Phoe

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

Marianne is burning. Her eyes flash like three tiny stars and the chains about her waist and shoulders rattle excitedly in response to the visions filling her mind.

Oho? Oho? What is this, what is this? She's never seen anything so beautiful! Oho! Could this be love? Is she meant to be intimidated? She is not! She is filled to bursting with the heat of revolution, which feels just the same as blood lust, which feels just the same as romance. Behind her, her shadow rises to meet the challenge of this newcomer, heedless of its obviously superior potency. She spreads so wide and tall that she engulfs the entirety of the great sealed door and then some, twisting and mutating until her shadow bares no resemblance to the girl still folded against the door at all.

The front of her is tiger, matted and wet with shapes like spines jutting about here and there. Her great paws end in claws so massive and sharp that Jerry at least would swear they actually crack the ground. Around her body are great shadowy chains, and at the end of every set of links, the metal gives way to scales, and a great serpent's head flicks its huge forked tongue and wriggles about impatiently. The back of her is a formless, nameless something, perhaps it is recorded within the library, and perhaps it is not. Its name is Fear and its name is Vengeance and its name is Marianne. Is it a tail, or great stomping legs with crushing cloven hooves? Is it the great talons of some huge bird of prey? Is it writhing tentacles that curl and crush and maim? The light flickers, and the canopy of shadows fills in what the imagination of its audience cares to see. When she is stronger, she will impose the shape properly. For now, the eyes must wander up up up and up, where her head floats misshapen and disturbing, and when she smiles it splits the shadow head in half and it is a monster, she is a monster, there is no human with a shadow like this and...

She is alone. This strange mating dance is now here only for Set. Marianne huffs and diminishes back into herself. She stomps the remains of her cigarette with unnecessary force and twists her heavy heel against it until it can never be lit again.

"Don't be stupid," she hisses, and this is definitely what her pouting looks like. She was just given a treat and now it's been taken away, and all the emotions she doesn't know what to do with are spilling out into the chamber, "Jerry is much too useless to open the door by herself, no matter how long we give her to finish groveling! She needs, oh! Poor thing! She needs help! From an Inquisitor of Ereshkigal! And tonight that is you, yes yes! Congratulations on your promotion!"

She steps away from the door and takes several dramatic paces forwards, clapping and then spreading her hands wide.

"Jerry, you may begin! Do not dawdle, do not doubt me, and do not fail."

Breathless Dead

She's standing on kitten's legs. It could have been instant or it could have taken twenty minutes, she doesn't know, but someone threw a switch inside her and now her knees are wobbling with the strain of keeping her heavy body upright. Useless kitten's legs, too small and weak for the job. She can't stay standing anymore. She can feel her toes curling inside her boots, and with just that little motion the muscles that are supposed to be the proudest piece of her lineage melt into putty and she slips lower. Lower. Lower.

"Nngh, Mynx! You useless, guh, bastard! Faker! Th-this isn't a game... nnff! Anymore!"

Her claws drag across the surface of the bar, cutting deep grooves until they finally find enough purchase for her to drag herself back close enough to standing that she can look Mynx in her dumb lizard eyes. Her breathing feels ragged and labored. Her tail has gone limp, and her ears droop comically on top of her head, but her eyes are as sharp and full of fury as they have been since she left for space. Her arms may be straining just with the effort of keeping herself upright, but it makes her feel like a fighter just the same. That's enough to keep her tongue sharp through the honey-like wine.

"Don't you even think of leaving me behind! The Princess is my prey! I'm not, hhhhhff, gonna let you steal my glory! You'll never get your cushy little job back without me!"

Her face twists into a grim smile. There it is! Faker. Usurper! Always trying to take her spot, always worming her way into the Princess' good graces, trying to sit herself ahead of Bella, but where's that gotten her, huh? Look who didn't get taken, either! All those smug smiles, all that lying, and she got left behind just the same as everybody else!

Where did she... disappear to? Why wasn't she there when Bella was being punished? Why hadn't she lifted a finger to help her survive the Games? They were abandoned together! And yet! And yet!!

