Hazel!

You shine with the light of civilization, of binding, of laws and strictures, of all the reality that the world can bear. A terrible and wonderful magic flows through you, invests your words with meaning, and makes them truth. It would take terrible magic indeed to break the spell that you weave.

But it just takes a hand reaching over your shoulder and a palm placed on your token to yes, and your spell.

"And while all of that is happening he's going to stay with the last person who won him until the Ball starts," the awful brat adds with a sadistic glee. You are suddenly aware that she's got you. "Because I won." The token thrums with an acknowledgement of this self-evident truth; she's the last Hunter standing, even if she doesn't know what's going on. A boy in the hand is worth... well, you know how that goes.

She twists one hand and a shining leash appears between her fingers, and you get precisely no prizes for guessing where the other end is, Hazel. (Cutie. One more for old times' sake.) She flashes her braces at the assembly and tugs possessively, and both of those actions are largely pointed towards the tall, gangly Serigalamu staggering to her feet.

You know. The one who jumped on a dragon's face to buy you time. That woman. Her cheek's cut, her eyes are tired, and she's lost her jacket which means her shoulders (big, wow) are on full display. And she looks, wow, rather similar to the brat who's claimed you, just older and gothier and big where your captor's a wiry little gremlin.

Then you're all interrupted by a creaking and a cracking, and Walking Elm's limbs bending in odd directions as she lurches to her feet. The way that she snaps them back into an approximation of the proper positions will, I am sure, stay with you forever, especially when you're trying to get to sleep in the dark.

"Oh, a ball," she says, honey dripping from her voice. "Aria, we do love balls, don't we? You had such lovely ones back then, with all your knights and your trophies and your fair damosels!" She claps her hands together, the once, causing another puff of golden spores. Behind her, staggering out from the smashed wall, is the much smaller regular-sized Aria, her eyes still aglow with hate. "Aria, sweet, do go get your builder-knight. She's sure to be useful."

---

Handmaidens!

"After all our long acquaintance, this is how Heron does me? Intolerable," says the Nagi woman curling in a currently-friendly manner around Tsane. Her eyes are wicked, her hair is a mess, and she is still gesturing with a smoking pipe. Her fur-lined blouse is stained with sweat and the strange rain of this night. Did I say that she says that? She declares it. "I do my part in protecting the Golden Fawn from ruffians and ne'er-do-wells, and this is how I am repaid? No, this is not acceptable, not in the least."

She flourishes, from one of her purses, a golden coin. It's rare that these are handed out; that she has one implies that she's done the Civil church some great service, or perhaps that she's done some favor for someone who had and was also drunk, high or very compromised. There, on its face, is the Heronmark, stark in its simplicity. This she hands to Cair.

"I am not entrusting this to anyone but Heron herself, and I am insisting that this be one of her official duties. Repair her holy place, this spring which she gave to Vespergift. Clean up after yourselves, Miss Dragon, and ensure that the Fawn does not spend months being bandied about Khaganate campsites!"

The energy of the argument, I am sure, does not dissipate - but there is a reason for at least some of you to linger and try to fulfill Heron's obligations, or at the very least weasel your way out of having to explain why Heron can't show up and clean all this up with her wonderful toys, most of which are stuck in the Rootwalker-infested Stacks.

Outside, a rushing torrent flecked with suds of soap rushes through the streets.

---

Yuki!

"Oh, we can't let Negodincia, of all people...!"

Juniper does a little foot stomp. It is objectively adorable. The Khanum sticks out her tongue at that, suggesting that she is the Negodincia in question. Khanum Negodincia, one might say, if one was to use her full title; the little princess of the plains.

Olesnya turns and takes one of your hands in her own: broad, warm, firm. She draws it up towards her chest, and she gives you a very intent look. "Miss Edogawa," she says, her voice low and quiet, "put your faith in me. I will not let my sister torment your boyfriend, and I will bring him to the ball."

Juniper's eyes nearly start sparkling. It would mean a lot to her for you to accept this offer, but... well, she didn't really impress you back in Crevas, did she? And she was marked by the crown back in Crevas. That's an awful lot of trusting she's asking from you here, and you're certainly under no obligation to accept it.

Especially right next to Sulochana, who looks indignant and is making a sputtering noise about it.

---

Eclair!

The waterways of Vespergift are a wonder of the world, really. Sure, the Chrysanthemum is squatting on the best hot spring, but here, water moves up and it moves warm, and it cascades down from gargoyles into the sewers, through water purification vats made by skilled artisans, and then back up under the power of the steam of the earth. Now, this system is carefully monitored by the Dame of the Gargoyles, a Civil title with deep integration with the civic infrastructure.

