True Cherry and False Mahogany, Part I

Octavia was starting to get a new appreciation for the word “crowd” recently.

Her record, prior to departing Silver Ridge, most definitely had not exceeded fifty people at maximum in one place. Market day was already pushing it. Minuevera had been at least twice as severe, even in passing and with a fleeting glance of preparation alone. Octavia already knew Coda to be massive--to her, at least, by comparison. This was a solid reflection of that. It was still no less dizzying.

It was radiant, crowned by starlight in a way that was almost symbolic. It wasn’t quite that she’d expected the building to be small. Still, the stature up close was grand in a way she hadn’t expected. The evening glow did far more than simple justice to the affluent populace that speckled the entrance, and she felt out of place now more than ever. The din of conversation was steady, the wafting music was gorgeous, and she was just barely lightheaded. It wasn’t the most subtle combination, and it earned Octavia the worst flavor of teasing yet again. She was absolutely staring. It was her fault.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Viola teased. “The thing you do every time you see anything new.”

Octavia blushed. “I am not. I’m just...surveying.”

Madrigal got permission to fawn. Madrigal always got permission to fawn. She was jealous. The Maestra exploited the gifted joy of scrutiny for all it was worth--loudly. It was more than expected.

Harper whistled once more. “Fancy,” he reiterated.

Octavia dismounted from the carriage, stumbling slightly in the process. Settling to the ground in flats rather than boots was deeply uncomfortable, if not scathingly unnatural. She raised one hand aloft, taking Viola’s own into hers. The latter nearly tripped, and Octavia quickly caught her in full.

“Careful,” she chided softly.

Viola flushed, averting her eyes. “S-Sorry.”

Harper was having an easier time removing the artwork than he’d had loading it, apparently, for how he delicately tipped the frame to the ground with grace. “Where do we put this, anyway?”

“I can take that for you, ladies,” a suited man called, raising one hand from afar.

Harper narrowed his eyes. The man cleared his throat. “A-And gentlemen.”

Octavia raised an eyebrow at Viola, who nodded in turn. “Let him. He’s an usher. They usually wait for carriages to arrive.”

“I thought you said you barely knew about this kind of stuff,” Harper whispered, content to doff the heavy weight regardless.

Viola scoffed. “I know enough.”

“And what name should I put the item under, ma’am?” the usher continued.

Viola cleared her throat. “Vacanti. Same for the account.”

He smiled softly. “The Vacantis, then. It’s been quite some time. Please, make yourselves at home and enjoy the evening.”

Octavia absolutely could not feel less at home if she tried.

Madrigal pointed towards the entrance, barred by a rainbow-tinted trickle of colorful attire trailing in reverse. “Do we wait in line now?”

Viola nodded, falling into line accordingly. “There shouldn’t be any problem getting in,” she said.

Octavia did the same. “They know who you are, right?”

She shook her head. “They don’t know me, but they know the art of the Vacantis when they see it. There’s autographs in the corner of each painting for authenticity, anyway. It’s not that hard for them to verify.”

Octavia shifted the backpack on her shoulders slightly as she straightened up. Every step in Viola’s wake was as cautious as it was starstruck, although she battled to keep the latter in check as much as was possible. She was lucky she didn’t trip, largely absorbed in each of her five senses flooding with wonderful stimuli on every side.

“Hey.”

Harper’s voice, low and near, was enough to shatter her absentminded concentration and startle her fiercely. She jumped.

“You might want to adjust the bow a little bit. I can kinda see it from here,” he chided with a smirk.

Octavia flushed, stiffening in an instant. “I-I--”

He winked teasingly as he passed her by. Octavia gripped the straps in frustration and panic, fumbling with one hand behind her back for what feeble adjustments she could make without looking. She didn't have the luxury of formally resettling the violin. She still felt bad about evacuating it from the warmth of its case at all, stuffed into the humble confines of a little backpack instead.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Viola. She trusted more or less everything Viola said, frankly. Being without Stradivaria was simply too daunting, particularly given the events of the last several days. Trouble followed her. She didn’t trust her luck. If it never left her shoulders, she’d surely be fine. She didn’t dare think of Domino, for the exception that dilemma had been. Some part of her liked to imagine Harper would help her out, should she end up in a similar situation. Most of her was more concerned with hoping Harper would keep his mouth shut.

