Yuki!

“…what do you mean you arrested Yuki Edogawa?”

It’s later! A serpentine cordon has been placed around the entrance to the Crevas Stone, barring entry. See, the thing is, those fireworks have some enchantment on them which triggers if you get too close, which we all know because you got too close and nearly set off a disastrous chain reaction of explosions, and then you got tackled by a Nagi guard.

(They’re not quite the same as cops, incidentally. It’s technically a volunteer position, but it’s a power move for the ruling families to have enough members of their client families that they can make some take shifts in the city watch, and enough resources to pay them for their work. This also means that unlike cops, there’s a bunch of city guard cliques that don’t work together well, and like cops, some of them are thugs for hire on the side.)

So here you are, handcuffed and stuck under someone’s tail, and who’s come to save you but Sulochana? Okay, technically she’s here to figure out what happened, but—

“—she saved Thellamie and you decided it was a good idea to arrest her, do you have the brains that the First Fallen gave an ant—“

You have, unfortunately, had time to stew— to plead and be ignored— to worry about Hazel, gone with Seli and Keli and that villain maid— and to get a cramp in your shoulders.

That sounds like time enough to have taken a Condition, don’t you think?

But here’s the tail of Beti Karn-Daga slithering off you sheepishly, and Sulochana pulling you up onto your feet and sweeping you into a crushing, desperate hug. And she looks like she’s had as terrible a night as you have.

---

Eclair!

The wind kisses your face like the breath of slumbering dragons.

It’s later. The edge of a Hub, any one you care to name, tends to be rundown and poor when compared to the rich urban center. But you’re past even the shacks and the guardposts and the fertilizer warehouses now, staring out into the desert, its colors pale phantasms under the light of the judging moon and stars.

The Khatun and her pack have already had their tracks be blown away by that wind; on the horizon, they might as well be tricks of the Outside. They ride furiously, having lost whatever dispute they were having with the city guard of Crevas. But this barely matters to you, Eclair.

What matters is that you must pursue Timtam. Now, perhaps it would be more sensible for you to go back down into the city, examine crime scenes for clues, and be methodical about this.

But you’re not feeling particularly methodical, are you?

Because she’s out there. She’s played you for a fool. You’re no closer to understanding what she wants, why she’s betrayed you, or what she was doing in Crevas. And on a night like tonight, that might make a Knight of the Aurora march out into the desert, on the edge between the real and the half-real, chasing until she finally admits that she’s let the trail grow cold.

Not that Timtam will let— but I get ahead of myself.

---

Hazel!

Tsk tsk tsk young man. Thinking you could get away from Amali that easily! “Nonsense,” she says, with the sternness of (comparative) age. “You don’t know the first thing about evasion, stealth, or Stone-navigation! You’ll be snapped up as soon as a wink. But not to worry, Auntie knows a safe place to stay, one of the most comfortable and luxurious places from here to the Moon! And I’ll get you there, see if I don’t.”

The Chrysanthemum. Oh, I could roll that name (and more) around my tongue all day long.

She putters off (to check the locks on the door) and leaves you to your tea, and your tablet, and… oh, looks like you had a message from Yuki! Had, mind you.

Your fate’s in your hands. And Yuki, oh, she’s with a hunter. And you’ve just been promised comfort and luxury. Surely it wouldn’t be too bad to let that offer pass you by…?

---

Tsane!

What does the Hero’s Shadow want from an encounter? This. This moment of conviction. This unfolding of knowledge. This willingness to act. The Outside exists most strongly when it is being observed and has a frame of reference to be defined by. And this is their frame of reference.

They unfold their talons, holding out to you a folded square of palm leaves. Inside: the Sleepless Charm that Civelia once made for Heron when the Hero of Ages expressed a wish to be able to work around the clock. (The aftereffects, mind you, were detrimental enough that she went back to stimulant drinks in the end.)

Its chain is wrapped around a tube of resin.

“Cair should present as my shadow,” they say. They are filling the whole of the corridor. Their heat is suffusing clothing and hair. “Go before the Doll and fear you not.”

This is when the Lunarian’s knees finally start buckling, seeing as the fever’s really started to kick in.

Her first mistake had been dropping her heartblade. When she saw Eclair fall (and that had to be Eclair, there weren’t that many purple haired maids, right?), she had tried to rush to her. Her second mistake had been not paying attention to what was in front of her feet. She thought all the firecrackers had gone off! They were all the same length, all the same design, why wouldn’t they all have gone off together?! Her third mistake was thinking she could explain herself and anybody would listen.

No, no, her first mistake had been jumping into the crowd. She was safe and had a little team and she’d left them. For what? So she could run hopelessly into a mob trying to catch Keli and Seli for god sakes?! She’d left her team behind.

No, no that was her second mistake because she’d done the same with Sulochana. Granted, she’d left Sulochana before she knew a riot was going to break out, but she’d still left her when something important was happening instead of staying with her! That had been stupid. Stupid, bad friend Yuki. Jumping off after whatever was happening.

No, no that still wasn’t her first mistake. Her first mistake had been sending Hazel off to enjoy the festival. She shouldn’t have split up with him! He was new to Thellamie. They should have stayed together, he could have come with her, or she could have explained to her other friends she needed to show him around first instead of sending him off to fend for himself.

Her fault. All of them her fault. One after another. Hazel gone and in danger. Sulochana stabbed. Juni abandoned (probably stabbed too? Who knows, not Yuki, that’s for sure!!!). And she couldn’t even help Eclair, the latest in her haring off after the latest acquaintance. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She pounds a fist on the floor weakly, barely enough to make a sound, not enough to even alert the Nagi guard on top of her that she was moving.

Yuki hated being alone. It happened, obviously, but she hated it. She’d just run through all her memories over and over. Mistakes she had made. Occasionally fond memories. Maybe something that tasted good, or something fun she had done. But then she’d just miss it all the more. She remembered Thellamie so, so fondly. Sure everyone had been worried, but they’d worked together and saved it and it had been so wonderful. She never really appreciated the danger last time. How could she, cloaked in light and surrounded by people helping her. Even Seli’s betrayal was okay, things had worked out, nobody had really hurt her. Not really, though Azaza had wanted to, hadn’t she? God she’d never really thought about it like that? Had dumb had she been as a kid? How blind?

She just wanted to come back and see all her friends again. Hang out in person. Try the good food, listen to music, see the world. Was that seriously too much to ask? Were people only summoned to Thellamie for super special emergencies? Why had she even been brought back then?!

When Sulochana arrives, she’ll find Yuki with her face against the floor. There is a small dark spot on the stone, and when she lifts her eyes, they are wet with silent tears.

[Yuki is Guilty]

Irrelevant. Unimportant. Stupid.

She is marching (trudging, really. shuffling. sliding? dragging herself. shuff-- damn it! shambling. she is shambling) forward into the dessert. Desert. The desert. Toward the Outside. Timtam went this way. Did. Did. Did. Saw. She saw. Timtam went and she has to follow. Already made that decision. Already commute....... committed. Commit to the commute. Come, come, come. No: go. Forward. Answers are behind her,

Irrelevant. Unimportant. Stupid.

Methodology behind her. Process? Investigation. Clues and notes and stuff. If she wanted those she would not have given chase in the first place. She would have allowed Timtam to escape (allowed? allowed?! you arrogant incompetent above-all-else-unnatractive useless piece of)... deep breath. Hold. Hands on face, slide down through air toward hips and exhale. Drop thought chain into sand. Leave it behind.

Irrelevant. Unimportant. Stupid.

That's right. Speaking with Timtam is more important than catching her. Being her friend is more valuable than stopping her. Not possible. Neither possible. Catching her comes first. Also not possible. No. Not... not not possible (word, word. word? Prefix. forget), immanently pos-- im!! impossible! Er, no. Not impossible. Achievable, one and all. That is why one foot keeps moving in front of the other and why her hips keep pivoting beneath her waist and why she is leaving these dainty footprints in the sand while she waits for the wind to swallow them up and sweep them away like colors off the floor of a

Irrelevant. Unimportant. Stupid.

Timtam does not want to be her friend. She, she, she, she, she, she, uh, um...............

proved that.

She knew. Somehow knew. Knew ever, every, thing. Every, everyth-- rrrrrrrrrrrgraaaaaaahhh!! Snffft. Hck. EVERYTHING. She knew everything already. Knew Eclair would be the one they sent. Planted clues that would lure Eclair the most specifically. Probably misworded her painted warning on purpose to use as bait. Planted seeds of dissent at every interview point. Dissent? No, what? Not dissent. Diss, diss... shoot, no. Discord!!! There it is, ok. Ok. Thank goodness, yes. Discord. Stop getting distracted. Irrelevant, unimportant, blah blah blah.

Eclair's feet stop moving. She turns her head to look back on Crevas, the point of reality shining bright and strong against the backdrop of this shifting, sandy nothing. Everything she wanted was back there. Cup of tea, snack, small meal possibly. Clues, methodology, pages and pages and pages in the notebook that would become the rope she could bind Timtam in no matter how skillfully she maneuvered.

She sighs and hangs her head as she turns forward again. Shuffle slide march shambles further into the unknown and the dyes. Timtam hurt her. Set the trap and filled her mind with too-bright lights and too-loud noises and now she, and now she, now she, she now and, and she now, and, and, and, and. Um. Uh.....