We shall take it as given that, the circumstances being what they are and your single-mindedness being what it is, that you have no compunctions at all about waltzing straight into Vesper Victoria's, which should be bustling with life if the Civils who staff it weren't busy assisting with evacuation (as their oaths demand of them). We shall further take it as given that you know how to open a locked drawer.

The part that I want to know is how you got the soap into the water system in the first place, and how you had so much to hand. That's the part I don't know! Do tell me, Eclair darling, as you remove the safeties and set the gargoyles to running riotous with water all over the city.

Yuki sighs. Then sighs again. Then paces in a circle around the gathered hunters who are all sorted out on solid ground at the base of Vespergift facing the now empty courtyard full of rubble. Then she sighs again for good measure.

"Oh my god you have got to be kidding me?! Do you people not do magical item attunement or something? Why did the handmade golem charge such a huge loan if anybody could mess with the thing once Hazel touched it?!"

She stares at Suli, at Oley and Juni. "Okay...first thing. Juni, you will also swear that you're going to help Olesnya to the best of your ability. I know you're like oathbound to work for her anyway, but I want you to swear it to me that you're going to help get Hazel to the ball, in one piece, and more or less untormented. I mean, I'm not asking the impossible here, a little torment isn't the end of the world." She says it with resignation, but she finally has a grin that's just for Juni on that one. Blink and you missed it. Oh and she's given up on dropping the nya in Oley's name, hopefully everyone thinks it's cute.

"And both of you..." she stares at Oley, then back to Suli, then Oley again with a glance to Juni for good measure. "...both of you please, by all you hold sacred, stop asking me to switch off between you, for god sake. As far as I can tell here, one of the two of you is by far the best choice for winning this contest. Better than crazy evil tree girl by a lot. A LOT. And I don't even know who else got marked, but I'm sure there are a ton, probably some of them foxgirls who are going to eat up that million mark loan for breakfast. So, truce. Big truce, we are team Crevas plus Khanate Truce, okay? Plus Aadya whenever she digs herself out of the pile of rubble that fell on her, but I'll yell at her later if she's a problem."

Yuki glares again, every which way. "We're family, we're going to win this thing, and then we can sort out the whole last woman standing part of it if that's even how this ritual actually works. If you want Yuki's help, that's the deal. Got it?"

She puffs out her chest, wincing through all the bruises, and her Kel armor, unharmed despite all her battering, gleams in the evening sun.

What does it matter how there came to be soap in the water? Obvious on the face of things there would need to be. Fire does not burn anything completely. Perhaps one day long ago it did as part of some long defeated scheme of the Dark Dragon but today a fire merely burns out the combustible portions of various materials and leaves behind waste product. Ash, soot, mineral deposits, these manner of things. In short, impurities. The smell of smoke would be everywhere and the blackened deposits would cover and cling and obscure all manner of architecture and debris that might otherwise be sorted, repaired or else identified as salvageable. To say nothing of how much more instantly re-habitable Vespergift will become if it is washed instead of merely doused.

Create whatever extenuating circumstances you will. Lock a door, throw away the key, seal the cracks and pour mercury in the keyhole. Create a perfect Locked Room Mystery if you must, a Maid-Knight of the Aurora will find a way to clean properly regardless of circumstances. Say that the water was 'compelled by Eclair Espoir's argument', if that satisfies you. Say that she stole supplies from four dozen homes and seven different businesses. Say the magic of her Say that she killed a man and rendered his fat down to lye. Consider yourself as clever or as foolish as you like, as undeniably correct or as impossibly stymied as satisfies your heart. For all that it matters.

Eclair Espoir has stored away her skateboard. This is because it is not enough to simply unleash the waterways: they must be guided where they are needed. Force must be applied in the problem spots and avoided where it would cause collapse. Fortunately where fire is temperamental and beyond her skill to tame, water is an incredible conduit for her Heartblade and its magics. Water loves to dance and it loves to flow where it is guided, and so it is that Eclair can be seen at the crest of the wave washing over the city standing goofy foot on her polearm, holding a mop in each hand.

One one street she cuts the wave in half to avoid flooding a kitchen. In another she climbs the wall with her great surge to hold the shop inventory where it lies. Here and there she twirls, leaps, and demonstrates her mastery over two-sword style in the name of scrubbing the streets and walls of the city until they sparkle. She is as methodical as she is fast, though this is rather too much concentration on saving everything she can for the sake of those who will return that she has hardly any attention leftover for those who have remained. The consequence of directing water away from something is that it will spray one someone, and probably a fair few someones at that. Certainly many among the Civil ranks will find themselves sputtering and briefly losing themselves to invectives thrown in the direction of a maiden moving too fast to catch.