“Are you...sure they’re going to let us in with you?” Madrigal asked, fiddling with one curl absentmindedly.

“You’re my guests. There’s typically only a limit of about six guests, and we’ve only got four of us altogether. There’s no reason they shouldn’t.”

Harper’s sharp swearing was enough to outright startle Octavia the moment they neared the front. “Oh, God, I can think of two reasons they shouldn’t.”

She never formally got the chance to ask why. The voices that met her ears were shrill and mildly irritating enough, crowned by respective streams of blonde in differing fashions. It hardly mattered, given the way similarly-false formalities dripped from their lips and pamphlets slipped from their fingers. They were nearly blocking the doors outright. Harper’s expression was somewhere between miserable and exceedingly agitated. She had an extremely vague guess, if memory served.

“Is that…”

Harper’s heavy sigh was a solid answer. He flicked one finger between each girl respectively. “Holly. Ivy,” he droned.

“Are they friends of yours?” Madrigal asked innocently.

“I promise you, I would rather die than say yes. I just didn’t think they’d be right at the entrance.”

Viola earned the brunt of the two girls’ staring nearly immediately. Ivy, in particular, narrowed her eyes, rolling a pencil between her fingers slowly. Neither budged. It was almost impressive. “Name?” she asked firmly.

Viola cleared her throat. “Vacanti.”

Ivy raised an eyebrow, dragging lead far too harshly against innocent paper. “I thought they didn’t come to these anymore.”

Holly’s eyes flickered to the girl in turn. “Isn’t Vacanti that guy who--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Viola interrupted sharply, her voice low. “Vacanti. My contribution has already been secured by the ushers. Three guests.”

The two girls peered over Viola’s shoulder in tandem. Whatever venom she’d been privy to was absolutely nothing versus what acid splashed their eyes moments later. It was almost enough to make Octavia shudder, for how it crashed down sickeningly upon one person alone. She gulped anxiously.

“They really do just let anyone in these days, don’t they?” Holly hissed.

What acid they’d delivered, then, he offered back tenfold with his gaze alone. She’d never seen that look on his face, and it was mildly terrifying. Harper crossed his arms, making a mild spectacle of glancing either girl up and down judgmentally.

“Yes,” he replied coolly. “Apparently, they do.”

Ivy clicked her tongue in aggravation. “Aren’t you a little too poor for an event like this?”

“Aren’t you a little too obnoxious for an event like this?” he shot back instantly. “How much are they paying you to be annoying as hell, right out front?”

“He can’t come in,” Holly declared bluntly.

“If these two want to come in, I don’t care,” Ivy added, lazily waving her pencil in the remaining Maestras’ direction. “Dirty braids and all.”

Octavia didn’t get the opportunity to protest. Harper beat her to the punch spectacularly. “You are literally the last person who should be talking about fashion sense. You didn’t even get all the bugs out of your hair today, just so you’re aware. You’re welcome.”

One of Ivy’s hands darted to her ponytail instantly. Octavia snickered.

“So, here’s the thing,” Viola spoke sharply. “You don’t have the authority to deny entry to guests of a contributor. It doesn’t matter the reason.”

“And what makes you so sure of that?” Holly snarled.

Viola stepped forward slightly--just enough to leave the girl flinching. “Because I’ve been here far, far longer than you. And unless you want the removal of the Vacantis’ support from this auction house on your hands, I suggest you pass us each a pamphlet and let us be on our way.”

It hardly mattered that she’d never truly set foot in the auction house. The Maestra’s bluff was more than passable. Holly sputtered, side-eyeing the similarly-distressed girl at her side before finding her voice once more. “L-Listen here, rich girl. I’ll have you know we were specifically appointed to these positions. You’re threatening a staff member.”

“Sucking up is a little different than being appointed. Still, congratulations on getting real, honest work today. Good job, yaaay, so proud of you,” Harper deadpanned, applauding condescendingly.

“I’m sorry, was anyone talking to you, idiot? Important people are talking,” Ivy growled.

