Phoe

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Ok in my defense? I didn't mean I saw her fortunes changing immediately. Also I'm not a fortune teller. If I was I'd have made a more specific prediction, like Saber appearing at the edge of the corridor dragging the sunshard behind her. And also is this your card? Wait. It's not? Really?

Dang it!

Eh, figures. I'm gonna get Hyra to show me the trick to this one again. I'll try again later, ok? Anyway I don't see Saber anywhere from here. Whatever she disappeared down here to do she's very clearly counting on Kat to handle Caster. Which is a bit of a shame because while Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits is very good at spitting sparks until somebody's heart feels warm, she's got no practice at all arguing with superintelligent robots.

Plus, she left her glasses at home. Not that she needs them to see? Actually there aren't any lenses in the frames at all. But she says they make her smarter, and who's going to argue with that? Nobody I know. But setting that aside, right now Kat's got an expression like someone just told her the Birthday Fairy isn't real and won't be leaving presents for her under the Birthday Tree. Our world is... worse? In every way? And oh goshies, oh no! People are suffering and don't even know it!

Kat rubs at her eyes. Part to cover up the tears she can feel welling in them, and part to try and get those scales out of her eyes. Dragon scales, she assumes. Maybe Qiu put them there to punish her for being a bad girl.

"Well, um. That all sounds really bad but. I just, mmmrgh~"

She squishes her head between her hands and musses up her pretty hair to help her focus. This is the kind of thing that doesn't come natural to foxgirls; she knows the argument she has to make but it's contradictory to everything she stands for to make the argument that she isn't long suffering, actually. That she gets lots of tasty meals, that not getting snacks every time she wants them isn't the same thing as torture, and that it isn't all that big a deal that somebody beat her PB in Pretty Soldier Valis VI last week or that she's going to struggle to take it back because she's only allowed 3 hours of screen time a day and the run's about that long to begin with. It's as much a part of who she is as her fluffy tails to hope for more, even when she's happy. It's already enough of a problem for her standing among foxgirls that she is happy with her lot in life but if she admits it, that's just game over.

Even still. Even still! The world is depending on her to defend it. And at the end of the day she is prepared to make the argument that saving snacktime for everyone when it's under threat of disappearing is as big of a heist as any foxgirl has ever pulled. It's just a shame she doesn't have a stack of papers she could straighten right now. Or a desk to tap them against. It'd help a lot.

"In my whole life, I've nnnnnnnnnnever been hungry. And I've never seen anyone go hungry, either. I mean I haven't been to see every single part of the world? But everywhere I know there's all sorts of shrines along the roads where you can stop and have a tasty meal if you need it. Or if you've got too much to carry you leave some spare instead. I've never once seen 'em empty. There's so many beautiful places to go and sit I dunno how you'd ever get bored. But if you did, most towns and cities have free movie nights at least once a month, y'know? Even the teeny lil' place I grew up had anime night! We play guess the music and gossip about who the most kissable girls are and it's great.

"And I mean! How about headpats for good girls? I bet that's a stat that's way, way up! Super fun slumber parties? Types of popcorn! I think you'll find all of the stuff that matters is really nice. Maybe we're not perfect, but just about everybody checks the Daily Affirmation of the Way <3, and the sun always just knows when to set or when to rise to make a moment perfect. There's dance offs and sword fights and princesses! And Princesses! I mean how can you? How, y'know.

"How can you say all of that is bad? What could we possibly be failing at?"

Return to Thellamie

Eclair touches her gauntleted hand to the mural, which is now large enough to cover several of the little prints dotting the edges of the happy painting. She slides her fingers along the wall with a strange look on her face. Rubs her fingers together and peers at the tips to monitor how much dust has accrued. Not so much that it upsets her, but she pulls a cloth out of nowhere anyway and proceeds to wipe down the entire room.

Of Mrs. Shark she finds no sign. Neither does she find Ser Kensington, or even Uni the Rainbow Unicorn, who had been a popular mainstay among far more children than just her. There are toys aplenty in the adjoining closet just begging to be organized and put away properly (for once), but none of them belong to her childhood. Many possible explanations for that. They may have been retired after being on the receiving end of too much love; Mrs. Shark in particular had needed three different stitching sessions in Eclair's last year here alone. They may have gone away as graduation presents to children who were less ashamed of their childishness than she had been, and who had earned the privilege by dint of not running away in the middle of the night. They could all be in another room. It's not as though Eclair has infinite time to search for fleeting hits of nostalgia. Or perhaps they, like her, had simply gone off on an adventure and had not seen their way back to visit yet.

