Handmaidens!
[oh heron did that!!]
It works, in a sense. In a larger sense, it does not work: it does not cause this dream to shatter and melt away, to be met again in some other place, at some other time. But the violence with which she snaps back, careening head over tail, swatting at Injimo with that tail as if flailing and falling helplessly, all this stems from the way that the arrow shatters on her head. And she is laughing, convulsions running along her body, as she lands on all fours on the ground- squats- lets her tail finish coming down like coils of rope- and then leaps at Injimo again.
[but you're heron and not!heron, which means heron must have finally, finally, figured it out! i didn't tell her! i would have remembered that! don't tell me, heron, i'll figure it out on my own!]
She wiggles from paw to paw like a cat, snaps her jaws in feints, grins wider and wider, her pearlescent eyes widening without any pupil to give them focus. Her tail wraps around ginger-stalks and brings them toppling down towards both of you; the air is thick and stinging with ginger-spores. She is giddy with motion.
[and you get it don't you? there's no thinking in fighting! in motion! in questing!][ She bounds up and makes of herself a circle, a ring, and then slams her tail down at where Injimo, a moment ago, was. [you've just got to go go go sweep sweep sweep run run run fight fight fight!]
She is full of joy; there is no defeating her by force of arms, save that you tire her out. Show superior stamina in how you move your body. Meet each exhortation towards action with an equal and opposite obedience. This is the way of the warrior-maid; will you prove their equal? (As for the opening, well, it is possible for a friend to slip past her, or to trade places with you- but who could hope to outlast her?)
Erika!
"Perhaps I like crassness from time to time," Timtam says, her inflection a perfect imitation of Noon's flirtations. "There's something delectable in seeing an innocent young thing desperately squirm as she tries to catch up with someone older and more experienced." She drags a nail across the table slowly, invitingly...
And then you, little Erika, are interrupted from further solicitations from this wicked cardsharp by the arrival of two more players. One is a big, scruffy Serigalamu huntress, her bandoliers decorated with goblin-fangs, her presence even larger than she is. This is the one who sits right next to you and uses that presence to hem you in, keep you from the door, bring you ever closer to Timtam. Stretches as a pretext to put one arm around your shoulders with the sort of swaggering grin that one expects from high-performing huntresses who wrestle with dreaming dragons.
The other is thin, like a knife for opening envelopes. Her mask glitters with crushed jewels from Aestival's coast, and her coat is swirled in the colors of Crevas. A red cloak, a golden sash, a charm dangling at her wrist: an agonistes, a wicked swashbuckling hired sword. Her makeup is muted, uncharacteristically so, but that is an illusion approached with great care.
If you do not have some sort of plan, this will be a three-against-one sort of game, and those are foregone conclusions. You do have some sort of clever plan to overcome collaboration, don't you, Erika? You're not doomed to spill all of the beans, are you, Erika? Some sort of alternative bet, more creative way of cheating, or a wicked faculty at cards hitherto unseen would all be useful in this moment.
Yuki!
Maybe this is one of the reasons that you were so drawn to the Paladins of Kel: they are very, very good at hugs. Or at least Aadya is. She is the rock atop a mountain, after all, and when she holds you, she feels like the entire mountain, with roots that must reach beneath the whole city. But she is not cold. Not even the post-workout cooldown can make her feel cold; if she is a mountain, she is rich with veins of hot, molten ore, the kind that cause mine disasters up in the peaks of Kel.
She doesn't use words to cup your head. She can't make an apology matter using her words, so she envelops you in a body like an avalanche, like being buried in snow, and in the snow there is quiet and peace and room to sniffle without the whole cafe seeing (though the waitress has graciously decided to avoid your table to give you this moment). And she rumbles: a low, comforting, deep rumble. It's common superstition in Kel that this rumble has healing properties, and though it might all just be the placebo effect of it all, that doesn't stop the warm shivers, the tension melting, the sense of one-day-you-will-be-whole.
This is her apology for hurting you, for pushing too hard, for not knowing what to do. Do you accept it? Give her a String, if so.
Hazel!
"Oh, but you're about to!" The padlock on the chest jumps and rattles as Juniper weaves eggs and sausage onto a fork. "That's part of your unique social standing here. Now, you're obviously not going to go and earn rank by wrestling with some savage goblin or fighting the mirrorfolk!" It's a blithe assertion, but one that might sting. Obviously not. Just look at you, Hazel. You do not have a wrestling bone in your body. "But if Negodincia had her way, you'd be just another prize, a hot boy to show off and lead around on a leash."
She holds up the fork, offering it as a bite.
"And after all the chores you doubtless were made to do at the Chrysanthemum, without proper compensation," as if being Encouraged was not compensation-- and do you blurt something out about that? "I think Yuki wouldn't want you being made to do all of her chores, the spoiled rotten thing."
"Careful," Olesya rumbles. "...I'm the one who's supposed to say that."
"Oh~ do forgive me~"
"She is, though. Spoiled." A huff, a lowering of the ears, a squaring of the shoulders. Responsibility with that capital R.
"As you say, my lady," Juniper trills, tail flopping about on the floor happily. "We are doing a great big game of pretend, Hazel. And the game involves you being the equal of women who wrestle goblin-elephants to exhaustion, while not having any of the accomplishments that they have. So having your own sluzhankas, infamous women gifted to you by a baygum, shields you with her accomplishment of catching them." Another forkful offered. "As will making your own shield here. It won't hold up well to a heartblade, but what does? But it will turn aside a goblin's horn or tusk, and that's what matters."
She beams. "Okay, your turn. Go ahead and ask. I know you're dying to know more~"
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