Phoe

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

Étoile has just enough time to squeak. She jolts her head upright, and then... um. Then, um. Everything. Sluggish? Hazy. Haha, that's a funny word. Hazy. Haze. Haayyyyyyzeeeeeee~

Tongue tastes cotton. Fade to black.

Her head flops indecently, face first, into Lady's thighs. All is bliss. All is bliss. All she knows is bliss.

Étoile sinks. Deeper and deeper, let the bubbles rise above her. Deeper and deeper, into the sea of her soul. There's no light here, but she doesn't need that to see. There's no sound here, but she doesn't need that to hear. She sinks, she bubbles, and she gawks at the jagged superstructures of darkened crystals in colors she can't tell apart. Down into the depths.

It is calm here. Peaceful. Beautiful. Étoile stops sinking, and floats in place inside a gently swirling current that massages all of her muscles into uselessness. Her head lolls from side to side and her hair floats freely, released from the prison of its ponytail. She can't move, but... does she want to? Does she need to? It is calm here. Peaceful. Beautiful.

"Feeling penitent, are we little star? How sweet!"

She startles. There's a pain in her neck, and another one swimming up and down her legs. She thrashes, and up above her the impossibly huge chimeric shape of Marianne looms and blots out the not-light. Her smile is full of ruby fangs that dazzle painfully. Étoile winces, clumsily bringing a hand up to shield her eyes.

"You're... here?"

"Of course I am here! This is my home, yes!"

"Still... mad at you."

Étoile's eyes flutter open and shut of their own accord. Marianne barks with laughter and thunders some sort of response, but her ears get distracted by the shape of a crystal floating by. Why is it... what? Why is it so hard to focus?

A great paw lifts her head with a tenderness that would shock her if her brain was working even kind of right just now. The claw that caresses her so gently is easily as thick as her neck.

"Étoile, Étoile, Étoile. Much as I love our little talks, especially seeing this adorable side of you, I require that you leave at once. Unless of course it's your intention to drown me?"

Her breath bubbles, and that's when she notices that her lungs are on fire. They're, they're! But that must mean that! Her eyes pop open in equal parts panic and understanding. Marianne's smile is vicious.

"Away, little star! This is not how we part, non! Go and breathe the air again, and I shall consider your punishment over! Fly, little fish, yes yes!"

The great paw swipes at her, and suddenly Étoile is tumbling, spiraling, twisting... up. Up and up and up, ever up, above the crystals, through the bubbles and...

Her lungs sting like they've been filled with hot needles. Her eyes feel clouded to near uselessness. But maybe that's the water? Étoile wiggles, half rises, and then begins to sink. They've got some sort of ropes around her wrists (tied behind her back) and her ankles. Mercifully, they did not tie them together.

Her mind is sluggish. Even now, in all this burning, cold, and wet agony, it takes her a long and listless moment to realize she's been tossed into a lake. But where is..?

Lady! If they did this to her, then!

Étoile curls herself into a ball, bringing her knees tight against her chest so she can work her hands under her feet. That will have to be enough. She lifts them above her head, though they feel half turned to stone by now, and kicks with every last bit of her draining strength. Tied together, all she can do is bob her legs up and down, waving her hips in time with the motion so that she undulates like a wave and cuts upward through the water. Handmaiden, knight, burning avatar of vengeance, victim, silly little pet... now add mermaid to her list of masks.

She just! Has to! Reach! The surface! Air! Air! She doesn't want to die! There's so much! She still needs to do!

Chuubo's GMD: Love and Shattered Alchemy

Dulcinea stares bleary eyed at her latest batch of notes. She blinks stupidly. Pulls one hand behind her neck and squeezes as she rolls it from side to side, wincing at the popping sounds that are so loud you can't help but wonder if she didn't just die. Her head slumps forward again and her attention returns to the numbers and the conclusions she's written about them.

She stares at the ceiling. She sighs. Back to the notes. Ceiling. Sighs. Notes. Tap tap tap goes her pen. Ceiling. Floor!

