"I didn't know you needed an excuse to release a princess of the Flower Kingdoms from your cells." she counters, her face an impassive shield, raised in defence of the Smoulder.

Ven. The image of the other woman bounced around in her heart. It helped her ignore the look on Cathak's face.

"I need some time to think on your proposal." Kalaya continues, unconsciously slipping back into the more formal speech of her other half. "The N'yari have raided our kingdoms for my entire life, and the Flower Kingdoms have continued to grow despite. A full scale attack on them isn't ... it feels wrong."

"There has to be a better way, and I know you can help me think of it. You're the great Cathak Agata, the Red Wolf. Hero of the People. You didn't get where you are by widescale bloodshed."

Even as the words tumble from her mouth, Kalaya recognises she's saying too much. She should have stopped at the first, rather than laying it out in a way that telegraphs her desperation for another path. Unfortunately, exhaustion and circumstance are combining to leave her brain dancing on sand.

[Roll to entice Red Wolf: 2 + 5 - 1: 6 - womp womp. Darn you 'insecure' condition!]

Piripiri!

The priestess considers the trees on the riverbanks beyond, black shapes moving on a black sky, as if marching under the beating rain. An experience she’s had recently.

“I don’t think she understood— it’s different here,” she says. “You weren’t tied up or anything, right? That’s… it’s like you’re tied up in here.” She taps the side of her head. “But we can’t see that, so we, I mean, she’d just assume that you were angry about needing to give your blood. Because if you’re not tied up, you could just tell her no. Or slap her! It’s only when someone’s helpless that you need to take care of them and not threaten to cut their hands to steal their blood for demon worship!”

She shivers. Not unexpectedly; of course the daughter of a high-ranking goddess would be scared of demons. If she’d fallen into the General’s clutches, he would have condemned her to a terrible and prolonged fate imprisoned beneath the Wrack-waste.

“…I think even if she knew how you felt about it, everyone would have been in more trouble if she didn’t do that, right? Without you, her options were to lead us all deeper into that horrible city, or sit there and let us all get captured by that awful thing, or—“ She starts. A thought has suddenly struck her at high speed. “Or she could have just asked the dragon who was carrying me.” She buries her face in her hands for a moment and groans, then steadies herself.

“…but I really don’t think she understood just how bad that was. I mean, she probably thought it was bad, but because you’d think she was the kind of witch who makes people her puppets with their blood and sacrifices more than oxen to the gods, and much worse things. I hope she’s not. She didn’t seem like it, but you can’t tell, can you? Can you? I haven’t met very many witches at all, you see, and some of my tutors said they were just terrible, wicked people who’d do anything for power, but others said they were just trying to mimic what we could do all on our— that is, um—“

Her cheeks flush as she tries to find some way out of the conversational corner she’s backed herself into, and decides to dive out of the way by making a fool of herself. “But it’s all about the fact you weren’t tied up. Or chained up, I suppose, but I think the N’yari do it better with their ropes and their big thick cloths. Did you know that’s how we met? Not you and me, but me and Han. She saved me from a N’yari attack on our barge. Well, not our barge, just the one we were traveling on. They grabbed me and tied ropes all around me and stuffed my mouth full of, of—“ Her flush gets more prominent, until she can barely squeak out the word. But she does, and it’s pretty clear what she thought of the experience (and how much it thrilled her).

Which makes a lot of sense. It’s not hard to get a read on her. A sheltered scion, trapped in a gilded cage, who’s never had anyone dare to flirt with her, who craves submission and humiliation for how forbidden they are. If your orders weren’t to make sure she’s seen leaving, very publicly, you could take her by the wrist and offer to show her more, and she’d follow eagerly into the jaws of your trap, biting her lower lip and prancing after you.

“And then Han wrestled their leader,” she breathes, “and tossed her off the boat, and when they tossed me off the boat she dived in after me to save me. And then everyone was so beastly to her and she ran off and I had to go ask her if she’d take me to the Two Hundred Gates temple, and she said yes, and…!”

…and she’s head over heels for the highlander. If they somehow, impossibly, manage to have a future together, you’re fairly sure that it will involve the demigod bossing the flustered highlander around and telling her exactly how she wants to be kidnapped and safely, in private, embarrassed.

Consider also that she’d surrender immediately if you threatened the highlander.

***

Giriel!

“What a difficult position you put me in, you wicked little thing!” The Red Wolf reaches around, tugs, pinches. The chuckle in her throat is dizzying. “How am I supposed to punish you and thank you for your service? How could I possibly uphold my duty to the Immaculate Faith and treat you as you deserve?”

The leather is snug where she pulls it around your neck. You heard it coming from the jingle of bells. She must have planned this from the moment she entered. The click of a padlock behind your head, a key twisting in the lock. You can feel the blood rushing through your body, hot and fast.

“I will have mercy on you, Lady Giriel,” she purrs. “I sentence you to the service of the Dominion until I judge you penitent, enlightened of your error and cognizant of your place in the world.” One finger taps a bell, sets it to chiming. “My service.”

“Now,” she continues, fingers digging, probing, her hair spilling over your front as she leans in and lets her hot breath wash over your neck, your collarbone, the breath of a dragon who has added a queenly prize to her hoard, “for the matter of your reward. You know, I’d meant to have an attendant here for us. Someone for us to share. But then you had to go and cut her hand open. And now she’s busy. So who ever will be able to thank you for your service? Name her, and she’s yours.”

