Eclair!

The chrysanthemum is a plant that prefers the ground: bushes and carefully shaped miniature “trees.” And yet here, in the center of the Chrysanthemum, there is a vast chrysanthemum tree, an ever-blooming rainbow of intricate petals. Naturally, iron bands are sealed around the titanic trunk in a dozen places, and Civil paper talismans dangle from innumerable branches; this wonder of a bygone age must not be the door through which evil enters into the city.

Steam wafts up from the roots, intermingled with giddy laughter and immodest sighs. Down below is the bath complex: spas, saunas, hot tubs, massage parlors, poolside dining, an entire aquarium, and a shrine to Heron of the Hot Springs.

Let the eye be pulled up by the double helix of the two sloping passageways that rise, floor by floor, into the heights of the Chrysanthemum. Here are more restaurants, here there are theaters, here there are private rooms, here there are parlors for esteemed guests, here there is a petting zoo with attached cafe, until finally one is staring up at the stained glass ceiling of this complex.

This atrium here is scarlet and gold, and so are many of the chrysanthemums that are painted on the walls and the pillars, carefully sculpted into tamed trees on pedestals, and which bloom irrepressibly on the branches of that vast tree. Guests track in snow, but it soon melts away. This is radiant, vibrant, lusty summer in full artifice.

Here, too, the dance of attendants and guests begins. There is, naturally, an initial hesitation to approach you among many of the attendants— for you are a member of the Order, and no few of them are themselves dressed as rather impractical maids. One might assume camaraderie, but the truth is that many such maids are self-conscious when confronted with the reality. Consider an actor pretending to be a dragon coming face-to-face with one of Noon’s wild dreams, and you will understand.

“Hey, slut.” This is when a third party interrupts the dance of attendants and guests by walking up and placing half a dozen catering boxes in your arms. Said third party is a Serigalamu girl wearing starglasses and a fur bikini, vivid yellow and black. An impressive series of chains and studs dangle from her ears, and various angular tattoos reminiscent of teeth are on full display. She is Younger Than You, and notably has a series of Kel braces (notable for being made out of semi-precious stones) on her teeth. “Take this shit up to my room and get it frigid, okay? And, Civvvv, are you dressed for repressed freaks or what?”

She smacks you on the rump with the kind of enthusiasm commonly used to encourage beasts of burden.

---

Hazel!

All that description Eclair just got above? That’s guest-facing. You are instead in the labyrinth inside of the walls, behind the glitzy facade of the Chrysanthemum. It’s well-built but all for purpose, all black wood and glowing crystal lanterns and stairs and counterweight lifts and staff, the majority of whom are proudly wearing rather impractical outfits.

Amali leads you down several corridors, waving cheerfully to various girls she recognizes, encouraging a boy(??) in a tight sequin dress and glittery makeup to “break a leg,” and generally acting like she’s got a spring in her step and an encyclopedic knowledge of this place. Eventually you end up at a locked lift, which she unlocks with a key before flipping a sort of toggle on one side of the lift before—

“Oh, Amali, hold up, would you?” An Avel boy bounds onto the lift, grinning. Several things are immediately apparent:
- He’s about a year older than you
- He looks like he does gymnastics
- He’s wearing a leotard that might put you in mind of the Olympics
- That is definitely several difficult colors of lipstick on his cheek and collarbone
- And also he is wearing an oversized collar and glitzy golden horns

“Thanks,” he says, taking a deep breath that just shows off that v-neck. “Yaz has got to know that we’re getting run off our feet out there! This is the biggest draw for the cabaret since the time we had the Twins doing that audience-participation show— and, hey, nice to meet you!” He offers you his hand. “Alcideo. Those antlers look really nice, and between you and me you don’t look half bad yourself, but if you’re interested in taking some shifts we probably want to brighten them up a bit. Wait, hold on— I didn’t get your name? Unless you just want me to call you cute, which I can do!”

His grin is dazzling.

---

Yuki!

Your first meal’s with a Civil, actually— one who’s headed back to Kel after having a big meeting with the goddess Civelia. She’s convinced that the Paladins are going to step in against the Khatun soon, and fortunately Suli’s there with you to do most of the talking to sell that she’s from Aestival’s minority Nagi population, headed north after the disastrous Queen of Light ceremony (though you do have to dial her back a bit, her frustration being a little too real).

Most of the meals you have on your way to Vespergift are like that, oddly enough— a lot of Kel, mostly Civils and construction workers and a very chatty gem salesman— but the last one’s the special one, because that’s when Heron Tiserian her own self enters the barrow to dine with you and Suli and Pasenne, flanked by two of her Handmaidens.

---

Rurik!

As you may have noticed, that’s your cue. The ritual of sacred hospitality and shared food on the Roads is one of the oldest in Thellamie, a central part of the world’s commerce and transportation, and something which should be taken very seriously.

The roles: one Heron and two Handmaidens. (Any other members of the Handmaidens in attendance will be dining in a separate barrow with different travelers.)
The food: enough for a light meal, likely reflecting Heron’s notorious habit of pulling random items out of the Food Bag.
The audience: two Nagi of Aestival, a merchant and debtor, and one young warrior from Kel.

Enjoy.

---

Cair!

So you told somebody that the Architect-Knight is loose in the Stacks, right?

You’re likely working on repairing that suit, and Kalentia’s likely keeping that Lunarian in quarantine until you’re finished; what’s certain is that you do have the material you needed. Because the Architect-Knight pulled it off a shelf for you before she continued stalking through the Stacks, searching for her hammer, somehow convinced (as far as you could tell through the rhyming) that you are In Cahoots and working together to bring down hated Heron, hurtful harlot.

So who’s in the loop, Cair??

There are, of course, Aurora Maids who are deep enough into their particular roles and interests that they would jump at the chance to trip over themselves fawning at this brazen attempt at their decency. There is (...supposedly) a certain thrill (?) in rendering oneself subservient to an individual with such obviously inferior skills. The giddy thrill of being so weak that a puffed up puppy could bowl you over is (allegedly) so delicious it is worth the reprimand you would receive upon returning to the manner. See also prior musings on perfect crimes.

"...I trust that with your no doubt stellar deductive reasoning skills there is no need to explain what your palm is so plainly screaming at you, but for the benefit of these lovely maidens gathered to watch us, I shall clarify anyway."

Eclair is not such a Maid. With her hands full it is rather difficult for her to employ her notebook at the moment, but allow me to be the one to tell you that in the Great Game an opening gambit like this one wouldn't even rate. More to the point it would require a sufficiently powerful aura, the kind of thing one only develops after many tense battles where the fullness of one's pride or possibly even death have been on the line. Few even among the Manor could manage the move as written, and among them who would bother? It would be boring compared to their own more specialized proclivities.

"I am not, in fact, dressed for "repressed freaks". I am dressed for travel, the unfortunately dangerous kind where I cannot discount the possibility of battle. I am also arrayed in the manner that most pleases the three Dreamers for whom my Order is named. Both this uniform and the plate beneath it represent the love and affection of Morning, Noon, and Evening, and I should be surprised to think you could meet anyone in all of Thellamie or indeed Outside of it who could less deserve the label of 'repressed' than they."

There are also some among the Maid-Knights who possess a fantastically unnerving glare that if they were to (hypothetically) stub their toe on a wall, that wall would (again, purely hypothetically) crumble to dust on the spot rather than attempt to endure the look that followed. It is to the benefit of all currently inside the Chrysanthemum that Eclair lacks this legendary skill as surely as she lacks the demeanor to go skipping up the stairs with her heart all aflutter. Despite this, when she pivots to better peer over the stack of boxes in her arms, the temperature in the room drops by several degrees.

"Courtesy demands I offer you a chance to apologize for this no doubt unintended disrespect. Honor likewise compels me to warn you in advance that any further escalation will result in punishment so swift and thorough that every worker from the basement to that lovely mural above us will for the rest of their lives and yours understand at the most instinctive level that they are, in fact, your dominant. Have I been quite clear? I am here and waiting, Little Miss."

