Julia the Philosopher rises from her cold, hard grave.

She wears the slain like a cloak. Archer's strong hands reach out from the depths of her crimson cloak, grasping handfuls of dirt and pulling them into the red of Rome. Assassin's doves erupt from the bloody fabric, white feathers stained red, lifting her cape as it surges out behind her and staining the sky and clouds with sanguine sunset. She continues to walk, and the cape continues to extend - a miles long serpent with scarlet scales, each drop of blood a drop of potential. She stands atop this forgotten world, history come back from Hell.

The sun blinds her eyes.

She lifts her lance aloft and it cowers beyond the horizon like a beaten dog.

More lances rise aloft. The space elevators, ringing the planet, great spikes up into the sky - just waiting for someone to pick them up. One by one they light up, burning red, illuminated by the sorcerous corruption Caster had blessed her with. This world is indeed a treasure - here, beneath the light of a green mars a highway to the stars waits for her. For Rome. Whatever civilization waits up there - it was born of failure, born of her failure. It would be fractured and factious. It wouldn't be able to see the beauty in her Roman red restored.

"Ye Gods!" she cries. "Jupiter and Mars! I have changed my wish! Let me rebuild Rome here, in this age! Let me unite this world and take these people to the stars! Let me wage the war I never imagined! Let me build the empire I never dreamed! Now that I see how small I my dreams were, give me the strength to build something greater! Give me these tribes, exiles and bandits, and I shall be unto you a second Romulus!"

She struck her spear down into the thirsty earth, hungry for the blood that followed such oaths.

"I have three heads left to offer," she said to the alien heavens. "Guide me to them."

"Hey, so... has anyone ever told you you're really pretty? Because goshies. You really, really are!"

As soon as I ask her, I know the answer is no. Not like I can soul read a girl I've just met, but Saber is not a super subtle individual. If that's not too rude to say? It's in that sharp jerk of her head and the sudden suspicious narrowing of her eyes and the way her shoulders suddenly lock all tense so that her arms stop swinging in that wild way she uses to run faster. Like, most of the way so far she's had kind of an animal gait to her, dropping onto three "legs" every few steps to push off of the ground and scrabble over terrain, now that we're kissing open air again, but as soon as I open my mouth she's running like any normal person.

Well. Any normal person if they were taller than a car is long. But you know what I mean. I'm not a super sleuth or a sword saint or a buddha or anything like that, but I'm darned sure I know what it looks like when a girl's just got told she's pretty for the first time in two lives.

"No? Oh well dang," I say as I float awkwardly next to her, maybe to break the tension, "But I'm betting you've been called 'handsome' a lot huh? And tall and strong and other things like that, too."

"...What is the point of this conversation? I am a warrior, child, and a King. Not some besotted maiden weeping to be compared with the treasures brought home from war. You have promised to explain both your presence and your plan, and you have managed neither."

"Well, true. But this is important too, I think. Like, I've heard you say a lot of stuff about being a Valkyrie too and I'm not an expert on ancient world stuff but they were all women, right?"

She nods with a scowl so dark I think it might have blotted out the sun? Oh yikes. But I dig in my- uh well no I guess I don't dig in much of anything in the air but metaphorically I stand my ground even in the face of Saber's terrifying glowering.

"That means you conduct yourself as one too. I mean, gender stuff is super duper messy and I don't mean to oversimplify your position, but I'm certain of this much: you're a girl just as much as you are a warrior. Maybe even more so."

Saber doesn't answer. That's ok, even in the gloom of night I can see the color rising in her cheeks. And this really is every bit as important as finding magic swords to fight an emperor/pizza restaurateur with. I promise. You're just going to have to trust me. I flash her one of my very best smiles and stretch my hands behind my head. Oh whoops, there's the hill that means we need to bank right!

