eldest

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Piripiri glances about, looking at the various tables bustling about with various people, hiding away from the day's nonsense in a quiet and normally-roomy teahouse. The owner scuttled from table to table, where at a corner table, there is a circle of the interesting characters of today's drama. A priestess, a witch, not one but two knights, a hooligan... yes, she wants to know what is going on.

She quietly gets up from her seat and goes to where the owner is currently doing a frazzled dance trying to get tea on the table for everyone, and silently starts to load up a tray with teapot, cups, and minor treats. "You seem to need the help." She says with a nod, before bustling off to The Table. One would normally be more indirect, but they appear to have launched straight into conversing, and it'd be notable to serve the entourage before the knights. Notable is bad when one wants to be unobserved.

Off to this table, get the orders in proper order (the hooligan surprises, here, with quite a nuanced order, somebody to chat with and swap silly fables of what you surely didn't do in another life). Ignore the tension one could cut with a knife, that's not what your knives are for. And then, serve tea, again in proper order, a cup for the priestess, a cup for the senior knight, a cup for the junior knight, a cup for the witch, and two for the ruffian. If she notices that the junior knight takes her tea with more noble manners than most warriors would (she does), she betrays none of it on her face. If she slips up slightly, and uses the proper, Hymairi protocols for the hooligan, nobody noticed, she's sure. Linger about, refills, serve the hangers-on, and they are... discussing Ven.

Mmm. A brief fight between spiritual duties. One should draw no attention to oneself when not needed, but... she is who she is, in order to fight just these sorts. It's a step deeper.

And so your tea server carefully takes a seat from one of the other tables, sits down, and plops a sword wrapped in green cloth on the table. Her tone is level and quiet, but cuts through the chatter of the teahouse to all at the table. She's done this before.

"The woman you are seeking, based on the clothes you described," this to Han "is Ven, who is based in a ruined castle several hours walk through the jungle. I just escaped it myself, with the aid of another prisoner who I'm escorting to safety. Her title is Prince of the Brass City, and she serves a master in Hell. There are two types of demons in the castle, snake-women who are... responsible for this outfit, and some sort of minion that serves as the standard guard, who wear coats of a putrid green, hoods, and have many medals upon their body. This is one of their swords." And the sword is pushed forward, rolling across the table and leaving it sitting upon the unraveled banner of hell it was wrapped in, center stage. "I am unsure if I can kill them: they are able to be trapped or pinned."

She looks between Han's rage, and Kayala striding out the door, tea untouched, and frowns. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with navigating the jungle, and I couldn't get you back to the castle even if I wasn't getting the other escapee elsewhere as fast as possible. One of you might want to stop that one, then, from doing something... stupid."

She sips Kayala's tea, nervous. She needs privacy and time to contact Red Wolf and update her. This is her duty, but not her job, and she's risked quite a bit on doing the right thing. No comforting sayings from her teacher here, this was a raw gamble.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Piripiri draws a wide circle around whatever's happening between the deific and the witches there (yes, she can tell there's something divine going on. She's not well trained in spiritual matters, but she's not blind. And where there's divine meddling, there's either priests or witches, and those don't look like this land's priests.) Not her problem, get too close and you get caught up in it.

She walks further into town, a short walk really. The town was near enough to the jungle that she's pretty sure that there are foragers on a daily basis. Best to make sure to somehow warn of dangers in the jungle then.

And then the sand dragon (witches! See?) collapses as the witch in town scoops two others into her arms and says something about a Rakshasha and Piripiri considers turning around and walking to the next town over. But no. This is a good spot... no, she can't say that, it's a terrible spot, but it's way better than where she's coming from, and she might as well roll with it. So she slips into a teahouse as it's about to close it's doors and smiles her kindest smile. "Hi! We just got into town, would it be possible to trouble you for some tea?"