Eclair takes a seat at the long table. It is not the seat she preferred as a little girl (she cannot remember which that was). It is the seat the caretaker always took, at the head of the table. The better to oversee dinner and keep a tangle of assorted hungry and sometimes miserable children under control. She glances around the room. Bright and happy colors, bright and happy decorations, bright and happy toys. All cleaned, thanks to her, and... reasonably well maintained if one accounts for the state of things in Vespergift. She turns her attention down again, to the table, to the tablet she's left there, to the message she has done everything in her power to avoid thinking about because she cannot admit to herself she doesn't know how to respond to it.

She plants her elbows on the table and locks her fingers in place in front of her. Her chin rests upon her knuckles, and she furrows her brow in thought. She wiggles her ears too, also in thought.

"Is this sentimentality brought on me by drink? Or by contact with an old friend? Or... is it, more simply, that my perspective was wrong? It is a certainty I was unhappy here. That I was hungry. Neglected. Physically struck. And yet I look around here and I see... love? That idea is repulsive to me but I cannot come to another conclusion."

A picture of Timtam. Allegedly. It has been certain for some time she has had accomplices, but this latest missive begs the question of if she is even physically active on the board to begin with. Disturbing notion. Well, if it is deception all the way down that too is information. I will not walk back my assertions to the handmaiden of Heron so soon. What is confidently correct here in any case is that the speed of this correspondence and the specificity of knowledge is such that there are only two possible hypothesis. Either: I am currently speaking to the mastermind behind a world scaling threat that has manipulated even the Rot Star itself. Or. She has an information network inside the Chrysanthemum that dwarfs anything I could possibly have anticipated. Terrifying. And yet, not infallible? If her information is so perfect, why did she not taunt me over my inebriation?

"I see love. To those children and adults who leave this place and do not return... I agree with your decision. And to those who return, if I have done my job well enough to see that you can... I agree with you as well. One small city is not enough to hold the dreams of an entire people. One orphanage is not enough to raise all the children who lack for parents. I no longer... believe it is just. To hate a place or its people for failing to do the impossible. The hurt is still real. But so was the effort."

>[.eclairespoirviolet]
>It is with my sincerest apologies that I ask you not to think ill of me for going against your expectations. You may take it as a sign that I have no higher pleasure at the moment than our little game. Though I assure you, in the end I will emerge victorious. Inadvertently or otherwise, you have stepped into a world that I have trained to be the master of since before our fateful meeting was even a glimmer of possibility. Against a mind I rate as three times sharper than yours.
>However, I must ask. Is this intended to be a form of flirtation? Admittedly I have not been able to get the question off of my mind since the possibility was brought up to me. My apologies once again if I have misinterpreted your intent. But if your aims for me include amorous ambitions I would ask that you kindly show more patience. To both win your heart and unravel your schemes in the same grasp will require rather more effort on my part.
>In either event, I believe it is time for us to speak face to face. I, Eclair Espoir, evidently the assassin who attempted to kill the Goddess Civelia, am inviting you to afternoon tea. You have my assurances on my honor and on every form of oath known to me that no attempt to apprehend you will be made until such time as I have fully pierced every veil you have wrapped yourself in. I am aware of the innuendo but I hasten to add I do not mean my words in that capacity. Today. Feel free to select the location of your liking.
>Cordially awaiting your reply,
>Eclair Espoir, Investigative Knight of the Aurora

"Well. That is enough of a break for one day."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Oh nuts to that, I'm gonna-- hey, hey! Quit that! I said knock! That! Off!"

Kat does the firs thing that springs to her mind. The only thing that makes sense to do in a situation like this, really. She takes her not-quite-on-fire stick and bops the ancient spirit of a philosopher king over the head with it. Once for each syllable! This is what scholars refer to as 'the spirit of debate'!

