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Piripiri enjoys herself, in spite of herself. She slurps down the last of some spiced noodles, the wrong kind of spice, they should be a low heat that builds like at ho- and that thought slams behind a ironwood door that locks, yet again, and she swallows. They were... good noodles, yes, that seems safe, and while nobody here seems to have any sort of noble modesty, it's not that she hasn't seen the common folk revel before. Her hood up, a half-veil covering her eyes (gray, of course, don't offend the locals by claims to priesthood you do not have), hands carefully gloved, her lips painted a matching gray to recede into the background, an umbrella patterned subtly so as to not draw attention as unadorned or as the fanciest of the lot blocking the rain from it's furious assault on the ground. There's music, there's great cheer through the street, and while none of the smells are the right smells, they are delicious smells regardless, and her host has been most welcoming.

What is their relationship? Why, to everyone on this street, they are newly in business, exporting the fine woven cloth of this area to Hymair for her house to sell and become the stronger for. Of course, like any good outfit, there are layers there. Beneath the surface, of course, there is the dance of Dominion agent and Dominion aligned, looking for loyalty or at least purpose: it's not like we all work with them for the same reasons, and a loyalist, a oathbound, and a opportunist walking alongside each other will end in folly. Then there's the layer of a merchant willing to sell intelligence, nothing harmful, for the right price, as all great merchants do. Under the polite and friendly relationship, they are sizing each other up, wondering if they can be associates, business partners, or even the rarest of treasures, friends.

But the polite and friendly thing to do when one's host is as attentive as Azazuka is to give a gift. Not a bribe-gift, not a friend-gift, a gift of thanks, and those need work. Which is why Piripiri has her eye out for just the right kind of flower, not a bouquet, a single flower, to pair with the poem she's composing in her head. The understatement is the point, after all: you cannot out-spend one so much richer in coin than you, so you must compete in another form of richness.
Piripiri of House Seumul, of the satrapy Hymair
The Seeker

XP: 1!

Hazel eyes, long, slightly wavy black hair usually back in a bun, short with a wiry physique that one would say is not at all curvy, wearing a guarded demeanor, foreigner's clothes, and an umbrella with subdued decoration when she gets to pick her outfit. Currently wearing Dominion finery. Sworn fealty to Cathak Agata of House Ragara.

Conditions: Guilty (-2 Emotional Support), Angry (-2 Figure Them Out)

The Authority and their Commandments

"The authority that governed my upbringing was the Dominion, of course. From birth, their priest welcomed me to our family shrine, and made a point to teach me and my siblings of the Dominion's order, how our place was to kneel to their rulership. As I came of age to learn the arts to which the fourth child is given, I spent large amounts of time at their Academy, not in the capital or in my family's' ancestral holdings but on the mountain Hwake, the Empress's personal holdings in our lands. We were taught proper graces, how to hold a knife to eat, how to hold a knife to threaten, how to hold a knife to kill, in the style of my homeland, but in the service of the Dominion. And as I grew older, I was selected to spread our ties south, to a land not my own, by order of that authority. Thus it has shaped my life."

-Piripiri, explaining to the mirror exactly why and how she got stuck with this.

Commandments and their explanations, as stated by her tutor that the Dominion has kindly provided.
Always answer an insult with a drawn sword.
"Your honor reflects on your family, your homeland, and the Dominion. Defend it as you would your life."
Never let a weaker person fight their own battles.
"As a noble, you are obliged to take care of those less fortunate. This is why your house was raised up above the common folk to begin with."
Always obey the Dominion.
"They are your liege, and you are bound to obey by oath."
No intimacy until after a monogamous marriage.
Always cover your body.

"You are beholden to whom you marry, to continue and strengthen the bloodline that has passed down through the generations. Betraying them is a betrayal of your family."
Never show your emotions.
"You are, above all else, here to serve your family, your homeland, and the Dominion. Your feelings on the matter at hand are to be discarded."

