[IC] Fellowship: The Heart

[Thanqol]

"You want to haggle with me?" said Ailee, Pride building up behind her like a bonfire. "You dare to haggle with me? You little fucker, do you not understand the position you are in? I am here to inspect you, not mop your floors like a fucking janitor. And the hubris," she spits the word as only someone lost in hubris can, "to dare imply that you can keep me from my appointed rounds, that I am in any way incapable of leaving when I choose to. Do you know what a station is? Two cheap benches and a ticket machine. Do you know who I am!? Ailee Sundish, Archmage of King Dragon! Safety is everyone's responsibility because it will take everyone's combined efforts to be safe from me!"

She felt good about this. She felt like she was getting through to them.

[Balmas]

Wolf!

See how carefully the lizard moves?

Never once does the little twerp test the limits of the leash. Very carefully, moving only as far as he's able. Not a threat, see? Not going to hare across the station and drag you along like he did just now. Friend! Ally!

And now he steps between you and your snack. This is not how friends act, lizard. Friends don't rob each other of food!

"No! Not food!" he soothes. "Crew! Needed! Important!"

[Count Numbers]

A terrible idea, but too tempting to pass up. There are ways to see which mushrooms are the bad kind, which are the yummy kind, and which are the fun kind, if you have some experience and a sensitive set of gums. None of them particularly safe but today's a fun day, isn't it?

There's a sensible reason for the nonsensical, here. Mushrooms like these have long had connotations with angels and religious visions, prophetic insights. If he's in a place of shifting realities, and he's found mushrooms feeding on angels here, he's got strong suspicions this might help him see things how they really are.

Well. That and they might be a culinary spectacular. How often do you get angel mushrooms?

Avoid the ones with bright colours. Don't even go near ones with pretty speckles and polka dots. Or the gilled ones. What does that leave?

Alright, this one's either going to kill him, or ascend him to a higher plane of consciousness. Let's find out. Allons Y!

[Let's call this a Wisdom roll, for fun: 7. Talking to our fabulous GM in private, we're pulling "Parley with a toxic power" from TSL; I damage a stat to ask a question.]

Alright. Not dead. A fantastic start. Let's just keep ourselves in the out-of-sight and see what we can see, see, see.

Ah. Feeling a touch Wonderland, are we? Six impossible things, and now breakfast. Let's hold it together. There's such a thing as too much whimsy, and it wouldn't do to die insufferable.

A toothsome idea strikes him, though. Maybe Lucien does want to go among mad people. Why else would he have come here? A positively cheshire grin: How best might he go among the madness of the station?

He hasn't found his friends, yet. It would be a lot easier if the whole experience wasn't just trying to kill him on sight. But it's always better to act like you belong than to hide - so long as you can step into a role.

[TheAmishPirate]

The word is familiar.

Did you know? The body can survive for a long, long time without enough food. Longer than you’d think. You see, it’s important to say ‘without enough food.’ Because you have to eat. You’re going to eat. If you don’t have food to eat, you make due with what you have. Garbage. Fat. Muscle. Bones.

Mind.

In the end, it all goes. You eat, until you have nothing left to eat, and only then will you die. Only, there’s a point before that where you may as well be dead. Where no matter how much food you eat, you can’t get back what you’ve already lost.

She hoped they weren’t too late. Please, let them not be too late. And, while she was at it, let her not screw this up. This might be their last and only chance.

Jackdaw put a kindly paw on Coleman’s shoulder. “Friend.” Loud and slow. Speak clearly. Don’t stutter. Don’t you dare stutter now. She tucked a paw to her chest. “Friend.” See! They were the same! Same sort of people! Same friend! “Friend!” She offered her paws, outstretched to the wolf. No sudden movements! Friends wouldn’t make sudden movements, would they?

Nice and slowly, she reached into a pocket - keeping one hand raised, no funny business here - and produced that most holy of salvation for the late-night study session: Jerky. Rich with protein, salted and spiced, the food that stays fresh forever. (And, coincidentally, the food that is nigh impossible to eat too quickly.) She placed it on the ground in front of Coleman, stepped back, and pointed at the wrapped treasure. “Food.” She pointed to the wolf. “Friend.” She pointed to the jerky, then to the wolf. “Food. For. Friend.”

