Tatterdemalion

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Kazelia!

"I'm in love," your father says, and somehow doesn't burst into flames. Your Mother stirs inside you, a roiling wrath. Lies. Lies. Lies. The number of lies, one wrapped in another! The lie that he is in Love, that he is nobly pursuing his heart, rather than just wanting and wanting and wanting, and not being able to let go when his desire is denied. The lie that this justifies anything that he will do in pursuit. The lie that his desires are more important than hers, that anyone who would get in his way just doesn't understand his cause...

All these lies he is telling to himself. Undo. Unmake. Take apart. He has never had the truth told to him, his lies dismantled and torn apart. It would be dangerous. Those lies are what are keeping him on track with a wedding, are what keep him from lashing out at you, are what stop him from crumbling apart. Your Mother is selfish in her own way; she rages and roars in your chest, itches your palms and your fingers with the desire to disassemble, to lay him bare and show him that he is layering his true and beautiful Want inside so many lies--

No. That's her thought. His Want may be pure, but it is pure like the hunger of a sea monster cutting through the water. It is True, but it is not Good, and it is not Beautiful at all. There is more to life than just Truth.

Your father touches your cheek, and this too is a lie. The gentle look he gives you, an errant lock of silver hair hanging over his temple, is a lie. They are lies that say: I will forgive you completely. All that you need to do is obey me, and help me devour this world, and together the two of us, no, the three of us will go on and see things you haven't even dreamed of yet.

The name of this lie is: I love you, snowflake.

And the ugly truth looming behind it is that he will have you cheering him on at his wedding. He doesn't know it yet, but you can see the shape of his Want. He will have you in your proper place as his daughter, and he does not care whether your mind comes along.

***

Alina!

Diana's voice is dead and even. "You didn't need a spy." You don't even need to look at her. This wasn't even Oberon's doing, there's no question as to whether he did something to make Kazelia's heart go cold. This was all on you. This was your fault. You did this. "He asked you to acquire me, didn't he?" She's burning up under your hands. When she tries to push away from you, it's like having a newborn kitten bat at you.

"Oberon pulled my magic out of me," she says, and her voice is sharp as a glass knife, as crisp as fresh snow. "He ripped it out. There is a hole inside me where it was, and there's nothing left. I can't feel our world. I can't hear the crystals. I can't even do something as simple as..." She coughs, and it goes on too long. She's too light. She's too light. "...potion concoction," she concludes. Is that simple? Apparently! Haha! That's a thing to focus on! Just think about, wow, you didn't know that making potions was simple, or maybe you just need the bare minimum of magic you get from being born in Hyperborea? The magic that Diana doesn't have any more? Oh, whiskers. Now you're back at the bad thoughts.

She goes quiet, and you hold her closer, and she is too still, and you're so afraid until her chest rises ever so gently, and breath mists on her lips.

She doesn't have the strength to speak any more, but you can feel her glazed eyes, blue as a lake, tearing through you. There's nothing to arrest them. You're a hollow princess, and Oberon was right. You're nothing. Nothing but fluff and cotton candy and tickle fights and betrayal.

"HMMMMMNNUHH!" You jerk your head up, your vision fuzzy with tears. Ourania is glaring at you. And you deserve it! You failed her, and you failed Diana, and now she knows, and... why is she jerking her head over at the wall?

The wall.

You're inside Argossa. And it's tainted and corrupted and terrible, but... but it's also the wellspring of Hyperborea's magic. You don't have your lights, you don't have any protection, you don't have any formal training as a witch, but... but Diana is going to die. And you made a promise. You can give her more time.

***

Princess Hornet!

It is the first time you have ever been at the Bazaar and it is too loud. It is disorganized. But that's okay! You are fixing it.

+Excuse me, um.+

You look down through your goggles. And, oh. your. gosh. There's a dragon there! Fascinating! She just spoke directly into your mind! Wouldn't it be nice if you could do that? You should start researching dragon telepathy, so that you can just let people see what you're thinking. Like, right now, you're thinking about how the Bazaar will look once it has been sorted and organized. Everybody is going to stop screaming and they'll thank you for making its urban planning logically consistent. Is the dragon telepathical node inside the brain, the heart, or the liver? It would make sense for it to be more centrally located, given the inefficiency of having the vocal cords so relatively exposed.