"It's not mutually exclusive, y'know. If anything, pretty warriors get the most done so far as I've seen. Like, you know Princess isn't a hereditary title, right? The only girls involved in that game are there by choice, and nobody sticks with it for very long without either being or getting really gosh darned good at a bunch of different things. And I know you've met Princess Jezara so you get what I'm talking about. Anyway. A pretty girl never getting to hear how pretty she is... it's actually a crime, in my opinion."

"Child, make your point and be done with it. If you prattle for much longer we will be out of time for the important things."

"No, this is important! What I'm trying to tell you is, I'm sorry. I'm sorry you got summoned by someone who couldn't see you were a person. I'm sorry you had to give up on your wish, and I'm sorry so many people have tried to mess with the story of who you are. Most of all I'm sorry nobody's taken the time to say it all out loud. Or leastwise that they've squeaked instead of using the words. You're journey's too short to let it go the way it has."

Saber's got nothing to say to that, so I just stop talking and let her think it over. We're really close to where I want to take her, actually, so I lead her in a small loop around a hill instead of going over it to give her the extra bit of time to figure everything out. Pretty is a state of mind, y'know? So is inner peace. And when you can bring someone into that world, that's when your blade and theirs shines the clearest.

The shrine isn't anything special, once we come to it. It's not a grand temple and it doesn't have any impressive statues hanging around it. No waterfalls or lanterns or music or sand gardens or anything like that. It's hardly anything more than a- I mean gosh, it is a tiny little well with a little roof over top of it where someone left their old bamboo practice sword. I like this place a lot. The air here is clean in this extra wholesome sort of way and hardly anyone ever comes by so if I want a quiet little place to go through katas it's always worth the hike.

But today I'm here with someone. And today I'm here to rob it. I bend down and pick up the training sword and offer it to Saber with a bow. Without even looking up I can see her scoffing, maybe even contemplating cutting it in half just to punish me. Before she can, I snap out of my pose and strike out at her with an overhead slash aimed somewhere at her chest. She blocks it easily of course, but that's not the point.

I duck down and come at her from beneath her feet with a rising thrust. She steps out of the way so I grab her opening and launch up into the air through it, and come crashing back down on her head like a waterfall! You like my first finisher, Saber? She lifts her gleaming Underworld blade and catches the bamboo sword with it, thrusting me away from her as easily as if I weighed nothing. Before I can even land, she rushes at me with that same terrifying lunge as she introduced herself to me with, but this time I don't topple over. The slats of bamboo make a loud thwappy noise when they smack into each other, but the sword holds. I hold. Secretly it took most of everything I had, but I've managed to slap her strike aside and hold it at bay by lifting this training sword up across my shoulder. She nicked my skin before I could manage so there's a small gash in my sleeve. That's fine, honestly.

Because Saber is watching me with renewed interest. She stands up straight and reaches out her hand. I bow once more, and place the handle in her grip.

"There, you see? This won't lose, and neither will you."

"What on earth? What is this feeling? Child, no, Yue: what did you do?"

"Hahaha, nah I didn't do anything. Someone else loved this sword, that's why it is the way it is. I wonder how long they practiced with it? Must've been a long time, even after they got so good that most people would've said they'd outgrown it. Things like this are really precious, and I just figured, like, if the old world's so keen on stepping up to fight for everybody's futures, why not let the new world join in? Dual wielding's not a forbidden technique where you're from, is it?"

"A shield is more customary. But there is no reason I could not use a second blade in that capacity. Hmph, you people are such a curious lot. I wondered how such soft hearts could hold enough strength to withstand my rage. I begin to understand."

"Well, I think you're just as special as anyone here. In fact I, oh actually could you sit down for me? If it's all right with you I'd like to braid your hair. It must be getting in your way at this point."

Saber watches me in silence for a moment, with the kind of expression that says she'd really like to blow me off again. She'd had her hair braided up before, but it was real simple stuff clamped in a bunch of heavy iron bands. Practically another weapon in and of itself. I'm talking about doing something a lot softer and prettier to it, and she knows it. But she flashes a smile at me before she turns around and drops onto the ground in a cross-legged position.

