In the hallowed halls adorned with intricate tapestries and lanterns, Yawen, the envoy of the Twin Emperors of ReTan sat in regal composure amidst the fervent discussions of the Central Alliance. The air was thick with the Constantian’s apprehension, an unease that palpably overshadowed the proceedings. They spoke of Perrence, a looming spectre that haunted their every deliberation, a nation so dominant that its name was interwoven into every plan and suggestion.

Yawen observed the Constantians with a quiet disdain, her patience wearing thin with their incessant fixation on their perceived threat. When the opportune moment arrived, she gracefully rose to her feet, an aura of elegance and authority enveloped her.

“In the realm of ReTan,” she began, her voice carrying the weight of wisdom, “we pay no heed to the snarls at the gate when the true danger lurks with the wolves in the chicken coop.” With a measure gesture, a servant placed stone ships and figures on a map depicting the lands of the Constantian Yasoi, showcasing the Grey Fleet. “Allowing the wolves to feed and grow unchecked would only lead to their ravenous appetites expanding.” Further models were placed on the map, indicating occupation of Paggon, and the suggestion of expansion to southern Virang as they blocked the strait to the Ensollian.

The Constantian envoys reacted with a mix of amusement and scepticism, their jeers cutting through the solemnity of the discussion. One envoy, his tone mocking, addressed the Torragonese representative as he gestured to the placement of the new models. “And HOW is THAT a BAD thing? We might even see the fabled Torragonese Crusader Knights in action in Constantia after all, no need to fear the Darhannics if they are tied up in a war with the Tarlonese.” Some bemoaned the effects of the war on their own nations, “Those aberration addicted vermin plague our cities as they flee for refuge.”

As the room buzzed with varied responses, Yawen remained composed, silently contemplating the dynamics at play. The ReTannese envoy raised a hand, signalling for attention, as the servant clapped his hands and announced, “Listen, as the Envoy of ReTan speaks,” he declared, drawing focus back to Yawen.

“The strait connects the Asperic to the Ensollian,” Yawen continued, her words carrying the weight of diplomacy. “This connection is the lifeblood between the people of ReTan and Constantia. It is through this strait that wealth, prosperity, and military might flow. The Tarlonese do not care for your politics.” The implication hung in the air - without the strait, there is no access for ReTan. Intervention from her nation would be indispensable if there was to be an impending war.

A discontented murmur spread among the envoys as a recess was called, marking the end of formal discussions. Yawen only hoped she made her friend proud at this moment as she reflected on the discussion. Unofficially, the real talks began in the shadows, where fellow envoys engaged in clandestine negotiations to shape the destiny of the Central Alliance.

---

Amidst the opulent setting of the evening’s diplomatic exchange, the Torragonese envoy, a man with a suave trimmed beard and adorned in a fine silk doublet, took the floor, adhering to the customary formalities. “You made the impression,” he began, his words weaving a tapestry of diplomacy, “it goes without saying that Torragon and ReTan have often stood together in advocating for peace.” A corner of his mouth twitched as his gaze shifted toward Yawen. “We can understand why a daughter of the Emperor was sent when ReTan advocates for war.”

Yawen, with an air of regal stoicism, raised her eyes toward the Torragonese envoy, meeting his gaze with a silence that resonated with authority. The envoy, slightly taken aback by her silent response, listened as she spoke, “ReTan has adopted a new policy and wishes for greater prosperity with our allies. Tarlon threatens not only the Alliance, but also the people within. Whether it be Retan, Severa, or Constantia. The Tarlonese have made their intentions known after Ai Medda, and they will not squander this opportunity while our allies do not resolve their petty squabbles with the Perrence.”

As he spoke with a flair, the Torragonese envoy reassured Yawen, “The Tarlonese envoys have repeatedly announced that their affairs pertain only to the Yasoi. If they move on Paggon, Virang shall move to keep them in check. Our spies have indicated that the ruler of Paggon has petitioned Osman directly for assurances against a future invasion by Tarlon.” he declared, his hand absent-mindedly stroking his beard, “Our spies have indicated that Osman will respond to this request, and has sent word for mobilization in the south to deter Tarlon. In Torragon, we have given notice for our lords to prepare themselves, just in case they grow too impatient waiting for Tarlon and catch us unaware.”

Yawen, acknowledging the gravity of the information, nodded thoughtfully. “We believe King Sancho is a wise ruler of peace. In ReTan, we have a proverb. When the blades of adversaries forge a plough, fields of harmony flourish.”

The Torragonese envoy raised his eyebrow, his scepticism evident, “No puedes estar en serio, esto es Virang, they would never accept such terms.”

“Like the silk threads weaving through the looms, our prosperity weaves through the nations of Severa. Silk, Porcelain, and Spices.” Yawen responded with unwavering resolve, and gestured a subtle reference to the man’s doublet. “We can enforce such an agreement if it may come to this.” The Torragonese envoy prepared to protest, “Is Tarlon such a priority to invoke such measures?”

“If we say yes, will you suggest our proposal to your king?” Yawen pressed, her eyes locked onto his.

"King Sancho escuchará las palabras de la Envoy de ReTan," the Torragonese envoy conceded.

---

Within the sanctum of her personal quarters, Yawen was disturbed by a growing commotion among her servants. Irritated, she called out to them, “What news do you bring to disturb me with?”

The two servants approached, the superior one speaking first, “I am sorry, she insists- a nuisance calling herself the Governor of Longwan requests an audience with you,” he explained dismissively. The other servant attempted to interject, “But she insists she is a close friend of Lady Yawen-”

“Be silent and mind your tongue in her presence,” the superior servant snapped, cutting off further protest.

Yawen, feeling a flush to her cheeks as she smiled shyly inwardly, stifled a giggle, appreciating the irony of the situation. She extended her senses towards the so-called ‘nuisance’, and instructed them to grant her an audience befitting the Governor of Longwan. The superior smiled insidiously whilst the woman issued apologies toward Yawen.

As the servants left to manage the situation, Yawen moved to the audience chamber as she seated high on the platform, regal in her yellow hanfu with her sword of office across her lap, as she awaited the arrival. The doors swung open to reveal the Governor of Longwan, Maura Mercador, escorted by armed guards. Dressed in a splendid blue hanfu, adorned with a dragon knot-tie, Maura was seated in her thronechair that moved seemingly unassisted. She was accompanied by an array of puppets, each expressing a life of their own.

As they approached, the superior servant called for all to kowtow to the Grace of ReTan. The puppets mimicked the gesture as they arranged themselves in front of Maura, while she bowed in reverence. The servant, displaying insolence, demanded that everyone should kowtow, and as he clicked his fingers, the guards withdrew their weapons towards Maura, causing the girl to look concerned.

Yawen, impassive until now, stood up and declared, “All must Kowtow.” Her steel gaze swept the audience, compelling them to all get down before her. Slowly, the assembly registered her command, including the guards who shortly followed suit. The superior servant, however, remained rigid as a puzzled expression crossed his face.

Descending from her platform, Yawen approached him, her dragon knot-tie hanging from the front of her outfit. “All,” she uttered, drawing her blade to cut him at the knees. He howled in pain, collapsing before her. Turning toward Maura, Yawen extended a hand, declaring, “Allow me to assist you,” Maura hesitated before accepting, and Yawen supported her to stand.

“The Governor of Longwan is my personal friend,” Yawen asserted, “Those who show her disrespect, disrespect me.” She gestured for the superior servant to be attended to, whilst the other who accompanied him earlier was instructed to get refreshments.

“Walk with me to the garden,” Yawen insisted, tugging on Maura’s hand, signalling the girl to follow. In the relative seclusion of the garden, Yawen embraced her friend with a girlish giggle, “Life is really simple, but people insist on making it complicated. I have missed you.”

Maura returned the hug, her expression softening, “We were worried for a moment.” The conversation flowed easily between them, as it touched on the trials. “Xiulan and Ai have kept me informed of the events, they have spoken well of your Teatro Sorridente”, Yawen intrigued, inquired about its meaning.

“It means the Smiling Theatre”, Maura replied with a wide smile, with Yawen following suit.

Seated in the garden, surrounded by blossoms and tranquillity, the two friends continued their conversation. After a satisfying exchange, they parted ways, and Yawen watched as Maura, in her chair with puppets in tow, left. “Wheresoever you go, go with all your heart,” Yawen murmured to herself, returning to her work with renewed focus. These stubborn envoys won’t convince themselves of Tarlon’s threat.

---

---

---

Characters: Tommy, Dory@jasbraq

---

The Vermillion Swirl was a high class establishment befitting of a Feskan noble. It was not, however, fitting of the Enthish boy sat across from her at the table of their booth. He’d been here once in the year, and spent the majority of his stipend on the visit. Tommy Kavanaugh would never say no to a ladies invitation, nor would he turn down a meal ticket at such a fancy establishment.

The two had met briefly at the auction that took place prior to the trials. He’d made passes at plenty of the girls and gotten turned down an equal number of times, but Dorothea had not explicitly done so. In fact, they’d discussed potentially stealing an item from another buyer, but that quickly fizzled out with the on-goings of the trials and his own personal business. Still, she had not forgotten the offer and that had brought them here, to this reputable establishment Hardly a place to talk of usual business, but perfect for the type of skullduggery they were likely to discuss.

Dory leaned back in her seat, eyeing the Enthish lad across. ”Do not worry about the costs of your meal, it shall be on me.” The Feskan waved at the staff for a bottle of wine to be shared between the two. ”I will say, I was quite surprised when you offered to steal something for a stranger.”

And as if waiting for her words, he finally dug into his meal. He could not afford this place, at least not right now. He began to cut into a steak while speaking, keeping eye contact ”Ya seemed in a pickle, so I offered a hand” as he shoveled a piece of meat into his mouth. It was the best thing he’d eaten in weeks, and he took a moment to savor the flavor, before continuing. ”I sensed somethin’ bout ya. A lotta babes are empty headed n’ that’s fine, but I reckon ya got demons about ya. Not like the void ones the school talks ‘bout, but, y’know, the ones up ‘ere.” he said, gesturing to his head with the knife he’d just used. A droplet of blood ran down it and he licked the blade clean. ”Made me feel like you’d treat me right, y’know?” he said, grinning as he put another piece of that delicious meat in his gullet.

As soon as the staff member returned with a bottle and two glasses did the girl open the bottle and pour one out for the both of them. ”Demons about me, whatever do you mean?” Dory chuckled as if Thomas was telling her a joke, however her eyes told a different story. ”Well, if you keep being entertaining I’ll keep treating you ‘right’.” A little wink went the Enthish man’s way as she began to cut into her own piece of meat.

Tommy swirled the wine in the glass. Yet another delicacy he did not commonly enjoy, but today, he sipped and enjoyed it. ”Ahh, I guess the look o’ loss on ya face. Saw it a lot in Barrowton, like ya itchin’ for somethin;.” He paused. He didn’t know what it was she was after though. Beautiful, noble, rich, what more could she really want? ”Power, maybe? We’re like of mind in that case, y’know.” he knocked it back like a shot, in his typical unrefined way as he dug into another piece of meat. ”Entertainin’s what I do, sweetheart. So, what is it ya after? What can I, a poor lil’ Enthish lad do for ya?” he smiled and winked, thoroughly helping himself to the banquet splayed before them.

Dory smiled and swung a finger from left to right. ”Ding ding, you guessed correctly.” She cocked her eyebrow in amusement for Thomas’s words. ”We are? Do you wish for power? Perhaps even a nice little noble title.”
The smirk on her face went from ear to ear, swinging her glass around slowly. ”How good are you ‘dealing’ with someone?”

”Whaddya mean?” he asked, gesturing a fork in her direction, swallowing his food. ”An’ who is this someone?” he smirked confidently. Unless she said Joshe Intaba himself, he felt plenty confident. Hell, with how good he felt fine dining, he’d take his chances with the old goat.

”Back in Feska there are a couple important houses” She paused to take another sip of her wine. ”They will get at each other's throats if one of them was being framed for the death of another.” Dory pointed her finger straight towards the man sitting across from her. ”Do you think you could manage that? I’ll be sure you’ll be properly rewarded in any way you wish.”

Tommy laughed. For all they pretended, nobles were no different than the street thugs that ran through Mudville or Barrowton. ‘Kill him, frame that one, steal his stuff’. The worlds they inhabited were the exact same, hidden through a veil of wealth and ‘proper’ lineage. And yet, he didn’t mind it. If the world was this rotten, even at stations he should have never been able to reach, then so be it. He’d crawl his way up there and laugh at the fuckers who’d have to grovel to him eventually. ”Piece o’ cake. I was a fookin legend in Barrowton, Feska’s no different I reckon. And if I’m gettin’ rewarded in any way I wish, then that’s a deal!” he exclaimed his last sentence with enthusiasm, drinking another full glass of wine in a single gulp before extending a hand to her. ”Thomas Kavanaugh, at ya service. You can call me Tommy if you wanna, though. Can’t do business if ya not familiar, right?”

Dory took his hand and firmly shook it. ”Dorothea Hohnstein. I have a much longer name than that but it does not roll off the tongue, so if you wish you could call me Dory.” Then as the handshake finished the Feskan leaned back into her seat once more. ”So, what kind of reward do you wish for such a task? Be it money, a title or something entirely different. Nothing is off the table of discussion.” Dory finished her glass. Feska was a marble with a mud core and she will either clean the mud or see the marble crumble.
Tommy stabbled what little remained of the steak with his knife and shoved it in his mouth, finishing it before continuing ”Dory, huh. Gotcha. To be blunt, I want everythin’. Noble title would be nice, but I reckon it’d also be trouble to carry around and I like movin’ light. Money’d be nice. Strength’d be even nicer.” he paused, and cracked his neck. ”Not to say I’m not ya guy, but there’s monsters around this place, y’know. People that can kill ya without tryin’. These highborns with magic out the wazoo. I need to level the playin’ field. Like one o’ those items that the kids got for the trials last year, ya feel? ” he spoke, pondering how she could make this possible.

”You would not like to have a title?” Dory looked rather disappointed, normally peasants would accept such a reward within a second. ”I would so enjoy having you close by, though.” Dory finished her substantially smaller plate and smiled. ”If you wish to lend something that could help you against the strong.” She hesitated before putting her tiara on the table. ”Then how about this?”

Tommy recognized it. Rumours of it being cursed, or inhabited by a demon. A funny juxtaposition considering his earlier comments, but he couldn’t help but grin. ”Depends on the title. Somethin’ like this would make a king, which I’d say is fittin” he spoke, picking it up. It was definitely the most expensive object he’d ever held in his hands, and it just… felt right to the touch. ”You sure you’re fine borrowin’ this? A lotta trust you’re putin’ in a scoundrel like me, y’know. ” he joked, knowing all too well he was going to follow through with his words. Maybe if this was some scumbag dude who was giving him a bad deal, but it was a scumbag babe who was giving him an excellent deal, at least as far as he was concerned. She was one of his people, even if their classes were worlds apart. Regardless, he set the crown on his head, felt what lay within and smiled devilishly. ”Yeah. This’ll do nicely.”

Dory smirked, pouring herself another glass. ”I was more thinking of the title of count to start off comfortably.” She once more swirled her glass around. The woman had insurance that there would be no cutting this deal short from either side. She then extended her hand. ”Well, let’s just say that if you accept this deal and shake my hand I’m more than sure you’ll bring it back, dearest Tommy.”

A small shiver ran up his spine at those words… that absolute confidence that things were going to go her way. She wasn’t particularly intimidating, but he was certain she wasn’t an idiot, so there was something to this. Regardless, he intended to honor the deal, at least so long as it was convenient. And so, he rose once more to shake the girls hand a second time. ”Count Kavanaugh has a nice ring to it, y’know. We got a deal then, Dory. To a fruitful relationship, ye?” he smirked and shook her hand, leaning in to give it a little kiss. He’d heard that was proper etiquette when dealing with ladies from Johann. Still, things once again were getting interesting. His luck had only gotten better since Moli’s, and this looked like another step on the ladder.

The two shook hands and soon after both could feel a connection made between them, it felt as ominous as it did secure. ”To a great relationship, Future Count Kavanaugh. The crown is yours until the Trials are over. I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

The man stumbled out of the Forked Tower, rubbing his head with confusion. Curiosity had got the better of the cat, as it led him to Juulet's trap, which landed him squarely at the door demon of room 69. Despite attempts to explain the mistake, his words fell on deaf ears. Now, he found himself enduring the consequences of a gender-swap for an unspecified length of time. A quick change of clothes granted spared him from potential awkwardness with his transitioned figure, and now standing at 5ft 7, the Torragonese noble bachelor ventured into the town as he tried to make sense of his newfound situation.

Aside from the height difference, not much had changed much. He still has his long red hair, his blue eyes, though the petite physique was now lean and more masculine. The new clothes suited him well, a noble suit tailored to his size and dimensions, though in places it fit too snugly. A glimpse of his reflection in a piece of shining metal at the market revealed a resemblance to his brother, Jorge.

Adjusting to the social dynamics of being a man proved challenging. Men seemed to frown at each other, and even a friendly smile was met with derision from his peers and elders. When he looked towards women, his attention brought a mixture of results from hostility from the males, a disapproving reserved look from the women, and sometimes what appeared to be a blush and a giggle from the girls around his age. As he moved through the town, he maintained a positive demeanour, noticing some stray kitties and taking a moment to scratch them behind the ears. At least he still had his charm intact where it mattered. His laugh pleasant and sweet, as he displayed affection towards these wonderful creatures.

Wandering through the streets, followed by his new feline companions, he stumbled upon a crowd near one of the local restaurants. From what he could make out from the flyers, Ipte's Courtyard and The Taster’s Union were organizing a one-off event - a dessert tasting experience. With a sweet tooth intact, even with the transformation, he approached the restaurant. The catch: the special offer was limited to couples only. This posed a dilemma; he pondered convincing Rikard to join him, only to realize the challenge of explaining his current predicament and the unlikeness of him accepting whilst he was in his current form. He had considered his other friends, Maura, Zarina, or perhaps even Jocasta, though the humiliation from confiding in them would be merciless.

What appeared to be a saving grace is the marketing was tailored to those like normally like himself. It was fluffy, pink, hearts and very feminine. This worked to attract the attention of girls walking past, or those seeking to find a mister to escort them through the door. His attention turned to a girl from his Darhannic studies class, a friend of Zarina. He recalled that her name rhymed with Taffy, remembering it was Raffie. Despite limited knowledge about her, she seemed pleasant and might make a suitable partner for him. Contemplating the best approach to invite her, he rejected the idea of being too forward, like many of the male peers might consider or the tall-tale Prince Charming approach, where they would hope to sweep her off her feet. Unlike them, he had insider knowledge to how a girl thinks, and it was time for him to take advantage of it.

