Phoe

Breathless Dead

"What makes you think I know? I don't even have instructions this time, other than being here with you, looking like... this. Besides, the way she is right now, she could have laid out the whole fucking thing for me and I'd be lucky if it even got me here. She's gotten so, nnnnnnnrgh."

Bella is tension, looped around more tension. Her muscles squeeze against Beljani's in a contest of strength, firmness, and quiet terror. Her body ripples with the effect of the identity thrust back on her by brute force, with an outfit draped across her that gleefully highlights every twitching tendon and shock of power as it shares the softest and most delicious parts of her all wrapped up in sheer lace and silk as if it somehow could belong to the same body.

Knowing it was part of the plan did nothing did nothing to settle the pressure crushing her neck and shoulders as if someone had slipped Azura gravity spheres into her jewelry. Knowing Beljani felt much the same way did nothing to unknot her intestines. Her skin is crawling, or... no. It's buzzing in the same way it would if she'd been force fed stimulants, everywhere except where she's being touched. Her arm flexes tighter, and she pulls Beljani closer.

"Doesn't matter. It's over after tonight. We'll either see where this was all going for ourselves, or it'll fall apart without Beautiful and we'll be right back where I said we'd be at the start. So just, don't fuck up. Do your job and I'll do mine. Or we're both fucked."

She can feel her fur sinking into her skin that means Beljani's started pushing her away instead of closer. She doesn't turn her head to look. Click, click, click, click-click go the points of their fancy heels as their steps go out of synch with each other. Bella frowns her blue-painted lips and squeezes her companion even tighter, raking the tips of her claws and her new jeweled talons against the surface of the Oratus' arm just hard enough to leave depressions in the skin where she passes that have to slowly rise in thin white trails back to normal. Only barely not breaking the skin.

This is all a giant mistake. It was a mistake to come here, orders be damned. It was a mistake to wake Beautiful up in the first place. It would have been better if she'd just kept resting. Even if she couldn't figure out the shape of the plan, it was obvious to anyone with eyes and a brain that she'd stretched herself too thin trying to add a bunch of extra victory conditions to her grand scheme.

Ha. No wonder it's easier to blow up a solar system than it is to make someone smile. All she needed to be was a plan in a box. The fuck was she thinking, trying to be a person too? If she, if this is what, they never should have, should've been... it should have been Beljani they!!

Bella sniffs, and her nose wrinkles with the taste of skin splitting along the kiss of a razorblade. The smell is pure pain: all the fun of huffing acid fumes mixed with an addictive, rotting sweetness that made a person want to keep taking deeper and deeper whiffs even though each felt worse than the one before it. The air itself smells like danger. Useless trying to describe it any more than that.

But she sniffs again, and this time she picks up more of the room. The musk of rotting antiques and the strange, slightly fuzzy odor of carpets that have been trampled by a thousand thousand dances where no feet touched the ground. Lacquer and liquor, arrogance and fear, and most importantly of all a wisp of the mind-bending smoke she'd caught a face full of in Thist's office the day she'd first woken up on this planet, curling from underneath maybe half a dozen closed doors as they entered the main gallery as lovers might.

Her eyes flicker down so that she catches Beljani's attention. Her squeeze this time is a little softer, maybe a little more guilty. And maybe that's obvious in a way you don't need to be an intuitive savant to tell, but Bella pulls and flashes the merest trace of a half-smirk anyway.

"Hey," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "These guys use some kind of weird smoke shit here that gets them so high they look kinda possessed. You... You can get away with a lighter touch than normal tonight. Don't spread yourself too thin."

"...Not that I care. But if you turn useless then I have to do all the work tonight. And... this's supposed to be my vacation so don't fucking forget that, got it?"

Breathless Dead

On the first day, they'd talked for hours.

Beautiful wanted every detail about the mission, and always pushed for more whenever the conversation started to die down. She preempted every question of logistics, and shut down every deflection of praise with clipped and random bursts of observations and a wave of her hand. What she wanted was stories. She kept asking how XIII felt with the wind in her hair, or if it felt good to fly so high under her own power. Was it different from riding on the train? What kind of sounds did the guard make?

Debriefings weren't normally like this. Nobody laughed this much, and definitely nobody ever used the phrase "Shut up!" when they meant "tell me more!" Praise was always reserved for the officer in charge, and even though the girl named Bella had played at sitting in that chair she'd never managed to find out what it was like to bask in the glow of her work until Beautiful showed her how.

Hours drifted into each other one after the other as the details grew bolder, fuller, and brighter, until XIII was startled from a long thought admiring the construction of Azura train systems and the sorts of things their gravity technology did that made life here different from living on Tellus by a call to dinner. The plan accounted for every last detail, it turned out. XIII cooked a sweet potato and eggplant salad with her best approximation of the the bread she'd eaten on the roofs.

For another twenty minutes, they tossed ideas back and forth about how to change it, interspersed with distant mutterings about things too big and far away for XIII's brain to catch up to. And things were never quite this nice again.

*****

Her reflection in the mirror looks back at her with the expression of a woman who expects to be punished. Her eyes dart to the back of the room again and again, seeking the hiding spot of one of the Masters, either of Assassins or the Kennels, ready with the whip and a harsh lesson. Silence greets her. She closes her eyes, and gently slides her hand across her head to feel the hair rapidly grow back where she directs it to.

Beautiful's vision is absolute. Her plan casts a net too wide to see, woven with details too small to seem important. Of course the ball requires a dress. Of course the dress requires a hairstyle. So of course XIII's hands are the only ones that can be trusted to bring it into being.

Her blue-black hair greets her in the mirror when she opens her eyes again, longer and silkier than it had been even before the Yakanov ruined it. She reaches for a box on the counter and plucks several large diamonds between the knuckles of each finger, and brings them carefully up to the glossy curtain on top of her head.

She gathers, and she weaves her hair into a complicated chain of braids. Some are tight and full of many tiny loops, while others are so loose they're only held together by a series of small bands. They all wind together into a chaotic tail, and where they cross each other she inserts a diamond. Brilliant white on the surface, every slight turn of her head rips them into prisms that throw different colors of light across her back and the floor, never quite repeating the same pattern twice.

She reaches grabs a small gun and put it to her ears. Through gritted teeth, she shoots three large emerald studs apiece into her sensitive triangles, falling down a row starting from the tips.

*****

One the second day, Beautiful wanted to talk philosophy.

It turned out she had no special insights into the nature of the universe, or of love, or of the gods or how to worship them. Mostly she didn't say anything, except to prod XIII for further comment. But she had an endless fascination with XIII's journey.