Through it all, she fights a yawn. Through it all she fights fatigue that threatens to sink so deep into her muscles that it infects her very bones. When she comes to a halt at last Eclair does not dismiss her Heartblade so much as it sputters out and vanishes. She does not land gracefully on her feet amidst the gently dispersing water (now that someone has realized what is happening and turned off the taps): she collapses onto her knees and is immediately knocked onto her side by a random gush of water, which sends her rolling on her side through a marketplace until she smashes her back against a stall heavy enough to arrest her.

She does at least push herself to a seated position. Here in her one time home she closes the book on her story with some semblance of her dignity intact. But nevertheless, Eclair Espoir sits in a puddle with her legs tucked under her and her body dripping from head to toe as though she'd just jumped into (and out of) the shower with all her clothes still on. And she closes her eyes while she waits for the world to stop spinning.

Her head squeezes underneath her ears with the pounding force that only nine consecutive cups of sake can muster. Quizzically, her stomach growls with hunger. It is here, under these dual assaults that Eclair Espoir finally relents. 'Pace yourself', her commanders so often told her. 'That is unnecessary', she would chirp in reply.

She can hear their disappointed tsking ringing in her head. It hurts. She wishes they would stop.

Giving the task of repairing damage to Sayanastia, the Dark Dragon, the Scream of Destruction, was soon revealed as one of the silliest ideas to go through the head of a sillyhead.

Not at first, though. Sayanastia seemed to be taking a perverse pleasure in her clean-up duties. When had she ever been asked to fix anything before? The shadows that clung to her damaged scales took on the aspect of frills and ruffs, and she began diligently clearing rubble and redirecting waterflow with what seemed like full maidlike obedience. It is unclear if she intended to channel it all directly into the ventilation system, if it was ill fortune, inexperience, or if it is simply the nature of the Dark Dragon to destroy what she touches. Immediately upon becoming aware of the issue Rurik drives her hissing away by firing Light Arrows at her.

This leaves Kalentia, Cair and Tsane standing indoors, water pouring from the air ducts, holding mops with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"Okay, girls!" said Kalentia. "You know what my parents always did whenever they had a fight? They worked on something hard together! It helps remind us that we can rely on each other!"
"I did not sign up to mop floors, and especially not ceilings," said Tsane. "Being a handmaiden - the most physically demanding job implicit in that is painting the Princess' nails, not fixing plumbing issues like some kind of maid."
"Didn't you get skateboard kicked by a maid a few days ago?" said Cair without thinking.
"I have," said Tsane, who was extremely not mad, "developed a spell to ensure that sort of thing never happens again. If you would like I can demonstrate on you."
"H-hey, hey, girls, remember this is a team building exercise. Injimo's working really hard to stop the flooding so we need to work hard too, okay?"
"Why are we trying to build a team, again?" said Tsane. "We're here to pay off one of Heron's debts. We're not a team, we're the subcontractors who keep her credit in the black."
"A healthy credit score is important -" started Cair.
"Yeah, Cair, I know," said Tsane. "But let's not be naive about it. This is an important part of making sure the Hero of Ages comes into the world with allies and nobody tries to both-sides her and the Dark Dragon. We're doing our part for the unity of the land and the future of Thellamie. It's important work. But we aren't important for doing it. This is community service, plain and simple, and there's no reason to pretend we're anything cooler than that."
"Oh," said Kalentia, who had been operating under the impression that being a Handmaiden was very cool, actually.
"Anyway I'm going to see if I can figure out a spell to fix this at scale," said Tsane, turning her back. "Good luck with the mops or whatever."
Kalentia watched her go hopelessly.

Hazel takes a minute to catch his breath. In the huntress’ arms.

(You won. Because you won. You. You. All this. And the Nagi. You were worried about winning?! You just. For winning. For winning?!)

Hazel takes another minute to wiggle out of the huntress’ arms. She’s short. The geometry is complicated.

(The stupid. The charm. Why?! Why would it work like that?! It wasn’t! It didn’t tell me! How was I supposed to know? It shouldn’t have. It’s not! It’s not fair! It’s not fair! I should be able to cancel that out, and, wait, could I, it’s still mine, I could make another rule no wait no nghh she could just do it again so. So! Stupid! Dumb! Idiot! Ghgh! It’s not fair!)

Hazel earns a tug at his throat for his trouble. Hazel stumbles.

