Phoe

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

Étoile. Étoile, Étoile, Étoile... precious star, precious shell, whiny brat. Sniveling, sneaking, prowling, begging, mewling...

Weak.

How do you imagine she would go about securing such a useful place as this? Fool. Of course she grovelled. Prissy little twit, playing her politics, paying her compliments, scurrying about from spot to spot making debt after debt of favors to other, still smaller cowards and passing messages between them until at last she had the ear of someone with enough clout to make arrangements. Vive la résistance! That is how they play their game.

And of course when all was said and done and all her paltry currency spent, what had little Étoile accomplished? Only that she had marked off a safe house for others more useful than she. Who would not thank her for it. Who would not credit her for it. Who would never even know that she'd done it.

And what would she do with it anyway, ah? She is a performer swallowed by her masks. She is even less than she seems! I am her truth! I am her power! I am the mover of mountains, the thief of hearts! I am her fire! I am the revolution made manifest! I am the face that haunts their opulent nightmares, and this! Is! MY! Night!

What care have I for the silly worries of darling Étoile? What concern is it of mine if her precious Lady goes hungry or works herself into such a tizzy that she dies, snap! Just like that? Good! Annunaki scum! There is more to judge their kind on than the simple beauty of their souls. Tamytha would never cut herself from her family, so she wears chains enough to drown herself. I do not need to make it happen. I need only wait and choose not to pull her free. There is no such thing as an ethical slave owner.

So I! I will not sleep, non! Marianne will not dive back into the sea of the soul until her hunger is sated, non non non! Étoile, quelle conasse, you can suffer the consequences after. You will need to endure pain tonight in any case. Injuries must be inflicted or they will never believe that Ma-Ri-Ann held you like an enemy. Suffer and be glad for it, Étoile. You are only tolerated because you make it simpler to...

***

Marianne stops mid-stride. She's been prowling in the background of this entire conversation, ever since she dragged Canada's ass back out of the frying pan. There's just enough lull to burn herself into this moment. She barks her laughter: a pair of short HAs as she tosses her head back.

"She means to rot the 'Great Chain' from the middle links outward. Our pretty Set has pinned her hopes on the truth alerting Annunaki to the depravity of their lives. She wants them to join the revolution!"

HA! She sneers, and for a second her face twists with the same theatricality she shows on a Job. It's a useless gesture; she knows her barking doesn't frighten other Phantom Thieves. She's simply angry right now, that's all. A moment later and it passes, leaving her simply cast in the obscuring shadows of her hood and her mask. She does not glow or burn at all.

"Il n’y a pas plus sourd que celui qui ne veut pas entendre, Set. They will not bend their ears. They do not wish to hear your song! The least of them luxuriate in endless comforts; they do not care if their Ishtar is the first Ishtar or the thousandth, so long as she exists. And even if they did, what then? This is not a secret unknown to the true powers of their society. They keep it in a library! They will prepare a spin, Set, and those who do not swallow their line they will disappear and re-educate. You cannot spark a fire by passing out pamphlets. I forbid it. I will not have it!"

She needs another moment to regain herself. These are precious companions, she cannot do her work without them. She must speak clearly. They must understand. She must breath. Breath, yes. Be calm, Marianne. Be still. Patient. She sighs.

"We have plenty more scandals among our spoils if we wish to spread discord among the ranks. But it is essential that they do not guess why we struck tonight. If they know what we know, they will guess what we have learned. If they know our intentions and our needs, they will take greater care to block our path. Not even you or I can walk where they do not let us, Set. They'll crush us like ants the moment we let them. Do you see? Gilgamesh is gone. There are no Children of Tiamat. Just us."

And she lunges, but it's only to draw both other girls into a crushing hug.

"Oh sisters! Be careful! Do not be seen, do not be caught! My time is up. If you need me, leave a mark in the usual places. Remember the rule! Unanimous consent! I do not give it, Set, I do not!"

And with a final squeeze, a shove, and a bow, Marianne leaps into the ceiling of the hideout, and is gone.

