eldest

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Interrogation Room One

She rocks back as if slapped. Stops, and holds up a finger. Give her a minute, Uusha, she's realizing how far she's stuck her foot in her mouth.

She's not being fair. None of this was fair, one of them was a prisoner who was set to be shipped to the Lamentation and the other had bruises from her liege's displeasure still on her back. But how rare the chance to be fair means one has an obligation to seize it ever the harder.

She lets out a breath, half-snort, half-chuckle. "You are correct. This isn't some unique hell that was inflicted on me. And it should not be something I focused on you. For that I apologize. It was still a wrong, but," she tosses a hand to the side, what are you to do here? "this isn't the place to address it, nor are you the one to address it with." She pauses, musing. "But I suspect, here, that you are overestimating what will happen to you. It's very similar to what would have happened to me, I suspect, had the Red Wolf not been there as we exited Hell. So, let me tell you a story, then. As redress for my lashing out."

"Let's talk about the fall of Hymair."

She's checking over Uusha for any other damage as she goes, smaller cuts and bruises getting tended to with quick, clever hands. "My country has existed for quite some time. The Eleven Houses draw their claim back to dragons' blood, and they throw daughters of dragons often enough to have merit to the claim. The genealogy, mind, draws from myth as much as record. It has been so, so long since dragons walked the world. And so the basic structure lies as such. The Houses defend the country from the ancient enemy's raids. We keep the Great-Uncle sleeping and quiet, and lead and guide. But the right to do all of this depends on that bloodline. Enough spiritual strength to be able to do all these things. And so, when the Dominion traders first showed, we were delighted, for we were not alone."

She's got more here to say, Uusha, but are you being a good listener?

Piripiri's Cabin

She looks you over, your hair, your outfit, your hands. She's watching you openly, trying to suss out any lies, and you can feel the wood of the chair arm fill with essence: is she checking your pulse through the chair? She is.

"I will, of course, need some level of collaboration for that claim."

10 on figuring out Zhaojun. How can I get you to show your hand? And what do you love most?

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

It's been a few minutes. She's scrolling through Sasha's designs, frown lines fading as she takes in the different cybernetics. She's got no real background in designing this stuff, she just knows Dhyana's breed of really weird augments and prosthetics, but nothing stands out as a horrible idea to live with. Then she gets to that last design and stiffens. There's a creak as the bedframe gets gripped too hard by an errant tentacle, before she puts the phone down and wrangles it back into relaxed stillness. She leans back against the headboard and drags a hand across her face, a tendril (different one) snagging her phone. What to do, what to do...

Her thoughts are interrupted by a series of bloops from her phone.

Pink: Hey @Neon Czolgoz!
Pink: *A photograph of the contents of Elodie's kitchen, converted entirely into baked goods*
Pink: Can I bring some over?Neon Czolgoz: dead sure i know where you are
Neon Czolgoz: i’m coming to you
Neon Czolgoz: there soon, crashed at a motel near
Neon Czolgoz: fuckin’ knew there was a better party going down
Neon Czolgoz: changed my @ping to an air raid siren just in case
Neon Czolgoz: sorry if im shitty for a bit, only got five hours sleep
Neon Czolgoz: guy in the room next door hired a prozzy and got his money’s worth
Neon Czolgoz: not even mad tbh fuckin legendary performance
Neon Czolgoz: lmao i think he got woken up by my blitz but he’s not saying shit because he just worked out how thin the walls are
Neon Czolgoz: make coffee?

She shakes her head to clear it, getting up and changing into a new shirt. Damn stimulants make her jittery as hell.

Persephone: be quiet coming in the door

And then she goes back out to the kitchen to see exactly how much of her flour Pink had left her.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Piripiri's Cabin

She taps her fingers on the table, tea ignored in front of her. "My name is Piripiri, of House Seumul. I hold no title, and function as Cathak Agata's secretary and assistant. I ask on her authority." Her gaze lingers on the lone tapestry on the wall, a roadside inn in the foreground nestled among the trees of the forest, with a distant, smoking mountain in the distance. There's heart-ties emanating out from her, linking her to the Dominion through her choker, by sworn oaths of fealty. And it is the Dominion, not Agata: should another scion of the Empress show up, she'd obey them just as readily. Impersonate one, or convince one to order her to obey you, and she would.

That pales in comparison to the vivid heart-ties towards that tapestry, a gift from her family, a going-away present. Hold one of them in your power, and she'd obey. Be careful to survive her service.

She turns and meets your gaze, eyes fading from hazel into jade. "I presume that's enough to satisfy that I've the authority to ask these questions, and my interest in the answers?"

