Phoe

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Oh, um, it's, uh."

Kat's hands are still shaking, just a little bit. Her eyes are still watery, more than just a little bit. Her sniffles are still sniffly, though at the least they're very brave sniffles now. Beautiful too, just like a princess. She turns the paper around to show Caster, glances down, and smooths the poor scrunched-up thing out against her tummy real quick before holding it up a second time.

"You... ever hear of the Dumping Festival?"

"Surely you mean the D--"

"Nuh uh, I mean the Dumping Festival. Though funny enough they do have dumplings there? Kind of a little joke. But um, yeah. See it's this thing they do at the Terraced Lake, or what my mo-- I mean my sis-- I mean my owne-- I mean my, uh, my roommate? C-c-c-can I just call her Yue? Please? A-a-anyway she 'n I just call it The City 'cause we live in a little cottage up the way and till just a little while ago there wasn't much cause to go adventurin' or whatever so all we really had was just the one city. Y'know? Like obviously there's other ones but for someone who only ever really hiked between the high hills to farm sunlight and pluck tea leaves and harvest berries and whatnot it's about as much City as you can really picture in the world. Right? Right??"

She clears her throat, feeling a blush coming on. On the plus side, she's not sniffling anymore!

"Right, um. Yeah. So they do this thing, just a bit before the changing of the lunar calendar, right? It's a big long affair so everyone's got time to walk on down and take a look around and stuff, and what everyone does is, they bring everything with them they can't handle any more, see? Or stuff they don't wanna deal with, or even just stuff they thought they did wanna deal with but for whatever reason it turns out they can't? So yeah they come into town and they leave it behind, right? And then for the rest of the week anyone who sees it and wants it can just pick it up and carry it home. Which is when you get your dumpling, by the way. If that's what you wanted to know about. But yeah. Yeah! And then everything that's leftover, like, stuff that got dumped and nobody picked it back up again all gets tossed into a big bonfire, and up it goes! Fwoosh, nobody's problem anymore!"

Kat's only been a girl long enough to see a single Dumping Festival so far, matter of fact. But she loved it a lot and was making plans all year to do more at this one until the whole world ending thing made her forget about calendars and dates and all that good stuff. But now that she's built up a good head of descriptive steam and she can picture it again in her head her face is lit up like fireworks and she's lifted up onto her tippy toes to stick her ears a little bit farther in the air, since fully sticky-uppy doesn't quite seem to cover the level of anticipation.

Her pair of tails swish and cross over and under one another, and her smile turns just a touch wistful. There's still one tear she couldn't quite handle that rolls down her cheek and splashes against the ground.

"Would you, uh? Like to go check it out? The City's a bit of a walk from all the way out here but every night there's fireworks and... well I mean. I-if... if the world's endin' and all, I'd kinda? Doesn't really matter where I meet it, right? And I feel like, maybe you and, and definitely Miss Berserker would really get a lot out of it. Miss Saber'd love it too, but I guess she's busy so. I. Uh. Yeah. Wanna come?"

As far as the whereabouts of Saber, you should know that-

Oh wait. Oh, dang it. Ohhhhhhhh shoot. Shoot, heck, and goshies! If they go see the festival they're gonna come back this way, right? Oh dang it dang it dang it, beans! I didn't think of that! Look I'll break it down on the way ok? I've gotta get out of here, like, ten minutes ago!

Aaaaaaaaaaa!

Return to Thellamie

In spite of everything, Eclair takes a moment to smile. Her fingers caress the words on the tablet, curling over 'Eclairette' as if to capture the diminutive of her name inside her fist and lift it into her heart. A precious gift, this attention. Strength itself. She would not waste it.

It was no good responding to Evening with words. It was little good responding at all, but sometimes love overwhelms practicality. A flourish of a sword, a stiff nod, salute, and curtsy, a flustered smile and flush of the cheeks, the twist of a shy foot against the ground. They all meant the same thing. Even from here she would be seen, no matter the gesture.

Eclair picks up her tablet and climbs back out the window she slipped in from. Farewell, first home. Thank you, though it comes far too late to help. She stands with her back to the street, holding the tablet in front of her and waiting on the precipice. Watching the bats in all their glittering mystery as they swirl and circle across the city. Back and forth, back and forth, they carry the fire of Vespergift and the dreams of the Avels with equal ease. Do they flee the city and the smoke? Or do they dance above it all?

The fires above, and the fires below. Eclair Espoir, lit in soft red from the tips of her ears to the end of her tail. The shadows paint her face in pure determination. Does she smile, does she burn, does she chill the air around her with cool perfection? The truth is in the eye of the beholder. This is the image she sends to Evening, along with a violet heart reaction.

She tucks her tablet away. She straightens her hair. She draws the iridescent curved sword that is the first section of her heartblade. She closes her eyes. She leans backwards.