Breathless Dead

Bella's fingers work quickly as they glide through Mynx's hair. For a moment, her only answer is the soothing gesture of the gathering of lock after lock and skillfully weaving them into each other. She winds them tighter and tighter around the back of the head so that they spiral into the Admiral's signature bun. She can't keep the quiet rumble from building in her throat as she reaches into her vest and pulls out a hairpin.

She pauses for a moment to admire her handiwork. Yes, this is a match. She couldn't forget this stupid look if she tried. Her hands brush themselves along the length of Mynx's head and down her neck, just barely brushing the tips of her claws along the surface of the skin. When they find the shoulders, they squeeze tighter. Sensual and possessive at the same time.

"Well obviously," she purrs, "It depends on what I'm after."

Bella squeezes Mynx's shoulders tight enough to press her claws into them and spins her around with a careless twist of her arms. She's never actually stood this close to the Admiral before. She'd never notice how much taller she was than Odoacer. Bella's tongue glides over her lips while the tip of her tail twitches suggestively behind her. She plucks Mynx off her feet and sweeps her around in a circle, leaning her down so that her head almost brushes the floor while Bella presses herself tight against her old rival.

"Maybe she's a romantic who spends her days reading trashy adventure novels. Then I should be dazzling, shouldn't I? If I want her. Or maybe..."

She grins with a mouth full of sharp, predatory teeth as she stands up in one quick motion, plucking Mynx off her feet entirely and grabbing her up into a perfect princess carry. She might as well be feathers in Bella's arms.

"She wants to play the damsel waiting for her brave warrior to carry her away. I mean, a good lover makes her partner's wishes come true, right? But, you know, I think..."

Finally, Bella's leer falls away. Her eyes betray her disgust for the face that she's been flirting with, just before she lets Mynx fall to the ground with a squawk and a thud. She's on top of her in an instant, pinning her to the floor, entire body tense and lifted like a great cat. Her hand squeezes Mynx's mouth shut, letting up only just enough to avoid leaving a mark. Her face is wild with a deep hunger that she's never once sated. And how could she? Her entire life, it's been women like the Admiral who have made sure Bella had no measure of her own strength.

"She's probably just a cold-hearted skank anyway. Maybe she's really my enemy. Maybe I should just take what I want, then leave her. I just need to break her in a little first~"

Bella snarls. She lifts her free hand to strike, before she can be struck. How she's waited for this moment. For years. And now!

She pats Mynx on the cheek. Her expression breaks into genuine mirth, and she laughs girlishly as she stands up and offers her hand down to pull the shapeshifter back off the ground again.

"The look on your face! Who can't act again, hm?" she snorts and stretches her neck, "That's what you get for poisoning me. Now come on, quit wasting time. We've got a ship to steal."

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

"This is twice tonight you have received our warnings, Jerry. You have been visited by two spirits."

The shadows are twisting Marianne's face. Her smile warps so severely it actually flips upside down. For a moment it looks like it's growing out of her forehead, sharp and ruby red as ever and no less malicious for being inverted. Her eyes burn from a shapeless spot somewhere closer to where her chin should be. Then the whole thing spirals, the illusion breaks, and she returns to her terrifying normal.

"Do not require a third. You know how it will end."

Marianne is the cruelest of the Phantom Thieves by far. Or is she merely the strictest teacher? Jerry has proven a very poor student thus far, after all. She cannot be trusted to be lectured into compliance. And that is why the ground beneath her yawns open and begins to drag her down. Deeper and deeper she goes! To her waist! To her absurd chest! She is being swallowed by the jaws of... what was it again? That creature who judges the unworthy where Set has chosen her iconography from. Ammut! Yes, yes! There is nothing better than a demon to drag you down to Hell, little Jerry!

But then she stops. The sound in the hallway is not the growling of some terrible demon, but the stomping of her boots as she marches across the hall to kneel next to her evening's great work: the bust of Jerioth ab-Ishtar. Her teeth vanish into her mouth as she finally drops her horrible smile for a more playful sort of smirk. She reaches out with both hands and takes Jerry by the cheeks, lifting her back out of the floor as easily as if she was plucking a reed from a stream.