"Yes. I will accept all of the power you are able to gift."

She's such an interesting person. I wish I had a day or seven to just chat with her over tea. She must have so many cool adventure stories from back when she was alive! Unfortunately, she's got a job to do. And so do I. I pull a brush out of my bag and set to work soothing out her tangles before winding all her hair up and around and through, and over, and under (and over and under and over and under and over and wowies yeesh there's so much of it how does she stand?!)

"So. The thing is, and I think you'll agree, we have to be the ones to stop Lancer. Waiting for her to de-power after Kat gets done won't be enough."

"No, it will not. It is in her nature to rationalize away her losses. And having been so close, she will probably grasp desperately at a way to continue forward with her plan for victory. She has only to kill the remaining Servants to take her wish, and most of us are weakened at this point. Even still, I'd hoped..."

"You wanted to take her on when she wasn't in Final Boss Mode, yeah. Sucks, but there you are. But you can't die in the process either, ok? Everybody's gotta stay alive to hold off this ritual. I don't know what it wants to accomplish but the air around all of you is so icky I can't imagine it's anything as cute as granting a wish. Right?"

"...Hm."

"I mean, I dunno. Anyway I just, I wish I could do more but this is your story, and Kat's. If it really comes down to sitting back or watching the world end I'll do my job but... honestly, I believe in you? You don't need me to beat Lancer. You just need a way to reach her heart, y'know? And that's... phew, there! Ok, how do you feel?"

Saber stands up, and swings each of her badly mismatched swords around a bit. Testing their weight, feeling the balance and the length and the speed of each. While she's at it, I sneak back over to the shrine and place my old practice sword where the other one used to be. You know, the one Hyra enchanted to weigh the same as a metal sword. That enchantment still holds to this day! It might be a poor replacement for such a beloved weapon, but I just feel like the shrine deserves to always have something here to love.

I turn again to look at Saber, who has stopped and just watches the lake from the edge of the crater we're near to. The wind blows her thick, beautiful braid around behind her back when she turns to me and smiles. For once, it's not a smile full of sharp and evil teeth.

"...Pretty." she says, and then howls with laughter.

A wise man once said that his favourite thing was getting dumped.

When you've been dumped then you've got unlimited license to Be Dramatic. "How are you?" "AWFUL. I just got DUMPED." - and whoever you're talking to will have their face crumple in sympathy. You can Wallow. You can Grieve. You can stand up on stage and let your feelings out in a furious karaoke ballad and every one in the crowd will Get It. There are so many complicated, powerful feelings to work through in Getting Dumped - the twin enlightenments of 'I will become better' and 'fuck you'. It's liberation, and like all liberations it is both harsh and joyful.

So why save that feeling for a relationship ending? Human beings are inherently animistic, and that means that we form bonds with objects as readily as we do with people - and those bonds are no more guaranteed to be positive than our bonds with people. Perhaps rather than adapting to the clunk and ache of your car's gear shifting to third it has become a gradual annoyance that has made curse words part of your driving experience. Maybe you haven't read a book in six months because you're halfway through a turgid and uninspired volume that you feel like you need to finish first. Perhaps there's a little goat path through the lawn where people regularly cut across at a direct angle rather than following the trail of concrete. Patches develop over broken things naturally, but every year at the Dumping Festival it's time to rip those patches off and fix the underlying problems.

Part of it is the market; the huge open-air garage sale, the trash-and-treasure where people have bought out all of their material possessions that no longer spark joy. Sometimes it's racecars, or houses, or pet elephants that turned out to be more trouble than necessarily predicted. Sometimes it's more conceptual; photographs, mementos, trophies, the physical things that make memories. Another part of it is, of course, Breakup Bridge. It's a comfort to a lot of people coming off the back of a failed relationship to find themselves in a crowd of people in similar situations. Even if a relationship has been over for months, most former couples still find the time to make it official by leaving in different directions over the Bridge.