(It is Carnival, and you are brushing Axonian lacquer over your Best Friend Contract, using precise and even strokes. It is the first one you have ever had signed. No one back home will sign a friend contract with you, citing concerns that you are a princess, and none of the princesses will, for a variety of reasons you hypothesize boil down to "you are Hornet, and we don't like you." But you have one, and it's your favorite princess of all time.)

"Can I see your brain??"

+What? No! I mean. I'm here to issue a citation.+

Curses. You'll have to construct a theoretical model of a dragon instead. She's so... she's so much of her! Her biological design is so efficient, so streamlined. You consider what it would be like to be a dragon. You would need to construct fine manipulators, possibly telepathically-powered, in order to assist with construction, but you would be able to use all four limbs for walking. That just feels natural! Two legs are, frankly, not enough legs. Anybody who's anybody knows that.

"Oh. Am I in trouble?"

+Kind of? You're rampaging through the Bazaar.+

Rampaging, ha! You're not rampaging. That's what other people do. Still, she might have a point in that nobody seems to be appreciating your Unstoppable Bazaar Organizer. If only you had built in a stop lever, but that would have been ridiculous! You don't need to stop an Unstoppable Bazaar Organizer. It's in the name!

(Your Fascinatingly Avid Printer is chugging along, and as usual, you can't look away. It's Fascinatingly Avid, after all! The way it uses those little brushes you spent weeks picking out hairs for, the tiny pincers that assemble the sticker sheet, and the design, well. You drew it yourself. You drew her yourself. #1 Lab Assistant. This is what having a Best Friend means. It has to be.)

+Please come down!+

And maybe it's because you feel the desperation and confusion in her please, the one that's so familiar, because you feel it all the time talking to people, that you hop off the Unstoppable Bazaar Organizer and into her talons.

"Hi," you say, over the sound of reconstruction. "I'm Hornet! I'm a princess. Are you a princess too?"

Please say yes, you think, hoping she can hear you.

Fellowship: The Heart

My current headcanon is that animal people are common topside, and that the Chimerae of the Heart are notable because a) they mutate and mix attributes from lots of different creatures and things and b) they have a distinct tendency to grow horns.

Fellowship: The Heart

Lucien!

You have a sixth sense for these sorts of things, honed after years of dodging unfortunate assignments and ducking blame. And you're absolutely confident that if you escape through the floorboards, there will be shenanigans. Maybe even hijinks, which is the last thing we want around here. No, as long as you're here keeping Ailee reasonably behaved, you should be fine, and you'll walk out of this smelling of roses.

That being said, the quickest way out is getting down in the fetal position, stuffing your ears soundly, and inviting Ailee to rant. You will be able to leave immediately, given that this place of residence will very quickly cease to be a residence, or indeed even a place.

***

Coleman!

There's a far-off rumble in the distance. A ripple runs through the placid waters. The Storm is heralding its imminence. In the Storm are stars unwatched and thunders devouring and rain which sleeks against the windows. The Storm takes the tracks and changes where they lead to, and shows those caught in it mysteries and prophecies, and its leavings are the sharp taste of petrichor and a sense of personal smallness in comparison to the vastness of the Heart, and occasionally lunacy. You'll be fine, probably, as long as you get going sharpish.

Tell us about the barge, and how you mean to propel Sasha (and company) across the hungry waters.

***

Jackdaw!

The word is scrutinize.

The matron (her whiskers nearly dragging on the floor, her diminutive size suggesting she was once... perhaps a Felin, before her eyes became milky-white orbs and her lips scaled), scrutinizes Ailee, who's standing there looking like she's about to explode, with a thin strip of Lucien between her and doom for all.

Then she takes her knotted driftwood stick and pokes it into Ailee's stomach.

"You're a Rodine," she burbles, "but a fool one. The King only brings ruin and fire, child. Our lady might be able to wash it away, if you want... but I'm too old to make choices for children. Either ask to learn her mysteries or leave as sharpish as you can. We don't want you anywhere near us when you burn."