"Quit it quit it quit it! How's this poor little fire supposed to change anything about itself if you keep egging it on? The poor thing! Like, I just, what? Are you doing this just to win an argument with a foxgirl? Don't even bother, Cutie Law is on my side! They don't call me Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, esquire for nothin' y'know!"

She crosses her arms and pouts her best pout, careful to take an extra step away from the fire to keep this super delicious yummy tempting stick away for its poor sinner's flames. Hey that's kind've a cool turn of phrase, isn't it? You think I could be a writer some day? Maybe? A poet, at least? Wait, what d'you mean, what do I mean 'at least'? Everybody knows the order from most respected to least goes manga artist, essayist, novelist, a really shiny beetle, forum poster, and then poet! That is just science, look it up. Hmph!

Anyway this is yet another delicate needle for little Kat to thread. Seems like Servants love their delicate needles, don't they? I guess the pressures of the ancient textile industry were no joke. But whatever she decided to do here, it's important she not forget she's on the clock for a Foxgirl Scheme right now. If Caster didn't know where Saber was, that meant the heist was still on!

"Ok ok ok ok ok ok ok. Ok. I don't wanna be mean, ok? So I'm not gonna do the thing where I pick apart your argument line by line and tell you how you're wrong. You are wrong but it doesn't matter. So let's say you're right, mmk? Let's say, for the sake of argument, the Burrowers are all up above the sky somewhere telling each other awful jokes and buildin' stuff that smells as gross as this tunnel. All right? Is that fine! You're so right, Grandpa Caster! Somewhere way above the clouds wherever the stars're hidin' there's a buncha jerks. That's a catamagorigical, undeniable fact."

For the record? They really did all die up there sometime after they left. I'm sure it's got nothing to do with punishment so much as regular old age or bad luck, but if they didn't all kick it then they definitely saw the error of their ways, 'cause all their money came back this way a hot minute ago. If you don't already know about it you're just gonna have to trust me on that. It's way too much trouble to explain. But like Kat says that's not really important, so let's move on with an adorable little nod and a fiery sniff from our lovely heroine.

"And they're definitely definitely definitely gonna come back here, too. And when they do, let's even say there's nothin' anyone livin' on our happy lil' planet can do about it. They're all, I dunno, robot wolfgirls taller than Miss Saber or somethin'. Mechanical bodies and eyes that shoot lasers and sword skills so shiny that even Princess Qiu can't stand up to 'em. I doubt that, but sure. 'Cause that's not the problem really is it? I'm like, 'how about thinkin' about the way stuff is now?' and you go and tell me 'oh gee miss Katherine, your tails are the fluffiest and the softestest and I just love the cool minty thing with your hair! Who's your stylist? Oh but actually never mind about that 'cause the future's sooooooooooooo bad, boo hoo!' Right???"

For the record, Kat's Caster impression is... not flattering. She can't do deep voices to save her life so she just kind of sounds likea city person's idea of a bear with a mouth just stuffed full of peanut butter. One who just escaped from a room full of helium. I'm just saying, if he can find the note of accuracy in there then he really is a magician.

"Literally! Why does that matter? That's like a billion years from now! How many kids are gonna grow up playin' in the fields without a clue about all that stuff a'fore it happens? How many happy campfires're gonna spring up and get washed away? How many maidens'll kiss over crossed swords and go start families together before they get squished by a big sky boat or whatever? Like, infinity? You're not gonna tell me with a straight face those people and their happiness don't matter, are you? Holy crackers dude, that's messed up!"

Kat huffs her most dramatic little sigh and shakes her head to bounce that pretty hair of hers to maximum effect. She shrugs as best she can while still holding a stick that's twice as thick around as her arms, and pats the axe still hugging her waist with affection.

"Anyway nah. Nah, nopers and nuh uh. I'm sorry you got stuck with a jerkball of a Master who gave you depression but I am not gonna stand around waitin' for little miss failed pizza restaurateur to wipe out all of history so nobody finds out she tripped on stage at the talent show and flashed her panties in front of the whole class or... whatever her problem is. If either one of you wanted to do anything, like literally anythin' to help out people who were maybe still struggling despite how cool and pretty and sunny the world is then maybe I could get talked around but you're not! You're just doomers. I'm beggin' ya gramps, just go fly a kite. Paint a painting or go eat at a really nice diner! Go see a concert! Ys has all sortsa stuff like that! If you're done with our world then just... chill! Just go hang out and wait all quiet like to get proved right. You can even come say I toldja so after, but quit tryin'a mess it up faster!"