She does not, of course, drop these drinks. Apart from being boorish and rude, that would create a mess. Utterly unacceptable. Though, you might also be interested to know (depending on who you are) that it will be quite some hours before it occurs to Eclair that a more magnanimous form of acceptance of this task would have served the honor of the Aurora almost equally well, and another twenty minutes of frantic pacing after that before she draws the conclusion that this service might have later served as a shield when someone inevitably came here accusing her of assassination.

Alas, here in the present she is too consumed with walking herself through the steps of drawing her heartblade without bobbling these containers to have any awareness of her other options. It is quite difficult enough for her to show restraint as it is.

Rurik!

"Announcing: The Hero of Ages, Princess Heron Tiserian!"

Announcing and speaking on behalf of the Hero was his most comfortable role. He let his voice roll, his chest and enunciation conveying the full weight of awe that should be accorded to the Hero of Ages... which was almost as fitting an announcement style for Sayanastia the Dark Dragon.

He wondered at himself. Announcing for the Dark Dragon, disguised as Heron - that felt like something more suitable for a... for a Henchman than a Handmaid. Half his career was about lending his voice and his skill to the lie, but there was the good, honest lie that gave the Princess room to maneuver freely, and this lie which, well... Perhaps it was most frightening that it didn't take him that much more effort to do. Being an evil butler did not seem such a very long step from being a butler, if you were confused at all. Best clear his mind of that confusion: this was his duty, and the irony was for poets to appreciate.

"Seneschal," said Sayanastia-as-Heron. Immediately, he thought: she didn't get it right. "Ask them their stories."



"The Noble Hero of Ages invites you to partake of the bounty of the Food Bag, and share with us the tale that has bought you to this place so far from home," said Rurik, almost totally recovering from his little moment. "And further, my grandaughter Tsane, who sits alongside, has a particular interest in any rare or mythical animals you may have encountered on your way."

Cair!

What, tell people? That the Architect-Knight is loose in the stacks? Should she also tell them that the Mercury Golem is loose?

As far as she's concerned, the Architect-Knight lives there, just as much as Cair does. As much as the Hero's Shadow does, or the Acid Cube, or the Centaur, or - or even the Dark Dragon herself apparently, these days. Of course some of the more normie-inclined Handmaidens might not like the idea of the Hero's Sanctuary being filled with dozens of roving monsters of previous eras, which is all the more reason to shelter their precious little sensibilities[1].

[1] Or in Injimo's case, sheltering from her potential to go around getting in fights with everything that ever once put a mark on the Hero, that she might absorb their energy.

Pretty much the only creature she would have raised the alarm for was seeing the Dark Dragon herself, but even that time has passed. Now she wouldn't mention it even if she saw a Fallen Star down here. It wouldn't be neighbourly.

He shouldn’t be here.

Not in a modesty sense, no. When you go to the office at school, there’s a front desk where a receptionist signs you in, takes your papers, etc. Beyond the desk, though? That’s where the real office is. That is the realm of principals, vice-principals, and…hrm, you know, he’s not actually thought it through beyond that. Whoever else you need to run a school! You can exist in front of the desk, that’s okay. That’s allowed. The realm beyond is where no student ought to tread. Whatever goes on back there, that’s not a place for students.

This is, however, a place for Amalis. She knows everyone. Everyone knows her. Everyone’s happy to see her. This place is a maze, and she hasn’t put a foot wrong. She seems more at home here than her little apartment in Crevas. Hazel follows close behind her, huddling in her bubble of authority for safety.

The Crysthanamum whirrs around them like fancy-dressed clockwork. Somehow, all of this? All these people, all these mechanisms, all this everything turns into spas, shows, eateries, lodgings, and he’s not quite clear how all of that fits under one roof but that doesn’t stop him from sneaking little wondering glances all around him any chance he gets.

Unfortunately for him, the view looks back. Unfortunatelier for him, the view does not bother with being sneaky.

Cute???!!?

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhh,” is the noise he makes, and it’s not speaking, because that’s not a real word, it’s just a sound, and it can mean all sorts of things, and anyway he’s going to stop making it now just to be safe. He takes Alcideo’s hand and shakes it, to be even more safe, and to let him know he’s not being rude, and he casts a frantic, pleading to Amali. Then back to Alcideo. Then back to Amali. Alcideo. Amali. Alcideo. Amali. Alcideo. Amali!!!

A sound like steam escaping a rapidly-boiling kettle fills the lift as the pressure of competing demands mercilessly squish him.

(He makes the turns faster and faster as he goes. Back home, his hair would lag behind a second or two if he turned fast enough, and here he has the double benefit of big, silly ears. And he’s had a good week or two to get to know them. They bap him about the head, and it takes him another few turns to “realize” it, stop, and sputter as an ear baps his snout one last time. Hapless. Helpless. Maybe blushing? Hopefully blushing. He never could tell.

Cute, hopefully?

Maybe cute enough for Alcideo to keep going?)

Yuki is by herself as far as warriors go. So, she does her best when they reach the campfire to look stern and a bit dour. She’s not really sure what dour actually looks like though? How many times do you sit around and think to yourself that you want to look dour? Outside of trying to be somebody’s bodyguard, it doesn’t really come up. She thinks it looks sort of frowny, but like, without trying, like if you could frown with fewer muscles and without actually looking sad but just kinda not happy instead. Mostly she looks like she’s pouting though.

Of course, there’s not much reason to actually be guarding anybody on the Roads. The meal ritual is part of the travel and it’s very rare to have fights here. Certainly, nobody would actually try to assault a merchant on the Roads, they’d put such a huge target on themselves for everyone else everywhere. Travel had to be safe. So guarding was more of a theoretical thing. It just felt right with both Anna and Magasha at another camp. She was the only guard, so she had to look guardy! Guardesque! Like a guard!

But, when the announcement is for Heron herself, the great hero of the ages, well, it’s hard to hold a pouty dour face. Instead, her tail flips up in excitement. Before she can think the better of it, she gushes “Oh gosh, I never got to meet you the last time I was here!” Suli coughs, and Yuki blushes. “Um…that is, this is m-my um first ever errantry and um, I was busy with training when you last came through Kel, and I’ve only ever visited Aestival once before, s-so I’ve never met the Hero before and it’s a very great honor. We are merchants returning to Aestival after the Crevas festival. I have taken a contract to protect this honorable trader and her servant and see that they come to no harm during their travels.”

She offers a belated bow. “Um, as to your granddaughter’s request. We um…well I suppose I don’t know what animals count, but I was at the er, the light crown ceremony in Crevas and there was a very strange large and heavy crow that arrived during it and transferred the power of light into the golden fawn that everyone seems to be hunting now. I um, imagine that would be interesting. Oh a-and thank you for sharing your food your um…h-highness…hero-ness?”

Eclair!

Three attendants converge on the two of you, with the kind of sublimated nervous energy that one gets in a service job. But that doesn't matter to the two of you, does it? Not with that danger in the air, just waiting to ignite. She's raised her starglasses now, all the better to give you a half-incredulous, half-insolent look.

"Morning, Noon and Evening, huh? I'd call them has-beens, but that would im-ply that they ever were important. My mom's gonna hunt your mommies down, you know. Drag them kicking and whining into reality, turn them into cute little sluzhankas, and keep them as trophies in her yurt. So if you don't want to join them: get out of my face, bitch."

Behind her, a woman in a sequined western crop top and a diamond-studded collar is crossing her arms, shaking her head, and mouthing: I am so sorry please don't fight her I am SO sorry. An attendant in an Aestivali bathing outfit is taking those catering boxes off your hands. You are being invited to an exclusive fish dinner since you are today's lucky winner, ma'am, if you'll just come this way?

And her smile just keeps getting wider as she stares you dead in the eyes. Daring you to start something.

---

Hazel!