Interrogation Room One

"I see." Deep breath in, and on the exhale the room fills with the aroma of budding greenery as spring turns to summer. She scowls down at Uusha, sticking a thumb out: point one. "You'd bleed a retainer in that situation. One of your warriors, somebody who's promised to fight for you, who chose that." She jerks that thumb up to point at herself. "I was a captive."

A pointer finger joins the thumb, point two. "Han has the blood of dragons. Ven was within grabbing distance, and presumably had her own ways in and out of Hell. And we had a demon to work with. Hell, there was another witch there. Don't you think she had an exit that didn't need me to bleed?"

Third finger. "Finally. I keep my word. I said I was not going to punish or reward you for what you said. Don't try to goad me into it."

She looks aside, shaking her hand as if to cast off the fury, before turning back to her medicine chest. A clean bandage emerges, poultice freshly applied, emerges, and she presses it against the wound. "I'm angry about what happened. It was wrong. It was unnecessary. And it assumes, from the start, that the captive is insane and doesn't want to leave hell." She grabs another damp cloth and wipes her chin clean with curt, efficient movements, stepping back and leaning on the wall as she finishes, arms crossed.

Tried and failed to Figure Uusha Out. 4-2 (angry) = 2.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

There's a long moment, as she finishes chewing through Pink's recommendation. What it means. Exactly how hot the water just got.

She's dead.

Not right yet. But she's how Marco got hidden to start with. She's going to be throwing everything she can behind keeping this unlucky kid from becoming just another skeleton in a closet. And she's already pissed off the police enough to be a personal enemy. She could take the the Fall, she'd need expensive surgery and rehab to rip out all the prosthetic connections first. Find a way to live out her days in Siberia, return back to Quebec maybe. Never contact anybody she knew, keep an eye on the horizon at all time's for any assassins, and hope nobody drops a rock on her house. She'd never walk again, but it'd be survival.

But there's more important things than surviving.

"No. No, I won't let the cops end his life. They're not killing him. They're not forcing him out. I won't let them. If he chooses, on his own, to take that step? Run and hide, never talk to anybody he knows again? Sure. I'll support it. But I won't compromise. Nobody should have to make that choice. And standing against that is more important than just trying not to die."

She's furious and tearing up and this is why nobody sticks her in front of a camera and tells her to make speeches. She means every word too much to be marketable and there's nothing clever here, no wordplay or great oration, just ideals clutched too tightly to be broken by prison. She wipes her eyes with an angry swipe, and looks down, surprised, at the soup bowl that survived all that. Or maybe she just wants an excuse not to look at you after showing her heart.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

The Threefold Garden

She stiffens at the question, grimacing as she her back complains from the movement. Deliberately pushes herself to relax, mouth set in a quirked, humorless smile beneath the veil, as she reaches up to the lily in her hair and pulls it out, looking down into it, perhaps for answers.

There aren't any there, so she tosses it into the river below, shaking her head. The Red Wolf is a character, one that she helps maintain. But Cathak Agata? Selfish. Spoiled. Arrogant. Incredibly dangerous, and Piripiri is safe from that as long as she's loyal. And, lastly, most important, blessed with the right to rule, on behalf of her ancestor.

"She's my lady, of the bloodline of the Last Dragon, and bearer of the mandate."

A little smile and a bow. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have other duties to attend to. It was lovely to have a chance to talk in a lull between life's unpleasantness. Best wishes for happiness in the coming days."

Interrogation Room 1

Piripiri closes the door behind her, and immediately takes off her mask. There's no real need for it here. She sets it aside, on a table, putting the medicine chest next to it, and starts picking tools and ointments out, glancing over to examine Uusha's battered body with a clinical eye.

The Stag Knight has had a bad day. She kneels, fetters holding her feet to the floor as her arms are held well overhead, a thick ball gag silencing her. The crossbow bolt had been removed, but only given a cursory dressing, and Piripiri glares at the thin, red-soaked bandage. Not good enough.

"I'm going to be treating your wounds here. I'm telling you this so you know that nothing you say is going to lead to preferential treatment or punishment. Because I want to ask you about something Giriel did, while she had your proxy, and I don't want you to just guess what answer you want me to hear or what would hurt me the most." It'd happened, rarely, in interrogations. But this wasn't an interrogation.

She reaches up to take off the gag, fingers careful to not catch any of Uusha's hair in the buckle, and puts it on the table.

"You won't be able to talk for a little while because your jaw is stretched out and sore, if you haven't had to deal with one of these before."

She starts with a damp cloth, peeling back the offending bandage and wiping it clean, setting the dirty cloth aside, and grabbing the next, and talks as she works.

