Phoe

Breathless Dead

Bella flinches as though something had just punched her in the stomach: a sudden sharp intake of breath, a slight crunch forward, and a gasp forced out of her. Her teeth clench so hard that it spoils her attempt at a smile into a death grin, and even the attempt at incredulous laughter grinds down against a horrible moaning sigh that won't stop, it won't stop, it just won't stop.

Her entire body trembles with fear. Her forehead slicks with foul smelling sweat. She almost doesn't notice the tear rolling down her cheek from her golden cat's eye. She lifts a hand to cover that entire half of her face, rather than wiping anything away.

"Go fucking figure."

No good. Her legs have turned to marble where she stands. Her heart is pounding so hard it's begun to drown out the sounds of the ship, so determined to cling to life that it might be killing her. Her head is swimming; every breath is choked by the smells of salt and sour wine. Bella cannot in this moment ever remember being more afraid. At least with her Mother there'd been a sad nobility to her last stand, but this was so fucking stupid and pathetic she can't find the anger that fuels her combat potential no matter where inside herself she looks for it. There is only the terror of impossibility.

Fuck you, Artemis.

"Spend my entire stupid fucking life getting underestimated and stepped on. And the one gods damned time it'd help me I get this. Well. Fuck me, fine. Is this what being respected feels like? Then give me more. I want more!"

Out of nowhere, she starts laughing. Her Auspex locks onto a space above the unicorn (is that a shield? What a novel fucking concept), and in the rush of adrenaline that follows Bella finds her body weighs nothing at all. It's not anger that lifts her into the air, but love. Her family is with her. Her family is against her. Her family needs her. What better cause to fight can there be?

Her legs tense. Her fingers curl, and thick, curving talons grow a full six inches out from her fingertips. Her teeth flash like wicked lightning in the dark. She leaps into the air, flying straight at Vesper. As horrifying a concept as it might have been, right now she was trapped in a war of information. But so what? Show her what you hid up your sleeves when no one was looking, Sister. Does the answer to this obvious response come from the guardian beneath her, or from a new trap? How hard is it going to hit?

If you're so much better than her, you stupid bitch down there, then bring it.

Return to Thellamie

They call her the Violet Flash. This is why.

Owing to height and weight advantage, opponent will attempt hammer blow from above head, at left. Dodge in direction of swing, use drafting to follow in semi-vacuum behind, swing around and run up length of arm. Roll heartblade at center of balance along wrist, cut at thumb, forearm, elbow, bicep, and shoulder. Rise into air, crash down with sword. Momentum presses body up again, use to dodge counterswipe. Fall again with heel kick plant weight on opponent chest and push to floor.

The Architect-Knight is a dangerous opponent and the largest single threat to the Chrysanthemum if left unchecked. In this exact moment, she is an extension of Eclair's skateboard. The pair of them slide across the floor toward a decorative fountain while Eclair whirls her opalescent heartblade all about her with the air of a fire dancer.

If Yuki Edogawa has a moment to watch this, she will note with whatever degree of interest she finds appropriate that none of these apparent blows have landed on Eclair's opponent. Instead they knock debris and porcelain into a single neat pile toward the wall, push furniture to the side and upend it into the sort of formation a restaurant would choose at closing time, as well as purge the dust from the area she crosses as she goes. She stomps her foot at the last second and flips off of the Architect-Knight.

It is necessary to put herself underneath the opponent in time to knock her into the sky and bat her back down into the water without damaging the masonry. Eclair lands lightly on the lip of her skateboard and flourishes with both weapons.

Single breath, apply Light enchantment to extend size of heartblade for exactly three seconds. Kickflip with board to gain air, aim swing on left-to-right diagonal down to redirect hammer blow into water. Resulting gate should wash unaccounted for rootwalkers down from upper level, dagger, dagger, dagger at one, six, and eight o'clock positions to finish. Land, heelgrind, push away and repeat climb on opposite arm. Denied full feeling in limbs, opponent will attempt shoulder check. Plant swordarm on neck and perform somersault to strike at back of opponent's head.

At some point during the action, Eclair has managed to tie a large white cloth to the tip of her tail. She defends it with strategic sweeps from both her heart and metal weapons, picking up momentum as she goes. All that wet hair is perfect for a mop. Her tail-cloth follows behind, drying the errant splashes and wiping clean the grime and bits of disgusting plant matter from the walls' many murals.

She drags the Architect-Knight across the length of the cafe twice over, and though she is not such a miracle worker that she can repair the gaping holes left by dueling dark dragons, she has at least left the rest of the building so pure that this is the only damage of note. For the moment.

