Han clears nine paces before Lotus can finish crying out. Her patta traces a glittering arc through the sky; a late-falling star with deadly aim.

“You want me to just surrender?!”

And down. And through. And swipe and slash and through and through and ever forward. Han calls forth an avalanche of steel, churning the ground to mud in her wake. Let slip from the mountain heights by an innocent demigod’s cry for help. She is unstoppable. She is indomitable. All her body is a weapon, and no one can stand against her.

(But not her left arm. It hangs by her side, only sometimes shifting, for balance. Not the vaulting, free-flowing ideal of violence she was before.)

“You want me to take a damn vacation while you steal my home out from under me?!”

She opens herself, and the Essence comes roaring in. With every slice of her blade, the midmorning air turns to reeling clouds of steam. A sword of justice, wielded in defiance, barring the way to Lotus with the power of Heaven that was her birthright. And she takes in more, and more, and more still.

(But not to her zenith. Not so brightly that the Beast comes forth. Not so hot that she burns all around her. Not with Lotus still so near.)

“You want her. I don’t know where she fits in your plans, but you’ll fit in a stewpot when I’m done with you. And you thought, you thought-!” She snarls, and her own sword creaks in her iron grip. “You thought we’d just go along with you?! You stupid, swaggering, Dominion rat! Save your breath and spare us the wilting speech!”

Such as it has been. Such as it is. Such as it always will be. The Dominion comes to steal, to corrupt, to own, and she stands against them. The Dominion will fight her, from their fortresses to their luxury barges, from their soldiers to her own neighbors. They may wound her. But they will not break her. They cannot break her. She will give her body and mind and soul to this war, and when the ash settles it will be her standing. Her!

(But not her heart. Her heart has no place in this battle. So. It cannot possibly hear the longing in Lotus’ cry. Or wonder at the strange, curious picture this Dominion spy paints, of quiet time, of true hearts unfolding, of fun.)

[Rolling to Fight: 5 + 4 + 2 = 11. Choosing to:
-Inflict a Condition, with cutting words or violence
-Create an opportunity for Lotus
-Provoke Piri with a harsh rejection of her goals, and take a String on her.

Piri chooses 1 option in return.]

Ven!

Kalaya stirs at your touch, blinking owlishly at the person who has woken her up at - what time is it? It's dark out. For an aspiring knight, she is pretty hard to rouse. You would've thought she'd be ready to jump into action at a moment's notice.

There's a flash of recognition, and Kalaya stiffens once she sees just who's standing over her. Her reaction is unexpected enough to make you frown in confusion. Is Kalaya not happy to see you? Is she scared of you? Maybe arriving in the dead of night was the wrong move. Maybe arriving at all was the wrong move. After all, your - is it okay to call you girlfriends? - anyway, she's a knight after all. And could well think of you as a threat.

You look closer at her eyes. They are frantically flicking between your face and the bedsheets. And she's turning redder.

Ohhhhhhhh.

Releasing your hand lets her give you a desperate shooing motion - so you and your companion shuffle outside.

Kalaya!

Pants pants pants pants PANTS. Where are your pants?

You have just enough time to scribble a short note to Petony - don't want the other knight worrying after all - before you silently slip out into the hallway to go on your date. So caught up you are in your girlfriend's presence that you don't even register the other person immediately.

Instead, you opt to list off the various potential locations the two of you can go! After all, that teahouse you passed by on the way into town looked really quaint, but depending on the time it might be better to grab breakfast at the dumpling bar near the cliff. It advertised early opening and you can sit there and watch the sunrise together! Or you could go for a walk back down the mountain to the stream you crossed yesterday. It's full of fish and looked great for a swim, or just to sit down with a book. By the way, she'd brought some of their old favourites out of her rucksack.

"I," said Fengye, "am certain that you have the wrong person, mistress. I am but a humble scribe of the Dominion, kidnapped by N'yari."

[The Mask: 8. The lie you have chosen is unexpectedly perfect, creating a new opportunity]

Remember how to do this. Let the tea spill. Let your hands tremble. Blush and look down. Wilt. Step back into yourself and become again the perfect scribe, the dutiful nobody. Cunning fingers, broken legs. No threat to anybody. And, when the time comes, steal a glimpse of your superior through your lashes and judge where the limits of her vision lie.

Perhaps, if Giriel were herself a daughter of Heaven and rightful heir to the thrones of this world, she would step into the camp and shout, her voice full of thunder, for all of them to stop their foolishness at once. It's what she wishes she could do, even as part of her sees it as the greatest hubris.