And Eclair Espoir falls. Her knees bend to match the curve of her spine as she turns through the air until her position is inverted. Face first, she hurtles toward the lower streets in silence and serenity. The city is burning: what could that possibly be considered but the greatest mess anywhere? It has been long enough to clear the streets to the point where her face should no longer cause panic and confusion. Now is the time to finish washing away the Rot Star's grime and ensure that this last and least of homes does not crumble on top of its injuries.

She thrusts her sword toward the ground, a simple vertical strike with the blade held flat against her opposite hand. Not a codified technique, hardly even a particular skill worth mentioning, but Light and physical force enough to halt her fall and give her something to do other than dig a well with her skull. Once she feels the edge bite into the cobblestone she lets her body turn limp and melts over the side of the hilt until she brushes against the ground. A simple shoulder roll, with particular care taken to not flip her skirts overmuch and she is back on her feet with just enough time to dust herself off before her skateboard hits the streets and sends her rushing through the city.

She does not, of course, know the secret of cutting fire. That is the sort of miracle that requires a true hero like Princess Heron to manage. But as she is otherwise engaged in... well. That thought deserved unpacking later. For the moment it is enough that she is not coming. Luckily, years of playing detective and charting the imagined escape of her and Mayzie's many 'culprits' has left Eclair with an intuitive understanding of the waterways of Vespergift. And it is a far simpler thing to guide a river than to fight an inferno.

"I have of course heard of the Yukisearth combat technique called 'surfing'. I am excited to see how different it is in practice from skateboarding."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Well to be fair-"

"No I mean Princesses don't-"

"That's not the point of-"

"Wh-what's so bad about-"

"The fluff is a genie koi fish?"

"Ok hold on just a se-"

"Property values?!"

"My phone literally just two hours ago tried to-!"

"I dunno if technomancers are really-"

"Well like what kinda good would it-"

"Could I please just?"

"Why won't you let me?"

"I just!"

"I!!!"

This is painful. This is worse than painful, honestly, it's outright cruel. This whole evil stream spoken so matter of factly, so authoritative and statistical and fancy, when all she had in her head was funny stories about stuff she saw on a few fun trips she took. She didn't think she was wrong but, she'd already said a bunch of those and all Caster had done was invoke his robo-lawyer. Which was now burying her in the indisputable facts and logic of a civilization that frankly most people did kinda assume was smarter than ours. I mean, they did build all that neat looking stuff you see lying around everywhere. But then again they didn't shoot down the suns, didn't even think to try. Plus they all shot off into space and, y'know, died. So how smart could they really be?

But Kat's not really in a spot to think about it like that. In fact, she's lost this battle outright because instead of coming up with a clever counterargument she's just sniffling and holding an arm up to cover her eyes. No matter how obvious she might be about it, she doesn't want Berserker to see her cry. But just, dang it! Dang it! It didn't even let her get a turn! Cutie Law at least is real clear that it's not fair to just make all your arguments at once.

"I don't agree! I, I object! You're sayin' all this stuff but it's just... it isn't right! How is it a bad thing to share food when you've got extra? You're actin' like that hurts somebody! And you didn't answer my question about headpats. You just, you can't, you aren't... serious, are you? Princesses are bad? But they, but they! And, and! You're not... th-there's naps on sunny afternoons and, and, pretty girls' smiles reflected in a teacup and and and and, and! And! Singin' to the moon with a cup of juice, and foxgirl schemes, and swordfights and dragons and magic castles in the sky! A-are you?

"Y-you can't mean... n-n-n-n-nobody actually likes those things? I-i-it's just. Just. J-just. Just 'cause? Just 'cause we're too dumb and poor and bad?"

Kat curls her toes inside her shoes. I know this 'cause that's her trick for not sobbing like a little kit when something's really upsetting her. Actia'd have some horrible and awe inspiring trick here that'd reprogram Adam to say what she needed and use that to manipulate Caster. Cyanis'd see the angles, if nothing else, and set to work immediately running scams off the back of what she'd just heard. Whether either of them would succeed doesn't really enter the equation here. The point is, other "better" foxgirls would know how to grasp. They wouldn't cry like this. Or if they did it would be part of a master heist plan.

Kat does not have a master heist plan. She doesn't know to turn any of this machine's words to her benefit. She just knows she loves the place she lives, loves the people she lives with, and loves the world that gave her the adventure that made her biggest secret dream come true. And even though she loves them so much, everything she can think to say is just empty, stupid fluff. Those blinking lights don't even care. She is losing.

All that she's got left to cling to is that little promise she made herself inside her fluffy little heart when Berserker pulled her helmet off for her sake. That she'd be a princess worthy of her knight's devotion. And it's not that princesses never bawl their eyes out, but I've had it on good authority from somewhere that 'a princess must always be beautiful'. She wants to be brave and strong. She wants to save the world. She wants so, so badly to at least save face here that instead of giving into her tears she's just constantly rubbing at her eyes with her forearm and making these heartbreaking choking noises.

And I for one can't stand it.

