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 [i]then[/i]. 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 [i]lady.[/i] 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 [i]fucking door[/i] to build.” “Language,” Walking Elm says, as mild as parsley, and boops Aria Thendragon on the nose. [hr] [b]Poor Befuddled Bemused Bamboozled Hazel![/b] 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. [i]Cafe la Faune[/i] 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 [i]hustling[/i] 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 [i]Ouran,[/i] 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 [i]magical,[/i] just like Yaz told you it would. (He’s timing his breaks with yours, which is, I promise, already employee gossip.) “This [i]can’t[/i] be your first time doing this, right?” [hr] [b]Yuki![/b] 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 [i]needs[/i] this. This moment where she is at peace, and full of enjoyment, and here with [i]you.[/i] 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… [hr] [b]Handmaiden Team Vespergift![/b] 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 [i]side quests.[/i] 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. [hr] [b]Cair![/b] 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. [hr] [b]Kalentia![/b] 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 [i]get[/i] 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. [hr] [b]Eclair![/b] “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 [i]wasn’t[/i] 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.