She puffs her chest out in equal parts pride and defiance, only deflating a little when she sees the odd tilt of Berserker's head.

"Oh for, no come on Berserker not you too! I don't wanna go over this again! Yes ok fine, I know how to pronounce my g's! It's just easier not to most've the time. I'm not doin' a bit! I'm not! I swear I'm not, and you're Yueing me! That's not how I wanna get compared to her, darn it!"

Heh. What a Fluffybiscuit. But don't worry, Kat. I think I see your fortunes changing. You've just gotta hang in there a teeny bit longer, ok?

Breathless Dead

She rises. Though her body lies shattered, she rises. She pushes strength into her legs and ignores the pops of protest as she forces them to straighten. She feels her back shear like glass but the most she allows herself to acknowledge it is a hiss like escaping steam. And she rises.

Bella spares a glance at her mangled wreck of an arm and laughs with some horrible mockery of mirth to see how badly it twisted in the clash. She tries to flex her fingers; the true horror of the moment, if indeed there was horror to be felt, lay in how gentle her hand seemed to be. There is no heroic straining, no quiver of effort, no valiant trembling of digits that long to test themselves against that trickle of red. There is simply no movement whatsoever: a part of her body so far past the fight that it won't even pretend anymore. She shrugs, and lets the whole arm grow over with a thick branch of claw exoskeleton.

Standing there it is easy to see why Artemis called her outdated. The unicorn stands there in its armor, the same idea but pristine and purposed. Nothing wasted, every impervious line clean and smooth and so close to flawless that she genuinely hadn't been able to perceive it until a second ago. Bella's arm, by comparison, is hideous. The wicked tangles and thick almost bark-like spirals jut out into strange spines here and there. It isn't armor so much as a horrible spear made from the corpse of a sea serpent, or something equally disgusting. It's a difference in philosophy visible to the naked eye. Once upon a time they might have thought that monsters were the best way to kill something, but what had killed the monsters?

Knights, of course. Only instead of shining plovers this one wore its suit directly on its own body. Bella heaves with fresh, disgusting laughter.

And she vanishes. When she reappears she is in the air over top of Sanalessa aiming a downward strike. The unicorn vanishes in turn to appear behind her, but the counterstrike turns into another teleport, and another, and another, and another. They flash across the room in a strange slideshow of combat poses, all potential and promised death without any of the payoff. Only the air screams as if it's dying. But this dance cannot last forever. Eventually, at the fifteenth or so turn, Bella falls behind the pace. When she appears, she is not in an advantaged position but staring down the face of a mighty swing already in progress. She twists her body to at least draw in a counter attack but there's no time to achieve anything approaching the same kind of leverage her opponent has, and even if she could match them exactly she simply isn't as strong. The universe, the gods themselves, have spoken. Two blows connect, but only Bella hurtles backwards. Only she dents the floor and bounces out of the hole she made without moving.

And again, she rises. With even more difficulty than before, she rises. Her Auspex flutters shut, and her mortal eye beholds a suit of perfect armor that is somehow even redder and more stained than before. She cackles until she is interrupted by a wet, hacking cough. What she feels inside her throat is best not described.

This time she rushes headlong under the power of her own trembling legs. The echoes of her stomping sound through large chunks of the ship beyond her battlefield. She comes in a wide arc, using stored momentum and a high angle to compensate for the fatigue of her body. Her spear arm impales the floor and tears out a mountainous section of it that gives her a makeshift shield to call her own. She smashes Sanalessa in the face with it before it can get punched through, which does nothing to stop her ribs from turning to powder under the force of the counter uppercut. The grapple doesn't work. A headbutt only makes the room spin around her own orbit. When she vanishes into the dark she is hunted down, and when she manipulates the trigger of several traps at once, having anticipated the arc of at least a few of Vesper's preparations, the distractions prove useless and unwilling to bend to her advantage.

