[Potential 3. Hopeless. Insecure. Afraid. Angry.]

Delight blooming and blossoming like the pink leaves of an orchid! Anathet blushes, unsure whether to clap or stay silent for fear of embarrassing Tia. She settles for a shy smile, the kind that's visible from sparkling eyes and the slight turn of the head even when the teeth are hidden beneath a veil and a wide-brimmed hat.

"Tia, that's a good name. Coming from Tiamat maybe? I think you're someone very special. And I think...we can be friends, Tia. We're similar, and I'm going to find a way to help you. This is the first step, but just the first. The one that lets you reach out safely and meet more people. We'll find you and, we'll change things."

Anathet reaches down, into a small little portal and pulls out a gem. A sapphire, one of her Zhianku trove. It's not magic in and of itself, but it's made perfectly, grown to withstand incredible heat and pressure, and a gorgeous blue that twinkles even in the faint light of the evening.

"Here, Tia, take this. A little gift for our friendship and a...focus I suppose, from the Zhianku. A focus for your sense of self and something to remember our bond by." She presses it into Tia's hand, confident someone that despite her shadowy nature that she'll be able to take the stone and hold it.

Only a small part of her feels a little resentment at what she's giving away, how easily Tia seems to be growing into herself, but she puts that aside because it's more important to help right now. She wants this bond and she wants Tia to be able to be...free somehow.

[Unleash Powers: 5+2+2+1(assess)-2(hopeless)=8. Marking angry to ensure a lasting effect.]

As reflective as this place is, Canada's never been able to shake the feeling that it hates reflections. She sometimes sees glimpses or angles or sweeping vistas that are beautiful because of their shattering black glass, perfect and unspoiled - except for her. Everywhere she sees the impressions of claws - damage from the lion, perhaps? Or are all these jagged edges traps for her? She was purified through destruction but the job wasn't finished - she still held onto too much of herself and the mirrors see her as a half finished job, not complete until the hollowing out is finished...

Her soft shoes toe through broken glass. She knows sleeping here is a terrible idea - but she needs to rest, and won't be able to find her way out tonight. The soft music of cracking, of things becoming smaller and sharper and even more difficult to repair, accompanies every footstep. The floor is no less cluttered here than her apartment but she doesn't even know where the clear spaces are. And everywhere she looks jagged eyes look back at her, violet bright circles and with violet dark circles of exhaustion. She'd broken this place too.

She finds a clear area - a huge piece of glass miraculously unbroken - and lies down atop it. Her head turns to the side and it seems like she's lying in the embrace of her own reflection. She looks at her with quiet reproach, and as much as she wishes she would comfort her, forgive her, it doesn't come.

So she sleeps in the vain hope that dreams will free her from her ten million eyes.

Étoile!

“Oh, you silly girl, come here.” Shakily, she guides you up onto the sheets. You’re not dressed for bed, but that doesn’t matter; she rests your head against her breastbone, which is feverishly warm, and lets the tension bleed out of her. She closes her eyes and rests her face against the top of your head and slings one leg possessively over you.

She’s out like a light before you can say a word more, and you can’t resist the music of Caphtor lulling you to sleep as hard as you try.

***

Anathet!

“Thank you,” Tia said at you. Her smile is so bright, and vulnerable, like a newborn deer. She closes her fingers around the sapphire, and then breathes out, relieved.

When she fades away, it is like unfocusing your eyes, or realizing that you’ve been seeing an optical illusion: that what looked like a face was just the way light shines between those bushes, that what was two legs tucked up underneath her is just grass. You feel a sense of aching relief, like finishing a workout, and then she is gone. And you are alone.

She didn’t even stay.

***

Canada!

You are asleep when a light, lilting laughter echoes through the fortress. You are sound asleep when a figure flits from mirror to mirror, dancing from one to the next. And you are down like a log when that figure, faceless and indistinct, takes a seat in the mirror opposite you.

“Oh, this should be fun,” they say, and now she has your face. Her eyes are an impossible orange-gold, and she watches you all night long, breathing in time with you.

She is gone when you open your eyes.

Canada!

You go down, hard, into the empty fountain, and before you can get your head straight the monster’s on top of you, pinning you down, neon blue saw-tongue lashing in front of your face as it opens its jaw full of jagged teeth, throbbing white eyes rolling madly, its rubbery flesh fully retracted from its horrid skull as it screams.

“And you’re dead.” The Cat’s acidic tone cuts through the howl, and the monster sits back up on his haunches and offers you a hand. The Cat hops up onto the fountain next to you, smooth as butter. “Can you tell me what you did wrong?”

You are, like, 90% certain that the Cat is Variance’s patronus. Variance and the Cat have the same mannerisms, the same inflection, and the same worldly-wise manner, and they both give you withering looks whenever you bring up the subject. On the other hand, the Cat’s monochrome eyes are neon green, not milky white. And Variance wouldn’t be caught dead in such a dapper little waistcoat. It’s got a tiny pocketwatch and everything!

“I reckon it was when ya let me get you to bang your shin on the fountain,” Goudan says, cheerfully. Strange beings come and go on an irregular basis here, but Goudan is a regular. He lurches about, doing what he calls important work in the upper corridors, but always is happy to provide a sparring match if the Cat calls for him. “Got skittish. Gotta get that skit all outta your system.”

“Quite,” the Cat says in Variance’s clipped sarcasm, her tail lashing impatiently. “But I’m more interested in Canada’s analysis, Goudan.”

“Right, sorry,” he says, his ruff of fur settling back around the back of his skull. “Go ahead, Cannie, tell her what you learned.”

***

Anathet!

“You will perform a one-act play in honor of the Lady Tirzah,” Auntie Rose hoarsely whispers. Her eyes glint under the cowl of her voluminous robes. Her emotions are like an entire thornbush filling up your little shrine, prickly and mean. “It is to praise her virtues and commend her in the eyes of her judges.” Who could forget that Tirzah has ~important secret police exams~ coming up? And how insufferably corrupt is throwing a party and inviting the judges over beforehand, anyhow? “You are not to take on the role of one above you on the Chain. You are not to be boring. You are not to be indecent. You have until tomorrow at sundown to offer me your script for review.”