"Cutie will do," Amali says, giving you the kind of Look that might put the fear of Me into you. You know, the sort that says that you have been quite decisively outfoxed. "Good to see you're on the cutting edge, Alci. I said to myself, I said: if anyone's going to be leading the Golden Fawn Cabaret, it'll be Alcideo."

"Aww, shucks, Miss A, Yaz just tapped me for it, that's all," he says with a familiarly self-deprecating wave of the hand. As if a boy like this could feel the same embarrassment of praise as you do. But it's impossible to say that he's faking it, so what even gives??

"Yes, well, I don't doubt that Yaz will be putting our Cutie here right under your wings. Keep him out of trouble with the Girls, will you? I promised his dear mama that he'd be safe here until the tea's no longer simmering." She winks, and Alcideo nods with (mock?) solemnity.

"Of course. Don't you worry about a thing, Cutie. People will be so busy looking at your horns and your chest that they won't be paying attention to your face, and the tips should be really good while this whole hunt for the Golden Fawn's going on. If you can dance that's great, but if not we'll just get you on drinks."

The lift comes to a stop and opens up on an opulently decorated room, even by the standards of this place. Lots of marble and gold and more dark wood, and oh boy Amali's got you by one arm and Alcideo's got you by the other, and you are being led across the room. Which, you might notice, is definitely not empty, there's several desks and several people in much more sensible clothing dealing with some sort of pneumatic tube system, and it looks like they've been integrating tablets into their system because they'll take messages from the tube system and read it at their desk before tapping away on a tablet with a stylus, and that's something to focus on instead of the elaborate screens that you're being dragged to.

"You mind if I go first?" Alcideo is saying. "I'll be right in and out."

"You should come in with us," Amali says, firmly, "seeing as she'll want to hand Cutie here your way."

And then the three of you weave between the screens - to the right and then to the left - and you're in an office with one hell of a view. Wall-to-wall windows, with just a little bit of gutter down into the floor, show the giant tree down below, and the steam rising from the baths, and multiple levels of brightly-decorated entertainment halls, and gosh it's a long way down, hope you don't get weird around heights.

Or around big women curled around a specialty Nagi couch, wearing a fur-lined silk blouse, tapping on a tablet while holding a long smoking pipe in one hand, eyes gleaming in the smoke, taking up at least a good eighty percent of the room because even coiled up around the couch her tail just keeps going and going and going, and when she looks up at you it's like being pinned to the screen behind you with the intensity of her eyes, gold and black like a solar eclipse.

"Amali, darling." Her voice is so low and powerful that you can feel it in your bones as much as you can hear it. "And 'Deo, good, good. Just the people I needed to see." She sets the stylus down with a definitive click and then crooks her finger. At you. Very definitely at you. "Let's see what Auntie's sent us. There's a good boy."

---

Kalentia!

While Cair repairs that armor, you're dealing with the double whammy that your patient is hyperresponsive to dark magic and is also depressed as hell. The way that she is sinking into herself and crumpling into the hot tub because there's nothing for her to do, nothing for her to grapple with, nothing for herself to throw herself into so that she doesn't think about her circumstances, is likely very familiar. It's a textbook case of chronic heroism burning out when there's nothing to hero about.

Your quest: get her mind off it, and also the person she's missing, in a way that doesn't risk her flopping face-first into the pool and succumbing to the sickness that's drawn to her like a magnet while she's outside of her suit.

---

Yuki!

"W-what my guard here means is that we're going to be returning to Aestival after we've taken the waters in Vespergift. Being part of that intolerable ruckus in Crevas was, ah, jangling. For my nerves. But I know as well as you, o Hero, that once Sulochana Arju gets her hands on the Golden Fawn and the Crown of Light, all of these troubles will be melting away like snow. You do support her claim, don't you? Not those barbarous Khaganate hunters?"

You might be unsubtle, dear, but your friend is similarly unsubtle, and poor Pasenne is practically tripping over her own coils as she sets out plates on the cyclopean stone table and starts pouring drinks from a bottle of Crevas wine. The three of you would look dreadfully suspicious to anyone with the acumen of, say, Eclair Espoir. But perhaps the Hero of Ages herself won't notice, despite the fact that she's probably got lifetimes of noticing when things are Going On up her poofy silk sleeves?

Potential Thread of Mystery Discovery: Khaganate threats toward the Manor (and the Dreamers themselves)
Subject is boastful young subordinate, Serigalamu heritage. Identifying markings include angular body tattoos reminiscent of teeth and a set of jeweled braces in her mouth in the Kel style. Name unknown.
Specifics of threat imply full-scale invasion of the Manor by Khaganate raiders, intention to claim Morning, Noon, and Evening as trophies and suborn them, potentially in the role of exotic pets.
Subject clearly intended to provoke listener (myself: Eclair Espoir) into a fight, not obviously inebriated.
Most likely conclusion: empty threat from embarrassed child attempting to save face, but threat = high aggression/unusual specificity
Further investigation is warranted.
Mystery Rank: E

Eclair blows on her fresh notes without ever moving her eyes off of the young woman. To call the expression on Eclair's face and in her eyes specifically 'cold' would at this point be an insult to temperature measurement. Vespergift has experienced warmer blizzards. Null reaction. She clicks her pen shut in its cap and pockets it, shaking her head.

Unbalance hip, palm on face, takedown onto pressure point for quick knockout? Procure string, bind irritant by the wrists and thighs, dangle her from statuary? No good and no good. Explicit request from house staff not to escalate toward violence. Order of the Aurora Precept Number Three: The Battle Must Not Involve Innocents.

Not just innocents here. Chrysanthemum workers do not live up to the full standards of the Manor, but in their own way they try to uphold their own version of the shining glory of the Maid. Inelegant at times perhaps, but beautiful. And beauty must be respected. Furthermore, Mission above Honor. Still though. Still. To allow her to yap so without any consequences...

It made her itch.

"A friendly word of warning, Little Miss. It is both unbecoming and dangerous for a young madame such as yourself to attempt intimidation using stolen valor. Doubtless though you believe her banner shall never fall, there will at the least come a day when your mother grows weary of your trading on her name and cuts you off. When that day comes, pray that I am the one who arrives to teach you your lessons. I will merely claim your dignity as my forfeit. Others will be less kind."

Sneer, break eye contact, snap notebook shut. Interpose self between squawking beast and attendants. Back turned, present target. Brace back but loosen neck to avoid injury. Take hand of woman offering dinner service and kiss it, palm down.

"It is all right, my flower. None of you have anything to fear from me. Now if you would kindly lead the way? I do not require bribes to keep the peace, but if you could help me confirm the validity of this ticket and bring me to a meal of any sort I would be in your debt..."

Sayanastia!

It would feel so good to curse these children.

She loved curses; spitting one was like crunching through the shell of a watermelon on a hot day - but that description itself was everything that was wrong with her. She was not meant to appreciate hot days, or the feeling of her teeth in her mouth, or the thrill of strength rewarded. How could she wish a twisted, corrupting harm on these fools when an idea so warm and lazy was drifting through her head? She was meant to remember the cathartic energy of her joints cracking and her scales flaring and breaking a nervous little smile into the wail of a condemned ghost. She should see the tainted spirit wander free to spread her misery, until...

Until. Her lips twitched in a bitter smile. Until someone rescued them. Until the Hero - or maybe a close friend or lover - braved the knife-hair and the shadowflame and reached out to the trapped soul of the corrupted one. They would drag it free, cleanse it, and nurse it slowly back to health until the victim was restored. And then what became of the rage that had ignited the curse in the first place? Perhaps it did not return to her, and she became less until she was what she was now. Or perhaps it returned to her, confused with the memory of kindness and warmth, until that confusion seeped into her very bones.

"The Hero of Ages is concerned with the stability of the Realm and the welfare of the Faun," said Rurik. "If those who seek to tame him prove unworthy, she may take it upon herself to tame them."