"A paltry effort. I cannot continue to call myself a Maiden of the Aurora if I do not at least double this output. Do you have more to say, or may I move on to the next crisis?"

Eclair clicks her tongue with distaste. She polevaults off her heartblade to let her tail reach a stubborn spot on the ceiling before landing with a curtsy.

[Defy Disaster with Daring, risking her own physical wellbeing (and reputation, one supposes): 5 + 4 + 2 = 11. If Fight is more appropriate I will switch course.]

Breathless Dead

"No shit? How would that even come about? What kind of stupid-- Skeleton people... that's really fucked up. There's no way Demeter would be ok with that. That's, ugh, gods I'm picturing it. No that's gross. That's really gross, Ves. Glad you're not at the point where that's acceptable losses."

There is something soothing about the architecture of this place, despite its history. The idea of such grand workings and intent having their intent befouled by practical needs and the harshness of reality, perhaps, or even more simply than that just seeing an attempt at perfection fall short helps ease the tension in Bella's breath just a little.

Without that much, she might be dead right now. The air is hot, even accounting for the insane bullshit 'hide inside a star' plan the ship was preparing for, the atmosphere in this place is hostile and unbearable. Everything is too heavy by half, and it takes concerted and conscious effort to keep her posture straight and her hands up enough to defend herself if, no. When the moment comes. Her blood feels like it's trying to jump out of her body. Her eyes both feel as if they were being crushed under a vice. There's a headache crushing her skull and a dryness on her tongue that no amount or vintage of wine could ever hope to solve.

She tries to flex her fingers, to keep them loose. Every knuckle on her hand seems to pop like a firecracker as she moves from open palm to fist and then back again. Her claws feel pain, and so much weight pressed into them that they might as well be buried in some jackass king's chest right now. She can even feel the blood sickness swirling in her throat.

It has been since the Eater of Worlds that she felt this level of unprepared. Unqualified, and desperate. Her ear twitches, and she rubs at it with the back of one finger and a wince.

"I'd really like to believe you're telling me this because you like me, Vesper. Because that'd mean you're hoping I'll agree with you and just climb up there to join your stupid fucking plan. Not that you need me for any of it, but I happen to have it on good authority you've already made preparations to hand me my own ass and it would be a relief at the very least to know you don't want to."

Try as she may, Bella cannot keep her voice from straining. Or her jaw from clenching in between sentences. Her agitation is obvious to even the most distracted dullard who could be watching, from the muscles all over her body pulled so taut they're quivering to the restless tail at her back that won't stop bushing to its maximum volume.

The beating of her heart is audible. Bella plants her feet and cranes her neck to watch Vesper, and her eyes narrow to shield themselves from the light.

"...How about we turn it around for once? Just give up on this plan and walk away on your own this time. I don't want to do this, Sister. I'm begging you not to make me."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

The tears just wouldn't stop streaming down Kat's face, only the meaning of them had shifted. She stands there, one hand clasped over her mouth and the other half twisted out to stop Berserker from hurting herself before she'd put it together that she was doing the exact opposite, listening to her Servant's voice for the very first time and feeling her heart burst from the sheer beauty of it. She's also (not that it matters) redder in the cheeks than a rose.

Yeah she asked the question, but what pure hearted maiden would be ready for the answer? Kat knew a lot of things a body could grow up to be, but this is her first time bein' face to face with an actual, no-fooling knight. She can feel her knees going wobbly underneath her, but she doesn't dare let them drag her to the ground.

"What? I'm not," she catches herself in the nick of time, "I mean... no. Of course. I-if it's for you, Berserker. I'll be your princess."

She's very careful to pronounce the lower-case p, at least. Some dreams are too beautiful to risk letting them get one the wrong end of an over excited Qiu. Katherine offers her hand to Berserker to help her pull herself up and touches the back of that hand to her lips after, right on the spot where her Command Seals ought to be. And how funny a feeling it is, the double swooping inside her stomach. The thrill of a girl finding her first crush. The guilt of needing this long to figure out how to be a good Master.

If only she could take back those orders. If only she'd known the right way to navigate those situations without needing them. Back in the fight in Miss Saber's giant evil robot thingy, she'd watched her use a Command Seal in a really weird way. What was it again? 'I order myself, survive this'? Or something like that? Neverminding how she'd managed to wind up with her own Master's seals, she'd taken that power and used it to give herself a lift. She wishes she could do something like that for Berserker. Claim victory! Or, or be the very bestest knight you can be!