.............
...!..!.!!!..

What was she? Erm. A single finger traces the lines jotted down in her notebook. Eclair frowns. She's chasing after Timtam. It doesn't matter that she can't catch her. She is colors and smears and stains, waiting to be swept off the floor. Can't be swept off the floor. She is colors and a mess and she wants to cry but she's broken and it isn't happening.

Open mouth, test. Speech? Express thought. Say anything. Say 'ow'.

"..."

Right. Foot forward then. Return to investigative principles advised but ignored. Turning around means losing. Admission of mistake. Giving up. She just. Doesn't feel ready for that. Onward, then. Legs versus mind, to see which tires first. It's all

Irrelevant. Unimportant. Stupid.
Self defeating. Pitiful.
Desperate. Longing. Loving.

It's



What lead her to the Manor in the first place.

Eclair marches on.

Tsane knows better than to accept the gifts of the Outside.

Cair snatches it from the Shadow's palm before its talons fully open.

"Cair will do no such - oh damn it, Cair -" said Tsane.
"What?" said Cair, shoving the Charm inside her coat pocket. "That's a dangerous artifact. Someone could get hurt."
"Go and help Kalentia," said Tsane through gritted teeth.
"For real?" said Cair, glancing back over her shoulder. "She's got a patient, Tiss. She's happier than the Dark Dragon rolling in trash. Uh, don't tell either of them I said that."
Tsane tossed her head, then pocketed her book and pulled her hair back out of her face, binding it behind her head with a purple and black scrunchie. Then she folded her arms (ow) and set herself in a solid, unyielding pose. "I don't work for you, Shadow," she said(1). "I'm not going anywhere. Not unless you tell me what you're doing here."



[Second question: What do you love most?]

Well wasn’t that kind of her? Sure, it’d be better if she didn’t put herself in danger for his sake. Or really, it’d be nice if she didn’t have to leave her nice apartment just to see him off. But when a grandmother gives you such a lovely gift, it’d be rude to try and give it back to her. “Thank you much, ma’am. I really do appreciate it.” He can’t help but smile, big and warm, as he says it again. As if he could say it enough. He can’t promise anything about the worrying, but he’ll keep that from bringing her down too.

Still. That was tomorrow. Now, he had a warm blanket across his shoulders, a warm cup of tea ready for drinking, a warm cat bonking at his hand, and…well, tablets don’t really get warm like phones, do they? They just sort of work. Like those e-readers with the really simple screens, the dim ones, they barely seem electric at all. Which makes sense, it’s not really electric, it’s magic, but it’s not that unreasonable to expect magic to be warm, right? Or cold, or tingly, or glowy, or something. Magic typically does something magical. Or it ought to, anyway. He gets all the way to #thellamemes on reflex before he slams the magitechnical door shut. The unread notification instinct carries him all the way to his DMs and there he stays. Yuki’s chat history fills the screen, with no room for anything else. He didn’t see any messages in the group chat. If he stays here, he can pretend there’s nothing there. And there’s no other unread DMs.

For now.

He licks anxiously at his lips (still tingling) as he reads. And reads again. Shoot shoot shoot shoot shoot. He types with one hand, getting the words out as quick as he can. The cat won’t abide any other interruptions, and neither could he.

>[.cinnamondrumroll]
>I’m okay! Sorry I didn’t reply sooner. I haven’t had a chance to check my tablet until now. But I’m okay, I’m safe, nobody here’s trying to catch me.
>I don’t know where I am *exactly*, but I don’t think anybody else does either.
>Except for the aforementioned “nobody here” people. But they’re good, they’re friends. And not trying to catch me.

No response. So, Yuki probably didn’t have her tablet out either? Probably? So he had a bit of time to think. He typed and deleted a few notes, played with phrasings in his head, pet a cat, and then typed away.

>I appreciate the offer, but I think I’m alright for now. We haven’t heard anybody on my trail for a long time, and I’ve got a plan for the next day or so. No sense in leading a hunter here if we don’t have to.

Wait. Wait. Wait.

>Are you okay? Is your friend okay? That hunter didn’t get you, did they?

Yes, brain, he could’ve added an emphasis to “get” there, thank you for the tip. Except Yuki clearly doesn’t like them like that, and that’s not really an appropriate joke to make otherwise. Very helpful.

She’s still not typing back.

She’d silence her tablet if she was in trouble, right? She wouldn’t have let a warning ding give her position away, right? She’s Yuki Edogawa. She’s a seasoned adventurer. The snowkitty herself.

He should’ve said “thank you.” Instead of leaving it implied. No, he should take her up on the offer to chat and figure it out from there. That’ll show her she’s still in the loop. They’re still in this together. He’s not ignoring her now that, I don’t know, adventure happened. Or something. He opens up his notes again. Types. Deletes. Rewords. Thinks. Deletes again. Compares.

…was he sure she’d silence her tablet?

The cat enjoys some much deserved two-handed affection. The distracting tablet sits on the arm of the chair, open to a DM. Every now and then, Hazel sneaks a finger over to tap the screen and keep it awake. The only sound in the room is the ticking of a grandmother clock, and the purring of a contented cat. He sits. He watches. He waits.

She’s still not typing back.

Hazel!

It's morning.

The rickshaw is balanced really well, all things considered. Amali is seated under the canopy, knitting needles clacking away. All around her, bolts of cloth and balls of yarn are heaped up, bagged, stacked, tucked into corners, and tied down to the roof. And you? Well, you're a strapping young lad, aren't you? And the desperation to help that you exude is palpable, particularly for the daughters of Aestival.

The crowd is packed in the streets; it's like trying to get up onto the highway after a music festival. You're rubbing shoulders with people from all over Thellamie, trying to fit that little rickshaw between wagons and families and the great goblin riding-beasts and Nagi who don't live in Crevas in ponchos and loose fur coats and beaded capes and veils and why are you staring shouldn't you be looking down at the cobblestones very seriously?

"Hey, venturer!" There's a couple next to you, lugging backpacks as the line to get on the Roads inches forward. Their tops have colorful repeated arrow patterns, zigging and zagging. "Do you happen to, like, know the Golden Fawn?"

"Mel, you can't just ask someone if he knows the Golden Fawn just because he has, you know...!" The Serigamalu man of the pair gestures awkwardly at your antlers, blushing as hard as you are. "Sorry," he stage-whispers, even as Mel looks up at you with wide and curious eyes.

Click, clack, click go the needles.

---

Yuki!

Sulochana is cuddly in her sleep.

The pajama top is, fortunately, long on you: designed for serpent-bodied Nagi. The sun filters through the gauzy curtains, bringing with it a warm breath of wind. Its rays touch you between the rare gap in Sulochana's coils. Somewhere nearby, Crevas-brand chai tea is being steeped, the spices tickling at the nose. But Sulochana's body pillow is on the rug and instead she's holding you fast.

You agreed, at some point last night, exhausted and heartweary and shuffling to bed, that you'd for sure get up early and be right onto the Roads to pursue Hazel! Surely you did. But despite your guilt, it's difficult to even think about getting up out of bed. That's just how it is. Sulochana is warm in the sun, her mattress is absurdly soft, and she's incredibly safe. Go ahead. Snuggle a little before you try to wake her up. She's the one who got stabbed, after all, and she needs that rest to recover properly.

After all, once you wake her up, she's going to have to decide what she's going to do about Hazel, and...

Maybe you can wriggle an arm out of her grasp to check your tablet, if you rest it against your breastbone?

---

Tsane!

Heroes.

Civils are taking their seats, a semicircle facing Heron, Civelia and a small sculpture of a chisel (itself representing the First Fallen). Almost nobody here has a free left arm: not at a meeting this important. Notebooks and tablets are sitting in laps as an expectant hush falls over the room. Very notably, there's a large gap on one side where the western monasteries should have sent their representatives.

They love heroes.

Kalentia and Cair are back at the Nexus, caring for the Lunarian (who, it turns out, was running a fever). Which means that it's you here, and naturally your old man, and likely... well, where are Injimo and Sayanastia? They could be in either place, I suppose.

They love the light of their hearts, cast by their shadow.

"Ten thousand thanks, my loyal servants," Civelia says, rising to her feet. Her hair's been elaborately styled, all ringlets and curls that are still as stone when she turns her head. "Once again, we find ourselves in the midst of crisis and tumult. Where the chaos of the Dark Dragon rears its head, there we shall be-- must be-- to restore serenity in the Hero's wake and to make her path clear. Upon this meeting's concluding, we shall have decided the course of action to bestow upon her as our sacred duty. I once again offer praise to the First Fallen for preparing for a moment such as this."

Heads are bowed for a moment, pens stilling and tails stilling. It's appropriate to take this moment to thank the First Fallen for creating the world and to consider your place in maintaining his creation. Such as, say, doing your best to understand creation and to catalogue its manifestations and shapes.

General Secretary Dasheka steps forward from where she stood beside the goddess. "We have three points of interest for this meeting. Firstly, the unexpected outcome of the Queen of Light ceremony, and the Golden Fawn's status as a person of interest in resolving the uncertainty around the Queen's identity. Secondly, how we as a body should respond to the actions of the Khatun of the Serigalamu last night. Thirdly, the attempted attack on the person of our Goddess by one of the Maid-Knights of the Order of the Aurora that also occurred last night..."

