Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Focalors opens her eyes. She sees the world.

And it is beautiful.

For a moment, she can only float in stunned surprise, blinking owlishly at the beauty as she comes into being once again. And there is no gradual buildup, no gentle easing into her consciousness either. One moment, there is simply nothing, not even darkness. There is only an unending empty space in the universe where her presence should be, a yawning void of non-existence. Nothing, absolutely nothing.

And then, in the next moment…

Light.

All at once, her senses come to life. And with thought and being come sensations. Feelings of touch, sight, taste, smell, and sound assault her mind– overwhelming waves of sensory overload that are an attack on her consciousness. It’s far too stimulating, even for divinity such as herself. All she can do is curl into a ball with eyes squeezed shut and clutch at her head as it throbs with the newfound sensation of searing pain. 

A distressed hiss escapes her lips, but no noise comes out. Only bubbles.

…Bubbles?

She opens her eyes, and it is then that she finally notices the deep blue water surrounding her entire being.

Sea.

The word floats to the forefront of her mind and with it, another overwhelming sear of pain. She grimaces, closing her eyes again and bracing herself for another wave of crippling agony... but it is not as bad as she feared. Indeed, the fire in her mind seems to be dying, turning into a dull throb that appears at least manageable. 

She breathes in, forgetting for a moment that she is underwater, and she inhales bubbles and sea brine, salty and cloying. It nearly causes her to gag, but at the very least, it’s better than the intolerable headache pounding behind her eyes. Celestia above, not even her death was as painful as this migraine. At least the Indemnitium sword was quick and relatively painless–

The headache vanishes with her gasp. She stops, eyes shooting open.

Death. Her own death.

That’s right. She’s supposed to be dead.

Slowly, she raises a hand, bringing it close to her face. She examines it. Makes a fist. Opens it.

The hand follows her every movement, her every command. Her very real, very corporeal, flesh and blood hand. But that’s just a hand. What about the rest of her body?

She glances down, twisting her waist every which way to see herself, all of herself. Two arms, two legs, hands, and feet. Full cheeks, delicate chin, flowing white hair, and the gown gifted to her by Mother before she passed the mantle of divinity on. Everything in its proper place, like she remembers. Exactly like how she was in life.

…Was? Is?

There’s no answer to that question, and she’s forced to simply lie back and float in the waters to settle her racing thoughts. It's harder than she expects, given that just a few minutes earlier, she didn't have the required consciousness to even have thoughts.

As she floats, a gentle current begins to push her along. She allows it to do so as she stares blankly at nothing in particular. Her mind is still in the midst of processing her existence in the present tense as opposed to past and… well, there’s a lot to process.

A LOT.

Let’s start with the basics, she thinks as she drifts along in the timeless current, floating aimlessly. A name. That’s a good starting point.

It comes instantly to her mind. Focalors. That is who she was. No. Is. Present, not past tense. Right. That'll take some getting used to. Again.

She focuses her thoughts. Focalors. Archon of Justice. Heir to Egeria’s legacy. Grand Deceiver of the Heavenly Principles.

And not dead.

Alive.

The word surges in her mind with the force of a tidal wave. Her eyes widen. Alive. That's right. Alive.

Not dead. Alive. Alive. Alive.

Alive.

All of a sudden, elation tears through her entire body. Electricity thrums beneath her fingertips, warmth floods her chest, and her every sensation is alight with new life.

Because. She is alive.

The cry of joy is muffled by the seawater, but it matters not to Focalors. It bursts out of her without warning, and she lets herself indulge in the overwhelming emotion, the exhilaration, of being. 

With a breathless laugh, she arcs backward out of the gentle current nudging her along. She needs no further prodding from the sea or the world. She kicks her feet, surging forward through the endless blue. The world turns upside down as she flips, and she laughs again, marveling in her sense of sight, that the world can turn and turn it does, in every which way conceivable.

Dapples of sunbeams shimmer in the veil of the sea. Focalors brushes a hand through the beams, marveling at the subtle warmth. The light looks like fireflies, dancing on the shores of her skin. 

Light.

Focalors stops. Her eyes widen and she quickly cranes her head upwards, towards the light. Towards the world above. 

Past the surface of the shimmering waters, she sees a warm glow.

There is no thought. Just instinctive action. Her legs kick out from underneath, and Focalors propels forward, jetting towards that shimmering, tantalizing glow beyond the sea’s watery curtain. Faster. 

