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

Anathet blinks as the two salamanders advance on her, their hulking upper arms looming over her. Their auras had a just awful mixture of grayish brown stupor along with tinges of red and orange as they grew angry. Oh, what had she done? What had she done? Part of her did want to just start crying. She was causing so much trouble and she'd just wanted an ice cream sandwich and to keep chatting with the cute bouncer! Yes, she was cute, shut up!

She spared a glance over to the bouncer, who was suddenly advancing herself. Was she mad, was she going to stop the Salamanders, the sleezeball, or Anathet? No time, gotta act now or else eat a punch to the face from somebody!

Billowing navy robes sweep outward with a flourish as Anathet pulls them with a practiced arm. "Sorry, sorry, I don't want any trouble" she says, using the flaring robes to block the path of most of the eight arms now coming at her. It's not that they'll stop anything, they're just cotton robes, but all that fabric is hard to see through, easy to get tangled up and forget where the little person is in the midst of all of it. And Anathet, well, she was very experienced at fighting as the shortest person around.

She bends her knees and moves with a low stride that drops her shoulders down lower than the robes. Her forward movement then pulls them downwards just as a few of those salamander fists get caught up in them. Now, you'd think with four arms that the salamanders would be free to still hit her, but up close like this with a couple arms pulled out of position, they have to be careful not to cross themselves up. A reckless punch or two and they'd throw their balance off, just like the sleezy guy.

"Seriously, no trouble, let's just all be friends, okay?" Anathet says, stepping into the Salamander furthest from the door with a low shoulder into her knee. She's got one arm down trying to pull out of the cloak, another two trying to swipe at Anathet at two different spots, and she just goes right over in a half circle. This, unfortunately, sends her into a couple humans trying to stay near the bar and avoid the whole thing and pulls Anathet further into the establishment. But, she's out and moving away from the second Salamander even as the bouncer closes on that position. Hopefully her backup dancer has this taken care of!

She didn't so much look upon the Horse-Headed God as she placed herself between it and the world.

A shadow on the sun. The outline of something enormous and terrible. A... violence and intensity that she could feel from here. It wasn't the brutal cruelty of the Bull-Headed God destroying things weaker than it, it wasn't the aloof menace of those who spy and subvert and break. This was like her - a terrible vision of her. Broken just a little further. Pushed to the point where the pain became funny. Where regret and honour and love were transmuted through the terrible alchemy of madness into laughter.

This wasn't strength that she was staring at. It wasn't a shadow blocking out the sun.

It was a pit.

Deep and wide and in the centre of the road she was walking upon. A hollow place carved where light should be. She didn't know how she'd avoided that emotion so far. Had she already touched on it? Was she already in the process of falling into it and just hadn't hit the bottom yet? If she thought about it she could feel that same laughter welling up inside the darkest place in her soul, and who was there to save her from it? Anathet had said that these weren't the first High Gods...

She pulled her eye away from the telescope - biting her lip, fearful tears glistening. Oh, stars, of all the things that could have been at the end of the Great Chain. She'd thought the Annunaki at least had the direction right - that the chain went up instead of down.

"Uhuh! Uhuh! lamassie is good at finding treats! Watch, Lady! Watch!"

Étoile's voice drips with saccharine as she carefully sheds her heavy pack and places it gingerly on the ground. The second that finger touched her nose, she was doomed. There's work to do, appearances to maintain, moral quandaries to defeat, people to tranq, and quite honestly probably also some sort of incredibly mean prank to 'accidentally' thwart. And that's to say nothing of all the planning and prep work she needs to keep in her mental load today so she's ready for this evening's chores!

Buuuuuuuut~

Lady said it's playtime! She's not wearing her special outfit but she still gets to be lamassie! Lady's silly little pet who keeps her heart and the smile on her face! She doesn't need to be smart! She doesn't need to juggle all the expectations everyone has for her all the time! She can relax, 'cause she just needs to... oh! She's supposed to find treats for Lady! Sniff sniff!

Even under a veil, the silly smile plastered on Étoile's face is easy to see. Vapid is the wrong word for it. But if you heard her say she hates this, you wouldn't need powers of the heart or mind to know she's lying. Are there treats over here? She prances away on silly, bouncing feet and pokes about at another table. Sniff sniff, sniff sniff! Nope, no treats here! She trots off to another, and hops on top of it! Sniff, sniff sniff! Nope, not here either!

They're not under the worn out umbrellas, nope! Not under the chair, nope nope! Where are Lady's treats? Are they hidden by her feet? Sniff sniff! Lady's giggles are music that sets Étoile's heart on fire. Every bit of her is melting, melting, melting into little pools of bliss. The stiffness in her back that's been there ever since Marianne took the chains to her finally unclenches, and when she coils around the table it's with liquid grace. Her eyes are happy eyes! Her smile is just the cutest! Her mincing little prance elicits so much praise from Lady she thinks she might float off into the sky!

She's halfway to the stairs back toward the kitchen when she stops and smacks her head on the palm of her hand! Silly lamassie! Check Lady's bag if you want Lady's treats! She makes a big show of rooting around in there with her face, top down and bottom up, sniff sniff sniffing until she (very carefully) pulls herself free and fishes out the three containers full of pre-prepared food she knows are in there. Lady's tummy is very delicate! She can't just eat whatever lamassie finds in this place, silly!