There’s an obvious answer. An answer that makes a mess of who is owned and who serves. Maybe that’s part of the fun. But is it too obvious? Would she discipline you for being impudent? Is she trying to trap you in her games, just like she’s trapped you in her service? Is her weight on you, pushing you down towards your thighs, leaving your rear defenseless, all part of her teasing? Or is she craving to show you the chivalry of the Dominion, a lordly knight stooping to hold vigil between your thighs, her breath so hot, feigning innocence as she makes your collar sing?

You had best make your choice, even if you can barely think through it, o lowly slave-girl.

***

The Baths!

“That does sound nice, though,” Emli sighs blissfully. And she actually means it. Her eyes are, for the first time tonight, shy. “Imagine not having to think at all. That’s one of the best things about the drills, you know. There’s a place you can slip into where there’s no you doing any thinking at all, just the motions you’ve memorized. And you don’t have to do that with just plates and forks, either.” She turns her eyes up back to Han, and they smoulder.

“There’s other ways I’ve been taught to find that place,” she adds, with a sly boldness, her hands drifting down to Han’s side. “Very fun ones.”

“But it doesn’t last,” she adds, and she pouts, breaking the spell of that moment. “I guess it’s because I’m not meant to be a scribe. I’d love it to, though. I could spend all day and all night in that place. No thoughts, just obedience. Everything is right or wrong, and doing what you’re told is right.” Her hand drifts back up to her elegant collar, which she touches with surprising reverence. “Thank you for the rebuke, honored one.”

***

Kalaya!

The Red Wolf sighs so sadly and shakes her head. “I am trying, your highness,” she says, and if she’s mocking you, she’s hiding it well. “But it’s quite possible I’ll just have to keep you here until such time as we’re able to confirm that the fairy has been completely defeated. Operational security demands that any threat to my men be kept under lock and key, be kept from concealing contraband, so on, so forth. And I have to follow the rules, just like you do. Unless you can give me something I can depend on, some plan, some oath, some way to ensure that you won’t accidentally undermine the security not just of my household but the entire Flower Kingdoms, I’ll have to send you back to wait out the exorcists. And that might be some time.”

There it is, laid out simply: convince the Red Wolf you can be a good girl, or return to your cell. Submit, show you want to help, and get Dominion clothing, a cabin, bodyguards; be stubborn, and get a cramped cell in the brig, waiting naked in the dark. And if you get locked up again, well. It might take the Red Wolf a very long time to find the fairy.

What if she goes to ground? Hides and bides her time? What if you remain A Danger to the Dominion’s Operations for the rest of your life? The last Dominion representative used to threaten to send prisoners to Lamentation— what if the Red Wolf does that to you? Her reputation suggests she wouldn’t, but the threat of it is beneath the surface of your thoughts like a sandbar, ready to tear hulls open.

“Anything coming to mind, your highness?”

Threefold Gardens

Lotus is, she decides, the most sincere person she's ever met. It's charming. There's a twinge of regret that she can't invite her below to her room for tutelage in the pillow arts, but... no, she could. Nobody would actually stop her, Cathak is likely too busy with Giriel to notice, and it could be considered part of being, well, a good host. Here is the clearly expressed desire.

But. She has other duties, ones that involve masks, and would be the poorer for her failure to attend to them. And proper teaching takes time. So squash that regret, fourthborn, you've a guest to entertain.

"Yes, I suppose that's the best way to think of it." She politely ignores the flushed skin and dilated pupils as the demigod trailed off talking about N'yari gags and Han the hero. "I wasn't physically restrained, but it wouldn't have been right for me to resist. So... tied up in here, I suppose." She taps the side of her head, echoing Lotus. "I am sorry to hear that Han was treated so poorly for fighting against the N'yari. What happened? I thought they were the Flower Kingdoms' enemies."

Kalaya

"If I may." The masked woman steps forward from the wall, again barely not whispering. "There may be another way to break the spun narrative. If Princess-Knight Kalaya," a formal, slight bow, a host to visiting dignitaries, "were to publicly announce that she would work with Dominion legionnaires to protect the border regions from N'yari raiding parties and take those raiding parties hostage, then the narrative is broken, the N'yari warded against, and we may even be able to negotiate for a release of some of the captured villagers from that region in exchange for the raider prisoners."

She's not saying the Dominion objectives achieved by this either: stepping in to defend the corners that the Kingdoms won't and saving the people the Kingdoms can't or won't further fractures the land, sending Kalaya off to someplace politically unimportant ensures she will have plenty of warning if she goes rogue, she's got a chance of being captured herself by the N'yari, neutralizing her in a way that doesn't tie back to the Dominion, and finally the troop requirement for a border patrol is orders of magnitude lower than a war party.

"If you both find that acceptable, I may do my best to have some new clothes made in your colors, Princess-Knight. What are they?"

"The Dominion has layers and layers of organisation dedicated to maintaining virtue," said Fengye. "The priestesses and monks watch the legions and the nobles. The army watches the peasants and the Thousand Scales. Intelligence agencies and the Heptagram watch the temples. It is a vast and complex interlocking organization. And isn't that what's needed to guarantee virtue?"

