It didn't even occur to Ayem to ask 'why'. Spirits did what they did, and what they did was weird.

"I... Hold on. I-" She gave up trying to match the little girl's pace of speech. Patience came easily, and she had at least some idea of how to handle kids. A fair number of her lovers had been mothers.

"I don't know where she went," she said simply over a rattling chain of 'gotta's. It didn't feel like lying, really. There were plenty of bespectacled teenagers in Frixion. "She's probably far away, so you have to get-"

The mood dipped sharply and rose again. Ayem's claws disappeared under her fingertips, then surged back as her hands fell away. To show her, yes, but there was an old, hardened instinct that told her when it was time to be sharp...

'-wanna cut off my fingers and replace them with kniv-'

"No!"

Ayem's eyes flew wide and she did something she rarely did: yell. It wasn't a loud yell, or a particularly sharp one. She wasn't much of a yeller. But it took her by surprise. "These hands are very old," she explained, thinking quickly. "There aren't any left over. And mine are... Too big. They're at least ten sizes up from you. See?"

The talltall lady crouched on her feet, putting her at least somewhere near Mary's height. It was a good position to jump from, if she had to. Ayem bit her tongue as she rolled back her sleeves- She'd let her guard down too easily. A 'little girl' like this could well be preying on her instincts.

"See, if these were on you, they'd drag around and get in the way," she explained, splaying ten black points. "And, you can't throw them. That's why most people have knives in hands instead of knife hands."

Ayem met the cherub's eyes again. The claws sat between them, maybe welcoming, maybe a barrier. She could feel the chill running through them already. "So, what's your name?" she asked at last. "I'm Ayem. A-M. Like the morning."

@SIGINT

With her left hand, the little girl slowly pushed against Ayem's right, as though comparing the sizes of their hands. Skin met cold metal, but the girl didn't seem to mind. She was too enraptured by the wonder of it all. In her right hand, she continued to hold the combat knife, pointed towards herself — but it didn't move. It was frozen, just like the rest of her, as she gazed with her jaw hanging open into the artificial structure. She was completely oblivious to the woman's caution, not even realizing that she was being kept at arm's length. She wasn't even paying attention to that sort of body language to begin with.

"I...guess that makes sense..." She admitted glumly, "Well, I can't throw knives anyway, 'cause they're too heavy, but yeah..." Her right hand fell limply to her side as her face soured. "But still...knife hands. There aren't any left? That's not fair! You're supposed to aaask before you take the last of something, like, like, like the last sugar cookie, or the last sugar cube, or the last...sugary thing!"

The little girl's attention quickly moved on, though. Her brain moved in an odd direction, but it moved a mile a minute. Tossing the combat knife between her emaciated hands like it was a toy, she answered the talltall lady with a beaming smile. "My name's Mary! M-E-R-Y! Like the girl with the little lamb." She added helpfully, "Having a lamb would be cool...but I'd rather have a bunny."

Thankfully deterred from the subject of self-amputation, her mind began to wander again. "If she's far away...I'm gonna need...food. Lotsa food." Mary thought out loud, still juggling the combat knife as her head turned up and away, unfocused eyes indicating a (comparatively) deep train of thought. "And I'm gonna need a flying thingy...and, um...I think that's it. Yay! I only need two things!" Without any fear, Mary reached out with her hand, taking one of Ayem's knife fingers and avoiding its blade with surprising precision as she did so. "Let's get the food first! Come on, come on~! I wanna get lots of candy~!"

The corners of Ayem's mouth went back to their usual little peaks. Pointy though she was, Mary had her charms. Ayem wondered who the girl's absent lamb might be. Words meant things, sometimes.

"Alright, let's get food," she conceded. "And a... Flying thingy. But you definitely need more than two things," Ayem added quickly, suddenly on her feet again the moment Mary came close enough to hold on. She could only take so much from up close, and Mary's breath made her seriously consider the prospect of having just picked up a young dragon.