(Nope nope no no no do not do NOT. I am NOT. I am not yours. This is stupid. Charm. It shouldn’t be like this. He finally. Stop. I ghhgnnghgnghgngh don’t like you don’t like you don’t like you gghhhhhhhhh and, oh, good, Yuki’s mad. Argument. There’s a whole thing happening. Yuki’s shouting. People are kneeling. People are angry. Yuki’s angry. Yuki’s angry. She’s saying something about him. It sucks. It sucks to be here and he can’t go fix it and he can’t run and he can’t move because somebody)

Hazel grabs a length of leash. Hazel holds it firmly, giving himself a bit of slack before his collar.

Hazel says

“Could you,” Hazel breathes. “please.” (too much dial it back too much too much) “Stop tugging. I am not going anywhere. You don't need to do that.”

(don’t like you don’t like you yuki’s angry everything not fair not stupid can’t don’t don’t don’t don’t no yell don’t can’t ghh charm you you you you)

Hazel is taller. Hazel has leverage.

Hazel does not budge on the next tug.

*********************************

Some time passes. Some things happen.

A spell is a spell. A truth is a truth. People are leaving, in a semblance of peace. Nobody’s openly fighting. Nobody’s trading words. The Rootwalkers march obediently through an open door, pass the eyes of a Knight, a Lady, and a Dragon. They will be last. But they will leave. And then some people might have a chance to return.

There’s a moment where paths cross. Olesya has done this much already; she’s forced Negodincia to play nice long enough for goodbyes.

Hazel steps up to Yuki and the brave Nagi princess. Rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, runs his fingers through his still-dripping hair.

“Um. Hey.”

There’s a longer silence than he’d planned for. (Too many things to say. Too many things to say first.)

“I guess…turns out Queen of Light prophesies from the stars play for keeps. Who knew?”

He laughs. (He can laugh at himself.) He gives a wan smile. (He can break the tension.) His hair is a wet mop of a mess. Later he might remember to be flustered at only wearing a vest and short short short shorts. Now he stands without flinching. Covered in dust, debris, and the odd dead leaf. (He’s tired.) And still his horns glow a faint gold. And still he smiles. For a little while longer.

“I’ll be in touch. I promise. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner, it won’t happen again. And, we’ll see each other again, at the Ball. That’s also a promise.”

He fidgets with his hands.

“And…here. One second-”

Before taking Yuki’s with his right, and the Nagi’s with left.

“I’m gonna try something.”

Deep breath. In. Out, and eyes close. In. Out. And.

Open.

Starlight answers his call.

It glows in his eyes. It glows in his horns. It builds in his heart, racing, rushing, leaping! Up his body, down his arms, through their hands, around and around, galloping in a circle through the three of them. Free as laughter. Fast as love. As it comes, it picks up injury, it picks up weariness, it picks up despair. As it goes, it leaves closing wounds, it leaves life, it leaves a world that is rushing and alive and as real as they’ve ever known.

By this thread of light travels a song. It springs to the heart all at once, like sneaking open a door halfway through a concert. From deep, deep in the bones of the Golden Faun it plays. There it would have stayed, were it not for starlight. Now it dances between the three of them, and the cry of the song is I wish I could give you more. Soothing hurts is not enough. Mending wounds is not enough. Compared to what has been done, this gift is the smallest mote of copper traded for a golden crown. How I wish. How I wish. How I wish.

“Thank you both. For everything.”

Hazel squeezes Yuki’s hand. And. Well. Starlight is a funny thing, and. He squeezes the hand of the Nagi Princess before he can remember all the reasons not to.

“I’m sorry things ended up like this. But I’ll make sure Thellamie gets a good Queen. I promise.”

Once more, he manages a smile.

“That’s a 3-promise combo. One of my most powerful moves.”

[Rolling Nature’s Touch for both Yuki and the Nagi Princess: 6 + 6 + 2 = 14. They both:
-may give Hazel a string to clear a Condition
-are suffused with starlight, and the world around them comes to life]

In most of Thellamie, the city is your home. There’s no need to leave the valley of Crevas or to go beyond the walls of Vespergift or to swim out past the shoreline of Emerald, not when there are so many perils of the Outside just waiting to drag you into strange adventure.

Not so out west. Not in the Khaganate. There is no other place in Thellamie like it. The Stones out there are not weaker than the rest, but their effect is diffuse, and there are broad zones where reality and unreality mingle, where mirrorfolk ride goblin-beasts and sing hymns to Sayanastia.

The people here became tough, strong, courageous; they banded together in tribes and competed fiercely for resources, for Outside treasures, for pride and prestige. They learned to secure a prize tightly, lest someone snatch it from their grasp.

And now their most ambitious huntress has her eye on the greatest prize of all.

---

Hazel!

Tea. The bubbling of the hot water, the floral scent richening, and the sizzling of… sausages?