She is, however, not such a daughter of Heaven, and she has no such power. Nor would she offer Zhaojun her own flesh under any circumstances. If she could get the mask to the Banneret, she would do that too and then let them all be tied up and taunted by N'yari. What a small price indeed to set Heaven's affairs aright!

She glances at the combat again. No, she would not interfere. She knew N'yari, at least ones who weren't secretly heavenly spirits in disguise. Trying to stop their combat would cause chaos. Breaking the ritual, several would likely interfere, the General might even have an easier time breaking free. The last thing in the world that Giri wanted was to make this space look more like a chaotic melee or heaven forfend a battlefield.

So instead, she calls out a greeting to the gathered N'yari as she steps into the camp. Nevermind the Banneret, let her make a fool of herself. Giri is here openly, a guest, an arrival, a witch. "I am the witch, Giriel Bruinstead, at your service" she calls, and bows in the N'yari custom. She is looking for who is in charge, who will come to her and ask what she's doing and tell her of what's going on. It might be the N'yari currently fighting, it often is. No problem if that's the case, let's see who she gets instead or if that even stops the fight briefly.

"No."

She twirls out of the way, sword-tip tracing a line through her sleeve and leaving a bright red line behind as she tosses her umbrella high up in the air and throws a packet to the ground, which blooms into a cloud of thick smoke. It doesn't sting your eyes Han, but you've never had that problem, now have you, dragon-child? And then she's exploding out of the smoke, inches away from you and circling towards your sword arm, close enough that you don't have the angle.

"This is not surrender. This is a truce."

Piripiri feints towards Han's eyes and commits to the sword-arm, rooting her stance and dragging Han along and off your feet. Han, you've been thrown before, you can recover midair, but she's not chasing you down. She reaches up to catch the umbrella and settles into a willow-style swordstance, umbrella out and across her body.

"You have no reason to love the Dominion? I encourage you to test your strength against them." Them, and not us, an astute listener might hear. "Win. Prove yourself. I want you to gather yourself, plan, learn, recover. I am your enemy, I cannot simply give you those things, only trade them."

That was no N'yari gloating, and no Dominion objective focus here: she could have gone for Lotus and booked it. Instead, her eyes are aglow with excitement and the ground around her has bloomed into a riot of colors.

She wants this fight. Or maybe, instead, she wants you to have it. And she's staying still, letting you get ready and make the next move.

I am picking to take a string on Han, and taking Angry as the condition from the fight. Not so much fury as the heat of passion of a duel here.

In return, she's rolling an Entice and got a 12.

Kalaya!

“That sounds great,” Ven starts, pulling her cloak tighter around herself as the three of you stand on the back veranda of the inn. The world is shifting mist and gentle spattering, and Ven shuffling closer, until her shoulder is resting against yours. For a moment, for just a moment, everything is perfect and sweet.

“But we have work to do,” says the stranger. Thin, pale, bags under her eyes, intense. “The sooner we uphold our end of the bargain, the sooner that we will be able to reach the end result. The promise of alchemy. The iron-wheeled cakkavatti. Heaven under one hand, Hell under the other. Came at it from the wrong direction. Should have known better. Not outside enough for the shape of the working, even with my presence.”

(Giriel would be able to tell you about the cakkavatti, the monarch who is able to dictate the destiny of their country, who is able to defy both the will of Heaven and the power of the dragon-blooded. It’s an occult topic, a shorthand for a perfect ruler, a theological thought construct that has seen other kingdoms collapse in hubris. She would warn you that Peregrine has latched onto the idea of making one manifest and is pursuing it without stopping to ask about the consequences of failure. She would tell you that Ven is walking the edge of a knife. But Giriel is not here.)

“What she means,” Ven says, shifting her weight, “is that we think we know why Uusha won’t, can’t succeed at what she really wants. But I can. And I need your help.”

“Want her help,” the stranger corrects, drumming her nails on the railing. “Insisted on her help. Acceptable source of resources. But we need to start. Find the discarded prior, anchor the Title. Then it gets fun.”

“We can do that from the dumpling bar,” Ven says, but weakly. Not exactly the paragon of chivalry.

---

Fengye!

The eye of Heaven(‘s messenger-hound) slides off you, molten gold, redirected by how meek you are, how pitiful you seem, how much you turn yourself into the inversion of a threat.