But all she can give her beautiful Servant is a shy, sweet smile. A smile that turns a little bit sweeter and a whole lot shyer when she realizes she's looking at Berserker's face for the first time without that horrible helmet's facemask covering it up. And she's beautiful. A stern and boyish kind of beautiful that begs to be dressed up in a crisp black suit and sent to the ball with a besotted foxgirl draped across her arm. Did she think this was a crush before? Oh goshies.

"C-c-come on then. M-my knight," she stammers, "We cant' let. Uh. S-Saber steal the show from us!"

What a shame that there's no time for kissing here. Or for courtly ceremonies and pep talks and poems or even just assurances that nothin' about the past really matters anymore if what you do in the here and now is shining and beautiful and good. Y'know? Unfortunately, there really is a crisis going on and Saber really is probably going to get herself killed without the help of a plucky young princess and her dark knight. Not to mention Miss Rider and Cy and Actia and Angelesia and what's-her-monk and wow this is a big group at this point, isn't? It's a lot to keep track of.

Kat offers Berserker her hand again and clutches the cold gauntlet tight in her delicate, slender fingers. A good princess needs an adventure like a foxgirl needs a heist, and wouldn't you know it there's both of those things waiting for her in the tunnels just underneath this castle. Their steps are slow to start, but before long the pair of 'em have broken out into a run that feels so good Kat has to bite her lip to keep herself from wooping. Stealth's important too, ok?

"I'm never gonna forget this. I promise. Never ever ever. At the end of this... i-it's you and me. Ok, Berserker? You. And me."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Ok, is it honesty time? I think it needs to be honesty time. There's a whole bunch I do not know about the mechanics of what is going on here. I've said a bunch of stuff right about this or that or this other thing, about Servants and Classes and the nature of a Sunshard War and all other things. And the truth is?

I mean, I didn't make it all up. When I caught on to everything that was going on I, ok well hold on a second. There's still some stuff I shouldn't say, mostly about why I'm here telling you this story and how I wound up in that position. We're not ready for that and bein' honest (it's honesty time after all) I don't think it much matters either. Anyway. I found what I could. I did some reading in the time I had, but when the world gives its level best shot at endin' sooner or later it's either know what's happening or why and how. And I chose what, in the end.

So that's to say, I worry I might've come across as an expert of sorts till now. And I'm not. And that's, like, really important 'cause I know you're expecting me to explain why Berserker won't budge on this or exactly what possessed Saber to decide the best thing she could do is snarl back and then pivot on her heel and disappear down a trap door all by herself. I don't know. I've got no idea why it had to be this way, I just know when I see Kat's little heart breaking.

"No Miss Saber! Please don't... go."

It's already too late when she says it. Her voice breaks and drops down to a whisper. Berserker doesn't let go. Kat hangs her head in shame and defeat. All that enthusiasm and the thrill of the chase and the crime and everything else just drained right out of her and replaced with, well. I may not know what makes a Servant tick internally like, but I know how my little Katherine works.

It's not just that she thought she was getting a treat and suddenly having it taken away. Though that was in there too obviously. But it's also, that sense that she was failing some kind of test? She had a model for what a hero looked like and it looked way more like Saber than her own Berserker. Not only was she failing to live up to that model right now, in a moment where she was more convinced than ever she wanted to be the one doin' it, going in and saving the day and maybe someday getting to reference The Wandering Tales of Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, she also felt guilty that she couldn't connect to the spirit who had come and bonded to her when she called to them. To find herself opposed to the one she was supposed to be supporting, that stung a lot. It felt like failing on every front it was possible to fail on, all at once.

She sniffles. And when she sniffles it doesn't take her very long before she's broken down into full on sobbing. And once she's crying so hard her voice doesn't work anymore, that's when she needs a hug. Kat spins on the spot in the space taken up by a sewing needle and all of a sudden the growling knight in full dressy armor and lord (lady? how does this work??) of however many hundred castles has gone from snatching at this foxgirl's shoulder to awkwardly standing there with a face buried against her neck and a whole mess of minty green hair spilling all over everywhere. What's an ancient warrior resurrected from beyond the beyond of ancient history supposed to do? Her arms automatically close around Kat's back. I wouldn't call it tender, not exactly, but it's one of those things where it turns out everybody's a person before they are themselves or their curses. Y'know?

They stand there together a while. Not a long while, but a minute or two where there's nothing but the sounds of Kat's slowly descending spiral of hiccoughs and undignified snorts and the distance-muted goings-on of a castle turning nature into war stuff. Berserker never speaks, s'far as I know she can't actually manage that in the state she's been summoned in, and Kat can't put her breathing right for even a second to push out an understandable sound.