Ayem would have thrown the girl into the river if she could, but she didn't have the upper body strength and she doubted it would help, anyway. What Mary needed was an industrial steam bath. Or at least a carwash.

...Yes, a carwash. Hmmm.

"You need new clothes," said the tall lady promptly, leading Mary down the street with her index finger. She'd passed a groceries fabricator somewhere not far from here and Mary seemed quite capable of keeping up on her little legs. "And... Whatever pills you take. And a bath. Because if we find a bunny on the way, we want to be its friend, and bunnies like clean, healthy girls."

Ayem caught a glance.

"...But okay, candy first," she appended in haste. A glass door slid open before them, and suddenly they were in the white light wash of a modern supermarket.

Screens flickered their catalogs, and the giant printers' buzz was soon nothing but background noise.

"Bunnies...only like healthy girls...?"

Mary's face fell as she followed Ayem obediently through the streets. "That's...no good." The girl said quietly. "I'll always be sick. I won't ever get better. Never ever. Because...I was born sick. So I'll always be this way, forever and ever." There hadn't been much strength in her grip to begin with, but even so, it still somehow gave a feeling of weakness. "Even if I got new clothes...they'd just get dirty and messy all over again. Is there even...a point to replacing them? If I won't ever stop coughing stuff up?"

All of the dirt and grime over her hoodie hadn't come from the ground or from the air, but from her own throat. Changing the clothes wouldn't cure her illness. Nothing would. Her body was unstable from the start, a false existence forced into being, and made to pay the price for her father's hubris.

Even if she took care of herself, how long would that flaw-ridden body persist? A year, maybe two. And then she would fall apart, just like all of the failures before her.

And even that much, really, was a miracle in and of itself.

---

"Candy~"

The little girl was distracted easily enough by the wide assortment of choices before her. All of them likely owned and produced by the same company and made to create a thinly-veiled illusion of consumer choice, but eight-year-olds generally didn't care about that sort of thing.

"I like these ones!" Tapping the screen, she moved quickly to a sort of powdered candy that was basically a straw filled with pure synthetic sugar, and adjusted the 'quantity' slider to its maximum value, 99. "They don't weigh a lot, and they're easy to chew."

Without even thinking twice, Mary swiped a black, unmarked card, which seemed to pay for the purchase in full. Those kinds of cards were generally carried by high-ranking businessmen, and were tied directly to a corporate account. They weren't credit cards or anything of the sort — it was literally a corporation asset.

The screen briefly flashed a name as it authorized the purchase — Atticus Vüqar — before it went through without issue. Mary was now the proud owner of 99 glorified sugar cubes, according to a computer on the wall. That was probably enough food for an interplanetary expedition.

"I wonder if I can get a flying thingy with this...Papa said it only goes up so far..." The girl wondered to herself, turning back to Ayem, standing and waiting for the purchase to be brought to them. "Where do they sell floaty-boats? The ones that go up into the sky." The girl blinked, "Oh, um...we needed other things first...I forgot. What was it...?"

It was difficult to tell if she had a short attention span, or actual short term memory issues.

Ayem couldn't grip Mary's hand any tighter, for fear of her own knives. But for a moment, she wanted to.

...

Well, she's a certain kind of practical, ran the thought a few minutes later as Mary justified her purchase. "Here, I can't-"

But clearly, somebody could.

"...Pay for that," finished Ayem, her lips moving without any real sound. The tension was back, but this time it was a different kind. Ayem hadn't had access to the oligarchy's wealth for some time now, but she'd been a mercenary long enough to recognise what lay behind the words 'private security'.

Corporates. 'I gotta chase after her,' Mary had said. And she'd pulled a knife...

Ayem had spaced out and it took a second for her eyes to focus back on the little fumigator, who was rapidly sending the value of the property into freefall. "Oh. Yes. I have one, actually. You can come with me. Um..." The Q1-2 wasn't an interstellar vehicle, but Ayem was only passing through Frixion, anyway. And it felt dangerous to leave behind a child she'd made a promise to.

