Alphonse stares at the president's silhouette slowly fading to the darkness. In times like this he remembered the man he had served for many years—the president's late father—Roy Denmark.
He still harks back to their same charismatic smile hiding their cruel upbringing. They were very similar, but at the same time their ways were different. Roy was a man who was elaborate with his steps and processes, whilst his son on the other hand, George, worked in ways that complicated Alphonse.
Alphonse Richards had been a butler of the Denmarks ever since he was a young lad. The Richards were bound to serve the Denmark family for years. In family trees Alphonse was tending, the Richards had been recorded working for the Denmarks throughout many generations, the earliest years being recorded was back in the Victorian era.
In the 1830s were the earliest records of the first butler from the line of the Richards—his name was Aleph Richards, the butler serving the noble line of the Denmarks, one of the households holding the title of the marquis. As a Richard, Alphonse ought to study the hierarchy and the family tree of the Denmarks as per tradition. He was old now, meaning he had already almost forgotten half of what he had learned.
But out of all the knowledge passed down to his line, he had yet to forget one thing:
"Secundum quod fatum est" in Latin, and "Óla eínai sýmfona me ti moíra" in Greek.
Όλα είναι σύμφωνα με τη μοίρα |
It is all according to fate.
The Denmarks were famous for this certain line. Even in the family tree, the quote was embedded with the mark of a chimera; a lion, with the head of a goat protruding from its back, and a tail that ends with a snake's head. The chimera was displayed in front of an opened iron gate amassing a burning flame. It was so magnificent that the Denmarks became notorious for it.
The University of the High East, amongst many business enterprises the Denmarks handled, carried this certain emblem. It became a mark of the family and was a sign of their prosperity
Alphonse regarded the emblem as something that binds him to his master. He readjusted the chimera insignia on his tailcoat, one he carried ever since he was appointed as the head butler.
"It is all according to fate,"
He remembers how George Denmark's eyes gleamed as he articulated these words—with such pride and the same utterance as Alphonse's late master. This certain quote became a spell that the Denmarks conveyed at such times.
Times that they neither found coincidental nor caused.
Times that they harbor as perpetual—
Such as the earthquake that struck Peru.
Alphonse waited for dusk as he finished the preparations. As his usual routine, he checked the time. It was already 6 in the evening, just the time he would enter the president's study to report what information the HR mustered to gather.
The president was standing on the large glass pane that had the view of the setting sun across the ocean. He was holding a flute of champagne—Alphonse guessed from the bottle of a 1959 Dom Perignon and several champagne flutes at the side of his master's desk.
"Ah, Alphonse," the president utters. "Isn't this another spectacular sunrise?"
Alphonse stares at the president for a brief moment, noticing a tinge of glee in his tone.
". . . You seem to be in a good mood, Sire." Alphonse exclaims as a matter of factly.
George Denmark was still looking through the glass pane, his hand playing with the flute in a circling motion, the champagne mixing in a beautiful swirl.
"Secundum quod fatum est," the president stated. "Óla eínai sýmfona me ti moíra,"
Alphonse stares at the glass' peripheral as the president drank what was left of the champagne flute's contents.
"It is all according to fate," says George Denmark.
He then turns to Alphonse, sauntering towards the table as he sits to the swivel chair. He began to examine documents, still, a smile etched on his charming face.
"The HR fell back, and rescue did not come to the task force," says Alphonse. "No need for explanation, as usual."
"Good," George answers, not taking his eye off the documents. "Anything else?"
"It seems Agent Night's tracker for the whereabouts of the force broke," Alphonse states. "It is possible that he might have been caught by the earthquake debris. The House was unstable, after all."
"Hiroaki?" The president chuckles. "It will take more than an earthquake to kill him."
"Regardless if he is dead or not, the HR lost track of the team," Alphonse says. "It would be wiser to send a team to search for them."
The president simply smiled. "Why do you think that, Alphonse?"
Alphonse stared back at George's analyzing gaze through his monocles.
"Pardon me for articulating my opinion, Sire," Alphonse starts. "The cameras had shut down completely due to the earthquake, which had a magnitude that collapsed several buildings in the country. The House had disintegrated entirely. It is a possibility that the task force survived and may need rescue. It is also a possibility they are dead. And it is also a possibility that they have discovered ANDROMEDA forthwith."
"Ah . . ." The president chuckled. "Yes, they may have."
"I advise you to consider these possibilities, especially the last one, Sire."
"What a wonder. Then that would be a piece of good news,"
Alphonse's brow twitched. "Pardon me, Sire. Please do remember your father's last will and the organization's tradition and practices. Discovering ANDROMEDA needs supervision from the HR, but the tracker broke, and the cameras are all down."
"Oh, butler Alphonse," the president flashed a charismatic smile. "The practice was broken the moment I assigned Ephraim Hughes as the leader of the task force. The traditions were long gone the moment Oswald and I decided to change Father's tactics. The rules were long broken when I replaced my father, do you think it would matter to me whether they do find it?"
"But Sire, do consider that the organization needs to know their progress, but we have no way to even pin their whereabouts—"
"What are you holding to, Alphonse?" The president asks as he pours the 1959 Dom Perignon to his flute. He smiles at the bemused butler, with the equally intense cruel gaze his father proffered.
"For years, the organization failed to retrieve the research. The forces they had assigned didn't even go far beyond the House. For thirty-five years, the organization played a game. A game that fit children . . . and they acted like they were spectators, bystanders. Ah, thinking about it, this is like the movie Cabin in the Woods, isn't it?" He says. "They appoint unsuspecting archeologists, researchers, and engineers to find something in the House, unbeknownst to them they are being watched."
Alphonse eyes the president filling the other flute to the brim.
"The organization knows ANDROMEDA, but they do not know the research." He says. "My father enforced a certain customary practice of having the search teams with zero background about the abandoned laboratory. I do not understand, but that may be fate as well in working."
"The organization per se is contradicting itself." The president exclaims, his eyes gleaming. "But that in essence is the plan. Contradiction. Confusion. Perplexity. Nature. I only tweaked it a bit so it'll progress, but everything is moving in its own, like what my father predicted."
George Denmark handed Alphonse the champagne flute he filled to the brim.
"You did not understand father, did you, Alphonse?" Asks George, as Alphonse accepts the flute.
"You ought to not understand me as well." The president exclaims. "Just remember the insignia my family carried ever since the reign of Queen Victoria; the queen entrusted this emblem to us for a reason one would not comprehend. And all the answers are leading to this very day, Alphonse. Even behind all the contradiction and perplexity."
George raised his flute for a toast. "This . . . is all according to fate."