The blanket is heavy. It’s like having an entire dog draped on top of you, pressing you down onto the furs and the feather pillow. Don’t get up, it says. You are warm here, you are comfy here, and all the soreness in your body just needs to be pressed out by this blanket.

But if you take a peek out from it, into the fire and the shadows of the tent, you’ll see Olesya steeping the tea and preparing sausage and eggs over the fire on a two-tier stand. She is wearing a notably snug tank top, one which exposes her broad shoulders completely and hikes up at her stomach.

On the roof of the yurt, the driving rain. On the floor of the yurt, goblin-skin rugs. Inside the yurt: warmth, and tea, and sausages, filling the air even as the smoke swirls up and through the flaps.

She’s very strong, you know.

(Oh, and before I forget: take a String on the Princess Sulochana. Did you dream of her? The starlight in her eyes, the delight and longing on her face, the way her fingers tightened around yours and were reluctant to let go?)

---

Yuki!

Aadya, the Rock on a Mountain, sits on you.

As you were semi-peacefully asleep in a suite at Le Serpentine, a little slice of Crevas in the chill of Vespergift and the de facto HQ of the reconstruction committee, right up until she sat on your stomach, this is likely an unwelcome wakeup call.

“We’re going for a jog,” she says. There are bags under her eyes which suggest she has not slept particularly well over the past several days. “Then a box-breakfast at Chatte Souffrance and I will tell you everything about Eclair Espoir. She’s just the tip of the spear, Yukes. Up and attem!”

“Milady,” Pasenne calls — a little shakily — from outside. “Is everything all right…?”

---

Handmaidens!

“You let her slip through your fingers?”

Brother Mason is bristling. He clutches his tablet tight to his chest as he strides through the Chrysanthemum. If he declares the reconstruction a priority for the Church, then its resources will be brought to bear, focused on this disaster. It should be simplicity itself, but when are things ever as simple as some people would like them to be?

“You had Eclair Espoir here and then you were distracted playing knights with a dead dragon. The agent of three quite living dragons of unknown power and capability, and you let her slip through your fingers?”

Underneath his ceremonial robe, he drums the fingers of his left hand agitatedly. When he looks at the repair work to be done (which really isn’t anywhere as bad as it could be, as long as those stairways get rebuilt and the load-bearing walls get shored up), he’s not looking at Vespergift but at the great cathedrals of Kel.

“Eclair’s compatriots struck at multiple monasteries on the outskirts of Kel last night. We need information on the Order of the Aurora and what their intentions are for Thellamie and her order, her peace.”

And he’s not about to go walking into a maid-mansion full of the presumptive enemies of the Church, now is he?

---

Eclair Espoir!

Welcome to the Interstitial, a cafe full of the presumptive Allie’s of the Church!

It’s a deliberate architectural and stylistic blend of monasteries from all over Thellamie: the angular knot-windows of the west, the stained glass of Kel, the delicate flowering ironwork of Vespergift, the colorful murals of Crevas, and the beaded curtains and incense of Aestival. But don’t get your cute little head confused, it’s just a cafe overlooking a cliff on the southern side of Kel. Far off and away, beyond the swirling winds and the shapeless clouds and the mutable landscapes below, the sapphire-blue bays of Aestival can be glimpsed every now and then.

Both you and Timtam will have to use cunning subterfuge and your wits in order to get into a Civil-oriented cafe in the Civil-friendly heart of Thellamie. She’s certainly stacked the deck in her favor, though, if the uptick in Serigalamu nuns taking a table in the past hour is any indication.

How have you managed to infiltrate this place, Eclair Espoir, this den of danger and delicious pastries? Surely you haven’t just announced yourself and let everyone in the cafe gang up on you at once. After all, some of those Kel nuns have as much muscle as the chariot did.

>[.eclairespoirviolet]
>@snowkitten
>Greetings and Salutations, Yuki Edogawa the Hero of Crevas,
>I have seen your face as well. It pleases me to find you once again within the cities of Thellamie. You have grown into a rather fine young woman since last we crossed paths, I am certain your family and instructors must be proud. Whatever your business in our little world I wish you success and minimal interference.
>I believe it is a risk to say so in an open missive which may be intercepted before it reaches your hands, but I would like to confirm for your sake that you are correct about my presence at the Festival of Light. I was quite far away from the ceremonies the entire night on official business, which if you wish to corroborate you may inquire with Lady Vessenmer the proprietress of Vessenmer Dyes. If you happen to meet an idiot/assassin/cleaning partner/mount/professional nuisance by the name of Aady-something, the Rock Upon a Mountain she would also be able to confirm my alibi. Though my brief encounter with her did leave me with the impression that you would have to beat it out of her. I am confident in your chances.
>Regardless, if you were in proximity to the ceremony and the actual assassination attempt (which I must presume at least did actually happen, as my current assumptions mark it very unlikely the Civil Church would knowingly fabricate an entire inciting event before issuing a bounty), you are therefore in possession of knowledge that would be of benefit to my own investigations. I would fain offer instruction on the practices of the manipulation of heartblade magic in exchange.
>If this is for any reason impossible or disagreeable to you it would remain my deepest honor to join you for tea at the earliest moment of your convenience. I will make efforts to place myself near enough to you on the game board to arrive at your next destination.
>Warmest Regards and Returns,
>Eclair Espoir, Investigative Knight of the Aurora