She wanted the story of Big Bone Lick told over and over again, the fall of the Kaeri and the rise of the Lanterns and the way that Hera blessed its coming. Even though it hadn't lasted long, there was a... no, not a hope. A hope would imply Beautiful hadn't understood everything properly, and it was impossible to believe that could be true. Maybe it was a flash or insight, or inspiration. XIII had no ability to read those wide, violet eyes. And it didn't matter. If it was Beautiful asking, she didn't mind talking about anything.

She wanted to hear about life aboard the empty Yakanov. She didn't press for details, but when it came to sensations she was a bottomless pit of hunger. What did this feel like? And this? Was it empty, was it sad? Did she cry? How did the fish taste? Tell me about the movie again, chan-barra-chan. What was Apollo like? And he watched you? All that time?

Every time XIII stopped and frowned when her words failed her, Beautiful lit up and nodded with even greater interest. It felt like she was drinking in the space where thoughts faltered as they poured off of XIII's head or something. Maybe she could see the shape of these memories by staring into the Auspex or something?

She asked for the feeling of the spiral and the void skiff five separate times. Each time the story came out differently. It twists from a story about panic and desperation into an indescribably peace and the feeling that everything would work out fine, and when the lid lifted off of that coffin the world rushed back in, but there would never be any return to a time before she'd become the golden corkscrew and carved her way into the Reaches.

Beautiful watched her without comment after she finished her final failed attempt to explain it all, her face getting that glassy, distant look that meant she was taking in new ideas and applying them at a scale maybe even the Empress couldn't comprehend. But then her eyes turned wet, and she smiled.

Their embrace left a scent on her neck XIII didn't think she could ever be rid of.

*****

She stands in front of Beautiful with her robe tossed carelessly onto the floor behind her. No secrets between friends, right? The Ikarani takes her awkwardly by the shoulders and turns her around to face a wall, instead. XIII's tail lashes with frustration and tension, and she's forced to tuck it around her leg to keep it out of the way.

This is a sign of trust. Beautiful is too far away to be able to explain anymore why this must be done. But it must be done. She hugs her arms tight around her stomach, and gasps when she feels the first touch of paint against her back. Beautiful moves like she's trying to paint an entire galaxy at once, but somehow the effect is delicate and precise. It takes all of four or five brushstrokes before the pattern becomes obvious.

One line, and then another, and then another after that. The gentle curves of petals, and the sharp stab of thorns. The lacquered, crimson paint is being used to bring out her scars: the ones Her Imperial Majesty ordered put on her back to punish her for disgracing the Olympic Games. Beautiful paints each silvery line of the unfolding flower into an unmissable and bold expression of Imperial power and pride.

But in bringing it to the foreground, she twists the meaning. Shame becomes pride. Submission becomes strength. The more of it she draws out, the more pride creeps into her chest until it's threatening to burst free and ruin her makeup in a sudden stream of tears. The rose unfurls across her very own back in colors that only a Praetor would be permitted to wear, and then only as an accent. In fact, to paint them this boldly is almost an act of declaring her to be an imperial princess.

She watches Beautiful work in the reflections of the mirrors all around her. XIII's tail uncurls, and flicks comfortable back and forth underneath her canvas.

*****

On the third day, they had a slumber party of sorts.

This time XIII did all of the listening. The pair of them ate junk food and wrapped blankets around themselves for no reason beyond the feeling of it, trying to squeeze a lifetime's worth of memories into a single half-hour allotment.

Beautiful was a natural gossip, if one let her be. She knew, or half-remembered at least, a thousand different stupid little details about several lifetime's worth of people and all of the people those people knew too. Most of it came tumbling out in an incoherent stream of disconnected facts shot rapidfire without pausing for more than obligatory giggle. It was like listening to a waterfall with unpleasant coworkers and a grudge against her environment.

If any of it was about anybody XIII knew, she couldn't tell. But something about the ease in the other girl's voice compelled her to stay. Compelled her to listen, and nod, and slip little "mhm?"s in where she could so that Beautiful could feel like she was participating in something normal. As if XIII knew what that was, either. Maybe 'mortal' was a better word. So she let a torrent of stories about broken walls and bratty, flirtatious Toxicrenes and the garden party where the King of such and such a planet split her pants in front of three hundred other delegates and literally died of embarrassment all wash over her without comment and without wishing for it to stop.

She forced herself to laugh where it seemed appropriate, or perhaps necessary, to continue the moment. But she watched Beautiful talk herself very nearly to death, and it was her turn to wear the blank expression of someone seeing more than was being presented. Her claws dug into her palms despite all the promises she'd made to herself that they never would again.

And on the fourth day, the Master of Assassins informed her that to delay the Rampancy, she would be permitted no more than one word's worth of exchange per day from then on.

*****

Putting this dress on is in itself an act of artistry. To call it form fitting would be like calling Aphrodite's Rift an inconvenience. It is a second skin, and such a delicate one at that only somebody with a perfect understanding of XIII's body could help her step into it without tearing it in half.

The black lace is sheer enough that it might as well not be covering anything in between the snowflake patterns of less diaphanous fabric that dots bits of her like a dark storm seemingly at random. It clings to her soft, inviting tummy and her perfect hips. It holds her breasts with the delicacy and tenderness of a lover's hands, and the plunging line between them bares her smooth skin completely from her collarbone down to her belly button in a slowly narrowing V.

The sleeves just kiss the tops of her shoulders and extend down to her wrists in clinging sheer fabric that veils her white fur to celebrate it, rather than covering it up. From the edges of her shoulders the back of the dress settles into a wider V than the front, exposing even more of her back, from her shoulder blades to her painted scars all the way down to the point underneath her tail.

It feels like wearing a whisper. But if that's true, it's a celebration of her body. Nothing is covered where it could be highlighted instead, and what is hidden is done so precisely that it's only done for the sake of making those small bits even more alluring. Today, she is not a Servitor. She is not being sent to make someone else look better. She is not to be hidden behind the trappings of a maid. She is not there to be touched or fondled, or sent to lurk in the shadows and keep a more important target safe.

Her dress clings to her thighs down to her knees, where the sheer and swirling lace finally opens up like a pool of water and spills out onto the floor behind her for a full meter in a fan. This is her. This is meant for her. It's a dress so specific it could only be worn by her; something designed with no thought in mind beyond the fact that she was born to be watched.

She is nothing more or less than the most beautiful creature in the universe.