The world had a way of progressing before she had decided. She might work up the energy to make Rurik into a tin soldier and these travelers into bat-winged vampiresses but by the time she'd built the willpower to do that the initial moment of potential had faded into the past and the action would be... inelegant. Elegant. Another concept that had scratched its way inside her head somehow. Somehow doing something beautifully had become almost as important as doing it at all. Maybe it hadn't been losing to Heron in those blood-soaked exhausting battles of endurance that had changed her, maybe it had been the concept-shaking tilt that had come with losing to someone who had done it while looking better than she ever had.

"Seneschal," she said quietly.

"Yes, Lady!" said Rurik. "Now, if you can swallow your rudeness for a moment, the Hero of Ages did not ask for your professions or political opinions. She asked for your stories. Provide them, or this meeting is at an end."

Kalentia!

There was a right and a wrong way to do this.

One of the paths involves patient discussion, the careful and mutual development of goals, the careful management of related symptoms leading into a gradual re-introduction to society. First contact theory, manapoisoning protocols, keeping the patient firmly inside her care until holistic health was guaranteed...

But Kalentia Pious had not gotten into the white mage business because she was into medicine.

One of the most controversial spells in the arsenal of light was the Mark. A Taunt effect was one which enraged a specific monster, making them prioritize you above all other targets - this was one commonly wielded by Civil Paladins amongst others. The Mark was an inversion of that; a glyph drawn on the body that made you the target for any ill fortune that might befall a region. Some in the Civil Clergy regarded it as tantamount to black magic, a dangerous curse to applied to the unwilling, sometimes even used as a punishment for crimes. Some regarded it as a more efficient Taunt, something to be used on oneself so that they might suffer what others would otherwise befall others. Others still regarded it as a corrupting influence - not redirecting danger but creating it outright, and every use played into the agenda of the Fallen Stars.

It is not considered a safe spell, then, to use on yourself to expedite your own kidnapping. But... you know... you can't just go around hoping to get kidnapped. Some girls spend their entire lives hoping that some monster will wing down from the sky and scoop them up and carry them away to their wicked lair, until they are rescued/joined by their True Love.

Kalentia had spent a lot of her life hoping.

But now she finally had someone hoping in the same direction.

[Call upon a toxic power: 11]

Their stories? A moment of panic flashes through Yuki’s mind, though the advantage of a playing the guard and trying to put on a role is that she keeps it off their face. She can’t lie though. What if the Legendary Hero had some kind of lie detection spell on her? Or, like, a lie detection magic item or something? She had a lot of very pretty jewelry and her attendants could have who knows what on them hidden in a pocket or something. She’d heard a lot about the Hero, so lying was right out.

“I want to be a knight” she says at last. “I don’t…know if that’s a good story or not, but I will fight for my friends and bring their dreams to reality. I can…tell you perhaps of what I’ve seen recently? The story of Eclair, the…um…the lavender-haired maid knight who skateboarded through Crevas only to be tricked into some kind of fireworks explosion and knocked out. Or the story of the myriad golden fawns running all about Aestival, though perhaps you’ve already heard those rumors? I could tell you a story of the Khatun and how she and…she alone perceived the whole of the contest of the golden fawn in its opening moments. But also of how mean she was, how she stabbed Princess Sulochana Arju with her Heartblade and then simply left her with no care. Or…I could tell you a more distant story, maybe? Have you heard the myth of Artemis and Atalanta and the Caledonian boar, maybe?”

She looks with hopeful eyes. Has she answered the question properly? She tries to hide her anxiety, though her tail flicks side to side. She hopes that she hasn’t upset the Hero in their first ever meeting.

I! What! You! Amali!!!

A bat gets stuck in the steaming kettle’s spout and lets out a panicked squeak. And it’s all poor Hazel can do to bury his blushing face in both hands as he is mercilessly assaulted by cunning grannies and catboys.

(Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

Cutie! Him! Cutie! Wow wow wow wow wow! He was hoping maybe Alcideo would, but then also Amali? Wow??? And then Alcideo! Picks it up and runs with it?!

He’s so nice? He’s so nice. Lookit how he properly deflects a compliment. Hazel couldn’t do better himself. Lookit how he says such nice things about Hazel’s chest. As if he could know what it looks like. But. Still. It’s nice. It’s really nice, for him to say that. And let him feel like it could be true.

…are horns actually considered cute here? Purnima did seem to like them. Hrm. Maybe? No, no, it’s a silly thought. How would he even ask? Maybe there’s a book on the subject? Shoot, how would he even find that? There’s probably not a dewey decimal system here, there’s definitely not a wiki here-)

Hold on, he’s being handed a note…

AMALI!!!

The dutiful office workers at the Chrysthanamum are in for a treat. It’s not often performances are done this side of the bathhouse. Watch in awe as a lanky deerboy taps an intricate dance across the smooth tiles; slipping, sliding, scrabbling, but never once falling over or falling behind. See how he cleverly balances his own weight against the pull of his assistants. See how his face is frozen in a tight mask of alarm. What showmanship! Why, if you didn’t know any better, you might think this poor boy was actually so gobsmacked he could hardly walk! But how could that be? How could he reach the inner sanctums of the Chrysthanamum and not realize what he was walking into? Surely, by now, somebody would have told him what he was here for.

Right, Amali?!

Dancing?! Drinks?! Impractical outfits?!?! You gotta! You oughta! Were you going to warn him about that? Ever?! Because that is a LOT different from relaxing in a nice spa for, for, for however long he needs to lie low! And that is a LOT to take in! I mean. Him?! Entertaining!? That’s! Augh!!!

I mean, okay, it is a good cover. Is it a good cover? It might be a good cover. If he stops and thinks about it, it might be a better cover than staying in a room indefinitely. That doesn’t usually happen…anywhere. You don’t check into a hotel for “until further notice.” That’s kind of suspicious. And he just assumed that was the plan, but he should’ve thought about it some more, because then he’d realize it was a stupid plan. Now that he sees at least one fake fawn running around, working here seems like a much better idea, right? Idiot. It’s a good cover.

But why didn’t she tell him? Because he didn’t ask, for one. He just made a dumb assumption. Not her fault. How long did it take him to ask what the Chrysthanamum even was? He should’ve asked earlier. He should’ve asked earlier. But. Still. It does feel like the sort of thing she should mention beforehand. Maybe. Did she think he couldn’t keep a secret? Because he can. He totally can. He thought, or, well, maybe, they haven’t known each other that long, really. Did she know he could keep a secret? He really should’ve asked her earlier.

So. Drinks, right? Serving up drinks, maybe in a dapper little vest? And a whole bar in between him and the world? That doesn’t sound so bad. Would’ve sounded better with some time to get used to the idea and you stop that right now mister, you’re not actually talking to Amali, you’re having an imaginary argument in your head and that’s not fair to anyone. Drinks. Or something. Maybe tidying up? Folding laundry? He could fold laundry. He was good at folding laundry. He was

g

good at

folding

“a-ah.”

The bat whimpers. In a voice so small the room gobbles up the sound in one bite.

There’s not catboys and grannies holding him anymore, as it turns out. Not quite sure when they stopped. He finds out when he takes a tiny step forward and nobody stops him. Not even himself.

What is he doing? Why is he moving? What? What? What??? He shouldn’t. This. Her. This isn’t. He. Him. Her. Good. Him?

Step. Step. Step by tiny step. She’s bigger with each step. Closer with each step. So far to go. So far. Hands flat by his side. Ears flopped. Shoulders tight. Hunched in. Small. He’s so small. Little scuff of a tail stands straight up. On alert. Twitching. He’s looking around the room. It’s all her. Everywhere he looks. It’s her. And he always. Looks back up.

To her eyes.

He stops. Paws from foot to foot. Does he stand here? There? Is this close enough?

“Is,” he swallows. “Is it okay to talk now?”

It’s the only sentence he can pluck out of the swirling mess in his head.

[Activating Friendly Benefits. Yaz takes a string on Cutie.]

Eclair Espoir!

Oh, darling. You’re in one of the premier houses of pleasure in all of Thellamie, you’ve got a full pass, and you’ve got girls tripping over themselves to try and win a tip and a smile.