Assessment, Tally: Announcing self properly carries benefit of expediency. Likewise, chance to observe at scale Civil response to the name 'Eclair Espoir'. Result of fight likely, but possible to win. However, activation of combat scenario in any outcome necessarily results in failure of primary objective. Victory also not guaranteed, and likelihood of disproportionate and undesirable response mutes temptation deeply. Target also likely to mock me in all future interactions, closing off avenues of interview and investigation that might otherwise be pried open.

Conclusion: it is against the best interests of the mission to indulge in continued tablet use. The use of disguise is warranted. An Aurora Knight is not welcome within the Interstitial.

A detective, however...

Eclair has donned a wig, of similar color to her own hair but a bluer shade of purple than the violet from which she takes her moniker. It is useful to remain within the range of normality because it creates fewer failure points for a disguise to break down along. Maintaining a shade of purple for her hair means she is not required to treat her tail to prevent it from clashing. But the wig allows her to style her hair completely differently from her usual look. In this case her severe neck length swoop has been replaced with flat bangs across her forehead framed on either side by shoulder length tresses, and a pair of long pigtails dancing across her back. She clips a pin of pink and white lace with a red rose bud behind her left ear.

Her armor must, of course, be set aside for the time being. Her lodgings are considerably cheaper here but the room is at least anonymous enough and secure enough to trust to it the duty of housing her uniform, at least after she places her usual litany of traps and wards around it. With that handled, she is free to don a dress of pure frills and ribbons in the gothic lolita styling: a tight pink corset with an equally pink bow pulled taut over a crisp white blouse with wide, ruffled sleeves complimented by a collar of white lace.

Her multilayered ruffled skirts drape down to just above her knees, each of them a deep burgandy that will clash less obnoxiously with the sheer black, rose patterned leggings she has pulled up to cover the rest of her legs. She wears a ring of gold and a ring of platinum on each of her ring and index fingers respectively. All four are topped with colorful inset stones resembling rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and emeralds, but on any close inspection they will be revealed to be merely very well cut and colored glass. This connotes her as a woman of relatively modest means but reasonably taste, as will the soft and very large lavender ribbon tied in a classic bow behind her back.

A pair of pointed white high heeled shoes with a clasp wrapped around each ankle to finish her ensemble. All that is left from there is to paint her lips a soft shade of pink and apply feathery black eyeliner to draw an almond shape and softer appearance out of her typically quite sharp and dangerous looking eyes. She inserts contacts to turn her blue irises into purple ones, and fills a small black purse with several pens, her lipstick, and a tiny little diary she may use as a surrogate notebook while her normal tools would call too much attention.

This is how she enters the cafe and begins her search. Not as Eclair Espoir the Knight of the Aurora, but as Erika Fullbright the Private Eye.

The brush of Hazel's hand felt like velvet on her skin. Cold tingles buzzed on her palm, out to her fingertips, and then they warmed. And warmed. The warmth spreading up her arms and through her shoulders and into her chest, her lungs, her heart. It felt like she'd been holding her breath all along until just now. It felt like she had been looking at the world in black and white until suddenly someone turned the lights on and she got to see real colors for the first time.

Yuki does nothing but breathe. All the anger that had been burning in her heart dissolves away in the spreading starlight, nothing but a distant memory faded to dust. What was a star dragon or a deceptive plant girl, or any of the challenges and annoyances from aches and pains and bruises in the face of pure starlight?

She should be joyous! She hadn't felt like this since she'd left Thellamie.

She saw herself as she had been: young but already as tall as she was going to get, far too thin and gangly for a frame that was tall for a middle schooler but short for an adult and without any of the muscles she would build into it. She saw those thin arms as they pulled her sword triumphantly, freed from her chains by a foxgirl double betrayal. She saw them as she pressed down, ears alert, tail offering balance and stabbed Azaza with her sacred blade. She felt all the starlight within her crow in triumph and rush to seal Azaza within the mirrors. A star's power within a star. Fantastical celebrations and then a departure in fading golden light. She had been so happy, so relieved, so overwhelmed that she hadn't started crying until the third day home.