Approaching Raffaella with a suave smile, he extended his arm, palm open towards her as he offered her to take it. "Mi’lady, will you accept my invitation to join in indulging in sweet desserts for the next hour or two?" The straightforward manner of the proposal cut to the heart of the matter, emphasizing the shared enjoyment of sweet treats without the unnecessary pretence that came with such an advance. As if on cue, one of the stray kitties brushed up around their feet and purred contently.

Raffaella was right outside the door of the event, absorbed in her prayers for happiness for the couples passing by. Some thought it quaint, others found it endearing. Only a few opted to actually stop and *join* the girl as she prayed over them, however. All these were Darhannic as well. In fact, *all* of the Darhannic students that came stopped to pray with her. They all seemed to know her, or at least know her name. Perhaps it was fitting for the shy girl who paradoxically tried to look her best without standing out.

She had just finished her latest prayer when a cat wandered up and curled on her foot. She smiled, giving in to the adorable creature's plea for scratches. "What am I to do with you? You're just so needy~" she "chastised" in her native language.

Then came the unexpected invitation. A hand outstretched as she looked at a familiar face. She'd *seen* this person before. Maybe. Or was it a relative? But regardless...

How could a *guy* be this..?!

Her eyes widened, her cheeks flushed pink to match the rest of her, and she squeaked like a little mouse. "H... Holah," she said uncertainly, cuing in on his Torragonese accent. "E-Estoy..." she paused, as if she forgot what came next... nothing else came next, right?! "Raffie," she finished, her voice barely above a whisper.

She was shy, alright. In fact, she looked like she wanted to flee—but there was, presently, a cat curled up on her foot, and as all true cat lovers knew, movement in this situation was forbidden. "Um... I can't speak Avincian that... formally. I'm sorry!" She clapped her hands together in apology. "Er, or speak Torragonese, like, at all." She frowned and gripped at the loose floof of her dress.

Man, he looked *really* cute.

Er, important! Yes yes, VIP level nobility! Wow!

He smiled warmly at her as she searched for words, displaying patience and politeness. “Selam ben A… Selam ben Asier.” He almost stumbled over his own name, unable to reveal his true identity at the moment. Instead, he chose to adopt the name of his pet puff lion and esteemed ancestor. His cheeks flushed as he acknowledged the stutter, “My Virangish is just as bad,” attempting to play it off as a language barrier with a chuckle.

Asier noticed the cat moving on her foot, registering the panic on her face. He tilted his head, he crouched down, guiding the kitty off her foot with a gentle pspsps using his finger to scratch and brush against the cat's body. “It seems wherever we go, these cute lil’ furballs have a habit of following. Probably because we keep feeding them.” Looking up into Raffie’s face with a smile, he continued, “Speaking of which, are you hungry?” Patting his stomach to indicate his own hunger in that universal language, he took the girl’s hand within his own as he stood up.

Surveying the restaurant's interior, even with the spontaneity of the event, it was nearly at full capacity. Asier spotted a cosy spot near the kitchens, clearly one of the better seats for catching the attention of passing servers. Hoping his increased size included a bigger stomach, he gestured for her to take his arm, signalling the start of their entrance. “There seems to be a table in there, ideally placed for the two of us.” He motioned towards the greeter, indicating their desire for seating, as he prepared for escorting her inside.

Raffie couldn't help but giggle as "Asier" blushed. She wasn't sure why, but it just slipped out. "I'm sorry! I don't mean to be rude. It's... a good name. Your parents chose well." She smiled somewhat ambiguously.

She joined him in spoiling the cat, ruffling its fur. "Yup! We keep feeding them, 'cos they're cute!" she replied cheerfully. Then, she frowned. "Am I that obvious?" she asked.

"...Thank goodness!" she heaved a long sigh. "I thought I'd lost my touch! I wanna go inside so bad~! But all the boys are too nervous to ask me... not that I'm one to talk." She fidgeted a bit. It was her own fault, refusing anyone who was after more than just a one-off tea and dessert date.

Asier, however, seemed to share a similar goal in mind to Raffie. Somehow, being with him felt cosy, though she couldn't place why just yet. She clung to his arm without hesitation and...

Haha! As if! She was nervous as heck! She took his arm with a touch so gentle it could barely be called grabbing. She was understandably anxious with this tall stranger, no matter how vaguely familiar, friendly, and good-looking he might be. But at a second glance, she wasn't looking *away* from Asier so much as she was looking around at the other couples, and in particular, the other girls.

Will they get mad? Girls are scary when they get jealous... she thought as she sat down. She put her hands in her lap and tapped her thumbs together nervously. A few times, she almost put her hands on the table, and she abruptly stopped swinging her legs once or twice. Table manners didn't seem to come naturally to her. Nor patience, but she was trying!

Asier smiled widely, saying, “Named after the legendary lion knight himself, and as a consequence, probably quite a few kitties with that name as well. As for my parents, we are fortunate that they never settled on Harold. There was a girl whose parents were so convinced they were getting a boy, she ended up with that unfortunate name.” His smile softened as she attended to the cat, “Yes, you are a cat person, just like one of us. No turning back now.”

After his comments, Asier appraised her, examining her features. It's an odd feeling being so tall and looking towards someone shorter than you are. He isn’t tall for a male, but still a fair distance taller than his previous height. He smiled warmly as he looked into her eyes, “Worry not; you have this captivating aura that draws in people's attention and lights up the room. Any of those boys would be lucky to have you escorting them. Now, let’s investigate these puddings; they won’t eat themselves,” he winked towards her as he guided her inside, indicating to the wait staff the table he spotted and allowing them to be escorted inside.

As they stepped inside, a wave of warm air infused with the sweet aroma of baked goods and caramelized sugar greeted them. The dimly lit space gave a romantic ambiance as shadows from the candlelight cast across the antique wooden furniture and tapestry-adorned walls. The low hum of hushed conversation and occasional clinking of glasses and silverware created a lively yet intimate atmosphere. Each of the tables was adorned with crisp white linen cloth, showcasing an array of decadent desserts: Crème Brûlée with its crackling sugar crust, Trifles layered with fruits and cream, and Flummery moulded into shapes of sweet velvety goodness. Asier watched as Raffie appeared to be eyeing up the treats others indulged in, recognizing she is most likely just as looking forward to tasting them as himself.

Finally ushered towards their table by the bustling kitchen, they settled in, and their anticipation grew. Asier moved his long red hair out of the way as he tried to position himself within the chair. Navigating this outfit was a new experience, especially when he noticed just how uncomfortable it can be to cross your legs, finding himself quickly rectifying that error with his eyebrows risen in surprise. Finally settled as he sat facing towards Raffie, he smiled widely as he looked over the menu, and it was then he came to notice something unusual as his expression changed. He had the men’s menu. Glancing between his and Raffie’s, he noticed the details such as the font being different, her list looked shorter, and more surprisingly, his had prices against the options unlike hers. A mischievous smile played on his lips, and with a glint in his eye, he lowered the menu onto the table, saying, “Just how big is your sweet tooth?”.

"Oh gawds, really?" She chuckled, picking up the pace. "At that point, why not just change the name? If I had a kid, I'd want to know right away if they're a boy or a girl!"

Distracted from her nervous musings, she looked at Asier. "C-Captivating?" She blushed. "You think? Everyone's looking at me, when I'm not looking?" she asked innocently. "Gosh, but that'd be embarrassing~"

She started fidgeting excitedly again as she picked up the menu. No prices. That means everything's probably really expensive. Shoot, he's actually really nice. I should tell him. I should tell him, but! It all looks so good, and he looks really rich. It's no skin off his nose, right?! Right!

Unbeknownst to her, she was gnawing on her thumbnail the whole time, looking mildly frustrated as she eyed the menu. Eventually, though, she caught herself. "Uhm, I'll just have one," she replied with a nervous smile. Then, her stomach growled. "Uhm, or tw... three," she relented, with a big goofy smile. *No more, Raffles. Any more than three and he'll definitely think you're gross. Like, a total pig.

Asier nodded with a smile, as he gleamed with appreciation, “You are definitely my kind of girl.” With a playful wink, he clapped on the table, and caught the attention of one of the waiters. “We’ll take one of everything.” he declared confidently, placing an order for each delectable item on the menu.

The waiter, adorned in a crisp apron, approached as a subtle smirk played on his lips as he observed the pair. With a measured tone, “Ah, Monsieur, feeling adventurous tonight, are we? One of each delightful delicacy, très bien. A feast for the senses, indeed." A subtle annoyance lingered in his voice, masked by the professionalism, “But of course, Monsieur, we strive to accommodate all preferences. A delightful selection, but may I recommend a few personal favourites to truly enchant your evening?” He subtly attempted towards a more well-curated selection over an exhaustive one.

Asier smiled as he sensed the waiter’s disapproval, and chuckled, “Ah, but we are very hungry, my good sir. The plan is to make this an evening to remember,” he replied, with a mischievous demeanour.

The waiter maintained his professional facade, nodded in acknowledgement. “As you wish, Monsieur. A memorable evening it shall me. Your order will be promptly served.” He retreated, perhaps with a hint of bemusement, to relay the extravagant request to the kitchen.

As he waited for the banquet of desserts to arrive, he got the napkin as he fastened it to himself with a flair, as he began to strike up some casual conversation. “What are your favourite things?”

Raffie's eyes widened in surprise at Asier's order. Her cheeks flushed pink as she realized that he'd seen right through her, and her embarrassment only escalated as he navigated the waiter's subtle barbs.

Then came the question. "Oh, you know! Cute things, fluffy things! Sweetness and pink, girly girl things!" she recited, as though she were asked every day.

Asier politely smiled as he ordered a bottle of wine from a passing waiter and poured some water into a glass. What a delightfully dull response to the question, he mused. He sat back and reflected, noting the absence of a follow-up question to encourage engagement. Perhaps he was always guilty of the opposite, recalling Rikard’s face every time he mentioned his cats.

“It is worth developing some niche or special interests,” he smiled wider as he leaned forward, “We enjoy a number of them. First is my animals, from my kitties who have the habit of sitting on me while we are in bed, growling every moment for me to feed them, appreciating their insatiable appetites. Also enjoy combing the long hair mane of my beautiful mare, and riding my royal froabas, with a particular favourite of soaring high with him at sunset, watching the light creep away from the world. Simply divine.”

As the wine arrived, he held his glass for it to be filled, and the waiter offered to fill Raffie’s glass as well.

“Second, we really love music, especially something with a strong beat. We find that dancing to a fiery flamenco can be so energizing and passionate, simply losing yourself in the heat of the moment. The moment the music stops, the lights go out, and the sudden coolness as the heat escapes your body. Exhilarating.” He took a drink from the glass, savouring the smell, texture, and taste. It was Perrench, as expected from an establishment like this. Certainly, one thing you cannot fault them for was the high quality of their wine, refined for hundreds of years.

He sat back and smiled toward Raffie with a playful smirk. “How about the trials? How are you finding them?”

*Now he's just showing off...* Raffaella thought, annoyed. *I'd love to have hobbies, if I had any time or money for them.* She didn't let her irritation show, however. "Ehehe, yep! Kitties are so full of mischief, but you just can't stay mad at them!" She curled up her fingers into little paw shapes and raised them up close against her cheeks, all giddy and giggly just thinking about them.

When the waiter offered wine, Raffaella refused. "Oh no, I can't~! Juice please!" she requested instead. Then, the next topic came up. Finally! A saving grace! She gasped dramatically. "I *love* to sing and dance~!" she proclaimed, even as Asier was still explaining. She covered her mouth in apology.

Of course, there were also the Trials. In truth, she was trying to forget about the next event. "They were surprisingly fun!" she admitted, leaving out the part where she, the team's namesake, had contributed almost nothing to their success. "But the next event is... how do I put it..." she rested her chin on her little hand in contemplation. "Totally barbaric?" she ventured. Then, she heaved another big sigh. "I can't fight at a~ll! I hope my opponents are nice. I don't wanna die..." She frowned, staring intently at the glass of grape juice in front of her.

Asier smiled as she engaged, even giving a chuckle as he watched her little cat impression. This is better, he thought. He appreciated her engagement, even if she interrupted him, not offended in the slightest.

“You do? We would love to sing and dance with you sometime. Warn you, though, things can get quite competitive.” He moved his hand onto hers, “Will drag you onto the dance floor and have those pretty feet of yours tapping away. You should have seen last time when we dragged…” he paused for a moment, “Well, it was electrifying.”

He continued to enjoy the conversation as she opened up, preferring to hear Raffie enjoy the moment. His hand lingered on hers, as if they were sharing a connection with the other. “They are challenging, fun, and intense.” He listened to her every word as he allowed her to express herself. He was in agreement; he had never killed anyone before either, and the thought of it, especially when it came to killing her friends, was unspeakable.

“As for Mano e Mano… there is an expression, there is more than one way to stroke a cat.” He squeezed her hand empathetically, then released it, “There is no need to kill anyone; you just have to get them to leave the arena.”

"Were they really that hard?" Raffie pondered, tilting her head innocently. "I must be doing pretty well, then~! There's that one girl who keeps getting in the way, I guess," she remarked, referring to Taleja, vastly understating her annoyance with the woman.

She looked down at the hand that completely dwarfed hers, and realized that she'd left her hand on the table. Again. She smiled softly. Unlike a certain "maid," Asier didn't scold her for her bad manners. Bold of him to go for the hand-holding so quickly... but she'd let it slide.

After all, he was cu... ahem! A gentleman, yes.

"Can I really just make them leave? It's not like I can shove them off." She flicked a delicate finger, knocking a crumb of someone else's cake off the table. *Missed a spot, Mr. the Waiter. Not very professional, despite your carefully managed appearances.* A slightly impish grin curled the corner of Raffie's lips, though it wasn't obvious why. "I'd rather challenge my opponents to keep up with my dance moves. Ooh, or a beauty pageant! Since I'm just so~ captivating!" Her half-smirk became a full one as she teased him.

Asier smiled widely at the confidence, “Never underestimate an opponent; it is what happened last year, and we won. That caused quite an uproar.” On the topic of particular candidates, “Oh, quite a few of those. Marci is certainly playing the best so far, and Maura is after repeating her success from last year. That Vyshta girl is causing quite a stink, too… the boys are doing quite a poor showing.”

He beamed widely towards her proposal, “That sounds like a fun challenge. We would love to find myself facing you; we’ll even put on our best dress for the occasion.” He imagined the dress as well, the red and black one with the lion mask that he wore for Nox Arcanium last year, “Don’t think we’ll go easy because we like you.”

The desserts began to arrive at the table, crowding it with a tempting array of flavours. Each dessert hailed from a different region, allowing one to taste a varied palette. From Perronce came the Crème Brûlée, its caramelized sugar crust shimmering in the soft candlelight, promising on the first crack to reveal a velvety vanilla custard beneath. From Enth was the Trifle, a layered marvel of sponge cake, custard, fresh fruits, and whipped cream. The Panna Cotta was a creamy delight of vanilla and fruity drizzle, promising an indulgence of Revidian culinary finesse. Bitesized Baklava with layers of phyllo dough, chopped nuts, and honey promised a taste of Virang. From Torragon was the classic choice of churros, crispy on the outside and tender within, served with chocolate sauce. Vossiyrian Medovik provided a layered honey-infused cake to enjoy. A sweet variant of Moin Moin from Belzagg came on the table, prepared with black-eyed peas, sugar, bananas, cinnamon, then steamed to perfection. Lastly, Helwa tat-Tork from Djamant, the sweet and nutty fudge delicacy of sesame seeds and honey served in bite-sized chunks, graced the table.

“Is that all, Monsieur and Mademoiselle?” Another waiter brought along a pair of elegantly crafted long-handled spoons, clearly designed not for individual use, as they were handed over. Asier playfully looked at the spoons, “Looks like we can help ourselves to the desserts from the other tables with these.” The waiter, whilst bemused, sternly corrected the assumption. “Today is a special day by Ipte for couples to enjoy this fine dining experience together. This, Monsieur, is for you to feed your Mademoiselle. Enjoy.” The waiter politely made his leave, leaving the pair with their conundrum.

Asier blushed as he began to survey the table, “What would you like to try first?” as he offered to Raffie.

"I didn't make the cut for the Trials last year," Raffaella admitted casually. "They kept trying to push me to learn atomic or temporal, but I'm just not strong enough in the Gift." She said it in a sing-song voice, like it didn't really bother her that much.

At the mention of boys not doing well, she tilted her head. "That short lad with the funny hat seems to be doing alright. The one who wears a mask all the time?" she prodded, covering her mouth with a napkin. "Which team are you on?" she added excitedly. The conversation shifted back to dancing, however.

"I wonder if the crowd would get mad~" she remarked absentmindedly, like she didn't really care if they did or not. Best dress? she pondered. Is that some kind of absurdism that only makes sense to nobles? In the end, she decided that giggling girlishly was a safe bet as always. "Bah, do your worst, foul villain~! The ballroom floor shall see thy face smitten~!" she teased with a high-pitched war cry.

Then arrived the desserts. Her eyes sparkled unnaturally with arcane magic at the sight of them all. She did it so seamlessly; it was obviously an effect she practised often. "Gawds, I wanna try them all. ...Did he just say you're supposed to feed me?" She paused. This was something... couples did.

Oh. Yeah. They got in on that pretence, didn't they? So, it couldn't be helped if they had to do something like this. That said, why was Asier blushing?! "Oh, come on~!" she pouted. "Look, I see you blushing. This was *your* idea, so don't get cold feet now!" she gently scolded him. She was blushing too, though, looking at his face and imagining him doing it. "S-Surprise me," she demanded in that soft voice, closing her eyes.

Asier tried to recall someone who matched the description but struggled to think of any boys. However, he couldn’t resist some bemusement. “We can only think of the girl in Fait Accompli… Heard her name is Bella.” He clicked his fingers as he nodded affirmatively, recalling the name used. When it came to the team he is on, “We are on Singers and Saints… as a substitute when someone becomes inconveniently indisposed. Then we step in to help out.” He wasn’t exactly wrong, as he gave her a big grin, but it was certainly a stretch of the truth. “The Moon Prince to the Sun King.” In reply to her boast, “You would be purring like a kitten in our hands as we take you as our partner on the dance floor.”

Asier couldn’t help but smile when called out for blushing, the corners of his mouth lifting. “It is our first time doing something like this; it is kind of romantic when you think about it. Imagine if we were doing it as a real couple.” The tip of the spoon broke through the caramelized sugar as he began with the Crème brûlée, scooping up a mouthful of the delicious treat. He couldn’t help but feel his heart racing as he brought the spoon towards the other’s lips. There was just something so cute and vulnerable with her gesture; it made him want to feel… protective? Certainly, it stirred a sensation as he drew the spoon to her mouth. “It’s entering now.” He delicately pressed it forward past her lips, as he began to fill her with the sweet treat. One spoonful at a time.