Harper made an elaborate and equally-condescending display of finding absolutely nothing to observe. “Sorry, where am I supposed to be looking again? Can’t find a damn thing! No, seriously, do I even want to know what you two had to do to get here? Because if it puts you anywhere near rich people, it definitely wasn’t legitimate. You hoping it rubs off on you or something? Not how that works. Sorry you’re finding out like this.”

Holly scowled. “You wouldn’t know rich if it bit you in the ass!”

“And you wouldn’t know class if it crawled up yours!”

Octavia struggled to stifle a laugh, clapping one hand over her mouth quickly.

“I’m kind of enjoying this,” Viola whispered. “He’s sassier than I thought.”

Octavia found her composure as soon as was possible. “I think this is our chance.”

“I found a pamphlet on the ground,” Madrigal offered in a whisper of her own, still battling her respective hushed giggles.

With the leafy paper in one hand and Viola’s wrist in the other, she made for the building with the argumentative Maestro still in her wake. He caught her in his peripheral with a knowing wink, rapid and fleeting. He didn’t follow, instead somehow content to beat the vicious girls back with his own relentless venom again and again. Octavia had half a mind to stay and watch. It was a shame.

It was resplendent inside in much the same way, enough to make her head spin a second time over. The crowd was worse, although she regretted not bracing for it further. One wrong move would surely leave her mingling with incorrect pockets of strangers, their general objective be damned. She clung to Viola for all she was worth, doing what she could to put her faith in the same gentle music and soft, silky atmosphere. It would keep her from tripping, hopefully. Madrigal was no help, for how she’d adjusted to the semi-packed auditorium almost instantly. She outright sprinted.

The Maestra more or less slammed into the balcony railing stomach-first, quick to a degree that Octavia initially believed she’d injured herself. She pointed below with fervor and elation dripping from her voice, pleading for Octavia’s hurried steps with her sparkling eyes alone. “Come on, look!”

She did as she was told. It was with gentler motions that she leaned over the balcony herself. It took a moment to recognize it as a balcony at all, given how incredibly deep the entire floor below ran. She hadn’t realized they were upon a second story, although the grand scale of the center stage cast downwards warranted its space without question. The idea of tethering herself to one of its nearest seats, plush and comfortable as they seemed, was somewhat terrifying. She’d never been claustrophobic before. This wasn’t a great time to start, foreign as the atmosphere was.

Viola delicately confiscated the pamphlet from between Octavia’s fingertips, flicking her fingertips across every page lazily. “It’s a bidding guide. Same rules as always. I don’t think we really need this.”

Madrigal’s face fell. “I kinda thought it’d be a list of items or something neat.”

“Well, I mean, I get it. We only just brought the painting in,” Octavia offered. “I guess they just keep all the items a surprise.”

Viola nodded with a smile. “That’s part of the appeal of these events, actually. You never know what you’ll find here.”

That was simultaneously promising and concerning. Octavia had had more surprises in the past week than she’d experienced throughout most of her life, and all had been born in unfamiliar places. This was no different. For how people were still steadily filing in and settling down accordingly, she wasn’t fond of the way her heartbeat was already stuttering. She’d assumed she’d had at least until they started to deal with that.

“Soooo,” Octavia began, “how exactly...do we bid?”

Viola raised an eyebrow. “You’re planning on bidding?”

“Well, no, not necessarily!” Octavia sputtered, waving her hands defensively. “I was just wondering, in case something happens! Or if there’s a lead, like you said, or if there’s Maestro stuff, you know? Like, in an emergency.”

Viola smirked. “If it does come to that, wecanbid, actually. My family has an account for that. My grandfather’s artworks usually earn around 750,000 Gold a piece, so we would at least have somewhere around that range to our surplus at the end of the night. Otherwise, the Vacanti account that we use for auctions should still have somewhere around four million Gold from the last several.”

Octavia’s eyes widened dramatically. Madrigal was not immune to the same. “Four million?” they both exclaimed in baffled unison.

Viola shushed them, laughing as she cupped her hands over their mouths respectively. “I promise you, we are nowhere near the most well-off ones here. There are people in this room with wealth you couldn’t even imagine.”

“So this is how rich people live,” Madrigal murmured dreamily.