Faster.

Faster.

The glow grows stronger the faster she approaches, turning incandescent. She has to see it. She must see it, that warm light, with her own two eyes.

Her hand reaches out, grasping.

With a shout, her head bursts through the surface of the water and into the world above.

“Ah!” Focalors sucks in air, gulping down the sweet sensation. It fills her lungs, the sweet nectar, and she breathes in again. “Haaaa!”

All at once, the muffled silence of the ocean is shattered. Noises come all at once to her ears– the crashing of the waves, the sound of her own heaving breaths, the howling wind reaching an ecstatic pitch.

But none of that matters, save for the sensation of warmth dancing against her face. Slowly, she opens her eyes.

And for the first time in centuries, Focalors sees the sun captured in the blue sky above.

Her breath halts. For the second time in mere seconds, she lapses into another stunned silence. Drifting. Floating. Being.

Alive.

The embers in Focalors’s chest burst. They grow like wildfire, and the heat bubbles over like joy. Her laughter is small at first, breathless, quiet giggles. But like the wildfire, they grow and grow until she can no longer contain them, and they escape from her lips and into the world.

“Ha. Hahahaha. Hahahahahaaaaaaa!!!!”

Who would’ve thought that the sky above could be just as blue and beautiful as her sea? 

Focalors breathes in deep through her nose, closing her eyes, and savors the warmth. 

She breathes in deep and welcomes the sea, the sky, the world, into her arms once again.

—

After the initial burst of energy finally subsides, Focalors takes to floating on her back. She’s content to let the waves take her wherever their fancy pleases. The sea is gentle and the waters are warm. She imagines this is what a newborn babe swaddled in blankets feels like– wrapped in softness and pleasant joys. 

Drifting along, she raises her hand towards the sky. It feels so close, like she could pluck the clouds out from the canvas of blue and use them as a pillow. The sun might as well be in the palm of her hands. 

With a dreamy sigh, she lets her arm fall back to her side. So. Alive again.

How peculiar.

“This certainly wasn’t part of the plan.”

The remark isn’t said to anyone in particular, except maybe for the grand blue sky above. But saying her thoughts out loud helps her think, because the reality of the present is so very strange.

The waves swell and her body bobs up and down with the crest. She kicks her legs, continuing to drift and think. Nowhere in her grand scheme of duping the Heavenly Principles did she account for her sudden, immaculate resurrection. After all, she had been prepared to die. Resolved. Terrified. But prepared. All to give her children, her school of little Oceanids, a chance to pursue the gift of humanity that Mother had bequeathed upon all of them.

Focalors thinks back to her final moments. She remembers staring down the executioner's blade. She remembers comforting her beloved Hydro Dragon, wiping the tears away from his eyes. She remembers the blade falling.

She remembers an instant of terrible, horrible pain.

And then…

Well, that’s where it all ends.

A flock of seagulls caws overhead, bringing her out of the memory. She cranes her neck to follow their path, and they fly into the horizon, unbothered and unfettered by thoughts such as past lives and reincarnations. They simply follow their instincts and soar ever higher. Free.

Free.

Focalors lets her head fall back against the waves with a splash. Well, there’s no use continuing to obsess over the little details of life, death, and everything in between. That’s a problem for another day, another her.

So. Alive again.

Now what?

For once in her existence, she has no purpose, no goal at hand. And it feels… strange. Her entire life before her death had been spent gathering Indemnitium in the Oratrice and making sure that the prophecy decreed by the Heavenly Principles was averted. It had consumed her every waking moment, the burning duty left behind to her by Mother. It’s no exaggeration to call duping the Heavenly Principles the crowning achievement of her life’s work and she is proud to do so.

But that was her past life. 

What about the current one? And not just her own. What about–

“Furina…”

As soon as the name crosses her lips, Focalors feels her heart ache. That’s right. Furina. Her better half. Her little ripple. 

How is she doing, now that the weight of solitude and duty no longer rests solely on her shoulders? Is she living free, not as a false god, but as an honest human? Is she content with life? Is she vain or conceited or meek or vulnerable or all the things that Focalors always wished they could be?

Is she happy?

Something bumps harshly into her head. Startled, Focalors flips forward, inhaling reflexively and takes in a mouthful of seawater.

“Aughgafga!” Coughing and spluttering, she turns her head in the direction of the culprit.