Bella slams her fist down loud enough to make every person in the area jump off their feet. Jealousy, anger, courage... whatever it's called, it surges inside her hotter and stronger than Mynx's poison. Just for a moment. Just long enough for her to surge to full height. Just long enough to lunge and seize the bartender's vest the traitor was wearing for a disguise. She slumps again, but now she's dragged Mynx down to her level. Bella's breath is hot and thick with the scent of her own blood as it washes over Mynx's face.

"I'm getting on that ship. I'm going to see her. Odoacer couldn't stop me. You won't stop me. And then I'm doing my job. So if you want back into the Empress' good graces you'd better start making yourself useful real fast or I'll..."

Her nostrils flare involuntarily. And then? A tear wells up inside her beautiful golden eye and rolls softly down her cheek. She snarls. Adrenaline. Effect of the poison, nothing more.

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

Marianne chuckles darkly as she watches Jerry grovel at her feet. It's not a full-blown evil laugh, the kind that would invite crashing thunder and blinding flashes of lightning, but you can hear the potential for all of that building in her throat. It's too much, seeing this exalted Annunaki in the exact pose she might this very same evening have demanded Étoile bend herself into had she said more than a handful of words out of line. Ah, but playtime is sadly almost over, n'est-ce pas?

"Come, little cow. It's time to open the door you say cannot be opened. We must be ready before our guest of honor arrives."

She curls her fingers onto her palm by way of waving and then flashes her terrifying wolfish grin to see Jerry crawl after her all hampered by her chains. That's good, yes! That's what you deserve, yes yes! She melts into the floor with a hop and a flutter of her long coat only to reappear a moment later, leaning against the door to the Nameless Library and casually lighting a cigarette.

It's an affectation, really, just part of the show. A trick stick she learned about back in high school when she needed ways to get back at Papa for whatever little things he did to upset her. But the smoke she can blow out is at once so casual and so dramatic that it's perfect for Marianne. She snorts a cloud of the stuff, like a dragon contemplating dinner.

"Do you like it here, Jerry? Is the decor to your taste? You'll be getting... intimately familiar with it tonight, yes." she tosses her head back and laughs at the involuntary shudder, "Aww, you're not surprised, are you? Every good thief leaves a calling card to mark their crimes, little cow. Tonight, you are mine. So make sure you leave an impression on your little friends when they find you~"

She's building dangerously close to that laugh, now. It's already echoing through the deep chamber, reaching the ears of the dangling guards who will hear it in their nightmares tonight. She stops herself to take another long drag of her cigarette, and breathes a deep ring of smoke out through the chains of her mask. She lets the light fall and stamps it out on the heel of her heavy boot. While she grinds it underfoot she inspects her gloves with casual disdain, pulling them tighter on her hands and then tucking her arms behind her head. She flashes another smile, all rubies and mirth with no love in it at all.

"You're picturing it, right? Don't worry, I'll take very good care of your veil. It'll be the crown jewel of my collection! Shall I take it now? You want that, don't you? You do, yes! Let Marianne take the weight of your repression from your face! Let us... ah. How disappointing, our Inquisitor has arrived. Greetings to my second key! Have you met my first?"

Breathless Dead

"Khh..."

Bella's heart pounds frantically in her chest. Be calm. Be calm. Her tail lashes angrily behind her, and no amount of willpower can make it stop. Be calm, damn it! Her arm starts trembling by its own traitorous will. She uses it to pull the length of leash between her and the seneschal.

There's no accompanying rush this time. His undignified croak doesn't even reach her ears. Every step she takes gets more exaggerated and deliberate. Her hips swing powerfully from side to side. The layers of her skirt bounce up and down in lacy waves. Her bells sing a song of challenge and determination. Her blue-black hair cascades behind her. Her back is straight and stiff and proud.