She trots back and lays the spread across the table, pausing every so often with a little look that's begging for something she hasn't quite earned yet. These are good snacks! The best snacks! Cool and refreshing! Spiced so very delicately! Covered with rich cream! lamassie can't remember the names for any of these foods, but she knows they're Lady's favorite, yes they are! Her little picnic is even nicer than Étoile dreamed it would be!

Because? When she's finished? lamassie plops down on the ground with her legs folded under her and rests her head on Lady's thighs. This is her favorite playtime position. The Annunaki are naturally warmer than humans, so resting her head here feels just like burying her face in a sweater fresh from the dryer! It's soooooo nice! She snuggles herself in nice and close, and stares up at her Lady with the most soulful eyes she can.

Call her a good girl? Please?

Anathet!

The bar is a swirling maelstrom of chaos, one you flow through like water through rocks. You redirect attacks flawlessly, shroud yourself, and generally act like a ghost of bar brawls. The only thing that surprises you is when you bump into the bouncer, who’s wrestling down a Salamander.

Your eyes meet. She looks exasperated and sweaty, but when she looks at you, her eyes don’t look angry, but rather... well, her aura is that of someone watching a small, yappy dog do zoomies in the living room. She’s still underestimating you!

And that’s when there’s the sharp whistle of janissaries. They’ve arrived to break up your bar fight! By beating everyone senseless until they stop resisting. And they’re definitely not going to care who started it or who’s a bouncer or not!

***

Canada!

Right before you pull away from the vision of that shattered god, they look up. You catch a glimpse of a bloodshot eye, wide and staring, peering out from between trembling fingers.

You are seen. Only for a moment, and maybe they won’t recognize you, it’s not like they’re an actual god, but your fight-or-flight reaction kicks in hard. There are things that should not see you, and they are one of them.

“Tell me what you saw,” the Cat says, primly. She is very intent on you. But her gaze reminds you of that wild eye, that moment of revelation.

***

Étoile!

Tamytha rests her hand on your silly little head and smiles, her face crinkling into delight. “You’re such a good girl,” she says, her tone light and lilting. “You’re the best lamassie a girl could ask for.” Her thumb rubs a circle on your face, gentle and adoring.

“I wish we could just play here, lamassie,” she adds, and you know better than to let anyone else ever hear those words. “I could take you on a walk, and you could tell me about all your quaint little customs. These buildings... they’re connected to your myths, aren’t they? Your festivals and your legends. I recognized the iconography of your Bears— what did they symbolize? Strength, wasn’t it? Oh, you could tell me all of that, and it could just be you and me...”

Yes! This is it! This is your chance to tell her how much you want that, too! How nice it would be to pack up the awful rifle and the pistol and stop caring about the hunt, and just walk her around the park, kept on a leash that’s never yanked or pulled taut, explaining the memories and stories. You could tell her about Walt Disney, and share your favorite stories with her (and which were those, again?).

You open your mouth to speak, and that’s when the tranquilizer dart hits you in the rump.

Canada is outside the Sealed Tower. At the base, on the stone drawbridge over the river of fire, hand over her heart - shaking and mortified. Oh no. It had happened again.

Her speed was a strange and inconsistent thing that didn't operate fully under her control. It wasn't a linear acceleration, it had to do with the speed of her thoughts - and she never moved faster than when she was afraid. She'd once watched a horror movie with Tirzah and Asterion and had jump scared herself two suburbs away and had never been able to live it down. She took deep breaths, heart still pounding, and then groaned with her hands over her forehead and began the long, slow slog back up the stairs.

She slumped back into the room under the withering gaze of the Cat, swallowing and flinching back under that eerie intense stare. Oh boy. Oh damn. Terror and humiliation swirled in her head and she did her best to focus on the humiliation because that at least probably wouldn't kill her.

"The, uh, Horse Headed God," she said. "It saw me too. It's..." she swallowed. She was already dying of shame, it wasn't the moment to start giving her weird dumb ideas about how it was more a mental state than a single person. "It startled me," she finished lamely.

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

Ah, oh no! She couldn't be picked up by janissaries. She'd be in so much trouble! It would embarrass the Seneschal's estate and Auntie Rose would find out instantly even if they didn't call her to come get Anathet after it was done! Then Auntie Rose would know she was playing hookie and she'd get in so much trouble! Plus, this would completely ruin her reputation as a monk. She had to...had to make this not her fault somehow.

Ah, she had it, she could be forgiven for trying to get an ice cream sandwich if everyone thought that she had just been swept up in all this. Silly human sentimentality! The mystical Zhianku monk so caught up in her nostalgia and contemplation that she didn't even look where she was going. Oh they'd all chuckle. Auntie Rose would fume and punish her, but in a patronizing sort of way. "Oh so young still" she'd say, while assigning Anathet intensive gardening and cleaning duties that would consume her entire day and place her under supervision at the estate for the next several days or even a week. "You have potential, but you need to learn proper diligence. We can't have you getting lost in an idea and just wandering off, now can we?" Then she'd chuckle and pinch Anathet's cheek and nod knowingly to herself.