Kat's brave and desperate struggle turns into an undignified 'yeep!' when an arrow suddenly clatters off of the ceiling and jabs itself into the ground a little bit in front of her. Mercifully, not quite all the way to the fire. With a mighty hiccup, she looks up from her arm to see something fluttering from the end of it, beckoning her hand. She pulls it loose, unfurls it, and gasps.

It's a flyer for the Dumping Festival being held at the Terraced Lake. All week, didja know? She sniffles bravely, and clutches that beautiful piece of paper to her chest. In those big wet eyes of hers, a little spark is igniting once more.

"Um?" she ums, not sure how else to get the attention back onto her.

...What? Oh please, like you'd do any better than me listening to your precious girl make a sound like that. It's just a tiny nudge, all right? She's got the rest.

Breathless Dead

One more jump. One more lunge. One more horrible, heavy blow. It doesn't matter that her form is so terrible now. It doesn't matter that she can't aim for shit. What matters is that her speed hasn't decreased. What matters is that the spear is still heavy enough to hurt. Because as long as she can keep that up, she can force retreat.

She comes from the right, with no consideration for what might come from her at that angle. The voice in her ear drives her forward; as the unicorn steps back she presses, controlling space with the threat of her horrible arm. Her prey shrinks back, and she rises into the air where her spine twists at what should be an impossible angle as she whips around 180 degrees in the air to level a heavy, spiked bone foot at her fellow Diodekoi's head.

She watches the arm rise to block it. The kind of mistake only makes in fear. Bella twists her hip and shoves off that raised arm to push Sanalessa all the way into the pool. She lands heavily on her knees, braced by her one semi-functional arm, and gasps for air while she watches the trap swing shut. Light clamps around the legs channel just enough electricity into the water to freeze a body's muscles in place. A determined assassin could fight through this. A broken one might as well, but not before the final blow could be dealt. Bella gags in the iron, blood choked air and leaps into the air one last time, spear arm raised high to finish this.

She descends like a bolt of lightning. She buries the bone spear deep into the floor of the ship. A single pace away from the water's edge. She turns her exhausted eye to the trembling woman who had not been able to make a move in either defense or escape. And she spits.

"Hey little sister," she coughs out, "Got something to show you."

Bella plants her feet and hisses. For a moment all she can do is tremble. She squeezes her eyes shut in anticipation of the worst pain she'll have felt all day. Her breath comes in increasingly frantic, shallow, and terrified gasps until with one final snarl she begins to pull.

It is a difficult thing that she needs to do, but her foot is planted firmly atop her buried arm. There is only one way that this can go. The air fills with small cracks and pops, and then louder sounds. Wetter sounds. Bella roars, because the alternative is screaming. Or worse: stopping. Bit by bit she tears her arm free from the prison of bone and claw she'd wrapped it in. Blood drips freely from the horrible wounded wreck that slips loose.

No fur remains. No skin. Muscle and bone and fire are all she has left of her once proud right arm, and even that is mangled and bent at wrong angles in several places. Her fingers are twisted around each other and tangled so badly her arm seems to end in a single primitive claw, or maybe just a stump instead of anything resembling a proper hand. The smell of blood is everywhere. The pain is beyond description. She would rather be filled with Sagakhan's venoms again. Or filled with knives and set on fire. Anything. Anything but this. Though her teeth clench shut it's too much for her to handle, and before long her gagging and moaning is cut off by a wave of nausea she can't do anything to stop.

Her breathing in the aftermath is ragged. She stumbles backwards several steps before she finally manages to master herself and stand up straight. Even then, pinkish sparkles of spit dribble from her lips. She moves to wipe her face clean, but all that does is smudge more disgusting grime all over her. She gurgles with amusement, and waits for it to stop sounding like coughing.

"It hurts." she manages after a moment. Stupid fuck thing to say.

"But you're... in there. Inside that shell. Don't know... your name. Don't, don't, fuck. Don't know your face. But you. The real you. Is inside there. Not out. And it hurts but. If you can endure that, you can... break free. Sorry you got caught up in this. Sorry for... ghhk. Hhhffffst. Sorry for putting you through all that. I couldn't think of. A better way."

Bella turns away from Sanalessa and heaves a sigh that's sadder and more exhausted than any noise she's ever made in her life. It turned out this was the actual impossible part. Every other time she'd thrown herself at a horrible enemy that was ten times or more her match she'd at least had the freedom to sink into unconsciousness afterwards. No such luck here. The way things were going she'd probably even have to hold it together long enough to slap Gemini. Why not make a full set?

She stops. Turns her head just enough to cast her voice over her shoulder.

"One more push, sister. Just like I showed you. Hurts less coming out of full armor then this improvised piece of shit. And then after that it's all over. I promise. Whoever you are. I'd like to meet you when we're done. You do tea? Coffee? Wine? Let's go find out."

Bella's shoulders lift proudly into place and she continues away. She does not look back to see how Sanalessa responds. If she doesn't give her full focus to scrabbling back up and out of the wreckage of their fight, she'll never make it back to Vesper.