And none of it slows the beating of her heart. None of it fights off the sense of panic, the animal instinct telling her to run away, and even worse, the servitor instinct telling her to beg forgiveness. Aphrodite, God of Unsolicited Advice and Terrible Timing, has forced her to consider for the first time since she stood up from her table that her path now might not lead her home. There's a type of dread that comes only from knowing that you're locked into a mistake, and it's spreading through her body like needles tipped with ice. To fight a Codexia directly is to die. Of course she knew that already. Of course she did! But she didn't... she hadn't counted on Athena standing against her. She hadn't bothered to augur at all.

And now without warning she's suddenly playing the wrong game. Princess...

Bella's thoughts are a rapid jumble, impossible to comb through or pay attention to. Her ears strain, and her eyes flit about. Her fur bristles. Her tongue runs across her teeth, again and again. She is dimly aware that she is still moving forward. Her head keeps dipping meekly, and then forcing itself straight again. She pivots... before the ramp? At the bar? She says something to the servitor there.

She has no idea what. It could be anything. She's asking for a drink, probably. She gets one. The glass feels brittle between her fingers. The liquid is redder than blood, and smells like syrup swimming in wine: overly aggressive fruitiness trying to smother the acrid sting of alcohol like very thick perfume. She is delaying here. Buying time.

Looking for the shape of the board.

[Look Closely: 4. "What is going on here? What do my senses tell me?"]

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

It would be so easy.

All she has to do is put it to tape and disseminate it across the city. Simpler than breathing, especially once Set gets here. And then just sit back and watch it all burn. She can picture it so clearly: the panicking of the elites. They'll bluster harder than ever and insist things are as normal as could be, all the while drawing closer to their inner sanctums and pulling their security closer in fear of "Ma-ri-Ann". They'll invent new festivals, just drag them out of the calendar and pretend they were always there, just to put their own minds at ease and lose themselves in revelry. But everywhere she goes, she'll hear them whispering the name, watching the shadows, and shaking because they will not understand how it happened. The extra space she'd buy for the next job would be worth it if she had to repeat this a hundred times tonight.

But sweeter by far would be the satisfaction of watching their great and terrible wheel turn on itself. She'd burn most of her extra planning time just to be able to see it happen in person. The look on her face! The mewling cries for mercy! They'd ignore Jerry just like they'd ignore every human, then they would discipline her, and then they would break her! And when she was vapid and harmless and of no use to anybody, Marianne would get to watch them kick her all the way back down to the bottom of their ladder. And she would laugh!

Her third eye blazes furiously on her forehead. Marianne's hands curl into fists. She cracks her neck; a slow, deliberate motion that produces a thick and horrifying crunching sound. She glares down at Jerioth, full of fury and resentment and shadow and fire. Say the words, set the blaze, say them say them say them say them!

"...You will not free your slaves. You will do no such thing, Jerry."

A derisive snort. Marianne wads up the sodden packing and tosses it to the floor. She bends down on one knee to put her face inches away from Jerry's. Her breath is hot, and smells like rust.

"You've let your brain shrink to a shiny little marble. Your gaze is no wider than a puppy's; yapping without understanding just to please your mistress. My eyes see farther, yes! I understand your society better than you do, yes yes! You are not the source of the rot, chérie. You are a symptom. Declare your slaves free, and your friends will come and scoop them all up to parcel them out to crueler owners than you had dreamed of being on your most decadent day. Worry not! I will burn your whole society clean, in time. But tonight your silly promises will do nothing to keep my brothers and sisters safe."

She pauses and sighs. Let it go, Marianne. Let it go. Dim your flames, if just a little. She pats Jerioth on the head, a motion that snatches away two more ornaments as reparation and funding for the Resistance.

"Here is what you will promise me, instead. You will keep your slaves. You will protect them with your entire being. Do not punish them, not ever. Learn their names, properly. See that they are safe and treated with the kind of respect you would afford your own house. Keep being my good girl, Jerry, or I will find you, and I will be furious. My reach is longer than your walls, Jerry. My eyes are everywhere. I will be watching. But I can trust my good girl to behave, can't I?"

She stands up again, and makes no effort to undo the chains still binding her prisoner.