Except that somebody else in that room is using that name. She's permitted one word. Just one. XIII glances down at the vial she's been given, and the swirling contents meant to wipe all of this away. Something that will save Beautiful. By taking her name away from her again. By taking this week and these memories and this plan and turning them into new vague phantoms for her to chase in another five years when someone needs a perfect plan again.

She gently closes her fingers around the vial. She lifts her skirt up enough to find the loop of fabric sewn into her garter, and hides it there. Beautiful's plans take everything into consideration. Absolutely everything. This is friendship. This? Is trust. Her heartbeat quickens as she takes her friend's wrists in her hands and squeezes for all she's worth.

"Beautiful..." she spends her one word on a compliment and a reminder rolled in one. She stares into those glassy, violet eyes like she's trying to see the place her friend is looking right now.

Beautiful cranes her neck. Her hazy, stunning eyes fill with XIII's face.

"...Bella." she answers in a slur.

Something somewhere slips and shatters, broken forever.

Breathless Dead

The wind pulls her hair and her cloak in opposite directions. They flutter dramatically in a storm born out of pure motion, stinging the skin on her face and pulling her feet from where they're planted on top of the train. Underneath, the form fitting black and gold bodysuit leaves nothing to the imagination, but the material is perfectly adapted to keep the biting cold from bothering her. Beautiful's plans were strange, but they considered every detail.

The mountains rise up to meet her on either side. Tellus would never permit a moment like this. It would be an Imperial crime for something so large and majestic to be left up to its own devices. The space wasted on a mere outcropping of rock where there was space for further housing or industry. The erratic structure that made it more difficult to observe everything that might be happening at once. Even the sun in the sky could not be permitted to shine so unevenly. XIII could never have imagined a moment where she could be sped from glaring violet light into cool shadows where her sense of speed heightened by the closeness of the stone as it shoots past her.

XIII snarls as she slides low to the ground and digs her claws into the frigid metal underneath her. This is not one of Redana's adventure holos. The thin air and howling winds doesn't leave any room for witty banter, and the price for failure was far worse than a steamy new costume and a trip to the Shah's harems.

Her muscles sing a song of ecstasy and power in the moments before the fight. Her claws and talons send sparks into the air with a horrifying screech, and the roof of the train gives away under her curling fingers. More. More. More! This is what they made her for! This is why she's here! Sing, Muses, of the power of Empire and the weapon chosen for this moment!

She leaps with enough reckless strength to match the train for speed and tears a strip off of it the length of an entire car as she rises. She spins in the air and momentum more than might heaves the enormous, almost axe-like shard over her shoulders. Her ears are full with the howling of the wind. Her skin is warm and tingling from the tight hug of her new outfit. Her hands sting from the bite of her makeshift weapon, but even this is a heaven-sent sensation.

XIII rises high enough in the air to kiss the tops of mountains and slip the bonds of gravity as if she were the one riding grav spheres. She travels on the arc of a rainbow lit by a violet sun in the spaces where uneven peaks make room for it to slip through and catch her comically oversized weapon. With a howl that's equal parts fury, desperation, and triumph, she throws herself at the ground and smashes her axe into the top of the next car in front of her.

This is not a battle. This is a show of Imperial force. This is a display of Azura weakness. All their talent, all their refined strength, and they build every last bit of their crumbling home on single points of failure. Her eye glints in triumph as the car crumbles underneath her. Down in the city below, someone will note a flash of light like a bolt of Zeus' lightning without any of the thunder and fury that normally follows such displays. After, they will note the plume of smoke and wonder what might be happening.

And the mountains will never forget the train's death scream. The rending of metal on metal that sent one car spiraling out of synch with the rest of its body until the connectors sheer off from each other. XIII goes tumbling off the side with her arms flailing desperately. One set of claws tears a useless gash in the train before she can find purchase, but the next swipe bites in and all she has to do is endure the pain of her elbow and shoulder snapping dislocated to claim victory. Her gaze flicks down, and she grins.

Well, fuck. How do you like that, the thread held! The fuck did they make that thing out of. XIII winces and a whimper of pain escapes her lips when she tries to haul herself onto the top of the remaining, rapidly slowing train. She'll never learn what that snake was capable of. She'll never learn if they lived. And she'll never have to give a shit, because the only thing Beautiful wanted on this train is back here, with her.

She scrabbles over the edge and immediately drops to her knees. Her scream as she sets her arm in place again can be heard even over the rushing winds.

Sunshards

Well, one thing's for sure: she wasn't actually in prison before now. Or, well, maybe she was, kinda, sorta, who knows? But if she was, now she's in Double Secret Super Prison. It's much more like what she's seen in stories this time. The seat's too hard, there's not really enough candles to read by when it gets dark and even if there were she's only got her magic scroll for reading material, and the bed is a mere two or three lumps away from having to be downgraded from perfectly sleepable. The food is... actually pretty good, it's just mostly rice and fish and chocolate protein shakes in the afternoons, and even after a few days you kinda start to want something else just for variety, y'know? It's like, for some weird reason it's like they're more interested in helping her build muscle than making sure she's super duper comfy? Bizarre, right? Right???

At least there's lots of room to do stuff. Like practice. Alone. As in, all by herself. Sigh. She didn't ask for this, ok? She already agreed to the whole arena thingy! What was wrong with taking a while if it meant she got to do it with Hyra helping her the whole time? Only, actually... there's a warm little squiggly feeling in her chest that won't go away no matter what, that's making her feel like Hyra's still helping her anyway. Even though she's not here at all. When she first got tossed in here, she'd finally lost her fight against the curse and gone full floofyfluff (which one should never do, if one can help it). But she curled up and slept on her bed, and when she woke up again she was right back to fingers and toes and every other delicious bit of her sitting right where it was supposed to, and nobody had to tell her who was responsible for that.

Oh, Hyra. Oh, you brave, beautiful... ok! If she's gonna go and do a thing like that, then Yue can manage! In fact, she'll do better than manage! By the time they let her outta here she's gonna be so good at all her stuff that her gorgeous pretty wow-wow perfect girlfriend'll have no choice but to kiss her silly! So get to it, girl! Time's a'wastin', and it's so much harder to work on your finger positions when you don't got any!

And that's the story of how she lost most of a night of sleeping. Ocean scented candles burned down to little stubs in their holders while she sat there studying her scroll more carefully than ever, concentrating so hard she couldn't keep her tongue safe inside her mouth while she did it. And when she set it aside, she took a big huge enormous step and didn't immediately start trying, so her brain could maybe for once come up with something to help.