"Eh? A girl? No way, right? What girl in her right mind would hide her face~?" She cackled a little. Then, her eyes widened a bit in realization. Wait, then is she the girl who went missing? Who just up and kidnaps someone that strong?! Scary!! Her face turned a bit sheepish as she realized that she might've been insensitive. She said nothing, however, and the two passed over the grim topic quickly.

At Asier's rebuttal, she seemed a little surprised. "First time? Really?" She averted her eyes shyly. "L-Lucky me." Is this what a romantic evening with a prince would be like? It is, isn't it! she realized, happily accepting the bite of crème brûlée. She cracked a wide smile as her cheeks tingled with delight. "Mm~! What's next?" she asked without missing a beat.

But... shouldn't it be Asier's turn now? As if she suddenly had the realization herself, Raffaella nearly slammed her hand on the table to grab her own spoon. "No, wait. You need to try this too!" she backpedalled, taking up a sample of the crème brûlée in her own spoon.

Outside, in the grander world of Sipenta, with its politics, power struggles both economic and martial, and businesslike marriage arrangements for mutual gain, it was a man's world. But here, in this protected bubble of precious, even *sacred* romantic rites, the whims of the girl would direct the events of the evening. In this situation, as the man, Ayla's needs and desires took second place.

Yet Raffie, despite her obviously selfish motive in accepting Asier's proposal, made an effort to set her privilege aside. She had to raise her arm a bit just to reach him, and she held the spoon with a hand that trembled with signs of hunger and low blood sugar. "Open wide~" she said sweetly.

Asier opened his mouth wide, resembling a lion about to pounce, his mouth roaring as he moved to attack the vulnerable crème brûlée. It was as if the spoon had a mind of its own as he was countered, the crème brûlée getting mushed over his nose. He blinked in sudden surprise as the rich flavour invaded his nostrils. He paused for a moment, shocked, then burst out laughing as he moved to hold onto the spoon, guiding it into his mouth to consume the mouthful.

“Our turn,” he moved his spoon over to the trifle, ensuring to scoop a big dollop of whipped cream. As he approached Raffy, he kept his other hand on her spoon to disarm her. “Now make sure to open wide; we don’t want to miss...!” The custard prince threatened to make his date the cream puff princess as his movements hinted at getting her nose, then he would dive it into her mouth if she opened wide.

Raffie sat frozen in... fright? "Oh no! I didn't mean it, I'm so sorry! Please..! ...Forgive... ...me." But Asier had laughed it off. She was so surprised by his reaction that she almost missed the counterattack, but managed to react just in time to get *most* of the whipped cream. "*Ooh,* now you've done it!" She grinned mischievously.

What followed was a spectacle that some might call a more elegant version of a food fight. They jousted with their spoons as they feasted on the delectable desserts. With each bite, Raffie's smile grew wider, her laughter more raucous. The two had become the centre of attention, but she was too focused on Asier to notice. Her signature shyness seemed to just melt away.

Come to think of it, had it even been there at all?

Even as Asier finished, Raffie kept going, until there was hardly a crumb left on any of the plates. At some point, she'd finally stopped shaking. Oh dear. I really overdid it. She's definitely going to know that I've already had food today. Maybe this will be enough, if I go to sleep early. She covered her mouth and yawned loudly. "Gosh, is it getting late? So... sleepy."

Just like that, she was out. Fully asleep in her seat, as the waiter returned with the bill.

Asier had fun as he smiled towards the other girl. She definitely could out eat him when it came to puddings, a miracle in itself. He sighed whimsically, looking toward himself introspectively, wishing someone would do this with him, somewhat envious of the girl opposite. The waiter came with the bill after a delay, and after seeing the eye-watering price, he could understand why, especially with what appeared to be additional security by the doorway. He looked toward the sleeping girl, opened the coin purse, and essentially emptied it to pay for the dinner. “What shall we do with you?”

“If Monsieur is accepting suggestions, typically one should accompany the lady back home,” the waiter said, impressed by their appetites and the compensation in tips, “A true gentleman would wrap a young lady in his jacket and carry her home.” Asier smiled a little at the suggestion, “You are certainly a romantic at heart.” “It ended up with me being married for 24 years and counting,” the waiter politely nodded as he departed with his sage advice.

“Well, looks like we play this role some more, mi amor.” He removed his jacket and draped it over Raffie’s shoulders, then gently lifted the girl up in his arms in a bridal carry, escorting her out of the restaurant like a Prince Charming. As the fresher air hit his senses, he made a realization as he looked down toward her. “Where do you live?” He mulled over the options as he discreetly caressed her cheek, as he wiped away some of the crumbs, before finally deciding to escort her back to his place. He knew she would be safe there at least, he would have to figure out the rest of the details later.

Asier was able to pick Raffaella up without any difficulty. Beneath the fluff, she was even smaller than she looked. There were probably mid-sized cats that weighed more than this fully-grown young lady. Was this really normal? Or was Ayla just that much stronger right now? "Mmh... Ana... F-Fash..." she mumbled in her sleep, but didn't stir. While Asier walked and onlookers whispered and giggled, Raffaella slept peacefully right through it.

Asier may have intended to leave her in the care of Zarina, but he wasn't able to get far before a semi-familiar middle aged maid shrieked dramatically and ran over to him. "You! Put her down this *instant!"* she cried, causing Raffaella to jolt awake. However, she continued to pretend to be asleep, not moving a muscle.

Once she'd gotten a good look at Asier, the woman straightened her posture and bowed in respect, acknowledging his noble bearing. "My apologies. As I'm sure you can guess, this girl is my responsibility." She let out a hollow chuckle. "I'll escort her back to her quarters," she offered with her words, but not her hands. Perhaps she was too old to carry her; though, that was questionable.

Asier classically looked behind him, wondering what was going on, oblivious to the fact that initially, he was the one being hollered at. He eventually saw a maid giving him an evil eye, examining him up and down. She then became deferent in her mannerisms towards him, observing his noble bearing. It's a good thing he wasn’t trying to kidnap the girl, he thought, noticing the difference. He smiled toward the woman, “No apology needed; misunderstandings can happen all the time.” He looked toward Raffie, the girl tucked up like a baby kitten, snug within his arms. “It appears she doesn’t want to move,” as he shook her gently within his arms, trying to stir her awake, “If you like, lead the way, and we will follow you.” He smiled politely towards her. If this maid was like one of her old ones, Raffie is getting plunged into the nearest fountain to wake her up and get her moving if he didn’t offer.

"Thank you for your understanding, milord..?" she inquired for his name. "Good grief. She just does whatever she likes, this girl. I have my hands full every day. Expecting her to act her age is like trying to squeeze water out of a rock." Raffaella was trying not to smile as the maid laid her troubles on Asier.

She led him to a small, unassuming place just outside the Queensgate. It didn't seem like the kind of building where a young noble lady and her maid would live. Inside, however, it had a distinctly upper class vibe; it was a haven of luxury hidden in plain sight.

An elderly woman in well-worn, ashen gray mage's robes greeted them with a smile as they entered. She didn't seem the least bit surprised to see Asier carrying Raffie. "Leave milady on the seat over there, if you please. Then you may go," the maid said with a stern expression, gesturing to the chair next to the old woman. "Please excuse her rudeness. She has her hands full every day, you see." She cracked a mirthful smile. "Why don't you stay awhile and have some tea and cakes?" she offered, grinning as though she had said something witty.

"Milady, this man was currently making off with your daughter before I stopped him. He tempted her with sweets at that location she told you about earlier today," she dutifully reported.

"She went inside after all, did she? Naughty girl, going somewhere you shouldn't be." Her words seemed intended for Raffaella, but her emerald eyes stared right at Asier, accompanied by a knowing smile. "You may leave us," she said, regarding the maid. She looked like she wanted to protest, but she obediently took her leave.

Slowly, she turned back to Asier. "The last time I met your mother, I was sure she was expecting a girl. How peculiar." As ever, she smiled. "Did the two of you have fun together?"

“Asier”—getting used to calling himself that name would take some time. He idly listened to the maid as she led the way. He was simply relieved he didn’t have to host the girl somewhere and answer a series of increasingly awkward questions about accommodation and decoration choices.

He came across a humble abode, and it was fair to say, it looked bigger on the inside and far more luxurious. As instructed, he laid Raffie on the nearby chair and was about to leave as instructed until the maid was interrupted by the lady of the house. He raised an eyebrow to her about him running off with her daughter, and he didn’t take much convincing to help guide Raffie home. Though in hindsight, it wasn’t exactly wrong either, simply not correct. He ended up sitting down next to the girl as he joined them, albeit temporarily, to prevent an unintended slight.

Asier was certainly surprised at the idea of this woman knowing his mother, especially given he hadn’t revealed who he was. He questioned if it was some kind of intimidation, though he continued to act as if it was natural, “We do have a sister; perhaps it is her you are thinking of.” He left it open for the woman to further elaborate on her statement, “How do you know her?”

“The kitchen was kept busy, and our table kept fully replenished. We were not left wanting for dessert during our stay.” He moved to indulge in a sip of the drink offered to him. “And it appears that the excitement of the event was too much for some.” He gave a playful and knowing smile as his eyes moved to indicate the girl beside him. “It was a pleasant afternoon together.”

"Hmm. Perhaps my memory is going sooner than I'd hoped," she replied in good humour. "I've met with a great many noble families. Used to be quite the diplomat in my younger years. I never did give up travelling, though." She gently ruffled Raffie's hair, sighing contentedly. "Soon I'll be too old. Then, off to the long dream I go. It'd be nice to know that this girl won't be left alone when I do. I'm happy you made a friend, little one."

Raffie, still pretending to be asleep, looked like she might cry. It was no coincidence that, around the same time, the old woman put her back to sleep with a gentle but strong surge of chemical magic. "I'd like to thank you, Asier, for keeping her safe and well fed, but now I need you to go. I need to tuck her into bed before we all get in trouble." She smiled tightly, and did not elaborate. She was still pleasant, but she was very much urgently shooing him out the door, leaving him to speculate on Raffie's family circumstances.

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In collaberation with @Suicharte as Tommy

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Lor began to descend below the sight of countless sails, the auburn sky played across the sea as the cool winds finally gave reprieve from the immense heat felt during the days of work within the forge. Lepdes was the last day the forge ran at full steam, and with the encroaching night, payment for a week's work was given. All that was left in Belleville’s Blackfield Arsenal was Tommy trying to make some extra money to cover his debts during the auction and subsequent spending habits, and Desmond doing end-of-week bookkeeping.

A sigh left Desmond’s mouth as he closed his work for the night, he turned his head towards Tommy who was doing the last bit of work on the wall of wooden boxes. Tommy had his fingers wrapped in slightly reddened bandages, as another dull thud was heard, a yelp, then a slight slam. Metal within began to clatter together for a moment as Tommy began to check the lid of the case, as he let the guns within be left in view. Desmond sighed at the countless boxes, countless hours of work, and countless more orders.

Desmond had made his way into the back office, using a little bit of magic to open a drawer, where he set his record books away. Desmond took a moment, lingering within his office for a moment before he nodded to himself as he began to open another drawer. He reached in and pulled out a bottle of clear caramel-colored liquid, as he walked out, and saw Tommy just finished closing up the last box. Desmond let out a whistle and said while holding up the bottle and lightly shaking it, ”Ayo, Tommy. Good work today”.

Something had changed within the young lad at the trials. He had come to this school as a true hedonist, living only by his pleasure and displeasure, and now, after the long ordeal of the trials, he had emerged a different man. The Soiree only exacerbated this. Even if he was in debt, he’d have never grafted like this to get out of it. He’d have stolen some merchant's horse or shanked someone in a back alley to resolve the debt. But here he was, working himself to the bone for a person he’d only recently considered a good friend.

He turned to Desmond, the man he’d battled alongside for several grueling rounds of temporally anchored combat and forced a grin, but the natural smile of the lad wasn’t there. The wheels in his brain hadn’t been greased since the party, forced to a stop by an emotion he hadn’t registered or felt in his eighteen years of living. Where he’d normally have jumped for a good bottle of booze, he sauntered towards the lad and gave him a crisp handshake, ignoring the sharp pain of the splinters and bandages.

“Cheers, lad. Surprised you keep that at ya work, but I guess ya need it on days like this.” he spoke, pulling away from the handshake and looking at his own palms. Rough as they were, he’d never noticed the deep imperfections more deeply than now. He shook his head and dragged a couple of the empty crates with a touch of kinetic magic, slouching on one while leaving one near Desmond if he fancied a crude, makeshift seat.

Desmond began to take a seat as he opened the bottle, the deep cut of the distilled spirit filled the air and cleared away the smell of dirt, sawdust, and oil. Desmond took the first drink and slightly winced, ”Shit”. Desmond took a second and he looked at the bottle as he passed it over to Tommy to take a drink.

While passing the bottle over, Desmond commented, ”It’s the first batch made from a new distillery opening up in Harrowend”.

Tommy clasped the bottle and immediately took a big swig. Normally it’d have stung. Normally, he’d have said ‘Damn, that’s some hard shit!’ or another witty one-liner. But he didn't. He swallowed, flinched a little as the burn went down his mouth and handed it back with nary a thought in his head. ”It’s not bad. I’d bust ya balls usually for havin’ somethin’ from the capital, but honestly, it’s good hooch. he spoke, stifling a yawn as he wiped a stray droplet that slid down the side of his mouth. He passed the bottle back, on the verge of saying something, but he knew that both of them weren’t trashed enough to get there yet.

Desmond chuckled as he took the bottle back and said, ”Good to hear, I’ll tell them that”. Desmond took another swing, the burning sensation left him quiet for a moment as he began to pass the bottle over to Tommy. Finally whipping the slight spit away from his mouth Desmond said, ”You did pretty good today. If you keep up the work like this you might be able to touch one of the machines when your fingers are sideways”. Desmond laughed as he looked out at the empty shop, the quietness that they found themselves in was peaceful, yet deafening.

”Bet some girls’d like that. he spoke plainly, chuckling a little to himself, and then cringing internally. He took another swig to hide it, and the burn didn’t hit as bad. Again, he passed it back and looked at Desmond with a curiosity he’d had since meeting the guy.. ”Y’know, I think we grew up similar. Ow’d you end up so smart? Knowin’ how all this shite works?” he paused, biting a hangnail off and spitting it to the side. ”Even the school doesn’t teach shit like this… you think some are just born smarter? Honestly, I don’t think I coulda managed to set this up with all the teachin’ in the world.” he smiled and laughed at his own comment, but it was painful to do so. When had he let himself grow so small, to compare himself to another? Why would he diminish his friend's accomplishments by saying that they were maybe a product of birth? As if his hard work wasn’t his own? Yet, he couldn’t take his own words back.

Desmond chuckled to himself, listening to Tommy as he took a long chug for a moment before breathing out a large sigh, the burning hit hard enough to take the breath from Desmond for a moment. After a burp, Desmond passed the bottle back before saying, ”I don’t think we grew up as much alike. I wouldn’t hope to have anyone to grow up quite like I did”. Desmond seemed to look off for a moment, quiet for just that moment as he thought about what to say. ”To not bum you out too much, I was more like a child soldier, without all the glamor. I needed to learn to be smart, I was taught by already-graduated mages, yeah, but…I was taught the basics of most things, but my work came first, I was taught to fight and kill, and then came the whims of my teachers. My learning might have been because I was born smart, maybe, but it was always in the pursuit of bettering my craft, either for killing, or being a mercenary”.

Desmond takes a moment then shrugs as he turns to Tommy, ”Besides, there are things you’ve done I couldn’t even see myself doing. It’s how life works, we’re set down our paths and we make it our own. You’ve done plenty yourself, just in different ways. Sure for smarts, I got you beat all day-”. Desmond laughs and snickers as he continues, ”-but I couldn’t think of anyone coming close to you in physical strength alone. And fighting? I’ve spent my entire life fighting men larger and bigger than me, nastier and stronger than me, willing to kill me for whatever reason, and all I could do is answer in kind”

Desmond laughed as he began to look off again, ”But you? You’re over there taking on monsters of even bigger proportions with nothing but what the gods gave you. Never leaving your hometown, being the biggest fish in the pond”. Desmond then lightly slaps Tommy on the arm, ”Most probably betted on someone like that losing every single time”, Desmond then gave out one last chuckle and a head shake, ”But not you. Ain’t nothing I could have ever done if I was saddled being put into your shoes. And even when I had a solo match, we had to team up just to pull out a win”.

Desmond smirked a little as he then looked back to Tommy, ”So smile a little more, and keep your head a little higher. The Gods know who you are, and the world has witnessed you”. Desmond then let out a silent sigh, he knew there was more, yet neither of them were even close to the end of the drinks.

Tommy sat and listened to him talk. The praise of others at the trials had ran hollow - half-hearted praise towards an underdog that never could have made it. But hearing it from this man, who’d come so far on his own feet, who’d suffered, genuinely did help. He clasped Desmond’s arm with his own, a firm pat this time. ”Sorry, bud. I shouldn’t have compared us. he spoke, shuffling and stretching, taking the bottle once more with a deep swig.

”We’re both fuckin’ brilliant, and we both won this whole thing. Against a buncha noble brats who’d turn their nose up at our craft. he giggled to himself, pacing around the room. ”Mighta been the first time someone told me to smile more. People usually complain about the shit eatin’ grin. as he finally bared it, a true smile for the first time in the night. He needed this pick me up, this drink, this chat. Times like this would ground a person, but they brought him back to where needed to be, the unshakable version of himself that he’d lost recently. He greedily swigged again before the bottle found itself in Desmond’s hands once more, as he clapped his face and shook his greasy, sweat-ridden hair.

”Truth be told brother, I’ve been feelin’ something I didn’t know existed. That girl at the party…Edyta… she’s still on my mind.” he spoke longingly, remembering the pale skin, the freckles, the hair, the dancing. Features that would have normally not been of note, but they were still as clear in his head as the time he was there. ”I thought love was some made-up shit that these rich kids wrote in their books. Like chivalry and all that garbage. But, I think it’s real. From one meetin’ at a party. Am I fuckin’ stupid? You ever felt like this?” he asked, shaking his head as he tried to comprehend it. Was it love? Obsession? And why was he pawning it off on his buddy like this. Loudmouthed and uncouth as he was, he’d have never shared a thought like this prior, even boozed up as he was.

