eldest

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Threefold Gardens

Lotus is, she decides, the most sincere person she's ever met. It's charming. There's a twinge of regret that she can't invite her below to her room for tutelage in the pillow arts, but... no, she could. Nobody would actually stop her, Cathak is likely too busy with Giriel to notice, and it could be considered part of being, well, a good host. Here is the clearly expressed desire.

But. She has other duties, ones that involve masks, and would be the poorer for her failure to attend to them. And proper teaching takes time. So squash that regret, fourthborn, you've a guest to entertain.

"Yes, I suppose that's the best way to think of it." She politely ignores the flushed skin and dilated pupils as the demigod trailed off talking about N'yari gags and Han the hero. "I wasn't physically restrained, but it wouldn't have been right for me to resist. So... tied up in here, I suppose." She taps the side of her head, echoing Lotus. "I am sorry to hear that Han was treated so poorly for fighting against the N'yari. What happened? I thought they were the Flower Kingdoms' enemies."

Kalaya

"If I may." The masked woman steps forward from the wall, again barely not whispering. "There may be another way to break the spun narrative. If Princess-Knight Kalaya," a formal, slight bow, a host to visiting dignitaries, "were to publicly announce that she would work with Dominion legionnaires to protect the border regions from N'yari raiding parties and take those raiding parties hostage, then the narrative is broken, the N'yari warded against, and we may even be able to negotiate for a release of some of the captured villagers from that region in exchange for the raider prisoners."

She's not saying the Dominion objectives achieved by this either: stepping in to defend the corners that the Kingdoms won't and saving the people the Kingdoms can't or won't further fractures the land, sending Kalaya off to someplace politically unimportant ensures she will have plenty of warning if she goes rogue, she's got a chance of being captured herself by the N'yari, neutralizing her in a way that doesn't tie back to the Dominion, and finally the troop requirement for a border patrol is orders of magnitude lower than a war party.

"If you both find that acceptable, I may do my best to have some new clothes made in your colors, Princess-Knight. What are they?"

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Handoff done, Elodie goes back to her kitchenette and starts making an actual meal. Fairly quick but actually filling, not going to conflict too hard with PB&J... shrimp Pad Thai works. Into the pan goes the noodles and slivered veggies, and she talks as she goes. "So you know, you've been running on adrenaline for, I dunno, two weeks? Three? You just hit someplace you probably are going to think of as safe, so you don't need that adrenaline anymore. For expectations, think of it in terms of a two week manic bender ending overnight."

Second pan starts getting the shrimp cooking in some spare canola oil. Anybody who's snooty enough to tell you to de-vein your shrimp yourself "for the flavor" has never had to cook for themselves after a double. "After you sleep for, I dunno, 14 hours, you're going to have to get used to a brain that isn't high on adrenaline and fight or flight reflexes. You're going to get depressed, badly. Have you ever had self-harm urges?" On the floor, the tentacles not holding her up curl and writhe in angry twitches. Babysitting a depressed lump for suicide watch sucks. She's done it before, she'll do it again, but unlike before this fucker just dumped it on her because... not the point.

Peanut sauce time, and she takes a moment to close her eyes and inhale the smell. She'd learned this recipe with Priya, back when she still had legs, at Dhyana. Let it out as a deliberate, slow breath, and visualize the anger flowing with it. Another of Priya's lessons, which did not stick nearly as well. "After you adjust to the new normal, you'll probably have CPTSD. I recommend therapy. There's a sedative I can give you after you eat if you want to start this faster, but in all likelihood you're going to be struggling not to faceplant into the plate. I'll be figuring out what the fuck to do about this while you're asleep."

She would, too. Just because she's mad that this got dropped in her lap doesn't mean she won't help. That's just the right thing to do.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Threefold Garden

It's a fancy name for a small garden. A trellis in an L has ivy growing up it, sectioning off a small amount of the deck from sight, with raised beds holding flowers blooming in the night air about hip height. Piripiri's standing at the railing, brown eyes staring out into the dark at the jungle just across the water, invisible in the murk. How to explain?

"I come from Hymair." For once, she doesn't smother the sudden well of homesickness. A deep breath and squeeze of the railing, and then she can continue. "I come from Hymair, and to us, what Giriel did was wrong. Horribly so. Not because my blood is sacred. But because... you'd need to understand, first, I'd yielded in a fight earlier. It's dishonorable to fight after that until the sun's crossed the horizon twice. And I'm a noble. Fourthborn, yes, but my honor matters to me." A glance to Lotus: does this make sense? Are you so alien that this is confusing. "So when she bleed me, I couldn't resist that. I'd be just as furious if it happened to, I don't know, that scribe downstairs. If she had asked. I would have given it freely." A pause. "That does need to stay between us, however. Immaculate philosophy and all."

