[b]Hazel![/b] Well, we just have to start with you, sweet little thing. So nervous. So anxious. So desperate to be a good boy. (What, did you think you could hide these things from me?) You need approval. You need to be chased. And you need a blessing or you’re never even going to make it to the Chrysanthemum. The thing about the kiss I give you— on the lips, with your lips, light passing between us like the heat of a summer’s dusk— is that, in a way, it’s your kiss for yourself that your heart wouldn’t admit it needed, but was screaming out for all the same. Keli’s my daughter, you must remember; I have a weakness for you soft little things. Especially ones with those sad little eyes like a wet kitten and that slender figure just made for playing dress-up and no idea of what to do with your hands while you’re standing. But when I pull back, for a moment, you’ll be able to see the stars in my eyes (like in your gritty true crime drama, [i]Oshi no Ko[/i]). I am old, darling (and in that moment, you intuit this). I am older than anyone in this world. I fell from Heaven because I could not help but make things more interesting. I am helping you, Hazel, because I think that you will be [i]interesting.[/i] And if you bore me, I will not abandon you. Not without seeing if I can force you back into being entertaining first. And you should not, under any circumstances, underestimate my ability to make situations more entertaining. You are cute. You are entertaining. You need to be comforted. You need to be tormented. You have my [i]attention,[/i] Hazel Valentine Fletcher, my Golden Fawn, and the attention of any of Us is perilous. Does that answer your question, sweetieantlers~? [hr] [b]Eclair![/b] The skateboarder, the maid, the prodigal, she has nine tails. Her own, which lashes with excitement as she speeds along, and the eight strings of firecrackers which trail from her hand, long and glimmering and Outside-touched. She spares you a glance over her shoulder, through that laughing mask in black and white, and then builds speed, lifting up into a 1080 spin, giving her an excellent vantage point and momentum. With one hand she grips her board and the strings (can you hear her giddy laughter) and with the other, she flings a line at you. And as soon as it comes close to you, you can see that the firecrackers are crudely shaped like lizards in a multitude of colors— indigo, chartreuse, honeysuckle, cream, viridian— and then you have just enough time to see their eyes glow and a little fire spit from their mouths. Suddenly it’s not a spiraling spring of firecrackers. It’s two dozen simultaneous barking sparking snapping hissing shuddering roaring explosions spreading through the entire east side of the plaza, and you’re headed straight into it unless you do something [i]now.[/i] [hr] [b]Yuki![/b] Boom!! The plaza explodes into a tumult of fireworks as the masked maid lowers herself on the board and aims right for the Stone, tossing out a string of fireworks to either side of her. Yowl!! Juniper’s suddenly staring down Hazel and those darn foxgirls bearing down onto her, and behind them the city guards and the Khatun’s pack (and the view looks different than you remember, though I don’t expect you’ll have pieced everything together yet. Swoop!! Olesya sweeps Juniper up in her arms, her curved heartblade lying on the tiles, crushing the nun against her as she tumbles backwards out of the way of the tumult, cradling Juniper as a Nagi’s coils crash through the space where she was (and, unfortunately, the net snaps up a pack huntress right behind her). “Golly!!” Hazel is scampering like his life depends on it, squeaking and bobbing and weaving and sliding, and Keli and Seli have their thin heartblades out kissing the air and stinging any hunter who gets too close. [hr] [b]Cair![/b] The path is blocked! Specifically, the path from A6 (Armory, S-Y) across to G1 (Civil Regalia/Shrine) is blocked by a collection of illustrated Hub guides. Or, more specifically, they’re being blocked by the Hero’s Shadow, who is expertly turning the page of a guide to Basal, their dreadful talons gripping the corner with ease. Their sleek-spotted tail thumps. Their wings shudder iridescent. Their empty eyes reflect unseen lamplights. Their heat fills the corridor, a pleasant but powerful sauna-sweat. A spiced floral scent lies heavy on the tongue. They’re a reflection of Heron’s soul, supposedly. That’s the theory, at least, and asking the Shadow to confirm a theory is useless, because they’ll just answer with “if you say so, it must be so.” Also, they might Challenge you afterwards, and then you’ve got to toss out all your plans for the afternoon to deal with [i]that.[/i] Anyway, that’s supposedly why they look nothing like Heron, and why they’ve shown up with as much regularity as Sayanastia. “Six and one and six. Boxcars, but she’s elsewhere.” Their voice is androgynous, melodious, the kind that makes sense of nonsense. They cock their bearded-vulture head, stroking the illustration of the Deep District (done up in seven shades of purple) with the back of one wicked talon. “Tell me: which of you has the [i]purest[/i] nature? I need all of your answers.” It’s always gotta be a whole thing with this one. [hr] [b]Hazel![/b] The kettle whistles, and the scent of something almost exactly like what you would call tea-tea fills the cramped little room. “You will want to take those off, sweet,” Amali says, setting a tray of tea and cinnamon biscuits and toast with butter and goblin-orange jam before you on the table. She gestures to your antlers. “Or they’ll be soaked through and no good tomorrow.” A light blanket is wrapped around your shoulders. A goblin that’s almost exactly like a cat, just with a checkerboard for a fur pattern, is making biscuits of his own in your lap. You’re sitting on a soft cushion on a hard chair, and the ticking of a grandmother clock fills the room as much as the scent of the tray’s treasures. Your lips are still faintly tingling.