Desmond listened quietly, thoughts were running in Desmond’s eyes as the moment Tommy finished his question, Desmond took a long chug, greedily taking down the spirit before hit tipped it back forward and breathed out a heavy heave of air. Desmond gave himself but a moment before he answered the question, ”Yeah, I’ve felt it”. Desmond looked to the bottle for a moment before passing it back. He was quiet and seemed almost lost for a moment.

Desmond then began to look up towards Tommy, wearing his smile again, ”So, what’s stopping you?”

Tommy sighed. ”I don’t know, to be honest mate. I’ve always lived in the comfort of my vices. This body o’ mine didn’t come free. My brain’s like a livewire, and I always sought comfort in pleasure. Gamblin, drinks, girls. But this shit’s different. And I don’t even know where - or who - she is.” He paused, twiddling his thumbs before meeting Desmond’s gaze once more, and the look he had upon his face was one he’d seen many times in his hometown. Sometimes in grieving mothers, oftentimes in gang brawls gone too far.

”You said you felt it. What was her name, Des?” he asked solemnly, taking another swig as he patted him on the arm. He knew this story didn’t have a happy ending, but that was why he wanted to hear it. He wanted to understand the risk to this feeling, and what it could cost him. He didn’t want to go in blind, as he had hundreds of times before to risk it all for a meager reward.



Desmond’s face changed, his smile began to fade as he took hold of the bottle for a moment and began to take a long gulp from it and passed it to Tommy, ”Yeah, I’ve felt love before”. Desmond nodded his head as he began to look down for a moment, a big sigh came from his mouth as he said, ”Her name was…Suki-”. Desmond let the moment rest as he looked to Tommy and saw it in his eyes, the look of wanting more.

Desmond then made a gesture for the bottle again, as once it was in his hand he took another drink, a long one before he handed it back, “I…I met her back when I was in my earlier years, around the time of the Hullendam-Kerremand war, I wasn’t the only kid picked up by my Mercenary Company. There were maybe about 10 of us, all misfit kids, orphaned, forgotten, abused, and used, from different lands but that did nothing to stop us. We were all…close, but there were 3 of us who were inseparable. Myself, a young kid named Louis, and…Suki. Suki, she…she was taken by pirates, sold off into slavery and then was rescued by my mercenary company, just like I was”.

Desmond wavered a moment, thinking what else to say, sitting there, in an empty forge with nothing but a bottle of whisky and a man he calls…friend, ”She…she, taught me things. I learned some of her native language, learned how to make instruments out of leaves and tree branches, and learned how to trust people…I…I…I-uhm-I learned a lot. Just…things happened, and I…I lost her”.

A little water came into Desmond’s eyes as he lightly wiped it away before he said, ”So yeah, uhm, it’s…hard, sometimes, those pains, just kinda come and…I guess if you’re looking for something from this…I guess, it’s something powerful, it can heal but it can also crush”. Desmond cleared his throat, something was forming from the emotions that was dredged up when he saw the emotions on Tommy,.

”If anything…”, Desmond begins to swallow the saliva filling his mouth, the dryness seemed to almost reach his throat as he seemed to become lightly raspy, ”I guess…just-”, Desmond seemed to be nearly choking on his own words, ”-Just…don’t leave anything unsaid. Don’t leave things to what-ifs”.

Tommy stood up abruptly from the crate, and pulled Desmond to his feet, giving him a firm hug and a pat on the back once he was finished spilling his heart out. They’d shared a lot here, quite frankly more than they’d shared with anyone in a long time, but wasn’t that the essence of friendship? ”You got it. That’s a creed I’ve always followed, thank ya for remindin’ me.” he said, pulling away and taking the whiskey from his friend and pouring a little on the ground.

”For her, n’ the others we’ve lost along the way.” he spoke respectfully, bowing his head before taking his own swig. He set the bottle on Desmond’s crate, and sat back down on his own.

Desmond took the abrupt hug and kept the little composure he had left. Taking hold of the bottle again, Desmond stops for a moment before he pours a bit more out and continues, ”And to those who we will find further along”. Desmond then takes a swig of the spirit and beaches before beginning to laugh.

How many years has it been since he had a heart-to-heart with someone like this? With a bottle of strong alcohol, in some dusty room, and about girls. What a strange life

---

Characters: Yuliya, Kaureerah: @Force and Fury

---

On this Three Moon Night, the Sanguinaires came out to feed once more. Many were out celebrating the end of the trials, but the night was young and most were milling into pubs and venues to indulge in expensive foods and Ellermane Bleus. Some, for one reason or another, strayed from the herd and found themselves more isolated and out of sight - perfect prey. That said, the risks tonight were greater than normal.

On a familiar rooftop not too far from Cathedral Square gathered the bloodsuckers that prowled the streets of Ersand'Enise. Yuliya was among them, much to her chagrin. These people that had invaded her feeding ground irked her so, but any attempts to get rid of them had failed. So, she had stuck to working alongside them to lessen the damage that they could potentially cause. It was for this reason she usually went last most nights, in case a mess needed to be cleaned up, but this time, something called to her. A lone eeaiko girl who her company had hired a few times to model their clothes.

There was something unusual about the girl, aside from being an eeaiko, which were far from common in this area. It wasn’t a bad signal she’d had prior, but something immensely different and unusual. She sat on top of the city’s eastern wall, strumming her lute and singing to the three moons that graced the sky and the sea that churned below.

"Oh silver night, oh golden mooooon,
By thee I wish to see thee sooooon.

For all the sea is shifting and the ground, she feels strange.
Heavy clouds hang in the sky and even seasons change.

Oh silver night, oh golden moon,
By thee I wish to see thee soon.

I long for the embrace and touch of truest sort of love.
I pray now with my earnest heart that hawk shall bow to dove.

Oh silver night, oh golden moon,
By thee I wish to see thee soon.
By light divine, this heart of mine
Knows well that peace for which I pine
Will lie
They'll die
And only Ipte knows, I say, of all the tears I'll cry."

Then, there was only silence as the final strum of her lute faded. The waves washed in and out. Above them, barely audible, was the sound of sniffling. From behind, Yuli could perceive the eeaiko reaching up to brush her face with the back of a hand.

Yuli slipped the mask off her face and listened for a moment. She truly was talented, more so than she was vocally. Even with all the lessons she'd had with the cello, the eeiako was something near prodigious when it came to song. And even as she felt the hunger kicking in, she only wanted to listen further. But as she heard, with those ever keen sanguinaire senses the sound of sniffling, she began to approach. Her danger signals were blaring - for this was far too easy a mark - but this wasn't about going after a mark. It was... curiosity? Why was a girl so beautiful and so talented so sad?

"What's wrong, songbird? Boy trouble?" she asked earnestly, climbing up the wall and sitting next to her.

Kaureerah turned abruptly, startled, the tears still staining her cheeks. "Oh!? Yulee?" She shook her head and turned away momentarily. When she turned back, any sign of the tears was gone. She sighed, though. "Moost deys, Eye woold weesh too bee e berd, yoo knauw." She shook her head ruefully, patting the section of wall beside her for Yuli to sit. "Too fly ewey end never woory ebaut aull auf te leetle peeple dauwn there." She placed the lute aside and crossed her arms, glancing out at the ocean. "Eye'm saurry too wex aull pheelesauphicel." She let out a snort. "Eye've been thet berd my whoole laife," she admitted, glancing over at the new arrival. "Aull Eye ever doo ees raun."

Her eyes returned to the waves and she breathed in and out. "Baut Eye faind now... Eye waunt nautheng moore then too stey. Foor aull auf yoo too bee okey." She began to choke up. "Gauds, Eye haurdly knoow yoo, Yulee, end heere Eye em, speeleeng my haurt aut." She hugged herself tighter. "Fauck," she cursed. "FAUCK!" She shook her head, tearing up. "They're aull goonah die because saum oold men weeth fency hets sey soo: peeple Eye knoow - peeple Eye lauve." The tears came again. "Eye'm saurry. Reely, Eye em."

Yuli listened quietly to the girl's sad ramble, the tears and all. She liked to pretend she was immune to bouts like this - but at the end of the day - she was a teenage girl too. She'd cried like this to Zarina before, hell, she'd done it on her own with a bottle of vodka more than a few times, when she was afraid of appearing weak. Yet, was it desperation or bravery to continue her spiel as Yuli came to her. It made her hunger go away. Toward the end - she'd begun tearing up a little herself. She leant over toward her and gave her a hug, wrapping the girl in her arms. Even if her blood normally ran cold, it was times like this that reminded her that in a way, she was still human.

"It ok, Kaury." she sniffled into her ear, stroking her hair a little as she held her in a hug. "I know feeling of running too... you don't need know someone to open up to them. You are brave, brave girl." she squeezed a little tighter, taking great care to not crush her like a baby bird. "But, is ok. Our friends are strong. Maybe war over quickly, we can only hope" she whispered, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and wiping one of Kaureerah's tears away, before flipping it and wiping her own.

"Yulee?" Kaureerah replied, after indulging in the embrace for a good minute or two, "Deed Eye ever tell yoo thet, beck een my veelege, when the naun-autcests staurted mooveng een, there waus e reech femelee. They hed e saun whoo waus e senguinere. They woold pey my femelee too use mee es a bloodbenk." She reached up and bared her neck. "Eye doon't feer yoo. Yoo onlee heve too esk, fren." She did not let go, even if her grip weakened slightly.

Yuli stiffened suddenly as she heard Kaureerah's words. How did.. she know? She hadn't even come to the girl with the intention to feed, merely with the intent of listening to a song and a story. Quite frankly, she was going to ask Yvain. And yet... she didn't back away out of fear. She was going to offer herself up as a meal even when she was at her saddest.

"Kaury, how do you know?" she asked, softening the hug. "I.. didn't come for blood. I came because I like your song." she said, tearing up a little again. This girl was simply too sweet. But, she was simply famished. Time vanished in the conversation with her and she'd not fed properly since the bout with Laska. It was emotionally tumultuous. "Are you sure? You don't have to, if you don't want." she murmured shakily, trying not to give in to base instincts when a meal was presented so kindly before her.

Kaureerah pulled back to arms' length, one hand still resting on Yuli's shoulder. The other brushed some hair from her face. "Een... my laine auf woork, yoo heve too knauw boody lenguege. Eet's te wey yoo moove: yoo're soo queeck, soo precaise, end noo megeec drauweng too meke eet look thet wey." She shook her head reassuringly. "Yoo hoold beck when yoo haug soo yoo doon't brek leetle Kaureerah either." She giggled, faintly. "Eye heve yeears auf experience. Doon't worry. Yoor secret ees sefe weeth mee." She took a deep breath as if to prepare herself. "Yoo cen dreenk, soonei." She bared her neck.

Yuli was shocked. It wasn't from rumour mills, or from her being caught one night. It was pure, meticulous observation. And it was all bent into a compliment. She was simply a sweetheart, and she wouldn't let this go unrewarded. "Thanks, Kaury. If you want something at auction, let me know. You are good friend." she wiped her last tears and gave her a reluctant smile, before digging in with feelings of guilt. Even after being used as a blood bank, she still had no fear.

Ultimately, neither could understand each other very much, but the experience bonded them: two neutrals who'd run and convinced themselves that they weren't running, who'd come to care more about this place and the people in it than they'd ever thought they would, and who'd come to the realization that it would soon - if current events were carried through to their logical conclusion - come crashing down as war took hold of the twin continents. What could they do but commiserate? They could cry, but they could laugh, too, as a tonic, in defiance of the impending sense of doom. That's what Kaureerah had been doing her entire life. Maybe it was the true gift she'd given Yuli that night. Maybe Yuli had already found it herself. These things were often hard to say.

His meeting with Juulet left the singer shaken. There was a moment where he wandered aimlessly, unsure of who to talk with or whose hand he wanted to shake, not that anyone could tell from a glance. He poured another glass of wine at a table out of sight from Juulet's and polished it off quickly. The alcohol helped a little, his mind was racing less but the thought was still haunting him. Perhaps the smarter move would be to go home and process his thoughts alone. He got up to leave.

Then he saw Kaureerah. He became transfixed by the way the moonlight caught her face. The smarter move would be to go home, he needed to be alone; he approached her table instead. Perhaps it was the booze had hit him more than he realised and it was causing him to go against his better judgment. But he just really wished to dance with her.

"Excuse me, I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Leon Solaire addressed the table with a smile then turned to the eeaiko. "Kaureerah, it's a beautiful night and I hope to make the most of it. Would you want to waltz with me in the light of the moons?" He extended a hand in invitation.

But it wasn’t quite Leon Solaire. His voice didn't quite hit the bravado he normally spoke in and his hands were a little more rigid. Even though he tried his best to hide it, there was something off about him.

"Yoo were, een fect, eenterraupteng my deep end penseeve thaughts." She giggled, rising to her feet. She padded over to him with the grace of a performer. "Eye coould use e dence too, Meester Saun." With no further words, her fingers intertwined with his as much as they could with their webbing. She leaned in until she was pressed up against him. Quietly, smoothly, she began to move: a gentle waltz that didn't seem to follow the music. Yet, after a moment, the music came to follow *it*.

"You have my deepest, sincerest apologies." Leon chuckled back, her joke worked wonders to his mood. "I would be happy to oblige, Missus Sun." He remarked, recalling the first song the two shared. With no further words, he held the eeaiko in a dancer's embrace, matched her movements without taking the lead, and mentally thanked a very accommodating band. He would send them a basket of fruit by the time tomorrow morning came around.

Leon’s movements were still a little frigid, it wouldn't be likely to go away for the rest of the night given his exchange with Juulet, but it didn't matter to him right now. To dance with Kaureerah was all the forethought he had put into his actions. For tonight at least, he would be true to his intentions.

Kaureerah leaned into the dance. She leaned in and felt Leon and... felt. It wasn't safety, but... She tried not to dwell. Trite as it may have seemed to her artist's muse, the world faded away and it was just them two and the twinkling lights of a party in the dark. Her body felt what it felt. Her mind simply... traveled, and it came upon the words, phrase by phrase, idea by idea. She tightened her grip on him. She kissed him as the music stopped.

---

A green shadow slunk between tables, no one could really remember who invited Cawuio-Zast to the party but he wasn't doing the best job of looking inconspicuous about it. The Cazanax currently sat underneath a table with a bottle of Ellermane Bleu, despite the party just starting he had made considerable progress. It was free drinks and what better way to spend the night than with your bestest of friends, a great big bottle of booze.

Later that night…

Pissed, drunk, absolutely slaughtered. Cawiuo-Zast stumbled upon the top of an inside table and started dancing to a tune that could only exist in his head.

Zarina, after losing the sense of time with her exchange with Marz, eventually excused herself to cater to her party. Things had gotten a little rowdy, and she had a job to do.

“Oi.” The Virangish hostess was behind him, also on the table, and her arms crossed. She was tall, even for a human, and her look of disappointment was palpable. “What are you doing here with those dirty feet, Habibi?”

Cawuio-Zast stumbled around to meet Zarina and put his hands on his hips in offence, puffing himself up to look taller. He washed his feet about thrice a week, there was no need for her comments.

"Are you the bouncer or something? Because I have a special invite, I'll have you know. Let me fetch it..." He reached into the inner pocket on the left side of his jacket and pulled out a small roll of paper. It flowed open in his hand to reveal a message in immaculate cursive.

'Cawuio-Zast is honourably invited as a guest of honour to this soiree.' At the bottom of the invitation, it added: 'Thank you.'

The corner of Zarina's lips creased as she took note of the Cazenax's behaviour and supposedly spotless feet. When presented with the invitation, she raised a brow before entertaining the childish machinations of an intoxicated little man. Although the existence of such a trick suggested premeditation. Definitely Cazenax shenanigans.

She peered over the sheet of people. “Ah but of course.” She smirked behind the veil of paper she kept over before her visage. “Right this way, Mister Green!” Her trip to An Zenui had some linguistic payoff. “We've been eagerly awaiting your show.” She hopped off the table and gestured invitingly for him to follow.

They were to go to the yard, where a musical performance was reaching its end. “I was told you were one of the best. If I may be so bold as to ask if you could dedicate your first show to me?” she smiled. “The boss.”

One thing Zarina would have noticed after looking back from the crowd was that Zast was now standing on two oddly thick drink coasters; she was certain she didn't order or own those ugly things. But it did make him look just a little taller. "Wait a second, how did you know my name?... Oh yeah hiccup right."

Cawuio-Zast furrowed his brow as he got the invitation to perform. He was certain there was no such arrangement made, the invitation was a complete fabrication after all. But maybe this woman hadn't caught on, it wasn't time to blow his cover yet. Free booze was free booze. "Well itsss about time they quit hogging the stage." He adjusted his jacket and hopped down from the table to follow the bouncer lady.

"Maybe when I get my show done, hiccup I can start getting some proper respect around here." Zast looked back to Zarina in response to her question. "I didn't mean you by the way. I would be happy to dedicate it to you, you've been lovely." What did she call herself? The boss? A pretty grandiose title for a bouncer, Zast thought, but he didn't have the mental bandwidth to consider it further.

The Cazenax's stumbling didn't stop after climbing up onto the stage. Causing immense confusion to the band, this little green man clumsily made his way to centre stage and waved to address the audience to moderate success. He took a swig of the bottle while his audience turned their heads toward him. "Right! For those who don't know me and for those who, do but shouldn't, you are blessed by the musical talents hiccup of Cawuuuiiooooo-Zast. I'd like to dedicate this performance to the bouncer down the back." He pointed Zarina out. "Someone give her a smooch because she's the reason I'm up on this stage today..."

Zast trailed off as he looked down and began rifling through his jacket. "Now where was it?" He mumbled to himself as he reached into the same pocket that held the invitation only to pull out a fully sized trumpet of Perrench make triumphantly. "Aha!" The size difference was absurd, it couldn't have sat concealed in his jacket, let alone one small inner pocket. Where the hell had it come from?

There was little to ponder that question because, without further delay, he began.



Most of the invitees were curious to see a Cazenax, especially one without the whacky body paints of Technically Correct, take the stage. Many eyes turned toward Zarina when the 'bouncer' was given special dedication, prompting her to wave with a cheeky grin. The confusion quickly turned into a myriad of applause the moment air came out of that trumpet and the choreography came about. In fact, many took to dancing in the most non-traditional manner they could think of. Cheers and smiles were abundant, the soirée was reaching its peak for sure!

Zarina clapped to the rhythm, and eventually joined her 'guest' on stage to man some percussion instruments and dance along with the Magnificent Green.



After his song, Zast took a swig of a wine bottle then grabbed the trumpet with both hands and broke it over his knee. But instead of the trumpet bending or even a dent being made, the instrument shifted into a mass of liquid that fell to the ground making a puddle of, presumably, water. "T-sh-hank you very much! You've been a wonderful bloody audience."