When the first packet was devoured, it was replaced with another. And another. Then, when the edge of the wolf’s hunger had faded, just a little bit, she produced a satchel of dried potatoes. Rich in vitamins. Rich in carbs. Fuel. Energy. Filling. Then, a handful of nuts and raisins. A cupful of water from her canteen to wash down the salt. All the while, repeating, without fail.

“Food.”

“Friend.”

“Food. For. Friend.”

Please, friend. Won’t you come back to us? Won’t you tell us your name?

[Rolling to Talk Sense to the Wolf: 6 + 5 - 1 = 10. Please be friends and also don’t eat us. Spending 1 Food as a gift.]

[Tatterdemalion]

Lucien!

This place is a rolling disaster. You see it, for a moment, dizzying and vast and sharp-edged, a web/net of stolen misfortune. There has to be a balance. This is where every disaster ends up; this is where every accident bleeds to; this is an infected abscess of the world. Already you can see how having a juvenile train here is leading to a train crash, inevitable and horrible. People will die. That’s why something’s a disaster.

But that’s not what you need. You need to fit in. You need to follow the lessons of the clown. The clown paints their face to reveal the true face underneath, all grinning teeth and holy skull. They become something other. You need to become something other.

You need to become the Fool of the Sky Court.

It’s an old, old story; almost as old as the Stone Chorus. The Fool is the avatar of Now. His past does not exist; her future is incomprehensible. He exists in the flickering heartbeat of sensation and rides disaster as if it is her bicycle. And the Fool could ride Wormwood Station like a wave.

The Fool is neither clothed or naked; neither armed or unarmed; neither man or woman; neither servant or master. Fulfill those four symbols correctly and you will have Protection from Wormwood Station. Fire will not touch you; debris will fall in a halo around you; and angels will turn their faces away. Only the cannibals might give you any pause, if you were the Fool.

***

Ailee!

The Station’s reply is the rusting screech of an Angel from the entrance to the Hive. Awww, somebody’s sulking.

Okay, let’s recap. The Station’s aware of itself, cheerfully homicidal but still trying to bargain with you, and when you go outside the hive it will likely start gunning for you. If it has a heart, or a core, or something? Coleman would probably be able to tell you where it is. Speaking of Coleman, Lucien, Jackdaw and Professor Clown, they’re not in the hive— and you care about most of the above.

So what’s the plan?

***

Coleman! Jackdaw!

Feeding Wolf takes time. Twice, you are obliged to move to avoid, in order, a malfunctioning steam vent and a spacial glitch that would have folded you all into... interesting new shapes. (And if you were really lucky, you wouldn’t have survived. But this is Wormwood. You would have survived.)

Then she takes you, laconically, to a spur. Here, Sasha can get on the rails and rejoin the Vermissian, given a full head of steam. Easy. Too easy, maybe.

[Count Numbers]

Is it the mushrooms, or the Station that's doing this? Lucien sees himself just three twists of the multiverse away - like looking down a kaleidoscope with a family portrait at the end of it, the branches along the Mandelbrot set. There are so many, but this one catches his eye.

She's a courtier, there too, with the same keen eye for people. But no petty empire building and statemaking, the real work is matchmaking and rumourmongering - that's where the real stories are. She sits at the empty fountain of an unfinished palace, reclining in a red silk dress, discussing the practicalities of flirting with astral bodies. A philosopher - the Jackdaw of this place? Or maybe the Ailee? There is both and neither in them - seeks the Lucien in the red dress's advice. She smokes, lighting a cigarette with an engraved pearl lighter.

Their eyes meet, across infinity, for just a moment. They smile at each other. They are both up to mischief. They know the secret: The fool is the most powerful role in court. Speak any truth to any power, just make them laugh.

This Lucien unbuttons their shirt, rolls their sleeves up tight. You can see the scar that runs across his right hip, another along his left collarbone. Neither naked nor clothed: A state of undress. I am not indecent, but to look upon me is.

They draw their pearl-handled pistol, and pocket the useless bullets. Neither armed nor unarmed. Lucien has long resigned themself to the idea it's a prop. Even the pearl handling... it's always been a cream pie in a silver plate, hasn't it? They'll be as shocked as anyone if it ever hurts anything.