"Owowowowow owies! Heck! Darn! Shoot! Expletives! Ow ow ow!"

On the plus side, writhing around on the ground clutching the back of her head where she bounced it off the carpet is an excellent distraction from today's rather unpleasant surprise discovery. Not to mention how effective it is as a stimulant! Why, she's not sleepy at all anymore, even though she hasn't rested in four days! Hooray!!

But all good things must come to an end. She blinks and groans as she stands up and immediately slumps over her cluttered desk again, adding a potential bonus bruise to her forehead to go with the one on the back.

"Ho...kay then. This is proooooobably my fault? But, consider this! It's very definitely not! Maybe! I mean, you know, it couldn't be? Really? Cause, like, I haven't done this before now. At least... not successfully. I don't think. That I remember? And it's not written down anywhere either so that's, like, confirmation. Probably maybe. No, it can't be me. I can't be the source of what's destroying this place. I'm a lot of things, but I'm not an apocalypse. Even if my high school elected me most likely to be. Jerks."

Tap tap, tap tap. She flips her notebook closed in frustration. Ok Dulcy, it's just like they say in... Texas? 'When in doubt, do the math!'

"Aight. Aight, aight, alrighty. So there's two obvious possibilities here. Option A: there's a heretofore unknown Dulcinea-adjacent genius in this rundown Podunk sticksville towny Town... thing who's conducting high level nightmare science and/or sorcery without my having noticed prior to this incredibly serendipitous coincidence, quite possibly with ill intent given how many of these manifestations have explicitly gone after innocent rubes. Er, people. Yes, the sweet and darling citizenry whom I have nothing but love for and hold in no contempt whatsoever. Those guys. And gals. And non-binary expressing miscellany. Possible? I mean, never say never.

Or! Option B: the person I already know about who I also know has been conducting experiments with various Nightmare Technology for over a year has, through some combination of neglect and willfully devil may care boundary pushing (not to mention dynamite good looks) has... uh, you know, either spawned or forged connections to the Great Beyond that turns mortal works and minds to rot, et cetera et cetera and so forth. Referring to you, in case this is at all unclear. You meaning me. Dulcinea D'Avingon. That person. That I am. Bluh."

Her head thumps softly on the desk as she contemplates the extremely lopsided probability of these two realities. Sleepiness creeps back into her life. She can't let it get her. Not here. With the suit and the... other experiments in various phases of completion, it would be a disaster beyond the reckoning of even a god, probably maybe. She groans and rubs at the dark circles under her eyes.

"Suppose the question would answer itself if I just tracked down this other portal and saw it for myself. Let's see, I'm gonna need a... hm. A Nightmare... uh, Altimeter? Yeah, an altimeter. It's the spikes and valleys you wanna watch for with nightmare energy. So it, I, yeah. Yeah. Height. Relative to nightmare sea level. Uhuh. So for... do I have one of those? Uh. I'm gonna need..."

She trails off for a long moment. With an exhausted, heaving sigh, she pushes herself away from her desk and trudges (though admittedly with very light, ginger steps) through her darkened apartment and around all of the Lego-sharp objects scattered around the floor.

"Air. Air is what I need. Air and coffee. Cause I gotta... blarg. I would commit legit, real live murder for an espresso machine..."

Her fingers find the doorknob. Sweet air kisses her forehead. And Dulcinea, wearing jazz slippers she's forgotten to replace with real shoes, worn out slacks, and a blouse she's only sort of buttoned the top half of, steps out into the "real world" once again.

Breathless Dead

"Hey, what are you?! St-stop, put me down before I! Hey! H-hey! Let! Go! Of! Meeeemmmfff?!"

Bella is held. Her feet dangle and kick uselessly in the air, which does her about as much good as the thrashing of her tail. Her face and her hair are soaked slick with blood, but her stomach isn't turning in the slightest; her nose is filled only with the scent of Redana. Redana! This is not Redana! But the smell, the... mmm, mmmmmnggh!

