eldest

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Treachery.

She steps forward, batting aside swords, spears, and whips of coins, focusing on the chain of logic. It wasn't Azazuka, obviously. She's as caught up in this as everyone else, if she's attacking the guards and Piripiri, the guards are attacking her and their own side, and Piripiri isn't affected. Crucially, neither Han or the Red Wolf had been either: even from down here, she'd have heard it if either of them let loose. The barge might not even be intact at that point.

So, something that affected everyone but the daughters of dragons on board, as a running theory. Magic or poison, most likely, and poison didn't fit: she could cleanse herself, but it was an active effort, one that she'd remember. Magic then, and that left a sharply limited pool of suspects. Giriel flew to mind, but she forced herself to go through the full list, not to simply pick the person she most wanted it to be. Giri could do it. She'd done something to their heads already, made them forget the journey out of Hell. She had access. There were two demons, one of which was theoretically powerful enough to do it. There was a second witch, who'd been claimed to bind one of the demons... and had never actually disputed it, only deflected. "Iselsi Shae" easily had the means and access as well. There'd been another witch in Hell, unlikely to have traveled here purely for havoc but a possibility. Ven had no catspaws here, it was unlikely that Naji was willingly working with Ven at this point. Finally, there was a Rakasha about. This sort of madness didn't seem to fit a narrative, but it takes skill and detachment to spot a narrative from within one. She's had about twenty seconds of full brawling.

So. First order of business. Clear the current board.

She steps through the guards, carefully laying each out with a precise blow, an eye on how Azazuka behaves during it all. What's the shape of this madness, hmm?

Figure Out Azazuka 5-2=3
Because swords have cross, I still get to ask what tradition do you most value?

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

The plan is simple. There will be a small, but lavish breakfast ceremony to see the young pair off when they dock before dawn in Morningglory. Simple, tasty, and most importantly free food for anybody who shows up and wants some, a few small declarations of how much the Red Wolf has enjoyed having them as guests, and then see them off. After that, a series of bards, troubadours, minstrels, and plain gossipmongers seeded along the main roads would do the rest of the work, spreading stories of the two of them journeying peacefully after having left the Dominion's hospitality freely.

They won't all be the same story, of course, that's not how these things work. Maybe they're fleeing the wrath of a goddess of the rice paddies who wanted them both for her veiled harem, and the barge was a quick way to distance themselves from her holy ground. They could be going to find the answer to an ancient demon's riddle, to free an innocent farmer who'd done nothing wrong but to be unlucky. They could even be a pair of eloping lovers, fleeing from a priesthood who'd wanted to bind the Vermillion Beast of Lanterns tight with oaths and silence, not understanding love's touch had soothed her raging heart.

Regardless, the important threads were mantained. The two of them were at least sympathetic, if not folk heroes: slander is more noticeable as propaganda. They're on a journey that's helping the area without acting against the Dominion. And the Dominion was helpful in them moving around, but they were guests and freely released with goodwill. Even if Han was to bolt before the planned ceremony (and Piripiri hoped she wouldn't: she'd gone to trouble to pick dishes that'd evoke local rustic classics for breakfast), she'd still had Azazuka deliver notes to the pigeon coop for distribution to the Dominion's network, making sure those stories were spread. She didn't know what those notes said, this was an operation she hadn't been brought in on, but it was good for somebody learning shadowplay to learn humility early and often. The guards were ordered to put up only nonlethal resistance if she tried to escape and to drop even that if Han pushed, and were free to explain the ceremony tomorrow if either of them asked.

So of course the barge made a great big thud, jostling about her papers and leaving her in a hissing crouch, umbrella in hand. Of course something new has gone wrong. She's out the door, mask on, and pointing to the nearest guard in heartbeats. "Report."

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Elodie wakes up on the train to a careful but persistent tap-tap-tap. She'd gotten on the train exhausted from the all-nighter, gotten to the handicapped seating, and promptly fell asleep to the sound of a burbling creek from her headphones. Blinking away the weariness, she looks over to see a old man in a tattered coat and badly fitting slacks sitting two seats over, gently tapping at the seat between her, beaming as he notices she's awake.