Well, there was only one thing to it, then. She turned to the bouncer and whispered: "hey, tackle me! and hit me pretty hard if you can, a black eye would be great! Please!"

Étoile has just enough time to squeak. She jolts her head upright, and then... um. Then, um. Everything. Sluggish? Hazy. Haha, that's a funny word. Hazy. Haze. Haayyyyyyzeeeeeee~

Tongue tastes cotton. Fade to black.

Her head flops indecently, face first, into Lady's thighs. All is bliss. All is bliss. All she knows is bliss.

Étoile sinks. Deeper and deeper, let the bubbles rise above her. Deeper and deeper, into the sea of her soul. There's no light here, but she doesn't need that to see. There's no sound here, but she doesn't need that to hear. She sinks, she bubbles, and she gawks at the jagged superstructures of darkened crystals in colors she can't tell apart. Down into the depths.

It is calm here. Peaceful. Beautiful. Étoile stops sinking, and floats in place inside a gently swirling current that massages all of her muscles into uselessness. Her head lolls from side to side and her hair floats freely, released from the prison of its ponytail. She can't move, but... does she want to? Does she need to? It is calm here. Peaceful. Beautiful.

"Feeling penitent, are we little star? How sweet!"

She startles. There's a pain in her neck, and another one swimming up and down her legs. She thrashes, and up above her the impossibly huge chimeric shape of Marianne looms and blots out the not-light. Her smile is full of ruby fangs that dazzle painfully. Étoile winces, clumsily bringing a hand up to shield her eyes.

"You're... here?"

"Of course I am here! This is my home, yes!"

"Still... mad at you."

Étoile's eyes flutter open and shut of their own accord. Marianne barks with laughter and thunders some sort of response, but her ears get distracted by the shape of a crystal floating by. Why is it... what? Why is it so hard to focus?

A great paw lifts her head with a tenderness that would shock her if her brain was working even kind of right just now. The claw that caresses her so gently is easily as thick as her neck.

"Étoile, Étoile, Étoile. Much as I love our little talks, especially seeing this adorable side of you, I require that you leave at once. Unless of course it's your intention to drown me?"

Her breath bubbles, and that's when she notices that her lungs are on fire. They're, they're! But that must mean that! Her eyes pop open in equal parts panic and understanding. Marianne's smile is vicious.

"Away, little star! This is not how we part, non! Go and breathe the air again, and I shall consider your punishment over! Fly, little fish, yes yes!"

The great paw swipes at her, and suddenly Étoile is tumbling, spiraling, twisting... up. Up and up and up, ever up, above the crystals, through the bubbles and...

Her lungs sting like they've been filled with hot needles. Her eyes feel clouded to near uselessness. But maybe that's the water? Étoile wiggles, half rises, and then begins to sink. They've got some sort of ropes around her wrists (tied behind her back) and her ankles. Mercifully, they did not tie them together.

Her mind is sluggish. Even now, in all this burning, cold, and wet agony, it takes her a long and listless moment to realize she's been tossed into a lake. But where is..?

Lady! If they did this to her, then!

Étoile curls herself into a ball, bringing her knees tight against her chest so she can work her hands under her feet. That will have to be enough. She lifts them above her head, though they feel half turned to stone by now, and kicks with every last bit of her draining strength. Tied together, all she can do is bob her legs up and down, waving her hips in time with the motion so that she undulates like a wave and cuts upward through the water. Handmaiden, knight, burning avatar of vengeance, victim, silly little pet... now add mermaid to her list of masks.

She just! Has to! Reach! The surface! Air! Air! She doesn't want to die! There's so much! She still needs to do!

Canada!

“You have the eyes of the Lion,” the Cat says, her tone so acidic it could be used for etching steel. “Are you telling me that the most detail you could distinguish was that it was startling?”

A crack, a hiss, a pop: not coming from the Cat. The jewels you gathered are broken, and in several cases, reduced to molten slag. Burned out. Better them than your eyeballs.

(Their power is not like yours. In this place they are blind idiot gods, dangerous only by dint of their towering presences. They have not been touched by the Lion; this is not their home. Here, if you trained, if you somehow armored yourself against that burning spite and fury, you could fight them on even ground—)

“You saw one of the gods of the invasion. Shamash. They are an admiral, master of chariots, commander of fleets. If Earth had been space-capable, they would have torn your ships out of the sky like they did the Watchtower. They would have set thousands adrift to die in the ice up there, and would have been disappointed there wasn’t more of a thrill. Look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t want to do whatever it takes to stop them.”

[Label shift: +Danger, -Savior.]

***

Anathet!

The bouncer looks torn for a moment. On the one hand, she’s got a job to do here! She should be cracking a few heads together and then joining the janissaries as the representative of the bar! On the other hand, there’s chemistry here.

Roll to Provoke; if you botch it, she’s going to try to cut corners by laying you out, but she’ll follow through on a hit.

***

Étoile!

You breach the surface of the water. You’re in the great big Frontierland lake, and, ah, fortune! There are ducks here, too, making enough noise that the Annunaki who tossed you into the lake would be hard-pressed to hear you, as long as you’re careful and don’t gasp like a beached whale while you struggle your way to the shore.