What that really means is that she expects it tonight. If you’re on time, you’re late. You’re “not showing enthusiasm.” You’re “a concern.” Auntie Rose makes sure no concerns ever trouble the Annunaki, and she does it like a gardener dealing with dead limbs. You have a cushy job here, but piss off Auntie Rose (and become boring to the masters) and you might find yourself scrubbing toilets instead.

“I do hope you rise to the occasion, Earther,” she whines, touching your shoulder with a spindly hand, her fingers heavy with jewels. “Do not disappoint.”

***

Étoile!

Jezcha ab-Marduk is the worst. She pledged early and wholeheartedly to the House of Marduk, following in the footsteps of her father, because nothing says ACAB like a bunch of swaggering bullies. (The ab-Marduki are, like, the beat cops and prison guards to the ab-Ereshkigali CIA.) And she learned to punch down early. That’s why Tirzah’s so good at ducking out of rooms.

Today, this bullying has taken the form of telling Tamytha that the two of them are going to the Wilderness Preserve to hunt. So here you are, sitting in the close quarters of a chariot (which is more like an enclosed, fighter-jet-sized podracer with engines shaped like space horses) with the Worst Person and her nervously chittering Macaw manservant.

“Maybe if I’m lucky,” Jezcha sneers, “some animal will kill you. Then Dad will let me go kill some of them until they’re punished enough.” Tamytha sniffles and tries to take up less space. “Tranqs are fine, but you haven’t really had fun until you’ve gone animal hunting with real guns.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be able to catch anything,” Tamytha says, flatly. “I’m not very fast...”

“Of course you won’t,” Jezcha says, leaning forward. “Because you’re pathetic. Dad says you must be part Lynx. The sick part. Mom went down the Chain and made you.”

The Macaw cackles until Jezcha shoves him, choking him against his seatbelt. Outside, the Eiffel Tower is visible for a moment, flying a massive banner dedicated to the gods.

Even in her dreams she was losing to Asterion.

It was all she could do to hold the shield between them. It was like a blindfold, between her eyes and her opponent's. She couldn't see what was coming, and when she saw glimpses at the edges the shield moved faster than her conscious mind to block whatever that was. A fight was like a sensory deprivation tank being attacked by a bear, hanging helpless, staring at nothing, as bone-jarring impacts fell upon her from all sides.

But wouldn't it be easier if...

She was on her ass before she could finish the thought, before she'd realized she was acting on it, staring down the horrifyingly unpleasant reminder that this wasn't Asterion. And that losing hadn't solved anything.

Then the Cat cut in with her questions.

"I, um... well that is..."

She sighed, struggling to get back on her aching feet. No hesitation there. The celestial lion had immolated her sloth in its radiant jaws and ever since then Canada had never heard a digit preceding the word 'push ups' she didn't like. Why couldn't training involve more pushups? Pushups were awesome.

Her eyes flicked between the Cat and Goudan. What did they know? Was this a rhetorical question, forcing her to say the embarrassing thing so that she had to take responsibility for it? Was it a test, and the answer in the front of her mind was actually wrong somehow? Did they genuinely have no strong ideas and she could get away with saying whatever? What did they want from her?

This was important because she really didn't want to admit that she'd deliberately lowered her guard. That just for a moment she'd found the idea of defending herself less valuable than the idea of letting Goudan have the win.

She opted to take refuge in literality. "Well, as you said, I hit my knee. And then I lowered my shield. And then I got knocked over." That was indeed the sequence of events, Canada, good job, gold star. "Hey, can we do some more strength training next?"

[Pierce the Mask: 2,1 - +1 for mundane, -2 for being angry, so that's a two]

[Potential 3. Hopeless. Insecure. Afraid. Angry.]

What?! She wanted a completely new play written by the next day (really today) that had to be entertaining but couldn't have anything even slightly subversive or racy in it?! Who did she think she was? What the fuck?!

Anathet was not in good shape. Tia's departure had been so sudden and it left this hole in her heart. Combined with being overwhelmed before, screwing up the Phantom Thieves act in front of Marianne and her general exhaustion after the previous day most of her calm Zhianku control was focused on holding back the internal swirl of emotions long enough to get through this conversation. Anything else was totally beyond her.

Anathet then exerts a truly monumentous act of self-control as Auntie Rose touches her and doesn't teleport her directly into the temple of Marduk's trash compactor. Any omniscient observer would agree that this was a supreme act of compassion and award Anathet a sainthood on the spot.

"Fine" Anathet said, meaning that it was not fine. "No problem" meaning it was a huge problem. "I'm sure I'll have it to you early!" meaning get out now.

The second Auntie Rose was gone and out of visual range, Anathet has on her traveling cloak and her wide-brimmed hat and she is out of there! She's going into town, to the lower quarter markets where things are teaming with life. She's going to buy the sweetest goddamn alien approximation of ice cream and she's going to find some fun or some trouble, whichever one comes first.

Like hell she's working on this script, let Tirzah bribe her own judges!

When she was younger, back before the world exploded, Étoile used to hate the Eiffel Tower. It wasn't the thing itself so much (though it was ugly enough, for sure), but everything it brought with it. In particular, the tourists. Ugh, Americans. You could always tell, even when they weren't walking around with their flag on their asses. They gave themselves away with their gawking and the absurdly loud voices they used to talk to each other about everything. Many of them would have their hands clenched around pockets or purses as though this would protect them from the pickpockets they'd read about on tourist websites.

And the sunglasses, too! Why did they always wear sunglasses? Even when they would wave Étoile over to them and ask (in even louder voices, like that somehow made English easier to understand) for her to take their picture, they wouldn't take them off! What kind of photo didn't show your eyes in your moment of happiness? And then of course they'd hand her a camera or a phone, but as soon as she tried to stand on a bench or climb a tree to give them a memory from an interesting angle, they'd call her a thief and threaten to call the police on her. None of them wanted to know what she was trying to do, none of them cared that this was her talent, they all wanted the same stupid straight-on shot with them folding their arms across their chest and forced smiles on their faces, or arms crushing their children into their bodies, always from either much too close or much too far away for the picture to turn out well...

Glimpsing it now, she has to suppress the urge to sigh. Oh, how she missed Paris. Her Paris. Even the stupid parts of it that drove her insane. But it was dangerous for any slave to express even momentary discontent with their lot in life anywhere anyone could hear them, especially for a privileged handmaiden like Étoile. She wouldn't dare take the risk had it been just herself and Lady Tamytha, but with Jezcha watching, of all the people who might be? It was the most vital thing in the world for her to project absolute elation at all times.