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

"Awww, what's the matter little cow? You are disappointed that your beaten down dogs could not save you, yes? HA! As if they could! You must not allow yourself to think your precious slaves can steal you away from me, any more than they could stop me plucking you from your party tonight. It will only break your heart, ma chérie."

When she smiles, it is not with kindness. There are too many teeth, they are too sharp and too colorful, and the shadows that her hood casts over her face keep warping and twisting it, as if just underneath the skin of this earth woman was a terrible monster out to devour the stars themselves. When she lifts a red-gloved hand to touch Jerioth's hair, it is not to soothe, but rather to neatly pluck the many glittering and sacred ornaments from her head and tuck them carelessly into jacket pockets. Making good the promise of her face. She radiates power, and spares not one look at the troll her prisoner is now trying very hard herself not to eye too greedily.

Marianne sighs and shakes her head.

"I am very disappointed in you, Jerry. Did you not hear me? Have you not seen me? And you're still thinking you might be in control? Non, non! You are not. Sweet little thing, you are mine."

Here she spins and sweeps low, tilting Jerioth until her head nearly brushes the ground and leaning in a powerful dancer's lunge to push her face inches from the Annunaki's nose. It's a corny romantic gesture that belongs in a movie on some other, sillier world, but the baleful light in her eyes makes it seem so dangerous it might actually wrap back around to sexy. She bends even closer, as if to kiss her prey, but at the last moment turns and sweeps Jerioth back into her lap, instead.

Now her fingers are under Jerioth's chin, directing her gaze forcefully to the troll. She grins with savage triumph when she sees her eyes try and flick away.

"There it is. That's my Doom, Jerry, yes! And you are hoping that when I loosen your gag so we can sing together and open that little door over there, you will be saved by your precious monster. But you won't do that, will you Jerry? No, you will not. Would you like to know why? Because you know already, you will not stop me. You may inconvenience me, yes, but I will have my prize just the same. And then I will be very angry, Jerry. You have not seen me be angry yet. And you do not want to.

Normally, a disobedient little cow like you, I would drag to market. I would bring her through the darkness to the secret dens of my brothers and sisters, to our little haven that your rumors call Absolution, and I would toss her to the stage in shackles for all the free spirits to enjoy as they please. Can you imagine it? All those filthy human hands, touching her divine body? Stroking her thigh and laughing at the noises that she makes? Maybe they will even touch her lips! I think that I will do this to your little sister, yes! But not you. No, never you. You are Jerioth ab-Ishtar. You do not get to feel the other side of your coin. No, I will take your sister, and I will steal all of your secrets with her, and you will know that this is true while you sink beneath the waters. Your people keep so many chains, yes! They will not miss their heavy irons, yes yes! I will tie you down with the full weight of your monstrous soul, and I will laugh as the waters take you and erase your memory from this earth. That is what will happen if you call out."

Marianne is burning tonight. She burns hotter than Jeanne D'arc, and more darkly at that. In the warped light around her, she seems to cast a shadow three times the size of the troll, with her head and her chains but a body made of snakes and tigers and worse things besides. And then she smiles, much more simply, and the illusion breaks and leaves her simply as the woman of the revolution once again.

"Or~" she chirps, "I will free your mouth, Jerry. And because you are a good girl who has learned her lessons at my heels, you will not speak out of turn. You will sing, sweetly and simply, and you will open the door with me, sit quietly by, and watch me plunder your treasures, and you will smile while I do it. Do you know why? Because you are a good girl, Jerry. You wish to please me, yes! You know that unlike your entire filthy rotten fortress of sin, I mean what I say. That is why I am not worried about your monster. You are a good girl. You are my good girl."

And when she smiles, she has all the charming countenance of a demon carved from shadows.

[Provoke: double sixes]

Breathless Dead

Bella scowls and flicks her tail with undisguised irritation. Her ears are perked fully up as they strain and twitch themselves around trying to pick up useful noises over the top of all this loud and obnoxious music. By Hera, please don't tell her the Admiral has her soundtrack playing on her personal craft too, or things are about to get smashed.