She ate her rice and she ate her fish, and while one hand fiddled with the chopsticks the other was busy flitting between poses without stopping to let her worry about how wrong or right they were. Like this, then like this, then like this, add one of these, and finish with a that. Again, then again, then again, then again. Put down the bowl. Like this, then like this, then like...

She felt a funny swoop where her stomach should be. She dared to look down at her fingers, and in the fading light she couldn't tell if anything was different than how it should be. She moved as if to stand, and shot so high she whanged her head on the ceiling! Ow! Ow ow ow owies ow! But! Also! Ow!! Er... n-no, wait! Did she? She...

She did! It was just for a second, and without really meaning to, but she flew! She flew! The ground said buh-bye and the sky said hullo and now she had a big ol' headache and a sore butt when the ground said oh hey there fancy meetin' you again. And that's the story of how a series of delighted squeaks echoed through every single chamber of the Sky Castle that night. It's probably the story of how those same squeaks frightened a child or two for years and made 'em never ask for a midnight glass of water ever again, and it might also be the story of several otherwise perfect and super romantic and/or steamy nights got interrupted by a profoundlish happy girl riding the giddy wave of doing an impossible thing one tenth as well as it had been taught to her.

But the first one's always the hardest. Always. It gets easier from there. Every time. It couldn't dodge her anymore, 'cause she knew what it felt like and nothing short of an Evil But Strangely Sexy Hypnotist could make her forget it ever again. This, uh, might also be the story of how one silly girl wound up having a slightly concussed dream or two while she napped into the afternoon with the dumbest smile in the whole world stuck to her adorable face. Oh gosh, I said 'or two', didn't I? Well, you can figure out the one, but I think the other's best left somewhere only a very special couple can chase it. Don't you?

*****

"Awwww, I really thought I had you! Darn it!"

Despite the sweat crawling across her skin, and the hands raised above her head in surrender, and the tiredness trying to pull them back down again in total breach of the rules of politeness (which probably have a name, but Yue's never read a book fancy enough to know what it might be), and the fiftieth loss or whatever in the last three days, and despite the sword tilted up at her throat just now, Yue's smile is more dazzling than sunlight.

"We were like... whoosh, flutter, dance, clack clack bang swoosh wowie! And then, and then, oh gosh, s'like dancin' and runnin' and spinnin' and fightin' all rolled together at once! I totally get how Tianic worked paintin' in there now! It's all one big ball of art, isn't it? It is! That's totally it!

But sheesh, I really thought I was gettin' faster, but you're on a whole other level, Chen. The way you do it, it's like... I, w-well, it's fast, ok? Fast and pretty and... I mean, y'know already, y'know?"

Yue laughs and droops a hand behind her head to play with her hair, which doesn't do a danged thing to hide the blush taking over her face. She's been doing that a lot in her time with you. The hair thing, not the... well actually, she's been blushing a bunch too, hasn't she? And not all of it's embarrassment at her form either, it's like she sees something in your heart that wasn't there before and now you're too pretty not to fluster her. Where, like, before you were just "too pretty not to smile at", so it's a whole heapin' leap forward and it's a mystery what you might've done to achieve it.

Another thing she hasn't really done much at all is shut up. You get the impression she needs more visitors. And the second, stronger impression that she's really not meant to be a wolf all the time, and all her country girl conversationalist skills can't help but burst out of her like a rush of water overcoming a dam the instant she gets a voice again. She takes a step back and wipes at her forehead before she goes and leans on her sword, which, yeah, she knows, don't do that Yue you're disrespectin' the equipment shush shush she gets it, please don't kill the vibe now kay?

"So anyway where was I? Oh right, Mei! So there I was just down in town to do my monthly shopping, right? And Bao Bao's got a sale goin' on fresh cut wooden plates and I guess he's doin' good business 'cause he's almost out of 'em by the time I make it to his stall. And like, I don't mind tellin' you, Kat'd been in a mood back then and I just couldn't get her to -- y'ever get like that with Li? -- but yeah just kept chewing through all my good plates so I was needing some extras like a waterfall needs a lake so I get to runnin' as fast as I can go with four bags've junk and radishes weighing me down and...

Can. You. Believe it?! Mei just bumps into me! Oops, sorry, didn't see you there Yue, bein' so short n' all! Tee hee! And she does that stupid little strut she does, y'know the... well I guess you don't, since you've never met, oh no wait you're a city girl so you probably see it all the time. It's the one with the big swinging hips like they're trying to attract deer with the power of their butt or something, and she goes and says all these plates are bought already just go home, and then. And then! She starts hagglin' over the price of 'em! Right in front of me! I was just... ooooooh, lemme tell you, if I was a princess like you are, I'd've smacked her butt right there so hard she'da spun!"

She's got a million stories like this. Silly, provincial tales about clashes with other people living in her village, or little triumphs like the time she won the big chili cook off, or the best way to prepare tanghulu, or a dozen different uses for leftover fruit seeds and which teas could help with your skin care routine and anything else you've ever wondered about the world but never knew you needed to ask.

She drops them while she's resting, like this, and she's been peppering you with them when she's been obviously frustrated and pouty, and she's dotted them breathlessly in the middle of every sword-stroke and sidestep she could fit them in. In fact, the only time she hasn't filled the room with stories and tips from the Terraced Lake (apart from when you've been talking, obviously) is this last little dance of yours.

She's trying her best, Chen. Not just to keep up with you, but... no, it's not even that. You're smart enough to know she doesn't really think she can match you, at least not yet. Granted it isn't stopping her from trying, but there's a quiet acceptance and a tiny joy in just seeing you be better than she is. What she's really trying to do is chase you. But what she's really really trying to do? Repay you, silly. Make you feel as loved and special as you're making her feel every day you take time off from your busy prison routine to help her with her swordplay.

It's... well, you know. You know better than even she does, don't you? The creeping pressure of expectation that builds up over everything you're doing the more people start to believe in you. When people think you might be special, and you stop thinking you're allowed to have fun with it, and suddenly every little failure's not a lesson to be learned, it's just proof you're not good enough to-- no, never mind. Don't carry that thought another centimeter further forward, kay? 'Cause you broke it today. You did. You did. There's nothing but joy inside Yue's lake-blue eyes, and there's nothing but...

Hm. There's mischief in her smile, isn't there? She's thought of trying something, and now it's your job to keep her from hurting herself while she does it. Plus rising above her to make sure she gets to keep chasing you and doesn't taste the apple too soon. How about it, Chen? Are you enjoying this? Is this the kind of challenge you envisioned? And while we're at it, are you ready for Yue to try coming at you from above?