Paying for the tea is a later problem.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Elodie Auclair

Handle: Persephone
Formerly publicly known as the Lunar Gate Bomber (now exonerated)

Investigative Abilities

Architecture O
Art History O
Bullshit Detector O
Diagnosis O
Electronic Surveillance O
Human Terrain OO
Interrogation O
Intimidation O
Law O
Notice OOO
Outdoor Survival O
Urban Survival OOO
Pharmacy O
Photography O
Reassurance O
Research O
Streetwise OOO
Traffic Analysis O
Tradecraft O

General Abilities

Athletics 8/8
Cover 10/10
Filch 4/4
Hand To Hand 10/10 (MOS)
Health 10/10
Infiltration 8/8
Mechanics 8/8
Medic 4/4
Network 17/17
Preparedness 2/2
Sense Trouble 8/8
Stability 6/6
Surveillance 8/8

HWI Stats, Old

Soldier 2

Cool: 0
(defense: 10, stoic drawback)
Clever: 1
(defense: 8)
Quick: 2
(defense: 9)
Tough: 3
(defense: 10)

Background: Criminal
(the first personal Prep roll made before a mission is Boosted)
Traits: Activist
(may boost a roll acting in defense of others or for social progress, the following roll after that loses a die)
Trait: Stoic
(+1 cool defense [accounted for], but if you fail a Cool defense you get Disadvantage on the next roll after)

Talents
Notorious [generic]
Once per session, you may call upon activists like you would a community resident (p. 58).
Right Tool for the Right Job (thieves' tools) [Soldier]
Gain 1 Asset Specialty with an Asset of your choice. The first time you would spend Prep to use an Asset while on a mission, spend one less Prep.
ACAB [Soldier]
Take +1 on all rolls while dealing with police and other security forces, whether attacking, defending, spotting, evading, interacting socially, and so on.

Specialties
Cool Defense +3 (Soldier Starting Bonus, Stoic, and Criminal)
Grab +1 (Soldier Specialty 2)
Thieves' Tools +1 (Right Tool For The Right Job)
Criminal Underworld +1 (Criminal)
Activism +1 (General Starting Bonus)
Hydroponics +1 (General Starting Bonus)
Astrodemolition +1 (General Starting Bonus)
First Aid Kit +1 (Soldier Generic 2)

Cybernetics
Black Sun Lower Body Full Replacement (tm), aka tentacles for legs: mechanically athletic legs, You have Advantage on all rolls to run, jump, do parkour, and similar feats. Never apply this to attack rolls, even if you make one as part of a move. It also incorporates the Thieves' Tools, below.

Assets
First Aid Kit
Rioting Gear
Thieves' Tools
Safe House

Gig App: Roofdash

Burden: +2
Cash: 0
Prep: 0
Harm:

Elodie believed, from a young age, in making the world a better place. She also believed, from a young age, that bullies needed to be stood up to collectively, after she came home with bruises and a bloodied nose. This blossomed into a respect for and talent with street activism: until the Lunar Gate Bombing, it was honestly the most notable thing about her. Naturally, following the bombing, there was a public cry for blood. She was the top of the alphabetical list: she got the first and worst charges, and she got the hard time. Thirty years, commuted to time served when the real bomber was caught over a decade later. You learn real quick about how crime works in prison.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

She'd thought about this while cleaning. How best to calm down a crying, furious Azazuka, somebody who had no frame of reference for any of this. Somebody soft of spirit and wanting nothing more than to go back to her cheerful festival and happy mansion with guards between her and the outside world.

Nothing was following that script. Which is okay! It's fine, more than fine, this is good for them to have Azazuka reach inside and find steel to draw on. It's... interesting, in it's own way, to have somebody who'd gone through this.

"When I was born," Piripiri began, "I was the forth child. The firstborn is the heir. They will inherit the noble title, responsibilities, and lands, and are trained in diplomacy and command. The secondborn is the spare. Life is dangerous. Sometimes the heir dies, or something worse happens. The spare is trained in administration and dueling, to back up the heir in whatever capacity is needed. The thirdborn is for the monestaries: the monk spends three decades cloistered, the first as a student, the second as a meditant, and the third as a teacher. Then they return to their families to spend their twilight years there. This also allows for spiritually trained monks to be distributed throughout Hyair, to be able to respond to fairy reavers more quickly."

She pauses.