"Why?"

It takes her six or seven tries to get that one word to come out right, and then that's it for a little bit. That word and her big, plaintive eyes are her contribution to the conversation. The moment, I guess, or maybe the cause. Come on, Katherine. Don't shrink away from the moment now. Saving the world's one thing, but this is where you save yourself, ok?.

"She... she never should've lost to me! She was so strong, Miss Saber was so..! But I fought her, me! And I won! And, and, and and and and and it's 'cause! It's 'cause! I made her promise to!! And she kept her promise even though she had no reason to and we weren't friends and she still did it! And now she's tryin'a keep her other stupid promise I made her give me 'cause I'm a dumb stupid selfish jerk and and and and and and I couldn't! Be satisfied with just one! I wanted to impress Cy! And Actia! Oh Berserker, she's gonna!!!!"

You would think that all Berserkers could really do is rage, right? It's there in the name. And remember, I read up a bit but I'm no master of lore here. I've got no idea if this is a miracle or a fluke or a coincidence or a, uh, y'know a reflex or what. But she doesn't fly off the handle and smash anything. She doesn't fortify her castle or seal off her tunnels in response to casting out the foreign intruder. She doesn't even snarl. What she does is take her gauntleted hand and pat Katherine across the back with it. Our skinny little sweetheart stumbles a bit from the power of that gesture, but the thought is there. It's almost like havin' a big sister.

You're gonna have to trust me on that one.

"I want. I want to go after her, Berserker. Please, please let me go. It's... s'not about foxgirl schemes ok? S'not! I just, I've been standin' and watchin' amazin' people do amazin' things my whole life! And they're all so brave and pretty and cool and why? How come? How come when it's my turn I'm just standin' to the side and lettin' everyone do all the work for me again? Why can't I be the hero, too? Why'm I not good enough, Miss Berserker? I know you know too! You're such a good person. You were someone's hero once too, right? But you never seem to wanna be like a Princess or a Handmaiden or a Demon Swordswoman or anything.

"I... I know we haven't always gotten along. But still. You were the one who answered me when I called. We're, we were meant for each other, right? So does? Does that mean? I-I-I-I'm not meant to be a hero either? O-o-or. D-does it mean somewhere deep down, you still wanna shine bright too? Please, Berserker. Please tell me. Please..."

Well, that's a good question. Is there a hero inside of you, Berserker?

Return to Thellamie

Two fingers, reach back and touch shoulder. Feel residual warmth. Allow for quiet smile, slightest tick of nostalgia. Thank you, Mayzie. Memories of you shall remain the only treasures worth holding onto in this accursed town.

Reach into apron pocket. Retrieve traditional notebook. For safety's sake, include color notes with observations taken at evidence site.

RED: Timtam was here.
BLUE: Working at Chrysanthemum? For Chrysanthemum? Possible implication of involvement up to highest levels of management. Best explanation for the procurement of my VIP ticket. Better than

Eclair looks up from her notes for a moment and frowns. She shakes her head.

Khaganate treasure. Although, thick Khaganate presence in establishment does suggest possible money ties. Raiders and houses of pleasure make for strong partnerships.

Mask missing from Lunarian-styled play held inside establishment. Style of surrounding costuming is a plausible match for Target's identity obfuscation tactics. Room cleanliness noted as exemplary, organization levels are beyond reproach. Odds of one mask among dozens going missing without active interference unlikely beyond the point of reason. I will say it again.
RED: Timtam was ABSOLUTELY here.
RED: Timtam has a connection to this place.
MYSTERY SCORE UPDATED: C+ → B-

Is it possible even that she was lying when she swore her oaths of service and sisterhood?
But then what reason would she have to invite me to come here herself?

Eclair blows on the ink to help it dry and flips her little notebook shut. She carefully caps the pen and tucks the pair of them safely away again before reaching for the twin heartblades poking up out of the ground in a crossing pattern in front of her.

There is... a song in the air. A Siren's temptations and the final musical act of a play, just on the other side of that curtain on the empty stage. All she need do is consign this place, which she now knows to be complicit in some manner of crime against the world, to its fate and she can cavort here with nobody to see her and have answers. Not speculation, she knows. Answers.

What point in decrying the lack of investigative opportunities when if the very next moment a chance to take the truth and kiss it comes along she simply walks away? What point in duty? When has she ever not been obligated to at least bend the rules of the Order for the sake of a case on its behalf? She has even already done so once tonight when she misused her requisition funding to help Mayzie. Is this not the ultimate expression of that fact? Now that she has her armor on, she!