Then she bounds forward into a dance of swords, thinking herself capable of defeating anyone she pleases, and she’s quite right.

It’s just that she ignores the Maid completely, who responds by jamming her pommel into the hound’s hip, which is the difference between her snatching the mask and Jazumi knocking her down, but she’s springing back up, and now there’s three duelists watching each other, and the Maid’s snarling, and Jazumi’s pretending to be cavalier as she sizes up this new challenger.

You will have your work cut out for you trying to get the Maid to win, but now it is possible, as long as she is able to claim both masks, and is stopped from wearing either one.

---

Giriel!

“Big B!”

Hanaha (“better Han”) pounces on you, delightedly. She can’t get you off your feet, but she’s got you doubled over in an enthusiastic chokehold, and— oh, okay, that’s the power dynamics. This is Machi’s crew, and Machi is Not Here. They’re defaulting to Jazumi, but she’s trying to deal with both the Banneret and the Maid on either side, much too competitive to stop the fight just yet.

Hanaha, meanwhile, is giving you an impudent noogie. She will doubtless try to take you prisoner, as a bit, but what she really wants is for you to wrestle with her, to be the half-wild witch that you are, to position yourself as a liminal figure who can speak with N’yari using their own language.

All you have to risk is your dignity, the integrity of your outfit, and the fact that—

She’s right there. The scribe. The possessed. The woman who caused so much turmoil on the barge. She’s right there and she’s giving you a Look and if you are an undignified wildwoman she will Watch and she’ll know you, Bruinstead. As if she had a String about your heart.

But the alternative is being bullied by— Hanaha is attempting to put her tongue in your ear now actually this is what you have to deal with, mountain catgirls are just Like This and the only way to deal with them is to be Like That even harder back at them.

---

Lotus!

You could run, you know.

It’s an option! You could sprint and try to find someplace to hide. You could call for one of the little brown foxes and send a message to a god and get help!

But Han is straining.

Your hand has your dress in a deathgrip, and the other clings to the umbrella for strength. Your toes dig in as you stand and watch, breathless, wordless, eyes wide, as Han fights the nice lady from the Dominion, and it’s almost like you can see the essence pouring off her shoulders, the shape of the mighty dragon boiling underneath her skin, and then—

You feel the pulse of wood essence that flows through her feet, the rush of blooming flowers, the colors bursting in the back of your head. The noise you make is indecent, new, delighted? Delighted. She never did this around you before. Not like this. And you’re half-god, you’re the child of the river, and the world reflects its dragon-joy right back at you, and your heart is hammering as Han vents more, more power, more heat, more heat, like the dragon she is, and is this how the children of dragons conquered the world? Is this how you want Han to conquer you?

“Get her!” Someone yells. The voice sounds familiar. “Han! Yes! Yes~!” Oh! Oh. Oh.

They’re fighting over you, Lotus. All of this is for you. And if Han wins she might come over and tug your veil down and kiss you, her heart beating fierce and fast and fiery, and if the lady from the Dominion wins, wraps you up close, leaves you throbbing and blooming and helpless…

Oh! Oh! You are useless! Every blow, every clash, every pulse, leaves you reeling, gasping, and so, so fortunate that neither one of them can see your face, because it might betray how selfish you are, that you want them to fight over you and then claim their, their, their prize…!!!

Kalaya enjoys the moment, her left hand snaking down to entwine fingers with Ven's right. The cool morning air, crisp from an hour that most never seek to enjoy, brushes gently against warming cheeks, bringing with it the smells of woodfire and boiling water. In the distance, she can hear the ringing of iron that signals the hamlet's blacksmith has started their work.

"Well, I'm always happy to help. Though there's no sense trying to figure stuff out on an empty stomach." she says, grinning. "And this date was my idea, so I'm paying - no arguments about it."

Eventually though, she has to address the pale, cloaked war elephant in the room.

Wait. Pale. Cloaked. Talking magic gibberish?

"Are you Peregrine?" Kalaya ventures, smiling at the curt nod and holding out a hand that is not quickly accepted. "I'm Kalaya-Phraya. My companions and I have been looking for you, actually! I have a ... curse? Maybe? That has been laid on me that I'm looking for help to get rid of. And Dima-Phraya is in need of a witch who can help her calm the troubles between her and the river spirit. I don't suppose you'd be available for work at the moment? I have no idea what a cake-a-whatti is, but if Vee here needs it then I'm sure we can track one down. Maybe we can do an exchange?"