She shifts oh so slightly. Just enough that the faint pressure you had placed upon her shoulder gives way, and your head gently falls to rest on her bare shoulder. Absently, her hand came up around your head to rest gently but firmly on your temple. And through the subtle pressure of those fingers thinking becomes hazy. How much of the pressure in your head was purely physiological?

"Wouldn't it be dangerous to put all that responsibility on just one person?" said Fengye. "How could one person alone care for you as skillfully?" her hands run along your hair, working deep and hidden knots of pressure. "As tenderly?" her hand brushes against the back of your neck, sending an involuntary shiver down you spine. "As safely?"

"That could work" replies Kalaya, latching onto the suggestion like a woman drowning. "Protection - not war. Safety, not slaughter."

But after she realises who spoke - her gaze narrows on the woman in the mask.

"Thank you for the suggestion. It is a good one." she inclines her head. But, Piri, you might notice she's watching you far more closely. After all, a balanced, politically-insightful proposal is not something one expects to come from a Dominion medic.

Kalaya's princesshood may have been 'made' (not that it was a secret in the first place) - but is your role here in jeopardy of being found out too?

[Roll to Figure out a Person: 6 + 2 - 1: 7 - Unless a string is spent, asking: What are you hoping to get from this plan? and What are your feelings towards the Dominion? Piri can ask one in return.]

"My colours are Green and Brown, trimmed in white. That said, my own equipment would be sufficient with no need to bother your seamstresses." she finishes, before looking back at Red Wolf. "Of course, if that's acceptable ..."

Kalaya

You're paying attention to the masked woman, really looking her over for the first time. And she's not exactly hiding her role here. She's wearing thin leathers, reinforced at important points with laminated bamboo, dyed black and crafted to make little noise. The mask is theatrical, a abstract bird with blue and black plumage. And the House Ragara crest at her neck seals it. She's one of the Dominion's vassals, working for their intelligence arm. And she wants you to know it: otherwise, you'd be looking at regular legionnaire armor.

So. Maybe, just maybe, she's actually angling for exactly what she seems like she's angling for? She doesn't want the rakasha to succeed, you saw that angry flash in her eyes, and she doesn't mean you any harm. So she's just trying to find a way for you and Red Wolf to work together, so you don't have to go to the Lamentation, so nobody suffers.

Because, and this is also clear, she's going to do whatever Red Wolf says. The Dominion claims a mandate from the Last Dragon, and while the masked lady doesn't want to crush the Flower Kingdoms or you under a legion's boot, she believes she's doing the proper and just thing here, obeying imperial authority. So the offer being agreeable to Red Wolf was the first priority: that's why you're still going out, to do something that will ultimately benefit the Dominion. She just wanted to find a way to have you help people out on the way.

The funny thing about a collar is how freeing it can be. All this pressure Giri had been placing on herself and now it's outside of her. Red Wolf has pronounced her punishment and it's a fair one all things considered. More than fair really, though Giri hasn't yet been challenged by having service to the Dominion pit against her beliefs. So far, Red Wolf has been cunning and careful.

Here, it's like a weight has been lifted off Giri's shoulder and moved to her collar, to her captor. That's a good weight, a pleasant weight. She lifts a finger and jingles the bell experimentally. It's tinkling sound is bright and cheery. It's nice. She smiles openly and freely if Cathak Agata is happening to look. She might not be though, not with her hair pulling and her breath on Giri's neck so warm and thick.

It's funny though, the way that freedom feels. She's starting to feel a bit recovered, a bit more energetic than she has since the series of portals to hell. She stretches her shoulders, a slow, thoughtful lift up and release. Giri's a big woman, and Red Wolf can feel herself rise an inch as those shoulders flex. In Giri's eyes there's a feral gleam all her own.

Only then does she answer. "You seem to be the only here, Agata." Of course that was intentional. It's practically over the top and cliche to leave off the title like that. It's like holding up a big sign making her choice and also a bit of a test. Does she tense atop Giri? Does she grow angry? How sincere was her offer?

To Giriel's delight, the Red Wolf does not go stiff and cold at her name bereft of its titles. And so Giri rolls over, flipping her host to the floor with the inevitability of an avalanche and turning all her bulk upon her. Giri is warm too, but differently from Agata. Giri's is the warmth of strength and substance, of being able to envelope someone in an embrace that covers all of them. She takes in Agata now, burying that heroic face in her chest, her sturdy arms fully surrounding Red Wolf's shoulders as they squeeze with an urgency that sends a shudder running through both women. Then Giri's hands begin working down her host's back, pressing and massaging, searching for the right spots to make even the Red Wolf moan with pleasure.

All the while, Giri's collar jingles merrily, each shift of her arms and her chest sending it bouncing anew, lest anyone forget who's the master here. Of course, Red Wolf could move any time she pleases, but she offered to fulfill the role of the attendant and Giri has so much want built up in her. Enough that she can no longer wait, enough that when her burden of guilt was pulled from her she leapt at the chance, enough that for a moment the two women are one. The whole world is the touch and the smell of each other as Giri pulls Red Wolf's lips to her own and kisses her urgently, deeply, passionately. She breathes in the Red Wolf and presses herself into her, tongue and teeth and breath, pressing until she can feel a tiny dribble of blood from Agata's lip.

Only then does she release for breath, still holding the Red Wolf tightly beneath her, satisfied with herself for the first time since the hells.