Leaning back, the Cazenax stumbled back a couple of steps before throwing his balance forward and running at full speed. With a very poorly performed leap, he threw himself into the masses for some crowd surfing. However, the alcohol caught up with him in the execution and he blacked out at some point in the chaos of it all.

---

After some time. Niallus approached Jocasta and Yalen. It had been a while since he talked to either one. "Yalan, Jocasta." he almost called her by her title as Zeno. Luckily he managed to save himself. He wasn't exactly sure what to say. So he took a little breath to help him relax then spoke.

"So, how long until the wedding? so I have time to pick out a suitable gift for you both." a slight chuckle escaped his lips.

Jocasta seemed to slump visibly. "That's number thirty-seven?" she inquired with a dullness in her voice. Yalen, beside her, consulted a small piece of parchment. "Thirty-six, actually." He shook his head and smiled. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, dearest."

Then, he turned to Niallus. "Many thanks." He rose and shook the much taller youth's hand. "It's in a couple months, on the First of Ardanes," Jocasta piped up, rolling around the table a bit to be closer. "Fortuna," Yalen added. "She *insisted* it be on an auspicious day," he teased. "Never knew she was so superstitious."

"I'm going to go rub Penny for good luck later," Jocasta replied, deadpan.

"See?" Yalen offered, with a helpless shake of his head. "Anyhow, don't spend all your money on us, *really*. She makes a decent enough wage as a Tan-Zeno and I come from a rich family."

Jocasta shot him a look and Niallus could only guess at the dynamic behind it. "So, how about you?" Yalen continued, changing tracks. "Haven't seen you around much, except in the Trials."

Jocasta nodded eagerly. "Your relationship -" Yalen's hand covered her mouth with incredible speed, muffling whatever she'd have said next. Jocasta batted it away and shot him a second stabbing look. "Your relationship with the school: any better than all the other Eskandr? The other day was... nuts, and now everyone who's on that 'side' is busy raising a ruckus over it."

"Sweetie, do we really have to talk politics?" whined Yalen.

"Why yes, dear," Jocasta responded, "Because I'm going to rip someone's intestines out through their mouth if I have to have one more conversation about wedding dresses."

"I never knew girls could get tired of that," Yalen mumbled.

"I'm spiritually kicking you in the balls right now, dearest."

"I'm grateful it is only spiritually." Then, Yalen turned back to Niallus. "Ah, yes, sorry!" he chirped. "So about your whole take on the issue...?”
Niallus couldn't help but chuckle. He didn't think Jocasta was superstitious, then again it was Jocasta, the woman was full of surprises. But he raised an eyebrow, when Yalen covered his fiancé's mouth. "My relationship with other Eskandr is ok, mostly because of my family's services."

Watching Jocasta go off to rub a Penny. "She never changes." a smile breaking across his face. Getting back to what Yalen had mentioned, "Indeed. The other day was crazy. I did have some trouble with some Eskandishmen. I tried my best not to anger them, since chaos was already going everywhere. Luckily the students and the Zenos were able to defuse it. At least for the time being."

He sat down on a chair offering Yalen to sit opposite him. "So where were you during all that. But I know you, you would have tried to keep order."

Jocasta arched an eyebrow at Niallus. "I'm right here, genius." She rolled her eyes. "It was a joke." She regarded Niallus for a moment. "You alright?" Yalen nodded along. I wouldn't listen to idiots like that, except that they may end up in charge before very long." He sighed and downed some of his drink. Jocasta took a bit of hers as well, testing it for poisons first, of course, *always* testing it. "He was in Belleville, dealing with the... over a thousand refugees from Tanso, Parmoy, and Yarsoc there now?" She shook her head. "I was there with him. While we're busy bickering amongst ourselves, the world outside hasn't stopped moving. The Tarlonese everyone seems eager to cozy up with here are still invading, charm offensive or not."

"How about you, Niallus?" Asked Yalen, verbatim. "What do you stand for?" Jocasta nodded. "What's your cause?" she asked. "Seems like everyone needs to have one these days."

Listening to what the pair were saying. Seems that everyone has their hands full during these difficult times "Over a Thousand..." resting his drink down on the table. Clasping his hands together. "I honestly feel like this is just the beginning, no doubt those numbers will increase. It'll only be a matter of time before it's everywhere."

Hearing Yalen and Jocasta ask him, What does he stand for? What's his cause? "My cause?"
Leaning back into his seat, tilting his head back, thinking about it. "I haven't given it much thought. I've been wrapped up in too much trying to live up to the standards that my family and other Eskandr that have close ties. Sometimes I wonder If I can't even do that." leaning his head forward to face the two once more.

"I suppose It'll take some time to think about it. When I need it the most, it'll probably become more clear then." disappointed that he couldn't give a real answer to their question. But he wondered if he listened to what they had to say on the topic, it could give him some insight on finding his own.
"Can I ask you both the same question?"

"I know it's a bit of a lame answer," Yalen replied, "and probably the expected one, but... to do justice." He shrugged. "Just because I've left the order doesn't mean that I've left all of its tenets behind." He shook his head. "On the contrary, I think I'm headed someplace where I can do more and do it immediately." Jocasta glanced his was and he glanced back at her. They exchanged a small, knowing smile.

"I guess I'm like you, big guy," she addressed Niallus, "floating about without any direction." She swirled the drink in her wine glass pensively. "Though I guess I'm following his lead for now." She reached out and squeezed Yalen's hand. "He's my purpose."

Niallus appeared to have received his answers, but would they lead him anywhere? Give him anything? A gust of wind buffeted him and caused all of the little banners strung up above and all of the posters and notices festooning the fence, which they were quite near. Two ripped off and fluttered right into him. Jocasta batted another away and it fell by one of her front wheels.

Presently, she bent over to retrieve it before another gust came and blew it out of her reach. "Well, well..." she exclaimed, trailing off for dramatic effect as she straightened. "If that isn't Dami sending a message, I don't know what is." Hers was a protest pamphlet, outlining the charges of 'The Conderned Student Body' against 'The Brazen Corruption of the School Administration.'

Niallus' was a recruitment poster from the Lamplighters: 'Calling All Good-Natured, Law-Abiding Students to the Defense of Our Academy Against these Violent Protests that hath Disturbed the Peace of Late.' The final one was a missing cat poster, with a reward of two magus.

Listening to what both Yalen and Jocasta had to say about their purposes. He smiled at them. They managed to give him some idea of what his could be. "Thank you both for your insight. You two are really perfect for each other." he said to them both.

Upon Jocasta showing him the poster of himself for the Lamplighters. He was grabbing the other flyer that she couldn't reach. Upon see the recruitment poster. He paused for a few seconds "Wow..." he simply said to it. After his eyes read the missing cat poster.
"I might go into this Lamplighter poster. Or this corruption thing. Might help me think about what you two have said, Maybe it might prove fortunate.." he finished his drink before standing up
"Thank you both for your time. I'll put them back on the wall."

Jocasta handed him the final paper and offered up a parting smile and a wave. "You stay safe, Niallus!" Yalen downed some wine. "You stay awesome!""

He now held, in his hands, the opportunity to go and do something impactful, to be part of something that could change or save the status quo. Or... he could go save a cat for two magus.

Niallus looked at both posters. His decision was easy. He went back to the board and stuck the cat poster back on it "There we go." keeping the other poster. "After the party, I'll pay a visit to the Lamplighters." he said to himself. Then, the cat girl steals the cat poster. She brings it over for Raffie to look at. "Look, kitties!”

---

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Usually, they dispelled the rain for events like this, but whispers traveled about the student body and city at large that not only had they failed to dispel it this time, the Arch-Zenos had created it. Youths gathered by the dozens beneath awnings and overhangs. They clustered in the shelter of kinetic barriers and enhanced their hearing to listen to the Zenith's closing address over the deluge. A fraction of them were rich with spoils and winnings. Porters handles great pallets of goods, soon to pass through one portal or another. Some had made or rekindled friendships, alliances, and affairs of love. Others left embittered, present only out of obligation. The city of magic, with its white walls and sparkling towers, had proven a false dream for the second time. They were left indelibly disillusioned.

There were some, however, for whom Ersand'Enise yet held immense promise. Some would stay. Some would fight for it, or perhaps against it. Some had become rich in the span of a week, literally, figuratively, or both. After the drama of Mano e Mano, the scramble of Right or Spite, and the high stakes of prize selection, there were winners just as certainly as there were losers.


Some went back through the portals offered by the Zenos, eager to return home. Others lingered a bit longer and scooped up the unclaimed prizes at an auction later that day. The masquerade ball to conclude the Trials had been canceled due to a convergence of unrest outside the city and within though, officially, it was due to the sudden and untimely passing of Arch-Zeno Joshe Intaba, who had disappeared during his intervention in that disastrous Mano e Mano quarterfinal. Word came down that the school was in mourning but, curiously, while campus events had been suspended, classes had not.

The students would not be denied. While some, angry and majority - though not exclusively - Perrench and allied, took to protesting their unfair treatment which could no longer be ignored, others flocked, during the night of Victendes the ninth, to a large house on the Godsroad, just beyond the city's formal boundaries. This was the 'Soirée', to which they'd all been invited, regardless of nationality or popularity. If it was not an official event, then much was riding on it nonetheless, for few would dispute that the school was a powder keg and the city at large was scarcely better off. Still, great powers built up their forces and prepared their battle plans. Still, Belleville pursued ties with the City of the Bells. Still, desperate and disowned, refugees piled up by the gates in their hundreds and even their thousands.

By the time Eshiran's hours slipped into Dami's, musicians were playing, food and drink were served, and the midsized property was crowded with dozens of teens. Soon, it would be hundreds. They laughed. They danced. They socialized. Certainly, there were flashes of tension. Oraff does not craft all the same, Dami does not shape all alike, and Ipte will not force kinship upon them. By and large, however, the night was an immense success: evidence, perhaps, that the Zenith's words about the future and its promise maybe have held truth. Whatever other failings of her administration had since been exposed, at least she had been prophetic on one account, or so it appeared.

And yet... that very same night, in Balthazar Square and Dami's Cross, groups of drunken Perrench, Belzaggic, and Virangish students waved flags and chanted before being chased off by Academy Guardsmen and Lamplighters. Yet, what they missed were the others who slipped into the Courtyard of Exemplars at Arc-en-Ciel Hall and transformed the statue of Alassa Tojarra into the likeness of a pig-faced woman, replete with slurs and epithets describing her. That of the Zenith was marked with the demonic symbols of Zagnath, for greed, and Iptacht, for treachery.

The response was immediate. Penny Pellerin, who had been unfortunate enough to ingest the aberration earlier, was collected from the party as it wound down without incident and brought in for questioning. Roslyn Wicke, who'd intervened as a spectator to put an end to the match, found a letter with the seal of the school treasurer in her mailbox informing her that her THESIS funding had been reassessed and she was no longer eligible. When those students not playing hooky arrived on campus, they found notices on the door of every building that a curfew would be enforced 'until such time as it no longer proves necessary'. None were to be out past 1:00 HD upon pain of suspension from classes.

There was no stopping the news from spreading, however. Penny Pellerin had been taken into custody and not yet released. Eloise Desrochers, who had lost an arm in the violence following the quarterfinal; Jean-Marc Savard, the young Marquis d'Arouains; and Yvette Larocque, Comtesse de Chamonix had been arrested for their part in the acts of vandalism. The others had escaped, for now, but the academy offered substantial reward for their capture. The result was a second act of vandalism, right under the nose of the authorities.

For a second night, Penny was held in custody, and those closest to her would no longer remain silent. The verdict came down from above that the vandals would be summarily expelled without refund of their tuition, declared Anto, and blacklisted from the school registry. The reward for the remaining vandals was increased: A large medallion of the rare metal veldolm for each credibly brought in with supporting evidence. Curfew was extended into the hours of Eshiran so that, effectively, students could go only from class to home and the reverse. Local businesses complained of lost revenue and part-time employees. The people of Belleville made common cause with this new ally of convenience, decrying the tyranny of the mages in their ivory towers. Still, the great powers sharpened their swords. Still, the people of Tanso, Parmoy, and Oiyac camped outside of the city gates.

Then, a memorial to the fallen Arch-Zeno Intaba went up. It was an impromptu thing, formed hastily by a group of binders in Balthazar Square before they could be roughly hauled away. Yet, there was an imperfect beauty to it and the academy was loath to erase a memorial honouring one of their own fallen. On the third day of the unrest, students began to leave flowers, candles, and notes beside it. This, the academy's and city's administrators decided, was a healthy release of tension. This, they allowed in a limited capacity. The famously fair but firm arbiter of Ersand'Enise's justice stood there in Balthazar Square, ferrous and lumpen and, unbeknownst to his erstwhile peers, a symbol of what the school should have been, in contrast to what it was.

They began to stay, after curfew, in a vigil about the statue. At first, guards removed them, but then there were too many. The third night came and Miss Pellerin remained locked up in the Violet Enclave. Messengers had been dispatched to Perrence. Among them, symbolically, was Leike van de Hoek, who had lost a leg in the initial bout of unrest during the Trials. Dozens more gathered overnight, and they numbered well into the hundreds by the morning. Some Zenos refused to teach their half-empty classes. Some stood in solidarity with their students. Then, word got out that Arch-Zeno Tojarra, who had been suspended from academic duties, with pay, had been asked to withdraw her charges against those who had been involved in the quarterfinal incident.

She refused.

Now, the peaceful vigil began to turn angry. Some demanded that she be fired. Others stepped up to defend her, saying that it was her duty to ensure that the academy's laws were not ignored, no matter how perfunctory the case. These were few, however, and far between. Now came a letter from King Rouis himself, demanding the immediate release of his daughter and certifying the mobilization of the Legion de la Flamme Sacrée should she not walk out of the Violet Enclave unharmed, within twenty-five hours. The Dukes of Tojarra and five allied families of Torragon and Revidia sent similar notices urging the school to reinstate their kinswoman. King Sancho's missive stated only that he was certain that Dami's divine judgement would hold firm and that the guilty party would be held accountable. While some interpreted this as a carte blanche to encourage his countrymen, it was not lost upon others that the Arch-Zeno had struck his niece in anger. In response, the school began calling its Zenos from their primary duties as instructors and researches to their secondary duties as defenders of the school's integrity. Some heeded the call. Others interpreted it differently. It was the administrators who threatened the school's integrity, in fact, and not those who protested against them.

So it was that the hornet's nest had been kicked. The powder keg had been lit. Whatever idioms one might apply, they held true here. Lepdes the 13th arrived. Streets were largely empty. Classes were suspended. Ersand'Enise stood at the very precipice of a deep black abyss.

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The evening had come to an end as Taleja’s heels clicked on the stone. She found herself ruminating on a particular set of events, and she couldn’t put her finger on the specifics of it. Jocasta had accused her of poisoning, yet there had been no intention for her to play any kind of active role in such a feat. Also, earlier means when? There had been no opportunities and no interactions since thin air, and she would not have resorted to such efforts for a children's game. There was also the possibility of mistaken identity; perhaps Memento Mori acted, but why would she suspect her involvement, especially in a poisoning, when she did not have a hand in it? Did they let slip with a source of their information? Whatever the outcome, it was troubling. Jocasta wasn’t the only one who had been on her mind; there was the Vossiriyan too, and she was up to something. One scene, in particular, was when she requested her to stop; was it more than the fight, an indication people were watching her? The girl had hurried her away from Jocasta; were they connected somehow? To make it even more perplexing, her mark for the evening had not even made an appearance. She clenched her fist in frustration as she needed to reassess the drawing board. She attracted attention, and she needed to blind all the eyes upon her in some fashion.

"You're good, Miss Drakenknecht," announced a man's voice, and then there was a cloaked figure standing in her path, hands spread in a nonthreatening gesture. "Very good, in fact, but you've chosen some especially dangerous people to deal with." There was a momentary pause. "I believe you recognize that now."

“However, I was not good enough,” she responded dryly. The heels came to a stop as she stood still in front of the figure. She didn’t need to be informed of the unwritten rules of the dynamic, and she simply breathed in and let her shoulders drop in resignation. Her green eyes looked down. “I have entered a chessboard and made a first move that I don’t remember,” she brushed her hair to the side as her green eyes moved to meet his, “and all I can recall is playing draughts.”

"A mistake that came about because you didn't take the time to learn about your opponent. A mistake that you won't make again, I trust." The man was wearing a black mask: a clear statement to Taleja of what he was if not *who*. "You're used to winning," he continued. "You're used to being the strongest or at least the smartest in the room, but almost everybody here comes from a similar pedestal." He shook his head. "The only thing inherently special about you, Taleja Drakenknecht, is your mana type. The rest, you'll have to build. The problem, as you may or may not be aware, is that the all-powerful maniac whom you conspired to kill in a timeline since erased, is about to arrive and render you a stain on the floor." He tilted his head to the side. "What is your way out of this situation?"

Taleja silently listened and mulled over the words being spoken as she replied softly, "It was actually a move in Go that was played." There wasn’t much else that needed to be said verbally, as the situation was pretty clear. It was a thick, uneasy, and heavy silence that lingered. "They always said that Dami’s hell is paved with the best intentions." Her hands held together as they shook and twitched, "Not that it truly mattered. This world is ruled by the strong, who seek nothing more than to abuse it." She looked down at the muddy pavement, "Truly, my fight had already been lost 800 years ago, a remnant, really, of a people on the verge of genocide by the hands of another." A tear rolled down her cheek, as it lingered there for a moment, before eventually falling. She moved into her bag to retrieve a handkerchief, her finger stroking the head of her Slefish for a moment, before she wiped the tear away.

"Though, you are wrong about one thing." She sniffed and put the damp handkerchief back away in her handbag. "What makes me special isn’t my mana-type. What makes me special is that I am willing to embrace being the monster people already see me as." Her eyes coldly regarded the man, "My mere existence is regarded as an abomination, both as a swamp witch and as a Kressian," she paused before making an amendment, "That is Kressian, with a K. We have not all died, just yet." She took a step forward, then thought better of it, then took it back, then began to pace sideways instead, "They like to make up stories about me, you know. People I have never met." She spun her finger around in a circle, "Apparently, I enjoy dining on a good baby when I have the opportunity, my mouth full of their innocent blood." She mimicked the action of eating a leg of lamb like an Eskandr, "Children taught that if they misbehave, a Kressian will kidnap them in the middle of the night to raise them in the filth and squalor of the swamps and burn down their village."