[Bella rolls Finish with Wisdom: 5 + 4 + 1 = 10]

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Ok in my defense? I didn't mean I saw her fortunes changing immediately. Also I'm not a fortune teller. If I was I'd have made a more specific prediction, like Saber appearing at the edge of the corridor dragging the sunshard behind her. And also is this your card? Wait. It's not? Really?

Dang it!

Eh, figures. I'm gonna get Hyra to show me the trick to this one again. I'll try again later, ok? Anyway I don't see Saber anywhere from here. Whatever she disappeared down here to do she's very clearly counting on Kat to handle Caster. Which is a bit of a shame because while Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits is very good at spitting sparks until somebody's heart feels warm, she's got no practice at all arguing with superintelligent robots.

Plus, she left her glasses at home. Not that she needs them to see? Actually there aren't any lenses in the frames at all. But she says they make her smarter, and who's going to argue with that? Nobody I know. But setting that aside, right now Kat's got an expression like someone just told her the Birthday Fairy isn't real and won't be leaving presents for her under the Birthday Tree. Our world is... worse? In every way? And oh goshies, oh no! People are suffering and don't even know it!

Kat rubs at her eyes. Part to cover up the tears she can feel welling in them, and part to try and get those scales out of her eyes. Dragon scales, she assumes. Maybe Qiu put them there to punish her for being a bad girl.

"Well, um. That all sounds really bad but. I just, mmmrgh~"

She squishes her head between her hands and musses up her pretty hair to help her focus. This is the kind of thing that doesn't come natural to foxgirls; she knows the argument she has to make but it's contradictory to everything she stands for to make the argument that she isn't long suffering, actually. That she gets lots of tasty meals, that not getting snacks every time she wants them isn't the same thing as torture, and that it isn't all that big a deal that somebody beat her PB in Pretty Soldier Valis VI last week or that she's going to struggle to take it back because she's only allowed 3 hours of screen time a day and the run's about that long to begin with. It's as much a part of who she is as her fluffy tails to hope for more, even when she's happy. It's already enough of a problem for her standing among foxgirls that she is happy with her lot in life but if she admits it, that's just game over.

Even still. Even still! The world is depending on her to defend it. And at the end of the day she is prepared to make the argument that saving snacktime for everyone when it's under threat of disappearing is as big of a heist as any foxgirl has ever pulled. It's just a shame she doesn't have a stack of papers she could straighten right now. Or a desk to tap them against. It'd help a lot.

"In my whole life, I've nnnnnnnnnnever been hungry. And I've never seen anyone go hungry, either. I mean I haven't been to see every single part of the world? But everywhere I know there's all sorts of shrines along the roads where you can stop and have a tasty meal if you need it. Or if you've got too much to carry you leave some spare instead. I've never once seen 'em empty. There's so many beautiful places to go and sit I dunno how you'd ever get bored. But if you did, most towns and cities have free movie nights at least once a month, y'know? Even the teeny lil' place I grew up had anime night! We play guess the music and gossip about who the most kissable girls are and it's great.

"And I mean! How about headpats for good girls? I bet that's a stat that's way, way up! Super fun slumber parties? Types of popcorn! I think you'll find all of the stuff that matters is really nice. Maybe we're not perfect, but just about everybody checks the Daily Affirmation of the Way <3, and the sun always just knows when to set or when to rise to make a moment perfect. There's dance offs and sword fights and princesses! And Princesses! I mean how can you? How, y'know.

"How can you say all of that is bad? What could we possibly be failing at?"

Return to Thellamie

Eclair touches her gauntleted hand to the mural, which is now large enough to cover several of the little prints dotting the edges of the happy painting. She slides her fingers along the wall with a strange look on her face. Rubs her fingers together and peers at the tips to monitor how much dust has accrued. Not so much that it upsets her, but she pulls a cloth out of nowhere anyway and proceeds to wipe down the entire room.

Of Mrs. Shark she finds no sign. Neither does she find Ser Kensington, or even Uni the Rainbow Unicorn, who had been a popular mainstay among far more children than just her. There are toys aplenty in the adjoining closet just begging to be organized and put away properly (for once), but none of them belong to her childhood. Many possible explanations for that. They may have been retired after being on the receiving end of too much love; Mrs. Shark in particular had needed three different stitching sessions in Eclair's last year here alone. They may have gone away as graduation presents to children who were less ashamed of their childishness than she had been, and who had earned the privilege by dint of not running away in the middle of the night. They could all be in another room. It's not as though Eclair has infinite time to search for fleeting hits of nostalgia. Or perhaps they, like her, had simply gone off on an adventure and had not seen their way back to visit yet.