God, what she wouldn't give to make this little brat Marianne's next target. But it couldn't be done, of course. Or, well, it could, but it was exactly the sort of misty daydream Marianne had roasted Set for. She'd put the Seneschal on high alert, possibly for the rest of her life, and for what? Revenge? Revenge would come. Being a spy meant having patience, even with terrible bullies who can't stop hurting people for even five seconds.

Étoile looks over at her Lady and feels her heart swell up with sadness. But under her soft teal and pink veil, she offers a simple smile: warm and non-threatening as she knows how to be. She leans and rests her head against Tamytha's shoulder. Look at her, Jezcha! Isn't she such a good girl?

"My Lady is so modest!" she chirps, "Every day when I wake up I'm amazed all over again by her grace and compassion, and even still she finds it in herself to downplay her gifts so effortlessly! Oh gosh, my heart is going pitter patter, yes it is! Don't worry, Lady! Even if your heart is too filled with love for you to hunt today, your Étoile will make sure you come home happy!"

Deep inside her heart, Marianne stirs just enough to roll her eyes. But she's listening more attentively now. You're a weak, pathetic suck up, little star, but this kind of boldness is good for you, yes!

Canada!

The Cat’s steady neon eyes are inscrutable, but the withering silence is almost palpable. You have disappointed her, Canada. Her bap of judgment is fierce when it finally comes.

She takes Influence over you (and thus, through the law of contagion, Variance also takes Influence, giving you Potential).

“Victory requires many interlocking factors coming into alignment, but you cannot win unless you decide to win, or someone else decides for you. Lose in your heart and you’ve already lost, and I don’t back a losing prospect. So why are you wasting my time, Canada?”

Goudan gives a low whistle and sits his shaggy butt down on the fountain next to you. “I mean, I’m still down for strength practice if you are, Cannie.”

“You can play with weights if you want,” the Cat says, her lip curling up in a sneer, “But I will bid you aideu.” She drops down and begins a stately, intent walk away from you. Leaving you as a lost cause.

***

Anathet!

The Annunaki do not buy. For that matter, they do not sell. Their economy is a vast web of theocratic obligation running on favors and agreements. They have no coins and no prices.

However, they understand that there are circumstances in which it might be useful for there to be some sort of measurement for exactly how indebted one might be to another, or how one might sum up the value of their possessions. So they permit the minting of Obligations by the Scales, an elite council of Thornbacks housed in Babylon itself.

You do not get to handle an Obligation. You might be worth an Obligation. (It’s rumored that Ètoile was worth three.) You have a pocket full of Slivers, little glossy tabs with a hole in one end for stringing on a line, rewards for exemplary service which may be redeemed at any official establishment in the markets below.

Most markets sell in bulk: food from the hydroponics and livestock blocks, textiles woven on massive industrial looms, and blocks of whatever material might be required. They are not for you, but are for stewards and handmaidens buying supplies at the demand of their family.

(Up above, there are no markets. There are art shows. There are exhibits. All the wheels of infrastructure and industry turn below, unseen and unregarded.)

So you go to a souk. They’re markets for those who live down here, those who are not allowed to see the sun. They’re company stores and red light districts and dingy noodle shops. They’re portable stalls set up by entrepreneurs coming off a twelve-hour shift in the hydroponics to sell hand-carved furniture made from rejected materials. They’re black market deals going on in the cramped corridors between apartment complexes.

When the Annunaki come down here, it is with purpose. They can be sorted into two sorts: the armored ones and the armored ones. The armored ones are ab-Marduki officers keeping the peace with a squad of janissaries or ab-Ereshkigali looming out of the shadows like evil sadist Batmen. The unarmored ones are ab-Enkiji or ab-Ishtari who need more experimental subjects from a deniable source, or ab-Shamashi working on keeping the machinery running alongside the ab-Enkiji. (Or, sometimes, daring youths “slumming it” after curfew.)

Here are the desperate, the hopeless, the forgotten. Here are the revolutionaries, the snitches, the loyalists. Here, the Thornbacks rule as their masters’ proxies.

Here, you see signs, most of them pictorial, advertising: food, company, clothing, pulp picture-books, decoration, furniture, tattoos. Here you see the ever-present Eyes of Caphtor, but one or two of them are vandalized, painted over, made unusable for the Djinn’s purposes of data mining.

Here is cyberpunk by way of Robert E. Howard.

Are you satisfied with a simple shaved ice, flavored with explosively sweet fruits from the Macaws’ home planet, sold by a human whose operation is squeezed between two stalls? Or do you want a rich, creamy sorbet served in the inner court of a Complex marked with the sigil of the House of Yellow Feathers? Or perhaps you want to duck down inside Johann’s and slam down all of your Slivers for one precious, endangered ice cream sandwich.

Maybe not that last one. You’re not tough enough to play at that bar.

***

Étoile!

Your hand is held. You are given a thankful glance from Tamytha, and Jezcha groans and starts to call you some very rude things, except, oh, look! You’re already landing! How lucky.

“This was one of their greatest festival halls, you know,” Jezcha says as you exit. She carries a sleek rifle slung over one shoulder; your Lady carries a dainty little sidearm, and you carry her long-range rifle. You’re porter, rifle stand, and moral support all in one. “And now we hunt them through it. Ha! It’s almost funny how pathetic it looks. Like a child’s attempt to paint the Temple of Ishtar.”

Disneyland Paris has seen better days. Days when, just for example, “feral” humans weren’t released inside to be hunted for sport. (You know, while the Annunaki probably do not, that the “ferals” are carefully coached. If it takes them too long to be captured, they’ll be punished. If it’s too easy, they’ll be punished. And if the Annunaki hunting them die, they die too.)

“Scared, Tamytha? You should be.” Jezcha laughs and waves over another group of hunters, friends of hers. You have a bad feeling about how she said that...

"I don't know how to want that!" she blurted.

She's frozen there for a moment in the midst of a step, hand outstretched. Then she crumples, sitting down and hugging her knees to her chest. There's more genuine defensiveness there than there was in the fight, and she looks off to the side to avoid eye contact.