Neither servant nor master? Who imposes their will on the tourist? Who does the tourist impose their will upon? The notion is absurd.

But the tourist follows the spectacle, the sensational. The Fool creates it.

Another twist. Lucien follows in their own wake, now.

Heturns. The Lucien in the red dress - what is her name? - runs from the burning palace, dragging the wide-eyed philosopher by the wrist. The lighter disappears in her pocket again, and she's laughing. Where is she going? Anywhere. Anywhere she goes is where the story is, and the story is anywhere she goes. And she's going to help this nerd seduce the bloody moon.

The whole world's a stage, and the man and woman both have been exceptional players who have played many parts. More than most. They step into the roles of their respective lifetimes.

Where's Lucien going now?

Everywhere.

They pick the right direction to go first. They run.

[Thanqol]

Ailee knew a thing or two about negotiations. In particular she'd read Raptor Jvae's How To Extract Untold Wealth From Your Colonial Possessions - the secrets being, naturally, the intrinsic superiority of modern civilized magic over ancient cultural traditions ('we see further than them because we have eaten the brains of Grand Jelt's giants'), the importance of establishing dominance ('placement on the food chain is a matter of attitude!') and when to take a break from negotiations ('home owners tend to be more eager to sell after you have burned their house to the ground'). This seemed very much a chapter three kind of negotiation.

So she sits down in a perfect meditative posture, so calm and clean that an ordinary observer would assume that this was some manner of trick and there was no way the vice mouse could be so tranquil even for a moment. But Ailee was nothing if not honest when it came to her emotions and the abrupt serenity as she calmed her mind was genuine - it would have to be. One needed to be able to focus if one was to wield such powers as she did without incident.

She tapped into the currents of magic, the flows between the hive and Wormwood station, and the mystic bonds that tied her to her friends. And assuming nothing happened that disturbed her perfect calm this too would go off without incident.

[Look Closely: 6. Tell me about my friends. How can I help them? How can I hurt them? I find this answer out the hard way.]

[Balmas]

The choice is maddening.

On the one claw, he'd be a fool to turn down this opportunity. This station is the definition of bad luck, the personification of every bad thing that could happen to an engine. And what's worse, it's something he can't fix, should not fix, because if he does then all the bad luck stored here could get out and affect every other crew on the lines. Escaping as quickly as possible is the only option.

But what kind of lesson would it teach Sasha if he let her build the head of steam she wants? Let her flee the station, leaving Ailee and Lucien in a lurch? Would she learn the essential calculations of who to save, how many to save, at what point leaving one or two behind to save the rest become acceptable losses? Would she simply become a coward who flees whenever things get rough?

Ultimately, it's the look on Jackdaw's face that gets him to shake his head. Leaving without Ailee's gonna be a hard sell. Lucien maybe slightly less so, but college friends stick together.

"Have you seen any of the others? Our new friend here said there were a number of factions to check with."

[TheAmishPirate]

The word was worthwhile.

...oh, oh no! No, it wasn’t the word just because Wolf had led them to safety and escape from a nightmare station! No, no, how horrible! How - she didn’t know! She couldn’t have possibly known. So, it wasn’t selfish, she was happy because Wolf’d regained their senses, and they weren’t hungry anymore, and, yes, she was happy to be here, but she didn’t do all that to be here, and - oh no Coleman’s been talking to you, quick, quick, what’d he say? Remember, Jackie, remember!

“I-I, I didn’t see them.” Jackdaw shook her head furiously, tucking herself into her sodden cloak. “We were all together, then the next thing I knew I was in a...a...a trove? Desert? Dunes? A room full of dunes of broken glass, and nearly got robbed by a mouse who served King Dragon. Not, no, not Ailee, this one called themselves the Grand Squeaker?”

As she chattered away, her eyes never stopped moving; an echo, of sorts, of the Wolf. Only, the Wolf looked for danger. Followed her instincts. Scanned about the room in her own patterns, her own methods of vigilance. Jackdaw, she followed a thread that only she could see, tracing it from place to place, watching for the story it told. Straining to add it to her ever-growing collection.