Eclair takes a seat at the long table. It is not the seat she preferred as a little girl (she cannot remember which that was). It is the seat the caretaker always took, at the head of the table. The better to oversee dinner and keep a tangle of assorted hungry and sometimes miserable children under control. She glances around the room. Bright and happy colors, bright and happy decorations, bright and happy toys. All cleaned, thanks to her, and... reasonably well maintained if one accounts for the state of things in Vespergift. She turns her attention down again, to the table, to the tablet she's left there, to the message she has done everything in her power to avoid thinking about because she cannot admit to herself she doesn't know how to respond to it.

She plants her elbows on the table and locks her fingers in place in front of her. Her chin rests upon her knuckles, and she furrows her brow in thought. She wiggles her ears too, also in thought.

"Is this sentimentality brought on me by drink? Or by contact with an old friend? Or... is it, more simply, that my perspective was wrong? It is a certainty I was unhappy here. That I was hungry. Neglected. Physically struck. And yet I look around here and I see... love? That idea is repulsive to me but I cannot come to another conclusion."

A picture of Timtam. Allegedly. It has been certain for some time she has had accomplices, but this latest missive begs the question of if she is even physically active on the board to begin with. Disturbing notion. Well, if it is deception all the way down that too is information. I will not walk back my assertions to the handmaiden of Heron so soon. What is confidently correct here in any case is that the speed of this correspondence and the specificity of knowledge is such that there are only two possible hypothesis. Either: I am currently speaking to the mastermind behind a world scaling threat that has manipulated even the Rot Star itself. Or. She has an information network inside the Chrysanthemum that dwarfs anything I could possibly have anticipated. Terrifying. And yet, not infallible? If her information is so perfect, why did she not taunt me over my inebriation?

"I see love. To those children and adults who leave this place and do not return... I agree with your decision. And to those who return, if I have done my job well enough to see that you can... I agree with you as well. One small city is not enough to hold the dreams of an entire people. One orphanage is not enough to raise all the children who lack for parents. I no longer... believe it is just. To hate a place or its people for failing to do the impossible. The hurt is still real. But so was the effort."

>[.eclairespoirviolet]
>It is with my sincerest apologies that I ask you not to think ill of me for going against your expectations. You may take it as a sign that I have no higher pleasure at the moment than our little game. Though I assure you, in the end I will emerge victorious. Inadvertently or otherwise, you have stepped into a world that I have trained to be the master of since before our fateful meeting was even a glimmer of possibility. Against a mind I rate as three times sharper than yours.
>However, I must ask. Is this intended to be a form of flirtation? Admittedly I have not been able to get the question off of my mind since the possibility was brought up to me. My apologies once again if I have misinterpreted your intent. But if your aims for me include amorous ambitions I would ask that you kindly show more patience. To both win your heart and unravel your schemes in the same grasp will require rather more effort on my part.
>In either event, I believe it is time for us to speak face to face. I, Eclair Espoir, evidently the assassin who attempted to kill the Goddess Civelia, am inviting you to afternoon tea. You have my assurances on my honor and on every form of oath known to me that no attempt to apprehend you will be made until such time as I have fully pierced every veil you have wrapped yourself in. I am aware of the innuendo but I hasten to add I do not mean my words in that capacity. Today. Feel free to select the location of your liking.
>Cordially awaiting your reply,
>Eclair Espoir, Investigative Knight of the Aurora

"Well. That is enough of a break for one day."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Oh nuts to that, I'm gonna-- hey, hey! Quit that! I said knock! That! Off!"

Kat does the firs thing that springs to her mind. The only thing that makes sense to do in a situation like this, really. She takes her not-quite-on-fire stick and bops the ancient spirit of a philosopher king over the head with it. Once for each syllable! This is what scholars refer to as 'the spirit of debate'!

"Quit it quit it quit it! How's this poor little fire supposed to change anything about itself if you keep egging it on? The poor thing! Like, I just, what? Are you doing this just to win an argument with a foxgirl? Don't even bother, Cutie Law is on my side! They don't call me Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, esquire for nothin' y'know!"

She crosses her arms and pouts her best pout, careful to take an extra step away from the fire to keep this super delicious yummy tempting stick away for its poor sinner's flames. Hey that's kind've a cool turn of phrase, isn't it? You think I could be a writer some day? Maybe? A poet, at least? Wait, what d'you mean, what do I mean 'at least'? Everybody knows the order from most respected to least goes manga artist, essayist, novelist, a really shiny beetle, forum poster, and then poet! That is just science, look it up. Hmph!

Anyway this is yet another delicate needle for little Kat to thread. Seems like Servants love their delicate needles, don't they? I guess the pressures of the ancient textile industry were no joke. But whatever she decided to do here, it's important she not forget she's on the clock for a Foxgirl Scheme right now. If Caster didn't know where Saber was, that meant the heist was still on!

"Ok ok ok ok ok ok ok. Ok. I don't wanna be mean, ok? So I'm not gonna do the thing where I pick apart your argument line by line and tell you how you're wrong. You are wrong but it doesn't matter. So let's say you're right, mmk? Let's say, for the sake of argument, the Burrowers are all up above the sky somewhere telling each other awful jokes and buildin' stuff that smells as gross as this tunnel. All right? Is that fine! You're so right, Grandpa Caster! Somewhere way above the clouds wherever the stars're hidin' there's a buncha jerks. That's a catamagorigical, undeniable fact."