*****

...It's actually really hard to play board games when you're a wolf. That's just common sense, isn't it? Your ears are triangles and your teeth are big and sharp and your silly paws are awkwardly enormous and just... your whole thing is running fast for very long distances and pouncing on prey and howling into the night sky (the moon thing is a myth, ok?), or alternatively finding someone very special and curling up next to them to share your fluffy warmth with them and either snuggle in a little pile or give yourself up as a pillow depending on how human they are or aren't. That's your skillset.

It's even harder to play Go. The stones are tiny and difficult to pick up with your mouth, and it's so important that you get that bit right or you'll never even have a chance to put it down on the board and try to nudge it into the exact right position without disturbing the rest of the board. It's even harder than it sounds, because, it turns out? There's rules for Wolf Go. And most of them say you can't get slobber on any of the black stones. And you always have to play Black when you're in prison and named Yue.

"You're a quick learner, Yue, but not quick enough to beat me~"

Cyanis has such a cute smile when she's being smug and invincible, doesn't she? Makes it feel worth all the extra effort to make sure she stays happy. After all, it was so nice of her to visit, wasn't it? And to bring games! It's nice to just relax with a friend, with no hidden motives whatsoever.

"Double or nothing, I win in the next fifteen moves. Bark if you're in, cutie."

<<Bark, bark!>>

"Good girl! Aww, you're such a good girl~!"

Hmph. T-takes one to know one! And honestly, you'd think somebody with such fluffy ears would be better at petting someone else's! Cyanis keeps doing this thing where she squishes Yue's poor triangles flat against her skull until she gets dizzy and disoriented and has to concentrate extra hard to remember what shape the board is right now. There's so many rules to memorize, and all she wanted to do was build pretty patterns but it turns out Wolf Go is played for stakes and... w-well, let's just say if she ever wants any underwear when she's back to being a girl again it's important she not lose too many of these games. Meep!

Gosh, Cyanis is such a good friend.

"...Wait, what did you just do?"

<<Bark!!>>

"Well obviously! If a sillyhead like you knows that, of course I do too. But you're cheating again, naughty thing!"

<<Bark?>>

"No no no, look again. That's ko! It's ko, see?"

<<...Bark.>>

"W-well yeah, you did start it, but, um--"

<<Bark bark woof!>>

"S-superior ko? Where did you find out about, erm, I mean uh..."

<<Bark!>>

"You don't understand! I need that stone! I neeeeeed iiiiiiiit~"

Yue wags her fluffy tail, and very pointedly moves her paw away from the board. Such a good friend! Such a good girl!!

Breathless Dead

So this is how she dies? Holding a plate of crab rangoon. XIII glances down, but even in the reflection of the brass those violet eyes follow her.

Her skin tingles. No, her entire body is throbbing, or buzzing, or who the fuck knows? It's like standing on the edge of a roof in the middle of a storm, waiting to see if Zeus will strike before she makes the choice to step off the edge and take the plunge into the chaos down below. Every breath is tinged with lightning. Her ears ring with the power of those rapid, rambling thoughts. And her hands are busy holding a meal cooked, expertly at that, for a joke she doesn't understand.

XIII plucks a dumpling off the platter and brings it to her mouth. She sniffs it in hesitation, as though expecting it to unfold and explode into a new galaxy to crush the old one underneath it. Stupid. It's just fried dough. She crunches down on it in a burst of sudden violence. It explodes after all, but into some sort of hyper-sweet cream wrapped around bits of something even her tongue isn't certain if it's crab or some cobbled together imitation. Flakes of dough grind into her teeth with every bite, which keeps it from being nothing but mush and goop. No, not fancy, not in the slightest. But it's surprisingly nice, even set against the mastery of the Azura. She chews slowly, eyes never leaving Beautiful. The look on her face says she could be contemplating murder or hugs with equal probability.

"I... y-yeah. Yeah. I'm, uh, I'm glad too. I haven't... oh fuck it, forget it. I hate explaining things to you, it feels like wasting both of our time at once."

She snarls and pivots on her feet to tuck the rest of breakfast away in a plastic container and then bursts forward on powerful, prowling legs to keep pace with Beautiful. So she doesn't have to walk backwards anymore to keep her focus. Two dumplings are sacrificed to her mouth as taxes for the labor spent before she makes it. She frowns, but her tail flicks with obvious, stupid happiness.

"Listen. If Beljani gives you any shit," she shakes her head and lets another thought drop to the ground unfinished, where she stomps on it with her heel, "Doesn't matter. Just tell me what you need. I'll... make your plan work. Whatever it is. I promise."

It's a confusing feeling, all these bands across her chest. Some are coming loose, and it's only in the absence of their pressure that she notices how much they'd been crushing her all this time. And as they pop free, new ones start squeezing her without her understanding why. All of this pressure. All of this relief. She'd commit treason for a glass of wine right now, if she didn't need her full focus for the mission.

...She's about to break a promise to somebody. The thought forms a lump in her throat like a bit of that sweet cream that just won't swallow. Somebody, and she doesn't know who. No. She mustn't. She'll simply have to work harder, is all. Her life, her dreams, her... e-everything depends on her being perfect.

For once. Please.

Breathless Dead

"I'm not!"

Her voice catches in an awkward upward inflection that only manages not to be a squeak by turning itself into a moment of choking coughs that erase the rest of the sentence. She looks away as she walks, but even an ordinary palace servitor could catch the fresh blush rising into her cheeks for the second time in just a handful of minutes. Even they would barely have to wonder if she meant 'not one of you' or 'not fucking [a Toxicrene]', because the answer is that she's lying in both cases.

That reaction isn't embarrassment. It's shame. She really hadn't put the pieces together before now. Why she was here, why the Master of Assassins had an interest in her life, why she would have the skills and power that she does when her job and the function of her species was to be pretty and desirable. They hadn't made her an Adept, but they'd only rescued her from that hell so she could be a weapon.

She hadn't considered what all those nights in bed meant, either. Night after night of falling asleep arm in arm, just two friends warding off the loneliness and the dark together. Hadn't it been? But all of the biting, the touching, the play which had been the exact opposite of trying to find a restful night. The stubborn, irritating insistence on never being more than half a room away. Antidotes. No, impossible. XIII's eye widens in horror and surprise, before it flickers in the obvious way of someone who's thoughts have just been interrupted by a stream of memories. Tellus. The Anemoi. The Yakanov. Her teeth clench dangerously tight. She draws a breath through a single sharp sniff that makes her entire body go rigid as the dead. And this is all the reaction she allows herself.