No matter her approach, Bella is outmatched. That is in the truest sense what it means to fight against a God. All her brute force, all her clever tricks are simply turned aside or reflected at her in a perfected form. She plates over more and more of her body to compensate, all jagged angles and pieces that don't entirely fit together, until she looks as though she is in the middle of being devoured by XIII. But there is no pull on her mind. There is no slowness to her movement. She falls again. She falls again. She falls again.

And she rises.

This is not a question of superiority. This is not a question of overcoming a trial because she deserves to. She hasn't earned this. Fuck, she never worked a day in her life for it. If she'd even known she needed to she would've curled up in her little slave bed back on Tellus and not even Empress Nero could have dragged her out of it to face the universe. This is simply that she has not given up. This is just that without all that heavy blood weighing her down she finds it easier to move a little bit faster. Hit a little bit harder.

Bella never wins a single exchange. But the rate of her deterioration begins to slow in comparison to Sanalessa. She watches the unicorn'ss armor develop cracks and even a torn out chunk at the lower left portion of their abdomen. She watches sets of instructions fizzle out. She watches that white armor turn red. And she laughs, and she rises.

It is not a pretty fight from any perspective anymore. Not the call and not the response. A tight choreography of ultraviolence becomes a ugly exchange of punches and rending stabs that aren't aimed at anything but the broadest of targets. Again, this is not a question of superiority. This is simply the moment where 'im' crumbles off of 'possible'. In that sense one might call it a punishment: calling it a possible labor robs this weary Servitor of her victory and promises a new and worse challenge on the horizon. Which one of these will finally count?

But it is still true that she no longer conceives of this as something that cannot be done. The shift to something that must be done is all she needs to keep standing, to keep lunging, to keep clawing whole sections of ship atmosphere to ribbons to traverse the sudden rift and try one more time to land the attack that Diomedes would smile at. The only real advantage she has is better motivation. That's really all it is. Her opponent had already given up, after all. Whereas she? She had a family that needed her to not only win, but return home after.

Impossible begins to turn. Though her muscles are shredded into uselessness, though the armor she wears around her legs cannot bend, she clambors back off of her knees. Though every breath brings with it a cough, and every cough turns her lips pinker, she plants her feet and smashes her fist against her breast. Though her spine should be shattered and her mind turned to mist she curls to see the ceiling and howls a battlecry that shakes stones loose from several mural reliefs. A gem encrusted skeleton, vines still creeping through its eyesockets, tumbles out of the embrace of a former lover and scatters across the ground.

Bella's boot stomps clean through it. She slumps forward, but more wicked laughter pulls her head straight again.

"Is that... all? You've got?"

Again, she lunges. This time, though she gets suplexed almost through the floor, her spear tears a proper hole in that stupid fucking armor. It's just. Hard to see that. With all the black spots crowding out her vision.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Oh, uh. Sure? That makes sense. Yeah."

Katherine turns to Berserker and shakes her head. She does not bother to disguise her feelings on the matter.

"Happy for you, though. Or sorry that happened. Or uh, y'know yeah."

Her expression in this moment is as helpless as it is hapless. She takes a single step forward closer to the light. She eyes the technomantic creatures in the shadows with wary readiness, and swallows her fear. Literally. Her attempts to polite and delicate about it are a failure.

"You uh, sorry for makin' assumptions I guess you could be a regular old ghost or somethin' but, you heroic spirits really are all cut from the same cloth huh? What gets you guys so stuck on what stuff used to be like? How 'bout what things are like now? Y'know? Like, hardly anyone lives down here anymore. We're all up top, with those happy fires and the sunshine and all. I mean, I guess my, uh? I guess she'd sorta technicamally be my aunt? Big big sister? Iono. Adopted, see. But yeah. She spent a good long while livin' in the underworld or whatever after she got grabbed up by some demons but she's a Princess now. So that worked out ok. Right?

"I mean I'm not sayin' it's paradise out under the sky. There's all kindsa jerks and even really nice people make mistakes sometimes too. Like, there's this one girl I know? Nicest little thing you've ever met. But she got in a fight with her moms and next thing y'know? She goes and frees all the foxgirls from Cutie Fox Island!"

She coughs.