[Activating Let Me See That on this part of the station:
-Who made it, and why should I care about them?
-What was this made to do, and how do I use it or break it? (Leaning more towards “use”, and definitely with a mind to “how can we get back here reliably?”)]

[Tatterdemalion]

Lucien!

You dance effortlessly through the chaos. The angel throws itself against the hexagonal projections of a Bee chorus with a shriek of rusting metal, and as you waltz on by, your feet avoid the singed, charred remains of Bees who gave their all for the hive, more falling with every slam of the angel's wings against those shining blue shields. Working under some alien matrix, the Bees part around you like the waves about a ship's bow.

Look up. You can see it. The Bees are the fingers, the manipulators, of something vast and many-angled. Call it the Anti-Heart. Cold clean lines and infinite geometries, hexagon upon hexagon, each limb becoming ten million buzzing blue stone-furred warriors. This is a beachhead. This is a war. But this is all wrong; this hive has been cut off from the host, locked away in a twist of dimensions, this cosmic drainpit, this mistake of a bolthole. The Bees fight for survival, for the structural integrity of their Queen (how she shines!), and if they had their way, the entire station would be clean and completely reorganized. There is an Order to how things should be, and the work of you messy little apes is wrong. Not as wrong as the Heart, but still wrong. The Bees would organize your bones from smallest to largest and make a tasteful mosaic with your organs if they became aroused to fury.

You emerge in the communing chamber, finding Ailee there, and her soul burns dragonflare all around her. No, not her soul; the soul of something vast and terrible, passing through the prismstone of her soul to seep into the station. The horrid metal flower growing from the floor begins to buckle and pop under the weight of that heat. For a second, you are seen by something huge and vast and burning and red, red, red, red as carnations, red as rubies, red as blood. Then it blinks and continues into the station.

And all the speakers begin to scream.

***

Jackdaw!

The people who made this place were very, very clever, and very, very arrogant. This place is a trap they made out of train station in order to catch bad luck and disaster and accident, just so that their railways would never run into problems. Were they the kobolds? Maybe. No. This place isn't made for people like Coleman, except in the small size of the staff doors. They were people who snapped their fingers, and the kobolds obeyed. But now they're gone, and the kobolds are still here. Maybe the trains ate them. Or maybe when disaster came hurtling down for them, in some other world or some other time, they came to the stations and pounded their fists on the carriage doors, and innumerable glimmering eyes looked from within as the kobolds implacably fed the boiler and chose freedom, the coldest and sweetest.

You want to use it; you don't want to break this. It would destroy the Vermissian Line, for this abscess to be lanced without care and forethought. For all of this backed-up filth of fortune to flood the tracks, and drip out into the Heart, and for the old systems of the stations to begin to feel age catch up to them. This is a wicked knot in reality, and it's not yours to heal. That's someone else's story.

No, you need to escape, and the way to make sure that it goes without a hitch is-- well, you've really got two options here. One is arranging things so that your escape is bad luck for someone else. An absolute disaster. As long as your escape is fortunate, it will be crushed. No, you have to be causing someone to fall to their knees and scream at an uncaring heaven for it to work.

But the other?

You just need to... localize misfortune. Make a problem so big and so explosive that Sasha hurtling onto the tracks doesn't have any leftover misfortune clinging to her. Again, an absolute disaster. Like, say, making the station unable to sustain itself indefinitely. Breaking it. Whoops, we're back to breaking it. But something on that level, if you managed to pull it off at the same time as you escaped, it could work. It really could work.

(Or you could stabilize and disinfect the rails long enough for you to get out, but you'd need time, the help of, like, an entire colony of Bees, and also the Station would be trying to kill you messily the whole while. Make yourself a little tunnel of good fortune, aligned perfectly and just so, and hurtle through it at top speed. But where would you even get that many Bees?)

And then all the speakers begin to scream.

***

Coleman!

You feel it first as a Presence. Burning. Sasha shivers and groans, her boiler letting out a frightened and high-pitched whine.

And then all the speakers begin to scream.

It passes over you and dives down into the rails, and drags them up with it. Steel twists and shrieks as it is molded by will alone, and fire kindles deep within. The back half of this part of the station, the part you arrived in, crumples up like paper; that presence demands that the world give it what it requires, and brooks no arguments.