"The fourthborn and on are chaff. I have no role, except to be the scapegoat, the one who made the deal with the river bandits because I have no particular family honor. The one who can sit down and drink with those we've sworn blood feud against, and maybe walk away with a truce. But also the one who might sit down at that table and get up as the poison starts to take effect. It's a pragmatic system, really. There's a mix of debutantes tolerated by their family, drunkards slowly wasting away, and those who take the chance to do things nobody else can, and you can rarely tell which is which just by looking."

Went somewhat off-script there yourself. Reset. There's no voice telling her what one should do, here, so she's playing it by ear and hoping. They're walking towards the circus in the sky, in an absence of what else to do, as well as having the general opinion that spiritual foes (like demons) are best combated with spiritual allies (like gods). Not much longer till they break the treeline.

"The point being that... my first time facing real danger, I couldn't do anything but be defiant. I've still got the scars from that. And I decided then and there that I would try to learn more, enough so that I would never have to just offer helpless defiance again. And, um. I can't teach you everything that I know, not in any reasonable amount of time, but I'd be happy to try to teach you some, if you want. To have some options."

Great! Lovely wrapup as they step out of the jungle into the outermost fields, towards the village in the distance. A possible new student, maybe a colleague. Certainly somebody who's gone through the same nonsense and reacted, well, the same way. That's got to be why she's feeling a bit of a glow as Azazuka grins. A friend.

[Piripiri is smitten! She cannot date Azazuka because it's been directly forbidden by a superior, who she has to obey due to Commandments.]

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

She takes a good ten minutes of hard walking, Away From There, crossing two streams (one with a fake trail upstream and their real trail downstream, one with a fake trail downstream and their real trail made to look fake right across the stream) and dealing with one viper that was particularly affectionate, before the silence is breached. Even then, it's a simple check in, making sure that Azazuka is unharmed and has no immediate crisis to deal with, and to confirm that she was angry, but unhurt, as Azazuka made some very careful cuts to get the bloody gloves off and get some mobility for the skirt. After, a continued hard march through the jungle, heading towards civilization in general, based on some basic wayfinding the two of them pulled together, stopping for scrounged water periodically.

A few hours later, they finally have their first proper break, sitting in the hollow left by a fallen tree for shelter from both any pursuers and the driving rain. She thinks for a moment to figure out her agenda, and realizes with a start she doesn't have one. Azazuka knows who she is, what she's after, and how good she is (very). A slow blink follows, before breaking into an unseemly, vicious grin. "And to conclude, that's why I hate danger. Because it's stupid and something to avoid at any chance, but it's the best feeling in the world to face the longest odds and win."

She whispers it, at least. She's not stupid.

She looks over and takes stock of Azazuka, and winces when she looks at her hair. "We, uh. We may need to give you a bit of a trim to your hair." She might, possibly, be able to untangle that. Given enough time, persistence, light, and tools. She really only had the persistence to spare right now.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Borrowed steel is never fun to fight with.

A slight breeze in a still corridor is her first warning. The click of a boot on stone tile is her second but she's already moving, twisting away from the blow and forward, and that's when she goes shoulder first into the second wrack-doll and they thump together.

Fighting blind is really unpleasant, okay?

Turn the contact to your advantage, shoulder throw because you can't fucking bend at the waist, directly into the other one. Aim for about the shoulders on them, add a heel-assisted kick landed more by grace than skill, down they both go. Listen to the thump of falling bodies and more importantly for the clatter of the fallen sword. The smell of petals is joined by an acrid scent she's smelled only once before, demon blood. Good.

Borrowed steel is far more effective to fight with than unarmed.

Grope about in the general area while you listen to the dolls get up. Get the sword. Get the sword. Got it. A hiss of triumph, mistake as the other sword swings and clips you, bouncing off this damnable corset but ow that hurt. They chuckle in response, a dry hateful noise. Mistake on their part. A palm jabs out and catches them in their throat. They reel, steps back and there's a rapidly fading flutter as they fall. Danger, do not step that way. The other's the one who she got with the heel kick, the blood-smell's coming from in front. In fact...

A silent lunge gets her in range and pins the demon to the wall. A rake with it's sword is the response as she grabs towards his belt and the keys. Bloodied but free and more importantly out of range of any further retaliation.

The first words are spoken of the fight, breathed into the air really. "Azazuka, stay silent until I tell you otherwise. We are leaving."