"I don't need a name," she lies more calmly this time, "I was an Imperial Pet, and then a Praetor. I ran this ship. I broke the Kaeri here because they were being useless fuckwits. I lifted the Lanterns in their place, because they weren't. And now none of that's true, so what the fuck do I need a name for? Tredecima is an honorable distinction for a graduate of the Kennels."

Her posture as she draws herself up with a flourish isn't straight enough to indicate pride. Confusion. Stress. The impact of the previous attempt at conversation is still echoing inside her. She is telling herself it doesn't matter, that Mynx is gone forever now. She's not sure she really believes it. Her breathing is uneven. Her steps are rapid and she is closing distance quickly while trying not to seem like she's doing it at all.

But she arrives. She is not deterred by any act of cooking. She knows her way around a head of hair almost as well as she knows her way around a kitchen, or how to work on someone who won't sit still. Barely two seconds elapse before her fingers find and start to gather the first of the golden locks before her breathing starts to settle. Her body's ticks disappear. She is no longer thinking about memories or implications, or burning with shame.

She is incredibly talented. Her fingers gather hair and tease it straight with greater precision than any comb could hope for. Hera watches from somewhere and sighs for want of a helper this good. She untangles knots that had only just started forming at tips or by roots before they'd even had a chance to be noticed. She plucks up layer after layer of smooth golden hair and twists it into shapes worthy of a princess, bobbing and ducking and leaning as she needs to so she can keep perfectly level with Beautiful's head as she darts about the counter space.

"You sure that's what you wanna go with? Most people I know aren't lucky enough to get to pick their own names. And I'll tell you something else, as soon as anyone thinks they know something about you it pretty much stops mattering what you try to change later. So just... oh whatever, do what you want. Like I give a fuck."

She tugs on the braids more than she needs to as she weaves them, just for a moment. But the relaxation of the action is total, and before breakfast can finish cooking, XIII as turned her new Ikarani friend's head into an intricate scene of a golden waterfall with a mermaid's tail swimming up it to her crown, where a tight loop of hair sits like a crown of laurels as her prize for reaching the top.

She takes three quick steps backwards and folds her hands in front of her waists again, a gesture born out of years of habit. She watches with a hungry intensity that shatters the gentleness of her posture into little fragments for some hapless Azura to sweep up in a decade's time. Her tail flicks like a whip behind her.

She has made a decision just now. And it's too late for anything to change her mind anymore.

Sunshards

Oh. Uh. Remember all that stuff about not having to participate in this duel to feel like a part of it? The, erm, the joy and elation and whatsitall 'bout just gettin' to watch from the best seats in the house so to speak? An honor just to see her good friend Chen fight by herself for once and... yeah, you remember. So. Uh. About that. Would you believe, uh, whoops?

It's not her fault! It's really not her fault, ok? Yue had every intention of stand-sit-leanin' (a technique known back in the village as 'stiteaning') there like a good girl and not liftin' a darn finger to mess up Chen's big moment, wherever she chose to take it. She had a plan, and that plan was to conserve her strength for fightin' her curse to stay human-bodied long enough to make it back to Hyra while absorbin' every bit of the fight that she could with her pretty blue eyes. Maybe also give Rose a little wave, 'cause she looked so cute hangin' over there like that in that soft new body of hers. But that was basically it! Not a hard plan to hold to, all in all. Y'know?

It's just, see, she was in the path of the tornado ok? See if you can just stand there when a super strong lookin' lady comes rushing up in your face with a naginata and anime laser claws without liftin' a finger 'cept to point back away from you! Yeah, s'what I thought! Yeah, yeah, darn right you're sorry! Ok then! Glad we cleared that up!! So yeah, she had a plan, but then that plan attacked her and before she could really even stop to think about it her wooden sword was liftin' itself up by her arm and clack, clack, crack! She was dancin' and part of the show like it'd been planned from the start.

Here's the thing though, Part One. It takes all of a single pass to make it, just, super duperly obvious that Yue's got zero chance to win against Keron. Her attacks don't got the reach, the speed, or the power to touch an angel like that one, and that's before you get to the part where not one part of her silly little brain is ready to even dream of a story where her winning is the kinda thing that's cooler than her losing. And the... what? Don't interrupt, I'm tryin' to-- wha, yes I can pronounce my g's thank you so very much for noticinggggggg. Z'that really worth focusin' on-- it is not an affectimatation for affasomethin-somethin's sake! It just takes effort I wanna save for... gah! You're impossible! Impossible! Who's tellin' the story here, you or me? Gonna chomp you something fierce, you're gonna wish you didn't even have ankles! Nyeh!!

Right, so anyway, Yue. Beautiful, silly, wonderful Yue. Here's the thing though, Part Two. There's actually so much goin' on here, and, goshies! She's catchin' it! When Keron shifts her grip on the Naginata's shaft to lengthen her reach and toss Yue off balance right when she goes to parry? She sees it. The footwork that pushes Yue's sword uselessly up pointing at the ground and breaks her stance apart? She notices! The way those (don't get distracted!) hips swing into a backhand just... just alive and cracklin' with crazy villain energy from those claws? Even the path the attack takes and how it's so specifically timed and intentioned to give Yue the chance to block it, but only by leaning way way off balance and puttin' her poor little sword in a harm's way it just wasn't ever meant to be in. She notices that, too.

Which is why, when that blow comes, she's able to get an extra half-pivot to one of the seventeen proper dueling stances she learned as part of cleaning up that shrine. It's why her guard comes back into place with way more power and, y'know, authority I guess is the word than the Countess ever meant for her to. This is no meek little dodge roll or a turn-their-strength-against-them pivot/parry thingie, this is raw power against power, because that's exactly what Yue wants to learn about just now. And the tiny flicker of surprise that juuuuuuuust shows up in the corner of the Countess' eyes? That earns her the biggest Yue-smile you could ever hope to get, which as you know is worth its weight in sunbeams.

That's just before those gleaming, powered up claws shift and grab at Yue's little blade. And then there's the step, and the naginata comin' back into play, and the blow so sharp you could probably split a hair on it if you really felt like it, and then spell or no it's time to admit that this poor little sword's made of wood after all. It splinters and it cracks, and bless it's adorable swordy heart it does just well enough for itself to go flyin' out of Yue's hands instead of shatterin' outright. Just a little kindness from tool to owner so it doesn't cast a big sad shadow over all the amazing stuff that's happening to her right now.