Viola met Octavia’s eyes once more. “If you want to bid, bid. Just tell them to bill the Vacanti account, and our family can verify the purchase at a later date. Altogether, that gives us about 4,750,000 Gold to work with, if my numbers are right. Can I trust you to stay within that range?”

Octavia nodded. Not everything could be scathingly expensive, surely--if it came to that at all. The idea of spending such astronomical amounts of money was still mildly horrifying, someone else’s or otherwise.

Viola smiled. “Good. If you want to bid, it’s easy. All you have to do is raise your hand and call out the price you’re willing to pay. They’ll be passing around little signs with numbers on them when the actual event starts.”

Madrigal tapped Octavia’s shoulder gently. “Have you never been to an auction before?”

Octavia winced. “Have you?”

Madrigal shrugged. “In Minuevera, we have them for livestock all the time. It sounds like the rules are exactly the same.”

Octavia flushed. Once more, she was the least-traveled. It was as awkward as it was embarrassing.

“Madrigal, are you planning to bid too?” Viola asked. “We’d all be sharing the same account.”

Madrigal shook her head, beaming happily. “I have lots of other ways to get information.”

Viola raised an eyebrow. “Like?”

Madrigal cleared her throat. Whatever stream of words she launched into was utterly lost on Octavia, the tone and accent foreign as they were. If she really tried, she could make out bits and pieces from the inn--almost.

“I, uh, forgot you could speak another language,” Octavia muttered.

Madrigal opened her mouth for a moment, and yet closed it just as quickly. Instead, yet more unfamiliar tones spilled from her lips, sharp and soft in a different manner altogether. Octavia blinked.

“Two languages?”

Madrigal beamed. She did the same once more. Every new word in yet a new accent was as fluffy and gentle as it was indecipherable and exotic. Viola, too, blinked with equal befuddlement.

“Madrigal, exactly how many languages do you speak?” the Maestra asked.

Madrigal proudly raised eight fingers. Octavia had to count at least twice out of pure disbelief.

“I learn something new about you every five minutes,” Viola mumbled.

“Madrigal, that’s incredible,” Octavia gushed. “How did you learn all of those?”

Madrigal poked Octavia’s forehead playfully. The latter flinched beneath her touch. “I’ve been working at the inn since I was little. We’re a trade town, silly! We see guests from all over the world. I had to learn to keep up.”

Viola’s hands settled onto her hips. “Well, that’s one extremely handy way of gathering information. Can I trust you to stay on your toes while you mingle?”

Madrigal saluted dramatically. “The Magical Madrigal will not let you down!”

By now, it was taking slightly more effort on Octavia’s part to dodge the throngs of passersby, fully settling as they were. She’d had her precious preparation time, if their solid movements were anything to go by. She tensed. At the very least, she had accomplices. It was one comfort. She inched closer to Viola, somewhat.

If the Maestra noticed, she said nothing. Viola offered her only a smile. “Then I guess that just leaves you and me, Octavia. It sounds like Madrigal can handle herself.”

The shuffling crowd was double-edged, in a manner of speaking. Octavia had her space, and the oxygen she’d hoped to find was slightly more accessible. Her line of sight was notably more uncompromised, by which she had her visual fill of sporadically-placed tables and accompanying beverages. They weren’t necessarily abundant, nor were they of the most interest to a crowd on the verge of the main event itself. Those that loitered regardless did so without urgency. There was exactly one drawback. He was slightly shorter than the rest.

She hurriedly fumbled through a mental checklist. She knew with absolute certainty she’d seen the hat before. She couldn’t place where immediately, and it was incredibly frustrating. When it clicked, so, too, did the knowledge of the inevitable consequence. If her line of sight was unimpeded, she was absolutely not the only Maestra free to look.

Octavia tugged at Viola’s sleeve, never once peeling her eyes away from the table. “I don’t know about that, actually,” she murmured.

She was correct. They, too, were able to follow her eyes. Madrigal’s exploded into stars. Viola’s burst into flames. She’d expected as much.

“No,” Viola muttered under her breath. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Madrigal had met his eyes long before either Maestra could intervene. It would’ve been a fruitless battle regardless, for how he abandoned his drink and made the first move. His grin from afar was just as Octavia had remembered it, dripping with a confidence and charisma that was still nearly irritating. Viola’s fingers made their own move well into her hair, tangling and tugging in relentless frustration.

