Chapter Text
"You want me to… attend a play?”
Furina slaps the poster onto Neuvillette’s desk with a flourish. He stares at it as if it had committed a crime.
“A play in which yours truly is the lead actress, yes.”
“The one for which you’ve shirked your… Archonly duties to rehearse for the past two months?” His tone is sharp and accusatory, and he wouldn’t be wrong, per se—if only she actually were a god. Nevertheless, she rolls her eyes and huffs, offended, as a god like her would.
“Entertaining my subjects is one of my Archonly duties, my dear Iudex! And, I’ll have you know—” she proudly presses a hand over her chest, “I’ve never had a performance without glowing reviews, or the most rapturous of applause, or even a single standing ticket left unsold!”
She props her elbows onto the desk, “since you were apparently sooo busy that even attending one of my rehearsals was out of the question for you, I want you to at the very least grace us with your presence on opening night. I’ll bet you’ve never seen anything quite as grand in your life.”
Neuvillette’s gaze seems to pierce through her. Perhaps it is paranoia speaking on her behalf, but the way he looks at her feels less like him considering her request, and more like him considering the ways he could reclaim his authority right then and there.
The silence is getting uncomfortable, she needs to say something. “…So?”
“Why should I pander to the likes of you, usurper?” He says icily.
She grits her teeth. Because thanks to oh-so-wise ‘mirror-me’, a fraud and a vengeful ancient dragon must work together for the foreseeable future, and even though said dragon still looks like he wants to kill me after almost half a year of said working together, I want my co-ruler at least somewhat emotionally close to me so we can figure out how to stop my entire gods-damned nation from drowning. “W–well, what is the Chief Justice for, if not to support the Archon in her endeavours?”
“I believe the role of Chief Justice only entails supporting the Archon in her judicial endeavours.”
“Tch— I reserved a front row seat just for you!”
“I do not see how that should convince me.”
“If you don’t come, I’ll summon a jet of water to your face.”
“Do you think it wise to start a water fight with the Hydro Dragon Sovereign?”
Furina is incredulous. How is he this against watching a simple play? “Okay, okay. Fine. I just thought that it’d be nice for you to experience. You know, you having come to Teyvat’s capital of theatre and all.”
Then an idea occurs to her, and she perks up.
“And,” she leans in closer, grinning, “I distinctly recall a certain dragon telling me he wished to understand humanity—and where better than the theatre? Where the thing that takes centre stage is the embodiment of humanity itself?”
She shrugs dismissively, “but I digress. If you’d rather stay here cooped up and scowling at your paperwork, then…” in a swift motion, she snatches the flyer off the desk, then turns to leave. “Your loss.”
As she mockingly waves the flyer in the air and walks toward the door, the hope that he will stop her slowly vanishes, replaced by mild disappointment. She holds back a sigh. There’s always next time. And she’ll go on and on about how he missed the best show of his life for at least a week afterward.
She just about reaches the door when, from across the room, there is a rustle and the screech of a chair. “Wait—”
Furina whirls back around. Neuvillette is halfway out of his seat, one hand partially extended toward her. Then he seems to remember just who he’s reaching for, and whatever expression he had is shuttered by disdain. He slowly lowers his hand.
“Tomorrow evening at the Opera Epiclese, yes?”
She allows herself a triumphant, knowing smile.
The play really was as grand and well-received as Furina had promised. When the actors took their bows, roses flew across the stage and the well-deserved applause came in a fashion that Neuvillette can only describe as a crashing tidal wave. The lead actress’ gaze found him in the front row amidst it all, and she smiled a smile that he could only interpret as “told you so”.
But while Neuvillette can certainly vouch for the quality of the performance, he can make no comment on the story itself.
Two friends, one lost at sea and returning as… some ambiguous variant of water spirit, the other yearning and grieving by releasing Lakelight Lilies into the harbour where they last met. The water spirit believed herself too changed to be loved, telling the human as much—only for him to return the next day, not with another Lakelight Lily, but with a Rainbow Rose.