And oh, goshies, she can't see the power of that hit. But she can sure feel it, as the same strike that disarms her sends her skidding and toppling and tumbling butt over face across the arena sands so hard and fast that honestly you should just go and give her a medal right this second that she found it in her to pivot in the air as she flew so she didn't mess up the mandala still painted on her way across. She hits the fall wall with a squeak like a... and bear with me here please, like a young kit's favorite chew toy finally giving up the ghost after six long months of happy silly chormping.

And she tries her best to struggle back onto her feet, but. Nah. Just, just no. She flops back to the ground and settles for turning her face to the side, instead. And she lifts an arm up, but it's just to give the crowd and all her friends a tiny thumbs up before it comes crashing back to the sands as well. And there's a grin plastered on her face that it'll take a lot more than losin' to wash off. Because she didn't, did she? Not Yue. Not our Yue. Not our beautiful sun farmer who's finally livin' up to the dream of her first big adventure.

'Cause y'know, right? Y'do. Victory here is stayin' awake. She took that hit and she's still got the best seat in the house where she can notice the way she actually can notice every special little move and flourish and bravely beautiful expression of skill that Chen is capable of. She gets to have her breath taken away by the beauty of the real fight, and the courage of a young lady with so much expectation on her askin' for help without havin' to say a word. She sees it all, and that's a win. 'Cause victory here was making Countess Keron of the Sky Castle take silly ole Yue seriously for even half a breath.

Yue won here. Don't even try saying that she didn't.

Breathless Dead

What was it that made her believe in a universe without death? It followed her in every waking moment. It followed her into her dreams. It stared at her in every bursting nebula and twinkling star she had the misfortune to notice when she tilted her head too far up. It clawed at her skirts in every minor skirmish and fight, no matter how certain of victory she was.

The universe without death hadn't stopped Admiral Odoacer from killing hundreds right in front of her. It hadn't stopped Lorventi from casually offering it as a solution to unwanted ship guests. It hadn't even stopped her. So why? Why did the Master of Assassins make the air feel like she was swallowing needles? Why was her heart tripping over itself in bizarre beats to squeeze blood through her body like it was desperate to keep from being stopped forever?

XIII closes her eyes while she mumbles disconnected facts and figures through dry, crackling lips. No matter how hard she tries, her mind can't trace the image she wants. The dazzlingly intense and piercing eyes of Her Imperial Majesty Nero IV, so full of such obvious genius that it was impossible to disagree with her proclamations. And her beautiful smile that hinted at a heart filled with infinite kindness that made it impossible to want to disagree with her. All the beauty of Redana made fully realized and more mature than the princess could ever hope to be... but out here, she's nothing. A figure in a textbook to be recited at the Ikarani.

She is aware of the cold sweat dripping down her chin. It freezes her skin until her cheeks start to tingle with a disgusting clammy sensation, but she doesn't dare raise an arm to wipe it away. Her fingers clench around her script instead, and she winces as the sound of tearing paper fills her ears as if it were the universe ripping apart instead.

"Y-you're..."

And then, the most beautiful violet eyes she's ever seen look straight at her. And they wink. XIII's mouth falls open and her lungs forget how to draw in air. A drop of sweat drips off her face onto her hand, and in an instant her body switches from freezing to burning as her blood catches fire with embarrassment. Her filthy traitor neck won't even turn away so she can hide her reaction from the perfect information sponge with perfect detail recall.

"You're," her tongue feels smothered and stupid as she fumbles for the right (or any) words, "Beautiful."

Hotter. How could she burn any hotter than this, unless somebody threw her into a star? A jumble of other thoughts crash through her brain, and none of them do a fucking thing to help her. Just standing here in this room feels impossible right now, like the floor is constantly shifting under her feet with increasing speed the more she tries to straighten out and present a respectable impressive and desirable figure. All the blood in her head is screaming for somebody to catch her. It turns her face almost as crimson as her Auspex, but at least it finally pushes her gaze nearer the ground where it's safe.

"...E-everyone's talked about you like you're a monster or a bomb for so long I thought. Hrn, I thought you'd be... d-different. You got a name? You must. All the others do. What is it?"

She swallows with enough force to turn it audible. Every inch of her skin is crawling with embarrassment, but also with shame. Her mind floods with images of those beautiful eyes, watching her until they open so wide they turn glassy and unfocused. She sees the Ikarani twisting into a weapon that will crack the planet in half while crying in a melodious, all-too-human voice for somebody to take her hand. Then each vision is swallowed by darkness until she's no more real than the memory of Nero's smile.

XIII tries swallowing again, but her mouth has turned too dry and she only winds up quietly choking instead. Her fingers clench tight enough to jab her claws into her palms, and she shakes her head as if this single gesture could undo every mistake in her life that's lead her to this moment.

One thing is certain: she would regret allowing that coffin to open. She should never have agreed. Why? Why did all these Adepts have to be... people?

Sunshards

There's a difference. There is, y'know? If they were all, 'hey thanks for show and all but uh, we're kinda done with you now? And we, like, need the space? So if you wouldn't mind just, like, shuffling on up to the cheap seats up there if you still wanna watch? Good girl, thanks so much~" or whatever, it wouldn't feel the same.

Sure, she'd still be watching the fight. She wouldn't miss any of the amazing action (Go Chen!!!) that's about to go down, though it'd be a little bit harder to see everything. And yeah, she can feel the clock ticking on her curse right now. Her ears are all popped back on top of her head, which is a very weird feeling all of a sudden if you were ever curious and her feet are half paws right now on legs that are feeling a little less good at keeping her, y'know, upright. So it's not like she's in the best shape for any kind've... uh, fighting?

A-and even if she was fine she probably couldn't help against that, right? R-right?! Who the heck uses laser claws?? Th-that's illegal! Maybe! Probably? Yeah! So there. But she's only got her little wooden sword and one real fight to her name, and the Countess is... big. Oh goshies, she's big. And armored. And, a little hot? Like, wow, no wonder there's so many girls in this castle who're so eager to, wait, where was I going with this?

Oh, right! There's a difference. 'Cause they, meanin' the folks who run this place and suchlike plus the Countess and Chen and... probably Princess Jessic too, come to think? Like, she's gotta have juriswhatever over this sorta thing, right? Anyway, all've them, they looked at silly, increasingly fluffy Yue (come on... not yet! Just let her hold on a little longer! Please!) and said, 'yeah. You belong down here. This is your place, and we trust you. So have a front row seat, Yue! You earned it, hon!"