Two fingers, reach back and touch shoulder. Three fingers. Four. Surface is cool to touch. Clutch tightly, as though to feel the hand that caressed this space not twenty breaths ago.

"Logic," she mutters, "Is the blade that can defeat all forms of deception or sorcery. I will find the answers hidden behind your mask when I pry it off of you myself, Timtam. Count on it."

Order of operations. Mustn't forget, order of operations. The cleanup comes first. The investigation follows after. After all, she need only wait in this city for two more days, and the truth would come home to see how she was doing.

Heartblade one, taken in left hand. Heartblade two, taken in right hand. Flourish, hold blades apart. Stance, tips pointed apart at 180 degrees of separation, blades held parallel to ground. Bring hilts together, join into twin-sword. Hold resulting polearm in left hand. Draw longsword from scabbard with right.

And now Eclair, walk. There are messes to be cleaned. There are people to be helped. There is a single faint glimmer of respect and trust that must be protected at every cost to yourself.

Farewell, foolish opportunity. Tempt me not.

Breathless Dead

"You do understand the Twelve Labors were a punishment, right? Or is that the point you're-- mmmn. No, never mind. I get it, ok? I get it. Can't wait to see the bullshit you've got lined up for me on the other side of this."

Bella rolls her eyes. A beat of two, and with heroic effort she surges from her spot on the wall onto one knee. And from there, to her feet. Her arms stretch toward the stars and her back arches in a long and elegant curve behind her. As her fingers bend back and her heels leave the ground so she can stand on her toes, Bella is a bow. Her tail lifts up toward her hair and together these become the string. It would take no effort whatsoever for Artemis to reach out and pluck her to send some terrible doom in the shape of an arrow at wherever whatever or whoever she pleased. All that it would cost is the woman she'd been speaking to, which is really no cost at all.

But the Goddess simply watches. As much as not she doesn't even really do that much. The woman, once a maid, once a Praetor, once an assassin, once a monster, once a demigod, once a queen, now nothing, settles back down into a standing position and becomes Bella again. She rolls her shoulders to feel their power. She tenses her claws against the air. And she scoffs. Then she sighs, softer this time.

"...But if I make it to the end that's it, right? Sure. That's a deal, Goddess. Do what you need with me till my sins are all washed clean. Just stop calling this shit impossible around me. I can't tell if you noticed or not, but I'm not Heracles. I don't have the luxury of using words like that. All this is for me is the continuation of the Olympics. I just. Haven't won yet. That's all."

Her feet are stones at the ends of her exhausted legs. They lift and fall without feeling as she walks away from the miracle projects of an Empire she cannot bow to and into the place where the air smells like the garden meeting the sea. Salt and rust and rotting plants, dried flowers and bones encrusted through with gleaming diamonds. A place of broken glass and shattered murals. Even the crabs give this place a wide berth.

Of course they do. No living creature wants to intrude upon the temple of Death.

Bella twists her neck as she moves. Her shoulders seem to weigh as much as her entire body, but she simply strikes them with a fist until pain takes over fatigue as the prevailing sensation. She lifts them with pride, and her arms swing with controlled ease by her sides at every step. She does not pick her way gingerly through the path in front of her, but rather crushes it all underfoot in a straight line. Fallen warriors, each and every one of them her superior, shatter beneath her heel. The crunch melds with the clacking of her toe claws against the metal of the floor and together mark her entry.

Cloaked in shadow with eyes gleaming, a tall, lithe silhouette crosses the threshold into the place where Sagakhan had attempted to explain the nature of the universe, once upon a time. Then as now, she wears a pure and simple white robe. Then as now, her body screams inside of her with the the memory of a hundred horrible abuses. Then as now, there's nowhere to go but forward. To the place where XIII was born.

But this time her eyes see clearly. She sees green and gold and blue and flecks of melting orange where before there was only swirling black and grey. This time her head is held high and the air is filled not with chanting and her own desperate screaming, but with the crunch crunch clack of her own steady footfalls and the distant sound of lapping water and the rippling plips of condensation striking a pool. This time she does not need anyone to tell her that she has claws.

She pulls the place and the moment into her lungs, and transforms it into the voice of bright and musical authority.

"Vesper."

Return to Thellamie

"...Mayzie."

Eclair stumbles when she steps forward into the space that used to be occupied by a lightning web. Without an opponent to focus on the alcohol reasserts its grip on her. It's a question of focus: control over her body, or her thoughts. Each took conscious effort and there was only enough focus in her right now for one. Her notes had never been more important than they are right now.

