Haute Couture::Le Noir 3F Public Address Room Hong Lu's Story

As I gingerly waded through the gloom of the Public Address room, a complicated jungle network of pipe horns gradually came into view.

The room was nothing short of creepy - eerie sounds could be heard from the depths of the stalks of each pipe and clashed together into an unnerving ambiance, and in the corner of the room, there was a small mound of... things that were no longer individually identifiable, with their shadows melding into one another.

It wasn't long before I noticed a stark ray of sunshine that somehow managed to squeeze past the thickets to shine upon the room.

Though it was only a single sliver of a ray, the light was so blinding that I had to squint to look more closely.

The figure caught in the sunlight seemed to be this floor's manager.

Nestled under his birdcage, he was quietly watching an object that was fluttering...

... within the bars of his blanket.

The Public Address Room's heard about me, too? It almost feels as though I've become some kind of supermodel.

I scoured every corner of the third floor in search of the Alterationist, starting with her shop and working my way through the Boutique and the Maison...

... and hadn't found so much as a hint of where she'd gone.

And the last remaining spot was here, the Public Address Room.

I had to get my fabric mended before it frayed further... It was already in a rough state from having to deal with the Rouges on the first floor.

The Floor Manager took a step toward me, emerging from the blinding sunlight as the outline of his outfit slowly came into view with more clarity.

The first thing I recognized was the multilayered style of the Noir fabric blanketing him like a cloak, appearing quite sturdy and classy even at a glance. At the same time, though, there was something stubborn and stifling about it that seemed to come with the territory.

It seemed a shame that picking a side meant ironing out so much of what made each style of attire unique and different.

... Yeah, that adds up. If what I'd heard down on B2F was true, then the Obsidian God has begun to speak less and less frequently to the Noirs, and it's been making them increasingly anxious.

I don't know if it was simply because my eyes had adjusted to the darkness, or because my perspective had changed,

but I suddenly realized that the mound in the corner of the room was actually...

A pile of dead tapes, their voices long lost.

Hearing him speak, I felt the sense of dread that arrested me earlier lift from the Public Address Room... and a forlorn sensation fell around the Public Address Room, like I was looking at the remnants of someone's fading world.

The Floor Manager answered with a smile that looked lonely in a way I couldn't quite place...

And for a little while, we shared a silence that didn't feel so cold.

A little later...

Footsteps, led by a voracious hunger, broke through - and a group of Rouges entered the room.

Hesitation and something like regret hung in the air between them. Was that how it was with old business partners who'd ended up on opposite sides?

The Floor Manager appeared to be absorbed in deep thought.

Maybe he too, has a specific voice he wishes to broadcast... just as I wish to design a particular outfit.

A twinkle passed behind his faded jade eye.

The Floor Manager muttered the broadcast I'd heard back in the Boutique du Rouge in a low voice, as though he were speaking to himself.

The Rouge visitor's tentacles trembled angrily at this ambush of a quiz.

I'd heard that line before... It's from the broadcast endlessly playing at the Boutique du Rouge.

The cold look that followed was far from pleasing.

Just as him and his group of Rouges reached out to grab the tapes from the pipes,

the blanket slammed down between him and his prize, a heavy, metallic clang ringing as it landed.

... and just like that, the ball was in my court.

But the Rouge visitor answered correctly.

There were other lines in the broadcast too, but this was one of the more frequently repeated ones. I'd be surprised if anyone in Le Rouge got it wrong.

Even I could easily remember what followed, and I could count the times I'd heard the whole thing on one hand. It was always "consume all," just like the Rouge visitor said.

Though, in today's broadcast, the tape wore out before the Voice could finish -

... Wait a minute.

Hearing my answer, the Floor Manager beamed, striking the kind of smile I hadn't seen since I'd entered this department store.

At that, like a chorus responding, the black pipe horns of the room began to quiver violently,

and out poured screams, frustration, laughter... the noises that had been slumbering within the Grand Magasin.

The shrieking din ripped the Rouges to shreds before the blanket crushed them,

and if any of them managed to survive that pandemonium, the black hands reaching out from the Floor Manager's draping sleeves made quick work of them.

Silence returned only after the long, screaming echoes dissipated.

And in that silence, I...

... I rummaged around the crushed flesh and crimson leather, searching for eyeballs to salvage.

The Floor Manager watched me for a moment before letting out a brief chuckle.

With the Floor Manager seeing me off, I made it through the hallway around the roaming Mobile-Go-Spins, and opened my hand to check out his gift.

It was a gold-feathered tape from inside his blanket, napping soundly in my palm.

I reached out with my other hand and stroked it carefully. Its cozy warmth gently traveled up my fingers.

While I was happy to have a new companion, I wasn't sure if I could care for it when I'd just barely learned how to take care of myself...

Heck, I didn't even know the first thing about raising a tape, either. Whatever gladness it made me feel was preceded by concerns about whether I had what it takes to look after it.

But it didn't take long before I was able to decide on what to do with it.