So there's a difference, ok? And it's a big enough difference to make her heart wanna burst. Her eyes are all watery and even though she needs to lean on Tianic to do it, she's standing as straight as she can and, just, wow. Gosh and darn, she's never ever ever ever felt so proud in her entire life. She's so close. She's so close! If she can, just, a little more! A little harder! A little further, just a teeny tiny little bit and she'll really for realsies be inside one of the stories she's loved so much! Not like the silly flopping about she's been doing so far that nobody in their right mind would actually wanna hear about (let alone write down or film or anything!), but a proper one where you'd expect it to feature the beautiful demon swordswoman and not a silly village girl still learnin' how to swing a sword.

Ah, come on! Stupid tears, she's gonna miss the duel! She wants to see Chen fight! 'Cause somehow, she never has, even though she's a super double princess with her own legend stuffed inside that little body of hers! And she wants to see how Keron moves in all that, uh, g-gear and somebody's just gotta shoot lightning durin' this thing, right? It'd be a crime not to! So come on! Stop, nnnnf, stop with the waterworks! Besides, she's got a job to do! They let her stay here, so she's gotta have a job, right?

"H-hey Chen!" oh goshies, her voice! She's still got it! Thank you Curse! She sniffles and clears her throat, "Did you know you're amazing? 'Cause you are! Oh, I can't believe we're friends! I'm gonna tell... y'know what? Nah. I'm keepin' this one just for me. You can do this! Show me how a princess fights, for realsies! And, um! Y-your girlfriend's really cute, congrats! We should do a double date, right? Yeah, right? We totally should! If they, y'know, let me outta jail soon which oh wait no that's a long story sorry nevermind do the thing good luck!"

A giggle-cry is a thing not unlike a hiccup, if you were ever curious. Just a big, explosive hiccup fully of giddy energy and joy that's not even a little bit pretty or nice to listen to but somehow it's still beautiful. Yue's smile is full of sharp teeth, but it's still a maiden's smile and sweeter than twenty helpings of her precious tanghulu. Yeah, even the ones where she's gotta use strawberries instead. Her shiny blue, sopping wet eyes are so full of wonder you'd almost think you could dive into them and come out inside a fairy tale on the other side.

And it's for you, Chen. She's here for you, with her shining heart and tired (and cursed! Don't forget cursed! Or, do? Or, no no, if we forget it that's bad for Hyra, so just, like, take your time I guess? Whatever's convenient really) body, 'cause she can tell that whatever happens here is something she's not gonna forget for the rest of her life. So go on, Chennie! Do the thing! Wh-whatever that looks like. Your biggest fan's right here watchin', and you can't even fail her 'cause whatever path you wind up takin's gonna be the most amazin', most important thing she's ever seen.

In her life, Chennie! Imagine that!

Breathless Dead

Bella

Bella

Bella

Bella

Bella

Bella

Bella

Bella

The name rings inside her ears with the sound of grinding teeth. She hears it in a dozen different voices, the familiar and the not. The sweet and the vicious, the excited, the teasing, the reproachful. It pounds inside her skull with the force of a raging storm. Her tail flicks once, in warning. And then she's on top of Beljani.

"Don't call me that!"

They slam into the far wall together without a sound except for XIII's feral snarling. One golden eye glares through a trembling slit next to the pulsing crimson one beside it. The Auspex radiates pressure. Cold waves of raw Imperial might pour out of it in bursts of hissing steam as it touches the warm garden air, and every stab of pain is euphoric. Her muscles beg to flex and snap Beljani's spine in half like a toy. Her claw tips sing to press into the soft skin as they sit just above the artery where a single stray twitch would bath the room in hot, disgusting blood to feed the flowers with.

And if Beljani gasps, or screams, or begs, or laughs at the pathetic creature trying to threaten her it doesn't matter at all, because in the moment where XIII's fingers move to squeeze tight and feel the delicious sensation of another neck crunching under her power, she doesn't see the Oratus looking back at her. What... is this? Is this a vision pushed on her by her Auspex? A hallucination? Are these Beljani's mind tricks? Her hand won't close. She steps back from the face looking at her almost as fast as she rushed in to begin with. She turns on her heel to get away from the look in those eyes. The one trying so hard to watch her with understanding and sorrow even in the middle of the pain that... that Bella put her through.

XIII paces rapidly back and forth across the room without daring to look at either of the other women watching her. Her breathing is ragged as she reaches up to smooth out her hair, to brush the fur on her arms flat again, to adjust the straps on her dress so that everything would be perfect again. Her skin burns with hot shame, or maybe with some new kind of punishment released into the air by the Master. She doesn't know. It doesn't matter. Her fingertips smear themselves across a spot on her face where she'd meant to leave deep scars. From when she'd meant to die. But her skin is flawless, as ever. No matter what the name, she's as perfect as anyone could make her. And she's still failing.

She sniffs deeply before she turns around again, her face a fiercely determined calm.

"My proper name is Tredecima. 'Bella' is a word an idiot child pinned around my neck because she was too stupid to think about anything past what I was wearing at the time. I told you, I'm finished hanging onto useless old feelings for her sake. And I don't give a single fuck if you like me or not, but as long as we're working together I won't let you disrespect me like that."

Another moment. More silence. More staring. XIII reaches for her bag and pulls out several coins.

"And for your information," her voice is careful and flat now, papering over a layer of condescension she can't quite keep out of her tone, "Azura society isn't built around our traditional understanding of power. They use these... daric, instead. One coin is trade enough for a low grade meal, but the real value's in the ring right here."

She clinks the two coins together once, twice, three times, and her only coin with any dust in it transfers its stock into the empty one, instead. Her eye flashes with the triumph of somebody with the opportunity to for once in her life exceed the expectations placed on her. But her smile is polite and subservient, and she keeps her free hand tucked safely behind her back where it can't threaten anybody. She's learned, see? She's improved, see? There's no need to punish her. No need.

"This is their power. They broke the djinn down to dust and started using them as barter. One coin's worth of dust is basically just a party trick, but the more you've got... well, like I said. They're a people capable of forgetting how badly Her Imperial Majesty broke them, who've reduced us to some sort of outside curiosity. They're solitary to the last, and they all pursue whatever path they've dedicated themselves to until they're the best in the universe at whatever the fuck it is they're doing, no matter how pointless it is.

They're proud, and they're dangerous. They think and move in ways you've never even thought of. But if you catch their interest, you can work with them. And it so happens I was already doing that, you useless twit. I told you: we are enough. But if it's that much of a problem, whiny brat, then sure. Go ahead and yank the Ikarani out of storage, too. Who gives a shit if it's overkill? Means fuck all to me how many toys we have to break to put this farce of a mission behind us."