...Dangerous. Yes. That was it.

"I don't know," admitted Ayem before she could fall back into spaciness. "We needed... Food? Lots of food." She looked up abruptly. "Oh! We're in the right place, too. Alright, food."

Ayem didn't particularly trust Mary with buying food. They wouldn't need it on an FTL liner, but left to her own devices, she had a feeling Mary would just buy herself a hundred sugar straws or something. "I think this place does sugared mango. Want some?"

She started tapping keys. "Corn chips too. And salsa." And a toothbrush. "And some drinks. Do you like bubble tea..?"

They were there for a while.

"Bubble tea, hmmmmmmm..." Mary put one finger to her forehead, and then another from her other hand, concentrating intently. "HMMMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmm...ermmmmmmm..."

"I dunno." The little girl snapped her head upwards, bouncing a bit. "I feel like I've had it somewhere before...but I can't remember...when or where..."

It was like a buzzing fly around her head that wouldn't go away. Like trying to remember a certain word for a sentence, but the more she thought on it, the farther away it seemed, as though her efforts merely scattered her own mind further. "Well, I'll have it anyway! If I've had it before, it can't be bad, right? I wouldn't drink something that tasted bad, right?"

The girl didn't seem to catch on as to Ayem's mental state. So, yes, they were there for quite a while.


Swaying back and forth, the little girl looked up at Ayem intently. The older woman was nearly three times her height, and craning her neck to make eye contact was a little uncomfortable — but she didn't mind that much. "So, whaddo you do? You have a floaty-boat, so you must move around in the sky a lot. I bet you do a lot of cool stuff all the time." Mary posited optimistically, "And— andandandandand!! I can come along!? I can go on your floaty-boat!? For reeeals!? Pinky swear!?" Jumping up and down with her arms outstretched, her body swayed back and forth while she made airplane noises. "I'm gonna be like— whooooosh!! Through the sky!! It'll be so cool, all the time!!"

Sometime while the floor had been filling up with bags of dubiously useful and dentally catastrophic goods, Ayem had slipped out, thinking that she'd have to make a bathroom excuse only to find that Mary was really good at making her own distractions. There was another bag when she came back a few minutes later, thicker and softer than the rest of their whimsical groceries.

"It's not all that cool," said Ayem later, sipping a cup of hot chocolate she'd bought from a nervous crack in the concrete outside. It had accepted her change with a dark-gloved hand before closing up for eternity. "I'm a security guard. Like the ones on train stations? Except, I do it in the air." Another sip. "You can come along when we head to the spaceliner. It's called that because it's in space and it goes in lines," she added, hoping to purge 'floaty-boat' from Mary's vocabulary at some point in the next hour.

She might be working with children, but she was still a military professional, she thought as she fiddled with the wrapping of a lollipop and surveyed her ranks of irresponsible purchases. Sergeant Outrider Ayem 'I just adopted a tiny knife maniac' Moestadja.

"We'll get there with the Kelawar. It's another kind of ship called a fighter. It's called that because it fights." That made sense, right? "But you can only fly in it if you're clean," she pressed again. "Because it... Was made by bunnies. And they like clean things."

A bulbbot pulled over outside and Ayem started packing their supplies into one of its cloves. It whizzed off to join the rest of its bulb on the main roads, leaving them only the necessities: Sugar straws and the newly-purchased bag of clothes.

It disappeared between streetlights bright, blown and replaced, passing a service station on the way. Almost nothing still ran on chemical fuel, but heavy-duty power supplies had far more applications, and wherever there were vehicles there was a need to clean and patch them.

