🏹👑 Rookvil Collection~

gone when i call your name (vdc - vil)

Once and for all.  

Which line had that been, again?

He remembers them all; the lines, the actions, the expressions. Every play, every show, every shoot. He remembers them all, but maybe not so clearly, as he wonders which line that had been.

It seemed to have gone after the line of Fairest One of All. His unique magic. Something. Or some play he had been rehearsing for that was eventually cancelled because it was too scary for its target audience, especially with Vil in the role.

Something rustles, and he blinks. This isn’t the purple stage. This isn’t where he should be. Where the VDC is.

This is the infirmary, as he lies and stares at the surprisingly white ceiling, and waits for the nurse to try and pull the curtains open without waking him. 

“Oh,” The nurse utters this sound when she realises he's staring at the space above him unblinkingly. “Oh, he's awake.”

Another nurse comes over immediately. “Vil Schoenheit, can you hear me? Can you speak?”

He opens his mouth; all he has on his tongue are lyrics he's spent so long memorising. “Yes.”

“Good.” The new nurse sighs almost immediately, turning to the other. “The Headmage shall want to see him.”

“I'll fetch the Headmage.” says the other, and the room is silent again, as both nurses leave, and he ponders over the lyrics again. Over the melody that's suddenly so rusty in his head. A melody that should have been so easy to remember, to dance to, but why do his limbs feel so heavy, so tired?

“Schoenheit-kun!” Crowley robs him of his thoughts. “Everything okay?”

“I can't move.”

“Ah, so you're exhausted.” Crowley clasps his hands together; the old bird is nervous. “Totally normal, yes. Nothing to worry about.”

“Headmage,” He ignores the obvious reassurances — none of which he believes, not even for just a second. “What happened? Why am I in the infirmary? What happened to the VDC? Did we perform? Did we win?”

Crowley seems stunned by his questions, mouth hanging open the only indicator of surprise, aside from the glowing yellow dots behind the shield of his mask. “Schoenheit-kun,” Crowley starts, slowly. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember what?” He asks almost immediately, following up Crowley's question with one of his own. “Headmage, am I supposed to remember something?”

“You…” Crowley hesitates. “You truly do not remember, Schoenheit-kun?”

“No, I do not.”

“You…” Crowley sighs, much deeper this time. “You…overblotted, Schoenheit-kun. Right before the VDC. Right before anyone could perform.”

…overblotted?

…I? I, overblotted?

“I know it may be hard to believe,” Crowley continues, still hesitant. “But you did overblot. No one knows why you did, except that you did. You went on a rampage. We had to cancel the VDC because the purple stage was in ruins, even though Draconia-kun fixed it back almost immediately upon locating you amidst the rubble, and brought you to us. We could not carry on a festival if our team was down, and Ambrose the 63rd detected too many traces of magic use that he was suspicious.”

He’s given a few moments to process this, as Crowley looks at everything around him but him, fidgeting nervously as he slowly processes the facts of what has happened. The fact that he’d overblotted, but remembers nothing of it, for his head clenches painfully, and the nurses rush over immediately, peppering him in questions and healing spells, assuring him it’s alright for him to not remember things yet, that they will come back to him in due time if he doesn’t intentionally think about it.