The arguments about what to do will go on for a while, but the Civils will be trying to adhere to Civelia's own rules of debate, so at least it'll go somewhere. She doesn't abide wasting time or not trying to apply logic properly to a problem.

---

Kalentia!

So here's the major question for you and Cair. Given that Fallen Far's arm has an infected cut, right where there was a rent in the armor: what have you removed in order to give her treatment? On the one hand, the Moon's got insanely strict purity and modesty laws, and you'll probably be risking further infection, but on the other hand... well, you've got to apply treatment somehow.

The Shadow's still watching you, but they seem content to coil up in a corner, mirror-eyes unblinkingly keeping vigil, drinking in everything that you do.

---

Eclair!

In the midst of the Outside, you find a place which has the weight of reality, at least for long enough to sit underneath a palm tree and drink from a stream. It is wickedly cold, and tastes faintly of basil. The light of the distant sun is golden and buttery where it filters through the leaves.

The crunch of brown grass underneath brown shoes. The logic of the half-real insists that the most important place be the most memorable, the most real, and what's more important than a meeting? For a moment, the black and white and steel makes you think, certainly, that you've somehow lured Timtam out to fight with you between home and the world, but no, it's not her.

"Well met, ma'am!" Ruthmoreness O'Tara waves with her whole arm at you before shouldering her board on its strap and clattering forward. Charms jangle on that strap, both to keep her safely on her way and because they're super cute you know? Her bonnet is strapped under her chin to keep it from falling right off her mop of hair.

You cannot confirm for yourself that she has not been suborned in whatever game Timtam's playing. But she brings with her petrichor and the kind of chill wind that brings strength back into the limbs, and she's barely avoiding tripping over her own feet (as usual). "Any messes to report, or aught of that sort?"

Her first reaction was not to wake up at all. Screw the sun, this was comfy! Yuki turns her head the other way, away from the light beams and buries her face in the nice warm coils. Her ear tickles across them and twitches. This is good. This is ideal. She hugs the coils close, scrunches her own body, and tries to go back to dreamland. She holds onto this for a minute or two. No light, no vision. But there's too many things. Her nose wiggles with the smell of chai, she wants some. Her ear keeps twitching with each breath of wind, it's so much more sensitive here, and she can hear the motion of the air in the room, can feel it as much as hear it. The sun keeps moving and even turned away, she can tell the room is a little lighter, the curtains are not trying to be blackout curtains, they just want to smooth it out a bit so it's not too harsh.

She turns her head back to the sun, opens her eyes. Sulochana is still asleep, she can tell because of the slow rhythmic breathing. Sulochana needed that. She'd actually been stabbed last night and then left by the Khatun. That must have had its own special sort of pain. Not being taken, not being cared for. From what Yuki knew of Thellamie, that was considered a bit cruel. Maybe necessary in the big fight, nothing personal in that sense perhaps, but still kind of cold at best. The kind of cold that says that what you're doing is more important than stopping to make sure your opponent is okay. Hmm. The clinical part of Yuki's mind finds that interesting. Quite the contrast with Juniper and Olesnya. Really stands out. Maybe that's just because the Khatun had bigger things on her mind. Maybe that's just who she was. She had attracted Yuki's attention because she'd uniquely observed what was happening faster than anyone else. So...maybe that's just part of who she was and it took something really special to get her to actually care about you?

She shook her head gently, making sure not to tickle Sulochana, but she needed that motion to clear her thoughts out. She could run in circles on the Khatun forever. Lots of data, but not enough to know anything for certain. People were too complex for that. Too hard to get a read on them from one conversation, even one fight usually. You could get something, but not the whole person, and if she let it, she'd just speculate about this forever. What if the Khatun had just been hungry that night since they didn't get to the booked out restaurant that Juniper wanted Yuki to attend? And...yeah, just who knows, right?

She breathes in, slowly through her nose, taking in the scent of the chai again. That was good. She was definitely going to have some chai when she got up. But...not yet. She really didn't want to disturb Sulochana. Her fault, her mistake. So she needed to put Suli ahead of herself and let her rest, at least until she woke up naturally. Then they could plan together. She had to help Hazel too, and Juni, and figure out how to balance the whole competing crowns of light thing. Though like, she knew that wasn't really her problem exactly, but it kind of was because all of them were close to her friends for some reason. And she just knew in her heart that if she didn't figure it out, they'd fall apart over this.

The coils are still warm. It's nice how warm Suli's coils are. It's unfair. Yuki wants to just be held like this. To have someone take care of her, keep her warm, hold her close and safe. But...she's always got to be the one to handle things. It's not...when she thinks to herself it's not like there's any one big trauma. Her parents are together and nobody died or anything. It was just that...her friend when Yuki was like eight who lived down the street never called her. She always had to do it, and eventually her friend started making excuses. She was older, she had other activities to do. Family stuff too. Mom always had Yuki do the scheduling for things. She was good at it! She knew computers! But that meant if Yuki got busy, stuff just...didn't happen. She had booked her own camp stuff because her parents didn't really know how to help and she'd known what she wanted after Thellamie anyway. School clubs, same deal, she'd organized the literature club in high school and when she'd left, she heard a bunch of other people did too cuz nobody planned for how to bring snacks to the meeting or made sure to keep the teacher sponsor forms up to date or anything. Hangouts, weekends. Whatever, Yuki had to make it happen if she wanted her friends to be together. Being held by Suli was the weird thing. If Yuki didn't figure a way out of this, everybody would be at each other's throats.

Another deep breath. She finishes working her arm out of the coils, something that had been slowly happening as she contemplated, the careful shifting kept her body focused while her mind wandered. So, arm out, check the tablet. Message from Hazel. Did he mean Keli and Seli? The fuck? She'd definitely told him about them. They could keep him safe, but they were for sure going to collect payment and if it went anything like Yuki's adventure, they'd happily "turn in" the golden faun for a big reward and maybe have a rescue plan after. If nothing else, they were going to let Hazel build up a big debt of services without even knowing he was doing it. But he was suspicious of her hunter thing too, which was fair enough. No point upsetting him.

>[.snowkitten]
>k glad you're safe, I'm okay, my nagi friend got stabbed though :(
>helping her for now. She's um...also a hunter though. There's a bunch of people that were supposed to get a crown of light but they need you for that I think. I dunno what it means, but just try and stay safe
>oh but, just make sure you know what you agreed to okay? If it's the foxgirls, they might be secretly expecting a bunch of favors without saying that out loud, so just pay attention. Please.
>I...I'll find you eventually and we'll figure out how to make this okay for everyone. ...sorry I left you alone in Crevas.

Yuki taps this all out with her free hand. She hovers for several minutes, thinking about a follow up line. Promises to make everything okay. Promises that she can't keep. She sighs and hits send. Then she curls back into the coils and waits for Sulochana to wake with the rising sun.

Tsane!

It is a weird thing to think, in the midst of a ritual prayer, in the midst of an organisation of one-armed mystics, when given the sacred opportunity to watch the scribes who would compile all the particular details of this meeting into the books that someone like her would one day read in order to understand this bit of history, but...

But she kind of hates how irreligious the whole thing is.

Tsane formed an opinion as a child, in that absolutist way that children do, that Civelia and Heron were both monsters just like the Dark Dragon. That didn't mean they were bad, just that they weren't normal. They had type affinities, unique compulsions, hunting grounds, and life cycles the same as Ghosthands or Solar Hecklers. One of her first bestiary entries had been an attempt to describe Princess Heron in the same way she did any other monster, but her mother had pulled her aside and explained to her that probably wouldn't go down well with grandfather.

The injustice of that still gnawed at her, deep down.

So the meeting felt wrong to her. People were listening to Civelia, of course, politely taking notes, waiting their turns to speak, but for all the religious trappings they were emotionally as checked out as if they were in a city council meeting. These people had either forgotten or did not remember that the delicate teenager sitting across from them was an unstoppable, eternal monster who had beaten empires into existence like a blacksmith hammered iron. Just because she hadn't done anything dangerous recently didn't mean she was safe.

They should be quaking in their boots. Tsane certainly was.

Injimo's here, wearing the Princess disguise. She'd be as checked out while idly hoping for violence as Heron herself would be, which means that she's an immaculate fit for this role. Sayanastia finds being in a room this elaborately bureaucratic physically uncomfortable, so she's in her dragon shape (the one that's about the mass of a rhinoceros, not her other dragon shape) up on the rooftop, staring at the void of the sky and warming herself in the sun. Sometimes her head will lean down to the window next to where Tsane is sitting to check in on things; sometimes she'll take an idle, corrosive bite out of the windowframe or the brick wall. Small acts of vandalism but by Dark Dragon standards she should get a gold sticker by the end.

Kalentia!

It all comes off. Everything gets washed. A warm and dry set of recovery clothes are applied afterwards. The Guild would sacrifice her to a dragon if she did anything less[1].

To accomplish all of that in safety and modesty, she is required to put up a - well, a barrier. But she is using the technique for its original medicinal purpose of forming a clean and sterile environment, keeping out any contaminants or curious Factorums. Beyond that there can be no secrets from a surgeon; who knows what else might be missed?