“Y-You’re…here,” Madrigal breathed, euphoria splattered against every word. “You’re here again.”

His voice was as smooth as his grin. “I certainly am,” he murmured.

Once more was Madrigal’s hand in his own, his touch still equally as delicate as before. His tender kiss upon her skin, too, was just as gentle, his lips pressed to the Maestra’s hand for far longer than was necessary. It wasn’t necessary at all, granted. Had Octavia not physically hooked her arms beneath Viola’s shoulders when she did, the Maestra more than likely would’ve ripped his head clean off.

“Wait, Renato? What are you doing here?” Octavia asked, struggling to express her surprise and restrain a squirming Viola simultaneously.

Renato tipped his hat playfully. It didn’t clash as much with the tuxedo as she’d expected it to. “Tavi and, uh…Violet, right? Always a pleasure.”

“Octavia,” she corrected firmly.

“I want you to die,” Viola spat.

“And Viola,” Octavia offered on her behalf.

His grin spoke to disregard for her malice. “I’m thinkin’ I owe you girls an apology for my little training session back in the woods. You were right. I was making a mess. My bad.”

“And you’re only apologizing for the trees, after all that?” Viola growled.

Octavia cupped a hand over Viola’s mouth, stifling a laugh over the sensation of obscenities pressed against her palm. They’d found a Maestro already, technically. It was a bittersweet victory.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?” Octavia asked.

He winked. “I have my ways. What are you guys doing here?”

Octavia chose her words carefully. “Just…looking for something. Some stuff.”

Renato crossed his arms, freeing Madrigal’s hand at last. She didn’t seem pleased about it. “Some stuff, huh? I’m pretty good at finding things, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

Renato gestured around the room with yet the same grin. “I found my way into this place, didn’t I?”

He snuck in. She should’ve seen that one coming.

“Who am I if not a man who likes a good party?” he continued. “Free drinks.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

“Does it matter?” he answered far too casually.

“Renato,” Madrigal asked delicately, her voice still tinged with bliss, “if you see anything related to Maestro stuff, can you help us?”

Octavia winced. Subtlety hadn’t lasted for longer than ten seconds.

He tilted his head. “Maestro...stuff. That would be...what, exactly?”

Octavia blinked.

Viola had wriggled out of her grip in full, still mostly seething. “Maestros? Really? Things related to Maestros, idiot.”

Renato was still. “I have no idea what that means.”

Viola growled. “I am so tired of you messing around.”

Madrigal was far kinder by comparison. “Do you...know what a Maestro is?”

Renato shook his head. It was enough to bring them to silence--even Viola, wrathful as she’d been.

“Are you actually serious, or are you joking around?” Octavia asked incredulously.

Renato raised his hands defensively. “No, I swear, I’m being serious. I’ve honestly never heard that word in my life.”

Octavia exchanged a fleeting glance with an equally-puzzled Viola. “But you’re literally a Maestro,” she continued.

Renato flinched. “Am I?”

“You know, the...stick...thing. In the woods.”

His hand slipped beneath the interior of his suit jacket, returning quickly with two memorable halves of cherry oak in tow. “These?”

Viola rubbed her temples with a grimace. “You did not seriously bring them with you here.”

Octavia’s hands were on his quickly, ushering the little sticks towards confinement once more. “Put those away! Don’t bring them out here! We’re at a musical auction, for God’s sake!”

She was being a hypocrite, given that the straps of her backpack scraped her shoulders with every hurried movement. She didn’t particularly care. He was far more unstable and infinitely more unpredictable.

Renato obliged, still baffled. “You have no idea how confused I am right now.”

Octavia winced. If Harper and herself were any indication, she could understand living ignorant to Maestro abilities in general--blessed as they’d been and still just as unknowing. The term alone was a reasonable mystery. Renato was an outlier, then, notably skilled and well aware of such prowess. It mattered little that Madrigal hadn’t known the details, given that her splendorous bond with Lyra’s Repose had filled the gaps. He was odd. She experimented.

“Renato,” Octavia began hesitantly, “what’s your Harmonial Instrument’s name? The...drumsticks, I mean.”

“Now, why would I name the damn sticks?” he teased.