She's rambling as they walk, and quickly demonstrating her (poor) knowledge of theological constructs. But if asked, or if the topic of Ushua presents, she will gladly add her two coppers, and knowledge of Giriel's reading of the war-fate, into the mix.

In the meantime though, she orders three bowls of dumplings and hot tea for an outside table with a good view of the sunrise.

A part of Han could no longer swear to what she would find if she ripped off that mask. A bed of leaves could hide a yawning pit. A false step could lead to disaster.

The rest of Han roars.

Running hot on the power of a demigod’s faith, she plants her feet, and the guttural roar of an apex predator erupts from that compact frame. She speaks a promise of doom to every sense of the body. Blooming flowers wither to brown in a blast of terrible heat, where they grow too close to her. Hearts too, should they stand before her unprepared.

What of yours, dragon-daughter? She will beat an answer out of your blade. At once she rushes in, following the storm of sound with a rain of heavy blows. None aimed for your body; all fall upon your umbrella. Again and again, until you break.

You think to hold a truce with her? Hold your own, first. Stand in the ring with her, and just see what happens. Pull out every trick and fancy technique you’ve got. It. Won’t. Matter. She’s strong enough to take it. She’s strong enough to beat you. That’s all there is to it.

She doesn’t need to trade when she’s got all she needs to beat you.

[Han gives into the desire for a duel. Piri takes another string on Han.]

[Han also rolls to Figure Out a Person: 6 + 3 - 2 = 7. Two questions, and a bonus question by doing it through combat:
-What are your feelings towards me?
-What do you hope to get from us?
-How could I get you to kiss me?]

"Hanaha!" Giri shouts, throwing the catgirl into a strong-armed headlock. "It's been so long!"

What is dignity in all this? In the face of even the slight risk of a greater demon being freed and rampaging about the camp? What is dignity in the face of this spirit who has already humiliated Giri in every encounter? Dignity finds itself stood next to responsibility and utterly dwarfed, as the tree at the foot of a mountain.

And beyond that, this responsibility is also freeing. The true virtue of the N'yari, that proper relations to them are to let yourself go, to wrestle wildly, let them tear your clothes and roll in the mud and damn who might be watching. If she'd only learned all this earlier, much grief could have been saved. And if she could manage things now, there was much grief still to save. The Flower Kingdoms deserved to have their wildness preserved!

As for the scribe, she deserved to see this too. She especially. She deserved to see Giri's muscles heave and watch the witch sweat as she wrestled a proper N'yari. The scribe deserved to watch Giri roll in the mud, her hair loose, her clothes ragged, her breath coming hot and fast, even as the other combat matched it. Fengye ought to have the opportunity to look closely as cat and girl strained against each other for her, pressed and fought and tumbled because of her machinations and machinations of Heaven on her behalf. Is this something that could fill the hole that Giri saw in her heart, the boundless craving?

[Rolling to Entice Fengye. 6+1+2=9. She can decide to offer the string or react.]

Too much. Too fast. Too sharp. Motion and muscle everywhere she looked and she was no part of it. This was chaos but it had stopped being her chaos. This was deception but she was losing her way out of it. She risked vanishing into the role, becoming so stunned and still in the crush of emotion that she really did become a humble scribe. Helpless and without ambition.

That was the one change she could never quite manage though. The more control slipped away from her the more focused she got. When she'd felt like she could never influence the scions of the Dominion, never draw their eyes, it had made her cold and sharp. It had given her the strength to study and bind demons. She felt the same now; this was slipping from her grip and it woke her. Woke the hunger in her. This was a battle of strength and she was not strong enough to compete.

From her sleeve, a fan. She snaps it open and upon its surface is the cascading symbol of summoning and binding. She lingers for a moment, though, eyes flicking through every combat and every front and considering what exactly her wish will be.

You see this, Giriel. You see her on the brink of forbidden sorcery once again. You've drawn her eye and distracted her enough that you have a chance to react before she commits.

There is an old koan. "Dragons have no word for peace."

Han slams blow after blow at the umbrella, and she doesn't dodge the first one, it knocks her umbrella wildly out of line and the masked lady is looping in close with an elbow aimed for Han's chest. The best defense against a blow is to not be there. She's inside Han's reach and is circling, forcing reactions by getting closer and closer. Elbow-blow into shoulder block into feint her-left-Han's-right into fingerjab, and she's laughing and laughing, joyous, green eyes flaring bright behind the mask.