"In Hymairian tradition, when I surrendered, I was in your custody. I would obey what was I was told to do, with a few exceptions, not try to escape or use force until the sun has crossed the horizon twice. I did that. In exchange, there is an expectation that any prisoner that you hold is to be defended as you would anyone else that owed you loyalty. I am explaining all this because it's possible that you simply didn't know. Hymair... Hymair is very far from here."

She's done cleaning the worst wound, here, and peels off her thin gloves, holding her hand out, palm up, mirroring how she'd offered it earlier to Giriel. "Giriel did this, while she held your proxy. She commanded me to bleed, instead of asking, because she could, and because she didn't want to extend trust that I wanted to get out of Hell as much as anybody else there." There's a moment of thought as she works out how to word her question. "Is that command an acceptable action to you?"

Was it morally wrong? Is it an acceptable sin, in war or in extremis? Would you have done the same? Would her having been free, and not captured, change any of this? All these questions and more compressed into one.

Piripiri's Cabin

The bed's taken by two demons. The desk has a small medicine chest, open and well used, and a larger one that's been closed and locked properly. The daughter of dragons sitting opposite you, across the small table holding the teapot and cups, is wearing something much more subdued than earlier at the banquet, a dark gray tunic and black leggings, with a House Ragara pendant hanging on a choker about her neck.

"So, I'd like to start with the basics. What's your name? And how did you end up in Hell with the rest of us?"

She looks really tired.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

"You want him to take the Fall?" She's bitten down on her initial scoff: if that's what Pink thinks, this is serious. It's not that it's hard to get to Earth. It's that gravity is a mean, jealous bitch who hoards everything she can.

She sits back to think through how that'd work, soup forgotten and cooling in her lap. Marco would be leaving all his friends behind: anybody he reaches out to through lightlagged digital communication would be in the same danger he'd be in. He'd be leaving all the technical base of humanity behind. Depending on how far along he is, that might even stop his transition, with no retrovirals on Earth. There were various viruses that he'd be exposed to that they'd eradicated in the fumbling rush to escape that just weren't vaccinated for anymore. Hell, there were allergens.

And then there was the big reason: it was a one-way ticket out of town, no returning. Three hundred and seventeen people had Fallen. None of them had gotten back up. Not once the space elevator fell.

One of the smarter people she knows, in one of her flightier aspects, thinks that's worth considering. In spite of all that.

"Well. Shit."

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Persephone: go to bed york
Persephone: bring bagels tomorrow

It takes far less time than expected for Pink to barge through the door, and Elodie does not see that coming. She swells up and off the stool she'd been sitting on, bobbing up and down like a cork in a swell away from the door, never getting actual airtime. As she does she fumbles her phone, bouncing it off a hand, before a tentacle snares it midair. "Shhh, sshshhshh. Sleeping guy. Behind the couch."

She takes a second to slow her breathing and then crosses the room in a few quick motions, grabbing everything Pink's carrying and squeezing her in a hug. "Thank you, sorry, I actually needed a friend here, today was shit and I can't yell about it because Marco. Uh. There's a mouse furry named Marco who's hiding from the cops and he's asleep behind my couch. So. That's been my day."

She's clearly jittery and the empty stimulant packaging on the counter gives a solid hint why. She reheats the soup, puts the rest on the counter, bolts the door, and retreats to the bedroom. "Good soundproofing in here. Won't wake him up. Anyway, he broke in while we were out. He's sufficiently rattled to think all the cops want him dead, and Black has what he took from the cops. So... part of why I wanted you here was so you could figure out how much heat this is bringing. But also I have had a day." She slumps onto the bed, sipping the soup straight from the bowl. "And I did not want to deal with that alone. So thank you for coming, even though I snapped at you earlier. And sorry about that."

Failed the roll to safely vigil: she's had a day.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Threefold Garden

"Very... kissy? You're not talking about Han there, right?"

It's very easy to get people to overshare: just agree with them. That wasn't Han that was kissy, of course not: just saying "No, it wasn't" and leaving it at that is the hardest thing in the world for some people. This isn't something that she expects to come up, but as somebody planning to meddle in their budding young relationship (so new! so fragile!), she'd rather find a way to not separate them unless needed. For once, her job and her heart work together: they're easier to control if they care about the other, and they deserve a chance to be happy together.

9 on Figure Them Out: What are Lotus's feelings towards Machi? And what is Lotus hoping to get from Han?
Lotus can ask one in return.

Kalaya, Kalaya's Cabin

The masked woman helps you dress in the borrowed Dominion robe and takes you through to your new cabin.

It isn't a bad cabin, even.