Oh Zeus, father of the gods! Bear witness to Bella's prayer! Mark you how the Nemean presses those greedy lips against hers, stiff and hard and unyielding against the pressure. See how her whole body tenses, the way her tail snaps straight behind her even as she reaches a shaking arm to rake her deadly claws across the back of this... this Amazon.

Oh Zeus, hear her prayer. Accept the fluttering of her eyelids and the sigh that escapes her lungs as her lip is bitten. Take these drops of her blood which dribble between their tongues. Cherish evermore the sight of this servitor yielding before the power of your progeny, going slack, letting her arm fall limp, turning this precious stolen kiss into an exchange. Take her moan, O Thunderer, that you might draw sustenance from it. Take the curving of her spine that presses her soft and supple chest against the hardness of Redana Chrysopelex.

Oh Zeus, it is to you she makes this offering. It is for you she lets her ears pull flat, for you she squeezes her eyes shut, for you she drowns out the world and cares not one whit for the sudden brutality of Epistia, for the smell of blood now choking out the air around her, for the furious chorus of spears and SP bursts and shouting growing ever closer.

This is all for the glory of the King of the Gods. Kiss stealer, skirt chaser, Holy Progenitor, beloved even so of Queen Hera. Accept this offering, this... yielding, and bless her with good fortune in the chaos yet to come. Or, if she is unworthy of even this small protection, then please. Take this moment and go. And when you do, give her back her Princess.

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

"Uhuh! Uhuh! lamassie is good at finding treats! Watch, Lady! Watch!"

Étoile's voice drips with saccharine as she carefully sheds her heavy pack and places it gingerly on the ground. The second that finger touched her nose, she was doomed. There's work to do, appearances to maintain, moral quandaries to defeat, people to tranq, and quite honestly probably also some sort of incredibly mean prank to 'accidentally' thwart. And that's to say nothing of all the planning and prep work she needs to keep in her mental load today so she's ready for this evening's chores!

Buuuuuuuut~

Lady said it's playtime! She's not wearing her special outfit but she still gets to be lamassie! Lady's silly little pet who keeps her heart and the smile on her face! She doesn't need to be smart! She doesn't need to juggle all the expectations everyone has for her all the time! She can relax, 'cause she just needs to... oh! She's supposed to find treats for Lady! Sniff sniff!

Even under a veil, the silly smile plastered on Étoile's face is easy to see. Vapid is the wrong word for it. But if you heard her say she hates this, you wouldn't need powers of the heart or mind to know she's lying. Are there treats over here? She prances away on silly, bouncing feet and pokes about at another table. Sniff sniff, sniff sniff! Nope, no treats here! She trots off to another, and hops on top of it! Sniff, sniff sniff! Nope, not here either!

They're not under the worn out umbrellas, nope! Not under the chair, nope nope! Where are Lady's treats? Are they hidden by her feet? Sniff sniff! Lady's giggles are music that sets Étoile's heart on fire. Every bit of her is melting, melting, melting into little pools of bliss. The stiffness in her back that's been there ever since Marianne took the chains to her finally unclenches, and when she coils around the table it's with liquid grace. Her eyes are happy eyes! Her smile is just the cutest! Her mincing little prance elicits so much praise from Lady she thinks she might float off into the sky!

She's halfway to the stairs back toward the kitchen when she stops and smacks her head on the palm of her hand! Silly lamassie! Check Lady's bag if you want Lady's treats! She makes a big show of rooting around in there with her face, top down and bottom up, sniff sniff sniffing until she (very carefully) pulls herself free and fishes out the three containers full of pre-prepared food she knows are in there. Lady's tummy is very delicate! She can't just eat whatever lamassie finds in this place, silly!

She trots back and lays the spread across the table, pausing every so often with a little look that's begging for something she hasn't quite earned yet. These are good snacks! The best snacks! Cool and refreshing! Spiced so very delicately! Covered with rich cream! lamassie can't remember the names for any of these foods, but she knows they're Lady's favorite, yes they are! Her little picnic is even nicer than Étoile dreamed it would be!