She grabs the second heartblade (the first that she had thrown) in her left hand, and lets the pair of them wrist against her wrists. Not even halfway to being serious; that at least was some manner of relief.

Frustration. Frustration. Frustration. An investigation where nobody and no circumstance would allow her to conduct a calm and plain interview. Minimal opportunity at best to engage in forensic analysis and evidence gathering. Even this simple trap, which only required her to spend three nights inside a house of leisure before she could collect her data, had chosen to simply shudder and collapse under the weight of unlikely legends all stuffed inside a comically dense and tiny box.

Irritating. She clicks her tongue against her teeth.

"In my room you will find a messenger bag next to my armor. Please place my tablet inside of it, next to my my pen and paper notes. You should be able to see a small black pouch with a golden butterfly clasp. Take it and keep it."

As apologies go, it's the best that she can offer. The majority of her requisition budget is inside; enough for one person to travel across Thellamie and, if they were smart and careful about it, to settle. It was meant to be used to source new teas for the Manor, but surely the Headmistress would not object to paying fair wages to a consulting detective on such an important mission.

She shrugs, and wobbles her way toward the crowd and the staff exit, which remains the cleanest path toward any other part of the Chrysanthemum.

"If you would also be so kind as to place your hand on the back of the right shoulder of my armor while you are in there, I would... appreciate that. That will disarm the trap I have placed and summon it to my person. The right shoulder only, thank you. You have performed admirably, in spite. In spite of my..."

A sigh.

"Being me. As per our arrangement, this marks the final time you are required to look upon my face. Thank you. I am sorry to have failed you so utterly and so repeatedly. Goodbye."

It should be a short walk down to the floor where the noises are emanating from. Find the mess and clean it, by whatever means necessary. Ignore the distractions. Ignore the nonsense. The investigation could continue as it ought to once the bath house was properly maintained again.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Saber kept her head tilted up to watch the ramparts the whole time she was crossing through the gate. Such a curious expression on her face, too. Was she looking for the answer to a riddle? Maybe she wanted to sniff out a weakness in case she smelled opportunity later. Or maybe she was just impressed. I mean, I dunno. That's a woman who hasn't been allowed a consistent motivation since she got here. Not so different from a Berserker, if you're askin' me.

Whatever it is she's thinking, the second she's inside and out of sight of the battlefield all her attention switches to the ground. She stoops down to pick up a rock and roll it around between her fingers. Bends down even further to sniff at a patch of grass the way an animal might. Then she rises again with a shrug and just sorta, like, stomps around in random places?

"Foxgirl scheme, foxgirl scheme, foxgirl scheeeeme~"

Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, meanwhile, is as happy as anybody's ever seen her. Her little feet barely kiss the ground before she goes skipping back off into the air again, happily hippily hoppily zooming around first Berserker and then Saber in a big ol' little figure eight. Her hands can't stop themselves from clapping. Her giddy laughter washes over this drab and evil castle like a drizzle of warm, clean rain. And just like that happy little storm, I'd really like to imagine it leaves the place that much cleaner and brighter for having been there.

The thing is, up until this moment she'd never been part of a scheme or heist that wasn't just Cyanis' idea, or some tiny unknowable part of that weird chuckling mountain's master plan. I'm yet to figure out what's goin' on with that by the way, it's weirdly sneaky for a mountain and Kat shuts up tighter than an oyster whenever I ask her about where she's been playing. But I'll figure it out. I'm more on the case than either of them realize. Hehehe. Right but anyway, in all the time Kat's been a cutie two-tail she's never had the chance to build up a portfolio that Cy couldn't take credit for. Even if the both of them had been swept up in Actia's plans, it was Cyanis who volunteered them both for the team up. And even then mostly just so that Kat could be around to help carry stuff, which was her usual role in these plans. The prospect of getting out there? Doing it for herself (with help, obviously)? Maybe even getting to feel like she pulled one over on someone? That had both her tails fluffing to maximum floof.

"Foxgirl scheme, foxgirl scheme, eeheehee~!"

"Katherine."

"Eep! I mean sorry! I mean eep? I mean, um, yes sir ma'am, reporting for duty! What're we stealing?"

"If we do this correctly, Lancer herself."

"Oh wow! You really think... wait," Kat puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head into Thinking Position, "No hold up that doesn't work. I know we're both, I mean, that you're new to Foxgirl Schemes but to start with stealin' a whole person's called kidnapping, and you can't steal them from themselves! This had better not be one of those metaphor whatsits, 'cause I just did a lot of skipping, sweetheart!"