"And look how that turned out. Haha. Ha. I mean. Look. What I'm tryin' to say here is, if you don't like it down here then... why come? Why hunch over there and brood when you could go for a run outside and feel the wind in your hair and just feel better? What's so darn important that you've gotta kill for it? I-if that's what you're doin' down here. Sorry. Assumptions again. I just figure you're the one Miss Saber was talkin' about. Where did she go, anyway? Did you happen to see her around? Is she safe, do you know?"

Katherine's eyes are full of curiosity and concern. Her mouth is full of questions. And while she lets these things out, she creeps closer to the fire. She bends down on one knee to pluck the large stick that Caster had just tossed back out of the pit.

Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits is not Yue, for all that she looks up to her caretaker. She does not speak the language of fire. Or of wood. Neither metal. She barely even speaks fox, or at least in the darker moments in her head it feels that way. So she doesn't know the words she should be using here if she were and if she did. But she does understand the sentiment well enough.

If you have burned so long and so thanklessly, so joylessly, little fire... it's ok. You don't have to anymore. You can be what you want to, now. Even if that's nothing.

(psst! hey again! it's me, I caught up! Sorry about the weirdness, it's just real hard to follow along in a spooky tunnel without the people you're watching catching you. But it's all right. We can do this normal-like again <3)

Return to Thellamie

"It is... possible, I suppose, to make the argument I have done enough for today."

Eclair slides to a halt on her skateboard and stomps the lip of it to flip it onto her back. She pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment and then rubs at the edges of her eyes before rushing forward and springing off the edge of a column, snatching the edge of a balcony with her fingertips and swinging up and over to the next level of the city.

Truly, there was no better place in all of Thellamie to practice the art of parkour than Vespergift. Even the training course at the Manor paled in comparison. If she could be said to have any particular talent for the art that the typical maid-knight could not lay claim to, then it stemmed from growing up here. She runs up a second wall and flips up onto and then off of a windowsill that's nearer to a tower than it ought to be, giving her a convenient pair of brace points to wall kick between and climb her way up in decent time.

"I prefer the, nnngh my head, argument that my strength is better preserved for the final conflict. I am certain this is not finished. But while there are two dragons fighting inside of the city there is very little I can accomplish on the ground. What is happening here, and why? Crevas was one thing, but what could have set off such a specific and unusual chain here? I do not understand."

Up she climbs, higher and higher. Beyond the streets and into the towers. To be frank the idea of knowing a place to be alone in Vespergift is absurd to the point of parody, but in a moment like this where so many of its people were frantically moving for the gates at the very least there were principles that could be followed. Up, not down. Use the ruined towers for climbing, but make for the ones that have remained upright - these are less suitable for foot traffic so to reach a position where another's footsteps were unlikely it simply made sense to make for the heights that were most easily cleared out from the inside.

Sitting on a rooftop also doubled as a strategic advantage. Something nearer to the center of the city insomuch as it was possible to find a spire there, where her vantage could double as a staging ground if she saw the dragon fight turn suddenly in such a way that it might threaten the viability of the city for return. Perhaps it was the sake talking, but Eclair couldn't find it in herself to blame Vespergift for being what it was. The North simply wasn't meant to only have a single city. It could stand even less to have none at all.

In any event it is happenstance and not planning that sees Eclair Espoir pass across the window of her old orphanage. What they were using it for now she neither knew nor cared, though she couldn't help but hover for a moment to peer inside. There was no reason to do so, nothing whatsoever to be gained from knowing. But even so, she looks. And if it really was empty, there wouldn't be a better perch in the entire city to catch her breath and read her missives in whatever fragmentary moments this disaster had to offer her.

Breathless Dead

Pain. Unfathomable pain.

Bella's spine has been replaced by a bolt of lightning. Her bones and nerves are nothing but the root system of a burning tree. Every part of her exists only to communicate the idea of pain. Her lungs expand and contract without knowing the kiss of air, they simply relieve the sensation of constantly burning by replacing the fire with dozens of spear tips, instead. Her arms tremble and push without lifting her out of the dented crater in the ground she writhes inside of, just to add a slimy impression of weakness and a crawling sort of itch into the entire miserable cocktail.