Up on a walkway, just outside a busy shipyard, where people both came and went, Grazia stood looking over the railing, down to the streets below. Making an OK symbol with her right hand and putting it over her eye, like some sort of telescope, she surveyed the immediate area. She bared an expectant smile on her face, like a child awaiting a gift. Come on, food food food. She thought to herself, looking for a place where she could get a bite to eat. A fast food joint, a diner, a farmers market. She'd eat some weird alien food if it meant having something that wasn't the tasteless rations that she had been living off of during her time as a stowaway on that transport ship.

Darn! Grazia lightning hit her fist against the railing in annoyance, looking inconvenienced. She was unable to find one from where she was looking. Looked like it might be rations again tonight. Come on, I'm a growing girl! I need my nourishment! She said, looking through her pockets, taking out her wallet. 500 bits... More than enough for lunch. She had to look harder for a place to eat. Giving up? Just accepting defeat after one loss? That wasn't the Nannini way! Hardships like this were unavoidable for a nomad like her. Clenching her fist, her eyes literally shining with determination, she made her way across the walkway.

"Whooaaa..." Mary stared up (waaay up) at Ayem, wide-eyed, as they left the foody place. "I didn't know bunnies could make fighting robots. This changes everything ever." From anyone who wasn't eight years old, the statement probably would have come across as deeply sarcastic - but the little girl's earnestness was clear in her face. Her eyes glazed over a bit as she daydreamed about bunny-piloted mechs saving the future by flying around and being cool. So cool. All the time.

But that fragile daydream came to an end abruptly, as she realized that her state of not having showered or laundered her clothes at any time she could remember would be a barrier to entry. "I guess I gooootta, then..." She pouted, teetering from side to side as she dug her hands deep into the pockets of her soiled hoodie. "...I dunneven know where, though— Holy cupcakes!!"


<sup>"Can I tell you a secret?"

"I won't...have to keep it from mother and father again, will I?"

"I'm gonna dye my hair! I'm thinking...pink."

"Anna, you know father won't allow that..."

"Hehe, duh. That's why I'm gonna. He'll flip when he sees it!"</sup>


In that moment, Mary froze up completely. She had only seen it because she had craned her neck up to match Ayem's height. The sky, its stars blotted out by the lights of the city, taking up more than half of her vision. On the walkway above, was a sight that would change her entire life for at least the next five seconds.

"That person...has pink hair!!"

The little girl was jumping up and down, pointing excitedly towards an innocent bystander on the walkway above them. "Heyy! Heeeyyy!!" She called out as loudly as she could (which wasn't that loud — her voice became strained and crackled as it raised higher than an indoor voice). "You've got pink hair! Your hair is pink!! It's piiink!!"

She was calling out in the same tone one might use to alert someone of an oncoming car, veering in the street. A warning, desperately issued at the top of her tiny lungs, showing concern for their safety. In her head, of course, it probably made perfect sense — or, at least as much sense as anything else that made it out of her mouth. For some reason, 'pink hair' was equated with 'danger' for her, through some contrived, internal consistency of questionable logical strength.

To everyone else, she probably just looked like a raving lunatic, or an out-of-control child, or both.

@SIGINT
The next question was what she was in the mood for. What type of food sounded the best. Even some weird alien cuisine would be nice. Actually, maybe some pasta. It had been a good few weeks since she had eaten any good pasta that wasn't dry. So many options and so little money for the young stowaway.

But as she began to drift off, not really concentrating on her surroundings, Grazia immediately snapped to attention once the small child started yelling at her about something. What was this about her hair being pink? She often got comments on it, from ones about how it made her stand out to ones about how it suited her personality. But she never really got one like this. She blushed in embarrassment over being called out like this.

The girl sounded like she was freaking out. Grazia slowly tried to figure out what her deal was. Was she concerned about her pink hair or was this a case of a little kid making a big deal out of the smallest issues; the child couldn't have been older than 7 or 8 from the looks of it.

Shouting down, she tried to attest the situation. What about my pink hair?! Her tone was one of confusion with a little bit of concern. Maybe it was her maternal instincts or the fact she planned on having a child of her own sometime in the future, but whenever she saw a child freaking out, she couldn't just ignore it and walk on by. Should I give her a closer look? She said, considering going down there.