The blubberbeast merely blinks slowly back at her. It seems just as confused by her presence as she is. Moments pass in silence as the two stare dumbly at each other, god and beast alike.

A second passes. Then, the blubberbeast raises a ponderous fin, as if to shrug, and its expression almost seems to turn unperturbed. It flips away from Focalors, waddling its bubbly body through the crest of a wave. It pauses and turns its head back, as if to check that she’s still following.

“Well?” Its unimpressed expression seems to ask her. “What are you waiting for, an invitation?”

Focalors stares back.

And well…

“Oh, why not?”

The laugh breaks free from her chest, echoing with the sound of the lapping waves. With a growing smile, Focalors kicks her legs and follows along towards the shore, towards whatever the future may hold.

Chapter Text

Once they reach the beach and Focalors has wrung most of the seawater from out her hair, she bids her blubberbeast friend a fond farewell before setting off. Her temporary companion doesn’t even raise a fin at her departure, content to simply bask in the sun with its eyes closed as she heads down the beach path. It’s a fairly insulting send-off for a god of her renown and prestige, but she forgives the simple creature for its indolence. Mother always held a soft spot for her ponderous blubberbeasts, one of her more inspired creations, and Focalors has to admit, they are rather adorable.

Focalors takes her time meandering along the beach path. She has no destination in mind, no goal to reach, other than to simply follow the path wherever it may lead. A rather cavalier attitude to take for one essentially stranded in the wild frontier of Fontaine, but Focalors isn’t particularly worried. If the age-old saying remains true– that all roads lead to Fontaine, then she will find her way home in the end. Eventually. Probably.

So in the meantime, she takes the path less travelled by and enjoys every second of it. Her newly renewed senses are alight with all that is before her– the chirping of birds perched on the bough of a fir tree, the pleasant scent of rainbow roses as they sway in the summer breeze, the feel of the beach path dirt beneath her feet turning into worn cobblestone. She revels in it all with a grin that threatens to break her face in half. 

She breathes in deep and exhales, turning her head up to the blue sky above. Oh, to be alive and free. Pure. Utter. Bliss.

Up ahead, there’s a bend in the path, and as Focalors rounds the corner, she’s greeted by a new sight. Just a few meters away, the path ends at what looks to be an aquabus station of some sort. The sight of the station buoys her good cheer and she hastens her pace. A station this far out from civilization? How fortuitous.

She climbs up the station steps and stops at the platform. The station is clearly quite old and ramshackle– the time schedule hanging overhead from the station ceiling has long since faded thanks to the glaring sun, and there are no other commuters present on the platform. It’s quiet, but pleasantly so. Only the sound of the water flowing in the aqueducts breaks the silence. 

Focalors waits patiently, hands behind her back. She bounces up and down on the balls of her feet. A minute passes. Two. Three. Ten.

And then the boredom gets the better of her. She begins to pace the short length of the platform for something to do and once she’s finished, she lets out a huff. Waiting is so very dull, and to be quite frank, after doing nothing but waiting for 500 years for her moment, she is quite through with being patient.

“Boring... isn't there anything else more interesting to do?” Focalors mutters to herself, as if the words would somehow relieve her monotony, which unfortunately, they do not. She sighs, glancing downwards to the flowing water in the aqueduct. Her reflection stares dully back at her and she pauses, finally taking stock of her appearance for the first time since awakening.

She at least looks presentable enough. More than presentable, actually. One might even call her radiant, considering her circumstances. Focalors hums contentedly to herself, turning her head to get a better view of her side profile. The walk to the station has dried off most of the seawater, letting her hair loosen back into its natural flows. Her gown, on the other hand, might draw some attention. It’s a very dignified look, of course. The Heavenly Principles themselves would be green with envy at her impeccable style… but for mortal eyes, it could be a tad much. Never mind the fact that her fashion sense is at least 500 years out of date compared to current times. Oof.

Well, that won’t do. That just won’t do at all. As a former Archon, there is a certain level of standards she must uphold. Focalors fingers her ever-present cowlick thoughtfully as she considers her dress. 

“Hm. A change of pace, then.”

The power of Hydro suddenly alights in her palms, a blue orb of pure energy that pulses with pale light. She tosses the orb upwards and it bursts over her head, raining down on her in glittering light. Where each droplet touches, her clothes shimmer like a haze before solidifying into a new shape.