"It's weird to see someone sick like this," said Cair, trying and failing to see somebody sick like this. "I can't remember the last time I came down with more than a cough."
"It's because the last incarnation of the Hero purged the Destroyer Cult of Plague and banished their demonic patron," said Kalentia. She was entirely task focused; while battlefield wounds were romantic, illness was something to eliminate with cold calculation. "Since then, and since the link was discovered between untapped black mana and spontaneous disease outbreaks, there hasn't been a major sickness."
"The link between what?"
"Oh, you didn't hear?" said Kalentia. "I thought Roschel Flameskull was a household name for discovering that."
"Hell of a name for a healer," said Cair.
"She wasn't," said Kalentia, making a face. "She was a battlemage. She noticed that rates of sickness went down whenever she had a big fight. Turns out that she was drawing all the dark magic out of the air and turning it into explosions and attack skeletons and what have you, and that was preventing it from naturally seeking out ways to harm people itself."
"Oh, shit!" said Cair, snapping her fingers. "Is she why Warceror has those big burning skull banners up everywhere?"
Kalentia sighed. "Yes. Warceror, the Demolition Derby of Death and Destruction, was in fact started by Roschel Flameskull as a way to burn off excess mana in times of peace."
"Did you hear that Main Bloodcup invented a spell that makes someone's blood come out and punch them in the face?" said Cair excitedly.
"Yes," Kalentia said with a truly profound level of resignation. "So far I have received fourteen theoretical curative spells I'm meant to memorize and field test in the event where I encounter that spell in the wild, which I am then expected to write reports on."

[1] It is not fair to say that dragons are particularly attracted to White Mages above other magical practitioners[2], but for a variety of historical reputations the practice of sacrificing Guild members at the drop of a hat has set in. In particular, one Aspect of the Dark Dragon in Cycle Four was particularly obsessed with White Mages, and Sinbeasts would frequently identify a village's Guild member as its most valuable individual member, which made them particularly satisfying prisoners as they satisfied Greed, Envy and Pride all at once. This state of affairs, along with the general effectiveness of sacrificing a maiden of any kind in the face of military threat, has meant that the first response of a lot of towns to being attacked by anything from monsters or wolfgirls is to offer them the town's White Mage in tribute.
[2] unfortunately

Stopped here why did you stop here stopped here why did you stop here stopped here why did you stop here pointless to stop here knock it off this is not forward this is not where she is not where she went not where she's going this just is it doesn't matter you don't need to be where something is that only makes it novel knock it off not here stop here stopped here why did you stop here don't you do it don't sit down oh you rotten bitch you don't even get five minutes it's going to hurt now it's going to hurt and you deserve for it to because you shouldn't be stopped here stopping here why why why why no no no no you are not thirsty you do not deserve to be thirsty that spring is not for you stop it don't think about being parched that only makes it true you are strong supposed to be strong supposed to be better than this don't don't damn it damn it damn it it tastes good why does it taste good why are you doing this this is all you're fault I'm going to take this out on you later where nothing is around where no one can see me no one can stop me the armor is coming off I will take it off of you and then I am going to elbow you in the ribs until it bruises do you understand Eclair you need to listen you are useless and they are counting on you not to be you are failing the Auroras you're failing your sisters you are failing Yuki Edogawa you are failing Timtam why is this so difficult to comprehend would you just stop slurping up that spring you are just, just, just, simply the very most

What was that noise?

Eclair looks up. Perks up would be an overexaggeration, but she looks up. She also slumps over. It's a complicated set of motions, but she manages it with the dignity expected of a maid-knight. She is simply tired. She has been walking for quite a long time at this point. More damning, with the excitement of finding the mural the other day she had forgotten the need to eat anything. And of course there'd been no time after. She brought neither food nor water when she left Crevas, in that stubborn proud insistent sort of way that dragged her into the Outside to begin with, that miserable pounding voice that screamed over and over again that it would only take her a few short hours at most to catch up and so there was simply no need, no time, and above all else no capacity to prepare for a sustained march.

It isn't Timtam come to negotiate or explain herself. Eclair does not remember to hide her disappointment. She flinches, plucks at her skirt, and hangs her head in obvious disappointment before -- well. No, before nothing. That's just what she does. Her sigh is long suffering and very very loud, and zero effort is made to be polite about it or think about why she ought to be. She busies herself with the act of sitting there trying to will the Oasis out of existence, to make this anything other than a meeting place, to make it unsafe for someone else to be here and to talk with her, or at the very least to project the hint that company was neither desired nor possible at this specific moment.

But of course, none of that can be heard over the sound of clattering charms. And none of it can be smelled over the coming rain. It's actually very difficult to be mad at rain, if you didn't know. It's very easy to be mad at yourself for not being mad at something, even rain, but it's a losing battle to drag yourself down when something is working so hard and so effortlessly to lift you back up. So Eclair stops trying to stab Ruthmoreness with mind daggers and just opens her mouth to say hail and well met.

But no sound escapes her. Well that's a new kind of frustrating. She huffs and rolls her eyes, instead. Wait no, what's the question? Any messes? That one is obvious.

Gesture toward sky. Meaningful look, making sure to capture attention, full eye contact. Break gesture, point at top of own head. At self. Point at self. Here. Here is the mess. Observe head tilt, roll eyes. Point again. Be more insistent. Faster, sharper gesture. Wave hand at uniform, at state. Tap throat. Shake head.

...

Take out notebook. Place bookmark at mission start (blue satin ribbon, very soothing). Throw book at maximum velocity in direction of Ruthmoreness' head.

Angry, yes. Irritated. Tired. Annoyed. But open. No proof the clumsy girl has not been tricked. Is not a plant. Possibilities abound. Nevertheless, choosing to trust. Always make the attempt, even if it turns out to be for the sake of a traitor.

Rickshawwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

It’s even fun to say!

Now, had he ever driven one of these things before? Nope. Had he ever really, seriously thought about driving a rickshaw? Of course not. But that’s not important. This wasn’t the sort of dream you sit on like a hammock on a summer’s day, feeling it with your whole body as a long sigh escapes your lips. This one was quieter. Stealthier. Creeping in without you noticing. In the moment you see a video of a rickshaw driver carting a couple around some far-away city, it strikes. As you’re distracted by the sights and wonders of adventure, it slips past your guard and takes up residence in a silent corner of your heart. Waiting. Watching. Biding its time. For one day, you might find yourself looking at an unmanned rickshaw, and it’s only in that moment you’ll realize that you’ve always wanted to try driving one of those things.

Was he nervous about the possibility of running himself, Amali, and her entire collection of yarn into a wall? Absolutely. But fate, possibly feeling some remorse about the last half day or so, gifted Hazel with quiet backstreets to start his journey on. He braces his feet against the street, and leans, pouring a gradual stream of strength into the crossbar, until the sleepy wheels yawn and stretch and trudge their way forward. Then it’s step, step, step, slowly at first, feeling the momentum tug at his outstretched arms even as he keeps pushing forward. It wants to roll. It wants to sit upright. It’s not terribly interested in going much faster than a deerboy, but it could be convinced. Otherwise, well! It’s a fine day for bumbling about, driver, you just give it fair warning when you want it to make a change.

The alleys wind up and down through the city, even before they reach the main road. Gentle, but mischievous. They’ll make him lean his whole weight forward, keeping that cart moving even as it longs for lower climates. They’ll promise him an easy time on the way down while whispering to the rickshaw that this would be a great spot to build up to a sprint, wouldn’t it? But they’ll have to try harder than that to find Hazel sleeping on the job. He plants one foot after the other in a steady rhythm, tensing his upper body and dampening the shock with his arms, and Amali won’t hardly feel a jostle. He lets the momentum carry them down, digging his heels in and leeching enough speed to keep from rolling out of control. Turn by turn, they make their way out of the alleys and towards the main streets. The pavement gets smoother as they go. He can’t feel so many bumps, traveling up the wheels, down the poles, and into his hands.

By the time they reach the crowds, he’s learned how far he needs to pull and for how long to ease the rickshaw into a gentle stop. He’s learned roughly how much of a push it needs to get going, and that it’ll take less pushing to keep it going after that. He hasn’t quite figured out how wide this thing actually is yet. That’s okay though! He knows where everybody else around them is, and what they’re up to, so he can just give them as wide a berth as he can manage. No need to try anything too daring.

See, you have to be patient with crowds, especially when you want to go fast. There’s a flow to them. People follow the people in front of them. Groups stick together, not terribly minding how fast or slow they’re going. Streams branch off of the main flows, seeking faster paths. You have to keep an eye on what’s happening around you. If you’re being passed, give it a minute. See if it evens out. Crane your neck and see if you can spot the slowdown. Don’t weave, if you can help it. Angle yourself. Aim for where you want to be. Aim for where there’s going to be a gap. Ride the flows of the crowd, instead of fighting them. Get through as fast as possible, while causing no harm or concern to anyone else. For this is the way of moving through crowds, learned through many high school hallways and weekend mall trips.

They’re making good time. He knows, because they were behind that cart with the lanterns before, and now it’s far, far behind them. His starts and stops have been on point. He’s pulling a whole entire rickshaw all by himself, and his muscles shout out that they could pull like this all day. Flick-flick-flick goes his tail, poking out from his nice new clothes.

He’s doing such a good job.