"Huh?" Mary called back, confused. Whaddaya mean whaddaya mean!? It was like she didn't even see her own hair!! "It's pink!! That's what's about it!!"

The little girl huffed, clenching her fists as her cheeks puffed out in frustration. "People can't haaave pink hair! It's not allowed! 'Cause..." She blinked, her hands hanging limp. "...'Cause...umm..."

She didn't remember.

She didn't know why she was so afraid and concerned. Something told her that this was important, that this girl was in danger, but the meaning of it, the memory behind it, escaped her, like trying to capture a wisp of smoke. "...Don't...don't people...hit you when your hair is pink?" She asked, more quietly, despite the distance between the two of them. "I thought...I thought there was a reason. That, when you have pink hair...people get mad at you, and...it's dangerous...right...?"

The woman...seemed safe. No one around her was trying to hurt her. The little girl didn't understand how that could be, with her hair as prominently displayed as it was. Ultimately, Mary was concerned with whether or not she'd be okay — as though maybe she'd maybe accidentally had pink hair that day and hadn't noticed — but everything seemed...utterly...fine. In a way that was very, very disturbing to her.

The world and her mind didn't match up.

"...I...ummm..." She nervously swayed side to side, turning her head towards nothing in particular. "...I guess I got it mixed up...is it a different color...?"

@SIGINT
She was really getting called out over her pink hair? What a strange little girl. Even looked like she was about to cry... Grazia soon realized she wasn't being called out, but the little girl was concerned for her.

Sighing and shaking her head, she tried to comfort the little girl, fast walking her way down the stairs, down to Mary's level. As she reached the bottom, it became more apparent her hair was as pink as could be. Didn't even look fake, like a wig or hair dye. Now, now... It's not my natural hair color... Got it changed some years back off planet. She said, running her hand through her hair, a smile on her face, her tone calm in order to defuse the situation. No one has gotten mad at me for it either. As a matter of fact, a lot of girls and gals like it~ Tell me it suits me.

The whole time, she wore a bright smile, her yellow shining eyes gleaming with energy. She didn't even seem bothered by the remarks on her pink hair.

A closer look of her eyes revealed their artificial nature as well. Having an odd circle-within-circle look to them, like a camera. As she comforted the girl, Grazia looked to Ayem. Another cyborg huh? Unlike Grazia, Ayem's cybernetics were more apparent. At the sight of them, Grazia had to resist the temptation to scan her. Thinking out loud, Grazia observed Ayem. These cybernetics... So crude, yet in working condition! Incredible! Grazia went silent, simply staring at the other cyborg now, as if in a trance.

Changed...

Hair color...changed...to pink?

It tickled at something in the back of the little girl's mind. She felt as though she should have remembered something at that moment, as though those words were the key to unlocking something hidden. But, there was nothing. Whatever it was that nagged at her remained vexingly out of reach.
Mary was noticeably bothered by it, sulking and shifting her feet left and right as she rattled her brain amongst the cobwebs. But as soon as a distraction came along, she was all-too-willing to discard the train of thought entirely, as she had many, many others.

"She's a fighting robot made by bunnies!" The little girl helpfully added, jumping up and down in excitement. "That's why she's so clean." The reasoning was questionable, but the observation itself was sound. Mary was covered in the desiccated remains of blood, vomit, and sputum across a well-worn hoodie — from a distance, it actually looked like a pattern in the fabric, but up close, it was easy to see the grime adorning her. Compared to that, anyone would look clean.

Her head darted back and forth between Ayem and the mysterious, pink-haired person. "I'm gonna be all clean and stuff too, so the bunny robots won't be mad at me." The little girl stated, "But Iunno where. I've never done that before."

"We'll take you to the garage," said Ayem, slipping easily back into conversation. For someone so conspicuous, she made a good job of standing aside. "Have you ever been through a carwash?"