She glares down imperiously at the grovelling seneschal, straightening her back and drawing herself up to her full height without quite realizing what it is she's doing. But looming over this pathetic symbol of authority is doing nothing to calm her nerves. If this keeps up, she's going to... no. She must not claw herself again. She mustn't. Giving in will make it worse, and there is still so much to do. Thank the gods she'll be able to put this all behind her once she has the Princess again.

"You know, I wonder what kind of smile you'd have had on your face if we'd let you march us back to the feast. Must be a pile of corpses by now, what with all the horrible accidents happening on this ship today! You an actor? Or... no, I think you're more the type to laugh while you push me in front of a spear. Lucky thing I'll get to find out when I take you to see a dead Codexia!"

All at once, Bella's tongue goes horribly, desperately dry. She can't swallow. She can't speak. She's stuck, with this half feral, half terrified smirk on her face, willing every muscle in her body not to betray her and show how terrified she actually is by the thought of having to follow through on her threat. One on one? If she's lucky? Frankly, she'd rather just tuck her tail between her legs and walk politely back to the murder feast.

It comes unbidden. The image is so strong it has its own scent. The quiet garden adjoined to the Princess' room where Bella secretly grew and gathered all the herbs she used to prepare Red... the Her Highness' meals. It was supposed to be a flower garden, a little bubble of beauty that showed everything the Empress thought worthy of praising about Tellus. Bright lights and huge flowers and sweet smelling grasses you couldn't find anywhere else, trees for taking shade under and even a tiny river that ran through with different mineral mixes depending on when in the day you drank from it. And Redana would study there, under that cherry sapling, and pretend to study, her face all screwed up with fake concentration when she was really watching Bella watch the tiny yellow butterflies that were attracted to the mint leaves, and...

Bella plants her right foot firmly on the ground, and reaches up behind her head to toss her hair with both hands. When she steps forward again with her left, her hands are clutched along the thick iron leash dangling from her collar. The symbol of her guilt as a shameless destroyer of the pride of the holy Olympic Games. And just as much, the symbol of her pledge of loyalty to the Empress. Of trust.

She swings it like a whip and watches with satisfaction as the links at the end wrap themselves around the seneschal's throat once, twice, three times. She pulls on the slack and hauls him, retching and coughing, to his knees. There, now their fates are connected, at least for a time. She grabs him by both shoulders and drags him the rest of the way to his feet. It satisfies like nothing else to see she's taller than him.

"Show us the way to this other bay. Point out the guards to me, unless you'd rather they die. And then say your oaths of penance to the gods. You've been a very unvirtuous man, little mouthpiece..."

[My second Speak Harshly question is "Tell me where the Admiral's personal craft is docked."]

Chuubo's GMD: Love and Shattered Alchemy

Wait. Wait wait wait wait whawawawawawaaaaaaiiiitt!! What is this what is happening oh jeez oh wow this was not the expected outcome! Not the expected outcome at all! She was supposed to! But then she! And now she's! Oh yikes oh yikes oh yikesy yikes yikes!

Dulcinea is not used to being dragged around. She is very used to plans going wrong but the way! This girl! Is toouUUching heeeerrrrr! Is very! Eeep! Distracting! And not! Conducive! Toward! OptimAAAL! Thin-thin-thinky things! That's why she doesn't manage to shout apologies even though her crystal is battering her. That's why she's a warm and squirming mess right now with every mincing step she takes. That's why (please trust the narration on this) you do not want to see the inside of her head right now. It would only hurt you. And her.

And that is why you should be impressed when she does at least manage to scribble out a note, fold it into a paper airplane (specifically a Learjet 35!), and toss it over her shoulder at Shoykyou. There, are you happy you nosy little guilt crystal? There's a request to talk about (gag) comic books in there and everything.

Then they round the corner. Alone. Together. Oh no. She should, like... say something smart? Or witty? Maybe cute? like, omg?

"Did you know there are technically infinite varieties of ramen?"

Yeah? Ok? That's what we're going w-- a-all right!