When it lifts its massive horned head (easily three times the size of Sasha) and roars its deafening yawp, mice begin pouring out from every nook and cranny, dressed in black armor and red robes and carrying golden arms. The shadow of its wings stretches from wall to wall. It gestures with a forelimb and the floor begins to shear and tear, yielding under the force of that terrible will.

King Dragon means to dig down to the heart of the Station and add it to his collection. How can you outrun him? He is already here.

And also there are mice advancing on you and they look grabby. More treasures for the Hoard. An immature Train will look just fine stuffed and put on display in the King's Hoard.

***

Ailee!

It's not actually King Dragon. This is just one of his infinite talons being poked through into the Station. But you are a livewire conduit, probably because one of his idiot Grand Squeakers happened to be here, and in the seven breaths before you manage to clamp down on that transferal and close off the mystic circuit, your Patron has extended some of his power through you and poured it into the station.

And that's when the Station begins to scream in fear and pain as something just as big and vicious as it begins fighting it for control. Really should have made a deal with you the first time. It's its own fault, when you think about it. But while you are safe, if any of your friends get his attention (and, really, getting attention is their best attribute) they might just get incinerated. Spicily.

[Count Numbers]

Lucien is high as a kite - even before they took the mushrooms - watch them soar.

"Ailee!" Lucien wonders if they can still do a handstand. Could they ever do a handstand? They could do a cartwheel... "Would you believe this is where I needed to be? I'm sure you would. Another wonder in a wonderful day: Did you come here because it's important, or is it important because you've come here? I've gone for a run, you see. With an angel, a cannibal head-hunter, trained war owls - an elevator did its level best to engage me in coitus, fastest way from petite to grand mort I've ever seen sliding down a shaft, but I suppose it's my fault for flirting-"

They're beside Ailee now, standing over her. Lucien doesn't look down on her, for the same reason you don't look down on a tightrope.

"-So how is it that after all that, my wonderful friend Ailee is still the most dangerous to join me on my run, today? And are you going to introduce me to your new pal, here?"

It's almost certainly a compliment. Either way, Lucien's here to help. Whether it's to help Ailee, they're not sure yet. She's been talking to someone, here, and they might need it more.

[Thanqol]

"These two-bit meddlers are playing with forces they don't understand," Ailee grumbles under her breath with a divine lack of irony. The Squeakers? Those goofy parodies of true draconic power? Urgh it was like taking a shower when Jackdaw decided it was time to do the dishes - suddenly all the heat and energy went out of her hands and went off to accomplish something irrelevant. If all you eat is cup noodles you never need to wash the dishes, Jackdaw!

"I can fix this," she declares. "The problem is that there are two lightning rods here - me, and some idiot kobold with delusions. Other than Coleman. As long as that fool clings to the ankle of King Dragon I won't be able to stop this place from being rendered into a cosmic bonfire." She gets to her feet, looks Lucien square in the chest and feels more envy than she's accustomed to. "How did you... nevermind!" she said. "Listen! While you were fucking the elevator, did you happen to see any kobolds wearing stupid hats? Dragon mask, dressed like they'd just shoplifted from a counterfeit jewellery store? Also, friend Lucien, bee friends, bee friends, friend Lucien. This station is currently burning down because someone threatened something I decided was my friend so hopefully I won't need to make a second demonstration about why you should play nice together."

[Count Numbers]

Lucien thinks about this. They take a deep, flourishing bow.

"We can be bee friends, if you'd let us get down to buzzness?" A nod. "I haven't seen any kobolds. I haven't seen Jackdaw or Coleman either, so I'm going to assume they have. There are only so many places I can't have been. I'm good to play, though. Nobody's given me a script, so I'm improvising. Tell me the theme, point me to the audience, and I'll try to keep the show going while you fix the stage. Douse the pyrotechnics."

[Thanqol]

Ailee lost her air of haughty superiority and faint glow of hellish energy in an instant - once again, she was all giggles at Lucien's dumb joke. Of all the figures in the world to appreciate bad puns, it was a true stroke of luck that Ailee was among them. "Stop, this is serious!" she said, taking Lucien by the wrist and starting to pull. "Come on, we need to find the others before they get transformed into dragon puppies or eaten by cosmic sin or something."