"I hate hitting people," she said. "I hate hurting people. What's so special about m-" she cuts herself off. She can't say that part out loud. They wouldn't understand.

"I don't even like doing it when it's important," she said. "I have nightmares afterwards. I had..."

She bites her lip. She'd been glad when the sword broke. It had been the worst day of her life... but that at least meant she didn't have to make it any worse.

[Potential 3. Hopeless. Insecure. Afraid. Angry.]

Anathet is so tough enough to play at Johann's! Which is a thought you thinks to herself in response to the other thought that she'd be nervous going in there. That's just dumb, she's a Phantom Thief and she just fought a lynx one on one like it was nothing. So of course she's going to go get an ice cream sandwich. She hasn't tasted something that decadent since she left with the Zhianku (not that they don't have desserts, of course, but their approach to cooking in deep space is very utilitarian and something like ice cream is really an Earth specialty).

Also! She is not just going to walk in and then retreat to a corner with her precious dessert like some lame...uh...person who isn't cool and doesn't have any social relationships with other humans outside of superhero time. That is a set of words that does not describe Anathet at all! She's unconsciously got her fists clenched hidden behind the long sleeves of her robes and her shoulders are very tense, but she's not about to back down from this! She's going to go in there and buy something and talk to the bartender and maybe other people also! She's going to meet a new friend and they're going to be cute because her friends should be cute and then...uh, she'll see how things go from there!

And with that internal monologue fully taken care of her and mind made up, Anathet grits her teeth and strides into Johann's bar. Because she is extremely tough!

Étoile's ensemble today features a lower and looser ponytail than Tamytha usually prefers to see her in, with a coral hairpin tying it in place right at the base of her neck. Nods to impracticality seem to be the theme of the day. She's been dressed in a tight fitting dress in the same palette as her veil: shimmering teals and then pink accents around all the stitching. The collar reaches high on her neck so that it actually covers under the more literal collar she was put in after, while the sleeveless design has been accented with a pair of delicate silver pauldrons with long loops of soft pink silk tied through them, which would be beautiful under most circumstances but today (like her hair) they keep getting stuck on her pack.

Apparently, Lady Tamytha had been inspired by old Earth stories of chevalier, because she'd also put Étoile in an ornate silver gauntlet with impossibly intricate metalworking in all kinds of incredibly distracting spirals and loops that covered her from wrist to elbow. It was much more difficult to bend her arm wearing this than usual, so it was a lucky thing Lady Tamytha had only put on on her (dominant) left side! And then the dress itself, ooh la la! It clung tightly to every part of her except in the center, where a large diamond pattern had been chest to nearly hip level so that it exposed the underside of her breasts, her belly button, and a flash of frilly pink lace at the band of her low-cut, bikini-style bottom. Of course, it was easy for anybody who wanted to to catch flashes of those any time they wanted, since the skirt of the dress was done in a long loincloth style that trailed all the way down to a centimetre or two above the ground but left the sides of her legs completely exposed. One supposes she was meant to wear greaves or something with it, but all Étoile had to cover her legs was a pair of simple slippers that cut off at her ankles. These at least were easy enough to walk in, but honestly she would kill to teach the Annunaki about the concept of sneakers. It's been a lifetime since running has felt quite right apart from her dalliances as Marianne.

And then there was her pack, which was positively stuffed with things Étoile was sure nobody needed for hunting. Yes, there was the rifle, which was very heavy, and the sidearm (which was also surprisingly heavy), but nobody needed seven tablets outside of their home for any reason at all, much less multiple sketchbooks, much less a full picnic-style lunch and a variety of chilled wines. And why were there multiple changes of clothes? Wasn't this an afternoon trip? And then there were the assorted medicines and treatments, a soft lamp for when it started getting darker, and...

Well, to be frank, it's a lucky thing the Annunaki were so ignorant of the actual capabilities of humans. Because there is simply no way frail little Étoile could carry half of this as smoothly as she did without the aid of her enhanced strength. But nobody in the entire party even bats an eye at her load. In fact, thank goodness they weren't going shopping, or else they'd almost definitely toss an extra twenty kilos of junk into her arms before the trip home.

Étoile bobbles unsteadily as she clears the last step and puts her feet back on French soil for the first time in... merde, how long had it been? Too long. And now it had to be like this. Here was a place that should be bustling with tourists! Happy families! Darling new couples! Long lines crisscrossing this way and that way and another, and their absence made the space feel even more desolate than if they'd been in an actual prairie. Fences were starting to rust, all of the colors looked so faded, and there wasn't a mouse or a princess anywhere in sight.

She mustn't sigh! She mustn't lament or look disappointed! Étoile startles when she hears a chime coming from her wrist, but recovers as-smoothly-as-is-possible while she reaches behind her to try and fish something out of her overstuffed pack. Two somethings, actually, and it's impossible. The rifle needs two hands to hold, the pistol needs a third (would that she were so lucky), and every time she moves to set one down she gets a glare from Jezcha or her friends that makes her think she might not make it home. She winds up tucking the pistol awkwardly under her chin and pinching the rifle on her shoulder, so she can just... barely... come on..!

You may not know that it is possible to pour water into a goblet with a beslippered foot, but then you will not have been a handmaiden to an important Annunaki family before. Étoile fills it effortlessly, humming a tune she'd heard as a child about a girl who dances in the moonlight with a pack of wolves while she works. With one last herculean effort she crams the bottle back in place and stoops for just a moment to pick up Lady Tamytha's favorite goblet.

"Oh gosh, Lady!" she trills and giggles, offering the cup with a tiny curtsy even as she very nearly drops guns every which way, "Please accept this offering of fortified water! Your Étoile is sorry it's so bitter! But it's already past noon, and you need your strength, and she wants to see your eyes shine all day today!"

Canada!

The Cat regards you for a long moment. Her tail lashes dangerously. Her shining eyes are steady on you, like the lights of an oncoming ghost-train. Goudan, behind you, quails and offers you no comforting hand.

“I have killed before,” she says, scraping her claws against the tiles. There is a short shower of sparks. (Is it your imagination that they fall into mirror shards and vanish?) “One has to eat, after all.” (Because it was her job? Or— oh, right. Because she’s a cat.) “And I will not say that your inclination to pacifism is not admirable. But there are things in this world that will not roll over and play dead because you ask them nicely. There are things that want to hurt you, Canada, and everyone you care about. They are wicked.”