How to get her to kiss you? Fight, and win. Fight, and lose. But fight like you are, and be interested, and she wants to already, she's in your space like it's a threat and a promise both that's coming due.

But you're good with that sword of yours, Han and while you don't have the formal training you've been in brawls with the N'yari. The opening passes and the woman in the mask dances back out of reach, with a few singed edges, but no fresh injuries inflicted or received.

And she is still carefully, deliberately leaving Lotus equidistant from you and her, still laughing. It's a dance you two are playing out, who is the stronger, better, faster, tougher, and she doesn't mind losing. But she's not going to throw it. Earn your victory, or know you tried your hardest and still lost, Han.

There's no word for peace, but there's words for balance, harmony, dancing, and duels.

Kalaya-Phraya!

“Sure,” says Peregrine, and she listens carefully as you explain Uusha’s curse. By the power of the wild gods, by the bones of the Flower Kingdoms, without solace and home. (The dumplings won’t even taste good. Not for you. Not today. Not with that hanging over you.)

“Are you attached to your name?” She offers, once you have finished. “That’s easy. I can destroy it. No you for the hooks to hold onto. No injury to the Kingdoms. Solution. Simple. Or. Or. The cakkavatti lifts it. Their prerogative. Her prerogative.”

“Oh, that would make things simple,” Ven says. From the look on her face, eating your name is not the most optimal solution. “All you have to do is help us, and then I can uncurse you.”

She reaches out and takes one of your hands with her own. She’s warm to the touch, almost feverish. Not just the humidity in the air. Hell was like this, too. Seared by green sunlight.

“And on top of that— we’ll stop the war before it can even start,” she continues. “No Dominion warships sailing up the river, no Holly barbarians pouring out of the north. Just you and me. We’ll be heroes. Queens.” She squeezes your hand.

What isn’t she telling you?

---

Hanaha!

The moment of distraction is all you need. You stuff the mountain witch’s face against your side and squeeze her head, reveling in the thump of blood through your limbs, in the back-and-forth of glorious competition (provided that you are the winner by the end of it).

This is what it means to be N’yari. And that is why you lick the top of her head, too, grinning and hot-mouthed and unrepentant. This is the insatiable heart that Grandmother Moon gave you, and nothing you do in following its irrepressible whims can truly be said to be wrong.

---

Lotus!

Now here’s a question.

Is there anything that could match their power, little flower? If your mother arrived, could she pry these two forces of nature apart? Possibly. Your mother is the spirit who holds power over all of the Kingdoms. But there’s doubt in your heart as you watch the two fight, and you get to see what it’s like when dragons fight over a treasure. (That’s you. You’re the treasure.)

Howls on the high wind. The cloud-spirits are beginning to notice what’s going on below. If they come down to watch the fight, beyond blanketing this whole area in fog and mist, they also might recognize you, or at the very least, might notice that you’re a little bit like them. And if anyone’s going to carry you off, you’d rather it be the exhilarating, beguiling dragon than a bunch of rowdy cloud-spirits.

So you rush towards the both of them, hoping that maybe you can— you don’t know, convince them to stop this glorious and jaw-dropping fight? You don’t really have a plan, you just hope that maybe if you get their attention, they’ll realize they need to stop on their own?

Or maybe you’ll get sucked into the fight, a tiny voice whispers. Tossed from dragon to dragon. Gently kissed by their unleashed powers, as Han and your pursuer bend around you and argue over you and fight over you~!!

Hard to point fingers on the matter of forbidden sorcery. Oh, this was probably a terrible idea. Part of Giriel immediately wanted to shout No, stop or abandon her fight and try to tackle the scribe before she did something utterly stupid. But only part of Giri wanted this. Her second thought was to remember back to the firewands, the Rakshasa's curse, the pain she had seen for just a brief moment in this girl. She didn't want to pile on top of that, and she definitely didn't want to throw herself at something that was cursed to just explode and explode and explode.

In that moment of thinking, Hanaha gets her in a headlock, and she can't see what's happening. A N'yari wrestling match really does demand full attention. Though Giri's head may be locked, she plants her feet and heaves with a grunt that huffs straight through Hanaha's fluffy arm. Her face red, she lifts the N'yari completely off her feet. Though Hanaha may still holding Giri's head, she's now dangling half off the witch's broad back and her grip has to switch from a tight headlock to scrabbling for purchase lest she fall unceremoniously on her ass.