The pale glow dissipates. Focalors twists her waist, examining the change in her attire– a blue jacket and a white vest for the pleasant contrasting colors, cute bow wrapped around the waist to accentuate her silhouette, and a flowing tail girdle to cap off the outfit. Not bad, not bad at all. Although… something feels like it’s missing.

“Ah, that’s right!” 

With a snap of her fingers, a ribboned tophat materializes out of thin air. Focalors places the hat on her head, completing the ensemble, and checks her reflection in the water. 

Perfect.

The low blare of a foghorn takes her out of her self-admiration. Focalors looks up and in the distance, she sees the telltale hull of the aquabus approaching from the aqueduct. Ah, excellent timing. She straightens up, brushing off her jacket, and dons her most pleasant smile.

Showtime.

The aquabus pulls up to the platform. With a final blare of the horn, the door to the aquabus opens and a gangplank slides out. A melusine conductor with pink-and-blue stripes pokes her head out from the door.

“Now arriving at Belleau Point Station. Next stop, Fontaine Central Station. I repeat, all aboard to Fontaine Central Station!” The melusine recites her lines in a bored drawl, obviously having repeated the same words oh so many times in the past. “Please board the aquabus in a timely and orderly fashion. Please do not block the doors. Please remember to take all personal belongings with you when you exit the aquabuuuuuHUH?!”

The melusine’s words are cut off in a surprised choke when her gaze finally lands on the sole passenger on the platform. Focalors gives the stunned conductor a polite little wave.

“Hello! Room for one more?”

The poor melusine’s jaw drops to the floor. “Lady Furina! You’re–! Oh my days and nights!” Hastily, she makes her way down the gangplank, nearly tripping head over heels in her eagerness, but catches herself against the railing just in time. Her near-death experience, however, doesn’t stop her from bounding up to Focalors with stars in her eyes. “Oh wow! Wow, wow, wow, wow! It’s an honor! Big, big honor! Me and some of my co-workers were just at your latest show the other day! I didn’t think I’d run into you out here in the middle of nowhere! Oooooooh, wait until the others hear about this, they’ll be so jealous!” 

Focalors smiles gently at the excited melusine, who continues to babble away in starstruck excitement. Inwardly, she debates with herself whether or not to correct the melusine’s genuine mistake to her identity… but ultimately decides against it. As amusing as it may be, Focalors highly doubts revealing her identity as the newly resurrected Hydro Archon would earn her anything other than confounded stares and worried whispers. It sounds patently absurd, even to her own ears.

So Furina it is. For now.

“I’m sure they will be,” Focalors says, and the melusine beams up at her with all the delighted sincerity in the world. “Though, perhaps for now, we can keep this chance meeting of ours on the sly, hm?” She winks at the conductor and places a finger to her lips. “It was quite the hassle sneaking out of the Palais Mermonia for a breath of fresh air.”

The melusine’s eyes widen with understanding and she quickly nods with a sharp salute. “Oh! Of course! You got it, ma’am!  Whatever you say, ma’am!”

“Good girl.”

The aquabus horn blares out again, startling the melusine, and she quickly recomposes herself.

“Oh, right. Ahem!” She clears her throat, standing straight. “All aboard! Please present your tickets!” She gives Focalors an apologetic look. “Sorry, I still have a job to do.”

Focalors pauses. Ah. Currency, right. Now that presents a problem. Mora was never an issue back in the Oratrice. But now… hm. Focalors tilts her head, thinking to herself. What to do, what to do, hmmm.

Actually… The better question to ask: 

What would her better half do? 

What would Furina do?

The answer comes to her immediately. Focalors lifts her head up and smiles.

“How about an autograph?”

—

One forged autograph and an aquabus ride later, Focalors finds herself stepping off the gangplank and into the heart of Fontaine. Her city.

Her home.

She returns the melusine conductor’s enthusiastic wave with one of her own before descending onto the station platform. Almost immediately, a cacophony of noises, sights and smells assaults her senses. For a moment, she can do nothing save blink owlishly as her mind overcomes the uproar. It is chaos in a bottle, electrifying and full of life.

“Steambird exclusive! Chief Justice to make trip to Natlan now that country borders are open fully. Read all about it for just five Mora, it’s a steal, it is!!”

