Alison was relieved he chose the café, her option of a secluded spot in the woods suddenly dawning on her as an awful idea. At least he had realised and had the decency to tell her. He could have easily taken her poor judgement as another opportunity against her.

Seeing that he didn’t, naively she hoped that was a good sign.

She sat opposite him in one of the booths of the café, watching him quietly as he sipped his tea. He was so relaxed, so in control. It contrasted heavily to her tense posture, her hands cradling a steaming coffee that was untouched and burning her skin. She was anything but poised.

“That’s – fine,” A part of her wondered desperately where he had heard the information, but if he had names, any at all, it would help her determine whether there was any truth in what he was saying. She always tried to know who she was working with – be it for her own selfish, fame-hungry reasons – so there was a high chance she’d recognise the names.

And whether she did or not would hopefully indicate if he was lying.

“The orchestrators...” Her voice is quiet. "What do you know?"

Cillian Quinn

☉

He was right, he didn’t. Alison knew all too well the shady and cruel reality that hid behind the shine of the industry she was in. Even Alison’s hands weren’t clean in that sense. But the scale of which Cillian implied someone attempted to sabotage her felt nonsensical.

At the name, Alison’s blood runs cold.

“Céline?” Disbelief furrows her brows.

“Céline Perrault tried to kill me? That’s – do you know how crazy that sounds?” She shakes her head, a dry laugh escaping from her lips, though it doesn’t meet her eyes. Her smile drops.

An image of the Kalosian lady clouds her vision. Petite, middle-aged, adorned with jewels, her Fennekin peeking out from her purse like a fashion accessory. She had the power and money to ruin Alison without getting involved, that was true. But… would she have? They had never liked each other, but had Céline’s hatred of her been overlooked? Had it run deeper than Alison realised?

Biting the inner side of her lip, she averts her gaze, her thumbs pressing onto the rim of the mug in her hands.

“It was to do with Penelope, wasn't it?” her voice is a whisper. Penelope Adalson. One of Alison’s biggest rivals. Céline had sponsored her.

Cillian Quinn

☉

Alison scoffs at his remark, though a smugness twinkles in her eye. She had been better than Penelope, she had always known that, but it was nice to hear it from another. Even if that person had never seen her perform.

“You flatter me, but it still doesn’t make sense that Penelope would target me – try to kill me with Celine – just to win? All for a ribbon?”

She shakes her head, knowing full-well how much she had  wanted that ribbon herself. What she would have done differently in hindsight to acquire it.

“It was just performing. Pretty dresses and music. My only crime was being better, prettier, and apparently that means its okay to kill me? I mean, they actually killed-”

She stops herself short, taking a breath as she folds her arms across her chest tightly, as if to hold herself together.

She takes a moment before speaking again.

“You said League was involved… Did you just mean Céline or, was it deeper than that?”

Familiar faces, friends, acquaintances, lovers, Louis, all flash across her vision in a blur.

Louis had worked on lights; that day they had fallen. Mandy had booked her slot as the last performance, perfect for disaster to strike and not affect others.

A sickening feeling swells in her stomach as she stares at Cillian with a gloomy expression. Had people tolerated her, hated her, secretly wished for her downfall, without her realising all this time?

Cillian Quinn

☉