Once you get there, you’ll have to work your way out of the ropes and figure out where they took Lady! Knowing Jezcha, she’s probably setting up some cruel display of Lady in order to serve as “human bait.” It would be her just desserts to let Marianne out to play... but would Marianne save Lady, or deliberately make her predicament worse? And would it be too suspicious for her to be here, of all places? But what is little helpless lamassie supposed to do to save her?

And why are there fences around the lake, like they didn’t want kids falling in? You’re going to have to suffer to pull yourself out and up and over.

[Potential 3. Hopeless. Insecure. Afraid. Angry. Shockingly, the one condition not present is the one that affects provoke. 3+6+3=12]

Anathet projects a certain sort of grin into her whispered voice, the one that you can see even beneath a thick, opaque veil like hers. The one that says how much fun she's having here even while there's a part of her that's freaking out, and maybe suggests to the bouncer that if they could meet back up later, there could be even more fun!

So, the bouncer goes into it with gusto. She leaps on Anathet, who lets it happen instead of trying to roll with the blow. She goes down sideways under the bouncer. Her arm takes some of it, but the bouncer does just as asked and pushes her head down too, so it bonks on the floor and impacts around her eye and temple. Oof! That's going to be more than a black eye, she's going to have a dark olive bruise running along the side of her eye and down the cheekbone into the veil for a week. Perfect!

She's dazed for a second, but as the janissaries start to roll into the bar and break up the rest of the fighters, she whispers to the bouncer: "Name's Anat, I work on the Seneschal's place. I'm uh...gonna be stuck for a while cuz of this, but meet you at the fried tofu stall in their market for lunch in a week?"

She's still got that grin on, even if it's a bit weak from the hit, it never left her face.

Whatever it takes. She'd put herself in between him and the world in a heartbeat, throw herself away - but she wouldn't lash out in return? What kind of sacrifice was that? Who was she protecting like this? She flinched back, looking away, eyes watering. Who had she saved like this? Who wanted her to be like this? Who had asked for a hero like this? Why couldn't she be who they needed instead?

Shamash would do whatever it took. Tirzah would -

Sudden tears blinded closed eyes.

It was war. Occupation. Rebellion. A time for soldiers, not heroes. A time for feudal warrior-aristocrats and not knights. All she had to do was finish what had been started and crack her broken heart and draw her sword from it. It was time to put away silly ideas like chivalry, love, redemption...

Her heart pounded. She was being asked to make a sacrifice, and who was she to say no?

"Yes, mistress," she said quietly, not meeting the Cat's eyes despite the order. "You're right. Of course."

[Accepting the shift]

Étoile has not mastered the subtle art of "gasping for air, but quietly", but even still she tries her best. The problem is that when you force your voice out of a cough you also make it much less good at doing the things a cough is supposed to accomplish. She hangs on the fence for several minutes, sputtering uselessly with her throat feeling scratchier and more awful until she finally manages to get the last bits of lake water out of her system so she can start filling it with air again.

What a mess. Marianne would be through this fence before you could blink, and oh, what fun she'd have after that, but Étoile doesn't dare call on her. They had both worked too hard to keep their connection a secret, and she couldn't ruin that over one of Jezcha's pranks. Not to say those weren't dangerous, but... so far out from anything important? Nothing to steal but veils and hearts? No. It would damage the Cause too much.

Still, though! Maybe just a little? Just a teeny flash of power, then back to the shadows with her? Just enough to, oof, say maybe, eep! Make it so she, oof, ugh! Doesn't have to climb this fence with her wrists and ankles bound? It's chainlink, thank goodness, but she... oof! Has to shimmy up it like a worm. Which makes much more noise than even ducks can quite cover over, and is very painful besides.

Cresting over the top, she saws her wrist cuffs apart on the chicken wire looped around the links to discourage children from doing exactly what she's doing now, and then drags herself unglamorously across it to flop down to the other side with a squeak and a thud. She winces as she rubs her butt before bending forward to untie her ankles. Her outfit is completely ruined, to say nothing of her poor skin, which is covered from stomach to thigh with angry red scratches that sting fiercely as the air kisses them. Just because Marianne took worse blows with regularity doesn't mean this didn't hurt!

Stupid Jezcha! Stupid, rotten bully! Maybe she'd like a dart in her butt, hmm? Pour qui tu te prends? Étoile stands up, and then immediately flops back onto her veiled face again. Oh, right. That whole... almost drowning thing. Fine. It's fine. c'est bon, vraiment! This is just... the strategy portion of her comeback. She sucks in fresh breaths of air greedily but as quietly as she knows how, and squeezes her eyes shut to help her think.

This whole thing is a game, which she wins if she can get to Lady before anything too embarrassing can happen to her. But how's a little lamassie to fight back when the board is so stacked against her? With a weapon, is how. Where did she leave Lady's rifle? Oooh, get ready Jezcha and friends. There's a sacred oath laid over these grounds, that no one under any circumstances shall be allowed to ruin a magical afternoon at Disneyland. And woe betide those who break taboo...