For the record? They really did all die up there sometime after they left. I'm sure it's got nothing to do with punishment so much as regular old age or bad luck, but if they didn't all kick it then they definitely saw the error of their ways, 'cause all their money came back this way a hot minute ago. If you don't already know about it you're just gonna have to trust me on that. It's way too much trouble to explain. But like Kat says that's not really important, so let's move on with an adorable little nod and a fiery sniff from our lovely heroine.

"And they're definitely definitely definitely gonna come back here, too. And when they do, let's even say there's nothin' anyone livin' on our happy lil' planet can do about it. They're all, I dunno, robot wolfgirls taller than Miss Saber or somethin'. Mechanical bodies and eyes that shoot lasers and sword skills so shiny that even Princess Qiu can't stand up to 'em. I doubt that, but sure. 'Cause that's not the problem really is it? I'm like, 'how about thinkin' about the way stuff is now?' and you go and tell me 'oh gee miss Katherine, your tails are the fluffiest and the softestest and I just love the cool minty thing with your hair! Who's your stylist? Oh but actually never mind about that 'cause the future's sooooooooooooo bad, boo hoo!' Right???"

For the record, Kat's Caster impression is... not flattering. She can't do deep voices to save her life so she just kind of sounds likea city person's idea of a bear with a mouth just stuffed full of peanut butter. One who just escaped from a room full of helium. I'm just saying, if he can find the note of accuracy in there then he really is a magician.

"Literally! Why does that matter? That's like a billion years from now! How many kids are gonna grow up playin' in the fields without a clue about all that stuff a'fore it happens? How many happy campfires're gonna spring up and get washed away? How many maidens'll kiss over crossed swords and go start families together before they get squished by a big sky boat or whatever? Like, infinity? You're not gonna tell me with a straight face those people and their happiness don't matter, are you? Holy crackers dude, that's messed up!"

Kat huffs her most dramatic little sigh and shakes her head to bounce that pretty hair of hers to maximum effect. She shrugs as best she can while still holding a stick that's twice as thick around as her arms, and pats the axe still hugging her waist with affection.

"Anyway nah. Nah, nopers and nuh uh. I'm sorry you got stuck with a jerkball of a Master who gave you depression but I am not gonna stand around waitin' for little miss failed pizza restaurateur to wipe out all of history so nobody finds out she tripped on stage at the talent show and flashed her panties in front of the whole class or... whatever her problem is. If either one of you wanted to do anything, like literally anythin' to help out people who were maybe still struggling despite how cool and pretty and sunny the world is then maybe I could get talked around but you're not! You're just doomers. I'm beggin' ya gramps, just go fly a kite. Paint a painting or go eat at a really nice diner! Go see a concert! Ys has all sortsa stuff like that! If you're done with our world then just... chill! Just go hang out and wait all quiet like to get proved right. You can even come say I toldja so after, but quit tryin'a mess it up faster!"

She puffs her chest out in equal parts pride and defiance, only deflating a little when she sees the odd tilt of Berserker's head.

"Oh for, no come on Berserker not you too! I don't wanna go over this again! Yes ok fine, I know how to pronounce my g's! It's just easier not to most've the time. I'm not doin' a bit! I'm not! I swear I'm not, and you're Yueing me! That's not how I wanna get compared to her, darn it!"

Heh. What a Fluffybiscuit. But don't worry, Kat. I think I see your fortunes changing. You've just gotta hang in there a teeny bit longer, ok?

Breathless Dead

She rises. Though her body lies shattered, she rises. She pushes strength into her legs and ignores the pops of protest as she forces them to straighten. She feels her back shear like glass but the most she allows herself to acknowledge it is a hiss like escaping steam. And she rises.

Bella spares a glance at her mangled wreck of an arm and laughs with some horrible mockery of mirth to see how badly it twisted in the clash. She tries to flex her fingers; the true horror of the moment, if indeed there was horror to be felt, lay in how gentle her hand seemed to be. There is no heroic straining, no quiver of effort, no valiant trembling of digits that long to test themselves against that trickle of red. There is simply no movement whatsoever: a part of her body so far past the fight that it won't even pretend anymore. She shrugs, and lets the whole arm grow over with a thick branch of claw exoskeleton.

Standing there it is easy to see why Artemis called her outdated. The unicorn stands there in its armor, the same idea but pristine and purposed. Nothing wasted, every impervious line clean and smooth and so close to flawless that she genuinely hadn't been able to perceive it until a second ago. Bella's arm, by comparison, is hideous. The wicked tangles and thick almost bark-like spirals jut out into strange spines here and there. It isn't armor so much as a horrible spear made from the corpse of a sea serpent, or something equally disgusting. It's a difference in philosophy visible to the naked eye. Once upon a time they might have thought that monsters were the best way to kill something, but what had killed the monsters?