And then she lifts Jerry's gauzy, useless veil. No more pretending, little cow. Do not hide behind your glittering and pointless walls. The gold chains of Marianne's mask feel cold against the Annunaki's face as Marianne takes her prize. She is a greedy kisser: rough and wild and conquering. She is stealing Jerry's breath away, replacing it with heat. She must surely burn to death! She must explode! She must, she must, she must..!!

The moment ends. Marianne spits and wipes her mouth on her sleeve, and when she stands up Jerry finds herself rising with her on chains that have been linked to the many decorations outside the library while her mind was otherwise occupied. Marianne turns her back and spreads her arms wide.

"Rejoice, Jerry! Your eyes are open, yes! You see the truth now, yes yes! We did not build your Hell, Jerry. Not us. That is the weight of your sins! That is the truth of the world your people built off the back of your cruelty and your slaves. But worry not; I shall not abandon you to that land of rot tonight. You are precious in my eye, ma chérie. My darling student. This is where we part tonight. You shall be my messenger. Do not worry about getting the words correct; you will not need your mouth."

She breaks into a fresh grin as she plucks Jerry's veil free entirely, and carves more strips from her dress to stuff her mouth with anew. She turns and flashes Set a look of grim satisfaction and approval. And then she grabs her partner and melts with her into shadow, leaving only laughter behind.

Chuubo's GMD: Love and Shattered Alchemy

Some people have melodic laughs, while others have deep belly laughs. Still others have rapid trills or even girlish, snorting giggles. Dulcinea... well, she's certainly got a laugh, you can be sure of that. It's quite possibly the most intensely dorky thing imaginable: squeaky little bursts that end in a sort of hiccup of breath every few seconds. Ahahahahaheeep! Haa ahahahaheeeeep! It's like someone's standing behind her head and flipping a switch on and off.

Right now she's stuck in her giggleloop so hard that she seems like she might burst. Her face has turned a very different shade of red, her hand is caught around her chopsticks still laden with noodles so that every hicsqueak dips them into and out of of the broth, and her eyes... well, actually, her eyes are glittering like diamonds. At some point later, which might have been a minute or might have been three full eternities but in any case coincides with her broth still being pleasantly hot, she drops a notch or two down in intensity to simple out-of-breath sighs and mini-spurts of smaller giggles.

"Oh! My! Goodness! I can't even! I just! You're so! Haha! Hee! You're the cutest! Heeep! Thing I've ever! Haha! Seen!"

Her hand finally regains enough control to bring her food to her lips. She slurps noisily, flinching a little when the flopping noodles splash soup on her face and in random flecks around the table. Her notebook, by astonishing coincidence, stays completely dry. She scribbles a series of tiny notes while she chews. Every sentence ends with a little heart.

"It'sh gonna bhe shho," gulp, swallow, "Sad when this stops working out. Metal. Definitely metal! How lucky can I get? No, but this is sad, actually. It's so sad. Alexa, play... egh, never mind. Gosh you're cute. Is everything so cute up where you're from? You know, once I actually... Hahaaaactually never mind that too."

Her pen hand unconsciously drifts up to brush her chest up and down, where the thin but kind of jagged scar lines lie hidden under her thick black clothes. Her hand rises higher still and she twists her hair around her pen. Around, around, around, release. The curls don't last more than a second, but it's soothing. Or, well. It would be. If she had a heart. Which she does not. Even though for some reason it almost feels like she does right now?

Weird.

"Right. Well. You seem to be laboring under a delusion or twenty, so in the interest of clarity let me be the one to break it to you: this is, in fact, the so-called "human realm". You'll notice all the humans about, if you look around? Provincial little sh-- ahchoo! Excuse me, sorry. But yeah, like, how's the food? Like it? Of course you liked it, I picked it! Hahahee! But no, tell me how it feels. In detail, if you wouldn't mind. What's your physiological response like right now? Emotional? Are you, in fact, experiencing the healing powers of a good, hot meal? Or do I need to feed yet another truism to my Truism-Devouring-Hound? You know, as... as soon as I make one of those. It's on my to-do list! Lotta wasted vocabulary on wasted truisms, you know. The world would be a much better place if we could all just focus on the-- sorry, sorry! But no no no, tell me tell me! Is the mouthfeel unctuous? Is the saltiness pleasing? Do you have the slightest idea what umami actually means? What's your first impression of caloric intake? Ohmygosh don't eat the egg yet!"