Emli gazes up at Han, eyes filled with half-lidded fire. Han gazes back at Emli, and there is nothing but fire. Everywhere. All around them. The exits are blocked. None of them will escape. She will die, taken tragically before her time, and she won’t have the dignity of proper last words, for all her thoughts are and ever will be: Screaming.

Is it any better when the slave-girl shows her mercy, and changes the toipc? It is worse, actually. She speaks of a world Han could never afford to enter. She touches that hated thing with honor and reverence. Moments ago, Emli stood within a scaffolding of a person that stood fast, no matter what mysteries were yet to be discovered. Now that, too, is gone, and Han cannot identify the pretty, girl-shaped creature running a hand along her bare side.

You ought to thank the slave-girl, scribe. A better distraction you couldn’t have asked for.

She recoils, from fear, from shock, from the terror of the unknown, and her head lands precisely where you commanded it to. You reach over so naturally, so easily, that she would have sworn you were as a statue until your fingers were already working through her hair. Now it is too late. For her. For you.

Before she can speak, you are drawing out the cost of a week’s worth of forced marching, of foraged meals, of sleep pried from knobby roots and hard earth. You break apart trigger points, one after another, and she cannot relax more than this, and yet there goes another, come to shatter her thoughts anew. Your fingers glide through her hair, maneuvering so carefully through the knots that they may have never even existed. Long, smooth, steady brushes, gentle pressure sliding down her head, tickling the back of her neck as you pass.

But though she shivers under your fingers, though a haze threatens to swallow her mind, her body is a mass of tension, a coiled spring. The sound stirring in her throat might as easily be a growl as a purr. You tease a knife by the blade. You only continue because this dragon permits it, and she has yet to settle her mind. She has questions, scribe. She is so full of questions she might burst, and you sit beside a bomb.

Why are you touching her?

What are you going to do with her?

(What does she want you to do?)

”Who,” she blinks sleepy eyes. “The hell are you?”

How will you answer her?

[Rolling to Figure Out A Person: 3 + 1 - 2 = 2]

Kalaya!

“Nonsense,” the Red Wolf explodes, jovially. She slaps one hand on her knee and then bounds up to her feet. “It’s the least I can do now that everything is settled. Oh, Princess, I am delighted to be able to release you!”

She scoops your face up into her hands, which are warm on your cheeks, dangerously and beguilingly warm. “Together, we’ll protect this beautiful land, stop those fairies and cats, and prove to everyone that I was right to trust you!”

She plants a possessive kiss on your forehead, lingers for just a moment too long, and then sweeps past, already giving orders.

“I’ll have her released,” she says to the medic. “Get her something to wear for now, show her to a cabin, and then get her something appropriate for a bold knight.”

Congratulations! You’ve done it! Now you’ll be escorted to a (guarded) cabin. Maybe you’ll even be allowed (accompanied) roaming of the barge! Everything’s looking up for Kalaya Na!

***

Piripiri, in the Threefold Gardens!

“Oh,” the demigod says, suddenly hesitant. “Well, see, their leader was very… she wanted Han to join her, to be one of the N’yari, and she was very… kissy. So naturally there was some confusion afterwards.”

She’s upset about that. But there’s something more complicated there than the most simple reading. You could try puzzling that out, if you like, for intelligence or simply your own curiosity.

“And while she was fighting,” Lotus adds, rushing past that unpleasantness, “she broke some umbrellas, and she really is a nice person, it’s just that when she’s all riled up, she’s not thinking about how someone’s umbrella is special to them, she’s just using everything she can fight with to fight.”

She glances back at you, suddenly worried. “You won’t tell her I told you about the umbrellas, right? Please don’t. I don’t want her to think I’m being a gossip…”

***

Giriel!

The Red Wolf’s bunk is opulent. She apologizes, of course, making excuses for how hard it is, how cramped, how it’s only what an emissary could afford— but it’s big enough to be cozy with her entwined with you, your hair intermingled, her fingers tracing maps of unknown territories along your shoulders. It’s sinfully soft and the sheets are velvety smooth and it’s got many, many oddly firm pillows.

And the Red Wolf declaims poetry in the Dominion idiom into the expanse of your body, unafraid, adoring, impossible. That you could be wanted by a woman like this.

Between the far-flung poles the mountain stands:
the blessed rod, the cornerstone of earth,
by which the shiv’ring world anchored holds,
o Meru, peak of peaks, unconquered height!

Yet I have climbed a peak as resolute,
foundation set to hold the skies apart,
and there I left my conq’ring claim to stand
in royal color: red to match Her mail.

And there beheld a vision wond’ring fair:
the flowers pink, bursting from the snow;
and these I plucked to make a garland sweet,
the fragrance for to wreathe about my head.

Has anyone ever spontaneously declaimed poetry at you? For that matter, have you ever been wooed like this? Have you ever known luxury like this?

And what else do you let slip, unwisely, during pillow talk?

***

Fengye!

Han of the Highlands is like a stringed instrument in your hands. Maybe not an erhu, but an oversized Western mandolin. Ask Han your two questions, which will be answered honestly, whether or not Han knows she is answering them.

Threefold Garden

"Very... kissy? You're not talking about Han there, right?"