Knights, of course. Only instead of shining plovers this one wore its suit directly on its own body. Bella heaves with fresh, disgusting laughter.

And she vanishes. When she reappears she is in the air over top of Sanalessa aiming a downward strike. The unicorn vanishes in turn to appear behind her, but the counterstrike turns into another teleport, and another, and another, and another. They flash across the room in a strange slideshow of combat poses, all potential and promised death without any of the payoff. Only the air screams as if it's dying. But this dance cannot last forever. Eventually, at the fifteenth or so turn, Bella falls behind the pace. When she appears, she is not in an advantaged position but staring down the face of a mighty swing already in progress. She twists her body to at least draw in a counter attack but there's no time to achieve anything approaching the same kind of leverage her opponent has, and even if she could match them exactly she simply isn't as strong. The universe, the gods themselves, have spoken. Two blows connect, but only Bella hurtles backwards. Only she dents the floor and bounces out of the hole she made without moving.

And again, she rises. With even more difficulty than before, she rises. Her Auspex flutters shut, and her mortal eye beholds a suit of perfect armor that is somehow even redder and more stained than before. She cackles until she is interrupted by a wet, hacking cough. What she feels inside her throat is best not described.

This time she rushes headlong under the power of her own trembling legs. The echoes of her stomping sound through large chunks of the ship beyond her battlefield. She comes in a wide arc, using stored momentum and a high angle to compensate for the fatigue of her body. Her spear arm impales the floor and tears out a mountainous section of it that gives her a makeshift shield to call her own. She smashes Sanalessa in the face with it before it can get punched through, which does nothing to stop her ribs from turning to powder under the force of the counter uppercut. The grapple doesn't work. A headbutt only makes the room spin around her own orbit. When she vanishes into the dark she is hunted down, and when she manipulates the trigger of several traps at once, having anticipated the arc of at least a few of Vesper's preparations, the distractions prove useless and unwilling to bend to her advantage.

No matter her approach, Bella is outmatched. That is in the truest sense what it means to fight against a God. All her brute force, all her clever tricks are simply turned aside or reflected at her in a perfected form. She plates over more and more of her body to compensate, all jagged angles and pieces that don't entirely fit together, until she looks as though she is in the middle of being devoured by XIII. But there is no pull on her mind. There is no slowness to her movement. She falls again. She falls again. She falls again.

And she rises.

This is not a question of superiority. This is not a question of overcoming a trial because she deserves to. She hasn't earned this. Fuck, she never worked a day in her life for it. If she'd even known she needed to she would've curled up in her little slave bed back on Tellus and not even Empress Nero could have dragged her out of it to face the universe. This is simply that she has not given up. This is just that without all that heavy blood weighing her down she finds it easier to move a little bit faster. Hit a little bit harder.

Bella never wins a single exchange. But the rate of her deterioration begins to slow in comparison to Sanalessa. She watches the unicorn'ss armor develop cracks and even a torn out chunk at the lower left portion of their abdomen. She watches sets of instructions fizzle out. She watches that white armor turn red. And she laughs, and she rises.

It is not a pretty fight from any perspective anymore. Not the call and not the response. A tight choreography of ultraviolence becomes a ugly exchange of punches and rending stabs that aren't aimed at anything but the broadest of targets. Again, this is not a question of superiority. This is simply the moment where 'im' crumbles off of 'possible'. In that sense one might call it a punishment: calling it a possible labor robs this weary Servitor of her victory and promises a new and worse challenge on the horizon. Which one of these will finally count?

But it is still true that she no longer conceives of this as something that cannot be done. The shift to something that must be done is all she needs to keep standing, to keep lunging, to keep clawing whole sections of ship atmosphere to ribbons to traverse the sudden rift and try one more time to land the attack that Diomedes would smile at. The only real advantage she has is better motivation. That's really all it is. Her opponent had already given up, after all. Whereas she? She had a family that needed her to not only win, but return home after.

Impossible begins to turn. Though her muscles are shredded into uselessness, though the armor she wears around her legs cannot bend, she clambors back off of her knees. Though every breath brings with it a cough, and every cough turns her lips pinker, she plants her feet and smashes her fist against her breast. Though her spine should be shattered and her mind turned to mist she curls to see the ceiling and howls a battlecry that shakes stones loose from several mural reliefs. A gem encrusted skeleton, vines still creeping through its eyesockets, tumbles out of the embrace of a former lover and scatters across the ground.

Bella's boot stomps clean through it. She slumps forward, but more wicked laughter pulls her head straight again.

"Is that... all? You've got?"

Again, she lunges. This time, though she gets suplexed almost through the floor, her spear tears a proper hole in that stupid fucking armor. It's just. Hard to see that. With all the black spots crowding out her vision.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Oh, uh. Sure? That makes sense. Yeah."