Giri gains her stance and her vision back as Hanaha scrabbles just in time to turn and see what the scribe has in store for them.

It is a deep and fierce joy, cresting as the fight continues just like always, but Piripiri's never lost herself to it. She's quietly proud of that, when's alone and doesn't have to play out any role. So she notices as soon as Lotus starts to move forward. She's got a moment to plan.

Han clearly hasn't had anybody to dance a duel with before, nobody to answer this roaring need to question, see who's better and love the asking. There's techniques taught, meditation tricks to bank the fires or step aside from it, but she needs Han to trust her and stepping away from the dance would break that, bring everything back to the spy instead of the peer. So. Lean in. Breath in. Breath out. Let the essence dance and the song of the heart play on. Dragons are greedy. Dragons want the best fight, want the best victory, want the best kisses.

She goes on the offensive for the first time, a two step rush into a slide kicking up more dirt and dust than it should. The smokescreen covers a tossed net, wide open and clinging, and three satchets of flash-powder, unlit. She's trusting Han's next step in the dance here, burn the net wide enough and the blinding should buy her a moment more.

Enough time to kick off from the dust-screen slide, taking the five steps to Lotus and making her move. She picks up the demigod and twirls her into a dip, before setting her back on her feet with another wink and walking towards Han again, unhurried. The braided silk cord she'd wrapped around Lotus tightens as she tries to take her next step, but it won't trip her unless she fights it. She's watching Han's reaction closely here, making sure the liberties taken aren't going to break the fragile trust. But the grin hasn't stopped under the mask, and she still feels the joy of the dance. Your move, my dear.

Asking her question: What are your feelings towards me?

Piripiri!

Han walks into the trap beautifully. She charges right through the dust cloud, into the waiting embrace of your net. A wave of heat and Essence carries you on your way to Lotus, and as you sweep the demigod off her feet the two of you are bathed in the glow of flash-powder and the howl of Han’s rage.

Turn, and return to the dance. Your shield has become her camouflage. She lurks somewhere, blinded, in the depths of that cloud of dust. You take one step. Two steps. Lotus takes no steps, but attempts an awkward hop. She tries, but cannot keep up with you. You pull away. And Han bursts from the cloud like a comet. You duck back from a vicious overhead swing, and at once she follows it up with a wide swipe, a back kick, leaping slash, a raging river of heat and violence and are her eyes closed?!

She has no time to wait for her vision to recover. Her rival stands before her, when she could be bashing her into the ground, and she cannot bear to wait. She hears you. She smells you. That’s enough to throw swing after swing at you, and you can’t dodge her forever. You’ll make mistakes eventually. You’ll get tired first. You have to. She has to beat you. She’s going to beat you. She’s just got to beat you.

You cruel, cruel dragon. An agent of the Dominion, she might’ve crushed in the jaws of the Vermillion Beast. A pretty spy, she might’ve broken all advances on a shield of stubborn rudeness. But the moment she followed you into this duel she lost her greatest weapons. The fire that burns in her knows only how to break, to maim, to dominate. Now victory intertwines with the heart of her opponent, and she is lost. What else did you expect? All her life’s been a fight, and never a dance. For the hope of beating a rival, she will blindly hurl herself on your blade until she can no longer move. In defeat, she will curse her weakness, sitting atop a well of strength that could level cities. Who could be satisfied with a victory like that? Not a dragon. Never a dragon. For dragons are greedy, and want the best fights, the best victories, the best kisses.

And no dragon could resist a chance at all three.

Let your joy be made complete, o Daughter of Heaven. Reach into her heart, give her the sword your blazing eyes hunger for, and you will have your best fight.

So many wishes. So many wants. So many things she could redirect. Ways to burn a pathway through to the mask. To make a road from the mask to...

To, what? What would the power get her in this moment? She already had a girl fighting for her, and that was somehow more than she'd had before. If she intervened, if she took her eyes off this melee, if she made this about her... then she'd never know if the Maid could have won.

Fengye lets the fan linger, three-quarters open, demon symbol bent and useless. And she waves it gently, blowing cool air across her face. There was still time to change her mind later. Right now, amidst the chaos and confusion of the war of girl against girl, she just wanted to see what happened next.

Kalaya squeezes back, her brow furrowed in thought.

There are many things that Ven might not be telling her - the tone of voice she's using reminds her of the time they'd cooked up the plan to steal Lin's new prized pet. What someone had forgotten to mention was that it was a very loud, smelly and aggressive spider-monkey. Following an escapade that had involved alot of running, windows, the monkey and a nearby guard ... the two had ended up having to hurriedly wash fresh night-soil out of their hair before slinking home in defeat.