But Saber wasn't listening it all. While Kat hopped and squeaked, Saber had picked up another rock out of the courtyard and used it to draw runes in the dirt. Now, I can't read these things any better than you can but seeing how there's seven of 'em I think we can take a pretty good guess where she's going with this.

"To begin with, you must understand that the gods are dead."

"Yeah? I've heard you say that like, uh," Kat quickly counts on her fingers to help with the math, "A bunch of times, but what does that mean?"

"It means what I have said. The world that I once lived in was fated to end."

"Oh right, 'cause of the ten suns!" chirps Kat, extremely helpfully.

"It," Saber blinks long enough to question her life choices, "Was fated to end in fire, yes."

"But then a Princess looked at the sky and said ten was too many, so she shot nine of 'em down! With her bow!!"

"If you say so," says Saber in a very Rolling With the Punches kind of voice, "But destiny called to the many gods of the realms, too. For love of our world they fought and perished, and from the ashes of that battlefield those who sheltered under the World Tree--"

"It was actually a Space Elevator I think?"

"...In. Any case, the Gods are dead. And if any new ones have been born to your world, Lancer does not and would not worship them. So it could not have been a god who granted her prayer."

Very eager to move on from what should have been a simple little primer (mind you, everything Kat said was just plain right?), Saber crosses out one of her runes, pauses with a sudden frown of realizing something kinda weird, and then moves on to underline a few more.

"Hrmn. Well, if the power she was granted did not from a god it must have come from another participant in this war. Archer is dead, and his Master is--"

"I know Cy's got big 'up to something' energy all the time but I dunno if she could ever--"

"...Archer's Master lacks the resolve to follow through on a plan that would see her sealed inside of a magical prison. So no, I am not concerned about her."

"Uh, right, yeah, that's what I was gettin' at too. Totally. Yeppers."

"Right. Again I must laud your wisdom, Katherine. Then I must hardly point out that most of the rest of us have been pulled into a tenuous alliance. Rider has the acuity but lacked the agency to have put this in motion, and neither do I wish to speak ill of a warrior who took the field for my sake. Her Master is completely incapable."

"Of?"

"Anything."

Kat winces, but what's she gonna say in response to that. Is there anything she can say in response to that? It's not like she's got an argument to the contrary; Opalis seems like a good girl and all but her devotion to Comfy and Safe borders on a level of mastery I've only ever seen in demons, and that one winter where Mei Mei got a working kotatsu. Like, especially for a dragon I'm just... she should be studied, right? For future generations?

"You, I trust. And your Servant is--"

"Don't say she's dumb! She's not!" Kat stamps her foot on the ground and glares her best Battle Glare. Almost as fearsome as that time she was a whole army, "She's every bit as clever as you are! And she's a good person too so don't go usin' that against her either! You two've got so much in common I just know you're supposed to be friends! And I'm a real good judge of things like this ok? I know besties when I see 'em!"

Now it's Saber's turn to have nothing she can say. Our little Katherine may not be the master of rhetoric she'd like to be in moments like this, but the thing about having terminal Good Girl Syndrome is that it gives you a shining maiden's heart that's just unbeatable when it's thumpin' under the light of friendship and hugs and other sweet soft things like that. And this is also the girl that friendship stabbed an Avenger so hard she pulled herself out of her obsession. What're you gonna do?

So Saber does nothing. She turns her head and points at one rune in particular.

"Caster. Or Caster's Master, whom I know nothing about. But Caster found me within an hour of my summoning and attempted to bait me into killing my Master, so that wretch is playing some part in this. Our 'play', as you would refer to it, is to find his workshop and smash it to pieces. If we sever whatever spell it is he's connected to her to it should make her manageable again."

"And that'll turn her back into a good girl?"

"Frankly," sighs Saber, "I suspect she's going to try to cringe herself to death. I'm counting on Angelesia to pick up the pieces. I swear, I have never had to work with such soft hearts before. How the lot of you can manage to be so powerful despite that baffles me. I suppose a new world requires new clarity of purpose. No matter. Berserker?"

And this right here is what we call a 'no go'. Whatever Saber's followup was gonna be, all it would ever, could ever get met by is a dark glower from a small but iron wrapped knight too stuffed full of pride, ambition, and that old school bloody warrior's zeal to let go of any of 'em. Unless she found someone or somethin' special enough to help her change her own story. But bein' honest, just from where I'm standing I wouldn't be able to tell if you if Berserker's story'd make anybody happier or sadder than what she's got to tell right now. Time'll reveal all though, right? I guess in the end if I've gotta I could always

Ahem. Oh look Saber's talking again!