“...rather derivative, in my opinion, but they’re new, so I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. Now, ‘The Queen’s Gambit’ on the other hand? A classic. I would go so far as to label it as…”

“The aquabus for Vasari Passage is now departing! Please step away from the platform and behind the yellow line. I repeat, the aquabus for Vasari Passage…”

The hustle and bustle of life is immense. Focalors takes the entire station in, craning her head this way and that to soak in the entire symphony. Even as she walks outside the station and into busy Fontaine streets, the music continues. Ladies and gentlemen dressed in the latest fashions hurry along their way as they gossip arm in arm. A group of children dashes excitedly past, giggling while a gardamek plods dutifully behind them, following in their steps. The burble of churning water in the aqueducts above is a near constant, coupled with the low thrum of the aquabus as it chugs along towards the next station. 

Nostalgia, cloying and thick, suddenly overwhelms Focalors’s entire being, washing over her in waves. The sights, the sounds, the sheer spectacle of life unfolding before her very eyes. It’s all so fascinating and wondrous, seeing Fontaine for the first time again, and while there are familiar echoes of the past etched in its surface, so much has changed in the past 500 years. Back then, Fontaine could barely even be considered a place to live, much less a city. And now…

Look at what it is now.

Pride flashes through her chest, forcing Focalors to a halt in the middle of a busy street. She lifts her head up towards the sun, keeping one hand on her tophat. Her eyes flutter shut, and she breathes in deep as everyday life ebbs and flows around her. Ahh. This is her city, these are her people. And oh, how her little Oceanids have grown. How they have flourished.

Mother would be so proud.

She basks for a moment more in the warm feeling. Just a little longer, before she must be on her way and–

“YOU ABSOLUTE DONKEY!!”

The moment of peace is shattered. Focalors opens her eyes just in time to see the door of the establishment in front of her swing open with a bang and a man with an armful of what looks to be colorful fruit is all but thrown out. 

“Yeeeek!”

The unfortunate man goes tumbling head over heels with a squeal, fruit flying every which way across the street before slamming headfirst into a light post. There’s an audible clanging noise, but that doesn’t stop the poor man from quickly righting himself and prostrating on hands and knees. 

“M-Ms. Escoffier, i-if you could just give me a moment to explain but–”

“Oh, can it!” 

From out the door, a second person emerges. A young woman wearing a chef’s toque jammed over a bright orange, springy cowlick that could put Focalors’s own to shame storms out. Her baby blue eyes are narrowed in fury, directed at the cowering man lying on the ground in a puddle of his own fruit juices. 

“You call yourself a reputable supplier? As if! Absurd rates, missing deliveries, lousy attitude and worst of all, you have the audacity… to sell me SPOILED produce!?! ME??! Lady Furina’s Pattiserie Supreme?!?!”

As soon as the name crosses the petite chef’s lips, Focalors straightens to attention. Furina? It sounds like the irate woman knows her personally, based on the title. Could she be a possible acquaintance? Friend maybe?

Interesting…

The accused supplier wrings his hands together, plastering a simpering smile on his face that earns him no favor from the still fuming chef. “A-aha, spoiled, you say? That’s quite strange. M-maybe the Natlan farmers included a few, ah, overripe Harra Fruits in their shipments to me, ahaha…”

The petite chef’s baby-blue eyes narrow. “And you didn’t think to inspect the shipment beforehand?”

The supplier’s hand-wringing stops. “Er… nooooooo?”

From behind the petite chef’s back, a whiplike mechanism with a pronged head emerges. Quicker than Focalors's eyes can follow, the mechanism lashes out, stabbing the ground right in front of the man’s foot.

“Sorry, you wanna try saying that again?” asks the chef in a dangerously low voice as she leans forward. “And if the next words out of your mouth are another excuse, then…” She cocks her hip and the pronged mechanism grinds into the ground.

No further words are necessary. The supplier leaps up and shoots off down the street, a trail of splattered fruit remains littering his inglorious retreat.

The pronged mechanism retracts. “And don’t come back!” the petite chef calls out. She dusts her hands off, as if ridding herself of a particularly filthy nuisance, before turning to the crowd of curious onlookers with a glare. “What are you all looking at? Show’s over, shoo, shoo!”

She twists on her heel, marching back into the restaurant. The pronged mechanism latches onto the doorknob and slams the door shut.

Like a summer storm that comes and goes in a flash, the energy on the street dissipates. The crowd of onlookers disperses, some people shaking their heads with wry smiles. “That’s another one Escoffier’s put out of his misery,” remarks one woman and Focalors raises an eyebrow.

