[With Veigue being too preoccupied to have done much of anything but changed into her regular attire and read up on the bare basics, the Vine has taken it upon itself to showcase the newcomer. Alas, its timing leaves a bit to be desired
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[the yell startles her, and she turns, nearly dropping that pot she's holding. She knows the voice, even though she's only heard it exactly like this once, that time with the phantoms. And the words spoken make it unmistakable. Her heart leaps into her throat, rendering her speechless for a long moment.]
[Veigue. It's Veigue, it has to be. She's long since come to terms with the fact that should anyone male she knows arrive here, they'll look different. But she can hardly care about that without being hypocritical.]
[she puts the pot on the stove hastily and rushes over to the mirror, beckoning for it to clear again. Not stopping to think that she might not be recognized.]
Veigue! It's all right, I'm safe--it's all right!
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Claire?
[the voice draws her attention away from the harpy, whom doesn't take kindly to being ignored and takes a swipe the moment Veigue looks over her shoulder. The talon scratches one of her arms, and Veigue flinches; but retaliates with a cry and a downward swipe of her own, covering the broadsword with a coat of ice as she smashes the harpy onto the ground.]
[for the time being, at least, the creature relents and lies there limply.]
[Veigue rushes over to the mirror, not yet in close enough proximity to see whose face awaits her on the other end.]
Claire! Is that --
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I'm here...! I knew I'd see you again, somehow--
[as she leans forward, blue hair slips into her field of vision over her shoulder, and she stops, looking down at it. Agarte's hair. Of course. She takes a deep breath. No, believe. Veigue is Veigue, and she'll understand. They've known each other so long.]
Even if we both look different...
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[and at that very moment, Claire's words are forgotten as nothing but her appearance registers. The change in attitude is instant.]
Agarte . . . ! What did you do to Claire!?
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No...I'm not Her Majesty. I don't know where she is. I know it's hard to believe, but it's me. Claire.
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What are you talking about . . . Claire doesn't look like that. She doesn't look like you; she's completely different!
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I know, it's--I don't expect you to believe me right away. It was that ceremony, it must have been... But please, wait for me, I'll find you. I'll explain.
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she steps back from the mirror, her gaze averted to the ground. The Vine takes that as a cue to depart once more. She'll wait if it means getting answers.]
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It's really you...Veigue. [male or female, her childhood friend is unmistakable. She can't help smiling a little in relief. She'd never gotten confirmation if Veigue and his friends had made it out of that ritual unscathed. Here it was.]
I'm so glad you're all right. [she takes a step forward, then stops again.] I don't know what Queen Agarte was trying to accomplish, but when I came to, I was...like this. [she gestures to herself.] I know it must be hard to believe. But it's true.
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[despite her appearance, "Agarte" is too good with her words. Veigue remembers her first encounter with the queen; Agarte had essentially stuttered up a storm, and had stumbled over her own words in an effort to explain herself.]
[but it's too early to tell. After a brief moment of silence, Veigue replies quietly, neither a trace of certainty nor doubt in her tone -- it's just a question.]
Are you really Claire?
[she needs to hear it even though she already has. She needs the confirmation, the assurance.]
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[she doesn't hesitate. It's the one thing she can be sure of.]
It's me. [she holds out both hands, palm up.] Even if I look like this, it's me. We used to enjoy Aunt Popura's peach pie together.
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[the days they had Aunt Popura's peach pie were simple but intimate. They mean more than they appear.]
[it has to be her. It has to be. It can't be. It has to be.]
Claire . . .
[attaching her name to that body feels wrong, but it slips out as she takes a few steps forward.]
What happened?
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The Queen, she said all these strange things when I met her...but the reason she took all those girls from their homes was that she was searching for a specific one. She said...she said that Huma must think all Gajuma are ugly. There was something she wanted, something she thought she couldn't do as a Gajuma...so she wanted the body of a Huma.
[she's thought about it many times, but while she can work through the logic of it, she's never been able to understand completely. Her body has never stopped her from doing anything. It's a matter of will, not what other people think. But if Agarte felt bound and restricted by the wills of others, than maybe...]
I can't explain more than that. I don't remember much from the ceremony, just that I heard you calling for me, and--then I woke up, like this.
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[and that all Gajuma must be regarded ugly? Whatever Agarte meant by that and aimed to achieve with a Huma's body, if what this body is telling her is true . . . the queen must have gotten what she wanted. Because Claire wouldn't lie.]
[this is Claire, right? Veigue had called out to her during the climax of the ceremony. Not Agarte.]
Does that mean Agarte is in your body?
[but the one Veigue had reached for was . . . ]
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I--
[uneasiness makes her waver, but only slightly. What she had seen that time wasn't real. It wasn't the Queen.]
She must be, but I don't know for certain. I haven't had any word from home until you came here.
Are you all right, though? You weren't hurt, or...
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[wait, then when did Claire get here? She sounds far more adjusted to this than she should be. Is she overthinking this?]
[but that thought is pushed aside when the mention of "hurt" reminds Veigue of the wound on her arm. Nothing severe, but a cut nonetheless, and there's a slight stickiness where a small amount of blood has oozed from it. She rests a gloved hand over the torn material of her shirt.]
. . . no. It doesn't hurt.
[it honestly doesn't. She's too preoccupied with the matter right in front of her to pay it much heed.]
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