Neuvillette imagines Fontainians would consider such a sequence of events “romantic”, but he knows neither what “romantic” really means, nor how someone lost at sea can miraculously defy the laws of life and transform into a so-called “water spirit”, nor why the human didn’t just… move on. Like any sensible being would.
In any case, he doesn’t believe that attending this show has brought him any closer to understanding humanity. If anything, he is leaving with more questions than answers.
After the post-show autograph session, during which Furina was swarmed by what was essentially the entire attendance of the theatre, he follows her onto their private ferry. The Archon slumps into her seat, the events of the day still heavy on her shoulders. Then she abruptly sits up with newfound energy and fixes the man across from her with a grin.
“So, Chief Justice,” she starts, “what did you think? I know I’m amazing, but do give your most impartial opinion.”
Neuvillette blinks at her. “It was… unusual at best.”
“Pffft, you’re unusual is what this is!”
He furrows his brow. “How does a person even return as a water spirit? Does romanticising a hydrologically impossible scenario truly constitute meaningful entertainment to humans?”
“The point wasn’t the water spirit, silly!” She laughs, rather vexatiously. “Let me ask you this: The girl, my character—Marin—came back different, but why do you think she came back in the first place?”
“Because she wanted to see Philippe again?”
“And why did Philippe go to the harbour every day?”
“…To throw flowers?”
Furina groans, frustrated. “No— well, yes, because the harbour was the only place he still felt close to her!” She is yelling at this point, rambling in one breath, “and the fact that Marin became a water spirit of all things doesn't matter because what matters is the idea that she changed but Philippe still loved her and she missed him enough to come back.”
Neuvillette processes this bombardment of information at a remarkably slow pace. Is this what schoolchildren feel during a lecture? “…So it is a metaphor.”
She slaps her palms on her lap. “Exactly! Now you understand!”
“Not really.”
“You— I— wh—… you know what? I’m not explaining the entire thing to you today. You just… mull it over! I’ll be bringing you to more performances so maybe you’ll get it in the future.”
When had he agreed to attending more? He sighs, reluctant. “So I suppose I shall have to bear more complicated character analyses like tonight’s?”
“That was not complicated in the slightest—but yes! So which one should we go to next?” Her eyes are practically sparkling. “Anything on the Opera noticeboard catch your eye lately? Perhaps one of Coppelius’ classics? I recall ‘Masque of the Great’ is showing next week. You can never go wrong with Coppelius; a real gem that man was. More than a century and his work still hasn’t lost relevance.”
Neuvillette can only hope that this resolve to drag him into theatre will subside within the next few months.
This resolve did not, in fact, subside within the next few months.
Neuvillette finds that their recreational Opera visits have turned into a regular affair. At times he watches performances that Furina herself appears in, at times he attends a production she has contributed to behind the scenes, and at times he is forced to watch something he knows absolutely nothing about, because Furina insists on taking him with her.
Over the next few years, he comes to realise why so many in Fontaine think of their Archon as being “born to act”.
For even though someone like him still cannot adequately grasp certain aspects of theatre nor the underlying human emotions, he does, at the very least, understand why people keep returning. There is something about Furina’s performances that is so masterfully done, he can say with reasonable certainty that any show with her involved is guaranteed to be worth going to.
As for how he can say with ‘reasonable certainty’? He has, quite surprisingly, begun to tell from pattern recognition whether a production is “good” or “bad”. In a way, it is its own kind of judicial verdict, which is his area of expertise, so perhaps she is right and it does come naturally.
Following each performance, Furina asks him the usual “what did you think”, perhaps a “who’s your favourite character” or a “what would you do”, launching into those long-winded explanations of the plot, the subtext, dissecting the characters down to the line, so intricately that she may as well be pulling meaning out of thin air. If it is a show she plays in, she explains why she’d acted it a certain way and what difference it makes in characterisation, something that Neuvillette still cannot for the life of him make out for himself.
And if the performance was not up to the Archon’s standards, she will spend the ferry ride home and the following week or two complaining, jabbing at the flaws, describing what she’d change—always with Neuvillette on the receiving end.