It takes until the lady next to him waves, at him, to realize he’s being talked to. It takes until the man gestures at his antlers for his eyes to light up in understanding. “Ohhhhhh, the antlers, right!” He laughs with only slightly more relief than necessary. “No, no, it’s no trouble at all, you’re good.” In all the hubbub, he’d almost forgotten there were people who braved the Outside for a living, and sometimes came back changed. Venturer. He was a venturer. Right. “Sorry, I can’t say that I do,” he says easily. “I hope you two didn’t get caught up in all that mess last night.”

Because that’s the tune that he’s been working to all this morning. Isn’t Crevas wonderful? Isn’t it grand, to see a city still standing? Of all mornings, they’re stepping out into one where families walk safely down the road home, swapping stories of the festival, without a hunting howl to be heard.

It’s a new day. How can he keep from humming while he works?

Yuki!

When the tablet shows a new message at breakfast, you nearly knock over the chai while trying to check it. It's just you and a Nagi maid in here, for now, and not a maid-knight either: just a girl about your age by the name of Pasenne who's handling setting the breakfast table and bringing dishes over. (A seven-course breakfast- expect nothing less from Sulochana.)

The Princess herself is still finishing up attending to her morning routine: hair wax, scale cream, killer eyeliner, a facial scrub followed by sunscreen, and then putting her hair up in an elaborate set of braids. That means Pasenne (and the private chef in the other room) are the only possible witnesses to you fumbling for the tablet and nearly spilling your drink all over yourself. But it's fine! You've got it! And...

>[.praxispacksis]
>I am so, so sorry about what happened last night!!
>I won't be able to talk much, but...
>Is Sulochana okay? I heard from Mekesh that she fought with the Khatun, and...
>Do you think she'll be angry with me if I DM her??
>And are YOU okay??

Also, unrelated to Juniper's guilty worry, palpable through the screen, a different message pops up.

>[.rockamt]
>Hey, squirt. Something's come up. I'm covering the Civil meeting this morning, but I need your help with an investigation. Think you can swing by so we can talk?
>Also, bring bruise cream if you've got it. I'm out.

(There's a non-zero chance that she'll pull you into private and strip so that you can slather it onto hard-to-reach places to soothe and heal bruises, let me be clear. Not in a flirting way, just in a "shit, can you get this for me?" sort of way. Right? Not swooning at the thought, are we?)

---

Tsane!

"...sending the Hero of Ages against the Mansion of the Dragons is unprecedented, Mason."
"So is a blatant attack against the Goddess in broad starlight, in the middle of a disruption of the proper order that the Stars had to mend! We do not know to what degree they are involved in this, to what degree they may have had a part in causing it, and to what degree they plan to take advantage of it!"
"Permission to interject?"
"Granted."
"It is precisely because we do not know that we cannot open a war on two fronts at this time, Brother Mason."
"We do not have a first front to begin with, Sister Emella. Despite the ill-conceived actions at last night's event, which the goddess was prevented from addressing due to Eclair Espoir's attack, the Khaganate is still under the guidance of the Church. Notably, no Khaganate member attempted to assault the Goddess last night."
"Counterpoint."
"Granted."
"Brother Mason, it is time for us to recognize that the western monasteries are at risk of being suborned by the Khaganate, if they have not already been. We will have time to reach out, formally make a complaint, and if necessary make disciplinary moves towards the Order of the Aurora if they are, in any organized way, involved in this event. The Golden Fawn's theft by Aestivali ashiqs is far more pressing, and we must face the fact that we may see open war between the Khaganate and the Aestivali High Council. We must make it clear that we disapprove in the strongest terms the disorder and misrule we saw last night at the feet of the very Goddess herself."
"Secretary, may I respond?"
"Granted. Brother Oli, you will then have the floor for the Highcrag Temples' delegation response to these issues."
"As the Goddess once said herself in the Third Incarnation, at times attempting to circumvent a coming event merely brings it to fruition..."

It's going to be like this for a while. The Kel haven't really made their rhetorical thrust yet (see Oli there, adjusting his spectacles and bouncing a little on his heels, eager to make the case that his delegation has agreed upon), but there's definitely a shearline through the assembled group on whether the Khaganate or the Order of the Aurora is the true threat that deserves to have Heron pointed at them. Do you happen to have any opinions on the matter yourself?

(Civelia is slowly disassembling the Sleepless Charm with her bare fingers. Motes of starlight float up and rest against her skin like reverse snowflakes. This is inefficient, entropic, and yet she seems to have something very deliberate in mind.)

---

Kalentia!

So this is a Lunarian, then.

Slight of frame. Willowy, even. Skin so pale that the intricate branching blue veins underneath it look like swirls in porcelain. The cut is all the more severe for contrast. Her severe bob of green-black hair was cut with absolute precision, but it's clear that she hasn't taken the helmet off to care for it in some time. Her fingers are long and slender. If Tsane were here she would likely be scribbling frantically, adding to the world's sum total of knowledge about these famous isolationists.

You, instead, are focused on the task of figuring out what sort of poultice would work on this injury that when she closes her fingers around your wrist, it's a complete surprise.

"Yaguka-omehi?" Her voice is weak and painfully aching with longing, but her eyes are bleary, right on the edge of waking and understanding. "oto-oloroametinakamato, oku-umetekiniqitoma..." The way she glides her thumb, gingerly, along your hand is the kind of thing that you were once super incredibly prepared for Heron to do to you.

And then her eyes open a little more, and a dark nictitating membrane flicks across them, and when it retracts she snatches her hand back like she suddenly realized that you were actually a goblin-bear made out of angry bees which were also Miaou-worshippers wreathed in the unholy fires of the underworld. Her cheeks flush indigo.

"...you are the mistaking of being before me," she says, hoarsely. "You are the, the, ika-tanatafekuixa, disallowing, unauthorization, the..."

If she gets overexcited then that is likely to make inflammation worse. As far as you know! Maybe their bodies are so different that it speeds the healing process! But down here, with the kind of people you're familiar with, that will make things worse if her heartrate and breathing spike like this.

---

Eclair!

Ruthmoreness being who she is, three things happen.

Firstly: the corner of the book's spine smacks her right in the middle of the forehead, sending her head back and the book straight up.
Secondly: Ruthmoreness's heels go out from under her and she sits down on the ground hard.
Thirdly: the book succumbs to the idea of weight and hits her right on the head again.

"Owwwww," she whimpers, rubbing at her forehead, even as with her other hand she fumbles it open. "Ma'am, I'm owed a forfeit for that." And that is... arguable! The sort of statement that would make other members of the Order, were they around, chime in either out loud or in their body language. On the one hand: you have acted in anger towards one of your fellow maids, knowing that once matters had left your hand, you were no longer in control of their trajectory. On the second hand: it is on Ruthmoreness, especially as a junior member and one only recently permitted to leave on missions, to have the necessary poise to catch the book out of midair. On the foot, it is unworthy to challenge a fellow maid in their weakness unless you are intending to assist in improvement.

She drops next to you in a clatter and shows you her strength in turn, her eyes wide and soft, her ears cocked just so, her smile crooked just the right way. "Won't you make it better, ma'am?" She holds up her bangs to show you exactly where you can perform the Ritual of Mending a Minor Hurt with your lips. She's well within her rights to claim that as a forfeit, if indeed her forfeit was rightful in the first place.

Out here, though, your comaids are not here to witness and weigh in. It is on you to uphold the standards of the Mansion. And it is up to you how you respond to her retort, which places you on the back foot in the Great Game. Certainly, you are a formidable piece, but if Ruthmoreness was not willing to make her plays where she saw the opportunity, she would not be in the Mansion to begin with.

To wit: you may give her that ritual kiss and a String, or you may spurn her and slide further into your own isolation.

---

Hazel!

"Oh, well, see?" Mel pouts as the Serigalamu touches his hat in apology. "Sorry for that. I'm Jaks--"

"OHOHOHOHOHO, do you not know who you see in front of you?!" Purnima Karn-Pana's voice bursts out over the crowd, and already the crowd's stirring into movement, trying to get out of the way of her... chariot?! Yes, a Nagi-designed chariot, pulled by three mismatched goblin-deer, each one with golden paint on their antlers. Long-suffering guards, at least one of which is definitely Gemes, follow in her wake. "That's right! Out of the way! I must be off to Aestival at once! Fear not, my loyal citizens, your compliance will be remembered when I come into my power and glory! Some of you will likely be fortunate enough to come to our wedding!"

She is. Definitely coming your way. You'll most likely have to Defy Disaster here one way or another, unless you want your little adventure to end in her coils. And you wouldn't want that, would you? Whether you want that or not, Amali is definitely prodding you with her foot, trying to get you to leap into action.

What to do? What option presents itself as the obviously correct one?

Step one. Claw at face. Intense glare at little idiot playing the Great Game in the face of A Moment. Lift arms to either side, mouth hanging open. Intention: What? What? Literally what?

Step two. Sigh and hang head. Contrition? Admonition? Headache? Ignore interloper, walk forward, pick notebook back off of ground. Smooth cover with fingers, soft. Delicate. Tender. Open to desired page, return to interloper.

Step three. Sweep leg. Catch back of head, hold steady, sweep low and lean forward until hair brushes against ground. Until face to face. Eye to eye. Breath to breath. Lips so close they taste heat. Hold. Hold. Hold.

Step four. Place open notebook in inter-- in Ruthmoreness' hands. Use now free hand to caress her face. Same technique as used on notebook earlier. Wait for eye to flutter shut in anticipation.