Because? When she's finished? lamassie plops down on the ground with her legs folded under her and rests her head on Lady's thighs. This is her favorite playtime position. The Annunaki are naturally warmer than humans, so resting her head here feels just like burying her face in a sweater fresh from the dryer! It's soooooo nice! She snuggles herself in nice and close, and stares up at her Lady with the most soulful eyes she can.

Call her a good girl? Please?

Breathless Dead

There's a stench in the air that has nothing to do with the blood being spilled or the weapons being fired. Bella breathes deep, and her golden eyes go wide as her lungs fill with it. It's a very particular aroma, the kind of thing even a clever nose would miss if it hadn't been trained to look for it. A vague sourness that reminds her of vinegar that's been drizzled over top the musty fur that must permanently cling to these poor bastards after having spent gods know how long stuck in this vast, sweltering death jungle.

A pheromone? Her lips curl upward. It's not a language she speaks a single word of, but it probably drives each of these 'proud warriors' into a frenzy. Doesn't it, you Ceronian sons of bitches! HA! Bella crouches low to the ground with her fingers curling and uncurling in anticipation. Her claws are sharper than death; her talon ornaments gleam wickedly silver in the light of the palace.

There's a spark of something that's like a thought, but it's drowned under a wave of action. Bella pounces forward, pushing off the ground with her hands until she settles into huge, loping strides that cover several meters in a bound. The entire time she flies, her eyes stay locked onto Queen Hatchan. That's right, no one else matters. That's the bitch who thinks she can hurt the princess. As if better mutts than her hadn't tried!

Her entire body is as tense as wire being pulled across a fence. Her fur ripples under sinewy muscles so diamond hard they could be from the Walls of Tellus. She coils, like a spring, and... then!

She leaps.

Where the Queen comes in high, Bella rises from the ground. Where she seeks to take Redana's back, Bella rushes from the front. Are you watching from your dreams, princess? Your Bella's teeth shine like pearls as she snarls and launches over the top of the Nemean like a javelin hurled by Zeus herself. Yes, she, Bella just now is made of lightning. She passes so close to the statuesque warrior that her skirts brush the Redana-shell's face. Her foot lands on that broad, steely shoulder, and launches her further into the air.

It's a battle of angles, but a war of intent. Bella's momentum carries her into the Queen and turns what had been a killing blow into a crunching flop that bounces the godless wench's head off the ground once, twice, thrice before she settles into a dull skid with Bella's hand clenched across her throat.

Bella's legs clench across the Queen's ribs, and she squeezes them like she's trying to grind Hatchan's bones into powder, or bend them inward until they stab through her lungs and leave her to float off to the depths of whatever dark hell Hades keeps for people like this. Her claws glint as she raises her right arm behind her, bent at the elbow, shoulder blades taut and protruding, fingers pressed together like a knife.

Her eyes gleam with wild triumph. Yes! Yes! YES! It's her! The justice of the gods! Not Jas'o, not the living statue, not Redana or her Shadow, but her! Bella! This is the face of your doom, bitch! She doesn't speak the words, but they drip from her terrible fangs as her face twists into a truly horrible and ugly grin. This is the face of victory. This is the face of death.

"Don't you. Touch her!"

She drags her left hand up across the Queen's throat until her fingers are clutching at the jawline. With surprising strength, she bends the head back: tilting her, curving her spine like a rainbow, pushing her neck out. Her hand squeezes tighter and tighter. She feels the moment where the jaw dislocates, and that's when she does it. Hrrah! Her voice cuts through the palace. Her hand cuts through the air.

Without hesitation, Bella plunges her claws into that soft throat and buries them up to the wrist. She draws a deep breath that shudders through her entire body, and wrenches herself free. Safe. You're safe now, Princess. See? Your Bella is all you ever needed.

[Finish with Blood: 10]

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

Étoile stares at the entrance to the haunted mansion with a sour look hidden under her veil. It bothered her that every decision felt like a wrong one. Go inside? Could be a trap. Might be a duck. Hard to say which would be worse. And even then, if not, if she'd just seen a compliant and ready-for-catching person? It still didn't... listen, Lady might be silly and sweet, and tranqs are tranqs, but Étoile did not want her hunting anybody.