[Assess the Situation: 7 What here can I use to fight back without switching personas (or more accurately, how do I get to it?)]

Anathet!

“This really is your first time, huh, dumpling?” The bouncer is sweating and you can feel how firm her arms are as she presses you down against the dirty arabesque tiles. “You’re not getting caught up by them. I’m just stopping them from hitting you until you curl up.”

(She’s wrong, but only because you’re a monk. You know that you’re going to be collared as a potential Enemy of the Chain. If only you had a disguise! But that’s a goal for later.)

“But sure, what the hell. At least you’ve got guts.” She winks, and then— oh no! You see a janissary loom over her with a baton.

“We’ve got a monk!” He yells back at his commander. And here it comes, oh boy. What are some of the protocols for handling a potentially rogue Zhianku, given their psychic prowess?

***

Canada!

“Don’t sulk,” the Cat crisply snaps back at you. “You came to me looking for guidance, and I offer it at very reasonable rates.”

Much like Variance, she’s a mercenary with ideals. She has dream logic work for you to do: rats to catch, mirror shards to sweep up, and bizarre secrets for you to deliver to her. It’s profitable for both of you, given your vastly different frames of what’s valuable.

“What you want is redemption. To achieve it, you must undergo transformation. You will never atone for your failures as you are, girl.” What makes the words sharper is the fact that she means them. She really does. From her point of view, she has to turn you into something different than you are.

You’ve already won serious concessions on that front after the Butterfly Incident. So now she’s focusing on changing you on the inside.

“You must be willing to kill one of them again,” she adds, her feline face betraying nothing. “But the process will be difficult. Now, let’s see about your payment for the next lesson. I do believe twenty rats will suffice...”

***

Étoile!

The restaurant is a mess. There definitely was a struggle here, and the rifle is gone. Most of what’s scattered about is your picnic supplies, a change of clothes, her sketchbooks and tablets (two broken). Of course not the wines, those were stolen by those brutes.

But, ah! Look here! Forgotten in the tumult: a sidearm with five shots left. (It’s an ornate, clunky revolver, very clearly not a laser weapon.) Your Lady must have had the courage to pull the trigger once! There are four of them, not counting their own valets, so that’s a margin of error of one shot.

It would be so easy to pick them off from the shadows with a rifle. It would take a skilled pistolier to take four Annunaki down at close range, and it would take a very, very skilled actress to make it seem like improbable luck. But what else can you do?

Your Lady needs you.

"How did you learn this? Did you have to train too, or..."

Or were some people just born twisted?

"Did you ever hesitate? Did something make you... stop hesitating?"

Was there a line? Was there a moment of truth, after which nothing would ever be the same again? Or was it more like relaxing your grip on the edge and slipping down into the dark waters?

"What happened... to them? To make them this way?"

Were they like her once? Were they like the Cat once?

These questions and their echoes come to her during the endless, arcane toil. The breaks allow her time to think on the previous answers while contemplating the next question. The moments ghost by, blurs of distracted haste as her mind contemplates the dark.

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

The Annunaki don't really have protocols for handling the Zhianku, honestly, at least not the regular troops. There aren't that many Zhianku, most of them aren't particularly close to Annunaki-held space, and unless they're trying to recruit someone, they wouldn't be hostile anyway. Maybe some of the specialists know some things about dealing with Zhianku, but not the regular guards. What the guard here probably means is either
a) he's been watching way too many Annunaki dramas and thinks based on Anathet's garb that she's some kind of magical wizard monk (ignore that he's right!) and thinks he's being cool just like in the holovids.
b) There's some group that dresses like Anathet (maybe Zhianku imitators?) among the humans and other servant groups and the guards have a protocol for dealing with them.

Either way, Anathet is going through an emotional rollercoaster. The bouncer accepted! Woo! The bouncer had no idea what was about to happen! Oh no (much sadness). Anathet starting this fight was going to get the bar in trouble, maybe. Extreme sadness, and maybe the cute bouncer would end up hating her. Oh no! These guards were idiots and they were paying her extra attention! Extremely oh crap!

"No protocols, I surrender!" Anathet shouts hastily, staying on the floor and trying to put her hands up. "I belong to the Seneschal of Marduk, so uh, maybe you could just...um, take me home?" She tries to give her most innocent possible look to the janissary from under her veil. It's something like wide-eyed doe, but less about to be hit and more could I lie to you?

Inside, she's seething. Ugh, was that stupid? Should she have kept her mouth shut? She was worried they were going to beat her up or something though, so maybe telling them she belongs to the Seneschal would help. But then did she freak everyone else out? And would they even believe her?

Étoile glances nervously about as she bends over (sticking her butt unnecessarily high in the air while she does it) to pick up the clunky antique looking revolver.

"H-hello? Is... is anybody here? Lady? Are you playing a new game, Lady? l-lamassie is scared..."

But there are no replies. It's just her in the empty ruins of a Disneyland restaurant, alone but for the heavy weapon in her hand and the tattered remnants of the picnic she'd been dreaming of all week. She lifts the gun and holds it to her chest like a treasured stuffed animal, and pushes all of the air out of her lungs.