As Mary kept up her usual running commentary, Ayem rolled her wrists for Grazia's benefit, then sheathed her hands to offer one to the stranger. "Ayem Moestadja- Glad you like them. Yours, too. Sorry about Mary here. I just picked her up." Off the street, of course. That was sufficient explanation for most people when it came to weird companions.

Pink hair, she noted along with that thought. Pink hair. Acne. Glasses. False teeth. A man named Atticus. A set of clues. There was always a set of clues.

Still, whatever breed of spirit Mary was, she clearly had powerful constancy. She was quite possibly even corporeal, given that the pink-haired newcomer had reacted so quickly.

"We'll be on our way," dipped Ayem in a slight bow. "Unless you'd like to... Help out."

A person of petite stature, their face hidden under the cloak of a black hoodie, stepped out of the shadows of a nearby alleyway. It appeared as if their body had simply materialized out of the darkness. Had it? If anyone had been watching from the other side, they’d know the answer. Fortunately for Benjamin, nobody was.

He walked at a quickened pace through the streets of Frixion Prime, his hand stuffed into his pocket, where he squeezed his wallet between thumb and forefinger. A little thin for his tastes. He stopped at a street corner, his gaze veering from left to right as he scanned the area.

I’ll go to an internet cafe, he decided. There must be something like that around. I’ll go there, run some malware, collect some credit card numbers, and then leave this planet. Having come to this conclusion, Benjamin made his way further down the street, passing by a shop with food and a group of people, and then stopped as his stomach made an audible groaning sound.

She was so filthy... Was that blood?! Bloody cybernetics usually meant one of two things: Either they were poorly applied and the person who installed them is a quack... The other is that blood isn't Mary's blood. Grazia didn't want to think about it. The best explanation was self defense; Ayem seemed too friendly to attack innocent people. She needed new clothes too. Looking between Mary and Ayem, Grazia remarked. Geez, girl, you look like you just got out of a hella messy fight; I knew that some planets can be dangerous but didn't know they could be this dangerous. If you weren't so friendly I'd be runnin' for my life. She spoke very quickly, not even stopping to take a breath.

Scanning over the cybernetics quickly, Grazia noted their condition, inspecting for damages. If there were any internal damages, her scan wouldn't be able to pick it up. Your cybernetics! You sure a clean is all you need? I know a lot about cybernetics and feel you might be in need for a repair. Crossing her arms, Grazia smirked, demonstrating her fast paced nature, she seemed to have already gotten along with the two. You two seem friendly enough, a bit weird though. I'll tag along, cuz I have no where else to go right now. If you let me take a look at those parts of yours that is. I'm Grazia, self proclaimed Cybernetics Expert She said, tapping her face near one of her eyes.

"Huh...?" Mary turned her head in confusion. "I haven't been in any fights. This is all my blood." The little girl pointed to herself with a disturbingly neutral expression. "I cough it up a lot, and it gets everywhere."

She looked back and forth between Grazia and Ayem, breaking out into a smile a jumping up and down as the girl with the weird eyes made her declaration. "New friend!! New friend!!" She chanted like a song, "Today is so cool! I got new clothes! And ninety-nine sugar straws! And I get to go through a car wash! Best day ever!!"

Her hair seemed to bounce up and down along with her, as the little girl looked up at Ayem expectantly. The talltall lady was still leading the way, after all. "Oh, oh oh, I've got cybermanetics, too! I'm just not supposed to tell anyone about them. It's a secret." She declared loudly, not wanting to be left out. "They're all in my brain and stuff and it makes me cough up less blood and die slower."

"My hands are fully functional," said Ayem, omitting the 'thank you' that would have turned a chiding tone into a catty one. She liked to give people the benefit of the doubt, even if they were self-proclaimed 'experts'. Even if the had the audacity to admit that their expertise was unqualified. "I'll let you see them later, for curiousity. It's Mary that needs cleaning."