She'd had a plan, when she woke up this morning. It was a pretty simple plan, too! She'd get here with Lady, tell her stories about human hunting traditions and then help her climb onto the roof of an old concession stand or something and just... wait. Eventually, she'd break out a parasol to keep Lady Tamytha out of the sun for too long, she'd arrange a picnic (it was all in her pack anyway), and they'd sit there together talking and letting the day pass them by. Probably no humans (feral or otherwise) would come within a thousand meters of the pair of them.

But then Jezcha happened. Well, the trip was her idea in the first place, the problem is that her friends happened, too. Terrible things happened when those disgusting pigs gathered in numbers, and if Tamytha came up empty handed they'd feel provoked for certain. Best not to think about it. Best not. Don't think about the whips or the big, heavy gauntlets they put on for punishments, don't think about how easy it would be for them to switch to lethal ammunition to teach Her Ladyship a lesson in why you couldn't afford to be soft with humans. Or if they... non, Étoile. We are not thinking about this, remember?

Behind her, there's a squeak, and then a chorus of angry honking. And before she can form another thought Étoile has already spun around and run three paces in the other direction, 'hey hey'ing and banging the heavy rifle she's still holding against the metal of her gauntleted hand. She is the brave chevalier riding forth to do battle with demon mallards on behalf of her Lady.

"Ah! Ah! Go, shoo, shoo! Leave her alone, you brutes! Little fiends! Have you forgotten the French know your secret? Get away before I remind you how good you taste with orange sauce!"

Fighting off wild ducks is a contest of wills. Either you convince them you are big and scary, or they convince you how much it hurts to be bitten by duck bills. Which is a lot! But these ducks, ah! Poor fools! Not one of them can stand against the soul that cages the brilliant fires of Marianne. They squawk in protest and flap away to parts unknown, where if there's justice in the world they'll introduce Jezcha's butt to their brand of pain.

And Étoile, wearing her mask with pride, gives Tamytha a bow and a hidden smile before she stoops to one knee and kisses Her Ladyships hand through her veil.

"Are you alright, Lady? Goodness, that was close!"

Breathless Dead

The smell of ozone brings her up short. Metallic, burning, and deep, like the cleaning chemicals she used in the palace but wrapped in electricity. It's the scent poems call Justice, which Bella hated reading. It's the scent of Zeus Olympios, the songs all say, which Bella hated singing. But really, more than anything else, it's the scent of failure. It's what punishment smells like.

You can't notice a thing like that and not think that something horrible is about to happen. The very best thing it could possibly be is a Thunderbolt from somebody like Jas'o, and that's already bad enough to make Bella sprint faster than she's ever gone before. She's half a lightning bolt herself, dropping her body lower, dropping all pretense and bounding on all fours every time she hits a particularly steep incline because she must be as fast as the wind, as the gods. Even though her lungs burn with the effort of the climb, she sprints as if trying to outrun a bolt of lightning.

And the reward for her haste is that she makes it just in time to see Redana collapse in on herself. Her princess. Her princess! Gone! Bella's lungs turn inside out. A second ago they'd been heaving with effort to suck in every last bit of thunder-soaked air they could get. Now, they expel it like a plague. Bella is frozen in place. Her hands are clamped like iron over her face, but they can't keep the strangled scream from escaping her lips. Redana! Redana! No! Gods, please, if there's a merciful soul among your miserable lot, O Zeus, whom she has never had the courage to pray to before, please don't let please don't please please don't take her princess like this don't don't don't don't...

Perhaps this is what it means to have a prayer answered. And perhaps that answer is why Bella so rarely prays. Her scream dies down into a surprised squeak. Her arms fall limply to her sides. Her mouth falls open, and her face is slack and stupid. For the first time since she got rescued from the box, Bella looks up at the face of her princess.