You've got the standard shipman's desk, a bunk, a small set of shelves if you had any possessions or intended to stay here any longer than the night, along with your clothes, patched and cleaned. She leaves you be to change, reappearing with a cup of tea as you finish getting into your things again, taking the dominion robe without a complaint. She bows her head slightly as her farewell, then pauses.

"I am about to go tend to Knight Uusha's wounds. Is there anything you'd like me to pass along?"

After you respond, she leaves you be with the guards told to escort you to any public parts of the barge you wish to go to, or to watch that you aren't disturbed if you simply want to rest. And she leaves that tea. A very familiar order.

Later

The cloak is delivered to your cabin a few hours later. It's a very light thing, a silk half-cape only going down just past the small of your back, a deep rich green edged in brown, cut to your size. The clasp, a simple carved wooden knot, lets you wear it symmetrically, or off center, covering your off hand in a swordfight, if you had the need. Woven into the bottom edge are fresh lilies, white and still smelling pure. The note with it explains that while it won't ward off a sword blow, it should stand up to the rigors of travel surprisingly well.

Using Kalaya's mixed beat on Figure Them Out to ask her how she feels about Uusha?

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Kalaya

You're paying attention to the masked woman, really looking her over for the first time. And she's not exactly hiding her role here. She's wearing thin leathers, reinforced at important points with laminated bamboo, dyed black and crafted to make little noise. The mask is theatrical, a abstract bird with blue and black plumage. And the House Ragara crest at her neck seals it. She's one of the Dominion's vassals, working for their intelligence arm. And she wants you to know it: otherwise, you'd be looking at regular legionnaire armor.

So. Maybe, just maybe, she's actually angling for exactly what she seems like she's angling for? She doesn't want the rakasha to succeed, you saw that angry flash in her eyes, and she doesn't mean you any harm. So she's just trying to find a way for you and Red Wolf to work together, so you don't have to go to the Lamentation, so nobody suffers.

Because, and this is also clear, she's going to do whatever Red Wolf says. The Dominion claims a mandate from the Last Dragon, and while the masked lady doesn't want to crush the Flower Kingdoms or you under a legion's boot, she believes she's doing the proper and just thing here, obeying imperial authority. So the offer being agreeable to Red Wolf was the first priority: that's why you're still going out, to do something that will ultimately benefit the Dominion. She just wanted to find a way to have you help people out on the way.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

"Oh. Oh you poor, brave son of a bitch. No, you're not stupid at all."

She sets the plate in front of him. "Eat till you're full, I'll set you up a place to sleep." A quick dig through her first aid kit and she taps out a sedative pill. "Take that with water if you want the help falling asleep." Her bed's is all storage under it (and also, slightly creepy to have somebody sleeping under), but she's got camping gear she'd gotten secondhand when she first moved in and was working on affording a bed and such. Push the sofa away from the wall on one end and cover it with a blanket: instant shitty blanket fort. Sleeping bag and another blanket for sleeping in. Should, she hopes, feel safe enough.

She does snap her fingers, remembering, as Marco wipes away the tears that haven't fully fallen and curls into his safe place. "Untape your tail to sleep. You'll want to get used to the nonhuman morphology and letting yourself find the most comfortable sleeping position with all of it in play lets your proprioception adjust." Hard-learned lessons. She curls a tentacle in the air in front of him, playing at being a snake as she slides it back and forth. "We're a very pro-transhuman household here. In all it's shapes and forms."

He's out cold within minutes of laying down. She checks to see if he took the sedative or if he was just that tired (both), and settles down to plan a campaign. Problem one. She's got hard limits on how long she can stay away, even with some of the really good stimulants she's got tucked away in the first aid bag. Marco probably has the will to drag himself through all the really nasty depressive parts, given what he's done so far, but she's known him about 15 minutes at this point. She wants to be sure. And that means bringing in other people, to her apartment, which is currently watched by all the reporters and has suddenly somehow become even more hated by the cops. She can manage the first 24 hours easily here, but she needs to get in touch with Black about the drive without drawing attention to either of them. Marco could be wrong about how much cop attention he pulled, but he could also be right. And till she knows, be paranoid.

The first message's easy. DM York. He'll do it.

Persephone: i need you to drop by for about 9 hours tomorrow.
Persephone: 9 and a half if you want the explanation why.
Persephone: let me know before 11pm tonight when you'll be here, i need the right dosage the first time.
Persephone: bonus if you can dodge the reporters out front on the way in/out

The second one... she waffles on sending it. It's close enough to deception that she really doesn't want to. But it's the best shot she's got.

Persephone: hey pink? mind actually stopping by tonight?
Persephone: it's a bad night and i'd appreciate the company

She hesitates for a second, sends a black heart, and slides the phone away from her. Please get the message.