But for every moment of someone getting rid of something or someone, there's a moment of something or someone being picked up. There's no better dating mixer than the crowd outside Breakup Bridge - everyone is guaranteed single, and everyone has something in common. There's no better place to fall in love with a new object than seeing it on the mat in front of someone who cannot love it any more. Desire is often a transitory thing; for every love that can deepen into the ocean's eternity, there's one that will glance off still water like a skipping stone. So, every year everyone airs out all of their dusty rooms, picks up the broken vacuum cleaners they were holding onto, or forgotten pool pump, or old allan keys for furniture assembled in the distant past. They let light into the dark corners by placing everything that had grown dusty into the open. An exorcism of possession, beneath the light of a single sun.

Ever since she first learned it existed, the highest ambition of Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits has been to get dumped for the sake of stomping dramatically across Breakup Bridge. The drama, the passion, and the clean break at the end when two people turn their backs on each other and literally walk away from what once was and toward what could be. Perhaps a single furtive glance backward (unshared of course. Unless, just as one were to turn around again and resume walking...), but then with a final burst of resolve to finish the journey and speak to the crowd of people who would Get It.

It all sounded impossibly romantic. It sounded profound, and mature and very, very wise, and it sounded if it was possible just the slightest bit sexy? The lighting on that bridge was always immaculate for one, and some mystery of the bridge's construction or the engineering of its location within the city made it the perfect place to capture a dramatic gust of wind that always seemed to blow a person's hair or her dress exactly so, and there was nobody alive on the earth today who wouldn't look prettier robed in the perfection of Righteous Rebound Aura as they stepped away from a thing as supposedly immutable as love. But to not only give it away but think to look for it again? That really floofled Kat's fluffles, to borrow an expression from somewhere.

The trouble was, she'd never had a girlfriend to break up with. Or a boyfriend for that matter, but that whole concept felt so alien to her that she never seriously pursued it even in idle daydreaming. And it did seem somehow wrong to proposition someone for a relationship just for the sake of getting dumped. Even if that wasn't true she was certain the magic of that bridge wouldn't function if you faked it. It could be old, but it had to be real or it wouldn't count.

And then of course, once she found herself in a relationship (if she ever could), how could she get it to end? She didn't know. Maybe if she looked really hard she could find a girl who would slowly become overwhelmed by the idea of snuggles whenever she wanted them and fresh eggs and soup at the beginning of every morning. Maybe she could find an almost almost almost perfect someone who could give her four, maybe seven months of absolute magic but then turn out to have very particular opinions about tea and not be able to tolerate the presence of somebody still learning how to control the sugar levels in any drink. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But she was starting to think she didn't have it in her to offer her heart to anybody unless she thought they were The One.

And if she met The One then didn't she not actually want to be passed over like a stone in a burbling river bend? Wouldn't that be as bad as wishing for Yue and Hyra to break up so she could live vicariously through them? Or Chen and Rosepetal, or Princess Jessic and Countess Keron? If she could figure out a way to call it a duel she could maybe convince Qiu to do it with her, but in the first place she didn't want to lose at Breakup Bridge and in the second place she was so scared of Qiu right now that even the idea of meeting up for sandwiches sounded worse than the end of the world she was technically still trying to figure out how to stop.

Katherine finds her attention turning to Caster for a moment. He'd indulged her this far, maybe he'd be willing to give it a go? This was back to faking it more or less, but that counted for science at least, she thought. If they made a day of walking around the festival arm in arm only to part ways in dramatic fashion and cross the bridge as --

The thought fractures before she can even finish it. What would that even look like, to everyone else? Like a father indulging his daughter's silly fantasy maybe. Or like a wastrel fox running away from home. Not sexy at all. And then on top of that her whole plan was making the guy she was trying to get to settle down into an enemy? That did not seem like a sensible course of action to any of her scattered brain cells.