"My mere existence is abhorrent. I see the way people look at me, their looks, their disdain. I am as welcome as a swarm of locusts on a farmer's field. If you saw that little Soirée, you would have noticed that invisible barrier that naturally formed around me, nobody wanted me there." She outlined a circle around her, one that the man conveniently stood out of the range of. "Nobody wants Taleja, the nice girl who likes to share her love of herbal tea, who would like nothing more than to share a small tea party with her friends. All they care about is their little giggles, point and laugh at the creepy girl, all fun and games. A curiosity like the bearded lady, conjoined twins, or a siren caged in an oversized bucket. So… I did it," she moved into her own bag as she pulled out her beaked black mask, as she tossed it to the man’s feet, "Like you, I wore a mask." She moved her hand over her face; any trace of annoyance, sadness, frustration, and fear disappeared, replaced by a very unsettling polite smile. Her tone became incongruent with her words, a polite singsong of a voice in disharmony with them, "I became the monster, the devil they made me out to be. I gave them the impression I am someone to be feared, it is easier that way, they leave you alone. I played the part, three C’s as you will. Calm, collected, and in control. I really wasn’t, but you see, if you appear like you are, people just assume and back down, as if going according to some obnoxious master plan, rather than swinging by the hem of my skirt, as it were."

She moved her hand upwards, as if the motion removed the face as it revealed that natural and distressed expression, her tone now congruent again, as she moved to directly answer the question, "My way out of this situation? There isn’t one." Her shoulders dropped, "If fortunate, I may have time to get my affairs in order, write a letter to my father, as it were. At best, I will get a carriage in the morning with my belongings, and return to Kressia, perhaps enough for some funds, and disappear for a bit. Perhaps I may follow the footsteps of my ancestors, head to the wandering mountain as a hermit," a wry smile formed on her lips, "or like the other side, peddle my wares as an alchemist swamp witch for some young couple who wants to discreetly induce a miscarriage, then get accused of crimes against Oraff and wanting to harvest the child in exchange for eternal youth and beauty."

Taleja paused for a moment, then stood still, "The truth is, I am already dead, that is why you are here. Assassin’s don’t make social calls." Her green eyes turned to the man in the mask, "I shared my story so that I may be remembered. Perhaps you may feel some pity, and after the deed is done, you go home, raise a drink, send me off with a memory of the person I am. A girl who never lived. Perhaps I might hear, and thank you through the cheery song of ‘Ding Dong, the Witch is Dead’." She turned and lowered her head, closing those green eyes for a final time. "I’m ready. Please make it quick and painless."

Taleja's great monologue went forward uninterrupted. For a moment afterwards, there was silence. Then came a single clap, muffled by gloves, and a second, third, and fourth, slowly and deliberately. "A touch melodramatic. A touch *long.* You'll need to learn concision, to tone that down just a bit, but affective nonetheless. I *felt* something." He strode forward, into the immediate range of her disruption, and pressed his hand to his heart. After a moment, he let it fall. "Parts of it may even have been real." He was motionless but not emotionless. "That's a valuable skill: channeling the authentic bits, *using* them." He lifted her mask from the ground with uncertain kinetic magic, and returned it to her opened bag. "I am Volto Nero. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Drakenknecht." He held out his hand for her to shake it.

Taleja remained motionless as he clapped, simply listening to his words. As he approached, she lifted her head and gazed toward him. She was not fooled; she knew her life lay in the man’s hands, though his continued presence suggested an alternative outcome to the evening. As he walked close to her, she could sense no fear or hesitation in his actions. She fiddled with her glove anxiously as he opened the fastening, scratching against the back of her hand. Her green eyes shone as she stared into his eyes, watching every twitch of the iris, every direction they looked, trying to better understand the person she was with. As he offered his hand, she moved her pale, dainty fingers towards it. "What brings Signore Nero from his warm bed to meet me this evening?" Her eyes continued to follow his, questioning him. "Are you here to recruit me into the Volti?"

He shook his head. If there was any further expression, it was hidden behind both a mask and magics. He was easily Jocasta's equal in that regard. Even though his manas should have been in rebellion, he retained enough power to cast. "Would you want to join the Volti Nascosti, truly, or would it only be for the resources?" Would your goals align with theirs?"

"Everyone knows the Dieci Volti do not exist," she turned away, peering past him, "Even if they did, a secretive cabal of immortal killers has never been at the top of a little girl’s list for graduation. If it was, I would be very concerned." She turned to give Nero a wry smile. "I had assumed your recruitment philosophy would be ‘We find you, you don’t find us’, so I have been unable to ascertain your goals from the recruitment poster. Please forgive my ignorance on the matter. If it were true you were responsible for the death of monarchs last year, I wouldn’t say our goals were incompatible. I would assist with at least a couple more on your list, timeline erasure forgiving."

Her green eyes looked to his, then appeared to eye his figure. "If you are not here on behalf of the Volti, then are you here on behalf of yourself?" She moved her hands towards the back of her hair, beginning to unfold the platinum blonde locks before him. "A bride, perhaps, keeping you to your bed. One whose very life is held in your grasp?" She fluttered those green eyes before him.

There was an extended pause. "Do hold yourself together," replied an unamused voice, but there was a hint of something in it - a hard-to-place hint. "There are those who work with us who are not *of* us. Those whose goals align with ours." He tacitly acknowledged her suspicions on the assassinations. "Although - " He paused. "Not all of our goals are *in* alignment these days." He shook his head.

At around that moment, Taleja felt it: a pinch in her chest - a pressure in her heart and a weakness in her knees. Volto Nero sprung back instantly and then, before it could become a serious threat, the pain alleviated. He stood there with his hand outstretched. "Case in point," he declared. "That was our mutual friend. Some, like her, are a bit too volatile; a bit too attached to their...personal issues. I'll speak with her, incidentally, whether or not you agree to work with us. We don't kill for pleasure or personal reasons here. She needs to be reminded of that."

Her green eyes gleamed at his response, a bemused smile played on her lips, then she felt it. That tug, that pinch, the sensation of a hand clenching the heart in her chest. The searing pain in her chest became unbearable as she tried to claw at her chest, though the sudden weakness in her body caused her to fall down suddenly, her body pooling on the floor on the cusp of an unconscious state. Her eyes opened wide as she gasped for breath, the skip of the beats replaced by an intense pounding heartbeat, her face feeling flush as it reddened. "That was very much personal." Her sumpfkrake peeled away from her dress, the creatures that had masqueraded as star-like shifting patterns made themselves known, expressing their distress at her presentation. She moved her hand as she caressed the creatures, and they began to settle down on her again. She began to move, righting herself, though she was coated in the filth and silt where she had fallen. Attempting to stand back up in these heels would be a challenge. "You saved me. Thank you."

Volto Nero nodded. "Some of us have principle," he said simply. "We stand for more than our own power. You don't need to have that to work with us, though." There was no visible smile behind that mask, but his bearing gave off a certain air of concern. Not much. "Should I bring you an opportunity in our mutual interest, may I count on you to act upon it?"

Taleja had hoped for some assistance, though, she supposes, a certain generosity cannot be stretched too far. She struggled to get up, but up she did, using her magic to clean herself off until she was suitably presentable. "I do have principles, Signore Nero." She brushed off the rest of the dirt. "Whether they are shared is a different matter, which is best discussed alongside a cup of tea and not on a dark muddy street."

As he presented his question, her green eyes flicked towards him with a shy smile. "Well, currently, you are scoring seven out of ten." Her eyes pointed forwards. "You used flattery to soften your target and build an empathetic connection. You don’t pressurize, either; you want to enlist their help with an illusion of free will." She moved a hand to symbolize his frame. "You have this air of a mysterious masked gentleman-renegade, which could make a girl quite smitten." She gave a playful wink as she turned to him. "You saved my life, and I am in your debt. If there is an opportunity of mutual interest that happens to fall into my lap, consider it completed."

With that, Volto Nero nodded. "Much obliged," he replied. If there might've been any reaction to her prods, he did not show it. Perhaps that was why he hid his face, or perhaps it was simply Volti Nascosti convention. "We shall certainly stay in touch." A moment later, he was gone.

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Johann had installed himself where he could help the most people have a good time, and where he'd be seen doing so, for such was his impulse, his nature, and his secret insecurity. He had bigger aims tonight than just being a merry face at a party, however. While people screamed about flags and corruption behind the walls of Ersand'Enise, a crisis of refugees had built outside of the gates.

Anyone who observed him could plainly see that he was partial to the yasoi people. He'd stepped up to help them during the auctions, particularly a few weeks ago as more of those 'titles' and 'land deeds' had come up for sale. There had been a rare few who'd lived in his village growing up, and he'd found them an intriguing group. It was within this context that he approached Esmii as she was playing with her animals. He took a seat beside her, but not uncomfortably close. He knew that he often made women uncomfortable and did not want to do so this time. "Esmii, is it?" he asked, "And how about *these* little fellers?"

Esmii noticed a big man had sat down next to her and asked some questions, she greeted him with a smile and answered. "Yes I am Esmii, the dormouse is sage and the grape dragon is Newt. Your Johann aren't you?"

He chuckled nervously. "That *is* what my parents named me. Yes." He shook his head good-naturedly and reached out towards Newt. "Can I pet him?"

She giggled at what he said."Yes you can, you can also feed him some grapes, if you like." She pulls a small glass jar of halved grapes from her bag, for Johann to feed Newt and places on in the big mans hand. Newt bravely puffed himself up and walk over to his hand and slowly climbs up to reach the grape in Johann's hand.

"Oh! Hah! Hee hee!" Johann giggled. "He just comes right up there and takes it!" He let the small dragon climb all over him. "Oh you are lucky, lil' feller, that I didn't eat it for myself." Johann teased, licking up some of the juices.

He turned to Esmii, thinking best how to ask a simple question. "So, you've got a whole menagerie of these wonderful little things, as I understand. You and... what was his name? Sven?"

Esmii smiles. "Yes we really do, I think Sven has a lot more than me. We look after them together. I feed his Dragons and give them attention and He does the same. I got some more from the Trialscand at the Auction, hopefully I can find a good home for them."

She started to stroked Sage "Are you having fun at the party so far."

"Oh, I'm plenty jolly and drunk." Johann waved in good-natured dismissal. While Newt seemed to have taken to him, Sage remained quite shy, despite his attempts to offer his fingers for her to climb on. "But..." he paused and sighed. "In some ways, and I don't mean to be a downer, it can't help but feel a little wrong." He shook his head and glanced about. "All these nationalists shouting at each other and us having a party here." He swallowed. "Meanwhile, the invasion of your homeland. The Tarlonese send a few of their decent young people here for us to make friends with while the rest of the Grey Army murders and pillages its way across Constantian Yasoi lands." He paused for a moment, visibly affected. "Every day now, hundreds of refugees - I can only imagine what it's like for you to see your people like that - piling up outside the city gates, refused entry." He shook his head again. "I've money, but no way to get into yasoi lands. I wish there was more I could do..."

Esmii began to feel worried at the mention of the war. "I heard rumours of the war from, my aloi (mother), she sent me a letter, explaining about the situation back home." she frowns, as her body starts to relax.

"My parents and my little suunei (sister) are safe as they decided to flee early as a procuration." she tensed once more "However my little moila (brother) isn't with them, he is missing."

Johann shook his head. "It's only a matter of time before they sweep over all of yasoi lands," he mused, idly forming a simple berry in his hand and inviting her animals to nibble at it. "Unless they meet with organized resistance - a real army of the combined Constantian Yasoi in Oiyac or Hyparii." He pounded a fist into his palm, frustrated, squishing the berry just as Newt seemed to have plucked up the courage to go for it. Mortified, Johann spent the next half-minute trying to placate the little dragon. When he'd finally settled, the chubby boy furrowed his brow and started up again. "If only I held land and title there." He shook his head again. "I could use it as a staging point for the fight back, fill it with refugees who aren't ready to give up on their homelands. *Build* something! Alas, they'd never trust a yanii, much less grant me such."

Esmii took a second, listening to Johanns words. She wondered if this was fate. "I got some land and a title. Maybe they'll trust me." she wondered.

"I want to help my people, my family. I'd like to discuss more about it." she said with a smile.

Johann's face lit up at the words. "You..." he trailed off, confused for a moment. "You have land and title! Wow!" he exclaimed, startling poor Newt again as he straightened. "Why, this is *wunderbar* news!" He shook his head in happy disbelief. "Why, they'll actually *trust* you, unlike me..." He trailed off and seemed to slump a bit as he went quiet.

Esmii didn’t think that someone could be that excited about someone elses land. Truthfully when she got the letter about it, she was shocked. Still processing that she can go by 'Lady' Esmii. It felt a bit alien to her. She wanted to break the news to her beloved but sadly he wasn't here. She'll likely visit him after the party.

"I do have land yes, and a title. But having them trust me, a part Yanii, might be difficult." she looks down to the floor her brow furrowed. Then after a few seconds her head rose to face him.

Johann shrugged. "Better a half-yanii than a full one, trust me." Perhaps he could sense her uncertainties and insecurities, but he was not about to pry, lest she start poking around his. Those were wounds old and deep that he was not going to share freely about anytime soon. For now, he focused on her. To the best of his considerable knowledge on the subject, most Constantian yasoi didn't have a particular problem with half-breeds, though there were always a *few*, he supposed. "You grew up there. You speak their language. Fundamentally, you are one of them in ways that I could never be, and you know how stubborn your people are about being helped by outsiders..." He trailed off for a moment before continuing. "If, truly, you hold land and title there, then you hold power that remains unrealized: the power to make a difference and help people. Let me help you *use* it."

Esmii sat and listened intently to everything Johann said, she knew he was right as they would maybe trust her more than a yanii. When he finished the thought for a moment and answered. "What you said makes sense, they could listen and trust me more than a yanii, and I do want to help people who are in need, because of this war."

She then opens her bag and rummages through it as she remembered that she had brought the letter she received. "This is what I got, I brought it with me to show Sven, and I will later when I go check on him but would you like to see it."

Johann nodded and reached out to take it. His eyes flicked back and forth across the page as he read.

*Esteemed Lady Tawaar,* the letter began,

*It is my honour and privilege to offer you my sincere greetings from the Baronetcy of Desta'lovox here in beautiful Hyparii. Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Salex'taol'tuuro, chamberlain of the grand estate that has now passed to you by the rules of Escambric Inheritance. I am writing this letter to extend an invitation to your ladyship to visit her domain at her earliest convenience. All must be prepared in advance of your arrival, of course, so please be so kind as to provide your humble servant with a date and time. A grand welcome awaits thee, my lady, and I look ardently forward to our first meeting. There is much work to be done and much opportunity.*

*Your Loyal Chamberlain,*

*Salex'taol'tuuro*

"Heh!" the Kerreman remarked. "Looks like that deed was worth something after all!" He shook his head. "I was hoping it would be, but they're often scams, things like this." He furrowed his brow. "This could be deliverance for all those people, and, I sense for your finances. You should certainly go investigate before you show Sven, though, to make sure it's on the level. If you received something like this, it's definitely a good sign." He considered for a moment, lowering his voice. "I, uh... for what it's worth, I can accompany you there, just in case." He shook his head. "I wouldn't trust *too* easily."

Esmii nods in agreement, as she takes the letter back and hides it in her bag once again. She knows she needs to be careful about who she trusts, with the information she has. She whispers "You are right, I do need to be carful about who I trust. Also I will hold off showing Sven if you think it's better to check everything first."

She thinks for a moment and thanks him. "Thank you for you help. I am wanting to investigate the land, but wasn't sure who I could ask to accompany me, but if you are sure I would be happy for you to accompany me. I feel like I need a few peoples help with that as it is new for me." She wonders if she has the confidence and ability to handle this.

Johann smiled reassuringly. "Don't you worry one bit. I'll be there, and..." He paused to think for a moment. "I think I know someone else I can talk to." With that, he heard his voice being called by Marci to help him with an obnoxiously drunk guest who had passed out. The big man rose and dusted himself off. "Well, with that, duty calls," he sighed. "It was nice talking to you Esmii. I think we can really help a lot of people with this idea." Then, he was hurrying off.

Esmii smiled at the big man as he stood. "Thank you for the chat. It was nice meeting you too, see you later Johann." She waved at him as he left.

Then she put one of her braids on the table for Newt to climb up, and looking at Sage in her hand, she said "Should we go see if we can find Jamboi then Sage, I know you like seeing him and Penny don't you." She gave her a little head rub and then placed her on her shoulder. Then Esmii rose from her seat and began to look for Jamboi.

While walking around Esmii finally saw Jamboi, however she noticed that he was busy having fun with Penny. She smiled and decided that she would not bother the two of them. She then looked at Sage. "We can see Penny and Jamboi another time."

Esmii then decided that she would leave a bit earlier, and go see how Sven was, as he said he was ill and she wanted to show him her dress and give him the gifts she had for him. "Well you too, Lets head to Sven's and see how he is feeling." After mentioning Sven both Sage and Newt got exited, Esmii giggled at the both of them. "Ok, calm down, we will see him soon." And off she went.

"Ivor, close it up already," Lyudmila said scornfully, as her husband was taking more than his fair share of time chatting away with the opening of the Chum wide open. "We don't have that much grass on hand." Oksana giggled wildly. "Tatu, hurry, it is getting so coooolllldddd," she said with exaggerated emphasis as she wrapped herself up with the fur blankets.

Ivor grumbled and humbugged as he was thoroughly chastised by his family, reluctantly finishing off his conversation. He eventually sealed it as the hot air started to refill the room, enough to start peeling some layers off.

"Not sure why you are the one complaining; you don't feel the cold as I do," he rebuked towards his wife, Lyudmila, who returned a playful smile. "Only thinking of you, dear." He only half managed to get his coat half-off before he was attacked by a ferocious little girl. "Rawr!" as she pounced on him.

"Ah, it is Oles the Levlytsar in the flesh!" he grabbed the girl in return, bundling her up in a hug, his arms wrapped around her and in the blankets. "She gets more like her Tato every day. I worry about her future marriage prospects," Lyudmila chastised the pair of them now.

Ivor smiled brightly as he doted on his daughter. "Now, my zaychenya is going to become a great healer like her Mamo, isn't she?" Oksana nodded her head in return. "A great healer like Mama and travelling the world to fight monsters!"

Lyudmila shook her head. "It is like talking to a deaf girl; she never listens. They keep entertaining her with those fanciful stories when they come in. I never knew Elk herding was such a dangerous occupation."

Ivor couldn't help but chuckle. "They have a bet on; whoever tells her the best story is getting first pick of the Elk at the end of the season." Lyudmila chuckled as she shook her head in bemusement. "They were certainly upping the stakes; it will be hard-pressed to beat the one with the Begemont."

Ivor laughed in return as Oksana gave a puzzled look at the pair. Lyudmila opened the outer layer of her fur as she beckoned her over, and Oksana closed in for a hug as Lyudmila began to start serving supper. "I love you, Mama," "You too, sonechko."