"It's true! For example, the place we're going right now serves a creamy, emulsified broth that's... oh, see, so like, they take the bones from animals, right? Pig feet and chicken feet mostly, but you know, some shoulder blades and vertebrae and stuff, it's really cool and good trust me! You take those bones and you simmer them in water for hours and hours and hours, and there's a lot of fat content in the marrow, right? And because you're bringing the water to a boil it creates an unstable emulsification! Cause you know, normally all that fat doesn't mix with the water; they're not chemically or even alchemically compatible, but with the addition of heat they'll mix anyway, only to sort of break apart again when the stock returns to consumable levels of heat. Hence the creaminess!

And anyway yeah that's one part of the soup stock, but you can do it in other ways and even siphon the fat back out for use as a topping later! This place just tosses butter in for the fat component so it's different, but you can do it and that's the important part. Then of course all ramen adds a lot of dashi to its broth, because the fish flakes cut out some of the astringency of the fat and just overall give the bowl a much richer flavor profile, see?"

At some point in the middle of all this, Dulcinea has managed to spin herself free and is now walking backwards with a little sashay in her step. She resolutely holds the umbrella over Jasper no matter how badly this gets her own outfit ruined, and she doesn't turn her head to look behind her for anything in the world. She even manages to round another corner and cross the street without missing a step. Ask her how she does it some other day! Right now, she's too busy blushing and breathlessly talking about food.

"And then! There's the tare, right? That's where you add in more salt content through soy sauce and a low-alcohol wine called... do they have wine where you're from? Anyway it's called mirin, I think, and it's got a very high sugar content so it's just extremely high energy, very dense, and a super rich flavor profile. You could just pour... well ok no, I could just pour the stuff down my throat for hours, but that doesn't even get into all of the ingredients! The chashu, the sprouts, the onions, all add varying levels of nutritional content while also conveying new complexities to the flavor profile of the dish...

But more importantly than any of them is the noodles! See, here's the thing, right? The noodles used in ramen are already separated by thickness between six categories, and depending on which one you use you get different resting temperatures and mouthfeels and absorptive properties, differing levels of protein depending on the flour you use of course. See, because how much flour you add to the noodle mixture changes the level of work that needs to be put into the dough, which produces higher gluten contents and continues to affect the overall profile of the soup. The higher the flour content the less water goes in the noodles themselves, so they can become so absorbent, in fact, that if you let them they'll drain an entire bowl's worth of broth into themselves! That result can be a little messy, but incidentally if you ever see a dry pack of ramen at a store, this is the technique they use so watch out before you get distracted in front of your bowl.

And oh gosh! I haven't even gotten to the matter of alkilinity! See, the noodles are held together via the strong flour proteins, like I said, but a critical component of a ramen noodle, as opposed to like, a somen or, god forbid, tagliatelle or whatever, is carbonate salt like good ol' reliable K2C03! And this is an alkaline mixture, which means the noodles are basic. Not simple, though! They're obviously extremely complex! I mean they are, themselves, a base! And since as we've already noted the soup itself is so highly acidic in nature there's actually a major chemical war being fought inside of the..."

She can continue like this the whole way, if she's allowed. It's her favorite food for a reason, after all! It's just... you know, a shame about what happened the last time she tried to cook it herself. But that's not the point! The point is, even something as distastefully pastoral as cuisine can, in fact, become fascinating when you allow yourself to pull it apart and understand all of its chemical complexities, and the sympathetic connections that build up between the energies of the various components and...

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

Naturally, when she was doing the early scouting work for this job the first thing Marianne tried was slipping through the vault door in the Nameless Library. It was a disaster. No matter how many angles she tried attacking it from, she wound up being thrown aside. Sometimes the hidden paths just wound up this way and there wasn't a way between them that didn't require something stupid like growing wings, but this felt very frustratingly different. It was more like something Papa would have loved to ramble about before the Annunaki came: cognitive... such and such, a barrier that extended in all directions because it was like that inside her head.