This is the first time she's let her mask drop since she first met Marianne. When she looks across the way to where she knows her targets lie waiting, her eyes don't smile with the calm servitude of Tamytha's darling little star, or the silly and unfocused glee of lamassie, or even the hot fury of her alter ego. The real Étoile's fury is cold. Her eyes are dull and filled with lethal intent. Jezcha, espèce de raté, you ruined everything. She'll make you wish you'd drawn Marianne instead of her.

Then she sneezes, and that girl disappears and leaves frightened little lamassie back in her place. She carefully gathers up all of Lady's belongings back into her pack, and drags it with her as she trots off to find her mistress, making exaggerated sniffing sounds as she goes? See, Lady? She can track, she can!

The sight of Lady, all trussed up and dangling precariously from a pole like the mermaid on the prow of a ship, makes her squeak in horror.

"Ohmygosh and goodness! Oh! My Lady, please hold on, I'll save you from the humans who did this to you! Oh gosh gosh gosh! Oh!!"

Étoile, of course, is not a natural born huntress. If you want one of those, get a Lynx of course. But did you think she's been taking naps whenever Marianne came out to do her work? Of course she sees their hiding places! Of course she knows where to look! But she minces closer on trembling legs, trying to hold the heavy pistol out in front of her like a pro but needing two hands and an awful lot of bobbling to do it.

Every slight noise seems to frighten her. Oh no, oh no! Is that a shrub, or a monster lurking over there? She squeezes her eyes shut and holds her head away from the gun as she fires a wild shot into absolutely nothing. It's a strange gun that lacks the sharp report she knows from movies, but fires with a dull popping sound instead. Still, it makes her jump three feet into the air at the sound of it. And that's her one, besides.

She spins in a slow circle, waving the gun in front of her for protection when, oh gosh! Oh no! Silly lamassie, you shot right at one of Jezcha's hunting buddies! The shot scares her so badly she bobbles the gun and almost drops it straight to the ground, and in her mad scrambling she somehow manages to fire it twice more at the area her most exalted companions are hiding. If you were watching, you'd be forgiven for missing the tiny moments where her gun arm suddenly straightens and her aim switches from incompetence to (well, not quite) deadly precision. It's only just long enough to find a center-mass shot, and she is such a very silly girl in all.

Now she runs toward her Lady, yelping and sobbing and waving the gun behind her as she goes. Pop! She hears more than sees a body slump against something hard. Pop! She has to assume she just missed. And that's two. She sprints all out, clearing the distance between her and Lady with frightening alacrity before... she trips on the ditch they dug and lands flat on her face under Lady's tender feet. It takes her a few moments of squeaks and groans before she regains her feet to fumble at these too-tight knots.

"Oh gosh, oh gosh, My Lady I am so sorry! I'm so sorry! I am! Are you all right? We have to go, we have to go, let's get out of here, please I'm so scared! Oh, I'm here, but... please!"

Her mask falls away again without her realizing it. But though her eyes aren't smiling, it isn't fury that's dancing in them right now. You would have to be the biggest idiot in the whole universe to miss to miss the spark of love that flickers in that look.

[Defend: 9. Étoile takes Influence over Tamytha, but escalates the situation]

Canada!

You painstakingly match mirror shards to frames. It’s like a danger puzzle. The Cat insists that there’s a way to look at glass and know where it belongs. You haven’t learned it yet, so there’s a lot of slapping your hand involved.

“I had to train. I had to learn.” Her eyes gleam as she watches you reach for another shard; you go unsmacked. “No kitten is born knowing how to hunt.”

Later, the rats have cannons, and strong opinions about becoming food. You hunker down behind a makeshift barricade while the Cat dares them to fire at her, her wickedly sharp teeth gleaming.

“Hunger! No one who is satisfied with the world as it is can ever fight. It will not arrange itself for you, Canada! When you let hunger spur you on, then you may change the world to your liking.”

Today, the secrets are drawn in violet ink on the wings of butterflies. You must act with deliberate care to avoid crushing them when you catch them in your hands. The Cat eats each one after reading the wings.

“They succumbed to the hunger that does not stop. A throne is a cage, mon ami. They gorge themselves and grow hungrier. What a waste.”

A flick of an elegant tail. The crunch of butterfly bones(?) under white teeth.

“The more you gain, the more vigilant you must be to see that it is not taken from you. But you already know that, don’t you? Cherchez la femme!”

***

Anathet!

The click of chitin on a marble desk. Your own chair is uncomfortable, cramped, and hard, all by design. The office is choking with floral scents and incense, and you’re quite thankful how much of it your veil keeps out.

“I recall entrusting you with a duty,” Auntie Rose says, her raspy whisper dripping with menace. Her eyes are hard as coals. “Pray tell, why were you found at a den of ill repute in the places below? Are you not enjoying your privilege of direct service?”

At least you likely managed to save the bar! After you revealed your ownership, getting you home very quickly became a priority. And, hey, you’ve still got a date, as long as Auntie Rose doesn’t ground you! Or worse.

(And maybe even then, if you’re clever and lucky.)

***

Tamytha!

You ache. You are dizzy, and the ropes bite where they suspend you from the pole. You want to wake up and find this was all a dream. But here you are, left as bait for the savage humans so that Jezcha can get her trophies. Your head lolls bonelessly as your blood goes thin and you drift in and out of sense.