She sat alone that night and looked at the night sky through her room's window where Orion's belt was shining brightly. She saw those three little stars twinkle, but she couldn't feel them or hear them and she just felt cold. She cried, too afraid to message anyone about it, and put her head on her pillow until she fell asleep, tears still on her cheeks.

She awoke from the dream to a sudden wide pressure on her chest. Tears sparkled on her eyelashes. The same tears that had flowed back then, and that had flowed again when Hazel touched her with starlight. Not hers. Never again.

She doesn't look at Aadya, doesn't show her those tears. "yes Pasenne, it's fine!" She yawns and she makes a great motion of wiping her face with her sleeve, brushing the sleep and the tears out of her eyes, checking her tablet next to her while pretending that the woman on top of her does not exist. This was going to be a tease, but her eyes widen when she reads the tablet.

>[.snowkitten]
>@eclairespoirviolet
>sounds great, I'll look for you at the ball, if not earlier while I help with an investigation

Then, and only then does she actually look at Aadya. "You made it Aady! A jog sounds great, let's go. Tell me all about Eclair!"

She smiles, all sunshine and morning energy. She liked racing Aadya and it was a wonderful chance to make up for not getting to spend any time with her in Crevas. She believed Eclair, so she just needed to figure out where all this confusion was coming from. And Eclair said that Aadya had an alibi for her, so this would be a great start!

He dreamed of safety. He dreamed of firm coils, of strong coils, working over his weary body. He dreamed of enforced stillness. He dreamed of a curious look in her eyes.

Her eyes.

Her.

He…he never did get her name….

Hazel stares at the roof of the tent, and eventually he will piece together that it is, in fact, a tent, and a real tent that he is sleeping in, at that. Eventually. First he’s got to wonder why he’s seeing it again, because he’s pretty sure he saw it a bit ago, and, then, it was really important, they were, he was going, but he’s forgotten what without forgetting the feeling. Then there’s the matter of moving. Or rather, he can’t move. Because he’s wrapped up. Completely. Definitely. Does he even have legs anymore? Or arms for that matter? There are conflicting reports. But he’s definitely being squeezed, unless he’s being squished, or maybe…maybe…say, why’s he seeing this ceiling again?

It’s breakfast that pulls him from the swamp of half-sleep at last. Dreams can muddle a lot of things. They have to work pretty hard to beat the call of freshly-made sausage and tea. And he has to work mighty hard to crane his neck up enough to beat the call of heavy, still-warm blankets.

Sore. Everything’s sore. Moving was a mistake. Guhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Well. He’s up. Sort of. Up enough to be committed now. Blink away the fog. Squint into reality.

Behold; a wolf. Girl. Girl and wolf. Right. Those exist now.

She is. Wow. She is. Big.

(His eyes bounce from her middle to her broad shoulders. Automatically, without thinking. As if he could manage much thought right now. Around the back and neck and shoulders is safe and everybody knows that.)

She’s…making breakfast? She’s making breakfast for him? She’s already up, and, she’s making breakfast? For him?

Wow.

(He shifts, and he groans louder than he needs to. He’s just a little sore. It’s not that bad. But it’d be bad to startle her by suddenly talking.)

“Mornin’,” he says blearily, rustling (noticeably, audibly, just in case) from his nest of blankets. His face - well, his face from the nose up, at least - peeks out at the huntress. His eyes go to the fire. “There anything I can do t’help…?” And. He. Pushes himself up. With both arms. S..slowly. Slowly, now…

(A draft hits his back. He feels the chill bite at his skin. His mostly-bare skin.)

wait am I still wearing the-

Cair!

Each of them has a different angle on the Princess Heron's disguise - Sayanastia's mythic disaffection, Injimo's barely restrained violence, Rurik's dutiful protocol, Tsane's brilliant inspiration. Cair, in her heart of hearts, thinks that they're all shit at it. They all treat Heron as something other than a person.

Because the Hero of Ages is a person. She has a deep sense of humour - sometimes expressed through joyfully oblivious compliance with stupid instructions, sometimes through insanely over-engineered solutions to basic problems, sometimes just through a general gremlin energy. Injimo might have spent her entire life locked in sword-duels with Heron, but the two of them didn't have a single secret handshake. Cair and Heron had four[1]. They actually vibed together, and she'd always thought the others were to blame for not making the attempt.



She was wearing the Heron disguise now. Pointless not to. Insane to try going without it - she'd just be stuck in non stop 'but thou must summon thy manager' loops. Would be nice if she had some backup on it, though, but nobody was talking to her right now.