"You made the news." He's holding a tablet, waves it in her direction as she glares at him for breaking the cardinal rule of public transit: thou shall not interact with others. It seems to sink in, because he stretches out one leg, an extra joint moving under the baggy pants, and wiggles a cyborg raptor claw at her. "Dhyana was a bitch. Got out in '68."

She grunts at him and they share the quiet, safe silence of two people who went through the same bad shit. What more needed to be said?

*

The conversation with Sasha went far worse. Elodie had planned on bringing up that last augmentation design, the one mimicking her prosthetics, but Sasha had started mad and gotten madder. They'd been promised a visit when things cooled down, and it'd been a few days. It wasn't fair, Elodie even agreed. But she couldn't explain that things were going to hell even faster, and sympathy only gets you so far when somebody's furious at being stonewalled. It was a small fight, as these things went, but any fight with loved ones sucks, and she went up the street to the apartment with a bitter taste in her mouth, never having brought up the original point of the call.

*

Getting in the building isn't that hard: most places have basement access, the decks below the surface where all the utilities route through. Deliveries too, if they're big enough to need one of the small electric trucks that are all that's left of what used to be a thriving automobile industry. Good riddance. The basement usually has a decent lock on it, but anything that's got frequent use has holes in the security: the best security door in the world won't keep people out if the janitor tapes it open to have an easier time on his lunch break.

It's as easy as wandering till you find the courtyard that's only mostly a deadend, hiding the street level access to the basement (have to get deliveries to the buildings without access built in, you know?), and work on the door in privacy. This one was easy, the keypad worn away, and all it took was a few different tries to get 7449. Then down the stairs, over a block, up the stairs, and we're outside a door that's been broken into with much less finesse.

She's wary on the approach, but she's going inside after checking the door to make sure there's no surprises attached to it. Last thing she wants is letting whoever tossed the apartment know that somebody's home.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

"She thinks in curves." All the explanation of Pink's conversational style Marco's gonna get, and a gentle smile makes it clear Elodie approves. "Anyway, you stole the meticulously kept notes of all the bad things the cops were doing, which? Congratulations! And I'm sorry. Don't write down that address, we're still going for plausible deniability here." She repeats it to herself a few times under her breath, before nodding.

"So, Earth. The police want to kill you. Not want as in "it'd be nice", want as in "you existing ends them". Earth is not safe, but it's safer. It's hard to work on Earth. The way a Maple Syndicate guy explained it to me, it's a payment handoff problem, complicated by anybody you send to deal with a liar is on a one-way trip. So the cops are going to have trouble finding people that'll trust them enough to get paid after a hit job, and they will have a hard time trusting people to get paid before one, and on top of that Earth is big. They'd have to find you."

The Maple Syndicate was one of the few organized crime rings to make the jump to orbit, cashing in real estate across the U.S. western seaboard and throughout Canada just as the market started to dip to get their grip extended into orbit. In other company, name dropping them would be a marker of either a poser, somebody with more ambition than sense, or somebody to be very scared of.

"The alternative is finding a hole and hiding in it or somehow figuring out someplace that the police cannot or will not touch. I don't like you taking the Fall. But it's your choice, and I want you to be fully informed for it." She jabs a finger at York. "And he's going to make sure you do know before you commit." It's as much a request as a promise.

"Now, I'm off to commit a spot of burglary."

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Interrogation Room One

She nods, deeply, almost a stylized bow. "An empire is never full. Only feeding, or eyeing it's next meal." She picks up the gag, dangling it between two fingers. I'm going to need to put this back in, I'm afraid. Please don't fight it?" She gets a glare in response, but the Knight opens her mouth for the rubber ball, and Piripiri presses the gag into place with her thumbs, before running her quick, clever hands along Uusha's cheeks, smoothing the strap into place so that it won't tug on any of her hair as she buckles it into place. A low grunt comes from the Knight as she tests the gag, but it's quiet and unintelligible.