It had turned out that Ven knew about the monkey, but hadn't thought it would have been that dangerous. It was a tone that said "I think we can do this" rather than "I know we can". It was a tone that sounded like she was trying to think up more reasons on why to do this, when she knew the one glaring reason why they shouldn't.

What that problem was though, could be almost anything - whatever magic they are looking to use might be dangerous for Ven, she might not want to pay whatever price Peregrine would take for the ritual - or, or bear whatever cost the ritual itself might impose on her. There might be something going on with Hell that complicates matters or it might be she's just worried that the Kingdoms will reject her, Cakkavatti nor not.

She squeezes Ven's hand again. Searching her eyes for a clue. Her worry plain as day.

Ven

C'mon Ven, this is your girlfriend! (eeee girlfriend!) Communication is fundamental to any good relationship. You really shouldn't keep this all bottled up inside. It'll only worry her more at the end of the day.

And just look at those eyes. That brown waving hair. Those smooth cheeks that just beg for a kiss. Keeping secrets from her is just criminal! And you can see she wants you to tell her, even if she won't ask it directly - even if she respects your privacy too much to pry.

You know her, you know she won't judge you. Whatever it is that you're worried about, it's safe to share.

You look at her hand in yours, and can't help but notice it's warm too.

[Rolling to entice: 6 + 3 + 1: 10 - puppy dog eyes deployed!]

Maid!

You hit the mud again hard. Your stupid mortal weakling head rings, and your lungs burn. Everything here is heavy and hard and slipping away from your small, delicate fingers.

Nearby, the cat roars her defiance against this agent of the usurping, false heavens. If she begins speaking the oldest tongue, your head might explode, having all that meaning packed inside of the useless cotton fluff of your head, like your old dolls, like the coats of your soldiers.

It is very tempting to give up. It’s not your fault. It’s just this body. It can’t be trusted. It’s a bad blade. Shoddy. Broken. Worthless. But you lift your head for a moment, anyway, blinking the rain-sodden dirt out of your eyes (only two, how inconvenient, what were you all thinking when you made these pathetic creatures)—

And she’s watching you. She’s still watching you. The witch. The priestess. The servant of Heaven. Your tormentor. Your jailer. Your challenge. The one you will overcome. The one you must overcome. Your pathetic hands ball into fists, and shake, and hot tears spring to your eyes.

How dare she? How dare she sit there, looking at you, so calm, so placid, so superior? How dare she look at you when you are like this? How dare she enchant you, bewitch you, wrap you up in blue chains? How dare she? How could she? How can you let her?

You don’t have a name for what’s burning inside you. The only thing close is bloodlust. Shamelust? You have to see her lose. You have to see her lose.

You force yourself up, and it’s the end of the field battles of the War all over again. Back when the gods and the dragons launched their final assault in the name of pathetic humanity. You still stood. It’s not your fault. Everyone else fled, or let their courage fail them, and the lines of command collapsed, and you, you, you had to continue fighting the next stage of the war in exile.

(In your mind’s eye, for a moment, you confuse which one of you stood there. You could not have been as small as this, not then; they could not have picked you up and thrown you like a centipede, flailing black sleeves and white lace.)

You roar. Your tiny, squeaky voice breaks halfway through. Your ears are hot and your heart hammers and you glance furiously at the priestess, who is mocking you, you know it, you know it, if she smiles at the sound that came out of you you will fall over and die, and yet you look just in case she does.

Then you launch yourself at the back of the other slave of Heaven— you wrap your legs around her massive hips, digging in with your heels— you reach up and claw at her face and you hiss and spit and what little there is left of you lets you pry the mask free. The connection between goddess and mortal snaps like a thin wire, and then it is yours. You stop to gaze at this power.

This power that you will devour.

You will metastasize within Heaven. You will be beautiful. You will turn all their schemes into disasters. They will never know that their greatest enemy has infiltrated them. You will become a queen, as beautiful and terrible as the light that was before the creation of the world. You will reign in Heaven, and make of it a new Hell for the unjust, the unruly, the ungrateful brats.