She frowned. “No, seriously. Think carefully and concentrate really hard. What’s the name of your Harmonial Instrument?”

He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Several tense seconds later, Renato shrugged. “I have...no idea.”

Octavia blinked. “What?”

He cracked one eye open. “Am I supposed to know that or something?”

Viola was equally as baffled. “You...don’t know your Harmonial Instrument’s name?”

Renato raised an eyebrow. “Is that a bad thing?”

“That...shouldn’t be possible,” the Maestra muttered.

“You’ll find out eventually,” Madrigal spoke with a soft smile, gently claiming Renato’s hand once more. “It’s okay.”

Renato returned her efforts with a grin, poking at one of her buns playfully. “That means a lot to me, princess.”

Madrigal beamed, her face dusting the softest scarlet once more. Viola rolled her eyes.

Octavia tapped Viola’s shoulder delicately, dropping her confused voice to a whisper. “Is…that a thing that can happen?”

“I don’t…think so,” Viola whispered back. “There shouldn’t be any way for a Maestro to not know the name of their Harmonial Instrument--especially if they know how to use it.”

Octavia paused for a moment. “You know all that stuff your grandmother said? About the…souls of ice and the spirits of wind and whatever?”

Viola tilted her head. “Yeah?”

“So do you think it has something to do with whatever his...spirit thing is?”

Viola blinked. “You lost me.”

Octavia winced. “Like, you know, you have your ice, and…Harper has his fire, or whatever. What exactly does Renato have?”

Viola’s eyes widened, and yet her face clouded with confusion just as quickly. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never actually seen any other kinds of Maestros before I met you. I mean, it’s completely possible that it’s related to...all this.”

Despite her best attempts as to the contrary, Octavia doubted she’d be forgetting the Maestros’ unfortunate forest quarrel any time soon. Every unhesitant boom, unseen and yet certainly present, had been blessed with astounding force she still hadn’t quite wrapped her head around. Her closest guess was a relative of Madrigal’s windy talents. It still left him incredibly and disorientingly different by comparison--fitting, given his eccentric tendencies. She groaned inwardly. Even conceptually, Renato was excellent at giving her headaches.

She didn’t get the chance to press him, given how he’d already more than made off with a Maestra beneath his arm. Madrigal, to both her credit and detriment, had not resisted in the slightest. Even from here, her oozing starlight was contagious, and her adoring eyes were locked with his alone. They were well into distant conversation, and Octavia vaguely feared for their mutual isolation. It was Viola’s turn to groan, burying her face in her hands.

“It’s just you and me now, I guess,” Octavia offered, patting Viola’s shoulder gently.

Viola groaned once more. “Madrigal’s flirting and Harper’s arguing. We haven’t even been here for twenty minutes.”

It was more or less solid timing, for how they’d both lost the crowd and caught its rising conversation. Octavia wasn’t ignorant to the sharpened atmosphere, and the hurrying ushers were an indicator in and of themselves. The little signs were as simple as they were effective, and it took her at least two tries to claim one for herself--young as she was, by comparison to the clientele at large. She’d needed to hoist herself to the tips of her toes to grasp a numbered placard from the top of a well-balanced pile, and she was at least mildly embarrassed. She was appreciative no one called her on it--Viola included.

“Seventy,” she read from the sign aloud, twirling the little handle experimentally. “Lucky number?”

Viola smiled. “Hopefully. Can I leave the bidding part to you?”

Octavia nodded, waving the small placard absentmindedly. “What am I looking for, exactly?”

“Anything Maestro-related directly, or…anything you think might give us a lead. I trust your judgment,” Viola clarified.

She winced. “And if I’m wrong and I accidentally spend a ridiculous amount of money on nothing?”

Viola patted her shoulder. “Then we at least tried to chase something. That would’ve been worth it. It’s not like my family does anything with it, anyway.”

The Maestra made to descend, already taking steps towards the stairs to the first floor. “I’m gonna go see what’s going on down there. You keep an eye out up here.”

“Wait, can I bid from up here?” she asked.

“This is technically the balcony. Why do you think you can see the stage from here?” Viola answered. “Just make sure you’re loud.”

Octavia nodded. Granted, she had companions that were far, far, far louder.