***

Ailee!

The stupid, paranoid, superstitious fish-creatures crowd behind the stupid old woman poking you with a stick as she lectures you about power, as if you aren't Ailee Sundish. Please, please, please tell her exactly who you are, what choice you made, who's in control, and why you are not doomed to a fiery and cruelly ironic demise in the depths of the Heart.

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Kazelia!

Your father sneers. His mechanical moth may have brought the box to you, flung from a sling, but why didn’t he? It’s an angry sneer, full of wounded pride.

“Why should I?” Always spinning it back. Always deflecting. “After all, what form could be better than this one?” He stands, cradling Alina in one arm as if she were an exhausted toddler, before handing her casually off to one of the Garthim. “Take her to meet the bride,” he says. “And the fox, too.”

Then he holds his hands behind his back and waits for you to approach him. You know what you are meant to do: to go for a walk with him. It might be your best opportunity to stop this and help... well, Adila. And Ourania! And, you suppose, Alina, too. (Your heart feels frozen when her distress drifts across your mind.)

But his words are cold. And he has so much to say.

“You can’t win,” he says, conversationally, as the Garthim scuttle away. “By the time the wedding bells ring, I will have made Argossa my own.” He taps his foot, and you notice that the stone-like wood under his feet has tendrils of cold rot running through it. And now that you’re looking carefully, you can see them spreading in the corners of the room. Your father is going to tame Argossa or (more likely) kill it. The thought of a dead, rotten tree at the heart of this beautiful world... how does that make you feel, Kazelia?

***

Alina!

As Kazelia makes her choice, you’re already being carried off by a stinking, wet, gross Garthim. Kyouko hisses, and then there’s the sound of a smoke bomb going off behind you, but she doesn’t come save you. Maybe she can’t. Maybe she just doesn’t want to.

And Cassian escorts you, smirking, doubling down on his arrogant self-assurance, to the Bridal Suite.

It used to be Ourania’s salon, but now it’s been transformed. Magical constructs made out of iron and ice weave together a bluish-white wedding gown for the bride, who sits shackled to her chair. But the sight of Ourania, proud and defiant even with a midnight-black scarf wrapped over her face, isn’t the worst thing in the room.

It’s Diana.

She’s lying on the floor, one ankle shackled to the wardrobe, her breath shallow and her cheeks pale with fever. When the Garthim push you down next to her, she stirs weakly, and raises her head.

“Hey, Alina,” she rasps. “I’m sorry. I tried...”

“Shut up,” Cassian says, rolling his eyes as he tosses your lights on a side table. (They rattle about and fight against the strangely absorbent silk. Another of his father’s toys.) “I don’t want to hear you whine about losing your magic any more.”

The look Ourania gives him would wither stone, and he beats a hasty retreat after making sure your ankles are shackled to that same wardrobe, leaving the Garthim standing watch. Diana coughs, and gestures for you to wiggle closer. “I can’t do much,” she says (with the earnestness of someone who is used to being able to do everything), “but let me see if I can help with that gag...”

***

Adila!

It’s... not what you expected. As you fast-forward, you see flashes of Hyperborea from above. You see devil-fortresses, and the first sun and moon. You see the Shadow War, as Eupheria’s nightmare army spreads whimsy and misrule across the land. You see Ouroboros wrapping herself around the world, seizing her tail in her mouth, shoring it up against the black and endless sea beyond. You see rainbows and the growth of mountains and fireworks and...

You see a cold and desolate wasteland, Argossa split down its trunk with black rot, its limbs drooping and broken. The sun and moon are gone. The stars shine unnaturally bright over the frozen desolation that once was a sea.

And then you’re in Hornet’s arms, and she’s holding you like she never intends to let you go. You’re on the edge of the wedding preparations, which are being made (slowly and clumsily) by Garthim on sorcerous autopilot. As long as you are very, very careful... you won’t activate their deep predatory instincts.

But Hornet’s just standing in plain sight, not moving a muscle, squeezing you tighter and tighter as one of them lumbers past, trailing white lilies from a large bag in its claws.