A distant thud as the falling one hits the unseen floor answers her.

Rolled a 9 on fighting with grace: swapped conditions with them (Angry for one on them), and snagged the keys to the cell.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

She looks over the missives and for the first time she pauses and has anything else but scorn in her heart for Ven. A smidge of pity has wiggled in, as she sees this cousin and that sister and that greatuncle being watched over and protected by demons under Ven's control. This. This is not what a power mad warlock behaves like. This is what somebody who's desperately homesick might behave like. Somebody who for all their flaws loves their family.

Piripiri loves her family. She does what she does for them, it's the root of her oaths of obedience. And that is the best way to her heart.

Good thing that all of them are up north and untouchable!

And the snooping comes to an end, eventually, as a snake-daughter overacts (sloppy, sloppy, you need to sell this on being boring and routine) her need someplace else. A betrayal, stealing away the bound maid before Ven can discover the trick? Further torment? Something else?

Something else wins as one is lead to an empty and mouldering storeroom and immediately pressed against the wall. No. This will not do. Not at all, one has obligations, one has things one must do. One cannot afford to be seduced by a (admittedly tempting) snake demon.

One must do the seducing.

A casual stroke along the jawline, thumb guiding the demon to look into my eyes, as the hand curls possessively around her neck, not even squeezing but making a statement. Mine. Eyes on me, spare hand pinning her hands behind her, rope handily placed (likely by the demon, thoughtful and a planner, one must remember this) and looped lazily around each wrist. Follow the pattern, a light coil around the chest, another. Look into my eyes. You can stop this at any point, it's loose enough to slither out and turn the tables, you just have to want to. And you won't.

Eyes on me, not this one, me, as I loop further coils, the demon so distracted with her breathy sighs that I can have the rope dance on it's own and not need to move each loose knot into place by hand. Doing in seconds what takes another minutes or hours. Eyes on me. You could demand your control back at any time. You don't want to.

One last, sharp pull, and she's left suspended from a handy trio of bolts, an artful curve of tail set just a foot above the ground, able to escape if only the rope would give that few precious inches. The gag is almost an afterthought, layers of cloth from what's handy, tied firmly (not too tight, no need to hurt the poor girl) in place. A writhing demon with nothing to do but sit there and savor the defeat.

She steps away with a wink and a single finger to her mouth, hush, and desperate and highly muffled cries respond. For freedom, for more, or of simple, pleasurable frustration, it doesn't matter, as they are silenced when she closes the door.

Time to properly explore the castle. Azazuka is somewhere here. She should not be. One should at least attempt a rescue.

Defy Disaster with Grace to escape. That's a cheerful 13.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

She pointedly ignores The Window and looks over the window. A viable escape route, in any outfit but this. The third time she cannot flex her fingers enough to grasp at something small and tease it aside is enough to tell her it is impractical: even if she was to get the window open properly, she cannot carry out a good escape yet. And so (and this is certainly not just to ignore The Window, oh no), she starts to do the one thing that is guileless and yet gives her access to more information on Ven, as she is watched (of course she's being watched, no paranoia is misplaced in this place) and needs an excuse to spy.

She cleans.

She sorts the trinkets, wiping them down and setting them up neatly in rows on shelves or other surfaces. Masks are polished. Clean clothing is folded and sorted. Maps are carefully straightened and tucked away, in a nook secure from water but to hand for any planning needed. Pouches of hell's reagents and fetishes are carefully hung up on pegs. She categorizes, sorts, and notates in her mind, and gets that much of a clearer picture of her captor.

She finishes spying but decides to continue the bit. A sort of bite at Ven, really, I can be useful but I will never do so at your beck and call, and certainly not just using this as something to do to avoid The Window. She knocks on the door to get her guard's attention. There is a guard of course. She informs him, her, it, or them of the need for additional supplies to properly clean the Warlock Ven's room. She does not ask: that would allow for it to be denied. It is a careful facade of imperious servitude, one she's rarely had need to put on but had perfected in the room of one thousand faces.

