act37side

<i>Isabelle Montague, loyal Victorian Knight of the Tower once said—</i>

<i>'History is like a granary.'</i>

<i>It stands in silence amidst the bustling estate, an unremarkable sight with a somewhat unpleasant scent of mold. Only ever thought of when stowing something away.</i>

<i>Containment. Silently containing things is its sole purpose.</i>

<i>As for people, they are like stalks of wheat growing out in the fields, braving the elements so they might sprout those precious, precious ears.</i>

<i>All you have experienced will become shining, golden grain, stored within the granary called history.</i>

<i>It's more apt to say that history is a showroom of human lives.</i>

Shining and golden? Yeah, I'd say that was a shining, golden life...

Vina, the sword is yours.

It is your destiny.

Father, is this...?

Vina! The hell're you doing?!

Stop swinging already! You've nearly beaten him dead!

*huff*... *huff*...

I...

Vina! It's time!

Got it!

Vina, who do you wish to be when you leave this palace?

I choose—

<i>Perhaps this is how history runs its course. Those caught up in its flow won't accept things as they are, they will resist it with all their might.</i>

<i>But reality always comes crashing down, slamming you into the ground over and over.</i>

<i>You've got no choice but to get back up and figure a way to stand firm. You know the fight'll never end, and you've got to make ready for the next fist in your face.</i>

<i>Until you've circled round and round to find yourself back where you started, albeit by some different path—</i>

Wait, now that I think about it, Dagda might've said 'millstone'.

'History is like a millstone'?

I forgot what metaphor she used exactly, just that it's got to do with a mill or a windmill or something. The sort of thing that'll get people thinking of the sunset.

Ah, forget it. I never much fancied the way she talks all erudite like.

<i>When all's done, I'm here to record this... heart-pounding moment in history.</i>

<i>As a witness to this particular point, as one who personally experienced some of these events, I felt the need to share the tale with those who come after.</i>

<i>It's worth remembering, considering the many bitter lessons learned. It must not be forgotten, with too many painful sacrifices made.</i>

<i>Safe to say, the story's so twisty and turny that if you weren't there to see for yourself, you'd never guess where it ended up—</i>

Aha! I remember now! It was a ship!

'History is like a sailing ship adrift, and every age sees its share of experienced helmsmen who think to change its course...'

'But in the end, none will truly ever know where the sunset and the river will take them—'

Bah, sod it, I don't need to copy the feel of those historical novels I read. It's my book. Why should I write it like how Vina's governess talks?

Lemme have a think on how I'd tell the story my way...

<i>This here's a tale of how a hoodlum became a hero. It's all about courage, friendship, conviction, and power.</i>

<i>The heir to the King leaves the palace, and when she returns home, she's already fit to be called hero, standing alongside her merry band of mates.</i>

<i>This epic begins the summer of the year we left, in the factories of Londinium's Norport Borough.</i>

...They were the happiest days of my life.

Muncaster.

Mm-hmm.

...Bristol.

Got any more?

Sheffi... Di... No, Glou—

Baird! Gimme a hint already! Vina? You really gonna watch me embarrass myself like this?

Hey, it's your bet. I can't say anything.

Baird's right, wouldn't be fair otherwise.

Don't give up now, Indra. Victoria's got at least sixty or so nomadic cities. If you can think of one more, you're a sixth of the way there.

My whole life I've never left Londinium. It's my home. Why the hell would I remember what some cities miles away are called?

You must be real fond of cleaning up the alleys back home, then.

Dammit, I shouldn't be acting like a smartarse!

Oh, Hannah, do you still recall the time we went to the video shop? After we were done duffing the Lane Brothers up?

I think I do? Didn't the film have a manor with white walls and a green lawn... Was it some kinda romance? It just went on and on.

Then do you remember what the leading lady loved eating the most at the nobles' banquets—

'Sidmouth butter and vanilla roast fowlbeast'!

Yeah! Sidmouth! That's ten!

*sigh*... Vina.

You really are the best when it comes to leading, Vina! I'll follow you my entire life, I will!

No need to get all sappy on me now.

Alright, Morgan, you lost. Here's your drink.

You know Vina helped her out, Baird... Ah, whatevs, drink's a drink.

Morgan! It's your turn to pick up the protection money from the factories on Old Farleigh Road.

Don't forget to help clean up the alleyways behind Old Hank's sandwich shop.

It's times like these that Glasgow feels spread a bit thin.

Hah, one day, I'm gonna make all of Londinium into Glasgow Gang turf, and all those fees will come straight to us! Alongside the best sandwiches in the city!

If you took all of Victoria under your wing, who'd you even protect them from? The Gaulish?

Maybe those snotty nobles? Who knows, some tosser's bound to show his face sooner or later.

Norport can't make do without us, and neither can Londinium. There'll come a day when Glasgow's the heroes of the whole city, just you wait.

Not wrong, I'd say.

Indeed. Here's to the Glasgow Gang, the most important gang in town.

To the Glasgow Gang!

<p=1>Cavendish Manor</>

Did you enjoy the play?

A Victorian duke's daughter falls in 'love' with a handsome Sarkaz youth.

In order to eliminate this formidable rival, her would-be suitors conjure all sorts of dreadful devilish plots.

Who would have thought the playwright who penned <i>The Lady of Windsor</i> could produce such a provocative work, albeit only after a hefty writer's fee.

What do you think, Lady Allerdale?

I can't say I'm too fond of the ending of <i>Cemeteries of Londinium</i>, Earl Morrill.

Under the heavy hand of persecution, the Duke's daughter and the Sarkaz lad elope, united in death as they are buried together in a public cemetery. A conclusion that's far too... formulaic.

I never expected a young lady such as yourself to have the tastes of a haranguing critic.

Is it not enough to bring tears to your eyes?

To whose eyes? Duke Cavendish's, or the Sarkaz Regent's?

Tears will only serve to blind us, my Lord, and are often an accomplice to popular works harboring ill intent.

A shame, truly. Here I was, thinking you would have some empathy for the leading lady, what with her bound to a fate beyond her control.

Ah, I am so dreadfully sorry! Pray forgive my inadvertent offense. You must know that my family was once on good terms with the Cumberlands...

I don't really mind.

It's common knowledge that Her Grace the Duke of Caster aided me at my lowest. I have only gratitude for her. I see no shame in my circumstances either.

Then since you're taking part in today's festivities, may I takes your words as Her Grace's own thoughts?

You may consider them a friendly reminder.

Londiniers should be wary of those mercenaries from Kazdel, heaven forbid some ridiculous story to sow the seeds of pity and sympathy in their unwitting minds.

Kazdel is far, far away, and they simply don't understand these Sarkaz in the slightest. Do not allow tears to blind their judgment, my Lord.

Your words would throttle a talented playwright.

Bringing the citizenry to tears would hardly be a difficult thing for a duke, I say.

Is this also Her Grace's opinion on the matter?

No matter what you might think of this playwright, I do believe 'The Lady of Windsor' is a rare work of art. I whole-heartedly invite you—and perhaps Duke Cavendish—to give it a thorough read-through.

'Fins have not the limbs to drag themselves out of the swamp. Man has not the eye to see beyond time.'

If Duke Cavendish can understand these words and take them to heart, while keeping a wary eye on this matter, he can avoid becoming the next Duke Windsor.

No offense meant, of course.

Oho, I must say I quite enjoy your incisive view on this topic, Lady Allerdale.