She comes to a decision. She is very good at that. “If you wish to be cured of your precious cowardice, if you wish to be shown the truth, meet me in the Sealed Tower. Bring seven flawless jewels.” Then with a flick of her tail she is gone.

“I think you should go,” Goudan says. “Like, look at it this way, right? Either you go and she convinces you to kick ass sometimes, or she shows you her big show and you decide to stick to your guns which you’re not gonna shoot. Either way... I think you’d be happier, Cannie.”

And there’s the kicker: both of them want you to be the best you you can be. This is just how they know how to express it.

***

Anathet!

BAM!

The door to Johann’s slams open. Like most of the doors down here, it’s hinged, not powered by Caphtor; the force with which it hits the dented metal wall is enough to make you jump. Then a man lunges out at you.

Wait, no, correction, now that you’ve dived out of the way: he was thrown out at you. Oh, gosh. People actually do that here? That’s, like, the sort of thing that happens in movies. The guy is a crumpled, whimpering mess on the stairs, one of his hands held at a very uncomfortable angle.

“Don’t bother coming back,” the bouncer(?) says. Her voice is low and raspy, and her knuckles are bloody. “Shithead.”

Then she notices you, tucked up against the wall in your oversized hat and robes, and squats down to eye level to get a better look at you. It only takes her a moment to make up her mind.

“You shouldn’t be down here, honey,” she says in a Talking To A Lost Kid voice, her hands on her thighs. (Thighs that, not to be insensitive to Mr. Shithead, could kill a man.) “Are you lost? I can show you how to get to the Complex.” Her accent is as thick as Marianne’s, and about as, uh, potent.

Did I mention her hair? Like, everybody who’s not an asshole knows you don’t touch people’s hair without their permission, but it’s like a dark halo around her head, framed perfectly in the doorway. Behind her is loud rock-and-roll and laughter and smoke. You definitely have time to scamper back up those stairs if you’re scared.

***

Étoile!

Tamytha is wearing what passes for athletic wear among Annunaki nobility: a wispy veil with a weighted hem, her hair pulled back into an elegant bun (by someone’s clever fingers), a tight shoulderless top showing off her (lack of) muscle, and a long loincloth similar in style to your own, revealing glimpses of priceless false-scorpion silk drinking in the light. She looks gangly, even for an Annunaki, like a scarecrow or a movie monster, all too-long too-thin arms. But when she takes that goblet and drinks through the straw (Annunaki straw technology is very advanced, naturally) she can’t help but let the corners of her mouth curl up.

(Annunaki emote more with their faces than you’d expect. The trick is that they get the veils you can see through; you don’t. You’re not pretty enough.)

The gratitude. The way she cups both hands around it like a dork. The wind flashing you a peek of those wickedly dark shorties. It’s enough to make a girl’s heart all twitterpated, isn’t it?

“Thank you, little star,” she says, handing the goblet back to you and taking the sidearm. It’s meant to hang a little impractically from her belt, you see. “Did you ever come here? If you did, I’ll let you lead. You’d know all the best places to hide, after all.” And she smiles at you like you’re the only girl in the whole wide world.

"Hm? I... oh! Oh yes, of course! My parents brought me here when I was small! And a second time to celebrate my si... a-as a reward. This was a place for families, you see. There were costumes and characters and parades, places to play and too-sweet foods and drinks you would never ever make room for at any other time. And best of all, huge, grand rail cars that would carry you through the sky in great loops until you felt your stomach squeeze inside you and just swoop, and... ah."

Étoile trails off into nothing, and suddenly becomes intensely interested in her own feet as they scuff little patterns on the ground. She's been staring again. She's only just realized. Ah, zut, zut, et zut! Bad Étoile, stop noticing! Sweet as she is, the Lady is still of your enemy, the time will come when you must tear down everything she knows! Do not make Marianne's work harder by admiring her charms! So what that her shoulders are delicate and lovely? So what that her smile is sweeter than cake? Do not love her awkwardness, Étoile, do not let your heart race at the sight of her gangly legs! Do not become attached to everything that separates her from other Annunaki! Have you already forgotten why you're here? Do not!

...Besides, if she keeps this up she'll make trouble for Lady Tamytha and herself. She should be mad at herself for how well the thought motivates her, but even Marianne is silent. She lifts her head again with a melodious giggle at her own expense.

"I am sorry, this must all be very silly and boring for you. Compared with the majesty of your society, I'm sure none of our toys would have interested you for more than a moment. And of course that place is gone now anyway. Thank goodness your people found a use for it more, um... suited? To, like, your stature? Tee hee!"

Étoile leaps forward with a ridiculous two-legged hop. It's an awkward and ungainly way to move, and with the heavy pack on her shoulders she has to wobble and wave her arms about in a panic to avoid spilling over. Silly Étoile! Silly lamassie! Silly girl with no room inside her head for sadness or to think through the consequences of why she's here today. She recovers her balance, and gives a tiny bow.

"Well then! It's a fun fun fun day ahead of us, so if Lady wishes it please follow your guiding star! She will show you all the hidden places humans would think to squeeze themselves inside of!"

Her gait is wasteful and mincing, wandering in serpentine patterns this way and that. Every few steps, she skips. It's a goofy way of moving that gets her nowhere fast, with many glances backwards to see if Lady is keeping up. She won't need to strain herself to keep up this way, without it seeming like Étoile is hanging back to make up for Lady's... erm, shortcomings with her stamina. For a minute, maybe two, maybe ten, or goodness could she be all lucky to make it last all day? But for however long she can, she'll help her Lady fit in. Just another noble and her silly little handmaiden, the envy of those assembled.

Her stomach dips in a way that has nothing to do with roller coasters. How was she supposed to do this? She couldn't really let Tamytha shoot anybody, could she?

[Potential 3. Hopeless. Insecure. Afraid. Angry.]

Anathet's gaze is at the man on the ground, then it slowly tracks upwards to the gorgeous bouncer. Oh dang, that hair must take so much work, and her aura, there's some reds mixed in there from having to beat up the guy, but she's got this beautiful blue and gold confidence swirling back there that kind of matches Anathet's own preferred colors.