It's very easy to get people to overshare: just agree with them. That wasn't Han that was kissy, of course not: just saying "No, it wasn't" and leaving it at that is the hardest thing in the world for some people. This isn't something that she expects to come up, but as somebody planning to meddle in their budding young relationship (so new! so fragile!), she'd rather find a way to not separate them unless needed. For once, her job and her heart work together: they're easier to control if they care about the other, and they deserve a chance to be happy together.

9 on Figure Them Out: What are Lotus's feelings towards Machi? And what is Lotus hoping to get from Han?
Lotus can ask one in return.

Kalaya, Kalaya's Cabin

The masked woman helps you dress in the borrowed Dominion robe and takes you through to your new cabin.

It isn't a bad cabin, even.

You've got the standard shipman's desk, a bunk, a small set of shelves if you had any possessions or intended to stay here any longer than the night, along with your clothes, patched and cleaned. She leaves you be to change, reappearing with a cup of tea as you finish getting into your things again, taking the dominion robe without a complaint. She bows her head slightly as her farewell, then pauses.

"I am about to go tend to Knight Uusha's wounds. Is there anything you'd like me to pass along?"

After you respond, she leaves you be with the guards told to escort you to any public parts of the barge you wish to go to, or to watch that you aren't disturbed if you simply want to rest. And she leaves that tea. A very familiar order.

Later

The cloak is delivered to your cabin a few hours later. It's a very light thing, a silk half-cape only going down just past the small of your back, a deep rich green edged in brown, cut to your size. The clasp, a simple carved wooden knot, lets you wear it symmetrically, or off center, covering your off hand in a swordfight, if you had the need. Woven into the bottom edge are fresh lilies, white and still smelling pure. The note with it explains that while it won't ward off a sword blow, it should stand up to the rigors of travel surprisingly well.

Using Kalaya's mixed beat on Figure Them Out to ask her how she feels about Uusha?

"Please just tell her ... I'm sorry she was hurt, and I hope she recovers quickly." replies Kalaya.

It's plain language, as befits the fact that while she knows of Ushua, she doesn't really know the Stag Knight as a person. The surface is one of professional respect, from one Knight to another. That said, you can see other emotions in Kalaya's eyes as she answers you - guilt and insecurity. She really is sorry for the wounds the other woman bears and, although she'd not had any other choice, it won't stop her from re-examining the whole situation again and again, like a blacksmith's puzzle - in the vain hope that there was a less tangled way to solve it.

Accepting the cloak and tea, the Princess-Knight closes the door.

Kalaya remains silent as she turns back to the cabin. Her gaze roaming around the room, noting the (relatively) comfortable furniture, but also the lack of windows.

At least she has her equipment - she'd spent some time going over every item reverently - tightening every strap, buckling every clasp and slotting every piece back into its proper place. The suea pat, tied at the waist, emerald and trimmed with lilies. The leather vest, greaves and vambrances.

The dominion had clearly searched her belongings thoroughly, as evidenced by the fact that everything is here - from her oilskin cloak and travel bag right down to every last piece of copper in her coin pouch. It was hard not to read a message into all of this.

That may have been the point. she thinks, glumly, looking down at the tea and recognising the scent as her customary favourite.

How long has the Dominion been spying to know that?

She was out of the brig, but very much still at the bottom of the well.

She could almost, almost accept that they had benign motives here. But she'd seen that glimpse in Cathak's eyes - the Kingdoms were just a bauble to her, one to be added to a horde and looked at occasionally. Not cherished, nurtured and celebrated for what it was. The Dominion might be playing nicely now, but she'd have to be ready for the inevitable turn.

Sitting cross legged on the ground, she stares up to the ceiling and beyond.

Her words are a breath on the cup to cool the tea.

I am conscious of peace.
The calm breath of heaven rises in my sleeves.
And blows my cares away.

Three sips to drink it to the dregs. One swirl clockwise in between, then counter, then clockwise again.

Raise it to the sky. Then upend it on the saucer. A final benediction to Bright Rose and then ... she lifts the cup.

Hoping some kind of sign will greet her.

She seems on the brink of answering. She does not, but the anticipation of an answer coming raises tension to the surface just in time for her to spot it and ruthlessly target it. The question melts away in swift and strong fingers, finding their way around pressure points in the scalp, to the electrifying spot at the base of the neck and top of the spine, to finding stories hidden in the knots of your shoulders and gently filing and archiving them away where you never have to consider them again. And this is the point where it becomes truly incapacitating. When muscles tighten they lock in toxins, biological detritus that amasses in clenched veins. As they are taught to relax by the hands of another all of that accumulated tension washes out into circulation, all the blocked chi of months and years at last freed to pass down from chakra to chakra.

It is incapacitating. It is literally paralyzing. You could not even walk home like this. It's an exhaustion so deep and so real and immense that there's nothing left for you to be, an exhaustion you've been carrying for so long finally making itself known.

There is nothing she couldn't do to you in this moment. No question she couldn't coax out of you. She could have you do anything, say anything, take your kiss or take your life.

And... she doesn't.

She doesn't ask anything of you in that moment of vulnerability. She doesn't take anything from you that you might defend at another time. She has two questions - she uses neither of them. In her hands you are, for the first time, impossibly, unbelievably, uniquely safe.

She does not tell you her name. You know that the feeling of safety does not cut both ways. Through the haze of exhaustion you can tell that there's a tension in her as bad or worse than anything you've felt. Despite that, maybe because of that, she doesn't abuse your vulnerability. She just tends to you, muscle after muscle, skin to skin, finding every part of you that is tense and broken and healing it with commanding kindness.