Step five. Flick that little idiot right where she's expecting a kiss. Once, twice, thrice. Pointer finger with the sharpness of a rapier. Pull flinching figure close against shoulder, hold face against neck, lean close. Plant kiss like candlelight on top of head.

Eclair's expression is extra intense as she, well, not releases Ruthmoreness, but opens her hold on her enough to slide her grip down to the other maid's wrist and pull her fingers to the pages of the notebook. Just at the beginning of her notes on Timtam. She takes Ruthmoreness' own finger and slides it over the words, carefully as can be, forcing through tactile awareness the gaze of the beautiful klutz toward the words, so that she can see for herself what Eclair is up to and why she is in the state that she is.

Understand. Understand. Please just, understand. She cannot ask the way that you are looking for. She cannot converse as an equal. So raise yourself, or lower, however it is you see it, to her level and... and Understand.

The rain is moving closer, now. The smell of petrichor is so strong she can't focus on anything else. The first few drops are falling on the pair of them, cool and beautiful and just ahead of an absolute wall of water to come. Without meaning to at all and even though it is an utterly inappropriate gesture for her own plans, Eclair finds herself smiling.

Step six, then. Sweep the leg again. Knock Ruthmoreness to the ground and pin her there, legs clamped over waist. Hands placed firmly to either side of her head. Lick lips.

The rain falls in earnest, now. A modest drizzle becomes a heavy downpour, and Eclair's short cropped and carefully swooped hair soaks through and hangs messily across her eyes. The shade of violet she claims her title from shines differently when it's this wet, no longer signaling a sort of perfection to challenge the Outside with but rather defined by a, for lack of a better word, allure. A silent, dripping prayer for someone to run a hand through it and feel the tangles smooth under the warmth of a shaky caress.

Her uniform drenches as thoroughly as the rest of her, until the white is merely a suggestion and the black only exists to highlight the degree to which Aurora armor plating is mythically form fitting. It is second skin, projecting strength upon on the maidens of the Manor while reveling in the unique beauty of their every curve and little strangeness of their bodies.

Many things can be said about Eclair Espoir, but sopping wet like this there are very few that aren't about beauty. Her willowy frame and delicate little curves are perfect for keeping the woman trapped beneath her safe from the storm without smothering her. Ruthmoreness is free to watch the knight grow wetter and (impossibly, but still) wetter for her sake, to watch more and more of the body above her be revealed to her, and still to take her own breaths. To smell the rain and exist in this tiny pocket of warmth created by an act of love.

And, if she would just pull her ditzy little head out of the clouds, to read.

As Yuki hastily straightens her tea, her first thought, absurdly, is that she should have shared more selfies. She is thinking that while blushing. Imagining Aadya's muscular, naked body. And yes, she needs to respond to Juniper, but just give her a second, okay?! It's like, Aadya's still thinking about her like she's twelve, skinny and twiggy and there to be brave and play. Aadya is not thinking about how Yuki will feel about her now. Aadya is dumb as the rock in her name, and all the more beautiful for it. But maybe if Yuki had shared more selfies, Aadya would be seeing her differently now.

She lifts a shaky cup of the chai up to her face, sniffs in the beautiful steam that smells of cardamom and cinnamon. She takes a sip and lets the sweet warmth flow over her tongue and then breathes it out through her nose. Tea was good.

"Your name was Pasenne?" she asks, looking over at the maid. "Did you make this tea? If so, thank you! And if not, please thank the kitchen staff for me, okay?" She smiles at the maid, only still blushing a little bit at her fumble that Pasenne had obviously just watched. She turns down to her tablet, but then on second thought looks up at the maid again. "So, what do you make of all this crown of light, destiny stuff?" She asks.

She looks back down and starts typing, but glances back and forth at Pasenne, doing her best to signal that she wants conversation while she's working.

To Juniper
>[.snowkitten]
>I'm mostly okay. Suli's mostly okay too, she's on the mend, makeup doing a lot of work. 😊 The Khatun's pretty vicious though.
>But yeah, I think you could DM her, but give it a little bit so you're not interrupting her morning routine. Maybe hit her up in like half an hour.
Here she looks down, and if Juniper's watching the messages come in, she'll have a bit of a gap, maybe even respond first
>I'm sorry about last night. I kept seeing someone new and running off. First Suli, then you, then I ran off from you cuz I saw Eclair, that maid knight from all those years ago. I'm glad you're okay at least.

To Aadya
>[.snowkitten]
>I can probably come by. Currently with Suli, she got stabbed by the Khatun last night :(
>But she's almost done getting ready, so maybe we'll both come out together. Let me chat the group, actually.
>...wait hold up. Who managed to beat YOU up?

To Home-away-from-home
>[.snowkitten]
>okay, hi. So like, Aadya needs some help, I'm hanging with Suli, and I jumped over to Juni last night and then dashed off. We need, like, a plan for what we're doing today. And maybe some way to start thinking about what we're doing with the whole magical deerboy thing. Cuz he's my friend and I want to help him too, I left him alone at the festival and he got hit with the destiny hammer and now he's run off somewhere with the fox twins of all people 😕. Not sure what to do.
[Invoking family meeting here]

She's looking back and forth at Pasenne this whole time. Listening between messages. Sipping her tea. Occasionally putting the tablet down to cut herself a piece of sausage and eat some egg. Yuki's absolutely starving, in fact, and seven course breakfast really hits the spot.

A chariot. With golden-antlered “deer.” Thundering right through a crowd.

It’s been less than a day! It’s barely been half a day! She got shot! When did she have the time to put any of this together? Is she just…always ready to kidnap random people off the street, or, or make grand exits?!

Oh beans she’s not stopping

Yes, he knows Amali, he knows! Give him a second! He’s picking up the crossbar and starting to move, see?

The crowd around them’s already in motion. Parting, not stampeding. Pressing in tighter, as best as they can. Individuals seek out cracks between the bigger groups, and everyone gives the wagons and carts as wide a berth as they can. It’s chaos. It’s a rush. And he remembers everyone around them. Jaks- and wife beside them. Family on a cart ahead and to the left. Little family groups here, here, here, here, over there, and here. He sees them move. He sees where they’re headed, what they’ll avoid, where they’re going to be.

He throws his weight against the rickshaw and pushes.

The gap opens just as he steps into it.

People give rickshaws as wide a berth as carts and wagons. They’re hard to miss, see. Once one gets rolling, nobody’s going to get in its way if they can help it. People behind him, people like Jaks-, they have a wide lane to follow behind as they scamper to safety. No need to shove. He’ll have full control, from start to stop. These are all good points, and if anybody mentions it later, he’ll blink, think about it, and say, really, he wasn’t thinking that far ahead, with a chuckle at his own foolishness.

Read the crowd.

Cause no harm.

When necessary, create a new flow.

In that moment, nothing more existed in the eyes and mind of Hazel.

Really, it was a lucky thing no one got hurt.

[Rolling to Defy Disaster, risking Hazel’s own physical safety: 4 + 6 + 2 = 12]

Tsane!

Okay, so(1)

Mana is a fascinating topic, and the history of Arcane Philosophy is an endless sequence of wizards making really bad analogies about Mana in an attempt understand this vital force. Mana is like fire, a sequence of raw power that can be used to power the mechanisms of spells! Mana is like water, adapting to take on the characteristics of whatever shape it is poured into! Mana is like wood, growing and adapting a self-reinforcing ecosystem around it! So on and on endlessly, it's worth pulling back from answers that may be more correct than others(2) to talk about mana's fundamental observable qualities.

1: There are different kinds of mana. Different schools categorize it differently, but generally agree there are at least 6 and fewer than 16,777,216 varieties.
2: Mana shapes and is shaped by its environment. The mana naturally at rest inside a healer becomes more associated with healing magic; release that mana into the air without the focus of a spell and it'll start doing healer-y things over time to the environment; cleaning and restoring etc.
3: Heartblades are the ultimate form of magic because they represent one hundred percent mana efficiency. There is no wastage or slowdown, they're a frictionless manifestation of potential that can be withdrawn back into the self and recycled fully.

This is all to say, watching this idle working of the Goddess is far, far more interesting than anything that could ever be said here(3). Whatever Civelia is doing is potentially a revolutionary breakthrough in the Arcane Science, something that couldn't be replicated without shattering a great number of extremely expensive magical items in the process. It also hasn't escaped her notice for how weird it is for Civelia to be breaking something at all. What does any of this mean?









Kalentia!

"Hey, hey, easy there, it's okay," said Kalentia, kneeling down and holding both of her hands up. "Look, I know I've got no right to anything you want to keep private. After I'm done and you're better, if you want, I can get Tsane - my wizard friend - to erase my memory of today. It'll be like this never happened, okay? But for now I just need you to take it easy and work with me. You're very sick, and we both need to try our best for your recovery."

No amount of training or cleverness or knowledge could substitute for this; a healer's kindness. It wasn't much, but it was as sincere as she ever could be.

[Comfort and Support: 7]

Eclair!

Well played! You are, despite yourself, despite the things that isolate you from those around you, a good player of the Great Game- and any other player can see that. And Ruthmoreness, with her clumsy-cute charm, has to concede that, too.