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

The World of the Nameless Library is a truly twisted place. How fitting for a place even the decadent Annunaki tyrants feel the need to bury it three layers deep. 'Forbidden knowledge.' Ha! What a farce. If they really wanted their silly tablets to go unread, they would have destroyed them. This is just another layer in the pyramid scheme they call "The Great Chain". Of course it is. The Annunaki only ever 'forbid' anything so that it feels more luxurious for those who are permitted.

It's veils. Veils all the way down.

Navigating this spiraling maze of knife edges and shadowy whispers that slip off of everything like black muck is the most fun challenge Marianne has had in her short time on this earth. The glyphs run through the paths like veins, throbbing like the heart of a lovesick maiden. These are the only lights to navigate by. The landscape itself is nothing but pillars jabbing up out of the murk like giant spears stacked on top of each other at impossible angles. Sometimes they fit together almost like steps, only to suddenly break apart into gaps too wide to navigate without suicidally dangerous leaps or swings. Sometimes they melt underfoot and collapse, crumbling and screaming like frightened children, into the void of nothing that spreads between the corners of what most people would call the 'real world'. Even the air feels charged and tense, more than is usual for the hidden paths. These secrets have sharp edges. If it could be compared to anything, it would be like trying to breathe the sea, if the sea were filled with razor blades and free swimming tongues. All at once it's choking, cutting, wet, and terrifying enough to give a person nightmares for months.

Marianne laughs. She pitches through it at angles bodies were not meant to bend, in and out and in and out again before it can hurt her. Some nights when her heart was less clear, a place like this would be the death of her. But Marianne burns brightest when she burns hottest, and tonight that heart creature has stoked a rage in her so deep it may well risk seeping even into Étoile's life for a night or two. She'll have to take it out on herself. Images must be maintained. The mask must still be worn.

She plunders secret after secret with little rhyme or reason. Schoolyard tattling is as rich a reward to her as weapon designs or theoretical mumblings that might explain her own origins in whatever vague and stupid terms they might use. It will be horrible drudgery to sift through it all later, but what fun to disseminate the juicy bits to the public after that! The other side of the coin that comes with forbidding knowledge to fuel your fetishes is that any light that gets shined on it is automatically scandalous, no matter how pointless the actual tidbits may be.

But all good things must come to an end. Marianne does not have infinite time to play in here tonight, and the insides of her eye sockets are beginning to burn rather painfully. With deep reluctance, she forces them shut again, and lets herself fall to the proper floor with a heavy clonk of her boots. Her grin is as evil as it ever was. Her eyes weep smoke. She shifts to sling Jerry into both her arms, and flashes her one final deep look to remember the evening by.

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

"You seem scared. What is the matter?"

Marianne breathes deeply of the aftermath of Set's benediction and plants her foot firmly next to Jerry. There's a rustling of fabric, a jangling of chains, and she claps her hand on her prisoner's shoulder. She kneels, to put the sound of her breathing in Jerry's ear. Her impossible ruby grin is devouring her face. Her eyes glint like coals. Her emotion is: Delight. But the color is tainted dark and creepy, swirled up as it is in anger.

She takes her fingers gently under Jerry's chin and lifts her gaze to the many absurd murals on the walls. Every flinch and squirm summons a derisive bark of laughter.

"Your mind is clouded and milky, little cow. Can it be true? Is the exalted Jerioth ab-Ishtar just a naughty girl afraid to face her spanking? Worry not! Your Ma! Ri! Ann! is here for you! She will show you a world beyond the silly bedroom antics of your little temples! She will open your eyes to the truth! Did you think your lessons were over? Non, non! Now is the most important moment of your classes with Professor Marianne! You must walk the paths, Jerry. You must see the way your little catalog means nothing and less to me! Come! Let us plunder the most forbidden secrets of your people, yes! Let it be the declaration of our love, yes yes!"