But so it went sometimes. Another year, another missed opportunity. She'd just have to let it go. With a last longing look at the bridge, Katherine did the only sensible thing: she broke up with Breakup Bridge. Maybe some other time. So it was that her feet carried her away from the crowd of ex and hopeful lovers in their very finest yukata and cheongsam (and other assorted fashions according to taste), and toward the dusty marketplace filled with unwanted things.

Her broken phone is in her hands, both halves of it that she'd saved after Saber and cleanly split it in two and prevented it from devouring her. Not much good to anybody anymore, least of all her. But maybe somebody would like it as an art piece? Or maybe they'd be interested in the challenge of trying to fix it. Or maybe there's some slightly less broken part inside of it that would help some third person with a project they were stuck on. That was the thing about junk, she'd found: there was simply no way to tell when it would turn out to be treasure.

With a quiet little smile, she kisses the fragments of Wolf Moon Phone and sets them on a blanket full of other electronics in various states of ruination. As she steps away, her minty green tails entwine with one another in a release of happiness. She takes a deep breath that pulls her arms out to either side and then squeezes them back down with a sigh like a bellows.

"Your turn, Berserker. Got anything you'd like to be rid of?"

She twists her foot into the street with just the slightest touch of nervousness.

Berserker looked over at the Labour Market.

Many people found themselves over time picking up roles in the community. Maybe someone had started cleaning an old bridge, or putting out water for the local cats, or maintaining mystical wards over a stream connected to the Underworld. First it was fun, and then it was a habit, but one day it was time to leave it all behind. So the task was written out on paper - sometimes an entire manual depending on the complexity - and placed in the Labour section of the Dumping Festival. Sometimes there were photographs, sometimes the person was on hand to walk the new apprentice through it, or sometimes you were told about a run down little farm in the hills and given a front door key and cryptic warning about 'the ghost'.

The Civil Servants were out in force in this section, nearly twenty of them, wearing their brilliantly embroidered blue and golden robes and hats, contemplating everything and asking questions. Their presence was at least a little bit intimidating, for they held the power of Conscription - the power to outright tell someone to perform a certain task, perhaps backed up with a geas or curse for the recalcitrant. Not all adventures were voluntary, and sometimes the material world came calling when a Civil Servant knocked on your door with a mission from the province. Sometimes things needed to be done despite no one being interested in them, sometimes people needed to be shaken out of harmful or stagnant routines, and sometimes the kind of utopian tyrant who climbs the ladder of power wants to make the world a better place wants to try something new and everyone has to go along with their experiment.

Generally, they wait until the end of the day and pick up things that have been overlooked and do assignments. Sometimes they have a vision and move sooner. And yes, the Civil Servants absolutely sometimes decide that certain people should be dating and instruct them to begin a relationship until at least next year's festival. It works out more often than you'd think - some people are much better at being in a relationship than starting a relationship.

Berserker watches all of this and considers. Then she shakes her head mutely at Katherine. Instead she walks decisively over to the stand of a young boy where the sign reads SCARECROW DUTY. In crude handwriting, the child has written 'please keep the birds off the lawn i want to be a horse racer instead'. He quails as Berserker, a giant of black steel, towers over him (inasmuch as she can tower over anybody), and takes the notice in her mailed fist.

She looks at a distant mountain, and taps her finger pensively against her armour. She does not know if she will have time, but she had long wanted to see if she could learn to keep swallows away.

Katherine means to smile. She means to laugh and hop around with giddy joy and tell an anecdote about the way she used to chase off birds when she was an ordinary forest fox. She means to praise her Servant, and gush about how good she knows she'll be at the job she's just taken interest in. She means to duck her head a little bit and play it careful, just in case this is the time the Civil Servants notice how cool and awesome and pretty she is and push her into some kind of job she super meowmeow doesn't want to be doing. She even means to make a joke about how this must mean the world's not going to end.