It is just barely possible to know that this... this War Queen is the same as her Redana. The contours of their jaws follow the same lines, and the nose is just the same. The width of her hips and the particular quality of her muscles, though they are both larger in this form, have the same proportions as her princess. It's like staring through a window into another reality, one where Zeus took primary responsibility for raising Redana instead of Nero. But all of this could be explained away as the trick of her eyes and her desperate heart, except for... the smell.

Underneath the hated wisps of lightning breath, Redana's scent is overwhelming. The tang of her sweat: musky, with a tiny note of saltiness atop a wave of sweet... unique in all creation. Nobody smells like Redana except Redana. You could chain Bella inside a dark cave for a thousand years, leave her to forget everything she's ever known, and she would still be able to name this specific smell. But what is? Bella watches in awe as her princess hefts an axe and effortlessly cleaves through multiple warriors of legendary skill as if they were paper props in a play about her exploits. Her cheeks grow warm, and it takes her a long moment to realize she is blushing. Her tail rises all by itself, the tip curling in on itself with excite... relief. This is relief. Relief and awe.

"Red... Redana?" she breathes, forgetting all her etiquette inside the thick stew of her emotions. "Princess, is that..?"

Breathless Dead

"It's because he's human, isn't it?"

Bella's voice is soft and melancholy, but tinged with frustration as she prowls back and forth along a small length of the wall. She strains her neck to look at the gate again. Shakes her head, no. Suicide. Even if she gets past unrecognized she'll be swept up in a wave of Ceronian vengeance.

"That's why it gets to be him. Feh. What makes the Bitch of Ceron so special? Better give her the fancy executioner, the kind you get songs for!"

Not for the first time, she runs her fingers across the surface of the wall. It's a strange material, whatever it is. It feels slick, almost greasy on her fingers, but when she pulls her hand away her skin's as clean as the Empress herself could ask of her. She taps her talons against it experimentally. She hisses; this is im-- no! Not here! Not this close!

She pulls her hand back and smashes it against the walls of the village with a sharp and impossibly loud crack, her fingers splayed wide apart and curled to give her claws maximum purchase. Immediately, she regrets it. Her ears bend themselves silly straining for sounds of approaching enemies. Her head whips from side to side of its own volition, staring across the vast and horribly empty fields where anything at all could be waiting to get her.

But for once, nothing is. She turns again to look at her hand, buried to her first knuckles in the polymer. Bella takes one last sidelong glance at King Jas'o and his new army of legendary super soldiers. Lucky fuck. All because he's human. Shining. Sacred. Like he'd be worth any of this if there were a single qualified person around.

"It's all for shit anyway, right?"

She seethes, launching herself up several meters with a violent lunge that ends with a crushing blow to the wall with her opposite hand. Her eyes flick down toward the ground again, just before she kicks off the wall and lunges up again. Her boots scramble madly on the enigmatic coating, and it's impossible to find any real purchase, let alone make any sort of fast and graceful leap the way she was intending. She swings awkwardly from her hand as her fingers scream at her to let go and drop before they break.

Her right hand smashes itself into the wall a little ways above her. She pulls her legs close together and wraps her tail around her hips to keep her balance as perfectly as possible. Fine then; upper body strength it is. Every lunge is vicious, a perfect kill strike. She pulls her entire weight up with nothing to support her but the power of her arms and shoulders. By the half way mark, she's trembling.

"...I mean, once he's gone and sacked this place, he'll go right back to being a useless, scum sucking pawn with a shiny toy crown. Not even! When Odoacer finds out he doesn't have the princess, haha, she's going to kill him! I wish I could be there to watch. I wanna see the light in his eyes go out when she strings him up by his balls. Heh..."

She turns to look, but Hera has no more words for her. She never does, after she's left her balm. There is a smile on the goddess' face, and then she turns away to other matters is is gone completely. Bella smirks. She's not shaking anymore. She claws her way up to the top, whether it wants her to or not. Whether she's a favorite of any of the high and mighty war gods or just a pawn of a few others. Bella is determined. This is just another Game for her to conquer. She is inevitable.