"Katherine, then. What we need is a path beneath the ground. That's where we're going to find what we're looking for. And it will be the path our enemy is least likely to expect from us after our brazen retreat."

"Can I ask how come you're so sure we're gonna find the treasure underground? I don't like digging."

"Because, as an Avenger one of my class skills is mana replenishment. And the strongest concentrations of magical energy I have been able to pull from have come from underneath the earth. If I were a mage plotting schemes, that is where I would almost by necessity need to work. Can you compel Berserker to open a cellar somewhere? I suppose in the worst case we could turn to a Command Seal..."

Katherine blushes all of a sudden and hugs her tails against her chest, being very super careful to hide her hands in all that floof. Her hands which, I will note for the record, do not have any red markings on them at all. Makes you wonder where they went, huh?

Breathless Dead

Ice. Every vessel in her body restricts with the sheer intensity of the cold clawing at her insides just now. The fractal patterns of frigid crystals grow in the pit of her stomach and fan outwards from there. Her spine is so tense so suddenly that she fears it is going to shatter. Her ears stretch painfully toward the wall above her head. Her breath is hissing through her teeth.

Bella's eyes leave the goddess to behold her claws once more. These misshapen and brittle tools that she'd put such pride in her entire life, attached to the long and twisted fingers of a monster who had slept so long that the universe passed it by. Her arms, with their hideous white fur and all of the acid burn marks that hadn't been bothered to get cleaned away when she'd been processed to show off more of the cold, pale skin underneath and appear more "human". All her vaunted muscles were straining and sore, but even more than that they were soft and shattered. Mosaic had moved a mountain and the attempt broke her.

Every awkward place her body pinches where it shouldn't, or stretches where it can't afford to feel on display. Her strength is built into softness, and in her awkward halfassed lifestyle she's let both slip from between her horrible fingertips. That plain and ordinary face she'd seen in the water is all that she could be. This unshaped mass of lumpy clay is all her body could ever be. Disgusting. At once too fat and too thin, too human and too animal, too burned out and too lazy. All in all completely useless. A relic with nothing to be proud of. She should have stayed where she belonged.

What had she been expecting, exactly? A pat on the head? To be told that she was special, that she had some grand fate that the Gods themselves had ordained for her? Pathetic and stupid, Bella.

Her fingers curl into fists, and it takes every fraction of power in her body to uncurl them again before she can stab her claws into her palms. Her lips curl into a sneer, and then a snarl, all teeth with nothing but her own mouth to bite back down on. She wills her lips closed again, and breathes out through her nose. She'd spent too much time among the wolves. It was so easy to hear their howling and get swept up in the power of that swell. But here on the floor, burning and freezing to death at the same time it's suddenly so much easier to see why the moon never quivered at the sound.

Her arms are trembling as she sets them in her lap. Her eyes shine like lamp lights in the dark. She forces her attention back to the goddess, who has not looked away even once this entire time.

"...Fuck you," she says, her voice barely above a whisper, "Don't you dare underestimate me."

The words are deliciously warm. She can feel her throat thawing and the crackle of her very dry lips as they finally taste moisture again. Her heart pounds with frantic delight inside her chest, equal parts thrilling at the terror of the hunt and the elation of the chains that fall at her feet.

"She's stronger than me? Faster than me? Works harder than I do? I don't care: she's between me and Vesper. I am going to save my sister, Lady Artemis. I'm gonna to pull her head out of her ass and I'm gonna do it without resetting her, and I'm sick to fucking death of being told all the ways that's impossible."

Even now, Bella does not bother standing. Her position has not changed and there is no show of force she can muster that will change Artemis' view of her, especially when a show of force is just what she'd said she doesn't want or need. She does not even raise her voice above the shaky whisper she'd begun with or make any secret of her terror just now. All of that is for shit. What matters is that she has a voice at all.

"Would you like it in writing? Because I'll give it to you. If I'm a failure then so be it. If I'm a disappointment even though you played me anyway, that's nothing new to me. Nero, Redana, Jil, Dolce, even Dyssia. I've let everyone down who's ever depended on me. But here I am. I'm not asking you to do the work for me, ok? But since I know you can hear me for once, this is my prayer. Light my path, Artemis. Show me where to put my feet so I can get where I set out to go. If show me even that much care, then I promise you here and now that I'll be whatever it is you need. No matter what it costs me. I will not allow a Diodekoi, not an Empire, not even a God to stop me. After that. After that, if you're satisfied, then I'd like..."