When she finally does climb to her feet again, her shoulders are slumping. Her mutilated hand is twisted around its own claws as if her arm ended in a single jagged dagger rather than anything belonging to a person, or even an animal. Wet, disgusting laughter trickles from between her teeth. Fine then. Fine. Maybe she was out of shape. It should not have taken to this point to recover from Mosaic's stunt with the mountain. But she could feel it, the fatigue and the poorly stitched together muscles now freshly fraying against these new pressures, and she knows that it's a problem.

"Ves..." she looks up at her sister in spite of the danger of the fight and this trap-filled arena, "I'm pretty fucking sure there's a point where getting smarter stops meaning anything useful. And I think you crossed that line a while ago."

Bella wipes her mouth on the back of her ruined hand and watches this new Diodekoi take her stance again. For so long, ever since she'd learned she was an assassin, she'd longed to meet another one like her. Now that there's one right in front of her, she cannot for anything figure out why it felt so fucking important. There was nothing to learn from this speechless wall of bone. She couldn't be a teacher and she couldn't be taught. What was the point? To know? To see? To witness with her own eyes the harm she might have-- did cause on Sahar? Small consolation that everyone she killed was technically already dead at the time. But try asking them how they felt about it, why not?

"Just relax up there. Please. I have this. I can do this. I can do this!"

She dips low to the ground, prime pouncing position. Her eyes ache from how much she's straining them, but she doesn't dare blink. She can't find them anywhere on the unicorn. The auspex has always shown the ability to point out the weak spots, the connecting threads of the gods that she can cut to break apart anything that has ever been made. But this Diodekoi armor has no such markings. None at all. And the only possible explanation for that is...

Bella hisses. The claws on her remaining good hand snatch at the air and she lunges at supersonic speeds; the 'teleportation' technique she stole from XIII. Throwing her body into the blow without thought for useless things like further traps in the room, or counterattacks, or even landing, she thrusts with her injured hand - which has now grown over completely into deadly sharp exoskeleton.

The only explanation is that she cannot kill this thing.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Katherine blinks. She does not otherwise reply. After a moment she blinks again, this time rapidly.

She hangs her head.

"Dang it," she murmurs, "Dang it."

She turns and makes a motion to restrain Berserker. Her Servant simply stands in place with her arms planted on the cross guard of her sword. The two stare at each other for a moment. Katherine shrugs.

"Um. No. No thank you, I mean, I'm not really hungry. But we can, y'know, talk for a bit. If that'd make you happy. And if you don't mind me standin' here. Not that I don't trust you, mind. I just..."

Her eyes trace over the darkness and the unnatural motes of light hiding unknown creatures in the murk. Katherine shrugs again, and tries to stick her hands in her pockets. Her skirt doesn't have any. She wraps her hands behind her neck, instead.

"Say," she says, "Did you forget to sing to your fire, Mister? It looks really sad."

"Yu-- sorry, you don't know her, my best friend swears by that technique. She even sings to the wood before she lights it. Says a bit of joy sparks three times brighter than the best kindlin' you could ask for. And she, oh right first of all she's a sun farmer see? Carries jars full've the stuff with her wherever she goes. So she's an expert on light and warmth and stuff.

"People do make fun of her I guess. But I dunno. I don't think she'd agree with all that stuff about the earth bein' ready to eat us, and I can't say as I do either. 'Cause like, how to put it? Her campfires are so pretty and nice that animals'll just come and sit next to her while she's cookin' stuff on 'em. And yours is... honestly Mister, I think your fire might be crying."

Return to Thellamie

Problem is obvious. Assessment is a waste of precious time.

Phase 1: Set up. There is a figure in the mist positioned with intent to direct the flow of enemies around and toward the magician. It is imperative to neutralize this figure. Separate heartblade into component swords, techniqueless throws. Pin to hot springs entrance by sleeves: non-violent, non-invasive, non-aggressive. While figure will remain capable of wriggling free, the only thing required to purchase is time.

Immediate ollie, stomp kick into draft created by fireballs. Infuse spare pen with light, throw toward magician. Combination of precision movement on skateboard and release of magical/light/heat source toward their position will herd rootwalker cluster onto her position specifically. Nosegrind, dismount, high leap (magically assisted), rainbow arc.