Piripiri bites her lip, worrying at it, before leaning in close and brushing her lips on Uusha's cheek, a peck of a kiss just above the gag's strap. "They'll try to devour you. They'll try to break you. Resist. Live."

She gets up, face smoothing out from the raw emotions of the plea into placid neutrality, and leaves the room and Uusha to brood.

Piripiri's Cabin

"Huh." She holds up a finger, a polite request for time, and gazes off into nothing, considering. Everything else you've asked has been already well chewed over, but this is fresh. Piripiri lets herself unpack this for about a minute, before nodding her thanks and apology for taking up your time.

"Thank you for the patience. I haven't had much interaction with Giriel, so most of what I'd be saying would be confirming information from the files. She seems to be hesitant about allying with fey or demons, willing to use blood magic but only when she judges it to be a dire need, and appears to attempt avoiding politics, though she's willing to listen to requests. You were at the banquet so you saw how that went: I'd say she's unlikely to be anything more than a minor thorn in our side without somebody rallying her to their banner, and given the sentencing and Agata's interest, it's unlikely she's going to be outside of our sphere of influence long enough to be able to be pulled to a rebel banner."

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Elodie leans forward and glares at York, responding in a hiss. "You're not falling on your sword alone. Can't sell them that you're a lone actor when I'm this involved."

She rubs her eyes, the stimulants starting to wear off, and pitches her voice to carry. "Marco, you up now? We've got something resembling a plan."

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Piripiri's Cabin

"The largest individual problem for the Dominion, Uusha, resolved itself today. That leaves, as far as I'm aware, three major threats to the Dominion's aims in the area."

She is too well schooled to let anything so crass as feelings show, but if you're still touching those strands there's a tangled knot of complicated yearning there, swiftly shoved back down where it won't interfere. Tastes like... unworthiness? The pause, meanwhile, isn't stalling. This isn't how she's used by Agata, she's got all the information to make this analysis and the training, but she's not been asked before now. The Princess of the Blood in charge here lacks advisors: a job opening, a stepping stone, perhaps, if you're skilled enough and have the desire.

"The first issue is the concept of Knighthood in general. As currently conceived of, Knights of the Flower Kingdoms will oppose any overt attempts at bringing the region into our sphere of influence, and they have the legacy and cultural weight to be listened to when they issue a call to arms. Uusha being removed from play is a step here, but care must be made to avoid making her a martyr. To counteract this, my personal idea would be engineering or revealing a scandal wide enough to hit a majority of knight's reputation, and encourage and train those with promise to be much more strictly targeted. Teach them to stay out of messy politics, unlike that last set of dirty knights, and quest against the N'yari, the fey, the demons, and other long-established regional or Creational threats."

"The second issue is Sapphire Mother of Lotuses, the head of the regional court of gods. She's fiercely independent and is savvy enough to recognize what we're doing, even though we've played the game well enough that she can't directly call us on it without us being able to deny and gather sympathy. I can't comment on any potential countermeasures there, it's under seal." There's a sly grin, though, so it exists.

"The final issue would be the Warlock Ven. She's got strong ties to the brass and has already caused one Hellbreach. The region currently opposes her, given the brass, but if it came out overtly what we were after it's possible that she'd be welcomed in as the local black knight, distasteful but needed to defend the Kingdoms. If we could bargain with her, she might be a useful pawn, but she's too destabilizing to the region to be worth keeping around. She's also deeply enough in debt to the brass, I suspect, that if we called in a truly large favor they may give her to us. Expensive, but also neatly removes the problem. Any number of ways to deal with her, really."

She falls silent, waiting for your next question. The tea's gone quite cold, but that's not the point of this anymore, is it?

Interrogation Room One

"I am going to skip over the first, oh, hundred years or so since we first exchanged formal envoys. Trade flourished, we admired their history, they enjoyed ours. We grew closer.

Thirty-two years ago, they made the legal case that the Empress's line could be considered one of the Houses, by our standards. The genealogies were more thorough than some of the existing houses, the precedent to raising up a new House existed, but the deciding factor of their bid was that when the first attempt was politely rebuffed, the second envoy sailed the Lamentation off the coast of Hymair and sent the same letter back. We agreed to the second bid.