Not that he doesn’t mind—he absolutely does, her prattling makes for quite the distraction from his work—but something about that passionate, theatre-loving side of her feels as if it comes from a different source than the face of bravado she wears everywhere else. A different river flowing into the same sea. Though he can’t put his finger on what exactly that something is. A… “je ne sais quoi”, as some Fontainian literature would call it.
Such is the charm of a strange, enigmatic being such as her.
When the two step out of the Opera Epiclese, Furina is uncharacteristically quiet.
Neuvillette can’t tell if it has something to do with the performance they attended. Personally he thought it to be worth the watch, but Furina normally always has something to say, general opinion notwithstanding.
The show might not even have taken off without her support, given the presence of Melusine actors and a nation that is still wary of them. By right, the Archon would, should, be boasting about the achievement—swooping in, saving the production like the self-proclaimed benevolent god that she is, “they just couldn’t do without me”, the works.
It is not until they have walked past the Fountain of Lucine and up the stairs when Furina finally speaks up.
“So, how was it?” Ah, the invariable question.
Neuvillette contemplates. “The story of good overcoming evil is an established classic, yet this one manages to feel fresh and compelling. The antagonist and his motivations were morally questionable but well-written—but that is to be expected, given your involvement,” he muses. “What I found particularly interesting is the casting—the first of its kind. The Melusines did exceedingly well, considering none of them have shared a stage with humans before. And judging by the applause, it is clear the audience thought likewise,” he nods as if reaching a verdict. “You and the others have taught them well.”
She chuckles. “It did take a while to get them to understand what ‘acting’ is.”
They fall back into uncomfortable silence as they continue walking, as if neither of them is sure where the conversation is going. Fortunately for Neuvillette, Furina is the one to break it.
“…It’s nice to see how the people have finally started accepting the Melusines.” She sounds… somewhat more solemn than he’s heard in a while, all of a sudden.
He hums in agreement. “Attendance tonight was higher than I’d expected, which is a good indication.”
“Carole would be happy to see it.”
That catches him off guard. He tilts his head at her silently, prompting her to continue.
“And… I know I should've said this a lot sooner—I mean, it has been a few years, but…” she exhales through her teeth. “I’m truly sorry about what happened to her. And Vautrin, too.”
He feels positively perplexed. “What prompted you to bring that up now, of all times?”
She shakes her head. “Because that was all I could think about throughout the production process? Hey, they were my officers too, you know—” She inhales sharply, then clears her throat.
“…I know they were dear to you—I mean, I myself felt attached to my first generation of staff. So… I know what it’s like. To lose people. And I didn’t say anything for so long because I was scared I’d… reopen a wound of yours, so to speak.”
Never since Vautrin’s trial has Neuvillette expected her to further acknowledge the incident. That is just how she functions, he’d convinced himself, she leaves things unsaid and moves on quickly. And here she is, talking about it, apologising about it, even.
Never in almost a decade of working together has Neuvillette seen this side of her. And here she is, showing it to him after a play about Melusines overthrowing a tyrant.
Furina doesn’t return his questioning look and instead chooses to admire the pathside shrubbery. “They were victims of a grave injustice. And it was unbecoming of me to have let it happen. I wish I’d done more, or said something, so we could’ve—” she hesitates, “you know, prevented it. Maybe.”
“So you supported this production as a means to atone for what you view as a personal failing?” Neuvillette asks, in complete earnest.
She scrunches up her face.
“Well,” she says after a while, her voice remarkably higher-pitched, “yes! Not wrong. Uh, but it sounds terrible when you say it like that. I… think I need to teach you how to sugarcoat things.”
By now they have walked much of the way to the dock, and Neuvillette spots a Melusine hurrying off to ready their boat.
“For what it’s worth,” he tells Furina, “this production has no doubt improved the public’s perception of Melusines, so your efforts are meaningful.”
She shrugs. “Guess I’m doing something right, then.”