---

As they all settled down for the evening, with little Sana bundled up in her furs, the pair of them were able to speak more privately. “What were you talking about earlier?” Lyudmila gazed into her husband's eyes with concern as they laid together.

Ivor sighed, shaking his head disappointedly. “It is Borislav and his brutes sniffing around the herds again.”

Lyudmila's brows furrowed in worry, and she gently traced a soothing pattern on Ivor's chest. “Already? We were not expecting him again till the end of the season.”

“The Tsar has increased the tithe, apparently. We were found to be short.”

Lyudmila's expression hardened. “Does he think we are so forgetful? He already raised it last time. This is robbery.”

“Robbery or not, he is here to oversee these lands. We plan on leaving tomorrow, we are considering moving the herd further south, perhaps buying ourselves a season or two.”

Lyudmila shook her head, frightened. She twirled a strand of her hair nervously. “He would not like that, he really wouldn’t. I have known him since I was a girl; he has always had a temper.”

“If we don’t, if it came to another season, there wouldn’t be a herd for him to take a tithe from. He would start looking at people.” Ivor's eyes gazed towards the bundle of wrapped-up fur where his daughter lay.

Lyudmila's hand found its way to Sana's small form, a protective gesture. “He wouldn’t dare; that is our daughter…”

“…and if she is anything like her mother, the blood mouths would pay big for her.”

Lyudmila nodded, her worry shifting to determination. “He is a traitor to the Kozaky; we always fought to keep our independence, we serve in their armies and pay the tithe so they leave us alone.”

“Word has it, he sold out, and they promised him the title of Knyaz. The tithe is being used to weaken us and drive us out of his lands.”

“What will happen now?”

“We have sent Anhelina to inform him we accept his terms and will have the delivery ready in three days. It should buy us enough time.”

Ivor wrapped his arms around Lyudmila, offering comfort as she cuddled up against him, and they rested for the evening, facing the challenges that awaited them.

---

The snow fell during the peaceful night, the chums stood amongst their herd as the smoke of the dim fires rose from their tips. Sharpened sticks lined the boundary around the Sich, serving to keep the wilderness out and the herds inside.

The fresh snow easily parted as it was ploughed by horses, and the riders moved at twilight. Their trail left dark streaks in the landscape, as if a bear god had clawed through the land, eventually fanning out and encircling the encampment. The man at the head lit his torch as he approached the entrance. Adorned in thick furs, his arms glistened and jingled with bands of precious metal. His face was coated in war paint, flanked on the right by a man with scars and tattoos, his disfigured upper lip forming a permanent scowl, and on the left by a woman with a seemingly unremarkable appearance. Her dusty blonde hair and dress were more in keeping with the style of those in the Vossoriyan settlements. She was the first to approach the gates, captivating the men with a gesture, causing them to open the way before dropping into a never-ending sleep. The band began to enter the Sich.

Metal was drawn as the band scattered toward the chums dotted out before them. The light sounds of snow crunching beneath their feet were soon accompanied by blades slicing through the hide walls of the chums and the occupants inside. Most were caught unaware of their fate, while others fought valiantly to protect their families. Some raised the alarm, letting out loud noises, creating light displays, or screaming from the top of their lungs.

The sound of drums vibrated through the encampment as the alarm was raised, survivors regrouped with others who readied themselves for war. Oksana, bundled in furs, watched the shadows in the night and the frightening shapes they made in the light of the night sky. Her people ran around grabbing what they could as invaders set the chums ablaze, the fierce fires scorching their presence from the lands. Those who tried to challenge the band individually found themselves overpowered, leading to the formation of a defensive group as the invaders regrouped, resulting in a stand-off.

---

The first to break ranks was the snarling man, holding the head of a woman, Anhelina the messenger, as he hurled it to the feet of Ivor. Though the one to speak was the well-dressed gentleman, Borislav himself, his jewellery jingling.

“I thought better of you, Chief Ivor. I thought you and your kind already knew your place as my property.” He shook his head disappointedly, tutting. “You tried to run from me.”

Ivor stepped forward, opposing him, “You monster, how could you turn on your own people like this?”

The disfigured man started to laugh loudly, “They don’t deny it! I have been robbed of their whimpering, of their feeble lies.”

Borislav gestured to the man to hold back, “Viktor, please, we are civilized people now.” His dark grin betrayed the malice behind those words; he was not discussing culture but simple superiority, of man above those that are property.

It was the woman who gestured next, towards the mother and her daughter. “Ice veins. Those two shall fetch us a good price.” She laughed as Lyudmila and Oksana were escorted to the back of the group as others moved to stand before them. “Then make sure to gather them up, Zorya.” Borislav nodded.

---

As the tension in the air thickened, Borislav, Viktor, and Zorya stepped forward, casting an ominous shadow over the group with flames of destruction roaring behind them. Viktor’s disfigured face contorted into a snarl as he confidently advanced. Ruslan, the 'Begemont Slayer,' fuelled by defiance, readied himself, locking eyes with Viktor, determined despite the odds. The snow beneath their feet seemed to hold its breath, anticipating the eruption of violence.

The first clash echoed through the night as Ruslan repeatedly thrust with his spear, targeting vulnerable spots. Viktor wielded his axe effortlessly, parrying the spear ferociously and seeking opportunities to strike back. The moment one was created, he hurled the weapon toward Ruslan, the axe striking him in the head, and splitting his skull as he fell into the snow unceremoniously limp. Viktor, undeterred, pulled the axe from the man's skull with a squelch, roaring out as he scored his skin with another mark, overwhelming any who dared to cross his path.

Lenka, another of the Sich, raised her hand, casting a fireball towards the group. It was Zorya that stepped forward, creating a hungering shield to absorb it to protect the warband. She followed up with an internal attack, attempting to knock out Lenka, but the stumbling woman resisted. She used an opportunity as the spear lunged towards Zorya as the woman was caught by surprise, hitting her with a glancing blow. Furious, she snarled and used internal magnetic magic to paralyse and crumble the woman into a pile on the floor.

As the others fought, Ivor readied his bow, chanting and praying to the Old Mother of the Sky. He readied his bow as he fired at Borislav multiple times with kinetic empowered arrows. They flew in the air, hitting him unexpectedly in the arm and then the leg. Ivor couldn't believe his luck, instructing those behind him to start running. Viktor and Zorya turned towards him with concern, while Borislav laughed. He reached down, pulling the arrows from his body without bothering to heal, his blood splattering on the snow. His features twisted in a cruel smile, as he began to proceed forward. “Cut them off, he is mine.”

Borislav began bearing down on Ivor with his sword drawn, unleashing a torrent of movements that seemingly parried arrows in a choreographed manner, his swordplay was a brutal dance of dominance. Ivor found himself cornered, and despite his valiant efforts, the odds were insurmountable. Blow after blow of that sword landed on him until he fell, bloodied, a symbol of resistance crushed beneath the weight of tyranny and progress.

In the chaos, Lyudmila found herself captured and dragged away by unseen hands, using ice magic to fend off her attackers. She called out desperately, "Zaychenya, run!" and created an ice wall, giving others an increased opportunity to flee. Zorya quickly made her way to the scene disarmed and disabled her with internal chem, ending her resistance, and to haul her away to be sold.

Oksana ran as fast as her little legs would take her, tears flooding her face as her world crashed down. "Mama.. Tatu..." Others around her also ran. An explosion rocked behind her as they tore down the ice wall, which caught her in the crossfire and she was now thrust into a world of chaos. A shockwave resonated through her being, as she was struck by the debris. The world became a muffled symphony of destruction. A loud pitch rang in her ears as she grew disoriented, slipping into states of unconsciousness, as she was now face down on the ground.

She remembered the heaviness on top of her, hardly able to breathe as the snow continued to drift and fall around her. The sight of Viktor making short work of others fleeing, taking pleasure in their suffering, as their blood stained the snow, the battle continued to rage on around her. She struggled against the cold embrace, but the shock was too much. She passed out for good, and soon was completely trapped in a snowy cocoon. The world she once knew was gone, meeting its final end.

---

The world was pitch black, and silent. Was she dead?

Out of the emptiness of the void was a sensation. A rough but wet feeling over where her face was. As awareness slowly crept back, she shot up quickly and suddenly, taking in a deep breath. The remnants of the snow cocoon surrounded her, and a warmth on her face indicated the source of the sensation. Ice covered her eyes, and she clawed at it until the world became bright with the sun's rays.

Before her stood one of the elk calves, nudging and prodding its nose into her. Dazed, she struggled to maintain balance, experiencing vertigo that made distinguishing up from down challenging. She reached out, holding onto the creature for support, and embraced it, grateful for its companionship. Though she attempted to speak to it, the silence hung in the air, a loud, deafening silence. Staring at the calf, she saw its concerned gaze, felt the rumblings in its body as it bleated, though she couldn't hear the sound.

She leaned into the creature's fur, tears streaming down her face as the events of the previous night flooded back. Alone in this new, quiet world, she felt a profound sense of isolation. The Elk calf, however, disagreed, moving to lick her face, drying her salty tears.

Perhaps she was not entirely alone.

Stroking the Elk, she reluctantly sobered up from her distress.

“I shall call you, Metel.”

---

---

When Leon found out about the release of the The Kirisutra, Vol. 2., he was compelled to go to the library and check it out. Not strictly as an educational experience, but to see if some of his own methods popped up along with taking a few notes here and there.

One could consider him shameless to walk around the library without any attempt to hide the book's cover. But there was no shame to be had in love. However, his occasional glances at the cover took his eyes off where he was walking. This led him to physically bump into someone right in front of the checkout.

A seemingly basic letter was delivered via dragon rider to Ingrid's humble abode. "Quite the expensive courier for a simple letter," she mumbled to herself, believing it to just be some news of some timely matter. A short read later, Ingrid was bright red and heading to the library.

Ingrid headed straight to where the forbidden novel was, picking up some respectable treatises of Ensolian trade routes to hide her deep shame.

Alright Ingy! You just need to write in the checkout ledger, Luumelan won't say anything, she's a woman after all.

Ingrid pursed her lips, Quite the wait... Ingrid took a little peak at the cover, It can't hurt to take a little peak. Face as hard as stone as she indulged her curiosity to not give anything away.

And then a bump came. She turned quickly, closing the book and squeezing them to her chest.

"Yes?" Ingrid greeted whoever bumped her, no fluster or rosy cheeks, bless Shune for arcane magic. Little could Ingrid see her squeeze slide the freshly waxed book up enough to see the name of the middle book, The Kirisutra, Vol. 2.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going." Leon looked up to greet Ingrid with an apologetic smile before he looked down and noticed the stack of books she was holding. The hidden one that slipped from the stack immediately caught his eye.

After a short pause, he looked back up to Ingrid. "... you may want to adjust your stack of books. Don't worry, I won't tell." He said with a cheerful smile; his copy of The Kirisutra, Vol. 2 was not difficult to miss in his hand.

Was he flirting with her? The performer's tone of voice usually blurred the line between that and regular conversation. With the current situation, it was even harder to tell.

Ah, such kindness, Ingrid basked in Leon's prowess in speech. Sweeping over an embarrassing blunder with no effort at all is the hallmark of a great ma-

Whatever the heart desires I suppose. Your secret is safe with me.

She was shattered, she was lulled along in the safety of a more experienced speaker and then crashed into a wall. Any desire?! Ingrid's ears turned red. Ingrid found herself stealing a glance, I mean he is charming and well-read. Ingrid finished filling out the form and faced Leon, "How do you feel about reading it together?" Her voice tapered off as her brain caught up with her mouth.

Leon brightened up with the boldness of the girl's question, he had expected an immense shyness given her demeanour and expression, but she had worked up some courage. He admired such a trait. "I would love to." Leon said walking closer. "Although, I must say I'm rather surprised. Given you were so eager to hide the book." He approached and then he passed, he had been walking toward the checkout desk.

"Do you expect to be reading it in the library?" The performer asked casually while focused on writing in the checkout book.

Ingrid's mind gauged how he took that, how horrid will my social death be? Instead she was met with some positivity. She had stumbled into Ipte's grace. "Well, I guess I have known of you for awhile but not about you. We share a lot of friends after all." Ingrid leaned on the checkout counter next to him, "Besides, you did say whatever the heart desires right? Who wouldn't give it a shot?"

"No, I was wondering if you would rather read it somewhere more private," Ingrid put up some false bravado about the situation. In reality, she was in a tizzy trying to navigate where Ipte led her.

Who I'm I to deny what the heart desires? Leon thought merrily as he wrote down his name into the checkout book. He was just about to finish his name when Ingrid suggested moving this to a private place. Then his hand slipped. Where Leon usually finished the end of Solaire with a flourish, there was now a mess of ink. The performer frowned, unsure of what happened. With a quick expenditure of Binding, the ink could be erased alongside a chuckle and he redid the flair with success this time.

But he was now well aware of a dense feeling in his chest; like his heart beating slower. He couldn't help but feel he was doing something wrong, couldn't help but feel ashamed... No, what he was doing couldn't be wrong. Leon brushed those thoughts aside. This woman desired him and he wished to provide what the heart wanted. It was love; there was no shame to be had in that.

Leon closed the checkout book and turned to face his company. "I have a few nice places in mind, to read that is, if you would care to accompany me?" He asked with a wink... Then it hit him again in force. Why had the question felt so wrong to ask?

Her eyes glanced at the spilt ink, I see.

As Leon finished cleaning his feelings, Ingrid scanned the returned books, History no, treatises are a bore, natural science is fun! But maybe not for him. Then a favorite book of her appeared, that should do.

Coming back to Leon, he seemed to have a smile again. Well, I might still make a reading buddy, Ingrid hoped to herself. Leon seemed close to so many people she knew, it would be good to get to know him. "I would love to," Ingrid responded quickly before reaching for a returned book and whilst avoiding the ghostly smack of Luumelan, "How about this book then?" Ingrid presented a book called Dandelion Amongst the Garden. "This book is a lovely read."

Was it so wrong to share his heart with this woman like he had done so many times before? No, it shouldn't be. So why did it feel wrong? Why was there a trace of emptiness building in his heart? He couldn't explain it, but he couldn't continue like this.

Ingrid's attempts to shift the situation were nice. He didn't want to dim her hopes with such a sudden no even if it had to be done, he was grateful for her wordless understanding. Leon knew it was something going on with him, not her. But he couldn't simply say 'it's not you, it's me' that was a classic mistake in the realm of romance. Instead, he lied up an excuse. "I... realized that I actually have some things to do before I head home. I... can't believe I forgot." Leon laughed it off... nervously? Was Ingrid seeing the performer flustered himself?

. . . Okay then.

Ingrid laughed it off, "It's understandable, the bellmen have been so lazy with marking the hours, time just slips by," Ingrid tried to smooth over his terrible excuse. There was a smidge of pain, had she misread this so terribly? But she didn't let it show openly. Enough shame for one trip to the library, Ingrid told herself.

Behind the counter, Luumelan was turned away to rearrange some books though you could her small frame shaking a little.

Leon bowed his head before making his way to leave but turned back just before making an exit. "Oh, Ingrid, enjoy the reading." He remarked with a wink. Just that quickly, he seemed back to composure. "I'm sure we can read together another day." He continued with an inviting tone to his voice. And soon after, he was gone.

Outside the library, Leon took a moment away from prying eyes. His breath was shorter than it normally would be and his chest was pressing against him. What the hell is wrong with me? He thought with a panic, unsure of any answers to explain away this feeling.

Leon looked back to the library for a brief time, he wasn't blind, he knew exactly what he had done to Ingrid by leaving like that. He felt guilty but what could he do now?

Ingrid waved him off and returned the Kirisutra and the Dandelion book. She kept the 2 trade book reports and went on her way home. Tall and strong, but in the end nothing more than an ugly weed in a flower bed, better used as cow feed on a pasture. Just a dandelion. Ingrid went home quite glum to study.

---

A couple nights later...

"You know Kaureerah, there's a whole section in this book dedicated to an I.P." Leon remarked, not putting two and two together. "Its high praise... Who do you think it is? A long, lost lover of the author whose heart bleeds for a time gone by perhaps? That's probably it."

"That reminds me, I took the liberty of picking you up some reading glasses today."

"No, no, your eyes a perfectly fine, beautiful actually. There's just a few things from this book I want to try out."

---

---

---

It was late at night, or perhaps early on the morning of Velles the Eleventh, when Isabella was awoken by a persistent pinching of her earlobe. "I'm up, I'm up!" she croaked, sitting up in bed. "Fuckin' 'ell." All around her, on stands and manikins, from lines where they hung and basins where they'd been dyed, lay the fruits of her labour. The pinching returned and it was Jocasta. <What. Want.> she pinched back, after a taking a moment to find her old refuge friend some ways away.

<Marci.> came the reply. <Hurt. Bad.>

Isabella was up within moments, dressing and swinging herself out of bed and into her wheelchair.

---

They'd all been called: Isabella, Luisa, Felix, and Yalen. They'd only missed Abdel. He'd slept through the barrage of pinches as was his custom. Five tethered gathered in a nondescript townhome within the faculty quarter, one with wide doors and hallways, low countertops, and a pulley lift to the second floor. Their sixth lay on the dining room table, made marginally comfortable by the inclusion of some hastily-arranged blankets and a pillow beneath her head. Though the outwardly-evident wounds had been healed, the damage was grave and irreparable.

"She'll be rabid," Jocasta was saying, in response to a question from Felix. "Blind, mad, aggressive." People hugged themselves and eyes darted around, seeking uncertain assurances that could not be given. Yalen, the only one standing, leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, and avoided looking at Marceline. He'd lit the lamps and candles. They did just enough.

"But she's..." Luisa reached an arm around Felix and hugged him from the side, their wheels butting up against each other's. "Well... on zero, right?"

Isabella nodded, having arrived and been filled in second of all to Yalen. "And she's the copy, right?" she added.

Jocasta nodded slowly. "She is," the senior tethered confirmed, "as long as they didn't get mixed up. I've seen it happen." She smiled faintly. "With some hilarious results." The smile faded almost immediately, however, for all knew that there was no levity to be had here.

"Well, can she be cured?" Felix prodded. "Of the aberration effects, of course." All tethered knew that, once you were fully on two - once the tethering reached your spinal column, there was no going back.

Yalen pushed off from the countertop and uncrossed his arms. "I have the gift I received from an aberration last year," he offered. "It can reverse some of the effect."

"And then a Grey Ab," exclaimed Luisa with some relief. "Two birds, one stone!"

The others exchanged serious eyes. "I know this may sound heartless," Felix offered, "But this is just the twenty-five hour copy, right?" He voiced what all - or at least most of them had been thinking but afraid to say.