Daring: +0 Grace +2 Heart +1 Wit +0 Spirit +1

Tradition
--0 1 |2| 3 4--

Moves

People Are People: When you talk about your home, roll +Heart.
10+: Pick 2
7-9: Pick 1
*Admit a flaw about your home and gain +1 forward
*Share something good about your home and clear a Condition
*Lie about your home to impress a listener and take a string on them

Proper Courtship: When you are Smitten with somebody and you perform a elaborate and roundabout courtship ritual...
*if the other party responds properly, both of you take +1 forward to protect each other until either of you breaks a Commandment. Further, they gain a point of Tradition that they can spend for the same things you can.
*if they fail to understand that you're Smitten, give a string to an onlooker who does understand.

Stiff Upper Lip: You may spend a point of Tradition to ignore the -2 penalty caused by Conditions. This ends if a Commandment is violated or at scene end. When this ends, take a Condition.

It Wasn't All Bad: When you encounter somebody whose experiences differ from that of your companions, you may share a relevent story from your homeland and roll +Spirit...
*On a 10+, gain a string on them, and gain +1 forward to interact with either your companions or the person you told the story to.
*On a 7-9, gain a string on them
In either case, they respond with something interesting or useful about their upbringing.

Help Me~~! You’re a magnet for trouble and hunted by those who would use you for their own purposes. Others mark XP when they Defy Disaster that would otherwise befall you. In addition, whenever you’re captured, your captor reveals something they hope to achieve; gain a String on them and mark XP.

I Don't Belong: When you become Smitten, say with who and why, and answer the question "Which of your values do they openly violate or decry?"

Not So Different: When you Figure Out a person during a physical conflict, you may additionally ask one of these questions, even on a 6-.
*What prejudice do you hold?
*What traditions do you most value?

Strings: One on Azazuka
One on Ven
One on Uusha
One on the Snake Demon Maid Naji
One on Lotus
Two on Han

[x] Take an advance from your playbook!
[x] Take an advance from another playbook!
[x] Raise a stat by 1 (max 3)
"I... yes. I am after..."

She pauses and licks her lips, nervous. She knows, in general what she wants: a lightshow, grand, stunning, and very distracting. Specifics, on the other hand, she's a lot less knowledgeable about. She could probably muddle through, but weighs her options and goes for the risky leap of faith: telling the truth.

"To be honest, I'm not sure exactly what I'm after. It's a magician themed dance, a lot of "look over here, now over there there are doves" sort of stuff. But I don't know what sort of tools and things you can do for that. So what would you suggest?"
Seizhi is of course, totally able to be in both. That's because, as a magician's assistant (or rather the dance equivilent, which means a bit more of precise movement and a bit less of actual deathtraps) she's there to be distracting and occasionally put in a box which is then chainsawed apart. Though Mila did scrap that idea, in the end. But, the point remains: we want to make sure that Seizhi is able to be fairly passive during the dance, which is why she's able to put together a fairly regal, but incredibly distracting, outfit inspired by a peacock, what with the train of fabric made to look like feathers.

Next to that, her own outfit fades into the background. Just as planned. She's got a tiny top hat set at a jaunty angle, a jacket with tails and just enough subtle sparkly bits sewn into it to be pretty. Fairly normal suspenders with tiny eye diagrams, black pants, she's there to actually do the dance and the pyrotechnics, and not mix up which is which. That's the plan at least. She... doesn't know much about the pyrotechnics side of things. Which is why she's trying to find another person to help out. And it's... not going great. Who knew trying to avoid knowing people would backfire?
Mila is sitting in a room, that is rapidly losing all color. She could go back, where it's nice and peaceful and everything is happy. It's so easy from here. And all she has to do is go through that door, and take a left. Nobody else can follow her, nobody can go that shortcut, and she won't have it hurt anymore. The other lady that did not exist didn't follow her here, but she can hear the whispers, she's not sure if it's self doubt or Her but either way they want her to give. Up. Nobody's coming to help, nobody cares.

And then there's rattling at the door, and a reminder that it's her turn. It's pathetic, says the whispers. She's just humoring you.

Mila seizes at it like a lifeline, as color returns and the sobs start dying down to hiccups. "One... one minute?"