She is Queen of the Ceronian Wall. She pauses for only a moment to catch her breath. That moment is filled with a vision of the future. Her back is shivering with agony, but she makes no complaint of it. Her ship, the Empress' gift, is as dingy and uninviting as it's ever been, but in this moment she welcomes it. There is a bath with hot water, and Bella is washing her Princess' back to take her mind off of her terrible journeys. She is quiet and respectful, not even requesting an apology from Redana while she recounts her many ridiculous adventures out here in space. The Princess is stepping out. Bella averts her eyes and stares respectfully into the water, watching Redana's reflection wrap itself in a towel and saunter off to the one well-furnished chamber where she'll be sleeping for the trip home. Trembling, Bella slides into the water herself, still hot, Redana's water, sharing her warmth and soothing her wounds and...

She leaps from the wall and banishes the image with the dark swoop of flight. Some kind of garden she's never seen before breaks her fall; the tangle of destroyed vegetation wilts pathetically as she springs off of it. She doesn't spare any of it a second glance. She runs, form of a champion, only forward, forward, forward, and up the final here.

She is coming, Princess. She is here.

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

"Hm? I... oh! Oh yes, of course! My parents brought me here when I was small! And a second time to celebrate my si... a-as a reward. This was a place for families, you see. There were costumes and characters and parades, places to play and too-sweet foods and drinks you would never ever make room for at any other time. And best of all, huge, grand rail cars that would carry you through the sky in great loops until you felt your stomach squeeze inside you and just swoop, and... ah."

Étoile trails off into nothing, and suddenly becomes intensely interested in her own feet as they scuff little patterns on the ground. She's been staring again. She's only just realized. Ah, zut, zut, et zut! Bad Étoile, stop noticing! Sweet as she is, the Lady is still of your enemy, the time will come when you must tear down everything she knows! Do not make Marianne's work harder by admiring her charms! So what that her shoulders are delicate and lovely? So what that her smile is sweeter than cake? Do not love her awkwardness, Étoile, do not let your heart race at the sight of her gangly legs! Do not become attached to everything that separates her from other Annunaki! Have you already forgotten why you're here? Do not!

...Besides, if she keeps this up she'll make trouble for Lady Tamytha and herself. She should be mad at herself for how well the thought motivates her, but even Marianne is silent. She lifts her head again with a melodious giggle at her own expense.

"I am sorry, this must all be very silly and boring for you. Compared with the majesty of your society, I'm sure none of our toys would have interested you for more than a moment. And of course that place is gone now anyway. Thank goodness your people found a use for it more, um... suited? To, like, your stature? Tee hee!"

Étoile leaps forward with a ridiculous two-legged hop. It's an awkward and ungainly way to move, and with the heavy pack on her shoulders she has to wobble and wave her arms about in a panic to avoid spilling over. Silly Étoile! Silly lamassie! Silly girl with no room inside her head for sadness or to think through the consequences of why she's here today. She recovers her balance, and gives a tiny bow.

"Well then! It's a fun fun fun day ahead of us, so if Lady wishes it please follow your guiding star! She will show you all the hidden places humans would think to squeeze themselves inside of!"

Her gait is wasteful and mincing, wandering in serpentine patterns this way and that. Every few steps, she skips. It's a goofy way of moving that gets her nowhere fast, with many glances backwards to see if Lady is keeping up. She won't need to strain herself to keep up this way, without it seeming like Étoile is hanging back to make up for Lady's... erm, shortcomings with her stamina. For a minute, maybe two, maybe ten, or goodness could she be all lucky to make it last all day? But for however long she can, she'll help her Lady fit in. Just another noble and her silly little handmaiden, the envy of those assembled.

Her stomach dips in a way that has nothing to do with roller coasters. How was she supposed to do this? She couldn't really let Tamytha shoot anybody, could she?