You perceive dimly, later, that she has to be carried from the bath. You are in no state to go after her immediately. It will take hours of rest to process what she has done.

But when you stir next you will feel better than you ever dreamed you could.

[Emotional Support: 10, Fengye takes a string on Han, Han chooses one.]

No. No and no and no. Giri's a mountain girl! She grew up in simple places. She ran off with one of the local shepherd's girls who had the prettiest brown hair that was soft like moss and rolled in the field at 16 and called it wondrously comfortable. They even parted amicably! Fun times, hope to see you again, knew it couldn't last and all.

Of course, she's been to the city, stayed in inns and slept in nice beds. But Giri is a traveling witch. She can't stay in one place for long and even in a noble's mansion she gets the guest bedroom and simple treatment. Enough coin to go about yes, but not near enough to lavish like one of the daughters of heaven upon her own pleasure barge!

And there's something about this. It's been a day of beautiful learning. Of safety and the jingling of her collar as Red Wolf moves her fingers about, and of taking what she wants and breaking all the taboos to get it. But this, too, is new and special. The poetry fills her ears and her mind in a way that all the physicality of earlier can't quite do on its own. It's like it carries her away. She imagines herself atop Mount Meru receiving a garland of flowers even as her mind lazily dwells on the metaphor. It's not hard to attribute conquest to Red Wolf, but to be the subject of it and compared even lightly to such grand things fills her with a giddiness all its own.

Her own mind races too as is her wont. The mountain was the symbol of strength and of endurance, the pink mountain flower holding the meaning of gentleness or kindness arising in a rugged place. A symbol of hidden beauty and unexpected kindness. It was also one of the symbols of the N'yari. Which is what led Giri to whisper "I could take you to the mountains. To the hidden trails and the valleys. The N'yari, at least the ones that aren't divine spirits in disguise, would accept you there with me. I've helped them too, wandering the Flower Kingdoms. They see you as a challenge you know, a romance not just a conquest."

She smiled and traced her own finger across the Red Wolf's shoulder and down the arm, slowly and gently, and lay on those comfortable sheets hoping the night would last forever.

No answer? Hardly. You’ve told her exactly who you are, honored scribe.

You are healer, of long-borne aches, of troubles too small to bother anyone with, of everything your hands touch. Everything she lets you touch. And it’s so hard. It’s so hard to keep holding her secret hurts in scarred hands, when they could be gone forever the moment she hands them to you. It’s so hard to remember the lesson burned into her by a lifetime of learning. Your heart is dangerous. Alien. You must never show it. Everything is on you. You’re strong enough to do it all. It doesn’t hurt that badly. It doesn’t. It. Doesn’t…

You are guardian, of this moment, of this little bubble of creation big enough for two and two alone. Nothing may enter without your leave. Nothing will slip past you for some less honorable soul to steal. A total authority that cannot be resisted, and yet, an authority that she does not resent. For instead of secrets, you draw groans, you draw sighs, you draw soft, needy whimpers from her lips. They travel no further than you, living only in this quiet you’ve created for her. Not even Emli, clinging close to her side, hears a whisper of them. When you leave, you will take them with you, and will she even remember speaking them?

You are strong, enough to reduce a dragon to a blissful nothing, to take on the thinking for two. It will take her hours for her body to process what you’ve done to her. It will take her days, months, maybe years for her heart to process what you’ve done to her. Even this evening, as she lies in a half-dreaming daze, she will remember the warm fog that descended on her and wonder.

And yet, you are just not strong enough to stop her eyes from flickering open. Her head from lolling over. Her gaze to meet yours, with hardly a breath between the two of you.

“Hey. You. M’gonna. Gonna find you. And. Get you back. Show you good. Time. Tea. Yeah…”

And what a heroic effort it took to say that much. To take her heart and push it to the surface, hold it up on trembling limbs long enough to speak, before succumbing all over again to your command.

The last of her energy leaves her. She is nothing more than exhausted. She cannot comprehend the wordless command you finally give Emli. Her trained hands accept the precious bundle, working without thought through soothing patterns of touch and skin. Attendants bring her cups of cool water, and she lifts them gently to Han’s lips. As you are helped away, you see the mighty dragon, she who rebuked the General himself, nuzzle into the slave-girl’s neck, too safe to remember worry.

For now, for once, she is safe.

[Han opens up via submission, and clears Hopeless.]

Piripiri!

The blush and the stammer and the meandering attempts to explain herself further just dig the little demigod into a deeper hole, and make it painfully clear: she wants Han to be her hero, but part of her wants Machi to be her villain. When she saw the N’yari kissing Han, she was jealous of Han, whatever her growing feelings towards the highlander. And while she knows it’s a terrible thing to think, she still thought: what if Machi gets me alone, carries me off, torments and embarrasses me while I wait for Han to come save me again? Or what if she takes both of us?

But she wants Han. She wants Han’s company. She wants to be around Han more than she wants the flutterings of a maiden’s heart; she wants safety that doesn’t feel safe and she wants more kisses that feel wonderful and she wants to make that surly ruffian smile.

She asked you one question, though, so sincere that it slipped through your defenses like a knife: what are you and the Red Wolf? And she caught a glimpse, however you might try to hide it, of your true feelings towards Cathak Agata— which may make her dangerous.