Escoffier, hm? What a… boisterous individual. Exacting too, if the brief glimpse into her personality is anything to go by. And an acquaintance and chef of Furina’s as well. Hmm. Hmm…

How intriguing!

Focalors marches up to the door of the restaurant. A visible ‘Closed’ sign hangs behind the window pane that she pointedly ignores as she opens the door and steps into the establishment.

Almost immediately, a delectable scent assaults Focalors's senses, causing her to stop and reel in her tracks. The inside of her mouth begins to water as her stomach lets out a loud gurgle. Ohhhh, what’s that smell? The savory scent, oooh, how it sings to her! It’s enough to make even a god waver. 

Hunger begins to gnaw within her, even though the feeling wasn’t present just a few seconds ago. Focalors breathes in deep and... Archons above, it’s like she can taste the divine in the smell alone. Good heavens. Patisserie Supreme indeed.

“Oi! Didn’t you see the sign? We’re closed!”

The chef’s voice calls out to Focalors beyond the entryway. She steps through and enters what looks to be a dining area, furnished with cozy seats and pristine plates and silverware. A little further in is an open-air kitchen where the chef called Escoffier is. The other woman is in the midst of handling a large wok and spatula in her hands while her pronged tail dices a set of assorted vegetables on the cutting board behind her.

“I said we’re closed!” The petite chef does not raise her head to look in Focalors's direction, too intent on controlling the flames licking the edges of the wok in front of her. “Private event for friends only! You want to make a reservation, take a card and I’ll get back to you in three months, two if you’re lucky and someone cancels ahead of– LADY FURINA?!?”

The petite chef finally raises her head and when she catches sight of Focalors, she starts with a high-pitched yelp. Her pronged tail jumps with her, impaling into the cutting board with a horrible clang, sending diced vegetables into the air. The flames from the flambe burst from the wok and to the ceiling, roaring unchecked.

Oh my.

With a screech, the petite chef grabs a lid off the counter and slams it down on the wok, batting down the licking flames. It takes her a few minutes and when the fire finally subsides, the petite chef is left breathing heavily, her face and brow now covered in a thin layer of soot.

Now that was quite the reaction. Focalors tilts her head to the side, an apologetic smile working its way onto her countenance. “Hullo! Is this a bad time?”

The chef called Escoffier openly gapes at Focalors. “I-Is this a bad– no! I mean, no, of course not!” She tosses the wok to the side and comes around the counter, hastily wiping her hands on her apron. “I just wasn’t expecting… well, I was expecting you, Lady Furina, just not this early! B-but not that I’m unprepared, I’m… uh…”

The petite chef pauses, looking down at her ashy appearance. Her springy cowlick begins to droop, and she swipes at it hastily before clearing her throat. A smile appears on her face, one that Focalors can only describe as picture-perfect customer service.

“One moment, please.”

Faster than a speeding bullet, the petite chef disappears behind a set of swinging doors that lead further back into the restaurant. Sounds emerge from behind the doors– the banging of pots, numerous heavy thumps, and some loudly muttered Fontanian curses that would burn the ears of even the Heavenly Principles. Focalors peers over curiously. And then, before the doors even finish swinging shut, the chef emerges once again.

“Lady Furina! Welcome, welcome! So good to see you again!” 

The chef strides out of the other room. Her entire ensemble has undergone a miraculous transformation. Gone are the soot and burn marks; now her face is pristine and shining without a trace of the earlier kitchen mishap. Her rumpled uniform is also spotless now, freshly laundered in the span of mere seconds.  And... is that lipstick she’s wearing now? It has to be. That red sheen wasn't there a few seconds ago. Impressive.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that unsightly spectacle earlier. You caught me in an awkward moment, ahahah!” The petite chef lets out a girlish titter, fanning herself with an airy hand, and Focalors has to wonder if this is the same person who mere minutes earlier was raising hell at being sold subpar fruit. What an amazing turnabout.

“No harm, no foul.” Focalors smiles reassuringly, and if she puts a little more charm and geniality into the smile, then so what? She’s pretending to be Furina right now, after all. A good impression goes a long way. “From what I’ve seen, you’ve already had quite the hectic day.”

The chef called Escoffier lets out another girlish giggle as she begins to play coyly with a strand of hair. “Oh, like you wouldn’t believe, Lady Furina. But I won’t bore you with all the details,” she says, batting her eyelashes with dewy eyes and Focalors has to bite back an amused snort as the petite chef continues to lay the hospitality on thick. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later for our scheduled brunch meetup. Is something at all the matter?”