You get to tell us how you relax when you have the time, the means, and ample assistance. And you get to tell us if your iron will is beguiled into forgetting, if only for a moment, the troubles that weigh upon your shoulders.

Yuki would likely have been suspicious (and even Hazel started to suspect) if this were the Golden Lotus. But that doesn’t mean anything to you, so forget I said anything. Go ahead. Take the time that was purchased for you.

---

Yuki!

The rich scent of wine fills the barrow as Pasenne pours. Sulochana offers a glass to Heron first of anyone, hoping that this will be appreciated. It fits her cover, too, to curry favor like this.

---

Hazel!

“Auntie was right,” she rumbles, pinning you to the floor with a glance. Try to focus, and you’ll notice glimpses through the smoke that suggest she’s a notably Avel Nagi, all fuzzy triangles and shaggy sideburns, and her voice has a similar lilt to the local accent. Is it a lilt when it’s already so low? “He’s desperate.”

She leans down on her desk, resting her elbows, almost bringing herself down to your level. Almost. “Here’s my first gift, Hazel Valentine Fletcher: you’re going to sit down and not talk.”

And you might think that sounds ominous and villainous, but let me assure you: those italics up there? That’s when her voice drips with the spiced honey of Crevas. A coil slips beneath your legs as the strength goes out of them, and you’re lifted to a nice seat right in front of the desk, in front of the sweet smoke, in front of those glittering eyes.

“Now. We could make you a guest, but you would stick out like a broken scale, and more than that— you’d fret, wouldn’t you? Auntie tells me that you are polite and helpful.” From across half of Thellamie, Amali says something in agreement. “And you wouldn’t know where to put your eyes, would you? Let alone your hands. We usually see boys like you being dragged in by friends, sitting so neatly with their hands in their laps, squirming and just waiting to go home away from the threat of Heron’s gift to us all. They’re tough nuts to crack, unless you know the right way to handle them.”

A nail lifts your chin. Another nail traces your cheek. “But put them in a pretty little outfit, give them a job to do, and all those worried little thoughts just melt away. And you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Hazel Valentine Fletcher? Little Hazy.” Her chuckle comes from somewhere deep down in those coils. No talking now. Don’t forget.

“You want to serve. And the Chrysanthemum accommodates those who want to serve as much as it accompanies those who want to be served. Until this whole mess is taken care of outside. You can hide in here, in plain sight, and I promise that you will be told what to do, and you will be praised for it.”

No need to turn around and see Alcideo blushing. Or Amali looking very satisfied, for that matter. No need to look away from Yaz and what’s she’s offering. It’s not exactly seeing all of Thellamie, but all of Thellamie will come to you, and you’ll be safe until I need you next. Just sink into those eyes in the smoke, those eyes so delighted at finding a natural.

“Now. I will let you talk. A little. When you are done, I will let you know. Does your heart want to work for us, Hazy? Would you like to help the men and women who come here to have a wonderful visit? Would you like to be looked at and wanted without being hunted?”

---

Kalentia!

The hammer blows reverberate through multiple levels of the Stacks. Boxes tumble down; careful dioramas collapse. Then there is silence.

A flower pokes up through the floor tiles some distance away and blooms unnaturally quickly. It is as silent as the roots that slither between the walls.

The Hero’s Shadow lifts themselves up onto their haunches. Their eyes are mirrors, but they seem darker now. “You are the most a Princess,” they say, amiably. “This is perilous.” That purr in their throat suggests that the peril is dangerously interesting. “Where do you think the Warrior is? That is perilous.”

Wait. Um. his legs. His mouth. He can’t. They’re not. Oh dear. He didn’t mean to. This wasn’t. He should’ve been more careful. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have. He can’t. He’s falling. He’s falling. He’s falling.

He’s caught.

He’s rising.

Slowly rising. Up to her. Into the haze. Where the room vanishes around them. His chest rises and falls and rises and falls and rises and falls and each frightened breath fills him to the brim with sweet, sweet smoke. Coils, rivers of liquid muscle, mold to his back and legs and neck and head. Holding him. Firm. Gentle. So gentle. She sways him, softly, and he doesn’t have to move to follow those gorgeous, glittering eyes. He doesn’t have to move. He’s sitting down.

He’s listening.

Her words are his thoughts. His thoughts are her words. How does she do that? How does she say everything while saying so little? He would sit so neatly. He would squirm until it was time to leave. He’s trying, so hard, to be polite and helpful, and it makes him so happy to hear that he’s doing okay at it. There’s not a single bit she’s gotten wrong. She understands. He doesn’t need to explain anything. He’s not talking.

He’s sighing.

His head weighs nothing. A little nudge at his chin, and up it goes. And there it flops. And there it lolls, useless, nuzzling into just one finger on his cheek. A job. A job to do. A job for him. A…a pretty little outfit? For him? Pretty? For him?!

He’s aching.

Yes. Yes. Yes. He wants to serve. Please. Won’t you let him? He’ll do such a good job. He’ll do his best. Just tell him what you want him to do. Tell him he’s doing a good job at it. Look at him like you’re so happy with him, just like that. His mouth’s falling open and, oh! Oh! But! You said not to talk! And! He’s not gonna! But! Nghhh! He’s still not gonna! You haven’t said so yet, so, he’s just. Gonna nod. A lot. Against your fingers. You’re right. You’re so right. Please. Please. Please.

Let him help. Let him help all of Thellamie. Let him help anyone and everyone who comes through these doors. He’ll do his best. He promises. Let him say yes. Yes. Yes.

”Abjdtpf.”

Oops. Um. Hold on. Give him a minute. Blinking. Hazy. Hazy. Wow.

”I. I. Ah…” Deep breaths, Hazy. Deeeeep, sweet breaths. “I. You’d…tell me what to do?” Promise? Promise you will? Every shift, every job? You already did, so, um, sorry, he just. Really, wanted to hear it again. Sorry. He’s being a little silly, yes, you did say that. That’s. Good. Yes, that you said that. Um. Let’s see. What did you ask, again?

He thinks. He gives it a good think. He has to give it a good think. Because.

”Yes. Yes, Yaz ma’am. I’d like that very much. Though. I’d be happy enough with just the first two.”

Because he doesn’t want her to take it personally when nobody looks at him. When nobody wants him.

It’s okay. You can let him fold laundry. Serve drinks. Give him all the jobs behind the scenes. No matter how much he might want things to be different. He knows. He knows how it is.

No sense in asking someone to make a promise they can’t keep.

Sayanastia!

She actually appreciated this part. More than she thought she would.

She's been on the other end of the Hero's blank stares plenty of times. Just that silent, unhelpful focus, like she was paying attention but contributing nothing - not a conversation as much as a spotlight demanding the other person monologue. She did not know what was in the Hero's head when she did it, but in Sayanastia's was the cruelty of a cat(1) waiting for the mouse to make the first move.

Rurik, for his part, managed a Seneschal's apologetic look and vague cycle-motion of his hand, indicating that it didn't matter so long as Yuki simply got on with it.



Kalentia!

"Oh, save it," said Kalentia firmly(2). "This is a medical kidnapping. You of all people should know the importance of providing opposition and challenge to the understimulated, and that's all this is - got it?"

Yuki squirms under that blank stare. She's doing her job, right, talking with the princess while Sulochana and Pasenne do the serving. A guard isn't supposed to serve, she's supposed to guard while other people do their thing. But that also means that she's the one getting the stare, and the total lack of feedback is hard for her composure. She feels sort of like being younger and getting called in to talk to the principal because she was being too disruptive in class. And y'know, like, it's the principal and you're supposed to just stand there and listen, so it's kind of the opposite of this where she's supposed to just stand here and talk about whatever she's supposed to talk about. But like, there's this inherent sameness to it, this feeling of authority where you're on the hook to perform properly and you're in big trouble if the person on the other side isn't happy with you, but you can't really get a read on them because they're doing their own thing and you just sort of have to guess and hope that you're following the right script.