However you answered, here you find your feet bringing you deeper below. There’s one more person who you must attend to tonight, after all…

***

Fengye!

The little thing in front of you seems like a sullenly blushing chambermaid, a creature doomed to service and helplessness in either world she might find herself in. She is also one of the soul-fragments of the Broken King, and thus, horrifically dangerous. If there is some way that she could return to what she once was, it would be devastating. She could kill all of you before she was cast back out into Hell. It’s just that she can’t, as far as you know, not without returning to Hell and waging war for her title.

She’s also mumbling and furiously blushing as the seamstress-demon tightens her coils and rubs against her, using some of her loveliest features to smother the little chambermaid’s face. She’s fallen very, very far. How does that make you feel, knowing that she’s ended up in such a pathetic state?

Beside you, in this rather secure cabin, is the Hymairean agent, who took control of the contracts that allow the demons to remain in the world. She’s… prodding. Prying. She’s still suspicious enough not to fully trust your word. And if she finds out the truth, well, that would be very bad, wouldn’t it?

***

Giriel!

It was a chance meeting. Agata kissed your cheek and smacked your rump and told you to run along, she needed to have a private meeting with an advisor. So here you are, collared and wearing one of those bright, soft Dominion robes, taking the time in the garden on the deck— and there Kalaya was, going through a ritual of Bright Rose Aching, a further plea for a sign.

You should offer your service as a witch, even one so obviously… owned. After all, Kalaya is Agata’s guest, and your duties as a witch are sacred, in their own way. Ask her what she needs. Give her advice. Try not to blush as she stares at the collar and hears the tinkling of the bells.

***

Han!

You heard the quiet voices around the corner, but that didn’t quite prepare you for what you saw, all the same.

The Red Wolf, forearm braced against the wall as she leaned forward, hair half-loose. Her hand, cupping Lotus’s chin, tilting it upwards. Their faces, closer than maybe they need to be for conversation. Lotus’s bare cheeks, flushed, her shoulder blades flush with the door to her cabin.

Lotus jolts when she sees you. “Han!!” Now she’s even more flustered, and it’s hard to tell whether she’s guilty or relieved. The Red Wolf, however, doesn’t show any sign of guilt at all. She lets Lotus’s chin slump back down and catches your eye, her smile completely devoid of self-consciousness.

“Let’s get another opinion, then,” she says, as smooth as ice, as if nothing were wrong at all. “How are you finding my hospitality, Han?”

(It’s been pretty great. Emli’s been spoiling you rotten, and you’re clean, fresh, well-fed— and yet you’ve stumbled across… something? Is it something? The Red Wolf is very handsy. But she doesn’t seem like you caught her doing anything, but Lotus seems like she was just… maybe Lotus was…? No, surely not. Right? But then why would she look so…? Is she trying to move up in the world?)

The Threefold Garden

She stiffens at the question, grimacing as she her back complains from the movement. Deliberately pushes herself to relax, mouth set in a quirked, humorless smile beneath the veil, as she reaches up to the lily in her hair and pulls it out, looking down into it, perhaps for answers.

There aren't any there, so she tosses it into the river below, shaking her head. The Red Wolf is a character, one that she helps maintain. But Cathak Agata? Selfish. Spoiled. Arrogant. Incredibly dangerous, and Piripiri is safe from that as long as she's loyal. And, lastly, most important, blessed with the right to rule, on behalf of her ancestor.

"She's my lady, of the bloodline of the Last Dragon, and bearer of the mandate."

A little smile and a bow. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other duties to attend to. It was lovely to have a chance to talk in a lull between life's unpleasantness. Best wishes for happiness in the coming days."

Interrogation Room 1

Piripiri closes the door behind her, and immediately takes off her mask. There's no real need for it here. She sets it aside, on a table, putting the medicine chest next to it, and starts picking tools and ointments out, glancing over to examine Uusha's battered body with a clinical eye.

The Stag Knight has had a bad day. She kneels, fetters holding her feet to the floor as her arms are held well overhead, a thick ball gag silencing her. The crossbow bolt had been removed, but only given a cursory dressing, and Piripiri glares at the thin, red-soaked bandage. Not good enough.

"I'm going to be treating your wounds here. I'm telling you this so you know that nothing you say is going to lead to preferential treatment or punishment. Because I want to ask you about something Giriel did, while she had your proxy, and I don't want you to just guess what answer you want me to hear or what would hurt me the most." It'd happened, rarely, in interrogations. But this wasn't an interrogation.

She reaches up to take off the gag, fingers careful to not catch any of Uusha's hair in the buckle, and puts it on the table.

"You won't be able to talk for a little while because your jaw is stretched out and sore, if you haven't had to deal with one of these before."

She starts with a damp cloth, peeling back the offending bandage and wiping it clean, setting the dirty cloth aside, and grabbing the next, and talks as she works.

"In Hymairian tradition, when I surrendered, I was in your custody. I would obey what was I was told to do, with a few exceptions, not try to escape or use force until the sun has crossed the horizon twice. I did that. In exchange, there is an expectation that any prisoner that you hold is to be defended as you would anyone else that owed you loyalty. I am explaining all this because it's possible that you simply didn't know. Hymair... Hymair is very far from here."