She washes dirty clothes and folds them with the same care. The bedsheet is changed and fitted neatly. Pillows are fluffed. The demon scribe's cage is dusted, and the subsequent wreckage of the duster swept up. Rugs are beaten and then the floor re-swept: this could have been better planned, but she's focused and it's a curious blend of hate. See what I can do. See what true nobility is.

Need me, and despair.

rolled a 7 on figuring ven out! I would like to know what Ven wants from Hell (beyond power) and how Piri could get Ven to release her.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Staying silent as she's prodded and bantered at works wonders on giving her some sort of context to put this in. This is the unpleasant part of being a captive, right here. It is an unconventional interrogation, made by demons with snake-tails instead of legs, but the dance is there. Break, say something, reward or punishment depending on if they like it. Obedience yields rewards.

Fortunately for her tongue, training in this case says to stay silent. Her eyes follow the assistants and this new outfit being put on her, but she says nothing. And a different outfit it is, a different mockery of her normal layers and veils. She's concealed, technically, but the tight confines both show her body off in a distasteful way, and make it very difficult to move. A flex of her fingers and the gloves fight her. Take too far of a step and the heels will trip her up even if the skirt doesn't stop it. Cannot breath in too deep, cannot bend over too far.

She's worn something along this lines before. One of the few times she was acting as a noble, instead of a student or later a spy. That had the same proper layers and something closer to mobility, but it was a dress designed for appearances first, flattering her shape into something approaching the feminine ideal, topped with a brilliant blue peacock mask. Look at me, the center of attention, pay no attention to anybody else! A night of masked dancing and gossip, which was... new to her. It was odd, to be the one talking, instead of the one listening or the one being gossiped about. The dancing and not caring who it was with, whose standing was important and who was to be scorned, that was novel.

She'd ended the night holed up on a balcony off the servant's corridor, a brilliantly dressed woman with a chameleon mask her companion as they let the night breeze cool their skins. The masks had stayed on, a hint of propriety among the rest, and they fell asleep curled together, her companion stroking blue scars normally hidden under layers of cloth, proof of having survived a fey raid. The next morning she'd woken first and left down the wall, leaving mystery in her wake. A good time, that, one of precious few moments she was able to be instead of be useful.

Something to dwell on other than the surroundings, at least, where she must be useful or be tossed aside. She eyes the dress in a mirror, eyes briefly lingering on her side where the scars are concealed again, before nodding her approval. Restrictive, irritating, but stylish: the denizens of hell are terrible and to be opposed, but they have skill, otherwise there would be no point to their calling. An absent glance to the now-silent locked wardrobe, a twinge of pity (to be used and discarded is a tool's lot, but that was... unnecessary), and a baring of the lips that could pass for a smile.

String given to the demon-snakes.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

She... is an awful kisser.

There, that's the route to keeping under control. The idiot warlock had so many openings, so many, but vengefully clawing out eyes is tempting but no, analyze this. Think. Hold onto that anger and don't let it run the show.

Terrible kisser. Teeth used the wrong way, tongue's all in there, she kisses like it's a war and she's there to win. No fun, not for the warlock, not for the other person, just about asserting dominance badly. Needs tutoring. Can't be any demons, naturally, that's who she learned from. Not her either, not like she's interested in this woman.

Absently she notes the name and title (Prince Ven of the Brass City), the boasts, the, ah, promises, and then nothing as she's sandblasted with the true meaning of the words the wrath of hell. Mmm. Time to leave.

A moment to recover, here. Wipe a small amount of blood from where it drained from her nose, recenter. One needs to leave before one gets to the bad part of being a prisoner. There's a power imbalance and the snake-demons are furious, use that.

Guileless, she turns to the biggest of the assistants. "While Prince Ven's ordered you to find another outfit, it's a shame that your terrible lordships' talents will go unappreciated. I should take a walk around the castle, to best display your work."

Or rather, that was the plan. The act is interrupted by familiar talons grabbing her face and yanking her about, facing the Laema's hissing fury, again in the First Language. [A dog among nobles/silence enforced/via broken will/or removed tongue] A meek nod is all that's managed in response, as she's set back in place among the assistant's prodding and poking, staying mute as she looks about.

Fuck.

Entice roll failed with a 5. I am having terrible luck with giant snakes.