Ah. So the chef and Furina are friends, then. The chef’s words confirm Focalors’s earlier suspicions and a flicker of pride flashes in her chest. As abrasive and mercurial as the chef appears, she doesn’t seem to be a bad person, per se. Bluntly honest and no-nonsense, but those are all qualities Focalors can appreciate. Not to mention the other woman seems smitten to the core with Furina, which honestly, she should be. Her better half is a pearl hidden away amongst a sea of sand and seaweed, so good on the chef for recognizing that. Good on her.

“Oh, nothing of the sort. The meeting time slipped my mind, is all.” Focalors lies through her teeth, but a little white lying never harmed anyone, right? “Although I have to confess, I was feeling a mite peckish ahead of our brunch.”

Those are the magic words. As soon as the word 'peckish' leaves Focalors's lips, the chef called Escoffier visibly lights up. “Oh, why didn’t you say so earlier? Come, come, sit!” 

Before Focalors can even inject a remark edgewise, the petite chef takes her by the arm and all but gently bullies her into a booth seat. With a snap of her fingers, her pronged tail emerges once again from the back of her dress, this time with a menu pinched in between its prongs. 

“What’ll it be, Lady Furina?”

The tail presents the menu to Focalors. Just a quick skim has her head spinning– sumpter bourguignon, confit de canard, bouillabaisse? All are words that are missing in her own personal lexicon. If they even are words at that. Some of these dishes sound completely made up.

The chef called Escoffier whips out a pen and notepad, eagerness radiating off her entire person. “An appetizer to whet the taste buds before brunch? Or perhaps a sweet treat to stimulate the senses? Whatever you desire!”

Focalors glances back at the menu. None of the dishes sound particularly appetizing, based solely on their convoluted spelling, which is a problem, because Furina would most certainly know what to order for herself. Hmm. Perhaps a little improv is in order.

Focalors snaps the menu shut. “I’ll just start off with water for now.”

The chef called Escoffier blinks. The hands holding the pen and notepad droop slightly. “Just… just a water?” she asks in a completely bewildered tone. “No sweets, or apéritif? Just water?”

Oh dear. Perhaps her improv was a little too safe. “Sparkling, if you have it. With ice.” Focalors adds with a smile and while the petite chef still looks nonplussed, she nods her head regardless.

“Ooooookay. One sparkling water with ice. Coming right up.”

The petite chef claps her hands again. The pronged tail lifts the carafe sitting on the serving tray nearby and begins to pour into a cup. At the same time, the Cryo Vision hanging from the chef’s hip gives off a soft blue glow and with a flash, a block of ice forms. Focalors watches with mild amazement as the chef produces a fine carving knife from within her apron and taps the ice with it. Faster than her eye can keep up, the chef’s hand moves into a blur. A second later, a set of perfectly crafted ice cubes with a large, bold letter ‘E’ carved onto the surface are dropped into her water.

With a finishing touch, the chef adds a sprig of mint as a garnish before grandly presenting the glass with a flourish that would begrudgingly impress even the most accomplished of waiters. “Your sparkling water, Lady Furina,” she says with a deep bow. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you.” Focalors takes the glass and lifts it to her lips. And… and… oh my. Her eyes shoot open wide. Sparkling and refreshing, just like she asked, with a cold bite thanks to the mint and ice. But not too cold to cause discomfort to the roof of her mouth. Just enough to pleasantly tingle her taste buds.

Patisserie Supreme, eh? A title well earned.

A glance out the corner of her eye shows the petite chef hovering in her periphery with an expectant look on her face, no doubt waiting for her verdict. Focalors puts her cup down and turns to address the chef with a wink.  “Delicious. My compliments to the chef.”

At her praise, the chef called Escoffier immediately brightens. Literally. Her baby-blue eyes take on a shine and content satisfaction seems to radiate from every pore of her being. “Oh, you’re too kind, Lady Furina.” She giggles again, playing coyly with a strand of her hair before clearing her throat. “Ahem! Is there anything else I can get you? It’s still a little early, but I can start prepping for brunch if it suits your–”

The sound of the bell tinkling and the front door opening and closing interrupts the petite chef’s words. A second later, a woman’s voice calls out.

“Escoffier? You there?”