And probably a lot more than that. It was help she'd probably never get. Some spirits were like fireworks, others candles. They didn't live longer, they just-

'...and it makes me cough up less blood and...'

-Die slower, finished Ayem.

Bleak prognosis. Still, she could at least do something about the smell.

"Time to go," she said, clapping her hands lightly and leading Mary across the street. "Grazia? Go talk to the cashbot while I help with these clothes." She tapped a few bits into a card and palmed it off to the pink-haired girl. The street was abandoned, and it wasn't exactly early anymore, so they wouldn't be bothered. "Into the whirly soap tunnel you go, Mary." She felt like she was getting a grip on the lingo. "You can take your knives, but leave your clothes. We'll get those clean some other way." Like burning.

A few minutes later, Ayem tucked away a vial of caked blood as she went through the child's pockets.

@SIGINT@Patches

@SIGINT @Antarctic Termite
It is her blood? Cough it up? Grazia's eyes widened, as her mind began to process what the child oh so innocently told her, Die slower...?! Yet despite all the blood and the prospect of death, she didn't seem to be debilitated by her condition though. Crossing her arms, Grazia tried not to press the subject further. But come to think of it, the girl's optimism despite her medical problems, reminded the pink haired engineer of someone close to her.

Grazia looked to Ayem in a mixture of confusion and concern, curious about Mary's condition. The concern and confusion soon faded once she was handed a card... with money?!

Yowza! She exclaimed, someone was trusting her with money! She had to be the good girl she was and not take this or anything... As tempting as it was. After all, Ayem promised she'd let her have a look at her cybernetics; proud of her skill and knowledge in cybernetics, she couldn't let that opportunity slip away. You can count on me, yo! I'd clean myself up, but this girl prefers showers over car washes. She said, as she approached the cashbot.

"WHIRLY SOAP TUNNEEELLLLLLL~"

Without a second thought, the little girl charged headlong into a car wash like it was a bouncy castle or a ball pit. Disappearing behind the gigantic brushes that were rotating at an honestly kind of frightening speed, she was probably never seen from again.

---

Except, she was!

One logistically over-complicated hygiene effort later, Mary was beaming with pride and standing before her new friends again, this time wearing new clothes — a plain white t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers, about as simple as simple got. Her hair was still dripping and frothing with soap bubbles, but she didn't seem to mind at all. She didn't really seem to mind anything.

Lacking her hoodie, though, one thing became incredibly apparent — this eight-year-old was armed to the teeth. Across her back, with the handle over her right shoulder, was a long bowie knife that was practically a sword for a person her size, the hilt and crossguard sporting obvious technological measures above and beyond a knife meant to cut anything normal. Accompanying it was a combat knife on her left hip — the same one that she had showed Ayem earlier — shorter, but with the same design. Alongside that, on her right hip, two ballistic knives, two replacement blades, and four vials of strangely-colored chemicals, all in a neat row on her belt. And as if that wasn't enough, in her right back pocket was a butterfly knife that looked out of place only in that it looked normal compared to the rest of her blades.

All total, this little girl had seven different ways to bifurcate things she didn't like.

"Hehehe~ Hahaha~" Still woozy from her trip through the whirly soap tunnel, Mary giggled innocently in her exhaustion. "Line-spacer~ Line-spacer~ We're gonna see the line-spa-GHHHHORK—"

...aaand promptly hocked up a good ounce of phlegm and blood out of nowhere. Shoes ruined in record time.

_{"...Whoopsie..."} Dizzily, she wiped her mouth with her sleeve, so now her shirt was dirty, too. It was becoming increasingly obvious how her previous clothes had ended up the way they did. "Line-spacer~" If nothing else, her rate of mental recovery was astounding to the point of reaching outright denial. "Is Grazie coming with us to the line-spacer, A.M.?" She asked the talltall lady expectantly, not thinking that anything was out of the ordinary about what Ayem, and very likely Grazia, was seeing at this point. "...Where'd she go?"