At l-least, the hand gesture is helpful, from the seneschal (come to think of it, Yuki's mind wondered, what really was a seneschal anyway? Was it like a fancy butler? Probably close enough? Probably not the thing to be thinking about when she's supposed to be telling a story.)

"I um..." okay, okay, focus. They're on a mission here right. And, well, Suli was being a bit rough about it, but she'd want her claim favored, and Yuki had one really good story that might help on that front.

"um...well, how about the story of the Khatun then? She's famous, and maybe you even know her. I mean, um, of course you know her, she's an important leader! And everybody says she's one of the most special people in Thellamie. She's um, unique because she can travel the Outside without using the Roads. And everyone says she holds her entire people together with just her force of personality. I don't know how she united them, or how old she is or how long she's been a Khatun. You might know those things better than I would, s-so I don't need to waste your time on that. But, um I know how she was at the Festival of Light in Crevas. She was sharp. Uniquely sharp. I saw her when...when the crow landed on the Golden Faun. There was a moment where the Crown of Light settled on different factions, especially on Princess Sulochana Arju and on the um..." (crap crap, would Yuki know Oley's name??? A Kel knight probably wouldn't know the names of most of the Khatun's followers, but people had been cataloguing the hunters and word was going around of who had been known to be selected in Crevas already and Oley had been a really visible one)

"...the b-baygum Olesnya. And um, each of their factions started celebrating them without noticing the others, but the Khatun saw them both and immediately started figuring out that something was weird. She looked super smart and like she was paying more attention than anybody else! And then, then when the fighting started and everyone went to capture the Golden Faun, the Khatun leapt into action faster than anybody because I think that maybe she understood the contest faster than anybody. I, I didn't know that heartblades could morph like that either. She had a bow and arrow, but then when she closed with the princess, she somehow pulled a terrible dagger from within her bow, or part of her bow."

Yuki pauses, considers, asks a question. "Do you know, perhaps, if that can be learned? The skill of changing or splitting your heartblade like that, I mean? I should be quite interested to improve my own swordsmanship if trying the technique isn't a waste of my time." She tries to speak that formally like she thinks a knight would speak when discussing their professional skills. She holds herself straighter, squares her shoulders as she does it, and tries to imagine herself truly a knight. This was her craft, a craft she aspired to master, and surely the Hero or one of her servants would have such knowledge of the world. But...of course, it was on her to finish her story first and ensure that the Hero was pleased with her, not interrupt to demand a training lesson. Probably at least.

"At any rate, what happened next was that the Princess of Crevas was surprised, and um...in that moment of surprise, she was stabbed through the heart without any guards to defend her. Because, well, who would have thought she'd need a defense when seated at the highest point of a festival held in her own city, right? And then the Khatun left. Moving on with her pack, I guess. And...neither she nor any of her attendants stopped to tend to the Princess Arju. Which, though I don't know all the customs of Thellamie, seems strange to me. I thought you were supposed to take prisoners, or take care of the defeated. I suppose this wasn't a duel, but it was an attack in the middle of a festival and shouldn't the Khatun have shown basic courtesy at least? It makes me worried if her pack tames the Golden Faun. I don't think they would take care of the rest of Thellamie, no matter how much it's needed."

The air is full of small noises, but none of them are speech. The groan is everywhere. Even stone moans like a maiden when it is gripped tightly, possessively enough.

Stones tumble forward. Branches, leaves, flowers, skulls turn towards the commotion. Through it steps a mass of wild, tangled hair holding a massive long-handled hammer, kept in pristine condition for her hands again.

She strides confidently through the vine-choked streets, bare feet sure on the root-buckled tiles. She does not turn her head to the left or to the right, not even as jaws clatter like the trilling of birds. White fingerbones scrape against bark; everywhere there is an unclean light.

She is awaited at Chivalgard. Even though the roof is now a tangled nest of branches, she walks half in now and half in then.

Her Queen is even waiting for her on the throne. There is a mass of flowers at her breastbone like a bouquet pinned to her tabard. Her hair hangs lank like moss. Her eyes burn.

The Architect-Knight sinks to one knee, hammer held half an inch over the root-broken floor. Behind the Queen another woman takes one step forward, her hair all thick fragrant curls, her skin of ebony, her ears blooming on her head. The silk of her dress hangs in folds that do not hide her shaped curves.

“We thank you for your assistance,” Walking Elm says, her breath perfumed with honey and flowers that do not die. “We are so looking forward to working alongside you. We will remember and reward you when we are in our queendom, forever and forever, forest without end. And may it be so, and let it be so.”

“You heard the lady. Arise, my loyal Architect.” The pitcher-lungs contract, forcing air out between Queen Aria’s teeth. Her claws, still as hard as diamonds, scratch on the armrests of the throne. “We’ve got a fucking door to build.”

“Language,” Walking Elm says, as mild as parsley, and boops Aria Thendragon on the nose.

---

Poor Befuddled Bemused Bamboozled Hazel!

The good news is that your clothes were put in a chest which you got to make your own tumbler code for, along with your tablet and all the other important things you have.

The exciting news is that you have booty shorts with golden sequins.

Cafe la Faune is staffed primarily by pretty boys, and girls who are enjoying presenting themselves as pretty boys, and all of them with fake golden antlers on their heads. It’s a pop-up cafe, which means it is wildly in demand, and you are hustling to keep up.

Take trays to tables. Arrange the plates just so. Light the dessert that is meant to be lit on fire on fire. Pose for photographs (and guests keep tucking money for this into your clothes??). You’ve seen Ouran, probably. You know what the deal is.

Anyway, you’re on break, which means you can take a seat in the actually quite nice employee lounge just off the kitchen, and—

“Hey, you’re doing great out there,” Alcideo says with a grin. He reaches to you and gives you headpats, just like Yaz promised he would, and it feels magical, just like Yaz told you it would. (He’s timing his breaks with yours, which is, I promise, already employee gossip.) “This can’t be your first time doing this, right?”

---

Yuki!

Scroll up. Go right ahead. Reread that bit where I told Eclair all about the Chrysanthemum, and then reread Hazel’s just for kicks.

You’re enjoying the spa. Steam rises from the stones, and Sulochana shivers in delight as she drapes her tail across your lap.

“And you’re sure you haven’t heard anything more from him?” She stretches like a cat. She really, truly does intend to help you find Hazel, but you’re staying at the Chrysanthemum, and you’ve just got to stay in character, and she needs this. This moment where she is at peace, and full of enjoyment, and here with you.

Pasenne is pressed up on the other side, her serpentine hip rubbing against you, as she ladles out another cup of water onto the stones. She’s more confident than she’s been the whole trip, eyes closed, tail swaying circle eights as she, too, basks in the warmth.

On the other side of the private spa, Timatheo is lounging like butter, a towel heroically clinging to his narrow hips. Magasha does not have any sort of towel, and is slowly sinking deeper into the Nagi couch provided. But Anka Arju-Wajz is standing outside at the door, keeping watch for… well, ostensibly assassins, but also for the off chance that someone might have word of the Golden Faun here.

Suli doesn’t want you to get up, but she could stay here innocently for hours. And you’d clear a Need if you linger and enjoy yourself when you should be out searching for Hazel…

---

Handmaiden Team Vespergift!

The problem (which is going to take you enough time to catch up with everybody else’s timeline, so on and so forth) is that Vesper Victoria’s is stuffed full of side quests.

The cathedral’s archives on maid-knights and how to handle them are woefully mishandled in categorization. The wards against misfortune are undercharged because someone rerouted all the mystic squares to kill any trace of a plant in the building. The Paladins are having a bodybuilding contest that they refuse to postpone. And on top of all of that, you’re getting weird fragmented messages from Cair. Some sort of code? Interference in the Stacks? It is a mystery.

---

Cair!

The doorway’s fortified with vines now, even if you could get to it, and the undead are seemingly endless.

It’s a pretty simple magic, just a devastatingly effective one. The light of a Fallen Star is suffused into the walking dead, supported by a living plant network which provides them with strength and compensates for missing body parts. And an entire dead city’s worth of them is pouring into the Stacks.