With careless grace, she scoops Jerry up off of her feet and tosses her roughly over one shoulder. Let her kick and squirm! Let her squeak! But let this be the moment little Jerry is baptized! Still cackling, Marianne tosses a sloppy and very unofficial salute in Set's direction and then walks into, and through, a wall. She reappears a quarter of the way up the cylinder, still hauling her precious student with her.

There are no locks to keep her out of anything in here. There is no need to follow the systems the Annunaki laid out for themselves. There is no need to fear their reprisal. She falls through the Nameless Library to rise higher. Twisting, singing, warping, stealing. Laughing. She is here for the materials relating to TIAMAT, whatever those may be, but this is rather like being a thief in an unguarded jewelry store, no? You cannot blame her if she plucks more than her fair share, and all the better if her little cow has no idea where her true target lies.

She must take some care to protect little Jerry's place in society, after all. Just a little. Or else she'll never be keep her promises to be the shield her many slaves require.

Breathless Dead

If Bella blushed any harder, she would probably faint. The air was hot and full of steam such that it had soaked through her fur even though she'd had the good sense not to dip herself in the water any more than she could help it. The heat permeated her entire body, right up to the tips of her ears, but truthfully it had very little to do with the temperature in the bath house. Bella's slender fingers clutched at the sponge like it was a gift from the gods, the only thing keeping her alive right now.

Her arms move rhythmically up and down, following the contours of her canvas. She wore the same look of grim awe she saw plastered across the face of every painter and sculptor she'd ever snuck a glance at while they were working, so the metaphor really held up in her opinion. Up and down. Up and down. Only a trace layer of soap in between her eyes and the most flawless skin she'd ever seen. Up and down. Up and down. She tries very hard not to stare, but it's impossible to do her work with her gaze stuck in the pool. Up and down. Up and down. And round and... out. It had been one thing to wash the back, but no part of her training could have prepared her to face Nero, Empress of all humanity, front-on.

Her heart hammered. Her arms shook. She kept tossing glances Redana's way, looking for comfort, but she was as naked as her mother, which was somehow even worse? Her only solace was that the both of them were deep into their wine, and a conversation about Imperial court etiquette that was so lofty Bella had no choice but to tune it out. It was easiest to look them in the eyes. They both had such beautiful eyes... one emerald, one sapphire. The Empress' were sharper and more dangerous by miles, but even she had that same... spark, maybe, that made Redana feel so...

"You there! Servitor!" There was a snapping of fingers, "Bella!"

She was so startled she nearly fell into the bath. That was her name! Her name! But that wasn't Redana's voice! She shot a foot into the air and landed in full curtsy, her ears pressed as flat against her skull as she could get them. She flinched sharply as the soaking wet hand reached up and patted her like a favored pet.

"Mm! Well answered, little one! My daughter is training you well!" The Empress flashed a proud smile more dazzling than even her body, and nodded to herself, "I require your mind! I have heard it said that sheer fabrics are unbecoming as the basis for a pattern on the front of a ballgown! But if you were to behold such a garment, would you..."

Bella's hand abruptly digs into the "Admiral's" hair and yanks it back as hard as she dares. She can't help but smirk at the brief wince of pain that breaks Mynx's composure. She glares down at the shapeshifter's upside down face for a moment before answering with a derisive snort. It's even more gratifying than she would have imagined to flick Grand Admiral Odoacer's nose. If only.

"Off limits, you creep. And by the way, while you're sitting here with your back to me, maybe you should stop and think for once in your life about how easy it would be for me to do this stupid bun wrong enough to let you get caught. It's kind of like your life is in my hands! So maybe you should try showing Her Imperial Highness some respect and quit looking for my buttons for thirty seconds so I can work!"

She smiles, flashing sharp teeth before snapping Mynx's head back in place and smoothing out the fresh tangles in the Admiral's ultra-fine hair.

Bella's fingers were made for this kind of work. They're long and clever, and when she's careful even her claws can manage to be gentle. Even soothing. It's the kind of work that mellows her out without her even realizing it. She's dressed the Princess for a thousand parties and public appearances, maybe even more, and has long since developed the kind of talent for it that lets her navigate almost any style you could name without the need for tools. Combs are a crutch, and Odoacer favored a bun that was less than half as intricate as it needed to be to fend off somebody like her. Especially since she doesn't need to fight Redana's stupid hair to do any of it. Unbelievable, how hard she made this job sometimes. How anyone could shower and still manage to come back stuck so full of clumps and knots was beyond comprehension. She wrinkles her nose at the memory, and scowls.