As they board their ferry, Furina seems to recall something and snap back into her usual demeanour. “So! Next performance,” she declares, arms folded, “I was thinking of having more Melusines. And I recently met a few who have quite the flair for music, so perhaps I’ll also have them in the pit.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Waging war on discrimination through theatre, are you?”
“Obviously,” she replies. “Would you rather we outlaw ‘disliking Melusines’? And start a censorship campaign to boot? What are we, dictators?”
Neuvillette huffs, amused. Behind them, the ferry engine roars to life and sails them homeward.
Furina really doesn’t know what she was thinking when she dragged Neuvillette to the theatre all those years ago.
Well… no, that may not be entirely true. She does kind of know. It was supposed to be a short-term thing to get them working together better. A little coworker bonding activity so that he’d stop looking like he was going to rip her limb from limb any second, if you will. Perfectly reasonable!
She certainly hadn’t meant for it to become a tradition, though. Somehow, somewhere along the way, reserving a front row seat for her Chief Justice to every performance she is involved in—or simply attending—had become more of a natural habit, or something to be expected.
But there is a regrettably fine line between being close professionally and being close personally, and that is a line she does not want to cross.
People who get close keep each other company and share secrets. Fate has ordained that she must bear her burden alone, the sole sacrificial lamb, and sharing secrets is the last thing someone like her should do. So if he gets close enough and she unwittingly lets her guard down and he sees through her act and finds out what she truly is and all of Fontaine is doomed because of her—
No. Furina de Fontaine does not do proximity or friendship or anything like that. Her Iudex is already too close for comfort as it is, and she will not let him get closer. Not when an entire nation’s fate rests heavy upon her shoulders. Not when even the slightest loosening of the hold could let slip the rope on the blade of the guillotine. She’s managed alone for a century, surely she can manage longer.
It is with this mindset that she decides to stop reserving a seat for her Chief Justice as if his presence were a given, as if they were acquainted beyond work.
If he truly wants to attend of his own accord, he knows how to purchase a ticket himself. And if he doesn’t, and she never sees him in the audience again, well. Her bringing him to performances has long served its purpose anyway. It is for the better.
Nevermind the sinking feeling in her gut when, at the curtain call to another one of her sold-out shows, she scans the front row for a familiar face, and for the first time in fifty years, his is nowhere to be found.
This particular year came with an exceptionally muggy summer. They are in his office, the curtains drawn in favour of keeping the sunlight out. He is, as always, seated at his desk with documents piled up beside him. She is sprawled across one of the sofas, tugging at her collar, fanning herself with the morning paper.
There is a rustle as he sets the documents aside. “May I ask you something? Unrelated to work.”
“Hm?”
“Why have you stopped sending me tickets to your performances?” he asks.
Great. Now she has to deal with the consequences of her actions. “Why? Oh, do you actually secretly enjoy watching my work now? I am absolutely flattered, my dear Chief Justice!”
“That is besides the point. You did not send tickets for your previous performance. Nor have you done so for tonight’s.” She’s lying down and can’t see him, but she can imagine him narrowing his eyes at her.
“What, does the mighty Iudex of Fontaine not know how to approach a ticket counter?” she shoots back, annoyance seeping into her voice, as she furls and unfurls the newspaper in her hands, “or even ask one of his assistants to do it for him?”
“I am aware I can purchase one myself,” he says, “it’s just… you used to do so consistently, and always ensured I attended, even when I was reluctant. I just wish to know if there was a reason behind the change, as well as why you did not inform me of it.”
She groans. “Must everything have a reason? I stopped because I stopped,” she snaps, sitting up so fast she feels a little dizzy. “I’m Focalors, the Hydro Archon. You’re my subordinate. I don’t owe you any reasons, and I am not your personal secretary.”
When she looks over and focuses on his face, she expects him to be offended, silently angry at her, as he would have been fifty years ago. Evidently he isn’t, if that hurt expression is anything to go by. It makes her feel sorry. It almost makes her apologise.
“Again, if you want to watch me, get a ticket yourself,” she says instead, burying her remorse beneath irritation.