“Ohmygosh and goodness!”

You lift your head, mouth dry. “Little star, run,” you rasp, but even you can barely hear it. Your heart tightens in your chest as she (bedraggled, frightened— what did they do to her?) runs forward with your pistol. Oh, oh! No, lamassie, you silly little thing! You close your eyes and flinch, unable to watch Jezcha shoot her again.

There is firing and screaming. And... your little star keeps screaming. And then she’s here, she’s here, how could all those shots have missed? What is Jezcha playing at? But she’s here and trying to undo those painful knots pressing into you with all the strength of gravity.

“Lamassie,” you manage to force out between dry lips, “you’re such, such, such a good girl.” Then you look up, and see Jezcha advancing, rifle raised to her shoulder, aimed at your little pet. You scream a warning for all that it hurts your throat, nudge her with your knee, and she turns just as Jezcha fires.

It barely misses both of you, embedding itself in the pole inches from your feet. And Jezcha already has another shot in the chamber.

“How dare you,” your sister roars at your pet. Another shot, this one firing wide in her fury. “I’ll have you shut up in the Houses of Correction forever!”

If she catches your lamassie, she will hand your beloved pet over to the Inquisitors and you’ll never get to see her again. She’ll be punished and taught her place and given to somebody else. Your stomach twists.

“Please, please,” you beg, but you know better than to ask anything of Jezcha. “Run, lamassie!” But lamassie tugs desperately at the central suspension knot, and you tumble down into her arms, nearly knocking her to the ground. Which...

Which has given Jezcha time to line up another shot.

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

The guards on the march home were no problem. Anathet knew that being part of the Seneschal's estate was a complete get out of jail free card. But that meant you were invoking the Seneschal's influence, and in turn the influence of people like Auntie Rose. That was dangerous because that influence was a limited thing. Embarrass the estate and its servants too often and they would find a way to make sure you were no longer in a position to embarrass them.

So, on the walk back, Anathet had been the model of behavior. Quiet and reserved, shuffling along with her careful monk's step with the guards, apologizing slowly and calmly for any inconvenience she was causing them, and assuring them that she had meant neither harm nor offense. They probably didn't care, but there was a saying among the Zhianku (yes they actually had sayings, it wasn't all an act) that rage was like fire with quick fuel. Well, that was the best translation, it was prettier in the original, with its implied imagery of a tiny flame crackling in a faraway forest, catching a bit of dry brush, flaring up, and then disappearing as quickly as it rose when it found nothing else to burn. So with Auntie Rose. If she was angry about one thing, it could be fleeting. Give her cause to rant and instead her rage would become a wildfire.

Anathet bows her head before Auntie Rose and waits several seconds when she stops speaking. That too is an act of deference, implicitly assuring Auntie Rose that Anathet will not interrupt until she is certain that Auntie Rose has no more words to add. A small sigh does escape her lips though, her control is not nearly so good and she is tired and her whole face hurts.

"I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to serve the Seneschal" Anathet begins, not taking the bait of implying that her personal pleasure is relevant to whether she should be allowed to serve. "Please accept my humblest apologies, Auntie." She bows formally. "I was there to buy ice cream, an Earth delicacy that I had heard was available at that location from the other servants. I was having difficulty finding inspiration for my writing and I thought that a break and special food would lead me to such inspiration. I realize this reason does not excuse my foolishness, but I wish to inform you that despite my rough treatment, I believe the errand was successful." Here she dares to look up and there is just the slightest twinkle in the shadow of her eyes. "If I am allowed to write for the remainder of the evening, I believe I could have a completed manuscript prepared for you well ahead of the deadline."

The empty spaces in her heart began to fill with a different kind of light. Hunger! Fire! The keys to changing the world! Because she wanted to have a changed world - she wanted to close her eyes and wish and have it all be different. Instead she had to channel that dissatisfaction. She had to get mad! Be a fighter! Want things bad enough to be okay with trampling over other people's dreams!

It was easy to think this way under the eyes of the Cat. She was never good at saying no. She was never good at letting people down. She'd gone through all of this, today, so that she could be the kind of person the Cat wanted her to be. Once she understood the shape of that person she could strive to be it. If she didn't take action that meant she was satisfied with how things were! And she wasn't! She wasn't satisfied! She was mad! And hungry! And that meant she was going to get the things she wanted! Because that was the only way she'd be able to make everyone happy!

That's right. She just needed to work harder. She needed to do whatever it took. Strength. Speed. Turn this uncoordinated mess of doubt and uncertainty around and train. Her shield to this point had been a heavy, massive tower shield almost as tall as she was, a castle to cower behind - now it shifted, becoming smaller and lighter and more evenly balanced. Her sparring changed as well - still defensive, but not rigid, not craven. Not afraid to retaliate. More sparring. More weights. Harder! Faster! She'd show them all how much she wanted their smiles! She hadn't been vigilant enough! She hadn't been strong enough! She just needed to be stronger.

She felt like a werewolf. Senses alight. Heart pounding. Muscles letting her know that they were in pain but that they could keep going if she needed them. And she did. There was too much to do to slow down now. She needed to keep going until everything was fixed.