So she cracks open the book and makes... let us call it an attempt at reading. You're quite distracting, and she reads the same sentence over and over, and she reads the same sentence over and over, and she peeks up at you, and she reads the same sentence over and over, and she flutters her eyes, and she reads the same sentence over and over... but eventually she manages to get some headway.

"She's making a mess," Ruthmoreness concludes. "She's making herself some sort of... antimaid? Negamaid? Unmaid? Daim? Dame?" Her brow scrunches up with the effort of thinking about a maid outfit where all the whites are black and all the blacks are white. While she does that- what do you think of that theory, Eclair? Is there something to it, or is this just another tree that Timtam has you barking up?

Perhaps she's sent Ruthmoreness here just to convince you that she's an antimaid so that she can then wrong-foot you by being extra-maidy the next time that you meet. How far do her plans reach? Was she ready for this very moment? For all you know, she could be out there in the rain, tucked neatly underneath an umbrella. Don't look. You'll just be disappointed by the shape of her absence.

---

Yuki!

"Thank you, Radiant Edogawa," Pasenne says, with a flick of her rattling tail. That must be very tricky for her to keep quiet as much as she does, and perhaps the ribbons wrapped around it are meant to dampen the sound. "Since you asked," she says, a little daring, "I'm so glad that you're going to help our Princess get her crown." There's certainty there; she refuses to even consider anyone else the rightful Queen. "Once we expand Crevas, some of the floodwater will drain out of the housing market, and I might be able to get my parents their own place in a few years."

(And in that, the implicit: of course Sulochana will tend to Crevas's needs first.)

>[.rockamt]
>Well, you come over here and deal with my thing instead of getting dragged into the magical deerboy, obviously.

>[.praxispacksis]
>Aadya!! That...!!
>...means you wouldn't get involved in this, I guess.
>The Khatun's assembling for
>Well, I mean

>[.rockamt]
>Wait, you're friends with that deerboy people are talking about, Yuki?

>[.praxispacksis]
>WAS THAT NOT CLEAR????

>[.rockamt]
>I've been busy. But, hey, good to know you're friends with the Queen of Light, Yuks.

>[.praxispacksis]
>HUH?????

>[.rockamt]
>?

>[.praxispacksis]
>oh shoot I have to go Yuki just please don't
>let's not
>going with Aadya sounds great!!!!

Sulochana peers over your shoulder, having made her grand entrance just a moment before while you were engrossed in the weird vibes Juni was giving off. "Or you could ignore her and come with me. It sounds as if the High Council will need our help repulsing the Khaganate, and we could use your axe on our side." A very high-minded plea... with no mention of the fact that she'll want to snatch Hazel out of Aestival herself.

Since your friend group's at loggerheads, on this subject at least, you can get your benefits by either going to Aadya or sticking by Sulochana's side, and doing anything else (like, say, going and learning how to juggle, or sneaking into Aestival on your own) will get you the consolation prize.

Sulochana gives you a reassuring shoulder squeeze. "Yuki and Suli against the world," she says, and does the hip bump that you used to do together before she slithers into her couch and starts eating like someone who is struggling to maintain proper manners in the face of an empty stomach.

---

Hazel!

You're a bright young boy. You've played video games before. So you're familiar with loading screens.

The Roads are loading screens.

The skies above are black. On either side of the widely-paved road are evergreens: pines, spruces, firs, and (oddly enough) bamboo, all of them sharp black on black, refusing to be properly illuminated by everyone's lanterns. There are two lanes, and usually you're supposed to hug the left and let traffic pass by on the right, but foot traffic's overspilled onto the right for today. All trudging along, stuck in the same liminality as a long airplane flight by night. There's no sense of distance, of how far you've come or how far you're going.

We're closer connected than your world, but that doesn't mean that it's a casual thing to go from one Hub to another.

Eventually, Amali taps your shoulder. "This is a good place," she says, pulling out some tins from under her seat and hanging a red lantern on the side of the rickshaw. Almost as soon as she does this, you notice that there's a rest stop up the Road. (And before you ask: yes, it did just appear, and no, it wouldn't have appeared if she'd just hung that lantern up right as soon as you got onto the Road.) You pull over into this side street, park the rickshaw, and help Amali down the steps into one of the stations. As this isn't your first trip on the Road, you know what happens next: someone has to join you in here, this cramped barrow which smells of Christmas: pine trees and the crispness of snow and the curry that Amali's cracking open and the crackling, smoky hearth in the center of the station.

(Oh, this is one of our sources of, as you call them, urban legends. Stories about people who think they can just ignore the need to pull over and eat. About people who start eating before someone comes to join them. About people who are violent here. The rules of the Road are drilled into children's heads with as much strictness as your teenagers are taught to respect cars capable of traveling dozens of miles per hour, and for similar reasons.)

"I hope you don't mind," says a melodious and familiar voice, and your heart skips a beat, doesn't it?

Anat Amora-Ugari is here, tossed in with you by the chance of the Road, and she's brought a tin of hot wings for the table. Like most Nagi, she takes up so much of the station, as if it was built for people smaller than her. You'll have to squeeze in. Maybe there won't be enough room and you'll have to sit on her. Plenty of things to think about.

"Come in, dear," Amali says. "Don't you mind my great-nephew here, he'll behave himself."

---

Tsane!

"Our recommendation is as follows, Lady Civelia," the General Secretary says, summing up the past... hour? Closer to two. "Firstly: that our priority for the sake of Thellamie's stability must be ensuring that the conflict over the Golden Fawn is resolved without lasting violence. Secondly: that in the light of her actions last night, the Khatun of the Khaganate must be formally censured and informed that we reserve the right to take actions to bar her from the contest to tame the Golden Fawn if she continues to act in a way that disturbs the peace of the Hubs. Thirdly, that the Hero of Ages be dispatched to discover the identity of the maid-knight who attempted to lay hands on the Goddess herself. We thank you for taking the time to consult us and for blessing our efforts to come to consensus."

This is typical. The Civils are great for charity, construction, bureaucracy, anything that requires planning and hard work and big hearts, but they're spooked. And a spooked Civil is one that's going to minimize action, urge for patience, threaten vague consequences, and generally wait to be rescued. To be fair, Heron's usually pretty good at rescuing the church when necessary - and Civils tend to be in need of saving when she's around.

"I, in turn, thank you," Civelia says. The Sleepless Charm has been lying inert and dead in front of her for the past forty minutes, but now she gestures and draws it to float just above her palm. "Let us carry this out with all due determination- but there is one thing that I would have my dearest Hero do for us all before she pursues her Quest."

The Civils start to hum, looking for the right frequency to match the way that the charm spins. "There is a boy lost within Our world, ensnared within prophecy, bound by the will of the untouchable Stars. He must be fearful, desperate, lost, in need of solace." Chains- silver and gold- glow on the surface of the charm she is creating. "We shall not let this be so. We shall not. O Golden Fawn, for you alone I grant authority."

---

Injimo!

If you ever had to fight Civelia, which would require her to actually be willing to fight in the first place, this is how she would fight. You'd have to close in fast before she could command you to kneel, or command others to defend her on her behalf. But that would be a betrayal of the bond between the Goddess and her Hero. A white room fight.

The charm falls to the Goddess's palm as if too heavy to hang in the air any longer. Mana rises off it like smoke. It is a badge in the shape of a shield, one half silver and the other half ruby. The silhouette of a stag's head is done in onyx limned in gold, the tips of the antlers rising above the shield's rim.

This she offers to you. Its magic (and its Move) will not activate for you; it will be heavy and slightly too cool to the touch. "My most beloved champion, I ask you to deliver this to the Golden Fawn and teach him how to use it. By this gift he may dictate the contests of his taming. Once this is complete, seek out the maid who your handmaiden fought last night and learn her purpose."

---

Kalentia!

"This is the sickness," Fallen Far says, laying her head back down, though still trying to cover herself up. "Thellamie is the impurities of sickness. You are the infecting of passions." She says it like an obscenity, but not one directed at you. "The detestation of passions are the murdering of me. Your cha is the disordering of passions; the desiring of action both unbidding and unwanting. This is the cessation of my deserving: the nakedness and the wanting and the... and the..."

She sniffles. She raises her good hand to her face and turns it away from you, shoulders trembling.

"...I am not deserving the presence of her. I am the risk of infection, the punishment of passion. I am the murdering of her if she was present. But the wanting of her is, is, is. I am the impurity."

That's a familiar bit of self-loathing, isn't it? Even through the language barrier, that kind of raw you-are-perfect-and-I-am-garbage longing is... well, better that you're here than anyone else.

It has been said there is no such thing as a perfect crime.

Strictly speaking that is not true. A perfect crime is definable as a sequence of events where the offending act accomplishes something desirable for the criminal that can also anticipate a desirable outcome from the punishment that follows. To wit: a maid-knight might steal a rival's perfectly crafted sandwich, earning her a superior lunch slash delicious treat. If that same maid-knight targets a crush with a tendency toward dispensing retribution in the form of the lash and the leash, then the sandwich thief has accomplished a second benefit when her abused posterior is paraded around the Manor on 'walkies'.

To name one example, at any rate. There are less frivolous possibilities, such as humiliating a figurehead knowing that your capture and punishment will inflame those who benefited from or otherwise enjoyed your actions and further destabilize a major hub or even several, depending on the nature of the original crime and the prominence of the target. If the actual target of theft was the status quo itself...