[Count Numbers]

Ailee's laughing and grabbing Lucien's wrist? She wants to dance? Let's tango.

No, literally.

"Tsk- I said point, not lead." I am neither master nor servant. I do not lead, I am not led by. I dance with. "You'll have to trust me, Ailee Sundish. There's a madness to my method, and while I can't promise it'll make sense in the end, I can promise there will be an end worth getting to."

It is Lucien's intent to twirl, dip, lift, and catch Ms Sundish, at which point they can dance to where they need to go - in big twirling, leaping steps. But this can only work if Ailee agrees to dance with an old Fool, pay no mind to where they're going until they're already there.

[Thanqol]

Ailee was trapped in indignant giggling, trying her best to assume a serious face before breaking down again. "Stoooop!" she protests. "Lucien! I'm serious!" she couldn't maintain seriousness. "I can't do magic when you keep making me laugh!"

It was a real battle that played out across the Archmage of Vice. Every time she set her jaw and steadied her gaze and tried to look judgemental or imposing the fact that she was being danced through a beehive in a nightmare station by a fool just set her off again. And accordingly, there were no arcs of lightning or emerald eyes or supernatural fires; there was only a perfectly ordinary mousegirl who was already too dizzy to stand unsupported.

[Count Numbers]

"Ailee, Ailee, frightful and scary, how does your power grow?
With force of will and hard-earned skill you put on a marvelous show.

Ailee, Ailee, wild and merry, how does this dance step go?
With effortless ease, wherever we please, don't worry about stepping on toes.

Ailee, Ailee, giggling gaily, my how your smile does glow!
I have to attest, you want for the best; I really believe that, you know.

Ailee Sundish, if you had one wish, a wish I had to bestow...
What would it be, with this power in me — as we sail to peril and woe?"

[TheAmishPirate]

Jackdaw stretched to her full height-

No, not quite stretched. More, jumped? Sprung? Sprung. Sprung to her full height, and didn’t come down.

This was it. Not, it-it, exactly, but a first. King Dragon, in some component of the flesh, no longer just in pictures and words on a page. She’d played this out so many times in her head, in so many places, with so many people. A good chunk of them were on trains, or traintracks, or trains on traintracks, or beside either trains or traintracks - well, most of those had been ever since they’d joined up with Coleman. So. There were at least a few that ought to apply here. She’d, she’d had a speech prepared and everything. She should probably consult it again, yes?

Paws trembling, she rooted through her pockets and produced a well-worn scrap of paper, and hastily scanned it. Yes, yes, yes it was...exactly the way she’d left it. Exactly like she remembered. Hadn’t forgotten. All here. So. All she had to do now was. Say it. Out loud. Like she’d practiced. Like she dreamed. Like all the heroes in all her stories would do. Tell the beast who stole her best friend’s heart just what she was going to do to him.

She opened her mouth.

She screamed.

She ran.

The word was

Coward.

[Rolling to Run Away: 3 + 4 + 2 = 9. Jackdaw...shoot, Jackdaw gets their quickly, avoiding harm along the way.]

[Balmas]

At the first scream, Coleman's in Sasha, swinging the hatch shut on the leash, and jamming the fuel feed open. This is against every regulation, against every wise word, against everything he's been taught. You do not give an engine a head of steam unless you know damn well that you've put in the effort to clear the road ahead of it.

Unless.

Unless staying here is 100% guaranteed to be more dangerous than letting the engine run.

One brass-and-steel arm snakes out and grabs the wolf in a fireman's carry, and Sasha bellows a warcry.

Where to? Fuck if he knows. To, right now, is much less important than away.

[Get Away, 2,2,+3: 7. Taking Wolf with.]

[Thanqol]

Here, at last, her face finally recovers its seriousness. Here at last the fit of giggles leaves her and she struggles free from the dance - though she is unsteady and dizzy. Here at last that mask and focus slips back into place, and she becomes again the Archmage.

"I will grant my own wish," she says.

She flexes her shoulders and veridian flames run along her fur again, reconstituting the full body alchemical tattoo in moments. Once again she is the Archmage.

"Come. Let's get the fuck out of this shithole."