She's done cleaning the worst wound, here, and peels off her thin gloves, holding her hand out, palm up, mirroring how she'd offered it earlier to Giriel. "Giriel did this, while she held your proxy. She commanded me to bleed, instead of asking, because she could, and because she didn't want to extend trust that I wanted to get out of Hell as much as anybody else there." There's a moment of thought as she works out how to word her question. "Is that command an acceptable action to you?"

Was it morally wrong? Is it an acceptable sin, in war or in extremis? Would you have done the same? Would her having been free, and not captured, change any of this? All these questions and more compressed into one.

Piripiri's Cabin

The bed's taken by two demons. The desk has a small medicine chest, open and well used, and a larger one that's been closed and locked properly. The daughter of dragons sitting opposite you, across the small table holding the teapot and cups, is wearing something much more subdued than earlier at the banquet, a dark gray tunic and black leggings, with a House Ragara pendant hanging on a choker about her neck.

"So, I'd like to start with the basics. What's your name? And how did you end up in Hell with the rest of us?"

She looks really tired.

She has passed beneath the gaze of the dragon-saint, a blessing that means her crimes were not so great after all. But now, the majordomo, the chief of staff, the intelligence officer. Removed sufficiently from power to take her time with the questioning.

But also vulnerable. Fragile and all so human. She feels stone beneath the fabric of her robe. Blue sparks rise lazily but demandingly up behind her eyes. Once, there was a maiden and so many ways the story could go.

Names. Dates. Connections. Fengye the bureaucrat knows many things, about Hymair, about home, but through the eyes of Venus the connections between those things crackle electric blue.

"I apologize, great lady," said Fengye. "But you have not told me your name and title, the reason for your question and the authority by which you ask them. As Daana'd, Immaculate Dragon of Water said: A scribe is not an empty cog; she must know who she reports to that she might tailor her message, just as water fits the shape of the glass." ... By this way the greater unity of all under heaven can be seen in water flawlessly clear, but to continue with the sermon was beyond the bounds of protocol.

Show me, then. Show me your connections. Show me your desires.

[Centre of the Web: How could I get you in my power?]

Oh no you dont.

Red Wolf’s a shamelessly handsy viper, sure. Touches everything and everyone like she owns it all. But you wanna know who she doesn’t own? Lotus. Her charge. Hers. So what if she didn’t actually see her doing anything? Don’t trust that snake even for a minute. She can take her oh-so-innocent smiles and stuff ‘em.

The deck planks shudder under her unrelenting advance. She doesn’t even look at Lotus. She won’t give the enemy a hint of an opening, a moment to rally her defenses. There is an angry dragon, in your face, and that’s what you’re dealing with now. (Nevermind that she has to crane her neck up to look her target in the eye. Or that said target keeps hiding behind her stupidly perfect hair.)

“I’d find it a hell of a lot better if you got her a veil. Personally.” She growls out a challenge. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you; you don’t rottin’ touch a priestess.”

[Activating Shameless: Giving Red Wolf a string on Han to ask her the question: What do you hope to get from Lotus?]

[Also rolling to Defy Disaster with Spirit, to attempt to cut through Red Wolf's blame-shifting techniques: 5 + 4 + 1 = 10]

There are many ways someone can carry themselves with a jingling collar. When she was done with Agata; and had stretched, taken a few breaths, brushed her hair, and composed herself; Giri had selected a combination of delicate and dignified. She walks gingerly, each step drawing attention to the fact that she is wearing a collar, that she knows she is wearing a collar, that she cannot move without a jingle but she can try to keep the swaying of her body to a minimum and the associated jingles soft. Yet at the same time, her stance is straight and her gaze steady, without the flinch of embarrassment that seems to be Han’s signature of late. It’s not relaxed, but it is dignified. It challenges the watcher to dare tell her that anything about this is worthy of shame.

Thus does she approach Kalaya on the garden deck. There is only a light tinkle as she steps nearer to her. “I hope you were treated well?” she asks, and there is sincerity in her voice and worry in her eyes. She’s away from Red Wolf now, and less intoxicated. She did remark that Kalaya wasn’t at their luxurious dinner, even if she hadn’t said anything at the time.

“I…never did find the Rakshasa who disrupted your tournament. If I can assist with that still or with…anything else that may benefit from a witch’s talents, I am at your service p…my lady.” You can tell at the end that Giri was going to call you princess but thought better if it and settled on a neutral title of respect. Have you told her what you think your role is here? Do you know yourself?

"Taking out the Rakshasa would definitely be a help." replies Kalaya, smiling and turning at the familiar voice. "It's the reason I'm stuck at the bottom of this well."

Giriel - you ask if Kalaya has been treated well. The answer is unspoken but, depending on how strong your memories are of that irrepressible girl, you might be able to figure it out. Her smile, although real, is shadowed. Her posture somewhat slumped, a lack of energy that belies the physical (thank you Ushua) and mental (thank you Red Wolf) strain on her.

Despite all these things, the princess is quick to stand and envelop you in a hug.

"At least the company is good. It's been a long time."

After a while, she leans back and glances at your neck.

"Was this by choice or by force?" From the tone of voice, one captive to another, you can tell she knows what her role is - at least for the one thrust upon her.

Behind her lies an abandoned saucer and a meaningless haze of tea leaves. A divining? If so - it was clearly an unsuccessful one.