Maybe it’s the drawn curtains or the mugginess, but in spite of the spacious room, she feels oddly suffocated. She stands up and runs away just as she always does flounces toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a premiere to prepare for.”
The second she makes it to her quarters upstairs, she flops onto her bed and screams into the pillow.
That evening, she is conducting final checks on the props with the rest of her cast when she spots Neuvillette making his way to a front row seat, and stops dead in her tracks.
Why in the world is he here?
“Lady Furina? Is everything alright?” A cast member jogs over, looking in the same direction and back, confused, like nothing was out of the ordinary.
She coughs. “Ah, uh, if you’ll excuse me for a while, I have something to discuss with my Iudex.” Her back is already turned from the cast member as she speedwalks towards the stairs, “I’ll be just a moment!”
When she makes it to his seat, she greets him more coldly than she’d prefer. “Ah, Neuvillette. Here this early? Did you miss me so?”
“I simply wanted to observe the pre-show preparations,” he replies dryly.
Furina huffs. “I recall a certain someone was unhappy I didn’t invite him. So you’d bought yourself a ticket after all? What was the point of this morning, then?”
Neuvillette hesitates and folds his hands on his lap. “As was previously stated, I merely wanted to understand why you had stopped with the routine. If the issue were to do with myself, I believe that as a friend and subordinate, I should be made aware of it so I can do what is within my power to rectify it.”
Her eyes widen minutely. ‘As a friend’? Oh, for goodness’ sake. A friend? Isn’t this the very thing she was trying to avoid? Is he kidding her?
“Oh, ‘as a friend’? We’re friends now?” the Archon leans forward like a reporter catching a revolutionary scoop, cackling hysterically—giving away no hint of her dismay, hopefully. “Wow, fifty whole years of professional cooperation and you finally decide to upgrade me? I am well and truly honoured, my dear Iudex!”
This isn’t even about her mission anymore. How is she supposed to tell him that the one he considers a friend has been deceiving him, playing him like a fiddle from the day they met? How is she supposed to tell him he’s friends with a concept, a facade, and that beneath it is a pathetic, powerless impostor wearing the skin of divinity, a sheep in wolf’s clothing?
Neuvillette seems ever so slightly bewildered as she composes herself after the laughing fit. “Are we not—…”
“Lady Furina? Sorry, but could you come take a look at the prop table over here once you’re done?” The same cast member from before calls out somewhere off the side. Oh, what a heaven-sent saviour, bless his soul.
“Coming!” she yells over her shoulder. She looks at Neuvillette, gesturing vaguely toward the stage, already stepping back, “what dreadful timing. If I don’t go now, the entire production may collapse in on itself.”
The Chief Justice tilts his head. “If I said anything out of line—”
“No, no, not at all!” she cuts him off, flashing a practiced smile. “We’ll, uh, continue with this another time. Toodles!”
Without giving him the chance to respond, she turns on her heel, retreating, almost running up the stairs to rejoin the rest of her crew.
Throughout the performance, Furina never once allows herself a glance at the front row. She acts flawlessly with the same seasoned precision, but keeps her eyes focused elsewhere, the pit, the wings, the seats closer to the back, anywhere but there. During intermission, she perches on a chair backstage, tapping her foot against the floor until her co-star notices and asks if she’s okay.
At the curtain call, she steps forward with the rest of her cast, smiling, basking in the warmth of applause. Only then does she let herself look.
Of course, he is still there, because how could he not be? Her good, noble Chief Justice.
She smiles wider and bows deeper. It’s fine. Everything will be fine! She just needs to put up more walls, actively keep her guard up—hardly a new burden, honestly. He can’t get close to her if she doesn’t let him.
Maybe in another reality, they could really be friends. Maybe she’d be a normal actress with normal, personal, selfish aspirations, and no nation-damning secret to hide. How she wishes that reality were this one.
Maybe it could happen in the future, maybe tomorrow or in a millennium, when—if—mirror-her succeeds. She will just have to keep up with the charade until then.
However long that will take.