She takes another deep breath, eyes closed, and lets it out, deliberately, before jade eyes open. Feels good to soak into your element, a good way to center. Her sifu would call it a crutch. Then he'd smack anybody who called a crutch a bad thing: any tool you can use is a useful tool, just know it's limits. "So I need to leave the hand wound for the moment. The... repercussions of what happened, there, haven't fully shaken out. But your offer is appreciated, genuinely."

She pauses, then asks the question that'd been biting at her. "How would the Flower Kingdoms view this? A daughter of dragons who's captive, a witch who needs her blood to have all of us escape hell? What's the moral action to you, oh priestess?"

Kalaya

The masked woman pauses in the middle of folding back up the robe at the word "princess", eyes narrowing as she glances back at you with renewed focus. Then goes back to folding the robe, deliberately unruffled. Looks like you just got made.

9 on It Wasn't All Bad with Lotus: gain a string on Lotus and she'll respond with something interesting or useful from her upbringing.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Chamber Of Harmoneous Arrangements

Piripiri's gaze rakes over the banquet hall as she primly slides the glove back on, smoothing out any wrinkles. Any hint of pity is matched with furious, arrogant scorn: how dare you? The glare only softens for Azazuka: she'd rather her not have seen this, at all. All the while, her head's racing. The witch claims that the scribe's a divine vessel, who bound the General. The scribe countered with, well, the truth. You can use the truth to lie, she does this all the time. Three daughters of dragons, a demigod, a witch, a scribe who might be host to a celestial god, two demons, a merchant princess, everyone else wants something. Giriel isn't resisting and the slaves know their jobs. She's not needed here, and she'd like some distance.

She turns to Lotus and offers an arm. "You seem like you may need some air. Would you like me to accompany you to the upper decks?" A crook of her free fingers sends Three Bells along, collecting food from the kitchens that wouldn't collapse outside of the dining room and up to meet them above. And then not a rout, but certainly a retreat at speed, from the attention. Past the legionnaires, currently gently but firmly escorting Giriel out, out the door, and around a corner.

Take a second, and. Breathe. Shove everything down. Emotions do not get shown.

"My apologies about that. I do not like showing that I was hurt." Every word is enunciated slowly and deliberately. Another deep breath, and then more casually. "I also worried you were upset by the demons in the room. My brother is an Imaculate: he's told me that they do not take kindly to the gods or those who serve them. The top deck does have a lovely, if small, garden. If you'd care to join me?"

Kalaya

The last of Kalaya's wounds are treated. The masked woman tucks away the much emptier salve box inside her medicine chest (no thumbscrews in sight), pulls out a bandage, and starts wrapping your chest, quick, businesslike movements. Maybe not a soldier? She seems to know what she's doing, even if she's rusty: her hands speed up as she goes, like she's remembering some long ago tutor's lesson. Like you might, if you had to go back and play the harp after leaving the tutors teaching you how to be a princess for the path of the sword. Regardless, those calluses are all wrong for a pike or anything with a crossguard.

She finishes your undergarments and opens the door, accepting a bundle of dark cloth from a guard. Turning to you, she shakes out a robe in Dominion colors. "Would you like me to dress you in this?" Her voice is a murmur, barely heard. "It's what we have. No strings." The masked woman glances at Agata for confirmation. Well if there was any doubt who was in charge, there isn't anymore.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Ah.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, shakes her head, and heads for the kitchenette.

"When was the last time you ate?" Pee bee and jay, that's an easy thing to slap together, Sasha showed up hungry often enough to have everything to hand, growth spurts are hell on metabolism.

"Nobody's been in here to poison anything since everything went to shit except for you, and you didn't poison anything." Some bread she'd cooked the other day when everything wasn't going to shit gets two slices cut off, and then peanut butter on one, apple jelly on the other.

"The police are unlikely to show up for the next day or two here because they're trying to get me evicted instead, and if they show up then they get caught on camera by all those reporter assholes ignoring the reporters sneaking into the building." Dig around in the fridge, come up with a yogurt that was going to be her breakfast tomorrow. Toss it all on a plate.

"So you are... about as safe as you can be under the circumstances. For the moment, at least." She puts the plate down on the counter with a spoon beside it, and jabs a finger at the stool opposite her. "Eat."

She wants a smoke, she wants a smoke, dear god she wants a smoke. Can't smoke in the appartment, can't smoke on the roof because some dipshit was running a drone out there looking for her, her little greenhouse had working smoke alarms so not there. No good options. Plus he's gonna need a sedative soon, she'd wager, which means he's going to need to calm down enough for an injection or a pill, and... oh right.

"I'll help. In case that wasn't clear."