"...Next question." she adds, after a moment of silence.

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

Ugh, Set. She's talented, you have to give her that. Dedicated, too. Essential. But come on girl, where is your sense of the moment? This whole operation is being held together right now on the back of "Ma-ri-Ann's" reputation, and you won't lean into that even a little? Too much faith is dangerous, you know.

Marianne looms just behind Jerioth and puts a hand on her shoulder. It is not for comfort. Her fingers curl and squeeze just to the point of pain, then relax, hover, and squeeze again on a loop. She is seething. Do not grow too comfortable in your mask, Jerry. You must not think that bullying will save you.

Because it is essential that Jerry not consider the troll, Marianne makes a show of not considering it, either. Her eyes are only on Caphtor, or on the door, flickering like angry coals that cast her hungry smile in ghostly light. The emotions that she radiates are confidence and impatience. Do not ask her what colors those are; she has no patience for these analogies. She is waiting, she has waited, it is time, the door will open now. It will open for her. You cannot keep her out. You will not.

But underneath that... trolls. What a bothersome group of creatures they are. It's not that Marianne isn't confident she can defeat one, if it came to that. In fact she's done it once already; that's part of where her legend comes from. The problem is... well. The problem is that they are more like aliens than any of the other alien things that now occupy her world. The Annunaki themselves have left...

No. You do not get to talk about your feelings here, Étoile. Sleep and be silent. Swim in the sea of rage. Trolls are merely walls that emotions bounce off of. You cannot terrorize them. You cannot trick them. If they come at you then you must run or you must crush them, with no other alternatives.

And worst of all, they hit very hard. Marianne will never flinch from pain, nor will she fall from something as trivial as giant rocky fists. Not on a night like tonight when the fire in her heart is stoked so high. But she has her other life to consider. Étoile must weather the same wounds as Marianne, do not forget. A little bit of blood tonight will be essential, but if she snaps an arm and several ribs? It will be... problematic.

That is why she pays it no mind. She is waiting for her moment. The door will open, as it has to, and she will freshly break her little Jerry so that she will not slip back into her ugly self the second everyone's backs are turned. The image of it floods the front of her brain. Her face shall be lovely without that veil to mar it. But lovelier still will be the expression plastered all over it. The fear, the frustration, the humiliation! And best of all? The need. Let the walls of your civilization crumble before Marianne, Jerry! Give to her your soul, yes!

She watches, and she waits. She cannot keep the rumble of laughter locked inside her throat.

Breathless Dead

The snarl burns hot on Bella's face. The harder she pushes, the hotter she burns, until she thinks she must be suffering from some new poison of Mynx's, too. One that makes her arms stop shaking. One that tricks her legs into feeling strong again. One that makes her ears tingle with warmth and her cheeks flush hot and her heart flutter strangely as she stares deep into those lizard eyes and the svelte features of the shapeshifter's true(?) form.

...She is blushing. She realizes it too late. Bella hisses and pushes herself back off the ground with comical haste, looking disdainfully at the ground with a sour expression on her face that does less than nothing to hide her embarrassment.

"I am not being a..!"

She stops herself mid sentence; the giggling is only making things worse. Bella busies herself with straightening her entire outfit again, tugging her sleeves back into place with a pair of little chimes that themselves somehow manage to seem off kilter and flustered. She smooths out the wrinkles in her blouse and vest, and carefully tucks the shirt back into the waistline of her skirt before plucking a tiny amount of the fabric back up as is proper. She smooths the fur on her shoulders and tosses her hair behind her with a careless flick her her hands. She pats away the dirt that isn't there, and her tail snaps with irritation as she takes a deep breath.

It's only after all of this that she offers her hand down to the trickster still sprawled out and staring at her from the ground. She keeps her head very carefully turned away the entire time.