Étoile swallows loudly. She's picturing it even though she can't afford to: the inside of the Inquisitor's chambers, the threat of 'rehabilitation', and the end of everything she knows. That's what's at stake here, and nothing less. That's why she's got exactly four seconds to get her face on right and do her job properly before she takes a dart to the neck and all of her decisions get made for her for the rest of forever. Come on, is she Lady's lamassie or isn't she? That's right, there's a good girl.

She very gently dips down to let her Lady rest on the ground. She has just enough time to sneak in an affectionate bit of nuzzling before she has to turn around, and this only because it helps sell the image of the ridiculous little pet. She's a bit far away at this distance for Jezcha to be counted on to catch the bright sparkle in her eyes, so Étoile is extra careful to giggle and clap her hands with delight. The pistol clatters to the ground, apparently forgotten.

"Amazing, amazing! Oh wowies," she trills, "Lady Jezcha plays such wonderful games! lamassie was completely fooled! Ahaha!"

She trots forward with mincing little steps that seem as heedless to the danger in front of her as they are to Tamytha's desperate warnings behind her. How could Mistress's beloved sister wish her adorable pet any harm? She trips on a rock and falls backwards onto her butt with an 'oof' of protest which seems to miss the sound of a rifle firing and the dart that zips through the space her head had been a second ago. Her eyes are adoring. Her neck seems suddenly very stiff, but that's just... because she fell, yes! Silly lamassie!

"...Was I good? Did I do a good job playing? Is Lady Jezcha pleased, can lamassie have a treat? Oh! Oh! I wanna get tied up this time! Lady Jezcha is so generous and kind, she's given up all her hunting time to play with Mistress! But she's sooooooo skilled, I bet she'll get a dozen trophies anyway! Can lamassie help? Oh please please please, let her play 'bait' too! She's so so good at wiggling and squeaking, she'll draw all those naughty humans right here with her pretty shiny hair! Pretty pretty please, can she go on the pole now?"

Étoile lifts her hands up to her chest and does her best soulful begging impression. Inside her stomach there's a dark flame burning a hole through her, but her mask is up to the challenge. Her win condition just shifted, that's all. Whatever it takes to let Lady rest in the shade and go home with her this evening, that's what will serve the Cause. That's the same thing as defeating Jezcha, the exact same thing. She wiggles her hips just to be extra shameless and enticing. It's the cute ones you need to watch out for, in the end. n'est-ce pas?

[Mild Mannered: 7]

Anathet!

“See that you do,” Auntie Rose hisses after a long and deliberately ominous pause. “I expect nothing but the best work from you after the trouble you have caused this household, girl.” By which she means the trouble you’ve caused her. She is the household. She has worked since she was a sapling to be here. Her pride and anger are entwined, and both are thorned.

Then you are dismissed with a wave of a bony, many-ringed hand, and are free to write. What is your magnum opus, your masterpiece, your tale of Annunaki superiority and human folly?

***

Canada!

By the time you’re finished, having been off on your adventures all night long (and you’ll be sleepwalking exhausted through inventory check today), the main hall looks a tiny bit neater and less ruined. Or maybe you’ve just learned to look at it a different way.

The Cat allows herself the indulgence of rubbing up against your leg, once. “There we are, my girl. Sharpened and tempered. Be a knife that cuts through everything on its way to the heart of the sun! Tear open the world and force your way through! It’s your last chance to be happy.”

[She offers you one more label shift before you fall through the mirror: +Danger, -Mundane.]

In the mirror, you look taller. More like yourself. You look like you’re ready to take on the Golden Snake of Calcutta again, and knock out all of its teeth with one punch. All that’s missing is Asterion to whoop for you, Variance to cluck her tongue, and Tirzah to laugh and say: I didn’t see it, do it again! Funny how she must have known a lot more about what was going on than she let on.

***

Étoile!

The rifle’s barrel rests cold against your forehead. (At this distance, it will be very, very dangerous.) And in that moment, you cast yourself to fate. You’ve done all that you can without tearing Marianne free, for all that she might rage inside you. All you can do is trust in your cards and hope your poker face will carry you through as you simper and giggle.

And then Jezcha cracks. The rifle lowers, drifting down until it points between your knees. And she guffaws.

“Tammie, your pet is so stupid!” She pets your head with all the smothering inelegance of someone who never bothered to learn gentleness. You giggle and nuzzle that hand with a dazzling smile, even though it feels like she’s going to mess up your hair and knock you off balance. “I was wrong!”

Wait, what?

“What?” Your Lady sounds absolutely shocked.

“There’s no way she knew what she was doing,” Jezcha says, squishing your cheeks together. “No you didn’t, widdle dirtbrains! You just need to be kept out of trouble so you don’t make the big mean gun accidentally discharge! You want Miss Jezcha to take goooood care of you, don’t you? Don’t you, little zu?”

You screw your courage to the sticking place, do your best to give her a dazzling smile with your eyes, and oink happily like a space pig for Jezcha.

“Pull the ropes off my useless sister,” Jezcha tells her Macaw. “I’ve got a much better toy now.”