Masks: BABYLON MUST FALL

Étoile's ensemble today features a lower and looser ponytail than Tamytha usually prefers to see her in, with a coral hairpin tying it in place right at the base of her neck. Nods to impracticality seem to be the theme of the day. She's been dressed in a tight fitting dress in the same palette as her veil: shimmering teals and then pink accents around all the stitching. The collar reaches high on her neck so that it actually covers under the more literal collar she was put in after, while the sleeveless design has been accented with a pair of delicate silver pauldrons with long loops of soft pink silk tied through them, which would be beautiful under most circumstances but today (like her hair) they keep getting stuck on her pack.

Apparently, Lady Tamytha had been inspired by old Earth stories of chevalier, because she'd also put Étoile in an ornate silver gauntlet with impossibly intricate metalworking in all kinds of incredibly distracting spirals and loops that covered her from wrist to elbow. It was much more difficult to bend her arm wearing this than usual, so it was a lucky thing Lady Tamytha had only put on on her (dominant) left side! And then the dress itself, ooh la la! It clung tightly to every part of her except in the center, where a large diamond pattern had been chest to nearly hip level so that it exposed the underside of her breasts, her belly button, and a flash of frilly pink lace at the band of her low-cut, bikini-style bottom. Of course, it was easy for anybody who wanted to to catch flashes of those any time they wanted, since the skirt of the dress was done in a long loincloth style that trailed all the way down to a centimetre or two above the ground but left the sides of her legs completely exposed. One supposes she was meant to wear greaves or something with it, but all Étoile had to cover her legs was a pair of simple slippers that cut off at her ankles. These at least were easy enough to walk in, but honestly she would kill to teach the Annunaki about the concept of sneakers. It's been a lifetime since running has felt quite right apart from her dalliances as Marianne.

And then there was her pack, which was positively stuffed with things Étoile was sure nobody needed for hunting. Yes, there was the rifle, which was very heavy, and the sidearm (which was also surprisingly heavy), but nobody needed seven tablets outside of their home for any reason at all, much less multiple sketchbooks, much less a full picnic-style lunch and a variety of chilled wines. And why were there multiple changes of clothes? Wasn't this an afternoon trip? And then there were the assorted medicines and treatments, a soft lamp for when it started getting darker, and...

Well, to be frank, it's a lucky thing the Annunaki were so ignorant of the actual capabilities of humans. Because there is simply no way frail little Étoile could carry half of this as smoothly as she did without the aid of her enhanced strength. But nobody in the entire party even bats an eye at her load. In fact, thank goodness they weren't going shopping, or else they'd almost definitely toss an extra twenty kilos of junk into her arms before the trip home.

Étoile bobbles unsteadily as she clears the last step and puts her feet back on French soil for the first time in... merde, how long had it been? Too long. And now it had to be like this. Here was a place that should be bustling with tourists! Happy families! Darling new couples! Long lines crisscrossing this way and that way and another, and their absence made the space feel even more desolate than if they'd been in an actual prairie. Fences were starting to rust, all of the colors looked so faded, and there wasn't a mouse or a princess anywhere in sight.

She mustn't sigh! She mustn't lament or look disappointed! Étoile startles when she hears a chime coming from her wrist, but recovers as-smoothly-as-is-possible while she reaches behind her to try and fish something out of her overstuffed pack. Two somethings, actually, and it's impossible. The rifle needs two hands to hold, the pistol needs a third (would that she were so lucky), and every time she moves to set one down she gets a glare from Jezcha or her friends that makes her think she might not make it home. She winds up tucking the pistol awkwardly under her chin and pinching the rifle on her shoulder, so she can just... barely... come on..!

You may not know that it is possible to pour water into a goblet with a beslippered foot, but then you will not have been a handmaiden to an important Annunaki family before. Étoile fills it effortlessly, humming a tune she'd heard as a child about a girl who dances in the moonlight with a pack of wolves while she works. With one last herculean effort she crams the bottle back in place and stoops for just a moment to pick up Lady Tamytha's favorite goblet.

"Oh gosh, Lady!" she trills and giggles, offering the cup with a tiny curtsy even as she very nearly drops guns every which way, "Please accept this offering of fortified water! Your Étoile is sorry it's so bitter! But it's already past noon, and you need your strength, and she wants to see your eyes shine all day today!"