"Look, we're wasting time, ok? Every second they spend chasing after the Princess is another second she can use to disappear forever. You don't understand how good she is at that. S-so let's just... take this stupid ship already. We can play catch-up and twenty poisons after we're underway."

She's still got a Codexia to dispose of, somehow. She still needs to slip off of the Rex in the Admiral's own shuttle and get to Redana before the rest of the fleet can. And now she's got to do it with a scumbag faker at her heels, smiling and waiting to betray her the whole time. So why? Why does her chest feel so much lighter, all of a sudden? Why does her face feel so warm? Why does Aphrodite delight in torturing her so?

Chuubo's GMD: Love and Shattered Alchemy

"The perfect bowl, huh? Well that's really... huh? No, the bar's fi-- I mean, uh... y-ye-yeah. Be-better make it a table for two."

Dulcinea's face flushes a deep pink color, like a sunrise. She quickly hides her cheeks in her hands and shyly looks down at the ground. Disaster. Oh, what a disaster, this is bad, there is no way this is not very very bad. But it's totally her fault for being so easy to talk to! So it's... it's, y'know...

It's fine, right? For today? Yeah. Just for today. It's just a good deed. Doesn't have to mean anything more than that.

She flops indelicately onto the pine booth seating and is halfway to unlacing her shoes before she remembers where she is. Maybe she's first, maybe she's second, can anyone really measure something as imprecise (and more importantly, sneaky) as time? Yes, but not without a functioning calendar. Lousy good for nothing thing. She sighs and sips at a perspiring glass of ice water already waiting for her.

"What was I saying? Oh, um, right yeah. Perfection. Mmm... isn't that impossible to say, really? I mean, that's the promise and allure of Infinity in the first place, that every new zenith looks out over a higher one out in the distance. I will tell you something, lady, every person needs a project, at all times, or they'll die. It might even mean they're dead already and it's more a question of waiting for fate to catch up with them or, or, well you know let's not bring metaphy-- hm? Oh. Yes yes, two cups of sencha, if you don't mind. Yes, hot. No, don't burn it. Yes, I know how your strainers work. No, don't talk t-- just let me take care of this. Thank you. Begone."

Dulcinea plucks a single menu out of the server's hands and uses it to wave her away, fishing a pen out of her bag with her opposite hand and twirling it back and forth between her fingers. She doesn't have anything to write on, but this feels important right now. She needs to be in control of this not-date for it to go right. Which is to say, properly. Which is to say, un-date-ily.

"Anyway not to belabor the point too much, but the day the world presents me with a fully answerable query is the day the universe finishes dying its heat death. But, you know, having said that... there are a few hard and fast rules! For one thing, the noodles are inescapably critical. If you don't have good ones you're just in for a bad time, I don't care how well you nailed the broth. For another thing, those have to be the first thing you eat. They're the last to go in and the least permanent. Noodles first, egg last. That's always the order of consumption, don't let anybody named Rinley tell you otherwise. For another, never overindex on acid or spice. There's no such thing as too much salt. Oh! And, for the the love of everything good in this world, never ever ever let someone sell you on grilled fruit as a topping. Or any amount of anything piled so high you can't actually find the soup. Those are distractions from the true path. Supplements should remain as supplements, that's critical. I feel."

Everything she orders, she orders in duplicate. It's easiest for her if she makes this easiest for Jasper, and that means giving her a functional mirror to copy behavior from. Chili oil to the side, please. Let's not curse this from word one by discovering too late this lovely perfect... platonic stranger has a tongue that doesn't handle spice very well. And by then it's too late. But boy, does everything she's doing make this feel very date-y. The knowing looks and the winks she keeps getting are going to be the death of her. Dulcinea is pinker than pink and trembling furiously by the time she finally gets another moment alone with her target. Acquaintance. Research specimen. Argh!

"S-so... um, you know anyway enough about me, ha ha ha, what's your... I mean, like, what brings you 'round these parts anyway? Your type's usually much too important and fance to get caught slumming it down here with us trash mobs for very long. So is it business or pleasure? Both? What kind of bet did you lose, anyway? What's your story, hon?"

Her lip quivers on the edge of a smile, and her pen hovers eagerly over the unblemished pages of a fresh notebook.