She blushes, which she's sure the bouncer will take as the shyness of a lost child. She's not going to let this stop her though, no no no! Anathet shakes her head, which again, probably looks like a lost kid denying it. "I'm just short" she says, trying to get her voice back. She is not doing well at presenting confidence, but that's fair since she's not really feeling confident so much as reckless. So lean into it, right? "I came here to come here, and I can take care of myself, don't worry." She's pouting beneath her veil a bit, but her legs and her shoulders are set forward in a way that says I'm stubborn and won't take no for an answer.

So yeah, the bouncer is in the way and Anathet looks at her with a mixture of stubborn determination and not some small attraction. "Maybe, if you're not too busy, you can show me the place though?" Oh no! Was that too forward? The bouncer's going to patronize her now, right? Ugh, better brace herself for this.

She flattened herself against the cliff face as the wind howled. It had a malevolent hooking motion to it, trying to get around her to the side and peel her from the cliff face. Inch by inch she progressed, scrambling as quickly up the cliff face as she could in the wind's lulls. Her heart struck in her chest when her hand reached nothing but air, and then slapped down on a rough and flat surface. One final struggle and she rolled onto her back on the mountain peak, hands fastening around the brilliant sapphire, struggling for breath as she stared up at the pale blue ocean above her. She watched as whales broke the surface above her and caught her breath and senses in the mountaintop cold.

Was it cowardice? Was the Cat right? What kind of hero wouldn't fight? Perhaps she'd been spoiled, leaving others to do the hard work. And it was true that her reasons for not fighting were selfish...

She crouched down, coiling her muscles underneath her - and leapt. As she jumped she passed from gravity altogether and floated weightless in the sky above the mountain, subject to the breeze. She folded her arms in front of her as she passed into the gravity of the ocean, momentum reasserting itself and dragging her straight downwards into a magnificent dive. She slashed into the water like a knife and swam down, down, amidst the silvers and magentas of fish and coral.

Hadn't the lion tore away her weaknesses? When those claws had torn through her they'd caught on everything that had held her back. But it had left this feeling with her. Didn't that mean that this feeling was pure? Wasn't she, ipso facto, the greatest and most perfect version of herself as sculpted by the rending talons of the divine beast?

Her hands sank into the soft sand at the ocean floor, illuminated by a thousand anglerfish. From silt as fine as air she drew forth a shining amethyst, such a radiant colour that it turned the black into violet. She set it onto her belt alongside the sapphire and then began to dig with her hands in the sea-floor sand. Deeper and deeper, until the earth cracked open and she fell into the molten depths of the underworld.

Hell awaited her here, fiery and mighty. Vast industries, molten metal and molten earth, great rolling ramps that engines moved down with ceaseless purpose. The water stayed above knowing that it had no place her, and she stood upon the ceiling above the roads and conveyors. She leapt and ran with surreal swiftness against the flow. The conveyors pulled her in the wrong direction, the stampeding stone bulls came at her headlong, the ramps were all uphill and every motion brought conflict. On she ran.

There were three possibilities. Either she was perfect, she was not perfect, or she had been perfect but had somehow acquired a flaw. But which was it? She trusted the lion. She couldn't doubt it's gift. It had freed her from her shell of flaws, let her rise above everything that had held her back. But had it brought her into line with platonic perfection, or had it raised her to its ideal of perfection, or had it raised her to her ideal of perfection? Something foreign had gone through her mind and made changes - changes she'd craved, changes she celebrated. But now she had to decide if she was going to stand by those changes or continue to evolve...

She tore the ruby from the claws of the dragon. It smiled at her and shifted aside to reveal the sunlit passage out of the earth's depths. She emerged blinking into the light above a city with tangerine rooftops. It was a place of vines and waterfalls and verticality, a spiral staircase up towards the distant sun. She took a breath, whirled herself onto the back of a horse, and touched her heels to it, driving it at full pelt through the streets of the city. It leapt over wagons, darting through narrow alleyways, dream-creatures leaping from its path as she charged, up and up, galloping across rooftops as often as she crossed cobbled streets.

Maybe she was distracting herself with all of this. Maybe this was all besides the point. Maybe this wasn't about the lion, or even about her. Maybe... it was about Tirzah? Perhaps everything was in the end. Tirzah, clever and acidic. Tirzah, honest and wise. Tirzah, the princess she'd fought to save, Tirzah, the destination of this great journey...

The artist's brush whirled. The orange of the rooftops caught on a whirling brushtip, drawn up and struck out onto paper in a whirl. As she stepped back to admire her work, Canada's hand reached onto the canvas to pull the apricot gemstone free and set it onto her belt with its sisters. And then she was climbing again, up past rows and rows of paintings, going up forever. Up to the centre of the dome, and then out and up along the flagpole that went towards the sun itself. She lifted herself, legs swinging about acrobatically, and then she came up to stand on the metal flagpole like it was a tightrope. She walked, arms stretched, only the sky above and beneath her as she walked from the city to the sun.

She stepped down onto the fields of golden grain that made up the surface of the sun. She hefted her backpack, heavy with everything she needed, and walked. The wind cut across the vast fields and gently rolling hills as she pressed her way slowly through the rolling yellow ocean. Night time came as she passed to the dark side of the sun, so she cleared a space and made camp, sitting alone by a small campfire and tent, staring at the stars until morning. Then she was up again and continuing her trek.

Tirzah who she should have stopped.

That was it, wasn't it? If she'd had her sword then how could she justify not having used it to save the world? How could she have had a blade and kept it sheathed? If she could hurt people then that meant... logically, inevitably, that she'd at some point have to hurt Tirzah who started all of this. Once she accepted that power she'd have to follow it through to its logical conclusion.

She picked the topaz shard from amidst the shards of grain. This one stalk, alone amongst all the millions, had grown a perfect gemstone. Such was this place it had been all but indistinguishable from everything around it. But this was the end of the plains, and ahead loomed a vast and twisted forest, branches interlocking and only sharp angles of sunlight cutting through to a surface laid with moss. She cast aside her backpack, her jacket, tore her dress into a short skirt.

Each footstep was so soft, falling upon gently flowering moss. Above the wind spoke in clinking clatters as green glass bottles impacted on each other. This place was a descent, jumping down and down along the mighty and roiling chains of roots. The sunlight was dimmer and dimmer, dark green except for those moments that it wasn't. Distant clouds rolled across the sky, making the light in this living cavern turn on and off. Those spots where trees had fallen were explosions of new life, hundreds of tiny trees and vines eagerly stretching up to drink deeply of those puddles of light.