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Kalaya

The compress was waiting when her hand went out. Maybe it was in that medicine chest, it's open now. No thumbscrews in sight, actually, as you blink away those burning spots in your vision. And the masked woman is looking at you with... pity? Sympathy? She does not like what has been done to you by the Rakasha. She takes out a small box of balm from the chest, partially used already and smelling of citrus, and starts to rub it into the cuts and bruises from your fights.

Her touch doesn't feel anything like Ven's. It's still, one hopes, soothing. She doesn't want you to hurt.

Chamber of Harmonious Arrangements!

She picks up a strawberry and works it between her lips, completely innocent of how she looks while trying to nibble off the stem, and of how very conspicuous her sneaky glance back at you is.

She looks back, her face a polite mask, burying the guilt under scorn. What a hamfisted, overacted, lack of nuance to a seduction attempt she-

And then Agata directs everyone’s attention elsewhere, and the little flower jumps and chokes on the strawberry. She puts a hand to her mouth, eyes watering, and makes an effort of trying to swallow.

Oh gods she's clueless.

Two steps forward and she's behind Lotus in a crouch, and a further push and she's breathing again. She glances at Naji, crooks a finger, and takes the plate from her. A stroke of her finger down the line of Naji's spine, good girl, and then a pat on the back sends her out to continue circulating. Azazuka needs more wine at her table.

And Lotus is staring and as red as that strawberry. Hm. Piripiri crouches next to her, ignoring the screaming from her legs and back. "Are you finding the food to your satisfaction?" She favors Lotus with a friendly smile as she takes a bite from the plate Naji had brought her. No wolf here, little lamb. "One hopes the servants are as well."

That's a 9 on Emotional Support for Kalaya, if you feel this would be valid emotional support. Pick one from the list.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Elodie frowns down at the picture of the intruder. "Not a cop. Not a Maple Syndicate enforcer or any of the others. Shittiest assassin I've heard of. And a reporter would have snooped." She sighs, rubbing her eyes. "So no idea what the fuck he's after but he wants to talk. Cool. Cool cool cool." She has a thousand-yard stares out the window as the train rolls into her station. "Cool..."

*

Her street has a row of cheap brick rowhouses, styled after a now-ruined Dutch public housing project from the 1930s, down each side. On the smaller side, but very sturdy construction, and the walls are good and thick enough that she's not bothered by neighbors playing bagpipes at 2 in the morning.

It's happened before in other places.

Getting to her apartment, a top floor unit, normally involves going down the street, up the stairs, or the elevator, and getting to the end of the hallway. Right now, it involves all of that while dodging about 50 reporters from various organizations staking out the place. So instead, she goes up.

Take a right at the train station, instead of going straight, and you end up going through a small street market. Cafes and grocery stores compete with cheap cell phones sold off a cart, a brazilian-indian fusion place that stubbornly refuses to die, a dance studio, and the posh antiques store that's open only a few days a week, full of all the memories somebody paid to pull up from earth, but then passed on in death to somebody that cared less. An old magnolia tree fills the center of the square, and above the proper storefronts there's two stories of apartments, fancier than hers.

Elodie leaves the wheelchair with Black, cuts through all of that and beelines for the alley next to the antiques shop. From there, there's a little ledge she can reach with a pop vault, a quick hop to the fire escape, and then a basic climb up to the roof. Take a second to check the sky and spot the drone doing lazy circles up there. Somebody noticed she was registered with Roofdash and took a guess. Smart of them, really, but they've left it on a static flight plan. Easy enough to just watch for when it's turned away, and move from roof divot to roof divot, cross the Magnolia Square roof, and vault herself up onto her own roof. Only a few feet away from her own window. One of the reasons she'd picked the place, and she suppresses a flare of pique as she remembers the need to find another.

With that, however, she's inside, and nobody's the wiser. So it probably scares the hell out of the man waiting on her sofa when she comes in from the bedroom and grabs a lemonade from the fridge without saying a word.

A 8 on parkour to get to the apartment and an 11 on getting there sneakily.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Chamber of Harmonious Arrangements!

Piripiri stands against the wall as she directs the banquet. She's two steps behind and one to the left of Cathak Agata: if Giriel notices, the implication and parallel is clear. But Giriel would have to notice, and Piripiri fades into the background here. Faded red robes with a subdued pattern, a black veil covering her mouth and the delta of skin exposed by the robe's fold. A white flower sits in her hair, the most vivid part of the outfit. The sleeves drop just past her elbows, and black gloves cover the rest, flashing in signal after signal as she watches the room and orchestrates the servants just so.

Naji and Maid Confined move about the room together, clearing places and bringing new food. A long chain connects their collars and a dainty one connects Maid Confined's ankles, making sure they have to linger and be seen. Fine silk over their mouth ensures they aren't heard. Dominion power declared twice over in bound demons bringing roast duck and taking dirty dishes. Piripiri catches their attention and gestures, subtly, towards Lotus's seat. More stuffed yams there.

