Chapter Text
“This is Wanderer,” Aether smiles. “You can call him Hat Guy.”
Aether presents the youth to Wanderer, draped in regal blues and icy whites. His garments glitter, and in him, Wanderer feels that same ethereal pull of the stars, the one he associates with The Traveller. He looks otherworldly—aligning exactly with what Aether had told him.
Wanderer raises a brow. “You’re Manekin?”
On second thought, he doesn’t know what he’s looking at. He’s certainly not human—Manekin feels crafted, moldable. It’s not puppetry through Khaenri’ahn alchemy, and he doubts it’s anything like Fontainian machinery. Perhaps he’s more organic, like Durin or Albedo?
“Mhm,” he nods, “although you’re free to call me whatever you’d like.” The response is far too familiar for Wanderer.
Whatever it is, it’s so compliant that it’s annoying to watch. Why is it so unquestioningly obedient to The Traveller? To himself, such compliancy is … familiar. Servitude is familiar. Those are pipelines that both The Kabukimono and The Balladeer fell, and even though he trusts Aether’s intentions….
“They seem eager to please me,” Aether comments, later in private, “although their attention is a little embarrassing. I don’t want to control them. They should be free to go be who they'd like.”
Because he can’t stop the sinking feeling in his chest, Wanderer instead asks, “You didn’t give them a name as you did me, did you?”
Aether doesn’t appear shocked by the question, gazing out at the winds of Nod Krai. “Nothing concrete like you, no.”
The gale is brisk and nippy, smoothing over his now overheated system. “Why not?”
“I knew what to name you. It felt right because I know you—but naming them feels a little different, almost like branding.” He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t even know what to pick.”
He bites back that Aether did exactly what he wanted him to, to brand him, grant him purpose—but surely, Aether already knows this about Wanderer. Would Manekin not want that same treatment?
He instead mulls over how Aether’s thoughts were probably what Beelzebul felt all those years ago, too. Swallowing the sudden rush of emotion, he turns away from the view. He leans against the steel fence, arms crossed. “... They seem content with anything, don’t they?’
“Oh, Hat Guy!”
The next time he meets the Manekin, he doesn’t even recognise him. Different complexion, different hair colour, length, and is that Liyuean attire?
“I can change my appearance,” he supplies with a smile. In an instant, Wanderer watches the way his skin and clothes morph back into what they’d been during their previous meeting. “Aether gifted me some new clothes—that’s what I was wearing just now.”
“And you just … let him dress you up? Like a doll?” Even Wanderer knows it’s not that simple, but surely that's what it’d feel like from Manekin’s perspective, right?
“Of course. I requested that of him, actually. I’m quite the fan of human fashion, and I shall accept any gift from The Traveller. Material possession is the way of life in the human world, no?”
And there comes that compliancy—that attraction to human society and that willingness to mingle despite being otherly. He’s reminded of how much tea he’d drink whilst with the bladesmiths in Tatarasuna, back when he was far more innocent. Memories of his eagerness to be taught the customs of human clothing flood him. Learning how to apply makeup, use a hairbrush, and robe oneself in garments—the thrill of mastering presentation was addictive. Crafting your stage persona and manipulating the crowd into believing you are truly human, just as they are.
Perhaps he can understand Manekin a little more than he initially assumed.
“Both Manekin and Manekina can explore the Miliastra Wonderland—it’s kinda like the Serenitea Pot, actually, without the limitations. Or perhaps even Simulanka.”
“How fascinating,” Albedo hums, deep in thought. “For a space to rival that of the Adeptal Arts and Hexenzirkel magic … If only I could enter such a plane, I’d love to study it.”
Another time that Aether brought Manekin around, Albedo is present, leading to a long-winded discussion about Octavia. The mannequin can’t recall much about the travelling mage “O”, but he discloses what he knows.
Wanderer stares at the Manekin’s new apparel; Fontainian. He can tell it’s high-quality stuff. Designer?
“Manekin!” Durin calls, hurrying over. “You’re back from Fontaine? How were Miss Navia and Miss Kirara?”
The one who tailors Manekin’s attire in return for modelling, the owner of Chioriya Boutique, seems to be acquainted with Durin’s friends from Simulanka—although upon hearing this, Aether would argue that they’re just as much as Wanderer’s friends, too.
By this point, he shouldn’t be shocked at the sum of important people The Traveller is connected to.
“They spoke of you a lot, Durin,” Manekin smiles. “They can’t wait for you to finally travel to Fontaine.” Durin perks up, his tail wagging. He can’t stop making puppy dog eyes at Albedo and Wanderer for the remainder of their conversation.
Manekin giggles, turning to Wanderer. “Actually, they spoke of Hat Guy, too. I learnt quite a lot about ‘The Hero of Simulanka’.”
“... Hmph.”
“██.”
Aether utters the name he gifted Manekin, just as the mannequin instructed him to—but it’s foreign to his tongue, and although his friend responds to it, he can tell that the name hasn’t really stuck.
The two make the trek to Clink-Clank Krumkake Craftshop. Inside, Aino is singing to her heart's content, applying makeup sloppily to Manekina’s face—although the terminal doesn’t seem to mind, beaming happily. Half of her hair has been braided unevenly. Her clothes lack any sense of style, and Aether notes how the child has seemingly thrown layers upon layers of jewellery and other sparkly items onto the mannequin.
“Name inspiration?” Aino squeaks, adding the final touches to her masterpiece. “Well, because of her origins, I named Ineffa after Ineffable City. Hehe, pretty smart, right? It was the perfect choice!”
“Correct,” Ineffa says, setting a tray of freshly baked goods and serving them to Aino. The child springs up, scoffing them down. “Data suggests that ‘Ineffa’ suits my needs, and is satisfactory to others. I have no requirements to be renamed.”
“Mmh,” Aino muffles, food still in her mouth. “If you need help finding a name, maybe Ineffa can assist?”
“Understood. Searching databases for books with commonly used baby names for expecting mothers. Compiling a list of names from storage. Assessing….”
Aino giggles something in Manekina’s ear before the doll takes a stand, her body shimmering, resetting to its default appearance. “Let’s go play outside, Ineffa 2.0!” Aino cheers.
As Manekina is dragged out the door by the child, she passes Manekin.
“Hi,” she whispers gleefully.
“Hi,” he replies, returning the affection.
Aether flicks through the sheets of names provided to him by Ineffa, humming and hawing.
“Do you like the name ██?”
Manekin nods. “I like it.”
He turns another page. “What about ██?”
“Hmm, I like that one too.”
“... You don’t feel connected to any particular name?”
“Don’t fret, Aether,” the mannequin smiles, warm and radiant. Compliancy…. “I will accept whatever you call me.” His words of encouragement don’t offer Aether the relief he assumed they would.
Off to the side, Wanderer’s scowl deepens.
“Manekin,” Wanderer says, frowning. “Does it bother you? Not having a name.”
The mannequin folds his arms, sparing the other a glance.
“Not really. It bothers you?”
“Yes,” he sighs. “It did.”
… Manekin really is like the Kabukimono, huh?
Perhaps that’s why The Wanderer feels so compelled to help him not fall down those same paths.