So it surprises her when she hiccups, instead. It surprises her so much that it shakes a tear out of her eye. And once one rolls down her cheek, there's hardly any barrier at all between her and another. And another and another, and another, and another after that. It takes zero seconds for those tears to come dripping off her chin before she has to sniffle, and after that knocks her breathing off rhythm she is soon bawling like a kit whose birthday cake just fell on the ground.

She will never be able to explain herself. To articulate what it was that overwhelmed her would just send her over the edge of tears all over again. Did she even know what had convinced her that Berserker would take this chance to leave her? She who had wasted three Command Seals guarding crops without providing a useful alternative and on not kidnapping a very fluffy dog that definitely belonged to someone else and on breaking up a bar fight that Berserker hadn't even started (but she was sure going to finish). She who had scrambled around in a Fox Alliance and then committed Fox Treachery and Cutie Betrayal only to force her own Servant into a cooperative formation with someone she seemed to regard as her mortal enemy. And even took that other Servant's opinion over Berserkers.

Was it because she'd lost Berserker's respect by forcing her out of her castle? Or by being such a lousy, unpretty princess? Was it because she'd made such a mess of her first princess Duel (nobody told her there'd be so much math!)? Was it because she was just a silly two-tailed fox and not any kind of princess or handmaiden or even baroness to begin with, and thus ultimately unworthy of such a magnificent and beautiful armored knight's loyalty, let alone respect?

Whatever it was, it wasn't true. It hadn't happened. The pair of them were not crossing Breakup Bridge. Civil Servants were not rushing up to assign a new and better Master for anybody. Berserker hadn't even given away the water painting Kat had made for her during that long, boring stretch where they'd had to guard the electricity shrine so Cyanis could muck up her attempt at betraying Actia. She'd only taken something. Something beautiful. Something for later.

So there are many tears now, and choking, broken fox wails. Katherine flings herself against Berserker and hugs her tight. She doesn't care how hard that armor is, or how cold, or even how sharp. She is soft enough for both of them. She clings to her Servant's neck and squeezes her for all she's worth, nuzzling wet fox cheeks and delirious fox softness and tickling with fluffy fox tails and laughing and crying and coughing herself into a stupor all at once.

For the moment she doesn't even remember that she's supposed to be doing this to convince Caster not to blow up the planet.

"Hey come on," she manages after a very long while, "You wanna get something to eat? Not all the food here is great, but there's a lot of it."

And she giggles with delight.

Some of the food, it must be said, is great. You host a big public gathering of any kind and at least a few people are going to stay up all night cooking just to flex on everyone else - that's as human as cooking itself. But the main event is the Expiration Date Potluck. People bring in any ingredients they have that are walking close to the expiration date line and a large outdoor kitchen full of volunteers figure out what they can make with it. Anything that isn't usable goes into feed buckets for children to throw to the pigs at the petting zoo.

The potluck has a reputation for being exotic. One of the most common ways foods go bad is if someone gets something experimental, outside of their normal cooking range, and then they either can't figure out how to use it or realize too late that they don't like it. It makes its way to the back of the cupboard and then waits there, accumulating months, passing from the mind. It's not anyone's fault, people just like avoiding their problems. That's why it's important to have the potluck; it's the short-circuit that stops the feeling from resolving into shame and regret.

"The commitment to recycling," Caster murmured. His voice came as a surprise, like a ghost's. "Is this land as poor as Adam said? That you have so little that every scrap must be saved and repurposed?"

"Hwbegh?!" said Kat while leaping two feet into the air and bringing her arms over her face in a defensive posture.

"Oh! Oh right. Right right right. Phew. Jeeeeeeeez. My heart! You've been so quiet I, uh. I mean. I thought you wandered off or something. Fsshhyaaa, my heart!"

She pats her chest as if to demonstrate and then very awkwardly clears her throat. Her other hand holds a plate piled high with Mystery Fried Rice, a small bread bun that had turned red during baking from all the spices stuffed inside of it, and exactly three (3) crab(?) rangoons(!).