Phase 2: Execution. Sufficiently surrounded by hostile forces, interfering magician will attempt wide area dispersal conflagration spell. Colloquial name, Explosion. Timing is essential. At moment of peak energy build and not one second before, descend and execute three part attack.

Woe betide you. A maid descends. A cat descends. From the haze of the mist, from the ceiling above by the sudden sound of planted feet and the rustling of fabric, a maid-knight drops on top of Tsane and swings a blunted metal longsword onto her shoulder. A simple piece of metal has no ability to incapacitate a sufficiently talented and determined wizard, at least compared to a heartblade, but none of this truth stops it from hurting a lot.

The maid-knight pushes away at the moment of impact and lifts her own body back into the air, where she twirls three times toward the floor and winds up enough momentum that when she aims the next swing at Tsane's ribs the resulting impact is enough to not only drive the air from her lungs but also lift her bodily off the floor. The instant her knees pass above the knight's descending face, she reaches up with her free hand and snatches at an ankle.

Landing wide flat on her right foot and with just the heel of her left, she swings her hips hard and adds a final spin and release to hammer toss this offending mage directly into the hot springs, though not before bouncing her like a skipping stone off of a certain assassin/idiot/paladin/professional nuisance.

Phase 3: Chain Reaction. Having waited for the form of the spell to complete, gathered spell ink will trigger in uncontrolled burst directed downward by simple realities of magician's facing. The release of such a large scale of powerful magical fire will, through a combination of heat and raw concussive force, cause a large scale geyser of heated water to spray across the entire lower region of the Chrysanthemum.

With nowhere else for the water to go, it will descend. To wit: it will rain indoors. Flames doused, dust settled, walls and floors washed, current batch of rootwalkers upended, all available parties and obstacles directed toward one another and (more crucially) away from location of central tree.

Phase 4: Cleanup. Remount skateboard and travel to invasion source to apply sealing techniques. I believe this technically still counts as battling the Architect-Knight. Priority afterward will be swift retreat toward town proper to assess and limit damage.

In the thick curtain of steam and falling water, the briefest flash of black and white and violet. The sound of rolling wheels quieted by distance and the blanket of moaning and shouting that has been tossed over this lower area of the Chrysanthemum. If anyone is paying attention to her, Eclair Espoir might be given credit for saving the day. Or she might be accused of trying to ruin it.

Sometime after this, and soon, there will be speculation. All that will be able to be said with certainty is that she was here. Vaguely. Somewhere. In this precise moment there are no eyes to track her. There are no hands to help her, and none to hinder her. This is as it should be. Eclair's magical technique is virtually non-existent. Her ability to work in concert with others on matters like this is rudimentary at best, and where there are likelihoods for conflicting methods of resolution and a breakdown of communications she would be an active hindrance to the safeguarding of this inn and den of pleasure/mystery/intrigue.

But by herself, she is a maid-knight. And if what is needed is to clean up a mess, to shut a door up tight, and make beautiful and real again that which has been nipped at by thoughts from the Outside, there are few creatures anywhere in Thellamie who could do a better job than she can. This whole absurd strike and battle plan has served no purpose other than to position her in place to do that lone thing as cleanly and quietly as possible.

There is, after all, still so much left to attend to.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Eugh, what is that smell? Are these your tunnels, Miss - I mean Lady - I mean Sir? Berserker. No? They're not? Then these have just been all the way down here the entire time? Oh gross this must be where the demons live. Oh ew ew ew ew ew."

"...I hope Miss Saber is ok. Huh? No I know she's super tough. No I know she's probably up to something sneaky! No I-- well ok fair point. But still. The whole reason I thought I could trust her in the first place was 'cause've how much she seemed to love the sky and the trees when we fought her the first time. I think this might make her sick."

"...Berserker I don't like it down here. Everything smells like, like... like math. Really big numbers, y'know? The kind no one has any use for. It's dusty. Like Capitalism! I think that's what Hyra called it. Cy says it's what foxnip smells like but I... hope not. I really, I don't. I don't like it."

"Hey. Am I-- Am I a bad fox?"

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"...Oh thank goshies I think I see her. Ok quiet like, now. Miss Saber? Is that you? We came, see? How can we help?"