Katherine turns to Berserker and shakes her head. She does not bother to disguise her feelings on the matter.

"Happy for you, though. Or sorry that happened. Or uh, y'know yeah."

Her expression in this moment is as helpless as it is hapless. She takes a single step forward closer to the light. She eyes the technomantic creatures in the shadows with wary readiness, and swallows her fear. Literally. Her attempts to polite and delicate about it are a failure.

"You uh, sorry for makin' assumptions I guess you could be a regular old ghost or somethin' but, you heroic spirits really are all cut from the same cloth huh? What gets you guys so stuck on what stuff used to be like? How 'bout what things are like now? Y'know? Like, hardly anyone lives down here anymore. We're all up top, with those happy fires and the sunshine and all. I mean, I guess my, uh? I guess she'd sorta technicamally be my aunt? Big big sister? Iono. Adopted, see. But yeah. She spent a good long while livin' in the underworld or whatever after she got grabbed up by some demons but she's a Princess now. So that worked out ok. Right?

"I mean I'm not sayin' it's paradise out under the sky. There's all kindsa jerks and even really nice people make mistakes sometimes too. Like, there's this one girl I know? Nicest little thing you've ever met. But she got in a fight with her moms and next thing y'know? She goes and frees all the foxgirls from Cutie Fox Island!"

She coughs.

"And look how that turned out. Haha. Ha. I mean. Look. What I'm tryin' to say here is, if you don't like it down here then... why come? Why hunch over there and brood when you could go for a run outside and feel the wind in your hair and just feel better? What's so darn important that you've gotta kill for it? I-if that's what you're doin' down here. Sorry. Assumptions again. I just figure you're the one Miss Saber was talkin' about. Where did she go, anyway? Did you happen to see her around? Is she safe, do you know?"

Katherine's eyes are full of curiosity and concern. Her mouth is full of questions. And while she lets these things out, she creeps closer to the fire. She bends down on one knee to pluck the large stick that Caster had just tossed back out of the pit.

Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits is not Yue, for all that she looks up to her caretaker. She does not speak the language of fire. Or of wood. Neither metal. She barely even speaks fox, or at least in the darker moments in her head it feels that way. So she doesn't know the words she should be using here if she were and if she did. But she does understand the sentiment well enough.

If you have burned so long and so thanklessly, so joylessly, little fire... it's ok. You don't have to anymore. You can be what you want to, now. Even if that's nothing.

(psst! hey again! it's me, I caught up! Sorry about the weirdness, it's just real hard to follow along in a spooky tunnel without the people you're watching catching you. But it's all right. We can do this normal-like again <3)

Return to Thellamie

"It is... possible, I suppose, to make the argument I have done enough for today."

Eclair slides to a halt on her skateboard and stomps the lip of it to flip it onto her back. She pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment and then rubs at the edges of her eyes before rushing forward and springing off the edge of a column, snatching the edge of a balcony with her fingertips and swinging up and over to the next level of the city.

Truly, there was no better place in all of Thellamie to practice the art of parkour than Vespergift. Even the training course at the Manor paled in comparison. If she could be said to have any particular talent for the art that the typical maid-knight could not lay claim to, then it stemmed from growing up here. She runs up a second wall and flips up onto and then off of a windowsill that's nearer to a tower than it ought to be, giving her a convenient pair of brace points to wall kick between and climb her way up in decent time.

"I prefer the, nnngh my head, argument that my strength is better preserved for the final conflict. I am certain this is not finished. But while there are two dragons fighting inside of the city there is very little I can accomplish on the ground. What is happening here, and why? Crevas was one thing, but what could have set off such a specific and unusual chain here? I do not understand."

Up she climbs, higher and higher. Beyond the streets and into the towers. To be frank the idea of knowing a place to be alone in Vespergift is absurd to the point of parody, but in a moment like this where so many of its people were frantically moving for the gates at the very least there were principles that could be followed. Up, not down. Use the ruined towers for climbing, but make for the ones that have remained upright - these are less suitable for foot traffic so to reach a position where another's footsteps were unlikely it simply made sense to make for the heights that were most easily cleared out from the inside.

Sitting on a rooftop also doubled as a strategic advantage. Something nearer to the center of the city insomuch as it was possible to find a spire there, where her vantage could double as a staging ground if she saw the dragon fight turn suddenly in such a way that it might threaten the viability of the city for return. Perhaps it was the sake talking, but Eclair couldn't find it in herself to blame Vespergift for being what it was. The North simply wasn't meant to only have a single city. It could stand even less to have none at all.

In any event it is happenstance and not planning that sees Eclair Espoir pass across the window of her old orphanage. What they were using it for now she neither knew nor cared, though she couldn't help but hover for a moment to peer inside. There was no reason to do so, nothing whatsoever to be gained from knowing. But even so, she looks. And if it really was empty, there wouldn't be a better perch in the entire city to catch her breath and read her missives in whatever fragmentary moments this disaster had to offer her.