Twenty-eight years ago, the First Prince died, and the Empress was elected the new First Prince. A lifetime appointment. Seven of now-twelve houses were in favor.

Twenty-six years ago, House Elone rebelled. They'd been one of the nay votes, and never approved of the new House Domina. They were wiped out, an unprecedented reprisal, solely by the might of Domina. And all the other Houses, were they one, could have resisted, but law and tradition were on Domina's side until the very end, and so we were lessened.

Twenty-three years ago, the fourth child of Uru and Mirana of House Seumul was born, and as I grew up I understood more and more how precarious our position was. How much that one nay vote may cost us, should we seem to be following in Elone's footsteps. And I endeavored to be... useful."

She's finished tending the bruises, the cuts and stressed muscles treated. How long's it been since the last time this happened, somebody taking care of Uusha fully, not just squeezing it in between fights and marches? She sits against the door, lowering herself with a groan of pain to the floor, and faces the prisoner.

"None of this is an excuse. I do dark deeds in the service of somebody else's ambition, and I would like to think I am honest with myself about this. But I hope this at least gives you an idea of why."

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

Piripiri ponders for a moment, but it doesn't take long. It's been set up so every direction here ends with her gossiping: admirable, really. You've lost the cover of being nobody, Zhaojun, but your new mask is fearsome indeed.

And you certainly do know Dominion bureaucracy, given a one to ten scale is how you asked.

"Eight. All core objectives I'm aware of are being met in a timely and thorough fashion, and while I'm sure there exists people within the Dominion who could do this job better than Cathak Agata, replacing her mid-campaign would do significant harm. She came in as the savior of the Kingdoms against the previous woman in her position, and the Red Wolf persona has done wonders in shaping how the locals interpret her actions favorably."

She shifts in her chair, sipping at her tea as she waits for your next question. She's used to dealing with breathtaking ambition, and has effortlessly shifted roles: you're not her boss here, but you're above her, and she'll answer your questions to a point. Don't upset the balance of risk too far in one direction, if you don't mind, and she'll dish dirt.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

"Him being gone won't help any of those people. Where do you want to stash him, Pink? Where do you think we can get to that the entire police can't reach?" There's frustrated, raw anger in her voice, building as she goes. "The only way he gets away clean is if they don't know he took it. That's not possible. So now the way to keep him perfectly safe is ending his life. People don't take the Fall for less!"

"But we have the fucking divine fire. Proof of their misdeeds. Right this second, they can't come down hard, they don't know what we're going to do with it. Might be we just want some money. But the second we come off as driven by ideals, it becomes existential for the police that we stop existing. And the only way we come out of that alive, the only way, is killing these gods."

She closes her eyes, intensity dropping away as her tentacles loosen up from the tight curls they'd worked themselves into. "It's such a damn long shot. But just by having this proof, Marco's dead. I'm dead. I don't know about you two, they might not trace it that far, and if you want to not have this sword hanging over your head I get it. Bail and cover your tracks. But I'm not going to leave him out in the cold because it's convenient, and I'm not going to advocate for anything less than abolition, tomorrow. Trust me that I'll keep Marco as safe as I can, but either come up with a place we can put him without ending what life he has and know that the police won't get there, or just let me play my role and focus on burning down an institution."

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Elodie ponders for a second as she quietly ignores the alcohol being offered. Pink was being melodramatic. But the metaphor seemed solid. Which reminds her of being a dead woman walking, and she smothers a flare of anger at that. Zeus can eat a dick.

"There's a whistleblower sleeping behind the couch. Good kid named Marco. He had a hard drive of police misdeeds. It's been moved on to a safe spot." Not saying where to York hurts a bit, but she wants him to agree to buy in. Nothing less. "I'm going to pass out asleep for about 10 hours in about 6, once the stimulants wear off, and I need somebody to plot how to do this and to watch Marco. He's about to have a bad time."