"What do you think we should do about it?" she asked. Heron's sense of humour wasn't to smart mouth, quip or argue with people no matter how stuffy. Hers was an approach that required restraint and absolute deadpan severity. So she kept any hint of a smile out of her face and delivered her line with all the gravitas that her outfit - a dart board face mask surrounding her face like a halo, on top of a red and black striped dress-cape with another full sized wooden dartboard hanging over her chest, attached with mithryl links - would allow.

Yuki!

Aadya is big. It's hard not to notice that when she's crammed, sweaty and beaming, into a booth at Chatte Souffrance. It doesn't matter to her who won your race through the early streets, leaping over flood-strewn debris and stopping to help lift fallen beams out of the streets: she's just happy that she's got you to challenge her again. She spars with other Paladins constantly, but none of them are a challenge as unique, as delightful, as you are.

"So why be in two places at once?" she asks, demonstrating with the salt and pepper shakers (having well-seasoned her eggs). "What's the point of her declaring her attack on the goddess while also fighting me at the dyemakers' shop? And why did she come here, fight Heron's personal trainer, and then run away? Is she just trying to confuse the issue? What if she is a lying lieface and she's smokescreening us with her alibi? And if not... what's going on?"

She's looking to you not for answers, but for the escalation of theories, of bouncing facts back and forth, of helping her attune her inner compass to what she should do with her quest to apprehend Eclair Espoir. (One may note that she is not working with Heron right now.)

---

Hazel!

Olesya looks at you. Like, really looks at you. Studies you, her head cocked, her shaggy morning hair weighed down with beads and ties. Then she gets up, steps over to you (in barely more than one step), and squats beside you.

And she puts her palm between your shoulderblades and decides that you are no longer pushing yourself up. Not in a cruel way, but in a humiliatingly effortless way. You were up and now you are not. Squirm, little chewtoy, squirm.

"In the Khaganate," she breathes, "a huntress may permit her sluzhanka to cook her kills. It is an honor to them. But we have not decided whether you are or are not mine." Her tail thumps, the once. "You are enough mine that my sister cannot have you and you are enough not mine to not upset your Yuki Edogawa." Her nails are present on your skin.

And she holds you there. And says nothing. Take a glance back over your shoulder at her half-open mouth, her eyes which flick away from yours, the tension in her stance like a deer about to bolt. Then suffer the awkward headpat which smooshes you into the pillow. "No more dancing and strutting for Avel ladies, Fawn," she says, and regrets it immediately, and then flings herself back at the cooking in time to save the eggs from burning.

---

Handmaidens!

"As you once said, in your ineffable wisdom," Brother Mason dryly responds, "bing bong, so simple. You use that thing made entirely out of coats and Aestivali scruples in order to handle rebuilding this ancient shrine to your modesty and good taste, and while she handles that, you go and finally take the fight to the dragons and their fawning maids."

(In case you are confused, dear darling Cair, what he is implying is that Heron is immodest, tasteless and has been ignoring a perfectly good Quest.)

"Though I would understand why you are hesitant to take action at this moment," he continues in all humble piety. "I have studied enough of your mighty deeds to know that the temptation of the role of the interior decorator is strong with you. Especially in this monument to your community outreach. Far be it for me to imply that saving all of Thellamie from perfidious maids is more important than fussing with proper couch placement."

---

Eclair Espoir!

The next step of the invitation was brought to your table with the complementary vanilla wafers: come take tea with me in the Persimmon Room. It is natural that you would follow through, knowing what I know about you. Up the stairs on the east side and out into one of the side-rooms, stepping through a beaded curtain.

Before you is a circular table. A bench extends almost all the way around it, the circle broken at the exact place you stand. A table for friends to sit at, shoulders snug against each other, pushing baskets and plates around so that everyone can get a bite. The light coming through the windows is broken up by the swooping lattices.

And framed against those lattices is Timtam, dressed in Kel finery: a rich silk robe, dipping low at the chest, cinched tight around that devilish waist. Bells dangle from her hairpin, and her entire face is hidden behind more beads. But it's her. You'd know that insouciant crossing of the knees anywhere.

She's alone in here. But the room implies company. A teapot sits in the middle of the table.

"Well. And who do I have the honor of speaking with today, miss?" She gestures with a long pipe, held with seeming casualness. Her smile is a suggestion behind her beaded veil. "Come, sit down, you darling little thing." Her Kel accent is almost flawless, and even the slight Vespergift roll of her rrrs is a deliberate affectation. She presents herself to you as artifice, just as you do in turn.