Three Bells circles by Piripiri periodically, bringing food as an excuse to exchange a few snippets of conversation, those things you can't do with clever handsigns. She relays who is to do what to the kitchen and the others. She also uses the movement to cover snagging a few bits of food for herself, the minx. Piripiri studiously doesn't notice: it's good to have the loyalties of the servants. Currently she's listening to directions to prepare Agata's cabin: a well-fueled brazier, a round table laden with food, silken cords.

Emli, one of the slavegirls, sits on a stool next to Han, smiling and suggesting various foods. "So you've never left the Flower Kingdoms? Please, try the piri-piri, it grows north of here in a place called Hymair." She's curious and genuine, guileless. She wants to learn about you. She's also insisting on pouring your drinks for you and making sure to get anything you can't reach, taking care of you. You've done so much already, just relax and let somebody care for you here. Emli is delighted to ease your burdens, she always is: that's why she was assigned with Han.

At the head of the table Cathak holds court, Lotus to her right, and Giriel to her left. She's radiant, laughing and charming and attentive. There's an endless flow of servers, Jali, Kun, Ophil, all bringing food and spiced-wine and chilled juices, in every color of the rainbow, from savory-sweet to mouthwatering hot. Srenjeh and Maru stand behind the two guests of honor, attentive to their needs. There will be no pouring of your own wine tonight, indeed.

This leaves Fengye, who has thus far politely declined a remarkable list of delicacies. The third course had salted rice added at the last second, to make sure the poor woman could eat something. Stationed behind her was Quinn, a veteran marine from the Lamentation: he'd been tested against fey reavers and had the blue scars to prove he lived. Piripiri didn't think she was the rakasha, any more than she'd thought Uusha was, but an abundance of caution rarely hurt anybody.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Kalaya

There's one other person in the room with you: she was waiting silently when the guards took you in here. A slender, short woman wearing a black and red robe, a black choker, barely more than a ribbon, holding a pendant with the House Ragara crest. She's got a white ceramic mask obscuring her face entirely, and red hair pours from around it in long curls. In her hands she holds a small medicine chest.

Any medic that doesn't want to show you their face is not a medic you want to be treated by.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Does the sun move in Hell? Tradition and the dictates of honor demand that there be no escape attempt or resistance until the sun's crossed the horizon twice. It didn't look like it, and she'd tried to track it. No sunrise, no sunset. She had no way to know.

She could ask the witch. She won't.

That being said, she had every right to declare a breech of conduct, preferably from safety and enough distance to be free. Her hand still ached and ever so slightly bled, the cut refusing to heal. The fragment of Giriel's shirt that bandaged it had long since been stained crimson. Not a deathblow at all, one she could persist through for a long time yet, but enough of a disadvantage to want to wait before she was in a better situation to leave. She didn't know what Uusha'd do, didn't know what that apprentice knight that Uusha also appeared to be keeping prisoner would do. Didn't know how to get home without the witch and that one rankled. Didn't know why the cut on her palm kept bleeding. Does a wound born of betrayal not heal in Hell? It would make a degree of sense, but she doesn't know. She has no way to know.

She could ask the witch. She won't.

So she's been marching in that line, one hand holding Naji's leash, the other pressing the bandage into her palm and occasionally dripping a drop of blood. She can endure this. She can walk the rest of them into the ground if need be. The only one it'd even be close is walking on four in her true form and carries an exhausted half-god on her back.

So when they emerge into the ruins of Kingkiller Castle, the major difference here is that she's slogging through mud instead of sand, and instead of there being no water, there's too much. Even then, that took a minute to realize, and it was the smell of water more than anything that got her to look up and look around.

She missed the start of the ambush, but she has been walking for three days. Cut her a little slack.

When the crossbows and pikes do show, however, she changes course, heading straight for a squad near, but not next to, the command group, with the signal fans and mirrors. Approach nice and slow, hands out to her side: see, I'm not a threat. Get close enough to be able to speak and not be overheard.

"The bee is in the lavender
The honey fills the comb,
But here a rain falls never-ending
And I am far from home."

She hated that poem and so Cathak Agata had gone and made half of it her passphrase. The soldiers shift, immediately, pike-line reforming with her on the inside, and she relaxes, just slightly, for the first time in weeks.

"Capture, don't kill, if you can. Gold-level target is..." she squints. "The one Cathak already has. Next high priority threat is the antler-horned one. Any you capture, bind, gag, and hold for debrief." A salute in response, and she moves away to watch the fight, two soldiers breaking off to flank her.

Gold level means that the soldiers will die, if needed, to keep Melody. Sorry, Han.