butterflies and those are never bad." She mused quietly, scrunching her brow.

Her lapse into nostalgia was broken when she felt something rough and warm grace the skin of her forearm.

Glancing downwards, Lysandra once more found the young Archlord gripping her like an inquisitive child. How peculiar.

"No. They said I had fleas though." The girl tutted, running a dainty hand through the mess of moonlight hair before slowly exhaling. "They certainly didn't seem very happy when I decorated their quarters. Very grumpy and grey." Lysandra concluded, slipping her arm from his grip before swiveling her form and quietly stepping on to the cold hard floor of her cell.

With toes wriggling and eyes looking towards the gaping exit, the waif sucked in a deep breath before striding outside the metal enclosure. "An excursion with Cyril's son, how quaint!" She chirped, feathery voice dancing in the stuffy air.

[member="Cedric Grayson"]

 

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"Maybe, but I liked it." Cedric admitted with a guilty shrug. As much as he might have fulfilled his position ,there was a strong part of the youth that rather enjoyed abusing it. Only in rare cases such as this, to be sure, but still...

"It can fit many," the words came forth quietly, a gentle smile splayed across Cedric's features. "But in this case, it can only fit one. It's a fancy term that few people actually understand, which is why I chose it. A bit of confusion never hurt anyone." Cedric snickered as he rose up to his feet. His grasp on her forearm slipped, and then she was off into her own little world. The Archlord held no illusions at to the world she had created for herself - it was there she lingered, rather than here.

Did she see him as another specter, he wondered? Was this other world the reality in which she called home, the gray walls around her physical body the illusion and the meadows of her mind the truth? He parted his lips to ask, but then she was speaking again. There was something endearing about the way she seemed to regard nothing, save for the rhymes and poems that made up her speech. Perhaps it was the purity of it that made Cedric respond to her earnestly, or maybe it was the fact that she wandered about barely wearing anything by way of clothing.

Only the gods knew.

"You're still the lady of the garden. I don't think anyone could take that moniker from you if they tried," he flashed her an easy smile. "And I am not!" He huffed a quiet laugh, "It's all a show to deal with these people. I can be fun. I am fun." He fired back, the words having stricken a cord normally left untouched.

"You probably do have fleas," he agreed. "We should really get you in a bath that doesn't involve pond water." None would come to bar their way. Ession was revealed to them a few moments later, the light of mid-day bathing the world in golden illumination. The city stretched out far, though one could see the greenery of the forest to the far east.

"Speaking of pond water, let's not go drinking it," he snickered as he made his way toward his parked speeder. "I haven't been to the forest in years...do you want to go there?"

[member="Lysandra"]