It was clear to her now that she'd been the one who'd broken her blade. It hadn't been a fortunate coincidence. It had been deliberate. She'd tried not to think about it. Tried to gloss over it mentally. But she hadn't wanted to make that choice so badly that she'd made it subconsciously and pretended it was fate.

Could it be undone? Had she permanently cut that part of her off? Had she purged something from herself in the same way that the lion had? If it could be undone, did that mean that the other flaws she'd freed herself from could come back too? Had the lion missed a vice, or had she destroyed a virtue?

She took the emerald from the cauldron in the woodland hut, the heat from the broth leaving her hands an angry red. She stared into the reflection for a long moment, looking at herself with helpless honesty. She blinked and was on the other side of that reflection and when she looked up she was in the city of night, dark and sleek and modern and lit with streetlamps. She hugged her bare shoulders against the chill as she walked through the dark, into and out of the office buildings still illuminated in pale blue light.

Goudan was wise, in that same way Asterion was. He'd said that by the end of this she'd either change or decide not to change, and either way she'd be done with these thoughts. But despite meditating on it for an adventure of 70,000 leagues she didn't feel a single step closer to a decision. All she'd learned was the lengths she was prepared to go to in order to avoid it. The right thing to do felt so inevitable. It felt so necessary. Save the world, blade in hand. As soon as she held that blade there'd be no stopping it, no excuse that could slow her. But at the same time she was breaking her very self to prevent the inevitable from beginning.

She plucked the indigo gemstone, a shard of liquid darkness, from the government computer screensaver that was still filling the shadowed office with light. Seven flawless jewels, the raiment of a princess. She wished they'd guide her. She wished her heart knew the answer, deep down, and would tell her in love and light.

But these were as silent as she, leaving her lonely, confused feelings to voicelessly whisper.

She stared up at the Sealed Tower. Perhaps here she'd find her answer.

Étoile!

Oh, you silly little thing! You're not going to kill them, don't you worry. Unless you tranquilize someone and then they fall off a high place and crack their head open on the desolate pavement but, haha, don't think about that! If you think about that, if you think about how both you and your target are putting on an elaborate act on behalf of the Annunaki, that you're not so different from the teenagers who used to work here putting on a show for visiting tourists, you might just let out a tiny adorable scream. No, no, it's much better to think: where would someone hide in this place? And, more importantly, where are you comfortable leading Tamytha?

The tunnels are right out. They're exposed, now, the careful veil that Mickey Mouse drew over them dilapidated or grown too wild. The close quarters, the many doors, the darkness: no, no, no! That's likely where Jezcha and her friends will be playing, too, rooting out those who think they might be able to creep down as far below as they can and hide. Or, worse, those who want to count coup. Surely not all of those chosen to be prey meekly accept their fate...

That thought is why you hug the left side of the Main Street and avoid staying out in the open too long. That, and the sun is so exhausting for your Lady! You hook left and continue into Frontierland. Ah, there! A flash of motion! Someone darts inside the Haunted Manor-- or perhaps it was simply one of the many wild ducks that roam free here?

Speaking of wild ducks, a sharp squeak from behind you alerts you to the fact that several of them have taken offense with Tamytha coming too close; they are batting their wings and honking loudly, and poor Tamytha doesn't seem to know what to do about them! It's your time to shine, little star!!

***

Anathet!

The bouncer steps aside, letting you march victoriously forward. Then she holds out her hand and you run right into it, and, wow. Uh. She's really strong. "I'll be keeping an eye on you," she says, and it's really hard to tell whether that's a threat or flirting, but she's definitely amused at your determination, and, gosh, wouldn't it be nice if somebody actually took you seriously for once?

Inside, there's a giant novelty freezer in the shape of a predator from the Lynxes' home planet, huge and hulking, behind the bar. And inside that is the white gold wrapped in chocolate. All you have to do is walk up to that big, scary-looking German behind the bar, with the bouncer watching you, and impress her. Er. Impress him, and hand over your savings. The ones that nobody here, absolutely nobody here, would try to palm off you while you weren't looking, and--

You're tripped halfway to the bar. "Awww, hey there," a smarmy young man says. "Sorry about that, let me help you up..."

He's totally going to try to pick your pocket, and the bouncer's totally watching to see what you do, and you're pretty sure you just scuffed your palm on the rough floor, and your robes are billowing around you, uuuugh. You have to show off! Prove that you're tough enough to hang with the lowest of the low! And that you don't need the bouncer to come and save you!! And in fact that you are very cool and she should totally hang with you once her shift ends!!

***

Canada!

This is the first time you've seen the sun here.

It writhes in orange-gold light in the sour black sky, high above the telescope's vast lens. There is a shadow in the heart of the sun, but it's impossible to look at directly. The telescope is pointed directly at that heart. There are seven slots all around the eyepiece, which is dark and clouded.

The Cat is waiting for you, sitting beside the telescope, licking her paw. She looks up when you walk up the stairs into the dusty, long-deserted observatory, but does not smile. "Acceptable performance," she says, crisply. "Now place the jewels in their stations. It is the only way for you to see."

The telescope is a huge, brassy thing, over-engineered and dusty with age. There are probably a hundred lenses inside of it, as evidenced by the many wheels and dials on its sides. Luckily, the Cat's probably already handled the calibration: all you need to do is set the jewels in the slots and trust her. Look. Stare at the shadow in the heart of the sun like an eagle.

The closer you come, the more weight hangs on you. Destiny or dread, one or the other. Once you look, there will be no going back.

Destiny or dread, she needed to know. Destiny or dread, her own feet had lead her astray. Destiny or dread, at least she'd be blessed or cursed.

She set the gems of seven dreams into their places. Light broken into seven colours - and now she was to look into the source from whence they each came. It should be a process that felt as mystic and grand as the quest to acquire them but somehow it didn't. There was no ceremony or ritual here and that disappointed her. Shouldn't she have to sing? Or kneel? Or at least change her clothes from this simple adventurer's dress, stained with grass and fire and mountain-ash?

Ah well. Just a reminder that whoever's dream this was, it wasn't really hers.