***

Rita von Catabas!

“I love you,” Alina says, and her lips meet yours. You feel so full of love, you’re drowning in it. You nip playfully and gently at her, and her lips taste like salt under your teeth. You can’t breathe, your heart is so full it’s going to burst, and you need this moment to go on forever but the longer you kiss the more it feels like something has to—

You roll over and lose your hairballs. They’re a wet, soggy mess, just like you. What’s going on?

“—and you’re sure that Alina wasn’t drifting dead in the water? You can tell me, it’s fine. I don’t actually care about her, except insofar as she’s useful to our mission.”

“Azora, I’m sure you’re just all discomposed because of nearly drowning, so I’ll let you retract that,” Dandy says, cold as turf in midwinter and just as yielding.

You open your eyes and everything is pastel corals. You’re in a Mermaid’s Shell, for visitors from above the waves. Which means...

“Where’s Alina?” You croak, and turn back to the princess who just resuscitated you, whose smile shatters like glass. You’re sorry, Nemie, you really am, but... “Please, where is she?”

“Oberon has her,” Nemie says, and strokes your forehead. “I’m so sorry, but...”

“Then we’re going after her.” You close your eyes and try to will yourself back into being human, and only too late realize that it’s too much too soon and the blackness sweeps back over you as Nemie calls your name from far away...

Chuubo's GMD: Love and Shattered Alchemy

“A cat.” Don’t play coy with me, narrator! As if I don’t recognize this cat on sight! I know pretty much all the cats, you know. It’s part of being a Yatskaya. Sure, I don’t know him the way I know Molly or Phoebe or Old Whiskers or Adora or Timmytom, but I recognize those stripes, and the fuzz around his face like he’s got a tiny cat beard; that’s so obviously Edelgard von Hresvelg, named after the Prussian philosophy person, that I am insulted, yes, insulted that you would insinuate that I don’t know him! Of all the nerve!

Still, it’s always good to get to know a cat better, especially if you’re, and I’m tossing out a pure hypothetical here, trying to hide the fact that you are in a forbidden friendship with the heir to the rat throne, which is probably made out of all this silverware, all butter knives and fork tines all sticking out like a porcupine, and I haven’t mentioned my theory to Eduard (no relation to Edelgard) yet but it just makes sense when you think about it, because that’s objectively the coolest kind of throne, and it’d be really good at stopping a cat-level incursion from eating the king of the rats in one bite. That’s why there’s a ban on loose cats in Fortitude, you know. If you find a mommy cat that’s snuck off and made kittens, the only kind thing to do is send them to this animal shelter over the hill in Horizon because otherwise you have to put them to sleep unless there’s a cat on their last life who’s willing to give up a slot, because the Treaty of Rodentia declared that you can’t have over a thousand and one cats in Fortitude on pain of war being declared between ratkind and catkind until there were a lot, lot less cats. Oh, and also humans would be treated as “feline collaborators,” which, uh, isn’t good. And from the sound of it you might think, wow, these rats must be straight-up jerks, but they’re not, not really, because there’s a prophecy. Eduard hasn’t explained anything about the prophecy to me yet, and neither has my dad (but what else is new), but that’s okay, because I figured it out myself.

When Fortitude is swollen and bloated with cats, specifically being one thousand and two cats, then the spirit of the catssiah will descend on the Virgin Moggy, and she will give birth to a kitten and name him Puss in Boots. Because he has boots, he’ll be able to travel to the Far Roofs, beyond the roofs we know.

And obviously the rats don’t want that to happen! Imagine, a cat up there, tromping around in his rainboots! It’d be so unfashionable that they’d all die of second-hand embarrassment!!

Anyway, I start Operation: Sneak. I get down on all fours and look deep into my own soul, and then I take dainty little steps with my hands and knees, imagining that I’m a sneaky fox who doesn’t make a sound. (But out here, I don’t actually become a fox.)