She locked that door. The black door, she locked it, nailed it shut, made it stop existing. There is no way she got out of that door. She's there, just on the other side, the outside, Outside even. It's not fair. She got out.

It's not fair.

She can feel the colors leeching out of the room, a black and white wall print reflected in the mirror in it's faded blue patterns. The Woman Who Isn't There reaches out towards the mirror, slowly, and you know that there's that grin under the mask, the one that's only teeth and has nothing happy about it. Cracks start to show, not in the mirror, but in the black and white reality as the Other's hand, just the silhouette, gets closer, stopping just short of touching the mirror.

There's a rattle-SLAM-click as Mila vanishes into the storage room at speed, followed by violent sobbing.
There is... certainly an expression on Mila's face when you turn to face her. It could be shock, sure, it could be terror, but it feels more like horror. A close cousin, yes, but not quite the same. "I... fine. Fine." She bustles into the restroom, scowling, and mutters That Name three times, into the mirror, followed by a hissed "and you stay there".

It's a masked face of a long dead ghost staring back at her. She's not sure if that's the mirror telling her the truth, or if it's... That Name's bearer, actually staring at her from wherever she is.
Now since we have not one but four people in the cafe, let's take a second to describe the cafe itself. It'd be more accurate to call it a future cafe: right now we have a large front room with a counter and two mismatched stools she'd found in a thrift shops and by the side of the road respectively. Behind the counter is the third stool (also a roadside acquisition), a cast iron pan and a camping stove, mostly there so she can make herself lunch while working, and a door through with you can go to the (future) back room, (future) storage room, (current) roof, or (current) restroom.

Mila had been cleaning up previously in the back room, which catches us up to the present with a wide variety of non- and semi-perishables stacked up on the back counter between the stove and the sink, a recent offer of a cook's expertise, no money, and two customers willing to pay money for goods and/or services.

"Our menu! Yes, we'll have our chef here talk over what we can make for you, as you can see we're not actually fully open right now and as a result the menu is in a bit of a flux, but I'd rather not send you out into the rain without a full belly, hmm?" A quick pull of Seizhi behind the counter and a gesture towards the food follows. "We'll see about getting you a uniform later. It wasn't the biggest focus of mine today." Not least because she didn't know this wasn't going to be a one woman show.
Mila opens her mouth to respond.

“We are here,” she declares, “for the beet poetry! Let the beets commence!!”

She didn't mean to say that. Huh. OH THERE ARE PEOPLE AT THE DOOR. That's good, forgetting to use her voice and using somebody else's would be bad. No time for that, though, somebody is jabbing her finger in Mila's face and spouting... something about beets.

"Oh, you're here about the beat poetry!" It clicks, like a grandfather clock that finally got to go a full circle around the clock face. Quietly, that is. It's a well maintained grandfather clock. It doesn't do for those to be making all these extra noises. "I actually changed the cafe away from that because... well, it didn't feel right. So it was going to be a maid cafe. But now I'm second guessing that." She makes a face. A cafe sounds so nice, why is it so much work!
"Owner?" Owner, owner, she had dealt with this, right, went to the records hall and done that little twist inside and been so polite, and had gone through all the abandoned lots and found the one. This one. And asked very nicely to have it if she fixed it up. And that's all well and good but remembering all of that loudly instead of say talking to this strange woman may be a good idea. Wait, no, may not be a good idea. "I am the owner. Actually. I looked in the records hall for a lot nobody was looking after and offered to fix it up and use it if they gave it to me. Which they did of course. I mean, of course because I'm here using it and fixing it up. In the other order." Mila please, please stop talking. "And the maid outfit is because it's going to be a maid cafe because beat poetry is a nuanced thing and I don't think I could do a genuine open mic night." Mila whyyyyyy. "And I'm Mila. Mila Mesmer." She finally notices the hand that's been outstretched and shakes it, shuffling the feather duster to the other hand. See. Perfect. Nothing out of place.

[spending 4 will on changeling to have possession of the building and not be suspicious in getting it]
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