Perhaps it's Focalors’s imagination, but at the second voice, the chef called Escoffier seems to visibly deflate. “Of all the rotten timing,” she mutters beneath her breath, pleasant smile morphing into a scowl.

“I heard that.” The owner of the voice walks through the doorway and Focalors cranes her neck to view the newcomer. A woman with deep blue hair so dark that it could be mistaken for black enters her sight. Her outfit, a hunter’s vest with a matching capelet, is similarly dark, with the Electro Vision pinned to her collar being the sole spark of color in her entire ensemble. “Is that any way to talk to a guest you invited to brunch?”

“I didn’t invite you,” the chef shoots back sullenly, stepping in front of Focalors with hands on her hips. “You just happened to be nearby and invited YOURSELF along, Ms. Clorinde.”

“Yes. Because that’s what a bodyguard does,” says the other woman with a completely straight face. “Invite themselves wherever their charge goes. Even Sunday brunch with friends. Funny how that job works, huh?”

The petite chef’s face sours, and in response, the bodyguard offers up the paper bag in her hands. “Don’t make that face. I bring gifts.”

In response, the chef called Escoffier snatches the bag out of the other woman’s hand. She opens it and peers inside suspiciously. “Macarons. Store bought?”

“Like I have a death wish. Navia made them.”

“Good answer.” The petite chef closes the bag and sniffs haughtily, seemingly satisfied. “These will do. Tell your wife that she did a decent enough job that you may join brunch.”

The bodyguard gives a mocking bow. “By your good graces.”

The chef glares again before moving aside to deposit the bag on the table. As she does so, the other woman’s gaze finally lands on Focalors. She starts, suddenly looking taken aback.

“Furina?” Sharp, indigo eyes blink bewildered at Focalors. “Weren’t you window shopping with Navia? How… did you get here before me?”

The chef called Escoffier glances back and forth between Focalors and the bodyguard. “What are you on about?” she asks the bodyguard, brows furrowing. “Lady Furina’s been here the entire time.”

“Not unless she somehow managed to instantly teleport herself from Chioriya Boutique to here,” counters the bodyguard and the chef’s scowl deepens.

“And I’m telling you that you’re wrong. Lady Furina and I were having a perfectly good talk before you came barging in. Isn’t that right, Lady Furina?”

Ah. Suddenly, Focalors finds herself the center of attention of two very curious individuals. One is a dear friend to Furina, the other her dear bodyguard. And it’s just her luck she would happen to run into both of them, at the same time.

Both of them stare expectantly at her. And to think, all she wanted was a bite to eat. Hm. Perhaps now would be the best time to clear up the misconceptions in the air, before the situation turns insurmountably difficult. A dead god suddenly returning to life is rather good cause for alarm after all. Especially if said dead god just so happens to share the exact appearance of their dear friend. 

…Yes, better to ease them into it while she still has the chance. Focalors clears her throat.

“Actually…”

Unfortunately, before she can say anything else, the bell above the door rings out again, interrupting her words.

“Ta da! Salut! Yours truly has arrived! …Oh wait, where is everyone?”

Focalors freezes.

That voice. That voice.

It’s her own voice. And at the same time, it’s not her voice.

It’s–

“I hope you haven’t started tea and biscuits without me, my dear demoiselles!”

And from the entryway, her mirror image, her little ripple, her better half, strolls into the room.

“Ah, you’re already here, Clorinde. That’s good! All we’re waiting for now is… is…”

And Furina’s words come to a stumbling halt as her gaze finally lands on Focalors. Mismatched blue eyes blink. Once. Twice. Unbelieving. They widen, slowly, surely, to impossible sizes.

“...Me?”

Stunned silence. Focalors could almost find the utter shock to be amusing… if not for the current circumstances. After all, it's not every day that one reunites with one's doppelganger.

Especially one's supposedly dead doppelganger.

The petite chef looks to Focalors and then to Furina. Back and forth. Forth and back.

“What…” She reels backwards, placing a wavering hand to her forehead. “Why. Two… Lady Furina’s?”

Everyone stares at the two of them. Mirror images, black and white reflections of the other.

Focalors raises her hand and gives a little wave and smile.

“Surprise?”

Silence.

And without warning, the petite chef’s eyes roll up into the back of her head. She keels over backwards, hitting the floor headfirst with a loud, resounding thud.

Ah.

Well. 

And Focalors can only let out a put-out little sigh as the word around her descends into utter chaos.

So much for easing them into it.