This super definitely isn’t your fault though, probably.

---

Kalentia!

Nothing says “medical kidnapping” like being pulled into the Outside. The real Outside. The Outside that is cobbling together your memories of home with the Lunarian’s own: white paper walls, red lanterns, curtains carefully frozen in a windy sigh, murmurs from behind closed doors.

At least you’ll be able to cobble together a temporary suit of armor for her if the Mirrorfolk do not get you. Maybe they won’t drag you into the deep dreaming of dragons like Tsane once told you they would. Maybe they’ll just tie you up and mildly distress you if you impress memories of your past deeply enough upon them. And, hey, the Hero’s Shadow is still here somewhere; they totally wouldn’t let anything too terrible happen to you as you stumble through a nightmare maze of nostalgia. Probably.

---

Eclair!

“Maid-knights. Bah.”

Your gaze swings off the blushing, stammering brunette in the corner of the sauna (match retreat of interviewee scoot for scoot) to the young woman switching out the Morning Tea cart for the Elevensies cart.

She’s got glossy black hair, all tied up with a floppy bow. She’s wearing a deliberately maid-like outfit herself, though the skirts back home aren’t nearly so bouncy. And she’s familiar: short for her age, resting witch face, almost good enough to blend into the background with a quiet sardonic murmur.

Ignore the girl who’s twirling her hair around her finger and displacing water every time she takes a breath, squirming with the force of what was, previously, your attention. You’ve just recognized Mayzie Sighs: orphan, flower fetishist, former friend before you set out into the Outside. And you can see the wheels turning right underneath her triangles, too.

The trick isn’t figuring out if she knows things. She’d have solved the investigation by now if she was on the case. The trick is getting her to reveal whether she’s secretly in league with Timtam in order to destroy your life because when she said it was okay that you ate her lemon bun that one time it really meant that she wasn’t okay and she’s been planning her elaborate revenge this entire time, or whether she’s just sour over you leaving.

You know. Low stakes.

Cair!

Yeah, but, like... Heron will solve it, right?

She'll come in through a portal, be surprised for about a nanosecond, and then she'd come to the realization that she was in a target rich environment. Better than that, she had all of her options on hand - she'd be able to switch between weapons and styles freely, changing dresses from encounter to encounter, freed from the chains of having to make decisions. Heron would be everything at once, all of herselves at once, and the living dead would remember how to weep at the beauty of it.

So what was there for her to do, really...?

It was honestly something she struggled with. Heron had not asked her for anything. She wasn't oathbound to safeguard the Stacks against all intruders, she hadn't been given a mystic geas or a duty or a realm of responsibility. It felt more like Heron was letting her crash at her place, and she sometimes asked for favours in passing. And even though she'd been there for hundreds of years and made several attempts on Heron's life in the process, there didn't seem to be anything she could do to pay the Hero of Ages back. What do you get for the woman who doesn't need anyone? Kalentia had her angst at being overlooked, but Cair had been failing to find a role for herself for longer than she'd been alive.

So for now, Cair just stayed in her little crow's nest atop the Archive of Rare Currencies and watched. Maybe if she could figure out what the dead were after she might think of something to do about it that Heron would actually appreciate. No need to get involved early though.

Kalentia!

Aw shit she hates it here.

The first reason Kalentia hates the Outside is because it instantly puts her in a wedding dress. The sense of spiritual-morphic self of her that is drawn out instantly snaps into a massive bridal train and veil and white doves and not only does that make her feel neglected and pathetic but it's like maneuvering a bathtub. Yes good, let everyone see her childhood dream of being a pretty little bride, let everyone notice that there is not, in fact, a second bride anywhere to be seen, no doubt she'll earn one when she trips over her ten meter silken backwash.

She knows better than to fight the veil at this point. If she pulls it back more layers will come - the only one who'll be able to part it is her conspicuously missing betrothed. So just to be sure she waves her bouquet in front of her with each step, swinging it back and forth like a blind woman's walking stick, making sure she doesn't slam her shins into anything she can't see. All around her, the sounds and smells of the past were starting to seep in, so she trundles forwards as fast as her hoopskirt will allow.

"Milady."

There are no stories of the past worth considering in this moment. There is no novel assessment to be made about the situation. There would be little point and zero value to either. Even the basic assessment of the likelihood that Mayzie had already been weaponized against her, or whether she'd recognized Eclair with the same speed as vice versa (not a ridiculous question: Eclair was a sunny blonde in her youth. still, irrelevant).

Opportunity. This is the first real opportunity to gain substantial knowledge since she'd come to Vespergift. And it would walk away from her in the next thirty-five seconds if she let it. That demands a straightforward approach. Call it earnestness to be generous. Call it desperation to be not.

She lifts out of the water. Sparkling droplets caress her bare body like a robe, dripping off of her even as new ones run down from her hair and a dozen little alcoves in her curves. She bows, to the delighted squeal of an attendant now boiling the pool with her own flustered bemusement. She pays all of it no mind.

"Have I offered you offense? Then I must make amends."

Her tail swats at the surface of the pool, spraying water in an arc that splashes down like rainfall. As it catches the light streaming in from the stained glass windows above, the droplets briefly flash in color: a dusty rose and a sigh of forget-me-not. For one instant, Eclair sparkles. Someone sighs, and touches a hand to her cheek.

"Come and share a meal with me, if you please. My treat." she steps forward and reaches out her hand, though stops short of arresting the cart, "Before you say no, consider this: it comes with a free opportunity to prove you are smarter than me. To my face. Has it been so long you can't see the appeal?"

It's not that Yuki intended to spend the whole day relaxing. She knew they needed to search for Hazel and it was her duty as a knight to lead that search (well, it's Timatheo's duty to lead it from a planning perspective, but it was Yuki's duty to actually get out there.). No, it's just, well, sometimes time has a way of tricking you, especially when you spend it in the company of friends.

If Yuki had been alone, she'd have had a light breakfast, cleaned herself off properly and then taken a refreshing soak in the hot springs, and then she would have gone to her rooms, gotten dressed, and headed out to search the town, asking around for rumors about the Golden Faun and following whatever leads Timatheo had cooked up from his contacts. She'd have felt strong and refreshed, and the day would have gone great, with lots of energy for the search!

In Yuki's head, that was how things were going. But it was just, well, breakfast hadn't been that quick at all. Suli had insisted on the fluffy stack of huge pancakes slathered with syrup, eaten at one of the restaurants high up the branches that gave a full view of the entryway. She'd said it was so they could get the lay of the land and look at the guests for information, and Yuki supposed Timatheo had done a bit of that. But after that huge meal, everyone was so full that they had to take it slow and savor their tea until they'd digested enough to get moving. Anka had been the only one who insisted on a black coffee, and had given Yuki a mild look of reproach for partaking in the super sweet pancakes, but she had a sweet tooth and they were yummy and she had to at least try a bite, right?!

And then, well, their suite included access to a private spa down below the roots, right near the base of the great tree. The ceiling was woven into the roots so that above their heads they could see bits of the tree itself. Paper talismans hung from them, blessing the spa room. And so Suli and Pasenne had gone in to enjoy and insisted that Yuki come, and there was something special to cuddling with a group of Nagi. The weight of those coils pressing just hard enough into Yuki's toned core muscles as they relaxed in the heat. That made it far too difficult to even suggest moving, and in her head Yuki was thinking I wish I could cast Time Stop right now. And in a way she could because nobody else was moving either and they could enjoy the moment as long as they wanted! It's just that, y'know, time didn't actually stop.

And, well, after that long in the hot sauna, everyone was kind of wiped out and they needed to hydrate properly. Yuki hung up a prayer strip for luck as well, it seemed appropriate and in her mind she was sure she was about to depart for a morning of searching at last. Except that her stomach growled at the same time as Magasha's and would you believe that it was already lunch time and they'd used a lot of energy just existing in the spa! And, well, Pasenne had been looking at that pet cafe with such longing on the way down, so they really had to get lunch there, it made her squeal with delight when they went in!