[Potential 3. Hopeless. Insecure. Afraid. Angry.]

Anathet glanced back towards the door. She had kind of hoped, well, what had she been hoping exactly? That the bouncer would walk with her up to the bar? Like, what, her mom?! What was she, five, did she need someone to hold her hand? She felt blood start rushing to her cheeks and she was sure a blush was appearing underneath her veil. Ugh, no that was dumb, stop being dumb, Anathet! But the bouncer kind of had held out her hand and that had been cool and nice even as a trick. So now she'd made a fool of herself but got close to the bouncer and her mind was swirling and she really hoped that in the poor lighting and with her big hat that nobody could see how red she was. She wanted to sink into the floor, but that was a terrible line of thought because she could and that just made her want to do it more!

So, she was glancing backwards and thinking about how she didn't know what to think without paying attention when the smarmy idiot tripped her. He goddsdamn tripped her! Pulled her right out of her reverie before she got sweets or was done looking back and right mid-blush! She was practically all tangled up inside herself and some fucking jerk tripped her. Oh how she wished she had Marianne's super strength!

Anathet let out a sound that was something like a soft growl and settled for leverage instead. She'd just dueled an inquisator's lynx yesterday, step off fool! Being short, she had a low center of gravity and this idiot was already bending over to get close to her. So, all she had to do was let herself pull backwards and his weight fell right over hers. It pulled her hat off, but also sent him into a face-first tumble right over her back and into the wooden floorboards. Probably with a slide forward into some folks near the bar with all that momentum.

The hat coming off pulled loose Anathet's hair, some it flowing into her neck and shoulders as a few loose strands bounced and curled around her ears and over her cheeks like little vines. Embarrassingly, her remaining dark blush was visible for all to see, and she had to grab to make sure her veil wasn't loosened!

She gave the idiot a kick when he landed, pushing his legs off the long fabric of her robe, which she promptly yanked up without a word, then reached down for her hat while trying not to take her eyes off the bouncer or flinch, cry, or blush even worse. This was so embarrassing!

Étoile stares at the entrance to the haunted mansion with a sour look hidden under her veil. It bothered her that every decision felt like a wrong one. Go inside? Could be a trap. Might be a duck. Hard to say which would be worse. And even then, if not, if she'd just seen a compliant and ready-for-catching person? It still didn't... listen, Lady might be silly and sweet, and tranqs are tranqs, but Étoile did not want her hunting anybody.

She'd had a plan, when she woke up this morning. It was a pretty simple plan, too! She'd get here with Lady, tell her stories about human hunting traditions and then help her climb onto the roof of an old concession stand or something and just... wait. Eventually, she'd break out a parasol to keep Lady Tamytha out of the sun for too long, she'd arrange a picnic (it was all in her pack anyway), and they'd sit there together talking and letting the day pass them by. Probably no humans (feral or otherwise) would come within a thousand meters of the pair of them.

But then Jezcha happened. Well, the trip was her idea in the first place, the problem is that her friends happened, too. Terrible things happened when those disgusting pigs gathered in numbers, and if Tamytha came up empty handed they'd feel provoked for certain. Best not to think about it. Best not. Don't think about the whips or the big, heavy gauntlets they put on for punishments, don't think about how easy it would be for them to switch to lethal ammunition to teach Her Ladyship a lesson in why you couldn't afford to be soft with humans. Or if they... non, Étoile. We are not thinking about this, remember?

Behind her, there's a squeak, and then a chorus of angry honking. And before she can form another thought Étoile has already spun around and run three paces in the other direction, 'hey hey'ing and banging the heavy rifle she's still holding against the metal of her gauntleted hand. She is the brave chevalier riding forth to do battle with demon mallards on behalf of her Lady.

"Ah! Ah! Go, shoo, shoo! Leave her alone, you brutes! Little fiends! Have you forgotten the French know your secret? Get away before I remind you how good you taste with orange sauce!"

Fighting off wild ducks is a contest of wills. Either you convince them you are big and scary, or they convince you how much it hurts to be bitten by duck bills. Which is a lot! But these ducks, ah! Poor fools! Not one of them can stand against the soul that cages the brilliant fires of Marianne. They squawk in protest and flap away to parts unknown, where if there's justice in the world they'll introduce Jezcha's butt to their brand of pain.

And Étoile, wearing her mask with pride, gives Tamytha a bow and a hidden smile before she stoops to one knee and kisses Her Ladyships hand through her veil.

"Are you alright, Lady? Goodness, that was close!"

Canada!

There is a shadow at the heart of the sun. Look closer. There is a city in the heart of the sun. It is a thing of dreadful spires and terrible want. Look closer. It is a gnarled hand grasping outwards, each tower a finger. It is a terrible black that defines itself against that which it occludes. Look closer.

There are five thrones. They are seated there. Your eye waters. There are five thrones and five shadows.



***

Anathet!

You send the idiot flying into a table, with a little more force than you meant. Which is bad, because there were some sullen Salamanders drinking at that table. And Salamanders may drink soporifics, but that just makes them crankier when it’s disrupted.

They come boiling out at you, tails lashing and many arms flexing, and you need to do something about what’s going on, now! Show the bouncer that you’re a big girl, that you can handle yourself, that you’re not about to cry! She’s already on the move, halfway to you, so you only have a moment to really, really make an impression!

Or stand there and get a fist the size of your head to the face. That works too.

***

Étoile!

Tamytha’s veiled smile is relieved and shaky, and her eyes are so soft and dark and lovely, you could melt into them. “Thank you for handling the wildlife,” she says, sweetly. “Let’s... let’s find a place where we can sit and consider our hunting strategies.”

You lead her over to an abandoned restaurant that once advertised American Frontier Foods, entering first and scanning it for traps. From there, it’s easy enough to help her up the stairs to the outdoor eating area, where threadbare umbrellas still offer some shade from the sun.

“I wish we’d brought a Lynx,” she says, crumpling into a metal chair. “I shouldn’t expect you to do the tracking, even if you are a native. You don’t have the nose for it.”

She reaches out and boops you right on the veiled nose with a gentle giggle. “Even if you are my precious little lamassie! Would you like to use your sniffer to find treats for Lady, hmmm?” There’s so much affection in her voice, even if it is innocently condescending.