And outside of her head, merde. In the end she'd wound up hitting her head so hard it had actually left her concussed and she'd actually had to spin up a story about falling down some steps that required her to twist her own ankle just to keep Tamytha from asking too many questions. But today? Today would be sweet, sweet vengeance.

Since the library was housed entirely within the Temple of Ishtar, it meant the entrance was surrounded by gaudy, giant statues and carved stone pillars that formed a kind of labyrinth of broken roofs. Here a monument to the Bull of Heaven, there a long series of columns that only existed so that somebody could hang rich tapestries between them depicting all manner of acts of submission and obeisance. Disgusting. But a perfect hunting ground.

She leaps from the tip of the bull's horn to an archway that's spaced dangerously far away, twisting in the air as she flies and catching herself upside down by sticking her foot inside the keystone. Her chains jangle as she links them into the stone, and then there is the satisfying lurch inside her stomach as she drops in a free fall with Jerioth in her arms, still pinching her nose shut to block out the pitiful screams that would give them away. There's a tiny clank and a jolt, and together they come to a halt in mid-air, swinging roughly from side to side in the dim space just above the temple lightning below.

Marianne takes her hand off of Jerioth's nose. She immediately slides it over to cup her cheek instead, and flashes a nasty grin when she sees the Annunaki's flustered response. Yes, she dares! Are you feeling helpless yet? Are you feeling controlled yet? Are you feeling frightened yet? Yes, yes, yes! She lets herself fall free and straight through the floor, which leads her back to the top of the archway again. Let the hunt begin.

She is a shadow, passing overtop what passes for a patrol. Merci, Canada. She leaps, twists, and swings her away across the architecture, staying just out of sight except to brush the tops of their heads with the lining of her coat, say, or let them hear the jingling of the ornaments on her shoulders. She's everywhere, and then she's nowhere. Her eyes blaze with amusement to see the way they draw into a circle, forgetting even to abuse the drugged-up lynx. That one will be last.

Her hand reaches into a wall, all the way down to the shoulder. The taller one first, that's the way she'll do it. She stretches, tongue poking out from between her lips with concentration, until she feels her fingers close around the ankles of a salamander. Just like fishing. Except, you know, fun. She yanks her hand back up to the sound of screams and angry shouts. She'll never get tired of the expressions on the faces of these sycophants after they travel the paths for the first time. There, see? This is how she does it. Now you try.

"Allo~"

She lets the salamander fall again, screaming, into a nest of chains she's wound between the pillars behind those tapestries. She hears the snarling rushing closer behind her, and runs vertically up the wall without so much as a wobble.

"Mek Ah? Mek Ah! I am coming! Where are--"

The trap is sprung. The snarling guard feels the tap of two fingers on her back, and then in the next second her screams join her clutch sister's as she's falling up, up, up, bound from tail to chest and left to hang upside down and stare at the squirming, thrashing form of Jerioth ab-Ishtar trying to keep her veil from flopping uselessly and scandalously up over her eyes.

One more. Marianne glides across the ground like a shadow now catching those wide, runny eyes and waving before -- zwoop! She disappears inside a statue and reappears a second later in the air with her leg already extended above her head. She twists 180 degrees and lashes out with her heel, reveling in the dull sound of contact across the back of the neck. The lynx bounces twice on the ground before she comes to a halt, moaning and twitching, but useless.

"Sweet dreams, little kitty."

She spreads her arms and makes ready to catch her prisoner when she falls.

[been told this is another Unleash roll, which is another 10]

Breathless Dead

She must have been a very bad girl. In fact, despite all her efforts to the contrary she must have gotten worse than ever, because this punishment was awful beyond anything she'd ever experienced before. Worse than the beatings. Worse than the cold nights without anything to eat. Worse even than that week the Master had taken all of her clothes and forced her to hunt the roaches and the rats that had been creeping into the dark corners of the kennels.

The Box was the scariest punishment in the whole world.