And at lunch, well, Yuki and Suli got to sit together and pet all the different animals. They had cats and rabbits, and some goblins that Yuki didn't quite recognize but looked sort of like an indeterminate cross between a mouse and a cat and had the most velvety soft white fur you'd ever felt. And that was just super nice.

So, by the time that the crew had eaten two meals, enjoyed the spa, refreshed themselves, and dressed to exit the Chrysanthemum, the sun was already on its way down the horizon and the shadows were getting a little long. They could still search, of course! It was just going to turn into a night market sort of search. And it's not like anything major had happened that day, right?

[Writing off Suli's need]

Oh blessed break room couch. Hazel lets himself flop onto its plush cushions with a muted pomf! He breathes out the rush and the excitement, and in its place fatigue steals over him.

The last few hours are a blur. A sparkly, dizzying blur of lights, faces, food, and laughter.

Who knew waiting tables could be so much fun? For that matter, who knew a cafe could be so shiny? He would’ve thought they’d go for a forest theme but, well. Vespergift. And really, Thellamie sees deer more as an Outside thing rather than a forest thing, you know? So instead, everything is gold and shining. Fixtures of brilliant Crevas glass hang from the ceiling, casting everyone in dreamy faux-starlight. Gold trim on the tables, gold trim on the menus, everything shines beautifully without crossing the line into excess. Where there is not gold, there are antlers, twisting, branching, adorned with ribbons and bells. The Hunt can’t be more than a few weeks old, but somehow the walls are covered with art of deerboys; leaping, prancing, free and wild.

It is a magical place. And the staff complete the spell. Not just the hosts! In the corner, a duet of musicians strum a lovely ambiance. Sometimes a lively hunting song, other times a soft midnight dream. In the kitchen, chefs cook up a storm, turning out an endless stream of fancy, tasty-looking dishes. All Golden Faun-themed, of course. Every now and then, they sneak tasty little morsels to the hosts. For testing, you see. They need some brave soul to make sure this is good enough for their guests, won’t you help them out? And of course, they are only too happy to help. What are hosts for?

The hosts. Gosh. They’re all so talented? And so much fun to work with? Alcideo had hardly finished introducing him, and already they’d happily welcomed him to the front lines of Cafe la Faune. Good luck out there! Let’s give them a meal to remember! Watch out for that table, it always wobbles a bit more than the rest. Then to see them work, just. Wow. They were so fancy and polished and skillful and smooth and they gave their all to their performances, each and every table, each and every guest. Everyone was having such a great time with it, he couldn’t not join in on the fun.

And that’s the secret, right? If the hosts are obviously having a great time, then the guests feel invited to have a great time with them too. They feel welcomed into this magical place, where they can be waited on hand and foot by otherworldly fauns, prized and special and lovely. For a meal, everything can be a little silly and special. When he kindly asked his guests to save the hunting until after the meal, every single time they laughed, or solemnly swore to put down their blades and bows, or joked along with him. (And one wolfish guest asked if she could have the hunting as the meal, which. Ha ha h a was not. Was not ready for that one. Thank goodness for his antler-adorned notepad and the good sense to hide behind it.) Sure, it’s hard work, but for a place like this, it’s so, so worth it.

What an adventure.

He’s lucky, you know? To be working in a place like this. He still can’t really figure out how it happened, much less how it’s still happening. Every new table feels like it’s going to be the table where things go wrong. Surely this group is going to be the one that requests one of the other hosts. Which, okay, that would be a wild thing to say, but it wouldn’t be the wildest thing he’s heard waiting a table before. Still, maybe this’ll be the table that’s just a little disappointed they got him instead of anyone else. But, well, people seem like they’re having a good time? He’s giving them the best service he can. He greets every table warmly with his best smile. He performs the magical spell of deliciousness with all due seriousness, pouring all his heart into the hand motions. He hasn’t dropped a single dish, and carefully delivers each one to its delighted guest.

Come to think of it, if they’re here to be waited on by a Golden Faun, then, technically, he’s giving them the authentic experience!

…not that they’d have any way to know that. Right.

Still, no matter how confusing it may be, people smile to see him approach their table. People ask him for pictures. People call him. People. Um. People.

(Cutie.

Cutie.

Cutie.

He can see Alcideo writing it out on a nametag. Dotting the i with a heart. Hazel held so, so still when he told him do. While he pinned it to his shirt. Clasp clicking like a lock.

His hand reaches up on its own accord to run a finger across the edge of it. To feel the slight weight, the gentle nudging against his chest. Cutie. Cutie. Him. Cutie…)

H-he should review his lines. Just to be safe. He’s been falling back on “Welcome to Cafe La Faune, hunters and dreamers! Let me and the stars show you to your destiny!” a lot. If he keeps it up, it might start to sound too rehearsed. They might think he wasn’t actually happy to serve them. He’s been keeping his ears open, plucking out lines and words from the other hosts that sounded particularly good. Yes, he’s probably not going to greet a table by bowing, clasping a girl’s hand in his, and thanking such a catch for braving the hunt??!!? (Even the chefs could hear the squeals from that one.) But he’d picked up a few good pointers. For instance, he could-

Hazel’s brain turns to soup.

Ohhhhhh gosh. Oh gosh. It’s just like, like, when someone wakes you up via scritchies in your hair, and you’re gently rising from the depths of sleep, floating on the edge of waking up, and the only thing you know is scritchie scritchie scritchie aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

(Nobody’s here? Nobody’s here. Just Alcideo. Then. He’s safe to…)

“Mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” he says, long and slow and so, so contented. He simultaneously melts into the couch while stretching his neck up for all he’s worth, pushing his curly hair into those wonderful, scritchieful claws of his. Yes, oh yes, that’s the spot. No, wait, hold on, that’s the spot. Forget everything, those Hazels can’t be trusted, that’s the spot.

(It’s just waiting tables. Anybody could do that.)

He’s doing great. Alcideo can’t believe how great he’s doing. He said so. He’s beaming. Yes! Yes! Yes! He wasn’t sure about half of it and he could’ve sworn he was flailing but, but! Good! Great! Him! He did a good job! He’s such a big help! He’s helping! Eeeeeeeeee!

“Aww, thank youuuu.” Hazel beams in his general direction. It’s hard to tell exactly, his eyes have almost fluttered shut. “I did help out for a summer or three at a local diner back home, so I do have a little experience here and there. We didn’t set so many things on fire though. Not nearly as good magical spells. Uniforms only slightly less sparkly.” You know, professional business talk, between professionals. (Hee!) “Oh! And I did spend half my childhood on skates. Got a pretty good sense of balance and all that. Good for keeping my footing.”

(He was Aware of every table assigned to him. He saw each of them, every pass through the restaurant. He tracked how long it had been since he’d visited them, and how long he’d spent there. He remembered who had ordered what. He remembered who he had spoken directly to, and roughly for how long. No one was getting neglected. No one was going to have to wait for him. Everyone was going to have as good a time as he could give them.

He doesn’t realize why his mind so eagerly melts under Alcideo’s careful touch.)

“Gonna keep trying my best.” He tries to nod. He really does. (Alcideo liked it when his ears flopped around like a sillyhead.) “I. Uh. Still don’t really understand the Pants Money thing. I mean, folks seem to like it? So, I just say ‘thank you so much’ and I think that’s been good enough?”

(His hands find his shorts. His fingers curl around the cuffs, idly tugging. As if that could somehow make them cover up more of his long legs. Ugh, his thighs squish out so terribly when he sits down. Muscle? Fat? A little of both? Whatever, they shouldn’t look like that. He could forget when he was rushing from table to table but now that he’s sitting here. Now that the show’s out there and it’s just him here, he remembers…

He’s no acrobat. He’s no model. He’s no pretty girl presenting as a pretty boy.

Should he really be showing this much of himself?)

[Activating Friendly Benefits on Alcideo.]