She sniffs at the rice and makes A Face. But she sits down to eat it anyway with a shrug and a very tactical reach across the table for a can of cheap cola, aka the wine of the foxgirl world. A lot of foxgirls would tell you that wine is the wine of the foxgirl world, but Kat was simply not good enough at crime to get her hands on any, and thus the expression.

She watches Berserker eat for a moment and smiles at the odd combination of voracity and refinement that settles over her Servant. With her chin leaning on one hand and a set of chopsticks lazily floating between her own food and her mouth, she turns to regard Caster again.

"Sorry, what were you asking again? Recycling? I don't know her. What's she got to do with all've this? Like, I dunno what you mean by so little. Like if anything we've got the opposite problem? Have you never gone through that thing where you pick somethin' up all fulla good intentions and then it just sorta... sits there? And then it piles up and piles up and the next thing you know it your life is full of clutter and no longer sparks joy? No? I swear I... oh, mmmmgh, what did they put in th-- oh no is that cilantro? Blegh!"

Cough cough, spit spit, sip, sigh. Kat tries to sit up and carry herself with the slightest extra bit of decorum, to go back to feeling like she could maybe be some kind of princess or something. She doesn't push her plate away, though she does focus on the bread for a while before braving the rice again.

"I mean, I dunno. It's just good to get rid of stuff sometimes. Otherwise you get weighed down and stuff. Like, Cy always says that's dumb and you can't ever have enough stuff, especially gold and luxury goods, but um..."

She shifted her eyes nervously about the pavilion and waved Caster closer to her. Closer still, until she could lean in for a conspiratorial whisper.

"Don't tell her I said this? But I think she might be a sillyhead. Like I know she's a cool big sister type fox and all but her schemes always end up with us in bondage and skimpy outfits and stuff. Damn Fox is real busy on her 500 year plan to steal a bunch of fried tofu so she doesn't give a lot of advice but you'd trust a nine tail before a three, right? It's a bigger number! How'd you even get that many without bein' real good at foxin'?

"So anyway yeah? Like, yeah. It's just good to rid of stuff sometimes. Nice stuff, icky stuff, old stuff, new stuff. We just do it like this 'cause it makes it more fun. And if you make it fun then nobody has to feel guilty for letting it all pile up. And like, somebody's gonna want most of it, right? This is the best way to make sure it all gets to where it's gotta. Or to find out if it's got nowhere left to be after all. And it... eugh. Goshies. It'd be... it'd be rude not to finish this? Right? Dang it."

Katherine's chopsticks return to motion. Though her tails and ears droop to taste of soapy rice and over chewy bits of meat(??), she cleans her entire overladen plate like the good girl that she is. Gross as it might be for her, somebody worked hard on this. She doesn't want them to feel sad, like they failed the challenge set before them.

"Get rid of stuff?" said Caster. "But what are you talking about? Look at this!" he gestured wildly at one an old lady sitting on a blanket in front of a heap of crocheted goods. "Each of those sweaters would take months of work, full time! The patterns are absurdly intricate, the colour transitions skillful - and yet, they hardly seem to be moving! And here! Look, this garden gnome!" he grips it with both hands. "Look at the cross-hatching in the eye shadows, the individual strands of hair painted, the highlighting on the patchwork jacket -"

"Oh, that piece was just for practice," said the fishman painter, who was unpacking another box of gnomes. "I've got much better ones back here."

"Practice!?" He cradles it in his arm as he whirls around.

"Oh, yeah. I mostly like the painting part of it," said the fishman.

"But that's mad! You could make a business selling these -"

"But then I wouldn't be painting them, would I? No, any that don't get picked up go to the kids who like smashing 'em with hammers."

Caster clutched the gnome to his chest like he was saving a life. "He is not serious, Fluffybiscuits. Confirm to me that he is joking."