Nevertheless, they say there is no perfect crime. This concept is not even undermined by the existence of actual perfect crimes, because the true meaning of this wisdom is that no criminal act regardless of how masterful its planning or the skill of its execution can remain invisible to a sufficiently determined and objective investigative effort. It is the reason Eclair is valued as a Knight of the Aurora. It is why she is selected for missions. Not specifically to catch criminals per se, but the unraveling of mysteries. Another might occasionally get to the bottom of a problem before she can, but no one will pursue it as relentlessly and fully as she can in the end.

That is not to brag. That is simply to say that there is no value in spending thought cycles wondering if Timtam intends this revelation as subterfuge. This too would be revelatory, as it would showcase a motivation the target considers worth covering up. If even that turned out to be false it would instead imply a highly specific focus on and interest in Eclair's investigation in particular and that would open new avenues of thought that would eventually wind themselves around Timtam's wrists and ankles and catch her in the end. The only thing in doubt about this would be whether or not the act of catching would turn out to be a reward for her, or perhaps if she would prefer herself be caught by some other entity first for the sake of her plot.

In any event Timtam is creating messes. Yes, that is a very succinct and interesting way of putting it. Thank you Ruthmoreness. An anti-maid is a very intriguing hypothesis even if it is not one that shines any light on the essential question of motivation. It does at the very least emphasize specific possibilities that the more general concept of that lovely vision in orange curls merely turning traitor. She may be a victim: her heart inverted after contact with a Fallen entity or another corrosive force. She may be sitting on a secret of the Manor that requires revealing to the world, Cursed Be They and Such and Such. She might seek the full destruction of the Order of the Aurora or she might instead be agitating a sort of disaster to draw out the Maid-Knights' full strength and guide that to "accidentally" clean some presently invisible problem from the wider world. Oh yes, there are many many possibilities to consider where the cause of an anti-maid could be considered more righteous than Eclair's own.

In fact it could well turn out that reaching the end of this mystery could require--

Eclair sniffles. She does not shiver but that is an act of pure willpower on her part. If she implies too much weakness, Ruthmoreness will see through the spell she has cast and move to shelter her instead. The most imperative thing is not scoring points in the Great Game (or losing them) but the safety of that notebook, which will regardless of skill or intention be exposed to this downpour to some degree during any kind of position switch. She angles her body to invite the other knight to stare at her, instead. Presses her lips taut and draws a sharp breath through her nose to brace herself against a sudden snap of wind.

She opens her mouth, intending to praise her ward. She is forced once more to close it in silence. Even now? Even after achieving understanding and forging a connection in this moment, after such free flowing conjecture and interesting consequences to consider? She is still stuck shut? Would could be... oh. No of course. The fact remains that she has not eaten, and here in the face of love she can finally feel that for the problem it is. The fact remains that she has not drank her fill, and with shining eyes looking up at her in equal parts awe and earnestness she feels as dry inside as she feels wet out. The fact remains that she has overtaxed her muscles and asking them to hold firm here and for who can know how much longer is an act of self cruelty she can no longer conjure the death spiral of dark thought to convince herself she deserves.

The most frustrating weakness of them all, then: the need for basic care and rest. That is what has her voice stolen now. She will likely part from Ruthmoreness' company without managing a single word the entire time. But she must safeguard this woman, as thanks for what she's managed here (no matter if it is a trick or not), and she must safeguard the notebook until she can compose more formal notes so that she can return to this hypothesis after new, non-speculative interviews and fresh physical evidence without having to hold the entire thought in the forefront of her mind the entire time or risk it dissolving in the acid of new thoughts and needs. And she must above all say something to the woman beneath her, because it is unbecoming of a Maid-Knight to ignore a worthy thought no matter her own condition.

And so she turns 'That is possible' and 'I must consider this' and 'Thank you for your contribution' into a single sentence that also means 'You're beautiful'. She speaks this sentence in silence, but with her lips. Her elbows bend, though she fears it will be a challenge to straighten them again. She leans close enough that her soaking, heavy hair caresses Ruthmoreness' temples. And she plants a kiss that will have to satisfy all her hungers at once on the mouth that spoke the thought.

Injimo!

She stands up stiffly. Something was wrong with the motion, it was too strained - it would take a deliberate moment's reflection to realize that she hadn't been sitting in a chair. She'd spent the whole meeting holding a squat and even for someone with her fitness obsession that took a toll.

(It was something she had to work on. Heron could walk crouched for hours at a time.)

"No problem," she said. She wanted to stretch, crick her neck - Heron wouldn't. Sometimes it felt like the Hero was made out of rubber. "See you, Vil."

She knew she couldn't beat Civelia. Maybe that was unfair; she didn't really think she could beat anyone. Any victory felt like her opponent had just made a trivial execution mistake; an accident, something that'd get washed out in a best out of three. There were some things - most things - that only Heron could do, and going toe to toe with the Goddess was outside her range. She knew her limits. She spent every day being reminded of them, like a prisoner knows the bars of her cage.

No, what she'd do if the balloon went up would be to rush the General Secretary. Damage the support apparatus. Buy time for Heron. That was her duty.

Kalentia!

"Oh, honey..." Kalentia sighed.

She was right, of course. Nothing in the worlds of magic would bring the release from passion the Lunarian sought. The Dark Dragon had ground the pyramid to rubble, and the rubble to sand, and the sand to dust, and the dust to atoms, and there amidst the atoms life sprang forth in a microbacterial bloom. Once the craving was inside of you it could animate you forever, and there was no spell to mend a broken heart[1].

The best she has is the offering of a handkerchief.

"Well, my auntie always said the best thing for impurity is a bath," said Kalentia[2]. "Do you want to try the hot spring? Maybe that'll help you relax."

[1] She'd checked.
[2] Ogden Pious was an odd duck.

Yuki offers Sulochana a weak smile, and turns to Pasenne at just such an angle that if Sulochana were to, say, immediately drop all manners and dig in as fast as she could, nobody would notice for a moment or two. "I don't think I'm radiant. At least, not this time. This time it's just Yuki. But I really do hope you can get your parents a house, that sounds really nice! I think...well...no...I...I don't know how this contest will end, but I think that whoever's in charge should know about the needs of Crevas no matter what."

She looks at Pasenne a bit longer. She's not sure about the tail and the ribbons but she decides to venture her opinion. "Oh and I love the sound your tail makes, it's very soothing." A smile with that as well, a little bit lowering her ears, a sip of tea immediately after to hide her face because she's worried that was a social faux paus but also really hoping it was helpful and good, and it was how she really felt so that probably counted for something too.

After that, she turns back to Sulochana. Decides to grab some more chai first, and hmms while she fills her cup, tail flicking as she thinks. "Yeah, today, Yuki and Suli against the world" she says as she sits down. She gives Sulochana a serious face though. "I doubt my axe will really matter much in a huge fight though, and I don't really want to fight the Khanate even though you're competing with them. You know that's going to end up with you and Juni each trying to kidnap me from the other a bunch." She grins because that part was kind of a joke, or at least kind of funny and fun and, well having a bunch of her friends all trying to kidnap her back and forth didn't sound like the worst thing in the world at any rate.

But then it's back to serious Yuki, looking Suli right in the face, ears up, eyes clear. "You deserve a hangout day, and I'll come with you to the council and support you however I can. And after that, we're both going to find Aadya once she's done with her council thing. Cuz like, seriously, who beats up Aadya?! Aren't you dying of curiosity, Suli?"

She waits for Sulochana's response before she chats the group to confirm.

Oh! Hey!! It’s Anat! What are the chances…well, it’s the Road, it’s not really a matter of chances, is it? You meet who you meet, and that’s that. But still! Wow!

Wait, great-nephew?

Oh. Oh right. She didn’t recognize him. Because he’s wearing a disguise. Because it’s very important that he stays incognito. Aaaaaaaaaaaaand he was moments away from waving to her like a big dork and blowing his cover. Because they are friends. Acquaintances. They did a good performance together. That’s why, and no reason else.

Okay! Lesson learned: Don’t say hi to anybody you know in public. PS: Burrows on the side of the Road count as in public.

“Of course, we don’t mind at all. Happy for the company.” Hazel stands, politely, as she enters. She’s swapped her performance dress for a diaphanous blouse that, oh! It still keeps the constellation theme, little diamonds glinting in the low firelight, connected by silver thread. Oh that’s really clever. It’s pretty.

Look away.

Right. Right. Sorry. Yes, it’s pretty. It’s just pretty. It’s a girl who is a snake who is wearing a pretty outfit. That’s okay. He can say that. Nothing more. She’s just. It’s just. They only met the once, stop being ridiculous.

But what if

No. It doesn’t work like that. They don’t know anything about each other. This whole train of thought is stupid. Why is he still thinking about it? It’s just pretty. It’s a pretty dress. She’s a pretty snakegirl. That’s it. Like Amali said; he’s going to behave himself.

Er. Where is he supposed to sit, exactly?

“Is there anything I can help with?” Hazel shuffles to his ‘great-aunt’, which has the distinct advantage of keeping him standing, occupying as little space as possible. Managing the tins, getting out napkins and utensils, seeing to the fire, just say the word, he’s your deer. He might need some instructions on a few of those, but he’s a quick learner. Good at following directions.