It takes forever. Empires rise and kingdoms fall. The crickets chirp. The water striders dance. I put my weight on a twig and Edelgard twitches an ear and I have to wait for my heart to slow down which is tough when you’re holding your breath because that makes your heart want to speed back up again! But eventually I start pushing through the longer grass onto the jetty, and that’s when Edelgard raises his head and fixes me with a death glare.

I mollify him by giving a traditional greeting: slowly blinking to establish trust, and then sticking out the tip of my tongue between my lips. Blep!

(Storytelling: 1/9 XP)

Princess-Champions of Hyperborea

Adila!

You wrap time around yourself and Hornet. Around you, the darkness leeches away into the water, leaving the debris bobbing on the waves, washing up against the roots. Garthim drop into the water, going limp, letting the waves bob them up and down as they become inactive. You give Hornet the gift of time enough to come to terms with your presence. To let her know that you aren't going to leave.

Finally, she looks up at you through her goggles. "What do you want me to do?" She asks, still guarded, but... but listening. For once, she's listening to you, fully intent.

***

Alina!

This is not how you wanted to meet Oberon again.

The way you imagined it, you and Rita were going to hold hands and then punch him in the face together, while Adila set his stupid cape on fire and Kazelia zapped all of his magic out of him. Then Ourania would send him to Tree Jail until he learned his lesson, and maybe she'd be willing to give you and Rita her blessing, and all of Hyperborea would know that you, yes, you... you saved the world with the love of your life.

The love of your life who you have to believe is still alive. Nemie wouldn't let her drown. She wouldn't let anyone drown.

You are tossed at Oberon's feet when Cassian snaps his fingers, and with your hands bound behind your back, you don't exactly manage to break your fall. At least you don't crack your chin on the marble floor, managing to twist so that instead you smack the side of your head. You bite down on the monogrammed handkerchief and let out a winded grunt through Cassian's cologne-drenched scarf. Accent of Feloria is meant to be dabbed on, idiot.

Oberon puts the toe of his boot under your chin and lifts your head. "Well, well. I hadn't even sent out wedding invitations, but it appears our bridesmaid is already here." He's sitting in an ornate garden chair, and you know, you know whose chair that is. How dare he? "And she brought my disobedient daughter." He tosses an elaborate cube from hand to hand, and a soft sound of singing rises from it. His face twists in irritation as you both register the sound. Then he looks down at you, and his smile is wicked.

***

Kazelia!

The Puzzle-Box clicks open, and you're expelled from its depths: you, Kyouko, and Shiva! A quick survey of your surroundings reveals that you're surrounded by Garthim, that Cassian is standing back but not quite far enough back, and that your father is holding Alina.

She's sitting in his lap, and he has one arm wrapped around her with casual possessiveness. Like she's a new toy, or another one of his artifacts. Something he can do with as he pleases. "I would think twice before doing anything rash," he says, and strokes a finger down Alina's cheek. "My wedding is happening whether you like it or not. Now stop that ridiculous singing and promise to behave, or I will have to put you back in time out and... break your toys."

Overlord Custom

Oberon has taken Now Who Told You That? He still... dislikes your songs, but they no longer act as his Weakness. His new weakness is SECRET, but is available for use in this episode...

"Why do you continue to fight for these princesses?" His tone is acidic, and even though you know you shouldn't be listening... "Take this pathetic little brat. She only tolerates you because she thinks you can give her back her gumdrops and tickle fights, or whatever her kingdom had to offer. There's no room for someone like you in her world, Kazelia. It hurts me to watch you struggle for her."

And his words sound so... reasonable? Maybe there's magic in them, maybe he's just trying to offer some twisted parental guidance, but... it's hard, suddenly, not to look at Alina and see a silly cotton candy bit of fluff. Oberon is real. Oberon is solid. Alina could be washed away so easily...

[Erase your Bond. Alina no longer fills you with joy.]

Fellowship: The Heart

The patrons of the bar shoved the two of you into a broom closet just to be safe while they went to get the town’s magician. Mostly so that I could put Lucien under more pressure to see what he does, and to arouse Ailee’s ire.

Fellowship: The Heart

Lucien, Ailee!