And then you are tackled and the mask is crushed underneath furry tits, pressing the breath out of you, fingers trapped under the body of a grinning, sharp-toothed, tuft-eared, hot-breathed, moon-kissed, wet-faced, beautiful, terrifying, triumphant warrior

and the heat coursing through you

the images flashing through your head

are things that the General cannot feel, but you, you aren’t him, you’re the Maid, and the Maid is blushing and stammering and feels arousal and desire and blue chains wrapped tighter and tighter about her (your) heart, as you stare at her lolling tongue and remember the awful, humiliating, aching trip back, and find yourself clenching your legs together tighter and tighter as more and more unfolds in front of your eyes, and the worst part of it all

the worst part of it all

is how much you want her to suffer it, too

---

Lotus!

“You cAN—“

You swallow, and strain against the ropes (which are. very well placed. just like you’d expect from a Dominion agent) and try again, shutting your eyes, as if that will save you from the embarrassment.

“You can do it!” Your voice is drowned out by the roar, by the clash, by the, the fwumph, but you’ve got to try.

Because she can! Han can do this! She saved you from Hell! She’s the strongest, most amazing dragon you’ve ever had the chance to meet!

(And. Hypothetically. If you keep cheering for her. The dragon’s paw of the Dominion might. Maybe. Just possibly. Make you. Stop doing that. Thoroughly. Which is a most unworthy thing to be secretly hoping for, Lotus of Tranquil Waters.)

---

Kalaya!

“We need to find the General,” she admits, under her voice. The wind chills slightly; the rain outside spatters more heavily. “Or the thing that your… friend turned him into. It’s their politics. But I’m playing them, Kal.” The strain of her voice. The flint in her eyes. The way she leans in closer, as if hoping you’ll hold her. “They just want a couple of, you know. Captives. And then they’ll help us throw out the Dominion. He’ll help us. The… up there, back there.”

“Ligier,” the witch says, savoring the syllables. Savoring the power.

“This is how I help you. This is how we win. And I’m trusting you, okay?” Ven suddenly takes your hand. Draws it to her breastbone. Is close enough to kiss. “You. I want you. With me. My queen. You’re the only person I can… you’re the only person I want beside me. We can do this. Together.” Her brass fingers tighten on yours, almost painfully, pinching.

Her brass fingers.

“And we’ll have what we deserve, Kal, please.” Her voice is raw. Hoping. Yearning. She wants you, Kalaya Na.

The waitress at the stand makes to serve you your food, then sees Ven’s intensity and pretends that she forgot to fetch a plate from the kitchen.

Kalaya's hands slips aaround Ven's brass, entwining their fingers together, while her other arm rises to rest on her girlfriend's back (eeee girlfriend!) to pull her closer beside her. For a moment, they stare into each other's eyes and, were that waitress staring from behind the curtains she might find herself fighting a flash of disappointment when, by unspoken agreement, the two of them close the gap and rest their foreheads against one another.

Her movements are soft and caring. They say the words that Kalaya can't give voice to right now because there are too many of them. "I want you beside me too." "I want this." "I want us" "I'm trusting you too." "You're safe here." "Don't let go." "I love you." "I love you" "I love you".

"No matter what else ... this is right."

The two rest there for a moment, until Kalaya can feel some of the tension drain from the other woman's shoulders.

"We'll figure this out." she says. It's not really an answer, although it is also definitely not a dismissal.

"Tell me more about the cakavatti." she says, turning to include Peregrine in the question. "What, exactly, is involved in this and how are you planning to get it to work?"

[Rolling to give Ven some more emotional support and spending a string to offset a condition: 3 + 5 + 2: 10 - If she opens up to Kalaya then she can choose an option from the list (I'd most likely be going with "get insight on the obstacle facing them") - otherwise Kalaya will take a condition for being Smitten with Ven]

Now there are two fights in full focus. The maid against her N'yari captors, and Giri against Hanaha. Giri, fully engaged, safe from any demonic magic for the moment, goes into a spin. Hanaha's tail flies out behind her and she barely holds on as Giri picks up momentum, grabbing the N'yari as she spins and pulling her from her grip on Giri's head sending her flying!

She doesn't let up from the press though. She leaps on Hanaha as she lands, slamming an elbow into her and trying to pin the N'yari with Giri's raw strength. She presses her arms against Hanaha's to hold her down and sits her butt right on top of Hanaha's legs. She does her best to ignore the claws and the attempts to squirm out from the hold once Hanaha recovers her breath.

[Giri is attempting to defy disaster with daring to decisively pin Hanaha. She is risking having her position reversed on her. 5+3+0=8. She can do it with a cost or a hard choice.]