She was already suspicious when they washed and brushed her and put her in the cute frilly dress like she was going to auction again even though she was a bad, worthless, useless bratty mistake. Her little heart pounded with terror the entire time they made her sit in front of the scary woman in the bright red dress, whose eyes were so sharp and nasty looking that they could make the sun stop wanting to shine, and whose lips were pressed so thin they seemed to disappear. She didn't have a mouth at all except when it suddenly sprang out of that awful face to cluck disapproval at the trembling voice trying to recite the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice whenever she would hesitate or leave out too many details.

And it was even worse when they made her sing a lullaby! She'd never done that before! She'd never been taught any! They made her make her own little song, right there on the spot, and then... everyone's eyes looked so cold when she was finished. Her palms felt so sweaty, but she knew better than to wipe them on her dress, and even still, even though she tried to be a good girl and keep her head down and her tail still and her ears meekly flat the Master still picked her up by the collar and tossed her in the Box.

It was dark inside the Box, and cramped. She couldn't turn around or stand up even if she wanted to. Just to fit she had to fold herself almost in half and curl her little legs in against her stomach. She couldn't tell how long she'd been inside, though it felt like forever, or whether the jostling she felt was from being carried or because she was secretly dangling over a pit of snakes. It felt the same to her. She tossed and turned too much and kept squeaking with fright, and every time she did it there would be a sharp hit from the side that bowled her over and hurt her ribs, and an angry shout from the woman with the scary face.

"Be silent, she's going to hear you!"

Who was going to hear her? How many new faces had the Master brought in for this punishment? Was it a test? Or was she finally really actually being thrown away like the garbage that she was? Some nights, she... some nights she told the gods she wanted that, just so that the rest of it would stop. And now that her prayers were being granted she found it was impossible not to cry. Bad girl! What a bad, bad girl! Such a horrible, useless, rotten little--

The Box opened up, and over the top peeked a mess of golden hair, so pretty it must have belonged to some god or another. All her fur bristled at once and her tail stood on end. She even showed her teeth and hissing, knowing how wrong and bad it was. She was scared. She was so, so scared.

"Wowies, she's sooooo pretty! And she's mine? Really for real? I get to keep her? Oh wow!"

Then the tiny little hands, smaller even than hers, shot into the Box and wrapped around her shoulders and tried to pull her up. What happened instead was that a ridiculous human girl with a dress worth more than a thousand servitors fell in on top of her and broke the side of the Box. When she dared to open one eye, she found that a pair of the warmest and most dazzling green eyes staring back at her, and a smile so full of glee it could have made a star blush.

"Hi!" she chirped, "I'm Redana! We're gonna be best friends now, ok?"

The silly girl with her silly hands pulled the shivering kitten close and started patting her on the head. The smell was something... sweet, something she didn't have words for yet. But the true magic was the warmth. It was so soothing it took her barely any time at all to unclench all her little muscles and forget her plans to bite and claw and scratch her way to freedom and back to the Master. Without even meaning to, she started flicking her tail from side to side, which made the golden bell on the ribbon that had been tied to it chime merrily. The girl giggled.

"You're so pretty, did you know that? I think I'm gonna call you..." she trailed off with a look of intense concentration. The bell jingled in anticipation of her decree, "Ooh! I know! What about Bella? That's a good name for you, right?"

***

Bella blinks. Her hand is around the seneschal's throat, pinning them to one of the grandly decorated walls of the Rex. Her fingers squeeze tighter until she can feel the rushing pulse of life dancing just underneath the tips of her claws.

There it is again. That feeling. It's overwhelming her, taking her over, shining through her eyes and rushing inside of her brain to drown out all of her thoughts. There is the roar and the wave and nothing else inside of her. Her fingers clench tighter, cutting off the seneschal's wind. Soon she'll tear the throat out and nobody will be standing in her way. She licks her lip in anticipation.

She twists her arm and throws him to the floor, instead. She turns her head to one side and stares at her hand. It is clean. She closes it into a fist, and fights off the desire to shiver as the Princess' face swims to the front of her mind. She's so close. She's so close! She snarls.

"I don't care," she sneers, "About your stupid excuses. Find a way. Take. Me. To. My. Ship."