In a different sort of story, the broom closet would be full of awkward, blushing movements; you’d press one hand against his chest, you’d let her press herself into your negative space. The air would be thick with things left unsaid up until this point.

This is the sort of story in which the broom closet is cramped, handles are jamming themselves into unmentionables, it smells like dead fish, and there is a sack over Ailee’s head. Presumably once the “town’s mage” was fetched, the closet door would be opened and the sack would be removed.

But at least the terrier is not also in here.

Lucien, you’re sitting next to an explosive which just hasn’t gone off yet. Once Ailee processes what just happened, she’s going to unleash her dread powers on everything around her, and you are at ground zero, as it were.

Ailee, a minute ago you were preening and then someone pulled a sack over your head and shoved you into a closet where a dustbin is trying to assassinate you, given its insistent thrust against your ribs. Are you going to take this lying down?

***

Coleman!

The handful of children don’t quite look like catfish. Maybe not yet. Maybe not ever. Maybe by the time they grow up, the Flood will have impressed otterishness upon them. Or turtleness.

Not like you! You grew up under the auspice of a train, from the moment you (one assumes) hatched. You’re Claimed, and the Heart works its changes on you slowly. When the powers of the Heart seek your heart, they find steel and fire and steam there.

Do the oldest members of the crew change to be more like the train?

“It came from the water,” Rufftuff says, stroking his whiskers. “That was a good day! Positively bedragglement it was.” He leans in close. “Silas tells me this is for crushing drinks out of things. How does it work?”

***

Jackdaw!

A Beast lights out of the settlement’s tavern like he has a fire lit under him, and scampers past you over to the shrine-wagon, where he rings a bell. Curiosity provokes you to linger and watch.

“There’s a rat-queen in Silas’s place,” he burbles to the wizened figure who slides back the door. (From the shape of her tail, she used to be a vulpin like you, once.) “She’s challenging you! You have to come!”

“Let me get ready,” she croaks, and shuffles back inside. And this is when you put three and one together. Uh-oh.

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

One thing needs to be very clear, okay? Just, like, absolutely crystal. When Sara licked her lips, she wasn’t being lascivious. I know, I’m as surprised as you are! Her whole brand suggests she’s the kind of person who would leer at her very-soon-to-be-wife. But that was, hand on heart, swear to whatever God kicked Sara out of heaven and then let her find her paradise here on earth, because Sara’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. Can you blame her?

Look at her! Dumbass! She thought the smoking jacket would be cool?? And, just, look at her, she’s dealing with Comstar’s bullshit when Euna’s right there? Her knight in shining mail, her paladin, the woman who dared to take her back...

Comstar is gently put down. Sara wanders away, towards the lip of the stage, moving like someone in a dream. She opens her mouth to say something, because she feels like she’s supposed to say something, right? All of the rehearsals have just been ejected from her brain. Invite her up to the stage, or, or say here comes the bride, or something, don’t just stand there!

Instead, Sara starts crying. Her shoulders shake as she tries to contain it, and she doesn’t even spare the cameras zooming in on her tears a glance. And she smiles. She offers her Euna the most earnest, most vulnerable smile of her whole life. There’s a lump in her throat and her eyes sting and she offers the bride her hand to help her up the stairs. She doesn’t care if it’s stupid or not what she’s supposed to do. All she can do is reach out, the way Euna reached out and caught her hand and saved her life.

Masks: Resurrection Roundabout

"YOU."

Up goes the Comstar, her stupid neon pink heels dangling over the stage. Back and forth goes the Comstar, her stupid coiffed hair bouncing as Sara shakes her like a rag doll by her armpits. Why is she-- why would you try to dress sexy at a wedding, Comstar, bridal gowns are not meant to have exposed midriffs and sweeping necklines!!!

"Stop mind controlling people--" shake shake shake "you absolute asshole--" shake shake shake "I will kick your fucking ass and then marry my beautiful wife--" shake shake shake "now stop controlling Dominus--" shake shake shake "so I can get married!!!"

It's really sweet how Sara just fervently refuses to believe her Dommy would ruin her wedding, isn't it? Good thing that her plans are likely being foiled even now by a brave bunch of do-gooders...