Jocasta pursed her lips, nervous hands occupying themselves by taking a moment to fix the folds on Marci's tattered dress. "Yeah," she replied, "It should be."

"So we just... put her out of her misery?" Isabella concluded, not liking the sound of it even as it left her lips. Her eyes darted about guiltily, at her fellow tethered and at their dancing shadows on the walls, dim and distant.

Felix shrugged. Yalen pursed his lips. "Whatever we do," he decided, "We can't let her wake up like that, no matter what. The way I understand copies is that the memories go back to the original."

"I can keep her under for a day," Jocasta offered, "until she disappears." She left out the unspoken 'or not'. She shrugged. "Real Marci will receive no memories from after her copy here went unconscious." She drew back from the countertop and regarded the others in turn. "That sound reasonable?"

There were murmurs of consent and a few explicit affirmatives. Hugs were exchanged. Eyes lingered on their fallen sister. If she was not the true Marceline, she was a part of her and it was all too real, eerie, and uncanny. "Love you Marce," said Isabella, squeezing the girl's unmoving hand before rolling away. "You silly little thing," fretted Luisa, pushing herself up on her arms to plant a kiss on the girl's forehead. Felix ruffled her hair with glum fondness. Then, one by one, they rolled out of the door, Isabella lingering last. "If you need anything," she assured Jocasta and Yalen, eyes darting once again to Marci's prone form, "I'm just an annoying pinch in the night away." She offered a brave smile and a nod before backing away and closing the door behind herself.

The husband and wife to be were left alone in the dining room of their home, and the latter heaved a tired, worried sigh. She closed her eyes and rubbed at the bridge of her nose. "Yalen," she began, opening them, "I know there's no reason, but do you think you could try to cure her anyway?" Just in case, her mind but not her mouth added. "I can't look at her like that and..." She shrugged. "It'll be good practice, right?"

---

---

Jocasta did, of course, call upon Isabella again, and Luisa, Felix, and Yalen. If the otherwise-incurable part of the madness was gone thanks to the last of them, not-Marceline was still utterly mad, blind, and paralyzed from the neck down, and would remain so until she disappeared.

Each took a shift watching over the girl, trading spare periods or playing hooky when absolutely necessary. They remained diligent: careful to keep her under so that her true self might not experience the horrors that would inevitably follow were she to wake.

So it was that the day passed. Marceline, as yet unaffected by the horrors wrought upon her doppelganger by her risky decisions, went about her business with Zarina, moving from tenseness to triumph. Meanwhile, the version of herself that had paid for her sins remained, lying still and silent on Jocasta's spare bed, chest rising and falling shallowly as she yet drew breath.

First, it was Yalen. Then, it was Felix, followed by Luisa. Isabella missed an afternoon period and then Jocasta maintained Marceline from afar. The afternoon drew on and the hour drew near.

The sun began to ripen in the sky, hanging like a fruit ready to drop, and Jocasta had long since returned home. At first, she looked in from time to time as she busied herself with her daily chores and marking papers, but then she began to linger. Worry sat, hard and high, atop her stomach, pulling at its strings and tightening them. She came often into the room, rolling quietly across the floor, tugging at the sheets, glancing out the window at the setting sun. Finally, it rested atop the jagged skyline of the city and began to dip below, fat and orange-pink. It could happen at any moment, she knew. She prepared herself for Marci to disappear. As the last of the sun slipped from view, she prepared the sigh of relief and waited for it to come.

It didn't.

---

---

How, Marci!? Jocasta couldn't get the thought out of her head. How could you fuck it up!? The girl was usually smart. She'd started a business with Zarina that had become an Ersand'Enise staple and was poised to explode across the twin continents. She'd outsmarted everyone in the Melon Derby and Thin Air, and come a hair from beating Juulet in Mano e Mano. How the hell could someone like you make such a stupid mistake!?

At some point, Jocasta slipped into acceptance. She was numb for a couple of minutes, the anxiety that had churned her insides gone. On some level she'd known. That undefinable impulse that some might call 'gut instinct' had warned her. He cleansed you, at least, she thought at the girl, but it was so much worse. It was unfathomably worse.

The sun had disappeared completely and she realized that she could wait no longer. While the Zenith had called a citywide curfew in response to the recent unrest, Jocasta was exempt from it as a Tan-Zeno. If she looked more like a student, then she was distinctive: the only blonde tethered woman in the entire city. She was allowed, so far as she'd bothered to read her intake materials during hundri, to escort two people, and... well, those had to be Marceline and Yalen. They had to get to the Groove. They had to get a white or grey ab. She didn't allow herself to think past that point.

Pushing herself into action, Jocasta turned on the spot and dodged the new wheelchair Yalen had gotten her from the Trials. She rolled out of the room and down the hallway. "My love," she called with some urgency, knocking on his door. He was soon to begin his evening prayers, she knew. She was about to knock again when she heard footsteps. A moment later, she was gazing up at Yalen, freshly bathed, his blonde hair still damp and smoothed back. By Ipté are you gorgeous!

"You radiate worry," he observed, stepping through the doorway. "Is it...?" He trailed off, and she nodded. "Marci." She wasn't sure whether to hug herself or have her hands on her wheels. Yalen solved the problem by reaching down and pulling her into an embrace. "We need to get her an aberration," he said, releasing Jocasta. He left the rest unsaid. "Jo, do you think you can teleport us?" he asked tenderly, and she swallowed in response, arms instinctively wrapping themselves around her small form. "I..." She stopped her automatic answer and considered. "I can teleport you two, straight into the backroom of the Swirl." She shook her head. "I'll follow as quickly as I can, but those... things will attack if I try to go. Can you handle her until I get there?"

Yalen scowled thoughtfully. "I... think so," he responded, "But this is aberration madness. You've got about a day from the time it sets in to clear what you can." Left unspoken were the other effects. Left unspoken was that nearly a day had passed.

---

Isabella was at her loom, putting the finishing touches on a project, when she felt a pinch on her earlobe. With the skill of a master, she managed to avoid ruining the pattern she'd been working on. <Marci. Here. Still.> She put down what she'd been doing and sat there for a moment as it dawned on her. Her heart sank. <Real. Marci.> she questioned. <Real.Marci.> came the response.

The Enthishwoman's hands fell to her wheels, trembling. <Need. What.> she asked. <Need. You. Portal. Now.> She looked up to find it waiting for her.

---

---

The Vermilion Swirl was a place of pleasure. Certainly, there was the odd miserable old git who cared naught for anything but blunting his own unhappiness. By and large, however, it had established the sort of culture that made it an oasis. This was a place of privilege as much as refuge and, as a result, it was rare to see the worried, the ill, and the desperate here.

Then there were the three tethered: the Enthish clothing designer, the former priest, and the third. She was young and unmoving, laid on a table in the backroom that all knew led to The Groove. "It'll be enough," the first was saying. "I took one half this size with Luisa and Felix and it pushed each of our symptoms back as far as they'd go." Absently, she indicated a line just above her hips.

Yalen considered. He closed his eyes for focus and scanned Marceline's prone form. He could feel the nerves in her arms, shoulders, and chest firing again. He followed them down into her midsection and all the way to that invisible line just before they branched out into her legs. He scowled. "It's the aberration side of things that worries me." He shook his head. "A normal mage is a menace if they go mad, but a tethered?"

Isabella shrugged uncomfortably. "She could wreak havoc all over the city and it'd take hours to find the source."

It was at about that moment that Jocasta rolled breathlessly into the room. She took a moment to compose herself, chest heaving, and shook her arms out before fixing her hair. "So it's done? she asked. "She's taken it?" Her eyes, still adjusting to the darkness, searched her peers' faces before flicking Marci's way.

Yalen nodded. "You didn't have to run. It was pretty straightforward."

Jocasta took a few pushes, rolling right up to the unconscious younger girl. She brushed some hair from Marci's eyes. "How far did we get?" Is she...?"

Isabella nodded. Yalen shook his head. "As far as we thought," the former replied. "As far as us."

Jocasta closed her eyes. She took a deep, shuddering breath, held it, and released it before opening them. "Godsdammit, Marci: you brave, stupid little person." She hadn't walked since she was thirteen, hadn't felt anything below her waist since then and, in a lot of ways, living with effectively half a body was... her normal. Gods, she knew it was hard, though, and she shuddered to think of how impossible it would be without the Gift. "You're gonna do it, Marce." She ran her fingers through the girl's hair. "It's gonna be hard and I know you thought it was a bullet you'd dodged - Gods, I wish you had - but you're going to be okay, like me and Issy." She looked over at her childhood friend and they exchanged tight, knowing smiles. "This is a bump in the road, I promise, and there are good things waiting on the other side of it."

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. She tried to screw her jaw shut and will them away, but it was no use, so she ran the back of her hand across her face. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to destroy Juulet: to pound her to pieces, to make her beg pathetically for her wretched life and to coldly refuse. She wanted to, because the yasoi had hurt someone she loved, but it rang hollow. It had been Marci's choice and Marci's mistake. She had started buying into her own cleverness and invincibility and would be forever marked by it. Jocasta knew that feeling. She took a deep breath. "I want her to have privacy for a few days, to be safe from what's going on in the city." She sniffed and straightened. "That still okay?"

Isabella nodded.

---

---

---

---

The rooftops of Ersand'Enise did what they could to hold back the start, but the sun rose just the same, pale fingers of light reaching across the cityscape, into windows and bedrooms, waking those who had slept. Many had not. The city of the bells waited, its dew sparkling and swelled with destiny, like the grassy plains of a battlefield before.

Some businesses duly opened. Others remained shuttered. Some students peeled out of their nightclothes, shrugged into their dayclothes, and prepared to go to classes. Others remained shuttered. The air was drawn taut, threaded across rooftops, doors, and gardens, rigid through living rooms, a barrier in bedrooms, diving into lungs and constraining them. None who had been here for more than mere hours could breathe easy.

Yet, as a pale ivory sliver split the curtains of a large apartment just outside the city walls, one did. She had woken before, to be certain, so briefly as to not even recall it. The girl - she was too young to be called 'woman' - was in a warm haze, and had settled back to sleep without a shred of awareness.

Now, however, her eyelids fluttered. Warm and ensconced beneath her blankets, she lay there in semiconsciousness, trying to ignore the slight headache that pinched at her being and promised unwelcome lucidity. A hangover some portion of her groggy mind decided and, with the deliberateness of that thought, the veil of slumber was indelibly broken. Try as she might, Marceline could not drift away again.

She snuggled deeper into her pillow in a futile attempt, feeling something wrong but not being wakeful enough to place what it was. Groggily, she opened her eyes and noted semi-familiar surroundings. This was Isabella's spare apartment: the one above her warehouse in Fascino. She must've gone out after the party and had too much to drink, for she could remember...

An entire day out with Zarina that she could not account for. Memories from her temporary clone began to appear as well: disastrous ones that ended with -

Involuntarily, Marceline went to shift in bed, and then she felt it or, rather, didn't. It was an impossible feeling. With a start, unbidden adrenaline rushing through her, she went to kick her blankets free. She couldn't feel them. This was one of those nightmares. Her heart pounded, but she let herself be relieved. She'd had many like it: suddenly being unable to walk, her tethering suddenly having turned her into Jocasta or Isabella or... her mother! This was one of those, even though it was uncannily real and there was a tinging feeling about her waist. She tried to end the dream as she sometimes did. There was the sound of wheels in the hallway: a tethered approaching. Still, she tried to end it and everything faded mercifully to black.

They spoke in murmured worries: three tethered women around a bed where the fourth lay. "Things are getting hairy," insisted one, "real hairy."

"It's a full-on riot at this point," another declared. She twisted on the spot as the third settled a light jacket about her shoulders and bid the first do so as well. "You're... going?"

The third nodded. "It's more than a riot, too." She set hands to wheels and rolled through an archway, gently pushing the door to a room open. The others released their brakes and followed her. All three filtered slowly into the room. "Protecting those worth protecting and killing those worth killing is my job tonight," Jocasta said cryptically. "Marci is yours." She swallowed and fixed the younger girl's covers before turning about.
.
"She's already woken," Luisa offered.

"And she thinks it's a dream," Isabella responded. "I used to have them too." All three exchanged glances. All tethered had such dreams. While they had been forced to face the reality of those, they had yet hoped that Marci might not have to, that one of them might get away. "Next time, she won't," declared Jocasta with finality.

"Will she wake?"

The other two shrugged. "I don't think so," replied the blonde, "I dosed her enough for a begemot."

"But if she does..." Isabella trailed off.

"Right," Luisa concluded. "Don't let her be alone."

---

---

She was alone. She could feel it the moment that sound reached her ears and sensation her skin. She was alone in a still and quiet room and, once more, Marceline awakened to a glow upon the horizon. A grim pinkish-orange light warped and threw the silhouettes of Ersand'Enise across the surrounding countryside, as far as this second-floor apartment at the edge of Belleville.

For a moment, the girl lay there and breathed. She pulled air into her lungs and let it out: a simple thing that she had control over. From the moment that consciousness had started to reclaim her, she had opened her senses and bade her mind to feel her body. She curled and uncurled her fingers. She focused on the light touch of the covers on her bare shoulders. She'd had the most terrible dream and she worked her way down, already - in some unwelcome part of her mind - knowing what she would find. She worked her way down to wiggle her toes and...

Numbness.

Her heartrate increased as she lay there in the shrouded darkness of this room, as the distant fires of a revolution sent ominous, orange-tinted shadows to writhe and snap across the floor of her room. Her knees. Marceline tried to move them - to sense them.

Nothing.

Numbness and the sensation of pins and needles about her waist. A deep, cold, feeling congealed inside of her and she lay there for a moment. She just lay there. She lay there and thought about not thinking. Instead, her memories flooded back: two separate sets of them, as if she had been two separate people at the same time. For a moment, she imagined, she was the copy, but her heart beat faster and a frigid... something swept through her. A whole day's worth of memories. If she was the copy...

Numbness.

This was real. But it couldn't be. She was the original. She'd claimed that she was and the other had taken the risk. She'd - Her heart beat faster. She had two sets of memories. Which one had been hers!? Which person had been her!? She pinched herself just below the ribs and nothing happened but a flash of momentary pain. Everything trembled, from her breath to her fingers. She tried to twist, but there was a weight: a great awkward weight that pulled at her - or the bottom of the 'her' that she could feel - at that line. That line, suddenly, was defining. It was where she ended and she did not know why. She could not fathom why. "Issy!?" she called, and her voice felt small and rough. "Issy!!!"

Nothing.

Now, she panicked. Marci tried to sit up and... she couldn't! She strained, willing it, but there was nothing below that prickly line. She ended there and her heart beat faster. She felt her pulse in her ears and the world grew faint. Marci called upon the Gift. She scrabbled with her arms and sat up unsteadily, the world seeming tentative and unsteady. "Issy, please!!" She cast about for the owner of this place. "Anyone!" She paused, chest heaving, sweat pasting her hair against the side of her face. "Anyone!" She couldn't feel her legs or her... anything. She tried to focus. She tried to use the Gift. They were there, but they were lost to her. She lifted her hands from the bed, where they'd been supporting her, and could immediately feel herself start to fall. She clenched up and half-caught herself, arms shooting back to prevent the rest. She called upon the Gift to support her and, tentatively, lifted one arm free, reaching down to untangle the sheets.

Numbness.

It was... like touching somebody else's leg: a foreign object. With a terrified fascination, the girl ran her hand down a thigh and up again all the way to - She stopped and wrinkled her nose. Wetness. For a moment, every part of her body that she had control over tensed in revulsion. She knew what it was and she wiped her hand vigorously - frantically - on the covers. With a noise, not that of anything sapient or worthwhile, she released the hold of magic upon her form and waited for herself to fall back: to fall back so that she wouldn't feel, so that this would all be some bad dream or a temporary setback she would overcome, as she had so many others.

Nothing.

If she could just - She let out a second wail, and a third, loud enough to rip at her throat. She threw herself back. At least she could still do that. There had to be some way. She had magic. There had to be some way to undo this, to reverse it, to prevent it. She could see the shadows on the floor. Something bad was happening outside and she did not want anything to do with it. I'm broken, she screamed inwardly. I'm broken. I broke myself. I'm half a person. Half a person! She tried to picture herself: her, Marceline, in a wheelchair, just like Mama and Jocasta and Isabella. She tried to picture that her, tried to imagine her happy, like they were, but the fear won out. How had they done it!? How could they function!? Would she have to depend on the Gift to do basic things for the rest of her life!?

It was too much to even cry: too much to process, too much finality, too much all at once and it was damning. She couldn't sit up on her own. She could move! She had pissed herself, like a baby, and not even known. She couldn't even feel it. What else she might not feel remained a subject unbroached but very much present. Juulet had done this to her: a powerful person breaking her and discarding her. Marci had never thought she'd be discarded. Even in her worst moments back at the refuge, she'd believed otherwise. She'd always been clever. She'd always been sure that she would make something of herself in the thirty-odd years she'd been given. You are a stupid, worthless piece of shit and anyone who invests in you is making a mistake.

She tried to direct her anger at Juulet and swore that - whatever it took - she would see that vile bitch die in terror and agony, but it rang hollow and pathetic. What the hell is a pathetic little cripple like you ever going to do to a Goddess? Just the mental image of herself - in a wheelchair - trying to go up against that sort of Titan seemed bitterly ridiculous. Marceline was nothing, or half of nothing now. She wasn't even smart. She'd fucking mixed up herself and her copy. She'd gloated instead of just fucking shooting Juulet between the eyes when she'd had her. She hadn't taken the seed - so stupidly overconfident. She'd let herself be swayed - even momentarily - by the bitch's ridiculous story about Dory. She'd gotten Fiske involved and - She didn't even know where he was or if he was okay. The weight of her mountain of failures crushed her crippled body and she lay there numb and sobbing and just wishing she could fall asleep and fade away and it would all be better.

Only, it wouldn't. It would never be better. She had ruined herself, permanently, or for however blessedly short a time she lasted. She would lie here in her own piss and misery, the girl who had wanted to live forever, telling herself that it was too much. That she couldn't do it, that she couldn't live even fifteen more years like this. She would stop taking aberrations. That's what she'd do. She'd stop taking them and fade away quickly - just get it over with, just be a fond memory of someone her friends and family had known.

A fist clenched around her stomach and she felt sick. Did they know this had happened? Did they know that she was like this!? It squeezed and twisted. They couldn't know. They couldn't see her: none of them except for whoever had put her here. They mustn't. They wouldn't! Thus, she stared blankly at the wheelchair by her bedside and focused her racing mind with thoughts of how she might disappear and how it would be better that way.

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